#nibs x slightly

[backtoneverland]

no one ever makes content for this pairing. Idgaf here you go

[defmaybe]

Promise

12 Days of Christmas: Day 2, December 26th, 2024

LE SSERAFIM’s Nakamura Kazuha x Male Reader

8.8k words

Christmas Masterlist

A/N: This is actually my first time writing about a guy being dominant lol.

—

Ambition.

It’s not really a far-fetched concept for anyone. To aim higher has always been an innate trait in humans. Kazuha is nothing short of that, perhaps having the quality even more than a lot of people.

So, it breaks your heart to say no to her.

“Kazuha, I really can’t. I’m sorry,” you say, despondent in your response. “The solos have never been in our plan.”

She sighs, as if she has already known the outcome of her request. But her eyes remain determined, staring straight into yours. 

She’s not going anywhere.

Kazuha’s personality is nothing short of resolute. Motivation, determination, diligence—she has it all. These are reflected in the over-time practice sessions every single day. The time she pours into perfecting the dance choreographies is unreal. And it really shows on the stage, it really shows.

She stands up, her long, muscular legs come into your view. They’re beautiful, and you can just spend all day looking at them, but that’s going to be postponed for now. There’s the puzzle of guessing her mind right in front of you.

“Is there anything else I can do to convince you? More practice? Better stage perform–”

“No, Zuha, I’m so, so sorry about this, but we’ve never been a vocal group, really. You’ll have to under–”

“I don’t want to be remembered as just another member of this group. Please, this is important to me. I’ll do anything, please,” she pleads.

It’s your turn to sigh. She won’t let up, will she? Your fingers tap onto the handle of the chair restlessly, unable to find a solution for this woman.

“I just can’t find a solution for you right now, Zuha. If you really want that, you’ll have to find your own way, alright? I’m sorry.” You’re trying to sound stern, but there’s only regret within the words.

She takes a step towards you, resting her hands on the table. Her shirt falls down slightly to give way for you to her faint cleavage. Your breath hitches slightly.

“Please?” she pleads, one last time. That slight view of her breasts is giving her the upper hand in this.

Don’t.

You find your mouth latching onto Kazuha’s tits, tasting the sweat after her practice. She cries and cries in euphoria, spurring you on. Your hands roam around her body, feeling her otherworldly tight abs, her supple ass—one that you’ve been wanting to bury your face into. Your fingers then find their place inside her cunt, nudging her sensitive spot deep within.

Don’t

“You know, Kazuha, I found your ambition–” you say, standing up to match her tall height. Still, you have to look up slightly to match her eyes. “–admirable. It’s one of your best qualities. It really breaks my heart to say no to you.”

“Thanks, boss,” she scoffs, looking down with despondency. The fire in her eyes died down. “I’ll come back when I’m ready.”

Kazuha then walks away, crestfallen. Her strides are aimless and disinterested. The view of her back is displayed to you. 

With your eyes, you start to strip her, piece by piece—from her shirt, her pants. She’s in just her underwear now. Your cock starts to grow at the mental image you create inside your head. 

You slowly unlock her bra, fully revealing her toned back. Her body warmth emanates into you. You reach for her pert breasts, making her moan as your fingers graze her hard, brown nipples. But you don’t stop just there. Your frisky fingers wander down into her panties. You found out that she shaves, and she’s already fucking wet for you. Then, you plunge your fingers into her soaked cunt, rewarding you with an airy moan from Kazuha. You nib on her ears softly, bringing out another whimper from her.

Without any patience left, you strip down her last garment, making her bare in front of you, and you can tell that she’s as aroused as you are. Her dripping cunt is finally coming into your view. Her body is yours. She’s yours.

Don’t.

You’re snapped back into reality, though. Back to watching her, almost leaving the room. You have to take your chance. 

Now.

“I’m not done yet, Zuha,” you order, sounding serious for the first time. It gets over you. Lust gets over you.

She stops, looking back at you. Her breath hitches as she sees the newfound determination inside your eyes. There’s something about you, and she can feel it.

“Yes, boss?”

“Let’s say for tomorrow, you wear something–different, something that is a bit more–provocative, and we’ll see what happens.”

Kazuha furrows her brows, giving you a puzzled look. “P–Provocative?”

You only nod, expressionless, trying to hide the fact that your heart is beating so damn fast right now. “Provocative, Zuha.”

“A–And wh–what will I get in return?” Kazuha asks, her voice starts to shake. Her confidence is faltering.

You smile back at her unsure expression. She’s going to get what she wants—a chance to have the spotlight on her own. You’re going to get what you want—her.

“You know how this goes, Zuha. You know how this goes.”

“I–I d–don’t know. D–Do I really need to do this? I mean–I want to have that solo–”

“I’ll be in the practice room tomorrow, make sure to follow my instructions,” you say, stern and confident.

The words linger within her mind. “I–fuck–fine, boss,” and she gives in to you.

“Don’t ruin it, Zuha.”

—

You couldn’t sleep last night.

Kazuha is stuck in your head. Your mind replays the event that might happen—you having a mind-breaking sex with her. Your cock twitches with anticipation, expecting her cunt to wrap around it like a vice. Hell, you might get to fuck her tight ass even. You’ve seen it. You lost count of how many times you’ve watched that Perfect Night dance practice video. The cinematographer did know their job.

“Mmm, that felt so good, boss.”

How in the fuck did you stay assertive like that in the room? That wasn’t you at all. Though, at least it opened a new door for you.

You’re getting to watch Nakamura Kazuha in her tightest, smallest clothes she’s ever going to wear, and maybe, just maybe, they’ll be off by sunset.

—

Kazuha opens the door into the practice room to find you already there, dealing with work, among other things.

You give her a faint smile, satisfied with the way she composes herself for today.

She’s wearing a tight-fitted sports bra, one that shows you the curve of her firm chest. You’d love to put your hand on them, kneading, nibbling her taut nipples through the thin fabric. Her hair is freed, swaying with her strides. Below, her shorts are so damn strained that you can see the outline of her soon-to-be drenched panties. You’re going to use your mouth to take it off, while your hands grip on her muscular thig–

“Hey, boss,” Sakura snaps you back into reality. Standing beside her is Eunchae, smiling brightly.

“Shit–fuck–,” you mumble to yourself. “Uh, hi, girls.”

“Yeah, I noticed it too,” Eunchae says to you, voice barely above a whisper. “She probably forgot to do her laundry.”

“Who–Who?” Fuck, you sound like a goddamn owl doing this.

“Zuha, she’s wearing something that’s a bit–exposing, isn’t she?” Sakura says, smiling.

“Bet she must be so damn embarrassed,” Eunchae adds with a giggle. You can feel your cheeks starting to grow hotter.

“Uh, y–yeah, she must’ve been–”

“Alright, girls, let’s start the practice,” the instructor shouts, clapping her hands.

Sakura and Eunchae giggle at each other before walking away from you.

“See ya, boss.”

“See ya.”

—

As the practice goes on, you can’t help but popping up from your work to watch Kazuha now and then. Just like last night, your length starts to grow, and you’re doing your best to use your laptop to hide the tent in your pants.

(The work is actually a façade, really. If you could just stare at Kazuha for the whole practice, you wouldn’t have risked straining your back carrying your laptop down from the top floor.)

Her movements are nothing short of strong and sensual. She’s committed, showing no signs of relenting. She has always been this determined. Every kick, every sway, every arch, she gives it all.

When she bends down, you have a magnificent view of her supple ass, so juicy. You wish you could’ve put your face in it, tasting her sweat dripping down her tightness. 

When she arches, you have a splendid view of her small tits under that damn tight sports bra. You wish you could’ve sucked on them, tasting her sweat dripping down her valley. You wish you could’ve made her moan erratically in your embrace.

Your bulge is screaming under your tight pants. It aches to be freed, aches to be inside of your employee’s ass, aches to be thrusted into her mouth.

The other women don’t seem to notice, still focusing on the practice. Thank god.

—

As the practice comes to an end, you’re struggling to hide your raging erection under your slacks. It’s time to approach her for the next step, so you stand up and walk towards Kazuha, who is all drenched in her sweat. Her creamy skin shines against the lights in the practice room. She’s stretching to cool down herself, while all the other members and the instructor are already leaving the room.

“So,” you begin the conversation.

“So,” Kazuha repeats. “How did I do?”

You try to compose yourself. “You did well, Kazuha. Committed as always.”

She smiles. It’s a genuine one. “Thanks, boss.”

You continue, “Now, about the solo comeback we’ve talked about.” You sit next to her. You can feel her body warmth close to you. Maybe you’re sitting a bit too close to her. Her expression is unreadable. Maybe she’s expecting something from you.

“Yeah? Is it done?”

“Let’s say–we’re halfway there.”

Kazuha’s breaths speed up a little. She’s anxious.

“Halfway?”

“Halfway, yes.”

“Go ahead, boss. Tell me what to do,” Kazuha says, slightly apprehensive, but she still has her ground. Her fiery eyes bore into yours.

Here goes nothing.

Your hands make a soft contact with her knees. You hear her breath hitch softly. Her eyes weaken. You can feel the apprehension building up within her loins. Her body jolts.

“B–Boss,” she stutters, before she brings her hand atop of yours, putting some force on it. Your movement is halted.

“A–Are you sure that I have to do this?”

You should stop.

You gulp, unsure whether to have this woman go your way or let your lust take over.

Do the right thing.

The image of Kazuha’s body, all sweaty, atop of yours, moving back and forth on your cock, materializes in your head. Her nasty, salty fluid falls onto your naked body. Her pungent aroma fills your nostrils, and it’s driving you insane. Her small breasts rest above you, and you can’t help but give them a taste.

You should stop.

Kazuha mouth’s create a suction around your cock. Your wails echo through the practice room. You grip onto the back of her head, harshly pressing it into your hardness. She gags and gags. Her eyes become watery. Her grips on your thighs grow harsher, and it’s going to draw blood out of you.

Do the right thing.

You’re lavishing Kazuha’s cunt with unmatched hunger. She cries out in ecstasy. You keep attacking her sensitive nub with your tongue. Your fingers are knuckles deep within her, applying pressure on the spot that makes her moan even louder. Her taste is salty, yet so addictive. She tastes so fucking good.

You should stop.

You’re gripping onto her waist, thrusting into her wet cunt repeatedly. “Yes, yes, right fucking there, boss. Please, please, please don’t ever fucking stop,” Kazuha sobs. Wet sounds vibrate through the practice room. The reflection of you two in the mirror only fuels the fire. You bring your hands onto her firmness, playing with her taut nipples. She keens, and it’s one of the best things that you’ve ever heard from her.

Do the right thing.

But you give in.

“How far can you go, Zuha?” You keep your composure. Please make it work. Your heart rate spikes, but your breathing is still saying the opposite. Keep your cool. Keep your cool.

“I–” She stares blankly into your eyes. You can feel that the gears in her brain are turning quickly. Yes or no. Yes or no.

“Stand up, Zuha,” you order and get up from your sitting position. She looks around, trying to find solace in the objects in the room. She’s unsure.

“Fuck,” she mumbles to herself, before getting up. She’s a bit taller than you, but with the power you’re holding, it’s like you’re six-feet tall.

“Stand against the mirror,” you say, sternly, pointing to the reflective wall. She hesitates for a bit before complying with your command.

You walk towards her until you’re just a breath away from her. You kneel. Her cunt is right in front of your face. She’s pervading your nostrils, and you’re so damn happy to make her your air.

“A–are you going to eat me out, b–boss?” Kazuha asks nervously. Her hands are trembling.

“How much do you want this, Zuha?” you ask her back. Your hands are closing in on her tight waistband already. You want to eat her pussy so fucking bad.

“I–I don’t know.”

You let the silence hang in the air for a moment, contemplating your next move. Maybe you should stop just here. Just say no to her request, and act like this never happened. 

But the show has to go on.

“I’ll go slowly, okay?”

“O–Okay, boss.”

You slowly peel down her shorts, slowly revealing her black panties underneath. They’re already drenched with her sweat. God, if you could just give it a taste. You can feel the urge to stick out your tongue. Her creamy thighs are slowly exposed to you, but you can’t just yield to temptation that easily. You have to go slow.

The outline of her puffy cunt can be seen through the dark fabric. She looks so fucking delicious from the outside. You find yourself closing in the distance between your filthy tongue and her pungent, drenched folds.

“Boss, p–please don’t tease me,” Kazuha hisses. Her thighs are shaking from the uncompromising anticipation. You can see sweat running down her toned legs. “If you’re going to do it, just fucking do it.”

And you break.

You yank her shorts down, making her body jolt in shock. 

“Kick it off,” you order her, and she kicks her shorts away in the boiling lust. It’s just her underwear now, before your tongue can taste her nectar. You’re drooling at the sight of the trace of her pussy. Fuck, you’re not waiting anymore.

Hastily, you grab onto her panties’ waistband before pulling it off in a quick swoop, rewarding you with an airy moan. And there it is, the treasure you’ve been seeking. Her clean-shaven cunt already glistens. Her juice shines under the room’s lights. Her scent is so damn addictive. It’s pungent. It’s musky. It’s tart, and you can’t help but–

“Ah! Fuck!” Kazuha rasps as your tongue finds its place on her cunt. It echoes through the empty practice room. Her body turns rigid. Her hands grip onto your head harshly, pushing you into her pussy even harder.

The first taste of her cunt feels salty—a combination of her sweat and her juice. You’re lapping it up relentlessly. You’re revelling in it—the way she moans, the way she tastes, and the way she just fucking keens. It’s all so perfect.

She curses and curses a variety of profanities. Her face displays pure ecstasy and a glint of embarrassment, but your only goal right now is to make her falter. You keep lapping and lapping on her cunt, tasting her nectar without yielding.

Her eyes are lit up with raging fire, fluttering in bliss. Her hands grip onto your head harshly. It's almost drawing blood from your poor scalp. Her cries only climb in volume and frequency, more demanding. It grows louder and higher with each lapping of your tongue.

You double your efforts, eating her cunt out faster and faster hungrily. Her rasps become harsher. You close your eyes and take in her scent through your nose. It’s musky. It’s tart. And you swear that it’s a fucking aphrodisiac for you.

And if it’s not enough, your hands grab onto her firm ass, suffocating yourself with her pungent cunt. She lets out a gasp, and you swear that you’ve never been any more feral like this in your whole fucking life.

Her ass feels so meaty, a product of her consistent squat routines. You do nothing but give them a squeeze and a grab, bringing out endless wails from her thin lips.

Then, an idea pops up in your filthy head.

“Turn around, Zuha.”

“Wh–What, boss?”

“I’m gonna eat your ass.”

She complies quickly, showing her tight ass in front of your face. It’s heaving. She’s expecting. And without a word, you bury yourself in between her supple cheeks. Your tongue immediately plants atop of her asshole.

“Godddd~” Kazuha grunts, her voice low and harsh. The sweat running down her tightness combining with her juice makes up an even better taste. You’re basking in them—her taste, her aroma, her moans, her sounds.

Her body spasms in a bliss. Her hips jerk against the practice room wall, painting it with her salty sweat on her meaty thighs.

And if that isn’t already enough, you drive your fingers deep into her. They’re hugged by her tight walls, before you’d curl them to make her cry even more.

“Fuckkk~” she groans, deeply. She uses her hands to grip onto the back of your head. You’re pressed into her ass even stronger. Her moans start to get frenzy, and that drives you even wilder.

“B–Boss, please, I–I’m gonna cum,” Kazuha screams, echoing over the room. Her entire body turns more rigid, sucking the life out of your dirty mouth.

“Hgnngn.” Kazuha can only form unintelligible sounds at this point. Any lilt in her voice is now replaced by primal grunts and moans.

And she cums. Her frame becomes stiff, gushing out clear liquid out of her plump pussy onto the wooden floor. Her entire body spasms and writhes against the wall, painting it with her sweat. Your mouth goes through the entire ride of her orgasm, feeling her high, savoring her precipice.

As her orgasm dies down, what comes out of her mouth are indescribable groans and guttural whimpers. Her body becomes limped after the mind-breaking orgasm she just experienced.

“Fuck, I–I’ve never thought–” she pauses to catch her breath, trying to make sense of the situation. Her head is hanging from her neck. Her body rests on the mirror weakly. Her boss just gave her one of the best orgasms of her life. “–I’ve never thought that it could be this good with a person.”

You wipe your mouth, getting a taste of her salty squirt remaining on your hand. “My pleasure, Zuha.”

“Guess–Guess I should–I should return the favor, huh?”

You stand up. Even if she’s towering over you by mere inches, you feel like the ball is in your court, and you are going to do whatever you please with it.

“Kneel.”

She slowly gets down. Her eyes lock with yours, filled with uncertainty and anxiety. You aren’t sure what’s filling her mind right now. Lust? Disgust? You can only guess.

You let it go on, anyway.

Her slick forehead shines against the room lights. Her hands start to unbuckle your tight jeans, slowly freeing your cock from its fabric cage. As the first barrier goes down, she watches your covered erection anxiously. Her breathing accelerates. Her hands tremble. She’s unsure, but what is she unsure about?

“B–Boss,” Kazuha stammers.

“Yes, Zuha?” you say, looking down to meet her eyes.

“Wh–What if I don’t do well?”

“I don’t mind, really. Don’t put so much pressure on yourself,” you say with a smile, trying to lighten the mood. Sure, you’d love to have power over her, but not to the point where it leaves her in dread.

“Thanks, boss,” she answers, before grabbing onto the edge of your boxers. She slowly pulls it down to reveal your hardness. It springs free. She’s watching it in awe, taking in the image of your stiff cock.

She starts slowly, stroking your cock from the base. Your breath becomes shorter.

“Are you okay, boss?”

“J–Just go on, Zuha.”

Kazuha then plants her lips on the tip of your cock, making your body shudder in pleasure. She’s coating you in her saliva. She’s making you go wild.

“Fuck.”

Kazuha lets out a giggle before taking in more of your length, starting from the whole tip. There’s determination in her eyes, the eagerness to make you cry out her name in bliss.

She doubles her efforts, second by second. She takes in more and more of your thick cock into her filthy mouth, and you start to reach her throat. It feels so fucking good. Your breathing grows more erratic. You can almost moan in pleasure, if it’s not her teeth that keep getting in the way. They keep grazing your cock, and it’s the only thing that stops you from crying her name out.

“Z–Zuha, shit, fuck, y–your teeth.”

She suddenly pulls back from the act, leaving you lost in the sudden absence of your high. Her hand detaches from you.

“Yes?” she asks, drool leaks out the edge of her mouth.

“Fuck.” You try to catch your breath, trying not to collapse onto the floor. “Y–Your teeth, it keeps grazing my cock.”

“Oh,” Kazuha utters. “Should we just–try something else?”

You stare into her eyes. Her expression is unreadable, but you need an upper hand in this. She’s going to suck your cock.

“Do it again, Zuha. Suck my cock again.” Your voice is commanding. You swear that you’ve never been this assertive before in your life. “Without the teeth.”

She looks up at you. There’s anxiety in her eyes. There’s the fear of letting you down.

“S–Sure, boss.”

She moves her gorgeous face towards your cock again. This time, she makes sure to wrap her lips around her teeth. And at the first contact, you cry out her name. It feels so fucking good.

“Fuck, Z–Zuha.”

She only smiles with the tip of your cock in her mouth. She stays there for a while, giving your tip licks and licks to make you whimper in rapture. Her hands stroke along your length. Her eyes look up at you, she knows she’s having a lead.

Kazuha then takes more and more of you and seconds go by, slowly. You watch as your length disappears into her mouth and her name leaves yours.

She takes your cock in so deep you start to hear her gag. Her eyes start to flutter in discomfort. She’s still trying to look up at you, as her hands go to your testicles. She’s squeezing them.

“God, fuck!”

Her saliva does wonders to the experience, making you suck a sudden every chance you have. It’s hard to resist not pushing her fully onto your cock right now, making her take its length fully.

“K–Keep doing that, Zuha. Keep fucking doing that.”

With encouragement, she then pushes herself fully onto your cock. You are now inside her mouth, and the image is nothing short of phenomenal. Saliva is leaking out of her. Her eyes are blinking rapidly. Tears are running down her cheeks. She’s making unintelligible sounds around your cock, choking on it, sputtering on it. It’s a cacophony. She’s submitting herself to you, and you’re loving every second of it.

“So eager to please, don’t you?” you have to ask. Your hands land on the back of her head softly.

She only let out a hum as a reply. Her mouth is too full of your cock to say anything. It’s huge for her. She’s cock-drunk now.

Finally catching the wind of your dominance over her, you sneer, “Never know that you’re quite a slut, Zuha.” You grip her by the hair, slowly pulling her off your thick cock. She chokes and sputters on the way out. God, what a sight.

As her mouth leaves your cock, you finally get to see her face fully. Black streaks run down from her eyes. Her lips are swollen. She’s drooling. 

“What a cockslut,” you utter, still holding onto her hair. A smile forms on her face. She’s fucking happy to be dominated like this.

“Anything for you, boss. You promised me a solo~” she says sultrily (and drunkenly from your cock), giving the tip of your length a lick as she finishes her words. Your body shudders.

“G–God, Zuha,”

Without another word, she dives onto your glistened dick again, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Her teeth graze your cock slightly, though.

“Sh–Shit, your teeth, Zuha, y–your teeth.”

She quickly complies, covering her hard teeth with her lips. She’s fucking you with her mouth properly again. She bobs her head up and down slowly, trying to catch the rhythm. Pleasure shoots through you like a bullet. And with the way she’s looking up at you so damn submissively, you swear you can cum right here and now.

She starts to find her tempo, quickening her strokes. She’s going up and down your cock faster. Her hands find themselves on your exposed thighs. Fuck, they’re cold from the air conditioners, and it makes your body tremble in the sensation.

The wet sound of her sucking your cock echoes through the room. Your hands, again, find themselves on the back of her head, pushing her into your cock relentlessly. Your fingers run through her soft hair, feeling her silk.

“Fuck, s–such a willing slut for your boss, don’t you?”

Kazuha only lets out a low groan affirmatively. She’s still aiming to pleasure her boss. Her career is at stake, after all, and you’re rejoicing in the way her mouth moves up and down your cock like this.

And you can feel it, the inevitable. It’s building up inside your loins. You’re going to cum inside her warm mouth. You can’t resist it anymore.

“Z–Zuha, gonna cum.”

She only makes muffled sounds into your cock, too busy sucking your length to say anything, and you’re so damn happy that she’s willing to go this far for you.

“Take all of it, alright? Be a good girl for me,” you groan out. Your mind is so lost in the pleasure Kazuha is giving you.

She can only nod, still bobbing her head without any care. She’s giving you a damn good blowjob, and you start to lose control of yourself.

You’re close. Your muscles grow more tense. Your cock twitches inside her mouth. Your grip on her head becomes harsher and harsher, determined to make her take all of your hardness.

“Gonna–Gonna cum.”

You break. You push Kazuha onto your cock harshly, making her nose hit your pubic bone. Your cock shoots ropes and ropes of semen into her mouth, emptying your balls inside her. She’s damn eager to take it all. She’s gripping onto your thighs tightly. Your scent is filling up her nostrils, making her eyes flutter in unbridled lust. Gagging sounds come out of her mouth.

“Goddamn–fuck!”

Your vision turns white. Your cock twitches violently inside her mouth. Cum is leaking out of your tip into her warm cavern. You’re painting the insides of her mouth white. You’re damn ecstatic. What a fucking ride that is.

Successive spurts grow softer, from shots into drizzles. Kazuha is still determined to take it all. Her hands snake up to squeeze your tight ass, pressing you forward to bury yourself further in her mouth.

“F–Fuck, Zuha.”

She smiles, before finally pulling herself off of your cock. She takes a small gulp, signaling that cum is going down her slutty throat. You watch in awe. She then opens her mouth, tongue hanging open, no trace of cum left inside. Fuck, she drank all of you.

“What’s next, boss?” she asks, wiping the remnants of cum off her face. Her face is a mess, but she’s ready for another round.

Not you, though.

“Wait a sec.” You then sit on the wooden floor, looking into the mirror. Kazuha rests beside you.

“Gotta wait for this little guy to be ready again, huh?” she asks, touching your now-flaccid cock.

“We can talk.”

She then rests her head on your shoulder, faint black streaks can be seen on her face. You can feel her body warmth emanating onto you.

“So.”

“So?” you ask.

“So, I have a question for you,” says Kazuha. Her voice is weak, clearly tired from the oral action she gave you. You two make eye contact in the reflection.

“Go ahead.”

“Why did you decide to become our manager?”

“Well–” you pause, trying to recollect the complete picture. You just keep forgetting it “–I kind of wanted to become an idol, you know?”

She lets out a soft chuckle. “But?”

You can’t help but to laugh along with her. “Yeah, my body isn’t really up for the task.” You then pat your out-of-shape tummy softly on your shirt.

“I’d like to be remembered, just like you,” you continue, sighing along the way. “To live among the stars, all that stuff.”

It starts to pour out now, your story. Despite the earlier dominance, you feel vulnerable with her. You’re showing your heart to one of your employees.

Kazuha laughs again. “It’s not all confetti and flowers, boss.”

“I know, I know,” you say, somewhat understanding her life after a few years of observation from afar. “All of you have gone through a lot, and I’ll forever admire you guys for that.”

“Thanks, boss,” she replies. Her hand moves down to play with your cock again. “Still not there, huh?”

A chuckle leaves your mouth. “It’ll take some time, Zuha.”

“Ask me something, then,” she says. 

You let the silence hang in the air, trying to think of a question. It’s difficult, especially when you’re naked down from your waist like this.

You were about to ask her the same question she had asked you, but you’ve asked her that already. She loves Blackpink, hence her idol aspirations. She's an INFP, used to be an INTP. Her eyesight gets worse with time. What’s left to be asked?

“You know, I was so scared when that interviewer asked me about my type,” she says, her hands caressing your body. Your mind is brought to that interview, the one she–

“I was so afraid that the fans would reject me just because I said ‘men or women’.”

You can only sigh.

“It seemed like they didn’t, Zuha,” you shoot her a smile, holding her hand gently, as if you didn’t fuck her throat senseless mere minutes ago. “Don’t give much fuck about those people.”

She lets out a giggle. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

The conversation goes on for a few more minutes. At first, it was simply a time killer, waiting for your soft cock to get hard again. But as it flows, you feel like you get to know Kazuha more and more.

Slowly, your arousal returns, and Kazuha seems to notice that. It twitches in the expectation of another round.

“Oh, look at him~” she says softly. Her hand is drawn to touching you gently. You can’t help but giggle as she caresses your hard cock.

“Stand up, Zuha,” you command. You’re trying to sound stern, but the exchange earlier just softens your voice.

She complies immediately. Her toned legs are displayed elegantly in front of you. You stand up with her, taking the full view of her body on the way.

What a banger body.

“What’s next, boss?” Her words seem to want you to get this over with, but the small smile plastered on her face seems to say otherwise.

You pause, thinking for some witty response as you unbutton your shirt, revealing your out-of-shape body. You clearly have been eating too much. It’s a bit embarrassing.

What’s next?

“I want your bra off, Zuha.” Well, that’s far from witty.

“Thought you’d never ask that,” Kazuha playfully scoffs before taking off her tight sports bra. Her small breasts come into view, along with the taut nipples proudly sitting atop of them. She can’t wait for what’s next, so do you. The bra is then thrown away onto the floor. Her naked body stands proudly in front of you.

She’s nothing short of unreal—the pert breasts, the firm abs, the glistened pussy. She’s sculpted by a deity. And without a word, you push Kazuha onto the mirror, drawing out an airy moan from her. You press your body against hers, while her back is pressed against the wall.

She sucks a sudden. Her hands are trembling against the mirror. Her eyes are closed, enamored in the expectations of you inside of her cunt.

“F–Fuck, boss.”

“I know, Zuha. Now if you’d bend over for me.”

She quickly follows your orders, flipping her body around so that her back faces you. Your cock is pressed against her ass. You let out a hum in satisfaction.

You draw a line with your finger down her spine, making her suck in the air. Sweat from the earlier activity still lingers on her back. Her body quivers in pleasure. She’s submitting to you now.

“Goddd~” Kazuha groans. She’s at the mercy of your touch.

Your finger runs down the middle of her back, down her sculpted arch, to the ridge of her tight ass. She screams, as your finger makes contact with the outer of her puckered hole.

“Fuck!” Her whole body shakes erratically, overwhelmed by the pleasure you’re giving her. Her breathing grows restless.

“Slut,” you whisper the demeaning word into her ear. You’d argue that it fit her, with her being a whimpering mess under your touch.

You circle your finger around her asshole, heightening her moans. You feel the creased patch of skin on your finger, letting out a satisfied hum, but that’s not your main course. You then draw your finger down, touching her wet heat. Kazuha sucks a sudden, before you push your finger into her. 

Her cunt welcomes you easily. You swear that the wail coming out of her mouth is one of the best sounds you’ve ever heard. You watch her face become contorted in the mirror. She’s lost in the bliss you’re giving her.

You slowly push yourself into her pussy, burying yourself in the wet heat. Kazuha’s body shakes with pleasure. You insert your whole finger into her, before touching a rough patch inside her.

That’s where you make her collapse.

You curl your finger to touch her sensitive spot, and as expected, Kazuha lets out a sharp, sudden moan. Her legs are barely holding her up. She’s faltering, and you’re enjoying every second of it.

“F–Fuckkk~”

You double your efforts, stimulating where she needs the most. Your finger is engulfed by her tight, wet heat. She feels warm. You’re loving the way she feels around you. You’re loving the way she submits to you. You’re loving the way she fucking keens from your finger inside her. Fuck, you need even more.

You quicken the pace, and it is making her quiver uncontrollably. How she’s shuddering around you, how she moans. It’s just unreal for you. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. You couldn’t have found a better woman in your life who you’d find as angelic as Nakamura Kazuha.

“Goddamn it, Kazuha. You’re doing so fucking well for me,” you say, playing with her inner walls recklessly. She’s shaking under you. The sound of it is spurring you on. The smell of it is making you go feral. The sight of it is making you feel the power you’ve never felt before in your life.

“G–Gonna c–cum, boss,” she utters, mustering up any energy left to say it. Her eyes are rolling upwards now.

Then, you regretfully withdraw your finger out of her. The engulfing wet heat is now missing from your fingers. She groans in disappointment.

“What the fuck?” Her expression is on the line of anger.

