#the second one came up while i was typing and it seems like a good bet too

[captain-joongz]

Jongho as an easily jealous bf (who is dom) 🙈

hmmm, i see that we have a possessive dom jongho enthusiast here 👀 and who could blame you really, all that strength and muscle just invites the desire to be properly put in your place by the stoic man, so here you go <3

warnings: possessive dom Jongho, jealousy, light light choking, face fucking, mean jong, degradation

now, i think Jongho wouldn't really mind close friends, but to anyone else you'd be strictly off limits. even under normal circumstances he's hard to read, but anytime he'd deem someone as too eager to get closer to you, he'd turn into an intimidating mass of muscle and sharp eyes, standing behind you like your own personal bodyguard and unnerving all the poor sods around you, while you were none-the-wiser

of course you'd notice the occasional possessive squeeze of his hands, the way he'd suddenly tightly wrap his arms around you or push you closer to his side - but he'd never be sure whether you were really just naive or whether you sometimes provoked him on purpose just to have that reaction out of him - nevertheless, most of the times you'd be blissfully unaware to all the poor excuses of guys who were clearly trying to hit on you right in front of his eyes and once in a while someone would be brave enough to try even with him staring daggers into anyone getting a little too close

like your annoying coworker right now, that's been talking to you since you came to this Halloween party, even though you were clearly here with your boyfriend - a fact of which Jongho obviously had to remind you, judging by the smiles and laughs falling out your lips at his desperate attempts to joke around and flirt

if you'd ask him, he'd tell you he's most definitely fine, he's not jealous, not even irritated - of course he's completely cool with the fact that someone thinks he's good enough to pry for your attention when that's supposed to belong to him. but he'd let you, time how long it would take you, and with every second ticking by of you not turning back to him, he'd plan another little surprise for you for when you returned home. he's not jealous, he's totally fine.

i think Jongho wouldn't be the type to make a scene or ostentatiously show off your relationship or his mark, i think he'd bide his time and watch you dig yourself deeper into trouble, jaw growing tighter and eyes colder, until you finally glanced back and saw his tense form and disapproving gaze and you'd known there'd be a long night in front of you

but the moment you'd set out to leave, his hand grabbing yours in an iron grip and tense smile that barely passes as polite on his lips while he pulled you from the little rat of a man, it would be a completely different story.

just seconds after the apartment door locked behind you, he'd be on you, immediately pushing you towards the bedroom without a second thought. once there, he'd go to grab your face, smushing your cheeks between his fingers while his eyes burst with the hidden fire he did so well to mask while outside.

"now, who was that, angel? i know you didn't just spend your entire evening with a man clearly flirting with you while i watched from the other side of the room."

"just a coworker, sir."

the fact that you always caught on so quickly and started using the honorific was one of the reasons why he couldn't shake that you weren't as innocent in this as you played up to be, but he couldn't deny how much it stoked the desire within him when you submitted so easily every time

"oh, is that right? and flirting with him is a part of your job?" but before you could even answer he'd already be pushing you down to the floor by your throat, still keeping his firm grip on your face so he could angle it towards his crotch. "no matter, pet, i think you'll find it hard to run your mouth with other guys when i'm filling it with my cock. seems like you could use the reminder of who you belong to."

it would be your job to get him fully hard, and he didn't like it when you used your hands - since you were so mouthy, it was only fair you put it to good work - and it usually wouldn't take long before he was pulling his trousers down and without any preamble pushing his hard cock into your mouth. if in the surprise your teeth caught onto him, he'd tighten his grip on your neck minutely as a warning

of course after the stunt you pulled you didn't deserve any reprieve, and he'd done a lot to train your throat (only shows how many times he had to put you in your place, you just wouldn't learn) so he'd gather your hair in a grip and start a rough pace, pushing into your throat until you were choking and gurgling around him, squeezing the tip of his cock in your contracting throat

and you loved every second of it, sometimes he'd even doubt you took this as the punishment it was for indulging flirts from other men, especially when he watched from above as your eyes rolled back and your slutty moans reverberated on his cock and drove him crazy with the vibrations

Jongho was strong, and he never shied away from using it against you, especially when he held your head firm in his grip while pumping his hips into your mouth in reckless abandon, not caring at all about anything else than his own pleasure, taking your moans and sobs in stride, and he wouldn't stop until he felt his balls tighten and his load spurted down your throat, forcing you to swallow with your nose smushed against his navel and the throbbing cock pushed as deep inside as it could go

pulling off, he'd let you crumble onto the floor with your face covered in tears and spit and cum, coughing and fighting for every breath, while he sat down on the bed and looked at you like you were pathetic

you knew better than to try and touch yourself, but sometimes you couldn't stop your fingers from pressing onto your clit through your clothes to alleviate the pulsing pleasure, only to have Jongho tsk at you and push your hand away with his foot still clad in his nice dress shoes

"no no no, angel, you've been such a slut and you think you deserve to cum tonight? i taught you better than this..."

"i'm sorry, sir" it would be no more than a croak from your abused raw throat, but he'd take it nonetheless

and it would take only a single look into his eyes and you'd see he was nowhere near done with you that night, the fire of jealousy and irritation still burning through his irises as he watched you like his prey

there we have our first ask of the hard hours!! hope you enjoyed some dom Jongho <3 you don't have to be shy, come tell me what you desire xoxo

divider from @cafekitsune

[the-halfling-prince]

Me: anyway here's the horror book I'm writing and-

Also me: You hate horror? You like never watch horror movies because you're scared of getting jump scared.

Me: leave me alone

[simpjaes]

BIG D*CK FOR DUMMIES (s.jy)

The one where you find out that your boyfriend has a huge cock and you’re not entirely sure if you can take all of it. 

MDNI!!! | pls leave feedback and reblog your fave writers!

PAIRING ― jaeyun x afab reader  

WORDCOUNT ― 2.4k

CONTENT ―  first time, established relationship, top jaeyun, painful sex

NOTE ― this was originally written for a different idol on my other blog [ncteez] but i pictured jake in that one en o’clock episode doing this and went feral so……here’s ur giant package. 

smut tags― he’s a little cocky (lmao), i guess you could say size kink but it’s more like huge cock / tiny pussy size kink, theres some crying, praising, reader gets off like almost instantly and becomes incredibly cock drunk the second he’s able to actually fuck

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Things you knew about your boyfriend before dating: he’s very protective, super smart, has good taste in music, his hands are big and warm, and he’s very down to earth.

Things you didn’t know about your boyfriend until after dating and he’s on top of you during a moody and rainy night makeout session: his cock is huge and it’s very intimidating.

One might ask, how could you have not known? Well, that’s easy. It’s a fairly new relationship and a very shy relationship at that. It’s a bit embarrassing for you, actually, because it’s not like you don’t want to be intimate with him. You definitely do, and apparently so does he. 

It’s the first time in the three weeks you’ve been dating that you’ve gotten to be completely alone with him in an intimate setting. For one, you live with your parents, and secondly, he lives with three other dudes who like to be all up in his business. It’s not exactly easy to get alone time with him. Thankfully, your parents are out on a five-day holiday somewhere in the Bahamas and you’re here on your family couch with Jaeyun’s hands cradling your neck as you kiss him. 

It got heated very fast, presumably because the two of you haven’t really had the privacy to do more than a standing makeout session without someone listening in, or worse, walking in. It almost makes the air feel electric now, kind of like a breath of fresh air except the fresh air tastes like the fruity chewing gum he had in his mouth when he originally came over.

Here’s the thing though, and man, it’s a thing. Looking at Jaeyun you’d think he’s average at best and you’re not really the type to go around guessing dick sizes.  So, naturally, when he slots a leg between yours as he got on top of you and you fucking felt it against your leg, you were a little more shocked than anticipated. Maybe he let out a little snide chuckle at your reaction too, you wouldn’t know, you were kind of busy wondering when he was going to let you in on the secret. 

Now, here you are deep in thought of how the hell that thing is going to fit anywhere while simultaneously one hundred percent willing to make it fit because god, does he know how to makeout and feel someone up. 

The more he kisses you, the more his hands roam, the more you experience intimate touches with him, the more you feel like your skin is on fire and replacing that intimidation with extreme arousal and lust. All the way until the point that the presumed makeout playlist starts over and he finally pushes a bit further with you.

“Is this okay?” He asks, now slotting himself entirely between your legs and essentially pressing his length directly against the pool that is threatening to seep through your fucking denim shorts. 

You give him a half nod, trying to pretend that he’s definitely a normal man with a normal cock. He smiles though, knowing full well that this isn’t what you were expecting. No one ever expects it from him. 

“You seem occupied,” he comments, pressing himself against you a little more and leaning down on his arms to nip at your lips. “or shocked, maybe?”

You try to kiss him to shut him up, not wanting to expose yourself for being entirely inexperienced with a size like his. 

“Hm?” He encourages you, pulling back again and looking directly into your eyes with a confident smirk. 

“Well,” you shift your eyes away and sigh out, “you’re kind of huge…” 

He takes that compliment and runs with it. It’s not like the two of you have to finally have sex or anything, but you both knew what was happening and you both definitely knew what the other wanted. At least ten minutes ago that was the situation.

“Is it too much?” He asks, this time a bit more concerned that his own biology could ruin this for you. 

“Probably? no, maybe?” 

Jaeyun pulls away from you, moving himself to sit back against the couch and give you your space. Considering probably and maybe isn’t a yes, he feels no need to push or pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do. There have been times where he’s hurt another person while being intimate, though not intentionally, he’s not exactly willing to do that to you unless you’re like, you know, jumping his bones for it. 

“Still, i’d like to try–” You start, looking at him as you sit up and feel your entire body tingle at the cold air that replaces his warmth. “Maybe if we take it slow– like, really slow?”

He looks at you with shining eyes. He asked you to be his girlfriend because he genuinely likes you. He likes your voice, he likes the way you smell, likes when you talk about your favorite songs and favorite movies. He was definitely smitten from the moment he saw you trip on your own two feet down the front porch of a house party months ago. Taking it slow with you was pretty normal, and the fact that you want him too just makes him all the more willing to take his time. 

“I’ll take care of you, ” he hums, spreading his legs a bit across the couch to give himself more space to re-adjust himself. “Just tell me if I need to slow down?” 

You nod, staring directly between his legs and rubbing your own together on instinct. If anyone’s gonna split you open, it might as well be your boyfriend.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

When he said he would take it slow with you, he really meant it. The fact that he curled three fingers into you for a solid twenty minutes and you still feel like your legs will buckle on you at any moment knowing that this is just for prep– oh damn. 

 The fact that he even used his tongue on you for the first time, making sure you were more slippery than you already were for another twenty minutes? The fucking fact that you were on the verge of orgasm when he pulled it out and presented it to you like a cock you could totally sit on without issue? 

Fuck.

Reality washes over you far too quickly when you actually make that attempt. 

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel like you were being torn apart by him, but part of you loves the way his gentle hands hold you steady as you try to sink down. You can feel the wet heat between your legs coat his length inch by inch as you start to slide down.

He stops you only for a moment when he notices you wincing. 

“Breathe, baby, just a little more.” He encourages, getting a nod from you before guiding you down further.

You breathe, clenching around him and doing your best to stop doing that so you can relax. You can tell he’s struggling to actually take it slow by now too, only because you can feel his hands shake against you as he holds himself back from obliterating you, probably. You’d think it would be quite endearing to see, if it weren’t for the fact that your eyes are blurring from the tears threatening to fall. 

Feeling embarrassed, you wipe your eyes and focus on how he feels inside of you. The pain is still there, but as you “sit” here, that pain somehow does replace itself with a strange sensation of pleasure little by little. You’ve always wondered what it felt like to be full, and it appears that this is exactly it.

It’s overwhelming.

“Do you want to stop?” He asks after noticing your tears, a bit of panic in his voice despite the fact that you could have sworn hearing a moan come out alongside it, “Pull up, it’s okay, you can–”

You sink down further instead, now bottoming yourself out on him and releasing a broken whine of both pain and pleasure. He grunts in unison to your whine, gripping your hips even harder than he already was and squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Fuck,” he sighs out, lazily opening his eyes to look at the way you perch yourself on him so perfectly. “Such a tight fit.” 

You nod, mostly unable to hear a word he’s saying as you try to relax your body enough to get rid of that small hint of pain. The consistent clenching of your adjustments send your boyfriend spiraling a bit, unable to contain his sighs of pleasure as your tight and wet heat squeezes his cock.

“Tell me when I can move, please, tell me–” He groans out almost frantically, staring down at where you sit flush against him and wanting so badly to fuck into you.

 He’s wanted to do this to you since you started dating, now that it’s finally happening, and now that you’re quite literally jerking him off simply by adjusting to his size– you know, it’s not exactly easy to contain himself. 

You take a few more seconds to breathe before your body finally relaxes and you give him a reluctant nod. 

Instantly it’s like you’re seeing stars. He barely moves, all he does is flex his abs and press his hips up and it’s like he manages to fit another non-existent inch inside of you. 

You groan out, falling forward against his chest and gripping onto his shoulders as you feel your body adjust to even that small movement. To you, this is so fucking embarrassing, but to him? 

Hottest thing ever. Really. 

He can hear your whiny gasps against his neck when he moves and it’s driving him fucking wild, especially considering the fact that his cock is driven so deeply inside of you that he thinks you’d tell him to stop— but you don’t. 

You’re so good to him, and for what it’s worth, he wants to make sure this will be the best orgasm of your life.

Slowly, his hands fall to your ass and guide you up. You feel slight relief as a few inches leave you, and your stomach bubbles with that same sensation of both pleasure and pain when he slides you back down.

He moans out at you, almost like he’s cooing in pity at how much you’re trying to take for him. It’s incredibly sexy to hear now that your ears have stopped ringing and you’re beginning to believe that you’d never want anything smaller than him anyway.

This time, you lift on your own and sink back down just as fast, wincing again against his neck but releasing a moan that sounds more like pleasure than anything else. He sees this as a green light, gripping your ass and encouraging you to lift slightly again.

“Stay like this.” he mutters with a deep breath before kissing against your forehead and thrusting his hips up once, hard. 

The tight heat you’re offering sends him into a frenzy when paired with the wet slap of his pelvis hitting your pussy, and the sounds you’re making offer little in terms of stopping because by now, you’re both loving it. 

He thrusts into you with ease, the drag loud and slippery, the moans of pleasure you release only make him go faster, harder. Almost releasing a whimper of his own at how fucking perfect you are for taking all of it.

“Look.” he tries to let out, waiting for you to pull yourself up from his chest and look at him.

You do with ease, that broken face from before now replaced with lustful and blown out pupils. 

“Look how good you take it,” he praises with a groan, almost punctuating each word with a thrust, “knew you could take it.” 

Your broken smile that falls into a slack mouthed string of nonsense only continues to push him.  All the way until you can’t think straight at all, and you’re feeling your body tense up with such pressure that you can’t even warn him before your walls are clenching so tightly that it even hurts him. 

You grasp onto him for dear life as your orgasm washes over you, drenching his entire length as you hold your breath. Never have you gotten off while feeling so fucking full, and arguably, you don’t think you could ever feel an orgasm so intense without him being the one to split you open.

“There you go baby.” he hums, watching you breathlessly fall apart on top of him before picking up his rhythm again and chasing his own high.

By this point, you’re so well adjusted that even the searing pain of his restless thrusts feel good. Your brain is foggy but you can’t help but just fucking watch him.

This is your boyfriend and this is what it looks like when you’re making him feel good. 

“Are you close?” you start to bounce on him, meeting his rhythm and allowing him to rest his own hips. 

He nods as he looks at you, awestruck with how you’re already able to ride him as if you weren’t whining just moments before. Seeing you take him in full like this is enough to have his cock pulsing.

“Just a bit more, baby.” He closes his eyes and runs his hands up your waist. “Keep riding me, fuck.” 

And that, you do. Feeling proud of yourself for being able to actually take this literal monster, you focus on the twitch inside of you as he releases with a deep and breathy moan.

It’s entirely too sexy to ignore, and you continue to bounce even as he tries to hold you in place to subdue the sensitivity of his cock being fucking strangled by how tight you are. 

Once his body stops jerking and you feel the last twitching release inside of you, you fall forward and both of you groan from the sensitivity. 

“There are pros and cons to having a big dick, i guess.” he admits in a groan. 

Even when you laugh, there’s another wince from both of you followed by a groan.

“Pros: big dick.” he whispers, holding you still against him so you don’t move again before he can soften up and pull out. “Cons: big dick.” 

You still laugh, and it still hurts. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

me and my lame ass endings lmfaooooooooooooooooo

[pedrospatch]

run

Raider! Joel Miller x Female Reader

*moodboard is for aesthetic purposes only. no mention of reader’s race or skin tone.

summary: When you’re given the chance to run from your captor, you don’t take it.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. RAIDER ERA. DARK!JOEL. DUBCON. MENTIONS PREVIOUS NONCON. UNSPECIFIED AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 50). reader is described washing her hair (the exact length is not specified) and she wears a dress. she is also shorter than Joel. violence, kidnapping, reader has major stockholm syndrome, Joel is fairly soft for her but HE IS STILL NOT A GOOD MAN, brief mention of Tess and Joel being involved with each other, Tess seems like the villain but she might actually be the only one of these three who is not totally fucked up in the head. SMUT. daddy kink. size difference (no description of reader’s body type, Joel is just a big guy with a big dick, enjoy it). oral sex (female receiving), super risky unprotected p in v sex (mention of reader ovulating, Joel pulls out, don’t be be like these two, practice safe sex), creampie (yeah he doesn’t give a fuck the second time around). many, many pet names (baby, baby girl, honey, angel, sweetheart, little girl). um i think that’s it. oh, and they fuck in the dirt.

PLEASE HEED ALL WARNINGS.

word count: 8.6k

a/n: one thing about me is i WILL soften up EVERY version of Joel Miller to my little heart’s content. HUGE HUGE thank you to @endlessthxxghts and @joelsdagger for lending me their eyes and beta-ing this fic for me last night. <33 i love and appreciate you guys SO MUCH. i loved seeing you both in the doc at the same exact time lmao. this can be read as a standalone, but it is considered part of the captive universe.

Everyone in the group has a job. Except for you.

Or at least, that’s what you hear them say.

That bitch doesn’t do shit.

She never has to lift a fucking finger.

She should work for her meal—just like the rest of us.

Bitterness laces their tones when they talk about you.

Insults grow a little bolder when he’s not around.

Useless.

Freeloader.

Leech.

You might not be out there with a rifle in hand hunting game or invading camps and spilling blood for supplies—but you do in fact have a job, and that job is to make Joel Miller happy. It is your responsibility, your duty, to please him, and to keep him satisfied. Because keeping him satisfied keeps him in a good mood, and one thing you’ve come to learn about your captor is, where there is a good mood, often there is mercy.

Hell, you’re doing them a favor by keeping their violent, fearsome leader in a good mood. Because you’ve seen what he does to them when he’s not. He can be just as brutal towards his own people as he is to strangers.

It doesn’t make a difference, though. They still see you as nothing more than his coddled little whore.

“Fuck, that’s it.”

He groans, his thick, callused fingers digging harshly into the softness of your flesh as he holds you firmly in place underneath him. “Oh fuck, baby girl,” Joel curses through gritted teeth, his hands gripping your hips as he uses his own weight against you, pressing you down into the old mattress until you feel every uncomfortable lump, each creaking spring.

While he isn’t fucking you as roughly as he has on other occasions, he’s hardly being gentle. It’s hard, fast.

Loud.

Joel couldn’t care less about the rest of the group, the men and women on the other side of the wall, forced to listen to the sounds coming from the single bedroom of the cabin he decided they would hunker down in for the remainder of the summer season. Strings of curses and brutish grunts that came rumbling from deep within his chest, pleading gasps and whimpers that fell from your swollen, bitten lips. If anything, knowing they were listening only spurred him on—it didn’t hurt to remind them, especially the men with wandering eyes, that you were his special girl.

His good girl.

You certainly did your job, and you did it so, so well.

“Christ, sweetheart. M’so fuckin’ close—” Joel picks up speed, his hips snapping even harder, faster, the front of his thighs slapping against the backs of yours. Each thrust causes the bed’s rusted, iron headboard to slam violently against the wood panel wall.

You clutch fistfuls of the single, stale, yellowing sheet beneath you, each stroke he delivers knocking the wind out of your lungs, making it harder to breathe. He is so heavy on top of you, this big, broad, bulk of a man who makes you feel swallowed, smothered, and small. Joel takes up so much room inside of you, and it’s a wonder how you could possibly have any space left to spare.

It’s a fullness you can’t seem to get enough of.

It’s a craving, a need.

Worst of all, it’s slowly becoming a want.

“Daddy,” you choke out, fisting the sheet tighter, your skin stretching taut over your knuckles. Can the others also hear the squelch of your drenched cunt around his cock as it begs him for more?

“Fuck. You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me, baby,” Joel croons his praise. His hands abandon your hips and he hunches over you, his thrusts momentarily ceasing. He crushes his chest against your sweaty, quivering back and leans forward even further, bracing his large hands on either side of you. Then, his lips move to the shell of your ear and he speaks, his breath blazing hot on your skin. “Y’take me so well, honey. Y’take Daddy’s cock so fuckin’ well. This pretty little pussy was fuckin’ made for me. She was made jus’ for me—ain’t that right, angel?”

He’s right.

Oh, how you fucking hated that he was right.

It was made for him. Your cunt. Your body. You.

Every part of you was made for him, and only for him.

All you can do is nod dumbly in agreement.

“Say it,” Joel whispers his firm command. “Wanna hear you say it. Be a good girl and use your words. Say it, say this pussy is made for me.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you moan obediently, prompting him to grin against your ear. “My pussy is made for you, just—just for you. No one—no one else. Only you.” Could this really be the same voice that would break, grow hoarse from screaming for him to stop? The same voice that would beg and plead for him to set you free?

Jutting his hips forward, Joel buries himself to the hilt, eliciting a noise from you, something caught between a pained whimper and a contented sigh. His balls, heavy and full for you, rest on your clit, which is still sensitive to the touch after he’d spent a majority of the morning with his head buried in between your legs. Desiring yet another release, you try wriggling around beneath him in a silent plea for more. More, more, more.

Please, Daddy. More.

Joel’s grin widens. He places one of his hands on your soft lower belly, fingers dragging down the slope of it until he finds the slick swell of your seam between your legs where his girth splits you open. “Ready, baby?”

Nodding, you open your mouth to answer him, but the sound of your own groan cuts you off when his fingers firmly circle around your throbbing, swollen bud. “Oh,” you breathe, instantly sinking right into his touch. Your eyes screw shut tightly in pleasure, and you throw your head back onto his shoulder. The scruff of his beard is rough on your cheek, and it burns, the same way it had burned the tender flesh of your inner thighs.

His hips find their rhythm as you rub against his hand—you’re almost there. He knows this, you can tell by the chuckle that thunders in his chest and against your back. But you’re too busy chasing your pleasure to be embarrassed.

He’s made you a needy, greedy girl.

“Daddy,” you mewl, trying your hardest to move under him, to work your cunt up and down on his cock. “I’m gonna come—” You gasp, back arching as Joel strokes in and out, his fingers rubbing your clit with urgency.

Joel plants a sloppy, wet kiss on your cheek. “Give it to me, baby,” he grunts. “C’mon. Lemme feel her squeeze me.”

Feeling how close he is too, you try to hold on for just a little bit longer, at least long enough to finish with him, but Joel’s relentless, and you’re forced off of the ledge you’re both standing on first.

Crying out, your walls spasm around him, asking to be filled until he’s made a complete mess out of you, until white leaks, and it slowly dribbles down the insides of your trembling thighs.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Joel rasps. He lifts himself off you and he pulls out, taking his throbbing cock in his hand. His chest heaves as he fists himself, the wet sound of your slick in his palm filling the room. “Down,” he grits, and you obey him, lowering down yourself on the mattress until you’re lying almost completely flat before him. He gives himself one final stroke just as you look over your shoulder at him, the gentle flutter of your eyelashes the last push he needs. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck—” Joel spills his load, shooting thick ropes of warm cum along the soft curve of your spine.

You rest your cheek on your folded arms, biting back a small sigh.

He’s left behind an ache—you feel painfully empty.

But it was Tess, who had been given the task of helping you track your menstrual cycle, that had given him the warning earlier that morning. “She’s ovulating. Don’t be a fucking idiot, Joel. Last thing we need is for her to—”

“Relax,” he’d gruffed in response. “I fuckin’ know.”

Spent, Joel hunches over you once more and he lightly kisses the top of your head before burying his nose into your hair. “Good girl,” he murmurs. Affection that once was unwelcome and unwanted, that once made you feel sick to your fucking stomach, now makes you feel something else entirely. You’re not quite sure what it is, only that it’s warm. Comforting. “Y’did so well for me, sweetheart. Always do.”

Your lips curl into a faint, tired smile he doesn’t see.

A while later, you find yourself perched on the bed with the sheet wrapped around you, quietly watching as he gets dressed. “Daddy?” you say tentatively as he drops into a nearby chair to pull on his boots.

“What is it, baby girl?”

“Do you—do you think we can go to the creek today?”

Joel finishes lacing his boots and looks up at you.

“I’d really like to wash up,” you admit, softly. That, and you would like to see the light of day. He’d boarded up the windows with slabs of wood—sometimes, if you’re lucky, you get some decent light seeping through the teeny gaps.

“Not today, honey. I’ve got some things to take care of. Supplies are low, we gotta do a run. Don’t have the time to take you.” He stands and picks up his rifle, slinging the strap of it over his shoulder. Noticing the crestfallen expression on your face, Joel’s eyes soften. He walks over and gingerly cups the side of your face in his palm. His thumb strokes your cheek. “Promise I’ll take you to the creek tomorrow, sweetheart. First thing. Alright?”

Nodding, your eyes fall to your hands in your lap.

“Okay.”

Joel kisses your forehead, then leaves the room.

He makes sure to lock the door from the outside, and you can’t help but wonder if he knows locking you in is no longer necessary.

“I can take her.”

Joel’s dark eyes remain focused on the state map laid out on the table in front of him. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about, Tess?” He sees her in his periphery, but is too busy figuring out the group’s best route to look her way.

“I heard her asking you to take her to the creek so she can bathe,” she tells him. “I can take her.”

Finally, his head snaps up and he turns to her. “What?”

Tess leans her hip against the table, crossing her arms over her chest. “You and Tommy can take the group, go and take care of what you have to take care of. I’ll stay behind and take her down to the creek,” she suggests casually, as if she’s not asking him to trust her with his most prized possession—the only damn thing on what was left of this fucking earth Joel Miller actually gives a shit about. “Once she’s washed up, I’ll bring her back to the cabin and put her back into the room. Easy.”

Joel stares at her, bewildered. “What makes you think I’d fuckin’ allow somethin’ like that?”

“Oh, come on.” She huffs and rolls her eyes. “Anytime I bitch about having to do something for that girl, you’re on my fucking case about it, and now that I’m offering to do something for her, you don’t wanna let me?”

He shakes his head and lowers his voice. “You’re talkin’ about takin’ her outside, Tess. Without me.”

“The creek’s just a mile away,” Tess reminds him. “I’m pretty sure I can handle getting her there and back with no trouble, Joel.” When he says nothing, she cocks her head to the side and scoffs. “What? You don’t trust me enough to take her under my wing for a couple hours?”

Joel’s lips pull into a tight line. 

Of course he does. Tess was his right hand woman, his second in command.

He trusted her more than his own fucking brother. She had never given him any reason not to, had never given him a reason to doubt her loyalty to him. No, his lack of trust has nothing to do with Tess—but everything to do with you. He doesn’t trust you. He will never trust you.

“What if she tries to—?” He can’t even say it.

“Tries to what?” She pauses. “Run?”

His throat goes dry and he gives her a subtle nod.

Joel Miller was a bad man who did bad things, but you were his good. You’ve brought back some meaning into this wretched life of his, gave him something that felt a lot like a sense of purpose. You were something for him to take care of, to keep safe and protect.

Tess raises an eyebrow at him. “You think I’d even give her the chance? Besides, the girl’s not that stupid, Joel. She knows better than to try anything. She knows she wouldn’t get very fucking far.”

“Tess—”

“I’m just trying to do something nice for her. Besides, I think it might do her some good to be in the company of someone else for once—the company of a woman.”

Joel peers at her, taking a minute to think it over in his mind before asking, “You’ll have her back in the room before I get back to the cabin?”

“Long before then,” she swears. “All in one piece.”

He hesitates. He’s still not sure.

It’s then that he remembers that disappointed look on your sweet, pretty little face. “Alright,” he relents with a deep sigh. “I trust you, Tess.”

It always feels a bit strange to be outside.

But being outside without Joel?

It feels even stranger.

When he’d walked back into the room and told you Tess was willing to take you to the creek, the news had taken you by complete surprise. When he said he was willing to let her take you, that you almost couldn’t believe. It hadn’t even sunk in until the three of you stood outside the cabin and he was kissing your forehead sweetly in a temporary goodbye before turning to Tess.

“Never take your eyes off her,” he’d instructed her.

“She’ll behave.” She had smiled at you as she pulled her pistol from the waistband of her jeans, the gleam of the silver barrel catching your eye. “Isn’t that right?”

Swallowing dryly, you had answered with a strained, “Of course.”

She’s the last fucking person you wanted to cross. She was almost as terrifying as Joel, if not more.

“Tess? W-Where are we going?” you ask as you trudge along behind her, hoping you don’t sound as winded as you feel. Although you had no way to keep track of the time, it felt like you’d been trekking for at least an hour. Your feet are starting to hurt in your shoes—old, worn, yellow canvas sneakers that certainly weren’t made for hiking. “I don’t remember the creek being this far from the cabin.”

Tess snorts. “Don’t tell me you’re tired already.”

“It’s just—we’ve been walking for a really long time.”

She glances over her shoulder at you. “Here I thought you would be a little fucking grateful to be out getting some fresh air,” she chuckles, shaking her head before turning her attention back to the path ahead.

“I am,” you squeak, stumbling over a fallen branch.

Silence falls over the both of you.

“We’re not going to the creek,” Tess finally speaks after a minute. “I’m taking you somewhere else. Somewhere even better. Just trust me, kid. Now hurry up.”

