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miraclewoozi · 10 months

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ODE TO A CONVERSATION (STUCK IN YOUR THROAT) - c.sc

Everything with Seungcheol has always been easy. Easier than with anyone else, anyway. (and it hits me — i don’t want anybody else touching you like i do, like i do, like me. is it okay? that i don’t want anybody else touching you like i do.)

pairing; choi seungcheol x fem!reader. genre; smut (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT) with a little bit of plot. friends-ish to lovers to (healthy) exes to fwb to -- warnings; writing early parts of this felt low-key pretentious but it was kinda on purpose because i was trying something stylistic and outside my normal?? so??? but on a real: swearing. alcohol consumption (they aren’t drunk at the time of having sex). reader is written to be wearing makeup. it's kinda just filth. proof read but all the words just melted together eventually (if i missed a typo, no i didn't <3) smut warnings under the cut! w/c; 6k. a/n; del water gap’s ode to a conversation stuck in your throat was my most listened to song last year. i now can’t listen to it without thinking about s.coups (i also just point blank can't stop thinking about s.coups) -- enjoy x

smut warnings: big! dick! seungcheol!, making out, fingering, oral (f rec), unprotected p-in-v sex (make good choices), lil bit of edging if u squint, overstimulation if u tilt ur head like 82º to the left, manhandling, soft-ish dom!cheol, lotta praise, use of pet names (babe, baby good girl, my girl, sweetheart), kinda possessive!cheol, jealous!cheol, biting and marking (hickeys, digging nails in), light light light light light crying/dacryphilia (not really, like there are Some tears in eyes but just to be safe ig)

Everything with Seungcheol has always been easy.

Easier than with anyone else, anyway.

You’d known him in passing for a long time before anything happened. A friend of a friend — someone you always smiled at and chatted with at social events, because he was easy to smile at, and so very easy to chat to. You can’t even remember which birthday or New Year’s party or Halloween bash or Saturday night jamboree was the first: they’ve since all just dissolved into one pleasantly foggy memory, and every time you saw him thereafter he made you feel so comfortable, so at home that it felt like the hundredth.

And it continued that way for a few years. Pleasantries exchanged in friends' kitchens, conversations across beer-garden tables. Catching up on each other's lives in a hallway outside the bathroom for handfuls of minutes at a time before one of you inevitably got tugged away by the friend you were waiting for. You were comfortable with him, around him: he just had that kind of energy. So on a big group night out one evening, when you found yourself feeling a little uncomfortable being flirted with by someone you had never met, you instinctively flashed Seungcheol a look from across the bar. He came straight over and immediately to your rescue; with him slipping all too naturally into the fake role of your unimpressed significant other, you realised that it was easy to be whisked away under his arm, easy to let him buy you your next drink, easy to let him kiss you breathless just to really drive the pretend point home.

Staring up at him after, feeling his drink-chilled hands cupping your cheeks, watching his gaze flicker between your lips and your eyes, you realised that igniting a spark had never felt so…

And it was easy to kiss him again later that night under the influence of a little too much wine and blanketed by a couple of lowered inhibitions. It was easy to giggle into the crook of his neck as he leaned against a stone wall, trailing his fingers up and down your arms, rambling about how he wanted to kiss you again and again and again and forever, maybe, because he thought your smile was beautiful and your lips were so soft and you tasted like cherries, and he liked cherries, and if you could kiss him every day he’d never have a reason to be unhappy ever again. It was so fucking easy to fumble in your purse for your phone, to let him put in his number, and when he asked you if he could take you out for dinner, when he messily typed a text message out begging the same question and sent it to you (‘so we both remember, tomorrow’), it was so, so easy to say yes.

Then, the first date? It was beyond easy. You talked and talked and laughed and laughed, each of you having a few cocktails with your food, never running short of conversation, never not finding little ways to touch each other both under and over the table. Arranging the second, and then the third, and inviting him up for a coffee after date number five was easy, and falling into bed with him was easy. Holding him close, your sweat-slicked bodies moving as one entity in the dark: it was easy, and the pillow-talk after about what this growing thing between you was, came so damn…

So you introduced him to your parents, and your other friends, and in turn he did the same with you. Two and a half years breezed by, then, and even the hard parts… Even the arguing and time spent away from one-another, whether he was sleeping out on your couch following an emotionally charged spat or trips taken as part of his job demanded he spend weeks at a time without you. The hard parts? By comparison to everyone before him, they were easy. Anniversaries and birthdays and Valentine’s days: he spoiled you, and you doted on him, and being together was just so–…

Even the day you decided to end your romantic pursuit, while impassioned, wasn’t hard. In part, maybe it was because it was a long time coming: you still loved each other deeply but your lives were so chaotic and different, and it wasn’t fair to keep waiting around for each other when it just clearly wasn’t your time. And in part, because he was so calm in how he held your hand tightly in his (even when he dried your tears), how he kissed your forehead, in how he told you that you deserved more than the life he could give you. And at the end of it all, when he promised to always be there for you, naturally you promised the same back.

Keeping that promise? Well. It was easy.

So what if it took a few weeks for things to feel sort of normal? If you had to remember how to greet him without offering your lips for a kiss or your arms for a hug? If you had to get used to sleeping alone, and waking up alone, all over again? The thing that mattered was that he was still in your life, and you were still in his: your relationship wasn’t broken, it was just different, and once the little transition period was over, once you were both used to your new normal… Being ‘just friends’ was kind of easy.

(Kind of, being the operative phrase.)

Six months post split, you mentioned to him in passing that you were going on a date the following day. As soon as you realised what you’d said, you regretted bringing it up, but without missing a beat Seungcheol lowered his drink and raised an eyebrow at you, excitedly asking you to tell him everything. The person’s name, what they were like, how you met them, where you were going. He didn’t feel like your ex-boyfriend, then and there: he felt like a best friend. So you told him every detail, and he listened intently, following up by requesting you text him when you got to the date and again when you got home so he knew you were safe. Of course, you said that you would. First, because it was sensible. Second, his requests were easy enough.

And the date went okay, all things considered: the guy was nice, if a little bit awkward, and you had a good time bowling with him and playing some games in the old arcade, but there just wasn’t a spark. Everything felt difficult. Forced. So when he was the one to say to you after that he’d had a nice evening but felt that maybe you should just be friends, you couldn’t help but feel relieved. Letting out a breath and giving a genuine smile, you agreed, thanking him for his refreshing candour, before bidding him good night and making your way back to your car.

You held your phone between your fingertips for a while as the engine ran and the heating started to kick in, slowly warming you from the outside, in. As you thawed, you bit the inside of your cheek absentmindedly, a potentially questionable decision planting itself in your mind. Your body didn’t mind how good of an idea your brain thought it was, though. Your fingers moved entirely of their own accord; finding and pressing Seungcheol’s contact name was so starkly different to everything else had been, all damn night. It was easy. His sleep-roughened voice drifting down the phone sounded so easy. Asking if he minded you swinging by his place for a coffee and a debrief felt easy.

Two hours later, writhing on his mattress, two orgasms deep with his head still buried between your thighs and one of his hands groping at your tit as if his life depended on it?

Fucking. Easy.

So then, started the pattern. Waking up the next morning absolutely swimming in one of his oversized t-shirts should’ve felt like guilt and a betrayal of all your self-growth, of your moving on, of your friendship. It should’ve felt uncomfortable and gross and maybe a little panic-inducing, but it never did. It was warm and cosy, it was familiar and comforting, and when he greeted you ‘good morning’ with a pillow to the face, you knew that nothing was ruined; rather, this was just another new difference to your ever-changing relationship with him. Waking up this way… Well, it felt—

Look, you’re only human. You both have needs. After spending two and a half years learning each other's bodies, being together in that way again came so, so…

After every date gone wrong, after every stressful week at work, in the midst of every family drama and friendship breakdown, you found yourself seeking respite in his apartment, between his bedsheets. In his tongue lapping at your pussy; in the head of his cock bruising the back of your throat until he spilled his release into your mouth; in the slow, deep, precise thrusts of his hips as he buried himself inside you over and over and over and over, taking your mind off the stress and concentrating only on making you feel good, on helping you forget everyone and everything else–…

And now?

Well, now, you’re on your way back from yet another miserable date.

About three months ago, you stopped even considering giving the taxi drivers directions to your own place. Now, when you slide into the backseat, you automatically reel off the address you always end up at after a night like this. When your dates only talk about themselves, or say something so wildly out of pocket that it makes your toes curl (and not in a good way), or exclusively go on and on and on about their ‘crazy’ ex partner, you’ve grown all too used to showing up pouting at your friend’s front door.

What?

Being greeted by his knowing smirk and him inviting you inside is familiar; stepping across the threshold and kicking off your shoes in the hallway feels just so… easy.

Flopping down on the couch is easy, and waiting for Seungcheol to come back into the living room with two gleaming glasses and a bottle of wine is easy. Shuffling closer until you have your head resting against his shoulder is easy. Sipping at a chilled glass of rosé with his arm around you, the tip of his finger rubbing tiny circles against the point of your shoulder, eyes fluttering at this perfectly normal, totally platonic, absolutely-not-leading-anywhere-this-time contact is…

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks a few seconds after you set your now half-empty glass down. Your lips curl a little into a grimace on one side and a soft laugh rumbles deep in his chest.

You swear you can feel it vibrate all the way down to your bones.

“What is there to even talk about?” you sigh. “He wouldn’t stop comparing me to his mother, strike one. Spent twenty minutes explaining the plot of my favourite movie back to me, strike two. And then, after all that, threw a tantrum when I swerved his kiss goodbye after he’d eaten basically a whole loaf of garlic bread. Strike three. You’re out.”

He laughs again, and you adjust your head to peer up at him but he isn’t looking at you. He’s staring off at the opposite wall, not even glancing down when his arm tightens to pull you even closer. On cue, you nuzzle your head down into the muscle beneath his t-shirt, and you sigh.

“What’s so funny?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he says breezily. “Just… You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

“I don’t deliberately go out with people one screw short of a toolbox, Cheol,” you grumble, lightly slapping his chest. “They always seem fine when we start talking.”

“Mhm,” he hums. You feel him move slightly and then his lips are being pressed to the part of your hair. You’re sure it’s supposed to be a little condescending, but it kind of tingles instead. But that’s just because of the way his breaths play over your roots. Isn’t it? “I know.”

“Trust me, I’d love nothing more than to find someone who—”

“Hey, I know, y/n,” he says again, still softly but just a little firmer this time. “It’s not your fault all these guys are dicks. But-…”

He trails off, tongue pressed lightly against his top teeth, and decides that maybe finishing this sentence isn’t the smart way to proceed. You wait a few seconds, just in case he changes his mind, and poke at his chest again when he doesn’t.

“But what?” You ask.

He shakes his head. “Nothing. It was a stupid joke. Don’t worry about it.”

“Tell me,” you whine. “You know I hate it when you do that.”

It’s his turn to sigh, now. “But…” he starts, pausing for a mixture of allowing his nerves to settle and for dramatic effect. “I’m not complaining: the worse your date goes, the better sex we have after.”

It momentarily stuns you into silence and you suck your teeth at the remark, shaking your head. But you don’t sit up, you don’t shove him away, you don’t argue the point he’s just made whether it was a joke or not. Because…

“I hate that you’re right.”

His hand slides down behind you until it’s wrapped around your waist, his bicep strong against your back and his fingers light as they fiddle with the fabric of your blouse.

“No you don’t,” he tells you, lips tweaking up on one side.

You sigh, burrowing closer into his chest. He’s wearing the cologne he knows you like most and it smells faint, worn, as if he’s had it on for hours, all despite being only dressed in basketball shorts and a white vest. His plans tonight started and ended with you, and showing up here wasn’t promised until you were on his doorstep. Something about knowing he wore it just in case triggers an all too familiar ache between your legs.

Giving in to it?

Ha.

It’s too fucking easy.

“Shut up,” you grumble. Your hand uncurls and your fingers splay over his chest, confessing your agreement and laying the foundations for you even if you deny what you want out loud. “Yes, I do.”

“Oh?” He asks at the exact moment you can feel his nails graze at your skin beneath your shirt. “Do you really?”

“Yeah.” You shift slightly, searching for just a crumb of relief from the press of your thighs, but it never comes.

“I see.” He flattens his palm against your side, the other hand tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, eyes not quite meeting yours as they fixate on the strands already sliding back to their former place against your cheek.

He gently clears his throat, tongue darting out over his lips for the most fleeting of moments, and when he speaks again, it’s lower, quieter, softer. “But if you hate it sooo much…” he ducks his head, close enough that his lips brush the corner of your mouth as he moves them. “Why are you here?”

He bumps the tip of his nose against your cheek, subtly turning your face so if you so much as shuffle, hiccup, breathe in too deeply, your smiles would meet. But they don’t. A hair’s breadth apart, you linger, eyes meeting his in a scorching challenge. One he doesn’t back down from. One he holds, and holds, and holds – waiting, for you, for his answer.

“Because,” you croak. Your throat feels dry, your eyelids suddenly heavy, lashes fluttering.

“Because?” he taunts, his chuckled exhale tickling the tiny hairs all over your skin.

You maintain his gaze still, and he chuckles, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger. when you don’t speak for a few seconds more, he takes it upon himself to finish the sentence for you.

“Because you know,” he drawls, gravelly but still somehow heaven-sent and honey-sweet. “That no-one else does it for you the same way I do. Do they?”

You shake your head, the muscles in your neck tight as you wrestle with them not to surge forward and topple against him in a kiss. Seungcheol is an easily pleased man, but you know he loves a bit of a chase and it would be a little rude not to reward his hospitality by giving him one.

“Say it,” he urges. You’re acutely aware of how his breaths stop fanning against your face once the words are out of his mouth, but you don’t give him anything yet. “Come on. You could have any one of those idiots if you wanted them, but you don’t.” A pause. “Do you?”

You swallow hard, cheeks growing hot. You shake your head again, “No.”

“Because…”

And after one, two, three, four, five thundering beats of your heart—

“Because I want you.”

Seungcheol smirks as he pulls your chin up, finally bringing his plush lips down against your own. It’s soft. almost tender. Barely moving — just a press, but it sends waves of energy through you anyway.

“You’ve got me,” he says, pulling back an inch, studying your desperate eyes with his own. “Always gonna have me.”

And suddenly, it’s like his entire world might stop if he lets you go.

Both of his hands cup your cheeks as you shift up onto your knees, your own fingers grasping for dear life at his vest. He kisses you as if he could swallow you whole: hard and deep, breathing hot through his nose as his tongue works its way into your mouth and finds your own. You groan, and hearing the sound draws one out of him, too. There’s just something about kissing Seungcheol, and being kissed by him: you don’t even have to think. He just does. You just do. It’s easy.

His hands find the bottom of your shirt and he pulls upwards, separating from your lips to pull it over your head and toss it haphazardly towards the floor. He reconnects with you almost immediately, hands sliding down from your face to your exposed neck, to your shoulders, toying with the strap of your bra.

“You wear this for me, or him?” he asks, breathing heavily as he looks down at your covered tits, the red and white garment sitting pretty against your skin.

“Who d’you think?” you ask, equally fighting to gasp air into your lungs.

“Better not have been for fuckin’... Captain mommy issues,” he mutters, kissing you hard one more time before his lips attach to the side of your neck. “Never liked the sound of that guy. Thought you were too good for him.”

“S’that right?” You ask, tilting your head back and stuttering out a sigh, lacing it with wisps of a laugh. “You never said so.”

He sucks your skin into his mouth and you swear you can feel every capillary beneath the surface burst one by one, your body-heat climbing to almost unbearable territory. “You were excited,” he says. “Just ‘cause I don't agree with your choices, doesn’t mean I’m gonna be an ass about it.”

And for someone trying their best to cover your throat in as many bruises as possible (no doubt so that if you bump into the asshole from HR who took you out tonight when you’re back at work on Monday, he’ll see that you had a plenty good time without him), it… feels kind of sweet that he’d hold himself back in the name of your theoretical happiness.

“Too good to me,” you chuckle. You’ve long since released your hold on his vest and are now threading your fingers through his hair. He kisses and sucks down over your collarbone, grinning against your skin all the while.

“So?” he asks, tugging the top of your bra in between his teeth.

You glance down at him, biting your bottom lip at the sight. His pupils are blown-out, drowning his familiar warm, chocolatey eyes in black pools of desire. No lies, that’s always been your agreement. No lies. So you tell him the truth, pushing your chest up towards him and pressing his head down slightly so his top lip brushes against your tit.

“Wore it for you, Cheol.”

“Mhm. That’s my girl.”

He sits up straight and pulls you down to him, smashing his lips against yours again as his hands slide around your back, fingertips making quick work of your bra clasp. He pulls the straps down your arms, grunting at the feeling of your breasts relaxing against his own chest; the bra joins your shirt on the floor, and soon after follows his vest, your hands clawing at it to get it off him as fast as you can.

“Up,” he says as your hands trail over his stomach, fingers dipping into every groove of muscle, feeling how they ripple as he reflexively tenses them under your touch. “Now.”

You oblige, climbing off the couch and standing upright. His hand finds the back of your shoulder and he guides you around to the side of the sofa, promptly pushing you down over the arm-rest so your face meets the cushions you were both just sitting on. He pulls your pants down your legs and helps you step out of them, dropping down to his knees and kneading at your thighs with a guttural moan.

“Gonna make you forget all about him, y/n,” he says. “Make you feel so good you won’t even remember his name.”

“Please,” you gasp, feeling his teeth sink into your ass. “So-... fucking good to me…”

He adjusts the position of your legs, bumping them apart until he can settle on his knees between them. His nose drags against the crease between the top of your thigh and the bottom of your ass, his lips trailing kisses all the way from the outside of your leg to where your pussy is throbbing for him. He skips over it, though, nipping and licking at the back of your other thigh, until you’re rocking your hips back to try and push him into your core.

“Be a good girl,” he chuckles, thumbing over the wet-patch in your panties. “I’m gonna look after you. I promise.”

His tongue meets your wetness just a moment after, dragging over the fabric and making you whimper. Your hands scramble to clutch onto something, one grabbing the edge of the seat cushion and the other balling into a fist.

“Fuck, Cheol,” you hiss, feeling the heat from his mouth all over you. “Please – I need it. I need you.”

“Shh,” he says. You can feel his lips twist into a smile. God, you wish you could see him right now. “I’ve got you.”

When exactly his fingers tucked themselves under the waistband of your underwear, you’re not sure: all you know is that one minute, he’s breathing in your scent through the seat of your panties, and the next he’s yanking them down your legs and diving into your cunt like it’s his last meal on death-row. The sheer force of his hands gripping your thighs and his head burying itself between them makes you stumble forwards, the couch groaning as it shifts against the laminate flooring, and you cry out a wet sob of his name.

Who were you kidding, before, when you thought that this wasn’t going to go anywhere tonight?

The build-up to this started the second you told him about the date a week and a half ago.

But you can’t think about the mediocre pasta dish you ate this evening, or the moron who sat across from you at the table who kept checking his phone and glancing over your shoulder. You can’t think about how many times he went to the bathroom after receiving a text, or how he came back grinning cockily before he sat back down.

All you can think about is how deep Seungcheol’s tongue fucks into you. How he fucking slurps all the wetness your pussy can give him, how he groans and moans and chuckles every time he shifts his head forward and flicks the muscle over your clit. Your head is spinning and your eyes begin smarting at the corners when his nails on one hand dig harshly into the fat at the top of your thigh. It stings, but it feels so fucking good. Your knees are weak, you’re about to bite clean through your lip in an attempt to be respectful to Seungcheol’s neighbours, and your knuckles are sore from the force with which your fist is clenched.

Lord, he’s good.

“Don’t hold back,” he gasps, pulling away from you, a string of his own spit and your arousal still connecting him to your pussy. “C’mon, babe. I can feel you’re close.”

The loss of his mouth genuinely feels like the end of the world and you could buckle, in this moment. But he’s done this on purpose: he always does. He knows you. He knows the sounds you make and the way your body moves when you’re tantalisingly on the edge of your climax. His thumbs rub circles into your thighs and you just know he’s got the most obnoxious, insufferable grin on his face behind you while he does it: you can picture it, so perfectly. So easily.

The orgasm you didn’t quite reach starts to ebb away from you and you give a grumble of frustration, pushing up onto your palms to turn around and look at him.

“You’re such a bastard, Cheol,” you hiss, and he grins back at you, his lips swollen and shiny as he licks over them.

“Get that pretty face back down, baby. I’m not done.”

It feels like a delightful punch in the gut, so you do. You drop back down onto your elbows, feeling him shift his position but you can’t see to what; his body heat never leaves yours even when his hands aren’t on you anymore, so you know he hasn’t stood up or gone far. It’s only when you clear your throat that you feel him again. Sat down with his back to the couch, between your thighs, nosing at your clit to get you worked up all over again: his fingers trail over your folds, collecting your arousal, spreading your lips and tonguing between them. You whine for him, keening and confused but overwhelmed at the stark shift from before. How he touches your pussy like it’s the first time, like it’s the last.

He presses one long finger inside you, free hand pushing your hips into just the right position that he can suck your clit into his mouth. You feel yourself grinding down against his hand, begging him for more without having the words to ask for it, but Seungcheol doesn’t need to be asked. It’s intuitive to him. Eating you out could well be his day job. Another finger joins the first and he pumps them in and out of you at a pace you adore, his tongue flicking precisely over the bud in his mouth.

Your disappointingly lost orgasm from before starts to creep up on you again, and you know he knows it too. But this time, he doesn’t slow. This time, he doesn’t stop. He hums in the back of his throat: it’s permission, you realise, to come undone; burying your face further into the cushions, you let out a muffled series of expletives, sobs, moans of his name. You tumble over the edge with a broken cry, fingers curling into the couch cushions, and he only pulls away when your knees actually give out.

His strong frame is the only thing still holding you up by the time you’ve stopped twitching through the aftershocks, remembering how it feels to have full lungs and a working pair of eyes. You roll your head to the side as he slips out from beneath you, immediately sliding his arm around your waist and leaning over you to keep you steady. Through the material of his shorts, you can feel his hard-on poking at your ass: the fact that you’re this fucked and he hasn’t put his cock inside you yet makes your eyes water.

“Okay?” he asks, pressing tender kisses down the length of your spine. You just breathe, nodding with difficulty owed to your current position and the way all your muscles suddenly feel a hundred times heavier than normal. “Talk to me, sweetheart. You okay?”

“M’okay,” you say. “Just… gimme a sec…”

He keeps pressing his lips all over your back, hands rubbing soothing circles on your hips as you fully recover. You nod again when you’re a little more communicative, pushing up onto your elbows once more.

“Said I’d look after you,” he says. “And you were so good for me.”

“Yeah?” you ask, swallowing hard as you twist your spine uncomfortably to look back at him. Fuck it, maybe he’s the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen. Is that some great secret? Is it such a crime?

“You always are, baby.”

He looks down at you again: at the shape of your body, bent so crudely over the arm of his couch. At your messed-up hair, your smeared makeup, your soft, dewy eyes. He bites his bottom lip, swallowing hard, running a finger from between your shoulder-blades all the way down towards your ass.

“Can I?” he asks, pushing his hips against you again, your still-soaked pussy smearing arousal all over the front of his shorts where it meets them.

“Please,” you nod, shifting your legs slightly to try and get more comfortable. He drops his shorts in a matter of seconds, cock springing free from their confines. It’s thick and veiny, leaking in his palm as he strokes it, one hand coming back to rest on your hip.

“Fuck, babe,” he sighs. “You’re doing so good.”

The head feels delicious against your swollen cunt and you gasp at the pressure of him sliding through your folds, leisurely lubing himself up with your arousal. It glides over your clit and you can’t contain the slight hiss that escapes you. He starts to say something, his voice just audible to you where you’re propped, but for some reason he stops short, and you don’t quite hear him anyway. There’s not enough time to dwell on it though: your eyelashes flutter closed when he prods at your entrance, pushing into you with hardly any resistance at all, and his unstarted, unfinished sentence is forgotten.

It’s still a stretch to take him and he eases himself deeper until his hips are pressed fully against your ass. He rests there for a moment, letting you adjust, letting your body mould to the shape of his own, and it’s only when you reach back with one hand to gently nudge against his wrist to give an okay that he starts to move.

“Good girl,” he says, quieter this time. Like he’s distracted. Like he’s contemplating. But you don’t ask, because you don’t really want to know: every drag of his cock against your walls feels like fireworks bursting over every inch of your skin, like being engulfed in flame, and nothing could take you out of how electric you feel. “Taking me so, so well.”

His hips start to thrust against you quicker, snapping so his cock buries itself deep but mercilessly quickly into your pussy. It’s only a matter of minutes until you’re clenching around him and when you do, Seungcheol – who you noticed early on into your relationship was one of the most vocal men you’d ever had in the bedroom – stops holding back the sounds you think back to when it’s just you and your trusty vibrator against the world. You swear that half the reason your sexual chemistry with him is so unrivalled is because of how loud you can both get.

You don’t know how long he’s fucking you for, sweat beading over both of your bodies and leaving you slick all over. What you do know, though, is that when he bends down over you, supported by one hand bracing his weight against the cushion by our head, he’s close.

He isn’t groaning and grunting anymore. He’s whining. So agonisingly hard and so painfully wound up that he could snap. His voice is little more than a whimper in your ear when his lips ghost over the shell of it, thrusts slowing as he tries to stave off his high just a little bit longer.

“Wanna drown in this pussy,” he says, eyes squeezed shut, jaw falling slack as you spasm around his length again. “Shit – I love y-... love this… love this so much-...”

And this time, you fucking notice.

This time, you hear him. You know what he said before, now. When you didn’t care, when you just wanted him to fill you up, when you just wanted to have him pound into you until your brain disconnected from failed romances and shitty dating apps and people who weren’t him. Because he started to say it then, too – started to say I love y–

And this time… you say it, back.

“I love you too, Cheol.”

Jesus, fuck.

Loving Choi Seungcheol is the easiest thing in the world.

He freezes, buried inside you all the way to the hilt, a bead of sweat running down the bridge of his nose and hanging onto the tip for dear life. His eyes shoot open, his head turns, and you meet his gaze by turning your own. He’s feeling everything. All at once. So are you. Arousal and need and fear – God, so much fucking fear – but love. Adoration, affection, endearment, devotion – shit, he feels it all, and it’s written in every line of his face, and when his lips move into a smile, when the corners of his eyes crease, when he lets it wash over him, it feels better than any orgasm he’ll have for the rest of his life.

Even the one that explodes through him when you start to grind yourself back on his cock and he lets go, fingers scrabbling to hold your hand, lips finding home on the back of your shoulder. He paints your insides with his cum, fucks it into you for as long as he can physically withstand. You don’t even have it in you to chase another climax of your own, too blissed out in the relief of your own feelings to feel inclined to try.

So, maybe there’s a reason you kept accepting dates with men you knew you weren’t compatible with.

Maybe there’s a reason you didn’t give those other people a real chance.

Maybe there’s a reason you always found yourself looking forward to the end of every night having dinner with a stranger.

Because all the roads lead you here. Because it’s easy being here – it’s where you belong.

He stays sheathed inside you for a little while longer, pressing kisses everywhere his lips can reach before he has to pull his softening cock from its home between your legs. You lament at the feeling of emptiness, even as his strong arms wrap around your waist and pull you upright for the first time in so long that your legs feel like jelly. It’s okay, though. He holds you against his chest, burying his head into your neck – there’s no way you’re going to fall.

(At least, no more than you already have.)

“I’ll give you everything,” he whispers to you, moving your hair out the way so he can press small, doting kisses to the line of your jaw. “I can give it to you. I was a fucking idiot before – I’ll give you everything I have. I don’t know if I can be perfect but anything you want–...”

“I just want you, Cheol,” you tell him. “Everything – screw all that. I just want you.”

“Be with me?” he asks. You nod, feeling him light up in a smile for the hundredth time tonight. Even though you can’t see it, you’re sure it’s as blindingly beautiful as the first smile he sent your way, all those years ago. (It was Joshua’s birthday. You remember that, now.) And the second. And every damn time since. “Forever, this time.”

“Forever, this time,” you agree.

Because spending forever with the man who lifts you into his arms and carries you towards his shower, so you can clean down and get ready for bed? Right now, it sounds so –

But everything with Seungcheol has always been easy. Easier than with anyone else.

thank u so much for reading! likes, reblogs, comments + feedback are all always so appreciated<3

#s.coups smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #choi seungcheol smut #seungcheol smut #s.coups x reader #j writes.#*#i am running into the woods and never coming back. i don't know who i became while writing this. it wasn't me it was patricia.#send help. i had one singular marble left. seungcheol has fucking FLOWN away with it. i have gone fully fucking insane.#good BY E

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thebookshopofnightingales · 4 months

Text

call me by Crowley's name

Aziraphale x reader x Crowley

summary: Crowley can't be left out of this one. he may not be there in person but he sure as hell wants to feel it all

cw: 18+ only!! lotta language, pure smut no plot, everyone's a switch in this household, threesome (technically?), size kink, reader has a vagina, unprotected p in v, size kink, dirty talk, masturbation (Crowley), light choking

word count: 1.1k

A/N: part 2, at your service ;) read part 1

You hear a snap from the radio and both yours and Aziraphale’s clothes are now piled beside you. You both groan at the sight.

“That’s better.” Crowley amuses. “Now, you're going to fuck each other so I can feel it."

You always love having Aziraphale fuck you. He may come across as this timid little thing, but underneath he’s huge, and he knows exactly what to do with it.

You bite your lip and swing your leg over his lap so you’re situated above his throbbing head. You swipe your thumb over his tip and lick the precum. He can’t take his eyes off of you, absolutely in awe of the filthy sight before him.

“Tastes so good, doesn’t he, my love?” Crowley chimes, and you hum in agreement. “Go on, let him fill you up how you like it, you can take it.”

Slowly, you sink down over Aziraphale’s cock, greeted by breathy moans from all three of you at the sensation, and let him utterly fill you inch by inch. Once you have him seated fully inside you, you let yourself adjust to his size.

“Oohhh, you’re so big. So fucking big, Angel. You fill me up so well.” You swallow Aziraphale’s moan with a heated and messy kiss.

“Fuck, I can feel how tight you’re squeezing him. Wish I could see it.” You know that Crowley is touching himself by now and you moan out his name.

“Mmm, Crowley. Wish you were here to see how good he’s stretching me out. Feels so fucking good, ngh.” To that, both Crowly and Aziraphale let out a guttural moan. Both of your boys, so taken by you.

After a minute of adjusting, you begin grinding against Aziraphale, teasing him a little with your limited movements.

“My sweet, you’re toying with me.” He grits. You grin at his response and decide to reward him by lifting yourself up and plunging down again. You both moan out and hear a deep, throaty response from the radio. Aziraphale suddenly has your hips gripped again and begins moving you himself, unable to keep his desires under control. The combination of his huge length and the speed of his thrusts, hitting that sweet spot every time, you’ve become an absolute mess under his control.

“Aziraphale, fuuuuck, so fucking good, you’re so deep.” You moan out praises for your Angel and just as you think you’re reaching your second climax, he begins to slow down.

“Angel, what the Hell did you do that for?” Crowley grits out. He was close too and sounds even more frustrated than you.

Aziraphale strokes your cheek as he focuses on slower, deeper thrusts that have your eyes rolling to the back of your head. You swear, you actually see Heaven when he fucks you.

“Taking me so well, aren’t you?” He says before kissing down your neck again.

“Yes, Angel. Just for you.” You breathe out.

“Crowley, my darling, I hope you’re working yourself nice and slow for me.” Aziraphale has lowered his voice the way that gets you and Crowley weak in the knees for him. You hum at his tone and the Demon, you believe, just whimpered.

“Fuck, Angel. Yes. Anything for you. You make me feel so good.” He whines. You bite your lip and squeeze against Aziraphale’s cock and he releases such a moan that he didn’t intend to let out. It just turns you on all the more.

“Good boy, Angel. Let me hear you.” You whisper.

Suddenly you find yourself on your knees, facing the back window. Aziraphale has hold of your hips as he glides himself back inside you, bottoming out to force moans from all three of you. He leans down to whisper in your ear.

“Why don’t we let Crowley feel like he’s really here. I want to hear his name on your lips as I fuck you, sweetheart.” You can’t explain the noise that you release at his words, but it’s of need and want and sends you grinding back against him. He starts to pick up his pace, thrusting into you in a way that makes you forget he has a halo.

“Crowly, mmm, fuck! Yes, right there, Crowley, right there!” With hearing his name spill so sinfully from your tongue, he works himself faster and harder back at the bookshop, always loving the sound of his name coming from you.

“Christ, darling, I won’t last much longer with you sounding like that. And with our Angel feeling like- nggh, like that.” You hear the breathless moans Crowley lets out and you let him spur yours on.

“Fuck, Crowley, you’re so tight. Taking me ever so well.” Aziraphale chimes in. The two of you calling each other by Crowley’s name has to be one of the hottest things you’ve done together.

“Crowleyyy, just like that.” Your moans are getting louder and higher the more Aziraphale fucks into you. “Yes, yes, yes!”

Slowly, his hand slides up your front to wrap around your neck and you let the sensation spur you on. The three of you fall into a puddle of moans and groans and Crowley’s name. When Aziraphale’s hand falls from your neck to your clit, you know you’re done for.

“Oh my God, Crowly, right there! I’m so close!” You cry.

“Fuck, Angels, keep going. Keep saying my name.”

Aziraphale fucks you from behind with no mercy, rubbing circles on your clit and moaning to the Gods.

“Come for me, my Angels, come for me, fuckkk.” And with Crowley’s words in your ears, you all come undone together, his name falling from yours and Aziraphale’s lips as he releases inside of you. You see stars while you have the most euphoric orgasm you think anyone could experience. Aziraphale rides out your orgasms and begins peppering kisses up your back, to your neck and then lightly turning your chin to kiss your lips. It’s ironically sweet after what you’ve just been through, your body slowly returning to Earth.

Aziraphale pulls out and, with a swift click of his fingers, you’re both fully clothed again. You sit beside each other and let yourself lean into him, running your hand through his soft curls. He hums innocently and rubs small, polite circles on your thigh.

“Wow.” You breathe.

“Wow, indeed, my dear.”

“Well, Angels, that was fun. I’ll be waiting for you when you get back. See you in Hell.” You can almost taste the smirk on his lips as Crowley clicks off the radio.

“Smug bastard.”

#good omens #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #crowley x reader #aziraphale x reader #aziracrow x reader #aziraphale x crowley #good omens smut #good omens fanfiction #aziracrow smut #ineffable husbands

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here2bbtstrash · 1 year

Text

real magic (explicit)

genre: smut, fluff, bangin’ your boss, m attempts kidfic - part of a hyung holiday collab !

pairing: namjoon x reader

summary: the holiday season has never meant anything to you beyond suffering long hours for minimum wage and awaiting the collapse of capitalism— but this year, you’d be willing to add making out with your dilf coffee shop boss to the list.

word count: 16.7k 😩

contains: ~*~explicit sexual content (after kind of a slow burn sorry lol)~*~ the "moving back to your hometown" hallmark trope, a nick jonas poster (yes that's a warning), some taekook slander in the beginning because i thought it was funny, namjoon is so buff and so dumb but so wise and so hot, moni is a little shit, namjoon is a dad!, namjoon's kid uses they/them pronouns but it's not like A Focus of the story it's just flavor, reader thinks joon has a dead wife for like one second 💀 mentions of teenage pregnancy and co-parenting, one incredibly stupid asshole customer lmao, mint choco slander (it's what namjoon would want 😌), obviously there is an employee/boss power dynamic but they talk about it and figure it out because this is namjoon and he overthinks everything, namjoon driving (he's a dad i have to assume he would get his license if he had a literal child!!!!!!!!) and a lotta sentimental holiday and life talk. here are ur sex specific warnings: making out/going to second base in a car in a parking lot (what is it with my namjoons and cars in parking lots yo), fingering, semi-drunk sex, and fuckin' rawwwww with a smidge of size and breeding kink lmao (but she's on the pill!!! no more kids!!!!!!)

A/N: hello hello hi merry crisis this damn fic is finally here lmao~ as i have been babbling on about for days i really really (REALLY) love how this namjoon turned out he's just hesjkrgdhtgk such a fucking himbo but a good dad and wise and did i mention hot aaaaaa 🫠 all the love in my gay little heart to @goodsoop for their barista wisdom and real life experiences that went into this one (the cookie story will never not make me laugh) ! and to @sailoryooons for beta reading this 50 million times and encouraging me when i was convinced it sucked ass, and also for making all the gorgeous banners for this collab 😭

which btw - be sure to go check out @gimmethatagustd & @sailoryooons & @nabiolive 's fics tooooo !!! i've loved collabing with them so very much even when we were all hashtag Going Through It, we got the whole damn hyung line you hear meeeeee 🎁🎁🎁🎁

read on AO3!

Rudely awoken by the incessant beep of your alarm, you open your eyes to find Nick Jonas staring back at you, and you sit up with a scream.

Realization washes over your sleep-addled brain in waves: first, that you aren’t actually staring at a real person. He’s just smizing on a hot pink poster, held up by some remarkably durable masking tape you stuck to the wall fifteen years ago. Second, it comes back to you that you are staring at said poster because you’ve woken up in your childhood bedroom. It’s been left untouched since you were a teenager, like a weird time capsule of all your high school obsessions.

After reaching for your phone to silence the alarm, you kick your way out from under the blankets, trying not to make eye contact with Nick, or Justin, or Zayn as you stumble to the bathroom. The circumstances of your grand return to living in your goddamn parents’ house linger like a bad taste in your mouth, one that all the tongue brushing in the world can’t remove.

It still doesn’t feel real. Taehyung, your best friend in the world since freshman year of college, kicked you out. Sure, it may have been phrased more like a gentle request, but as far as your ego is concerned, it still feels like exile. Banishment, even. The person you thought you could never be parted from made his choice, and he chose his fucking boyfriend over you.

Jungkook. You think the name with all the venom your cold, dead heart can manage as you spit toothpaste into the sink.

Jungkook, the weird, bug-eyed kid who put his toe-socked feet on your couch, drank his banana milk out of your favorite mug, and ate up all of your Samyang ramyeon because he ‘thought it was communal’.

Jungkook, who ruined your sleep schedule nightly, either by fucking Taehyung senseless on the other side of your paper-thin apartment wall, or by blasting the same four Ariana Grande songs over and over on his bluetooth speaker and singing along in an annoyingly good voice. Either activity would go on well into the early hours of the morning, until you had to bang on the wall so hard you nearly put your fist through it.

Jungkook, whose dog once took a shit right on the floor in the middle of the kitchen.

Bam was cute enough to forgive, of course. But you can never forgive Taehyung for his betrayal. Especially when he knew you’d just been fired from your shitty coffee shop job for the stupidest reason ever, and he didn’t let that derail or even delay him. He still went ahead and delivered the killing blow.

Et tu, Taehyung? you think angrily to yourself as you stand in front of the suitcase containing as much of your closet as you could possibly fit. You still need to go back for your bigger furniture, and little things like your plates and your mugs and your silverware, which Jungkook is probably putting his grimy little fingers all over at this very moment. But until you’ve checked out of your indefinite vacation at the Nightmare Parental Hotel, there doesn’t really seem a point.

If you were less upset, you might take consolation in the fact that your parents aren’t actually here, that they’ve jaunted off to their timeshare until the new year, but you’re busy being too swallowed whole by your misery to find an ounce of joy in any piece of your current reality.