You smirk at her through the reflection, sucking your finger lewdly. She’s salty. Still, that doesn’t seem to lighten up her mood.

“Goddamn it, you’re fucking insufferable,” she sneers, still pissed off by your sudden absence. You have other plans, at least.

“Stand still for me, please,” you say with unwavering calmness, getting a hold of her waist. You’re fucking her properly.

Her expression changes, realizing your next action. “Oh,” she utters.

And for the first time, you plunge yourself into her, feeling the way her tight, wet cunt hugs your cock. It feels so fucking ecstatic. The sensation pierces through your entire body like a spear. She keens loudly, and so do you. It echoes around the room that’s yours.

“Fucking hell–” you give her ass a harsh spank, she wails in the concoction of pain and pleasure “–you’re so fucking tight, Zuha.”

“Th–Thanks, boss,” she replies, as you slowly push your hardness inside her to the hilt. “Y–You’re big too.”

You chuckle, and you swear that it’s the most wicked laugh you’ve ever let out. Your thighs press against her ass, before you drag your hips back. Her tightness around you is making your cock throb, and you thrust back into her cunt. You grunt loudly, and so does she.

“Nghhh~” Kazuha groans, as you find your rhythm in plowing her pussy. You start fucking her properly this time with your cock, pounding into her with no abandon. She feels so good around you.

No words can describe the feeling of fucking Kazuha’s cunt. It’s something beyond your comprehension—the tightness of her alone, the power you’re holding over her, the sounds of her guttural grunts and groans and moans and whimpers. It’s just nothing short of unreal.

“D–Don’t you dare–ah–fucking pull out th–this time, boss,” she commands, trying to sound as stern as possible. Though, it comes out weakly, just like her limp body right now.

“What if I do, huh?” And you give her ass another loud spank. She whimpers. Her resolve falters. Her posture almost collapses.

“Hgngnn.” She can only let out a whimper as you kiss the vanilla skin of her neck. She’s salty from the sweat lingering on her body. Her scent pervades your nose violently. You swear that she’s like an aphrodisiac to you. It’s driving you feral. Her skin shines under the room's light beautifully, and you only wish you can just stay with her like this forever.

“B–Boss,” she mewls, her voice weak and lost.

“Yes, Zuha?” You’re still ramming into her with reckless abandon. Her tight cunt hugs your length perfectly, coaxing the cum out of your balls.

“Gonna–Gonna cum.”

You say nothing but upping your ante, pressing her harder into the mirror. Her tits are splayed on the wall. Her walls contract for you, drawing breathless moans out of your lips. Both of your mouths hang open in bliss. You both want this.

“Cum for me, Zuha, but don’t think this is over yet.” You give her rear another slap. The skin clashes against your hand. She wails, as you lean in for a whisper, “There’s another hole to be filled.”

“Hhgnn,” she grunts under the weight of your promise. Her arms go limp, both hanging just beside her pliant body. Her mind is filled with nothing but your cock inside her pussy.

And she cums for the second time today. Her walls contract around your cock, gripping you like a vice. She lets out a guttural groan from the depth of her lungs. Her right cheek is pressed against the mirror, painting it with her slick sweat.

“Fuck! Goddd~” she shouts loudly from the force of her violent orgasm. You relentlessly fuck her through the forceful orgasm, pulling groans and grunts out of her as much as possible.

Her orgasm subsides, leaving her shaking body as the evidence of it. Her pussy is still contracting around your cock. You slow down, and the other plan comes into play.

You pull your hard length out of her cunt. You’re all glistening in her juice now. It’s strange. You usually cum a lot faster than this. Though, with Kazuha, it’s like you can just go on and on forever.

You insert your fingers inside her pussy, making her entire body tremble in shock once more. You’re trying to gather her slick juice to smear your cock with any lubricant you can find. Your bottle is too far away from you right now (about fifteen floors away, under your table). The wetness of her cunt is really helping you here.

“What a slut,” you sneer at her, as she whimpers in response to the degrading name. “Look at you, all wet for me.”

“P–Please, boss,” she pleads, her voice shaken with unrelenting desire. Her body is trembling with unbridled anticipation.

“Please what, Zuha?”

“Please f–fuck my ass, I–I need it,” she whines, and you couldn’t be happier to fulfill her wish.

You rest your tip at the entrance of her ass—teasing, playing with her. She whines at the act, as if she really wants your cock inside her ass so fucking bad (she does). Your cock in all glistened in her slick juice, ready to fuck her rear hole raw.

And slowly, and carefully, you push your cock into her tightness, inch by inch. Her body trembles as you find yourself inside her once more. She cries out in bliss. The lubricant definitely helps.

“F–Fuck, nghhh.”

You respond to her moans by pushing ever further into her ass. Your body presses onto her more and more, feeling her damp back, gathering her sweat on your body. The warmth around your cock is just too much. She grips you like a vice. 

“Goddamn it, Zuha. Is this your first time in the ass?” you grunt. Your voice is raspy.

“Nghhh, n–no, boss. This is my second time, b–but I–I’ve never cum from that,” she whines. Her hands are pressed against the mirror harshly. You’ll have to be more gentle if you don’t want to break this expensive reflective wall.

You keep pushing and pushing, and finally, you are buried deep up to the hilt. The tightness of her ass is just unreal. A loud moan escapes your lips. Fuck, she’s tight, too tight.

You stay inside the depth of her ass for a few more seconds, feeling yourself inside of her tight ass. You’re hoping that she’s at least enjoying this a little bit.

She does, after all, moaning and writhing like that.

“You love this, don’t you, Zuha? You love having my cock inside your ass like this,” you taunt her, rewarding you with breathless whimpers and moans out of her lips.

“I–I love it, b–boss,” she answers, stuttered and shaken. The sensation is just too much for her. Your hands snake up her body to her small breast, a pair that’s unforgettable for you. You decide to give her nipples some soft treatment with your filthy hands, rubbing them between your fingers.

“Look at you, your nipples are all hard for me.” You run the sides of your fingers up and down her nipples, feeling them between your digits. She lets out guttural grunts and groans in pleasure. “What a goddamn slut.”

“Nghhn.”

After what feels like an eternity inside her ass—so warm, so tight—you draw your hips backwards. Her walls are grazing your cock, making the retreat so damn ecstatic. You pull back until half of your cock is out of her puckered hole, before pushing yourself back in. You let out primal moans with it.

“God, fuck!”

Her ass feels so tight, so right.

You start to find your pace in ravaging Kazuha’s ass. You set the rhythm in fucking her properly. The room reeks of sex, no matter how big it is. The only thing filling your nostrils right now is the smell of Kazuha’s sweat and something that screams her.

Your hands are still kneading Kazuha’s small breasts enthusiastically. Touching them fills you with unbridled joy. They feel so–soft, so–firm in your hands, as you plow into her ass with no abandon.

“Fucking love these tits, Zuha,” you utter. The words come out before you can suppress it. Your mind is filled with the sensation of fucking her ass and groping her tits. “So–soft, so–small.”

“Nghhh, th–thanks, boss,” she cries out, her voice feeling like she’s unable to make sense of what’s going on anymore. It’s just too overwhelming for her. Your cock inside her ass, your hands on her breasts, your smell, your grunts. It’s too much she might have hit the third peak of the day.

Her eyes flutter in bliss—that’s what you see in the mirror. She keens, and you love the way she does it. Her voice reeks of complete submission for you. Her smell is driving you insane. It’s making your grunts more raw, more primal, more animalistic.

You reach out to grab her face. You’re trying not to make it harsh. You don’t want to hurt her. Her moans are interrupted with a gasp. She’s shocked at the sudden contact on her face. She definitely is.

You move in for a kiss.

It’s sloppy, unrefined. There’s no tenderness in it, no romance, no lovey-dovey bullshit. Your hands are still freely groping Kazuha's breasts like they’re yours (they’re yours). Your tongue invades her mouth, gathering her taste. She’s definitely salty—all the sweat and such.

She finally catches the tempo of the kiss, finally holding on her own. Your tongues are now intertwined in a battle for dominance, trying to taste each other as much as possible. The sound of kissing rings inside your head. It’s far from romantic. It’s sloppy. It’s primal. It’s raw.

“Mmmph, fuck,” she utters as you’re still ramming into her ass. Occasional moans into your mouth can be heard. She finds pleasure in it, and you’re happy that she does.

And you pull back. A string of saliva is still connecting your mouths together. It’s vulgar. It’s obscene. That fits. You rest your forehead on Kazuha’s. It feels so intimate. You’re so close to her. You can feel the warmth emanating from her, see her sweat running down, see her pores, and you can only think to yourself: fuck, she really is an angel.

“I’ll get that solo for you, Zuha,” you say, forehead touching hers. Your mouth feels empty without her tongue. It feels great having her inside your mouth.

“B–Better keep th–that promise, boss,” she replies, voice barely holding itself together.  “I’ll fucking join aespa if it’s an empty one.”

You let out a chuckle. She definitely won’t do it, but it’s not like you’re flippant. 

“Sure. It’d be suck to lose another member,” you answer her with a smile. You’re trying to make it as sincere as you can.

You keep pounding into her ass, chasing both of your orgasms. Your hands roam down back to her small, slutty waist. Her breathing grows frantic. You can see the goosebumps on her arms. She’s close. She’s close.

“F–Fuck, a–again, gonna cum again,” she rasps. Her voice is barely holding itself together. Her walls contract around your cock.

Her dam breaks. Her nectar leaks out of her cunt onto the floor. Some of it spills onto your cock, some spill onto your feet. She lets out a primal grunt, spurring you on to fuck her ass with‌ even more roughness. You plow her puckered hole through her orgasm. She’s sensitive, but you don’t fucking care. You couldn’t care any fucking less. You have to cum inside Nakamura Kazuha’s ass.

You buck your hips into Kazuha with reckless abandon. Fuck the other women if they’re going to hear this. You’re more than willing to let them know who owns this angel. It’s you. It’s you. Your hands roam over every curve and contour of her body, feeling her smooth skin on your hand. You know it’s hyperbolic, but she’s nothing short of perfection.

Her moans remain guttural and raw. They’re echoing through this practice room, and you’re damn sure that no sounds can be as ethereal as that. Her body, god, her body, you are going to keep dreaming about it forever. Her ass feels utterly divine. She wraps your cock in a way that’s so damn flawless, and it’s like she was made for your cock and your cock only.

You can feel it. The rising current inside you. It runs through your body. It’s electric. It’s going to burst. You’re going to cum inside your employee’s ass, and you couldn’t have found any better situation to be in.

“Here’s what I’m going to do, Zuha,” you order. Your voice couldn’t be stronger than this. Your grips on her waist tighten. “I’m going to fucking cum inside your ass, and you’re going to take it like a good girl you are, alright?”

“Nghhngn, y–yes, boss,” she groans, her voice breaking into pieces. She’s broken already.

It’s there, that familiar feeling inside your loins. You quicken and quicken your pace, pounding into Kazuha’s ass with an unmatched aggression. Your cock is throbbing inside her, so ready to explode. Your breathing is erratic. It’s all culminating in this. You’re going to cum.

“Gonna–Gonna cum,” you grunt, thrusting into her as fast as you can. It’s there. It’s right fucking there.

“Fuck!”

You lose yourself for the second time of the day, this time inside Nakamura Kazuha’s ass. You can see stars. White spurts paint the inner walls of her. Your body convulses, shaking in bliss. You grunt loudly. Your cock twitches inside her rear hole. The way she keens rings inside your ear as she feels the cum paint her walls. Fuck.

Your cock keeps shooting ropes and ropes of cum into her ass. It feels utterly divine, the way her ass hugs your cock so damn tightly. You press Kazuha against the wall, trapping her in your embrace, forcing her to take all of your cum. She screams in pure pleasure. 

“Fuck,” you groan, as you slowly come down from the earth-shattering orgasm you just had. Both of you are panting in exhaustion. It was tiring. It was mind-breaking.

You drag your spent cock out of her tight ass. Both of you groan in oversensitivity. Cum slowly leaks out of her ass. You’re all limp, and so is she.

Kazuha still can’t seem to catch her breath. She turns around to face you, face all flushed, mouth hanging open before slowly retreating onto the floor. She’s exhausted, and so are you.

You look down to face her. Your hands are resting on the wall, trying to hold you up with all the forces they have left. Your cock is all sore from the act, and you’re going to need a good sleep after this.

“God,” she utters, smiling. “That was–that was fun, huh?”

“Y–Yeah, that was fun,” you reply with a chuckle. The mood lightens up. The lust earlier is now replaced by comfort. You feel the air thinning. It’s not as tense as before.

You sit down next to Kazuha, head resting on the mirror. The trace of her body can be seen on the wall. It’s imprinted, dirty. You don’t really care. Let the staff see it.

You look around the room, trying to cool down from the debauchery, before Kazuha rests her head on your shoulder. You feel the unfamiliar warmth from her head. It’s–comforting.

“Promise me you’ll get me that solo.” She brings up her pinky finger.

It wasn’t supposed to be much more than a currency. Robotic. Mechanical. Transactional. Though, as you experience through it, you somehow find retreat in it. The act, even if as rough as it was, brings out the side you’ve never seen in her, and something you thought you’d never shown to anyone else. It’s weirdly comforting to you. And maybe, just maybe, the two of you might look forward to another encounter where you fuck her brainless again, and you might learn a few more things about her, and she’d share more of her with you, being each other’s solace against the world.

“I promise.”

—

[ink-and-dagger]

What if Astrid find a pic of young Silco by accident hehhehehehhehehehehhe

Snapshot

A Drink With Me ficlet

870 words || Established relationship || Silco x Astrid (but can be read as gen f!reader) || SFW but suggestive || MDNI

“Oh my Gods.”

“What?”

“Oh. My Gods.”

Time has stripped the photograph between your fingers of its glossy sheen and has left the edges blunt and frayed, but you would recognise those features anywhere; no less sharp nor striking through the faded sepia.

“This is you.”

It had slipped from between two ledgers as you’d perused Silco’s bookshelves – an activity more to entertain your idle hands than a genuine search for reading material. The image itself is simple and candid: A young man, seemingly oblivious to the fact his portrait is being taken, sat at a familiar bar, with eyes downcast toward a spread of papers.

That same man looks up at you now from a very similar spread of papers. “What is?”

“This.” You drift over to his desk and perch on its edge, all the while unable to tear your gaze from the photo in your hands. The pitch dark hair swept back into a low bun. The familiar strays – the same ones that even now will always be the first to escape any styling under the combing of agitated fingers – falling forward into his face, only far longer and thicker than you’re used to. His skin, unblemished and smooth, save for the chronic furrow between his brows – etched there long before time and tragedy ravaged the rest.

Silco hums absently; an indication that he acknowledges your discovery but finds little interest in it. You can imagine the man in the photograph making the exact same noise, were someone to distract him from his paperwork for a reason he deemed benign. You flip the photo over. No date.

“How old are you here?”

Silco exhales through his nose, places his pen down with a pointed clack, and extends his hand wordlessly toward you.

“Hah! Do you think I’m wet behind the ears?” you hold the photograph out of his reach, “You can tell just fine from over there thank you very much.”

He cuts you a scathing glance, before leaning forward in his chair with a foreboding creak to peer more closely at the image. His scarred lips purse slightly in thought.

“Mid–late twenties. I can’t say for certain.”

“You were hot.”

“Were?”

“Were and are,” you coo, reclining backwards over the desk into his space, one elbow pitched on his paperwork to hold your weight whilst you flap the photograph in front of his face, “Can I keep this?”

“For what reason?”

“Dirty ones.”

“Hardly necessary,” Silco says, the very corner of his mouth creasing upwards as he catches your wrist to halt your photo-flapping, “You have access to the real thing.”

“True, true, and you can be sure I’ll continue taking advantage of that.” You grin, shoving your captured, photo-wielding arm a little closer to him in emphasis, “But right now I’m talking about some alone time with this guy.”

Silco scoffs under his breath and releases your wrist. You twist onto your front, weight propped on both elbows as you admire the photograph in your grip. You trace a finger down the slender throat of the man in the photo, over the generous wedge of chest exposed by his open crimson collar.

“D’you think he’d notice me? If I came into that bar?”

“Oh I’m certain he would.”

“Yeah?” You lift your gaze from the man in the photo to the one before you – as equally breathtaking. More so. You catch your lower lip between your teeth. “What line would he use?”

Silco hums, low and thoughtful, leaning forward in his chair, closing in on your space. He picks up his abandoned pen, briefly twirling the implement until it’s poised between his elegant fingers like a cigarette. Nib safely facing his own palm.

“After downing the dregs of his drink for courage... he would have approached you.”

With sensual tenderness, he brushes the barrel of his pen along your cheek, warmed metal against warmer skin. Catching at the curve of your jawline, and tracing over your pulse in a way that makes it fumble a beat.

“Cast his gaze over each of your pretty, pretty features. One by one,” he murmurs, slowly drawing the end of the pen down your jugular, down the slope of your collar bone, to leisurely trail through the cut of your cleavage. The corner of your mouth hooks up. The warmth low in your belly coils a little tighter.

“He would have leaned in close,” Silco whispers, demonstrating just so, “Close enough that you’d almost taste the whiskey on his breath.”

Blunt metal drags a purposeful line up your throat, and your lips part softly as he tilts your face toward his with the barrel of his pen flat and firm beneath your chin.

“And asked you – very nicely – to stop leaning on his paperwork.”

You press your tongue against the inside of your cheek while Silco’s dual eyes sizzle with smug mirth. It’d be unthinkable, really – to forfeit either one for the sake of a matching pair.

You straighten and push off his desk, hips swaying as you saunter over to the bedroom with the photograph in hand.

“Well,” you say, pausing in the threshold and turning to him with a smirk, “If you need us, you know where we’ll be.”

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (48/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Time to say goodbye.

Warnings: 18+ (fingering, boob sucking, slight anal play, mentions of sex), fluffy fluff

Word Count: 3.4k

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A/N: thank you all for your patience and kind words. I don't know what I'd do without you. I promise I'll be better in the future. I love you. feedback is appreciated.

The first thing you feel is the warm embrace and warm hands brushing through your hair. Still half asleep, you feel the gentle pressure on your head, and Charles slowly and lovingly scratches your scalp as if he wants to wake you up gently. 

Your eyes open just a crack before you decide to close them again and take a deep breath. Charles' chest is against your back, the heat of his skin burning through the shirt you're wearing. His arm is wrapped tightly around your middle and he's lying so close to you, with his head on your pillow and your legs entwined, that you don't know where your body ends and his begins. 

His touch is so familiar, so gentle and reassuring that you would almost fall asleep again if he didn't whisper in your ear.

“Good morning,” he breathes into your shoulder, his lips brushing your naked skin. His hand, which is not running through your hair, slowly slides under your shirt to press you even closer to him. ”How did you sleep, mon amour?”

You take a deep breath and snuggle closer to him. “Not long enough,” you reply in a sleepy voice. Tired, you stretch your head in his direction so that he can continue to massage your scalp. “Have you been awake for long?”

He shakes his head slightly. “Not too long,” he replies, weaving his fingers through your hair. “But long enough to enjoy your company before I have to get up and pack my bags.” He presses his nose against your cheek before gently kissing your temple. 

You smile sleepily. “How about you? How did you sleep?”

Slowly, his hand moves up from your belly, his thumb gently stroking the curve of your breast, while his fingers linger on your ribs. “I dreamt of you,” he answers softly, his lips on your neck. He presses his hips against your ass so you can feel his erection. 

Oh, boy. 

Your pussy throbs as he nibs at the soft skin of your neck. You gasp silently, arching towards him. “And what exactly did you dream?” You reach out and grab his hair to press his face against you. 

His fingers on your ribs spread and move to your bare chest. “You and me. At training camp,” he begins to describe his dream, while his thumb and index finger gently roll your nipple. 

Slightly confused, you turn your head in his direction, your noses nudging each other. “At training camp? Please don't tell me we actually went through your training schedule there.

His green eyes sparkle in the morning light. His hand moves a little further and turns you completely around to face him, his fingers grasp the flesh of your thigh and pull it over his hip so that he can press his hard-on against your barely-clad heat. “Don't worry, mon amour,” he breathes. “We didn't follow my training schedule. But –”

“But what?” You put your hand on his cheek, the stubble pleasantly scratching the palm of your hand. You curl your leg a little tighter around his waist. 

A grin spreads across his beautiful face. “We were still physically active,” he admits, sliding his hand higher up your leg, under the hem of his boxer briefs, which you are wearing. Charles leans forward a bit and kisses the tip of your nose, your cheek, your neck. His teeth brush against your pulse and goosebumps spread across your body. 

Heat rises to your cheeks as his fingers trail over your ass, as if it were the most natural movement in the world. As if you had been a couple for ages. His touch is so familiar that you practically melt away. 

You can't even imagine what the next few days would be like without him. What you're supposed to do here without him, without your roommate. Without your best friend. Without the man you love. 

As his fingers slide between your thighs and he gently brushes his fingertips against your lips before gently rubbing your bundle of nerves, so making you whimper, the alarm on his cell phone goes off. Grumbling and annoyed, he pulls his hand out of your pants before licking his fingers briefly and rolling onto his back. He reaches back to turn off the alarm. Sighing, he grabs you and pulls you onto him. 

Surprised and aroused, you look down at him. “What –”

“I don't want to get up,” he complains, wrapping his arms around your back so that you couldn't get off him even if you wanted to. Which will never be the case in your life. Hell will freeze over before you voluntarily let go of Charles. ”Can't we just lie here and pretend the alarm never went off?”

Your head is on his neck, where you leave feather-light kisses on his warm skin. “That would be nice,” you agree with him and reach out to run your hand through his hair. 

Charles groans softly. “We can pretend, you know? I just don't go to training camp and we both spend the next few days together here, only leaving the bed when we have to, and we don't have to go without each other for a long, miserable time. And then we can go to Kika's New Year's party together instead of only seeing each other there.”

You giggle. “Sounds like a solid plan,” you reply quietly. “But I'm afraid that at some point you gave Andrea a key to this apartment and he would definitely be standing in front of our bed if you weren't standing downstairs on time with your things, dressed and ready to leave.”

His arms tighten around you. “Our bed?” He asks with a grin and raised eyebrows. 

The heat rises to your cheeks again. “Well, you said that you – that we –” You take a deep breath. “You said that we wouldn't sleep apart anymore. And so I thought –”

“I'm only messing with you,“ he smiles and kisses your forehead. ‘This is our bed. In our bedroom. In our apartment," he assures you and lets his fingers slide under your shirt again. Warm fingertips gently press into your spine, eliciting a soft sigh from you. You feel his hard and demanding bulge twitching against your stomach. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay.“ You kiss his neck one last time before sitting up. His arms come off you and fall at his side, while your knees press into the mattress next to his hips as you sit up. ”Come on.” You reach for his hand and pull him into a sitting position as well. ”You have to get up.”

Immediately, his arms wrap around your torso again, pressing you against him and positioning you so that your legs can wrap around his hips. You sit straddling his lap and feel his boner against your pussy as his hands roam over your heated body again. 

“I don't want to get up,” he repeats as he leans forward and begins to nibble on your neck. As his lips reach your pulse and he gently sucks on your skin there, you involuntarily rub against him. 

“Charles,” you breathe, hands on his naked shoulders, fingernails digging into his back as he begins rocking you back and forth. ”You have to.”

His fingers grasp the hem of your shirt and without thinking, you raise your arms so that he can pull it over your head. “Says who?” he asks, raising his eyebrow as he throws the garment on the floor. He pulls you close again, fingers sliding into your briefs and kneading your ass as his lips glide hotly across your front. 

Your fingers dig into his hair as his mouth closes around your nipple and he begins to suck. “Oh fuck,” you moan, pressing his face closer to you as you arch towards him. His hands slide deeper into your boxer shorts, digging into your flesh and spreading you a little further for him. “Charles.”

Your best friend lets go of your nipple, but only to suck a hickey into the soft skin next to it. “I know.” As the spot darkens, his mouth slides further and his lips close around your other tit, coaxing another gasp from your lips. His sucks hard, making your head reel and arousal pool in your boxer briefs. 

One of his hands slides lower, fingertips circling your clit before lazily rubbing. You twitch in his hold, your pussy still sensitive from the orgasms he gave you last night, but you couldn’t care less in this moment. You buck your hips into his hand as his fingers close around your nub, toying with it like they did with your nipple a few minutes ago. 

Sparks run through your veins, setting you on fire, burning you to ashes at his touch. 

„My girl“, he moans against your tit, tongue flicking against the bud before sucking again. When you twitch once more, legs trembling slightly, he moves his fingers away from your clit. 

„No, please“, you whine in protest, wanting him closer, wanting more. Wanting him. 

Charles looks up at you, pupils blown and the green almost vanished from his eyes. „Please what? You’re too sensitive, mon amour“, he teases you, fingers sliding further, collecting your juices. When you slightly wince at the overstimulation when he pushes his fingers inside, he kisses your tit, bevore gently biting your neck. „It’s okay. I know what you need.“

He keeps his fingers buried inside you, gently massaging your walls and rubbing against that sweet spot that has you seeing stars, while his other hand catches your slickness thats dribbling out of you. They move up, wedging themselves between your ass cheeks and carefully circling your other hole, wetting it slightly. 

Your brain short-circuits as you realize his intentions. Your head lulls against his shoulder, eyes closed as you huff out hot breaths against his skin. „Charles.“

„Tell me to stop and I will“, he whispers, his clothed erection rubbing against your clit. „I promise.“ 

You weakly shake your head. „Want you“, you whine, moving your hips back slightly against his hand, against his fingers. „Want all of you.“

„You have me“, he promises quietly, almost inaudibly. „You have all of me.“ 

You want to kill somebody when his alarm goes off again. 

With a defeated sigh Charles pulls his hands out of your briefs while you go and grab his phone, turning the alarm off once more. You reluctantly slide off his lap, annoyed that he actually has to get up and ready and pack his bags. 

He looks at you apologetically and kisses your cheek. „I’m sorry, mon amour. Next time“, he smiles slightly before getting up from the bed, sticking his hand in his boxers to squeeze his dick once like it’s normal for you to see that. He then grabs a few things and leaves your shared bedroom while you fall down back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. 

Since when have you been so open to sex that you don't even mind what almost happened? When you were with Raphael, you didn't even change in front of him – not even after you had been together for a while. And now you're lying here in the bed you share with your best friend, letting him touch you and even reaching out to him when he rubbed your  –

Sighing, you grab a pillow and press it to your face.

How pathetic do you want to be? A virgin who is in love with her best friend, who certainly doesn't feel the same way about you, but with whom you still share a bed and even allow him to touch you?

There's no way you would have let Raphael touch you like that. But Charles isn't Raphael, so you push your thoughts aside.

Being with Charles feels natural, as if you were made to be by his side. It's so easy, even though somewhere inside you still have this queasy feeling that if you let it continue, it won't end well.

But how could it not end well if it feels so good?

“What are you doing?” Charles asks when he returns to the bedroom. He grabs the pillow on your face and puts it aside. He smiles down at you. "You're not trying to suffocate yourself, are you? It's just a few days that you have to get along without me," he jokes, grinning, and takes three steps back as you throw the pillow in his direction.

“You're unbelievable, “ you say and roll your eyes, but you can't suppress your own smile. You watch him pack some sports clothes into a large bag. ”Do you really not have much time to talk to me on the phone?”

Charles, who is folding two T-shirts and putting them neatly in the side of the bag, apparently hears the disappointed tone in your voice, which is why he looks at you and tilts his head to the side. “I know it's not ideal. And I wish it was different,” he begins, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He gently strokes your hair. "I hate leaving you here alone. I hate that my work takes up so much of my free time." He takes a deep breath. ”I hate that you're here waiting for me to come home.”

You take his hand and kiss the back of his hand before interlocking your fingers. The whole thing seems to be weighing on him, which is why you have to be the strong one for both of you at this moment.

You smile at him. “Don't worry. I'll ask Kika if she has time for me over the next few days. After all, I still need a nice dress for New Year's Eve and she sent me a video on Instagram of a shop where you can paint ceramics. And a restaurant where you can have a drink while you're brunching,” you explain. ”I think Pierre is at training too. And then I can help her with the party preparations.”

Your words seem to calm him a little. He presses your hand against his chest. “If you go shopping, take my credit card with you. I don't want you to spend your money when I have so much of it that I don't know what to do with it. You can also go to Maman's. Or Enzo and Charlotte. Or you –” he suggests in quick succession.

You interrupt him. “I'll be fine. You don't need to worry about me,” you assure him with a smile. “And in a few days we'll see each other again and then we'll party like there's no tomorrow on New Year's Eve. What do you think?” You waggle your eyebrows a little, which makes him laugh.

He leans down to you so that your noses touch. “What did I do to deserve you?” He asks quietly and kisses your forehead before straightening up and standing up to pack the rest of his things. He squats on the floor in front of the closet, pulling out clothes that he either puts in his bag or puts back on the shelves.

Since you don't want to bother him, you quietly slip out of bed and get ready for the day, before you text Kika and ask if she would like to go dress shopping for her party today, to which she sends you a two-minute voice message telling you which websites she has already scoured and which stores you should both go to so that you definitely find the best dresses for you.

You are sitting at the kitchen counter, all ready and dressed, eating some fruit when Charles joins you. He reaches around you and grabs a piece of apple, which he slides into his mouth without saying a word, before walking around the kitchen island and making himself a cup of coffee.

“When is Andrea coming?“ you ask him, holding out another piece, which he gratefully accepts.

“He should be here any minute now,” he replies, leaning against the worktop in front of you. “By the way, I was serious when I said that you should take my card and buy yourself a nice dress for New Year's Eve.”

You sigh. “Charles, I – you know I don't feel comfortable accepting this.” Hesitantly, you take a bite of your pear.

“That's true, “ he admits and drinks the rest of his coffee before rinsing the cup in the sink. ”But you also know that I like to use my money to buy you nice things. And what better way to start the new year than with a new dress?”

With you. Naked in our bed. On top of me. Inside me. Telling me how much you love me. 

You swallow hard and immediately push the thought aside. “You better be careful, Charlie. If you keep spending so much money on me, people might think you're my sugar daddy,” you joke, but you can't miss the dark flicker in his eyes.

“Don't worry, mon amour,” he smiles, standing next to you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear and examining the slight love bite he left on your neck. "You can have my money. I don't need it as long as I have you," he replies quietly and leans down to whisper in your ear. “If you wear a new dress on New Year's Eve but my bank balance hasn't changed by then, we'll spend a lot less time at Kika's party than you'd like,” he warns you. The kiss he gently presses on your temple is soft and loving, in contrast to his tone of voice.