It takes another hour before you reach your destination, and you hear it before you can even see it, a humming sound that turns into buzzing the closer you get. Then, you feel it, a vibration in the rocks beneath your feet. “Is that a—?” Stepping around her, your mouth falls open in absolute awe at the sight before you.

The waterfall is nestled right in between the trees and surges over the rocky mountain, throwing up bubbles of spray as it plunges into the lake at the bottom, and from there, it foams into a thick, white lather at the base. On the bank, where you stand, you spot different types of vegetation you couldn’t identify even if you tried—all you know is that it’s green, and it’s beautiful.

“This is incredible,” you gasp.

“Way better than some little creek, huh?” Tess tucks her pistol into the waistband of her jeans and shrugs off her pack. She digs around in the front pocket and pulls out something wrapped in a piece of crumpled brown tissue paper. She hands it to you. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“Well, if you’d fucking open it, you would know,” Tess rolls her eyes. “It’s my last piece of soap. It’s all yours.”

Her kind generosity comes as a surprise—usually, Tess wanted nothing to do with you. But you don’t question it, and you certainly don’t turn the rare luxury down.

“Thanks,” you say, shooting her a grateful look.

Tess nods towards the body of water. “Alright, then. Go on and get to it.”

You take the piece of soap out the tissue. The scent of lavender is faint, but still very much there. Joel will like the smell of it on your skin tonight, you think.

As you start to pull the strap of your cotton blue dress down your shoulder, you feel her gaze fixed intently on you. Heat rushes to your cheeks. “Uh, aren’t you going to turn around?”

“For fuck’s sake,” she scoffs. “I’ve got what you’ve got. Now hurry up, we don’t have all fucking day.”

Nodding, you peel off your dress and underwear, your face on fire as the older woman’s eyes slowly drag over your naked body. Carefully, you step off the bank and wade into the water. It’s so clear that you can count the pebbles underneath your feet.

Leaning against a nearby tree, Tess calls out, “You have ten minutes! And stay out of the waterfall! Last thing I need is for you to fucking drown.”

As she lights a cigarette, you can’t help but stare at her. Her features, though worn down after the hell she had been through trying to survive the post outbreak world, are beautiful. Big, dark green eyes, a perfect nose, and full, pouty lips. There’s never been a doubt in your mind that she and Joel have been involved with one another, and lately, the mere thought of anything between them made you uncomfortable.

It’s an odd sensation deep in your gut—jealousy?

But what were you jealous of? Her having had him first?

It shouldn’t matter to you, but it does. Insecurities you have never in your life felt before seep into your bones.

“Anyone ever tell you it’s fucking rude to stare?” Tess quips, raising an eyebrow at you. She shoves her lighter into the back pocket of her jeans.

Nervously, you sink lower into the water, nibbling the inside of your cheek. “Tess? Can I ask you something?”

“What could you possibly fucking want to ask me?”

You hesitate.

“How—how long have you known each other?”

“Who?” Tess plucks the cigarette from between her lips and flicks the ashes. “Me and Joel?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

She shrugs. “Don’t know. Six, seven years?”

“How did you two meet?”

“Long story that’s none of your fucking business.”

You ask your next question before you lose your nerve. “Have you two ever—?” Unsure of how to phrase it, you stop and clamp your mouth shut in instant regret.

“Have we ever what?” Tess studies your face, and she quickly realizes what you’re trying to ask her. “You’re seriously asking me if me and Joel have ever fucked?”

Biting your bottom lip, you glance down into the water at your feet. You honestly don’t expect her to answer, so when she does, you look back up at her in surprise.

“Yeah.” She takes a long drag from her cigarette, then adds, “Few times.”

Something unpleasant claws at your insides. “You two were together? Like a couple?”

“Something like that,” Tess mutters, flicking her ashes once more.

“What happened?”

She looks at you, pausing before answering, “You.”

Oh.

Before you can utter another word, Tess snaps, “Quit asking so many goddamn fucking questions and finish up washing. You’ve got eight minutes left.”

Not wanting to push your luck further than you already have, you do as she tells you in complete silence.

You lather up the soap in your hands, washing your hair first, and then your face and body, using your hands to scrub yourself as best as you can. Between the calming scent of the soap, the soothing sound of the waterfall, and the warm afternoon sun, you find yourself relaxing. You try to clear your mind, live in this peaceful moment which you very well may never get again, but your mind begins to wander.

And it wanders straight to Joel.

Closing your eyes, you can’t help but picture him here, standing behind you in the lake. You can almost feel his hands on you, long, thick fingers lathered with lavender soap, sliding down your body. His lips at your neck, he cups your breasts in his hands, rolling his thumbs over your hardened nipples until your head lulls, falling back onto his shoulder. Joel drags his hands further down, over your stomach, going lower and lower towards the place where you need them the most. “Yeah, baby?” he murmurs into your neck, dipping one of them between your legs until you are, quite literally, in the palm of his hand. “This where y’need me?”

Breathless, you respond, “It’s where I want you.”

Suddenly, your eyes snap open.

There is a wetness between your thighs, one that has nothing to do with the fact that you’re standing waist-deep in the middle of a lake. You shake those thoughts away and finish washing yourself.

“Time’s up,” Tess calls. She meets you on the bank with a dry rag. “Here.”

The rag doesn’t exactly cover much surface area, but you dry yourself off as best you can before tugging on your underwear and slipping on your dress. Just as you crouch down to slip your shoes on, she tosses her pack and it lands in front of you with a soft thud.

Confused, you glance up at her.

“There’s about a week’s worth of jerky in there. Longer, if you know how to ration,” Tess explains, calmly. “And a canteen for water. I also packed you a flashlight and a pocket knife. It’s not much, but—”

Frowning, you rise to your feet. “What are you talking about, Tess? What’s going on? Why are you giving me your pack?”

“Because I’m giving you a chance, kid.”

A feeling of dread pools in the pit of your stomach.

“A chance to what?”

“Run.”

Your heart stutters a beat. “Run?”

“He’ll come looking for you. You need to get as far away from here as possible. Run away, as far as you can, and don’t fucking look back.”

All you can do is stare at her in shocked silence.

“I can help you get a head start,” Tess offers, quietly. “I can show you which direction to go in and put you on a path leading to the closest state highway—”

“But what if I don’t want to run?”

Tess places her hands on her hips, and she exhales an incredulous laugh. “Jesus,” she breathes, shaking her head in pity. “He’s really got you fucking brainwashed, doesn’t he?”

You glare at her. “I am not brainwashed, Tess.”

“You’ve gotta be if you’re telling me you wanna go back to him.”

“Tess—”

She cuts you off. “He gave the order to raid your camp and kill your people,” she reminds you. “He fucking slit your father’s throat right in front of you, then took you as his prisoner. He made you his fucking sex slave.”

“He takes care of me! He feeds me, makes sure I have a bed to sleep in no matter where we are. He keeps me safe. He—he cares about me.” You will your voice not to tremble as you stand your ground. “No. I’m not running away, Tess. I want to go back.”

Tess sighs. “You’re really not gonna make this easy, are you?”

“Take me back,” you all but demand, your hands curled into the least menacing little fists she had ever seen in her life at your sides. “Take me back to the cabin—take me back to him, Tess. I mean it.”

Amused, she huffs through her nose. “Or else what?”

“You can’t make me run away, Tess.” As you take a step towards her, she reaches behind her and swiftly whips out her pistol from the waistband of her jeans. You halt, freezing in fear when she aims the barrel of the gun at your chest.

“Actually, I can,” she says, her finger hovering over the trigger. “So here’s how this is gonna go. I’m gonna walk away now. And if you even think about following me, or trying to find your way back to the group, you will die.” She tosses you a tiny, wry smile. “Believe it or not, I’m doing you a real big favor, kid. Problem is, he’s got you so fucked in the head that you can’t see it.”

“Tess, please,” you plead. “Don’t do this to me!”

She begins to back away. “Remember when you’d say that to him? How you’d beg him not to do those things to you every night? Beg him to let you go?”

“Please, just take me back to him!”

You start to follow her.

“You take one more fucking step and I’ll shoot you,” she threatens, her eyes darkening. “Don’t think I won’t.”

Tess keeps her pistol pointed at you until she slips into the trees and disappears, abandoning you in the middle of the forest.

He’s furious. Livid.

Joel paces back and forth on the porch.

“Where the fuck are they?”

The old, rotting wood that wraps all the way around the cabin creaks, and certain softer spots bend and buckle, threatening to give way beneath his heavy boots. Joel’s younger brother leans against the railing, which is just as fragile, an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

“Christ, Joel. Can you fuckin’ relax?” Tommy grumbles, fishing around in his back pocket for his lighter. “You’re gonna bring the whole damn cabin down if ya don’t cut that shit out.” He sparks a flame and lights the filtered end of the cigarette. He takes a long drag, and exhales the smoke through his nose. “You’re gettin’ worked up over nothin’, brother.”

“S’almost sundown, and they’re still not fuckin’ back.” Joel shakes his head. “Fuckin’ knew I shouldn’t have let Tess take her. Somethin’ happened, Tommy. I just know it.” He lifts his shirt and reaches for his pistol, pulling it from the waistband of his jeans. “M’gonna head to the creek myself to find ‘em. Ain’t gonna sit around on my goddamn hands and wait for it to get fuckin’ dark.”

“She’s with Tess. M’sure the girl’s fine—” Tommy stops, his eyes widening slightly. “Well, hell.”

“What?”

Tommy jerks his chin over Joel’s shoulder before taking another slow, casual drag of his cigarette. He savors the last few seconds of peace before shit inevitably hits the fan and his brother unleashes his wrath on anything, or anyone, in his path.

Joel whips around and his stomach sinks, his blood ice in his veins when he sees Tess approaching the cabin. Alone.

Both his mind and body go numb. It’s a jarring shock to his nervous system, and it takes him a minute or two to fully process the fact that you’re not with her.

“Joel,” Tess says his name carefully as he descends the porch steps and walks towards her. “I need you to take a breath, alright?”

“Where—where is she?” His voice breaks, his weakness momentarily slipping through the cracks.

Not that Tess didn’t already know you were Joel Miller’s weakness, his soft white underbelly, the only vulnerable part of his hardened self that could be penetrated—you would have been his downfall. As much as she’d like to say she did what she did solely for your own good, she also did it for his, and for the sake of the group as a whole.

It needed to be done.

He stands in front of her, a ticking time bomb about to go off.

Prepared to face whatever consequences of the choice she had made, Tess tucks her gun away and sighs. “You need to take a breath—”

Joel snatches her arm, his fingers digging into the flesh above her elbow. His emotions hit him all at once.

Fear, worry, anger. It’s the third that takes precedence, and before Tess can utter another word, Joel yanks her forward. She crashes against his chest so hard that it knocks the wind out of her. “Where the fuck is she?” He leans down, his nostrils flaring as he brings their faces the closest they have been in almost a year.

“Joel, take a fucking breath—”

“Where. Is. She.” His grip on her arm tightens with each word he bites out through his teeth. He’s vaguely aware the others have piled out of the cabin, gathering on the porch to watch the altercation.

“She ran,” Tess explains, calmly. She doesn’t falter, not even as his fingers sink deeper into her skin, promising her painful bruises which will take days to fade away. If he decided to let her live. “She ran away, Joel. I turned my back for one fucking second and she was gone. She even took my fucking pack. I tried going after her, but it was no use. She was too fast.”

Behind him, Tommy snorts. “She outran you?”

Her eyes momentarily flicker to him. “Her knees are a lot younger than mine,” she replies, flatly.

“Which direction did she go in?” Joel demands. When Tess doesn’t immediately respond, he shouts, “Which fucking direction!”

Tess manages to snatch her arm out of his grasp. She glowers at him, hissing, “What the hell does it matter which direction she went? You won’t fucking find her.”

His eyes meet hers, and he sees it. Feels it.

She’s lying to him.

“Tess.” Joel’s voice drops dangerously low. He studies her face, his brows creasing with suspicion. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do shit, Joel. She fucking ran away.”

Without warning, Joel takes her by her throat. His other hand brings his pistol to her head, shoving the barrel of it against her temple. His nose touches hers. “Now, tell me why I have the feelin’ you’re not tellin’ me the whole truth?”

Tess lifts her chin. She searches his eyes, a sharp ache shooting through her. After everything, all the hell they had been through together—he would end her life, put a bullet in her because of you? Did she mean that little to him?

Or maybe she’d never meant anything to him at all?

She’s not sure which stings more.

“Because you’ve fucking deluded yourself into thinking that she willingly wants anything to do with you,” Tess finally answers. “That’s why.”

He ignores the burn of her scorching words.

“Where the fuck is she, Tess?”

“If she’s smart, she’s far away from here by now,” she hisses. “I did everyone a fucking favor, Joel. That girl is just another fucking mouth to feed. And what if you get her pregnant? That’ll be another one. Not to mention, a crying baby could draw unwanted attention and get us all killed. Ever thought about that? She’s not an asset to the group, she’s a fucking liability. Besides, I think I can speak for everyone when I say we’re all fucking tired of hearing you ra—”

Joel digs the barrel harder into her temple, his finger hovering over the trigger. “Listen to me. You’ve got ten seconds to tell me where she is, y’understand me?”

“Or what? You’ll blow my brains out?” Foolishly, Tess chooses to call his bluff despite not knowing for certain whether or not he’ll actually pull the trigger. “Go ahead, then. Kill me, Joel.”

His finger twitches over the trigger, but he doesn’t pull it. He can’t fucking pull it. Not on her. Not on Tess.

Still in his hands, she sags slightly in relief.

Swallowing harshly, Joel Miller lowers his gun and does something she’s never seen him do before. He begs.

“Tess, tell me where she is,” he whispers. His pleading is subtle, and only she can hear it. “Please—just fuckin’ tell me where my girl is.”

Tess stands her ground and says nothing.

Releasing her, Joel shoves her aside and with nothing but his gun in his hand, he sets off to find you.

“Ow, fuck!”

You gasp, quickly lifting your bare foot off the ground.

You’d stepped on something sharp—a stick, or maybe a rock?

In a desperate attempt to try and keep up with Tess’ tracks, you had stupidly left behind your shoes back at the waterfall. But the mere seconds you had spared by not stopping to put your shoes on hadn’t given you the advantage you thought it would. She had moved much too fast, and within minutes, you’d become helplessly, hopelessly lost. Every tree and every bush, they all look exactly the same, and for all you know, you’ve probably been going around in fucking circles for the past couple of hours in your search for her footprints in the dirt.

Sagging against the trunk of a nearby tree, you take a minute to try and catch your breath, to give your poor little feet a break from hiking over fallen branches and jagged stones.

Your head falls back, eyes gazing through the canopy of trees. Dusk has settled in, and nightfall is on its heels. It was foolish of you to leave behind your shoes, but even more so to leave behind the pack she had given you—in the pack were all the things meant to help you survive. Knife, flashlight, food.

Sure, you can survive a night out here in the wilderness without any of those things—but then what? Come dawn, what do you do? Where do you go? Do you just stumble around in the woods and hope for the best? Pray you’ll make it onto a highway with signs that will point you to a quarantine zone?

Hell, maybe you’re overestimating yourself. Maybe you wouldn’t survive long enough to worry about your next move. Howls in the distance remind you there’s wildlife out here, dangerous predators that come out after dark in search of their next meal. Or what about infected? It wasn’t unheard of for them to veer off the highway and lose themselves in the trees.

You recall your first few weeks in Joel Miller’s hands.

Escaping them was all you could ever think about, even though the chances of you surviving alone were slim to none, just like they are now. Never having been on your own, death would have been inevitable—but back then, in your darkest moments in captivity, you wished for it. You’d welcomed the idea of starving, freezing, or being torn apart limb from limb by an entire hoard of clickers. At least then, you’d die with your freedom.

Almost a year later, that wish has been granted.

You’re free.

You may very well die, but you would die free.

Closing your eyes, you think about Joel. His arms, that once held you down—held you still—as he did all those things to you without your consent, are arms your heart yearns to have wrapped around you, holding you close.

“Jesus,” you grit, a tear rolling down your cheek.

Maybe Tess had been right. Maybe he really does have you fucked in the head.

Joel was a monster. He had taken everything from you, including your innocence. He’d defiled you in ways you hadn’t known were possible. He was a terrible, terrible man.

A terrible, terrible man who kept you fed.

A terrible, terrible man who kept you warm.

A terrible, terrible man who kept you safe.

Another tear slides down the side of your face. What is fucking wrong with you?

You don’t know. But what you do know is, the thought of never seeing Joel again is somehow more terrifying to you than the thought of dying even the most brutal of deaths.

A loud rustling sound brings your train of thought to an immediate, sudden halt, and your eyes wrench open.

It’s darker now, but you manage to catch a movement in the shrubs, only mere feet in front of you. Panic flares in your chest, it rattles you to your very core, and even though every nerve in your body is urging you to move, you freeze, your back flush against the tree trunk. Your fingernails dig painfully into the bark as you watch the shrubs part down the middle, and a tall, hulking figure emerges with a heavy grunt.

At first, you think it’s just a figment of your imagination showing you what you wanted to see—a hallucination. Blinking furiously, you lightly shake your head, and then take another look at him. Your breath hitches when you realize it’s Joel.

He stares at you in the same manner, as if he’s trying to figure out if you’re real, or if his mind is playing a cruel, cruel trick on him. Feet cemented to the forest floor, he watches you take a small, tentative step towards him.

Once adamant that you’d never look him in the eye, you find your gaze locking directly with his as you carefully take another step closer. Then another, and another.

“Joel?” It’s the first time you’ve ever uttered his name.

He seems as taken aback hearing it as you are saying it.

“Joel.” It rolls off your tongue smoother, and with more ease the second time around.

It sparks a flame somewhere deep, deep inside of him, a fire that burns differently than those ignited by carnal desires.

No, this is something else entirely, and you feel it too.

“Baby?” he whispers hoarsely. “S’that really you?”

“Joel!” you cry, hurling yourself into his arms.

Joel’s gun falls from his hand and he curls them around you. Burying his nose into your hair, he inhales deeply. The scent of you, the feel of you—you’re fucking real.

Shuddering with sobs of relief, your arms wrap around his waist, and you cling to him as if you’re clinging onto dear, precious life itself.

“Hush now, s’alright,” Joel soothes, cradling the back of your head in one hand, while the rubs soft, calming circles into your back. “I’ve got you, honey. M’here.”

“I swear I didn’t want to run away,” you explain through your tears. “I begged her to take me back to you, Joel, I really did! But she left me out here���she said she would shoot me if I tried following her back. Please, you have to believe me, you just have to believe me!”

He squeezes you harder against his chest. “I do, baby. I do believe you,” he assures you. Pulling away, he takes a step backward and takes your face between his palms, peering at you in concern. “Y’hurt, sweetheart?”

“No,” you hiccup, curling your hands around his wrists. Your lower lip trembles. “I—I thought I’d never see you again. I was scared I wouldn’t,” you admit, softly.

Joel’s thumb wipes away a fresh tear. “M’here now,” he murmurs. “You’re with me, baby. You’re safe, alright?” As a late evening breeze passes through, he lets you go and shrugs out of his brown jacket. He goes to drape it around your shoulders, but you snatch it right out of his hands, then toss it aside.

Something in you snaps. You take fistfuls of his flannel, pulling him down towards you to do yet something else that takes you both by surprise—you initiate a kiss. You lean forward and press your lips to his, a little swipe of your tongue across his bottom lip as you clutch tighter at his shirt, holding him in place. Groaning, Joel opens his mouth more, his tongue brushing yours.

Liquid heat pools in your belly, and before you realize it, you’ve grown frantic, kissing him with fervor. Releasing his shirt, you slide your hands down his chest, over his stomach, lower and lower until you find his belt buckle. Desperate, you clumsily fumble with it, and that’s when Joel tears away from you, his breath hitching.

You’re begging before he can even say a word. “Please. I need you—I want you. Right now.”

You cup him through his jeans, and he exhales sharply.

“Fuck.” Without giving it a second thought, his hands reach for the straps of your dress, pushing them off of your shoulders. He roughly tugs at the material, letting it slip down your body until it falls around your feet. In a tangle of limbs and tongues, you both sink to the forest floor. Your hands brush his buckle, and he catches your wrists. “Not yet, baby girl. M’still in charge, alright?”

Sheepishly, you nod.

“Say it.” His command is firm, but somehow still gentle.

“You’re—you’re in charge.”

“Good girl.” Joel guides you onto your back. He’s over you in a second, swelling your lips with a hard, hungry kiss that leaves you dizzy and breathless. He moves his mouth, teeth scraping over your cheek and jaw, down to your neck where he nips at the tender, delicate flesh over your pulse point. Then, he bites his way over your collarbone and to your shoulder. “Bet she’s already wet for me,” he mumbles into your skin. “Ain’t she, baby?”

Pushing himself back onto his knees, he slides a finger over your clothed cunt, eliciting a small gasp from you. Hooking his fingers under the elastic waistband of your cotton underwear, he yanks the fabric down your legs. It catches on your foot, your wetness smearing against the inside of your ankle.

You’re drenched.

“C’mere,” Joel grunts, sliding his hands under your ass and pulling your hips over his thighs. He leans over you once more, your bare, throbbing cunt rubbing against the crotch of his jeans. He tuts lightly into your neck as you buck against him. “Such a fuckin’ needy little girl.”

Desperate, you try rolling your hips into his. “Joel.”

“Kinda like it when y’say my name.” He starts making his way down the length of your body. “Think I’ll like it even better when you’re screamin’ it. Won’t I, baby?”

Your stomach tightens as he nibbles his way down your neck again, teeth scraping over your clavicle and down your chest to your heaving tits. Taking one in his hand, the other goes into his mouth—his tongue is scorching hot over your nipple. He licks the pebbled flesh, sucks it and bites it while he rolls the other peak in between his thumb and index finger. “Oh fuck,” you gasp.

Releasing your breast with a wet pop, Joel sinks further down your body. He plants hot, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your tummy, leaving behind a trail of fire in their wake. He stops over your mound and hovers for a fraction of a second before pressing his nose into the silky soft curls there. Inhaling deeply, Joel picks up the subtle, herbal scent of the lavender soap you had washed yourself with. “Fuck, y’smell so fuckin’ good.”

He pushes your thighs open, pinning one to the ground with his hand while the other goes over his shoulder. Your foot slides down his back, toes curling despite the fact that he hasn’t even reached the spot where you’re aching to have him most. Heart thundering, your blood rushes, roaring in your ears.

Joel turns his head, his lips brushing your inner thigh in another kiss. “S’this where y’want me, honey?” he asks you. Goosebumps erupt over every inch of your skin as he draws closer, his breath like steam on your core. He glances up at you, his cock twitching against his zipper at the sight of you laying naked before him on the floor of the forest. Willing. Wanting. “Hm? Right here?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please, Joel.”

Thankfully, you only have to ask him once, and then his face is buried between your legs, and he is giving you what you want.

“Fuck!” you cry out. Back arching, your head tilts back until the crown of it meets the ground, leaves and twigs finding their way into your clean hair.

Joel’s tongue flattens over your cunt in a broad stroke, then dips between your folds, collecting your slick with a harsh groan, one that sends a bone-rattling vibration throughout your entire body, from head to curled toes. His mouth opens wider—a starving, greedy man trying to eat you whole. Sliding his tongue over your clit, Joel seals his lips around it, sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves until it swells in his mouth.

High-pitched little cries and whines spill from your lips. Your hands shoot down, fingers tangling themselves in his dark, graying curls, eliciting a grunt from him when you tug at his roots. “Joel, fuck,” you choke, your nails scraping against his scalp. He slurps and swallows your wetness, the sounds drowning out those of the night—the chirping of crickets, the croaking of frogs, the soft hooting of owls are washed away until all you can hear is him devouring your pussy.

Your body starts to tremble, and you know you’re close. Joel does, too. He feels your thighs twitch, threatening to close around his head, but he wrenches them further apart with a muffled but firm, “No.” He drapes his arm over your pelvis, his large hand splayed on your belly.

Relentless, he sucks your clit, gliding his tongue over it, again and again until the muscles in your lower tummy tighten and you burst at the seams, unraveling into his mouth. Warm slick gushes out of you, a sweet mess he licks clean. You choke back sobs of pleasure, your body tensing, vision blurring with every stroke of his tongue, each scrape of his teeth over your clit.

Joel lifts himself onto his knees with a grunt and gazes down at you—his good girl, sweet and pliant and ready to be fucked full of his cock. His hands slide his belt out of its brass buckle, eyes still trained on you as he pops the button of his jeans and yanks down his zipper.

Your mind is fuzzy, still syrupy and dripping—it doesn’t fully register what he’s doing, not until he climbs back over you and you his hard cock brushes your thigh, hot velvet that sears the inside of your leg. Precum smears your flesh.

“Y’feel that? Feel what you fuckin’ do to me?”

“Joel.” Hands shaking, you reach for the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel more of his skin on yours. You whine when he catches both of your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head. “Your clothes—”

“Stay on.” Ducking his head, he nips at your pulse point and mumbles, “Tell me what y’want, pretty girl.”

Joel shifts over you, his cock now resting on your lower belly, thick and heavy and leaking.

You squirm under him, hips coming off the ground, that hollow thing inside of you begging to be filled.

“Use your words, sweetheart. Tell me what y’want.”

“You, Joel—I want you. Please, please, please—”

He hushes you.

“I’ve you, baby. I’ve got you,” Joel promises. He wraps his other hand around himself, dragging the head of his cock along the seam of your puffy folds, up and down—he elicits a ragged little gasp from you when he grazes your clit and his fingers tighten around your wrists. He coats himself in your slippery slick until he’s glistening with it, and then he gives a slow roll of his hips, working himself into you.

Your mouth falls open. No words come out, no pleas for more—only jerky breaths, pathetic little pants for air as you take it.

Joel’s cock throbs, pulses like a heartbeat as your cunt welcomes him home. He presses his forehead to yours. “She’s always so fuckin’ sweet to me.” His voice is low, rough gravel. His eyes meet yours in the dark blue glow of the forest, and he savors the last moments of seeing your pretty face before the last traces of dusk are gone. Brushing his lips to the corner of your mouth, he feeds you his cock inch by inch, murmuring, “That’s it, honey. Good fuckin’ girl.”

You melt around him at his praise.

Releasing your wrists, he moves his hand, placing it on the crown of your head. “Ain’t ever lettin’ you out of my sight again,” he swears. “Alright? Never gonna be apart from me again, baby girl. Never. Y’understand me?” He curls his other hand firmly around your jaw, his fingers sticky with you and him. “Do you understand me?”

“Never,” you repeat, softly.

Joel kisses you, deep and slow, almost sweet. Tender. He breaks away, his lips hovering right over yours as he pushes his hips forward, bottoming out inside you.

Moaning, your hands grasp at his shoulders. Your legs widen further to accommodate the breadth of his hips.

“There y’go.” Joel presses deep within, until your belly feels hot and full. “That’s it, baby. Good girl,” he coos, drawing his hips back, then rolling them right back into you. He takes one of your ankles and tosses it over his shoulder, giving himself a better angle to fuck into you.

A loud cry tears from the back of your throat. “Joel!”

He grins in the darkness. He knew he’d like hearing you scream his name.

Joel’s hand settles on your leg that’s over his shoulder, your thigh already shaking. “Y’gonna be a real good girl n’ give me another one?”

You try to answer him, you really do, but your mind falls further and further away.

His fingertips sink into your thigh. He strokes in and out of you, never retreating more than inches at a time so he keeps you full. Stuffed. “Christ. Takin’ it so fuckin’ well,” he croons, moving your leg off of his shoulder so they are both wrapped around his waist. Hunching over you, he bears down hard, using most of his weight. He almost chuckles at the little oof that puffs out of you.

Rocks and twigs dig painfully into your back, but all you can do is feel him. How close he is.

You’re right there with him.

“Joel—fuck, I’m gonna co—”

You’re cut off by your own sharp gasp.

“That’s it. C’mon, honey.” Joel slips his hand between your thighs, his fingers firmly rubbing your clit. “C’mon, baby. Be a good girl and come on my cock—”

It rips through you like an electric current, a shockwave that has you clawing at the dirt. You come crying Joel’s name, crumbling into a whimpering, quivering mess.

Within seconds, he’s swept away by the same tide.

“Baby,” he groans, dropping his head into the hollow of your neck. He goes still and lets your tight cunt clench at him, gripping his cock as it throbs, pulses, empties into you. After a minute, he brushes a kiss to your neck before mumbling, “My sweet girl.”

Joel makes no move to pull out of you. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, your soiled fingers toy with the soft curls at the nape of his neck, shattered breaths slowing and piecing back together.

You gaze up through the trees at the night sky, feeling the safest you’ve ever been with the earth at your back and your whole world on top of you, his cock buried in your cunt.

Tess is right. Joel Miller really does have you fucked in the head.

You’re certain of it when you make the realization with a smile.

divider credit to @/saradika 🖤

for fic notifications please follow @joelsgreysupdates!

[thebestsetter]

Isagi loves your thighs. And even though he isn't the type of guy to answer "personality" when asked "Boobs, thighs or ass?", he doesn't want to outright say how attracted he feels to them, mainly because he doesn't want you to think he only cares about your body (even though you know he doesn't).

So, imagine how heavenly it felt the first time he got to sleep on your lap. He remembers it as if it happened yesterday.

He had come home after a tough day of practice, in which his coach seemed even more angry than usual and just determined to make the whole team's day a living hell. Everything in him was aching, from his back to his feet, and he could swear he had a fever or something, because his head was starting to throb too. All Isagi wanted to do was get home and lay down, even if it means sleeping without showering (which shows just how tired he was).

"Honey? You're home!" he heard you saying from the kitchen "Welcome home!"

He tried to answer your sweet voice welcoming him home. He really did. But his mouth just wouldn't answer his brain's commands. So, he was just standing, staring at you with his mouth wide open, looking like an idiot.

"Isagi? Are you feeling alright?"

He couldn't even register what he was doing, but the next thing he knew, he walked closer to you. His body was just moving on it's own, as if being as close to you as possible was as natural for him as breathing.

"Sweetie, you're starting to scare me. Do you need to go to the doctor? Did something happen today at practice?"