You dig through the pile of clothes until you manage to pull out something halfway decent. The first order of business now that you’ve moved back in is simple: acquire another stupid coffee shop job. You have no plans to stick around long, you just need something seasonal that will give you some meager income while you start looking for a real gig, one that is ideally not in your hometown.

Watching yourself in the mirror as you pull on a simple black blouse and your least-stained pair of jeans, you attempt to mentally dust off your interview skills. You conjure up your best fake smile and customer service voice, both of which are second-nature at this point.

Why do you want this job? “I’m just so passionate about coming home sticky and verbally abused by caffeine-addicted assholes every night.”

What’s your biggest weakness? “Clearly it’s the fact that I’m a ray of fucking sunshine.”

Why were you terminated from your last job? “Oh, well, I attempted to get my previous employer to improve their standards of worker treatment. You see, I selfishly requested that they raise the bar a single notch above hell. Certainly won’t happen again!”

This should go well, you tell yourself, and your reflection grimaces back.

With several hours to kill before your job interview and a growing desire to avoid the weird nostalgia of your childhood that seems to lurk in every corner of your parents’ house, you decide to take a walk.

The sky is bright blue and cloudless, and though the air is brisk, it isn’t terribly windy. You tuck in your earbuds as you shut the front door behind you and pick a direction, aimless, letting your mind wander to the soundtrack of your “seasonal depression” playlist.

A whole new crop of families must have moved into your parents’ neighborhood in the years since you moved out, because the streets are more alive with kids than you can ever remember them being, even when you were a kid yourself. Bikes and scooters lay abandoned on the sidewalks between homes, and you can hear the repeated echo of a basketball dribbling on a driveway, punctuated by distant, playful screaming.

Even in the daytime, you can tell these families have spared no expense when it comes to Christmas decor: some homes have every eave outlined in string lights, some have candy cane stakes dug into the perimeter of their perfectly manicured lawns, and some have been seemingly invaded by small armies of inflatable reindeer and snowmen. You can’t help but giggle a little at the inflatable decorations that have been set to turn off during the day, the way the airless material lays limp in the grass, giving the impression of a yard strewn with dead bodies.

But you remember what it looked like when you drove in last night, everything lit up and brought to life.

Your parents definitely didn’t have inflatable lawn decorations when you were a kid, but you’d get so excited every year when your dad would drag the ladder out and spend the day stringing up the simple rainbow lights you did have. You still remember the little spark of joy you’d feel in your chest when the colors would click on after dark, the way you would run outside every night just to see them twinkle, your breath puffing steam clouds in the air, your bare feet freezing on the ice-cold driveway.

It felt like magic then. But somewhere along the way you grew up. And now that feeling’s gone. Even at night, the lights just look like… lights.

Distracted as you are by the music in your ears and thoughts of your childhood that have brought you to a standstill on the sidewalk, you don’t notice what’s happening until it’s too late.

A blur of red and white is suddenly circling around and between your legs, and you feel something twining over your ankles, then tugging with a force that threatens to knock you off balance. As you lean forward in an attempt to right yourself, the chaos in question slows enough for you to realize it’s a fluffy white dog in a red sweater, who has excitedly tangled you up in his leash.

You manage to find the looped end of the leash and slowly get yourself unwrapped while the dog continues to pant and jump and occasionally yap at you. With your legs freed, you squat down for a proper greeting, laughing to yourself as he lifts up on his hind legs, balancing his paws on your knee to lick an enthusiastic greeting across your cheek.

“Hi, puppy,” you murmur, trying to get him to hold still long enough to read the name on his tag. A voice beats you to it.

“Moni!”

When you glance up to find Moni’s owner jogging up the sidewalk, you have to make a conscious effort to keep your own tongue in your mouth, because good lord, he is fine.

He’s tall, towering over you even once you bring yourself back up to standing, and the black workout tank and athletic shorts he’s wearing do absolutely nothing to hide the thick, well-defined muscles of his arms, chest, and thighs.

Despite his lack of clothing in the cool winter air, you can see his face and neck are slick with sweat, his white-blonde hair damp with it too. There’s even a dark patch that’s soaked his shirt at his sternum, making the firm swell of his pecs that much more apparent. It takes you an extra second to break eye contact with them, but when you do finally manage to drag your gaze up to meet his, you realize his face is just as nice of a view: honey-tan skin, full lips, and cute dimples that pop as he gives a sheepish, appreciative laugh.

“Thank you,” he says, a little breathless; his voice is deep and slightly husky in a way that makes your face grow hot. You blink stupidly at him for a few moments, your mind reeling, and then it occurs to you that you still have his dog’s leash in your hand.

“No problem,” you manage, handing the looped end back over and double-checking to make sure your ankles are still free from their entanglement. Though now that this man is holding the leash, you kind of wish they weren’t.

“Moni’s usually good about not taking off when I stop to do a circuit,” he explains, like you’re the dog owner police. It makes you wonder what kind of Karens must have moved into this neighborhood since you left it. “I don’t know why he ran, maybe he saw a squirrel or something.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him with a smile, admiring Moni as he stretches and settles into a polite seated pose. “I like his sweater.”

“Thanks,” he laughs again. “C’mon Mon.”

You can’t help focusing on how big this guy’s hands are as he slips his fingers through the end of Moni’s leash, tugging slightly as if to encourage the dog back in the direction he came from.

Moni blinks and stays right where he is.

“You little shit,” his owner huffs under his breath, and you have to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from laughing. You distantly realize you should probably leave them to it and continue on your walk, but this is too entertaining to turn away from now. Your hot neighbor tries one more futile attempt to get Moni to move, then seems to give up entirely.

He stoops down with a low grunt of effort that makes your core flutter as he grabs the fluffy dog and hoists him up in his arms. You try to force yourself to stop noticing the way his biceps flex, the fact that the muscles of his arms are nearly bigger than your head.

“Thanks again,” he says with a final grateful smile, and your only response is to swallow hard and stand there like an idiot as he turns and carries his spoiled dog back home.

When you arrive for your interview, you’re delighted to discover that Indigo Coffee is nothing like your last job. It’s warm and bright, with large picture windows that flood the space in sunlight, and there’s a cozy personal touch to it, the likes of which you’d certainly never see in your former corporate shell of a workplace. The sitting area is dotted with live edge wood tables and mismatched chairs. There are an array of framed paintings on the walls that look handmade in a good way, simple yet bold brush-stroke lines in a deep blue color scheme. And, you realize as your eyes linger, the shop is absolutely overflowing with plants: in simple clay pots lined up along the windows, free-standing between tables, and tucked into bookshelves placed artfully throughout the space.

You step closer to inspect one as you wait on your interviewer and are pleased to see that it’s real, that they all are— no waxy fake leaves jammed into a thick block of cement, but real greenery sprouted in real dirt, deep brown soil gone soft from what must have been a recent watering. These are plants someone cares for, coaxed and kept alive by someone’s time and patience and love. The thought makes you smile a little despite yourself.

There’s still fucking Christmas music playing, but you figure that’s inescapable this time of year.

“Are you here for the interview?” someone asks over your shoulder. As you turn away from the plant, you wonder if you’re imagining that the voice in question sounds slightly familiar, and then you find yourself once again staring up at a fine-ass man with white-blonde hair and a sweet pair of dimples.

He’s clearly showered since your last encounter, and is now slightly more covered up in a pair of faded jeans and a gray-green flannel thrown over a black shirt emblazoned with bold white lettering: Protect Trans Kids.

“Oh.” Moni’s owner blinks back at you, and the shock on his face is so apparent that a giggle escapes your lips before you can stop it. “Uh, hi again.”

“Hi,” you echo, equally flustered, before realizing you failed to answer his initial question. “Oh, yeah. Yes. I am. The interview. I’m— that’s me.” So well-spoken, you mentally kick yourself.

One dimple deepens slightly as he extends a hand. “Kim Namjoon. Owner of Indigo Coffee. And the world’s least obedient dog, as you saw earlier.”

You offer your best handshake in return and a smile that you surprisingly don’t have to force as you give Namjoon your name. He gestures to a table in the corner, and you each pull back a chair to have a seat. You try to banish any potential horny thoughts from your brain, but shifting into interview mode proves difficult as he rests his large hands on the table in front of him, drumming idly along to the horribly cheery music.

You manage to tear your gaze away from Namjoon’s fingers when he speaks again. “If it’s cool with you, we can just chat a little? I’m not so good at conducting formal interviews. Too inauthentic.”

It’s like you can feel some of the tension release from your shoulders. “I— yeah. That sounds great.”

“Cool,” he nods, and you try to ignore the rush of heat up your neck at the intensity of his stare. Professional, be professional. “So I saw on your resume that it looks like your last few jobs were out of town. Did you just move here?”

“Moved back,” you say quickly. “Yeah. I grew up here, actually.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen a little in clear interest. “Really? What brings you back?”

You purse your lips as you consider how to phrase it. “My life… kind of fell apart. So. I moved in with my parents for a bit. Like a winner.” His dimples pop when he smiles at your joke, and you drop your gaze to the table. “Just trying to figure out what’s next, and find something seasonal in the meantime.”

“Well, we could certainly use the help,” Namjoon admits. When you chance a glance up, there’s a look on his face like he’s choosing his next words carefully. “I saw in your application that you were terminated from your last position.” He leans in, lowering his voice slightly as he continues. “I’m gonna be honest, I hate that we even ask that question. But can you tell me a bit about what happened?”

You keep your stare fixed on the wood grain in front of you as you try to stay calm. “Well, if I can be honest too...” Squeezing your eyes shut, you tell yourself to just say it. “I was fired for trying to unionize.”

“Oh.” Namjoon sounds surprised, but you can’t manage to look at him. “Really?” You nod slowly, biting down on your bottom lip. “That’s— fucking illegal.”

That makes your gaze snap back up to meet his. His brow is furrowed slightly, a muscle in his jaw pulled tight.

“Yeah,” you say belatedly. “Yeah, I know. They made up a bunch of fake excuses as to why I was fired, but I knew what it really was. It was because I wanted them to actually pay us what we were worth, and hire more workers so we weren’t being scheduled to death. And I was getting everyone else riled up too, and I guess it scared them.”

Namjoon sits back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Huh. Man. Well, I’m sorry that happened to you.”

It takes you a second to process what you’re hearing. Union has always been a scary word for any person in upper management you’ve previously encountered. You hadn’t expected this to be so… easy. For him to understand, or sympathize. “I— yeah. I am too.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Namjoon continues quickly, “I think it’s great, what you tried to do. I’m very pro-union.” He pauses for a moment, his face twisting slightly in thought. “I mean, admittedly, we don’t have one here. Granted, there are only five of us. I should probably ask, though, if they want one.”

You can’t quite hide your smile. “I’m gonna take a guess that you probably treat your employees pretty well as-is.”

“I try,” he says with a shake of his head. His eyes meet yours again. “So, here’s the deal. You have a ton of experience, and with holiday time off and a few people out sick, I’m super understaffed right now. You seem like you have a good head on your shoulders, and hopefully you feel like you can come to me if you have any issues, without fearing retaliation.”

You blink slowly, and he must be able to read the disbelief on your face. “What I’m saying is I’m offering you the seasonal position,” he clarifies. “Is that— do you, uh, accept?”

“Yes.” The word is chased by a dazed laugh, and Namjoon’s dimples resurface around a small smile.

“Cool. I told you I’m bad at interviews,” he huffs, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. You try to ignore the swell of his bicep, clearly visible even beneath his bulky flannel. “I know this is a lot to ask, but. Is there any chance you can start, like, right now? Because Jimin’s shift ends in…” He tilts a little, fishing his phone from the front pocket of his jeans, and his mouth drops open in surprise when he gets a glimpse at the time.

“Oh, shit,” Namjoon murmurs, and then he raises his voice to call across the mostly empty store. “Jimin-ah! I’m so sorry!”

You turn around, your gaze landing on the barista leaned up against the counter next to the register. His dyed-gray hair dusts over his eyes, which pull into crescent moons as he laughs. “It’s cool. I knew you were almost done. But I’m gonna clock out now, if she’s good?”

“Yeah,” you answer, turning back to Namjoon. “Yeah, I can start now.”

The two of you move behind the counter, and you sweep your hair up out of your face while Namjoon starts to go through a basic run-down of where everything is located. The overhead bell tinkles as Jimin shoulders the front door open, and he lifts a hand over his head in parting.

“See you after the holidays!”

“Alright,” Namjoon says as he waves to Jimin, a little breathless from having rambled on for the better part of several minutes. “That was a lot. Do you want to just start on register? I feel like that should be easy enough, and I can train you on everything as people come in, since it’s pretty dead right now.”

You shrug. “Works for me.”

Within half an hour, there’s a line out the door, and Namjoon has managed to spill espresso grounds all over his shoes for a second time.

“Ah, shit,” he groans, taking a step back. “Sorry. Been a minute since I’ve had to be back here.”

“It’s okay,” you try to reassure him, but you can see from the faces of the customers who have been waiting on their drinks for several minutes— including one who’s had hers remade three times, all of them incorrect— that it is very much not okay. You certainly lack the people skills to smooth over any of Namjoon’s mistakes, and you can feel a stress-induced eye twitch starting to flare up, brought on by Kelly Clarkson’s incessant yuletide belting.

You give your boss five more minutes, wherein he scalds his hand on the milk steamer, forgets about a cookie in the warmer until it’s burnt entirely black, and nearly turns the blender on with the lid off, before you finally intervene.

“Hey, Namjoon?” You do your best to keep your expression pleasant when he glances over at you, wiping at his brow with the back of his hand. “Maybe we should switch?”

“A-are you sure?” he stammers, apparently torn between wanting to be a good boss and a clear desire to just take the L. “I feel bad, this is literally your first shift.”

“I think I can handle it,” you reassure him, lowering your voice a little. “Let me take care of the drinks, and you can do your… endearing golden retriever thing. Keep the people entertained.”

Color blooms in the apples of his cheeks as his dimples make a brief appearance. “Oh, okay. Can do. Just let me know if you need help.”

You can’t imagine a universe where his clumsiness could in any way be considered helpful, but you keep that thought to yourself as you smile at him. At least he’s cute.

Things improve dramatically once your roles are reversed: as you expected, Namjoon is far more charismatic than he is coordinated, and he chats endlessly with the people waiting on their drinks, hardly pausing long enough to take a breath, while you scramble around trying to get your bearings in a new environment. The steady stream of customers doesn’t let up for the rest of the evening, until the last few finally trickle out of the store a few minutes after close, and you waste no time locking the door behind them with a sigh of relief.

You spin around, letting your back thud against the door for a moment as you watch Namjoon fight with a broom and dustpan in a futile attempt to get espresso dust out of the grout between the tiles. There’s a dull ache starting to thud in your skull, and it’s only deepened by the shrill opening notes of another fucking a cappella song.

“Namjoon?” you ask as you cross toward the counter, and his head instantly snaps up. “Do you think we could maybe turn off the Christmas music?”

“Oh, sure.” He’s already fumbling to grab his phone, and he taps a few buttons until the music suddenly switches, a soft voice starting to croon over an old school beat.

“Thanks,” you say, and you can’t help the pity smile that pulls up your mouth when he returns to his useless task. “I think the grout might be a lost cause, but I can go ahead and mop whenever you’re ready.”

He rights himself with a defeated sigh, nodding his head to the storage closet in the back. You follow his lead to retrieve the mop, then set about filling up the bucket with water and cleaning solution. Namjoon’s voice floats in from the front of the shop as he busies himself with his own closing tasks.

“Imagine smokin’ weed in the street without cops harassin’ / Imagine goin’ to court with no trial / Lifestyle cruisin’ blue Bahama waters / No welfare supporters, more conscious of the way we raise our daughters...”

You’re laughing a little as you roll the bucket out, starting at the door to work your way back. “Is this… Nas?”

He glances up, like he’s just remembered other people exist in the world. “Yeah, sorry. I can turn it off.”

“No, no,” you say quickly when he starts to reach for his phone again. “This is good. Much better than Pentatonix. I’m just… you really know every word.”

Namjoon shrugs, clearly embarrassed. “He’s my favorite.”

The revelation surprises you, and you pause to think as you pull the mop back and forth over the tile floor. It didn’t even occur to you that Namjoon would have a favorite kind of music, apart from the soft elevator muzak you imagine must play on a steady loop in his brain, given the way he fumbles through life.

“I actually wanted to be a rapper,” his voice comes back, and you look up again, your interest piqued. “When I was younger. But you know. Life had other plans.”

“Ah yes, the rapper to coffee shop owner pipeline,” you muse, and he barks a laugh that you wish you didn’t find so hot. Shaking your head, you force yourself to look back down at the espresso-studded tile, doing your best to shove your attraction aside and not think about it. He’s your boss, dumbass.

Still, it’s hard to ignore, particularly as he continues to rap along to each song that comes on, his voice deeper and huskier than you’ve heard it thus far in casual conversation. He doesn’t miss a word, and you can’t deny that it’s impressive. And sexy. Fuck.

Once the floor has been successfully mopped and everything else is put back together, you hop up onto the counter to wait for the tile to dry, and your gaze lingers over Namjoon’s large hands as he cashes out the register. He flips through the bills in time to the music, still humming under his breath as he goes, and you do your best to hold in your laugh when he inevitably loses count and has to start over from the beginning. Thankfully the second attempt sticks, and he smiles proudly to himself as he zips everything up into the deposit bag.

“First shift down,” he announces, as if you might have forgotten, and then his eyes find yours and you swear your breath gets stuck in your throat. “How do you feel?”

It only occurs to you now how close he’s standing to you, and with the way your legs are casually dangling over the edge of the counter, it wouldn’t take much for him to step between them. And god, he’s so damn tall, you’re practically eye-to-eye.

“Uh,” you manage, your mouth suddenly gone dry. “Good. I feel good.”

“That’s good,” he answers, his voice dipping into that throaty tone again. You find yourself wondering absentmindedly if maybe Namjoon has a customer service voice, too, and then for the briefest flash of a moment, his gaze flits from your eyes to your lips and back again. It’s so quick, you can’t be sure it even really happened.

You tell yourself it’s just your exhausted post-shift brain seeing things that aren’t there, wanting this fine-ass man to be into you, too.

A sudden bang on the front door makes you flinch so hard, you come dangerously close to kneeing Namjoon in the crotch. He takes a large step back as you whip around to look over your shoulder, only to see a kid’s face pressed to the glass, framed by two small hands. You’ve never been great at telling the age of children on sight, but this one looks like… maybe a middle schooler?

“Whose fucking kid is that?” you say automatically, blinking, dumbfounded. Namjoon’s laugh is a low rumble behind you.

“That would be mine.”

It takes several days for the shock to wear off. Your boss has a kid. Kim “could’ve burnt the building down with a single cookie” Namjoon is at least partially responsible for keeping another human being alive. Which means you have a crush… on a father.

A father who also happens to be your boss.

You try not to think about any of it.

There’d been brief introductions when you left the shop that first night, but all you’d really managed to glean was the kid’s name, Sol, and their pronouns. As someone who is historically terrible with children, you’d excused yourself the minute Namjoon locked the front door, after what felt like an eternity spent watching him pat each of his pockets twice before he finally managed to find his keys.

“I hope it wasn’t weird,” your boss says out of nowhere in the middle of your next shift, during a much-needed moment of peace after the morning rush. “For you to meet Sol like that. It’s just been hard, since their mom, uh…”

Namjoon trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished. You glance up, eyes widening as you put the pieces together.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “I’m so sorry.”

His gaze meets yours, and it’s like you can see the wheels in his head turning before he catches up. “No, no,” he says quickly, and then he starts to laugh. “Wow, I really did not start that sentence well. She’s not dead. She just got married, and she’s on her honeymoon for most of December. The logistics have been hard, is what I meant.”

An embarrassed heat creeps up your neck, and your elbows thud against the countertop as you press your face into your hands, attempting to muffle your own laughter. “In my defense,” you groan, “you really made it sound like you had a dead wife.”

“Not dead! She’s fine!” Namjoon’s dimples are as prominent as you’ve ever seen them when you peek up at him from your full-body cringe. “Very much alive, very much not my wife.” The muscles in his arms flex as he crosses them over his chest, leaning up against the counter next to the register. “Never was, actually.”

“Really?” you answer automatically, your damned curiosity getting the better of you.

He nods, his voice a little more serious when he continues, rambling on in the way that you’ve already started to suspect is his default setting, talking as if to fill empty space. “We were seventeen when we got pregnant. I knew we were young then, but I don’t think I really realized. Now that I’m almost thirty, I know: seventeen is fucking young.”

The line of his jaw tightens, thoughtful, as his gaze sweeps over the floor. “I thought I wanted to marry her, or at least felt obligated to. Like it was the right thing to do, but. We didn’t have any money, and then it all got so hectic after Sol was born. Didn’t even take a year for us to realize it wasn’t gonna work, not for us.”

You blink, trying to take in all the new information. “That sounds really hard.”

“It was,” Namjoon admits. “But we were both on the same page about it. That no matter what, Sol had to come first.” He glances up with a shrug. “It’s all good now. She’s a great co-parent, and her new husband is really good for her. And… well, I have Indigo.”

The tinkling of the bell at the front door snaps you out of a daze, makes you realize you’ve been staring at him, dumbfounded. You do your best to shoot Namjoon a soft smile, and to ignore the pang in your chest as he turns to greet the customer that’s just wandered in, already starting to babble on about the weather.

You find yourself more grateful for Namjoon’s presence with each passing shift, in a way that you try to convince yourself is thoroughly platonic. Between fairly steady work and his very steady chatter, your time spent in the warm, sunny space of Indigo turns out to be a good distraction from your own miserable excuse for a life. The repetitive motions of making drink after drink are oddly comforting, and you have to admit, Namjoon really is good with the customers.

“Peppermint mocha to go.”

You do your best to follow up the sentence with a polite smile as you set a drink down for the customer who has done nothing but scowl at you the whole time you were making it. The silent prayer you’ve sent out to the universe that he’ll take whatever personal problem he has elsewhere and leave you alone has clearly gone unanswered.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he snaps, and you can feel your shoulders creep up towards your ears in anticipation of nothing good. Here we fucking go.

You blink twice, trying to keep your service persona engaged. “I’m sorry, is that not what you ordered?” It is, you know it is, you heard him say it.

“No, that’s mine,” the man quickly responds, reaching out to snatch the cup in a motion that makes you flinch. “But do you hear this fucking song?”

The honest answer is no: at this point the ever-present Christmas music might as well be white noise, so you have to make a conscious effort to tune back in and listen. It’s a few seconds, and then you pick up on the melody. “…Last Christmas?”

“Uh, yeah,” he continues, explaining like you’re stupid. “The original. Last Christmas by Wham!” When it’s clear you still aren’t putting the pieces together, he scoffs in pure frustration. “You just made me lose Whamageddon! I’ve won every year for the last five years, I can’t believe you would even put this on your fucking playlist!”

Your face pulls into an incredulous grimace before you can think to control it. “Uh, I’m sorry, but I didn’t make the—”

He cuts you off. “First off, I don’t need the fucking attitude. And surely you’re at least capable of checking what songs are on there, right? That’s not too advanced for you to handle?”

You didn’t even hear Namjoon walk up from the back office, but he’s suddenly stepping in front of you, and you’re more than glad to move back and let him handle this dude before you end up in jail. “Woah, woah, alright,” Namjoon interjects, his voice loud enough to carry. “What’s going on?”

The man beats you to it. “I’m trying to file a legitimate complaint and she’s rolling her fucking eyes and getting an attitude with me!”

“It’s the song,” you explain briefly, trying to keep everything about your expression neutral. “He’s mad that we’re… playing Wham.”

Namjoon’s face twists in an expression that you would find funny if you weren’t so fucking livid, one that you’re pretty sure is the mirror image of your own reaction minutes earlier. “The song? Seriously?”

You can see the guy scrambling, clearly starting to get embarrassed at his own dramatics. “Alright, I don’t have time for this. I guess I just need to take my business elsewhere, because this is ridiculous. What ever happened to the customer is always right?”

Namjoon goes silent for a minute, and you try to ignore the way the look on his face makes your pulse quicken, thudding brightly in the hollow of your neck. His voice is deadly serious when he speaks again. “I appreciate that you’re upset, but if you’re going to look my employee in the face, after she just performed a service for you, and disrespect her like that? Over a fucking song? Nah, I’m not gonna tolerate it. Maybe the next time you want someone to make you a toothpaste drink, you should take your ass to Starbucks.”

It takes every ounce of strength you have to keep the reaction off your face until the asshole has stormed out the front door, nasty drink in hand. As the bell finally tinkles to signal his departure, you collapse forward, just barely catching yourself on the counter so you don’t crumple straight down to the floor.

“Oh my god.” Your laugh of disbelief comes out more like a groan, at the ridiculous complaint and your boss’ insanely attractive comeback alike. “I fucking hate this time of year.”

“Hey.” The word is punctuated by Namjoon’s shoulder bumping into yours, and you look back up at him, still laughing a little at your own misery. His eyes search yours, sincere. “Assholes are assholes no matter what season it is. I’m sure that guy finds plenty of things to complain about the other eleven months of the year, too. Don’t let him ruin it for you.”

You can’t help rolling your eyes, if only because you can do it freely now, without a man standing over you and yelling about your ‘bad attitude’. “I guess,” you huff. “And thank you.”

Namjoon shakes his head, like it’s nothing. “Chin up, okay?”

The two of you breeze through closing that night, familiar enough to fall into a steady routine now. You’re wiping everything down behind the counter and humming along to Tupac when Namjoon’s voice drags you back out of your thoughts in a way you’ve already grown accustomed to.

“You know…”

You glance up, only to realize that he’s started to flip chairs on top of tables to clear the floor, and is grabbing them two at a time, one in each hand. The image makes you a little dizzy, and you tell yourself to focus on his words, not his biceps.

“I think we make a pretty good team,” he concludes.

“Yeah,” you breathe, trying to keep your composure at the unexpected compliment. “I was thinking the same thing. And thanks again for, you know. Handling that guy.”

Namjoon shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Hey, you’re doing me a favor, taking this seasonal job. I’m not about to let anyone fuck with you.”

You bite down on a smile as you head towards the back to grab the mop, and then you hear a loud bang on the front door— it’s another sound you’ve gotten used to in your brief time at Indigo. There’s the click of the deadbolt, chased by the tinkling overhead bell and Namjoon’s chiding voice. “Homie, if you break my door I’m gonna make you get a job to pay me back for it.”

“You think I don’t know about child labor laws?” you hear Sol retort, clearly not intimidated, and the attitude in their voice has you biting back a laugh.

Wheeling the mop bucket out of the storage closet, you glance up to see Namjoon jut his chin toward the large front window, indicating Sol to take a seat on the ledge. “Feet off the floor, she’s tryna clean.”

Sol complies, plopping down in the window with their eyes glued to their phone as Namjoon disappears back toward the office to grab his things. You watch as Sol pulls their knees into their chest so their chunky black boots clear the tile, and you can’t help noticing that said boots are adorned with oversized silver bat-shaped buckles, reflecting the amber streetlight gleam that leaks through the window.

“I like your boots,” you say, more to yourself than Sol, half expecting them to be so engrossed in TikTok that they don’t even hear you.

But to your surprise, Sol looks up.

“Thanks,” they say, glancing at their feet. “I just got them. I’m in my post-hardcore era right now.”

The statement is delivered without a trace of irony, and you do your best to hold in another amused giggle as you respond. “Wow, you are… so much cooler than I was when I was your age.”

Sol seems to consider this for a moment, then shrugs. “I mean, you didn’t have the internet back then, right?”

The question hits you like a train, and you have to pause and press a hand over your heart at the impact. “Okay, ouch, I’m not that old.” They grimace apologetically, and you lean up against the mop handle in thought. “But the internet definitely wasn’t like it is now. The only social media that really existed was Myspace, and my parents wouldn’t let me make one. I mostly just used the internet to, like, play RuneScape.”

“Oh shit,” Sol remarks, sounding remarkably like Namjoon in the process. “You played old school?!”

It’s like you can feel your bones crumbling to dust inside your body, and you wince as you resume dragging the mop over the tile. “Hey, back then it was the only kind of RuneScape we had. But yes, you can consider me a… founding father of that game.”

“That’s cool!” they exclaim, sounding so genuine it makes your head spin. When did RuneScape become cool again? “My friends and I play old school all the time. It’s the best, for real.”

You shake your head in disbelief as you continue to mop, and a long pause settles between you, with Sol’s interest clearly returning to their phone.

Fuck, you think to yourself, what else do kids even talk about? Marvel movies? It’s like your mind has gone totally blank, unable to conjure up a single topic of conversation, and you practically huff out an audible sigh of relief when their voice breaks the silence again.

“I think my dad has been happier since you started working here.”

The mop nearly slips out of your hands entirely, and you glance up, eyes wide. “I— really?”

Sol nods, playing absentmindedly with the strings of their black hoodie, then bringing the end of one up to their mouth to gently chew on. “It’s a theory I have. A game theory. I plan to ask additional follow-up questions tonight.”

At this, you can’t help but laugh. “Well, I’m sure your investigation will be very thorough.”

There’s a flash of a dimple in Sol’s cheek, like the mirror image of their dad. “I can tell you what he says, if you want.”

You wonder how telling your own smile is. “I mean… I can’t say I’m not curious.” You’re distantly aware of the sound of the office door closing, chased by Joon whistling to himself, and you lower your voice conspiratorially as you drop the mop back into the bucket. “I look forward to hearing what you find out.”

Monday morning, when you wake up to the omnipresent smize of Nick Jonas, you can’t help smiling back.

You made it through your first week of work, and it wasn’t even that torturous. And best of all, Namjoon reminded you the night before that Indigo is closed on Mondays, which gives you an entire day to spend as you please. A real day off, which was truly unheard of at your last job, where you’d spend your non-scheduled days still anticipating an incoming emergency text asking you to cover a shift last-minute. More often than not, you’d end up working after all.

“But not today,” you announce to Nick.

A grand plan has already started to form in your head, one that involves a party size bag of Hot Cheetos and all eight episodes of The Fabulous, and yet. There’s a lingering urge at the back of your brain that you can’t quite ignore. With all the day-off energy you can muster, you drag yourself out of bed and tug on a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt, then shuffle into the bathroom to at least make yourself halfway decent.

You’re just going for a quick walk around the block to get some fresh air, you tell yourself. That’s all. Certainly no other reason.

It’s only a few minutes after you step out your front door that a fluffy white blur nearly collides with your shins, and when you stoop down to lift Moni into your arms, you once again can’t keep the smile off your face. Huh, who could’ve seen this coming?

But when you glance up, there’s no hot buff man jogging up the sidewalk after his dog. In fact, you realize as you look back at the ball of fluff in your arms, he isn’t wearing a leash or harness at all, just another cute sweater.

“Are you even supposed to be out here?” you ask Moni. His only answer is to drag his tongue up the side of your face.

You shift him a little in your arms so you can fumble for the tag attached to his collar, and thankfully, there’s an address listed. It takes you a second to get your bearings in the neighborhood, having not lived here for close to a decade, but it eventually comes back to you where the listed street is, and you start to walk. Moni is already blinking sleepily in your arms, clearly enjoying his preferred mode of transportation.

A laugh bubbles up in your chest as you approach the house in question— even if you hadn’t had Moni’s tag to guide you, finding his home would’ve been easy enough as soon as you passed this street, because you can hear old school hip-hop bumping through a speaker despite still being several houses down the block. You suppose Namjoon can get away with it during the day, when all the neighborhood kids are still in school.

As you make your way up the driveway, you realize the music is actually coming from behind the house, and when you follow the path that leads around back, you spot the culprit: a simple wooden-slat fence surrounds the yard, and the gate has been left wide open.

Before you can even make it over the threshold, a familiar voice reaches your ears, sounding much closer than the music. “Ah, shit.”

Namjoon comes barreling through the open gate so fast he practically runs you over, and Moni yaps, like he’s annoyed at being jostled as you quickly try to stumble out of his owner’s path.

“Oh. Uh, hi.”

You wonder if you’ll ever be able to take in how shock looks on Namjoon’s features without giggling a little. Today is certainly not that day. It’s just so endearing, the way his eyes widen and his mouth pulls into a perfect o-shape.

“Hi,” you breathe out around your laughter, trying to ignore the heat that flushes into your face when his dimples appear in return. “I think I found something that belongs to you.”

With a wave of his hand and several profuse thank yous, you follow Namjoon back through the gate, and wait until he firmly shuts it behind you before letting Moni down to trot off across the yard. It’s only now that you take Namjoon in properly: he’s in a gray hoodie under a pair of denim overalls, both of which are splattered artfully with paint in a variety of colors.

“I was just in my studio,” he explains, tipping his head toward the small shed in the yard, which you quickly realize is also the source of the music that led you here. “Doin’ some art. Do you, uh… wanna see?”

“Yeah, okay,” you answer with a nod.

“Fair warning, I’m really bad at it,” he calls over his shoulder as he leads you in the open studio door, raising his voice to be heard over the music. He reaches for his phone, propped up in the windowsill, to turn the volume down a few notches.

There’s an easel up against the far wall holding what must be his current project, a half-finished scene that you realize upon closer inspection is thousands of tiny dots of color, painstakingly blotted onto the canvas to form a mountain landscape at a distance. A few more pieces that he’s already completed have been leaned up against another wall to dry, one featuring an abstract array of featherlight brushstrokes, and another where the paint’s been globbed on in thick layers.

Namjoon is talking a mile a minute as you inspect the canvases. “I thought maybe I’d do cyanotypes today, but it’s not sunny enough, and I’ve made that mistake before. I’m really into texture right now, so I’m trying out some different techniques with paint. I want to get better at pointillism, but it’s a lot harder than you’d think it would be. ‘Cause it’s just dots, right? But you have to be able to see the forest for the trees, too.”

“These are amazing,” you finally manage to murmur, and to your surprise, the compliment actually renders him silent. When you turn back over your shoulder to look at him, he’s glancing down, almost like he’s embarrassed.

“Thanks. But I just do it for fun. ‘Cause I love art.”

“I can tell,” you say, and when he looks up, you offer him a smile you hope reads as encouraging. “Did you make the art at work, too?”

He nods, still sheepish, and that answer also surprises you. You recall thinking on your first day that the paintings hung on the walls looked handmade, but it never crossed your mind that they might have been made by Namjoon’s hands. Maybe because you’ve grown so accustomed to seeing him drop and break things, you haven’t ever considered him as also capable of… creation.

And yet, here he is. Proving you wrong.

“Sorry,” Namjoon’s voice makes you refocus on him, and your brow furrows in confusion at the unexpected apology. “This is literally your one day away from me and here I am, taking up your time. Thanks again for bringing Moni back.”

“It’s okay.” You shrug. “Don’t have much going on today, honestly. I never really know what to do with myself when I’m not working. Which I’m aware is very sad.”

“Well, uh,” Namjoon starts, and when he takes a single step closer, you swear you feel something flutter in your stomach— or maybe lower. “Sol’s got a half-day today, since it’s the last day before break, so I’m picking them up in a bit. And we were gonna go on a hike, probably take Moni too. You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like?”

Your eyes widen at the invitation. “Oh. That sounds great. I mean, if you’re sure I wouldn’t be intruding?”

He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth pulling up just so. “Nah. I actually think Sol really likes you. At least, they wouldn’t stop asking questions about you at dinner last night.”

“Is that right?” You do your best to keep your expression neutral.

Namjoon drives far enough north that there’s actually snow on the ground when you climb out of his front seat. You shove your hands into the pockets of your jacket as you follow him across the gravel parking lot towards the trailhead, a few paces behind Sol and Moni.

Sol shoots an expression of pure mischief at you over their shoulder, and then immediately starts to sprint up the marked path through the woods, Moni easily keeping up.

“Bye, nerds!” you hear them call before they disappear between the trees.

“Stay on the trail!” Namjoon shouts back, sounding as dad-like as you’ve ever heard him, and you can’t help but laugh. The two of you quicken your steps slightly to not fall too far behind, tracking the set of boot and paw-prints they’ve left to mark their trail.

For a moment, it’s silent between you, save the crunching of snow underfoot. It’s nice, being out in nature like this, time spent with Namjoon where you aren’t suffering through Christmas music and ungrateful customers. Where you can just… breathe. It makes you feel a little less sorry for yourself, a little less fixated on your own miserable life.

You glance over at him as that strange seasonal melancholy starts to settle into your bones again. “Are the holidays… better? With a kid?”

Namjoon makes a face, like he’s surprised by the question. “I mean, they’re definitely different. Then again, it’s been a long time since I did the holidays without a kid— not since I was a kid myself. What do you mean by better?”

Self-consciousness washes over you, your gaze drifting down to the path beneath your feet. “I don’t know, there’s just… I can’t shake this weird feeling now that I’m back home. This time of year used to be so exciting for me when I was Sol’s age. Everything felt special. Magical. But now I’m back here, and nothing’s really changed, except me. But I just keep feeling like the magic is gone. It’s… sad.”

He nods, taking a moment before he responds, and he’s chuckling softly to himself when he finally does. “You know, it’s kinda funny. When Sol was younger I actually felt a lot of stress this time of year. I couldn’t really enjoy it, because I was too busy trying to make sure that they had the best holiday I could possibly give them. That they didn’t feel like they were getting any less, since, you know. Their mom and I aren’t together. It’s funny that you bring up the magic, because I put a lot of pressure on myself to make that magic happen. But now that they’re a little older, I don’t know, it’s different.”

“Different how?” you prompt.

A dimple deepens as he hesitates. “It’s gonna sound corny. But really, I realized that the holidays aren’t about the gifts, or the decorations, or every little thing going perfect. You can make yourself sick over that shit, and I did, but kids don’t really care about it.” He pauses, and for a second you think that might be it, but then he keeps going, eyes fixed on the towering pine trees ahead of you.

“The year I opened Indigo, I had sank so much fucking money into it that I was broke. Broke broke. I couldn’t afford a single gift, a tree, not even a turkey. Sol and I sat on the floor of my shitty apartment and ate Chapagetti and watched Friends. And I felt like the biggest fucking failure imaginable. And then you know what happened?”

“What?”

“Sol turned to me, and they said, ‘This is the best Christmas ever, because we get to hang out, just the two of us.’” He blinks a few times, like he’s trying to ward off tears, and his voice comes back slightly less steady than before. “I still don’t know if they said that because they really meant it, or if they could just tell that I needed to hear it. But either way, I thought to myself: how fucking lucky am I, to have such a great kid? Like what did I ever do to deserve them? I still feel that way.”

Namjoon shrugs, as if to shake off the emotion. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s not helpful to you, but. I just see it differently now. It’s not about the what, or the how. It’s about the who. Spending this time of year with the people you care about, and making sure they know you do. That’s the real magic.”

You realize the trail has carried you up the sloping hillside, and is now flattening out at the edge of a clearing, where you can see Moni chasing Sol through the snow, can hear their high-pitched laughter ringing out in the wide-open air.

When you turn back to Namjoon, he’s already looking at you.

“I’m sorry you don’t feel the magic right now. I didn’t either, for a long time. But it does come back, I believe that. It’ll come back for you, too.”

You blink up at him, overwhelmed by his willingness to be so honest, and by the wisdom of his words. “I— thank you,” you finally manage to say.

Namjoon doesn’t answer, just glances up to where Sol and Moni are still playing, and your gaze follows his out over the snow-covered field. Sol is dusting off a sizable stick, and they call out for Moni to fetch before launching it into a dramatic arc, high up in the air.