Your breath catches in your throat.

When the doorbell rings, Charles moves away from you. With long strides, he goes to the front door and presses a button so that Andrea can use the elevator. Without saying a word, you follow him into the hallway, where several bags are already waiting to be loaded into a car.

“Good morning,” Andrea greets you both with a smile. He gives you a little kiss on both cheeks before grabbing two bags. "I'm really looking forward to the training camp. This time, I've picked out a few things that are just designed to drive you mad" he grins at the Monegasque, before looking at you. “And don't even think about texting or calling him. Not that your messages would get through somehow, but I think his brain can only focus on one thing at a time and as soon as he thinks of you, I can forget about training.”

“Andrea,” Charles warns his friend sharply, as if he had just revealed one of the biggest secrets in the world.

The trainer laughs. “Don't act like that. I know exactly what's going on here. I'm not blind,” he grins and leans forward to look at you. “Nice hickey, by the way,” he says nonchalantly, turning around and leaving the apartment the way he came in.

And leaving behind two best friends who don't know what to say about it.

Charles is the first to make a sound. He clears his throat. “Um, okay. I have to go, otherwise I'll get in trouble,” he explains and stands in front of you. Hesitantly, he raises his hands and places them on your cheeks to tilt your head back a bit so you can look at him. “I'll miss you.”

You can feel his warm breath on your face, he's that close to you. “I'll miss you too. Send me photos or something when you can. I don't know exactly when you can get on your phone, but when you can – I mean –”

“I promise I'll get in touch with you. Even if it means buying a second cell phone and hiding it from Andrea,” he smiles, stroking your cheekbones with his thumb. ”I don't know how I'll last without you. And especially for several days.”

You shrug helplessly. “I don't know either,” you reply. “But after that, nothing can separate us. Then you won't get rid of me,” you dare to say, your heart beating in your throat. You turn your head and kiss his palm lovingly. “Deal?”

He leans his forehead against yours. ”Deal.”

[lonely-moons]

♡୭something good | sam winchester x reader, pt. 2

title: something good, pt. 2 (read pt. 1 here)

pairing: stanford!sam winchester x socially anxious!reader

warnings: once again a hell of a lot of overthinking, social anxiety, reader is yet again an (i say this with affection) awkward loser, sam winchester being a sweetheart, more m&ms (when do i get sponsored)

summary: you begin to remember your plans to just go at it alone, but it seems as though sam winchester is hellbent on ruining that

wc: 2,943

masterlist

over the next two days, the weekend, where you have no excuse to run into sam, your inflated sense of joy wears down. you wake up and wonder what's gone wrong, how a couple hours with the guy had managed to chip away your self-promise that you would just make it through college without caring about the social aspect. with choosing not to form any connections, so that it didn't hurt as much when no one would want them with you anyway.

you spend an embarrassing half an hour working this through in your head before getting out of bed on saturday. you know there's nothing wrong with being civil - it's not your aim to be an unwarranted bitch, after all - but growing attached? that's a mistake you've made time and time again. you know better now.

even though you and sam had exchanged numbers, neither of you appear in the other's phone over the weekend. not that you're actively checking. you illuminate the screen for the time, for the date, for the temperature before you head out to grab some dinner. it barely even crosses your mind that your inbox is empty.

and when you get a spam call on sunday afternoon, you most certainly do not almost fall off your bed in your haste to grab it.

when monday rolls around, you're the first to arrive in class. you always are. it's a tactical move that you can never quite give up, something that lessens the anxiety that's ceaselessly churning in your gut. you want first choice of a seat so that you don't end up too close to the front or back, where the students usually get picked on. the middle is your comfort zone, where you can blend in with everyone else. you're typically good at that, after all.

when someone slides into the empty seat beside yours, you don't even look up, assuming it's someone you don't know, given that that's pretty much everyone. only when there comes a light "hey" do you flinch slightly and stop digging around in your backpack.

"8 a.m. classes are just the best, aren't they?" sam rubs slightly at his eyes, and despite the exhaustion in his tone, the words come out through a small smile. not for the classes - for you.

"what?" you ask. it's the only thought in your head right now, and it comes out as majestically as it sounds bouncing around in your brain.

"think these should be illegal." he looks at where your hand is still stuffed elbow-deep into the backpack perched on your knees. "you get lost in there?"

you blink, shaking away your surprise even though most of it manages to stay latched on. "um..." your fingers move around, finally finding what you're looking for, and you extract your arm then unceremoniously dump the bag to the ground. it lands on your foot but you act like it doesn't. thankfully there are no 600-page hardback textbooks in there right now. "just... need a pen." you smile clumsily, waving it between your fingers. "got one."

now it's sam's turn to be taken aback. you're about to wonder why he looks like he's never seen a pen before, but then you realise which one you've taken out: the one designed to look like a syringe. you had found it in a joke store one day after going out for a walk in the local town. you didn't like leaving without buying anything - and you had thought it was pretty cool.

"oh, it's - it's not real," you say, pressing the nib to your arm and clicking the top. "see?" you internally roll your eyes at yourself - no kidding.

he looks amused, the beginning of his dimples starting to peek through. you try not to look at them. "well, if it was, i think i'd have to tell you you're in the wrong class."

the sharpness of your own awkwardness manages to deflate you. you had started off on edge with sam on friday, as you do with everyone, but by the end of the evening had felt comfortable. it's only been three days, yet you seem to be back at square one. you look around, frowning slightly now, thinking that at least it can't get much worse. "i don't know, half the people here look like they'd want to be put out of their misery." you're sure you'd make the top of the list but don't mention that part.

"they'd probably prefer something more effective than a syringe."

you click it again, offering sam a brief glance. "anything can be effective if you've got the spirit."

his eyes switch between you and the pen, that amused sort of light dancing in his eyes. "i don't know if i should be inspired or terrified."

"both?"

his dimples finally tip into full-blown as he agrees, "both."

for some reason it eases your tension, and you continue talking until your professor arrives, which ends up being much sooner than you'd have liked. it's much sooner than you'd like every day, because it now seems to be some kind of unspoken routine that sam comes to sit beside you in classes. there's been nine so far. not that you're counting.

you also aren't counting that you handed in your project four classes ago, which means that there's no obligation forcing him to be here. at least not of the scholarly kind. you can't stop yourself from wondering if he feels bad for you. if he realises you have no friends, and this has turned into some sort of pity thing - god, you really hope it's not a pity thing.

but he doesn't act like it's a chore. doesn't seem to be regretting his decision as he asks you about the newest book you're reading, doesn't mind when you start a silent game of hangman during a boring class after finishing the tic-tac-toe he'd initiated. doesn't mind that you sometimes need to pause in the middle of a sentence because your words are becoming too fast, too thick for your mouth to keep up with.

you try not to read into anything too much, which unsurprisingly doesn't work. it's just like you to get annoyingly caught up in anyone being kind, your usual clinginess always threatening to rear its head.

the next day, you're sitting in class wearing a top that never usually makes it out from the bottom of your closet. it's nice, nicer than something you usually wear while not being too over-the-top for a college morning. and you tell yourself it has nothing to do with seeing sam, that you just want to get your money's worth out of buying this thing on a whim. you certainly aren't wondering if he'll notice, if he'll like it, because it wouldn't make a difference to you either way.

you don't care.

that thought repeats in your brain like a mantra, bouncing around so strong that it keeps turning your head in the direction of the door. it's beginning to get ridiculous, which the antsy tapping of your foot so kindly reminds you of. you grab your notebook from your bag and begin to add to some of your notes, just to have something to do.

when your professor arrives a few minutes later, the seat beside you is still empty. you try not to feel disappointed - sam could be late, or maybe he's sick today. or, you think, when you spot him a few rows away from the front and talking to two guys, maybe that clingy nature of yours has made its appearance after all.

you wish you could say you imagined the sinking feeling in your chest, the wheel turning in your head that reminds you of why you don't usually bother with people in the first place. why you made your promise. you know it's irrational, that sam doesn't owe you anything, and certainly doesn't have to always sit beside you.

that doesn't mean you hadn't hoped he would.

when the class is over, you leave on your own. usually you and sam would linger for a few moments outside, talking until he really does have to rush off for his next class. you usually head back to your place, enjoying the walk through the campus. even before you can plug in your earphones, the chirping of the birds keeps your mind happy as you run over your interactions with sam.

now your earphones come out tangled and a crow squawks obnoxiously loudly in your ear. you huff, then it seems the world really does hate you as you feel a small stone in your shoe. the walk home is more of an angry march, your mouth set into a hard line and jaw clenched. your top's thin fabric makes it so that the wind raises relentless goosebumps on your skin. maybe you'll just go to sleep, ditch your class later and mark today off as not having existed.

you collapse into your bed immediately, not bothering to move the blankets. about five hours are lost after you've woken up some time in the late afternoon. the rest of the day is a bust, with you just half-heartedly getting some work done but mostly watching movies that aren't holding your attention either. you know you're overreacting, but you can't seem to bring yourself to care.

the next day, you don't have a class with sam until the early afternoon. you arrive late - by your standards - to class, after having snoozed your alarm one too many times, which drags your mood down even further. you pulled on the same outfit from yesterday, still piled on the ground, and hoped your deodorant would get you through until you could take a shower tonight. now you settle unhappily into a seat at the back, desperately trying not to watch the back of sam's head. you once again leave right after the class, heading back to your room but only making it twenty minutes before your stomach loudly complains.

you head to the closest place on campus where you know you like the food. it's a relatively busy fast food place, but not many people venture up to the second floor, so you're usually able to find a quiet corner to reside in. but you're here later than you usually would be, which means it's rowdier, and as you make your way to the queue, you decide you'll just bring it back to your place where you can continue the show you had started last night.

"y/n?"

you turn in alarm towards the separated queue that's designated for anyone only ordering coffee. sam is standing there, hands in his pockets, that usual smile on his face even despite the bags under his eyes.

you blink for a moment, wondering if you're still half-asleep. you somehow hadn't noticed him, despite his height, but you had been mostly sighing under your breath and watching your shoes. it's weird, though, how you're suddenly seeing him in here, when it's not a backdrop you're used to seeing behind him. but the light streams through the high windows, hitting his eyes in a certain way that draws your attention. they look expectant, a little amused, and you nearly debate running when you realise you haven't responded yet.

"oh." you shake your head, stumbling a little as some old guy in a hurry jostles past you. "hi sam."

"hey. you getting some lunch?"

you nod, still feeling a little bleary from your lack of sleep last night. "coffee?"

"yeah..." he seems to think for a moment, thoughts whirring about behind his eyes as he pauses. "hey, are you busy?"

"busy?" you ask, like you don't understand the word. "um... no?"

he shifts on his feet. "mind if i join you for lunch? my treat."

now you're really sure you're not following the conversation. this doesn't seem like the request of someone who's trying to shake you. sam easily could've pretended to not have seen you, or at least just said a polite hello. now he's offering to buy you lunch?

"you don't have to -"

"i want to."

you think about your promise to yourself, about just making it through college without giving much thought to friends or socialising. maybe you know that deep down you're being dramatic, or maybe it's the fact that the queue moves so that now it's your turn and you have to make a split-second decision. but you nod.

"okay."

sam's shoulders loosen and he steps over from his own queue to yours as you both go up and order. a few minutes later you're sitting at a booth. on the bottom floor, which you're not too thrilled about, but you did at least manage to get a corner. sam's got a salad, but you're starving, and looking forward to digging into your pizza and fries.

"i didn't see you during class," he says. "is everything okay?"

"oh, just... um... had a paper to finish." you take a bite of the pizza, wincing at how hot it is, but you know you'll just start running your mouth if it's free.

"ah." he nods, like it was the answer he'd been looking for. "i was wondering why you looked so busy in class yesterday. i didn't wanna disturb you."

you stuff another bite of pizza into your mouth, feeling horrible. you had practically spent the last twenty-four hours thinking he was another person who would just throw you away like something discardable. you know you overthink things all the time, but recognising that only seems simple in hindsight. and then whatever negative emotion it generates only dissolves into guilt, which hits you in full-force now.

"you know me," you smile, though it feels all wrong, "just... busy." busy mind, you guess, always managing to come up with ways to destroy you.

"i've noticed." it's lighthearted, which might make you feel worse. "you get it finished?"

"yeah. all done."

"well, good, i'll need you there tomorrow. i had to actually listen today."

your mind only just manages to push that first part aside so that you don't begin making a fool of yourself.

you know he always listens anyway. somehow manages to play the silly paper games with you and still take perfect notes. but you widen your eyes. "oh, the horror. maybe you should be laying down right now."

"should i get my vitals checked? maybe i need a shot - you've got that covered, right?"

the jab at your pen isn't lost on you. "yeah, sure, where do you want it?"

his laugh is abrupt, like it snuck up on him. you like it, you think, knowing that it's genuine. that you get to hear it before he can decide which way he wants it to be heard.

the conversation sinks into that easy flow once again, and only then you feel how much you've missed it. you keep talking until your food is nearly gone, just a few meagre fries left. at one point, sam leaves under the guise of wanting to get a refill. but when he returns, he's holding two small ice creams in little cardboard tubs.

you send him an unimpressed look, which deepens into a scowl as he refuses to accept your money. he was the one who'd decided you should have one, not you, which meant he had to pay. or so he claimed.

"so, no game of thrones t-shirt today?"

you look down, realising you'd never changed out of your slightly-more-fancy top from the day before. it hadn't felt like as big of a deal as it had yesterday, but now you're painfully aware that you're wearing it. how it clings to you in ways your spider-man ones certainly don't.

"laundry day." you shrug, a little too quickly, grabbing your drink. some of it sloshes down over the side of the cup, but thankfully he doesn't seem to notice. or, at least, care.

"huh... well, you look nice. it - looks nice, you know, the, uh... colour. suits you."

you watch him, confused. he looks a little shy as he says it, sinking down in his seat slightly. is he flustered? the stammering is usually your thing; while sam isn't arrogant, he does have a particular air of confidence about him. that seems to have dissolved entirely.

as if hoping to save himself, he reaches across and steals a fry from your plate. before you can pry any deeper into this, your face automatically drops into an expression that might be suitable for someone who'd killed your firstborn child.

"hey, i bought them," he says, snickering, and it seems as though the look on your face eases something back into him.

you hadn't even wanted any more of the cold fries, having been about to move on to your ice cream. but you like the way his eyes crinkle in amusement at your reaction. you grab the ice cream now, swirling the plastic spoon around inside, trying not to outwardly react to the fact that there's m&ms added in - which he obviously knows you like by now. you narrow your eyes at him, ignoring the flip of your stomach. "this becoming a thing now? you giving me free food?"

"are you complaining?"

"depends. do i ever get to return the favour?" it's bold for you, something that slips out as a teasing remark before you can really dissect what it means. the kind of thing you probably should've thought out in advance - you have a feeling that the lost time worrying will be made up tonight as you try to sleep. you're not sure if you want to take it back.

sam doesn't react much, but you do notice the quick tick of his lips. "name a time. i'll be there."

never mind. you don't want to take it back at all.

when you get back to your room, you collapse against your bed like earlier. only this time, it's with a sigh of contentment. the thought only hits after a moment, as you're staring at some peeling paint on the ceiling, and it's so swift and striking that you feel as though you've been sucker-punched.

hold on - did you just ask sam winchester out on a date?

and did he say yes?

[babeyun]

désir d'être ☆ p.sh + ksn [TEASER]

synopsis: amongst all things — you're stuck between the desire to be chosen and the desire to be wanted. to be chosen is not to be wanted, and you know the feeling all too well. genre: ballet au ; kind of a psychological thriller au (?) ; angst, fluff, eventual smut. pairing: instructor!danseur!park sunghoon x ballerina!reader x danseur!kim sunoo. teaser word count: 3.1k ¦ full fic: tbd [~30k?] rating: 18+. minors do not interact. warnings: swearing, mentions of stress and anxiety. mentions of food/eating, sunghoon is a bit mean...? this is not a poly au! what to listen to: heaven - taemin ; birthday - ten ; 28 reasons - seulgi. author's note: [pearl bow divider by @/enchanthings-a on tumblr] hello! this is the fic that will have said mxm content and for clarifcation: i am not a shipper! i wanted to post a teaser just for interest purposes, and to see if this is something that is even wanted on enhablr? the poll got a total of 51.1% agreeing that mxm is fine, so if you don't like it, don't read! this is also not set in stone, so i may decide to end up posting it if i feel that it won't be received well. but for now, i intend on posting it — when it gets posted is the real kicker here. please let me know your thoughts! enjoy!

ACT ONE – 9:34AM.

Your leotard is too tight.

Your leotard is too tight, and your shrug is so scratchy and you feel like you're about to crawl out of your skin. The hallways are too narrow, too dimly lit, too asphyxiating as your fingers tremble and repeatedly fail in untying your worn slippers from each other. You let out a muffled groan of frustration and panic, the sound softened by the new pair of point pads you hold between your teeth.

You stop, attempting to concentrate on the tight knot made by your anxious fumbling the night before – before you feel something light brush your side, and it's not your skirt.

"Let me help."

You look up to see your long-time duet partner, Kim Sunoo, holding his hand out. He doesn't wait for you to respond, only taking the tied shoes gingerly and quickly undoing the knot. Your brow furrows as he holds the slippers out to you, a soft smile on his lips as he adjusts his bag on his shoulder.

"Here."

You roll your eyes, before your hand plucks the pointe pads from your teeth and you sigh. You lean against the grey brick wall, your brows furrowed as your shrug scratched against it.

"Thanks, I was starting to lose my mind. Too much happening for a Friday." Your voice is tired as he only shakes his head, a soft laugh falling from his mouth as he watches you slide down onto the cold concrete floor. He crouches down, watching as you pull the pointe pads over your toes with a sluggish slouch.

"Not your morning, huh? Did you eat breakfast?" He tugs his bag off his shoulder, and you scoff, rolling your eyes again as you pull at the ribbons on your slippers. "I grabbed a boiled egg off the table and almost choked on it when I was in the elevator. You tell me." You smile lightly as he shakes his head, biting back a laugh as he slides next to you. He holds up a green thermos that you'd become familiar with over the years – often full of nice, warm soup or jazzed up oatmeal. It was always too much for one meal, so he shared – he'd bring an extra spoon, extra napkins…

He'd always buy the next meal, too – especially if the two of you were stuck practicing deep into the night.

"You're an angel." You whisper as he opens it, the smell of nutty oatmeal wafting up to your nose. He only snickers, holding out a wooden spoon to you as you drop your shoe.

"We're going to be late." "Who cares? It's Stegenga, she hates me anyway."

He shakes his head, biting back a smile as you shovel a hefty spoonful of the oatmeal into your mouth. It's warm and slightly sweet, the crunch of almonds and cacao nibs pleasant to the ears. He reaches into his bag again, holding out a smaller thermos that you pop open with one hand. Boiled eggs.

"Have I ever told you that I love you? Seriously, have I?" You speak around your food as you pinch one out with your fingers, before sinking your teeth into the white. "Did your mom make lunch again?"

"As if I'll catch you again long enough to share it. I never see you anymore, pretty." He nudges you carefully with his elbow before taking a spoonful of oatmeal on his spoon, blowing on it lightly before shoveling it into his mouth. You frown around the egg, before jutting your lip out in a pout.

"I mean, yeah. But I do miss you, you know. We should hang out, if you're not in any productions this season. Are you?" Your fingers grab for his water bottle, popping the straw and taking a sip. He shakes his head, chewing carefully before he answers.

"I think I'll go for Creature, the auditions are this week and I've been…bored."

You run your tongue over your teeth as he trails off, a laugh of disbelief slipping from your lips as he cackles.

"You're going to audition for Creature because you're bored? Sunoo."

"What, like you're any better?! You went for Giselle last year because you didn't feel enough stress from your courses at school."

"That's different, you know a diamond is made under pressure. Plus, it's not my fault that the director said I was a perfect fit, I'm just crafted well." You point your spoon at him, and he only rolls his eyes before biting into an egg himself. "I heard they let a bunch of new dancers in from the academy that closed in Cherry Hill. Do you know anything about that?"

He tilts his head, "Not much, just that it's mostly male dancers. Apparently, the Park Sunghoon is transferring here. Maybe he'll do Creature." 

You personally don't know much about Park Sunghoon – but you know that he's one of the best dancers on the east coast and has appeared in countless productions, and it's well known that he was nearly an Olympic figure skater before retiring from the sport for something warmer. He's known to be a fierce competitor, only heightened by his passion and (according to the media and your fellow ballerinas) intense good looks.

So what could he possibly want at your tiny dance company?

You furrowed your brows as you dipped back into the oatmeal, pulling your slippers out of the way when a gaggle of the newer ballerinas trickled out of the dimmed studio down the hall. A couple of them scowl at you, what gall you must have to look so relaxed, but one of the girls gives you a soft smile and bow of her head in greeting.

The two of you are silently eating as they all slip down the hall, their voices beginning to raise in volume the further away they get. 

"I don't think I'll audition for anything this season. You know how I get when I don't get a part." You shrug, resting your head back on the brick wall as Sunoo nudges your knee with his.

"You're so hard on yourself." "As if you're not." "Match made in Hell, aren't we?"

You snort, about to say something when you hear a clamber of footsteps down the hall. You feel Sunoo shift next to you, peering over your shoulder as you glance up, a tall man actively ignoring the company's assistant director, Madame Stegenga. He's dressed in all black, his zip-up sweater rolled up to his elbows and hitching a heavy dance bag over his shoulder. A thin silver watch adorns his wrist, his left hand donning a singular silver ring on his forefinger.

"Sunghoon–" "I said no, Rosewell. Please, let it go."

Nobody said no to Madame Stegenga.

Much less called her Rosewell.

Your eyes widen as you look back at Sunoo, who shoves a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth to stop himself from being open-mouthed. You try to peel your eyes away as Madame Stegenga barrels after him, but he's tonguing his cheek as he makes his way past you, his eyes peeking at the two of you out of the corner of his eye.

"You know it best–"

Sunghoon stops in front of Sunoo's bag, forcing Madame Stegenga to skid to a halt in front of the two of you. You feel rooted in place, with Sunoo frozen next to you as his hand tightens around the thermos.

"And because I know it best, I'm saying no. They're not ready, and if you want a successful production, you'll find someone in this company who is. Preferably someone who can actually do a pirouette." Sunghoon says, running a hand over his face. You make the mistake of looking up at Madame Stegenga, her hazel eyes narrowing and a furious flame growing in them.

"Y/N. What are you doing here?"

You clear your throat, shifting at the sudden attention. Your slippers are still next to you, your toes covered only by the pointe pads as you absently shove your spoon into Sunoo's thermos. You feel more eyes on you, the heat almost unbearable as you smooth your hand over your leotard.

Sunoo seemingly defrosts next to you, quickly standing up and bending at the waist – his thermos held behind his back.

"I kept her, Madame. Please, don't take it out on her."

She scoffs as you scramble to get up, your hand gripping the ribbons of your slippers as he straightens. You clear your throat again, feeling the same anxiety clawing up as you try to speak. "Madame, I–"

"Are they in your class, Rosewell?" Sunghoon suddenly speaks up, and both you and Sunoo look over to see him staring at her. She clears her throat, her eyes softening as she scans over Sunoo.

"Yes."

Sunghoon raises a brow, before directing his attention to you and Sunoo. His eyes scan both of you, your hand flexing at your side as his eyes rake over you. The gaze isn't scary, but it's intimidating. You feel like you're being stripped of a protective layer, left to be vulnerable at his disposal. He looks away briefly to check his watch, clicking his tongue before that same burning gaze is on your skin.

You feel aflame as your hand tries to find Sunoo's, only to feel his own knuckles bumping around to find yours.

"I have to be back in Cherry Hill by two. How quickly can you get warmed up?" 

You and Sunoo dare to look at each other, before Madame Stegenga clears her throat pointedly.

"They're not–" "They're dancers, aren't they? Go. Get warmed up."

Sunghoon all but barks his words, and you yank the thermos out of Sunoo's hand so he can pick up his bag. You both nearly trip as you make your way down the hall into the stupid studio, your hand tossing your slippers into the center of the room as you shovel a last spoonful of oatmeal into your mouth before Sunoo flings his bag in the corner. You shove the thermos into the opening, taking a fast sip of water as Sunoo yanks your shrug off your shoulders and it gets thrown over the bag – he knows you hate wearing it.

When you realize that neither of you know Sunghoon – much less have to answer to him.

You scoff out a laugh as you slide on the floor to tug your pointe shoes on, looking up to see Sunoo tugging his sweatshirt off. He toes off his shoes, quickly cracking his back as you wince.

"You're being too slow. Move it." He murmurs as he crouches down next to you, shoving your other shoe over your foot as you wrap the ribbon of the other. You huff as he quickly ties the other snugly, and you double knot the back before standing.

"My clothes are too tight." "You're just stressed. Come on, let me help you."

You try your best to breathe out the panic building in your chest as you and Sunoo stretch, his hands bringing a warmth of comfort and familiarity. Too many times do you feel your heartbeat quicken at the brush of his fingers on your thighs, hips…

You feel a bit pathetic as you move away to finish with a barre exercise, with him a few feet behind you.

The door opens abruptly, and both of you turn your heads to see only Sunghoon walking in, a scowl on his plump, pink lips.

Maybe your ballerinas weren't lying – sharp, thick brows. Long lashes, a beautifully sloped nose dotted with a beauty mark. He runs his tongue over his teeth, flashing sharp white canines that make your cheeks burn as you give Sunoo a glimpse – only to see him also in a bit of awe. You force yourself to turn away, your hand gripping the bar as you watch him strip off his zip-up in the mirror.

"I'm sorry about earlier, it wasn't my intention for anyone to see the interaction with Rosewell." He speaks suddenly, and you choke on your spit. You can see Sunoo grimace in the mirror, his hand quickly coming to your back as Sunghoon approaches. His brow is raised as you get yourself together, before clearing your throat with watery eyes.

"Sorry." You breathe out, feeling Sunoo's hand slip off your back as he folds both of them behind his own. You both look up at Sunghoon, who only extends his hand.

"Park Sunghoon. I just moved here from–" "Cherry Hill."

You and Sunoo say, before you nudge Sunoo to take his hand first. He does so, a slight tremble in his fingers as he touches the man before you. Sunghoon eyes him, before giving it a firm shake. Sunoo drops it, before Sunghoon extends it to you.

You take it gingerly, your skin prickling at the sudden cold of his fingers. You give it a soft squeeze as he shakes it, his eyes narrowing before he pulls it away.

"Rosewell says that the two of you are her best. Maybe even two of New York City's absolute best." He crosses his arms on his chest, and you try to ignore the way his muscles straining against his t-shirt makes your knees weak. "However, it doesn't seem she likes either of you very much." "Who cares?" You grumble under your breath, your eyes widening as Sunoo nudges your side with his elbow. You wince, "Sorry, I didn't–" "Interesting." He interrupts, now looking at you down the slope of his nose. Like you're less than, but he's still doing you the favor of considering you. "She didn't tell me your names." "Kim Sunoo." "Y/N Lee."

He nods, before tilting his head. "Rosewell said you were in the November production of Giselle, Y/N."

"I was. Taemin…I mean, Mr. Lee was at my audition after casting had been finalized and said Madame Stegenga should consider recasting the lead." You clear your throat, and he rolls his eyes.

"Speak up, darling. I don't bite." He turns, walking towards the stereo before speaking over his shoulder at Sunoo. "And you, you were in Manon, right? What role did you have?"

He's looking through CDs as Sunoo clears his throat, "I was Des Grieux."

He stills, "Des Grieux?"

Sunoo shifts, your hand coming to slip into his. His fingers squeeze yours, moving the connection between you behind your thigh. "Yes."  "Incredible."

Sunghoon picks a pink CD you've seen so many times, you've practically memorized it. Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake – the only production you've never dared audition for, especially not for the lead.

Because you knew that to be chosen was to be hated, and to earn it was to be doubted. Rumors in the company were that one never earned Swan Queen, really – one made sacrifices for it. In a world so competitive, one did things no one would ever do for any other role – for Swan Queen, you'd get on your knees and beg until they're raw and bruised.

It made you sick to your stomach to think about.

Granted, Taemin was nothing like that. He truly valued the art of dance, the passion of his dancers and the glee in their eyes when their work paid off. He never, ever discouraged the true meaning of hard work, and the honest truth that it would get you very far in the world.

It didn't stop a few from trying.

"We're not doing Swan Lake this season. Madame Stegenga said–" "Is Rosewell here?" You feel your cheeks hot as he glances at you over his shoulder, slipping the disk into the stereo and pausing it before it can play.

"She told me that the two of you are also duet partners. Romeo and Juliet, Cinderella, even Sleeping Beauty. She said that you were in Romeo and Juliet during your first year at the company, within three months of joining." He slips the stereo remote into the pocket of his sweatpants, strolling back over with an air of casualness that makes you uneasy. Like he knows something.

"What's the history here?" He gestures between the two of you, and you feel Sunoo let go of your hand as he clears his throat.

"No history, we're just–" "Friends." Sunghoon doesn't look convinced, his eyes scanning between the two of you as he crosses his arms once more.

"Never once, anything more? A kiss, a touch gone too far? Did Rosewell make this pairing?" He tilts his head, and you shake yours with a slight grimace.

"A handful of dancers were chosen for Romeo and Juliet when we auditioned, but Mr. Lee wanted a chemistry read. We were asked to pair off however best we felt, and we met eyes across the room."

"So, you chose each other. How…sweet." He raises a brow, "Just friends? Good ones, at that?"

You both nod, and he does the same, running his tongue over his teeth once more. Your eyes follow the movement, before he speaks again.

"Rosewell has asked me to help in casting her rendition of Swan Lake. As you heard earlier, none of the earlier dancers were nearly equipped for any of the parts, even as extras. She has already made this a running production with Mr. Lee, but left casting at the last minute and like anyone does when they're wholly unprepared – is trying to cut corners."

He takes the remote out of his pocket, flipping it through his fingers before clicking his tongue.

"I've seen many Swan Queens crack under pressure. Odette and Odile are hard to pull off, especially if a dancer excels in one style and not the other. Odette is graceful and perfect, Odile is lustful and sensual, even a bit loose. You can't be both things without a certain level of commitment."