He couldn't resist the urge to hug you anymore, even though he was trying to restrain himself because he was still stinky from practice and he knew just how much you hated it when he hugged or kissed you without showering first. He couldn't explain it, but you looked so huggable at the moment! He took a step closer, hugging you tight and burying his face in the crook of your neck, innaling deeply and letting out a satisfied sigh. One of his hands was travelling your waist while the other was playing with the hem of your shirt.

"Yoichi!" you exclaimed, voice worried yet still not loud enough to make his head ache even more (he doesn't even think your voice will ever be capable of doing him any harm) "You're burning up! You have a fever! I can't believe it, I told you to take better care of yourself!"

Ah. So he was right. He had a fever. That's why training was so hard today.

"Hm" he muttered, still with his head in your neck. He closed his eyes, enjoying the moment you both were having.

"Stay at the couch, I'll go grab some medicine at the bathroom."

"Noooo, don't leave me here" he said, clearly affected by his sickness. It looks like his mouth finally started to work again. "I don't want to be away from youuuu"

"Yoichi, my honey, you're clearly not thinking straight right now. But I won't go away! I'll be back in like 30 seconds. Sit on the couch and count, I swear it won't take long"

He sighed, but complied anyway, sitting at the couch and waiting (im)patiently.

You were right, because in almost no time you came back with pills and a cup of water. If there was a sport where the champion had to be the person who brought a glass of water and medicine to their sick boyfriend the fastest, you would win, Isagi thought (and that thought made him strangely proud).

"Here. Drink it up" he obeyed

"Everything hurts"

"I know it does, love. What you need right now is sleep. Come here" you said, patting your lap. If Yoichi was in his right mind, he would've blushed hard and maybe even denied at first, but he wasn't. He just wanted to rest, and he always dreamed about laying in your lap. So, he quickly grasped the opportunity.

And boy was it as good as he imagined it would be. Even better, actually. Your thighs were fluffier than any other pillows he had ever used before, and he felt like he could hibernate there. And as if it couldn't get any better, you started playing with his hair. He was in heaven. He couldn't even fell the pain anymore, and he was sure it wasn't just the medicine doings.

"I love your thighs" he admitted, a honesty he wouldn't have when he was healthy, which made you chuckle "And I love you too. Thank you." He kissed the inner part of your thigh to show you just how serious he was about it

"I love you too, Yoichi. Now, rest. We don't want the best striker of the world to be sick all week, do we?"

"If it means getting to lay on your lap everyday, I would be sick my whole life"

"You're silly"

"And you're the love of my life"

"Good night, Isagi"

"Good night, my love"

Masterlist

[sharkikive]

Ken Sato with a supermodel!reader pls pls pls

Like they're dating in secret but accidentally reveals their situation and their fans go wild

OMG sure! Sorry this took time for me to write and I really do hope you'll like it <3

runway to your heart (ken sato x supermodel!fem!reader)

Summary: A baseball player and a supermodel, both celebrities in their respective fields. A relationship that had to be kept under wraps.

It was supposed to be a secret... until it wasn't.

Word count: 6,913

CW: Fluff, slightly suggestive (he def talks you through it), Ken Sato being the boyfriend of the year

A/N: I tried my best in writing this because I am not familiar with both fields (baseball and modelling) so here you go! This was purely out of my own imagination and is very, very self-indulgent because damn, who wouldn't want Ken Sato in their life? Rich, soft spoken, a good father, and the list goes on. Hope you enjoy this one just like how I kicked my feet every single time Ken becomes THE boyfriend.

***

Cheers erupted throughout the whole stadium and through the speakers, mixing in with the noise in the dressing room.

Hair rollers tucked in, brush with powder dancing across your face, and a neutral expression to let the makeup artist do his magic. Your eyes dutifully closed as the artist worked on your eyelids, but your ears got sharper to hear the conversations around you.

You knew who the main topic in the room would be, and that was the man that had just scored another point in the game on screen.

“Oh God,” you heard one of your model colleagues groan. “Ken Sato is too attractive. Look at that smile, that body-” she stopped talking and addressed you next. “Y/N, isn’t Ken Sato so handsome? Imagine being his girlfriend. That would be a-ma-zing.”

Your eyes were still closed and you hummed an immediate reply. “He’s okay. I’ve seen better and-” You opened your eyes when the makeup artist told you that he’s done with your eyes. “He seems like a cocky bastard.”

Your colleague, Hina, gave an exaggerated gasp as she heard your reply. “You did not just say that about Ken Sato. If he isn’t your type, I wouldn’t know who else would be able to satisfy you. He is the most sought-after man.”

You shrugged. “You never know. Maybe I like a single dad who has to raise a kid on his own, with him himself having daddy issues.”

Hina narrowed her eyes at you suspiciously, before prancing over and stared at you. “You know that whatever you described was very specific? Y/N,” she said, almost quietly, “are you seeing someone?”

“Yeah, I’m seeing you, Hina.”

She clicked her tongue. “You know, you always answer so smartly. One day, Y/N, I will discover your secret!”

You chuckled, watching as Hina got dragged by the stylist, prepping her to get her up to the runway. Your turn was still a long way to go, so you were left with your hair held up by rollers, while your eyes caught a notification on your phone. You read the notification and smiled, but quickly returned to a neutral expression.

The message read: It’s another win for us tonight, baby. Can’t wait to see you after this. Good luck for your show today, and break a leg. I know you’ll do great.

You typed in a reply, quickly snapping a picture of your prepped face and sending it over to the recipient. You weren’t even able to put down your phone when the next reply came in the next second.

You swore, this person could make you smile without even knowing, which could be a very risky thing considering the nature of both of your relationship.

Looking gorgeous as always, baby. The text message read. I really am the luckiest man to have you.

You put down your phone as your name was called over; your turn was approaching fast. You were practically floating around from one point to another, having different hands adding last-minute touch ups.

The line was moving fast before it was your turn, and you could see that every one of the models who finished their turn returned with a grim look on their faces backstage. You looked at the small entrance, and when you spotted Hina, you quickly signaled for her to come over.

“Was the runway condition that bad?” you whispered to her, whose hair was going in different directions at once.

“They said they wanted to simulate an ‘extreme condition’ on the runway, right?” She did quotation marks.

You nodded, agreeing to her. “Yeah.” You inched up the line. “The theme for today’s show is extreme weather.”

Hina exhaled slowly as she attempted to fix her hair. “All I can say is that they managed to replicate it well.” She shook her head. “Good luck, Y/N. You’ll need it.”

You turned your head back to the front, your turn coming closer as the models in front of you went out to continue the show. It was a rapid show, where you finally had your turn right after Hina disappeared behind a row of clothes.

You understood what Hina meant as soon as one foot was out from behind the scenes. The runway was boxed within a transparent glass, protecting the simulation from the audience.

From years of experience, you put on your best face before walking down the runway, doing your best in showing off the collection.

You were sure they were trying to imitate a blizzard, but the worst they could offer to models wearing heavy dresses and high heels. You saw the model in front of you fall first, the strong winds knocking her back before as she couldn’t fight it back.

One rule on the runway: you keep on walking, no matter the condition. Walk over your fellow models, maintain your expression and show off what you have. It’s an unapologetic world out here.

But that’s exactly the reason why you’re known as the rule breaker around here.

While maintaining your face, you did a show of reaching out to the fallen model, helping her up to let her continue, but you figured this time around, being a rule breaker did have its consequences.

You knew the fallen model; she considered herself as your rival, always trying to one up you in every single aspect. Every, single, aspect including boasting about having a ‘sweetheart’ while you don’t.

Your rival, Mei, quickly took this as a chance to get back at you and embarrass you in front of the audience. She accepted your hand at first, but you realised that she was pulling you down instead of pushing herself up. Not enough with it, she added an extra push, disguised under the pretext of accepting your help to get up.

You were thrown to the side, and coupled with the condition on the runway, you almost tumbled off the path. Luckily, you managed to break the fall but as you landed sideways, you could feel the bruise forming near your right ankle. You cursed silently as you saw Mei picking herself back up and smirking in a split second before strutting away, leaving you stranded.

You knew no one was going to help you up as long as the show was on, so you braced yourself while continuing. Throughout the whole show, you managed to finish without breaking rhythm. You didn’t let the pain hinder you, although all you wished to do was to be lying down, giving your body a much needed rest.

Backstage after the end of the show, your manager, a sweet woman in her 40s, quickly rushed to you. A single mother of 2, Ms. Tornado as you’d like to call her, as she always seemed like she was caught up in something chaotic. She fussed over you, but you quickly brushed her away.

”Ms. Tor,” you cooed, hiding the pain with a calm demeanour, “I’m done for the day. Let’s go back.”

On the way out, you gave a signal of reassurance towards Hina, who looked worried while her right fingers were tapping on her left knuckles. You saw Mei smirking at you, offering no words to you. You gave her no satisfaction of seeing you in pain as you smiled back.

You knew that everyone had seen you fall on the runway, but that didn’t disturb you.

Your phone pinged with a notification. As you read the message in the car, you turned to Ms. Tornado on the driver’s seat. She understood your signal.

”Usual place?” she asked.

Unable to hide your excitement, you quickly nodded.

No further questions asked as she drove towards the city border, bringing you to one special spot you had practically owned with that one person. In fact, you’re sure that he had bought ownership over the whole area. Your smile grew wider as you spotted the person waiting on a camping chair with an empty one next to it, a campfire lit up.

You sneaked up from behind, forgetting the pain in your legs as you broke into a run, almost causing the person to tumble forward as you hugged him from behind.

”Kenji!” You exclaimed, your character a total 180 degrees from whatever you put on when you were ‘the supermodel who revived the fashion scene’.

With him, you allowed yourself to be comfortable; no pretense of having to check your posture, controlling your expressions or giving off a cold demeanour. With him, you were just Y/N, the girl who preferred to be nested in your home, finishing your time up by watching your same favourite shows over and over again.

Kind of ironic how you considered yourself an introvert yet landed a job that essentially thrusted you into the spotlight.

Kenji exclaimed your name back in the same energy you gave him, hugging your arms as he planted a kiss on the back of your hand. He stood up and dear God, you love this man so much. One of your features that contributed to your modelling career was your height, but you loved the fact that even then, he towered over you.

Ken Sato, the name that had revived Japan’s baseball team, who had acquired a celebrity status after essentially becoming the saviour.

Ken Sato, the man who had kept the audience on the edge of their seats as he scored yet another point in the game.

Ken Sato, the one man who had essentially saved your life while unironically revealing his one kept secret to you.

And Ken Sato, your boyfriend.

Though both of your relationships had to be kept under the radar due to your statuses, you were content with what you’re having now.

Who cares if people think you’re too ‘cold’ and that’s why no one wants you? A small smile played on your lips as you thought, Well, Ken Sato does.

How both of you met was bizarre, to say the least. You were out eating dinner alone, under the disguise that you always wore when you’re just a ‘normal’ citizen, when the ground shook. You were sure that there was a monster attack somewhere, but you were calmly eating dinner when the restaurant’s roof got lifted up.

Ultraman’s giant figure was punching the monster, and you were left gaping at the sudden loss of roof above your head. You quickly finished up your dinner, and when you were about to walk back to your condo, you saw the one thing that you were sure you shouldn’t.

You saw Ultraman shifting back into a human-sized figure and lo and behold, it was Ken Sato. Before, you never bothered to dig deeper into his life because you figured out that you would never be affiliated with the baseball scene. You knew he was famous and that was it.

You couldn’t believe your eyes so you gasped, but your hand wasn’t quick enough to muffle the sound until he turned back to look at you. Both were stone statues for a good minute before he finally spoke up at that time, “Um… can you keep… uh the… secret?”

You sure as hell did keep the secret that even after a drunken stupor, a one night stand then turned into a secret relationship with him, it was still safe with you.

You were so comfortable with him up to the point that it was nice to be yourself with him.

”What’s wrong, baby?” He planted a kiss on your forehead, bringing you back to the present. You inhaled his scent as you buried your face in his chest. “You’re thinking of something?”

You shook your head, tightening your grip around his waist. “Nah,” you mumbled. “Just thinking about the time we first met.”

He chuckled as he ruffled your hair. “I’m sure you did great in your show just now, hmm?”

You stayed quiet, debating or not whether you’d like to tell him what actually happened. He most likely hadn’t seen the show yet, but sooner or later he’d find out. It’s just a matter of now or later.

You were in your comfortable clothes; baggy t-shirt with cargo pants and hair tucked underneath a beanie. In public, people would usually leave you alone when you’re in this attire. Today though, the long pants were also an attempt for you to cover up the growing bruise.

You decided to keep quiet about the bruise, figuring later that he would find out and by then, you hoped it wouldn’t look as bad as it was now. You detached yourself from his hug, careful to not make it so obvious that you were limping. You took a seat, beckoning for him to come over.

Ken traced you with his eyes, lips locked before he smiled. He passed by his seat but didn’t settle down. Instead, he sat cross-legged on the sand, facing you. He leaned forward, crossing his arms with each other on your legs and rested his chin on top. He looked up at you, that same boyish smile he had whenever he was with you.

You looked at him, uttering, “Looks like my boyfriend won yet another game today.” You patted his cheeks, and he quickly grabbed your hands to hold them.

”It was the team, really,” he said humbly, but with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “I was just one of the players.”

”Whatever you say, Mr.-eligible-bachelor-with-thousands-of-adoring-fans-waiting-to-be-picked.” You rolled your eyes.

He chuckled. “Little do they know,” he drew circles on your palm, “that I’m no longer available.”

He stared at you as you looked into the distance, the crashing of the waves filling in the silence between both of you. He stood up, cocking his head towards the shoreline. “Wanna go for a walk?”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, the trouble you had with your feet coming once again. You didn’t get a chance to answer as he knelt in front of you with his back towards you.

He gently pulled you on his back, your legs dangling on either side of his body as he piggybacked you. “Okay, let’s go for a walk,” he said, firmly placing his hands under your thighs.

You said nothing, circling your arms around his shoulders, your face buried at the nape of his neck. You loved the fact that you’re always calm around him, something that you’d always need after spending hours in a fast-paced environment for work every day.

As you walked along the shoreline, both of you pointed out stars shaped like objects, and he stopped at one point when you suddenly said, “I love you so much, do you know that?”

He laughed. “What’s with the sudden confession? I love you too, baby.” He gave your thigh a light slap. “And I’m glad to call you mine.”

”It’s time to go back, isn’t it?” You asked, hoping the answer would be no but knew the world would have to end for it to be.

He threw back his head to get a look of your face before uttering, “Sorry. I have a game tomorrow.”

You pouted slightly but knew that the circumstances wouldn’t change. Whether you’d like it or not, even though you didn’t mind your relationship was playing this way, both of you had your individual lives that didn’t intersect with each other.

Dates would always be a secret with limited areas you could go to, and you had to make sure you’re not seen within the vicinity of each other. If both of you needed to go to each other’s house, it felt more like you’re on an undercover mission.

Today, though, with you still on his back, he held onto you firmly and made his way back to his bike parked nearby some bushes.

”Kenji-“ you started, figuring that maybe he forgot that both of you were supposed to follow separate ways.

”Tell Ms. Tornado you’re staying at my house tonight,” he uttered, placing you on his bike’s seat, taking a helmet and helping you to put it on. “You’re sleeping at my house today.” He checked his watch. “I know that you don’t have any work scheduled for the next few days, right?”

You shook your head slowly, secretly happy that he actually kept track of your schedule. Your eyes searched for his from behind the visor, and you blinked slowly as he tapped your helmet.

“Stay at my house until you’re fully healed. Mina can take care of you.” He’s referring to the supercomputer his parents had programmed. He wore his helmet and leaned forward. If not for both of your helmets in place, he’d be resting his forehead against yours. “Of course, you’re welcome to continue staying until…” he winked, “whenever.”

He positioned himself in front of you, powering up his bike. You leaned forward, circling your arms around his waist.

Before your voice got swallowed by the roar of his bike, you said, “You knew I was hurt.”

Underneath his helmet he smiled. “I always do, baby. Always.”

***

One of the reasons you didn’t want to stay at his house for too long was because you knew you’d be too comfortable. It seemed that after the fiasco you ran into with Mei, Ms. Tornado told you that she was suspended from any work and your agency gave you time off.

So here you were, warm mug of coffee in hand, cross-legged on Ken’s sofa while wearing one of his hoodies. So far from your side, your manager was the only person who’d known about your secret relationship with the baseball player. You’re grateful that your agency was not the type to pry into your private life, so long it didn’t affect your work.

You made yourself right at home at Ken’s house. You could say that you became best friends with Mina, with her occasionally sharing stories about how Ken was when growing up and you helping her around the house.

You sunk in the plush sofa, watching a live show of another one of Ken’s games. You saw him turn to the camera, winked and did a secret sign that was directed at you. Seeing how he’s so expressive, you wondered whether Ken actually wanted your relationship to be public.

Even then, you wondered whether anyone actually noticed that Ken started doing the same pose to the camera whenever he scored a point, after he got into the relationship with you. Maybe the secrecy of your relationship was just held back by a single click to post on the Net.

As far as you knew, only five were aware of this relationship; both of you, your manager, Mina and Kenji’s father.

Rather than your own reputation, you’re worried more for Ken’s image. He just moved here from America, carrying the expectations of everyone who had set their eyes upon him. He rose to fame real quick, while you’d already established your foundation right in your hometown as you were raised through a family generation of models.

Night was approaching, and you did catch a message from Ken updating you that he would be joining the group dinner to celebrate their win first. He promised to come back as soon as the dinner was finished. While waiting for him, you caught Mina’s red bar from the corner of your eyes and you smiled at her.

“Y/N, Ken had actually asked me to ask you one important question.”

“Sure, what is it, Mina?”

Immediately, Mina displayed a projection showing a website of a furniture store. She changed the page to the ‘bed frames’ category.

“I was told that the bed broke last night. Ken told me this morning to ask you which ones would you prefer,” Mina said without any hint of emotion. “He didn’t want to disturb you while you’re sleeping this morning.” After remembering another point she added, “He said make sure to pick the strong ones.”

You, on the other hand, were already burying your face in your hand as your cheeks reddened. “Oh my God,” you groaned. He could go one day, one day, without making you blush. It didn’t help that Mina was delivering the message so robotically. Well, she was one, but you get the point. “Mina, can we talk about this… some other time? Don’t worry,” you pressed your lips into a thin line as you remembered how exactly the bed broke last night. “I’ll tell Ken that you delivered the message well.”

Mina backed up, doing her gesture akin to a nod. “Sure, Y/N.”

You turned your head towards the front door when you heard the door opening, and you stalked your way to your boyfriend, who was holding his jacket in his left hand. Your face fell when you saw that he was wincing, the skin near his eye bruised and his right hand gently pressing over the injury.

“What happened to you?” You fussed over him, requesting Mina to take a bucket of ice and a cloth. “Who did this?”

He winced once again, but grinned soon after. He threw his jacket on the sofa and grabbed your waist, kissing you, hard. It was like he was releasing whatever pent up frustrations he had the whole day, drunk in your kiss that you felt out of breath as soon as he let go.

You saw Mina hovering nearby, clearly not wanting to disturb both of you. You cleared your throat and Ken ran a hand through his hair.

Mina set down the requested bowl of ice and cloth, but Ken shook his head.

Ken uttered, “Mina, can you please bring a bucket of ice to the bathroom? I’d like to soak myself in the tub.”

“Sure, Ken.”

“Ken, you need to tell me what happened to you. You’re injured, for God’s sake!” Your eyebrows knitted in worry, but your boyfriend was displaying the opposite as he was happily dragging you along to the bathroom.

He only gave you a peck on your forehead as Mina helped to prepare the bath.

You wouldn’t let your eyes off his injuries, assessing how badly he was hurt. As Mina excused herself to leave both of you in the bathroom alone, he stripped and stepped into the tub. The water sloshed around as he settled down, and you gritted your teeth as you sat on the edge of the bathtub.

He lifted up his eyebrows, clearly teasing you. “Care to join me?”

You sighed, clearly dissatisfied at how he’s acting while not disclosing about what had happened to him until he returned with a black eye. You crossed your arms, not wanting to submit to his pleading eyes, not until he told you what happened.

Clearly, you were not strong against this man because now both of you were stark naked in the cold water, Ken hugging you from behind as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“Now tell me what happened.”

Ken obliged. “So we went for a celebratory dinner at this one grilled meat restaurant.” He buried his face at the nape of your neck. “There was this one group of guys who clearly were too drunk. One of them,” you felt his arms tightening around your waist. “Was making inappropriate comments about your body. My girlfriend. Of course I got pissed and punched him. It was an easy fight, but I was unlucky to get this one hit. I won, of course.”

The knot in your stomach got undone, that heavy feeling finally lifting off as you laughed, relieved. You leaned backwards, muttering, “Oh, Kenji. My idiot Kenji. I really thought you had an encounter with a hater, someone that wasn’t afraid to punch you in public just because they hate you. I was so worried. But didn’t your teammates suspect anything? For you to react that way when they’re talking about me.”

“Even if they do find out, it doesn’t matter. Anyone who speaks like that about you deserves to be punched, baby.” The water sloshed around as he turned you around so that both of you were facing each other. He rubbed a thumb over your lips, his mouth lifting at the corners. “And guess what?”

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

“I got a personal invitation from one of the biggest sports brands here. They’re inviting me for an official photo shoot for their new attire collection.”

“That’s amazing, Kenji!” you exclaimed, and he shook his head, a smile plastered on his face.

“And you know what’s the best part? It’ll be a duo photo shoot, a collab with one of Japan’s famous models.”

“A man?” you asked, still clueless.

“A woman.” He grinned, “With my woman.”

“Oh!” You slapped a hand to your forehead, not believing that you hadn’t caught on when your manager had told you that you would be having an upcoming photo shoot with one of the most famous athletes. No wonder Ms. Tornado looked all smiley when she was delivering the news.

“They were surprised when I agreed to it without much questions,” he said. “Said yes as soon as I heard your name.”

***

Your leg was all healed, Ken’s bruise subsided, and it was finally the day of the photo shoot. Obviously, both of you had to come from a different place and at a different time to avoid any suspicion, so the night before you had returned to your house, despite Ken showing you his puppy eyes to make you stay.

You left without looking back, having to reassure him that both of you would see each other tomorrow.

The day came. In the makeup room, both of you had your lips locked, only a slight nod of greeting when he first came in before you returned your attention back to the mirror in front.

God knew how much Ken Sato was holding back from pulling you into a hug as soon as he saw you in the room.

You saw him from the corner of your eyes, his eyes closed as he let the brushes and artist do their work. You smiled, your mind thinking about how Hina would most likely go crazy once she heard that you had landed a job with this famous baseball player. You figured that you’d let her find out by herself once the official photo shoot had come out.

In the studio, both of you exchanged a formal greeting before the photo shoot started, and you could see that Ken was trying to hide from forming a smile on his face. As the camera started clicking and poses were thrown, you could hear the photographer yelling out encouragement, including ‘Don’t be shy with each other’ and ‘Stand closer’.

You heard Ken slightly snicker, and he whispered to you subtly, his lips slightly brushing your earlobe. You shivered, and he was smart enough to not let anyone see what he was doing. “If only they know how close we are.”

“Last set!” The photographer announced. “This time around, I’d like to see some contact with each other. No looking like you’re two magnets repelling each other, but attracting each other instead.”

“Oh I can do that,” Ken said smugly as he followed the photographer’s instructions.

Funnily enough, he was the one looking like he had more experience in modelling as he followed the photographer’s instructions to a T, while you felt more like a deflated balloon guided by your boyfriend.

You promised you were a professional model, but with him, well, you faltered and posed like you’re a novice instead. Still, you managed to pull through the photo shoot as the photographer gave a thumbs up, fully satisfied with the session today.

You took some time to relax after the photo shoot alone in the dressing room. As you were leaning against the chair, your head turned to look at the door that just opened.

Ken’s head popped up through the space and he waved his hand. “Hey,” he whispered. He looked over his shoulder before slipping into the room, locking the door behind him.

“Ken Sato,” you said, more of a warning. “What if someone sees you coming in?”

“It’s fine,” he walked over to you, and lifted you up in a hug.

Naturally, your legs coiled around him as he firmly placed his arms around you.

“I wanted to say goodbye in person before I leave for my game this evening. You’ll watch the game live, right?”

“Of course, I’ll be there.”

You practically jumped away from him as a knock came on the door and panicked, you opened the closet door before shoving him inside. You shut the closet tight, catching his eyes trailing your movement through the bars before putting a finger over your lips to signal silence. Steadying your breath, you opened the door to find the photographer standing outside.

“Oh hey, uh…” you trailed off as you realised that you didn’t know the camera man’s name.

“I’m Yuichiro,” he extended his hand to offer a handshake, but you politely declined with a nod of your head. “It’s uh,” he nervously chuckled. “I thought that you looked great and I found out that we’re the same age. I was wondering if you would like to, you know, go have coffee sometime. As in, uh, I’d like to take you out sometime.”

“Oh, really?” You swore you could feel Kenji’s stare digging through the man’s skull as you stole a glance towards the closet behind you. “That’s too bad because I uh,” You silently prayed that Ken wouldn’t suddenly spring out of the closet. “I am too busy. I don’t even have time to drink coffee myself.” You gave a professional smile, hoping that the man would take the hint and walk away.

“Not even coffee?”

“Not even coffee.” You sighed, shaking your head. “I don’t drink coffee, actually.”

“Oh.” He looked surprised. “But I thought I saw you drinking coffee this morning at the set.”

You shook your head, pretending to be disappointed. “I’m afraid you are hallucinating, my friend. I don’t drink coffee. Anyway,” you clapped your hand, “I need to get ready to go to my next destination for another photo shoot, so if you could please leave?”

He looked disappointed as he nodded. “I mean, yeah. Please go on your way. Sorry to take your time.”

You smiled politely but as soon as you closed the door and locked it, you jumped over to the closet, the door creaking as you pried it open. You saw Ken sitting on the floor, elbows resting on his knees as his bangs curtained his eyes. You sat down in front of him, moving his bangs out of his vision.

“Kenji…?” you started, trying to gauge his emotions. 

He stayed quiet for a few moments, and you poked his stomach when it seemed like he’s not budging.

“Are you okay?”

He breathed in and out, before looking up. His eyes caught yours, but still you couldn’t read his expressions. “I experienced this new emotion,” he finally said.

You inched forward.

“You’re doing great, baby.” The compliment came out of nowhere that you were slightly taken aback.

“Kenji,” the grin on your face grew wider, “were you jealous?”

He never broke off his stare to you, and you found it so attractive. “I was.” His eyes dropped to your lips. “I was stopping myself from jumping out of the closet and announcing that you’re mine.”

“I am,” you uttered, ruffling his hair. “You better get going. You have a game to win.”

“I sure do.” He stood up and you mirrored his actions. Before he turned to leave, he kissed you on the lips and whispered again as he peppered kisses on your neck. “With this jealousy, let’s just hope the bed won’t break again tonight.”

***

Of course you lied to the photographer to politely decline his advances. Your schedule was free this evening and you had promised Ken you would see his game live. You dressed as inconspicuously as possible, donning on the merchandise jersey they sold to the public.  

Ken had offered you to wear his jersey, but that would practically mean announcing your relationship to the public. Tucking your hair under the cap, putting on fake glasses and looking at yourself in the mirror, you figured how Clark Kent had managed to turn people’s suspicions away from him being the superhero.

Now, you’re just one person among the thousands of show-goers filling up the stadium. You took up your seat, eager to witness the game Ken would be joining. Announcement blared throughout the stadium, signalling that the game was about to start. You heard your boyfriend’s name announced as he stepped onto the field.

Giants’ supporters cheered for him, and you joined in on the hype as you saw him giving his million-dollar smile to the crowd. You waited for the game to start, and truth be told, no matter how many times Ken had explained the rules of the game, anything barely stuck to your brain. Still, you tried your best to support him even though that meant cheering for him blindly whenever the others did.

The crowd went wild again as the Giants scored yet another point.

You got distracted by a notification coming to your phone. You wanted to ignore it, but as you saw Hina’s name as the sender, you had to sit down and open the message. She rarely texts you out of work, so there must have been something out of the ordinary. You felt your heart drop as you read the message, and a link towards a news website was sent together.

Your eyes caught her message first. Oh my God?! You’ve been dating Ken Sato?

You read the headline next. BREAKING NEWS: BASEBALL PLAYER KEN SATO AND SUPERMODEL Y/N IN A RELATIONSHIP?

You stood up together with the rest of the cheering crowd, but you had to wrestle your way through to make your way out of the stadium. You didn’t know what to do, Kenji was still in game and your feet almost gave way as your shaky hands opened the link to read the news.

Everything was summed up in one news article, and you felt your world getting smaller as you saw the pictures of the night Ken had piggybacked you after you hurt your leg, all obviously looking like they were taken in secret. You read through the whole article, your ears deafened by the sound of roaring cheers inside the stadium.

You were standing outside the stadium, and you looked back at the giant screen you could see displaying yet another shot of Ken doing his signature pose to the camera. You turned back to the news article in your hands, and read through the whole thing over and over again. Several lines caught your eyes, and you finally caught on who was behind this.

Photographer Yuichiro handed over the pictures of the two lovebirds having a secret date at the private beach, which was purportedly owned by Ken Sato. From the pictures taken, I’m sure everyone would come to one very obvious conclusion. The question is; do you find the relationship surprising, or are they a perfect match for each other?

You wondered if it was all planned by him; the photo shoot together with Ken. Was he testing to see whether you’d accept a date with him to assume whether you’d have a boyfriend or not?

You wanted to run away. But from what, exactly? Running away wouldn’t solve this problem.

Well, if it turned into a problem.

Cheers erupted again as you returned to the stadium, just in time to see the final score and then celebrating the Giants’ victory. Chanting swimmed through the crowd, and you gripped your phone tightly as you searched for Ken among the players.

You finally spotted him at the bench, and your mind was as equally noisy as the audience around you.

He looked in your direction, trying to search for you but before he could catch your eyes, his shoulder was tapped by a fellow teammate, showing him an article displayed on the screen.

Everything happened fast, you didn’t know that it was possible as your worst fear came to life in front of everyone. The giant screen in the stadium displayed the news article and the pictures of the both of you displayed in a slideshow. You could hear shouts of confusion and gasps among the crowd as all of them were looking at the same thing.