Moni watches it go, entirely disinterested, then settles onto his haunches in the snow with a yawn.

“You’re so bad at being a dog!” Sol shouts, and that’s enough to make you and Namjoon both dissolve into laughter. They look up at the sound, hands-on-hips, before yelling again, this time in your direction. “My dad said he has a crush on you!”

Your jaw drops open, and Namjoon’s eyes are wide as you’ve ever seen them when you look up at him.

“Damn, dude, you said you were gonna be chill about it!” he exclaims, and you press a hand to your mouth as a fresh wave of giggles overtakes you. Given how long Namjoon’s legs are, it only takes him a few strides to catch up to Sol. You stay a tentative distance behind him, but still close enough to be able to make out their conversation.

“Uncle Hobi says you need to be bolder with women,” Sol chides, matter-of-fact.

“Uncle Hobi says a lot of shit,” Namjoon mutters under his breath.

“He painted my nails,” Sol raises their voice, clearly talking more to you than to their dad, and holds up a hand for you to see, waggling their fingers proudly.

“They look great,” you call out in response.

Namjoon turns back to you as you step in closer, then juts his chin to a bench at the other side of the clearing. “Sit with me for a sec?”

With a nod, you follow him over, and he wipes the metal surface free of snow with his sleeve before gesturing for you to have a seat. For a moment, the two of you sit silently and watch Sol, who is already busying themself with building a snowperson while Moni slow-blinks encouragingly from a distance.

Namjoon’s words chase a heavy sigh. “I’m gonna be real with you, despite the fact that my child just stole my thunder. I like you a lot.”

Your heart swells in your chest, threatening to burst. “I-I like you too,” you stammer back immediately. “Have definitely been harboring my own crush… basically since I started working at Indigo.”

When you turn to look at him, it surprises you a little that he isn’t smiling. You can see a muscle working in his jaw, like he’s nervous.

“That’s the thing,” he finally relents. “Work. I don’t— I hadn’t really planned to tell you how I was feeling, or act on it. Because I’m your boss, and that means, you know. There’s a power dynamic there. And it would be… unethical of me to blur the lines like that, by getting involved with my employee. I wanted you to come out with us today because it was a chance for you and I to be equals, outside of work, but it’s not like that dynamic just goes away, you know? And I feel a little guilty about it now. Because I really like being around you so much, but I just. We can’t. It wouldn’t be right. Not while you’re working for me.”

You stare down at the snow under your boots as you take in his words, and you can’t help it. Try as you might to sit there and take his worries seriously, laughter flutters out of you before you can hold it in.

“What?” Namjoon asks, and you shake your head, trying to compose yourself.

“I really, really appreciate that you gave it so much thought,” you say, willing your voice to stay even. “I mean it.”

“It’s weighed really heavy on me, if I’m honest,” he says solemnly, and you glance over to see him staring into the middle distance, like he’s deep in contemplation.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching out to where his hand rests on the bench between you and covering it with your own.

“Namjoon?” you ask softly, and it seems to snap him out of his trance enough to look back at you.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” you preface. “But if I have to choose between you and my stupid seasonal coffee shop job?” The smile starts to flicker over your face again. “Then I quit. I quit right now.”

“Oh thank god,” Namjoon breathes, and you can only make a soft noise of surprise when all at once, he takes your face in his hands and kisses you. You need a split second for the shock to wear off, and then you’re moving your mouth against his, one hand fisting tight in the fabric of his jacket. His lips are full and warm, and it feels like far too soon that he’s pulling back again, his cheeks flushed with color.

“Will you, uh—” he pauses, like he’s remembering how to form a sentence. “Will you still work tomorrow though? Jimin’s back after Christmas, but I really don’t think I can survive a shift on my own.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, still a little breathless from his kiss. “Yeah, I think you’d burn the place down.”

Unable to deny the claim, he laughs brightly as you untangle from each other, then gets to his feet before offering a hand to help you up. “We should head out, it’s gonna get dark soon.”

It’s true: across the wide clearing you can already see the sun threatening to sink back down between the trees, casting a golden-pink light that gleams off the snow and paints the world in warmth.

Sol leads the way back through the woods to the car, tugging Moni along by their leash, while you and Namjoon bring up the rear. You glance over at him a few times to catch him staring, and you scrape your teeth across your bottom lip, unable to keep the smile off your face, unable to stop yourself from mentally replaying the moment when he kissed you, over and over.

Just as you step under the shadow of a large tree, snow-covered branches stretching up toward the clear sky above you, Namjoon stops in the path. It’s so abrupt that you continue a few more paces before you even realize, and then you stop, too, glancing back towards him.

“Hey Sol,” Namjoon calls. “Think you and Moni can make it all the way back to the car in ten seconds?”

“I know what you’re doing,” comes Sol’s cheeky reply, but when Namjoon starts counting backwards from ten, you can hear the crunch of their boots taking off down the path.

“Eight, seven, six…” You watch as Namjoon cranes his neck until he deems Sol far enough out of sight, taking a step toward you as his counting trails off, and you find yourself pulled into him like a magnet. “Come here,” he murmurs, and then his hands are slipping up your waist and guiding you backwards until your back hits the trunk of the tree.

In true Namjoon fashion, he uses way more strength than is necessary for the task, and though your winter jacket cushions you from the impact, you’re smacked against the bark so hard that it knocks a dusting of snow off the branches above you, covering you both in flakes that stick to your hair and eyelashes. The sudden rush of cold makes you gasp into Namjoon’s mouth, but then he’s rolling his tongue over yours and you can’t think about anything else. A heavy pulse has started to thud between your legs at the heat of his breath in your mouth, the way his hips have you pinned to the tree, his body big enough to cover yours entirely.

“Joon,” you find the air to breathe as his lips trail hungrily down the slope of your neck. You rake a hand through his hair, white-blonde strands studded with snow, to try and pull his attention back, despite very much not wanting him to stop. “Joon, we should go. Before someone steals your kid.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs against your skin, and then his mouth is on yours again for one more kiss, like he can’t get enough. “Okay,” he finally grunts as he pulls away, sounding as begrudgingly responsible as you feel. Your head is still spinning; you want nothing more than to stay here and let him kiss you dizzy.

“Let’s go.”

He takes a step back so you can right yourself, reaching out to dust some snow off your jacket, and then the two of you resume walking up the path, sharing a breathless laugh like confidantes. You assume it’s just his standard clumsiness when Namjoon’s hand knocks into yours, but then his fingers are twining through yours purposefully, until you’re pressed palm to palm.

The rush of heat that blooms in your chest at his touch keeps you warm the rest of the way to the car.

Your last shift at Indigo somehow manages to feel exactly like every shift that’s come before it and completely new at the same time.

The work is the same, the steady stream of customers unchanged, the Christmas music still an aggravating soundtrack. But you no longer feel like you have to ignore the butterflies that flutter in your stomach when Namjoon asks you a question, or meets your gaze across the shop.

The only urges you have to suppress are indecent ones, made worse by Namjoon seemingly taking advantage of every opportunity to touch you: hip-checking you when you’re both standing at the front counter, pressing a hand to the small of your back whenever he has to squeeze behind you, leaning in a little closer than necessary to be heard over the noise of the milk steamer. It’s enough to make your breath hitch each time, and you can’t help but wonder if he feels the same relief at not having to hold back anymore.

Towards the end of the night, it surprises you when the typically consistent flow of customers starts to slow down, until it seems to have ceased entirely. You still have two hours to go, but you find yourself staring at the walls, every table empty, having done all the side work you can think of to distract yourself from boredom.

The sound of the front door’s lock clicking shut makes you glance up, only to see Namjoon flipping the open sign over.

“What are you doing?” you ask, blinking dumbfounded, and he looks over his shoulder at you with a shrug.

“It’s Christmas Eve Eve, and I’m the owner, so. We’re closing early. Effective immediately.” The decree makes you laugh a little, and his dimples wink back. “Let’s finish cleaning, I wanna show you something.”

In record time, you find yourself standing outside the front door of Indigo as Namjoon locks up, only tonight your hands are kept warm by the hot chocolates he’d made for the two of you as you closed. He takes his cup back once his hands are free, and you try a tentative sip from yours, now cool enough to drink without burning your mouth. Given what you witnessed of his barista abilities on your first day, you brace yourself for the worst, but your eyes widen in pleasant surprise when the liquid hits your tongue.

“Being a dad means getting really good at a few specific things,” he says by way of explanation as he unlocks his car doors, and you smile as you slip into the passenger seat.

It occurs to you as Namjoon starts to drive that you don’t actually know where he’s taking you, but when you open your mouth to ask at the next red light, he leans over you to fumble open the glovebox and you lose your train of thought. He fishes inside for a few seconds before retrieving a CD case, then makes quick work of prying it open and sliding the disc into the slot on the dash. You attempt to hide your giggle behind the rim of your cup.

“No wonder you like ‘90s music so much. You’re still living there,” you say, nodding to his antiquated stereo, and he smirks as he turns up the volume.

“This is A Tribe Called Quest,” he remarks, quirking an eyebrow when he looks back at you. “You better show some respect.”

“Yes, sir,” you tease in response, and you don’t miss the color that flushes his cheeks.

The light turns green and he accelerates through the intersection, one hand on the steering wheel, the other reaching across the center console to grip playfully at your leg, a few inches above your knee. You can see his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, like he’s considering saying something, but when he finally opens his mouth, it’s just to rap along to the music.

It’s only a few songs later that he’s turning off the main road and following a barely-lit gravel path up to a large grassy parking lot, where he pulls into a space and kills the engine. You squint through the windshield, tucking your now-empty drink into the cupholder, but you can’t make out much except dusk and some vague lights over a hill in the distance.

“Was this crush thing just a ploy to murder me?” you quip, and Namjoon looks a little nervous when you glance over, like he took the question to heart. “I’m kidding,” you clarify quickly.

His voice comes out surprisingly soft. “This is one of my favorite things to do during the holidays. Thought it might help with, you know. The magic.”

Something cracks open inside you as you look back at him. “That’s… really sweet.”

“Ah,” he says, as if to dismiss the compliment. “You haven’t seen it yet. Maybe you’ll hate it. Come on.”

The two of you climb out of his car to start your trek to whatever he has in store, heading in the direction of the lights, and Namjoon’s hand slips into yours, like it’s already second nature. Easy and sweet. You grip tight to him, the night air colder now than it was when you left work, but then you finally crest over the hill, and the temperature is suddenly the furthest thing from your mind.

It takes you a moment to even understand what you’re looking at. The place is clearly some kind of arboretum, as the path ahead of you snakes through a perfectly manicured garden of various plants, but the only thing you can focus on are the lights. Every tree, bush, shrub, and other kind of greenery that lines the walkway has been intricately strung up with lights, each one boasting a different hue. The end result is nothing short of dazzling— a veritable rainbow of light and life and color, glittering diamond-bright against the deep-set night around you.

“Namjoon,” you breathe. “This is beautiful.”

There’s a dimple flickering at the corner of his mouth when you look up at him. “Thought you might like it.”

“I can’t believe I never knew this was here,” you remark, your eyes wide and blinking as you try to take it all in.

“Hey,” he answers with a shrug. “Maybe your hometown still has a few good surprises left in it.” You exhale a laugh as you lean into his side and he squeezes your joined hands; you can’t help feeling like you’ve already found the greatest surprise of them all.

After an hour spent wandering through the displays, each one more breathtaking than the last, Namjoon diverts you toward a small food stand. He comes away from the counter with a paper carton filled to the brim with long ropes of twisted, fried dough, warm enough to release steam into the air when you tear one apart to share, and dusted with cinnamon sugar that sticks to your fingertips.

The two of you take a few steps back down the path until you’re under an archway of glowing golden lights, then eventually come to a standstill, too hungry to do anything except devour your food.

Namjoon speaks first, mid-chew. “Can I ask you a question?”

“What’s up?” you answer as you reach for another piece.

He swallows, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth before he continues. “At your interview, you said your life fell apart. What happened?”

“Oh.” You smirk as you rip the braided dough in two, then in two again, before popping it into your mouth. “It seems a little silly now, but. I got fired from that last job, like I told you. And the same day, my roommate pretty much kicked me out of the apartment, because he wanted his boyfriend to move in. He was also my best friend, so. It stung a little. A lot. Moving back in with your parents at this age is humbling, to say the least. Feels a lot like starting over.”

Namjoon hums, like he understands. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“Eh,” you respond noncommittally. “I should probably be happy for him. The timing just… wasn’t amazing.”

“You know,” he murmurs, thoughtful. “I thought my life was over when my ex and I got pregnant. Not even eighteen and about to be a dad. I really felt like… I don’t know, like that was it for me.” You nod slowly, unable to even fathom what that must’ve been like.

“But, here I am. Still alive.” Namjoon flashes you a grin, and you find yourself smiling back. “Still figuring it out. I actually feel like I’ve learned a lot from watching Sol grow up. They’re like—” He shakes his head, as if at a momentary loss for words. “They’re like a different person every month, I swear. What they’re into, how they dress. Who they wanna be. It makes me feel, I don’t know. Like it’s okay. Like I can change too.” He shrugs. “That’s the thing about life. It’s long. And even when you feel like it’s ended… it keeps going anyway.”

His words wash over you, and you’re so in awe that you can’t help but laugh.

“Ah, sorry.” He grimaces, suddenly self-conscious. “I know that was corny.”

“No, no,” you interject, trying to keep your composure. “I just think you are like, literally the wisest person I’ve ever met.”

The lights glimmering overhead aren’t enough to hide the way Namjoon blushes at the compliment, and then he pauses, as if recalling something. “Didn’t I nearly run the blender with the lid off on your first day?”

You double-over at the memory, and he’s laughing now, too. “Okay, okay. Fair point.”

The thought keeps circling around in your brain as you dust cinnamon sugar from each other’s jackets and continue your way around the rest of the gardens, occasionally pausing to trade sticky-sweet kisses in the twinkling glow: you don’t want the night to end. You keep glancing over at Namjoon, wondering if he’s feeling the same way as he drives you back into town, the heat in his car on full blast, the CD player still underscoring your conversation.

“So, what do your Christmas plans look like?” he asks, eyes flitting briefly from the road to meet your gaze.

You fiddle with a button on your coat, wishing you had a less depressing answer. “I was just gonna spend it by myself. My parents already had a vacation in Hawaii planned, so I’m gonna do what I always do: hole up with booze and snacks and wait for it all to be over.”

He chuckles, tapping his fingertips absentmindedly against the steering wheel. “Well, I have about a hundred presents to wrap tomorrow night while Sol’s at their mom’s. Why don’t you come over and help? I can even provide the booze.” There’s a pause, and his voice comes back softer before you can respond. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

The corner of your mouth tugs up at his sincerity, the way he gently cares for you, has since day one. “Yeah, okay. I mean, you had me at free alcohol.”

Just like that, Namjoon is already turning back into the Indigo parking lot, where your car sits waiting for you. The two of you shrug off your seatbelts once he’s pulled into a space and parked, and he reaches to turn down the music before shifting in his seat to get a better look at you.

“So,” he starts, clearing his throat a little. “You are officially no longer my employee.”

“And you are no longer my boss,” you answer back, and a thrill buzzes in your chest at the statement.

“Which means,” he continues, doing his best to lean over the center console, “I can do this.” He barely finishes getting the words out before his mouth is on yours, your eyes fluttering closed, his kisses far less chaste than the ones you shared earlier. They’re open-mouthed and urgent this time, with Namjoon slipping his tongue into the heat of your mouth like he’s been waiting all night for it.

“Uh-huh,” you murmur between kisses, and then he dips his head lower, until his lips find the join of your neck and shoulder.

“And this,” he purrs before kissing you just as hungrily there, tongue-first. You can’t hold back the soft noise his mouth pulls out of you.

“Fuck,” you breathe as he sucks gently over the same spot, with just enough pressure to make you writhe in your seat. A shiver rolls up your spine when he hums against your skin, clearly pleased at your reaction.

“And, uh…” You slowly blink your eyes open when you feel the warmth of his breath dissipate, and he’s looking at you with his brow furrowed, as if attempting some difficult mental math. “Actually—” He reaches down for the lever to adjust his seat, and it drops all the way back with a graceless thud that makes a laugh flutter out of you. “Maybe you could take your jacket off and come over here?”

You don’t need him to ask you twice, and you’re moving quickly as you peel out of the thick material and scramble across the console to straddle him. You both groan a little when you duck down to press your mouth to his again, all of this suddenly feeling much more real now that you’re basically horizontal. His hands alight on your hips, tentative, like he isn’t quite sure what to do with them, and you smile against his lips.

“Touch me, Joon,” you instruct, and he does as he’s told.

His hands are warm as he slips them beneath the hem of your shirt, trailing over your skin until he reaches the band of your bra. When you hum encouragingly into his mouth, he keeps going, pushing the fabric up your chest so your tits spill free from their confinement. He cups one in each hand, and though you might’ve expected him to be clumsy or rough, given everything you’ve seen of him thus far, you’re surprised to instead find that he’s gentle, thumbs circling your nipples with just the right amount of pressure to tighten them into stiff peaks.

Unable to bite back your whimper at the heat that blossoms through you at his touch, at how much more of him you need, you pull away just enough to break your kiss, glancing up through the back window of his car to confirm the parking lot is still empty.

Namjoon groans low in his throat when you reach down to tug up the hem of your shirt, shifting a little on top of him to give him better access. He doesn’t hesitate, thumb still working at one nipple while he takes the other into his mouth, and your sigh of relief comes edged with a soft moan when he swirls his tongue over the bud of your breast.

“Shit,” you gasp. “Feels so fucking good.”

He pulls off with a wet pop to switch sides, and the slick heat of his mouth sends bolt after bolt of arousal through you until there’s a dull ache of need thudding between your legs. As you roll your hips in desperate search of friction, you can feel him beneath you, straining hard against the fabric of his jeans.

Namjoon pulls his mouth off your breast, letting out a hoarse laugh when you shift to drop your forehead against his collarbone with a groan, horny enough to practically be delirious. “I hate that I’m even saying this,” he rasps, “but I really can’t have sex in a car. I’m too—”

“Big?” you offer, and there’s a smile on his lips as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“I was going to say old.”

You can’t help giggling as you lean up to find his mouth with yours again. Namjoon kisses you a little while longer, lazily, his hands still kneading gently at your tits, until he finally tips his head back, heaving a sigh up to the roof of his car. “Okay, okay. You should go.” His tone is reluctant, like it’s the last thing he wants. “It’s late. And my jeans fucking hurt.”

There’s a self-satisfied smirk toying at your mouth as you sit up, tugging your bra and shirt back into place and not missing the bulge in Namjoon’s pants where your hips meet his. “I will take the blame for that one.”

He folds his hands behind his head, biceps and dimples on full display. “Damn straight.”

You lean down for one more kiss, letting it linger before you make your way back over the center console to retrieve your jacket. “Have a good night, Joon,” you murmur as you reach for the door handle, and when you glance back, his eyes are fixed on you, still heavy-lidded with lust.

“Get home safe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I have booze, as promised.” Namjoon’s voice echoes in from the kitchen as you kick off your boots and hang your coat up at his front door come Christmas Eve. The aroma hits your nose as your socked feet pad down the hall to follow him: the spice of cinnamon and clove, paired with a hint of citrus. It smells like the holidays, like home.

“Mulled wine?” you wager a guess, and he nods, turning away from the stove to retrieve two mugs from a cabinet.

“I halved the recipe, since it’s just us,” he explains, mouth pulling down at the corners as he starts to ladle out servings from the pot full of deep red liquid. “Still made a lot, though.”

Your eyes drift across the kitchen until they land on the two empty bottles of red sitting next to the sink, and that makes you pause for a moment to consider. “So the original recipe called for four bottles?”

Namjoon’s brow is furrowed when he glances up, and then he follows your gaze, and a look of delayed understanding washes over him. “Oh, fuck.”

Your elbows dig into the kitchen island as you press your hands to your mouth, as if to physically hold in your laughter. “Did you… halve everything in the recipe except the wine?”

His eyes drop closed as he nods, his answer a resigned sigh. “Yeah. Yes, I did.”

You can’t help yourself: all at once, you’re circling around to join Namjoon behind the stove, so you can take his face in your hands and pull his mouth down to yours. He makes a soft noise of surprise, but then his lips fall into rhythm, kissing you hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs. Even through the fabric of your shirt, his large hands are warm when they slide over the small of your back, and then they keep going, until you finally break the kiss with another laugh when he reaches his final target and outright grabs your ass.

“Not the reaction I anticipated,” Namjoon admits, paired with a teasing squeeze. “But I’ll take it.”

You look up at him through your lashes, pressing your palms flat to the firm plane of his chest. “A very wise friend of mine once told me that the holidays aren’t about every little thing going perfect. I thought maybe you needed a reminder.”

His dimples deepen as his eyes search yours, and his voice is lower in his throat when he responds. “I think that fool was just sayin’ words because a pretty girl asked him a question.”

Heat flushes your face as you smile back. “Well, they were very good words.” You drop your gaze to the pot on the stove. “Come on, I bet we can salvage this.”

Determined to save Christmas, you throw in another handful of spices, chased with a few glugs from a bottle of orange juice Namjoon heroically digs out of the back of the fridge. After a few more minutes of simmering, you take a tentative sip of the mixture to find it perfectly adequate.

“I guess we just have to drink twice as much now,” Namjoon quips, filling up two fresh mugs with the remedied wine. You raise an eyebrow back at him, as if to accept the challenge, while you tap your drinks together in a cheers.

By the time you realize that a double-batch of mulled wine and gift-wrapping don’t exactly go together, it’s already too late. The booze makes Namjoon’s big hands go even clumsier, the few presents he attempts an absolute disaster, and you can’t stop laughing long enough to be of any help. At one point he reaches up to cup your jaw for a kiss, but completely misjudges the distance, deftly knocking into his half-drunk mug and spilling the contents all over a tube of wrapping paper and the crotch of your jeans.

You dissolve into giggles until you can scarcely breathe, scooting your chair a few inches back from the table as he jumps up to grab something to soak up the mess. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” you manage to gasp when he returns, immediately focused on cleaning you up first. You wave him away as you get to your feet. “Seriously, it’s not that bad, it’s mostly the table.”

“Jesus,” Namjoon groans as he drops the kitchen towels in his hands onto the wooden surface, doing his best to soak up the puddle, though there’s no saving the ruined gift-wrap.

“It’s not a big deal,” you murmur as he turns back, once again examining the extent of the damage done to your clothes. A shiver rolls through you as his thumb brushes over the waistband of your jeans, and he grimaces a little.

“This is probably gonna stain.”

“I mean…” Your pulse starts to quicken as his fingertips linger where they are, and Namjoon’s gaze flits up to meet yours when you speak, clearly hearing a shift in your tone of voice. “I could just… take them off.”

A smile teases at the corner of your mouth when his eyes widen. “Yeah,” he breathes, then seems to self-correct. “I mean, uh. If-if that’s something you would feel comfortable doing.”

You’re already reaching to undo the button, and then Namjoon takes over to tug open the zipper and push the fabric down your legs, and your nipples tighten beneath your bra at the reminder of how gentle his large hands can be. His lips find yours again and you don’t hesitate to lick into his mouth, jostling slightly as you try to make out with him and kick your pants the rest of the way off at the same time. It’s graceless, but you manage to make it work, and then he pulls away from you to glance back down.

“It looks like a little got on your shirt, too.”

He’s right, you realize: there are faint purple marks splattered just above the hem of your long-sleeve, and you smirk as you look up at him.

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you did this on purpose,” you tease, and then in one swift move you pull your shirt over your head, letting it drop to the kitchen floor next to your discarded jeans.

Namjoon’s hands are instantly on your bare skin, trailing heat as they trace the curve from your hip to your waist, and your breath hitches as he ducks down to brush his lips over your collarbone. The low tone of his voice reverberates through you when he speaks against your skin. “I like to think I could’ve gotten you naked tonight even without being an accident-prone idiot.”

You run a hand along the line of his jaw, tipping his head up to seek a kiss, before leaning back to murmur, “I guess we’ll never know.”

He kisses you again, and the two of you stumble across the threshold into the living room, pausing along the way to peel off his sweater and then his jeans, laughing into each other’s mouths, just drunk enough to lack any semblance of coordination you might have otherwise had.

When you drop down to lay back on his sofa, you’re both stripped to your underwear, and you can feel the thick bulge of him, pressing firm-heavy heat into your thigh as he settles his hips between your spread legs.

Namjoon’s eyes roam over your body beneath him, and then he’s tugging the lace of your panties to the side to slip a finger into your drenched center, beckoning it up to rub you just right. Your mouth drops open as he traces slow circles against your front wall, and when he adds a second digit, you can’t help but whimper softly at the stretch. It thrums through you like your lingering red wine buzz, hot and thick and good enough to get lost in, your head dropping back on the couch cushions as your hips rock up into his touch.

“Goddamn,” Namjoon groans, and your eyes flutter open again to take him in, his gaze heavy-lidded as he watches his fingers disappear up into you, coaxing slick sounds out with each pump of his hand. “I had a whole plan,” he rasps. “To take my time. But, fuck, I really want to fuck you.”

“It’s okay, Joon,” you breathe, not sure how much longer you could stand the torturous feeling of his clothed cock grinding into your thigh, so close to where you want him. An ache throbs in your cunt, needy, plugged up with two fingers but still begging for more. “Just fuck me.”

Realization flashes over his face, and then he suddenly heaves a sigh, looking defeated. You have to bite back a noise at the loss as he withdraws his fingers. “I— there’s an obvious joke here, but. I don’t have any condoms. Or if I do, they’re definitely expired.”

It takes you a second to process the revelation, and then you reach up to pull him down to you, smiling when he hums surprise into your mouth at the unexpected response. Your lips linger on his, and then you tip your head to press a kiss to the slope of his neck, not quite able to maintain eye contact as you murmur, “I mean. I’m on the pill, and I’m clean. So.”

“Yeah?” he replies, and your nose bumps against his shoulder as you nod. “Me too. Well, I-I’m clean, I mean. I’m not on the pill.”

You can’t help the giggle that slips out as you look up at him. “Right, no, I get it.”

“Sorry,” Namjoon huffs a laugh in return, his face flushing a little. “I talk a lot, when I’m nervous.”

“I just thought it was an all-the-time thing,” you admit, and the color in his cheeks deepens.

“I’m just always nervous around you.”

Your mouth seeks his out for a kiss sweeter than the last, slower for his shy honesty and the hummingbird thrum of your heartbeat behind your ribs. The heat of his breath ghosts over your lips when you tip back to answer, “You don’t have to be.”

“So, you’re okay?” he asks, almost reverent with his question. “If we—if I don’t—”

“Please,” you insist, and it’s all the encouragement he needs.

With remarkably little fumbling, he drags the lace of your panties down your legs, letting you kick them the rest of the way off while he moves up to unclasp your bra. You slip the straps off your shoulders and drop it over the edge of the couch, then watch as he shifts to strip out of his boxers, freeing his cock with enough force that it smacks against his abdomen with a hefty thud.

You swallow hard as you take him in: long and thick, flushed dark. Big, and fuck, you want all of him; you can feel how drenched you already are between your legs at the thought of all that cock filling you up.

When you tear your gaze away to meet his, Namjoon is staring at you just as hungrily, and he brings a hand to pump himself a few times, to coat his shaft in the wetness that’s started to drool from the head of his dick.

“Come here,” he grunts, his voice rough-edged, and you waste no time straddling yourself over his hips.

Given his considerable size, you figured it might take you a second to adjust, but you want him so bad, the feeling of his cock stretching you open is all white-hot pleasure. Your fingertips dig into his shoulders as you slowly lower yourself down on him, inch by overwhelming inch, until your ass is flush with thighs.

Namjoon’s head drops back against the couch as you slowly grind your hips into him, his hands gripping at your waist to guide the movement. You can’t help the soft sound that flutters out of you: he just looks so good like this, white-blonde hair swept off his forehead, beads of sweat trailing down his temples and glistening at his collarbones, his parted lips full and kiss-bitten.

“Baby,” he groans as you start to move a little more intentionally. “Fuck, I’m not gonna last long. Tell me what to do.”

“Touch me,” you breathe, and you close a hand over one of his, guiding him down to your clit.

Just like the night before in his car, his touch is so gentle when he begins to trace circles into the sensitive nub with his thumb. You can feel the slow-hum build of an orgasm in your core, drawn up by the steady rub of his hand, and you lean back to allow him better access, bracing yourself on his thighs as you rock along his length.

A moan rips through you as the new angle drags the head of his dick just right against your front wall, and it’s good enough to make your eyes roll back. Chasing the feeling, you shove your hips down harder, driving his cock into that spot over and over until your thighs have started to tremble.

“That’s it,” Namjoon grunts encouragingly, his voice husky. “Use me, baby. Look so good when you bounce on my cock like that.”

The words set every last one of your nerve endings alight, and you dig your nails into his skin as your spine arches from the pleasure. His thumb is still working steadily at your clit, and the heavy stretch of his cock has you so wet, you can feel arousal starting to leak down your thighs. Your pussy clings to him like a vice, a throbbing-tight heat, taking him to the hilt every time.

“Oh my god, Joon,” you groan, “I’m gonna come.”

His touch doesn’t let up, and you can feel yourself teetering right on the precipice of it, only able to manage little gasps as you drop yourself down onto his cock again and again and again, with enough force that there’s an audible sound of your skin slapping against his.

Your legs are outright shaking from the effort now, from how close you are, and then Namjoon ducks his head, using his free hand to guide your tit into his mouth. The swirl of his tongue laved across the tight bud of your nipple is just what you need to push you over the edge.

With a moan that’s more like a sob, you drop forward against Namjoon’s chest, sinking all the way down to bury him in your pulsing cunt as you come. He continues to rub you through the waves of your orgasm, breathing ragged in your ear while your pussy gushes around him, until you grab his wrist with a soft whimper of overstimulation, and he relents.

Too gone to get any words out, all you can do is take his face in your hands and kiss him. He rolls his tongue over yours, decadent, as his palms slip down to cup your ass. You groan a little into his mouth when he begins to shift you, your cunt still fluttering-sensitive at every little motion, but he manages to maneuver you onto your back while still keeping himself sheathed in you.

His hands move to your thighs, encouraging your legs to hook over his hips, and his mouth trails kisses down the valley between your breasts before he breathes against your skin, “Can I keep going?”

“Please,” you murmur, and it’s chased with a moan when he starts to rock his hips into you. You feel so full, so swollen from your climax that it’s like your walls were molded to take him, the crown of his cock stroking deep-deep over the place that lights you up inside, shooting sparks of pleasure all the way down to your toes.

Namjoon’s breath stutters on a laugh. “Shit, I’m already close.”

You tilt up to brush your lips against his, humming encouragingly into his mouth, and then he pulls back again, one dimple teasing at the corner of his smile. “God, I— wanna hear you say it.”

Somehow, you know exactly what he means. “Come in me, Joon,” you beg, fucked so good that you’re shameless for it, and you gasp when he bottoms out in you with his next thrust. “Fill me up. Fuck me full of your cum, baby, please.”

It’s like the words send him into overdrive, and he practically growls as he starts to fuck his cock into you forcefully, hard enough to make your tits bounce. Each snap of his hips punches a heady groan from your lungs, and you reach up to drag your nails across the skin of his back as he chases his own end.

“Gonna fucking— give it to you,” he hisses, rolling his hips one, two, three more times, and then you feel his cock twitching, shoved in as deep as you can take him. He heaves a final strangled groan as he comes, rope after rope of his release pumping into you to paint your walls, until you can feel it beginning to spill back down your thighs.

You kiss through the comedown, inhaling shaky breaths into each other’s mouths, your bodies still fitted together like puzzle pieces, sweat starting to cool in the places where skin is pressed to skin. Namjoon finally moves first, giving a grunt of effort as he rolls off the couch, and you throw an arm over your face while the world slowly settles into focus around you.

When he returns, it’s with a towel in hand, and you can’t help smiling as he cleans you up, trailing soft kisses along your collarbone in tandem.

His voice is soft, too, when he finally speaks. “Will you stay here tonight?”

You prop yourself up on your forearms to look at him, and a little glimmer of something lights up in your chest that you can’t ignore. The first spark of an ember, just enough to reignite a flame you’d long since believed to be entirely extinguished. But now he’s shown you: it doesn’t have to be. You don’t have to be alone.

“Of course. We still have presents to wrap,” you say simply, and he huffs a laugh as he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Joon?” you murmur into the crook of his neck, unable to keep your voice entirely steady.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you breathe. “For the magic.”

#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x y/n #bts smut #bts x reader #a hyung holiday

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cherryrainn · 1 year

Note

hii can u pls write onceler (dom) smut w a fem reader????

YEAH I CAN!! i dunno what to do for the story since you didn't ask for one, so i'm just going to write something random, hope it's okay!

☽ ༚ ༵ ۰ ✧ ۰ ༵ ༚ ༵ ۰ ✧ ۰

— eternal embrace

onceler (greedler) x reader

the room was bathed in the warm, golden hues of the setting sun, creating a cozy and intimate atmosphere. you sat comfortably on the window sill, enjoying a peaceful moment in the presence of your boyfriend, onceler. as he sauntered into the room, a confident smirk played on his lips.

"well, well, well, look who we have here," onceler remarked, his voice laced with playful arrogance. he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his light-blue eyes fixated on you with a mischievous glint. "if it isn't my favorite partner in crime, sitting there, stealing the view."

he closed the door behind him, striding towards you with a self-assured swagger. leaning against the wall, he crossed his arms and cocked an eyebrow. "you know, y/n, i can't help but be so captivated by your presence. it's like a magnet, drawing me in with that irresistible charm of yours."

onceler took a deliberate step closer, his voice dropping to a seductive undertone. "you've got this way of turning heads wherever you go, babe. it's no wonder they say i'm the lucky one to have you by my side."

a smug smile played on his lips as he continued, his voice filled with unabashed confidence. "i've gotta admit, being with you, it's like having the key to the world. we make quite the pair, don't we?"

he reached out, lightly tracing a finger along your cheek. "but let's not keep it all business, babe. let's indulge in some well-deserved fun. tonight, we'll create our own adventure, just you and me. no rules, no limits."

he gave a wicked grin, eyes dancing with barely contained excitement. "we're gonna have us a time that'll last till dawn." as you stared at him, mouth agape, you felt your heart quicken. "so, whaddya say, love? wanna play nice and cozy with me?" you nodded slowly, still unable to speak.

onceler smirked, his hands sliding up your sides, cupping your breasts. "that's better. now, hold on tight, 'cause i'm about to show you a whole lotta love."

he pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you as he kissed you deeply, his tongue flicking out to tease your bottom lip. you felt yourself melt beneath his touch as he pressed you against the wall, kissing you feverishly. your legs parted, instinctively wanting more, and onceler obliged, pushing your skirt up over your hips.

onceler broke from your kiss, pulling back for air, his lips lingering on yours. "oh, you're a naughty little thing," he whispered.

you glanced down, noticing how his pants had slid further down, revealing the length of his thighs. as his fingers traced the curve of your spine, his gaze met yours, causing a shiver to run down your spine. you felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment at his blatant flirting, and didn't even bother trying to hide it.

"what would you like, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice low and husky. "tell me what you'd like, and i promise you, you'll get it."

you gulped, feeling flushed and breathless as you struggled to form the words.

"i...um..."

onceler leaned in again, his hands roaming freely across your body. "do you like the way i taste?" he breathed, sliding his hand between your thighs.

you shuddered, arching your back, moaning softly. "tell me if you like it."

onceler's fingers slipped inside you, gently stroking your wet flesh. you moaned, throwing your head back, shuddering as pleasure coursed through you.

onceler's grin widened, a devilish sparkle in his eye. "you like that, huh? i knew you were a dirty girl."

his fingers moved faster, rubbing you in a circular motion, making you whimper.

"you see, i could stop right now," he purred. "but i think you'd rather i didn't."

you gasped, gripping the fabric of his tailcoat in your fists. "yes," you breathed. onceler smiled, his fingers slowing their movements as he pulled away, gazing into your eyes. "good girl."

he slid his hands back to your waist, lifting you onto your tiptoes, his arms wrapping around your bare back. you laid your hands on his shoulders, watching as he began to unbutton his tie. as the buttons came undone, a flush crept up his neck, making his eyes glow with desire.

"oh, love," he breathed. he pulled his shirt off, tossing it aside, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. you gazed hungrily at him, admiring every inch of his physique.

onceler's fingers grazed your collarbone, his thumb brushing across your throat. "here we are," he said, kissing your neck, his hand moving down your chest.

you parted your legs, allowing him access to you, already glistening with arousal. he dipped a finger inside again, your moans muffled by his lips.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, holding on for dear life as he thrust his fingers in and out of you, fucking you with slow, steady strokes

onceler pulled his hand free, sucking his digits clean. "your juices are so sweet," he murmured, staring into your eyes.

you nodded slightly, biting your lip. "please..." you muttered, your voice barely audible.

onceler moved between your legs, teasing your clit with feather-light touches. you panted softly, biting your lower lip. he finally slipped inside, stretching you open, eliciting a sharp cry from you.

"shh, just relax," he cooed, kissing your temple. "just let me take care of you."

as he spoke, he began to move in a slow rhythm, his thumbs rubbing against your sensitive flesh. his touch was gentle, yet firm, sending a pleasurable shiver down your spine.

"god, you're so beautiful," he murmured, running his hands over your body. "i could watch you forever."

you gripped his shoulder, shuddering as waves of pleasure coursed through you. you'd never been touched so tenderly, and it only made you crave more.

onceler glanced down, seeing how hard your nipples had become. he bent forward, capturing one with his lips, sucking it into his mouth, drawing out a deep moan from you.

you mewled, clutching the front of his shirt. "don't stop," you begged. "i need you to give me everything."

onceler sped up, plunging deeper inside you, making you gasp. you dug your nails into his neck, burying your face in his shoulder as he fucked you with quick thrusts.

he pulled free, he traced his fingertips down your stomach, grazing your clit, causing you to buck against him.

onceler chuckled, kissing the base of your neck. "you really do love it, don't you?"

you nodded, biting your lip. "please," you pleaded.

onceler grinned, placing his hand on your hip. "okay, baby, but just remember, you only get what you ask for. now, tell me, what do you want?"

you turned your head, meeting his eyes, your voice trembling. "i...i want you."

"all yours, my love," he said, bending down to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

onceler's member slipped inside you again, eliciting another sharp cry from you. he drew back, gazing into your eyes as he pushed inside, you cried out, wrapping your arms around his neck, burying your face against his shoulder.

onceler stroked your thigh, him moving inside you, playing with your clit. you whimpered, rocking against him, desperate to feel more. as he rubbed himself against you, you bit your lip, your breathing heavy.

onceler's thrusts became quicker, his member becoming rougher. you moaned loudly, your hips buckling against him. you grabbed his arms, your nails digging into his skin, the pain only adding to the pleasure. as he pounded you, his hands slid up your torso, cupping your breasts.

onceler moaned softly, rubbing your breast. you cried out, grinding against him, your legs trembling as pleasure rushed through you, pooling between your thighs.

onceler growled, his hips slamming against yours as he poured his seed inside you. he collapsed, gasping for breath, his weight resting on you.

you glanced up at him, seeing the love in his eyes. "i love you," he whispered, brushing your hair from your face.

note; don't write smut often, so it may not be the best. but i tried!