You feel the same panic start to rise in your throat as you open your mouth, but Sunghoon stops you.

"I've seen both of you dance. I was invited by Mr. Lee to watch your performance in Giselle, and one of your performances together, in Sleeping Beauty." He shrugs, before sitting on the singular chair against the other side of the room. A chair usually occupied by Taemin, or Madame Stegenga during auditions, but he's draped across it, his elbow hanging off the back of it.

"Show me what you've got." 

Your muscles are sore and it's almost nine at night when Sunghoon finally says you can stop.

So much for going back to Cherry Hill.

He seems uninterested as you and Sunoo lay on the ground, your chests rising and falling in matching pants. You've worn through the toes of your slippers in pirouettes, just barely breaching a hole in the material as you dropped to the ground. Your thighs tense as he crouches next to you, your nose suddenly filled with a soft scent of refreshing citrus and something that reminds you of the seaside of Grayton Beach.

You move up to rest on your hands, your face a few inches from his own as his eyes flickered to your lips momentarily. "If I were casting for the White Swan, just the White Swan…you'd be perfect."

BABEYUN © 2025. no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.

[rainchyna]

PENT UP.

SHAWN MICHAELS X FEM!READER

(idiots w sexual tension, smut, cussing, fingering, p in v, squirting)

You hadn't even fully sat down before you heard a knock on your door, you sigh, rolling your eyes before getting up to unlock the door. you didn't even get to see who it was, as you were pushed back against the opposite wall, the door slamming loud behind you.

Strong arms had pinned against the wall as a tall figure towered you, irritated, you look up only to see Shawn looking down at you, and you could've sworn he was burning holes into your eyes. One of his hands caged both of yours above your head, while the other held onto your waist pulling you close to him. You can smell the strong cologne that he used, it was slowly intoxicating you, he could see it in your eyes.

He didn't even say a word, he immediately kissed you. Something in the back of your head told you to kiss him back, so you did, and god did it feel good. you really didn't want to enjoy this, you really didn't. but the way he was holding you close to him, the way his lips were moving against yours, everything for some reason felt right.

He pulled away from you, and even though you were both professional wrestlers, you were both out of breath, "fuck me yourself coward? i'll show you" he grunts.

This was about another one of the petty arguments you two had. Something about Vince putting you both on commentary, or something about you making fun of his flamboyant gear and wrestling style. Wait, no it’s about him telling you to ‘go fuck yourself’, and you telling him ‘fuck me yourself, coward.’

Now, this, you two getting your anger out by making out, was new. 

This enemies-who-don't-really-hate-each-other-with-benefits thing was eventually going to blow up in your faces. Today might be the day.

A slight smirk found its way to your face. You never really understood why Shawn had this effect on you, and why specifically him. He'd have you rolling your eyes every time he'd not so discreetly check you out, but blushing the second he'd walk away. Giggling to yourself like a schoolgirl with a crush every time he'd drop a flirty comment, but you'd dry your hardest to look annoyed. 

His lips meet yours again, your hands are lost in his soft, golden hair. Your lips push and pull against each other as his tongue dances with yours. “Jump” he mumbled against your lips and you immediately did as you’re told. You wrap your legs around his torso as he holds your outer thighs and his lips make their way to your neck, licking and biting, placing as many love bites as he can. Leaving you breathless. “Shawn, please do something” you moan, “oh, i will” he mutters against your neck. 

Pulling you away from the wall, he gently places you on the sofa facing the door before climbing on top of you and kissing you again. You can feel him ever so slightly grind against you, so you grind back onto him earning a light groan from him. He slides your shirt off of you, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses until he reaches the hem of your pants, his eyes meet yours for a second, you nod at him letting him know that you wanted this.

It was an open secret. Everyone knew you two had something going on, but no one knew what exactly it was. Did you like each other? Did you hate each other? Were you hooking up? Whatever it was, your chemistry was through the roof, and the sexual tension was nowhere near thin.

He pulls down your pants, removing them from your legs revealing your pretty lace panties, that were now unbearably sticky with your wetness. Shawn’s big hands move up from your legs to your hips, gently, he tugs off your underwear, shoving them into the pocket of his jeans. He pulls your legs apart before getting on his knees in front of you, you close your eyes, bracing yourself for what he’s about to do and the second they’re completely shut, you feel his warm tongue against your slit. 

His tongue moves smoothly against your delicate flesh, teasing your clit with little nibs every now and then. “Y-you did-dn’t lock the door” you stutter, “we’ll g-get caught”, he just chuckles. “That’s the fun part,” he says.

One of his hands keeps your legs open as the other teases your slit, he slowly pushes two of his fingers inside you, causing you to whine loudly, “you’re being pretty loud for someone who doesn’t wanna get caught” he smirks, and as much as you wanted to say something back, you couldn’t.

His fingers were working magic inside you, curling inside you and stretching you out, he pushed another finger inside you. Your brain went blank, and your body was heating up quickly, he dove back in between your legs, the pressure on your clit from his tongue was too much, you can feel your orgasm building up fast, it was almost embarrassing. 

“S-shawn” you whimpered, you grabbed as fistful of his hair making him groan into your pussy, sending shivers up your spine, “shawn, p-please, oh fuck, fuck” you cried. Your back arched and your vision became hazy, “cum for me” he mumbles against you, your body processed before your mind did, and you were cumming on his face. A loud whimper escaped your lips as you felt him pull away from you, “so sweet for me, pretty girl” he says. 

you look at him, eyes lustful, his lips and chin glistened with your juices, his hair was messy and you can see his boner through his tight pants.

“W-want you inside” you huff, his lips curl into his classic shit-eating grin, “think you can handle me, doll?” you roll your eyes, fixing your position on the sofa, “do you want to find out, or are you just gonna stand there?” you groan. 

His hands messily undo his pants, as he shimmies out of them, you can properly see the tent that had formed in his pants, pre-cum staining his grey boxers. The sight was enough to have you drooling, “think you deserve it?” Shawn said maintaining eye contact with you, you quickly nod your head, needing him more than ever. “Think you can handle me darlin’?” his texan accent twangs, he holds your face in one of his hands, the other patting your hair. 

“Yes, sir” you reply. He smirks before kissing you. A deep, needy kiss. So passionate you can feel him pouring his soul into it, pulling away from you, you both attempt to catch your swiftly stolen breath, you take some time to admire how genuinely beautiful Shawn was. From his sharp, defined jawline to the curve of his pink lips. His high cheekbones to his gorgeous greenish, blue eyes. His thick eyebrows furrowed as he caught you deep in thought, “what are you thinkin’ about, pretty?”

If only you were mine.

“you.” You truthfully answer.

“Being cute ain’t gonna get you anywhere. You’ll get it good for being a smartass, baby. You’re mine and only mine from now on.” he says, finally pulling off his boxers as they had gotten uncomfortably tight around him. 

Only his, you were all his now.

His cock sprang out, slapping against his abdomen, his tip was a bright, angry pinkish-red. He was both long and thick, definitely bigger than average. Way bigger, and for a split second you questioned whether or not he’ll fit. 

“Like what you see, huh?” he teased as he caught you borderline drooling. You just nod.

He moved on top of you, your arms immediately wrapped themselves around his neck, but he pushed them away, pinning them above your head, his other hand aligned his cock with your soaking cunt. 

Your eyes rolled back as he slowly pushed himself inside you, you bit down on your lips trying to drown down your moans. “S-shawn” you cried.

“I know, baby, I know” he moans, bottoming out, mumbling against your neck something about how you feel better than he’d dreamed of. He slowly began rocking against you, moving so well inside you tears were forming in the corners of your eyes, he moved up, his hand gripping onto your hip as the other kept your hands away. 

His thrusts began slow and deep, your back arched, mouth falling open as you struggled to let out anything that wasn’t his name, you clenched tightly around him. “Relax for me, baby.” he groaned, his hand moved up from your hips to your waist, upwards towards your breasts, then towards your neck where he had left several marks, a little gift to remind you who you belong to. 

He wraps his fingers around your neck, just tight enough so that you’re mind numbingly marinated in pleasure. THe look of pure bliss on your face damn near sent him over the edge on the spot, his hips stuttering as he speeds up a little, and he thrusts into you so deep you swear you can feel him near your lungs. 

And as he picked up a pace, he began loudly moaning in your ear, shamelessly. You felt better than any drug and he was going to make sure you knew. He breathed in deeply, grunting and whimpering in your ear. His lips would kiss and nip at your neck, “you feel so fucking good.” he moaned, his voice travelling straight to your already sensitive clit. “You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed of you at night, how many times I’ve touched myself thinkin’ ‘bout you, baby.” he moans.

It was too much to handle, the thought of him touching himself because you riled him up that bad. So bad, you’ve shown up in his dreams. It was too fucking much for you. 

“Gonna cum, Shawn, I-I, ‘m cumming!” you gasp. “do it, cum all over me sweetheart” he encourages. your body goes limp as your orgasm pushes through you. He stays still for a second, just wanting to feel how he made you cum, moaning loudly as your pussy grips on him. Yet he doesn’t cease his movements.

You couldn’t tell if he’s chasing his own high, or if he’s trying to overstimulate you. You let out a loud shudder as his hand finally lets go of yours before latching itself onto your clit, massaging and rubbing it harshly.

 You could feel another orgasm building up, you couldn’t handle it. “Sha-shawn, i c-can’t, too sensitive” you whimper. “Hold on for me doll, a-almost th-there” he moans. You tried, you were trying so hard. “Be a good girl, baby.” he moans.

Fuck, you really tried, you wrap your arms around his neck, whimpering against his chest. You were panting, tears brimming in your eyes, and he moaned your name over, and over again directly in your ear. His cock pistoning in and out of you, tip pushing against your g-spot, fingers continuing their assault on your swollen nub.

You tried so hard to stop yourself but you couldn’t, you squirted all over his abdomen, soaking him in your arousal. The sight of you squirting on him, and the sound of you crying out his name like that triggered his orgasm. Shawn collapsed, moaning like he’s never had sex before, on top of you as his hot, sticky cum coated your walls. Your eyes were barely open, and your breathing was nowhere near steady. 

“Are you still there, pretty?” he asks, you mumble incoherencies as your eyes slowly open. “What are you saying?” he asks, “You’re mine, and if you don’t keep fuckin’ me like this ‘m killing you” you pant, a proud smile tugging on his lips, “I'll do anything you want, baby."

[sweetsexyspirit]

hiii!! i saw u wanted requests so here it goes. idk what ur rules are for writing but i was wondering if u could maybe write a jinx x fem reader oneshot where they have sex while high!! maybe they even shotgun the smoke too cus thats so hot 👀👀 anyway please and thank u 🙏🏼🙏🏼

Jinx x reader

- I didn't really include a sex in this but there are suggestive stuff.

- Set after events of act 3 season 1. But before the season 2 if yk what I mean.

- ⚠️ : mention of drugs, cuss words (?), suggestive stuff.

Jinx loved taking risks. This was one of the reasons you fell in love with her. This was one of the reasons she was known.

It's not that she never had thought of the outcomes. She always knew she's way too smart for bad outcomes to happen.

After death of Silco, she fell into some bad habits. Unhealthy coping mechanisms and you definitely tried to be for her and to help her.

Sometimes you would just give in and smoke a blunt with her. This was one of those times. So yeah, you were currently on her bed or maybe you were levitating in the air, you weren't really sure.

"Hey toots are you even listening?" Her even raspier voice from smoking brings you back a little to your senses. The truth is you weren't listening. You were watching. You were watching how she would move her fingernails against your right forearm up and down while rambling about random stuff. They didn't even make sense. You were watching how her chest would slightly move everytime she moved too fast on the bed.

"Oh — sorry I wasn't listening." You said slightly flustrated. She squinted her eyes slightly before moving her body on top of your body. Her hips resting on your hip bones. You subconsciously held her hips.

"Is there something wrong?" She asked as she slouched, brought her body closer to your body, Chest to chest, head near your neck and Her tired bloodshot eyes staring your tired bloodshot eyes. "What- no nothing is wrong why are you asking?"

"You look a little red." You don't know how she can focus on the fact that you're a little red when she is this high. Well, you did focus on her body while she was talking so maybe that's possible.

"I don't."

"You do."

"What's the point of this?" You asked in a silent voice. She brought her lips close to yours and it didn't take one second for her to close the gap. You gasped. Not expecting a kiss happen. But you immediately kissed back.

She moved her mouth aggressively against yours. It made you confuse a little but you gave in of course. She entered her tounge into your mouth and tasted every bit of your mouth. It made you whimper a little. She was so aggressive that you felt like you were going to get a nose bleed.

"Wha- jinx what's up?" You asked as you moved her head a little away from yours.

"Am I not allowed to kiss my girlfriend?"

"That was not my question!"

"Why? do you have a problem with it?" You definitely did not. You wanted to continue. You wanted every inch of her.

"Uh no I don-"

"Then shut up and take it."

Not waiting for another moment she kissed you again. You also moved your lips against hers aggressively, basically fighting for dominance.

She stopped kissing you and moved to your neck. Sucking gently on the skin and then getting harsh. Teeth nibbing at it and making you bleed.

You didn't care. You did a few seconds before on why she was being so aggressive but the Lord only knows how much turned on you are right now. So you let it all happen.

She took your shirt off and moved to suck your nipples. Biting the flesh and making you whimper in pain. sucking your left breast while playing with the right one.

A few moments ago you would zone out and get lost in your mind but that moment, your five senses were exteremely enhanced. You didn't know why. It's like everytime jinx moved on your body and did something, you would feel it 10 times more.

But then she did something. Something she had never done before. She brought the blunt to her mouth. Smoked and got even more high, but the thing is.. she didn't release the smoke from her mouth until she kissed you. Yep. She released the smoke into your mouth.

You were dumbfounded. This was probably the most turning on action someone would ever do.

She was staring into yours eyes. The gap between your head and hers was probably not more than two centimeteres. You released the smoke back and it hit her face. You were starting to become dizzy. Dizzy from the blunt. Dizzy from your love for jinx. Dizzy from her literally doing that. Dizzy from everything.

You kissed her and she kissed back. That was a long night of making out and becoming high from each other.

[dawn-moths]

Turquoise & Temptations

Neuvillette x Female Reader

word count: 2600+

(Being the girl of Fontaine’s Chief Justice has its ups and downs, but one thing is for certain— the time you two spend together in Neuvillette’s office at the end of a long workday, whether he’s filing some last minute paperwork or simply taking a moment of peace and quiet before heading home, always has the opportunity to get interesting…)

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! smut, semi-public sex (you’re in his office but the door’s not locked), size difference, daddy kink, mention of punishment with no actual punishment, reader is called “sweetheart, princess, good girl, baby”, minimal prep, some aftercare.

*ao3 mirror*

***

You shifted your position sitting in Neuvillette’s lap, straddling him with the skirts of your dress bunched up and your lace-clad core pressed against where his own growing arousal had begun to jut from his pants, trying to be sly in grinding your needy sex harder down against him, as if he’d even have a chance to miss it.

You’ve been like this for a while now— cradled against his chest and nearly dozing off while he finishes up some last minute paperwork at his desk, lashes fluttering with oncoming sleep, lips slightly parted as your breathing began to grow slow and shallow— but it was technically his fault for getting you so worked up in the first place.

He’d started it, after all, causing you to jolt back to consciousness when you felt his cock twitch in his trousers as your weight had settled overtop his lap with just enough pressure to stir something a little less professional in him.

He clicks his tongue at you, but it’s not with annoyance. It’s with that condescending adoration that tends to weave through his tone whenever you get impatient, unable to let him finish his work before distracting him with your body and the fantasy of all the ways he wants to have you.

Because, while he may have been guilty of starting things, you were far more guilty of instigating, hiking your dress up higher to allow you more room to spread your thighs wider over his own, rocking forward and arching your back a bit until you found just the right place to satisfy your own needs.

At least, they’d be satisfied for a little while. You both knew before long you’d grow needy and demand more for him, tearing the Chief Justice from his more official duties and encouraging him to engage in some more personal affairs.

“Daddy’s almost done, sweetheart,” he cooed, one hand wielding a shiny gold fountain pen and scribbling off his tight-scrawled, looping signature on the dotted line while the other rested on the small of your back, keeping you in place, as if you had any intention of trying to leave. “Just be patient for a little while longer and then I’ll—”

His promise was cut off by a strangled whine caught in his throat, not missing the devious way your gloss-shined lips were curving into a defiant little smirk. His stunning gunmetal gaze leveled on you, his next signature left abandoned halfway through on the parchment as he held your stare, testing you now, daring you to keep going before he gave you permission.

If you did, he might just have to punish you, bend you over his desk and fuck you fast and hard till there were tears in those pretty little doe-eyes of yours, forcing you to keep quiet with a big, leather gloved hand clasped over your open mouth, biting back his own moans the best he could until he felt like you’d learned your lesson.

You seemed to foresee this possibility, so you kept still, your throat bobbing with a hard, anticipatory swallow, your pussy throbbing at the thought of it, and waiting for Neuvillette to resume his writing. He cleared his throat and concluded his signature, dotting the i and crossing the double t’s a little more aggressively than he had previously, the quick tap and scritch of the pen’s sharp nib marking the page in ebony ink making you flinch a tiny bit.

You thought he was finally finished when he gathered up the thick stack of papers in both hands and shuffled them on the surface of the marble desk, smoothing them all in perfect order before tying them with a piece of cobalt twine and sealing the documents with a wax stamp of shimmering silver, ready to be picked up and sent off to wherever it was the court transcripts went once he was done with them, but then he seemed to begin with a whole new stack, this one even taller and wordier than the last, so you couldn’t help but huff out a breath of blatant indignance. 

Neuvillette hummed out a low, lilting chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours as you pressed yourself closer to him, tugging at the lapels of his coat and whimpering in protest. “Don’t worry, princess…” he assured you. “I’m just getting things in order for tomorrow.”

“And how long will that take…?” you muttered under your breath, thinking you might act out and risk the consequences depending on his answer.

But then you felt both of his gloved hands on you, long fingers flexing where they held your hips, sending a momentary confusion through you when he seemed to be pulling you down harder against him rather than shifting you away for your backtalk.

“Tell you what,” he began, his voice, normally so authoritative and commanding in the courtroom, turned honey-sweet and soothing when it came to you, even when you were insisting on being a little bit of a needy brat. “You let me get ahead of tomorrow’s work—” He held up a finger to signal silence as your mouth fell open in premature protest. “You let me get ahead of tomorrow’s work,” he repeated, pausing for a second and raising his eyebrows slightly, challenging you to try and interrupt again, “and I’ll let you have your way until I’m done.”

You cocked your head at him, eyes narrowed and mouth twitching into a crooked frown of pondering, wondering if this was some kind of test or not. Then it was his turn to catch you off guard, rocking his hips up into yours and causing you to emit a stuttering gasp as you felt just how hard his length had become, your eyes fluttering and beginning to roll from the sudden jolt of pleasure, your body surging with the need for more, more more, sheer, unadulterated want racing through your blood like sparks of white-hot electricity.

“Go on…” he smugly directed you, his eyes flicking from your face down to where your two bodies sought each other out and back again. Then, leaning in closer to whisper in your ear, his lips barely brushing the shell of it and causing a gentle shudder to skitter up your spine, he teasingly murmured, “Just be sure not to make too much noise. I’m pretty sure I left the door unlocked and, well…”

And, well, if anyone heard your high-pitched moans muffled from the other side of the double doors, they might creep up closer to investigate, maybe even dare to enter after giving the customary knock of courtesy and find you in a state you’d be mortified for anyone besides Neuvillette to see you in.

“I’ll be quiet,” you muttered back, unable to hide the excitement that was flooding your chest more and more by the second, your eager little fingers fumbling with his belt buckle, the gentle clink of the silver against your freshly manicured nails— this week a shade of pale turquoise— echoing quietly throughout the spacious office room until finally you were able to tug the leather strap free so it could dangle from the sides of the loops in his pristinely pressed trousers.

Pristine, of course, except for the damp spot left on his crotch, both of your intermingled arousal staining through to ruin his expensive work attire.

That was alright with Neuvillette though. Whether it was his clothes or your own that got ruined during these acts, he could always just buy more. To him, a constantly updated wardrobe was a small price to pay for how good it felt when he was inside you, suddenly wishing he’d decided to leave early that day so you two could finish this in your shared master bedroom of his estate, no need to keep quiet in the slightest as he forced melodic mewls and euphoric moans from your pretty little mouth, drinking them in, drowning in them, completely addicted.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised you, pressing a chaste, tender peck to your temple before continuing on with his work.

Once you’d pulled his cock free of its constraints, Neuvillette had to remind himself to keep his own sounds of pleasure quiet as well, gulping down the groan he already felt rising in his chest as you ran your soft little hands up and down the length of him, appearing entranced as you admired the blushing pink tip, pearly pre-cum already drooling out onto your palms, every vein and ridge of his velvety member practically committed to your memory, and making your dripping little hole flutter in anticipation.

Neuvillette gripped the gold fountain pen in his hand a little tighter, his stomach muscles flinching as you guided his cock between your soaked folds, the lace of your drenched panties giving just enough friction to make him crazy, melting his sharp mind into something dull and hazy with the slow dripping pleasure, his breath beginning to come out in short, panting huffs rather than the sure, steady, and stoic way he usually carried himself.

“God—” he exhaled, strangled and struggling to keep his composure. You grinded yourself down harder against him, your own angelic sighs of satisfaction fanning over the bit of exposed skin on his neck and making his cock pulse in your grip. Then he couldn’t take it anymore, reaching down to hook his thumbs into the thin, delicate waistband of your lace panties and tearing them off with one harsh, hungry tug.

And he always said you were the one who was too impatient.

“I can’t focus with you around,” he was practically growling, stealing his cock away from your clumsy little hands and guiding it by the base until he felt the tip catch on your tight little hole, tugging another sharp gasp from your throat, using the other hand to nudge you forward to sink further down onto his cock.

You bit your tongue as you felt a moan clawing its way up your chest, knowing he’d been serious when he’d told you to keep quiet— for both his sake and yours— but you couldn’t hold it in. Burying your face in his shoulder, you cried out as he forced himself the rest of the way in with one quick, stinging thrust, splitting you in two and causing fat, sparkling tears to well in your blurring vision from the sudden, burning stretch of him nestled so deep inside of you.

You felt his body relax a fraction then, shedding some of that animalistic desire and allowing him to return to the safety of the sweet, soft-spoken Daddy that you knew him to be, running a hand up and down you back in slow, soothing motions as he muttered out little apologies like, “Sorry for being so rough with you, sweetheart,” and “Daddy just couldn’t take it anymore. But don’t worry. I’m going to make it all up to you now,” until you raised your head from its hiding place in his shoulder and let him pepper loving little kisses to your neck, his mouth trailing down to the plush, flushed flesh of your exposed cleavage and sucking a little there, giving you some time to adjust to the feeling of being so painfully full of him.

“Please…” you exhaled, voice cracked and broken with another whine of pleasure as the aching in your core twisted even tighter, a cord about to snap. “Please, Daddy… I need you. Please…”

And Neuvillette didn’t wait a second longer to start rolling his hips up into you again, slow and steady at first, tugging one of his gloves free with his teeth and tossing it to land on his desk so he could feel every part of you, running the rough pad of his thumb over your pulsing, swollen clit and clenching his jaw as he winced, feeling your insides squeeze around him in that painfully sweet way you both loved so much.

“That’s it…” he encouraged, rocking up into you a little harder then as the pressure of his circles increased, knowing neither of you had much longer to go now, his voice laced with something raspy and borderline feral. “Good girl… Just like that— Archons, baby—”

You were biting the fabric of Neuvillette’s coat between your teeth, doing your best to ride him in tandem with his skillful ministrations until you were seizing up and coming undone for the first time that evening, your legs trembling and your muscles constricted as more of your glistening slick dripped down in thick, dewy strands to stain the inside of your thighs and his trousers, his cock pulsing where it was still buried deep inside your tender cunt.

He was filling you to the brim mere seconds later, the familiar flood of his viscous, sticky warmth filling your tummy and soothing you from the inside out. As you slumped in his arms, Neuvillette held you close, running the fingers of his untarnished, gloved hand through your hair and whispering sweet nothings into your ear, tracing little patterns into the soft skin between your shoulder blades where there was a diamond cutout in your dress’s back as he helped you through the comedown.

Once he’d gone completely soft inside of you, he placed both hands under your thighs and carefully lifted you from his lap and onto the top of his desk, pushing the papers that still littered it to the far end before instructing you to lay back so he could clean you up. At least, to the best of his ability given all he really had on hand at the moment was a handkerchief. 

You flinched as the cool marble of the desktop met the backs of your bare arms, exhaling a shuddering breath through your nose as the cold air of the room kissed your exposed, soaked pussy, sending yet another chill through you.

“I know, baby…” Neuvillette cooed, giving the crisp, satiny handkerchief in his hand a quick whip so it could unfurl, starting his tender, meticulous work in caring for his favorite girl after she was so spent. “I’ll draw you a nice, warm bath once we get home, so just bare it a little longer, alright?”

As he wiped as much slick from between your legs as he could, attempting to attend to himself afterward but giving up halfway, just thankful the length of his coat would cover any lingering evidence, you felt like you could drift off to sleep again, eyelids growing heavy as the surface of the desk gradually warmed beneath you from your radiating body heat.

But you couldn’t sleep here. Not now. Because not five seconds after Neuvillette had helped you off the desk and back on your own two wobbly, tired legs, straightening out your skirts and smoothing down the front of his closed coat, there was the tell-tale knocking of one of the courthouse’s interns at the office door.

You gave your Daddy a look of concern and alarm, unsure of how much evidence of what you two had done was left in the open, but Neuvillete just flashed you a cocky grin and called out for them to enter, quietly telling you to take a seat in the big, plush armchair behind his desk as he grabbed up the papers and hurried to meet the intern halfway to hand them off, engaging in a short, pleasant conversation before sending them on their way and hopefully none the wiser.

“Alright, princess,” he beckoned you, reapproaching to offer you a hand as you stood from the chair. “Let’s go home.”

Just before allowing you to lock your arm with his like you usually did, Neuvillette knelt down and picked up a piece of shredded, icy blue lace fabric— the remnants of one of your favorite pair of panties, destroyed with his impatiently eager hands— and shoved it into his pocket.

He’d owe you new ones, plus interest, for having torn them up without any warning, but you didn’t necessarily mind.

You just hoped the next time you two did something like this in his office during work hours, he remembered to lock the door.

***

(Anyone else also sort of obsessing over some of the new Fontaine guys, or just me lol

I definitely see myself writing more for Neuvillette in the future, especially as we learn more about him.

Anyway, like always, thank you so much for reading. Have a wonderful day! <3)

[backtoneverland]

ive posted the link once before in a post but i wanted to give it a post on its own! over the summer i wrote a fic about slightly going missing and nibs trying to find him. its 2 chapters long and if youre interested in more disney lost boy stuff it might be up ur alley... tysm if you check it out! :]

[xechu]

Black Scripture

pairing: phantom!suguru x scriptwriter!reader wc: 1.9k cw: 18+ / MDNI. Please read my blog rules before interacting. Dark romantasy themes. Sensuality & symbolic smut. Emotional detachment/lack of will to live (from reader), emotional death/rebirth imagery. Vampiric undertones (fangs, mentions of blood). Religious/godlike undertones but purely fictional. Read at your discretion. tag: one-shot, dark romantasy, dark divinity au summary: He was your muse. Your phantom. Your final chapter. a/n: been inspired by a lot of dark fantasy and gothic themes lately. Still slightly in a writing stump, but these one-shots have been a nice breather for me. This is a work of fiction and does not reflect real-life values or relationship standards. Thank you for reading and enjoy. x

There was a phantom in your mirror. 

He dwelled behind the curtains, and in the words between your scripts.

Everyone had thought you’d gone mad—some even secretly rejoiced in your mental decay. Your rise to fame and fortune came too fast, too effortlessly, which could only mean one thing: the devil.

A deal inked in blood.

A soul traded for brilliance.

Because surely, it wasn’t natural talent. After all, nature takes its time to bear fruit.

They say that every great artist eventually descends into madness—a gateway to becoming legendary. Their names forever etched in history, but their minds long since burned to ash. Take Van Gogh, Schumann, Poe. They created beauty from nothing, and lost themselves to the very muses that immortalized them.

And it seems that you, too, were teetering on the brink. One misstep, and you will lose yourself to him—the phantom. Your muse. 

Was he truly a man, or just a figment of imagination? 

Either way, you owed him your success. 

You sat alone in your change room. Everyone had long since gone. It was a usual routine. Despite your fame, you never had an assistant—there was no need. 

It was better to be alone. 

Perhaps that was why some prayed for your downfall. To them, you were everything but a prodigy—a diva, a snob, an arrogant young woman who let fame get to her head.

A heartless, meritless witch.

In truth, you were neither heartless nor arrogant—only misunderstood.

Yet, you had come to realize that it was futile to dispel every rumor. People always gravitated toward scandal and fantastical stories, like moths drawn to a flame. At first, you believed as long as you still had the talent, no one could deny you. 

But you were naive. 

Among the scattered papers, you quietly scribbled away as you sat in front of your vanity. Only the scratch of nib on parchment filled the silence. It was almost complete—your final masterpiece: Black Scripture.

Final, because you have decided that this will be your parting gift to the world. Your legacy. 

You required no standing ovation. No applause. 

Only a quiet leave.

Even as your change room was surrounded by vibrant blooms and lavish gifts—a token from yet another successful play you had written—you had never felt lonelier. The chasm in your chest never felt darker, deeper. It felt as though at any moment, it would consume you, like a black hole.

Perhaps you were going mad. 

And just as you were about to surrender yourself completely—he appeared.

Consistent. Predictable. Like clockwork, he never came a second too soon, nor a second too late. Always right when you were a breath away from breaking.

Was he an angel? Or truly the devil?

You wanted to ask. But he never spoke.

He stood there—a shadowy figure in the corner of your mirror.

“You have come to visit again,” you said with a faint smile. Your fountain pen gently clacking on top of the wooden surface.

No answer. 

“Perhaps you have sensed it?” You continued softly. “That my final script is almost complete.”

There was a tinge of melancholy in the air. No one knew that it would soon be your final act.

“It is thanks to you, that I have been able to bring life to my stories—to see the world of art, theatrics, and music. It was all that I have dreamed of since a child.” You reminisced. 