The noise of the crowd died down as Ken made his way to the edge of the field, where an interviewer was waiting to start the session. The topic of the interview was supposed to be about the win at first, but it had clearly turned into a different direction.

The camera focused on Ken, and you knew he was directly looking at you. He looked calm, the practised smile he had on whenever he appeared on screen.

“Ken Sato,” the interviewer started, as he looked into the camera, “The name that is no longer a stranger to every household. His return to Japan brought waves and hope to the Giants. But today,” she turned to him, “it seemed like you’re the focus on the interview for an entirely different topic. Who knew that this eligible bachelor was actually already taken? I have the man here with me, so, what would you like to say?”

The crowd was obediently silent as they waited for his answer. You felt your heart beating loud in your chest as you, too, anticipated what he would say.

For a split second your mind wondered whether he would vehemently deny the news, but you brushed that thought away. You trusted him.

“I do have a question for everyone here, first, though.” Ken swept his vision across the crowd. “Is it a sin for a celebrity, or at least someone who is quite well known by the public, I mean,” he shrugged, “I don’t wanna sound like I’m boasting or that I’m too full of myself thinking that I’m famous.”

There was a ripple of laughter through the whole crowd.

“Is it wrong for me to be in a relationship?”

Silence. A dread coming over you as you quietly anticipated that there might be protests coming from the crowd. No one spoke up until you heard a female shouting from the crowd, “No, it’s not a sin! Well, we would be slightly sad that our favourite bachelor is no longer available, but you’re still human!”

Your eyes travelled to the female shouting, and realised why the voice was so familiar. It was Hina. She saw you looking at her and she grinned, giving a thumbs-up.

“Thank you, random woman from the crowd,” Ken uttered. He turned back to the camera. “I think that answered the question. I’m still human,” he shrugged, his eyebrows lifting up as he announced, “and I fell in love with Y/N. We are happily in a relationship. I’m proud to say that she’s mine.” His eyes finally fall towards your direction. You could only discern his expressions and gestures from the big screen because he was too far from you. “I love you, Y/N.”

There was a momentary moment of silence that you could hear a pin dropping, and you feared that maybe, the public wouldn’t take it so nicely.

But soon, the whole stadium shook with cheers from the crowd. This time around, they were chanting both Ken's and your names.

Okay, so this was not the reaction that you had expected.

You saw Ken gesturing to you, asking to meet you privately after the game. You nodded, pointing to your phone to say that you would communicate through text.

He sent you a message for the meetup point, and you practically ran towards where he had wanted to meet you.

You saw him at the end of the empty hallway, the noise in the stadium a distant sound now that it was only the two of you. You ran into his arms and he caught you, laughing. You let your breath steady first before saying anything.

“Ken Sato… you…” you started. “You have this way of wording things. I never expected the whole crowd to just agree with you.”

“Hey, look at me.” He tilted your chin, and he gazed upon you. “Like I said, we’re still humans.” He kissed your lips. “And I fell in love with you.”

“Hmm…” You hummed, still feeling slightly worried.

Ken opened the article, scrolled down to the comments and showed them to you. “See, they’re all positive comments.” He cleared his throat, doing his best imitation while reading the comments. “Oh my God, they’re a perfect match for each other! I knew they were dating, it would be weird if they didn't date. Honestly, I don’t know how it happened, but I’m happy for them. Y/N, you’d be better off with me-” He stopped reading when he read one comment that irked him. “You know what, I’m going to report that last comment.”

You burst into laughter seeing how he was tapping furiously at the screen, blowing out an air of satisfaction as he finally reported the comment.

“There, problem solved,” he announced.

“You know that probably some time in the future that there will probably be people who won’t be satisfied.” You sniffed.

“Well that’s too bad.” He bumped his forehead against yours. “Because you’re already mine.”

[vngelicc]

w e c a n ’ t b e f r i e n d s

⋆ TAGS — ANGST like rlly bad, toxic relationships, oc and jk dated since they were young, canon au but the boys don’t go to the military, arguing (lots), protected sex, cowgirl styleee, jk’s a little mean, dirty talk, jk’s slightly possessive(?), pussy eating under the sheets, slight face fucking and cum swallowing, bad ending oop, hinted cheating but not between oc and jk, does it count if they weren’t together ur honor, making out, jk’s a really bad bf, oc’s also quick to jump to conclusions sooo toxic combooo

⋆ WORD COUNT — 9.8 k

It’s the same thing (over and over) where you fight and break up, then kiss and make-up. The cycle’s everlasting and it feels like you’re just going in circles.

The littlest things were enough to set either one of you off. It could be that Jungkook looked at you some type of way, or that you used a tone he didn’t like. You fought over the dumbest things but somehow always ended up back together?

Childhood sweethearts, they called it. You started dating all the way back when you were just teens, Jungkook was a bit awkward around the edges but the sweetest boy ever. It was a miracle your relationship survived after he left to train and then you did too.

But as the years went on it seemed sometimes like the love was fading. It just wasn’t the same anymore (evident in your frequent fights). What felt like love once now felt stagnant, like you two just existed in each other’s world and co-existed together.

Yes he was your boyfriend, and you his girlfriend but that was all. Just y/n and Jungkook. It didn’t feel special anymore. When did the love start to die out?

You’ve been thinking about it for a while now in between your breaks from the relationship, and the very thought terrifies you.

“I thought you and Eunwoo were going out?” You softly asked, a bit surprised to see Jungkook still here in the living room.

“Change of plans.” Jungkook shrugs, “Something came up.” He’s curt and brief, doesn’t even look at you when he’s talking which annoys you a tiny bit but for your sake and his you don’t comment.

“Oh, that sucks,” you softly say and slip onto the couch opposite of him, “did he cancel on you or was it just not a good time?” You’re sitting on pins and needles watching him and his reactions closely.

“I dunno,” Jungkook sighs like he’s exasperated by the conversation, “he didn’t tell me.” You know he’s starting to get annoyed when he does that thing with his tongue inside his cheek.

“You wanna watch a movie?” You quietly ask. You’re worried Jungkook didn’t hear you at first but a couple of seconds later he’s nodding and holding out the remote to you.

It doesn’t feel right. It makes you feel like he’s generously giving you the light of day to entertain your “silly ideas”. You don’t like it.

You go about picking a movie, not even bothering with asking him what he wanted to watch. You doubt he’d even reply to you, maybe if you were lucky he’d just say “Pick whichever one.”

“I heard this one’s good.” A hum, “Came out—I think, last month..? Yeah.” Another hum, “Should I bring snacks?” Head shake.

You kinda get the memo and shut up after that, the ache you’re feeling still lingering in your heart. The credits roll in and the movie’s starting, you look out of the corner of your eye to get a look at Jungkook. He’s just sitting there quietly, eyes focused on the TV screen.

It feels normal—looks normal, but you know and feel that it’s really not.

After arguing with yourself in your head, you finally muster the courage to slip off the couch and into Jungkook’s side. You hide your face in his shoulder and lean against him comfortably. Jungkook doesn’t respond for two seconds before he’s casually slipping his hand over your knee.

It feels..good again. You, Jungkook, and his thumb that caresses your knee ever so gently like you’re made of glass. Maybe you really were worried about nothing. It was probably your head messing with you again and making you think things that weren’t true.

Are they though? I don’t know.

“Oh how prettyy,” you softly marvel at the white dress the actress on screen was wearing, “I wanna have one like that when we get married.”

Jungkook doesn’t utter a word and at first you’re like okay, it’s whatever he’s been doing this already anyways. You don’t really begin to think about it until you feel gentle caresses come to a stop. You turn to him to ask what’s wrong but you think you have your answer.

“What, you don’t wanna marry me?” You softly joke but you’re met with silence. He looks troubled, like he wants to say something but can’t get it out, “.. Jungkook? What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.” Jungkook shakes his head, “I was thinking.”

Your stomach does that weird thing again where it feels like it’s dropping. You can hear your own heartbeat ringing in your eardrums too, “About?” You whisper.

Jungkook finally meets your eyes with a pinched expression, “I don’t know if I’m sure about marriage yet, I don’t think I’m ready.” He quietly explains, “I don’t feel ready. I feel like there’s so much more I can still do before settling down.” With you…?

Your eyes almost water but you refuse to let them, “So..you don’t want to marry me?”

“What–no, I said I wasn’t ready,” Jungkook blinks rapidly, “I.. I didn’t say that.” He says once he recovers from the initial shock.

“Then what did you mean?” It comes out snappier than intended, “Because to me it feels like something else.”

Jungkook grows visibly irritated, “y/n you’re blowing shit out of proportion again, I didn’t even say anything about you specifically, why the hell are you twisting my words?”

“You make it sound like I’m being weird about this, you were the weird one when all I said was a tiny joke. You’re the one taking it some type of way.” You’re trembling with adrenaline.

“I was just telling you how I feel,” Jungkook stands up and paces back and forth, “why are you being like this? You always wanna say it’s me who starts arguing but look at you!”

Hot tears of anger well in your eyes, “Because it is always you! You give me weird ass attitudes when I’ve done nothing to you, I barely even talk to you!”

Jungkook pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes, “I’m not doing this again with you. I just fucking can’t, I mean fuck, look at us! All we fucking do is fight, fight, fight and you expect me to wanna marry you? To be stuck with this? No thank you!”

You wipe your tears and stand up, “And there it is, at least I know how you really felt. Saved me my time too.” You glare as you pass by him in the direction of his room.

Jungkook shakes his head, “Where are you going? It’s late.” He calls out loudly, “y/n, answer me.”

“I’m going home Jungkook, it’s fine we’re done. We don’t have to keep doing this anymore.” You look back with dry tears, “I’m done too, I’m tired of pretending everything’s okay when it’s not.”

He doesn’t respond to that, he knows it’s true. “At least let me walk you out to the car.” He quietly murmurs.

“No.”

“y/n, don’t–”

“Leave me alone.” You whisper and storm out of his apartment, away from your home without your heart.

+

It takes three weeks for you to realize that he’s not coming back. He hasn’t texted or called and suddenly it feels real. You were in deep denial the entire time thinking maybe he’d come around and you could talk it out like you always do. He never showed.

You don’t like this, it hurts like a deep ache you can’t seem to get rid of. You find yourself choking up every time you think about him, you don’t want this. You never wanted this.

“Fuck, please,” you whisper shakily. A few rings go by and then you finally hear him.

“..y/n?”

“Jungkook, I need you.” You softly whisper into the phone, “Please..?” He goes silent on the other end and with each passing beat you’re more worried and anxious.

“Where are you?” He softly replies.

“Home.” You quietly croak, the relief filling you in an instant.

“Okay, stay right there I’m on my way. Please just—just sit tight okay?”

You nod like he’s right here in the room telling you face to face, you don’t even know why. He stays on the phone with you in comfortable silence, you hear when he leaves his apartment, when he starts his car and when he finally pulls into your parking garage.

“Is the door the same code as before?” Jungkook asks quietly.

“Yeah..”

“Okay, I’m here outside.” He hangs up the call briefly and then you hear the beeping noise of your front door unlocking.

The sight of Jungkook has your heart breaking into millions of pieces when you realize he’s not yours. Not anymore. You blink away the fresh tears welling up, he visibly softens and holds his arms out for you.

“Come here.” He softly murmurs. You don’t waste a second and cross the living room into his arms in an instant.

Jungkook wraps his arms around you tightly and holds you against his chest. He shushes you softly and sways side to side while you softly cry into his chest. He whispers everything’s going to be okay but it’s not—not with him not by your side.

“Sit, I’m gonna go bring you some water.” Jungkook softly says as he leads you over to the couch.

You nod quietly and watch with red rimmed eyes as he walks off into your kitchen. There’s a million things running through your head right now but you were more concerned with Jungkook. You hated how distant he was, it felt alien-like and weird.

“Here,” Jungkook murmurs as he comes back with the glass of water, “I brought some tissues too.”

You quietly accept with a soft thanks as you wipe your nose and take a tentative sip of water. He watches you with pity in his eyes, and you don’t want him to look at you like that. It makes your skin crawl and leaves you frustrated because you didn’t want his pity.

You just wanted him.

“So what happened?” Jungkook quietly asks after a few minutes of letting you gather yourself.

“I miss you and it just hurts so bad the way things ended. I’ve been regretting it and it hurts–” You can’t even finish because you’re already tearing up again and Jungkook hushes you softly.

“I know,” he solemnly says, “I know it does. Trust me you’re not the only one feeling like shit about this, you think it’s easy for me to let someone I’ve loved walk away after years? It’s fucking hard.”

He sighs shakily, “But I know that if I truly did love you and wanted the best for you, I’d do this. I just can’t keep up anymore, all the arguing is just not good for us y/n and you know it.”

“I know, I know.” You say into your hands with a sniffle, “But I don’t feel like letting go.”

“Me neither,” Jungkook gently brings your hands into his and looks into your eyes, “but we can’t keep going like this. We tell ourselves it’ll be fine but it’s not, it never is.”

You stare silently into eachothers eyes until Jungkook finds his voice again, “Which is why I think we should just take a break for I don’t know how long but we need to work on ourselves. If you truly loved me like I do to you, you’ll let me go and work on myself. You’ll want me to get better.”

And it’s true. You’ve only ever looked out for his best interest and wanted nothing but good things for him. But is it so bad to want to be a little selfish?

“I know.”

“So you understand we have to actually put in the effort if we want this to work out in the future? We can’t half ass this and rush into things anymore, that’s not how I want it to be between us.” He whispers softly.

You look at Jungkook miserably, “Yeah, I get it..” You quietly say, “I just..just promise me you’ll still be here in the end.”

Jungkook cups your cheek gently and smiles which doesn’t look genuine, it's a more sad bittersweet smile. “I’ll be here.”

“Okay..”

“Okay.”

+

You’re not together but it doesn’t feel like you’re not together? You don’t know how to explain it but it’s weird.

Before it was obviously a shitshow with all the arguments and whatnot. Several things actually like Jungkook’s attitude and his weird bipolar moods, and then you with your misinterpretations and spiteful words. It’s different now.

It almost feels like you’re happier with him now than before when you two were actually together. It’s funny that it takes a break up for you two to start being civil and loving—more than before actually. You don’t act like exes, and you both know you don’t.

Exes don’t call each other every night to ask how their day went, neither do they sleep over or cook for each other. It’s one thing to call up your ex from time to time but everyday? Were there no boundaries because you two clearly needed to set some.

Your friends tell you they’re proud but you don’t feel so good knowing you’re still going back to him every night. Sometimes you fuck, sometimes you don’t, most days he’ll just want company or someone to come with him to shop for groceries. You do all these things telling yourself you’re just here for support, nothing wrong in that right?

There’s nothing wrong with being friends with your ex, right? That’s all it is, just friends.

“Hold on, I'll be back, I got a call.” You excuse yourself from the table and head into another room for more privacy. “Hello?”

“Hey, are you doing anything right now?” It’s Jungkook again and it makes your tummy flutter with butterflies at the sound of his voice.

“Uhh, not really? I’m just having some dinner with friends, why?”

“No reason I just wanted to see if you could come over and maybe we can watch a movie or somethin’. I also realized I might have ordered a little too much fried chicken, old habits die hard I guess.” He jokes softly.

You think it’s a little cute and you can’t help but say yes right away, “Let me finish up real quick and I’ll head over in a bit.” You’re smiling like an idiot right now.

“I can come get you..? Only if you want me to though.”

“That sounds good to me, text me when you get here then.” You softly say, “Bye.” It’s a little awkward not saying ‘love you’ but then you remember you’re not technically together and your entire mood is soured a little.

Shit, what are you going to tell the girls? Something came up and you have to go? No, they’ll ask and you’re a horrible liar. Plus you’re stressing out a little over how you’re going to leave undetected, what if Soyeon tries to walk you out to the car or something? You don’t drive but Soyeon has a habit of walking you out whenever you leave her house (god bless).

It’s moments like these that make you wish Soyeon wouldn’t offer, just for today.

“Hey what’s up?” Soyeon says when she sees you re-enter the room, “Everything good?”

“Yeah but I forgot I had a meeting coming up, it’s about a comeback coming up soon and they need me for creative directing or something. Point is I gotta go guys, sorry.” You don’t like lying to them like this but they’re gonna give you shit and right now you don’t want to hear it.

“Oh cool, okay then we’ll hang some other time then yeah?” Soyeon smiles as she begins pushing her seat back. Oh no.

“Stay here it’s fine, the car’s almost here anyways and it’s a bit chilly outsideeee so stayyy.” You whine while pushing her back into her seat, “Also Miyeon’s literally here, keep her company don’t be rude.”

Both girls look confused as Soyeon raises a brow in question, “Miyeon’s fine she sees me almost everyday. Just let me walk you out weirdo.”

“You’re not even wearing shorts Yeon, just sit this one out I’m good. I’ll text you when I get in the car and stuff okay?” Soyeon doesn’t look convinced but she nods anyways and agrees to let you go reluctantly, “Bye!” You wave and hurriedly make your way out after Jungkook texts you he’s here.

“Byeee.” Once you’re out the door you let out a sigh of relief you didn’t know you were holding in. Why was that girl so damn stubborn? You love her to death but now was NOT the time.

jk: outside

You hurried down the hall and to the elevator. Jungkook was waiting for you in the parking lot outside of his car, just leaned back against the hood of it with his hands in his pockets. “Are you cold?” He asks as soon as you come in front of him.

“A little bit,” you smile and sink into his warm and welcoming embrace, “you’re super warm though.”

Jungkook chuckles quietly and strokes your hair, “Here I’ll give you my sweater.” He shrugs it off and holds it out to slip you in it, “You look funny.” He laughs.

“Your face is funny.” You stick your tongue out meanly meanwhile he laughs, “Alright hurry up, I’m cold and hungry.” You pull away from him and head to your side of the car, happily sighing as the warm air from inside hits you.

“I thought you ate already.” Jungkook snorts in amusement as he slips into the car.

“Well I’m hungry again.” You grumble.

He doesn’t respond verbally at least, he shifts the car into drive with a tiny smile on his face. You find yourself leaning back into your seat with a soft smile of your own. Times like these you were able to just sit back and forget about everything and anything. The only thing that mattered right now was you and Jungkook.

That’s it.

.

The movie ended up becoming background noise over the soft sounds of Jungkook’s lips meeting your own over and over again. The food lays discarded on his coffee table, half-eaten with a couple of soju bottles littering around the boxes.

It feels good like this with Jungkook’s hand tangled in your hair and his other settled over your hip. You’re sitting halfway in his lap, the angle a bit awkward but doable nonetheless. You hear him release a low grunt in his throat, lips smacking wetly over your own as he tightens his fingers on your hip.

You thread your fingers through his hair, stroking over his head gently pretending to not notice how he leaned into your touch eagerly. You barely even notice when he impatiently drags you onto his lap and sits you firmly over his thighs, your own bracketing his hips and closing him in.

“Jungkook,” you quietly sigh while bearing down on him and grinding over the thick bulge in his joggers.

“Yeah..?” He replies through a quiet sigh as his half-lidded eyes watch down below between you two where your clothed cunt is pressed tight to his hard cock.

You can’t reply because you’re caught off guard by a bubbling moan in your throat. You find yourself gripping the collar of his shirt tightly between nimble fingers when he suddenly bucks his hips up sharply. The print of his dick presses tighter against your slick folds, the head messily bumping into your throbbing clit.

Jungkook lets out a ragged groan as he tilts his head back and parts from the messy kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips. He guides your hips with both hands as he rolls you over his cock and holds you down to keep you in place. It makes your breath hitch and a stuttered moan slip from your lips.

“Fuck..” You pant softly as your toes curl, “Need you so bad.” You whisper in between the short rough grinds.

He bites his lip harshly and reaches down to unbutton your jeans, you help him slide them off as he hooks his fingers under your panties and tugs them to the side. You feel his fingertips slide through your messy folds, circling over your swollen bud and pressing down with the pads of his fingers.

The slide’s pretty slippery, you barely feel his touch but the pleasure bubbles over and leaves you tingly and hot down there. Jungkook teases you by dipping his fingers low against your fluttering hole that greedily squeezes around nothing. “Don’t tease,” you mutter softly and lean forward to press kisses against his jawline.

“Fuck, wait.” He reaches over and blindly pats the sofa for something you can’t really be bothered to look at. A low hum leaves him when he finally finds what he was looking for: condom.

You watch him bite the foil open and reach down to shove his sweats off, the way his dick slaps against his stomach has you squirming in anticipation. He hisses low through his teeth as he strokes the tip slowly before rolling the condom on. You watch hungrily as his cock’s engulfed in the thin rubber, standing hard ‘n tall with a beady pearl of precum getting trapped within the condom.

“Good?” He mumbles once he positions his cock under you, the tip’s barely brushing over your hole before you’re whining at him for more.

“I’m good,” you wrap your arms around his neck and tug him closer, “now fuck me..please?” You say after a couple of seconds of silence.

Jungkook huffs out a breathless laugh and shakes his head, “You’re cute.” His amused tone dissolves into a low moan when you start pushing his cock in, inching yourself down until your perk ass meets his thighs with a low pap noise.

Fuck you forgot how full he makes you feel when you ride him, your poor little cunt’s all stuffed up with his fat cock. It doesn’t help that there’s a little sting from the stretch with the way your pussy hugs his cock tightly. Jungkook though looks blissed out, he bites his lip and watches through hooded eyes, he’s moving his hands to grip your hips tight.

“Feels so good,” you slur out and start bounding idly, not too fast or slow, “feel..full.” Your tone comes out lewd and borderline pornographic. Can he blame you? His dick always fucked you stupid, turned you into a little yapper too.

Jungkook grunts quietly, “Yeah? You’re gonna be a good girl and ride me like you mean it baby?” The words slip out of his filthy mouth like nothing, you almost forgot the nasty shit he used to tell you when he was plowing your brains out on a Tuesday night.

“Y-Yeah,” you gasp softly as your eyes flutter shut when he hits that one spot you like, “so, so good Jungkookie,” you whine quietly while rocking your hips back and forth, your cunt greedily swallows him up through every push and tug.

Jungkook groans low and moves his hands to settle over your ass cheeks, he grips each cheek in his hand and squeezes, kneading the flesh under his palms. “Shit–like that,” he huffs softly as he guides your hips in smooth fluid grinds, “so fuckin’ good.” He groans again and tosses his head back.

You bite on your lower lip to supress your whimpers, your hips bounce lightly in his lap with a low fopping sound as Jungkook’s cock coaxes more slick out of your pussy. You’re dripping through the sides as a low squelch emits from your sopping cunt. Through the soft moans and grunts you there’s a skin on skin slapping sound your ass makes when they meet his thighs.

“Oh, fuck.” You whisper, breathing picking up as your hands slide down to settle over his abdomen for purchase.

Jungkook’s lips part, eyesbrows pinching together in concentration as he watches you fuck yourself languidly on his cock. His body lightly rocks upwards from your eager bouncing, the slapping noises only get louder the more you grow desperate. He can’t help but land a hard smack on your cheek, watching in satisfaction as you mewl from both pain and pleasure.

“You like that baby?” He breathlessly asks, “Like being slapped around like a slut? Hm?”

“Y-Yeah,” you gasp shakily and throw your head back, “love it so much Jungkookie,” you mewl.

Jungkook moves one hand from your ass up to your head, fisting the back of your hair and forcing you to expose your neck for him. “How much?” He grunts low, “Whose cock makes you scream like this?”

You swear the ache in your skull from him yanking on your hair makes you even wetter. The throbbing in your pussy has you wildly grinding against him for more, you can’t even reply because of the uncontrollable moans you’re letting out right now.

“Answer me,” he hisses with another smack to your cheek.

“You do! Only you,” you softly sob as he stops you and holds you in place, “please ‘m so close, wanna cum.” You try to bounce, move, anything—but he’s not letting up as he holds you in place and leaves you squirming all over his cock.

“Cum.” Jungkook darkly murmurs as he begins fucking into you from below, his sharp thrusts send you flying into his chest as you cry out.

He drives his cock right up against your g-spot with each hit, the living room quickly fills with the sounds of his balls hitting your ass and the couch creaking from the weight. He doesn’t hold back on his moans either, he’s cussing and groaning under his breath as he uses your pussy to his liking. You on the other hand..

“Jungkook..!” You feel your pussy clamp down and you reach down to rub at your clit in fast circles, trembling and whining as your orgasm approaches fast.

He grips your cheeks tighter and spreads you open as he fucks his cock in and out of your sloppy cunt. Your mouth falls open as the wind is knocked out of you, you’re coming fast and hard as stars explode behind your eyelids. You feel like a ragdoll in his hands as he fucks away into your oversensitive cunt.

“Shit—nearly there baby,” he whispers as his eyes flutter shut in pleasure, “oh fuck.” He grits his teeth and bucks up hard until his hips are stuttering in their pace and he’s groaning loud.

You wish he wasn’t wearing the condom as you feel every little throb and twitch inside. It makes you drool at the thought of his hot thick cum filling your ruined little pussy, it’d probably drip afterward too..

“Good?” He quietly asks as he tries to catch his breath.

You end up laying your head on his shoulder for a couple of seconds, enjoying the way he rubs your back gently in a comforting manner. “Yeah, ‘m okay.” You softly reply while clinging to him like a koala.

Jungkook hums, you don’t go home after that, or the day after.

+

“Damn when did it get so hot?” Taehyung complains under his breath, “Swear it feels like the weather was cooler yesterday, don’t tell me summer’s already coming.” He groans.

Jungkook hears Hoseok grunt in agreement, “Can you believe spring’s almost over though? We’re like a month away from summer starting.”

“What? No way.” Jungkook frowns, it can’t be, the last time he spoke with you was—

“You realize we’re in the last month of spring right?” Taehyung looks at him weirdly with a snort, “Have you been living under a rock or something?”

Hoseok joins in on the teasing but Jungkook doesn’t think it’s so funny anymore. Not when he realizes it’s been almost two whole months since you and him decided to take a break. He hasn’t really kept up with your life like that, the last time he spoke was when he asked if you were home and then he did go over and you guys ended up—

Holy shit.

“Jungkook,” Hoseok calls out, “your phone’s ringing.” By the looks on their faces they know who’s calling right now. Hoseok looks mildly disappointed and Taehyung just seems tired of it.

“Are you gonna answer it?” Taehyung asks tentatively.

Jungkook looks at your caller ID and then silences his ringer, “Nah, I’ll see what’s up later. Where do you guys wanna go next?” They look at him like he’s crazy and Jungkook sighs, “What?”

“We didn’t know you guys were still together, thought the breakup was for good.” Hoseok quietly admits.

Oh. Right, Jungkook’s been talking about how you’ve both been separated for a cool minute now. Of course they would naturally think that you’ve both finally realized you’re no good and left each other the fuck alone. He’ll never forget their proud faces when Jungkook admitted he walked away from it.

“Look, she’s a good person and all that but is it really worth it if all you do is fight and tear at each other? I mean it’s not like this is the first time.” Taehyung rambles slowly as Hoseok nods along to every word, “Don’t you think that maybe answering her would fuck up all the progress you’ve made so far?”

Will it? Jungkook likes to think that maybe he’s doing a good job but clearly not if Taehyung and Hoseok are calling him out on it. Of course they want the best for him too, they’ve been his hyungs since forever (but you were his forever too).

“Look I know it’s bad,” Jungkook sighs, “but I just can’t leave her like that either, it’s wrong. She’s been in my life since we were kids Tae, I’m not gonna just ditch her like that.”

“And nobody’s mad at you for it but Jungkook c’mon, you need to set some boundaries for your sake man. You can’t fall back into this nasty habit, not when you’re doing so good for yourself right now.” Jungkook knows Taehyung’s referring to his upcoming Golden album release.

“Listen, we’re not gonna police you because you’re a big boy and you can deal with your own shit but I’m just telling you right now it’s not a good idea whatever you’re doing with her right now. The sooner you begin to pull away, the easier it will be when you two finally decide on the future of your relationship.” Hoseok finishes quietly.

They’re right and Jungkook hates that they are. As unsettling as the truth is, that’s just what it is and Jungkook can’t change that.

You’re broken up but why does he still go over? Why does he cook for you two, watch movies in bed like a couple and then fuck you to sleep before the cycle repeats over and over? Did you ever break up to begin with?

“If you want this to work you need to let go.” Taehyung’s hand comes up to squeeze his shoulder, “Some things were not made to be forever, and unfortunately this is one of them.”

Jungkook looks up at the two men in front of him, they’ve each got reassuring smiles on their faces and for the first time he feels good about his decisions. He makes a mental note in the back of his head to speak with you later on, for now he’ll just enjoy this.

+

“I didn’t know you and Jungkook were still together.” Soyeon comments upon seeing a sweater she knew was too big to be yours and quite frankly wasn’t something you’d personally go out and buy yourself.

“Oh, that—we’re actually not.” You chuckle under your breath, “He left it here the other day–”

“The other day?” Yuqi frowns, “What do you mean? I thought you guys haven’t seen each other in two months?” You can tell they’re equally confused about the situation.

“We aren’t together-together, we’re just kinda hooking up here and there whenever we feel like it.” You shrug.

“Uh-huh, and he just leaves his clothes too?” Soyeon raises a brow, “y/n—babe, I love you but what the hell? I thought you and him were completely done already?” She says, Yuqi nodding along in agreement.

Now it’s your turn to look at them confused, “What? We’re just hooking up, it isn’t anything bad either I mean we’re doing better now than before.”

Soyeon sighs deeply and sits down, “Have you maybe thought about why things are better now? Because you’re not together y/n, you’re only doing ‘better’ now because you don’t have a label to the relationship because you’re both pretending shit’s okay.”

“This can’t be good either y/n, it’s not healthy it’s just gonna lead you both down the same path as before. You guys think that because you’re happy now, the issues aren’t gonna be there.” Yuqi shakes her head.

Of course you knew they were gonna start with this but your pride was too strong to admit that they were of course right about this. It’s something you’ve been intentionally ignoring, kind of like if you don’t think about it, it’s not true type of thing. Which in itself was a pretty bad mindset.

“But we’re gonna fix things.” You softly reply.

“Are you?” Soyeon looks like she doesn’t believe you, you don’t even believe yourself.