#onceler #the lorax #greedler #greedler x reader #y/n #female reader #x reader #smut #hehehe

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stanfanfiction · 8 months

Text

Taste of You - Ken x fem!reader - PART SEVEN

Ken goes to therapy. He has a lotta feelings okay. Very Ken centric chapter. (Yay?) and (possibly) some of the most intense sex I’ve written sooo…let’s go. Probably the longest chapter I’ve written this far, too.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY / there’s always smut there’s never not smut / lots of angst and angry feelings (Ken is trying to process all those hard human things because they’re getting to be too intense for him) / violent imaginative fears (domestic fighting, one instance of hitting 🛑 tread softly if you might be triggered by this (I don’t want anyone triggered or hurt!!)) / nightmares / rough sex / major overstim / size kink / sex toys / anal fingering / possessiveness / lots of crying tbh (Ken is emotional af) / dom!Ken / possibly bordering on some non-con ? Depending on how you view it / fuzzy sweet aftercare

Ken sat opposite the therapist, twiddling his thumbs, staring down at the floor. Occasionally he glanced up at the doctor sitting across from him, a kindly middle aged man (you had suggested he talk to a male therapist, saying maybe in some weird way it would help him deal with jealousy when having to be emotionally open with another man in the room), and he gave Ken a small smile.

“So when this strong jealous hits, what does it feel like?” The therapist asked. He had sensed Ken’s anxiety the moment he walked in the door and opted out of the sitting-with-the-clipboard-for-notes option, instead sitting comfortably in his chair, hoping a conversation-style approach would set Ken at ease.

“It’s like I’ll cease to exist if she leaves me.”

“And does anything help with that?”

“Sex does, kinda. Sometimes a lot, sometimes only for a minute.”

“Have you talked with your partner about it?”

“Yeah.”

“And how did that go?”

“She reassured me. She does every single time.”

“So this has become a consistent conversation?”

Ken paused, picking at nothing on his jeans. “I guess.”

“When was the last time you felt this way?”

“A couple days ago.”

“Did anything in particular happen to trigger it?”

“She’s having to take a class and her ex is in it.”

“Ahhhh.” The therapist mused, letting the silence sit for just a moment. “And you are worried about that?”

“I’m not worried she would do anything intentionally.”

“You’re afraid her former feelings might return for him, though.”

Ken nodded. “Yeah. I get she wouldn’t be able to help that, though. Feelings happen.”

“This is very true. Are you concerned about what might happen if those feelings return? Do you worry she would actually act on them?”

Ken frowned deeply. “I don’t think she would without talking to me first. But I don’t want them happening at all. The feelings, I mean. Because then there’s nothing I can….do.” The last word fell out as a whisper.

“You feel helpless in the relationship?” The therapist asked gently.

“Not…I.., I don’t know.”

“Have you ever been cheated on?”

“No. This is my first relationship.”

The therapist nodded. “Worries about someone leaving you are actually pretty normal, especially the first time you’re with someone.”

“Y/n told me that.”

“Has she ever shown any indication that she wants to leave you? Or that she ever might cheat on you?”

“No. I understand it’s all in my head. It still scares me, though.”

“Can I ask why you decided to come to me today? I assume this is the first time you’ve been in therapy?”

“Yeah…she’s just taking a lot of classes and she gets really stressed sometimes, especially because finals are like a month away.”

“I can understand that. You feel like your jealousy is interfering with her ability to study?”

“It stresses her out more.” Ken bit his lip. “I don’t want to do that to her.”

“So are you worried less about her randomly cheating on you, and more that you are pushing her away from you? Or, encouraging her potentially into the arms of another because she is getting stressed with how you handle your jealousy?”

Fuck. Ken hadn’t thought of it that way before. Now he was even more frightened.

When Ken didn’t answer, just stared down at the carpet, the therapist tried again. “It’s okay to be struggling with how you’re feeling. The fact that you’re working to understand why is healthy, it’s a great move on your part. It also shows her that you want to be supportive of her, and I’m sure that makes her less stressed.”

“I feel like sometimes I’m a bad person.”

“Why is that?”

“I hurt someone I care about before. She didn’t want me, and I….I tried to hurt her. I wanted to feel like I was in charge for once, but I was cruel.”

“Can I ask what you did?”

“It’s a long story.”

“That’s alright. You can tell me about it when you’re ready to.” The therapist paused, working to see how much he might be able to get Ken to explain without pressuring him and making him shut down. “Can I ask, when did this happen with your former friend?”

“Well, she’s still my friend, I guess. She’s really nice. But we don’t see each other.”

“I see.”

“It happened, I don’t know, maybe a half a year ago.”

“Was it around here?”

Ken shrugged. “Kinda.”

“Have you ever taken y/n to where that happened? Or revisited the area alone, just to see how the memories made you feel?”

Ken’s chest tightened. “No.”

“Do you think that is something you might be able to do? Sometimes being back in a physical place where we wronged someone can help us find closure, especially if the one we hurt has forgiven us, but we have been unable to forgive ourselves.”

“I don’t want to.” Ken quickly wiped away a small tear forming, pretending it was something in his eye.

“Do you think y/n would understand if you told her?”

“I’ve told her a little. She wasn’t upset.”

“Does she know the specifics?”

“Uh…no…she met my friend, though. They liked each other.”

“Well that’s really good. Do you think she might be willing to travel with you, be present with you if you decided to try and gain closure?”

“…..I don’t feel like that’s necessary.”

“Can I ask why?”

Ken was silent for a long time. The therapist respected letting him internally process as long as he needed.

“I just think it’s unnecessary.”

“How do you feel you are working to help the problem right now, other than coming to me? Is there anything you’ve tried?”

“Just sex.”

“And why does sex feel like something that can fix the issue for you?”

“Because I have her then.”

“Have her with you?”

“Have her focused only on me.”

“Does she enjoy those times with you? Do you feel like she gets stressed, maybe feeling like she has to have sex with you so you’ll calm down?”

Well, fuck. Ken hadn’t thought of that. That made him feel even worse, angry, even. Though he couldn’t place where the anger came from….oh, wait.

“No. She likes it. She always likes it.”

The therapist was taken aback slightly by the sudden, minor shift in Ken’s tone, noting the aggression suddenly appearing, but kept his external demeanor. Being surprised was a good thing. It meant his client was starting to break through their emotional barrier.

“And can I ask, why would you talking about her enjoying those sessions be something that makes you feel upset?”

“She has to like them.”

“Why is that?”

“It’s all I have to offer her.” The words tumbled out before Ken’s brain had even fully processed them, and he sat dumbstruck, his own sentence replaying in his head. He felt like someone had stabbed him in the chest.

“Ahhhhh. That sounds like that’s a lot of stress you’re dealing with, too. Feeling like you only have one certain thing of yourself to offer her that she sees as worthy of her time must be exhausting for you.”

Ken worked hard to hold back the new tears that were coming stronger than he knew what to do with.

“Do you feel that she actually only sees you as worth her time because of the sex?”

Ken shook his head genuinely. “No.”

“So that’s another lie you have told yourself.” The therapist kept his tone soft.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to know right now.”

****************************************************

The walk home was torture. He tried so hard to think through everything they’d talked about as “healthily” as he could - the therapist’s words. But all he could think about was silencing everything for just a little while. He thought of getting home to tie you to the bed again and just fuck you for hours. Every time you were lying trapped underneath him was the only time he ever felt like he truly had any control over anything. But maybe today he needed to to be free to move however you pleased, to experience however you would wrap yourself around him or grasp onto his muscles or grab his hair. He could easily still keep you underneath him as long as he wanted with just his body weight.

The closer he got to the front door, however, the more overwhelmed he became, the voices in his head growing louder and louder, and suddenly he felt like he couldn’t even fuck you if he wanted to right now. He felt like he might collapse.

Ken opened the door as quietly as he could, not wanting to alert you he was home. Unfortunately, since the kitchen was very close to the entryway, you heard the moment he stepped inside.

“Hi, baby,” you said, turning while holding your coffee cup.

Ken froze, feeling embarrassed. He still didn’t know why he did, but he had worked to stop crying the entire walk home, without success. His eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks wet.

“Oh, Ken,” you said, setting down your cup and coming up to him, your hands on his face, your thumbs rubbing across his cheekbones. “It was a hard talk today?”

Ken nodded, hanging his head, his hands wrapping around your wrists. “I feel like I’m nothing to you, but I know better.”

“That’s okay.” Your voice was like a warm tea coating his aching chest. “I know you struggle with that. I can keep reminding you that you mean so much to me.”

“What if…like, I couldn’t offer you sex?”

You cocked your head, confused, but went with it. “I would still love you the same.”

He forced his eyes up to meet yours. “You mean it?”

“MMhmm. I do.”

He sniffed.

“Do you feel like I wouldn’t love you?” You asked.

“I don’t know,” he said, looking down again.

“Do you need some rest? Anytime I get really upset and have cried really hard some time in bed always helps me.”

He nodded, and you took his hand in yours, leading him to the bedroom. You helped him out of his clothes leaving him only in his boxers and went to the closet, pulling something out.

“Here,” you said, walking over to the bed and tossing a huge comforter on top of it. “This is my extra soft, cozy one. I used to use it all the time on really hard days awhile ago. I had forgotten I had it until now.”

He smiled a little then, reaching his hand out to you. You went to sit on the bed next to him, keeping your feet on the floor. You kissed his palm as his hand went to rest of your face.

“I love you so very, very much, my love,” you cooed. “But I need to get back to studying. I have awhile yet to go. I had just taken a short break to make some caffeine when you came home.”

Came home. Okay. Focus on the good things, his therapist had suggested. “Listen to anything that makes you feel safe or calm, try to enjoy the moment while it’s happening. This might help when you get stressed out to remember those times and know you are safe.”

“I’m home with you,” he mumbled.

You didn’t understand but nodded. “Yes. You’re home with me.”

He hummed, snuggling underneath the covers. “Okay.”

You smiled at him and kissed his cheek before picking up your laptop from your desk and picking up a textbook, heading out of the bedroom, closing the door behind you. You’d study at the kitchen table while he rested.

The home was on fire. Ken rushed through the flames, yelling your name, panic rising every second he couldn’t find you as smoke filled his lungs. Finally he heard you as you screamed, and his heart jumped in his chest as he rounded the corner to find your hands restrained to the wall over your head, blindfolded. You weren’t screaming in terror, you were screaming with pleasure. A faceless man was holding your legs around his waist, fucking up into you violently. It seemed you had no idea about the flames about to consume you, or maybe even who the man was. Ken tried to make his legs moved, begged them to, but he was stuck on the spot. He cried out your name but it seemed you didn’t hear him, your head through back in ecstasy as you moaned in time with the man’s thrust. Ken found a rock next to him and threw it at the man. It bounced off of him as if he didn’t even know it had been thrown, but then the blank face slowly turned to stare at Ken, a wicked smile suddenly spreading across his face where a mouth hadn’t been a moment before.

Ken sat upright in bed, gasping, panicking as he grabbed at anything he could touch, stopping only when he realized he had only fisted his hands up in the comforter. He buried his face hands, shaking, trying to stop the sobs that threatened to take him over again. He couldn’t remember ever having a nightmare before. He’d heard of them, but couldn’t even remember having a dream, only knowing they were something that apparently were a normal thing for most people, yourself included.

He tried to pinpoint the emotions he was feeling - something else the therapist had suggested when he got overwhelmed. Okay. Angry. Scared. Angry. Heartbroken? Fuck. Really, really fucking angry. He fell back into the pillows only to realize the sheets were covered in sweat underneath him.

You would help him feel better. He could go to you and you would pause your homework to soothe him and pet him and sit on his lap while he held you and hid his face in your neck. You wouldn’t be mad at him, you’d be so kind and patient like you always were.

He didn’t deserve you.

He didn’t deserve anything good.

The idea of going to you quietly to ask for comfort left his mind as quickly as it floated in, being forced out by a memory he created himself that honestly would probably never happen: you ignoring him, you telling him to get over himself while he finally was trying to understand why he kept feeling so angry like you had asked him to, you yelling at him, throwing something at his face. Telling him to….

“I can’t leave,” he cried into the pillow. “You said this was our home.”

You laughed. “Our nothing. Get the fuck out.”

You slapped him. He felt like his entire being shattered.

Ken was gripping the pillow so tight that his wrist began to cramp. Why. WHY couldn’t he stop these horrific scenes that played through his head.

The therapist had told him to breathe, even showed him how to inhale for four seconds and exhale the same amount of time. The mental scenarios weren’t real. They just might feel real.

Maybe he did need to return to Barbieland for a day…? Maybe he was dealing with fear that throwing Barbie out of her home could rebound back onto him…

UGH. Fuck fuck. This was hard. This was way too fucking hard. How was this supposed to help him get better, especially when your soft, perfect body was right behind that door, just down the hallway. When your voice could be filling his ears and drowning out at least most of these horrible things he heard in his head. Your taste filling his mouth, the scent of you, every inch of you, making him feel drunk.

You looked up from your book, Ken standing in the doorway. Sweat covered his body, his hair erratic, his face still as wet as earlier.

The concerned look on your face soothed him…but just a little.

“What happened?” You asked gently.

“I had a nightmare.”

Oh shit. “I’m so sorry. Do you need to talk about it?”

He shook his head. “Wanna forget it.”

“I understand that. Do you want to come sit with me?”

“Want you with me.”

“Yes, Ken, that’s what I said-“

“Want you with me.”

Before you knew what was happening Ken had picked you up and set you on the kitchen counter where you became trapped between the cabinets and him. “Need you.”

“What did the therapist tell you to do when you feel like this?” You tried softly, reaching for the hand towel next to you and gently wiped at his chest to remove the cold sweat.

“It’s not working.”

“It doesn’t always work right away.”

He wanted to slam you into the cabinets, forcing his lips onto yours, making you stop talking about all the bullshit he had been fighting inside himself ever since that stupid appointment today. He knew that was the wrong thing to do.

“Can I ask what happens to you when you choose sex to deal with these emotions you’re struggling with?” The therapist had asked. “Anything in particular that seems to help at all?”

Ken didn’t want to answer. Would you call the sex violent is he asked? Or would it just be ‘rough’? He didn’t like the word violent…you had never told him that word, so it mustn’t be so. You would have told him. You would tell him if he ever hurt you.

“Ken?” The therapist had said, breaking through the long silence that had followed his question.

“I….I tend to be rough.”

“How does that help you?”

“I don’t have to think as much as usual. It helps block it all out.”

“It blocks all of it out?”

“Well…not everything, not always. But sometimes. Sometimes I get to have moments where everything becomes quiet except for her. I get to just hear her.”

And he desperately needed to hear you now. His strong hand ripped your crop top off, tearing the material from how hard he had pulled. You sighed as you watched it thrown to the floor.

“I liked that top,” you said.

“I’ll get you ten more,” Ken promised, biting down onto your nipple.

You cried out, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

Oh, thank god. The exquisite pain of the way your nails dug into his skin, the taste of your flesh, the sound of your voice. His mind quieted for a second, and he heaved a sigh of relief as his tongue circled your nipple, his hands on your back, holding you into him.

“Do you feel like you take your anger out on her during sex?” The therapist’s words echoed in his head. God fucking dammit, not now. He had you in his arms. He would have you underneath him any second now. He didn’t need these fucking questions interrupting any of his time with you, especially these times.

“I don’t know.”

“Have you asked her if she feels that way?”

“She wouldn’t feel that way,” Ken forced himself not to sneer.

“Why wouldn’t she?”

“Because she likes it.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“She would tell me if she didn’t!”

He slammed you into the wall now, your legs wrapped around him, needing to fuck that horrible image from his nightmare out of his mind. You had pleaded with him not to tear the pajamas pants you had been wearing and he had pulled them off swiftly, laying them in a single piece on the table before picking you up again.

“You like this?” He asked, voice breathless but harsh. He was terrified of your answer, but now that the question was on his mind, he couldn’t make it go away. God, the last thing he wanted to do was actually hurt you.

“Yes, Ken,” your head fell back against the wall when he bucked his hips up unto yours, the thin fabric of his boxers not doing anything at all to hide how hard he was.

“You’d tell me if I was hurting you?”

“Yes, Ken,” you repeated.

“Aren’t you going to tell me you should be studying?”

“Need a break anyway.” You sighed, angling your hips a little to try to get better leverage of him rubbing against your folds. “You feel good.”

Against his usual judgment, Ken pulled his cock out of his boxers and tested his tip against your opening before he tried fingering you to see how wet you were for him. Your hands clamped his shoulders tighter.

“Do you think you can take me right now?” He breathed into your ear and you giggled because it tickled a little.

“I can try,” you said, one hand traveling to grip the back of his neck as he started to slide into you.

Your cry was loud, and Ken’s mind once again quieted for a single moment, and he bottomed out in you as he experienced one more second of relief.

“I need her loud,” he had confessed as the session was ending earlier that day. “It’s the only thing that ever fully drowns any of the bullshit out.”

He thrust up hard again and your forehead fell into his, your eyes closed, focusing on your breathing as he stretched you out a little sooner than you probably should have been. His hips started snapping into you in a quicker pace.

“Can I lay down,” you shuddered as the pain became more pleasurable. “Wanna be comfy with you.”

“Need you. Need you right here for just another minute.” Ken tried to slow his thrusts but struggled for control as he tried fucking that image from his nightmares out of his mind.

His head hurt from all of the stress he’d been trying to process from the day. His head fell into your shoulder, closing his eyes, your moans becoming louder as he tried angling himself to hit your special spot. He left wet kissing along your neck, hoping it would help dull any pain you might still be dealing with, and when his name fell from your lips in a blissed out sigh he sucked gently on your pulse point.

The nightmare slowly melted from his mind’s eye and he slowed his thrusts until he had stopped completely, staring into your eyes.

“You’d tell me if I ever hurt you, right?”

You nodded. “You’ve never hurt me, Ken.”

He carried you to the bed, laying you down gently.

He had been saving a special something for you, something he had wanted to use on a special night, maybe after he finally took you out on a proper date. But he needed to hear you, see you react to it now. Maybe that was selfish of him. For the moment, he had lost the motivation to care.

“Close your eyes,” he asked, kissing your temple, and you smiled, doing as he asked.

You heard a buzzing sound and felt yourself becoming wetter. You hadn’t told him but you’d used the vibrator on yourself in the shower while he had been in therapy, loving a moment of personal release where you didn’t have to think about anything for a moment.

Your eyes shot open when you felt the strong vibrations covering your clit… all the way down your vulva, sliding into your opening. Your body jerked and you grabbed one of Ken’s forearms as he leaned himself onto the bed with his hand but remained upright enough to watch the way your opening clenched around the toy.

“Holy…ahhh.what…”

It was one of those vibrators were it had a clit stimulator but curved downward so it had a dildo attached to it that could slide inside you and stay without having to be held. The stimulation against your g-spot was delicious but automatically a little overwhelming, your vision going dizzy for a second while you worked to adjust.

Ken leaned over you fully, pressing your hands into the bed beside your head, wrapping his fingers in your own.

“Do you like it?” He asked.

It filled you up enough to compare to two of his fingers while having almost more of an intensity than it was when Ken nipped at your clit.

You nodded, gasping, and he smiled down at you, kissing your lips.

“Gonna make you feel so good,” he promised, slowly starting to kiss down your sternum.

“Alright, I’m going to ask you a hard question, Ken.” The therapist laced his fingers together. “What if she does end up leaving?”

“You don’t have the right to say that out loud.”

“It’s probably a good idea for us to address this idea head-on. Ignoring it, stuffing it inside makes it worse.”

“How does it help if I think about it?”

“Intentionally bringing up fears and talking through him often makes them less scary. You’re able to conquer the biggest aspects of those fears, learn exactly what fuels the, so they become easier to deal with when they come up.”

“I don’t want her to leave.”

“I know, I-“

“I don’t want to think about it.”

“Our bed,” he mumbled, his lips attaching to your hip bone. “My y/n.”

You didn’t hear him, your ears filled with the buzzing from the toy.

God, you were perfect, writhing underneath him, even giggling a little as his wet kisses as they got to your stomach then going back to bunching the comforter up in your hands when the vibrator caused another spark of pleasure. Ken had made sure to lay out the comforter over the entire bed so you’d be extra comfy, like you had said you wanted.

“Well now I’m worried she’ll throw me out if I can’t stop acting like this.” Ken leaned his elbows onto his knees, his face in his hands. “Why would you put that idea in my head-“

“You already had it there, you told me so yourself.” Ken saw the therapist cross his legs through his fingers. He hated him. Not that he had done anything wrong…he just…he hated all of this.

“I couldn’t handle it. I don’t know how on earth I’d handle it.” Ken loathed how his voice choked a bit.

“Our goal is to make sure, to the best of our ability, that that will never happen.”

“I can make her stay.”

“Mine.” Ken flipped you over onto your stomach, the pressure of the toy being pushed onto your clit more intense from laying on it making you cry into the comforter. “All mine.”

He dipped a finger into you from behind, turning it upward to caress your muscle opposite the toy. You let out a strangled, throaty groan.

“What if she grows to hate me.” Ken’s words weren’t a question, they were as if stating a fact that was already coming into existence. He glanced at the clock. Why was time ticking by so slowly in this god awful therapy room.

“I do think this one is all in your head. Based on what you’ve told me, it sounds like you’d have to really go too far for her to ever hate you.”

“I’ll figure out how to make that not happen.”

“Unfortunately, we only have so much control over -“

“I will make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Ken slipped his belt from underneath the comforter, his hand almost shaking. Somehow marking you with his mouth was never enough for him now. He needed more. He needed you to react more, and lately his lips claiming your skin had made you relax more than anything. He wanted to be a comfort to you the same way you were to him. Somehow his brain wouldn’t let him see things that way, though. He didn’t know if he was ever truly a comfort to you.

You’d promised him he’d never hurt you. Thank god, because he was desperate for this release.

Your mangled scream filled the room as he bought the belt down, alternating cheeks, harsh and without pause. Usually he would wait a few seconds in between each for you to catch you breath, especially the first couple times. Today he saw red as the conversation with the therapist wouldn’t stop echoing in his mind, your legs shaking almost violently, your ass cheeks clenching as he kept finger fucking you alongside the vibrator.

Your body shuddered hard and you bit into the comforter, your throat raw from your screams as your orgasm hit out of nowhere. Ken didn’t even realize you hit your climax until he felt the way your muscle spasmed, knowing exactly the way you felt every single time you peaked with him inside you. Oh fuck, how on earth had he not seen that coming, heard the way your voice always hit a higher pitch right before it happened? He dropped the belt, focusing solely on the way his fingers touched you, his free hand pushing into your lower back as your hips bucked up into him.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised, loving how long this orgasm was lasting. “Come on my fingers as long as you need.”

Your entire body was shaking as you came down from your waves, Ken pulling his fingers out slowly, wrapping his lips around them.

“Ken,” you shivered. “The vibrator.”

“Mmhmmm?” He knew what you meant, but loved the way you were remaining in a zone of overstimulation. He leaned over onto you, pressing his hips into yours, his cock rubbing into your folds.

“Ahhhhh….no, please….”

“No, please, what?”

“Ken!”

“No, baby girl. I need you to tell me. Need to hear you say it.”

“Need a breather, please, please.”

Ken bit into your shoulder. “What if I don’t want to?”

Tears stung your eyes. “I’ll do whatever you want, for fuck’s sake. Just turn it off for a minute.”

That got his attention. He stood up and reached down to press the button and your tense body finally got to collapse fully into the mattress. Your ass was bright red, your fluids coating the toy and dripping down your pussy a little bit. Ken licked up the toy from the middle to your opening, pressing it a little harder into you, sucking on your opening. Your back arched and you made one of those kitten noises that always made him become impossibly harder.

God, he needed to fuck you. He had so many ideas now, his mind thankfully able to focus solely on you and what all he would do to you before letting you rest.

“Oh, god, please be gentle,” you whimpered as you felt your leg grabbed, knowing he was about to tie you up again.

“Just gonna make you feel good,” he promised.

You turned your head to see his eyes, a layered mix of anger and fear and….he was trying not to cry.

“Baby,” you said softly, your voice floating into his ears, and he looked at you. “What is it? What are you feeling right now?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s okay -“

“I don’t need to feel anything.”

“But you’re feeling a lot right now.”

He changed his mind. He’d tie you up later. He moved you onto your back and you kept your legs closed.

“Talk to me, Ken. Let’s work through this together.”

“Don’t want to talk about it. Want to fuck you.”

“You’ll get to -“

“We’ll talk later.”

“Promise?”

“Open your legs for me.”

“Ken -“

“Open. Them.”

You kept your legs closed, attempting to sit up but Ken leaned over you.

“I need your legs open, y/n.”

“You want them open.”

“No, I need it.”

You shook your head. “Not until you talk to me.”

Ken sighed. He dropped the belt you hadn’t notice he had been holding in his hand on the bed beside you and leaned on his forearms to kiss you.

“What are you feeling right now?” You asked against his lips.

That you’ll be gone when I come tomorrow from work. That this will be the last time I ever hold you, feel you, hear the noises you make because of me. “Nothing.”

“Baby, please.”

“Let me back inside you.” His eyes stared into yours. “I swear I’ll tell you everything later.”

“How much later?”

He kissed you deeply again, hand reaching to push itself between your folds. “Soon.”

You relented and relaxed your legs so Ken could pull them apart. The moment your wet, pink folds were visible to him, he brought the belt down in a single, stinging blow.

You weren’t sure how your body reacted other than you struggling for breath, your vision dark behind your tightly shut eyelids, an almost static-like audio blocking your ears from hearing anything else more a moment. You heard Ken’s voice bringing you back, feeling his weight on top of you.

“Such a good girl. You’re going to be fine. Ride it out for me. I’m here.”

Your eyes opened and a loud whimper escaped from deep in your throat.

“You’re going to feel so incredible in just a moment.” Ken’s voice was soft, trying to soothe you. He gently brushed a finger against your clit and you scratched at his back in response, trying to find any way to ground yourself, but then he moved down your body and licked his tongue up you.

“Touch me, please,” Ken asked, and without thinking your hands gratefully pulled on his hair, thankful for something to grip and jerk on. Ken hummed happily, going back to consume your core, and you wondered where he’d learned all of this, if he’d thought it up or if he had maybe read it somewhere.

Like the last time he spanked you before eating you out, everything was incredibly pleasurable, but today times ten, your body experiencing the intense pain somehow making the pleasure even greater, every nerve and fiber stimulated.

Your lower stomach muscles were clenching as he worked his magic, the build-up of your next orgasm almost painful, but still in the best way.

“Need you to come for me again. Need you nice and wet and relaxed.”

“Why?” You almost didn’t want to know, your body still working to process all of this.

“You’ll see.”

Your orgasm hit fast and hard again, barely able to come back down from your high when Ken inserted the vibrator again and turned it on. You felt like you were having to force your brain to focus to move your limbs as you tried reaching down to turn it off but Ken intercepted, grappling with your thrashing arms until he had them pressed into the mattress beside your head, climbing on top of you and holding one of your legs open and down with his knee gently so as not to hurt you.

“Baby, baby, I’ve got you.”

You screamed in frustration, trying to raise your arms to no avail. “What if I wasn’t letting you recover when you needed to?” You wailed.

Ken arched an eyebrow and smiled down at you. “You have.”

“Not THIS much.”

“True. You’ll have to surprise me with it sometime.” Ken carefully turned you over onto your stomach again, holding your arms behind you. “Just ride it out, baby girl. You’ve got this.”

“Pleeaasee Ken. Please, please, please.” You almost sobbed with relief when the vibrator was turned off although it remained firmly within you, deep inside your walls while still covering your clit.

“Okay, baby. It’s okay. Take your time.” Ken lay beside you, propped up on his arm, his fingers gliding up and down your back to soothe you.

He enjoyed the moment as long as his head let him. The quiet broken only by your jagged breaths and little noises as you worked to calm your body’s quivering, the softness and warmth of your skin underneath his fingers.

The voices began again, a sickening layered mix of everything he’d heard the therapist ask today. The one question threatening to overtake him completely, repeating itself, becoming more cruel each time he heard it.

“What if she does leave? What if she does leave? What if she leaves? What if she’s already left? She’s made the plans. She’s gone.”

Ken laid his head next to yours, brushing your hair out of your face.

“Tell me you love me.”

You mumbled something through your panting, your nails still gripping the comforter, trying to ground yourself.

“Please. I need it.”

“Love you.” The words were almost incoherent.

“Again.” Silence. “Please.”

“Love you.”

“I love you, y/n.”

Your eyes remained closed, feeling so incredibly tired that you were sure if Ken left you alone that you’d probably fall asleep within moments.

You felt your left leg being pulled toward the bed post again as the silky tie wrapped around it tightly then being attached to the post.

You can’t not be thinking about him when he’s not around, when you’re in class, when he’s at work…he wrapped the second tie around your right ankle, jerking a little harder than he meant to when he pulled the knot tight. He thought about you all the time, nonstop…he needed to make sure you always had a constant reminder of him.

He needed to make sure he made you sore.

The vibrator turned on again and your upper back grew tight as you felt like you might tear through the comforter while trying to hold onto something. You felt not one, but two of Ken’s fingers push inside you, your tight muscle stretching around them.

“How does this feel?” He asked.

“Ss..so..much…” You felt a third finger join his first two and your back arched. “I…so…full…”

“Mmmmmmm.” Ken watched at the way your muscle worked to relax around his fingers and the vibrator, being stretched out slowly. “I need to make sure you’re ready for me, remember?”

Oh. Dear. God. He wasn’t going to actually try and fuck you!!??!

“Ken, please think about this. You’re not going to fit.”

“That’s why I’m stretching you out with my fingers.” His free hand roamed over your lower back and ass. “I’m gonna fit inside you just fine.”

“But you won’t, though.”

“Just trust me.” He removed his fingers from you to spread your wetness around your ass hole, easily visible due to how wide your legs were being held open. He wouldn’t do anything without making sure you were okay with it, and he probably needed to wait for another day because he didn’t want to push you too much over your edge, but his focus kept snapping back to how this was the only area of you no one else had ever claimed before. No one else had touched you here, fucked you here. Maybe, if one day you relented, he could make you his in a way no one else had.

He tested just the tip of his thumb into that muscle and your legs went rigid.

“Is this okay?” He asked, genuinely wanting to make sure you were okay.

You were shocked how much it felt so good, a new pleasure you hadn’t exactly experienced before filling your entire lower region.

“Yes,” You breathed.

He rubbed his thumb just inside, moving it in small circles, and your vaginal opening clamped down onto the vibratory harder.

Fuucckk. Fuck fuck. Ken saw and heard how beautiful you’d be, experiencing anal sex for the first time with him, breaking you in by fucking you while fingering your virgin hole so you could orgasm around him before he’d sink his cock into-

No, focus here, now. He knew when you were nearing exhaustion and despite imagining how hot it would be to actually push you past what was comfortable for you because god, what if you loved it, what if he could pleasure you longer than usual after that, and he’d jerk himself off roughly in the shower while creating those scenarios in his head…he needed to make sure he kept himself in control, make sure you didn’t get hurt in any way.

He pulled his thumb out and pushed his throbbing cock against your opening partially taken up by the vibrator.

“Are you ready for me, y/n?”

“I don’t know,” you confessed, jerking against the leg restraints, wanting to plead for another break from the vibrator before going forward but also needing to feel exactly what this was about to be like.

“I’ll go slow.” He pushed his tip in then and you keened, Ken gasping loudly between how insanely tight you were, pressing into his member almost painfully, and the vibrator on the underside of his cock sending chills through his entire body. He gripped onto your hips, forcing himself still so he wouldn’t bottom out in you and hurt you. Your gasp sounded almost strangled, like you’d had the wind knocked out of you.

“Breathe, baby.”

“It hurts, ahhh, ugh, Ken, Ken…”

Please, please don’t make me stop, he thought. “Do I need to stop?”

Your voice was like velvet. “No. It hurts but it’s so fucking amazing.”

Ken pushed further inside, stopping again when your scream filled his ears - god, yes, please, so perfect, your voice only rising so loudly only for him - waiting for you to calm down a little again before going deeper.

He shut his eyes tightly trying not to cum right then. He’d never felt anything so tight, the vibrations exquisite, your voice finally fully drowning out all the awful fucking conversations and anxieties of the day. Finally, everything was quiet.

Finally, everything was just you.

He bottom out after the fourth time he thrust forward, needed to feel every inch of you as he leaned over you, holding himself up on his forearms. You lay groaning under him and he used his thumb to encourage the slightest turn of your head without straining your neck, kissing you so sweetly it felt contradictory to the amount of intense stimulation you were experiencing otherwise.

His thrusts were tender, almost intoxicated in nature, pulling almost all the way out before bottoming out inside you again, but everything somehow felt different this time.

You’d made love to him in the past, but he hadn’t been able to feel that “perfect” connection he kept hearing about in stupid romance movies, like it was some sort of magic that only existed in fiction. He didn’t know why today, but he finally felt connected to you. Like his lips were created specifically for yours and vice versa, your body only existed in this state of pleasure because of him, and obviously he had only ever felt anything like this with you.

You had tried to prepare yourself for Ken’s jealousy-fueled anxiety to consume him as soon as he cock was in you, his thrusts rough and his eyes blazing as you’d have to get used to the pain - albeit really, really good pain - until it subsided and everything only existed in a state of pleasure, but you hadn’t expected this: languid and sweet and god, you were thankful for it. You’d never been stretched this much, never had someone somehow this deep inside you, even if it only felt like it was the deepest you’d ever felt.

His hips picked up their pace but only a little, your bodies somehow seeming to move as one. Ken’s head fell into the pillow right next to where you were facing him, wanting to watch you but his eyes closing, feeling a little overstimulated himself.

“You’re being such a good girl for me,” he panted into the pillow. “You’re always so fucking good to me.”

“I need to come, Ken.” Your voice was weak.

He opened his eyes then. “Tell me what you need.”

He fucked your through your orgasm, sucking on your neck hard to mark you on this special occasion as your muscles clenched and spasmed in such a way that if you weren’t tied up and held down under Ken’d bodyweight that you would have ended up in the fetal position from your body automatically trying to curl up and away from how intense everything was.

Your whimpers mixed with a couple tears that rolled down your cheeks sent Ken over the edge, him finally losing what little control he’d held onto as he bottomed out into you over and over again until the waves calmed, and his body shook on top of your trembling frame.

He wanted to stay there and just kiss your neck and back, losing himself in you while his head swam with the aftermath of his pleasure, but he forced himself to stand up and pull himself out, removing the vibratory from you.

“Are you okay?” He asked, your body still shaking, because usually you’d have been able to calm down more by now.

“Y,y yes,” you stuttered. “Need…I don’t…kno-“

Ken ripped your ties off and turned you onto your back, your limbs limply falling onto the bed.

“I’ve got you,” Ken promised. He turned on the shower and coaxed you to sit up, your full bodyweight leaning against his chest while he held you after he’d brought you a glass of water.

He carried you into the shower and had tossed in one of those fruity scented shower bombs that you always loved after a long day at school. He crossed his legs in a way to where he could cuddle you while you rested on his lap without having to sit on the cold tile floor, and held your head tenderly while you leaned against him, bordering back and forth between being awake and drifting off to sleep.

Had he intentionally exhausted you to this extreme of a point to make sure he wouldn’t have to talk about all these stupidly hard emotions like he’d promised he would? He would keep his promise, he couldn’t ever imagine lying to you, but he didn’t want to do it today. He couldn’t.

But he would, no matter how much he didn’t want to, as soon as you asked him.

“What do you want for dinner?” He asked, lips against your forehead.

“Mmmm…chocolate.”

He smiled. “Chocolate what? Cake? Ice cream? Just a bar of it?”

“Everything.” Your giggle was sleepy and weak, but it was perfect to him.

“Then I’ll get you everything,” he promised. “Also, whenever you’re ready to talk about it, I’d like to ask if maybe you’d like to go on a trip with me.”

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missdaytonawrites · 11 months

Text

light shower • a. anderson

summary - a pleasent lil' domestic evening with abs. :)

WC - 853

cw/tw - none! just a fluffly take on evenings with abby, still 100% MDNI. afab!reader, domestic!abby, kissing, teeth-rottingly sweet fluff, gendered pet names (pretty girl, my girl etc.) just a whole lotta love here.

A/N - ..heeeey people... heres another fic for my abs!!! i promise theres a POTO fic comin.. bear with me lol. i love everyone elses love for "kintsugi" so i wanted to get somethin' out that gives ya' a taste of abby on the complete opposite side of the spectrum. just a little refresher after this weeks previous smut. hope yall eat this up!

"i was surprised to see heaven in your eyes."

an extremely loud “crash” noise comes from the slammed-shut screen door, it follows the squeal leaving your lips and the thumping of your footsteps against soft soil. as you full-sprint into this spring's greenery, your senses are flooded with the pine-y scent of the season.

not much time passes before you hear the screen door creak and then loudly slam again. but this time, its abby, ever-burly and beautiful as she barrels down the back porch and into her yard to get you. “can’t hide from me, pretty lady!” you hear her shout from behind the bush you're using as camouflage, “gonna find you and get you!” she triumphs.

you were current reigning hide n’ seek champion, having won three games more than abby just today! always finding new or adventurous spots that would have her searching for hooours. you were typically the one who insinuated these seemingly childish games, practically begging for abby's attention as you whined and tugged at the neck of her shirt.

abby, on the other hand, secretly loved this. the domesticity of it all? her absolute favorite, she loved coming home from work and playing a couple rounds of tag or hide n’ seek with you. pretending she was a kid again with her person was the best part of her day. she never really could let the stress of work bother her when she knew what was waiting at home.

exactly where she was right now, looking high and low through the botany to find you. hoping that this time, you’re in a spot she can actually get to you in. you were infamous for climbing up into trees or into hidden cabinets when you really wanted to win. at this point, abbys ready to give up! feeling as though shes looked in every bush and behind every tree, just as she hears a faint rustling and… umph-

in the blink of an eye, she’s got you in her arms bridal style and has damn-near tackled you to the ground. boy, was it a sight to see. the two of you stumbling about, like a pair of idiots, trying to come back from the giggling fits you’ve both fallen into. once abby has safely caught her balance and has you secured in her embrace, she erupts with giggles again as she lets you both clumsily fall to the ground. “can’t believe ya’ got me!” pouting as she pulls you close to her, brushing your hair out of your eyes. “dunno what you want me to say,” she shrugs against the grass, “i got a knack for findin’ pretty girls hiding in my backyard.”

you scooch even further into her. “yeah, yeah. you do this time.” abby brushes you off her shoulder and leans over your lying form, plucking a longer piece of grass from the earth. rolling back over, she props herself up on her elbows and begins to trace your features with her freshly picked possession. the blade of grass traces up the bridge of your nose and over one of your eyebrows. it goes down and over your cheekbones, then brushes your lips. the faint texture of the plant sending you into an all-encompassing nirvana.

now she twirls the grass, just barely, against your cheek. letting it drop while she closes the distance between you two, her lips grazing yours for a fraction of a second then passionately pressing into yours. abby couldn’t ever get enough of your kisses. she would kiss ya’ till she ran out of breath if she could! your lips were so plush and typically moisturized, you always smelt like fresh fruit. getting absolutely lost in the intimacy, she begins to alternate between kissing and nibbling on your lips. practically sucking a hickey onto your lower face, she takes a deep inhale of your scent and then pulls away. slowly detaching her lips from yours with a dreamy sigh.