Your gaze continue to fix on the shadowy form. But tonight, there was an inexplicable tension in the air. Did your phantom muse know, too? That the end was near. That when the sun rises, you will no longer be here.

“Will you not speak to me? Grant an old friend one last wish?” 

You turned around to meet him where he would be, but nothing was there. 

A disappointed sigh escaped your lips. It had always been the same—he remained wordless and always confined within the mirror. A quiet guardian, observing you, anchoring you.

Yet, if he was truly a friend and not foe, why did he keep you at arm’s length?

You had always wanted to hear his voice—to ascertain that this was all real. Alas, he was only a myth. But as you turned back to your mirror, something unimaginable happened.

He stood before you.

Shadow became man. 

He looked at you with piercing eyes. Dark and mysterious. He emitted a cold aura, and yet, you had never felt so comforted.

“You had written me to this world—breathed life into me. And now you wish to depart?” His voice like velvet. Smooth, calming, and warm.

Your breath hitched. You had always wished for him to be real, and now, as he stood before you, you found yourself unable to comprehend the situation. 

“Is it truly you?” you whispered, awestruck.

A small smile graced his lips as he nodded.

Slowly, you rose from the plush seat. Your hand reached out, trembling slightly, to touch his face. You caressed the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips—committing every inch of your long-awaited muse to memory.

He didn’t reject your touch. In fact, he leaned into it—inhaling the soft scent that lingered at your wrist. He looked at you with a yearning so intense it scorched you from the inside out. His gaze alone could set your soul ablaze.

“I’ve always wished you were real,” you breathed. “And now…you’re here.”

Your hands continued to trace his form, as if still trying to convince yourself he wouldn’t vanish.

“Yes,” he murmured. “I am here now. So why must you go?”

There was a sadness in his eyes. He already knew. He knew what you were planning to do.

“There is nothing left for me,” you shook your head. But there was no bitterness in your voice—only acceptance. “I’ve written all I can for the world.”

He caressed your face and caught a stray tear—a tiny drop that betrayed the vast expanse of your emotions.

“Yet, the world has returned you nothing but false gossip and superficial praises.” There was a hint of displeasure in his voice.

You softly chuckled—a melody to his ears. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t ask for any more. Their shallow praise and admiration put food on the table. It gave me comfort. Luxury. A beautiful life, really.”

“Then why leave if you are comfortable and content?” 

You shook your head again. “Because the flame within me had died. Passion lost. Purpose long forgotten.”

He studied you for a long moment, then turned his gaze toward the script on your desk. With careful hands, he picked it up—handling it like a sacred treasure.

“You say passion is lost…yet, you still wrote something so brilliant?” he mused, eyes scanning the pages.

“It is my final piece, after all. I would like to leave a legacy behind.” 

He hummed thoughtfully, then stepped closer. His hand ghosted behind your waist, drawing you gently into him.

“Then stay,” he whispered. His breath tenderly kissed your ear. “Allow me to rewrite you.”

“Black Scripture” - Final Act She found herself at a crossroad, both paths unclear. One illuminated, while the other was shrouded in an opaque darkness. A darkness that consumed even the brightest light. Yet, she found salvation in the dark—there was something about her that always went against the grain of nature.  And so she slowly trekked the path to oblivion. But what she did not know was that beyond the sea of black, something laid after it. Something that she had always yearned for. A hand stretched out beyond the darkness— His voice whispered, “Take my hand. And thine shall be the eyes that see the light. For true salvation was never obvious, but cloaked in disguise—to deter false believers.” 

Your fingers interlocked with his as the two of you stood together on stage, facing the empty audience. Though you had memorized every word, every expression, and every emotion by heart—you had never once performed under the spotlight. You were content to remain behind the curtains, watching your stories come to life through others.

But now, standing here—beside the very one who had been the core of every award-winning script you had ever written—there was a flicker of something new.

Exhilaration.

“So tell me,” he asked, lifting your hand into his, “what happens after she takes his hand?”

“She asks for her savior’s name,” you breathed.

“And what is the savior’s name?” he softly chuckled, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Yours.” The thought slipped out of your tongue before you could stop it.

The air shifted between the two of you. His eyes became unreadable. 

“I am no savior though,” he said. The words felt like a dark confession wrapped in silk. 

It was…alluring. 

“May I still know your name?” 

“Suguru,” he said very simply. 

You repeated it, as if a sacred name. The syllables rolled from your lips, like sweet honey, sending heat throughout his veins. 

“Suguru’s voice whispered,” you said, voice hushed as you recited your own script. “Take my hand. And thine shall be the eyes that see the light. For true salvation was never obvious, but cloaked in disguise—to deter false believers.”

“And so, she takes his hand,” Suguru continued in a reverent whisper, tightening his grasp as he pulled you in—your face now mere inches from his.

“And willingly submits herself to him. Born anew through dark baptism—her soul now, forever intertwined with his.”

A pang struck through your heart as Suguru spoke the words. As though you have felt your script turning into prophecy. 

“Is this a dream?” Your voice quivered with uncertainty. Because if it was, you never wanted to wake from it. 

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he presses his lips into yours. 

Kisses became hungry—and soon, not enough to satiate.

How does one quell the many years of silent yearning?

Watching. Waiting. The ache of being so close, yet worlds apart.

To watch you be admired by so many—yet their praises fell hollow, and their envy-laced compliments, blasphemous.

What you deserved was not meager words—you deserved worship.

Perfect devotion, inked in flesh.

A need only he could satisfy.

So then—came surrender.

Clothes rustled upon the grand stage, the phantom audience poised to bear witness to the consummation.

The air was thick with impatience and anticipation, as bare skin revealed itself.

Beauty in its rawest form.

No painting. No theatre. No song. No script—could ever capture its truth.

Bodies begin to join, initial pain morphs to eventual pleasure with every movement, every gaze, and every whisper. Cries of euphoria echoed through the theatre—like an opera that sang of pure love and devotion.

Warmth spilled through your body in the height of crescendo, every inch of you set ablaze as he marked you. A dark possession overcame you as you watched him tremble—yet still, ensuring that every last drop was taken.

Two souls, inexplicably bound forevermore. Witnessed by a silent audience.

“Take me,” you murmured. While he was still joined with you. “Take it all, if it means that I could be with you.” 

Who was he to deny his soulmate?

“Then bear with me, angel,” he said. Voice still hoarse from the intense climax. “This pain will be temporary, but our happiness shall be forever.”

And so, he sank his fangs into your pulse. Your blood like crimson honey on his tongue—a taste he would never forget. 

As life faded from your eyes, you were born anew. 

Emerged as his soul-bound.

Beyond the veil of darkness, you had indeed found light. 

You his eternal goddess, and he, your everlasting scripture. 

Writing © xechu - please do not redistribute, translate, or repost any of my works.

Graphic divider source: here via @/troublesomesnitch

[alphabetboyluvr]

LANDSLIDES - 002 | GUILTY AS SIN - JJK

part title credit: guilty as sin - taylor swift

these fatal fantasies giving way to laboured breath... they don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly... without ever touching his skin how can i be guilty as sin?

pairing: officeworker!jungkook x female reader (coworkers)

premise: jungkook asks you to dog sit over chuseok. he doesn’t ask you to steal the empty spaces in his head, the dreams he’s yet to have, nor the idea of you always just being ‘you’ to him - and yet, like a thief in the night (with his own damn dog as your accomplice), you do. (part one link)

warnings: slow burn (emphasis on slow, emphasis on burn), miscommunication, missed opportunities, missing jungkook, inappropriate mentions of masturbation between friends, frustration (sexually and emotionally!)

wordcount: 18K

note from holly: this was supposed to be a 30k chunk but the 1000 paragraph limit told me no </3 so instead, this is part 1 - part 2 will come tomorrow :)

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

When Jungkook comes to stand by your desk, his freshly pressed suit unspoiled from his morning commute and with a coffee in either hand, you know he must be up to something.

"Let me guess," you hum. "You dipped your nib in the company ink again and need me to do damage control?"

It wouldn't be the first time, and the new secretary has been ogling him ever since she started just before the Chuseok break. You've joked about it a few times, but you really wouldn't put it past him.

Popping your coffee on your desk, Jungkook toys with his tie a little, smoothing it down. "Why do you always think so little of me, you little gremlin?"

His pouty whine would be believable if you didn't know him as well as you do. Glancing up from your screen, you're greeted with a smirk. Even he can't keep up his pretence of innocence. "You know exactly why."

"I'm a good boy," he promises. "Got you coffee and everything this morning!"

"Because you want something," you laugh. "I wasn't born yesterday, Jungkook."

"Can a friend not get a friend a coffee just because?"

"Yes—but you don't."

In fact, Jungkook normally waits until midday for his first coffee. Treats it like a reward for getting through the morning without any caffeine. He's gone out of his way today—or just ordered coffee to the office to make it look like he has. Regardless, an effort has been made.

He takes a second. Purses his lips. Narrows his eyes.And then he smiles. "Fine. I need a favour."

"See, I knew it was too good to be true!"

"Oh, c'mon!" He laughs. "I'd get you coffee if you asked."

"I asked last week when I was running late, and you told me to wake up earlier and get it myself!"

"Well, it was your own fault for being out until arse o'clock in the morning!"

Your fault, you think but don't vocalise. It's not like you'd been out with him. You'd been on a date. Another with Mingyu. Hadn't stuck to your word of cooling things off. Spooked yourself with those dreams about Jungkook. Needed to bring yourself back to reality.

If he hadn't asked you to dogsit, you never would have gotten so caught in the domestication of it all. It's your biggest weakness and he damn well knows it. If anything, he should be thanking you for choosing to realign your focus instead of leaning into silly little thoughts about him. It also helps that in the cold, harsh light of Monday mornings, the thoughts just make you cringe more than anything.

"Sorry, Dad," you roll your eyes. "Didn't realise I had to ask your permission."

Jungkook's lips purse in the gentlest of ways, corners upturning ever so slightly. He shakes his head. "You're cranky this morning."

"And you're up to something," you reply. Have barely even had a chance to look over your weekend emails yet, let alone prepare yourself for Jungkook being a nuisance. His department is two floors up. There's no need for him to be here.

In the corner of your screen, an email pings through. Though your glance is quick, it connects a flurry of dots together.

Subject: International Food Expo - we're in!

The company you work at is the head office of a chain restaurant. Jungkook works in franchising—negotiations, specifically. Gets the restaurant placed in the best locations. Recently landed a spot in Starfield Mall. Got himself a nice little bonus.

You're over in the interior design team. It's a small cohort, just three of you, but you're responsible for ensuring cohesion amongst all the spaces. It's up to you that customers get the same feel whether they're in Seoul or Sokcho.

Both starting the job at the same time, directly after graduation, Jungkook had approached you with a strategy in mind. Roped you into creating the interior mood boards and mapping out the spaces before they'd even been acquired. Gave life to them that made it so much easier for investors to imagine.

It had been seen by management as a waste of resources before then—why waste time creating hypotheticals?

They just hadn't yet experienced Jungkook, and all of his charm, pitching for them, using your content to tip negotiations in his favour. It's a partnership that works. Is a practice now adopted by the company across the board, thanks to the pair of you. It's why you work together so often, even if you're on completely different floors and dealing with such vastly different tasks.

"I've been asked to go along," he says, nodding towards the screen. "Little old me is our brand ambassador for the week."

"Congrats," you beam, knowing that Jungkook is the best man for the job. He loves the company. Really believes in the restaurant. Clicking into the email, you scan the details. "A week of schmoozing, huh? However will you cope?"

He's about to joke about how tiresome it'll be, but then you hum in confusion.

"Jeju?" You question, looking at the location. You scroll, just to check you aren't imagining things—but there it is, clear as day. Location: International Conference Center, Jeju. "All the way in bloody Jeju?!"

"It's for international markets," he says, putting his best guess out there. "Seoul's been done a hundred times over for different Expos. Busan, too. I think they're trying to attract more foreign companies—and would the CEO's rather send themselves on city breaks or island getaways? Anyway, that's actually the favour I wanted to ask you..."

It all sort of clicks into place, now. "Bam?"

With a sweet nod, Jungkook offers a gentle smile. "You know there's no one I'd rather look after him. The trip is four days, Tuesday to Friday. If it's too much, I can book him into a kennel, but—"

"No," you shake your head. "Don't do that. You know I'm happy to look after him."

"Sure?"

Jungkook would rather die than leave Bam at a Kennel for the week. He doesn't trust anyone with his baby unless they've proved themselves, but the way you happily cuddle up with Bam on the floor of Jungkook's apartment on any given day of the week is proof enough to him that you love him, too.

If he's gonna trust anyone with his most prized possession, it'd be you.

"One condition," you bargain, 'cause you know that you can. Jungkook'll do anything to have you agree.

"Go on..."

"Have you replaced all the cheese I ate last time I looked after him?"

He narrows his eyes. "Yes."

"Good," you beam. "And could you be a babe and make me some of your pad kee mao? The sauce at least? I can do the rest."

If there's one thing Jungkook will never fail to impress you with, it's his cooking—but your favourite of all of his dishes is his Thai drunken chicken noodles. He imports the special basil needed for it. Goes an extra mile to make sure it's just right. You haven't been to your favourite Thai place since you learned just how well he makes the dish. Will just send him a text when you fancy it, and end up at his place an hour or so later with beers from the convenience store and ice cream sandwiches to chuck in his freezer for dessert.

"That it?" He laughs. "Cheese and noodles? God, you are easily pleased."

"I'm a woman of refined tastes," you say, pompously poised.

Jungkook knows you well enough to know you're no such thing, but he needs this favour, so he doesn't bite. Just says, "And you're sure?"

"I'm sure," you promise. "Now leave me alone. I've got work to do—and thanks for the coffee."

He nods, that little smile of his affecting you far more than it really should. You can't help it. The lighting in your office is far nicer than the rest of the establishment. Makes him look... well, makes him look like himself. Like 'home' Jungkook. The same one who hangs out with you in sweats and messy hair on Sunday mornings, not the suited and clean-shaven Jungkook who swaggers through the corridors of your workplace.

Three of you work in your specific office, and you're all interior designers. Changing the bulbs was one of the first things you did. Lea, your manager, is the most senior in your team. Below you is Jiwon. A fresh graduate, she's still learning the ropes, and as much as you like her, you really wish she wouldn't go all heart-eyed over Jungkook every time he enters the room.

It's not her fault. The warm bulbs just bring out all of those terrible, intrusive little stars in his chocolatey brown eyes. They're terrible, 'cause they're stolen from other people; intrusive, 'cause as he walks away and your gaze follows him, it seems like they've landed in your eyes, too. A secret shared that neither of you even realises exists.

"How do you do it?" Jiwon sighs once Jungkook is out of earshot. "I'd melt if he looked at me like that."

"He looks at everyone like that," you deflect. "And trust me, he's just as disgusting as he is charming. Don't let the tailored suits fool you."

It's been a little while since Jungkook last used the copier room for indecent affairs that would have gotten anyone else into a meeting with HR. Workplace violations are far easier to get away with when you're doing them with someone from the HR department, after all.

Jiwon joined the team just as Jungkook was curbing his bad behaviour. Granted, you know about more of it than most, but everyone who was lucky enough to grab his attention for more than five seconds used it as bragging rights for months.

One thing that you did enjoy about Jungkook's slut era was the lack of women he ever took home. Didn't want to introduce new people to Bam, if they were only going to be fleeting endeavours.

But you're his friend, not a casual fuck. He knew that bringing you into the fold wouldn't be fast nor fleeting. It'd be a lifetime kinda thing.

Which is what makes you feel so guilty as you stand by the water cooler a little later that morning, daydreaming about being back in his space again. Silly little thoughts about facetime calls when you were wrapped up in his sheets, and he was back at his parents' place in Busan. Memories of lazing the days away with Bam, and the look on Jungkook's face as he finally arrived home after a few days away.

You've seen him at home a million times over, but there was something different about him then. Serene. At peace. You know that he was probably just happy to be back with his baby, and tired from driving, but the lazy smile that had hung off his lips, round glasses framing his equally round eyes, just seemed... new.

Your thoughts are cut off by your boss—not Lea, but your actual boss, Mr Seo—calling you into his office. A little flustered, you realise that you've been running the water for too long. Your bottle has overfilled, and the excess tray is almost full, too.

"Hi," you greet him all rather pleasantly, waiting to be told to sit before you actually do so. "What can I help you with?"

A burly man in his late 50s, he built the brand from the ground up. It's been his life's work, and so he's selective with his staff. If you aren't pulling your weight to make the company a success, then he doesn't want you tying your name to it.

When you and Jungkook started going rogue in the early days, he hadn't been happy—but Jungkook had blagged a probation extension for the pair of you. Had told Mr Seo he'd work for free, if he could just prove his strategy would work.

In the version of events Jungkook tells you, he pretends that Mr Seo agreed without docking his pay. Filed away in the back of his cabinet which houses his contracts, past and present, Jungkook has a written agreement with Mr Seo, and a month's worth of missing wages in his salary from that year.

Your pay was never docked, though. Jungkook's a damn good negotiator, and was just as competent back then, too. He was the one that got you into that damn mess in the first place, so it was only fair that he keep you as clean as he could.

What you do know is that you both cut it incredibly fine to losing your jobs before they ever really began. While Mr Seo respects you both for what you've done for the company since then, it still scares you a little bit.

"I trust you've seen the email regarding the Expo, yes?" He says, nodding towards the chair on the opposite side of his desk.

You take it in a hurried fashion, quickly sitting down because, quite frankly, it feels like your legs are jelly. "Yes, yes. Very exciting! I'm sure Jungkook will bring the company great results."

He nods. Agrees. "And I also trust you've been making plans for our stand?"

You learned of the expo approximately fifty minutes prior. Like fuck have you made any plans.

"Oh, of course!" You bullshit. "As long as we can work out the logistics with shipping our materials to the island in time, it should be brilliant."

How the fuck you're supposed to plan a stand at an Expo for a week's time on a different bloody island is beyond you.

You'll get it done. You always do. You'll just be incredibly stressed about it until the event begins.

"Naturally," he nods. I know the turnaround is tight, so we'd like you to go with Jungkook to oversee the preparations. He arrives on Tuesday, but the event doesn't start until Wednesday evening, so you'll have a day to finalise things."

"Oh," you say, unable to hide your surprise.

"Flight and accommodation will be covered by us, and Jungkook's getting a healthy bonus for any deals signed at the Expo—I'm sure we can make a cut for you, too. After all, you two are our very own dream team."

You take a moment to gather your thoughts. You want to go. Of course you want to. A trip to Jeju with one of your closest friends? Under the guise of work? All expenses paid? Who wouldn't want to go?!

But without you in the city, there's no one to look after Bam. Sure, Jungkook could take him to a kennel, but you know what he's like. He'll spend the entire time stressed. Won't be able to relax and engage with people in such a way that deals will be cut. Punters usually like him for his carefree nature. Without it? Well, you're sure they'd like him all the same, but you don't want to tempt fate.

"Mr Seo," you awkwardly begin, uncertain which answer will slip out of your mouth. "I'm afraid I already have commitments in the city that I can't cancel. I'm not available."

Silence lingers for a moment. Just a second. It feels like an eternity.

"Very well," he accepts.

"I'm sorry," you quickly apologise, knowing that you probably look like an ungrateful employee. If there's one thing you are, it's a fixer, and so before you can even comprehend what you're saying, you're throwing solutions into the void. "But I know Jiwon is just itching to get more involved with different sides of the business. I can get her on board with my planning this week and coach her on Jungkook's strategies. I'm sure she'd be eager to work hard, if she were given the opportunity."

Mr Seo mulls over your proposition—one of you which you already regret—then nods. "Alright. I'll trust your judgement. Can you send her down to my office?"

"Sure!" You say with a little too much glee, before you retreat back to your office with your tail between your legs. Lea is at a meeting, so once Jiwon has been sent on her way, it's just you, your water bottle, and a whole lot of regret.

Laying your head on your desk, you let out a little whimper.

It's for the best. For the company, for Jungkook, for you. For the sanctity of your friendship. For your sanity.

A message dinging through on your work chat interrupts your self-pity party. Glancing up, head still on the desk, you see Jungkook's name in the corner of your screen.

Jeon Jungkook, Franchising: oi you little gremlin

Jeon Jungkook, Franchising: i could have booked him into a kennel

"Shut up," you groan at your screen.

Jeon Jungkook, Franchising: it would have been fun :(

Sitting up with a sigh, you poise yourself to send a message back. Find that nothing wants to come out. Your fingers hover above your keyboard with uncertainty. Takes a full minute before you can muster anything up.

Two floors above you, Jungkook is slumped in his desk chair. Has an office of his own, 'cause it's easier for the amount of meetings he has.

In the background of his screen, an email thread with Mr Seo details how Jungkook was the one to ask Mr Seo if you could join him. Explained how it just made sense. Offered part of his bonus package up with it. Said he'd cover the extra expenses if necessary, but that he thought it would be beneficial to the company to have you there, too.

While you're the person Jungkook trusts the most with Bam, you're not the only one. He could always ask Jimin or Taehyung before resorting to a kennel.

As your reply comes through, another email from Mr Seo is delivered, too.

RE: IFE JEJU, Interior Des. Department

Jungkook—

Have spoken with Jiwon. She will accompany you.

Any problems, let me know.

Mr Seo

With a sigh, Jungkook shakes his head. This isn't what he wanted at all.

And when he checks your message, he only frowns even deeper. Unlike you, he's renamed your contact details on his list. Everyone else still has their work-focused username.

Gremlin: It's your lucky day

Gremlin: You get a hot young thing to keep you company instead, wooo

Gremlin: HR if you're reading this, ignore it

Gremlin: Try not to be too miserable without me

He sinks down a little further into his chair. Purses his lips. Would far rather be alone than with anyone that isn't you.

Chewing on his bottom lip, he decides that maybe this is for the best. While he does think it would be good for the company, he knows that isn't why he suggested it. He just remembers what happened last time he spent more than a weekend away from you. Is scared it'll happen again.

Or maybe it's the opposite. Maybe he wants it to happen again. Just you and him, away from the confines of life as you know it.

Thing is, you'd have to return home at some point. If anything ever happened between you both, it'd change the very fabric of your friendship. He doesn't want that.

So instead, he decides to reply in the same way he would have done maybe a year or so prior.

Jeon Jungkook, Franchising: She'll fall in love with me

Jeon Jungkook, Franchising: They always do

Jeon Jungkook, Franchising: Don't say I didn't warn you.

In the warm lighting of Jungkook's living room, the main light is off, lamps providing you with just enough clarity to go over the files on his coffee table.

Over by the sink, Jungkook is washing up your plates from dinner, while Bam leans against his legs. Your overnight bag is still by the door, and Jungkook's glasses are in your hair, keeping it out of your eyes. Highlighter in hand, you're picking out key markets for Jungkook to make contact with over in Jeju.

"Avoid Babiyeo," you tell him, switching over to a thin red pen, putting a star next to their name.

"As in the leisure centres?" Jungkook hums, familiar with the company but not well-versed. The soft melody of his playlist carries a tune around you both, keeping your thoughts connected and in sync.

"Mhmm," you say, flicking over to the next paper. "The CEO's son is in legal trouble at the moment. They're keeping it fairly well covered up, but to do that they're making huge expansions they can't afford. Keeping the news positive, things like that. I reckon they'll go bust before the end of the year."

"Shit," Jungkook lets a breathy laugh escape his lips. Had no idea—but you've both got friends working in various industries. Have your arms dipped into numerous grapevines. Drying up the last of his bowls, he turns to face you and is unable to continue on with his words.

He gets it. Understands why domestication is your biggest vice when it comes to feeling things you shouldn't.

"Acorn Limited are also bad news," you add, putting a little star next to their name.

"Yeah?"

Jungkook puts the now-dry bowl on the counter and walks towards where you're sitting on his living room floor. He joins. Sits on the opposite side of the table. Lets Bam clamber over his legs, and encourages him to sit, too.

"Yeah," you nod, then look across at Jungkook. "They're a hot-shot protein company. Are trying to get themselves partnerships with different restaurants. The guy running it is some twat from Singles Inferno. Company'll be done by the next quarter."

"Some of them do alright, y'know. Reality stars are raking it in—"

"He's besties with the Babiyeo CEO's son," you tell him with a knowing smile. "Kept getting pictured together outside clubs. Whatever baby Babiyeo has been up to, I'm willing to bet the acorn guy has been, too."

Jungkook presses his lips together. Accepts your expertise. Nods, then sighs, "You should be coming on the trip. I can't do this without you."

Yes, he can. He's more than capable. Has closed more deals than most people have had hot dinners.

What he means is that he doesn't want to do it without you, but admitting such a thing verges on territory that Jungkook doesn't feel comfortable entering.

In the house he likes to call his mind, he's bolted the door of the annexe. Occasionally, he will sit and stare at the locks. Wonder if maybe he made a mistake locking you—or more specifically, the idea of you—away in there.

But then he watches Bam choose to shuffle around to your side of the coffee table, and watches as he rests his head on your leg. His snout is by your knee, sniffing at your bare skin with his wet nose. There's something familiar about you. Safe. You don't smell like Jungkook, but you still manage to smell like home, in a way.

"Bam would be even more lost without me," you softly say, scratching behind his ear, and it does admittedly give Jungkook a little solace.

"True," Jungkook accepts, then sighs.

It's getting late and he's got to be up early for his flight. Is leaving for his flight at just gone 3AM, so you're staying over. Crashing on the couch, 'cause having a home gym was more important than setting up a spare room. Thankfully you've never known a couch to be so cosy. Have fallen asleep on it a dozen times over, and it's yet to make you ache in the mornings.

It's all very normal, how you set into a routine. He lets you wash up first. Sorts out Bam while you sort out yourself. Doesn't need to, but writes you out a list of feeding times and emergency numbers. Grabs a spare blanket—one Bam hasn't slept on, but by the morning definitely will have—and turns the sofa into something that really does resemble a bed.

"Sure you're gonna be alright out here?" He asks when you come back through.

He ignores the teeny tiny shirt and even tinier shorts you like to call pyjamas. Or at least he does as much as he can. Doesn't mean to look at your ass. Does it regardless. Four times.

"Yeah," you promise, grabbing a bottle of water from his fridge. There are containers full of his speciality noodle sauce and enough cheese to keep you very happy for the next few days. He got an extra block of the one he knows you like the most as a thank you. "Go to bed. Get your beauty sleep, uggers."

"Hey, you need it just as much as I do," he assures you, then tips his head and makes a small click with his tongue. "C'mon, Bammie, bedtime."

The sound of his paws tapping across Jungkook's hardwood floors is ever-so-soothing. It's hard to be in a house with a pet and not inherently feel like home, you think.

"Night night, Bammie," you coo after him. He turns back. Tilts his head, just like his daddy. Trots on over to you for a few more scratches behind his ears. Doesn't leave until you tell him, "Go find your daddy."

Glancing up to Jungkook with a sweet little scrunch of your nose, you hadn't called him that name to take the piss for a change. The scrunch of your nose is actually an outward display of your inward cringe. Jungkook just scrunches his up right back.

"Gross," he whispers, then holds his hand out for Bam to sniff. "Night, Gremlin."

"Night, Kook."

The sharp sound of Bam's bark snaps you awake. The room is dark, but enough light bleeds in through the blinds for you to see Jungkook awkwardly trying to shush him. Rucksack slung over one shoulder, he's holding a bag with his other hand.

"Leaving without saying bye?" You sleepily mumble, rubbing at your eyes with a yawn.

"Didn't wanna wake you," he whispers. Bam, apparently, had different ideas. "He knows I'm leaving."

"What time is it?" you ask, still totally out of it.

"Just gone three," Jungkook says. It'll take him an hour to get across to Incheon, and even though he knows it won't take him much time to get through security, he still likes to be on time. Would have been easier if he was flying from Gimpo, but he's guessing Incheon must have been cheaper.

Nodding, you adjust your body to sit up, and reach out for one of the files on the coffee table. Hold it across for him.

Popping down his bags, Jungkook takes it with great interest.

"Here. I was having a think before bed. Did a little research on an American company that's gonna be at the Expo. Their head marketer has shares in a bunch of baseball-related companies. Get pally with him," you mumble, thoughts not really cognitive, but you've written it all down for him regardless. "Talk to him about the K-league, or something, I dunno. I reckon Mr Seo would shit his pants if we expanded into stadiums and sports venues."

Jungkook flicks over the notes. Nods. Doesn't know how the fuck you manage to find out half the shit you do, but knows you're wasted on the interior design department.

"See," he softly whines. "This is why you should be coming with me."

"You'll be fine," you promise him, then yawn a little bit all over again. You woke up at the worst possible time.

"You can take my bed, y'know," Jungkook offers. "I'll be gone in a minute or so. It's all yours."

Would be weird getting into his bed while it's still warm, you think.

Shaking your head, terribly covering a yawn, you insist it's fine. He begs to differ, so you double down—until all very suddenly, your notes are tossed onto the sofa beside you, and Jungkook is pulling you over his shoulder. Yelping from the surprise, you don't have time to cognitively respond, let alone demand to be put down.

He wouldn't listen anyways. Instead, he walks you across to his room, and tosses you down on his half-made bed. It's a little haphazard, he finds himself leaning a little too far forward. Almost ends up on there with you. Finds that his blood pumps just a little faster through his veins for a nanosecond.

God, he wishes he wasn't leaving.

Or that you were coming with him, at least.

Can't bear to tear himself away from you when you're all sleepy and sweet and—Oh get a grip, man.

"There," he says triumphantly, pushing his thoughts well out of reach. "Now, go back to sleep, alright? I'll let you know when I fly."

Sitting up on your heels, you find yourself unsure of how to say goodbye—and so you don't really say much at all. Just mumble, "Fly safe."

"Will do," he nods, then exits his room to give Bam a farewell that is just as rough and tumble as yours had been. "Be good for the gremlin, Bammie."

"Fuck off!" You call through, knowing that you'll forever be known as a gremlin, even on your deathbed, you're sure. Tucking yourself under his duvet, you're secretly comforted by how warm his bed still is. Smells just like him, too. "Bye Kook."

"Sleep tight!"

With that, the door slams shut, and everything feels a little colder. Bam whines by the door. Scratches at it a little. Begs for Jungkook to come home.

"Bammie," you call through. "C'mere!"