Yes, yes, yes—

“I don’t know.” You find yourself saying without thinking, that’s the truth right? Right..?

Yuqi sighs sympathetically and shakes her head, “It’s time to let go, it’s over y/n—for good. I know it’s hard love but you have to do it.”

“I’ll…talk to him later about it, can’t guarantee this but I’m going to try to break things off permanently.” You’re just tired of this back and forth with yourself wondering if Jungkook and you are truly going to be okay.

You know you both will be okay…just not together and that’s what hurts the most to think about. They don’t push the topic anymore, something you’re thankful for. The entire time you’re with the girls you’re stuck thinking about Jungkook.

you: come over

You spent at least ten minutes with your thumb hovering over the button before you actually pressed it. It shouldn’t be so fucking scary but you’re just extremely nervous right now. Your friend’s words ring in your head over and over again like a mantra and you feel like you’re going mad.

jk: rn?

you: yea, really want to see you

jk: me too.

read.

It’s the shit like this that makes you question everything. You hate how weak you are because Jungkook can sweet talk his way into your head and you wouldn’t be able to stop him. It’s not like he does it intentionally but still the power he holds over you, it’s stupid.

After the girls left you ended up cleaning the living room a bit, stopping in your tracks when you came across the sweater he left behind. You stare at it for a couple of seconds before slipping it on finding it much more comfy wearing his clothes. You hear the front door keypad beeping before it unlocks and Jungkook’s slipping in.

“Hey.” He greets quietly and shuts the door behind him.

You smile up at him and tug on the sweater paws, taking note of the sweaty state he was in, “You coming from the gym orrrr…?”

“Oh yeah,” he laughs, “I just got finished with working out when you texted me. Look at that,” he flexes his bicep to show you, “hot huh?” He grins.

“Ew no as if, go take a damn shower you probably stink.” You pretend to cover your nose and gag, giggling when he rolls his eyes at you.

“Yeah, yeah whatever.” He walks over to tug you into his arms, “This my hoodie?” He mumbles, “Looks good.”

You let him lay soft kisses over your pouty lips until you’re pushing him away with a low grumble, “Go shower now, I don’t wanna stink of sweat in your hoodie.” You snort.

Jungkook lays one last kiss over your forehead and walks in the direction of your room, “So mean and for what? It’s literally my hoodie who cares if it stinks? I’m gonna be taking it off anyways.” He smirks deviously.

You follow with a unamused look, one that leaves no room for anymore arguments. “I’ll wait for you out here,” you flop on the bed and turn on your TV, “go on, shoo.”

“Meanie.” Jungkook mumbles but makes his way into your bathroom nonetheless.

You catch up on some of your shows you were watching at the moment while waiting for Jungkook to come back out. You’ve long made yourself comfortable in bed, curled up under your soft comforter with the remote in hand. He doesn’t come out for at least fifteen minutes or so, you don’t really mind because it feels oddly domestic.

“You’re watching this too?” Jungkook breaks the silence in the room, “I’m on the last episode.”

You barely look at him as he walks over to the bed in nothing but his towel wrapped around his waist. “Yeah, I started this like a week ago I think.” You murmur distractedly as he flops in bed with you, “Don’t get my pillows wet,” you whine with no real bite to your tone.

“It’ll dry.” Jungkook snorts as he lays his head over your blanket covered lap. The two of you fall into silence afterwards with him loosely wrapping an arm around you.

Nothing happens after that, you lay together quietly while the episode runs in the background. Occasionally Jungkook turns to hide his face in your lap, you can’t help but slip your hand in his wet hair and gently comb over it, lightly scratching at his scalp.

“Wouldn’t it be funny if I spoiled it?” He pipes up out of nowhere.

“Do it and I’m throwing you out towel and all.” You glare as he starts giggling in amusement, “I’m serious, do it and you’re out.”

“I won’t, I won’t.” He says as he lifts his head up, “But I’m a little bored,” he pouts and draws circles over your thigh, “I already watched these episodesss.”

“I dunno do something. Go order food or find some in my fridge, I don’t know.” You sigh.

Jungkook doesn’t reply and instead nuzzles into you, “I have something else I can do in mind..” He trails off and slips his hand under your comforter to stroke your thigh.

You don’t say anything, instead you part your thighs for him as a silent ‘go on’. He takes the bait easily and slips under the comforter with a devious grin, “Jungkook– ow, don’t bite me you ass. Why did you do that?”

Instead of answering you he just reaches under for the waistband of your shorts, peeling them off alongside your panties in one go. You can feel his hot breath hovering over your pussy, his tongue dips low between your soft folds as he licks a stripe up your cunt.

He circles his tongue around your clit, swiping from side to side and front/back. It’s enough to have your knees buckling weakly as you reach over the comfort to place your hand where his head would be as you sighed in pleasure.

“Like you better when your mouth’s full.” You find yourself mumbling.

Jungkook grunts in affirmation, he wraps his arms around your and tugs your hips closer to his face. He’s literally buried in your soft cunt, nose poking at your clit while he licks over your slick lips, sucking on your soft fold with a pleased hum.

You push up with a low moan and angle your hips down so that he’s licking over your swollen clit. “Shit, jus’ like that,” you tilt your head back and close your eyes enjoying the sensation of his tongue.

He lays one hand flat over your pelvis and holds you down while he sucks on your clit feverishly. It sends your back arching off the bed from the sudden spark of pleasure. “Fuck..!” You hiss out when he engulfs your tiny bud between his lips and sucks.

Jungkook doesn’t disappoint. He slurps and licks like no tomorrow while he prods his fingers against your pussy. You’re literally scrambling to get a grip on him, your pathetic little moans and whines spurring him on as he finally slides his fingers deep.

“More, gimme more please,” you mewl.

You hear him shuffling around down there so you naturally take a peek out of curiosity. The sight has your mouth dropping in awe when you come across him fisting his cock from under the sheets while he eats you out like you’re the best meal ever.

“Coming,” you gasp softly as your fingers tangle themselves in his hair.

Jungkook sucks harder with a hint of teeth, he curls his fingers at the same time and fucks them right up against the roof of your cunt. It has you crying out his name and pushing his head away as your pussy clenches tight and then suddenly you’re gushing all over him.

“Jesus,” he whispers and covers your cunt with his hot mouth, licking up the entire mess you made all over yourself.

“Come here.” You dryly whisper after noticing he didn’t cum.

He obeys without hesitation, he knows what you want so he climbs up and kneels beside you with his weeping cock over your lips. “You sure? I don’t mind.” He murmurs.

“I want to.” You softly reply and part your lips, “Don’t want you to be gentle with me.. I can take it.” You murmur as you engulf the head of his cock slowly.

Jungkook hisses quietly and guides your head until your nose is meeting his groin. You gag around him with the saliva quickly building up in your mouth. He doesn’t mind though because he absolutely loves it when you slobber all over him.

“Don’t you look pretty with a mouth full of cock?” He grins teasingly despite being minutes away from coming, like he wasn’t edging himself before when he was eating your cunt.

You moan unabashedly as tears spring in your eyes. He doesn’t waste anymore time after that and begins fucking into your mouth unapologetically. He doesn’t even start off slow, he’s desperate to cum and you get it. You’re salivating at the thought of his cock filling your throat and leaving you sore.

He grips the headboard above to stable himself as he slides himself in and out of your mouth. Jungkook moans under his breath as he bucks his hips rather harshly, just listening to the sound of your gags and saliva dripping.

“So fuckin’ good,” he mutters, “you take it so good for me.”

You know he’s getting close when he starts getting quieter and instead puts his attention on his pleasure. The only noise around is the sound of your gagging and his labored breathing. You feel his cock start twitching and throbbing until he’s shouting from the pleasure and coming down your throat.

“Shit—stop, stop, stop.” He sighs as he gently pulls you off his cock, “Fuck.” He says after catching his breath.

Cleanup is fairly quiet, he helps you change the sheets and get dressed into comfier clothes before you’re both climbing back into the bed and sitting side by side, body to body. It feels all too real and suddenly realization is hitting you hard.

The silence is comfortable between you two, the scene feels a little familiar (you, him, a movie and your head on his shoulder) but you don’t comment because it makes you feel a little uncomfortable. Like before, Jungkook caresses his hand over your thigh gently with a comforting grip after.

“Why did we ever fall out?” You quietly pipe up, “Like where did it all go downhill?”

He stops in his tracks, he doesn’t look mad or upset that you brought it up out of the blue. He looks..at ease. “I don’t know, but I think it has to do a lot with the fact that we slowly grew out of each other? Kinda like we just lost the love and it wasn’t the same anymore, and instead of trying to fix it we just acted like our problems weren’t there.”

Jungkook calmly continues after taking in your reaction, “I love you don’t get me wrong, you’ve given me the best years but I just think we finally grew apart. Think about it—the fights, the breakups and make ups? We got to a point where we just didn’t care anymore.”

“I know, but it still doesn’t change the fact that I want you forever.” You softly admit.

“No you don’t y/n,” he replies equally softly, “you don’t want us—this, forever.”

It’s like a punch to your gut, why is he saying this? Why is acting like he knows what you want? You know what you want, and you want him. Is he trying to call you a liar? A saner part inside of your head eerily tells you he’s right, you don’t want that. You want happiness.

“I do know what I want actually, why are you thinking otherwise? You’re making a decision for me without even asking me how I feel about this?” You frown and push yourself off his shoulder.

“y/n,” Jungkook pauses briefly before shaking his head, “trust me I know you don’t want this. It’s not hard and it doesn’t take a fucking rocket scientist to see we’re not made for eachother. I’m sorry I need to tell you like this but whatever the fuck we had is something I sure as hell don’t want.”

It literally crushes your spirit because you knew what was coming, you KNEW he was going to tell you the cold hard truth sooner or later. It’s all everyone's been warning you about and now you have no room to cry about it. You had nobody but yourself to blame for your heartbreak. Not Jungkook, not Soyeon, not Yuqi.

Just you.

“You know what Jungkook, fuck you.” You fiercely whisper and push yourself off of him, “No actually, fuck you. You don’t get to tell me what I want and don’t want–”

“Because I know what the fuck I want and it’s not you! As fucking sad as it is y/n I can’t do this shit anymore,” he stands up too and begins hazardously dressing himself in his clothes again, “I know what I’ve done is shitty and I hope you can forgive me for it but I’m not willing to stick around anymore. Not after this.”

You watch in silence as he picks his things up off the floor and storms out. Not one word is spoken throughout the entire ordeal. Jungkook gets his shit and leaves like nothing ever happened, like you didn’t tell him to fuck himself and he didn’t respond by saying he didn’t want you.

When he finally leaves with a loud slam, your resolve crumbles and soft sniffles begin to fill the too empty apartment. You look around the room with red-rimmed eyes, now what are you gonna do?

You fucked up, again.

+

Jungkook doesn’t talk to you—doesn’t even text—for a total of two weeks and counting. You tried distracting yourself with work and your upcoming comeback but it was hard to focus. Not when your mind keeps going back to him and what happened that night.

“You don’t look so good, you sure you’re okay?” Your manager says with a look of concern on her face, “I can wrap things up and we can get you home if that’s what you want.”

“Please,” you find yourself nodding, “I’ll um let you know later on how I’m doing and stuff, for now I just wanna be alone.”

They understand you’re not doing well emotionally as of lately so they don’t question it when you request to be left alone. They simply wrap it up and call for your driver to take you home. A few staff send you off with tiny gifts and comforting hugs but none are enough to take away from the misery you’re feeling right now.

You make a quick stop at the store on your way home, you’ve never felt more dead in your entire life than right now. Even buying groceries proves to be a hard task but you somehow push through it and buy what you need.

The entire time you're there you think about Jungkook, should you call him to clear things up? Apologize for the shitty things you’ve ever said and for how you’ve acted towards him over the slightest inconveniences?

‘The phone’s right there,’ a little voice inside your head whispers, ‘just open up and click on his name, he’s right there.’

Do it, do it, do it, they chant.

Before you even realize it you’re dialing his number, the phone pressed tight against your ear as you wait with a bated breath for him to pick up. Three rings go by until finally Jungkook picks up with a quiet ‘hello’. “Hey,” you quietly mumble, “what are you doing?”

“Nothing much, I was cooking about a minute ago. You?” He sounds distant, like he’s catching up with an acquaintance.

“Cool, and nothing either, I just went to the store and bought a few things I needed.” You play with a strand of loose hair, suddenly finding that much more interesting to look at.

“That’s good.” He murmurs and it goes quiet after that.

Neither of you know what to say right now, you don’t even know where to begin. What can you say? Hey I’m sorry I told you to fuck yourself? I’m sorry for my shitty ass attitude? I’m sorry for being a bad girlfriend? There’s so much to say but you can’t find the words for it.

“Jungkook,” you hesitantly say after finding the courage to speak, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything, I know I fucked up over and over again but I want to let you know I’m sorry I treated you the way I did and for the things I said.”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything and for a second he scares you thinking that he hung up or something. “I know, and I’m sorry too for the way I acted and shit. I know we haven’t been the best but for what it’s worth none of this was ever your fault. Things just didn’t end up working out.”

You hate that this feels like a permanent goodbye, it must have really been the last straw for him the last time you spoke. You find yourself tearing up and there’s a heavy lump sitting in your throat. You don’t know whether you want to cry, scream, or run off.

“It’s just hard when I miss you this much,” you quietly reply despite the wobble in your voice.

“I know,” you hear him take a deep breath and before he can reply you hear it.

There’s a low shuffling noise in the back, at first you think nothing of it until you realize it’s a feminine voice asking Jungkook if he wants her to help clean up the mess.

Your heart rapidly beats in your chest, the pounding in your ears so loud you swear you feel like you’re going to have a heart attack with how fast it’s going. “Didn’t know you moved on already.”

“It’s not like that–”

“Then what is it like Jungkook? Because to me it sounds exactly what I’m imagining right now—don’t try and treat me like I’m fucking stupid.” You wipe your tears of frustration while pacing back and forth.

“Okay fine, you want the truth: I met someone and I’m getting to know them, I’m thinkin’ maybe she can make me happy too. Is that what you wanted to hear from me?” He snaps back.

“When.” You coldly demand, the anger you feel right now is astronomical.

Jungkook holds his breath for a few seconds, “A month ago.”

Your entire world stops then and there. So while you and Jungkook were doing these lovey dovey things and still seeing each other, he was already talking to someone new. All this and for what? He found someone new while still using you as an escape from reality (for fun really), and to know he was doing this while having someone on the side waiting?

It makes you sick to your stomach.

“D-Don’t you ever come near me. We’re done, so fucking done. How could you fucking do that to me? You knew how I fucking felt about all this and you went and pulled this? I hate you, I hate you.” You can’t even speak, it physically pains you to talk.

Through your sobs you manage to shakily hang up and head for your bedroom. You toss a bunch of clothes on the bed and drag your heavy suitcase out of the closet. You don’t know where you’re going, but at this point you’ll go anywhere if it means you can get away from this place.

All that’s left is the sounds of your sobs and clothes shuffling as you stuff them into your suitcase messily. You feel so alone and empty wondering what everyone else in the world is doing right now. Surely not getting their heart stomped on like you, right?

As you're finishing up with your closet, you hear the front door beep and buzz. No, no, no, he is not doing this right now you think while storming out to the living room. He’s already coming in as you’re stepping out.

“y/n–”

“What the fuck are you doing here? I told you to leave me the fuck alone!” You throw a vase in his direction watching him yell out in shock as he barely manages to dodge it.

“Fucking hell—calm down! You’re gonna hurt yourself!”

“And why do you care? You didn’t before so what’s fucking different now!” You wipe your face and stomp to your bedroom with Jungkook hot on your tail.

He tries to grab your arm but you rip yourself away from him in fury which makes him get the memo instantly, “I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay, I don’t want you to hurt yourself or do anything stupid.” He stops in his tracks when he sees the state your bedroom’s in.

“y/n..what are you doing?” He quietly asks, his doe eyes filled with surprise and a mix of fear.

You take a deep breath and hold it in for a couple of seconds, letting it out slowly when you feel calm enough to reply, “I’m leaving Jungkook, all this—I’m done. I had hopes that maybe we could solve things and make it work again but it looks like only one of us wanted this.” You smile sadly.

“I choose myself Jungkook, I did some petty shit and said dumb things and I’m sorry for it. Looking back on it, it was me who refused to move on. I was so hung up on making things work I just didn’t realize I was dragging you down and forcing you to be with me.”

Jungkook visibly deflates with hurt written all over his face, “I’m sorry too, I never meant to lead you on and if I did I’m so sorry for it y/n. You deserve someone who can make you happy, and I’m sorry that someone can’t be me.”

You stand across from each other in silence. Jungkook looks down at your luggage with his own sad smile, “Maybe..we could be friends?”

“No,” you softly reply and get back to packing, “we can’t be friends, but I’d like to pretend.”

“So this is goodbye then.” Jungkook’s got his own unshed tears ready to fall.

“Yeah, I guess so..”

He looks up at you and tearfully smiles, “Goodbye y/n.”

You match his smile with one of your own, “Bye, Jungkook.” Maybe in your next life you will both be happy. But not in this one.

For now, it’s only me and maybe that’s all I need.

+

One year later.

“It’s only gonna be for two weeks, you big baby. You’re acting like I won’t get on a plane and go see you.” You laugh softly and shake your head, “Besides, I thought you were taking me to the beach in LA?”

“I am! But I wanted you there with me,” Mingi looks at you with pursed lips, “wanted you to see me on stage.”

You can’t help but coo and squeeze his cheek, “You’re so cute, don’t worry I’ll make sure I don’t miss it.” He smiles happily and you can’t help but lean in for a smooch on the cheek.

“Oh wait, I saw a guy selling ice cream back there. Wait for me right here, I’ll be back.” Mingi heads back to all the food stalls leaving you there in front of this cafe.

You hum under your breath and check on your messages, replying to friends who slid up on your story asking if you were finally back. It felt good to be home after all that went down before, you really needed the break.

“Hold on, I got it, let me carry it for you.” You hear a familiar voice say which instantly has you turning around to look.

It’s Jungkook and he still looks the same as before minus the hair he’s cut short now and has it in an undercut. You feel weird seeing him again after all this time. Weird in a good way? You don’t know, but it isn’t bad either. You kinda don’t feel anything.

You curiously look over at his girlfriend(?), stopping in your tracks when you notice a pretty ring on her finger. It suits her. You look back up and come face to face with Jungkook who stands there in shock too.

There’s a million things you can say or do right now, but you don’t. In fact you’re happy for him.

“Did I take long?” Mingi suddenly pops up behind you holding two ice cream cones, “I got your favorite.” He grins foolishly.

You break away from Jungkook and look at Mingi, “Thanks, how sweet of you.” You grin and lean in to kiss his cheek again, “Ready to go? I’m kinda tired of being outside.” You complain softly.

Mingi lets you take the cones from his hands and instead wraps his arm around your waist leading you through the crowd of people. Your heart races as you two get closer to Jungkook and his fiancé. Just for a second you meet his eyes, and then you smile before turning your attention back to Mingi.

Jungkook smiles back and just like that, you move on with your lives.

My love, I won’t wait for your love.

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe @maddkitt @tvse @ohjeon @teteswtnr @jkslovey12 @kelsyx33 @milfpo1ice @sluttydidi @ztyur @beomgyuult @shescharlie @sweet-sourhotcoco @lalita-7 @hazzzelsdimension @p34rluv @kook-net @bonita0-0 @vmapy @dahliadaenerys @frieschan @lilyflowerguk @sayokodiary @babycandy111 @looneybleus @ash07128 @gyukookswhore @rrosiitas

[unstable-samurai]

Instructions

Irene x Male Reader

word count: 3.2K

—

You drive up to Irene's mansion, where every inch of the lawn looks meticulously manicured, and the fountain at the entrance shoots water in a pattern that can only be described as "obscenely expensive." You still can't believe you were hired to train a woman who doesn't seem to need a single day in the gym, but money is money, right?

You step out of the car and walk to the front door, a massive wooden structure that probably weighs more than your car. Before you have the chance to knock, the door opens as if the house has been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Irene appears, and the first thing you think is that the photos simply don't do her justice.

She's like an upgraded version of a classic diva, someone with a beauty that would be admired in any era of humanity, now enhanced by all the improvements time could offer. Black hair cascading in soft waves, feline eyes that devour you in a fraction of a second, and a posture that makes you wonder if you're standing before a queen or a trap disguised as a woman.

"Oh, I was excited to finally meet my personal trainer," she says.

"Ms. Irene," you reply, offering your hand in a gesture that feels outdated in her presence. Her hand is soft and firm, and the grip is just enough to make you feel that you are, without a doubt, in foreign territory.

"Come on, I'll show you the house," she says, turning quickly without waiting for a response. You follow her, walking through a house that is a maze of marble, stainless steel, and glass. Every piece of art on the walls screams in a flamboyant way, "I have more money than you can imagine," and the faint scent of fresh flowers lingers in the air, as if even the aroma of the house was custom-made.

"This here is the living room," she says, passing through a room larger than your entire apartment, and you pretend not to be impressed. "And over there is the kitchen. You might need something to drink after the workouts. Or during, if I decide to tire you out too much."

She smiles again, and this time you can’t help but smile back, with that kind of irony that only arises when you know you're in trouble.

"This is the bedroom," she says, stopping in front of a closed door. You feel the tension rise a bit, and she notices it. "Not that you’ll need it, but I thought you'd like to know where it is." She opens the door and reveals a room that looks like it came straight out of a decor magazine: an immense bed, silk sheets, and a view of the garden that seems hand-painted.

"Nice place," you say, more out of politeness than anything else.

"Thank you. Now, the gym," she says, as if this was the true purpose of the entire visit. She leads you to a room where all the exercise machines seem to shine with newness. "I need to stay in shape, after all," she says, leaning casually on a treadmill, her posture suggesting that the idea of sweat is something completely alien.

"Shall we begin, then?" you ask, already pulling out the water bottle from your bag, trying to appear professional.

You decide to start the session with the basics, which seems like the best approach when dealing with someone whose idea of physical effort probably consists of reaching for the remote control.

"So, Irene, have you trained before?" you ask, but in your mind, she doesn’t exactly look like the type who frequents a gym.

She smiles, that smile you're already beginning to associate with trouble. "Only if you count marathon shopping trips and half-hour Pilates sessions with my instructor who told me to breathe deeply and think of happy places. Does that count?"

You smile back. "Well, let's start with something simple. A warm-up. Just to prepare the muscles."

"Oh, I love a good warm-up," she replies.

You guide her through some basic stretches, and of course, she starts asking for help. "Can you show me how to do this one? I've always had trouble with it," she says while trying to touch her toes.

You approach, placing your hands on her waist to guide her, trying to ignore the fact that she’s perfumed for a workout. "Like this, push a little further forward... That’s it."

She lets out a soft sigh, almost inaudible, but you notice. "I don't think I've ever had someone help me like this," she says, making you realize that "help" has multiple connotations for her.

"Practice makes perfect," you respond, trying to stay focused.

After the warm-up, you lead her to the weight machines. "Let's start with something simple, like the leg extension machine. This will work your quadriceps."

She looks at the machine as if it were some kind of medieval torture device. "Quadriceps... Right. And this does what exactly? Makes me gain muscles?"

"Exactly. You sit here, adjust the weight, and lift your legs to extend the knee. It’s great for toning the thighs."

She sits down, but instead of following your instructions, she just pretends to be confused. "I don't think I'm getting it. Can you show me again?"

You lean in to help her adjust the position of her legs, and you feel her gaze fixed on you. "Like this? Is it good now?" she asks, her voice softer than it should be for a simple exercise instruction.

"Yes, it's perfect," you reply.

"So, have you been training for a long time?" she asks as you guide her through the exercise. "It’s noticeable, you know... by your physique, the way you explain…"

"I’ve been training for a few years. It’s a passion of mine."

"Passion? Interesting," she says. "And are you single? Or is there someone waiting for you at home after you spend the day helping women like me stay in shape?"

You hesitate, realizing that the conversation is veering off course.

"I'm single. I guess my work takes up most of my time. What about you? You told me your husband is always traveling, right?"

"He's away most of the time, yes. His work is... demanding. But luckily, I know how to take care of myself," she says, lifting her legs on the machine with a little more enthusiasm. When Irene was done, she paused to drink water, then walked between the machines until she chose the next one. “Hey, help me here. I don't want to mess up the movement, I need your guidance." She says, standing in front of the lat pulldown machine.

"Oh, great. This one’s for your back and shoulders," you explain, adjusting the weight. "You hold here, pull the bar down, and then release slowly, feeling the resistance."

She looks at the machine as if it were an abstract art piece.

"Looks complicated. Show me how it's done?"

You demonstrate the movement, feeling her eyes on every motion of your body. When you finish, she positions herself, but instead of pulling the bar, she holds it for a second, looking at you with a false expression of confusion. "I think I’m not doing it right. Can you guide me?"

You approach again, this time placing your hands on her arms, helping her execute the movement. "Like this," you say, your voice a little lower. "Pull with your back muscles, not just your arms."

"Since you’ve been working out for a long time, you must be very strong," she comments as she pulls the bar, her muscles tensing softly under your hands. "And you must be used to lifting heavy, right?"

"It depends on the workout," you respond, trying to ignore the fact that every word she says seems to have a double meaning. "But it’s always good to vary, to do a bit of everything."

"So, how many of these should I do?" she asks, as if she’s genuinely interested in the answer, but her eyes say something else.

"Let's do three sets of twelve reps," you reply, trying to keep a professional tone. She does the first set with you close by, watching every movement, and then asks for your help with the next machine.

The dynamic continues until, by the end of the workout, she’s sweating, but in a way that looks more like a healthy glow than discomfort. She stretches, her muscles relaxing, and looks at you with that same smile that started everything. "I think you made me work pretty hard today. Maybe I’ll need a massage afterward," she says, her tone provocative.

You smile, unsure whether to take her seriously or laugh. "Massages aren’t part of the package, but we can talk about a relaxation stretch."

"We’ll see," she says, stepping closer with that smile that always precedes trouble, the kind you should have learned to avoid. “It seems like I’m the only one sweating here,” she says, with a sweetness that’s pure venom, before leaning in and, without warning, licking your cheek.

You take a step back, your heart pounding in your chest. "Ms. Irene, what is this?!"

"I told you, you’re not very sweaty. And I licked you to prove it," she responds with the casualness of someone asking the time.

"But what the hell does that mean? I came here to work—"

"And you’ll get paid at the end, of course!" she interrupts, her smile widening in a way that only makes things worse. “I just want… to have a little fun with you. Include that in the deal. You could earn a bonus for it, if you’d like.”

She takes another step forward.

“Irene, you’re married. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not a good idea.”

“No one needs to know, sweetheart,” she whispers, as if it were a secret you truly wanted to hear. “You’re too young to be so worried about life.”

You try to speak, but the words come out jumbled, as if your mouth forgot how to work.

“I-I… This isn’t right.”

She laughs, a sound that makes you feel like a mischievous boy caught in the act. “I bet I’ll make you change your mind once you see what you’re missing.” With a quick, decisive movement, she removes her top, revealing small, pale, perfect, and provocative breasts. Her smile widens, and you feel your face flush with heat. Worse than that—you feel your cock pulse in your pants.

“What do you think?” she asks, each word dripping with irony and certainty.

“Cover yourself, please!” Your voice comes out louder than you intended, but the plea is almost pathetic.

“Oh, don’t play the saint with me,” she retorts, suddenly stepping closer, grabbing your hand with firm resolve and placing it on her breast. The touch is warm and soft. You swallow hard, but it feels like the lump in your throat is stuck there for good. And the worst part? You can’t pull your hand away.

“What do you think? My boobs are small, but they fit perfectly in your mouth,” she teases, her voice lower, more intense.

“This isn’t right, Ms. Irene…” you try, but your resistance is fragile.

“Shh! Just call me Irene,” she orders, and before you can protest again, she seals any chance of escape with a kiss—warm and commanding, as if she already knew you wouldn’t say no.

Before you could even process what was happening, Irene had already wrapped her hand around your cock. With force. With a desire that you felt reverberate down your spine. “You’re so hard for me,” she whispers, her lips pulling away from yours, but the heat of her proximity still clinging to your skin.

“Irene…” you murmur, the name escaping as a whisper, almost a plea, but for what? For her to stop or to keep going?

“That’s right,” she continues, giving you no room to regain control. “I want to hear you moan my name while you fuck me good.”

Before you could refuse—or worse, agree—she pulls you toward a weight bench like she’s practiced the move a thousand times. It’s astonishing how a woman so small, so delicate, can exert such absolute control over you. You feel like a toy in her hands, powerless to resist.

You take off your shirt while she kneels to untie your shoes, making sure every detail is perfect, that you’re comfortable—but not for you, for her. When she asks you to take off the rest, you comply without question, feeling the cool air caress your exposed skin. She compliments your physique, her words sliding over your skin like hot oil. Her hands roam over your muscles, her fingers tracing the contours of your biceps.

“You’re so hot,” she murmurs, kissing your chest, her lips warm and soft. The excitement builds within you, uncontrollable, wild.

You sit back down on the bench, Irene kneels between your legs, her smile a mix of wickedness and pure desire. She takes your cock with a confidence that makes you hold your breath, her touch firm, almost possessive. “Wow… you’re much bigger and thicker than my husband,” she murmurs, licking the tip, teasing, while her eyes remain fixed on yours. “I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to have something like this… I’m going to love gagging on this cock.”

She slowly opens her mouth, her lips stretching around the head of your cock, and the sensation is mind-blowing. You watch, mesmerized, as she starts to take you in, inch by inch, until her mouth is completely full. “Oh, yes,” she mumbles with difficulty, her words muffled as she struggles to accommodate your size.

She begins to move her head up and down, faster and faster, the wet, warm sound of her mouth creating a steady rhythm. Her small mouth adjusts to your cock, fighting the instinct to pull away, but instead, she pushes forward, making it clear she wants more.

The sight of her, drowning on your cock, is almost unbearably arousing. You can’t resist, your hands go to her hair, pulling to gain more control. With a decisive move, you push deeper into her throat, and the muffled moan she lets out is a mix of pleasure and challenge. “Just like that,” she moans, tears welling in her eyes from pleasure and effort, but with no intention of stopping. She wants this as much as you do.