“such a pretty lady i got beneath me..” she sits up and your head sorta naturally falls on her lap. “love comin’ home to my pretty girl.” these parts of your evening, where time feels sticky-slow and the hot air starts to cool, make your heart swell. life with your abby was everything and more, something you’d wish for twenty times over in another life. so there you and abby sat, wrapped up in one another while you softly hum into her leg. she whispers sweet nothings as her fingers rake through your hair, and it doesnt take long for you to start to doze off in her lap. she doesnt let you drift too far off into sleep though, scooping you up and courting you in the house.

she gets you into bed and mutters something about being right back before leaving to go turn out all the lights and lock the house up. once she returns, there you are. the sweetest thing to ever walk gods green earth sleeping peacefully amidst her sheets. clicking out the bedside lamp, she climbs in next to you and makes sure your tucked in. “g’night pretty girl.” and then, same as you, she's out.

i hope you liiiike! im such a sucker for sweet gf abby maybe you are too, i promise there are more fics to come!!

#the last of us fanfiction #sapphic #tlou show #tlou x reader #tlou fic #abby anderson #abby x reader #abby x you #abby anderson smut #abby anderson fluff #muscle mommy abby #ellie williams smut #ellie x fem reader #abby x fem!reader #abby tlou #my sweet girl #i love her

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cicimunson · 2 years

Text

How Steve Got His Groove Back

Summary: Season 3 Steve has lost his mojo, but with a little help from you, he might get it back.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Plus Size Female Reader

Other Characters: Robin Buckley, random girls at the mall

Warnings: Reader is insecure, Steve is insecure, a whole lotta dirty smut in this one, reader is kinda bullied.

Word Count: 3k+

Part 2

“Ahoy ladies, didn’t see you there!”

You almost jump back, startled by the loud voice of the man behind the counter.

The girls in front of you exchange amused glances.

He continues. “Would you guys like to set sail on this ocean of my flavor with me? I’ll be your captain, I’m Steve Harrington.”

You feel second-hand embarrassment for the guy. Sure, he’s cute, but cute doesn’t make up for that ridiculous outfit he’s wearing or how awkward he is.

The girls walk away laughing and you step up to the counter. “Is Robin here?”

He nods and jerks his thumb to the back.

You can’t help but notice that he doesn’t try any of his cheesy lines on you.

Probably not his type, those girls were thin and gorgeous.

You duck into the backroom.

“Robin, who’s the hot dingus working up front?”

She snorts. “Steve Harrington, former king of Hawkins High.”

“Wow, how the mighty have fallen.”

The windows to the front pop open and Steve sticks his head in.

“I can hear you, you know.”

You and Robin laugh. “Oh, we know.”

“Thanks for calling me hot, by the way.” He offers you his hand.

“Hey, I just call it like I see it. If you look past the sailor suit and the general awkwardness surrounding you, you’re pretty good-looking.” You shake his hand. “Y/N.”

“Steve.”

“So I’ve heard.” You turn back to Robin. “We still hanging out after your shift?”

She nods. “Definitely. I need pizza and horror movies, stat.”

You glance over at Steve. “You can come too, dreamboat, if you don’t have a hot date or anything.”

Robin snorts.

Steve tries to look casual and fails miserably, propping on his elbow and almost hitting his head on the counter when it slips.

“Um, yeah, sure, I can move around my plans.”

“Don’t do us any favors.” Robin mumbles under her breath.

You wait until Steve is out of earshot to give her a scolding look. “Robin, be nice. I feel bad for him. He’s obviously lost his mojo.”

You gesture to her erase board. “That him striking out?”

She nods and giggles. “He’s flopped every time.”

You turn and watch him trying to flirt with yet another customer, dropping her change and almost spilling her sundae.

“What’s wrong with him?” You ask under your breath.

“His girlfriend dumped him and he’s having a breakdown.” Robin replies.

“That explains it.”

“I’ll meet you out front in a bit, okay?”

You nod and gesture toward Steve. “Don’t forget to bring dingus.”

__________

A few hours later you’re all sprawled in your living room, the Exorcist playing while you eat junk food and gossip. Robin is piled up on blankets and pillows on the floor, you’re laying on the couch, and Steve is sitting by your feet.

Robin starts to nod off halfway through the movie.

You take the opportunity to talk to Steve a little more.

You find out that you have similar taste in music and movies. To your surprise, the two of you talk for almost three hours straight, never running out of things to say.

“So, today was interesting, watching you crash and burn repeatedly. Like a train wreck, you just can’t look away.” You tease.

He scowls. “I’m a little off my game lately is all. I’ll make a comeback.”

“Not in that sailor outfit you won’t.” You giggle.

“It’s definitely not doing me any favors. Neither is the fact that I stink of loser.”

“Hmm?”

He sighs. “I didn’t get into college. My dad forced me to take this job. On top of that my girlfriend broke up with me for this dude I thought was a loser but turns out he’s actually okay, which makes me the jackass, I guess.”

“Sounds like it might.” You admit.

“Yeah, well, it’s been a tough year.” He rubs his face with both hands.

“You know what your problem is?” You ask.

“My life is a disaster?”

“Well yeah, but besides that. Your problem is that you actually believe what you’re saying. And you’re projecting it.”

He cocks his head to the side, looking confused. “Speak English.”

“You think you’re a loser, so you’re acting like a loser, and that’s all people can see.”

“Well how am I supposed to fix that?”

“Long-term? Therapy. Talk to you dad. Improve your thinking process.”

He grimaces. “Short-term?”

“Get laid. It’ll boost your confidence and you’ll feel better. People can tell when you haven’t had sex in awhile. It’s like a pheromone or something.”

He seems to be mulling over what you said.

You turn your attention back to the TV.

After a minute or so, you feel his hand on your leg.

You glance over at him.

“Do you wanna fuck me maybe?” He asks so casually, like he’s asking to borrow a pen.

“Oh, you’re funny. That sense of humor could work in your favor.”

“I’m being serious.”

You sit up to stare at him.

He shrugs. “I’m just saying. We could fuck.”

“I’m not really your type, Steve. Not sure how I would help your confidence. And I barely know you.”

He looks confused. “Not my type? Hot is my type. And who says we have to know each other to have sex?”

“My point still stands.”

“You don’t think you’re hot?”

“Not particularly.”

“Why not?”

You gesture to your body. “Not exactly the type of the girl you were flirting with at the mall.”

“I don’t have a specific type. I think lots of girls are hot.”

“Could have fooled me.”

He takes your hand and tugs you close, placing your fingers over his crotch.

“I’m hard as a rock just thinking about fucking you. You say I need to be more confident, right? Sounds like you need to take your own advice.”

You bite your lip and glance over at Robin, who’s snoring peacefully.

Am I really thinking about fucking him?

Steve squeezes your hand, making you grip his length. He moans slightly and flexes his hips. It’s so fucking sexy your breath catches.

Yeah, I’m gonna fuck him.

“Upstairs.” You take his hand and lead him to your room.

Steve wastes no time getting naked, clearly confident about his body. His lips crash into yours and he unbuttons your shirt, pushing it off your shoulders.

You both maneuver toward the bed and he reaches behind you, unhooking your bra with one hand effortlessly.

“Fuck, your tits look incredible.” He latches on to your nipple greedily.

You moan softly and tangle a hand in his hair.

He unbutton your pants and shoves them down, wasting no time sliding a hand into your panties and easing a finger inside you.

“You on birth control?”

“Mhm, pill.”

His lips fasten on the side of your neck. “Can I mark you?”

“Robin will see in the morning.”

“You embarrassed for people to know about this?”

“I just mean she might get upset that we snuck off to have sex.”

“Guess that’s a good point.” He looks disappointed.

Ugh, tugging on my damn heartstrings with that pouty face.

“Fuck it, mark me up.”

He grins happily and you giggle.

Your giggle turns into a low moan as he nips your skin and then starts sucking a red splotch.

“Mmm, feels good.”

He starts pumping his finger inside you. He twists his wrist slightly and uses his thumb to press on your clit.

“Ohhh, fuck.” You whimper.

“Wanna taste you.”

He starts kissing down your chest.

You pull his head back up. “No, it’s cool.”

“I want to.”

“Let me taste you instead.” You offer

You roll him on his back before he can protest. You don’t know how to explain that you don’t want him kissing down your belly because it’s not flat and has stretch marks. You don’t know how to say that you worry because you’re a bigger girl, you sweat down there more than other girls and he won’t like the way you taste.

He fists your hair as you take him into your mouth. “Fuck, Y/N, you look gorgeous with your lips around my cock.”

You lick up and down his shaft. Steve pushes your head down a little further.

“Suck on my balls, please.” His voice is almost a whimper.

You take one in your mouth and suck. His fingers tighten in your hair, pulling almost to the point of pain. You raise your head and take him back in your mouth.

Steve has to fight the urge not to hold you still and fuck your face. He’s never been so horny in his life. Your fucking curves, your thick thighs, how soft and pliant you are, it’s driving him fucking wild.

He pulls you off his dick and up the bed to give you a sloppy kiss, squeezing your thighs. “Wanna ride me?”

“Um, I don’t think so.”

He cock his head to the side and studies your face. “Do you want to stop?”

“No, I’m good to keep going. Did you want to stop?”

“Hell no. I’m about to bust.” He admits. He tugs your panties off and pulls you so that you’re straddling him.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” You murmur, a weak protest as you feel his cock rub against your pussy lips.

“Oh, you wanna be rough?”

This dingus.

“I mean, it’s not my usual style, but if you want to like spank me or something-”

“Jesus, Steve, I meant that I don’t want to crush you!” You squeak, blushing.

“Oh, my bad. I thought you were like, into something kinky. Wait, crush me?”

He grabs your waist and rolls his hips into you. “I can handle anything you wanna throw at me, babygirl.”

“I just meant-”

He rolls you on to your back.

“Enough. Let me tell you what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna eat your pussy like it’s my last meal on earth. And when I’m satisfied with my meal, you’re gonna ride my dick like a good girl.”

You feel yourself getting wetter from his words.

“Enough putting yourself down. When I offered to fuck you, I knew exactly what I was getting into. I want you, got it?”

You nod.

“Say yes if you want this.”

“Yes, yes, I want this.”

“Now, wrap those thighs around my head and let me eat.”

He dives between your legs and starts lapping at your cunt greedily. You gasp.

His hands slide under your legs, urging them over his shoulders.

“Fuck, baby, so wet. All this, for me?”

He mumbles between your thighs, his tongue flicking over your clit. He sucks it hard, making you buck your hips and groan. His mouth moves further down, and he shoves his tongue into your pussy, fucking your hole.

“Oh God, Steve, that’s so good. Fuck, so good!”

He rubs your clit with his fingers, his tongue swirling inside you.

Oh Jesus this man is a sex wizard. Those girls don’t know what they’re missing.

He takes his other hand and presses down on your lower belly. A jolt flashes through your body and you arch your back off the bed, fisting the sheets beneath you as you fight the urge to scream out in pleasure.

He uses the hand on your stomach to hold you still as you become a writhing panting mess beneath his skilled mouth.

You blink away tears as the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had racks your body, leaving you breathless and whimpering.

Steve is falling apart between your legs. Your little moans, the way you taste, how responsive you are, it’s enough to make him insane. He’s whimpering himself, and rubbing his cock against your mattress, desperate for any friction as his precum leaks out on your sheets.

He wants you to cum again. He wants to taste you a little longer. His face being buried in your cunt is his favorite place in the world now, he decides, and he wants to make the most of it while he’s here.

He sucks your clit again, sliding two fingers inside you easily.

You gasp and roll your hips. “Steve, oh fuck, you’re still going?”

He mumbles against your clit and it sends pleasure shooting through you. His fingers pump inside you expertly, knowing exactly how to bend and where to press to send you flying over the edge again. It’s more intense this time, and you have to clap your hand over your mouth to keep from yelling as you cum for the second time. It feels like an out-of-body experience.

You start to come down from you high and realize that Steve is still eating your pussy. You whimper from how sensitive your clit is and gently push his head away.

He looks up at you with lust-blown pupils, his lips and chin wet. He looks fucking feral.

There he is. He’s got it now.

He grabs your waist and flips you on top of him effortlessly, slapping your ass.

You barely have time to get your balance before he’s pushing himself inside you. You slap your hands on his chest and groan as he wastes no time bottoming out in you.

“Fucking ride me, baby. Ride my cock.” He hisses through clenched teeth. “Let me see those tits bounce.”

You start at a slow pace but Steve isn’t having it. He sits up slightly, locks an arm around you, and drives his hips up into you.

“Harder.” He grunts in your ear. “Make it hurt a little.”

You rake your nails down his back and clench your pussy muscles around him.

He sinks his teeth into your tit, groaning your name against your skin.

“Fuck, Steve, don’t stop.”

He looks up at you, pouty pink lips begging to be kissed. You press your lips to his, locking into a heated kiss that leaves you breathless.

“Need this.” He mumbles against your mouth. “Need you.”

You moan. Something shifts between you. You aren’t sure when or how it happens, but you’re suddenly kissing him softly, his thrusts slowing down, becoming lazy and gentle.

His lips mold against yours. “Mmm, baby, just like that. Riding me like such a good girl.”

“Such a good girl for you.” You whimper.

“Come on baby, cum for me.” He pleads. “Wanna see you fall apart for me.”

His hand slips between the two of you and he rubs your clit.

You feel your body start to tighten again. You clench around him, burying your face in his shoulder. He grasps your chin and pulls your face up.

“No, baby. Wanna see it. Wanna watch you cum.”

“Please….Steve…so close.” Your thighs burn from riding him. You wanna stop but you speed up instead, chasing that third orgasm. Steve speeds up too, falling back into the bed and digging his heels into the mattress to push deeper into you.

You can’t help it. You cry out loudly, almost screaming his name as you cum again. He pulls you down for a kiss to quieten you, capturing your cries with his mouth.

His hips stutter, and he slams into you once more with a hoarse cry of his own, shooting his load deep inside you.

He rolls and tucks you into his side, kissing you once more.

“I may never let you out of this bed.” He murmurs into your hair.

You giggle. “As much fun as that sounds, I think Robin would have an aneurysm if she woke up and found us like this.”

“Yeah, I guess I should probably go. Just tell her I left after the movie.”

You feel a twinge of disappointment but ignore it as you both get dressed and you walk him out.

This was just to help him get his mojo back. It was a one time thing. Don’t read into it, don’t dwell on it.

He kisses your cheek. “I’ll see you.”

“See ya.” You echo. He’s out the door. You curl up on the couch and fall asleep almost instantly.

__________

You’re back at the mall a few days later, feeling nervous as you head into Scoops. You hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Steve. You were a little worried about seeing him today.

He’s standing by the counter, talking to some gorgeous blonde girl who looks like she’s never eaten ice cream a day in her life. You glance around for Robin. Assuming she’s in the back, you duck behind the counter.

Steve notices you out of the corner of his eye and stops mid-sentence.

“Y/N, hey!” He calls out, waving to you.

You wave back, plastering a friendly smile on your face.

He pats the blonde on the shoulder and hurries over to you.

“Haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“Mhm.”

“It is weird if I say I missed you?” He blushes.

You ignore his question and gesture to the girl. “Looks like you got your mojo back.”

“Yeah, all thanks to you. You’re the best.” He kisses your cheek.

No, I’m a fucking idiot.

Robin sticks her head out the window to the back. She takes one glance at your expression and instantly knows what’s going on. You hadn’t said anything, but she’d seen the hickeys on your neck and the stains on your sheets and instantly put two-and-two together.

“Well I won’t keep you from your blonde friend, will you let Robin know I’m waiting outside?”

He nods. “Do you want some ice cream before you go?”

You start to shake your head.

“Of course she does.” The blonde mutters.

Oh, what a bitch.

To your surprise, Steve levels a stare at her and cocks an eyebrow.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She looks flustered. “I mean, who doesn’t want ice cream? It’s so good.”

You cross your arms and glare at her. “I’m sure that’s what you meant.”

She rolls her eyes and turns back to Steve, smiling coyly. “So did you want my number?”

Steve shakes his head. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

Her mouth drops open. “Really?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, really.”

She stalks off.

Steve turns back to you. “So, movie night tonight?”

“You didn’t have to do that, Steve. I wouldn’t have cared if you got her number.”

“Rude isn’t my type.”

“I’m rude.”

“I made an exception for you.” He winks.

You can’t help but giggle.

“So, tonight?” He asks hopefully.

“Movie night sounds great, actually. Robin, you in?”

She shakes her head. “No thanks, I have plans. But you two have fun.”

Steve turns out of Robin’s line of sight and wiggles his eyebrows at you. “Oh, we will.”

#steve harrington fic #steve harrington ff #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington reader insert #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x y/n #plus size reader #steve harrington x plus size reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader smut

1K notes · View notes

blacklesbothatlovestowrite · 8 months

Text

On My Mama Pt 2

Shuri x Fem Reader, Fem Reader x OC

I'm new to the tag list and tagging so bare with me if I left anyone out just let me know and I'll add it in.

Tags: @mixedfandxms @shurislover @sweetalittleselfish-honey @desswright29

Side note: I had an idea for a fic with Jada Kingdom Reader (looks) and Shuri, maybe ShuRiri. I'm Jamaican so you know seh big tunes ah guh run. 💥 reader could be an aspiring model trying to break into music and she meets Shuri or Shuriri at an event and they decide to produce her music wanting to do a fusion between Jamaican, African and American music. And a whole lotta smut and messy, toxic shit in between. 😮‍💨

I be in the section dolo, baby, oh

You chose to go to the club on a Friday night, you'd been ducking Riri and Shuri for days. Expensive gifts were delivered daily, Beautiful flower arrangements, your favorite foods. Things you wanted but had no clue as to how they knew that.

Some girl you barely knew invited out out with her group of friends. You weren't very interested at first as you knew girls were catty and competitive by nature and you weren't interested in having to be on the defense all night. You'd done the trying to be a girl's girl before and it never worked out. Girls tended to be weird and you had no time nor energy for the bullshit.

Making acquaintances was the goal. You couldn't spend all your time in college doing nothing but doing work and keeping your head in the books. You wanted some fun, some irresponsibility. You were tired of being a 'good girl' someone that was a people pleaser. You had no people to please any longer. Your mother was a cheating whore and your father the star of your eyes was gone.

Your look + Outfit (with a more subtle eye look)

The club was lit. You noticed many POC students from campus. Which wasn't surprising as this club was marketed towards POC's on the low. Owned by a black couple, and ran with POC staff. It was a safe space for POC's to have fun without fear of harm.

"Y/n, I'm a little miffed. I invited you out and you out here making us all look bad." Gina says, her eyes narrowing at you playfully.

"Girl hush, she couldn't do normal if she tried. Even in casual wear with no makeup she looks hot." Nina giggles, greeting you with a hug.

"I'd kill for your looks and figure..." Gina pouts. You laugh at her. "No wonder your mom's a model. You need to follow in her footsteps, all that damn beauty."

"I'm good. Beauty and Brains is the goal. I'd rather be known for being pretty and a genius rather than pretty and an airhead hoe." You shrug and the girls look between each other in shock. "My mother isn't my favorite person so you'll never hear a compliment out of my mouth about her so it's better to not bring her up."

"Noted..." Gina muttered, clearing her throat. You could practically hear the silent judgment.

"Let's go get some drinks." Nina suggests, leading the way to the bar.

"I want a margarita." Gina calls to one of the bartenders. A pretty tall caramel skinned girl with highlighted curls and a bright smile.

Bartender

"Make that two." Nina agrees.

"I'll have whatever you think is best." You say, watching the girl eye you seductively.

"Coming right up, gorgeous." You bite your lip as she looks you over as she makes the drinks. The look she was giving you had you weak in the knees already.

"Oooh..." Gina giggles, bumping your shoulder. "She feeling you..."

"Here ya'll go." She places each drink down, before handing yours to you. "This one's new, I'm sure it tastes just as good as you look."

You fight the urge to break out in a cheesy smile. Her fingers grazing yours as you take the glass. You down the drink, eyes widening at the sweet yet potent taste that slid down your throat. You felt slightly hot as she smirked at you.

"Ok... I'll have what she's having!" Nina says, wide eyed. The bartender laughs but nods.

"Lord Ha'Mercy I'm too gay for this." Nina fans herself. You smile a genuine smile. Something you hadn't done in a very long time.

"What's your name ?" The bartender asks, as she passes Nina her drink and a hands you a refill.

"Why should I tell you?" You raise a brow, while nibbling on your bottom lip.

"Ok, Smiley it is." She licks her lip and you internally fan girl. "You have such a beautiful smile."

You're making me forget my past

"I'm Jess by the way." She adds.

"Ok, Jess by the way. Thanks for the drinks." You say, your tone playful. You grab a $20 and slide it towards her before heading to the dance floor. You wanted to let loose and have fun, and a small part of you wanted to show off for her.

You let your body sway to the beat, your head slightly tilted back as you gyrates your hips to the beat. As you danced your mind went to Shuri, the lyrics swirling in your head. Your eyes snapped open wanting to remove her from your mind.

You'd been trying to stop thinking about her. You couldn't help your attraction to her, she did something to you but you refused to go there. She was the cause of your family's downfall. She'd been with your mother. It was disgusting to even be thinking about her after that.

Your eyes locked with Jess and you put every effort into seducing her. Something that wasn't so hard since she seemed interested in you. You needed Shuri the fuck out of your head and Jess seemed like the perfect way to do that.

You were sure fucking with Riri would work two fold. Take your mind off Shuri and fuck her over at the same time. Yet you couldn't stand the fact that Riri was friends with the girl. She was bright and from what you'd heard she was by all accounts a morally good person.

The two being friends made no sense to you. How could you trust someone so messy and chaotic unless you had that in you as well? Maybe Riri was better at hiding her dirt and kept it on the low. Regardless you weren't interested in finding out.

As the song finished and you went to make your way back to the bar a familiar face stopped in front of you. She looked bothered, and you couldn't find a fuck to give.

"I see you've gotten my gifts." Riri eyes your body in the outfit she's sent you. You wore it hoping she'd see you in it because you wanted to prove a point to the duo one you knew would be relayed if the other wasn't present.

"And I see you weren't listening." You deadpan. "But if you'd like to send me stuff who am I to stop you? It's giving fan behavior, and I find that very amusing."

"Oh, so you got jokes?" Riri cracks up. She steps closer, her body almost touching yours. "You can continue acting like you don't want me but we both know you secretly like my attention. You like being chased and that's fine. Just know once you get caught, you'll have to beg for my attention."

"Your head being big clearly fits you, Williams." You say her name with malice.

"And that's not the only thing big." You can tell by her tone exactly what she's talking about but you choose not to acknowledge it.

"Well have a good rest of your night." You dismiss her before stepping around her and heading back towards the bar. You see that Nina and Gina are gone. You look around to see them with the other people they were supposed to meet up.

"So Riri's your thing?" Jess says, settling back in front of you.

"Thing?"

"Your type." She clarifies, her eyes sparkling. She had the prettiest eyes you'd seen.

"I think the only type you need to worry about is yourself." You flirt. She raises a brow.

"Word?"

"What do you say to heading home with me?" You get straight to the point, watching as she grins.

"Oh you go for what you want, huh?" She seems impressed. You simply stare at her. "We can head out right now."

She walks over to some guy and they talk for a bit before she gathers her things from under the bar and motions for you to follow her. She leads the way to her car, a black Camry with blue and black interior. Her rims are even blue and her windows tinted.

The next morning you're woken by Jess with her skillful tongue and you take pleasure in the fact that you're loud. She'd put you to work the whole night, and you'd returned the favor showing her exactly how much you appreciated her attention.

You sighed as you piled your straight hair into a messy bun and pulled on a oversized t-shirt and walked her to your dorm door. You yawned as you let her out and thanked her for coming over. You made a note to text her for another session as she was definitely a generous and thoughtful lover.

As you watched her leave and was about to close your door you watched in victory as Riri walked towards her dorm room. She'd left at some point in the early hours of the morning, slamming her door. You knew she was jealous and that thought sent chills of satisfaction throughout your body.

"Good morning, Williams." You said, smirking as she clenched her jaw. "Sorry about the noise. I'll try to be quieter next time."

And with that you closed the door with an enthusiastic kick. The message you'd sent very clear. Little did you know, you'd just started a war. One you wouldn't win.

Your day was starting to turn to shit as your RA left your dorm. Angry was an understatement. You knew someway somehow your current predicament was curtesy of Riri. You couldn't prove it but you knew it was her.

You'd been reported for having an off campus visitor spend the night. A violation that meant you lost your dorm. You were pissed. You'd already made your dorm home. Decorated it how you wanted and even saged it to clear any bad energy out. Clearly it hadn't worked.

You were being moved to another building where you'd have two roommates. The only upside being you had a room and there weren't many rules. You just hated the fact you had to share a space with people you barely knew in closer and smaller quarters.

It took you the whole day and the help of the sisters Nina and Gina. Once you'd moved into the new apartment, you noticed the apartment was huge. You looked around, steering clear of the other bedrooms not wanting to invade anyone's private spaces.

The apartment was styled nicely. By the door was a shoe rack with dope sneakers, expensive heels and slides. You could tell whoever your roommates were they came from money.

You were so exhausted you knocked out on the sofa watching some old show.

A loud sound and a cuss woke you up. As your eyes adjusted to the dark you could barely make out two figures.

"Hello?" You called out, you knew you locked the door so the two had to be your roommate. The light was switched on and you instantly jumped up, anger building in you.

"Are you fucking serious!?!?!?!" You bellow.

"Told you she'd be happy to see us." Riri wiggled her brows, bumping Shuri.

"Y...you..." You couldn't find the words to express what you were feeling.

"Chill ma, we just thought you'd like some company." Riri grins, heading for the kitchen.

"Stop antagonizing her, Ri." Shuri speaks up, her demeanor is different. You glare at the duo.

"Fuck you look so good when you're pissed." Riri chuckles, grabbing a water and taking a sip. "Adorable really."

Realizing there wasn't much you could do, you swallowed down all the things you wanted to say and headed for your room. You slammed it, locking it behind you.

They didn't know what they'd started but you were damn sure going to finish it. You started scheming.

💕

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anatee · 1 year

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INSUFFERABLE | General Hux x Reader Smut | pt. 4

INSUFFERABLE | General Hux x Reader Smut. 18+. MINORS DNI. This is a direct continuation. Are there going to be more parts? Absolutely.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5 Part 6

Word count: 11K

Content warning: fem!reader x Hux; Force Awakens plot; lots of Kylo in this part, bits of Poe Dameron as well; soft Hux with feelings appears; one or two curse words?; jealousy; whole lotta teasing; smut: oral job (m receiving), cum tasting, passionate, sexual suggestions, make up sex?, unprotected, piv

It was always nice to sleep in a warm, comfortable bed when there was a snowstorm outside, not bothering you in any way. It was even nicer when you woke up in the arms of a loved one... Or with a loved one in your arms.

That's how Y/N and Armitage woke up after one of the best nights in their lives. They smiled at each other in the bliss of the moment, feeling so content, so warm... Hux was about to go even furhter in becoming vulnerable around her and leaned a little to kiss her on the forehead with a sincere smile on his face. His lips were mere inches from her when...

She sat up suddenly, then immediately slid off his tall bed, disappointing him greatly.

"Where are you going?" he asked, still a bit sleepy.

"What do you mean?" She turned to him with raised eyebrows, giving him the chance to adore her in the black bathrobe she had fallen asleep

in. "We're late already, and I have to get to my station before..."

"Come back here," he cut her off sharply.

She sighed, wondering why he was playing this game when they both knew what had to be done.

"Armitage, you know I can't."

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

"Am I not the one here who says what people can and can't do? Come back here, it was an order."

At this point Y/N could see he was not playing around. With no other option, she did come back to him, and he hugged her almost possessively.

"And what now?"

"You're staying with me today," he announced.

"And work?"

"Firstly, the snowstorm is still raging. They'll be clearing this up all day," he said matter-of-factly. "Secondly, today is my birthday."

Birthday. Did it even mean anything? Ever since Hux could remember, birthday has always been just a day he was born on, nothing to celebrate. He never did anything special on this day and nobody cared, not even his father while he was still alive...

But he had the slightest hope Y/N might care.

He watched her face carefully as she raised her head to look at him in utter shock.

"Your birthday? And you didn't even tell me!" She smacked his chest lightly. "Not like I would be able to give you a gift, but..."

"The best gift will be you staying here," he said before he even thought about it, and she had no idea it would be the first gift in his life.

He spoke sincerely, so a sincere smile appeared on her face.

"In that case, I'm not going anywhere," she whispered and kissed his chest, snuggling into him again, and for that moment, he could sell his soul, and maybe the entire galaxy, too.

"I'll take care of the essentials, then," he said and then reached for one of the buttons on his nightstand. "Keep quiet for now," he added, then proceeded to press the button.

Never has Hux ever thought he'd be talking to the holo of one of his subordinates with a girl snuggled into his chest, but there he was, doing just that.

"Yes, General?"

"Report on the situation," he commanded in a voice that gave her goosebumps.

"The storm is slowly dying down. Soon we will be able to send out the Firetroopers."

"Right then. Order a droid to bring breakfast to my quarters. The same as yesterday, doubled. And tell everyone not to disturb me today unless it's urgent."

"Understood, General."

"And more tarine tea."

"Yes, sir, sending the order right now."

Hux ended the call and turned back to Y/N, content.

"You can choose the dinner later," he said as if to explain why he didn't even ask what she wanted.

Unthinkable. General Hux explained himself to his inferior.

She raised her hands a little as if surrendering.

"It's your birthday, I would not dare."

He had to think about these words for a moment. It was something completely new to him... And he felt comfortable enough with her to admit it.

"I have never celebrated my birthday before," he said quietly, surprising her greatly.

"Never? Not even as a child?"

"Never, Y/N," he repeated harshly, then regretted it immediately. "I have never been given a gift, either."

"Oh, Armitage..." she whispered, then ran a hand through his hair affectionately while it was in its rare, imperfect state.

His words saddened her greatly. More and more often Hux appeared in her mind as not the harsh, ruthless General he was when she first met him, but a broken man, just trying to thrive in the

brutal world they found themselves in. If you showed any weakness at all, the others would kill you... And it seemed like she was his only weakness for now.

"I would love to do something for you. I don't know, maybe prepare breakfast...?"

"Should I send you down to the kitchens, then?"

"Oh, you know what I mean." She rolled his yes, and then a mischievous grin appeared on her face. "I do have an idea, though..."

Before he could ask her what it was, her hand was already under the sheets, moving along the side of his body right to his thigh. She began touching him between his legs without any warning, making him let out a sigh of surprise. Seconds later, she was crawling towards the foot of the bed, then threw the sheets off of him. He only had his own bathrobe on.

She untied it quickly to reveal his naked body,

but there was one particular spot she focused on.

Hux already knew what she was going to do, and the thought alone made him hotter. It was one of his fantasies he didn't get the chance to fullfil - yet. When she made sure he wasn't against it, but watched her with hope in his eyes, she clasped her hand around his length. He swallowed hard as she began moving it up and down, and he really didn't much to get hard.

That was the moment she could proceed to the next part of her plan. She opened her mouth to lick along his shaft, long and slow, making him let out a loud sigh. She wanted to hear it again, so she licked him a few more times starting from his balls as she kept on moving her hand along.

As more and more saliva gathered in her mouth, she spit some of it onto his penis, right before...

"Fuck, Y/N." He rasped as her mouth closed around his cock, earning a sensation he had never experienced before.

She smiled to herself after that.

"Enjoy yourself," she whispered before putting his penis back into her mouth. At that moment, she wanted him to feel pleasure, and so she began sucking on him, taking as much of him as she could without gagging.

He closed his eyes, forgetting about the entire universe and letting himself enjoy every second. He had never had this done to him, and the pleasure was almost unbelievable. When he thought about how she could do that on her knees, somewhere under his desk, it made him even more aroused.

They both heard a loud, electronical buzz - it meant the food had arrived - but it was the last thing either of them cared about at that moment. A loud grunt escaped Hux's lips, prompting Y/N to speed up her pace, and that was enough to bring him over the edge.

Seconds later, his body began shaking with the

orgasm she brought him. He cummed all over her face, and he opened his eyes to see that.

When he saw everything dripping down her face he knew it was a view which was going to be engraved in his memory for a long time, if not forever. It immediately made him wish to try that on other parts of her body, but that had to wait - the orgasm he had just experienced definitely required a cooldown.

Y/N stood up slowly, wiping the cum off her lips. It was a new experience for her as well, but the only thing that mattered then was that he was satisfied.

"Salty," she said, having felt the taste of his cum on her tongue. "Just like you," she added with a laugh, breathing heavily.

"I'll tell you how you taste next time," he replied, his chest raising and going down quickly.

She just smiled proudly, then looked to her side

at the door to the bathroom.

"I'll go... Brush my teeth," she said eventually.

He followed her quickly and they both took a quick shower together before putting on comfortable clothes and going into his office to get the food. They sat in his bed to eat it, and Hux didn't even worry about making a mess - his sheets were already stained, so Hux was going to send them to laundry anyways.

"What was that call just now?" Y/N asked curiously, settling herself right next to her lover after coming out of the bathroom.

"Ren," Armitage replied with disgust. "He wanted to take a squad to do Maker knows what. I let him just to have peace. Besides, I think he asked more to annoy me than to get something he really needed."

"Oh... He really likes pissing you off, doesn't he?"

"Mhm." Hux hummed, taking a bite out of his breakfast. "You've never told me how the two of you actually met," he added suddenly.

Y/N looked up from her plate, wondering how to word the story so as not to piss the General off even more.

"Well, my father was a pilot," she began. "He was teaching Kylo about our ships the first time he came here. I was still studying to be a medic at the time. Kylo got injured and my father was like, hey, my daughter can patch you up... I think he wanted us to get together back then."

Hux wasn't a big fan of this last bit of the story, but he didn't comment on it. He got another question instead.

"And how come someone like you clicked with him?"

"I was just... Unimpressed by his tantrums, I guess. And I was genuinely interested in knowing

more about him. He said no one really did, not even his family."

"Wonder why." Hux scoffed, making her chuckle.

"Kylo... Isn't really that awful, really." She looked back at her plate, looking for the best bits with her fork. "It just depends when and how you approach him..."

"Oh, alright, I don't want to listen to any more of it," he cut her off, shaking his head. "Especially today."

"Right... Because today is your day," she said with a beam. She leaned a little towards him to cup his face with one hand.

"Happy birthday," she whispered, and then kissed him straight on the lips, long enoigh to let him bathe in the bliss of the moment.

He had never heard that. And no matter where life took him, he would never forget that day.

They spent the entire day together, eating, talking, and just enjoying each other's company away from the prying eyes. But when the evening rolled around, Y/N know the fairytale had to end.

She was sitting against the headboard with Armitage's head in her lap, giving him a head massage. He was sure he had not felt this relaxed in months, years maybe, thus forgetting about the harsh reality that was facing them.

"Armitage... My shift would be almost done now..." Y/N said sadly, having looked at tiny the holotable next to his bed. "I hate it, but... I think I really need to get going soon."

Hux, who was, at that point, in complete bliss, opened his eyes and sat up suddenly, leaving her surprised. He looked at her and watched her searchingly for a moment, hesitating... And eventually shook his head, having come to a decision.

"Fuck this. I don't want you to go."

He said that in a way which made her shiver. She didn't want to leave, obviously, but she knew she had to be rational.

"But you know we have already..."

"Nobody knows you're here," he cut her off, "and if someone asks, I sent you to do something off planet or whatever. I don't care at this point. Stay here."

Hux was determined. Not only because it was his birthday, but also because he simply couldn't get enough of her. All these moments they spent together were nourishing the feelings he had for her, as if watering a flower that was just about to bloom.

She looked him in the eye and there were sincere emotions written all over his face. She could almost feel him pleading even if he didn't say

anything else. Y/N was also in so much joy it was hard to express; how was she to refuse?

"You know I want to," she uttered eventually.

"Then why don't you, if your commander himself allows it?"

She didn't even open her mouth to argue, because she didn't want to. Instead, she allowed him to grab her hips and pull her towards himself to close the distance between them in a passionate kiss.

It sealed the deal. They both gave into their dreams and she stayed with him for one more night, even if they knew how risky it was.

They fell asleep in each other's arms, just like they woke up, and both of them wished they could start and end their day like this more often.

The next day, there was no other option. They had to part and show themselves to the other soldiers separately so that no one would suspect

anything. They resumed their duties at once, and Y/N made sure not to even look at him on the rare occasions he showed up anywhere near her, however, it was becoming harder and harder for him to restrain himself.

And Kylo Ren himself was about to make everything even more complicated.

It had been five long days, especially for Y/N who got her period. She and Hux did not exchange a single word, they did not meet the other's eyes, and they just kept themselves busy with their duties - but it did not mean they were not thinking about each other, especially at night, when they wished they could be next to the other person.

And then one day Kylo Ren forced Hux to call a meeting of all officers, claiming he had important information. Y/N was kind of excited to join it, since it was her first meeting as a lieutenant, and found it even more exciting when she entered the conference room.

General Hux was already there, sitting by the long, black table with red markings, and the seat on his right was still empty. As soon as he saw her enter the room, their eyes met, making the atmosphere tense before everything even started.

He gave her a stern look, then glanced subtly at the seat beside him, giving her clear permission to sit there. She was hesitant, but she couldn't ask him whether he was sure, the decision had to be made then and there. Excitement was filling her up as she did take the seat next to him.

"General." She bowed her head as a greeting, and he bowed back, keeping his jaw clenched so as not to smile at her.

It was not a good idea to let her sit there. Even in public, they were just inches apart, starved for any form of touch... If only he could put his hand on her thigh... Or at least on her hand...

He almost forgot how attractive she looked with the ponytail and the uniform tight on her thighs and buttocks. Kriff, he had to stop himself from looking at her, otherwise someone would definitely notice, especially Kylo. But at least he knew she was right next to him, and he could protect her at any given moment if needed.

She could also feel the tension, the warmth swirling in the cool room just between the two of them. She taught herself how to avoid looking at him, but it was the first time they were this close in public for a longer period of time.

Kylo appeared in the room not much later, visibly agitated even if no one could see his face. He did not sit, but stood at the top of the table, already making Hux tick. The General rose from his seat and spoke with pure hatred:

"Now, Ren. What was so important you had to gather all of us here on such short notice?"

"You should be thanking me, General Hux," Kylo

replied through his mask. "We have just intercepted information that someone from the Resistance will be at the Canto Casino tomorrow, receiving information about the location of the map. They are still working on who it will be. Either way, we need a spy who will get this information so we can reach the location first."

"Then maybe we should send a squad there to arrest him?" one of the officers suggested.

"No, because they will change the location again and hide," Kylo retorted. "We need to do this quietly in order to surprise them. I suggest Lieutenant Y/L/N for this mission."

Hux mouth fell agape. "Why her?"

He said that before thinking, making her breatheless for that split second before Kylo replied:

"Because I said so."

"Sir, I have worked as a s..." another one of the officers spoke, but Ren was not having it.

"Will you do it?" he asked Y/N directly and she could sense Armitage's eyes on her, even though she didn't see his face.

"Of course," she replied, and she suspected Hux was fighting with himself at that very moment. Kylo knew that.

"I sense displeasure from you, General Hux."

The General gulped. It took every ounce of focus in his body not to think about Y/N at that moment the way he usually did. He regretted his earlier question immediately and had to find a quick way out. But, after all, he didn't become a general for nothing.

"Because I don't know who gave you the permission to command my soldiers," he half-lied to him.