The way he excitedly bounds through Jungkook's apartment and jumps up onto the bed is borderline comical. He's not used to people being in the house after Jungkook goes out. Thought he was alone—but now he knows he's not, he's quite content. Nuzzles his snout into the duvet and flops his body down on yours. Doesn't realise he's not still a puppy, but you don't mind.

Moments like these make you realise that you definitely did make the right decision.

But moments that come a little later fill you with regret—like the picture that is sent to the office by Jungkook on the work messenger. Working hard or hardly working? He captions it.

The photo is of the booth that's been set up to look like a beach house version of the restaurant. The intention was for it to look like a 'Jeju' branch, of which you're yet to open— but it looks bloody fantastic. How you were able to wrangle contractors and suppliers in such a last-minute rush was nothing short of a miracle.

And yet—

Good work guys!

Wow, looks great!

Jungkook and Jiwon, doing us proud!

Dream team! Good luck!

It's that last one that really bothers you. Dream team. Exactly what you and Jungkook have always been called in the office—but you're easily replaced, apparently. It's your own fault. You're the one who said she should go instead.

It doesn't stop you from walking around with a face of thunder for the whole day. Not a scrap of work gets done. All you can do is lament your choices.

Still, you get to go home to Bam, and that does admittedly soften the blow.

"Show me him," Jungkook immediately whines when he calls later that evening.

You shake your head. "Tell me about the day first."

"That's so not fair."

"Quicker you tell me, quicker I show–"

"Fine," he scowls at you, but softens his expression almost immediately. Yawns. His shoulders press up to his ears as the rest of his face scrunches up. He's lying down on his hotel bed, the crisp white sheets not too dissimilar from his ones back home that you'll be curled up in later that night. "The set up was fine. Most of the vendors are here already. I'm so mad we didn't manage to snag a slot in the catering tent, yanno? Give people a chance to try our menu, but whatever. There's always next year, right?"

"Right," you nod. Yawn, too—and then adorably so does Bam. "It's our first year there. We're just making our presence known. Bigger and better things next year."

"Exactly. Now show me Bam."

His impatience makes you smile. You're just about to tap the switch camera icon, when a sweet, feminine voice echoes through your speaker.

"Did you say something, Jungkook?"

He glances over the sound of the voice, and then flicks his eyes back to you. Gets a read on your face as quickly as he can before you flip the camera, 'cause you're not really sure how much your face is giving away, but you know your surprise wasn't hidden.

"Er, no," he says to the girl. "Just checking in back home—"

"Oh, is that your puppy?" the voice, of which you know all too well, squeals. There's a slight ruffle of sheets as Jiwon tucks herself beside Jungkook. Hair a little damp, the straps of her top are loose against her skin. "Oh my gosh, isn't he the sweetest."

"Isn't he just?" you reply with a smile so fucking fake that it's a good job the camera isn't on you. There's a look on Jungkook's face that you don't really understand. He almost looks guilty—but there's nothing to feel guilty about. He can do what he likes. "Gonna take him for a walk in a bit, then I'm just gonna pop out for half an hour to see Mingyu."

"Are you taking Bam with you?" Jungkook asks, brows a little hard, the ridge between them nicely defined.

"Hadn't planned on it," you chirp, your face just as hard as his. "But I can take him to meet Mingyu, if you like?"

Jungkook swallows. Tries to pretend as if his jaw isn't tense. Is incredibly stern when he says, "Rather him not meet new people when I'm not around."

"Sure," you say, then flick the camera back to you. Are pleased to see nonchalance sitting prettily on your features, no matter how perplexed you might feel."I should be off, though! Call me if you need anything."

"Wait!" Jiwon says quickly, clearly unaware of the weirdness between you and Jungkook. She sees you bickering all the time, so must just figure this is what you're like when you're not ripping each other's heads off. "Just wanted to say thank you—I'm so glad I'm here."

Jungkook's eyes focus on your face as Jiwon gives even more thanks. He doesn't understand the sudden attitude you've developed. All he wanted was to see Bam, but you've a face like a slapped arsed and are trying to hang up. It's fuckin' rude, and if Jiwon wasn't there, he'd tell you so.

He lets you hang up. Doesn't ask you to stay.

"She alright?" Jiwon innocent chirps after you go. "She seems a little..."

"Just tired," Jungkook dismisses. "I woke her up at like, three this morning when I was leaving."

"Oh? She was at your place?"

It's really none of Jiwon's business, but Jungkook chalks it up to her being young, and unaware of when to keep her mouth shut.

"Yeah," he states definitively and plainly, ending the conversation. Heads to the bathroom to clear his head. Turns the shower up to just as hot as the one at his house has been ever since you left his apartment the last time.

'Cause Jungkook's been lying to himself.

There's no lock on the damn annexe. Or at least not from the outside.

The annexe has everything he needs. He's been sitting there, inside, quite comfortably with you for a little while now.

He really did think you were gonna call things off with Mingyu.

Is unaware that Mingyu got left on read four days ago after another dull, fruitless 'how was your day', 'fine thanks, and you?' conversation. As hot as he may be, he doesn't challenge you. Excite you. Anger you. Make you feel any kind of passion.

Which is funny, 'cause you find yourself reaching for a bottle of wine that you know is far too expensive for a Tuesday night glass, just to piss Jungkook off from afar and well in advance of him ever realising what you've done.

Just like you mentioned going to see Mingyu just to get a reaction out of Jungkook.

Childish as it may be, you feel threatened. People praising Jiwon in your place already made you feel insecure at work, and now she's in his hotel room in a state of near undress? Something about it just irks you.

It shouldn't.

It shouldn't, it shouldn't, it shouldn't.

But it does.

And so you spend your evening on Jungkook's couch with cheese, wine and Bam. Put Love, Rosie on, 'cause it's your favourite guilty pleasure film and you think it'll cheer you up.

Instead, you end up silently sobbing by the halfway point, Bam only snuggling into you even further. Can understand that you're upset. Comforts in the only way he knows how.

Sleep is hard to come by that evening. You're full of wine and cheese, so it should be easy. Lights out as soon as you close your eyes—but you toss and turn, and with every move, the scent of him wafts even deeper into your senses. Any further and it might just enter your bloodstream. Seep down into your heart.

By the time morning comes, you feel even more rotten than you did the night before. Have slept on it all. Know that he hasn't done anything wrong, which only makes you feel even more stupid for being so annoyed.

You've also slept on the idea he might have slept with Jiwon. It wouldn't be out of character, but it would be the first person in your department he's shagged. It's always been out of bounds. He knows this. For the same reason you wouldn't shag anyone he works closely with. It'd just be weird. Make meetings uncomfortable.

When you call on your walk that morning, you half hope he won't pick up.

But he does. He always will.

"Hey," he says a little breathlessly. A towel is whipped over his shoulder, sweat dappling his skin. There's something so devastatingly beautiful about mid-workout Jungkook. "Sorry, didn't think you'd call."

Almost as if you're looking for reasons to be annoyed, you take offence to this.

"I always call?"

"Well, yeah, but you were so fuckin' weird last night," he laughs, heading out of the gym and into an empty corridor of the hotel.

"I wasn't anything," you reply back with a scowl—and realise how terribly you're hiding your annoyance. Flick the camera over so it focuses on Bam as he trots along the path. "Just tired."

It's the same excuse he bullshitted to Jiwon. Knows you're talking bollocks.

"Even Jiwon asked what was wrong with you—"

"Oh, well I'm terribly sorry to have inconvenienced you, Jungkook," you snap, completely unjustified. It's too late, though. You've started. Have to see it through. "But if you don't mind, I'm responsible for your pet right now and I'd rather not be having this conversation when I need to be focusing on a million other things at once."

"Fine," Jungkook snaps right back. All he wants is to see Bam, but he doesn't want to be having this conversation either. "But you know what? Don't bother calling back until you've taken that stick out from up your arse."

You shouldn't be surprised when Jungkook hangs up.

But you are.

For the second time in as many days, you find yourself crying. 

Oh, it's all so pathetic! And stupid! There's no need for it, you think.

Thankfully you're not too far from home—Jungkook's home, that is—so you can cut the walk a little short as long as you come home at lunch to check on Bam, too.

You don't even really understand why you're fighting with him. Wish you weren't.

When Jungkook zips open his suit bag as he's getting ready for the Expo opening ceremony, he finds himself wishing just the same.

Tucked on top of his blazer is a brand new tie; one of which he most definitely did not put there. 

An incredibly muted bronze and black paisley pattern swirls over the material, and on top rests a note.

Jungkook rubs his face with a flat palm. Rakes it through his hair. Swallows back the awkward heat prickling at his eyes and the tickle in his throat. Doesn't wanna bawl.

But then he reads the note, and he just can't stop himself.

Dad!!!

You're gonna do great!!!!

Come home soon tho :(((((

Woof woof!!!!!!!

Your Bammie <333

P.S. I'm colour blind but the gremlin said this one is the same colour as me!!! Do you miss me??? I miss you!!!!!

The first time you had ever learned of Jungkook's tattoos was in a dive bar a few blocks over from work. It was just after you'd pulled off your first deal together—the one that set your working relationship in stone—and you'd both been blowing off steam.

The walls were red, and so were your cheeks, blushed from the heat of what it felt like to sit beside him in a tatty booth.

So used to sitting across from him at meeting tables, something about it changed your dynamic. Any threats of being on opposing teams were whittled down to nothing more than a life that could have been.

He had your back. You had his.

Blazer off, his sleeves were rolled up. You didn't ask him about a single one of the tattoos, like he half thought you might. 

Instead, you just accepted him as he was. Didn't stroke your index finger up his arm, tracing the lines, like most girls do as an excuse to get better acquainted with him.

That night he made a promise to himself to never ruin the working relationship you have together.

You work too well to jeopardise it. He has goals. Knew, even back then, that you'd help him achieve his aspirations, like some sort of twin flame type of shit he didn't believe in.

Didn't. Past tense.

These days, when you think of Jungkook and his tattoos, you always think of the snake. It's the one you see most frequently for it's so close to his wrist. Have always understood snakes to represent change.

Jungkook is yet to shed his skin. He's still just the same as he always was, you think, as you get in the lift and head up towards your office floor.

Just 'cause he hadn't hooked up with anyone from the office in a while didn't mean that he'd changed his ways. More fool you for thinking that he might've.

And it's not like it even matters at all. Who he lays down with is none of your concern. You've never cared before. Not really.

It's just that you've been going to sleep in his sheets. Eating dinner he prepared in advance for you. Waking up to his pup excitedly doing zoomies around the room, 'cause he's ready for his walk.

When you get home, you put Bam's leash up next to your coat, which is hung on top of Jungkook's. Kick your shoes off by a pair of his. Use his shower gel when you get washed, and wistfully tuck yourself up into the armchair you helped him pick out for his bedroom. It's tucked in the corner. Is perfect for watching the world roll by.

You know you should have just called him this morning. Spent the entire walk stubbornly hoping that he would instead, but he's just as childish as you are.

You've bickered with him a hundred times over since you first met him, but never like this.

The elevator dings to a stop, pulling you from your tiresome thoughts of Jungkook. Pulling your body from its slumped leaning stature against the mirrored walls, you trudge into a place that endlessly reminds you of him.

Impossible to escape, is Jungkook. Perhaps that's it. Maybe you've just had enough of each other. Need a little time to breathe.

Everyone else who started at the company around the same time as you has already left. It's just you and Jungkook still here from the small pool of fresh graduates that had been taken under Mr Seo's wing.

But you like it here. Like your job. The salary you earn is great—far more than you would get anywhere else.

Again, you don't know this, but Jungkook's always negotiated on your behalf behind closed doors. He makes the company far more money, and does admittedly get a pretty huge bonus every year according to the amount of deals closed.

That being said, he also stomps down to Mr Seo's office in the fourth quarter when news of the next fiscal year's raises are shared. Will demand that your base salary is matched to his. Has threatened, on numerous occasions, to call for a pay disparity audit from external forces if your wage isn't boosted up, even if it means his is cut down to make up for it.

You went out on a limb trusting him in the early days. This is how he repays you.

That's just friendship, though, he thinks. You help him, he helps you.

He also knows you'd probably be annoyed if you ever found out he meddled with things like that.

The girls in the accounting office always think it's so lovely whenever they see the pay increases. Yours and Jungkook's are never quite what they should be, and they know exactly why. It's why they always ask you how he is whenever you go to drop off inventory reports and materials lists with the lead accountant.

You think they just fancy the pants off him.

Which is also true.

And it's also why a couple of them are curiously standing outside your office space, giggling like school girls as you approach it.

"Morning," you smile, then laugh a little too at their giddy excitement—but when you turn the corner and realise what they're so smitten over, you're a little lost for words.

Sitting on your desk is quite possibly the largest bouquet of flowers you've ever seen. Peonies, you think from afar. Pretty and pale pink, they're in a glass vase. Two dozen easily, if not more, blooming just for you.

"Oh," you hum, because it's hardly what you expect to walk into on a Thursday morning.

Mingyu flashes through your head, but you haven't heard a peep from him since you last let your conversation dissolve over the weekend. He has no reason to send you flowers.

But nor does anyone else.

"We tried working out the message," one of them admits. "But whoever your secret admirer is, they're hell-bent on keeping it secret!"

Shameless, you think, suppressing a well-natured laugh. They've got balls to admit that they've read the note.

Walking to your desk, you see it sitting atop of the flowers, and read it for yourself.

Anyone reading the note who knows a single non-superficial thing about the mystery sender would know who it is in a heartbeat. All it takes for you to know is to see the name of who it's addressed to.

Bammie—

She's right. It does match you. When I get home we can dress you up in my new tie.

Tell the gremlin that you deserve head scratches.

And extra treats.

And that I miss her.

Glancing over to the girls, who desperately want gossip, you simply shrug. If they've never heard Jungkook talk about Bam before, then they clearly don't know him at all. If he wanted his name on the note, he'd have put it there.

He could have gotten them sent to his apartment. He chose here. But he also chose anonymity.

And so you give him a little grace.

"Your guess is as good as mine," you bullshit with an apologetic smile that no one believes.

Lea just looks at you from across the room with a raised brow. Waits until the girls leave, then says, "That's not the kind of bouquet you send a colleague."

She already knows you're looking after Bam. That being said, she hasn't read the card. Has no idea what it says. Just knows that there's only one man you ever talk about with such warmth to be deserving of those flowers from.

"Apparently it is," you shrug, all but confirming who sent them with a coy smile.

"I hope he lets Jiwon down gently," Lea sighs, knowing just as well as you do that she's got a bit of a thing for Jungkook.

What she doesn't know is that it's the exact reason you're fighting with him.

Hell, even he doesn't know that!

So deep in your denial, neither do you.

"Why would he need to?" You downplay it all. Lea doesn't know about the awkward call Jiwon inserted herself into, or the fact you've already decided that he must have fucked her. "Like I said, apparently these are the kind of flowers sent by just a colleague."

Lea shakes her head. Has been observing you and Jungkook for years. Was waiting for a Christmas party, or one of those nightmarish summer tennis tournaments for the pair of you to finally figure it out. You're just as thick as two wooden planks when it comes to all of this, or so it would seem. A little push might be needed.

"Colleagues don't send flowers just because," she tells you with an air of authority. "And if I know anything about the stories you've told me, Jungkook doesn't send flowers full stop."

Just like that, you're thinking of those damn tattoos again. The snake, specifically.

Maybe, just maybe, he is changing.

And if you weren't confused before, then you sure as hell are now.

During the summer months, Jungkook often goes home to see Bam at lunchtime. It's not uncommon for you to go with him. In the winter, when the temperature of his apartment is less of a worry, Jungkook probably only goes home for lunch once a week or so.

Walking up to Jungkook's apartment in the middle of the day without him feels a little bit wrong. In one hand, you're holding a peony by its stem. In the other, you're clutching your phone just in case he calls.

In all honesty, you had planned on taking the entire vase back, but it was bloody heavy. You'll wait until he's back in the office.

It might just be paranoia, or the misplaced assumption that everyone is obsessed with what Jungkook does, but you swear there have been far more people passing your office today than usual. People you've seen maybe once or twice in your entire lifetime.

Lea was right. Jungkook doesn't send flowers. 

Has a repeat order going monthly for his mother, but that's it. And even then, he's kind of forgotten about it.

You've debated it with him before; flowers and their presence in relationships. 

He thinks a potted plant would be far more practical, but if he was really going to get someone something, it'd be herbs. Maybe a potted mint bush. Something useful that they could enjoy together.

A few weeks ago, you had told him he'd make an awful sugar daddy.

"Well, yeah!" He'd just laughed. "I save my money for myself. Me alone. If someone wants nice shit, they can get their own job."

"Oh, so you'd never treat a girlfriend?" You'd scoffed, forgetting the fact he never really has girlfriends. Just flings. "Never get her nice shit?"

"Well, that's different," he'd said. "It's not transactional."

"Everything in life is transactional, whether people like to kid themselves it is or not."

Jungkook looked affronted when you said this. You'd had differing perceptions of life for as long as he'd known you, but you'd always been a romantic. Always believed in the prevailing nature of love.

Bam had adjusted in his sleepy position. Curled up a little tighter, then stretched right out. Rested his hind paws on your thighs and tucked his nose into his chest.

"Bam disagrees," Jungkook assured you.

"You trained him using transactions," you reminded him regardless. "Rewarded him with a treat every time he did as you asked. Transactional."

"Okay, but this?" He gestured to where Bam was curled between the pair of you on his sofa. That's always been a rule of his. No sofa for Bam—he's got all the beds he could ever want! But when Jungkook is on the sofa, it's the only place he wants to be, too. "He knows he's not supposed to be on here. He knows he won't get a reward, so why is he up here? It isn't transactional. He just—"

"Is playing you for a fool," you had laughed. "He wants to be on the sofa, so he lets us pet him in return for us not shooing him off. He's the one setting the transaction up. You're the one getting the reward. He's playing you at your own game. Aren't you, baby?"

You'd cooed a little, scratching at Bam's thigh. He shook it ever so gently and readjusted, but didn't stop resting against you.

It was a curious thought; the way that nothing in life ever comes for free. Even the favours you do for Jungkook by dog-sitting are transactional. You get just as much out of those days as he does.

The conversation had mellowed into something else, 'cause Jungkook didn't want to get into a debate. Knows that you can defend your point until the cows come home—has been in enough meetings with you to know as such. Likes being on your side 'cause you always win—and with a negotiator like him to seal the deal, it's always so much sweeter.

As the calling screen of Jungkook's contact details takes over your screen, phone resting against a wine bottle on the coffee table, you wonder how transactional this is.

He gave you flowers, and now you're giving him a call.

Anyone with a rational mind would surely ask: is this not how romance works?

But when he accepts your call, and you're met with a stern face that's desperately trying not to smile, you're reminded of what he really is: your best friend.

Neither of you wants to be the first one who cracks and gives in first, even if you both know this is all so stupid.

You reach over to pick up the peony. Hold it in front of your face. The petals have bloomed so spectacularly that it almost eclipses you.

Jungkook's face scrunches up a little, his terribly hidden smile slightly distorted but ever so hard to hide.

"Will you stop hating me now?" Is all he says.

"Never hated you," you grumble, bringing the flower a little lower, but still in frame. Sitting on the floor, your back is to the sofa and Bam is behind you, right where he's not supposed to be.

If Jungkook is bothered by it, he doesn't mention it. "I missed him this morning."

The guilt that crawls into your stomach and makes itself at home is rancid. Anguish is her name, and she loves nothing more than ruining a good thing.

The frown that steals the pretty smile from your face isn't one that Jungkook enjoys seeing on you, no matter how cute it is when your eyebrows pinch together.

"I should have called," you acknowledge, knowing that it was cruel of you not to, even if you were fighting. "I'm sorry."

Jungkook just smiles. "I assumed the stick was still up your arse."

Narrowing your eyes, you're pleased that he's joking with you; that things feel normal.

"It's fine," he dismisses regardless. "Last night was the opening event so I was a little worse for wear this morning, and then Jiwon was rummaging about at fuckin' six in the morning. Took her fuckin' hours to get ready."

And there it is; confirmation that she's been sharing his bed.

Though you don't frown, there's a stupor to the muscles in your face. The brightness you were looking at him with fades—and very quickly, Jungkook becomes the one who looks unhappy, now.

"What?" He says, genuinely a little confused.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter.

You just shake your head. Dismiss it. Flick the camera around and lift your phone to focus it on Bam as you give him a little scratch behind the ear.

"He's been good as gold," you begin to waffle on. The ridge between Jungkook's brows deepens. "Best boy in the doggie park, aren't you? There's a new couple who have just started walking a Yorkie. Yappy little bugger. I don't think Bam's a fan."

"No," Jungkook supposes. "He doesn't like yappy dogs—and I don't like it when you deflect. Show me your face, gremlin. What's going on?"

"Nothing!" You insist, but don't flick the camera back. Just get a little more boisterous with Bam, and while it does make Jungkook smile, he can't shake the horrible feeling that's building in his diaphragm.

Your Anguish has a cousin who goes by the name of Confusion, and she adores wrapping herself up in men who fail to communicate in a way that is healthy.

"C'mon," he softly says. Flicks his camera around. Shows you an empty hallway of the convention centre. Says, "I've left Jiwon in charge at the height of the day just so I can answer your call. Talk to me. What's wrong?"

"You didn't have to answer," you grumble.

Jungkook is smarter than most. Will have clocked the time of day and knew it was lunch. Definitely assumed you must be with Bam. It must be why he picked up.

Flicking the camera back on himself, Jungkook is almost at a loss for what else he can say to get you to open up.

A little honesty is needed.

And so you pout. Mumble, "They're calling you and Jiwon a dream team in the office."

Jungkook's frown intensifies as his dewy pink lips rest ajar. You'd say he looks distressed, but that's far too intense of an emotion for such a childish qualm.

He just knows that if he heard your partnership with another colleague—especially one in his department—being referred to like that, he'd take offence. It's you and him. You're the dream team. Always have been.

Shaking his head, Jungkook doesn't hide his contempt. Scoffs. "Fuck off. Dream team? She's using your strategies at a booth you designed, and even then, she's barely doing that—you know Acorn guy? The one you said to steer clear of? She's gunning for him—"

"Oh, you're kidding me," you gasp in disbelief. You warned her that he's bad news, multiple times. "Him?!"

"She's young," Jungkook says with a little judgement. Is scared of turning thirty, but definitely doesn't understand people who are closer to twenty. "He's just some hot guy on TV, to her. Doesn't realise his business is gonna tank. She isn't thinking about it long-term."

Which is funny, 'cause Jungkook never really used to think about things long term, either.

Sure, with investments and saving his money, he's always been a little cautious. When it comes to the business, though, it's someone else's money he's playing with. He takes risks. Does dumb shit and it gets rewards.

He really is incredibly good at his job, though. It's part of the reason the women love him, you always think.

It's not.

They like him because he's kind and also so bloody hot he should be on billboards, not in boardrooms.

You like him because he's competent.

In fact, you think there's nothing hotter than a competent man who just knows how to get shit done. And when said competent man can cook like Jungkook? Cares for his dog in the way he does? Looks like he does?

Sigh.

You ignore the way he looks a lot of the time, but you've a pair of eyes and a part of your brain that recognises attractive men. It's hard to ignore all of the time.

"Anyway," he shakes his head. "Not important. She's perfectly fine if not a little misguided—but she isn't you. So, stop worrying about it."

You take a second before you reply. Flick the camera back to you.

It surprises Jungkook, how Confusion has travelled through his bloodstream. Her bony fingers toy with his heart, and he's taken aback by just how sharp her nails are.

Looking at you never used to feel like this. He's not sure why it does now.

You muster up a little courage, even if you can't bring yourself to look at him properly. Let out a deep sigh. Now or never. You run the risk of causing another fight, but if you don't come clean, it'll only dirty everything.

"I just thought we kind of had an agreement, Kook," you eventually whine with an ever-so childish pout.

The hands that have been tearing at his heart migrate through his bloodstream. Get into his brain. Get into his house. Opens doors. Begins moving the furniture.

Stay out of the annexe, his thoughts hiss at Confusion.

Still he seems perfectly calm when he asks, "Watcha mean?"

He's not making this easy for you.

In fact, you'd say he's making it difficult. It would be far easier for you if he just acknowledged what he's already done.

"Well, just..." you take a moment or so to think about how it can be phrased with any dignity—and then you think fuck it. "She's in my department, Kook. I always thought you wouldn't fuck anyone I have to directly work with. It just makes it awkwa—"

"Woah, woah woah," he interrupts. Confusion sits on his shoulder, now, with a twisted smirk on her greyed-out face. "Wouldn't fuck anyone? What the hell do you think I've been doing?!"

"Well, I mean, it's less what and more... who," you joke a little too flippantly.

You don't think he's ever looked so offended in the entire time you've known him.

"You've got to be kidding me."

If anything, you're a bit surprised by just how offended he is. Jiwon is an incredibly pretty girl. A little young for him, granted, but not abhorrently so.

"What?!" You reply, equally confused, then relay everything back to him. "She woke you up this morning getting ready? Was in your room when I called you? Fucking got on your bed right in front of my face and cosied up with you to look at Bam."

Admittedly, that last one was said with a little venom. It annoys you the most.

"She woke me up this morning from across the room," he counters. "Was in our room because we were a last-minute addition to the convention, and it was the only room left within a ten-mile radius—twin beds, may I add! If I don't even share my bed with you when I'm at home, then what the hell makes you think I'd share one with her?! Yeah, the call thing was weird. I'm not gonna lie, it was, but I answered when she was around because I didn't want either of you to get the wrong impression."

A smile wobbles on your lips, as you try to remain stoic. Either of you. You know that you apparently got the wrong end of the stick—but you're not entirely sure what he means by either of you. You wonder what impression he's trying to give her, then decide it's not important.

You clasp your hands together. Lean forward. Put on your best noble old man voice, and say, "Well, it appears that it might have just happened, regardless."

Confusion's perch on Jungkook's shoulder is knocked loose when he laughs, though those sharp nails do claw onto his back. Leave scratch marks that will take a little while to heal—what's important is that they will.

One day, this awkward misstep will be something you laugh about. Kind of like he is, now. You'll forget your tears, but you won't ever forget the strange feeling of weight lifting off your shoulders, mind eased by Jungkook.

"You're a fucking idiot," he laughs with such fondness it almost doesn't feel like an insult. "Seriously? You thought I fucked her? And was then, what? Trying to brag about it? C'mon, you little gremlin! Give me some credit."

Never before has 'gremlin' ever sounded so kind. So warm. So much like 'darling', or 'mon amour'. Secret code for unspoken words.

"I don't know," you whine. Bam shuffles a little bit on the sofa behind you, turning his face away from the noise. You reach back to scratch his head as an apology. Jungkook smiles. Your care for his baby is so innate that you don't even realise you're doing it. "Her hair was damp, and she was practically falling out of her top—"

"Oh, but what I am supposed to do?" He laughs. "I can't tell her to cover up in her own damn room, and even then I just ignore it. I didn't sleep with her. I'm not going to sleep with her. Okay?"

He's not even thought about it. Feels nothing when he looks at her. No excitement. Even if she is attractive, he doesn't think his body would work properly.

Hasn't been working as it should do for the best part of a year now.

Or maybe it would better be referred to as 'malfunctioning'.

'Cause it seems to work okay when he thinks about you.

He 'malfunctioned' earlier on that day, as a matter of fact. Was just showering. And he missed you. And was thinking about those damn pyjama shorts. How smooth your legs had been when he'd hoisted you over his shoulder. How pliant you'd been as he chucked you down into his sheets. Your sleepy eyes and the 3AM husk to your voice. Fuck.

Even thinking about it in a dingy hallway of a convention centre, with your pretty face smiling at him through his phone, is making his heart race. If he doesn't get a hold on it, he'll go into cardiac. Might just flatline.

"Look, I gotta get back, okay?" He softly says. It's not a lie, but it is more sensible than he wants to be. "Have to make sure Jiwon hasn't sold the company to the acorn guy. There's a networking event tonight, so I can't call during Bammie's walk, but I'll check in at some point."

"Alright," you nod, a little sad to see him go, but understanding of it. "Hurry up and come home. Bam misses you."

"I miss him, too," Jungkook pouts. "Show me my baby before I go."

Phone angled to fully capture Bam, you indulge Jungkook for a few moments before he really does have to go. He lingers for a second or so after you say goodbye. Can't muster up anything good to say to make you stay.

Holding the stem of the single peony you'd taken home with you, you roll it between your thumb and fingers. Watch the petals twirl.

"What should I do, hey, Bam?" You wistfully sigh, eventually getting up to pop it in a glass of water. Jungkook has no vases, for he's never had any need for flowers.

The peony isn't the only thing blooming in his kitchen these days, though. It hasn't been for a while.

Work passes slowly that afternoon. You want to get home. See Bam. Finish off the wine you opened so that Jungkook doesn't scold you for letting it turn into vinegar when he gets back. And then you wanna sleep—just so you can wake up the next morning and take Bam on his walk.

It's not like that isn't part of your agenda tonight, too. It's just that Jungkook won't be around for that one.

Instead, his evening is spent in fancy rooms with men in even fancier suits and women who take a fancy to him, too. A whisky is in his hands at all times, his pretty lips embroiled in conversation. He talks so much he barely has any time to drink.

People gravitate towards him; those who feel threatened by his charm gravitate towards Jiwon. Mistake her for a prize he's trying to keep. Don't realise his unbothered facade is anything but a facade.

It's gone midnight by the time he's kicking off his shoes with a little wobble as he gets to his hotel room.

"I'm being serious," he almost giggles, phone between his shoulder and his ear as he loosens his cufflinks. "It's a wig. I'm positive."

280 miles away, phone on your tummy, loudspeaker on as you gaze up at Jungkook's bedroom ceiling, you're laughing too.

"It can't be," you protest the current topic of conversation—Mr Acorn (as he's now affectionately known between you both) and whether or not his hair is real. Jungkook had left Jiwon to continue her poorly judged perusal of him, in favour of checking in with you instead. There was no one else at that party he wanted to talk to more than he wanted to talk to you. Laughing and joking about stupid shit, he's glad you answered. "He went swimming on Singles Inferno!"

"So?!" Jungkook snorts, tapping his phone over to loudspeaker too and tossing it down onto his sheets. A little haphazard, he's unbuttoning his shirt. Is a little tipsy, but not enough to warrant any huge issues. "Maybe he used industrial strength glue."

"Surely he'd rather people just know he was bald? Start a trend?"