You feel her throat tightening around your cock, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you as she takes you as deep as she can, not giving up even when her air becomes scarce. The mix of pain and pleasure on her face only fuels your desire further, and you continue, deeper and deeper, until she finally has to stop to breathe, gasping, but with a satisfied, lascivious smile on her face.

Irene stands up, her gaze burning with a desire that mirrors your own. She starts to take off her leggings, revealing she’s not wearing any panties. The sight of her like this, naked and ready, is enough to take your breath away.

Without a second thought, you grab her firmly, your hands holding her slim waist as you lift her off the ground with an ease you didn’t even know you had. Irene lets out a low, sensual moan as she wraps her legs around you, locking her ankles behind your back, pulling the two of you even closer. With a decisive movement, you press her against the nearest wall, the cold concrete contrasting with the growing heat between you.

“Ohhh, yes,” she moans as you penetrate her for the first time, her head falling back, hitting the wall, but she doesn’t seem to care. “You’re so thick!”

With each thrust, Irene responds with louder, more desperate moans. “Just like that, baby… more, please, more!” Her voice is a mix of command and plea, her nails digging into your shoulders, pulling you closer, as if she wants to merge with you.

“That’s it! Oh, God! You fuck me better than my husband!”

That somehow spurs you on, every movement becoming deeper, stronger, as if you’re trying to shove every inch of yourself into her. Irene bites her lip, her face in pure pleasure, and then she starts babbling, as if facial expressions weren’t enough to describe what she’s feeling. “Yes… fuck me… fuck me hard… do what my husband never could…”

But she’s not the only one on the edge. The heat of her body, the almost painful tightness around your cock, every moan and sigh, it all makes you want more, makes you lose control.

After what feels like both an eternity and an instant, you feel like you need more. With a quick move, you pull away from the wall and carry her to the bench. Irene drops to the floor, turns around, positioning herself on all fours while you sit down. She positions herself, slowly lowering onto your cock, moaning as she feels you stretch inside her, filling every inch.

She leans back against you, her head resting on your shoulder, her body sinking even further into your lap. Your hands immediately move to her small breasts, squeezing them, while your lips find her delicate neck, biting and sucking the soft skin. Irene lets out a loud moan, the sound of pure satisfaction, and arches her body, pushing herself even deeper.

“Yes… leave a mark… mark that you were here… that you fucked me like no one ever has,” she pleads, her words breathless, interrupted by moans that only grow louder as you squeeze and thrust into her.

You don’t hesitate, biting harder, leaving a visible mark on her neck, a testament to what’s happening. Irene shudders in response, her pussy tightening even more around you, each of her movements sending waves of pleasure through you, making you forget any shred of morality. She moves against you, her rhythm frantic, the need for more, always more, evident in every gesture.

“Yes… yes, baby… fuck me until I can’t take it anymore,” she moans, her hands reaching back, grabbing your neck, pulling you closer as she continues to move, to lose herself in the sensation.

Irene, breathless, leans in closer, and with a soft voice, almost a whisper, says in your ear, “I want you to fuck my tight ass.”

Her words are like a match striking the box, igniting something fierce within you. Irene rises off your lap and walks to a corner of the gym, where she grabs a bottle of lube. She returns with a mischievous smile, shaking the bottle in the air. “I brought this just for this moment,” she says.

“You had this in mind from the start, didn’t you?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

Irene doesn’t bother replying. Instead, she kisses you before lying down on the padded floor, her pale skin contrasting with the dark material, her body exposed in a posture of pure submission, but with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what they want. “Come here, you naughty boy,” she calls, her voice like poisoned honey.

You kneel beside her, your hands trembling with desire as you reach for the lube. Irene smiles at you, then gets on all fours and arches her back. With steady movements, you pour the gel into your palm and begin applying it to her ass, feeling the warm, soft skin under your fingers. Irene lets out a low sigh, closing her eyes, savoring the sensation. "That's it... get me ready, I want to feel every inch of your thick cock inside me."

You don’t waste any time. With one hand, you spread the lube around and inside her ass, your fingers gently penetrating to prepare her. Irene bites her lip, her body slightly writhing, a mix of pleasure and anticipation. "Feels good, keep going... make me ready for you."

When you feel she’s sufficiently lubed, you apply the rest to your cock, rubbing it until it’s fully coated, hard and throbbing.

Irene changes position, lying on her back on the floor. You position yourself between her raised legs, and she looks at you with eyes full of desire. "Come on, don't wait any longer," she begs, her voice low and sweet. You press the tip of your cock against her tight entrance, pushing slowly, feeling the initial resistance. Irene lets out a moan of pain mixed with pleasure, and you keep going, advancing inch by inch, feeling the heat and pressure around you.

"Ahhh… yes," Irene moans, her eyes closed, her hands gripping the padding beneath her as you penetrate her slowly. "It's so big… so tight…"

You keep pushing, feeling her ass open up, millimeter by millimeter, her body adjusting to your size. The heat, the pressure, the sensation of filling her completely is indescribable, and the low moan she lets out only fuels your desire. "Yes, yes, yes! Fuck me deeper," she pleads.

You obey, pushing deeper until you're finally all the way inside her. Irene lets out a muffled moan, a sound of pure satisfaction, her body arching with pleasure. "Yes… like that… don’t stop," she begs, her eyes shining with wild desire. You start to move, slowly at first, savoring every second, every contortion of her body, every moan that escapes her lips.

As you gain rhythm, Irene’s moans grow louder, more desperate. "Yes… fuck my ass… do what I never let my husband do… ahhh… harder… please," she moans, every word an encouragement for you to go deeper, to push both of you to the limit.

And you do, increasing your speed and force, your hands gripping her thighs firmly, guiding each thrust with precision, feeling her body tremble with pleasure until it all comes down to heat, sweat, the pure desire consuming you both.

Irene then begins to tremble, her body stiff with imminent pleasure. She looks at you, her eyes burning with lust and urgency. "Mmm, I’m about to cum, babe… Let’s cum together?" she asks, her voice broken by moans.

You feel her body pulsing around you, each contraction almost pushing you over the edge.

"Do you want to come inside my pussy? Fill it with your cum?"

The desire and madness of the moment take over you. “Can I?” you ask, your voice tense, almost disbelieving.

“Of course you can,” she replies with a wicked smile, "I'm on the pill, darling. I want to feel you unload everything inside me."

With that, you both move into the classic missionary position. Irene spreads her legs and bends them, her feet planted on the floor, while you kneel between her thighs, your cock positioned exactly where she wants it. Irene wraps her legs around your waist, pulling you closer. The warmth and tightness of her pussy confirm your decision: you need to cum inside her.

You start thrusting into her, each stroke deeper and faster than the last. Irene moans loudly, the sound of her moans echoing through the gym. “Ahhh, yes… more… harder…” she screams, her eyes closed in pure ecstasy. “Fuck my pussy… Make me your cum dump.”

You’re on the verge of exploding, your entire body tense with the anticipation of climax. Irene feels it and, between moans, murmurs, “I’m almost there… I’m going to cum…”

“Me too… I’m almost there…” you reply, your breathing fast.

She opens her eyes, her gaze burning with intensity. “Have you ever cum inside a stranger before, huh? Ever filled a married woman with cum, you pervert?” She asks, her words hitting you like a wave of heat.

Those words make you lose control. With one last, powerful thrust, you bury yourself deep inside her, feeling your cum release into the depths of Irene’s pussy. She screams as she cums at the same time, her body writhing beneath you, her legs tightening around your waist.

“Ahhh… I can feel it all… it’s so warm… so good…” Irene moans, her words loaded with pure pleasure, her breathing ragged as she feels every hot stream filling her. You keep moving, even as the orgasm leaves you breathless, prolonging the pleasure for both of you.

When you finally pull away, your cock slipping out, cum begins to slowly drip from her pussy.

Irene smiles, a satisfied and wicked smile, as she looks at you, her breathing still uneven. "That was… exactly what I wanted," she says, her eyes gleaming with contentment, as the cum drips between her thighs, and you watch, fascinated, as she uses her fingers to spread her lips, letting the cum flow freely. She collects some of the semen with a finger and brings it to her mouth, tasting the result of your mix.

Irene kneels beside you and leans in for a deep kiss, her lips warm and moist against yours, while her hands glide over your body, caressing you with a certain tenderness.

“So, handsome, what did you think of the workout?” she asks.

You, still with your body pulsing with residual pleasure, respond with a smile, “I loved it. It was… incredible.”

Irene smiles back. “Good to hear that,” she says, with a note of amusement, “you can consider yourself my official personal trainer now. And the best part, you’re still getting paid for it. Isn’t it the best job in the world?”

You laugh, a mix of incredulity and amusement, realizing that your concept of ‘job’ will never be the same. “So that’s it? Daily sex with a gorgeous woman and I’m going to get paid for it? What are the downsides?”

“There aren’t any. As long as my husband never finds out, of course. But that’s my problem. Your only requirement and concern is to keep me satisfied.”

With that, she gets up nonchalantly, and starts gathering the clothes scattered on the floor.

You also get up, and as you’re dressing, you can’t help but think about the absurdity of the job you’re accepting.

When you’re almost ready to leave, Irene approaches, casually adjusting her hair.

“Don’t forget, tomorrow is training day again,” she says, her voice full of light arrogance. “Same time. Don’t be late. I want more of that… energy,” she adds with a smile.

You nod, laughing to yourself as you try to regain some of your composure.

“Sure, I’ll mark it on the calendar.”

[darnell-la]

Can you do a follow up with the project x!wolverine x government employee!reader (it can be smut or not I just really like that story)

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗧 𝗕𝗥𝗢𝗞𝗘 𝗢𝗨𝗧 (ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ)

pairing: project x!logan howlett x government employee!reader

warnings: tied up, trapped, sniffing, hunting down, roughly fucked against a tree, pinned, choking, “dragged” through the woods, fucked on the patio, ass slapping, hair pulling, etc.

note: we will be making a part three where they contact Charles's school for mutants to warn them about the government, but the government hacked into their call and found out where Logan was hiding out and keeping y/n.

Logan will be more sweet in the next one as y/n grows out of the fear of him.

follow our Instagram @ darnell.la so we can start posting random videos, photos, edits, and memes of the people we write about!

———

when y/n woke up, she was dangling from the ceiling by her wrists. It took her a while to realize, she was in a basement full of big freezers and sinks. For a second, she thought she was going to be cut up and frozen to feed to whoever until she saw a man sitting on the stairs, leading upstairs.

“W-Where am I?” Y/n said, voice coming out lower than she expected it to. “Home,” the man spoke before getting up. He came out of the light, now shaking off the figure.

He was shirtless, yet had jeans on. Her heart skipped a beat, and she didn’t know why. Was it because Project X had her tried up in god knows where, or was it the fact she could see all of his chest?

He was sweaty, hairy, ripped, muscles flexed every once in a while, veins popping from his skin and smooth.

“It’s passed midnight, but I bet you’re hungry. Went to the store then cooked us up some food,” he spoke as her eyes traveled all over his body. She felt like she was in a trance.

“Up here, princess,” his voice was closer. She didn’t notice how close he was until his fingers lifted her chin. Even though her feet were a few inches from the ground, he was still towering over her.

“You hungry?” He asked with a head tilt. “Let me go,” she spoke, not knowing what else to say. “No,” he spoke back, voice sounding stern. She could hear the seriousness behind his tone.

“And if you try runnin’ you’ll regret it,” he said, body now touching hers. Y/n quickly went to kick him right between his legs, but he knew what was coming. He surprised her by pulling her leg to the side of his waist. She went to use the other, but he did the exact same thing.

“Relax, princess,” the man smirked down at her as she tried wiggling away, but doing so made her cunt rub up and down his clothes length. She prayed he wouldn’t notice, but he felt the wet spot soaking into his jeans.

“If you act good, I’ll fix that for you,” the man whispered in her ear, pulling her body closer to his. Y/n held bad the whine she almost let out. What was he doing to her?

Logan eventually pulled back and walked to the corner of the room to lower her rope. He then walked back over to the girl as she looked down, not knowing what to say or do to the man.

He wasn’t giving off any type of serial killer vibes. He didn’t seem like he wanted to do any kind of killing. A part of her felt saved than she’d ever had, especially because of her job, but she felt off just letting this man win what he wanted. And that was her.

After y/n’s hands dropped from the ropes, she lifted her knees and connected with his groin. The man fell to the ground in pain as she pushed past him, running up the stairs.

The slightly frightened girl ran towards the front door, thinking she was free until she noticed a device on the lock that needed a code. “Fuckin’ hell,” she shouted before running around the rest of the house to find another way.

“You ain’t gettin’ outta here, bub!” Logan yelled from downstairs, finally getting up from the ground. You would think a mutant like him wouldn’t feel that pain, but he did.

Y/n panicked, thinking she was doomed until she had an idea. A stupid one which she slightly felt bad for doing but she did it anyway.

“Son of a bitch!” Logan finally made it up the stairs to the sound of glass breaking. She was out and running for her life, knowing he’d be furious about his genitals and glass.

Y/n ran as fast as she could through the woods, a bit terrified of the dark and animal noises, but the real animal was back at that house. He is an animal, right? That’s what they said he was.

Y/n had stopped after a few minutes to catch her breath. He’s never been the kind to run.

As she rested, she looked down at her feet, swing scratches and blood, but she’d get over it. She needed to get away.

As the young woman went to take a step to continue, she heard a noise behind her. She quickly looked back but saw nothing. Maybe it was a squirrel or something, she thought.

Y/n turned back around to start walking until he saw the view of an angry Logan in her face. “Where ya goin, bub?” He asked. Y/n instantly screamed at his presence.

Before she could move, the man tangled her to the ground, pushing his hand down the middle of her back to pin her into the dirt.

“No!” Y/n fought in anger, thinking she was actually going to escape. “When I said no, you ain’t listen, now didn’t you?” The man said through his teeth as he forced her to dress up.

“Logan, please! N-Not out here, not out here!” She begged, thinking people would be able to hear this scene going on and go and check, just to see her getting drilled into the ground.

“No one’s out here, princess. Not for another mile or so — You’re all mine out here,” the evil low laugh he let out as he pulled his jeans down was insane. He hadn’t even pulled himself out of his boxers. He wanted to take his time with her out here.

Y/n tried kicking her legs, but what was the point? He could smell her leaking down her folds. He knew she wanted this, and he was going to make her understand.

“I said, no!” Y/n shouted as she swung her elbow back as hard as she could, making him fall back. Y/n crawled away, but only a few inches to look back at him. The fear that grew inside of her was unbelievable.

Logan‘s jaw was dislocated. She popped his jaw.

Y/n’s words got stuck in her throat. She wanted to apologize as the man slowly looked up. He didn’t mean to hurt him. She’s not like that.

Before she could open her mouth, Logan popped his jaw back in place with his hand before moving it around to make sure it was normal.

“You fucked up, bub,” the man said before crawling towards her. It didn’t even look like a crawl. How did he do that? Logan lifted the girl up by her neck and pinned her to the closest tree.

“Ow!” She cried out, feeling the tree bark scratched her ass through her thin and silky nightgown. God, she needed to change soon.

“Logan, ow!” She hoped he’d have sympathy for her, but the way his eyes looked, he was far from it. He wanted to teach her a lesson, and that’s what he was doing.

“N-No, no!” She pushed at the man’s hand, but that did nothing. He ripped her nightgown off like a strand of hair. “Logan!” She shouted, feeling the breeze on her body until his body rubbed against hers.

“You’ve been a bad girl,” Logan growled as he pulled himself out of his jeans. “I don’t like that,” he had as he shifted up and between y/n’s legs until they were lifted off of the ground. Her toes barely touched the dirt.

“I-I can't, Logan,” y/n remembered how he fucked her the last time, and he wasn’t even angry at her. Logan let out a chuckle that he soon cut off after he slammed up into her cunt.

Y/n cried loudly as her arms gripped his shoulders. Logan stared directly at her, his face seemed too serious to look at. He was angry. Very angry. But why? It’s not like the pop in his jaw hurt like any other thing her went through?

“P-Please,” she choked as he pushed her neck into the tree harder, just to get a reaction out of her. “Shut the fuck up,” the man said like the tree wasn’t about to break or come out of the ground from how hard he was pounding into her.

“I can’t,” she whined in pain, but too much pleasure to not tighten around him. The way she squeezed him, egged him on further.

“Oh, you can’t? Does it look like a give a fuck? Huh!? Does it!?” He spat as his pelvis roughly slapped against her clit. She couldn’t think straight. This man was fucking her like some wild animal in the woods. She’s literally being fucked by an animal in the woods.

“F-Fuuuck,” y/n dragged with a broken moan. Logan let her neck go and used both of his hands to grip and hold onto her legs, keeping her up and against the tree, not caring how much she scratched at his shoulders and chest.

The man growled in her ear, cock slipping in and out of her entrance as her asshole puckered. He was huge and slagging around like he wasn’t.

Y/n couldn’t say, but her broken cry warned him she was cumming, and when she did, it was hard. “Goddamnit — Fuck,” the man grunted, pinning his feet to the ground to keep up his hard abuse.

“So fuckin’ good — Fuck!” The man couldn’t keep himself together as his nails dug, into her thighs. Y/n was now crying, not because she was scared, but because of the overstimulation followed by a thrust that wouldn’t slow down.

“Yeah? Yeah, is that the spot, baby?” He asked, knowing it was. “Think this is over just because you came? Think ima stop because you’re drunk on my cock? How did that go last time?”

The girl shook her head, half ass answering his questions. “So cute,” the man chuckled before pulling y/n off of the treat and throwing her over his shoulder to give her a small break.

He wanted his fresh meet alive and functioning when he fucked filled her up. Last time he didn’t get that chase, but he swore to god he would this time.

Because she ran so far, he had to walk it, giving y/n some time to come to life. “Lo-“ y/n cut herself off, still having trouble speaking, but held herself well enough for him to understand.

“No more,” she begged, but he wasn’t having it. “Please, no more,” she begged again as she noticed him passing his car parked several feet from his cabin.

“Logan!” She shouted, now kicking and screaming again. The man grew angry but wanted to take her to the bedroom for what he was about to lay on her.

“Logan!” She shouted, gripping onto the side of his house which was a long wooded stand. “Y/n, stop it!” He let her down with a shout as he began pulling her, but she wouldn’t budge and he didn’t want to accidentally rip her arms off.

“No!” She screamed before he finally pulled her off, causing her to fall on the front steps in front of his house. The way she fell and landed on her hands and knees made him say, fuck it.

“You wanna be fucked like an animal? Fine,” he said as he came up behind her, pulling his cock back out before plunging into her, earning a scream that made him know he hit the right spot instantly.

Logan grew an evil smile across his face as he tugged on her hair, making her arch her back before slapping at her ass, causing her to bruise lightly.

“Little sluts get treated like slut, y/n. You could’ve be fucked nice and sweet on the bed earlier, but no — You wanna run,”

Y/n’s mouth slacked as her eyes crossed from how hard the man was pounding on her. “You see that, bub? Look right up there, right into that camera,” he forced her to look at his security.

“Gonna tie you down and make you watch how dumb you look on my dick,” the man spat, making y/n feel the burn in her eyes, but not from embarrassment. From too much pleasure.

“Yeah — Yeah,” the man repeatedly groaned as y/n squeezed him with a shake in her body. “So fuckin’ pathetic, I might have to give you back,” Logan said, knowing he’d never do such a thing. “Nah,” he added drill in her head that she ain’t goin’ nowhere.

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ / ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ, sᴍᴜᴛ ᴏɴʟʏ

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ғᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ sᴏᴏɴ...

[maybankswhore]

I don’t know if you’re still taking obx requests (if you’re not feel free to ignore this) but maybe you could write about JJ dating the girliest girl on the island and all the pouges are like HER? And he’s so proud like yeah that’s my girl

𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓.

this request was too cute not to do! i don’t know if this is the direction you were looking for but i think it came out adorable! i hope you like it <3

pairing(s): jj maybank x fem!reader

summary: in which jj bags the girliest girl on the island— but what can he say? opposites attract.

The minute JJ saw you , he knew he had to have you. You made his eyes glimmer the moment they laid upon you— with half of your hair pulled back in a pretty pink claw clip , a pretty white sundress on as you laughed sweetly with your friends , nails done and makeup complimenting your features so well.

You were quite literally , breathtaking , in his eyes and although you weren’t the usual low maintenance , tom–boyish type of girl he was used to , it had only made him more attracted to you.

At first he didn’t know how to approach you. He never had problems in the girl department before. Being so confident and charismatic , talking a girl up was a slice of cake to him. But when it came to you , you just seemed so nice and warm. He was afraid that he wouldn’t meet your standards , that maybe you deserved someone better than him. The difference in aesthetics were clear— him with his years old shorts and plain tee while you sported that white sundress that was so elegantly simple.

He sipped on his beer slowly watching you from across the Boneyard , trying to get a good feel of your personality. From what he could see , you seemed nice. You talked to almost everyone and seemed genuinely interested in each convention. He knew you weren’t a Pogue but you didn’t give Kook vibes either. JJ was just about to give it all up and walk away , until Pope walked over to you and gave you a hug– which you had excitedly returned.

JJ watched the two of you converse for a bit wondering if he should wait and ask Pope about you or just go up mid–conversation and introduce himself. . . The conversation wasn’t long enough for him to interrupt though , because by the time he got his thoughts together Pope was already walking towards him.

“What’re you staring at me for?” Pope shoved his shoulder playfully , filling up his cup at the keg JJ was standing next to.

JJ snorted. “You wish I was staring at you. I was looking at her— who is that?” He nodded in your direction.

“That’s Y/N and she’s not your type.” Pope snorted , rolling his eyes at the glint JJ’s face held– he knew that face all too well.

JJ huffed. “And why not? She’s a pretty girl. I like those.”

“Pretty and girly , JJ. She’s emotional and likes all that romantic bullshit you hate. You’d hate it.” Pope pointed out , reminding JJ of the millions of girlfriends he had but soon discarded because he couldn’t keep an emotional connection to save his life. Let alone know how to romance a girl.

JJ gave Pope and offended expression , scoffing. “I can be romantic , Pope.”

“One time you gave a girl a bag of dirt for Valentines Day.” Pope deadpanned.

“Bitch , I was literally ten!” JJ defended. “And it’s the thought that counts. I picked out all the bugs.”

Pope stared at JJ for a second , giving him a knowing look making JJ sigh deeply. “Whatever! I don’t care what you say. I’m in love!” JJ oogled in your direction , a hand over his heart.

Pope patted JJ on the back and shook his head. “I’m sure you are , buddy. I’m sure you are.”

With that Pope walked away to find his other friends , leaving JJ to huff on his own.

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” JJ muttered , finishing off his drink. Sure he acknowledged you weren’t his ‘usual’ type— but hey! How’s that saying go? Opposites attract!

Downing the rest of his drink , JJ shook his body to release his nerves. You were finally alone , sitting next to the fire while your friends played beer pong a few feet away from you. Taking this as his time to shine , he strolled over to you with sweaty palms. He felt like a teenage boy having his first crush all over again! All sweaty and nervous. He really did think you were the prettiest girl ever , and he had to talk to you.

“Uh– want some company?” JJ asked lowly , hoping you’d still be able to hear him. He didn’t want to scare you or seem to pushy , so he made sure not to tower over you and keep a good distance away.

Your eyes looked away from the fire and up at him , your cheeks burning red. He was cute. A messy head of blonde hair with small dimples barely noticeable when he smiled. You could feel his nervousness and it made you giggle a bit , excitement in your tummy swirling at the thought of such a cute boy wanting to talk to you. “Sure.” You accepted , moving over for him to sit next to you.

“I—um. . . I like your dress.” JJ said as he sat down , cringing at how awkward he sounded.

You grinned at his compliment. “Thank you. I like your shirt.” You returned the compliment , although the shirt wasn’t to interesting , the person wearing it made it look good.

“Nah this thing’s old.” JJ brushed off.

“Well I don’t know how old this thing is but I bought it at a thrift shop not too long ago.” You shrugged , bumping his shoulder. “I’m Y/N.”

Feeling more comfortable with making conversation , JJ looked at you smiling. “JJ.”

“You’re Pope’s friend!” You remembered Pope bringing up someone named JJ before in distant conversations. Though he was always ranting about the boy , seeming exasperated every time.

“The one and only.” JJ said proudly. “So that means he talks about me— how sweet.” He cooed.

You chuckled. “Only about how you never stop forcing him to leave work early.”

“What kind’ve friend would I be if I just let him work his little self out like that!” JJ defended.

“Point proven.” You nodded , laughing with him. He seemed easy to talk to , even with just a few exchanges of words to eachother. His aura seemed sweet , something that you noticed. “So Pope wasn’t there to keep you company?” You teased.

JJ cheeks blushed slightly , scratching the back of his neck. “No actually , I–uh , I saw you earlier and I think you’re like really pretty and I really wanted to talk to you.” He admitted , hoping to see if you’d be interested in— well anything.

It was your turn to blush. A sweet smile on your face as you tucked a piece of hair away from your face. “You think so?”

“The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” He vowed with one hand up in the air. “Scout’s honor.” JJ added.

“Well I think you’re really pretty , too.” You grinned , copying his actions. “Scout’s honor.”

The rest of the night flowed easily between you two. The two of you talked about anything and everything getting to know eachother , seeing what you had in common and what you didn’t. You weren’t much of an outdoorsy person , and loved everything bright and cheerful. JJ seemed to be quite the opposite but he was interested in what you liked , and you seemed to have an open mind about the things he did , as well.

The night ended and your friends called you over telling you it was time to leave , but you put your number in JJ’s phone telling him to call you.

And you didn’t get too far before he dialed that number right up , making sure he had it before you left.

Things had ended up well betwen you and JJ. He had taken you out on dates. Some being what he wanted to do , some of you forcing him to go thrift shopping with you and give him a fashion show. He had researched every romantic comedy , every romance novel to give you the most that you deserved because he started to really like you.

He loved everything about you , how girly you were , how your nails were always done and your hair always fixed. You had such passion for so many things and it shined through you , and it showed inside and out.

JJ fell for you quickly , asking you to be his girlfriend on the seventh date. He planned everything all by himself. A beach picnic at night with pretty little candles and lights. ( All things he had thrifted , knowing it’d make your heart happy. )

He’d never forget how pretty you looked that night in your skirt , big eyes watching him in admiration as he asked you to be his girlfriend , getting all emotional and crying when he did.

But now that things were really serious , he wanted to introduce you to the Pogue’s— which he was excited about , but you were so nervous.

“Baby they’re gonna love you.” JJ promised as the two of you walked to the front door. “I told them they’re gonna love you and they have to listen to me and do what I say regardless.”

You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend. “It doesn’t work like that , JJ.”

“Well it does in my world.” He told you , wrapping an arm around your waist and bringing you close to him. He pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. “I love you so they’ll love you because I do.”

Your heart melted and you always fell to your knees. “I love you , too.”

JJ kissed you one more time before opening the door. You could hear the chaos as soon as it opened , laughter and commotion. Your stomach was in knots as you walked in , wondering what his friends would think. You had seen Pope a couple times since being with JJ , but you hadn’t said anything out of respect for your boyfriend because you knew he wanted to be the one to tell them.

“Hey guys!” JJ said loud enough for them to look at him , their eyes immediately looking at you then back at him then the arm around your waist.

Kiara smirked , knowing that JJ always did have that soft spot he claimed never to have. Pope looked like a deer in headlights and John B was just confused.

“I want you to meet my girlfriend.” He put emphasis on girlfriend. “Who is extremely hot and girly and also extremely my type.” JJ said , looking at Pope.

You nudged JJ’s shoulder and smiled at them. “I’m Y/N.”

“No fucking way.” Pope said , obviously shocked.

“Aw! My little JJ is all grown up.” Kiara pretended to wipe a tear away. “You’re so cute— I’m Kiara.” She pushed past the two boys and tugged at your arm. “I’m excited to have another girl around , do you smoke? Let’s smoke a joint outside.”

JJ pulled you away from her. “Um , no. She doesn’t and her first time ain’t being with you!”

Kiara scoffed and pulled you back , standing in front of you protectively. “If she wants to she will.” She glared before turning back to you and pulling you towards the back yard. “You totally don’t have to.” She whispered in your ear making you laugh.

JJ smiled as he watched his bestfriend take to you and bring you outside. He was excited to have you around more and bring into his life in this way , the Pogue’s were a part of his world that he wanted you a part of.

“I gotta say JJ , I wasn’t expecting that.” John B clapped him on the shoulder.

“No kidding!” Pope scoffed. “I didn’t think he’d get past the first conversation.”

JJ crossed his arms and smirked , shrugging nonchalantly. “What can I say? Opposites attract.”

[innerfare]

I Love You - Part 1

Summary: Who says I love you first? How do you say it?

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

——— 

Luffy: He showed it first, asking you to join his crew, making sure you had a safe and healthy place to be yourself, fighting anyone who stands between you and your dreams, saving his funniest jokes until you're around to hear and giggle at them, even going so far as to share a little (really, only a little) bit of his meal with you, but you were the only who actually said it first. He gets severely injured after a nasty fight, and you stay by his side while he sleeps it off like he normally does, though it takes him longer than usual to wake up. When he does finally wake up looking for you and something to eat, you fling yourself on him and tell him how much you love him. You didn’t intend on confessing, but you were so worried about him and the words fell from your lips as soon as you knew he was okay. Your brows are still furrowed, and when Luffy asks why, you voice your insecurity that he doesn't feel the same way. Luffy just laughs at that and ruffles your hair. “Of course I do.” With that, he crawls out of bed in search of food. He quickly falls into the habit of telling you in the morning when you wake up, and it fills you with so much joy, it’s like he’s giving you a happy vitamin to start your day. And saying those words bring him so much joy that saying them is like he's taking a happy vitamin, too.