"She agreed, so there's nothing to discuss."

Despite these words, a short discussion did ensue, but it eventually ended up in another room after Hux agreed, even if on the inside he was seething with anger. Less than ten minutes later him, Kylo and Y/N were standing in front of a screen while one of the officers, Tador, was operating it.

"We suspect it will be one of these Resistance fighters," Tador said, pushing a button to show pictures of five different people on the holo screen. "I will send their pictures and all information we have on them to Lieutenant Y/L/N's datapad."

Y/N focused her eyes on the pictures, already trying to remember each face. It was rare to get a mission that was for herself only; she wanted to do well, show off even if she had the chance.

"We also have one of our fake identities at the ready," Tador continued, clicking another button, and the screen changed again. "Inda Chonell. I'll send the profile and background story to the datapad as well... The fake ID should be ready as well..."

Hux was listening to all this and fighting the urge to scream. He was furious, and for many reasons - because he was sure Kylo did this on purpose, because he did this without consulting him, because Ren was Ren, because Y/N agreed, and, most importantly, because she was putting herself in danger. He suspected it would not change much, but he asked anyways:

"Are you certain you can do this, Lieutenant?"

Y/N turned to meet his gaze and she could read him like an open book. She could see the anger in him and she knew what that question meant; he was giving her a chance to step back, but she didn't want to. She knew she would not hear the end of it, but this wasn't the time for thinking about it, especially with Kylo in the same room.

"Yes, General. I will do my best."

"According to new information," Tador interjected suddenly, relieving the tension between Hux and Y/N for a moment, "it is most likely they're sending one of their best pilots. Poe Dameron is his name," he continued, putting up his picture on the screen.

"Listen, I don't care how you do it," Kylo said after a moment of silence, standing in front of her and, as a result, cutting her off from Hux. "Beat him, shoot him, seduce him, sleep with him if you have to, but get that information at any cost."

Hux stepped aside from behind Ren to see Y/N again, and his face was showing nothing but utter outrage. She saw that and felt a knot form in her stomach, but couldn't react as Kylo was watching her closely.

"I understand how important this is, Kylo," she replied, having cleared her throat. "And I know what to do."

"I hope."

Later Y/N received her fake identification, and Kylo scheduled a ship to take her to Canto Bight the very first thing in the morning. It seemed like everything was done and decided... But Y/N knew that things were far from over.

Hux took her to his office immediately after, and all of his movements were aggressive, even the way he locked the door after they found themselves next to his desk.

"Why did you agree to do this?" he asked immediately, having had this question on his mind ever since the meeting. His voice was raised and full of anger, and he hadn't spoken to her like this in a long time. She almost took a step back in surprise.

"What do you mean, why? This is my job."

"Nothing he tells you to do is your job," he hissed and Y/N rolled her eyes.

"You know what I mean."

"I know, but it's not you who has to do this. It's dangerous."

"Being a soldier is pretty dangerous itself," she retorted, but he was not having it.

"Not here. Not when I can keep an eye on you."

"Are you implying that I'm not good enough for this mission without your help?" She crossed her arms, suddenly riled up. "If it were someone else, you would be proud that they want to do it for the First Order!"

Her raising her voice was a surprise to him, one that flicked a switch in his head. It seemed that he still wasn't the best at expressing his feelings. Making her upset was the last thing he wanted, and he just then realised his harsh tone might have startled her, to say the least.

"Y/N," he said finally, having heaved a sigh to calm down. "Don't you understand I just don't want anything to happen to you? I do not care about this mission, I don't care about Ren... I only care about your safety."

This touched her more than one could describe. It was yet another moment when he did not say he loved her directly, but his intentions were as clear as day. For a short moment, she wondered if she will ever get to hear it from him.

"Nothing will happen to me," she said eventually, unsure if there was anything better to say. For some reason, she was not scared of this mission at all.

"Listen. You will call me the moment you land," he commanded. "And in case of any emergency, you call me and I'll be there immediately with our entire army, understood?"

"Understood, sir," she replied jokingly, brushing something off of his shoulder, and then her face fell suddenly. "Rather than my safety, there's something else I'm worried about..."

"What is it?" he asked immediately.

"If it's really this Dameron guy..." She gulped. "The easiest way to get what I want will be to seduce him. And my heart doesn't want to do that, but..."

She saw his face fall as well as he felt a sharp pain in his chest.

Jealousy. The emotion which sometimes was even more destructive than anger.

"It's just for the mission," she explained herself quickly after he had not replied.

This was too many emotions for Hux to handle. He had never found himself in such a situation before - there was no one he could be jealous of, no one he cared about enough to be filled with envy if they were with someone else... And he didn't expect she would want to actually try this way Ren suggested, even if he knew it might be the safest and, potentially, the most successful one.

But somewhere deep down, it hurt him, as if he wasn't broken enough.

He didn't know what to do, just like he didn't know what pushed him to say:

"Go back to your duties, Y/N."

He didn't quite meet her eyes when he said that, and that, paired with these words, shattered her.

"You're mad at me?" she asked and the distraught look on her face made him regret his words. But he had to be left alone before he could worsen the situation; he didn't want to hurt her any further with any impulsive remarks he might make.

"No, it's just... Ren will be looking for you and he'd better not find you here."

What a pathetic excuse, he thought to himself.

"But Armitage..." she began, trying to touch his arm, but he stepped back aburptly, not allowing her to do so. At that moment, she was heartbroken - she knew he hated Kylo, but he never denied her touch, not even when they were still technically strangers...

"Just go," he muttered, avoiding her gaze again.

The moment the door closed behind her, he wanted to scream and get her back at once. He hated himself for the way he handled the situation, but it was too late, especially with her leaving soon...

He left his office while breathing heavily, adjusting his gloves nervously at the same time. Whichever soldier Hux was going to lace into was not going to have a good day.

The thoughts about what he had said to her haunted him for the entire day. He was angry with himself and wanted to fix what he had broken before she would be gone... It was the first time he felt the need to apologise to someone.

He had a Stormtrooper escort her to his quarters in the evening, under the pretense of discussing her mission further. The moment she entered his office she saw a serious face, one that was on her mind for the whole day, too. A knot in her stomach tightened as she approached the desk and heard him command the Stormtrooper to leave in a harsh voice.

The moment the door closed behind him, Hux locked it and rose from his seat, his expression softening at once.

"I can't let you leave like this," he said quietly, and Y/N shivered from the sole delicateness of his words.

"Please say you're not mad at me," she whispered, swallowing hard so as not to cry. She hated the thought of him despising her, and also worried about potential discharge had the feelings changed...

"I can't bear it. If it's that important to you, I won't go, I'll tell Ky..."

"Y/N." He interrupted, then walked around the desk to stand right in front of her and grabbed her arms. He couldn't wait any longer, not when she sounded this heartbroken, not when she was about to leave so soon...

"If there's anyone I'm mad at, it's Ren," he began. "I'm proud of you. I want you to have a successful career here. It's just..." He heaved a sigh, trying to express his feelings properly this time. "I have never had anyone in my life I worried about. I... Don't even know how to handle this."

"I promise I'll be careful. And I promise that if

anything happens, I'll call you immediately," she began talking quickly, wishing to make sure they were alright as soon as possible.

"And I'll have a squadron at the ready to come for you," he promised, getting a sigh of relief from her.

"See? It will be alright." She smiled. "I'm not your favourite for nothing, am I?"

He raised an eyebrow, extremely glad they were back to teasing. "Who said you're my favourite?"

"Oh, right after Ren, then?"

He gave her a stern stare. "Y/L/N."

She giggled, then composed herself. "Let's talk this mission through... So there are no misunderstandings."

He nodded, so she sat on his desk as he let go of her shoulders and moved to stand in between her dangling legs.

"Kylo has given me a dress and some cosmetics... I wonder how I will feel like. It's been a while since I even touched a dress."

"And I won't even get to see it," Hux said grumpily, deciding in his mind that he will get a dress for her, too... One only he could see her in.

"Maybe you will..."

He sighed. "You know all the safety precautions, right?"

He knew the answer, but he would not forgive himself if he didn't ask.

"Of course. I was a perfect student," she replied, throwing her hands around his neck. "Otherwise you wouldn't have brought me to work with you, right?"

The moment she did that, he inched closer, his gaze falling onto her lips. He didn't want to think there was a slim chance that if he kissed her that night, it could be the last kiss they ever share...

"I would be more sure if you listed everything to me, Lieutenant," he said in his commanding voice, trying to forget about any worries. "And I will reward you accordingly."

She beamed at that.

"As you wish, General... So, first rule, you never draw unwanted attention..."

He leaned in and rewarded her with a kiss, one that was so full of emotion it left her breathless for a minute before she could utter the next rule:

"Second, you leave no trace..."

Another kiss. Shivers went down her spine; he was becoming more and more brave when it came to her.

"Third, you do not reveal your identity at any cost..."

He kissed her again and did not allow her to elaborate any further. The kisses were becoming feverish, hungry and, in a way, apologetic. Y/N responded with enthusiasm, bringing her body closer to him to feel his warmth. Neither of them wanted it to be a goodbye, but who knew? They had to seize the opportunity.

At that point, he didn't even need to ask. He grabbed her by the hips, prompting her to wrap his legs around him. He carried her to his bed and proceeded to undress her as delicately as one could, kissing almost every inch of her skin as he went.

The moment she was completely naked before him, he took a few seconds to adore her, then bent over so his face was right above hers.

"It's our last night here for a while. I will be on the Dreadnought when you come back..." he whispered right into her ead, nibbling on it in the process.

She smiled, already feeling the arousal building up in her as one of his hands roamed all over her naked body. "Then we might as well make it worth remembering."

That night, he didn't have sex with her - he made love to her, in a way he had never done before. Each and every moan, gasp, kiss was extremely intimate; his moves were slow, but deep when he thrusted into her. He wished he would find the courage to utter his true feelings, but all he could do was kiss her over and over again in the darkness of the quiet bedroom. He wanted to remember every curve of her body he studied with his fingertips, every sound she let escape her lips, the way she whispered his name when he brought her over the edge... It was like a confession of love, even if no words were spoken.

Even after they have both finished, they did not move and stayed as if glued to each other, naked body to naked body, bathing in the heat of the other person. No one would have believed the General Hux was capable of something like this, but when roughness is a constant in your life... Sometimes you crave delicateness.

Although she felt wonderful, Y/N knew that the silence they were in had to end at some point. She had to come back to her quarters that night...

"Armitage, please, remember..." She began suddenly, having placed a small kiss on his naked shoulder. "No matter what I do there, there's only one man I truly want. Although I am not going to sleep with him, no matter what Kylo says... My charms must suffice."

He still didn't like the sound of that, but after what they had just done, it seemed like they were more bonded than ever. So, even if there was pain inside him, he didn't intend to show it again.

"I don't know if they will. You're insufferable."

It didn't even annoy her when he said that - she just laughed.

"I'll miss you so much," she confessed, snuggling into his neck.

His heart almost dropped when she said it. It was definitely not the first time she expressed her feelings towards him, yet at that moment, it seemed so much stronger. Of course he would miss her, too.

"Come back quickly to me."

That was the words that were replaying in her head over and over while she was on her way to Canto Bight, reading the files of her fake identity and her potential targets for the thousandth time. She knew she could not mess it up; Kylo made himself more than clear right before she boarded her ship that it was the most important thing she could be taking care of. Hux didn't come to see her off; just for safety, that's why

she was left with what he'd said to her in the bedroom.

While she was doing her make-up on the ship, she really wished he would see her in it. It's been a while since she could pull out all the stops when it came to beautifying herself - soldiers weren't really allowed a full glam, and she wanted to look beautiful for the man she had fallen for.

To her surprise, it was quite easy to play a snooty, rich lady from the moment she landed. When she got to the room the First Order had arranged for her - a lavish suite, just like everything in that place was - she made sure it was secure, then sent a message about her safe arrival straight to Hux as she promised. The same message also went to Kylo, since he was probably going nuts somewhere in his quarters.

Y/N gave all of her information one last glance, then began preparing herself for the evening further. After styling her hair to make it quite slick, it was time to dress up... And it was the moment she started getting nervous. The realness of her mission got to her, and the realisation that if something goes wrong, it might not end up well for her. A sigh escaped her lips as she tried not to think about all of this, especially about her previous meeting with Armitage possibly being the last.

The dress she took out of a box Kylo had given her was even more spectacular. It was black, but shiny with long sleeves, but the neckline was outrageous - it was long and wide, exposing one side of each of her breasts. When she put the dress on, she noticed it reached the floor and hugged her body quite tightly. It screamed Canto Bight, but it was a good thing. At least she wasn't going to stick out like a sore thumb in the luxurious interior of the casino she was going to.

When she was ready, she opened her datapad and revised the vital information one last time. It wasn't like she could bring it with herself and compare the pictures to the people she would meet. Or maybe she could bring it, but if anybody saw any suspicious behaviour... It was like a school test. She could try cheating, but if she got caught, she could pay for it with her life.

She tried to stay as calm as possible, well aware that any nerves may blow her cover. Before leaving, she looked at herself in the mirror for a last-minute check and smoothed down her dress. She almost didn't recognise herself. Mission-wise, it was a good thing, but she regretted that Hux could not see this. She couldn't remember the last time she felt this beautiful, and wondered what he would think about it.

However, it was not time to daydream about her forbidden lover the moment of truth was near. The Resistance's representative could be in the casino any minute.

Y/N entered the casino with only a concealed communicator - should the need to contact the First Order arise - and a knot in her stomach. On one hand, she knew she blended in perfectly and could mingle all she wanted, but on the other, there was this unsettling feeling that everyone somehow knew she was a spy.

She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, remembering the rules - thus, a big smile appeared on her face as the memories of Hux rewarding her for knowing them came back.

It had been almost two long hours in the casino and almost nothing happened. Y/N was constantly looking around, but there was no one suspicious, and no one seemed to suspect her, either... Everyone was simply having fun, and she began losing all the hope.

She was pretending to watch one of the casino games, drink in her hand, in the middle of a meaningless conversation with one of the other guests when she saw him.

There he was. In one of the booths, alone. She could only see his profile, but she was sure it was him. Poe Dameron, in a white suit, apparently playing a game just like she was...

Jackpot.

She excused herself from the conversation with the stranger and immediately approached the booth. It was now or never, and she had to put on her best performance, even if it hurt a little.

Forgive me, Armitage.

"Hi there," she said to catch his attention, and he immediately looked up from the drink he had on a golden table in front of himself. She could see just by his initial expression that he liked what he saw.

"Oh, hello," he said, surprised but smiling at the sight of her.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked, jerking her head towards the unoccupied space of the booth.

"Not at all." He sat up straight as she gave him another smile and took a seat opposite him.

So far, so good.

"I'm sorry for my boldness, I just... I don't think I've ever seen you around here, so you've caught me eye. Not that it's a bad thing."

"Oh, have I?" He asked with a little bit of pride. "Well, it's true I'm not a regular, but... I wouldn't mind becoming one." He looked her up and down, giving her enough confidence to stick out her hand to him.

"My name is Inda."

"I'm P... Peter," he hesitated, then shook her hand. "Nice to meet you."

Amateurs, she thought. Didn't he even have a fake name at the ready? She knew he made it up on the spot.

"Nice to meet you, too, Peter."

They both grabbed their drinks and, after clinking their glasses together, drank a little.

"So, Inda..." Poe began, setting his glass back on the table. "What is a girl like you doing here tonight? Alone?"

Oh, boy, he didn't even know what fairytales he was about to hear.

"Feeling bored, mostly." She sighed. "My father makes me come here. He hopes I'd find a suitable match for a daughter of an aircraft engineer... But most guys here are both ugly and egoistic."

"Wait, did you say an aircraft engineer?"

She got him. She knew this would make him let his guard down.

"Yes? Why?"

"Because I'm a pilot," he said, clearly in disbelief the stars had aligned like this.

"Are you?" she replied as if she had no idea about it. "I would love to hear more about that."

And so she listened carefully to everything he was telling her, hoping to catch any glimpse of useful information for herself. But he was mostly blabbering on the passion he had for flying, and it would be very interesting to hear were the circumstances a bit different. She discovered that, no matter how charismatic and handsome Dameron actually was, she much more preferred Hux's roughness she could uncover step by stop.

They were talking for no more than a quarter when Dameron suddenly began looking around, and his eyes finally fell onto someone somewhere behind her. He lost his flirty expression and seemed alerted, prompting her to focus, too.

"You know... As much as I enjoy this conversation, I have a job to do."

"No way. The first interesting man I've met here and he has to cut it short..."

She could tell he liked that compliment, but stood up anyways.

"It was wonderful meeting you and I do hope we meet again," he said as she stood up, too.

You don't.

"Can I at least see you off?" she asked hopefully, but he immediately shook his head.

"I'm afraid not. Business calls."

"Well then... Goodbye, Peter. I hope you do come by again."

"Me too."

The moment he left her, she knew the most crucial part of the mission was only starting. She didn't get any information directly from him other than the confirmation he was the man she had been looking for... But now she had to follow him, unnoticed and, most importantly, get that bit of information she needed. She was sure that was where he was going.

Keeping her distance and hiding in between the casino guests, she followed him outside, where she suspected he'd go. There, she hid behind a pillar as he talked with someone she could not see, but it didn't matter as long as she could hear them. That was the most important moment, and she was so stressed yet so drunk on adrenaline...

"He'll be waiting for you on Jakku."

She heard that sentence and hoped it was exactly what she took it for, especially since she didn't know the context.

"Not my top choice of destination, but it's for a good cause," Dameron replied. "Thank you. The Resistance will reward you for this."

"They'd better," answered the man he was talking to. "If they knew I was here... I'd be a dead man."

After that, she heard an electronical chirp of what she assumed must have been a droid; she could not risk trying to take a peek. Her heart was beating so fast it might have jumped our of her chest.

"Yes, BB-8, we are going right now," Dameron said. "That is, as soon as I'm out of this suit. Thank you once again."

After that, she heard his footsteps, but nothing else mattered anymore. She got what she wanted, so it was time to run.

The moment she locked herself back in her room, she called Kylo at once, and he responded immediately.

"I got the location. They are about to retrieve the map from someone on Jakku. They're sending Dameron to do it, any minute now," she breathed out to the small holo projection of Kylo's full body.

"Jakku..." Kylo hissed, nodding to himself. "I'll go there personally, then. And..." He stopped for a moment to take her in. "Didn't expect you to look this good."

She raised her eyebrows. It was a surprise, but definitely not an unwelcome one.

"Why, thank you."

"I'm sending a ship back for you. Do you think you can get out of there unnoticed?"

She shrugged. "If they land unnoticed."

Kylo thought about it for a moment, then shook his head.

"I'll come for you personally, then. I can't allow this mission to fail. We'll stage your arrest if we have to."

"I have to call Hux now," she added in a rush, wishing to talk to her lover as soon as possible to let him know they had a success... And that she was safe and sound.

"So you called me first? As you should. Talk to him then," Kylo said, already too focused on his next steps. "I'm flying out for you and we're heading straight to Jakku."

Kylo's holo disappeared, prompting Y/N to flick some buttons and call Hux. He responded even faster than Kylo did, if that was possible. He was in his quarters on the Dreadnought, waiting for any news from her, stressed more than ever. He didn't even know he had the ability to worry about someone this much.

"I'm calling to report, General," she said, trying everything in her might not to smile since she had no idea if he was alone.

"Drop it," he replied, taking her in. The holo in his quarters was also showing her entire body, and even in his imagination he did not expect her to look this breathtaking. He really needed to gift her a dress.

"I have the information. They are sending Dameron to get the map from Jakku. I have just told Kylo."

He sighed with relief, then cleared his throat. It was hard to focus on what she was saying when she looked like this.

"Well then, I suppose I should send a squad there," he said eventually, but she shook her head.

"Kylo's coming for me and we're flying to Jakku."

Hux's expression turned furious, to say the least, and he could feel the anger filling him up.

"He's coming for you personally?" he asked in a tone that made Y/N almost feel the anger through the holo.

"That's what he'd just told me," she explained, making him clench his jaw.

"That son of a..."

"Calm down, Armitage," she cut him off. "I'm just doing my job."

"And you're meeting him..." He took a closer look again, warmth filling him up. "Dressed like this?"

Y/N glanced at her body as though she was seeing it for the first time, then smiled mischievously.

"Oh, right... I have to change before he comes... Should I do it right now?"

Hux did not reply, but he did stare at her in a way that made her know what he wanted. She turned her back to him in order to show him the zipper of the dress.

"I wish I had someone who would help me unzip this..." she said teasingly as she grabbed it to pull it down slowly.

"If I were there, I'd rip this dress off of you before you could gasp."

She got goosebumps after these words. She could practically sense the touch of his hands on her body, even if he was far away. She knew that was exactly what he would do.

She unzipped the dress all the way down, then stepped out of it slowly before turning to face him again. She was now just in her panties, still smiling.

"Better?" she asked quietly, the desire thickening the atmosphere even through the call. They could have some fun with it, if only they weren't scraped for time...

Hux watched the blueish silhouette he adored so much for a moment, then shook his head to snap out if it. It was risky, way too risky...

"Dress up before he comes," he commanded and she just chuckled.

"Don't worry, Kylo won't get any of it." She said as she opened a case with her spare clothes. "No one else will."

Even Hux could not stop himself from smiling at that. He watched her put on a strapless bra as she checked her datapad - Kylo had just sent her the tracking of his ship to it.

"He is almost here. I have to run."

"Do not die, then."

She laughed again. "Not in my plans."

"And come back to me quickly. It's an order."

"Yes, sir."

He wanted to tell her something else, but words failed him. The things he wished he found the ability to confess to her were to be said personally, not through a mere holo. That's why he only watched her pull on a black shirt in silence, unwilling to disconnect too quickly.

"You still there?" she asked, having caught him staring.

He rolled his eyes. "Insufferable."

"You love it."

"Good luck, Lieutenant," he said eventually and then disconnected reluctantly, only to allow himself a big, sincere smiled after she disappeared.

He had to get out of his quarters and give orders... They were about to have a breakthrough.

Before Y/N knew it, two Stormtroopers were escorting her to Kylo's ship. No one in Canto Bight tried to save her, even if it did look like she was getting kidnapped by the First Order.

The moment she entered, Ren, with his mask and hood on, instructed her to sit next to him. They departed almost immediately.

"You did all of this faster than I expected. I'm impressed," he told her with genuine

She smirked as if she had not been absolutely terrified that this mission might fail, adjusting the black jacket she had thrown over herself. "Told you you didn't appreciate me enough, Kylo."

She could see he was intrigued even with the mask on, watching her face closely.

Men are so easy to please...

"You should wear all of this more."

She snorted. "Not really the soldier dresscode, is it?"

"I don't think Hux would be against it."

Y/N felt a lump in her throat. Was this just an observation, since the General was just a man, too, or was Kylo suggesting something? She really hoped it the latter wasn't the case. She decided that confidence would be the best reaction.

"Well, yeah, he liked my look as well when I called him," she said proudly. "Maybe you two should discuss that with each other. How it's like seeing a woman. Once in a lifetime thing."

"You're awfully confident for someone who knows what I can do."

"So? Aren't you glad I'm not a whining girlie who is afraid to speak?"

Even Ren could not argue with this. To her surprise, he reached out with his gloved hand and took her face in it, studying it. It sent a shiver of utter shock through her entire body: he had never done something like that before, and she didn't even know he was capable of it. She didn't know whether it was the Force or anything else, but surely something was flowing through her body after this. If Hux had seen it, he would have probably obliterated Ren.

"I am," he replied, then took his hand back as if nothing happened.

Y/N tried to keep her cool. "So don't complain."

"Sir, we'll be landing in five minutes," came the voice of the pilot, so Kylo turned to Y/N again.

"Are you coming with me?"

"Do you want me to?" She raised an eyebrow. "I don't have my uniform nor my weapon."

"You don't need any of that if you're coming with me," he replied in an obvious tone. "You'll go with me. I'll show you how it's done."

Of course, she thought. Of course he wanted her to come along to show off. But she did know she could feel safe if she had him on her side. All in all, it was better to be friends rather than enemies with Kylo Ren.

"If that's what you want."

Not much later, the ship touched down on Jakku. Y/N exited it at Kylo's side, accompanied by Stormtroopers. He was right - although she had no weapon, she felt weirdly safe, even if chaos was raging around them. There were tens of Stormtroopers shooting everywhere in the small, sand village, the villagers were screaming, fire was devouring tents and buildings... The view did scare her a little; sitting behind a console all day, she sometimes forgot how the real war looked like, and that it was more than some buttons and screens.

Everything seemed to have frozen after Kylo's arrival. He confidently walked up to an older man not far from the ship; Y/N had no idea who that was, but followed suit and stood a bit behind Ren as he talked to the man he apparently knew.

"Look how old you've become."

"Something far worse has happened to you," the man replied.

"You know what I've come for."

"I know where you come from. Before you called yourself Kylo Ren."

This gave Y/N the answer - he knew him long ago.

"The map to Skywalker. We know you found it. And now you're going to give it to the First Order."

"The First Order rose from the dark side. You did not."

Y/N knew this would rile Kylo up. He approached the man, definitely seething with anger but still trying to talk.

"I'll show you the dark side."

"You may try," the man responded, determined. "But you cannot deny the truth that is your family."

She knew that the man had already got himself a sentence with these words. She could almost sense something switch inside Kylo right before he said:

"You're so right."

He ignited his lightsaber and struck him down immediately. Right after that came a blue blaster bolt from a weapon, one that could easily reach Y/N... Were it not for Kylo's quick reaction, who froze both the bolt and the man who shot it.

Her mouth fell agape as she saw who it was.

Dameron.

Stormtroopers brought him before Kylo, then knocked him to the ground, although it did not seem to have much effect on him.

"You!" Dameron exclaimed at the sight of her, much to Kylo's amusement.

That moment did mess with her a little. She felt a bit too drunk on the power she had at the time, and put a hand on Kylo's shoulder as if to express it. Ren didn't stop her, he just smiled underneath his mask; he was proud of her.

"Nothing personal, Dameron." She laughed. "I quite like you. It's just... Were the circumstances a bit different..."

"You lying b..." he began, but one wave of Kylo's hand shut him up. He crouched to talk to him, forcing Y/N to take her hand back.

"The old man gave it to you."

"It's very hard to understand you with all the..."

"Search him," Kylo commanded.

"...Apparatus," Dameron finished, prompting Y/N to stifle a chuckle. He was right about that.

"Nothing, sir," the Stormtrooper said, having obeyed the command.

"Put him on board," Kylo decided, and so they obeyed again. Y/N was just about to open her mouth to speak when Captain Phasma approached them.

"Sir, the villagers?" she asked Kylo.

"Kill them all," he replied without hesitation, making Y/N gasp slightly. She knew Kylo was like this, yet it was still somehow shocking to see it with her own eyes.

"You're sure that's a good decision?" she asked, watching Phasma command the Stormtroopers to fire.

"You're questioning it? They were hiding him," Kylo said as if it was the only reasonable decision. "Come. Hux is surely awaiting the return of the soldier I had stolen from him, as he told me repeatedly after you left."

This did cause a small smile on her face. The fact that Hux fought for her even when she was not around mad her stomach flutter. Kylo began walking back towards the ship, but he stopped suddenly, focusing on one of the Stormtroopers... And then resumed walking as if nothing happened.

"You know what you and Hux have in common?" she asked as they were entering the ship again.

"Nothing, hopefully."

"You keep on talking about the other. Maybe you

two just should talk more with each other instead of talking to me about the other, hm?" she teased, knowing it would drive him mad just like it did with Hux. In that way, they were quite similar.

"You're on thin ice," Kylo grunted, but she just laughed again.

"He says that too."

Not much later, Y/N found herself back in the safe and sound bridge of the Dreadnought. She walked in with Kylo to see Hux pacing back and forth, until he saw the two of them and approached them instantly.

"Finally. What took so long?"

Maker, was he glad to see her. He didn't even care Ren was at her side - the only thing that mattered was that she was safe and triumphant. She even still had her make-up on... And looked absolutely stunning to him.

"You should be grateful, General. We have a prisoner that has the information about the map," Kylo said, jerking his head towards the two Stormtroopers that were holding Dameron between them. Hux raised parted his lips in slight disbelief when he saw them.

"Sir, what do we do with him?" one of the Stormtroopers asked.

"Question him. And do not stop until he breaks," Kylo commanded, so they took Dameron out of the room, allowing Ren to turn back to Hux. "Now, you have your favourite back, General. She succeeded in everything, so you can stop complaining."

At that moment, Hux's happiness about seeing her was stronger than hatred for Ren. He looked at her and she gave him the smallest smile. They could see in the each other's eyes how much they wanted they threw themselves on the other.

"Well then. Good job, Lieutenant," Hux said diplomatically, keeping his hands behind his back so as to stay professional.

"Thank you, sir." She bowed her head, hiding her smile.

"You will go with me to my office and report on everything."

She tried to contain her excitement before replying. "Of course."

"I'll make sure our prisoner is treated well," Kylo said, then quickly walked out.

"Follow me, Lieutenant," Hux said to Y/N and she almost jogged after him. Now that Kylo was out of sight, she almost couldn't conceal her happiness.

Entering his Dreadnought quarters again provided indescribable feelings; it was there where everything started, after all. He went inside right after her and locked the door, then turned to face her, his arms wide open.

"Armitage," she breathed out with relief as she threw herself into his arms to hug him with all her might. He hugged her back with just as much if not more enthusiasm, elated that she was back there. Finally.

"You can't imagine how much I wanted to do this." She snuggled into his neck, pecking it. "It's been just twelve hours, but so much happened..."

"Do you want to rest?"

"Well, I wouldn't mind."

"Come, then." He grabbed her hand and began leading her to his living room. He gestured for her to sit on a small, black pouf, then settled himself behind her to take her jacket off. To her pleasant surprise, he threw it to the side and got his hands on her to massage her. He didn't think about it, it just seemed like a natural thing to do, to make her feel better...

"Did everything go as smoothly as Ren says?" he asked as he began to squeeze her shoulders, taking her to paradise in a matter of seconds.

"Yes. He was really pleased." She nodded, giving into his touch without hesitation. "Dameron was easy to deceive... But I couldn't stop thinking about you."

This reminded Hux of his jealousy, and what he was worried about even before she left...

"Did... Did you..." he began, then cursed himself for being unable of constructing a coherent sentence.

"Nothing happened. I didn't even touch him," she replied as if reading his thoughts. Hux smiled to himself, then kissed her neck.

"I missed you," he admitted in a whisper against her skin, yet again effortlessly giving her goosebumps. "You have that ability of making me want to see you all the time... Must be awfully convenient for you, Lieutenant."

She grinned to herself, knowing he was teasing her. "And that is an offense, I presume?"

"And don't you know the rules? Tsk..." He shook his head in disapproval.

"Oh, General, I thought you were going to reward me for my success."

"And what am I doing right now?" He squeezed her shoulders even more, causing her to let out a sigh. "You looked stunning," he added in another whisper that made her heart race.

"I wish I could dress up like this for you one day."

And there she was again, softening him like no one else could.

"I'll make sure to arrange that," he replied and, in his head, was determined to do it. "We can't be here long... I have much work to do now because of Ren's ideas."

"Armitage, don't worry, I understand," she turned to see his face, "I will jump back to my duties, too."

"You can rest today. You earned it."

"You're being pretty generous to me."

"You tell me why," he replied, prompting her to grab his face quickly and kiss him with all the passion she could muster. He responded with just as much eagerness; stars, he was so infatuated.

They were both breathless when they parted, excitement whirling everywhere.

"I'd better not rest today, Kylo will surely want something from me... So should I wipe my make-up off before putting on my uniform back again?"

"Let's say you can leave it on for today. And for tonight, for that matter."

She rubbed her hands. "Oh, and what happens tonight?" she asked as if she had no idea what he was talking about.

"You'll find out."

Around two hours later, Y/N was back at her console, in her uniform, and Malia was trying to ask all about her mission. She wanted to tell her, but it wasn't long before someone came to the bridge and told Hux that Dameron was not telling anything despite different methods they had tried on him. The General saw it as an opportunity...

"Lieutenant, why don't you question him?" He turned to Y/N. "After all, we got him thanks to you."

"Of course, General. Right away." She stood up.

"I will go with you," he added, making her take a deep breath. She wondered whether he wanted to help her or watch her in action - either way, she couldn't wait.

"Missed me, Dameron?" she asked confidently a few minutes later when she entered the questioning room with Hux behind her. Dameron was cuffed to a chair and had blood and bruises on his face, yet he still had enough will to glare daggers at her.

"Are you content with yourself?" he spat as she approached him. Hux was watching everything from next to the door, eager to see her in action.

"Listen, you're not bad." She sighed, crossing her arms on her chest. "It's just that we're on different sides of this conflict and I have a different man I want to be with."

The General shot her a warning glance, wondering what the hell she was doing, but she just shook her head. It's not like Dameron was any threat to them. Either way, Hux's heart began pounding faster, since it was the first time she had ever spoken about him to anyone else like this, even if indirectly.

"Now, I would love to speak with you about the map..." she continued as Dameron didn't reply. "My friends beat you up a little, sorry about that... But it would be easier if you just told us what you know."

She leaned in, making Hux wince slightly, but he composed himself in seconds.

"Want to tell me anything about the map?" she asked in a whisper.

"The only thing I want is to spit on you."

"Save that for your friends." She took a careful step back. "You were much nicer just hours ago... Should I just dress up again?"

He didn't speak at all and kept on glaring at her, so she shook her head again.

"See, General?" She turned her head towards Hux, giggling. "I told you men only go for the looks," she added jokingly, but after wearing that dress and getting the reactions she did, she was almost sure of it.

"Cut it, Lieutenant," he replied, pretending to be as serious as he'd normally be.

Y/N glanced at Dameron one last time. She could see, just by his eyes, that he wasn't going to tell her a thing. She must have been his most hated person on the ship.

"I think it's useless to waste our time here. Should I bring Kylo Ren in here, sir?" She turned to Hux again, and he nodded.

"That would be for the best."

Soon it was Kylo taking care of Dameron and getting information out of him by using the Force while Hux and Y/N were waiting in front of the door. The General decided he wanted to try something risky, just for the sake of it... And, making sure the nearest Stormtrooper couldn't hear him, he leaned in to whisper into Y/N's ear:

"It was one of the hottest things I've seen you do."

She gulped, her knees weakening right then and there. Maker, it aroused her so much she would not mind being taken right then and there, on everyone's eyes.

"Thank you, General."

#hux #general hux #first order #general hux x reader #armitage hux #armitage #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars sequels #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #star wars smut #kylo ren #poe dameron

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searchingforgravity · 1 year

Text

A Whole Lotta Nerve (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: Elvis gets jealous when he sees you flirting with someone right in front of him, and decides to teach you a lesson while also reminding you who you belong to.

TW: Public sex, smut, jealousy kink

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Word Count: 1770

A/N: Not much to say about this one other than 50's Elvis is my kryptonite. Enjoy!

"I-I-I tell ya' (y/n), you gotta whole lotta nerve, doin' somethin' like that!" Elvis calls as he bursts through the hall, his feet treading quickly to catch up with you. A slight pang of fear courses through you at his anger as you pick up your pace, throwing your gaze back at him briefly. You can't help the sudden surge of excitement that courses through you as well at his current state. His face flushed, his chest heaving as he gains on you. "I don't know what you're talking about," you bite back. Of course, you know what he's talking about. You were flirting with someone right in front of him. But you only did it because you were angry. Angry that he thinks he can throw his arm around every girl he lays his eyes on. Usually you don't care much, but lately you've felt like he barely notices you in the sea of women. You're afraid you'll lose him. So when an attractive guy came up to you tonight looking you over in your skin tight, thin dress, you decided to flirt with him, to give Elvis a taste of his own medicine.

"Why the hell are ya walkin' away from me then if ya' don't know what I'm talkin' bout!?" he yells, approaching you. Suddenly you stop, turning around to face him. His breathing is labored as he looks in your eyes, anger playing on his face as a light pink shades his cheeks. "So what, Elvis? I let a guy talk to me. Throw me in jail," you spit as you cross your arms over your chest, heaving slightly. "It wasn't just talkin' and you know it wasn't," he bites out as he comes dangerously close to you, heat radiating off of his body onto your lightly clothed one, making you back up, your back hitting the wall behind you.

You try to contain your anger as you gaze up at him, resisting the urge to pull away, not wanting to let him think you're scared. "Oh, honey, you don't want to go down that road," you mutter dangerously as you gaze at him, your eyes sharp on his. "What the hell is that supposta mean?" he mumbles, though something in his eyes retreats. He knows exactly what you mean. Rolling your eyes, you pull away from him, turning as you continue walking down the concert hall where he performed earlier that night.

"Hey! Where the hell are ya goin'?" he grumbles as he grasps your wrist, pulling you back to him. You try futilely to pull away, only making him grip you tighter as he pins you to the wall, trapping you with his body. "Elvis, let me go!" you yell as you press against his chest. He doesn't budge as his eyes bore down on you, trailing over your body. You see his anger rise as he looks you over. "I'm the one that should be mad! You're out there actin' like you don't have a man. Lettin' men look at you like you don't have someone givin' you what you need; satisfyin' you how you like," he breathes as he pushes up against you, making you feel his arousal.

You gasp softly, not knowing he had been turned on by this. Suddenly, your courage starts failing you as you try to ignore the sudden rush of heat coursing through you. "Elvis-" you start, but he cuts you off. "You're out there actin' like you don't know who you belong to," he grumbles, grinding into you as he presses you up against the wall, everything else becoming background noise. You can't help the sigh that escapes your lips as your hands come to grip at his shoulders.

"Did he turn you on baby? Did he get you all wet? C'mon, tell me," he mumbles, jealously lacing his voice as he brings his hands to grip at your waist. Your cheeks flush at his words as you shake your head, your mind already starting to muddle from his touch. "N-No-" you stutter before he interrupts you again. "Aw, c'mon now mama. I won't be mad. Tell me he got you all bothered," he groans dangerously, trailing his hands to grip your ass, grinding you into him harshly. "H-He didn't," you gasp, your eyes rolling back as he repeats the action, bringing his lips you suck on your neck.

"Here I am all hard for you, and you're wet for other men," he grumbles as he grinds his hips into yours again, more urgency in his movements than before. "N-No, Elvis, only for you," you mutter, your self control faltering as your breath hitches, now clawing at his shirt. He hums at this as he pushes you against the wall again, rocking his hips into you. A small whine leaves your lips as you buck against him. You don't care that you are in public, you just need him. Bringing your hands to cup his face, you pull him in for a kiss. He quickly accepts as he bites gently on your bottom lip, groaning into your mouth. "Tell me," he breathes as he brings his hands to his belt, quickly undoing it. "Tell me he made you wet," he grumbles as he yanks the zipper down, capturing your lips in his again as he yanks you towards him.

"Tell me!" he says louder, his jealousy returning when you don't answer him. "Elvis, you know he didn't," you whine, pulling him close, needing him to touch you. He snakes his hand along your thigh, landing on your entrance through your panties, feeling how wet you've gotten. He hums in thought as he leans down, his lips ghosting over your ear. "How do I know this isn't from him?" he whispers. "I sure would look like a fool to please you, thinkin' this is all for me, wouldn't I sweet heart?"