"Maybe he's got a terrible head tattoo," Jungkook theorises, tossing his shirt across to a chair, before finally discarding his pants, too. Is just in his boxers now as he clambers into the sheets. "Bald eagle. An ex's name. I dunno. But I'd take chemical burns over that."

"You'd never get a girl's name tattooed on you," you laugh in response. Legs tucked up, heels to your ass, you let your knees gently sway. Bam is curled up in his own bed by the foot of Jungkook's. You're not on facetime, mainly 'cause Jungkook clicked the wrong button, but it's also nice not using poor Bam as an excuse to talk to you.

"And I'm also not balding, so we don't have to worry about that."

"Are you not?" You hum, just to wind him up. "I swear there's a patch of missing hair—"

"Shut up," he cuts you off, voice just as fond as it is stern. "I will swim all the way back to the mainland and speed run up to Seoul just to shut you up. Don't speak it into existence. I have great hair."

"Mmm," you hum. Sinking a little further into his sheet, you turn on your side. Take him off speaker. Hold your phone to your ear. Look at the empty side of his bed and wonder what it'd be like if he were here. Know better than to indulge it. "And you are just so modest, too. Absolutely no ego whatsoever."

"It's why the ladies love me," he jokes, not realising just how true it is. Jungkook takes a moment before he says anything else. Is comforted by the silence you leave for him, totally unaware it's because you're not sure how to respond. "Not that it matters."

Though his delivery is soft and airy, like feathers falling from a well established nest, it lands in your chest with a heavy thud, like a stone from a bridge. You couldn't swerve in time. It shattered your windshield; plummeted straight into your heart. 'Causes a pile up on the freeway, all your thoughts held behind a tongue that cannot speak.

"You tired?" Jungkook hums down the speaker when a response never comes. "I'm sorry, I can let you go?"

"No," you say incredibly quickly considering you've been leaving your side of the conversation empty. "No, sorry. Just can't believe you're actually behaving yourself. Who are you, and what have you done with Cassanova that normally takes a hold of you after a few drinks?"

He's right here, Jungkook laments, knowing better than to act on the way he's been feeling lately. Just says, "Maybe I'm maturing."

"I find that hard to believe," you tell him. If the tiktok psychology gurus who have taught you everything you know about modern men are anything to go by, his brain should have finished fully developing about a year ago.

And while Jungkook would tell you to get fucked and that his brain was already fully developed, he knows that if he sat down and really thought about it, maybe it'd hold some merit. Afterall, it's been about a year since those first thoughts about you started creeping into his mind house.

It's only recently that he's been flirting with that damn annexe door, but he's been aware of someone in there for a while, now.

"What?" He smiles down the phone, resting an arm on his bare abdomen, looking up at the dark ceiling of his hotel room. "Maybe I am. Maybe shagging random girls doesn't excite me anymore."

"You're lying."

"Am I?"

"Yes," you insist, but there's a smile on your face.

There's something about his denial you enjoy.

It's why you're arguing against him. You wanna hear him deny it again. Tell you he doesn't care about other girls. You don't necessarily want him to care about you beyond what he already does. Or at least that's what you tell yourself.

"No," he simply replies back. "I'm not."

"So if Jiwon—"

"Why are you bringing her up again?" He's smirking, now. You can hear it in his tone. "Are you jealous?"

"Jealous?!"

"Yeah," He insists, just like you had been earlier. "You don't like the idea of her sleeping with me."

Incorrect. You don't like the idea of him sleeping with her.

"Well, no," you admit. "But because I work with her—"

"That's not it," he fights against you. Knows that you didn't go and see Mingyu when you said you would, and also now knows you said you would after you thought he'd slept with Jiwon. He might not be able to read women's minds, but he's learnt your M.O. pretty well over the years.

"You're drunk," you whisper, trying to hide behind the alcohol that both of you have in your systems. Neither of you are in any position to make sensible choices.

"Tipsy," he corrects. "And so are you. Go on. Be honest. Tell me."

"There's nothing to tell."

"Yeah, there is," he whispers, his words far braver in sentiment than they are in sound.

You swallow. Can't work out if he's just teasing you or not. "There's nothing."

The silence in the room around you is deafening. It's like all you can focus on is Jungkook, and the way you imagine his lips pouting together at the end of each sentence he speaks. Pretty and pink and—

"So you've never thought about it?" He interrupts your thoughts with a question you're unprepared for. 

"What?" You reply a little dismissively, as if it's an outlandish think to consider.

But Jungkook doesn't buy it.

Has been driving himself insane.

Knows he can't be the only one—and if he is, then maybe he really is insane.

"Us," he replies as if it's water off a duck's back. Simple. Easy. "You've never wondered what it would be like?"

"Kook..."

It's like playing chicken. Both too scared to cross a line for fear of it changing the entire fabric of your lives.

But you can acknowledge something without acting on it. Confirmation means nothing; it's the choices that follow which really mean something,

"Yeah?" He husks. His sleepy eyes are pressed shut, his voice a slow drawl. "What is it, huh? You want me to admit it first?"

You almost laugh at how dumb this whole conversation is. You're friends. Have been for years. Colleagues. Just... Well, just you and Jungkook. He's never thought about you like that. You're certain of it.

Yet still, you ask, "Well, have you?"

He doesn't reply immediately. You half think he's drifted off to sleep, proof that he'd had too much to drink to be having a conversation like this.

But then you hear his breathy little laugh through the speaker. You know he must be nibbling down on his bottom lip as he smirks. The sound is so familiar you can picture it. You wish he was here. Want to see it. Feel it.

Fuck, you curse yourself out. This is not good.

And Jungkook's only gonna make it a whole lot worse.

"Yeah," he quietly admits, keys in one hand and padlock in the other as he stares at the annexe door in his mind. Wide open, there's no going back now. Only forward. "I think about it all the time."

Bam nuzzles the side of his head against your tummy as he adjusts into a slightly more comfortable position on Jungkook's bed. The sheets are a mess from all your tossing and turning, your body plonked right in the middle of his mattress. There's no his side or your side anymore. You've made it yours, and Bam has joined in.

He shouldn't be on the bed. You know this, he knows this. You're both disobeying Jungkook. Are in this perfectly innocent sin together, and will face the wrath of Jungkook as a unit.

There's never really much wrath that comes from Jungkook. He's the type to smirk and laugh in the face of the people who've wronged him. Believes in karma. Fate. He draws the lines at horoscopes, though. Thinks they're bollocks. Smiles, still, when you blame shitty things on Mercury.

The only time you've ever seen him angry—nostrils flaring, jaw tense, agitated beyond compare—was when some guy wouldn't stop hitting on you in a bar. You'd told him no a dozen times over and he just wouldn't listen.

It still pisses you off that he listened to Jungkook without hesitation, but you also know it looked like Jungkook was gonna break his nose. You're far less intimidating when you're annoyed. Jungkook laughs at you whenever you get frustrated. Says you're cute—or at least as cute as a Gremlin can be.

You've got a similar look on your face now, all perplexed and bereft. If he were here, he'd be teasing you, trying to make you crack a smile.

Annoyingly, you know he'd be able to.

You're staring up at his ceiling, early morning light seeping in through the gaps in the curtains. The world you wish to ignore today rudely intrudes on you regardless.

It's his karma, you think.

You disobey Jungkook, the world disobeys you.

With one hand resting on Bam, the other is tightly clutching your phone. For the past five minutes, you've been locking and unlocking it like a wind-up toy drummer.

To call, or not to call, or whatever Shakespeare said.

The faint hum of a wine-induced hangover buzzes between your ears, but it isn't so bad. Probably because you didn't really have that much to drink.

If anyone asks, you'll say you had a bottle.

And by anyone, you mean Jungkook.

If Jungkook asks, you'll laugh— We had a call? Are you sure? —and he'll laugh too— Yeah, we were both pretty drunk —and you'll both pretend like he didn't say the words that he did.

Pulling the pillow he usually sleeps on across to your face, you press it down. Scream into the padding. It's not loud enough to alarm Bam, but it is enough to make him cock his head.

It wouldn't have been so bad if it had only been Jungkook's lips that were loose last night.

The issue is that yours were, too.

You wish you didn't remember all the words you'd said. The way you'd told him to shut up.

The way he'd hummed, "Oh, come on. You know you think about it, too."

The way you'd said, "I do no such thing."

He had laughed. Said you were a liar.

You'd protested. Said it didn't matter anyways, 'cause you both know it'd never work.

"So you have thought about it," he'd teased.

"Briefly."

"How briefly?"

"Like a matter of minutes—"

"Okay, rude," he'd pouted through the receiver. "I last way longer than a couple of minutes."

"You're disgusting," you'd laughed at the way he'd made it all about sex.

For all he knew, you could have been talking about a relationship—but you're right. You both know it'd never work, so of course this is about sex.

"You the one who's thought about it, though," he'd flirted through the phone. Biting down on his bottom lip, the darkness of his hotel room had slipped him into a fatal state of hedonism.

There was a beat of his heart. One. Two. Still no response from you.

He knew you were thinking about it. Thinking about him. Decided to push his luck. Had almost whispered, his fingertips trailing down his torso, as he chanced, "Do you ever think about me when you touch yourself?"

Silence continued to linger for longer than it should have, until you finally just whispered, "Kook."

"Yeah?" He'd smirked.

"You can't ask things like that."

But he can, and he did, and your lack of an answer was an answer in and of itself.

He wasn't even really after the truth. He just wanted to get under your skin; burrow himself down into the deepest, darkest, most depraved corner of your brain. Revenge, he thinks, for that damn annexe you've assigned squatters rights to.

You set up home in him? Fine . He'll do it right back.

"So this is what I am, huh?" You'd replied, with a little faux chip on your shoulder, trying to deflect from yourself. "Just another office girl for you to fantasize about?"

There's always been a challenge to you that Jungkook has liked. You're sparring partners. Will bicker and argue and end up laughing over it all. It makes for excellent brainstorming meetings, 'cause you're always trying to win. You bring out the best in each other, even if it is in a bid to do the opposite.

Jungkook had sighed. Weighed up his options. Rested his hands over his boxers, only to find himself far too entertained by the conversation. It wasn't a surprise, nor was it unwelcome.

The frequency of his thoughts about you had been doubling, tripling, quadrupling ever since Chuseok.

His bed has become a pit of sin in recent weeks; nobody but him in the shrouded decay of a mind-house he's been neglecting in favour of the annexe shared with you.

He already knows just how bad it's gonna be for him when he returns home, and the pillows are dented by your crown, the lingering scent of your perfume wrapping around him just like he knows his hand will be around his cock. Tight. Strong. Firm. It's your name he'll whine, just like it was when he was in the shower earlier that morning.

God, it's gotten so bad.

He needs to stop before he ruins everything.

It's not like sex is an uncommon topic of conversation between you both. Casual vulgarity had been a tool used to bond with; a taboo way to tease one another. It's always been casual. Uncalculated.

It's different, now.

In the darkness of midnight, the stakes were raised almost as high as your heart rate.

"You think so poorly of me," he'd whined, a teasing smile on his lips. It wasn't rare to hear Jungkook address you so playfully. In fact, it was a common occurrence—yet it felt strange, this time. "You know you're not just another office girl."

"Do I?"

"You should."

"I don't," you'd shrugged into his sheets. "Tell me, how am I different?"

The distance between you made a flirt like this safe. Immediate consequences were null and void, and the alcohol in your system didn't seem to care for it either.

"I can't tell you."

"Sure you can."

"You don't wanna hear it," he'd promised.

"Try me," you'd challenged.

And then Jungkook admitted something he knew far better than to confess, but couldn't seem to help himself. He just wanted you to know that you were special. That you were different.

That you are different. Are special.

"None of the office girls have ever made me cum in my own bed."

It came out far less sweet than his brain had told him it would, but it was still a compliment, he thought.

"Jungkook!"

"What?!"

The way you both kind of shrieked at each other only amplified the shock of the confession, but also did well to hide the way it excited you, too. Got you hot beneath his sheets. Aroused.

"Don't say things like that," you'd scolded him with a laugh, playing it off as a joke. "I'll report you to HR."

"You'd do no such thing," he'd smirked down the line. Matched your energy. Played it off as an incredibly obscene, vulgar joke. Will turn his nose up if you ever ask him if he was telling the truth. "And anyways, the HR girls love me. You'd be fighting a losing battle."

"You're awful," you'd told him with such a tenderness that suggested you really didn't think that at all.

And so he smiled. Decided to cut his losses. Agreed. "Yeah. That's me."

The conversation dissolved into casual chatter until you both made excuses about being tired, or needing to sleep off the alcohol.

Yet both of you would spend the next hour awake, staring at your respective ceilings. Occasionally, you'd look to the space reserved for him in his bed. He'd do just the same. Would look at Jiwon's empty bed and lament the fact that it wasn't you on the trip with him.

He never should have asked you to watch over Bam—but there really isn't anyone else he'd rather have in his apartment.

Then he's thinking about you all over again, in his home, hair claw-clipped like it so often is, and how cute those little pyjama shorts of yours would look peeking out from the hemline of one of his shirts. He wonders what you're wearing; if it's your bare skin against his sheets. Wonders if he sleeps naked after he gets home, if it'd feel like your arms are wrapped around him; if the scent of your perfume would sink into his skin.

It doesn't take long for the thoughts to become lewd. He thinks of your lips, and how they'd part with a gasp if he were to stroke your skin with his fingertips. Thinks of your waist, and what it would feel like to hold. Thinks of your body in a way that really ought to get him fired.

How his lips could drag across your skin; the wet pink of his tongue learning where you liked to be touched. How he'd guide your hands. The words of approval he'd use— Yeah, like that. Oh, fuck. Yeah, just like that, baby. You're so good at that aren't you, huh? You know how many times I've imagined this? You're so much better. G'na make me cum, babe. Keep going. You want my cum, yeah? Yeah, you do. Oh, fuck—

"No," he sharply scolds himself, tearing his thoughts from you and his hand from his thick, impatient cock. "Fucks sake, man. Get a grip."

Wanting you like this is selfish, he thinks. Selfish and stupid and— God —so fuckin' dumb.

He also thinks it's your fault. You're an interior designer, after all. Have made that stupid annexe feel more like a home than the rest of his head ever has. Added candles and cushions. Hung pictures on the wall; turned off the main light in favour of warm lamps that just make him wanna curl up and fall asleep with you on the sofa.

It's so different, this little annexe in his brain, to the apartment that he actually lives in.

If he were to assess it thoroughly, he'd realise that the annexe looks just like your apartment.

But he hates your place. Has never been shy about telling you so. Hates all your nicknacks. Hates the clothing rails you use instead of a proper wardrobe, and the way your beside table is actually just a stack of books you're yet to read. Hates how there's always a cosy blanket within touching distance, and how it always smells like black cherry candles. Hates how firm your mattress is, even if he's only ever slept on it once, fully clothed after you'd both had way too much to drink after a tight work deadline.

He also hated how he didn't wake up with an aching back like he usually does. Hated how sleeping in his own damn bed began to feel wrong, and how nowadays it only feels right during those first few days after he returns from trips; when it still smells like you and the rings you take off your fingers in the night are still tucked beneath his pillows.

Kind of like they are now, as you finally decide to stop being a miserable cow and just get up. You're normally the one who calls him, and it's typically always when you're walking Bam. Last night had been an anomaly. There's no reason for him to call you, now.

It's when you're showering that your phone lights up. Only briefly. Messages, not calls.

JK: can't call this morning, gotta head to the exhibition hall early

JK: give my baby a head scratch from me

JK: send me pics!!

JK: of bam

JK: none of you

While the vomit emoji he adds onto the end of the final message is a little uncalled for, it's actually kind of a relief that he doesn't want to call. Having to face him right now, when you're in such a sorry state of confusion, would have only made the situation far worse for you.

At least that's what you tell yourself.

Your face when you walk into the office, and the state of despair Lea seems to find you in, would suggest otherwise.

By half past ten, you've managed to wrangle Jungkook into conversation eight times.

It's not until you mention him in relation to Jiwon that Lea seems to notice.

"Okay, so?" She laughs. "Everyone knows you and Jungkook are like a package deal. She isn't taking your spot—plus, you're her senior . If she tried to undercut you, do you think anyone would want to work with her?"

It's a good point, but you don't really care to listen to reason right now.

"But it's not undercutting," you pout. "You saw everyone in the group chat. Dream team. "

The way your voice heightens in pitch and nose turns up as you utter the phrase is nothing short of hilarious, and Lea makes sure to let you know.

"You're being a big old baby about this," she laughs again. "Jungkook's gonna come back, relay all of the deals he's set up, and then he's gonna whisk you up to his office to spend the next two weeks drawing up plans. I doubt I'll even see you!"

Admittedly, in the busy periods, you'll work at his desk. In the big chair. The special one he got after his first bonus. The one on his side of the desk. He'll work on the opposite side—the client side—with his laptop.

It's caused a fair amount of confusion before, whenever people have come to his office. Your nonchalance about it all makes it seem totally normal. Most people don't question it anymore—and if they do, you just say the programme you have to use runs better on his computer than it does on a laptop.

Which isn't a lie.

But you could always just work at your own desk.

The issues is that Jungkook likes to keep you close when he's working. Makes it easier for the random questions he blurts out that you're always ready to answer. Annoys him to no end when you're not there and he has to go off and find you.

By the time he finds you, the question is always half gone or you start blathering on about something completely irrelevant and he forgets it anyway. It makes him antsy not having you close.

Neither of you seem to realise it's not normal.

"Look," Lea sighs, minimising her tab so that she can give you her full attention. "You're the one who suggested Jiwon should go. It's just work! You're acting like a jealous girlfriend—"

"No, I'm not!" You gasp. "Don't be absurd!"

"Well, whose apartment did you wake up in?"

"That's hardly—"

"Whose?"

"I mean— Well— His, but —"

"Who was the first person you spoke to this morning?"

"Okay, that's not fair. I'm looking after his—"

"Who was the last person you spoke to last night?"

You pause. Narrow your eyes.

Lea just smiles.

"At least tell me you're in the spare room and not his bed," she jokes—but when she notices the look on your face, her smile drops. "Oh, you're kidding me! You know what you're like when it comes to domestication ! You're bloody nesting , aren't you?!"

"Oh c'mon," you scoff. "I'm not an animal!"

"Uh, yeah," she says, dumbfounded. "You are. That's the issue with humans. Too many bloody primal desires—"

"I do not have a primal desire for Jungkook!"

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you've never thought about it."

"I haven't!" You assert, eyes locked on hers. It's almost believable. Or at least it is until your lips begin to twitch. The look of shock on her face is borderline offensive. "Oh my God, shut up!"

Lea's face scrunches up in revulsion. Shoulders to her ears, she whispers, "He's a whore !"

"Okay, that's not nice."

"But it's true!"

Sighing, you slump into your chair. Push your pout up to your nose, and then sigh even deeper than before.

Looking across at Lea with such perplexity anyone would think she's just asked you to design interiors for a rocket ship, you decide you absolutely cannot let this confusion get the better of you.

"It's fine," you assure her. "He's coming home tomorrow evening. Once I'm out of his house, I'll be way more rationable about things."

"You sure?"

No.

"I'm sure."

As Jungkook places his rucksack down beside a bar stool in an airport lounge, he can't help but feel like he's doing something wrong.

It's dark outside, and the dim lights of the bar give way to a seedy intimacy that he's always loved about places like this—how fleeting they are. The casual embrace of a stranger's stare can linger for hours afterwards, consuming his thoughts for an entire flight.

Yet the only people he's even looked in the eyes of tonight have been the airport staff checking him through. Even as he asks for a whisky, he barely registers the woman behind the bar.

Placing his phone down, he also discards the lanyard that's been around his neck. He forgot to take it off before heading to their airport, and just popped it back on after going through the scanners.

It's not like he needs it now. The conference centre is miles away.

He's still in his business suit. Left quickly. Just confirmed with Jiwon that she didn't mind him catching an earlier flight and in all honesty, it suited her better. Jungkook had been so annoying about Acorn guy the entire time. Kept telling her it was a waste of energy, and no business would come from her pursuit of him. She wanted the chance to prove him wrong; to achieve something by herself.

"Are you Leaving early, too?" An American accent drawls from beside him, immediately grabbing Jungkook's attention.

A burly man with greying hair takes a perch on the stool beside Jungkook. Nodding towards the lanyard, he holds up his own. Mitch Ellis his tag reads, and instantly Jungkook is reminded of the folder you had handed to him before his departure.

"Did a little research on an American company that's gonna be at the Expo. Their head marketer has shares in a bunch of baseball-related companies. Get pally with him."

The opportunity hadn't arisen. Jungkook barely even had time to breathe, let alone seek out some elusive American businessman—yet here he is, in the flesh, approaching Jungkook.

Sucking a little air between his teeth, Jungkook nods. Laughs. Says, "Got a family to get back to."

What. The. Fuck.

He doesn't know why on earth he said that, he just knows he can't take it back. A family. For Christ's sake! It's not just the abandoned house in his brain that's rotting—it's the whole damn thing. Stupid .

Pursing his lips in approval, Mitch nods. Lends an expression that Jungkook can only assume means he respects the answer.

"Family man," he says. "Don't see many of them in the industry these days."

Jungkook shrugs. Continues on with his bullshit. "I love my job, but home's where the heart is." Or at least, it's where his dog is. Of course, he loves Bam more than he cares to articulate—but a man and his dog surely don't constitute to a 'family'. "You off early, too?"

"Wife and kids tagged along for the trip," he nods, then quickly asks the barmaid for a whisky, too. "Promised I'd take them to Lotte World tomorrow."

Jungkook grimaces. "Ooft, on a Saturday?"

"The crowds that bad, huh?"

Gritting his teeth, Jungkook tips his head from side to side, then says, "Get magic passes for the family. It's worth the extra price. Trust me."

He'd never dream of going to Lotte World on a Saturday.

In fact, he doesn't dream of it full stop. Grew up going to the Busan franchise, and would opt for it any day of the week. Everland would be his second choice if couldn't be bothered for the drive. But never the Jamsil Lotte World. It's always rammed .

"I swear, kids—" Mitch shakes his head "—All they do is bleed you dry."

Jungkook smiles. "I'm yet to reach that stage, but I can imagine."

Mitch looks appropriately confused. Did Jungkook not just make up a bullshit imaginary family? Surely he hasn't faltered already?

Jungkook clarifies, "Going home to my girl and my dog. No kids—or at least if I've acquired one over the last couple of days, it'll be a surprise."

He doesn't know why he said that.

My girl.

Oh, God. He's going insane. He must be. This is ridiculous.

Those stupid dreams of his had already started migrating into daydreams. Now, they're being spoken into reality. This is terrible. Really, truly, awful.

Mitch has an easy ten, maybe twenty years on Jungkook.

His hair is greying, and there are lines embedded into his skin that tell stories of the life he's lived.

While it's his career Jungkook would typically be envious of, he finds himself jealous of Mitch's personal life. Wife. Kids. God, he hates the conformity of it all, but there's an ache in his chest when he thinks about all that he doesn't have.

And it only worsens when he thinks of you and Bam.

"Ah, young love," Mitch nods, again seemingly in approval of Jungkook and his 'choices'—which is bizarre, because Jungkook wants to punch himself in the face. "Make the most of it. You'll be longing for the good old days once the kids come."

It's too late for Jungkook to correct himself. Too late to admit to the truth. To say 'lol, jk, im single, just fancy the pants off my coworker.'

The thought of it all makes him want to hurl. Fancy.

He's never admitted his crush before, not even to himself. Oh, this is all so awful.

And so Jungkook panics. Says, "Hopefully we've got a couple years before then. We're both at the same company, so we're trying to figure it all out before doing anything we can't take back."

What is wrong with you?!

"Oh?" Mitch chirps, encouraging Jungkook to continue.

"Were interns at the same time," Jungkook begins to overexplain, as if it makes it any better. He's speaking a crush into existence that he isn't even sure exists, and declaring it as love of some sorts? Oh, this is really barbaric. He might throw up. Maybe if he pretends to faint, he can get out of this situation. He thinks it would be less mortifying. Yet, still, he continues! "Have gone up through the ranks together, but are different departments."

Why is he still talking about you?!

Oh God, his head is gonna explode. It's like you're building an extension on the annexe. He never gave you planning permission, and yet there you are, concrete trowel in one hand, a brick in the other. You're so pretty, he thinks.

Get a grip!

"HR nightmare," Mitch laughs, then leans a little closer. "Truth be told, it's how me and the missus met—I worked for her Daddy's company. Thought I'd be fired on the spot when we told him."

"But I'm guessing...?"

Mitch nods. "I'm now their longest-serving employee and am set to take over in the next five years," he laughs. Thankfully, it all worked out. Hopefully, the same'll be said for you and your missus."

Jungkook's lips curve into a tight-lipped smile. Decides he has to change topic, or otherwise he might just self-implode. "Yeah. Fingers crossed—anyway, I don't think we had a chance to speak at the conference, did we? What's your company?"

As if Jungkook has earned a gold seal of approval, Mitch nods his head over towards a couple of chairs that overlook the runways. Picks up his whisky. Begins to walk away. Says, "I was about to ask you the exact same thing. What did you say your name was again? Let's talk."

"Jeon Jungkook," he grins, picking up his whisky, finally forcing you out of his brain. "Yeah. Let's chat."

"Bammie," you whine into Jungkook's pillows when the sound of his paws excitedly clattering across the floorboards wakes you. You can't have been asleep for very long. A couple hours, tops. "It's not time for walkies yet."

Burrowing yourself deeper into Jungkook's sheets, you try and drown out the noise–but it's fruitless. Not only is Bam too cute to ignore, you worry that there's something wrong.

Sitting up, eyes all beary, the dark nothingness around you clues you in on the fact it's definitely the middle of the night. Pushing the duvet off your body, you swing your legs over the side of the bed as your phone begins to vibrate. Jungkook's face takes over your screen, and a frown takes over yours.

Part of you wants to ignore it. Wonder if maybe you've already slept through it ringing out, and that's what woke Bam up.

At this time of the evening, Jungkook should be at the afterparty. It's unofficial, and not endorsed by the convention, which only means one thing: people are getting legless.

He'd sent you a message earlier on in the day saying that Jiwon was still trying her absolute hardest to bag the Acorn man, after an unsuccessful attempt the night before. You wonder if he's wing-manning her.

Bitterly, you wonder if she's cut her losses. Turned her attention to Jungkook, instead.

He's probably shitfaced by now.

Part of you worries he'll want to continue the conversation from the night before. You're too sober to even consider flirting.

Sliding across to answer, you hold the phone to your ear and you begin to walk in the direction of wherever Bam may be.

"Yeah?" You croak down the phone, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand.

"You sound chirpy," he teases.

Bizarrely, you think he sounds sober. "Fuck off."

"Charming. Undo the bolt on the door," Jungkook demands down the line, but there's almost an echo, as if he's just in the other room or something like that.

Your feet softly pad into the living room, the darkness not much of a hindrance. You know his apartment like the back of your hand; the veins, the freckles, the grooves dappled in your skin below your knuckles. All it takes is a couple of steps for you to reach the light switch, and absolutely zero thought for you to flick it on.

"Hm?" You mumble a confused sound as light bursts into the room. Your eyes squeeze together, a groan catching in your throat. Blinking once, twice, you adjust quickly. Spot Bam by the entryway, looking up at the door expectantly. One of his paws taps at the steel, a soft whine trembling on his lips. Turning your attention back to Jungkook, you say, "What?"

"'I'm home, gremlin," Jungkook softly smiles down the phone. "Let me in."

"But it-" You begin to protest, knowing that his flight isn't until tomorrow.

Jungkook doesn't care to explain himself. Is just as tired as you sound.

"Let me in."

You don't need to be told twice.

He's home.

It shouldn't make you feel the way that it does, all warm and content.

But it does, and for a moment, you let yourself indulge in the sensation of welcoming Jungkook right back to where he belongs.

Hanging up, you place your phone on the kitchen counter, reaching out to scratch Bam's head when you get to the door.

"Is it daddy, huh?" You ask him as he continues to paw at the door. There's a small metallic click as you unthread the bolt, which is quickly replaced by a robotic beep as you press the easy-release button for the latch.

Before you can even properly open the door, the handle is being pressed down from the outside. The sound of Jungkook's hushed voice echoes into the hallway instantly as he coos over Bam just to wind him up a little before he can see him.

"Who is it, Bammie?" He asks through the door, and you already know exactly what he looks like—smile so large it takes over his entire face.

You help to push the door open, and find that there's sunshine in the middle of the night in Jungkook's hallway.

"You're home," you sleepily smile as you watch Jungkook crouch, arms wide and all-encompassing as he greets Bam in the most boisterous of ways. He's not making any sense. Isn't saying any words. Just lets noises rumble from his throat, of which Bam somehow seems to understand.

In a way, you understand it too. The mental translation is a bit patchy, but you know it's something along the lines of, I've missed you so much Bammie, Daddy's home now, let's never spend time apart ever again.

Glancing up to you, that daylight smile hanging off his lips, Jungkook's got a glisten in his tired eyes.

Maybe you haven't adjusted to the light as well as you think you have, but there's something different about Jungkook. Something that's making your weary heart work overtime. It's all a bit strange. All a bit lovely. All a bit terrifying.

"Yeah," he tenderly agrees, hands scratching behind Bam's floppy ears as his eyes fondly meet yours. How could he ever stay away? "Home."

part three to be uploaded tomorrow <3

[futurewdclandonorris]

Hotel Room | Lando Norris⁴

I might have stared at this gif for four hours who knows no one will ever know

Anyway

Pairings: Lando Norris x girlfriend!reader

Summary: you and Lando couldn't wait for the event you were attending to finish so you could go back to your hotel room and spend some time with each other

Warnings: smut, bit of fluff of course always, slightly dom Lando, a bit cringy beginning but hopefully it gets better

A/N: Let's enjoy ourselves Lando girlies after this (stressful) weekend and go on the summer break on a high Monday evening addition: Fuck, I promised to post this on Sunday after the race, but things came up, I'm so sorry mwah I hope this is as good as to make up for posting it late ♥

"Finally," Lando exhaled, closing the door behind you. "I thought it was never going to end."

You chuckled and gave him a look over your shoulder. He rushed to hug you from behind, burying his head in between your neck and shoulder and running his palms over your thighs under your dress.

"I couldn't wait to get you alone..." he murmured against your skin.

"Oh yeah?" you raised your eyebrows, smirking.