Zoro: To your surprise, it was Zoro who said it first. Though Zoro seems the type to bottle up his emotions, he’s actually not, he just doesn’t seem emotional because he’s really good at dealing with his shit. And he knows all too well how temporary arrangements can be, how quickly life can be snuffed out, how easily the people he loves and cares about can be taken away from him. So one late night when he’s alone in the shower, washing his hair (using Nami's expensive shampoo and conditioner because she left it in the shower and Zoro just uses whatever's within his reach) and thinking about you, he realizes how he feels, and he doesn’t even consider not telling you. He climbs into bed afterward in just his boxer briefs, his hair still damp and smelling extra good, shakes you awake, kisses you a few times, and mutters that he loves you in your ear before passing out, not even waiting for you to say it back. He doesn’t say it often after that because he doesn’t thinks actions matter more than words, but he always says it when one of you is injured or after an argument. 

Sanji: Sanji technically confesses first, but you’re the one who actually says those three words. He’s holding your hand in both of his, clutching it close to his racing heart, as he looks down at you, telling you all the ways you make his life better, all the things he’s looking forward to doing with you, all the energy he’s going to put into keeping you happy, healthy, and safe. And the words just sort of fall from your lips. He stops mid sentence, eyes wide and mouth open. The seconds drag on in silence before he’s pulling your lips to his. Both of you are very generous with these three words, saying them often and in public. If you ever hang up the transponder snail without telling him you love him, he’s calling you right back to make sure everything is alright. (Also, not really relevant, might do a separate post about this, but Sanji is definitely a heart-shaped jewelry sort of guy. He just is. Certified lover boy.) 

Ace: Your first, more implicit confession came one night before you two were ever in a relationship. You noticed he was a little off and saw him slip away from the crew as they were drinking the night away. You found him sulking by the water and sensed he was hurting, especially when you asked to say and he told you he’d rather be alone. Before you leave, you tell him, “I just wanted you to know that I’m happy you’re alive.” You had no idea that it would strike a nerve, just got the feeling he needed to hear it, and this was confirmed by him grabbing you by the wrist as you walk away and pulling you into his arms. You continue finding implicit ways to tell him you love him such as, “I think the world is a better place with you in it,” and, “I’m so glad you were born,” and Ace is never really sure how to respond, but he soaks your words up like they’re sunlight and he’s a plant. This culminates in him blurting those three words out one day when you’re sitting in a tree together, Ace avoiding your eyes for fear you’ll reject him. When you lean in and kiss his cheek, instead, he almost cries (and he does when he’s alone later on, your love the purest thing he’s ever known). 

Sabo: Sabo is always taking risks. He lives a dangerous lifestyle as the Chief of Staff of the Revolutionary Army, and on top of being one of the most wanted criminals in the world, he is an incredibly reckless individual who thrives when his life his threatened. He does not, however, thrive when your life is threatened. So accustomed to being the one others are fretting over, so used to Koala telling him off for taking this risk or making that dumb decision, he is completely blindsided by the anxiety he experiences when he finds out you’ve been captured. Naturally he launches a rescue attempt, and when it succeeds, he wraps you in his arms and tells you how much he loves you. He always makes sure to say it after that, telling you in the morning when you wake up and at night when you go to bed together, the memory of not having you there to hear it all too fresh. 

Law: Law is pretty bad with words, and, for lack of a better term, he sort of lacks a bedside manner. Needless to say, this carries over into other aspects of his life, including his love life (or lack thereof; Law has little to no experience in this arena). One afternoon, though, the two of you are fighting because you want to accompany Law somewhere and he insists it’s too dangerous despite all of your qualifications and skills as a fighter. You keep pressing and pressing, demanding to know why he won’t let you go when you are perfectly capable, until finally he blurts it out. “I love you! Alright? And I won’t lose you.” You aren’t even in any sort of relationship at that point, the two of you just sort of stewing in unresolved tension. His irate confession is the tipping point, and you become an item after that. When you hear it from him after that, it’s always in private, usually in the late hours of the night when he slips into bed and buries his face in your neck. Other times, it’s when you two pass each other in the hallway aboard the Polar Tang and he catches your hand in his, placing a warm kiss on your knuckles, muttering the words, and moving along quickly for fear someone might see despite the entire crew knowing about your relationship. 

Kid: You say it first. You say it a couple of times, actually, before you ever hear it back. You’re sitting in his workshop watching him build something, and you just sort of blurt the words out. You swear Kid hesitates before picking up the next piece of metal, but he gives no real acknowledgment you uttered those three words. Knowing exactly the sort of man he is and not expecting to receive anything in return, just wanting him to know how you feel in the moment, you aren’t actually offended, but you are wondering if he didn’t hear you. So, the next day in his workshop, you say it again, once more receiving no response. The third time you say it to him, catching him while he’s painting his nails, you receive a grunt in response (Kid is a man of grunts, not a man of words). Only in the heat of battle do you hear it back. He catches you around the waist and picks you up, and you fight thinking it’s an enemy, only for him to say, “I love you,” in your ear before deflecting a canon ball headed straight for the two of you and then setting you on your feet like nothing happened. From that point forward, he’ll say it, but only at inopportune times.  

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[haveagarbageday]

Love at first sight \\ Max Verstappen

summary: Max meets his new neighbor and her dog. They spend some time together, and he can't help but realize this might be love at first sight.

In the last few races they had been suffering, there was no better word to describe it, and Max was getting more and more frustrated as the time passed without any progress. He did all he could to help, he gave them his opinions and ideas, but nothing seemed to work properly. Yes, the races hadn’t been catastrophic, he tried to do his damn best to bring some precious points home, but it wasn’t good to see that the McLarens turned into rocket ships, Mercedes had some great races, and don’t even get him started on Charles dragging that shitbox Ferrari into higher positions.

So, no, he wasn’t in a good mood, and used the break to sulk in his apartment for a week, only leaving if it was absolutely necessary. Today was one of those days; he had no choice but to go and pick up something he ordered, but he wasn’t expecting to meet anyone on the way. Well, he wished he wouldn’t meet anyone. But the moment he stepped out of his apartment, he saw a woman stand in front of an apartment that had been empty for a while now, locking the door while her dog seemed to be very interested in him.

“Oliver, just let me lock the door, it will only take a second,” you told the dog when he tried to pull you over to him, but it was a Staffordshire terrier if he wasn’t mistaken, and they were quite strong, so no wonder you were yanked after your stubborn pet. That’s when you looked up and noticed him, and you flashed an apologetic smile at him right away. “Sorry, I don’t know what got into him, he’s usually not interested in strangers.”

The dog sniffed his leg, then moved on to check out his hand, and he seemingly came to the conclusion that he was a likable human, because he began to wag his tail excitedly, and even jumped up on him with his front legs. Max wasn’t happy by the sudden attention, but he could have sworn it seemed like the dog was smiling at him, so his heart melted a little and he couldn’t help but pet him on the head.

“Are you sure he doesn’t like strangers?” he asked with a laugh.

You shrugged. “I don’t know anymore. I mean, when he met my friends back home, he completely ignored them and decided to retreat into my bedroom to be away from the noise. Then after moving here, we stopped to talk to someone on the street, and when the poor girl tried to befriend him, he just turned around and began to pull me away from her,” you added.

Max took a better look at you, and your kind smile and shining eyes didn’t leave him unaffected. You were gorgeous in your own, unique way, different from all the girls he was used to seeing in his life, and a voice in the back of his mind began to convince him to shift the conversation to you. He wanted to know more, he wanted to be your friend, and maybe later he would ask you out on a date, because he really wished he could find out where your relationship could go.

Was this love at first sight? Was this the feeling so many people talked about?

“Do you have a destination or are you just going for a walk around the neighborhood?” he asked you, fidgeting with his watch as he waited.

For a moment, you only watched him with a surprised look, but then you looked down at you dog and let out a thoughtful him. “Well, I usually go wherever he wants to go. I know, not really an alpha-type behavior from me,” you added with a sheepish grin.

God, your smile was contagious, because his own lips curled into a wide smile at this. “How about joining me? There’s a store a few blocks away where I have to pick up a package, but there’s a dog park if we take a little detour if I’m not mistaken. We could stop there on the way back.”

You glanced down at your dog who was still wagging his tail as he watched him, so you eventually nodded and told him it sounded like a good plan. It was nice to know you weren’t against spending time with him, and it made him believe you might be open to the possibility of getting to know him better, maybe under different circumstances. He liked your dog, but there were things he would rather do without him being around. Or his cats being around for that matter, but they were usually minding their own business anyway.

Then again, he was getting ahead of himself. You were just getting to know each other; he didn’t even know your name. So, once you got into the elevator, he decided to introduce himself. You nodded, telling him you knew who he was, then assured him you weren’t some crazy fan who was obsessed with him as you supported Ferrari. That hurt, but it was still better than being a McLaren fan at this point of the season. You told him your name, and even told him you just moved here since your remote job didn’t require you to stay in your home country.

Once you opened up about your life, he began to empty the backlog of questions he had in his mind, asking you about your job, your family, your hobbies, and when you got to the dog park and let Oliver run around, he even dared to bring up the question he deemed the most important: “Did you move here on your own?” Because he was afraid you would say you came here with your boyfriend, which would mean he didn’t have a chance with you. But you only smiled and shook your head, and he could tell you understood what the question was really about.

“I came on my own, and before you ask, I’m single at the moment,” you told him as you took out your dog’s ball from your bag to throw it for him.

Max watched as Oliver brought it back, but instead of you, he decided to put it down in front of him, so he obediently bent down to pick it up and threw it away again. “That’s not why I asked,” he lied, earning an adorable laugh from you. “I’m serious.”

“All right, that’s not why you brought it up then,” you said with a grin as you nudged his arm with your shoulder. “Can it be my turn to ask questions?” you wondered as you looked up at him.

At this point, you could have asked for anything. You were so nice and kind, almost to the point it hinted at your underlying naivety, and he just felt like being the person who could love you the way you deserved, and who could protect you from mean people who might want to hurt you. It was a strange feeling he hadn’t experienced before, this protective instinct that came to the surface as he talked to you. He was drawn to you, and if it was up to him, he would have kept you in his apartment while he wanted to stay away from the rest of the world.

He didn’t even notice that he got lost in his thoughts, because he was brought back to reality when he heard you let out a thoughtful hum next to him. He almost asked you what you were thinking about, but then he remembered your question and cleared his throat. “Sure, ask away.”

To his surprise, you didn’t try to dig deep into his personal life. You asked about his cats, his hobbies, you wondered how he handled being away so much since you would probably go crazy from going from country to country all year despite loving to travel, and you closed your little interview session with a question he barely got with such sincere honesty: “How are you?” People were rarely interested in this. They asked him how he was after races, how he felt about the car or his results, but this was a question for him, the person behind the real and sim racing mask.

At first, he didn’t even know what to say. He wanted to say, “I’m frustrated because our car is terrible,” but at the same time it was also on the tip of his tongue to say something along the lines of, “I’m feeling a lot better now that I met you.” But while one was related to racing, which he didn’t feel like mentioning, the other simply made it too obvious that he was slowly falling for you. Considering you only met about two hours ago, it was almost pathetic how much he wished he could ask you out without sounding weird.

But the time wasn’t right, you would need some more time to loosen up even more around him, to get to know him in a way a lot of people never got to. In the end he decided to say something neutral. “Not in the best mood, but at least I can see the light at the end of the tunnel,” he replied.

“And what’s that light? New upgrades? Or the end of the season?” you asked him with a mysterious smile.

You.

He couldn’t say that though, not without sounding like a creep. “A mix of different things,” he replied after a short break.

After a nod, you called your dog to put him on the leash again, but he was feeling really good where he was, lying on his side and enjoying the sunshine. “I guess Oliver is so tired he’ll sleep through the rest of the day,” you told Max with a laugh, then left to collect the dog.

The three of you walked back to the apartment building, spending that time talking about casual topics, and eventually you said goodbye, then disappeared behind your front door. He stood there on the hallway for a short while, watching it as if you would return any second, but deep down he knew you wouldn’t come. He should have asked you to have dinner with him, he should have given you his number. Just in case you needed something, of course, after all you were neighbors, it was the bare minimum to have the chance to contact the other.

He spent an hour or two in the sim rig, then he somehow found himself looking for you on social media apps, hoping he could find you. And after some digging, he finally stumbled upon your account, and he didn’t hesitate to send you a DM. All he did was write about how you could always write if you needed something or if you wanted to talk, and that simple message turned into a long conversation, one that made him forget about the sim race that took place that evening. If it wasn’t for the phone call he got, he wouldn’t have remembered it.

In the morning when he woke up, the first thing he did was checking his phone to see if there were any new notifications that could interest him. And there was one that stood out: “You awake? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. How does brunch sound?” He had never typed a response faster than now that he sent you a single word: “Perfect.”

[phant0mth1ef]

girl dad bakugou hcs / can be read as a standalone or as part 5 to bakugou x support course reader

- whenever they wanted to play dress up, the man would argue with two five year olds happily oblige and put on a custom made princess dress that you had bought him.

- his kids were big deku fans growing up and everytime he was forced to buy merchandise he would secretly grind his teeth and grip the shopping cart handle just a little harder.

- he ended up having to take them to meet deku and he was ticked off the whole time, but still took and framed the photo of his two little girls that were as happy as they could be.

- his daughters were daddy’s girls through and through.

- his fans would definitely make thrist trap posts about him as a dilf, and you’d read them to him as he made dinner, almost falling off the kitchen counter while trying to catch your breath when someone said “till? WE’RE NOT STOPPING ❌”

- his fans would also post about how the biggest and baddest man is getting bossed around by you on a daily, making him seem small and meek.

- although he tries his hardest to keep his little family out of the spotlight, they do sometimes end up making the front page & his daughters are always dressed to the 9’s and posing in full force for the cameras.

- it was as if each kid was a carbon copy of him, inheriting his hair and red eyes, one even going so far as to get a similar quirk, and your other daughter wanted to be just like her mother, pursuing a career in the support course.

- one of his daughters actually wanted to go to shiketsu but he wouldn’t allow it.

“anything that isn’t ua is just less than! all the second rate heroes came from shiketsu and i will not allow my daughter to become second rate like that damn wind dude!” he was sitting on the couch while your daughter was trying to discuss shiketsu’s entrance exam with you.

- his daughters called him mister boom boom from the age of 4 to about… wait they never stopped calling him that!

- he wanted to name one of your kids dyna and the other might.

- you settled and let him have dyna but got to name your other kid who you named akari after your favorite assistant at mirko’s agency.

- his daughters worshipped him growing up but begun to make fun of him as they got older due to his funny lack of temper and the way he never talked back to you. ever.

- he made sure his daughters knew to never settle for less.

- imagine how annoyed he was when dyna came home talking about this boy she had met at ua, an electric type.

“hah?” “you are not dating dunce face’s offspring! break it off now! the dude’s second rate and i’m sure that kid of his is too! not good enough. no way.”

- glared at kaminari’s son the whole time when she brought him and his family over to meet you.

- akari was just like you, and maybe that’s why your husband chose not to anger her as much as he did dyna, but he always made sure to show up to her support events, and to always be her number one fan at each and every one of them bevause he remembered something you’d said back in highschool.

“support is a great career path, i just wish people would acknowledge it more because we don’t get nearly enough attention for as much as we do.”

- would instantly try to intimidate every boy your daughters ever brought him, kinda like phil dunphy in that one modern family scene where it’s like:

“that’s my little girl! i need her to know no guy on earth is good enough for her.”

- ultimately the man just loves his daughters and is so happy that he has them despite the fact that sometimes he doesn’t seem like it.

[dwaekkicidal]

hiii!! can i req a fic or smh in which reader is lee know's younger sister and hes lowkey protective??? (i recently saw a fancall of him rejecting the idea of introducing his "younger sister" to the other members soo.. 😭😭) and like hyunjin gains a big fat crush on reader and reader is oblivious abt it but reader actually has a crush on hyunjin also and lee know founds out abt this?? 🥲 IDK IM SO SORRY THIS IS MY FIRST EVER TIME REQUESTING SOMEONE AND ALSO I'VE BEEN DYING TO SEE THESE TYPE OF FICS BUT THERE AREN'T ANY AVAILABLE..

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: 3.3k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ warnings: fluff, brother! Lee Know, crush!Hyunjin, mutual pinning, kissy kissy, theyre in love your honor

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ notes: catching up on requests, i kinda hate the way i wrote this but i hope you like it lol ♥️

“I think I’m in love with Y/N…” 

Chan and Changbin’s eyes widen while Han chokes on his iced coffee. “...You WHAT?? Minho's sister?!?” Changbin’s hand comes down on the back of Han’s head, shutting the boy up instantly.

Hyunjin cringes at the reaction, already knowing it was a bad situation in itself. But then the bad reaction coming from the best friend of the man in question only makes him feel worse. He scowls and he can feel tears start to prickle his eyes so he hides himself as best as he can at the moment, plopping himself on the couch and shoving his head in his hands. “I’m gonna die...”

Chan chuckles and takes the seat next to Hyunjin. “Listen man. I know he seems like the devil in human form, but he loves you like you’re his brother. At most, he might be mad at you for a while but he wouldn’t actually hate you.”

Han fixes himself and nods along as if Hyunjin could see him. “He’s… super protective of her after her last relationship. But! He sees us all as his brothers so it can’t be that bad!… I think?” He whispers the last part under his breath, thinking that nobody would hear him. But they do… And Hyunjin only whines more and curls into a ball on the couch, hands still covering his face.

The rest of the morning after that the boys tried desperately to lift Hyunjin’s mood. They managed to hype him up enough to get him cheery enough to leave the dorm and head to the company, using some excuse about wanting to re-record a few lines and wanting his opinion since Changbin wouldn’t be available.

They also figured that getting Lee Know in the vicinity, to show that he wasn’t onto Hyunjin, might help with his nerves, which worked! At first. What they didn’t account for, however, was the girl who was also on her way to the building to "spend some time with her brother.”

Though, you’d never admit to them that you were really only there for somebody else.

And it didn’t take long for you to find them. They were always in the same 4 rooms so after doing a process of elimination and hearing loud screaming from down the hall, you discovered a good chunk of the group.

The entirety of Danceracha along with Chan and Han were in the dance studio, mainly flopping around to one of their songs and not actually practicing. Well, other than Hyunjin that is.

It made you smile seeing them goof around with no worries, but the second you looked a little to the left, your heart immediately skipped a beat. Hyunjin was standing near one of the mirrors, sweat dripping down his neck and eyes focused purely on the motions of the instructor.

You recognized the choreo, it was one you had seen a week or so ago from the last time you visited. But something about seeing Hyunjin so focused on his craft and smiling when he got the moves right made you melt into a puddle.

Just thinking about him was enough to make your heart beat faster, but you were also just the tiniest bit insanely in love with him. So seeing him in person for the first time in what felt like decades made you feel things that words couldn’t explain.

You were cut from your thoughts by a hooded figure- your brother, joining the instructor in helping Hyunjin. Then came Han’s booming voice. He screamed out your name super dramatically as he motioned for you to come over to where he, Felix, and Chan lay across each other on the floor.

You tore your eyes from Hyunjin and looked at them, giggling and shushing him as you headed over to them. You made it over to them without causing any distractions to the others- or, at least you thought you did. Hyunjin was distracted the second he heard your name, though he didn’t realize that it was because you were in the room.

And his distracted demeanor was unfortunately obvious to both the dance instructor and Minho. Though luckily neither of them realized your presence either. They both just assumed the boy was getting tired so he called for a break and Minho pulled Hyunjin to where everybody else was sitting.

It was only then that both men finally realized you were here, and Hyunjin found himself almost tripping on air when he saw the familiar shape of your body amongst the cuddle puddle. Your back was to them, so you had no idea they were even done practicing until you felt a human throw himself on your back. “HEY!! Get off me, Min!”

Minho groaned happily, getting comfortable and stretching himself over you as if he just got home after a long day of work. A big smile took over his face as he made some comment about how chairs shouldn’t wiggle around so much.

Hyunjin watched and laughed to himself before finding a seat behind his leader. Han looked back at him and smiled apologetically, knowing all too well that he was stressed out of his mind. But, in an attempt not to draw too much attention to Hyunjin, he went back to scrolling on his phone and stroking Felix’s hair as if nothing was wrong.

Chan however turned around completely, scooting over to sit right next to Hyunjin before sighing. His voice was below a whisper as he apologized, “Sorry man. I didn’t know she would be coming today.”

“It’s fine. Maybe I’ll feel better now that I’m exposed to both of them at the same time.” Chan made a face full of doubt but didn’t persist. He simply leaned back onto his hands and joined in one of the conversations.

Hyunjin looked away from him just in time to watch you kick Minho off you the rest of the way. You made an ugly face at him and stuck your tongue out before looking behind you as if you were looking for somebody. He followed your eyes to the mirror, that same spot he was just practicing with the instructor.

He felt his heart panged a little and he found himself frowning at the thought that you might’ve started to fancy their dance instructor. Maybe Minho-hyung would want her to date him instead…? He is pretty attractive...

He rolled his neck and took a deep breath, shooing those thoughts away before looking back over at you. He watched your shoulders drop as you didn’t find whoever you were looking for, then you turned around and your eyes met his. Both of you made a surprised face for a moment before you laughed. “Pfft-”

You mouthed a ‘Hi’ at him and waved with a smile sweet enough to give him a cavity. He melted in his spot and waved back, watching in silence as you stared at him for a moment before turning to the blonde boy currently pawing at your leg for a second of attention.

He continued to stare at you for a while longer with a small smile on his lips. The time flew out the window and he completely forgot his other members were even there. He even forgot where he was at as he lost himself in daydreams about a future with you.

It wasn’t until the sun had started to set that he zoned back in. And it was really only thanks to the loud groans of the boys getting up and stretching. It left you, Hyunjin, and Chan on the floor as the others bid farewell and Minho told you to text him when you got home.

You agreed and sent him a thumbs up before moving to sit next to the other boys with your back against the wall. By the time you sat down, Chan was already on his feet, stretching and feigning exhaustion. “I’m gonna head home. Have fun you two.” He didn’t leave any room for questions as he sent a wink to Hyunjin and speed walked out of the room.

Silence fell between the two of you for some minutes until you attempted to break the silence. “And then there were two…” Hyunjin giggles and nods, turning his body to sit facing you and leaning his head against the wall. The two of you continued to stay quiet for some time after that, mostly scrolling through your phones and occasionally showing each other a post you found funny.

Though, it wasn't necessarily an awkward silence, it was a very comfortable silence that you would argue that you could sit in for hours on end without being bothered by it. You don’t know this, but Hyunjin would also agree.

Although he was a little too caught up in his thoughts to think about it. The confidence from the pep talk the boys gave him earlier that morning was still running through his veins, and he almost had half a mind to confess to you right then and there.

Then, all of a sudden an idea comes to mind and he blurts out a question, not giving himself time to overthink it.

“Do you-”

“So-”

You both speak at the same exact time, cutting each other off. Wide eyes are shared between the two of you before you burst into giggles and motion for him to continue. He tries insisting that you go first, but you close the imaginary zipper on your lips and throw the key towards the mirrors.

He chuckles and shakes his head, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I… Do you want to go on a walk with me? To the shore nearby? I know it’s getting dark, but I just thought it would be nice and- and the weather is still good so-”

You laugh at his rambling and he cuts himself off, brain malfunctioning as his mind gets bombarded with images of your smile. He finds himself subconsciously smiling and in that moment he realizes just how in deep he really is. It’s not until you nod and make a quiet noise of agreement that he’s snapped out of his trance.

He jumps to his feet and holds out a hand for you, helping you to stand before jogging over to the seats and gathering his belongings. A smile takes over your face as he rushes back to your side and leads you out the door with a hand ghosting your lower back almost protectively.

Hyunjin continues to lead the way up the seawall as he tells you about his most recent paintings and walks shoulder to shoulder with you, his hand occasionally brushing against yours.

He walks a little farther before you notice a heightened concrete platform. It has stairs that lead up to it and you can already tell it has a pretty view so you point towards it. He glances at it before looking back over at you.

“Should we sit here for a bit? I wanted to talk to you about something.” You smile and nod, taking the lead and walking towards the stairs. He follows you up them and watches as you head to the railing that separates you from the sea.

The air was comfortable around the time you guys had started wandering around earlier, thanks to the hot summer air finally cooling down. But now it was starting to become a biting cold. No thanks to the freezing, metal railing that you were leaning on.

You shiver a singular time and run one of your hands up and down your arm as you look over the sea. It was barely noticeable, but he noticed immediately and became a little worried.

And, how do you expect him not to notice? He’s constantly entranced by your everything and worries about you every single day. He just can’t help himself from just staring at you during rare moments like this. Rare moments when it’s just the two of you, enjoying each other's company.

Hyunjin realizes that he is staring when you shiver again and he licks his lips nervously. He stretches, silently pulling his hoodie over his head as he moves forward, gathering the fabric and presenting the neck hole to you.

You furrow your eyebrows and tilt your head at him with a confused expression, but he insists and moves forward again. This time taking a big step and standing less than a foot away from you so he could put the sweater on you himself.

He gently places it over your head and helps it down around your neck. You pop your hands through the sleeves and grab the fabric by his hands, assuming that he would have let it go already. But he hadn’t. Instead, he sits there with pink cheeks and his lips caught between his teeth as he pulls it the rest of the way down your torso for you.

The action makes your heart flutter and your knees almost buckle at the way he's looking at you, eyes shiny and full of something you have only dreamed of seeing. You heart beats out of your chest as he stays close, not even trying to back away from you.

“A bit cliché, don’t you think?” You smile teasingly and, despite your comment, you slither your hands past the pocket and melt into the warm, soft fabric. It smells just like him, obviously, and you can’t help but take a deep breath. Your body physically relaxes at the scent and he notices immediately.

He bites his lip in an attempt to hide a smile and he chuckles under his breath. “Yeah, maybe a little.” Silence falls between the two of you again and you find yourself staring at him for the millionth time this night. He stares back, lost in your pretty lips. He really wishes he could kiss you right now.

He visibly gulps and tears his eyes away from your lips to look you in the eye “Y/N…” His breath quickens and you hum, signaling to him that you’re listening despite the lack of thoughts going on behind your eyes.

In the corner of your eye, you watch his fingers twitch. They hesitantly move forward, between your bodies, and grab your buried hands out of the pocket of the sweater. He sees your breath hitch and you glance down at your connected hands before looking back up at him.

“Listen, I…” He looks behind you towards the water momentarily and takes a deep breath before angling his neck to look at you again. “I know this might be inappropriate, but I really like you. I've had feelings for you for a while, but I was scared that you and Minho would hate me.” His hands are shaking as he talks and you stare up at him in shock.

Hyunjin’s eyes search yours as you blink repeatedly, a cute little habit that you picked up from your brother. It could almost make him laugh if he wasn’t so fucking afraid right now. But he waits rather patiently, thumbs running over the back of your hand as he tries his best to calm himself down. Your lips part after a few seconds and he holds his breath.

“You… like me?” Your eyebrows furrow and his heart drops. His eyes widen and he pulls his hands away from you as apologies start to pour out of his lips. “I’m sorry if I crossed a line, I just had to say something before I exploded. I’m really sorry, Y/N. I’ll leave you alone if I made you uncomfortable-”

“Wait no, Hyunjin! I- I’m sorry that came out wrong.” You laugh nervously and grab his hands, already missing the warmth. “I like you too. I really, really like you… I talk about you all the time to my friends, I’m sure they’re sick of seeing your name in their text messages.”

You both laugh and he seems to loosen up again. He waits a few minutes, letting your words hang in the air as his nerves calm down. Then he tries pushing it a step further.

His hands are warm as his fingers intertwine with yours and he smiles to himself when you reciprocate the action. “Your brother will kill me, but I’m willing to get cooked alive for you. Will you let me be your boyfriend?”

You smile widely and nod, “I won’t let him do that to you.” He huffs out a laugh and his eyes quickly flick to your lips again. “Can… Can I kiss you?”

Your eyes widen and your cheeks somehow burn even more, but you nod enthusiastically. He lets go of your left hand in favor of settling his hand against your cheek and rubbing the skin there with his thumb. You close your eyes and nuzzle into it, making him smile to himself as he leans forward.

Then, he finally closes the distance between you. You swear you can hear the fireworks exploding around you and you melt against his soft lips. The kiss is short lived though, as he doesn’t want to push a boundary and scare you away already.

You make a noise of disagreement when he pulls back and you wrap your arms around his neck, squeezing him back into you as you whine. He smiles and doesn’t make you wait much longer before he pushes his lips against yours again, this time moving his now-free hand to rest on your waist and pull you into him.

You feel the hand on your cheek slide to the back of your neck, holding you there as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss. His tongue slides over your bottom lip and you are in the process of parting your lips when a voice startles you both out of your skin.

“Hwang Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin flinches and you feel him frown against your lips at the sound of his surname as well as the stranger interrupting his important business. It was the dead of night so anybody around was seen as a threat so he went on high alert, backing away and preparing to hide you behind him.

But as soon as his lips leave yours, he realizes he knows that voice all too well. The two of you separate and look over to the stairs like deer caught in headlights. “H-Hyung??”

“Min-” Minho glances over to you for a moment, silencing you. He’s scowling but loosens up when he sees the genuine fear in both of your faces. He sighs loudly and crosses his arms around his chest as he stretches his neck. It’s only then that you notice Jeongin behind him, staring quietly with wide eyes and his jaw on the floor.

“I checked your location to see if you got home safe and freaked out when I saw you were near the sea at fucking half past 10.” You curse to yourself, forgetting that the two of you shared locations for safety reasons once you moved to the city and then again when you realized that he said it was already almost 11 o’clock.

“I thought something bad happened to you.” Minho nervously bites the inside of his cheek as his eyes dart between the both of you, then he sighs loudly and looks to the side, suddenly becoming flustered. An almost awkward silence fills the air around the four of you.

Eventually, Jeongin finally fixes his jaw just in time for Minho to turn to him and nod his head towards the car. You hear a faint ‘Let’s go’ before Minho takes the first step down the stairs to follow Jeongin. You and Hyunjin glance at each other in confusion and you open your mouth to call out to your brother, but before you can he looks back at Hyunjin with fire in his eyes.

“Break her heart and you won’t get the mercy of the air fryer. I’ll kill you with my bare hands.” Then he looks at you. “And, please for the love of God, get her home before midnight or I’ll kill both of you.”