The closeness of him, the warmth of his body, his breath on your neck is all too much. You are close to your breaking point. "Elvis, please.." you trail, trying to conjour up anything to say to get him to touch you. "I only ever want you. You're the only one that can make me feel good," you whimper, yanking him to you from his shoulders. If you weren't so needy, you might be embarrassed by your actions, but all you can think about is him. On cue, he starts rubbing you through your panties, your words making him groan into your neck. A gasp falls from your lips as your grip on his shoulders tighten. A small whimper escapes your lips as your head falls on his shoulder. Wrapping his arms around your thighs, he hoists you up and you instantly wrap your legs around his waist, bringing your lips to kiss at the spot on his neck that you know drives him crazy.

"Shit," he groans, slipping his hand under his boxers, pulling out his now throbbing erection. Bringing his other hand to your core, he effortlessly slips a finger inside you since you are now completely soaked. You gasp at the contact as you melt into his touch, your head falling back against the wall. "You're gonna be nice 'n quiet for me, right baby? I don't wanna have to stop," he groans, his finger pumping inside you steadily. "Y-Yes," you whimper, not trusting your voice to say much else. "Good girl."

Pulling his hand away from you, he grips his cock, his eyes fluttering at the sensation as he lines himself up at your entrance, giving you no warning as he pulls your panties to the side, pushing himself inside you roughly. You both gasp at the sensation, his head falling to your shoulder momentarily. "Hell," he grunts, waisting no time as he pulls out almost all the way before shoving himself back in harshly. "Oh-" you gasp, your hands coming to grip his hair. You have to fight to keep yourself quiet as he starts a steady pace, fucking you into the wall as he pushes himself into you.

All that is heard in the hallway is your and Elvis' heavy breathing and the steady pounding of your backside against the wall. Pulling your legs higher up his waist, he hits a deeper spot inside you, causing a loud whine to escape your lips. "Honey, b-be quiet," Elvis groans out, hitting the same spot over and over again. You can't help the moans that leave your lips, causing him to bring his hand to your mouth, muffling your noises.

Pulling him closer, you buck up into him, making him groan softly. "Fuck, baby," he groans, thrusting into you harder as he brings his hand to your clit. Your eyes roll back and you arch your back, pressing your chest against his. "Tell me I'm the only one that can make you feel this good," he moans, making pleasure shoot through to your core. He removes his hand from your mouth, his thrusts getting harder when you don't respond. "Say it!" You whine as your nails dig into the fabric of his shirt. "Y-You're the only one w-who can make me feel this good- shit! Elvis," you whimper. He groans as his lips come to your neck, no longer caring about how loud you're being.

"Say you're mine," he mumbles before his lips attach to the soft flesh on your neck, sucking harshly. "I'm yours, only yours, honey," you moan, making his hands come to your hips, pulling you against him, making him hitting you at a deeper angle. "Oh God, don't stop," you cry, causing him to keep the same harsh pace, speeding up his movements on your clit. "Fuck, your pussy's so tight," he grunts. "Feels so fuckin' good."

His words destroy you as your climax comes, making you yell out. He groans loudly into your neck as he reaches his peak as well, his grip on your hips tightening. "Shit, oh fuck!" he groans, as he helps you both ride out your orgasms. After a moment of catching your breath, he pulls out, his orgasm leaking out of you. "I'm gonna enjoying knowing that's leakin' outta you while we walk around," he mumbles, a smirk on his lips as you hit his arm playfully. "Don't do that to me again," he mumbles more serious, as he helps you get situated. "Are you kidding? I'll do that all the time now," You giggle, making him roll his eyes as he kisses you chastely, threading his fingers through yours as he pulls you back out the the crowd of people.

Masterlist

Tag List:

@goldobsessionsworld @peaceloveelvis @horrorgirl4life @looloolily @flowersofcement @father-of-2cats

#elvis presley imagine #elvis the pelvis #elvis presley #austin elvis imagine #elvis smut #elvis x reader #austin butler fic #austin butler smut #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler x reader #elvis 2022

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here2bbtstrash · 1 year

Text

look down on me like that - 9 (explicit)

genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut, angst

pairing: yoongi x reader

summary: your asshole coworker min yoongi has made it his personal mission to ruin your life.

word count: 16k 🙈

contains: explicit sexual content 👀 literally jumps immediately into it (well.... you'll see 🤭) so buckle up!!! also features: hotel drama, reader being v dumb in classic reader fashion but she gets there, a whole lotta tension and angst and misplaced anger, some new friends!!! and yes they're 3 idols see if you can figure out who 🤪, erotic bed sharing and handholding lmfao, probably the most drinking that has happened in a chapter yet (which is saying a lot honestly), of course the GRAMMY RESULTS.... oh yeah and yoongi in glasses, yoongi in a suit, yoongi playing piano, yoongi almost getting in a fight, yoongi rapping, yoongi WEARING CAT EARS (yes these are all warnings!!!!!! 😩) - ok and here are ur smut specific warnings: semi-public sex (mile high club anyone ✈️), cunnilingus, fingering, sex dreams, nipple play, dirty talk, reader has a voice kink 🥴, clit stim, unprotected sex AGAIN 💀, she squirts again don't @ me lmao, aaaaand some lovely mouth/throat fuckin 🫡

A/N: i feel like i have nothing to say that isn't just overwhelming gratitude to you all for being here 🥺 so i'll keep it short!!! sit back and get comfy bc this one's a lot, here we go y'all..... you ready?? 💜

A/N 2: as of 5/27, this chapter has been updated to remove the instances of anti-asian discrimination. i want to expressly state how sorry i am to those who were hurt or otherwise upset by the original content. please know that i mean it when i say i am fully committed to listening and doing better moving forward. 💜

an eternal thank you to @haliiimede and @monimonimoon for their help betaing!!!

read on AO3!

chapter eight | masterlist | chapter ten

~*~

You don’t know how you let Yoongi talk you into this.

You honestly can’t remember, at least not right now, not with your ass perched on the edge of the sink counter and his hands making quick work to tug your sweats and underwear down and off, one ankle at a time.

The place is cleaner than any airplane bathroom you’ve ever been in, and certainly much less cramped. First class really spares no expense, you’ve learned. It’s an upgrade Yoongi made for both of you at the check-in counter unprompted, his only explanation mumbled into the rim of his iced Americano once you’d settled at a table in the fancy lounge: “Economy seats fuck my back up, and I figured if I left you behind you’d push me into LA traffic at your first opportunity.”

You might still do it, if only because he’s managed to convince you to do this again. Weren’t you supposed to be mad at him?

“I’m starting to think you have a bathroom fetish,” you murmur, not quite managing to keep your voice steady. Your fingers rake through Yoongi’s long dark hair as he situates himself properly on his knees between your legs, his hands pressing your thighs to spread you wider.

“Are you complaining?” he grunts back, and you lose the ability to form a coherent response as he leans in and traces his tongue up your folds.

You nearly bang your head on the mirror with the way your spine instinctively arches at the feeling, your hips tilting up for as much of his mouth as you can get.

“Shit,” you hiss as he starts to fuck the muscle of his tongue into your entrance, his thumb swiping up through your wetness before settling into rough circles over your clit. “Why are you so fucking good at this?”

Once he’s thoroughly tasted you, Yoongi quickly replaces his tongue with his fingers, flexing against your front wall at a brutal pace, like he’s realized you can’t take too long in here. His lips close around your clit as his tongue laps over it in thick strokes, and your hips circle hungrily, grinding on him.

“That’s it,” he pulls off just enough to gasp. “Ride my face. Wanna make you come so I can fuck this tight little pussy.” Just the rough tone of his voice is nearly enough to send you over the edge.

When his lips and tongue return to your cunt, you don’t hold back.

You fist the hand tangled in his hair, your other palm smacking flat to the counter for balance as you throw a leg over his shoulder, and you swear you can hear him laughing while you press your heel into his back to pull him even closer. His mouth is warm and wet and divine, the way he licks and sucks at your throbbing clit overwhelming. He strokes his fingers deftly into your g-spot, working up enough arousal that it’s started to run down the crux of your thighs. You roll your hips again and gasp at the way his tongue drags just right over you.

“Oh god, Yoongi,” you groan, squeezing your eyes shut, too lost in it to worry about being quiet. You can feel it as he keeps his tongue laid out flat for you to use as you please. Everything in you pulls tight as you rut yourself against his face in time to the building pressure worked up in your core by his unrelenting fingers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna—”

The plane dips sharply, and you lurch upright with a gasp as your eyes snap open. There’s a few more seconds of shuddering bumps, and then you seem to find clear skies again.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you sit back and try to steady your breathing, the world slowly coming into focus: the TV screen in front of you, your purse tucked into the shelf beneath it, beige privacy walls surrounding you on all sides.

Fuck. You lean forward, letting your head drop between your knees as reality sinks in. You’re not in the bathroom. You’re in your stupid first-class seat. It was a dream. A fucking airplane sex dream.

Panic carves through you like a knife as questions bubble up in your mind: What if you said something in your sleep? Did Yoongi hear you? Is he sitting on the other side of the wall with that fucking smirk on his face, endlessly smug in the knowledge that he haunts you even in your dreams?

Immediately convinced that he is, you can’t help yourself. You press your hands flat to the divider between you and just barely lift out of your seat so you can peek over it.

But Yoongi looks entirely unchanged from the last time you saw him several hours earlier: he’s got his headphones on and is slouched over his laptop, frowning down at the screen, thoroughly engrossed in work.

Just as you’re breathing a sigh of relief, he glances up, and your eyes widen.

“Can I help you?” he grunts, not even bothering to pull his headphones off. You don’t think it’s a double entendre, but you don’t want to entertain him long enough to find out.

“No,” you snap, and then you slump back down to the safety of your seat, slamming the controller on the wall until you’re fully horizontal. You tug the provided headphones over your ears, hoping they might block out your racing thoughts as you desperately try to ignore the dull ache between your legs.

~*~

Getting any more sleep proves to be an impossible task, your mind too keyed up at the possibility of another airplane bathroom dream. By the time you make it through the rest of the flight, and customs, and the car ride to your hotel, you’re nearly delirious with exhaustion, and your body is thoroughly confused about what fucking time it is, though your phone says it’s apparently the middle of the night.

Your brain feels like it’s been in a blender, your reaction time so slowed that, standing at the hotel check-in counter, it takes you several seconds to process the words leaving the front desk agent’s mouth.

She must be able to read the dumbfounded look on your face, because she repeats herself. “King bed executive suite for three nights?”

“Um, no,” you finally manage to stammer, and though he makes no discernible noise of reaction, it’s like you can feel Yoongi smirking over your shoulder. “No, we need— I booked a room with two queens.”

The agent purses her lips slightly, then shakes her head as she stares down at her computer. “Mm, I’m seeing in the system that we have you down for one king.”

Your exhaustion steamrolls over whatever professionality you might normally have while conducting a business transaction. “I don’t care what your fucking system says, it’s wrong. That’s not what I booked.” Scrolling through your phone for a few seconds, you manage to dig up the email, and you’re almost more compelled to show it to Yoongi, just to make sure he’s well aware— you did not fuck this up.

“See, two queens,” you reiterate helplessly as you extend the receipt on your phone toward the agent.

She tuts once, her eyes barely glancing over at your phone before returning to her computer screen. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like we have any availability to switch you. Given the Grammys are on Sunday, this is quite a busy weekend for us.”

You set your phone on the counter and try to keep your breathing steady, to remain calm despite the overwhelmed panic starting to rise in your chest.

“About that,” you say, doing your best to speak in an even voice. “We wanted to keep a low profile, but my… associate here is actually a nominee. For Song of the Year?” You hate that it comes out more like a question as your gaze flits to Yoongi for the briefest of seconds, then back to the front desk agent. “So, really, if there’s anything at all you could do, we would appreciate it.”

There’s a pause as she regards you for a moment, her lips pressed into a tight smile, and then she speaks again. “I really do apologize, but a mistake on your part does not constitute an emergency on ours. No matter who the accommodation is for.”

It takes a second for your jetlag-addled brain to process the words, and their direct contrast to the forced sunny expression on her face. If you were in a better state of mind you might be able to take a breath, state your case more calmly, or figure out some other alternative, but instead all you can manage is a knee jerk reaction.

Because you can’t be in a room with Min Yoongi and only one bed.

“Are you fucking kiddin—”

“Hey.”

A hand pressed to your bicep nearly makes you jump out of your skin. Despite every cell in your body urging you to lunge over the counter, you don’t fight it when Yoongi pulls you back a few paces, giving enough room for him to take your place at the counter.

“It’s fine,” he mutters over his shoulder.

It feels like your heart is beating a mile a minute, enough that you can hardly keep up with the soft apology he concedes to the agent. She hands him the room keys without another word, that same fake smile still plastered over her face. With one last nasty look over your shoulder, you follow Yoongi toward the elevators, dragging your suitcase along behind you.

Practically seething, you can barely manage to wait until the doors slide shut before you pounce.

“Look, I don’t know what you think is about to happen here, but I did not fucking book a single bed room.”

“It’s fine,” he sighs wearily, eyes fixed on the overhead number as it counts up to your floor. “I just want to sleep. Whatever that was about to turn into wasn’t worth the trouble.”

The doors slide open with a soft chime, and you storm after him down the hall to your room as he continues, pressing the key to the reader and pushing the door open. “Besides, I've stayed here before, and I know these suites have couches.” He holds the door and gestures for you to enter first, and you do.

He's not wrong: there’s a small living room area with a sofa, a desk, and a television mounted into a wall that effectively separates it from the bedroom on the other side, though there isn’t actually a door. The bathroom is immediately to your left as you step inside.

“So,” Yoongi says simply as the door shuts behind him. “I'll take the couch. All good.”

Of fucking course.

The rational part of your brain knows that he has done nothing to upset you. He's been quiet and polite on your long day of travel, and is treating you simply as if you were business acquaintances. It all makes perfect sense, given that you told him your night at his apartment couldn’t mean anything. He's done everything you’ve asked of him, really.

And yet it’s all of it: your stupid sex dream, the lingering bad taste of your encounter with the hotel agent, and the fact that Yoongi can’t seem to even fathom the idea of sharing a bed with you, not here and certainly not at his apartment. Everything has you simmering with a sudden vicious, unreasonable anger.

“Do whatever you want,” you snap as Yoongi sets his suitcase down on the floor of the living room. “I don’t give a shit.”

The rage burns like acid in your gut as you move through your night routine in the bathroom, and it’s only worsened by the knowledge that your alarm will be going off in just a few hours, and you’ll have to drag yourself through a long day of press and prep for Sunday. And that Yoongi will be there, through all of it, just like he’s on the other side of the door right now, inescapably and overwhelmingly present.

It doesn’t make sense to you how he can somehow manage to be too distant and too close at the same time. As you spit toothpaste into the sink, you wonder why the fuck you ever agreed to go on this stupid trip.

~*~

You don’t think you manage more than ten minutes of sleep the whole night. Despite exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs, you toss and turn and kick at the blankets, too frustrated by all the confusing feelings churned up inside of you to be able to slip into any kind of real rest.

When you glance at the clock for the millionth time, it’s now only thirty minutes until your alarm is due to go off. With a sigh, you decide to give up.

Your mind is already racing with the schedule for the day, and you go over it a million times in your head as you shower and dress and apply your makeup. When you emerge from the bathroom already entirely put together, Yoongi is on the couch blinking blearily at his phone, clearly having just woken up.

“The car will be here at seven,” you call over your shoulder without a second glance back at him.

He grunts his acknowledgement, and after a few moments you hear the sound of the bathroom door sliding shut again. You dig your work laptop out of your purse to double-check everything, and before you know it you’re sucked into confirming specifics and answering emails, and you completely lose track of time.

The sound of Yoongi clearing his throat snaps you back to reality, and you shut your laptop as you glance up to find him standing in the threshold of the bedroom. He’s dressed nicely for his many interviews, in a sky-blue button-down, and you have to blink twice as you take in his appearance.

“You wear glasses?”

The warm lamplight of the bedroom reflects off his lenses as he shrugs. “I don’t like to. But I forgot my contacts.”

“We can stop for some on the way to your fitting,” you answer, adding it to your mental to-do list. The reminder of your booked itinerary is enough to get you to your feet, one arm wrapped around your laptop to press it close to your chest. Trying to remember what else you need to do to get ready proves impossible as Yoongi steps closer, and then you hear him laugh softly under his breath.

“Wow, glasses? Really?”

“What?”

“You have that look on your face,” he says simply, and you can feel an embarrassed heat creep up your neck. You hate that after all this time, he can still read you like a book.

You swallow hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He continues to close the distance between you, and you take a reflexive step backward, only for your thighs to bump against the mattress behind you. “Would’ve worn these more often if I knew they’d get you all flustered.”

You attempt to argue that you’re not flustered, but the words die on your tongue with the realization of how close Yoongi is to you now. His eyes are fixed pointedly on your mouth. “I—” you try again, your voice breaking slightly. “I’m not—”

The sharp buzz of your phone vibrating on the nightstand makes both of you start, and it’s like you can think clearly again when Yoongi steps back to give you room to grab it. You thumb open the text with one hand as you shove your laptop into your purse with the other. “They’re downstairs.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything else to you until you’re in the car, crawling through Los Angeles traffic. “Remind me what all we’re doing today?”

You stare out the windshield, not wanting to meet his gaze as you recount the schedule that’s permanently seared into your brain. “You have press interviews in Studio City all morning until one. We’ll pick up lunch— and we can grab you some contacts, too— and then you have a fitting in Beverly Hills at two. After that, your boss wants us to tour the office out here and take a few meetings with the team, so that’ll be the rest of the afternoon. And then I guess whenever we’re done with that, the label execs want to take us to dinner after.”

He’s silent for long enough that you’re forced to glance over at him, wondering if he was even paying attention. There’s a small smile on his face, but it doesn’t quite read as smug. You don’t know what to make of it.

“Huh,” Yoongi finally remarks.

“What?” you snap in response, probably a little harsher than he deserves, but you haven’t had coffee yet.

“Nothing,” he says innocently. “It’s just funny, compared to when you first started.” He crosses his arms over his chest, shifting back slightly in his seat. “I remember when you couldn’t even use Outlook.”

You narrow your eyes in his direction. “I guess people change.”

“Guess so.”

The day passes in a hectic blur, and though ostensibly all of your scheduled engagements are meant to be about Yoongi, you find yourself just as busy as he is, if not moreso.

His press interviews run long because of course they do, and you’re forced to drop him at his fitting while you run out to pick up lunch and contacts— and most importantly, more coffee, which you desperately require to survive the rest of the day.

You’re admittedly thankful for the extra tasks. Even if you do feel dead on your feet, it’s still preferable to sitting around and watching Yoongi try on a suit. You can easily recall firsthand how deadly the image is, and putting off that suffering until the real thing tomorrow is perfectly fine, as far as you’re concerned.

The coffee gives you just enough of a caffeine boost to power through your afternoon meetings, reviewing branding strategies and opportunities for collaborative promotions with the label’s overseas team. Your heart sinks a little when you go through the marketing summary slides prepared by Jungkook, not a single detail out of place, and you try to shove thoughts of him to the back of your mind so you can focus on the work.

At dinner, it’s all you can do to not fall asleep over your extremely overpriced sashimi. Yoongi’s been pulled away to the far side of the table for what you can only assume are deeply boring conversations with the Los Angeles production team. Thankfully, your side is a bit more lively.

“Matthew,” the A&R rep who you’re pretty sure introduced herself as Tiffany stage-whispers. You realize she’s speaking to the tall and ridiculously built guy seated next to you when her gaze flits up to him, and then she resumes poring over the extensive drink menu. “Can we get sake bombs?”

“Why are you asking me?” Matthew responds, and you look over to see his face scrunched up in confusion.

“You’re in finance! I need you to tell me that I can get white-girl wasted on the label’s dime tonight.”

He sighs for a moment, like he’s trying to think. “I don’t… actually know if we’re allowed to reimburse that.” Tiffany’s lower lip trembles, dangerously adorable, and he exhales as if he’s been defeated. “Fuck it. I’ll cover it out of pocket if we can’t.”

“God, I love you,” she breathes, chasing the comment with a throaty laugh and quickly flagging down a server to order. “Can we please do thr— Vernon, baby, how old are you?”

The intern seated next to her blinks slowly. “Twenty four?” You’re pretty sure those are his first words of the evening.

“Huh. Your skincare’s doing wonders,” Tiffany shakes her head disbelievingly. “Four sake bombs, please?”

They arrive in an instant, and Tiffany smiles proudly to herself as she balances her shot glass on a pair of chopsticks laid across the top of her beer. You follow Matthew and Vernon’s lead as they set their drinks up to mirror hers.

“To Matthew’s wallet,” Tiffany toasts solemnly. “The only thing bigger than his tits.”

As if in hearty agreement, Matthew bangs his fist against the table so hard it makes everyone in a five foot radius flinch, and all four of your shot glasses plummet into the awaiting beers beneath them.

“Kanpai, motherfuckers!” Tiffany cackles, and you throw your drinks back in perfect sync.

The rowdiness of your corner is too loud to be ignored, and your stomach twists slightly as you set your empty glass down only to catch Yoongi staring from across the table. When your eyes meet his, he quickly lowers his gaze and adjusts his glasses, his mouth pulling into a flat line.

You turn back to your new friends as Tiffany finishes her own drink. As if she just witnessed the silent exchange, she leans toward you.

“So,” she drops her voice a little lower, “What’s it like working with Suga?”

Doing your best to keep your face neutral, you inhale deeply, wondering where to begin, or what would even be workplace-appropriate to say. The jetlag makes your mind move that much slower. “It’s—”

“Oh my god,” she immediately interrupts you. “You’re sleeping with him.”

Vernon nearly spits the last swallow of his drink back out.

“Tiffany,” Matthew interjects, sounding exhausted, like this is a regular occurrence. “Don’t fucking say that to someone you just met.”

“I mean,” you concede, your lips loosened by the warm rush of alcohol. “She’s not wrong.”

Matthews eyes widen, and he purses his lips for a long pause before he finally speaks. “Shiiiiiit, okay. Alright then.”

You sigh, slumping to rest your cheek in your hand, so exhausted that you can barely stay upright. “I don’t know if ‘sleeping with’ is the right term. It’s just a… mistake that we’ve made. A few times. Several, I guess.”

“I bet he’s even richer than Matthew,” Tiffany says, awestruck, clearly more to herself than to you.

“If it’s a mistake, why do you keep making it?” Vernon asks bluntly.

“Damn, Vernon with the deep cut,” Matthew remarks, and you shake your head.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, your words running together slightly. “I’m just trying not to think about it, at least not while we’re on this stupid work trip.”

All three of them nod like they understand, and then Tiffany leans in again. “Let me guess: there’s only one bed in the hotel room.”

“Please ignore her.” Matthew sounds as tired as you feel.

“Yes!” you exclaim, your anger from the night before temporarily reigniting. “The hotel fucked our room up, and the lady wouldn’t fix it because she was a fucking bitch—”

“Naturally,” Vernon interjects.

“And even though we only have one bed, he chose to take the couch. Like, that’s where we’re at.”

“That’s sweet,” Tiffany murmurs, and you make a face.

“Is it?”

“He’s being respectful. I bet he doesn’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable, or like… pressured. ‘Cause sleeping with somebody is a world of difference from… sleeping with them, you know?”

You roll your eyes. “Or he wants to be as far away from me as possible, even while sleeping.”

“If I was the one nominated for a Grammy, I’d make you take the couch,” Vernon scoffs around a piece of edamame.

“Right?” Matthew chimes in. “Ain’t no way I’m getting good sleep on a hotel couch. Them things are like fuckin’ cement blocks.”

A yawn escapes you before you can manage to stifle it, and you press a hand to your mouth, suddenly overwhelmed from exhaustion as well as the conversation. You scoot your chair back from the table to stand and politely excuse yourself to the restroom.

“You gotta cool it with that shit, Tiff,” you hear Matthew mutter as you depart.

Your mind swims while you traverse the long back hallways of this bougie restaurant. It’s almost laughable now, but you really never thought to give Yoongi the benefit of the doubt for sleeping on the couch— not here, and not at his apartment.

You’re still so used to expecting the worst from him that you’ve just assumed the intention is laced into his every action. Even the nice things have felt like a cause for concern, like a reason to keep your guard up, small gestures meant to distract you so he can get the upper hand, somehow. It’s hard to shake the idea that he’s your enemy, even after everything that’s happened.

And yet you can’t help wondering if Tiffany is right. Is Yoongi really just being… respectful? And if so: what does he want? And how does he feel? You’re torn between wanting to know and hoping you never find out.

A voice saying your name drags you out of your thoughts. You turn back just shy of the restroom door, unable to stop another yawn from slipping out, and you bring a hand to your mouth to hide it. Your eyes widen as your brain works on a delay to process the familiar voice, then the sky-blue shirt and the dark framed glasses. It distantly occurs to you that Yoongi has you all alone in this fancy hallway.

You blink a few times, willing the weight of sleepiness out of your eyes, then finally respond with the first thing you can think of. “I’m not fucking you in the bathroom, Yoongi.”

He blinks right back at you, clearly not expecting that. “I… wasn’t asking you to.”

“What do you want then?” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I—” he sighs, and you can’t help but wonder if he suddenly regrets coming after you. “You’re tired.”

“Yes, because I barely fucking slept. And?”

You tell yourself that you’re just imagining the way his voice has softened slightly. “Dinner’s over. We don’t have to stay. They’ll get it.”

“I’m having fun,” you retort. “I made friends.”

“I saw,” he remarks, not quite able to hide his smirk.

“So please, don’t cut your boring producer conversation short on my behalf,” you continue dryly.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, to your surprise. “Yeah, it’s brutal. I’d much rather be sleeping.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Or doing sake bombs.”

The question rushes out before you can second guess if it’s a good idea to ask. “How did you sleep? On the couch?”

Yoongi shrugs, then rubs a hand at the back of his neck, making a face as if you’ve put him on the spot. “Like shit.”

You nod, your gaze dropping to the carpeted floor. “Well, I mean. Maybe it would make more sense if, uh—”

“’Scuse me—” a new voice causes your head to snap up again, and you take a step away from Yoongi as Tiffany slips between the two of you, moving quickly toward the women’s restroom.

“Sorry love, I have to break the seal!” she calls over her shoulder before the door slams shut.

The interruption is enough to make you swallow your suggestion, and Yoongi reaches into his pocket for his phone.

“I’ll call a car, because I’m tired,” he murmurs defensively. “You’re welcome to get your own later, if you want to stay out—”

“I don’t,” you say firmly. “It’s fine. Just tell me when the car’s here.” Before Yoongi can so much as respond, you shoulder the bathroom door open and fast-walk to the safety of a stall.

After breaking your own seal, you make your way out to a sink, and you’re a little taken aback to find Tiffany still there waiting for you. She’s hovering over the mirror, blotting at her forehead with a paper towel.

“I wanted to apologize if I came on too strong,” she says softly as you turn on the tap. “Matthew says my mind-reading abilities can be intimidating to people who don’t know me well.”

You can’t help but laugh. “It’s cool. You remind me of my best friend.”

“The highest honor there is,” she says with a knowing nod. When she turns to fully face you, shifting to rest her hip on the sink as you dry your hands, you have a feeling there’s more coming.

“So, can I be honest?”

“Go ahead,” you say, suddenly a little nervous.

“I know I just met both of you today, but— the way Suga was looking at you? Girl. He’s not taking the couch because he wants to.”

You smile politely at her reflection, and her eyes narrow. “I know you don’t believe me, and you don’t have to. Matthew doesn’t believe that he’s in love with me either, but we both have Leo Moons, so obviously we’re each waiting for the other person to cave first.” She shrugs, nonchalant. “Which is fine for us, but all I’m saying is, if you want something, there’s really nothing wrong with asking for it.”

The urge to shut her down is strong. It’s slightly unnerving to feel like a relative stranger is peering into your soul. “You make it sound easy,” you murmur with a dry laugh. “I don’t think bed-sharing is part of our… arrangement.”

Tiffany preens a little more in the mirror, deftly flipping her curtain of dark hair over one shoulder. “Maybe it’s not supposed to be, but trust me on this one. He won’t say no. And if he does, I owe you a sake bomb.”

A genuine smile blooms across your face, and it only widens when she holds up her pinky finger. You lock yours around it for a single shake. “Deal.”

Arm-in-arm with Tiffany, you return to your corner of the table, where she entertains you by bullying Matthew into buying another round of drinks while he groans about burning a hole in his pocket.

“If it helps,” you giggle, “I’m about to head out. So make it three instead of four.”

“Thank god,” Matthew breathes a sigh of relief. “This girl is so damn expensive.”

Tiffany pauses with a spoonful of matcha gelato— also ordered on Matthew’s dime— halfway to her mouth. “I literally have a Leo stellium, what the fuck do you expect?”

While they continue to bicker, your gaze floats down the table. You wonder if Tiffany’s mind-reading powers might be catching as your eyes land on Yoongi just in time for him to look up from his phone and meet your gaze. He nods his head once toward the entrance, and you nod back.

A shoulder bumps into yours, and you turn to see Tiffany subtly shoot you a thumbs-up. “Fighting!” she murmurs under her breath, and you laugh as you get to your feet and bid everyone goodnight.

Yoongi holds the door of the restaurant for you to exit first, then follows you into the large black car waiting for you on the curb.

The drive back to the hotel gives you just enough time to immediately talk yourself out of Tiffany’s suggestion. The thought of asking for what you want feels like a trap, like displaying weakness to the one person who could hit you hardest. Besides, what if she misread Yoongi entirely? She doesn’t know him at all, and has no idea of the way things are between you. It’s a terrible idea, you decide.

So you find yourself right where you were the night before, like a bad dream you can’t wake up from: face washed, teeth brushed, tossing and turning in a bed far too large for one person. You can feel your final thread of resistance snap clean in half as you angrily kick the blankets off, then get to your feet and storm into the living room.

Yoongi is still up, peering down at his phone screen on the couch, his glasses deposited atop the coffee table.

“You’re being stupid,” you huff, and he glances up, clearly not expecting the interruption.

“I am?”

“You’re going to the Grammys tomorrow,” you say, as if that will explain anything.

“So are you,” Yoongi counters.

“Well yeah, but nobody’s going to give a shit about me.”

“I’d argue that’s also true for me,” he murmurs dryly, then squints at you. “Sorry, why am I stupid?”

“Because you’re going to sleep terribly on this couch.”

Yoongi nods once. “Probably, yes.”

You sigh, because of course he’s going to drag this out of you. “And the bed is perfectly big enough for two people. We wouldn’t even be touching or anything. So…” Fuck, saying what you want is hard. “Can you just… stop being stupid?”

There’s a flash of recognition in his eyes, and you’re surprised when that trademark cocky smirk doesn’t spread across his face. If anything, he just seems hesitant as he slowly sits up. “You’re sure?”

You fold your arms across your chest, suddenly feeling exposed like this, standing in front of him in only your thin sleep clothes. “Please don’t make me say it again.”

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth just barely pulls up, so slight you could be imagining it. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

In the bedroom, you leave the lamp at the empty side of the bed switched on, then crawl back under the sheets on your side. Heat blooms in your face as you press your cheek to the cool pillowcase, purposefully facing out, then reach one arm up to turn off your own bedside lamp.

True to his word, a few minutes later you hear the unmistakable sound of Yoongi’s steps across the carpet, then feel the shift of the mattress as he slips into bed on his side. He fumbles on the nightstand with what must be his glasses and his phone, and then you hear the click of the light, and the room disappears into darkness.

There’s a rustle and a sigh as he makes himself comfortable, and you were right: the two of you can easily share the bed without touching, plenty of space on the mattress between you.

Even so, having him closer is somehow… better. Comforting. You try not to dwell too much on it.

Flipping over onto your back, you stare up at the infinite black of the ceiling above you, your eyes already starting to weigh heavy. You don’t know where the question comes from, or why you ask it.

“Are you nervous?”

When he answers, Yoongi sounds half-asleep, too. “About what?”

“The Grammys?”

“Oh.” There’s a stirring sound, and then he speaks, like he’s just remembered you can’t see him shrugging. “I don’t know. A little.”

The only reply you’re capable of is a soft hum, and now you really can’t keep your eyes open. You curl up on your side again, cheek smushing into the pillow, and your consciousness whirs up one last coherent thought before you fully slip under: What else would he be nervous about?

~*~

You wake up to the warm glow of morning beneath your eyelids, and when you blink them open, the room is lit soft, dappled in sunlight that has managed to sneak between the thick hotel curtains. It’s warm in this bed too, and comfortable, and you sigh quietly to yourself as you stir a little under the covers. With a stifled yawn, you move to turn onto your back, and it’s only when you meet a gentle resistance that you realize why you’re so warm.

Yoongi must just be waking up too, because you immediately feel his body start at the realization that he pulled you close at some point during the night: an arm thrown over your waist, his hips pressed flush against yours.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice low and rough with sleep. “Sorry.” As the mattress starts to shift behind you, you respond on pure physical instinct and close your hand around Yoongi’s wrist.

“Stay.” The word comes out hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

Yoongi’s response is a soft grunt, and a bolt of panic quickens your pulse. You’re suddenly worried he might not want to stay, that he might even laugh at you for thinking you could have it like this, wrapped in his arms and waking up slowly. The furthest thing from hatred— and isn’t that what this is supposed to be?

But then his grip tightens to pull you that much closer, and he wordlessly presses his face into the crook of your neck. Your heart flutters in your chest, sweet and terrified. The heat of his breath over your skin makes you lean into him instinctively, and when your hips tilt, you can feel the unmistakable bulge of his clothed cock against your ass.

“God,” Yoongi groans. The deep gravel of his voice is enough to tighten your nipples beneath your tank top. “You make me so fucking hard. Dreamt about fucking you in this bed.”

“We woke up early,” you murmur. “So. There’s time.”

He grunts a low note in response. You can already feel the thin material of your sleep shorts growing wet between your legs as you slowly grind your hips back on him.

Yoongi’s hand slips up your body, fingertips dragging over the fabric of your top until his palm is pressed to the column of your throat. You inhale softly, your head tipping up to allow him better access. His grip just barely tightens, and when he speaks in your ear, you can hear the smile around his words. “Tell me what you want.”

“Want you to fuck me, Yoongi,” you breathe. “In this bed.”

When you repeat his words back to him, Yoongi exhales a laugh, and then you feel him press a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. Something melts open inside of you at the brush of his lips, a sudden rush of an emotion you haven’t felt in a very long time. Something you certainly never expected to feel with Min fucking Yoongi, of all people.

He releases his hold on your throat, and his hand makes short work of slipping the straps of your tank top off your shoulders, then yanking the loose fabric down to expose your tits. You shiver a little at the morning air against your bare skin.

Yoongi’s palm closes around one of your breasts, lazily massaging it, and you rut your ass back on him with a small whimper. The heat of his mouth trails more kisses up your neck, and then his deep voice is in your ear again.

“Did you sleep okay?” He pairs the question with his thumb dragging circles over the stiff bud of your nipple, earning another soft noise from you.

“Y-yeah,” you manage to respond. “Better than the first night.”

He hums against the shell of your ear, the timbre of his rough voice setting every last one of your nerve endings alight. Overcome with desire, you can barely focus on his words as his hand traces along your waist to slip down the back of your shorts.

“Me too. So much better than the fucking couch.”

Two of his fingers tease over your slit, and he huffs a disbelieving laugh at how wet he finds you, how turned on you already are. When he swipes between your folds to circle at your entrance, you can hear your own slickness, chased with a soft noise of appreciation that escapes Yoongi’s mouth as he plunges both digits into your pussy. You can’t help but moan, too.

He could easily make you come just like this, but you want him too much.

“Yoongi,” you murmur, twisting slightly to reach a hand behind you. You trace down the hard muscles of his stomach, apparent even through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, until your palm drags along the thick outline of his cock straining beneath his boxer briefs. He’s so hard that he pulses under your touch, and you’re sure he must be able to feel the way your pussy flutters at the thought of this cock filling you up.

“Needy,” he purrs, his mouth against your neck.

“Shut up,” you answer automatically, not quite able to keep your voice steady with the way he’s fucking his fingers into you.

But Yoongi doesn’t torment you— you only have to give his clothed length one slow pump before his hands are pushing your shorts over your legs, like he can’t get them off fast enough. You kick them the rest of the way off while he works his boxers down, and then you arch back as his cock starts to tease your pussy lips apart.

He slips easily through your folds, painting you both in a mixture of pre-cum and arousal as he grinds himself over the whole of your slit. You bite back a moan when the head of his dick rubs up to your clit, smearing wetness there in steady strokes that make you gasp and writhe.

“Can I go raw again?” he asks so softly in your ear, and your cunt throbs as you whimper your consent.

It’s impossible to keep quiet now, not with how perfectly his cock pushes into you, stretching you open to take him. You press your face into the pillow to slightly muffle your sounds, and you can hear Yoongi groan behind you.

“Fuck,” he hisses roughly. “You’re ruining me. I may never be able to go back to condoms.”

“Yoongi,” you whine as he sheathes himself fully with a grunt of effort, giving you a few moments to adjust before he moves. “If you keep fucking talking in my ear with your morning voice like that—” your own voice breaks off mid-sentence as he drags his cock out just to fuck it back into you, and you have to take a breath before trying again. “I’m gonna come in five seconds.”

When he presses his mouth to your shoulder, you can feel the smirk on his lips. “Is that right?” The low rumble of his question buzzes through you, and your walls tighten around him in response. “You like it that much?”

You can barely remember how to form words with the way he’s started to thrust, the head of his cock sparking hot pleasure each time he rubs himself over the ridges of your front wall. “What if I do?”

Yoongi hums into the crook of your neck, purposefully drawing the sound out to make a shiver run up your spine, and you can’t help moaning. His hand slips between your thighs to nudge them apart, and you’re easily pliant for him, spreading yourself at his guidance so his fingers can find your clit.

“I’d tell you how fucking good you look like this,” he murmurs against your skin. “How well you take my cock.” You roll your hips in time with his strokes, and his free arm slips between your shoulder and the bed to wrap around your chest, giving him leverage to fuck you harder.

“Oh my god.” You nearly choke on your words as he pounds into you, unrelenting now, and your fingertips claw desperately at the pillow beneath your head.

“Pussy’s always so fucking tight, shit,” he groans. “Should’ve just done this the whole weekend. Don’t know how I even let you leave the room.”

Your feet flex helplessly against the bedsheets as Yoongi’s hand rubs a steadily building pressure into your core that threatens to overflow. His fingers move in tight circles over your clit like he knows your body well— which, you guess, he does. The thought of him keeping you here all weekend, tangled up in these sheets, fucking you senseless and making you come again and again and again is dizzying, enough to make your pussy start to pulse around his length.

“Yoongi,” you gasp. “Fuck, fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

His lips brush over your shoulder, his voice stilted by how roughly he’s fucking into you. “Yeah, come on this cock. Make a mess for me.”

The pleasure is so overwhelming you almost want to squirm away from it, but then his fingers press your clit just right to snap a final thread and send you over the edge. Your thighs shake violently as your climax rips through you, and a rush of fluid squirts out of your cunt to coat the length of his dick and soak a wet spot into the sheets.

Yoongi groans unabashedly at the sight, still fucking you through the waves of your orgasm, his thrusts slowing as if to hold off his own end while your pussy keeps shuddering around him.

You take your time coming all the way down, lost in how good it feels, and then you slump back against the pillow with a ragged sigh, your head swimming. “Holy shit.”