"Yes," he was leaving pepper kisses down your shoulder. "I couldn't wait for the event to finish—Oh, baby, you have no panties."

You turned your head to the side and said "I didn't put them on."

Lando's face lit up with curiosity. He instantly turned you around and knelt down.

"You mean, you had no panties for the whole evening?" he was gathering your dress, lifting it up.

"That's right." you answered, looking down at him.

"You naughty, let me see you." he lifted your dress, his eyes travelling up your legs. "Babe, you're soaking wet. You're leaving trails down your legs." he smirked up at you making you bite your lip nervously.

He stood up, cupped your face and kissed you, leading you backwards to the bed until you hit it with the back of your knees.

"Sit on the bed." he said in between kisses. "Perfect." he parted from you and took of his suit jacket, leaving him only in his white dress shirt.

He kissed you again, more forcefully this time, pushing you back until you were fully laying down with him on top of you. He kissed your jaw down to your neck, where he bit and sucked on the skin. His lips travelled across your collarbones, your fingers lost in his curls. His fingertips found the straps of your dress and slowly pushed them down off your shoulders while he kissed the valley in between your breasts. He grabbed the top of your dress and tugged it down, revealing your naked torso. He licked his lips before sucking on your right breast and cupping the other one. Your back arched, feeling his hot tongue around your nipple, feeling him biting, licking, nibbing, grazing his teeth. On your other boob, he worked with his fingers. Circling around it, pulling it, pinching, massaging it. Switching, he did the all the same the other way around. It was getting harder to hide your heavy breathing and panting. He kissed down your stomach and positioned himself on his knees before you. He grabbed your knees and separated your legs. You noticed his lips curl into a small smile.

"Ooh, baby, your thighs are glistening." he looked up at you, a wicked gleam in his green eyes. "Don't worry, baby, that's a good thing." he took you under your knees and kissed the inside of your thigh.

His mouth travelled up your leg in slow, long and sloppy kisses and bites. You would feel him smile against your skin every time your body made and unwilling twist or twitch. He would let you regain your composure and just lightly brush his lips and nose against your skin before continuing. As he was reaching the part where you needed him the most, he switched to your left thigh and did the same thing again. Kiss, bite, lick, suck, repeat until he reached your center and you felt his hot breath on you. Your breath hitched. He kissed the sides very close to your pussy lips. Your hand in his hair gripped his curls, signaling him to go.

He opened his mouth and pushed his tongue out on you. A shaky breath escaped your lips. He started with a few short licks, gradually making them longer and frequent to the point where he didn't even separate his face from your core. Reaching for your hands, he interlocked your fingers together and you gave him a squeeze. He was beginning to devour you, licking between your folds, sucking on your clit and biting from time to time even though he knew you didn't like that just to tease you a bit. You would clutch his hands tighter every time it was starting to feel a bit too much and every time he would respond back, slowing down and giving you time to come back to your senses. He was enjoying this and didn't want to make you cum too soon. Eating you out was his favorite thing to do.

You were holding onto him for dear life. As the time went on, everything started getting more intense. His tongue worked quicker and your legs were no longer in your control. They started to close in on him so he had to let go of your hands and basically force them open, otherwise you would have headlocked him (not that he would mind, really). Keeping his palms pressed on each of your thighs, he loved the feeling of your muscles tensing every time his teeth would graze you. But all of a sudden he stopped.

"I didn't give you permission to play with yourself."

Your hands immediately stopped. In such euphoria, you didn't even realize that you were palming your own boobs and playing with them. Are you going to get punished now? Would that be a shame...

"But you're so sexy when you do that so please continue." he smirked and you squeezed your boob, giving him what he wanted.

He dived once again, and included his fingers this time. He started slowly with just one, but soon you started wriggling around and him knowing your body language, knew you wanted more. You let a very loud moan out when you felt his second finger entering you.

"Do you want to come?" he asked.

"Y-yes." you whimpered.

"I don't know, you misbehaved a little..."

You whined.

"But I can't deny you your pleasure."

Oh, sweet baby Jesus, what did I do to deserve this man? A few more strokes in and out and a tongue play, you were ready for your first release of the night.

"You can let go now, baby. Let go." he didn't have to tell you twice. With a loud cry you finished all over his fingers.

Still a bit delirious, you felt him pulling you by the arms, your lips meeting half way as he sat you up still kissing you. Your hands immediately went for his pants in search for the belt, but he stopped you midway.

"No, not yet." he rested his forehead against yours as he breathed. "Stand up." and so you did, with his help.

There you stood with just your dress on your hips before him. He wasn't doing anything, he was just staring into your eyes with his green ones, his thumbs caressing your cheeks. He pulled you closer and your lips were on his once again. But this kiss was sweeter and more gentle than the other ones. Full of love and adoration. Nothing and everything was said at that moment. How much he adored you, how much he cared for you, how you were enough and there was no other who could compare and there never will be.

"Unbutton my shirt." he whispered in between kisses and your fingers went to work the same second. Even though you did this multiple times already, your hands still trembled and that never failed to make him laugh.

"It's just me." he reassured.

Exactly!

"I know." you whispered back, not daring to look him in the eyes knowing he was peering down on you, and just focused on popping the buttons instead.

Soon, all the buttons were popped and his toned chest and stomach were exposed. Your eyes travelled up his body to his face, your fingers itching to touch him.

"Undress me."

You pressed your palms on his hot skin and slid them up to his shoulder, pushing the shirt off. He let it fall behind him.

"Turn around." he instructed further.

You spun with no objections. In a way, Lando's word was like the law you would never break. In a bedroom with Lando you were losing all your power and were totally submitted to him. He took a bit too long to untie your dress, fiddling with the knots at the back of it.

"Do you need help?" you turned your head to the side.

"You're not the only one who's nervous." you both smiled and he kissed the back of your shoulder.

Finally, he undid all knots, sank his hands in your dress and pushed it over the hips and down your legs, his palms gliding your skin and pulling you closer to him. You felt his grown member against your ass and his hot torso on your back. He's been hard for quite some time now, it must be painful for him to be trapped in all that fabric. He kissed the back of your neck and turned you around to face him, giving you another kiss on the lips. You stepped closer and wrapped your arms around him. Roaming his upper body, you kissed every mole on his face, his jaw from one side to the other, before lowering to his neck. He closed his eyes and surrender under your touch. As your head was going lower from kissing his chest down to his stomach (every mole on his stomach got a special little kiss too!) so were you sinking to your knees. You felt him shiver when your lips touched his lower abdomen and his breath hitch.

You positioned yourself on your knees in front of him and looked up with your big eyes, biting your lower lip. His chest was visibly moving up and down now. He took your hands and put them on the clasp of his belt, practically begging you to hurry up and free him. You undid his belt all the while staring up at him. His lips parted from the sight, breathing through the mouth. You knew he was getting uncomfortably impatient, but he was a tease to you too. You removed the belt from the hoops and unfastened the pants, pulling the zipper as slowly as possible. He exhaled very impatiently and you couldn't help but smile. You dug your fingers in the waistband and tugged his pants down. You traced your fingertips up his calves and over his thighs, admiring his legs until you reached his boxers. He really had some nice legs.

You cupped his bulge in your palm and looked up at him. He was looking right back at you, his eyes turning a darker shade of green. His hands were slightly shaking beside him and he was silently begging you to give him a rub. So you did. You moved your palm up and down his boxers, making him throw his head back and groan softly. After a few more rubs, you decided it was enough playing around. You tugged down his boxers, finally freeing his long trapped member. Through the lashes, you checked up on him once again. His lips were pressed together now and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. You pursed your lips as you took him in your hand. Both of your hands were working on him, because he was just that big, while still staring at him. After a few more slow strokes, you rested his tip on your pursed lips.

You slightly opened your mouth and wrapped your lips around it as if to give him a kiss. He hissed under his breath. You started kissing down his whole length, both sides, over and under. His hands instinctively found themselves into your hair, pulling it away from your face. You fully opened your mouth and put his dick on your tongue still not breaking the eye contact. He lightly tugged on your hair, letting you know he was so ready for you to take him. You closed your mouth around him, put your hands on his thighs for balance and swallowed him. You sucked on the tip and circled your tongue around it. You were preparing yourself to go further down on him even though you could hardly ever fit him whole. It's not that he was that big, it's just that he was on the thicker side and your mouth were so small. So yeah, he was big. With his help, you pushed yourself a further down on him. His mouth were leaving nothing but praises of how good you were to him, how good you were doing and how beautiful you looked with moaning in between. Half of his size was able to fit you now. You felt the tip touch the back of your throat. Almost there.

It was time to pick up pace and maybe add some hand play as well. You wrapped your right hand around the rest of him and your left grasped his balls. His moans were audibly getting louder from that point on. Soon your throat opened enough to take more of him. For you, this was torture, you could hardly even breathe, but for him your tight throat was heaven. And you would want your man to see stars when he's with you so if the price was to choke on his dick, let it be. It would be a pleasurable to go also. Now, you were visibly beginning to struggle, but you were so close to reaching your goal.

"Baby, you don’t have to—Oh my god…" his face crunched in pleasure as his whole length disappeared into your mouth. He held your head in place for a few seconds before he removed himself on his own.

"Breathe, baby, breathe." he caressed your head. "You're doing such an amazing job, you know that?" he bent down to kiss your plumed lips. "But I will have to stop you there, okay?" you nodded your head. "Come here," he kissed you again, straightening you up and laying you on the bed.

He positioned himself in between your legs above you. He ran his tip up and down your slit a few times, soaking into your wetness while you moaned into his mouth. He placed himself on your entrance and stood still.

"Are you ready?" he rested his forehead on yours, looking into your eyes.

"Yes." you answered, prompting your hips up.

His mouth devoured your as he pushed himself into you. You both moaned into each other's mouths. You wrapped your arms around his neck and tangled your fingers into his hair. He let you adjust to his size as he rocked slowly in and out of you. Your cries of pleasure filled the lightly dimmed room as he kissed your neck and cupper your breast. Your hips met his halfway and as yours rocked harder he knew he needed to pick up pace. Your nails dug into his back, leaving red trails that probably won't heal till morning. You were out of breath, only your whimpers helping you through this sweet, sweet torture. He bit into your neck, marking you as his and only his. You loved hickeys and love bites so he made sure to leave plenty all over your collarbones. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pushing him deeper into you. He was hitting all of the right spots at the right angle.

"Do you want to get on top?" he suddenly asked me.

"Why? Are you getting tired?" you smirked and pushed back a loose curl that fell forward.

"No, but I know your favorite position." he kissed you.

To his surprise, you flipped you over. He let his guard down while kissing you so you took that to your advantage. You fully sat back on him.

"I'm at your mercy, baby." he put his hands on your thighs.

You smiled and started rocking your hips back and forth. He gripped your skin tighter as he grimaced in pleasure. Slowly, you began bouncing up and down. His mouth hung open as he panted, his head thrown back into the pillow. You pressed your palms into his strong chest, giving yourself more balance as your moves fastened and his hands slid up to your sides.

"Look at me. Please." you said to him.

"You are so gorgeous." he opened his eyes, his gaze resting on you.

As if he knew, he prompted himself up a bit as you leaned down to kiss him. Once again, you were moaning into each other's mouths.

"Are you getting tired? Do you want me to take over?" you just nodded your head. "Come here." he wrapped his hands around you and you buried your head into his neck.

You bit into his shoulder as he pounded into you. One of his hands was in your hair and the other one on your ass squeezing it tight. Soon, you were able to help him as you moved on top of him, your skin pressed together.

"Lando..." you moaned into his ear.

"I know, baby, just a little more." he pushed the hair out of your face and you kissed him in response.

Your walls started clenching around him as his strokes became longer and deeper. We were both on the edge of our orgasms.

"Come with me, can you, baby?" he rushed the words out and you, unable to speak, nodded your head. "Let's do it." you sat back on him and you both released at the same time.

He wrapped his arms around you as he sat up with you still on top of him. He buried his head into your chest and you sank your hands into his curls. You both were trying to catch your breaths.

"You were amazing, baby." he kissed your collarbone.

"So were you." he smiled widely up at you and you brushed you nose against his. "We should probably get cleaned up."

"Yeah." he agreed. "Round two in the shower?" he perked up.

"Lando!" you smacked his shoulder.

"Kidding!" he laughed and kissed your shoulder. "It's been a long night, let's just take a shower and have you tucked in."

"Carry me? Please?" you pouted.

"Of course, I wouldn't have it any other way." he grabbed your butt and stood up with you in his arms.

You wrapped your limbs around him and rested your head on his shoulder. He was carrying you like a big baby.

And you best believe these big babies did have a round two in the shower.

[god-o-bees]

Nikto X Krueger X Reader

Pt2 SFW(Suggestive)

《•°~☆~°•~☆~•°~☆~°•~☆~•°~☆~°•》

That beta with the hood was sitting next to you again. It was a little unnerving, not being able to track his gaze. Still, you didn't really mind. Instead, you just payed extra attention to the sound of your knife against the sharpener, and the glide of the nib of the lubricant against the joints.

"Y/N, you remember me, right?" His voice is rhythmic, as if tied to a beat only he can hear. It's sharp enough to cut through your thoughts- and your attempt to ignore him.

"Krueger?" You confirmed.

"Ja, I'm glad you remembered. Say, if you don't have any plans, I'd like to treat you to dinner tonight."

Woah. Never had someone cut to the chase that quickly. And hey, you weren't going to turn down a free meal. Krueger seemed nice enough- a mischievous demeanor, but not malicious. You opened your mouth when you suddenly noticed the man behind him.

He was large- the same height as Krueger, just more muscle. The smell of gunpowder and anger hit you- an alpha. An alpha glaring at you like you just kicked his dog.

And now he was coming closer.

Krueger noticed your gaze moving behind him, but before he could turn around, the alpha's hand was on his shoulder.

"This is the omega you were talking about?" His voice was deep and coarse, likely a voice many heard before losing their lives. That thought sent a chill down your spine.

"Nikto? Ja, why? Are you inter-" his sentence was cut short by the alpha, Nikto, grabbing his wrist and promptly dragging him away.

Huh. Odd.

《•°~☆~°•~☆~•°~☆~°•~☆~•°~☆~°•》

Nikto wordlessly led Krueger back to their shared room and slid a chair underneath the door handle.

"Sebastian. You didn't tell me you were planning on courting this omega," he growled.

"Courting is a strong word. I was just going to take them on a nice date, see if we hit it off," Krueger responded, crossing his arms in a slightly annoyed manner.

Nikto didn't seem consoled by this at all. He cornered Krueger against the wall with his body.

"You aren't going to go on any dates with that omega, because you are mine," Nikto hissed. Krueger's heart almost beat out of his chest.

"I guess we're making it official-?" Krueger barely got his last word out before being pushed down onto Nikto's bed.

"You chose to go to them before me. Why is that? Did you think that all we had was friendship?" He snarled as he talked, but noticed the sly grin behind the green mesh of Krueger's hood.

"You bastard... what a horrible scheme," Nikto grumbled, letting go of him.

"It worked, didn't it? I figured you needed a nudge in the right direction," Krueger laughed.

Nikto only huffed in response, burying his face into Krueger's shoulder.

"Then you wouldn't mind me claiming you now, da?" Krueger shuddered at Nikto's suggestion, which honestly sounded more like a promise.

"I would like that."

Nikto pulled down the collar of his shirt enough to expose his scent glands, already pumping out his scent like a factory. He started at his hood, rubbing the fabric against his skin until the scent was soaked in. He moved down to his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, and then back up again to his arms. Krueger was his, and he was going to smell like it.

Rough fingers pulled at the others mask, and soon scarred lips find each other in a tentative first kiss. Then a more eager second, a desperate third, a fourth, a fifth, until they had both lost count and were groping at each other's bodies.

"Mmn- ah, we're going all the way?" Krueger gasped between passionate kisses.

"If that keeps you off your legs and in my bed for a week, we may as well," Nikto responded.

"You crazy dog-"

Pt1

Masterlist

[grim333z]

Reader and Carl are teaching Judith to write the alphabet. Jokes ensue about Carl’s terrible handwriting 😫

alphabetti spaghetti~

carl x gn! reader

"What the fuck?" You furrow your brows as you look at the squiggle he's just drawn, possessing the faint resemblance of the letter S, his eyebrow raises as he looks at you, glancing at what he'd drawn on the paper, "What- Carl what letter did you think you wrote, because that.. that isn't it?" His eyes dart between you, Jude and the paper you were using to teach Judith how to write, watching Carl write each letter just as shakily as Judith did.

"Its an S...?"He looks down at the page back up to you, Judith's little head flicking between the two of you, almost completely oblivious to the absolute mess that was Whatever Carl had Attempted to write. "Is it really?" You huff, drawing a near perfect S beside it. He huffs, letting out an overdramatic sigh as he watches the nib of your ball point pen glide across the paper. Judith picking up her bright blue crayon as she try's to follow your movement, ending up doing a better job than Carl.

"Look even Judith can do it better than you..." You chuckle, flipping the paper over to the clean side, "C'mon Jude lets see what you've got... Hmmph, how about we try, Judith..?" You suggest watching her eager little fingers grip a new pink crayon as she starts writing her own name, saying each letter gently under her breath, "Carl you wanna try..?" You glance at him, as he's pulled away from watching Judith write..."Seems like you've become a little, rusty" You chuckle, rolling a blunt forest green crayon at him, watching him roll his eye's at you "You're such a dick." He scoffs rolling the crayon back up the table at you.

"Can you spell dick? D. I. C. K." You shoot back, watching his eyes fall back on Judith as she crosses the T, "I can spell.." He hums quietly.. "s 'just my handwriting is, well... kind of sucky"  

He fiddles with a stray Crayon, their seemingly being something more to it... the two of you hadn't been in some form of school setting for years, it was unsurprising his handwriting ability eroding over time, the lack of use of a skill tends to ware it down slightly; 

Judith looks up at you for approval over her work. "Judith" Scrawled out in dogy pink letters sits on the paper, as she smiles up at you, "Woahhhh, Jude, it's so good..." You hum taking in her work, Carl sits beside the small girl, a gentle grin on his face at his sisters work or even the slight sense of normality, being taught to write, something he'd done at her age, it was a thick warm blanket of familiarity, and an almost comfort for the future. A quiet reminder that somethings simply never change. Stuff like this has been happening for years, isn't gonna stop just because dead people aren't really all that dead anymore. 

"Dude, The cavemen probably did this." Carl furrows his eyebrow at you, having let your thoughts slip out again, "What..?"

{This feels so short :( }

[itoshiexx]

perfect

synopsis: rin remembers how perfect you are for him.

pairing: itoshi rin x afab!reader | words: 2.6k | warnings: established relationship, afab reader (referred to as "girl"), pet names (baby, pretty, love), fluff, smut, oral + fingering (reader receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, praising!!!, emotional sex

notes: i really wasn't gonna post this today but i'm EAGER. this is my first attempt at writing smut in english so pls be kind lol idk if this is good or like the worst shit ever. this is kind of a part 2 for this so i recommend you read it :))

masterlist

people could say itoshi rin was many things: cold, distant, a soccer star, a fan of horror, the number one. and he agreed with all of these. but he was also passionate, extremely determined and, most of all, hopelessly in love with you. and even though he was cold and distant, that was not the case when it came to your relationship. 

with you, rin showed all of that passion and determination by loving you in his own gentle way, always so full of devotion, pouring every ounce of the overflowing feelings he harbored in his chest for you only. because he did feel — and intensely, at last. that’s why he always wanted to make you feel happy, and safe, and loved. he wanted you to be confident and to value yourself just as much as he valued you.

that’s why sex with rin felt like some divine moment. 

as you stand there, dumbfounded with the proximity and his words, he takes the opportunity to close the distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that makes you melt in his arms almost instantly. he has this weird effect on you; one that makes you surrender all that you are to him until you become one.

“will you let me?” he murmured once you separated, sounding a little breathless. you, on the other hand, were a dizzying mess, unable to form coherent sentences with the way the air got knocked out of your lungs. 

“w-what…?” you stutter, and rin’s little smirk makes your legs shake. 

“will you let me show you how much i love you? how much i cherish you?” 

you’re pretty sure your heart stops for a few seconds before it races inside your chest like an orchestra. a tiny nod is the only answer you can muster, but rin’s not satisfied. 

“use your words, pretty.” he backs away, and, dreading any further distance, you’re quick to say “yes!” in a slightly pitched voice. rin smiles in that delicate way he only does around you, and his thumbs trace small circles on your waist as he hums, “good girl”.

you feel goosebumps as one of his hands goes up, tracing the curve of your body until it rests on your cheek, and then his mouth is on yours again, more demanding, trying to absorb all that you are willing to give. his tongue invades your mouth, and you moan when his wet muscle laces with yours in a lewd dance. your hands fly to the nape of his neck, where you tug at the black strands of hair, and the way he groans sends a shiver down your spine and spreads heat to the middle of your legs. 

but you still have a little bit of rationality left, so you gently push him apart to say, “we’re gonna miss dinner if we keep going,” even if your uneven breathing says how much you want to keep going. however, rin is also very stubborn, and, (un)fortunately, knows your body very well. 

“we can just reschedule,” he states, simply. “i think right now this is more important.”

you still try to reason, “baby, we can have sex any time…” 

“it’s not about the sex.” he frowns. “i want you to remember how precious you are.” a gentle kiss on your jaw. “i want to worship you.” another, and then one more at your neck. it’s unconscious, the way you slightly turn your head to give him more access. “i want you to feel so much more than pretty. i want you to feel beautiful.” 

if the tender nibs and the open mouthed kisses he leaves on the column of your throat aren’t enough to overwhelm you, his words sure can. there is no ounce of strength in your body to fight him anymore, so your answer comes in the form of a needy kiss, tugging at the collar of his shirt so he can be closer, because there was never such a thing as close enough. rin relishes in the way you eagerly try to devour him, more than happy to give you all of him. 

he was only ever yours to begin with.

and he makes sure you know by matching your kisses with just as much fervor, tugging at your waist until he can grind his growing need on your core, wanting you to feel just how much he desires you. it’s not a surprise he is rock hard in his pants, but this is all about you, so he can wait. he will wait until you are beneath him, writhing in pleasure to the point he’s all you can think about. 

rin is caring when slowly he pushes you to the bed, being careful not to put all his weight on you. his knee finds home in the middle of your legs, and he feels lightheaded with the way you grind against it, already desperate for some kind of friction. 

his lips go back to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses down to your collarbone. you can feel the plushness of his pink flesh softly hover over your skin, and it lights up as if something is dancing beneath it, this sort of giddy feeling that staggers you. it’s always there whenever rin touches you, though you can’t say you don’t love it. 

then, he’s sucking the mound of one of your breasts, while his hand is occupied fondling the other. it leaves a faint purple bruise on your skin, but you can’t find it in you to care — instead, you whine in approval, wishing for more of the feeling of his teeth grazing you, eager to bear his possessive marks. the stream of hickeys he leaves around your tits also makes you a little greedy, and you want to scream to make him take off your bra and give attention to your perky nipples. 

and rin is excellent at reading things. on the field, it was an admirable trait by both teammates and rivals, used as a powerful tool for his goals and more often than not leading his team to victory. in your relationship, it made you feel all warm and fuzzy, the way he was so observant to your needs and the little quirks that made you so you. in bed, it felt a lot like salvation, for he was always aware of what you wanted and needed, sometimes even before you did. 

the first flick of his tongue on your bud nearly makes you wail, and you can almost feel the smirk forming on his stupidly handsome face. “needy, aren’t you?” he coos, though it holds no bite. you are ready to retort, but any words die in your mouth when he licks again, circling your areola and gently scraping his teeth at your nipple.

he gives both your tits the attention they deserve, and by the time rin is done, your arousal is already pooling on your panties, leaving you squirming on the bed while touching every part of him you could reach. suddenly, you become conscious that he’s still dressed, so you take it as a challenge to unbutton his shirt until you can finally see his toned torso. 

“baby…” he sighs when you scrape your nails through his chest, all the way down to his perfect abs. before you can reach his pants, however, he separates from you, taking off the shirt that was bothering him. 

his hand laces with yours. “not yet.”

but you are impatient. you need him so, so bad it actually hurts. the ache in your pussy can only be solved when his cock splits you open, and for a moment, you seriously consider telepathy, but his voice in your head burns like a fresh memory. use your words, pretty. i like to hear you. 

and who are you to deny your boyfriend? 

“rinnie,” you whisper, “please.”

“hm? please what?” he arches his eyebrow, hands squeezing your hips.

you bite your lower lips, embarrassed, but answer nonetheless, “please fuck me.”

rin flashes you a bright grin that can rival the sun, and he kisses you once more as a reward, all while his hands slowly descend to your thighs, taking your panties off along the way. he feels impossibly harder when he sees the strings of your arousal on the fabric, moreso when you open your legs for him to see your quivering hole that’s just dying to be filled by him. 

“fuck, look at you…” he groans, sliding his fingers through your folds. your moans are the sweetest sound he ever heard. “so wet. so pretty. all for me, hm?” 

“yes, baby, yes… please, hah— please!” you whine, slightly desperate. he curls one finger inside of you, and you could almost cry. it feels good, so good, but it’s not enough. “m-more… need more!” 

rin is feeling generous, so he attends to your pleas by shoving three fingers at once. you wail at the pleasure of having more of him, his long digits hitting your sweet spots in ways you never could.

“taking my fingers so well, love,” he whispers in your ear. “you’re so pretty. my pretty girl.”

you shudder with the praise, clenching around his fingers and feeling closer than ever when he uses his thumb to start rubbing your clit. it doesn’t take much time to be hit with your orgasm, one that leaves your whole body trembling and gives rin one of his favorite sights. 

beautiful.

he doesn’t even let you say anything, kissing you again, prodding his tongue inside your mouth and muffling any surprised gasps by the sudden invasion. rin’s wet muscle laces with yours in a slow, sensual dance that makes both of you moan in union, the sound traveling all the way down and keeping your arousal alive. 

he keeps going until the lack of air forces you to part. you’re panting, but your eyes search for his teal ones, always a pretty shade of aquamarine that makes you crumble. when you see the hazy look on his orbs, you’re sure he will take out his cock and fuck you already, but instead he starts giving little kisses down your tummy, all the way to your inner thighs. 

“don’t tease,” you whimper. “just get inside me alread— ah!” you scream when his tongue makes contact with your sensitive clit. rin licks a long stripe along your folds that makes you quiver and shut up. 

“wanna taste you first, pretty.” his eyes find yours, “please?”

and, again, who are you to deny your boyfriend? 

especially when he says it like that. 

so you agree, and rin eagerly goes down on you, slurping through your wet pussy like that’s all he needs to survive. he prods his tongue inside you, in and out, motioning the movement his dick should be making, and you take a moment to realize he is rutting his hips on the mattress every time he does. 

then, he laps at your clit once again, twirling his tongue in circular motions that make your eyes roll back and your toes curl. you can barely contain your moans, tugging at his hair and crying out loud when his satisfied groan sends vibrations to your nerves.

his flow becomes quicker, sloppier, and the wet sounds are so lewd that you can feel your second orgasm building up in that familiar tingling feeling that sends you to the edge.

“baby, baby… ‘m cumming, ‘m gonna cum…!” you cry, gripping the bed sheets like your life depends on it. 

that’s all the incentive he needs to keep on going, sweeping his tongue on your bud until he can taste the familiar flavor of you cum and sense your thighs almost crushing his head. 

he’d die a happy man. 

your body goes limp, and you’re gasping for air like you’d just ran a marathon. rin hovers over you to appreciate the scene, and with the way his cock twitches inside his boxers, rin thinks he appreciates this — making you come undone — a little too much. he’s sure his tip is red and leaking pre. 

he gives you some time to recover by slowly unbuckling his belt, taking off his pants and throwing them somewhere on the floor. his boxers go next, and just like he thought, the spongy head of his dick is swollen and in desperate need of relief. 

he said he would wait until you were beneath him, writhing in pleasure to the point he’s all you could think about, before giving him some attention. so he doesn’t stop you from putting your hands around his girth, hissing when you pump him a few times. 

your eyes are blurry, but they look up at him with so much love and desire he could very much cum right there. god, how much he fucking loves you. it’s honestly ridiculous. 

rin lets you pull him closer and cage him with your legs behind his hips. 

“ready, baby?” he asks, as if you aren’t aching for his cock. 

“god, please— i need you. i need you inside of me,” you all but wail. 

rin thrusts into you at once, and you nearly lose your mind. 

he’s long and thick, reaching all of your swollen spots without much effort. you can feel his veins dragging along your walls, creating even more friction, unconsciously rolling your hips to get more of this feeling. rin moans in your ear, and he does it again when you squeeze him tighter. 

“always so tight f’me,” he sighs, dreamily. “god, you are perfect. you are perfection itself, baby.”

“rin, rin…!” is all you can muster to say. 

he presses you harder on the mattress, rutting into your cunt and relishing at the feeling of your velvet walls sucking him in and gripping his shaft like a vice. you’re scraping your nails along his back and shoulders, looking for grounding, but he keeps pounding the head of his cock in that one specific spot that makes you see not only stars, but whole galaxies. 

“rin, rinnie, p-please… r-righ— right there!” 

at this point you are babbling nonsense, rin being the only thing on your mind as you chase your third orgasm of the night. “fuck, pretty…” he curses, feeling the neglected coil on his lower abdomen threatening to snap. he can’t really help it, though. you feel too good. too perfect. 

and all his. 

the constant bullying of his cock on your sweetest spot, the overwhelming feelings inside you and the sweet praises given by your boyfriend on you ear make you come apart, and you scream with the devastating pleasure that seeps through your whole body, like you’re floating on cloud nine. rin hisses when your walls clench him tighter, and seeing you reach your high gets him to spill his load inside of you, finally getting his much deserved release with white hot spurts on your warm core. he fucks both of you throughout your orgasms, and when you start to feel a bit overstimulated, you wiggle him out of you, snapping him from his daze. he collapses.

the familiar weight of his body on top of yours is comforting, along with the soft tune of his breathing on the crook of your neck. you scratch his scalp lightly, your other hand patting his back oh so lovingly. he’s so happy — to have you, to feel you, to love you. 

“i hope you never doubt how beautiful and amazing you are, love,” he whispers, not daring to break the silence. 

you say nothing, embracing him tighter. your silent thank you. 

“but if you ever forget,” he continues, taking you by surprise, “i’m always here to remind you.”

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