His throbbing-hard cock is still clenched inside your heat, and the bed shifts when he gently pulls out. Dazed, you turn over to watch him as he kneels up on the bed next to you, his knees sinking soft divots into the mattress, and starts to slowly pump himself.

And fuck. He looks so good like this: long hair mussed from sex and sleep, with a half-awake look of concentration on his face, his tongue toying at the corner of his mouth and the muscles of his arm flexing with every stroke. Watching him get himself off has only gotten hotter since you saw it the first time, and you didn’t think that was possible.

It feels like it takes all the effort you have left in your body, but you manage to sit up and turn to face him. In one assured move, you reach down to grab his wrist and pull his hand off his cock.

Yoongi whines a little at the realization of what you’re doing, and he leans back to give you full access as you settle yourself on all fours in front of him.

“Oh fuck yeah, please suck me off.”

“Please?” you laugh, pausing to glance up at him. “Who taught you manners?”

“That fucking mouth did,” he growls, and it’s punctuated with a relieved moan as you drag your tongue up his shaft. One of his hands tangles in your hair while you lick the heady taste of yourself off his cock, then breathe deep through your nose so you can swallow him down.

Yoongi’s breath comes in ragged pants as you hollow your cheeks around him and start to bob your head, letting his tip rub against the back of your throat on every pass. You feel his fingers in your hair tighten, and his hips shove up to match your strokes, like he’s already close to coming undone.

This thick cock weighs heavy and familiar on your tongue, warm like the rays of morning sun that have reached far enough into the room to wash over the bedsheets now. Drool spills out from the seal of your lips around Yoongi’s shaft, and the sound of him fucking your mouth is obscene, pornographic as it floats up to the ceiling.

“God,” Yoongi gasps. “Gonna come down your pretty fucking throat.”

And it’s funny— once, this would have made you feel powerful, in control, like the person with the upper hand. The winner. But in this moment, it occurs to you that you don’t really give a shit about winning anymore. Now his words just make you hum and suppress a smile around his cock in your mouth. When you notice the way his thighs tremble in response, you keep going, vibrating his length while you sink as far down as you can take it.

The hand in your hair releases, and then his palm just barely brushes over the bulge of his cock in your throat as if in admiration. Eyes rolling back, you let your jaw slacken and swallow hard on the stretch of him there.

“Jesus, fuck,” he groans, and then he’s coming, and the throb of him in your mouth still feels like a reward. You pull back a little to keep from gagging as he paints fat ropes of cum into the tight clutch of your throat. Sucking firmly around him through spasm after spasm, you swallow it all down greedily until you feel him going soft on your tongue.

You finally pull off with a wet pop, dazed and laughing as you roll over and collapse into a heap against the mattress, thoroughly spent.

“Okay,” Yoongi manages to say on an exhale, though you can hear he’s still short of breath, too. You glance up to see him raking a hand through his hair, looking fucked out of his mind. “I’m ready to go win a Grammy now.”

There’s just enough time for each of you to shower and get dressed before a whole team of people arrive for Yoongi: stylists, hair and makeup, and most importantly, coffee delivery. Yoongi blinks wide-eyed at you as you press the largest iced Americano you could find in downtown Los Angeles into his hands, and then you step back to let everyone get to work.

Meanwhile, you spend the next few hours in a rush of attempting to get yourself ready, all while double-checking the schedule, answering emails on the fly from your phone, and trying desperately to ignore the anxiety that’s started to hum in the pit of your stomach.

Once your hair and makeup are as decent as you can get them, you slip the black dress you packed for tonight— a rental, because buying a black tie dress was absolutely out of your price range— off the hanger and step carefully into it. Watching yourself in the mirror, you reach behind you for the zipper only to realize you can’t quite manage to pull it up past the small of your back.

Fuck. You didn’t even think about the fact that Jimin helped you zip this thing up when you tried it on initially, during a night at your place where you split two bottles of wine and he performed his own personal critique of all your dress rental options. This was the only one he’d liked.

With a nervous sigh, you head for the bathroom door, figuring that you’ll be able to subtly grab the attention of one of Yoongi’s many stylists to help.

But when you slowly slide the door open, one hand pressing the fabric of your dress in place over your chest, you realize the room has fallen quiet. As you lean across the threshold, you see why: everyone is gone.

Except for Yoongi, who glances up from where he’s sunk into the couch, scrolling aimlessly on his phone.

“Where is everyone?” you snap, probably a little harsher than you need to be.

He frowns like he doesn’t understand the question. “They… left? Because they were done? I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s a big awards show tonight. Means the stylists are pretty booked today.”

Yoongi gets to his feet to cross the room, and you fumble awkwardly, trying to keep your dress up. He’s fully put together now in a well-fitted suit and tie, and with his long hair styled and subtle makeup applied to enhance his features, he looks… good. Too good. Deadly. You can’t quite manage to maintain eye contact, and find yourself staring dumbly at the floor instead.

His voice softens slightly as he steps in close to you. “What’s wrong? Does it not fit?”

“It fucking better,” you mutter. “I just… can’t reach the zipper.”

“Are you asking for my help?”

Your gaze flits up to meet his, and you’re a little surprised by his question. “There’s nobody else here,” you retort, stubborn.

When he blinks evenly back at you, like he’s waiting for something, you realize he’s not going to make this easy. Fucking hell. Another tense moment passes, and he just blinks again.

“Yes,” you finally give in with a frustrated sigh. “Will you please help me, Yoongi?”

“Turn around,” he murmurs, and you do.

His hand slides over the small of your back, and then he slowly starts to ease the zipper up. You don’t dare move a muscle until he’s done, and it’s only once he buttons the closure at the top that you breathe a serious sigh of relief. The dress fits like a glove.

You attempt to compose yourself enough to thank him, but the words get stuck in your throat when you feel the heat of his breath against your skin.

His low voice resonates in the quiet of the room as he leans in. “Was that so hard?”

You turn your head as if to argue, but then there’s a split second where you feel his lips brush over your neck, just below your ear. So slight it could’ve been an accident.

“Thanks,” you manage to choke out, and then you slip away from him to get your heels from the bedroom and try to remember how to breathe. You do your best to ignore the fact that your hands are shaking as you pull your shoes on, then pause in front of the full-length mirror on the wardrobe, giving yourself a final once-over.

As you smooth your hands down the black velvet fabric and turn to the side, you glance up to find Yoongi hovering in the threshold, watching you.

“That dress,” he remarks, sounding a little dazed. You have to fight to keep the smile off your face when he trails off, unable to say more— you didn’t think it was possible to make Min Yoongi speechless. It’s not a bad feeling.

And you do like this dress, even though you could never actually afford it. It’s simple but elegant, a sleeveless column style with a plunging neckline and a slit that reaches your mid-thigh. Nothing groundbreaking, but it sticks to your curves like water and makes you feel somewhat more like a person who belongs at a fancy awards show.

“Jimin picked it,” you respond, and you hear Yoongi exhale a laugh.

“He has good taste.”

You turn toward him as your hidden smile pulls into a smirk. “Well, I’m not dressed up for you,” you chide, and you revel in the way his face drops briefly in surprise before he’s able to conceal it. “I’m trying to meet Kendrick.”

“Is that right?”

“Uh-huh.”

You’re thankful that you purposefully padded your schedule with extra time, because you lose nearly every last minute of it stuck in the gridlock of Los Angeles traffic on the night of a huge event.

By the time you make it to the venue, you’re practically nauseous from all the stopping and starting and crawling of the car, and Yoongi looks equally bad, though you suspect his condition might be more anxiety-related.

As it turns out, the Grammys are a lot less glamorous when you’re only mildly famous, at least by American standards. The two of you are shepherded by security to another ‘lane’ of the red carpet and warned not to stop as you make your way into the building. You observe from afar while A-list celebrities pass in a blur, flashbulbs pop bright enough to blind you, and chatter is drowned out by the sound of fans screaming and the clamor of reporters trying to grab the biggest names for an interview.

“I’m so glad I’m not that fucking famous,” Yoongi scoffs, though he doesn’t quite manage to hide the nerves in his voice.

“Come on,” you murmur once you get inside, nodding toward a pop-up bar in a far corner of the lobby. “Take the edge off. And I’m gonna need alcohol if I have to sit through a fucking three-hour show.”

You down your drinks quickly, only a few minutes shy of the time by which you have to be in your seats, and you return from tossing the empties in the trash to see Yoongi eyeing a piano pushed against the far wall, clearly for show. He takes a seat, glancing around as if in fear of getting yelled at, then gently pushes up the key lid.

“Ooh, do Wine!” you tease with a laugh as you drop onto the bench beside him, but he actually does start to play, one foot pressing down on a pedal to keep the sound soft. His fingers alight over the keys, and the song he plucks out is beautiful. It’s a melody that almost feels nostalgic to you, even though you know you’ve never heard it before.

“What is this?” you ask, and he keeps playing as he responds.

“Do you know Sakamoto?”

You hum a no as you shake your head.

His eyes narrow slightly. “Remind me how you work in the music industry?”

A smile plays at your lips, and you roll your eyes. “Shut up. You know I’m a fraud.”

Yoongi doesn’t miss a note when he glances up to meet your gaze. “Are you?”

It’s only now that you realize how close he is: the two of you are basically sitting hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. For a moment, you forget about the Grammys, forget that anyone else is even in the room.

“Excuse me!” A voice snaps you out of the moment, and you scoot away from Yoongi so quickly you nearly topple off the bench. “That’s not meant to be played, and we need everyone to head to their seats, please!” Your face flushes with an embarrassed heat, and Yoongi lifts a hand apologetically as he covers the keys back up.

You stick close to his side so as not to lose him in the large crowd of people. “Bet they’ll let you play whatever piano you want once you have one of those dumb little trophies,” you mutter under your breath, and Yoongi really laughs, like he wasn’t expecting the comment.

Another thing you didn’t necessarily anticipate: the Grammys are fucking long. You knew it would be over three hours, but you realize you severely underestimated how long that time would feel. While the performances are incredible (and you have to dig your nails into the cushion of your seat to keep from squealing when you spot Lil Nas X a few rows in front of you), there’s plenty of filler between them, and it feels a lot drier when you’re physically in the room for it. Even the commercial breaks are far too short for you to have enough time to actually run to the restroom or get another drink.

You’re also starving. “I hate that they don’t serve food at these things,” you hiss to Yoongi during a break, but it’s late enough in the night now that he’s barely speaking, apart from the occasional monotone grunt.

Though you’ve been waiting for it all evening, you still don’t quite know if you’re ready when the host starts to run down the list of nominees for Song of the Year.

As he’s only credited as a writer, they don’t actually say Yoongi’s pseudonym, but pride still squeezes tight in your chest when you see “Suga” spelled out across the on-stage monitors beneath the name of the song.

They get through all the titles in what seems like less than a second, and your heart feels like it might give out as an anticipatory silence settles over the crowd. The host fumbles with getting the envelope open, and you’re so tense, you flinch hard at an unexpected brush of contact.

You glance down, and it takes a moment for your brain to process what’s happened. He’s not looking at you, hasn’t said anything, but Yoongi has nevertheless reached over to grab your hand. His long fingers lace through yours, gripping surprisingly tight, and the skin of his palm is warm and dry. It’s like your brain short-circuits for a moment as you stare stupidly at your joined hands, and he gives yours a single nervous squeeze.

“And the Grammy goes to…”

You look over at him, still dumbfounded, and then you hear them call a song that isn’t his.

Your heart sinks as you watch Yoongi blink up at the screen, his mouth pulled into a flat line. You realize belatedly you’re supposed to be clapping, but his hand is still clasped in yours. And you don’t want to pull away from him.

But then he moves first, untwining his hand from yours and bringing it up to rake through his hair with a disbelieving laugh. A little delayed, you both join in the applause as the winner makes their way to the stage. You can’t even process who it is.

You have no idea what to say to console him, so you don’t say anything at all.

Thankfully the category is one of the last of the night, so you only have to sit through a few more rounds of acceptance speeches and watching other people’s dreams come true before you can finally get to your feet. You feel like you can’t leave fast enough as you’re herded out of the stadium and into another car to depart for the afterparty.

There’s a heavy silence in the backseat that feels like a chasm between you as you crawl through Los Angeles traffic.

You realize there’s a bottle of champagne tucked into an ice bucket behind the front seat— a thoughtful touch from the label execs, you assume. Yoongi spots it at the same time you do, and he immediately reaches for it. With a grunt of effort, he pops the cork, a little bit of excess foam dribbling onto the floor of the car.

He raises his eyebrows at you, then brings the bottle right to his mouth for a long drink. Longer than long. You watch his adam’s apple jump in his throat as he swallows several times.

“Alright, chill the fuck out,” you snap after a few seconds, reaching over to grab it from him. “At least eat something first.”

“It’s my consolation prize,” Yoongi quips, but he lets you wrest the champagne from his hands without resisting. You take a thorough swig yourself, then recork the bottle and drop it back in the bucket. “Such a good little admin,” he purrs, and you try to convince yourself there isn’t a hint of venom in his words.

The car pulls to a stop at the designated hotel, and you climb out after Yoongi. Upon making it inside, the two of you peel off in different directions: him for the bar, and you to find anything that remotely resembles food. You keep glancing over at him from across the room as it fills with more and more people, nervous to take your eyes off him for too long, unsure of what he might do. Every time you find him again, it seems like he’s downing another glass of whiskey, drinking like the fucking world is ending.

Meanwhile, you’re struggling to find anything that isn’t kale, quinoa, or… whatever grain-free bread is. With a frustrated sigh, you finally decide to give up. If Yoongi wants to drink on an empty stomach until he gets alcohol poisoning, you figure that’s his fucking problem.

When you shove your way through the crowd back toward him, you find that he’s been pulled into a conversation with a bunch of older men you can only assume to be local industry reps. As you get close enough to make out their words, you quickly understand why he has such a sour look on his face.

“Song of the Year, huh? You know we can cross-reference the nominees and figure out if you’re full of shit, right?”

Yoongi grimaces politely into his drink as he throws it back, but you have no problem cutting in. “You’re actually speaking to an incredibly accomplished producer and songwriter,” you retort without thinking. “He has over 100 KOMCA credits.” You don’t miss the smirk Yoongi tries to conceal behind the rim of his glass.

“KOMCA?” Another one of them speaks up, the question paired with a harsh laugh. “Never heard of it. That anything like payola?”

“Wild that anyone can just buy their way into the industry these days.” The first man shakes his head, eyes scanning Yoongi up and down as if the tailoring of his suit tells him everything he needs to know. “Guess that’s the way the world works now. Never had to struggle a day in your life, huh?”

Your response is immediate and far too loud. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

A loud laugh ripples through all of the men, clearly more excited about evoking a reaction than the gravity of their claims. “Wow, man,” the one who spoke first chortles, clapping Yoongi hard on the shoulder. “Looks like you need to control your girl.”

Your heart thuds in your chest as you watch Yoongi shrug off the guy’s hand to set his empty glass down on the closest table. He moves slowly, deliberately taking a long pause before correcting them. “This is actually my assistant.” His voice is laced with a deadly calm you know well.

“Assistant?” A third pipes up, acting as if he’s never heard the word before. “Huh. You know, back in my day we just called them secretaries. Or mistresses.”

Yoongi moves so fast you barely have time to process it, lunging forward and shoving the guy in the chest with enough force that he stumbles backwards into his shitty friends. “What the fuck!” one of them shouts, purposefully loud, and you can hear a ripple of shock roll through the crowd, can see heads turning to look your way in alarm.

“No, no, nope,” you immediately mutter. “This is not fucking happening.”

Yoongi is already taking another step toward the group, and you tighten a hand hard around his bicep. “We’re leaving.”

When he whips around to face you, the mixture of anger and pain reflected in his dark eyes is so overwhelming, it hits you like a truck. You try to force yourself to stay calm, because at least one of you has to be.

“Come on, Yoongi,” you say, letting your voice soften. “Fuck this place. I need some real food.” Your eyes search his, pleading. For a moment, you can’t help but wonder if you’re staring down an enemy or a friend.

But then you see the fight go out of him as he nods, and you breathe a silent sigh of relief.

Shifting the hand on his arm to press firmly to the center of his back, you guide him in front of you and wind through the packed room of people until you make your way outside again.

Fate does you one good turn by leaving an empty cab out front, and you push Yoongi into the backseat, then slide in next to him. You lean forward to greet the driver, doing your best to smile politely and act composed, like you didn’t just almost get into a fight at the Grammys afterparty.

“Can you take us to Koreatown, please?”

~*~

The cab drops you off outside a strip of bars and restaurants, lit up with neon signs in both English and Korean. To his credit, Yoongi seems more subdued as he follows you out of the car wordlessly, but you allow him a little more time to cool off in silence. You wander somewhat aimlessly, attempting to shake off your lingering anxiety in the warm evening air, until you stumble upon a food truck parked at the end of the block. Your eyes go wide at the posted signage.

“What do you think?” you ask as you turn to Yoongi, and he shrugs, like he really doesn’t care. Perfect. You’ve never had a problem a gamja hot dog couldn’t fix.

Securing one for each of you, you nod Yoongi toward a small group of tables set up at the curb to sit down. Once seated, you immediately drown your hot dog in ketchup and mustard, and you can hear him scoff before taking the bottles from you to do the same. Admittedly, you must look fairly ridiculous eating fried street food in full black tie, but you’re far too hungry to give a fuck right now.

It’s perfection from the first bite, crispy and hot, the batter studded with potato pieces and the inside loaded with cheese.

You’re also too hungry to bother making conversation at first, but after a few more bites you glance over at Yoongi, and your heart sinks all over again. You really do feel bad, and then the words are leaving your mouth before you can stop them.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur with your mouth full. “That you didn’t win.”

He makes a face as he chews. “We already agreed I wouldn’t have been happy even if I won, right? So it doesn’t really matter.”

You roll your eyes, unconvinced. “It’s okay to have feelings, you know. You’re allowed to be upset.”

Yoongi just shrugs, but he can’t quite meet your gaze. “It’s whatever.” You take another bite as he continues. “If I’m gonna win a Grammy, I want it to be for something that’s all mine anyway.”

The sentence surprises you, and you blink back at him. “You’re going to release your own stuff?”

As if he instantly regrets bringing it up, his face reddens a little, his expression twisting into an unsure grimace. “Ahh… I don’t know, probably not. People know me as a producer. I don’t know that anyone would actually listen to it.”

“I would,” you say without even really thinking, and his eyes widen. “You know,” you continue quickly, adopting a fake-serious tone. “Since I work in the music industry. Strictly business.”

A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth, and you find yourself relieved to see it. “I appreciate that.”

You’re also desperately curious, wondering if he’ll say more about his own music, but he goes quiet again. Given the night he’s had, you don’t exactly want to push it.

Taking the final bite of your hot dog and mourning the loss, you stack your skewer and paper tray on top of Yoongi’s, then get to your feet to toss them in the nearest trash can. When you return to the table, you smack your palms decisively against it.

“Come on. I think the circumstances call for some binge drinking.”

Your first stop is tucked into two seats at a neighboring dive bar, alive and roaring with enough ambient conversation that you have to speak fairly loudly to be heard over the noise. The bar in the center of the room is wrapped around a small open kitchen, where you watch the line cooks hustle to steam, grill, and fry what seems like a never-ending rush of food orders.

You and Yoongi stick to soju, pouring each other shot after shot. On the first one, he tilts his full glass toward you, and you knock yours against it.

“To losing,” he toasts, and you can’t help laughing as you tip your head back to drink. He’s smirking as he swallows his down, then pours you another. “Hey, maybe Jungkook will throw me a commiseration party when we get back.”

You grimace automatically at the name as you take the bottle from him to fill his glass up, and Yoongi doesn’t miss it. “Trouble in paradise?”

With a roll of your eyes, you determine that you need to be drunker for this. You take your shot, then instantly hold your glass out for Yoongi to pour another before he even gets to his. He obliges, and you throw it back immediately. The bottom of your glass hits the bar with a loud thud.

“I kinda… freaked out on him. Right before we left.”

Yoongi’s eyebrow lifts, questioning, as he drinks. “Any reason?” he prompts when he’s finished.

“Yes,” you answer stubbornly, tapping at the rim of your empty glass. He fills you up again, and you return the favor to finish the bottle. Yoongi motions to the bartender for another as you down your shot and steel yourself.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he offers.

“Don’t you want to hear that you were right?”

He shrugs like he can’t argue. “I mean, always.”

“Well for one, he asked if anything was going on between you and me.” You glance over to see Yoongi’s eyes widen slightly as he drinks. “I said no.”

“Uh huh.”

“And then he was like, ‘Good, I’m glad I don’t have to tell you to raise your standards.’”

Yoongi is clearly trying to keep his expression neutral, but it’s a losing battle. You can see the way his shoulders are starting to shake, and then he finally caves in, his palm smacking flat against the bar as he really laughs. “Wow,” he eventually recovers enough to huff, and you reach for the fresh soju bottle that’s been dropped off. “He really just said it.”

“Mm-hmm,” you intone, filling his glass and then handing the bottle back. Yoongi’s still chuckling a little as he pours your drink before taking his own, and you continue. “And then, I don’t know, there was some other stuff, and I was just like… oh fuck.”

“Because you realized he’s in love with you.”

You sigh dejectedly into your soju. “I’m so stupid.”

“Nah,” Yoongi shakes his head, reaching for your glass once you’ve emptied it again. “You wanted to avoid an inconvenient truth. Just makes you human.”

There’s a pause as you take the bottle to pour his drink, and then his next words nearly make you choke as you throw back yours. “You should date Jungkook.”

You’re sure you must look entirely dumbfounded as you stare at him. “What?”

“What?” he retorts, like he hasn’t said anything shocking. “He’d be good for you.”

For a long moment, neither of you speak as you regard him. You finally shake your head, nudging your empty glass toward him until he gets the memo. “Don’t say shit like that,” you mutter under your breath, and you’re not sure if he hears it over the din of the bar.

“Besides,” you continue as you snatch the soju out of his hands to pour his drink, “I’ve tried dating a coworker before. It’s a bad idea.”

“Sounds like a good story.”

“It’s not, really,” you murmur, staring down at the liquid in your glass. “My last job I was a waitress.”

“Mm,” Yoongi interrupts with a hum as he takes his shot. “Waitress. I was close.”

You pour him another, mostly to keep him quiet. “Yeah yeah, you’re very fucking perceptive. Anyway, I dated another server for a couple years. He ended up cheating on me with one of the hostesses, but I was honestly kinda tired of him, so I was glad to end it.” You hear Yoongi snort a little at your fairly heartless admission. “But then I walked in on them fucking in the walk-in, and it put me in a bad mood. Long story short, I ended up throwing a drink on a customer and they had to let me go.”

“Christ,” he laughs, pausing for a moment to fully take in your words. “And now you’re a pain in my ass.”

You roll your eyes as you motion for another soju bottle. “Correct.”

“Sounds like your ex was an idiot.” You glance over to find Yoongi already looking at you. “I mean, in the walk-in is just… nasty.”

“That’s what I said!” Your mouth pulls up at the corners as you try to suppress a giggle. “I don’t think we can really judge anybody though.”

Yoongi blinks, staring blankly into the middle distance. “That conference room trash can condom still haunts me.”

With a loud laugh, you bury your face in your hands, and you can feel your cheeks burning from alcohol and embarrassment. You peer between your fingers as Yoongi sets down a fresh shot for you, and you gladly take it.

“People are stupid,” he remarks wisely. “That’s why I don’t date.” You quirk an eyebrow as he passes you the bottle.

“What, a prize like you?” you deadpan. “You just fuck people in bar bathrooms like a well-adjusted human?”

“Yeah,” he admits with a shrug. “So. Wanna check this one out?”

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, and you immediately smack him on the arm. He nearly spills his drink from laughter, and you can’t keep yourself from laughing a little, too. “I already gave it to you this morning, you freak.”

“Come on,” Yoongi’s voice is teasing, and he bumps his shoulder against yours when he leans in closer. “I had a hard night.”

Pouring him another drink is your only distraction, and you do it with the utmost focus. “This dress is a rental.”

“I can pay for it.” The heat of his breath ghosts over your collarbone as he answers. You shove the bottle hard into his chest, and he takes the cue to fill your glass again, still smirking as he pulls away.

“First,” you say, sounding more confident than you feel, especially with the way your pulse has started to quicken. Your expression is deadly serious as you turn to stare into Yoongi’s eyes and he stares right back. “You have to prove that you can keep up.”

When you swallow your shot easily to punctuate the dare, a look flashes over Yoongi’s face like he’s impressed, and then he follows your lead.

After a few more bottles, the bar is so crowded and so loud that you can hardly hear yourselves think, and you stumble out of it and into the next place you see, and then the next, and then the next. All bets are off tonight, and you’re not about to tell Yoongi that he can’t get fucking trashed considering he just lost at the fucking Grammys. You figure you’ll be able to sleep off your hangovers on the stupidly long flight home tomorrow.

With each stop, Yoongi’s mood seems to improve a little. He eventually drinks enough that his suit jacket and tie come off, and they end up draped over your shoulders, despite your loud protests that you don’t need any more responsibilities. With the sleeves of his white button-down pushed up, it gets increasingly hard to divert your attention away from his hands and the muscles in his forearms, especially as you get progressively drunker and drunker.

Yoongi’s palm brushes over the small of your back as you make your way out of the last place, his touch warm even through the velvet of your dress.

“I know it was your personal nightmare,” he murmurs, words slurring together slightly, “but I really am glad you came on this trip. I mean it,” he insists when you shoot him a look. “I would be fucking insufferable if I was alone tonight. And I definitely would’ve punched that label guy in the face.”

You exhale a laugh and nearly fall over in your heels, and Yoongi’s hand slips to your waist to keep you upright. “He deserved it.” You lean into him, not entirely for balance, and you can feel it when he shrugs.

“Sorry you didn’t get to meet Kendrick.”

The glow of the various open-late establishments and the glitter of the pavement under your feet are all beautiful, especially in your current state, and the night air is still and warm. As you approach the next building and are met with the dull thud of music, your eyes go wide.

“Oh, I just figured out how you can make it up to me.”

The noraebang is surprisingly busy given that it’s a Sunday night, but you’re still able to book a room, and you giggle your thanks as Yoongi opens his wallet to pay the hourly rate like it’s nothing. The two of you work your way through more bottles of beer and soju, and when you start up the karaoke and teasingly pick the HEIZE song he produced, you’re surprised that he actually joins you.

Yoongi must be able to read the expression on your face, because he smirks mid-song. “Let the record show that I am actually a very fun drunk.”

And he is. You sing dramatically and loudly, not caring if you hit the notes, jumping and dancing and occasionally dropping passionately to your knees before dissolving into laughter. At first you monopolize the controller, but after you force a third Kendrick song on him Yoongi gestures for it, and you begrudgingly hand it over.

Crossing the room, you kneel down to dig through the provided box of props, immediately spotting and slipping on a cat-eared headband. You glance up at the screen, eyes widening as you realize he’s searching through Epik High songs. “Do Love Love Love!”

When you look back at him, Yoongi is squinting at you, laughing a little at your new set of ears. “What the fuck do you know about Epik High?”

“What do you mean what the fuck do I know?” you snap back. “I love them! I should be asking you that question, Mr. ‘I don’t listen to music’!”

His mouth pulls into a grin, his tongue toying at the inside of his cheek. “I have a few exceptions, alright?”

Still knelt down, you flop sideways onto the floor when he selects Born Hater. “Ugh, I’m too drunk to say that many words.”

“I got this,” Yoongi reassures you, flipping his microphone coolly with one hand as he gets to his feet. You can’t help giggling dumbly from your spot on the ground as you drunkenly prop your feet on the booth and reach up to pull your high heels off.

If there’s one thing tonight has taught you, it’s that Yoongi has a really good voice, even raw and live and drunk as hell. You don’t know why it surprises you, but it does. To you, performing seems like a different world from writing and producing tracks, but he does it just as effortlessly, with no trace of the anxiety you’ve seen grip him in a crowded room. The passion in the way he growls and gasps out lyrics, even just in the way he moves, it’s all undeniable and exhilarating to watch. He raps like he has nothing left to lose, mouth pulled into a snarl, occasionally reaching up to push his sweaty hair back off his forehead.

You can only gaze up at him, awestruck, wondering how many different versions of Min Yoongi you have left to discover until you hit the bottom.

The two of you trade the controller back and forth until every bottle on the table is empty, until the words blur on the screen, until Yoongi flops over to lay down in the booth with his head hanging off the edge, clearly exhausted. “No more,” he groans. “I’m so tired. And so drunk.”

Hovering above him, you pry the controller from his grip with a smile, slipping the cat ears onto his head for an even exchange. And then you get an idea.

“Last song!” you assure him as you type, and he groans even louder when Cat & Dog starts to play.

“God, this song is terrible,” Yoongi complains, but you’re singing too loud to care about his critiques.

With a severe amount of effort, he pulls himself to a sitting position, and you kneel down in front of him, miming cat paws with your hands and wiggling your hips. “I didn’t know you were into petplay,” he deadpans, and you stick your tongue out, determined not to let him ruin your fun.

You get to your feet and turn toward the screen as the second chorus finishes, yelling over your shoulder, “This is my favorite part!”

“Feel like Cinderella naega byeonae—”

When Yoongi’s voice suddenly reverberates from the other microphone, you almost drop yours. You whip around in complete disbelief. He’s on his feet and moving towards you as he continues the rap verse, the inarguable best part, with a renewed cocky energy. And you have to admit, he’s putting Yeonjun to shame.

“What the fuck!” you practically scream, but he just keeps going.

Seized by full-body drunk laughter, you stumble forward and nearly fall over, knocking into his chest. Though Yoongi’s reflexes are a little delayed, he still manages to right you without missing a word, one arm hooking around your waist. You swallow hard as you suddenly find yourself intimately close to the broad sweep of his collarbone, exposed between the top buttons of his shirt that came undone at some point during your debaucherous evening.

Fumbling for your microphone, you make it back to reality in time for the final chorus, only to fall entirely to pieces when Yoongi starts barking at full volume to match the outro. You can’t take it, and he’s not fast enough to keep you upright, so you drop straight down to the floor on hands and knees, laughing so hard it feels like your lungs might give out.

The microphone rolls dejectedly out of your grasp as you flop over onto your back, and you scrub your hands down your face, trying desperately to catch your breath as the song fades out.

“That was the best thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life,” you mumble into your palms. You uncover your face to look up at Yoongi, only to find him laughing down at you, still wearing the fucking cat headband. “I thought you hated that song.”

He rolls his eyes despite his smile. “Yeah, well, it was also stuck in my head for like a week after you played it that one night.”

You sit up with a dramatic glare. “Oh, you mean the night you stole my fucking keys?”

A proud smirk flickers over his mouth. “You know, I am sorry about that. Or at least sorry I couldn’t see the look on your face when you realized.” He tosses his microphone onto the booth bench next to his abandoned suit jacket, then reaches down with both hands to pull you to your feet. It belatedly occurs to you that you might’ve left his tie at the last bar, but you’re too drunk to give it another thought.

“I hate you so much,” you say, though you can’t quite keep your expression serious. “Fuck, I should’ve taken a video. Could’ve used it for blackmail.”

Yoongi’s voice is lower when he speaks again, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close to you he is, the fact that his hands are still closed over yours. “Guess you’re the only one who’ll ever know.”

“Mmm,” you hum, swaying a little where you stand. His palms slip to your waist to keep you steady as you blink up at him, and your hands flatten against his chest, your fingertips tracing over the buttons of his shirt. “You look good in cat ears.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi murmurs, and then his mouth is on yours.

Your hands reach up to tangle in his long dark hair, knocking the headband to the floor, and with the amount of alcohol currently coursing through your system, you don’t have a single inhibition left in you. You kiss Yoongi like you can’t fucking breathe without him.

He pulls you as close as he can, until your bodies are flush all the way down, and you don’t ever want it to be any other way. You want it just like this, sucking and nibbling at his bottom lip until his tongue licks your mouth open and you groan into him. Just like this: his palms moving down to grab your ass unapologetically, your grip on his hair tightening, even your teeth knocking together with how drunk and desperate you are for each other. Just like this: two stupid, wildly flawed humans in black tie attire, making out in a Ktown noraebang at two in the morning on a Monday.

The sound of the door opening might as well be a gunshot for how loud it feels, and you just barely manage to jump apart as an employee pokes their head in.

“Hey, we’re closing in five.”

You don’t realize you’re not breathing until you hear the door click shut again, and your gasp for air quickly turns into an overwhelmed, embarrassed laugh. Yoongi groans drunkenly, running a hand through his hair, then sighs out a long exhale, like he’s trying to calm down.

“Come on,” you giggle, still close enough to tug playfully at one of his belt loops. “Let’s get out of here.”

Thankfully a cab is still easy to flag down even this late. The two of you manage to pour yourselves into the backseat and give the driver the name of the hotel. It’s not a terribly long drive, and you watch wide-eyed out the window as the sprawl of Los Angeles rushes by, painted in neon glow and the amber wash of streetlights.

Yoongi slumps against you, and he goes quiet for so long you think he might be asleep. When he finally shifts again, he presses his face into your shoulder with a noise of discomfort, and you’re suddenly worried he might be silent for a very different reason.

“Yoongi,” you murmur, trying to keep your voice low. “Don’t puke in the cab.”

“Stupid,” he responds, and you figure he must not be doing that bad if he can still talk.

You run your fingers through the soft, dark strands of his hair, admiring the texture, the way it’s nearly long enough now to graze his shoulders. “What’s stupid?”

“I’m—” he tries, but the car dips over a pothole, and he’s talking so quietly you lose the rest.

“You’re what?”

It’s quiet for a moment, save for the click of the turn signal.

“In love with you.”

His words stun you where you sit, and you have no idea what to do, say, think. You just keep twining your fingers through his hair, like you’re stuck on auto-pilot, distantly aware that every alarm bell in your inebriated brain is going off. It feels like way too much to try and process any of it right now. It feels like a trap.

“We can talk about this tomorrow,” you finally answer. Yoongi just stays slumped against you, and he doesn’t say another word.

The cab drops you off at the hotel, and it’s quiet between the two of you as you get him up to the room. You feel like you’re watching yourself from a distance, and it’s like your brain isn’t processing any of this as really happening, as if to keep you from thinking too hard about the big picture. From what it all could mean.

In the bathroom, you stand over the sink as you lend Yoongi your makeup remover and you both brush your teeth.

“Contacts,” you remind him through a mouthful of toothpaste when he spits out the last of his, and he nods sleepily.

“You don’t have to… administrate me all the time,” Yoongi slurs as he carefully slips one lens and then the other out of his eyes.

You spit out your own toothpaste, then sigh as you rinse the sink clean. “Well, you’re very drunk, and it’s my fault.”

“It was fun,” he says quietly, fumbling the case closed.

“It was,” you echo. “Really.”

The bathroom door is half-open on its sliding track, and you glance up in the mirror to see Yoongi hovering in the threshold, looking back at you as you wipe away stray traces of mascara from under your eyes. You think he’s going to leave, but then he steps in behind you again, and you feel his hand slide up the small of your back to ease the zipper of your dress open.

Something in your heart twists as you stare down at the marble counter, and you can already tell this isn’t meant to be flirtatious. That thought is confirmed when you finally look up, only to find yourself left entirely alone.

With a small sigh, you slide the bathroom door shut, then flip the switch to turn on the fan. The white noise still doesn’t feel like enough, so you run the shower as well, then grab a plastic water bottle from the counter to chug. You retreat into the far corner with your phone, scrolling until you find the name of the only person who can possibly help you right now.

“Hey babe,” Jimin answers on the third ring. “I’m at rehearsal so I really can’t chat. You good?”

“Yoongi said he loves me,” you answer immediately, and the reality of it hits you impossibly hard as soon as you say it out loud.

“Uh-oh.”

“But,” you lean back until your head knocks against the wall. “He’s drunk as shit. I— we are drunk as shit.”

There’s a pause, and you swear you hear Jimin laugh a little under his breath. “He really said it, huh?”

“Yes, Jimin,” you groan. “In love.”

“And?”

You grimace at the flippant response from your supposed best friend. “What do you mean and?! What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Well, that depends,” Jimin starts.

“On?” you snap, impatient.

“Have you realized you’re in love with him yet? ‘Cause if I have to hear you babble on about this man for another week without piecing it together, I really might lose it.”

His words actually make your stomach churn. “Jimin!”

“I—” he sounds like he’s preparing to explain himself, but then he pauses, and his voice is quieter when he speaks again. “Fuck, I’m getting yelled at. I gotta go. Call me tomorrow.”

You want to scream at him to stay, to help, that he can’t just unravel you like this and then leave you to figure it out for yourself. “Mochi, I’m on the fucking plane tomorrow—”

“I’ll come over when you get home!” Jimin interrupts. “And then you can tell me the entire story of you two finally figuring out how to be normal humans with feelings.” You scoff at his biting remark, but he’s already talking over you. “You’re smart, you got this, I love you!”

You hear him blow a dramatic kiss into the speaker, and then the line goes dead.

The world spins around you as you stare helplessly at the silent black screen of your phone, and you can’t shove it all down anymore. It’s overwhelming, all of the things that you’re feeling in this moment, so much so that you can’t even identify what you feel. It’s just a giant, tangled mess, in your brain and in your heart. The tears spill out like you’ve been holding them in for weeks, hard and fast, until you can scarcely catch your breath. You scrub at the first few that roll down your cheeks, but they continue relentlessly, and you eventually give up and just let it all pour out.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, crying on the bathroom floor. You can’t even really explain why you’re crying, except that everything inside of you feels like too much to handle.

There’s a dull ache in your head by the time you finally manage to cry yourself dry, and then you peel yourself off the floor to slip out of your dress and shut off the shower. You pull on the tank top and sleep shorts you’d grabbed earlier from the bedroom, trying to avoid your swollen face in the mirror as you turn the lights out and shut the door behind you.

Yoongi has left the lamp on your bedside on, and you immediately flip it off to plunge the room into darkness, not wanting him to see you like this. He stirs slightly when you slip under the covers, and you can feel the mattress shift as he turns over.

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his arm slides over your stomach to pull your body flush to his, and his lips brush at the join of your neck and shoulder. As confusing as it should be, there’s something about the weight of him pressed into you that relaxes you, even through your current haze of emotion. You allow yourself to sink back against him, to breathe deeper, though your inhales are still a little shaky.

Yoongi’s rough voice in your ear pulls you up from the edge of sleep. “Did I fuck everything up?”

You sniff softly, and your own reply is barely more than a whisper. “No, Yoongi, it’s okay. Let’s just sleep."

As you hear him settle in beside you again, you make a promise that you’ll deal with the fallout tomorrow. You’ll figure out how you really feel, and how he does, and what you want, and what the hell you’re supposed to do about it all. But tonight, you just want this: to lay here with Yoongi and pretend your entire world isn’t about to change when you wake up.

chapter eight | masterlist | chapter ten

A/N: oh hiiiiii, super secret bonus author's note down here!!! just wanted to share that, now that we're officially through the grammys, that means we are down to just two more chapters left in the series!!! i held off confirming the full length of LDOMLT until we got to this point (and honestly i could've easily split this into two chapters but i am NICE and i did not give you the WORST CLIFFHANGER OF ALL TIME LMAO) - but now i'm sure. chapter 11 will be the final one. gonna do my best to get 10 and 11 up before end of year, or by very early 2023 at the latest!!! and thank u, as always, for reading 💜💜💜

#yoongi smut #yoongi angst #yoongi x reader #bts fanfic #bts x reader #look down on me like that

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