Taglist:

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

@yaorzu-blog @amararosesblog @jiminssluttyminx @clemissleepy

@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha @bubblerizz

@mariteez

[diejager]

bro make a fanfic about the reader and the ghost/konig WHEN THE READER WAS SHOT IN THE BUN ON THE MISSION AHAHAHHHAH LMAO (in the military helicopter when they were supposed to return, the reader was holding her butt, moaning, writhing in pain and trying to hide the pain)

That is a funny thought…

Shots Cw: gun violence, bb shots, tell me if I missed any.

You yelped when you were hit is the ass, flinching forward and raising your arm just as you turned to glare at whoever landed the shot. Your right cheek exploded in soreness, tingling from the sharp pain of a BB shot.

“Hit!” You called it, letting your rifle hang from your shoulder as you rubbed your right cheek, grumbling about the bastard, “On my fucking ass of all places.”

You walk towards the respawn with your arm up, still cussing out whoever shot you in the ass. You had a hunch about the shooter: Soap, who else had enough courage to shoot you in the ass. You doubted Gaz did it, he might’ve been tempted, but he preferred other type of pranks, more mischievous ones like tampering with the washer or drinks, harmless but hilarious. Soap, however, rarely knew the limit, going as far as stealing and hiding your stuff, tapping you in the ass or messing up your head while he cackled away, speeding off to Ghost or Price to escape your wrath.

You reasoned that this was a staged scenario, a small group activity Laswell came up with that landed your Task Force somewhere in France for game of airsoft, a Free for all in the reserved location. No one had complained, thinking it a good activity mixing fun, training and awareness —everyone agreed to it enthusiastically once Ghost had voiced his grumpy acceptance, seeing this as a moment to be able to training without the prying eyes of others or the presence of strangers. Once you reached the spawn point, your jump back in to land a few shots at Soap to see whether or not he liked getting his ass bruised by a BB. You walked off determined, mind narrowed down to a single goal, your retaliation—

Until you yipped a second time, a pellet bouncing off your second cheek. You whipped around, yelling as your eyes scoured the tree line and the openings in the buildings behind you, the windows, the roof and behind pillars. You couldn’t find Soap anywhere, he wasn’t hiding behind the trees or in the buildings, but you did catch the glint of a scope —a familiar sniper scope.

“Ghost, you son of a bitch!” You screamed in outrage, feeling how both cheeks throbbed with pain. You bared your teeth, hissing at your Lieutenant who seemed smug and comfortable in his high perch on the roof of the building, “Why’d you do that?! I was already out!”

”Big target, luv,” his amused voice cracked in your comm, the low rumble of sadistic pleasure ringing out in your headgear. He cocked his scope, his white mask standing starkly in his dark gear and broad figure, “Impossible to miss. Quit moaning.”

“Big target? Are you-!” Huffing at his continued laughter, you glared his way before you turned to hurry back to the respawn, “Let’s see who’s laughing later, you ass.”

“Fuck- Hit!”

Your shoulders shook with restrained laughter, admiring the way Ghost jumped from your perch, hidden in the darkness given by the cement wall. You listened to him hiss and swear, massaging the place you aimed for: the pronounced curve of his ass, his jeans rarely doing him the pleasure of hiding what he had.

“Quit moaning, Ghost,” you cackled as you parroted his words, telling him the same thing as he told you, but you had more to add, more to taunt and tease him as revenge, “Couldn’t miss it, Lt, it was a big fucking target.”

You watched him stomp off, retreating to the tree line for his spawn point. It filled with a sense of elation and ugly smugness, and all that was left now, was to find Soap.

“Steamin’ Jesus!” Johnny’s yelp felt more exciting than Ghost, something you could devour over and ove without regret.

“Not so fun, is it, Johnny?” You smirked, replying with a gleeful tone.

He looked red-faced, the tip of his ears turning a bright shade of red from the way you spoke to him, utilising his known weakness and playing him to watch him stutter and flush brightly.

“Awa’ a bile yer heid! That hurt, lass!” His voice had taken a whinier tone, face screwed in embarrassment and something that you couldn’t put your finger on at this distance.

“I know, shouldn’t have shot me in the ass then.”

Gaz tapped you on the shoulder, a smile threatening to break into chuckles. He’d known what happened to you and knew what you did in retaliation, finding amusement after siding with you, sitting beside you and peering at two frowning and mumbling men.

“Heard you had a lot of fun.”

“Not enough.”

You thought you heard Price sigh tiredly.

taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx

[leclsrc]

do you want it? ✴︎ cs55

genre: summer love!!!, slight age gap, porn w plot basically...

word count: 10.5k  

Whatever preconceived notions you have about your summer at the beach house are all toppled over when your parents announce the arrival of a guest, who happens to be your dad's friend. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by several people! few notes... carlos is aged up a tad, the age gap is 21/33 so not too bad (i aged him up bc the age gap was 7 yrs and i was like. Huh. thats tame). if ur not into that (tho everything is consensual and reader is legal) its ok! anyway im sorry this came so late i had like 6 anons asking ab carlos and lana haha. also big thanks to dani whose work got me thru 4 writing ruts

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, dry humping, oral sex (m and f receiving), deepthroating, semi public sex ish?, praise central, size kink, like a flash of spit kink sorry..., overuse of the term good girl

Half past noon and after a particularly snappy call from his manager, Carlos bites the bullet on summer plans and decides to accept what is arguably the least glamorous offer on his roster. By no means a dazzling standout, the offer to stay at a family friend’s house in Comporta seems to be the most comfortable option—besides, he doesn’t feel himself to be in the glitzy mood for cities like Los Angeles or Monaco.

Lando, beside him, is thus the first to get wind of the news that “grumpy old man” Carlos will not be accompanying him to the ultimate, tequila-flavored “summer extravaganza” in Morocco.

“You’re boring,” Lando moans, pacing the room. Outside, London’s skyline moves passively. Carlos hangs up his phone call with his assistant, receives a picture of his flight details, and looks up amusedly.

“Portugal is not boring.”

“Morocco. DJs, drinks, girls.” Lando raises one hand. “Comporta. Family friends, apple cider, sand in your eyes.” He raises another hand a few inches lower. “See the difference?”

“I appreciate the difference.” Truth is, Carlos has needed this kind of quiet, calm time off for a while now. The season gets heavy and intense and tiring, and sometimes just staying by the beach with a beer is the best kind of reprieve.

“You’re getting old,” Lando says with a sour grimace. “Old.”

“That is,” Carlos says, searching for the word, “defamation.”

Lando shrugs, moves off the subject as he shoves a handful of crisps into his mouth. “Are you meeting family there?”

“No.” Both of his parents are out of the country for the next few weeks; Carlos was invited by his dad’s friend, though the bond they share is more friendly than just the standard uncle-nephew type of relationship, and they often refer to each other as just friends. “Just friends. Gallery owner and a company owner, I think.”

Lando whistles. “Rich.”

In response, Carlos nods. “And their daughter, who’s visiting from university in the States.” The details are fuzzy in his head, but the gist is about right.

“Sounds boring,” his friend snorts. “Come on, mate. You, me, Daniel. One last chance to watch Peggy Gou’s set and take shots and have fuuun.” He says the last part with the suave that would only rival a preteen’s.

Carlos, for a second, lets his resolve waver. Maybe it would be better watching loud DJ sets, dancing, getting all flushed with alcohol. But he blinks and shakes his head anyway. He hopes his decision is the right one, that summer in the beach house ends up being worth it. It’s a few weeks by the beach, anyway—what’s the worst that could happen?

—

Any recollection of your childhood almost instantly connects to the beach house in Comporta, big and wide and right by the coast. You spent fall, winter, and spring in a constant bumbling state of excitement to spend summer there. Your parents owned it, and often offered family friends to take up residence there when summers in the city got unbearable; for the most part, though, it was the three of you and, on rare years, a guest.

Your summers there have since smudged into the same few memories, of your mum and dad’s faces, of swimming and the learning curve of sailing, of bonfires by the beach on cold nights. And they have since become just that: memories. Summers grew sparse with time, and eventually the idea of meeting distant family friends became more embarrassing than exciting; by the time your parents moved you out of Europe for college, you’d lost almost all memory of the house.

So when your parents ask if you want to fly back to Comporta and spend a few “quiet” weeks there, you figure there’s no harm in seeing what the house is like and what summer can offer you beyond the weekly club outings. Instead of the usual quiet and overall lack-of-bustle that comes with summers, however, you open the front door to three housekeepers dusting every surface in your immediate eyesight.

“Are we hosting a wedding?” You ask when you find your parents tending to two sweaty glasses of champagne. You gesture faintly to the cleanfest inside. “What is going on?”

“We have a guest,” your mother says as she gets up to hug you tight. “Staying for the summer.”

“You said this summer would be quiet,” you deadpan, eyes narrowing underneath your sunglasses.

Your mum pinches your elbow. “I wasn’t lying,” she defends, raising her eyebrows. “Carlos’ son is coming.” She pats your arm. “You know? The race driver! He’s close with your father.” And, leaving no space for you to voice your dissent, she slips back into the house through the screen door, your father kissing your cheek then following suit. Your mouth parts, thoughts beginning to rush with implications of what your mother has just told you.

Carlos—if you’re correct—is Carlos Sainz, Sr., a good friend of your dad’s, and his son is Carlos Sainz, Jr., another good friend of your dad’s, because if there’s one thing rich Europeans do well, it’s the repetition of names. You’ve never met his son, only heard of him and seen a few pictures, but being so far detached from life here, you can’t even shape his face.

All you recall is the fact that he should now be thirty or older, which makes him rather older than you—and therefore effectively incapable of providing any break from any possible summer boredom. For fuck’s sake, he’s close to your dad. You’re at the top of the stairs when you hear the commotion by the front door, peeking at the foyer to catch a glimpse of him.

He’s solo, you observe; upon a glance into the front parking, you notice he’s driven here in a Ferrari, one a bit too modern for your taste but beautiful nevertheless. He carries only two pieces of luggage, and the sun blinds you for a moment before he’s finally at the doorframe, smiling politely, talking to your dad in casual Spanish.

He is, for lack of better word, insanely handsome. He wears a polo that shows off much of his arms, that flex as he puts down his luggage to shake hands with your parents; you follow the movement of his hands to watch one comb through his thick hair, then down to his smile, back up to his brown eyes, deep and so, so pretty.

Maybe this summer deserves a little less begrudge, you decide as you retreat back into your room, still brewing with residual annoyance.

Your parents send him off after a drink and a brief conversation, catch-up, tour of the downstairs area. Carlos knows his room is supposed to be upstairs, but the problem arises in the fact that there are two upstairs rooms and he doesn’t know which one he’s supposed to be staying in. Setting his luggage down for a minute, he knocks on the first door; permissive silence greets him for half a minute, so he turns the knob and prepares to enter.

To his surprise, he finds somebody already inside, a figure by the mirror on the other end of the room. What catches his eye is not the tiny skirt, but the half-tied bikini top currently being wound around two fingers at the centre of your back. You’re basically clothed, but Carlos can’t decide if he’s thankful or not—he doesn’t have time to when you catch him in the mirror and turn around quick, mouth agape.

“Can’t you knock?!” You ask, catty.

“I did—I knocked, but you—there was no answer,” he explains profusely. “I’m Carlos. Sorry, apologies. Truly.”

You introduce yourself. You’re his friend’s daughter, this and that, and you’re visiting from the States to spend summer here. He apologizes again when you finish. 

“Well, seeing as though this is my room,” you shoot back, “that must be yours.” You gesture vaguely to the one down the hall. Amused and a little embarrassed, he mouths apologies as he closes the door.

Carlos exits, departs and doesn’t have time to take in the room before he’s facedown on the bed. Any sleepiness he’d collected from the trip over, from the day drinks, from the headache that’d been blooming at the temples of his head, has dissipated. His mind’s been imprinted with one image only, and it’s down the hall in a tiny skirt.

—

Lunch brings lemonade and pasta, two staples for every summer meal. You, however, find yourself hopelessly distracted by the presence of your guest, and despite your best efforts, the churn in your stomach disables you from fully enjoying the carbonara on the table. The conversation between Carlos and your dad ends up taking your attention instead. “So you’re racing again in a few weeks?”

“Sí,” Carlos nods in-between forkfuls. Then, to add, “Busy, busy times.”

“Well. It’s the worst of our days,” your mum says, a quote she picked up from—of all places—a BBC sitcom she watched to tears last winter. “You are a talented driver, Carlos. Very cultured. I’m sure you’ll enjoy Comporta.”

“I have not been around much,” he says; his gaze flutters over to his glass, which is devoid of water or lemonade. “Any recommendations?”

“A lot, cabrón. Our daughter will be happy to take you around,” your father says on your behalf. He turns to you. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, sure,” you say, allowing a terse smile. “There’s some places around here that aren’t so boring. But that’s being generous.” Carlos laughs at your joke, raucous and goofy, and you would definitely be lying if you told yourself it didn’t get you blushing a little bit, eyes casting themselves to your still-full plate.

“While you’re here, Carlos,” your dad continues, “I have an old car in the garage that could use some looking at. Are you—would you know how to—?”

Carlos nods, accepting the favor—then the conversation naturally slides into one of cars and racing. Carlos chronicles his journey in Formula One, his Toro Rosso days back then when he was younger, his McLaren period, and now, his time representing Ferrari. He talks of pet peeves on the grid, annoyances but also praises for the sport.

“I’d appreciate the downtime, actually,” he explains, “that I’d get from working on a car instead of in one.” He laughs, eyes briefly meeting yours. He looks away, then looks again. He can’t help himself. He wonders if he’s being obvious, if you can tell the way his looks are anything but casual. “Can you pour me a glass?” He adds.

“Yeah,” you mutter, sitting straight to pour lemonade into his waiting glass. You meet his eyes and almost pour it over the pasta. The rest of the lunch is uneventful, a series of adult conversation you can’t seem to engage yourself in fully, and whether that’s because of personal preference or Carlos’ presence, you don’t make an effort to try.

“…ney. Honey.” Your mum’s voice distracts you from your thoughts; when you look up, half the table is clear and Carlos and your dad have ventured inside to deposit plates at the sink. 

“Sorry. Wh—sorry, what?” You blink.

“Your father and I are heading out for the evening. Carlos will be working on the car. That okay, or you want to come along?”

“Um…” You pretend the latter is even an option before shaking your head. “No, I’ll stay.”

“Good.” She strokes your hair. “He could use the company.”

You follow her walking figure inside, where you station your eyes on Carlos. He’s sipping a lemonade. His eyes meet yours for a second and your face is outrageously flushed when you realize you’ve been caught staring, just like his had been earlier when he walked into your room.

—

You’re hellbent on solving a Sudoku puzzle when the dinner bell rings, and you have to finish it on the stairs. Your dad’s always been a stickler for arriving to dinner on time—every meal, but a gargantuan emphasis on the last—and you’ve been victim to scoldings about being five to six minutes late, an instance you don't wish to repeat.

9, you scribble, bare feet moving with speed through the living room, indoor dining room, then to the patio door. 4 comes next, your footsteps following the smell of grilled meat. 8, you write as you turn into the outdoor dining area. You’re halfway through 2 when you stop, look up, and find Carlos preparing dinner.

“Oh—” You pause. “You rang the dinner bell? Are my parents not…?”

“They are at a dinner,” says Carlos, eyes meeting yours briefly. It reminds you of earlier and you clear your throat, looking away. “So I hope my cooking is good enough.”

“It smells great,” you offer, seating yourself down and pouring a glass of wine. He sets the plate down—just-cut steak, a smear of potatoes. “Christ, you cook better than Dad.”

“I take that as a compliment,” he laughs, sitting across you. “Listen, I want to apologize for accidentally walking into your room earlier.”

Your face warms. “No, it’s okay. I was just surprised.”

“It was wrong of me. Let’s start over. I’m Carlos.” He reaches over to shake your hand, still standing. You take it, eyes flitting over his hand, spotting no glinting ring on his finger. With a saccharine smile, you assure him it was an honest mistake, so he segues into a different topic, the corners of his mouth turning up. “So, do you have an itinerary for me tomorrow?”

You hum, passing the wine over to him. “A bookstore, an ice cream parlor, and a bike ride. Anything else is seriously not worth it. You’ll have the next few weeks to explore town. If the house gets that boring.”

“I haven’t been bored so far,” he says, eyes glinting.

“Oh?”

“You know, with the car fixing.” He points vaguely to where the garage is. “But it’s only been a day.”

“Car fixing is boring,” you state matter-of-factly. “You’ll have fun tomorrow.” You cut into the steak and bite into the forkful you stab at, eyes fluttering.

“Good?” Carlos asks, smiling a little.

“I love it,” you mumble. “You’re so good at this, Carlos.”

Carlos retires to his room that night, and finds that today has held a collective motif of losing his shit. He’s anything but sleepy. Restless, wild-eyed, combing hand after hand through his hair. God, if he’d known you were this pretty—this hard to resist, on his first night here, no less—he would’ve been watching some DJ spin out a set with Lando right now.

Instead, he finds he can’t stop himself from thinking about you, the way your eyes had fluttered when he tried saying something on the edge of flirty. Your hair. Your hands, your fingers, lithe around the stem of your wine glass.

I love it, you’d said, you’re so good at this, Carlos. You knew exactly what you were doing, skittish tone putting him on edge. Despite himself, he can’t help but squeeze himself through his pants when he sits down on the edge of the bed, breathing heavy to purge himself of thoughts so low and dirty.

You’re so pretty. You’d be so easy to wreck, make his, goad little moans out of you, get your lips around him, puffy and pink and pretty. He wedges his eyes shut tight and hopes these thoughts will dissipate as the week passes.

Something tells him he’s wrong, though.

—

The tour is delayed because your dad insists he go fishing with Carlos three days in a row, but eventually (likely due to your mum’s insistence) it pushes through. You greet him with a smile, waiting by the door, wearing a sundress. Sundresses will definitely be his demise.

You’re a good tour guide, though, Carlos figures when you’re finished pointing at every turn and sign and dictating what goes where and where the passage to the coast is, when you’ve even quizzed him about where you are and where the house is supposed to be.

After he points in the correct direction, you nod approvingly. “That’s how my dad made sure I wouldn’t get lost,” you explain when he laughs at your choice of tour guidance. 

“And you were what—twelve?” He asks, walking beside you. It’s fairly empty in town, a few tourists mulling about carrying shopping bags and plastic cups of juice.

“Try fourteen,” you argue. 

“Well, quizzing a, uh—a fourteen-year-old is really not the same as quizzing a grown adult.”

“Ha. Call me when you can’t find your way home tonight,” you diss sarcastically, making a turn toward the bookstore down the street. “Okay, here we are. Don’t get too excited. They’re just books.”

For a relatively empty town, the bookstore always has new batches of titles, displayed proudly for natives and tourists alike front and centre. But you’re already going to the right side of the store, busying yourself with looking at the signs. 

“The classics shelf is always my favorite,” you say, already walking ahead of him. Your dress bobs softly with your legs as you pace, short and sweet and white. You turn and his eyes slide back up instantly, and he hopes he was quick enough. “Do you have any authors you like?”

“I am not a big reader. You?”

“Huge,” you say, smiling a little. “Okay, we can browse. Are you into any genre…?”

Carlos proceeds to tell you his track record in the literary field includes: reading half the Harry Potter series, a car manual, and a few other titles in Spanish he cannot recall the name or plot of. But, he adds, he’s always wanted to read, found the activity so quiet and still and perfect, so he allows you to lead him through the titles stacked on each table and condensed on each shelf. He points at, sometimes, or picks up covers he finds appealing.

“How about—?” He reaches for a pink cover that reads It Ends With Us, but your hand loops around his wrist before he can pick it up and you’re pulling him into another aisle.

“…Not that.” You continue perusing the books around you, your hand still wrapped around his. With your free finger, you point at the top shelf, and tiptoe against the bookcase to try and get it. You come close, but not close enough.

Carlos, behind you, is successful, not even needing to tiptoe to reach for the red hardbound you’d been pointing at. It also means he’s pressed up against you, heavy and big, and the sensation dizzies you. When he finally pulls it off, you turn to him and find respite in the proximity—you two are so close, every exhale out of your lips causes a puff of air to blow against his hair.

He steps backward. You smile and gesture toward the book he’s holding. “That’s a good one.”

“Gabriel Garcia Marquez.” He reads out the author’s name in one fluid sentence, his Spanish accent becoming naturally more obvious.

“Okay, colonizer.” He knits his brows. “Trust me,” you insist. “One Hundred Years of Solitude—so good. It was one of the first books I read front to back twice in a row.”

“Wow, what an honor,” he teases sarcastically as you move along the aisle, fingertips brushing against the indents of the books. You turn to narrow your eyes and stick your tongue out. Unfortunately for Carlos, the effect this inflicts upon him is not oh she mocked me, but oh how would it look if—

He needs ice cream. Or to just get out of this aisle.

—

You punctuate the day with two cones of it, melting way too fast in the heat of summer. He’s already half-finished with his vanilla, and you’re taking your time with the lemon sorbet you’d gotten for yourself. Apparently, this is the only other highlight the town has to offer, and judging by the fact that most of the other stores are expensive clothes, souvenir shops, and a Bible bookstore—yeah.

Carlos is also more than sated with the three books in the paper bag he’s holding. Scratch that—six books, you bought a haul for yourself—but it’s not a particularly heavy load, so he’s fine. His phone has been buzzing with Lando’s update requests that he’s been deliberately ignoring.

“They make the best ice cream,” you rave, smiling. You lick over the melt on your lips. “Right?”

He might actually drop his cone now. “It is delicious.”

“Well…” You look around, your hair flying with every turn of your head. Lick over lips again. Again, and again. He has to look away.

“…Do you wanna stop by anywhere else?” You turn to him and ask, licking over the tip of your ice cream cone.

It’s hard for Carlos to pretend he’s looking around your surroundings, at the signs and storefronts, and not at your sticky lips, your pink tongue just peeking out to lap at the quickly melting gelato around your hand. His eyes flit downward, to where the hem of your tiny white dress has flown up in the coastal wind, exposing more of your thighs.

“Carlos?” You repeat, voice sweet and waiting.

He snaps his eyes back up and wills his voice to remain passive. “We can head back.”

So you do, meaning your tour ends around noon, and your parents greet you both with lunch and the round of inevitable questions. Did Comporta live up to your expectations? What books did you get? Was our daughter a good tour guide? The latter, Carlos answers with a smile—very good. You allowed your face to flush, blamed it on the sangria.

Now, though, it’s the brink in-between chilly and hot, sticky traces of the summer afternoon still lingering in the air, mixing with the cool of dusk when you decide to exit your room and fix yourself a glass of something, preferably sweet and alcoholic. An empty driveway save for a Ferrari means your parents are gone, leaving you and—if you’re lucky, which you hope you are—

“Carlos,” you call out from the window you’ve just tugged open with the expertise of somebody who’s lived here for twenty-one summers. “Thirsty?”

He looks up from where he is, outside, continuing his operation on your dad’s car. The hood’s been cranked open, and his long hair is damp with sweat, flying gently in the face of the sunset breeze. He smiles when he sees your figure peeking out.

“For what?”

“Whatever you want,” you respond, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. His white shirt’s stained with oil and dirt, tainting it beige and grey, the tight fit even tighter from his sweat. You can make out the outline of his abs just underneath. 

He squints. “Beer?”

You make an exaggerated eugh face to tease him, but duck back inside to bring your homemade aperol and an open, frosty beer outside. When he sees you, he walks closer, smiles and takes a swig of the drink you offer. He makes a noise of satisfaction and you have to make a real effort to maintain a semblance of normalcy, eyes averting from his lips to gaze instead at his solid shoulders, his build, big and tall.

“What’s the problem with beer, hmm?”

“Tastes like shit.” You raise your aperol. “The sweeter, the better. How’s Dad’s car?” You blink, sidestepping him to try and gauge his progress.

“Casi termino.” You look at him, raising your eyebrows, and he translates. “Almost done. It wasn’t that destroyed, if at all.”

“You think he’ll let you drive it when you’re done?” You ask playfully, swiping your condensation-wet finger over the side of the car. You turn, smiling expectantly; Carlos laughs a bit, shrugs.

“It is just a favor. But if he does, I’ll make sure you get to come along.” He says. “You like that?”

“Mmm,” you nod, sipping on your aperol. You part from your straw, lips stained, and smile up at him. “I do.”

His gaze is stuck on your lips. You lick over them, and he looks away with a slow blink. You watch as he ruffles his hair, rounds the car and crosses his arms to view it from the back.

God, he’s handsome. You think of the long-winded nights you’ve been spending trailing your fingers over your legs or texting inspired paragraphs to friends back in university about him. Their responses are almost always Send pic now and a cacophony of heart eye emojis when you manage to snag a stolen shot of him doing just about anything.

His gaze is scrutinizing, every little detail of the car, and eventually he closes the hood again. “Should be good by tomorrow.”

“Where’d you learn to fix cars?” You ask sweetly, nearing him. The wind bites at your legs, your flowy skirt bouncing sporadically and held down by your free hand. When your eyes flit to his, waiting for his response, you find them snapping upward. He’d been distracted.

“I work with cars, so it comes natural.” You lean on the hood of the car and he comes to stand in front of you, his eyes pointed downward at you. “That’s not a very good habit,” he adds.

“Drinking?” You pout, raising your half-empty glass. You blink up at him, the corner of your smiling lip caught in your teeth.

“Biting your lip.” His gaze is intense. “You do it a lot, I noticed.”

You smile, leaning backward a little. His resolve is breaking. “Can I borrow one of the books you got earlier?”

“The three ones you bought not enough?” He raises a brow, downing beer again. Some of it dribbles out of the corner of his lip. You’ve never been one to like the taste, but you’d lick it off him if you could.

“I just wanna browse it,” you push. “I’ll return it tomorrow.”

“Fine,” he relents. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

—

He sees you the next day after lunch, which you’d skipped because you “weren’t hungry.” You’re wearing a dress, hair clipped into a bun when you excuse yourself to pick up an earring in front of him. He almost thinks it’s a fib until he sees it, the pink gem on the floor.

“Sorry,” you say, voice mellow, and then you’re bending over to pick it up. You’re wearing pretty lace panties underneath.

Carlos clears his throat and excuses himself, adjusting his shorts as he goes upstairs.

—

He gives you Norweigan Wood after dinner, like he promised earlier in the week. Two raps on your door, and when you open it, he’s already handing it to you with a quiet smile. “Goodnight,” he says, his voice clipped.

“Our tour isn’t over yet,” you tease, tossing the book onto your bed and descending the steps back downstairs. Confused and interested, he follows you, to the back area of the house, past the swinging screen door, down the steps, and onto the sand.

“Tour?” He repeats, for clarification. The only things to tour are sand and twigs.

“Yeah, Carlos. This is the real tour,” you joke, walking backwards. Every step sends your foot sinking into the cold sand, slowing your pace until Carlos catches up, matching your steps once he does. “Comporta—real and unfiltered.” You both laugh at your hyperbolic, MTV-worthy statement, and he waits for more, entertains you further.

“What is so real about this?” Carlos laughs, allowing himself to humor your little schtick.

“Well, mister. This isn’t bookstores and ice cream parlors.” You point to a nearby spot in the sand, just by a rogue stick. “This is where I smoke without getting caught. Near enough that I can run back in seconds, but faraway enough that my parents can’t immediately see what I’m doing. Granted, I don’t need to be sneaking around much, but if you ever want to do something in secret—”

The implication sends Carlos into a spiral of thought.

“—here’s your spot.”

“So you smoke,” he says when he sits himself on the sand, observing the now-dark skyline of the area. You continue pacing around a little, and when you raise your arms up to stretch, he catches a glimpse of your abdomen, the waistband of pink lace underneath the low rise of your denim shorts.

“Occasionally. Don’t play Holy Mary,” you warn, standing in front of him and stretching your hand out to reveal a box of Marlboro Reds. 

“Wasn’t planning to,” he responds, taking a stick and inserting it in between his lips. “Got a light?”

“No,” you tease, taking one for yourself and sliding your lighter out from your pocket in one quick motion. The flame illuminates your face, casts a light on your thin white tee and on the bikini top you have on underneath. You puff out a small cloud of smoke, and Carlos reaches up to take the lighter.

“I said no,” you giggle, your lips knotting into a pout. You hold the lighter just out of his reach, red and bold against the bleak evening. 

“Give it.” He sits up higher, reaches harder; he almost gets it, but you step backward and raise your arm out of reach. Again your shirt rises with the movement. The view he gets, this time, of your hips, the lace that hugs the area there, is much more close.  The laugh you emit sends a cloud of smoke out.

“No, no,” you continue, laughing, a sweet sound.

Carlos gets up, tries again to lunge for the lighter. At this point he doesn’t even care about the cigarette in between his lips, just wants to entertain you. He tries again but you’re quick with it, ducking every lunge just in time.

“Come on,” he goads, laughing himself. You pace backward, smoking, until your ankles hit the shallow shore water, water that goes deeper and deeper until you’re knee-level, still smiling at him mischievously. 

“Fine,” you relent, shrugging. You throw your hands up in surrender, in the process taking the stick out of your mouth to blow smoke out. “Do you want it? C’mere, then.” You beckon him closer, wave the lighter tantalizingly so he steps closer, closer, until you’re holding the flame to the cigarette between his lips.

He’s so tall, he has to bend a little to let you light it, his eyes meeting yours, illuminated by the pale moon and the orange of the flame.

It all goes to plan. Once you light it, you place two hands square on his shoulders, whirl him so he’s behind you and thus even deeper in the water, and with all your might, push him into the sea. 

“Brat—” he manages to gasp out as he goes, the word leaving his lips in the first and last puff of smoke he lets out. He surfaces, every dip and ridge of his abs and chest accentuated, his linen polo near invisible with how saturated it is with water. His long hair, too, sticks to his forehead; he combs it backward, reveals his amused-irritated eyes, the dead cigarette spouting seawater and ash.

He spits it out. You stare and pinch the soggy stick in between two fingers, stuffing the trash into his chest pocket. “That’s bad for the environment.”

“I am freezing,” he says in response, but you’re just stifling a laugh.

He narrows his eyes, and with unsurprising ease given his build, picks you up and carries you over his shoulder. You barely have time to protest, almost dropping your own cigarette into the water, kicking and pounding on his back to please put me down. You can feel the water getting deep, deeper, and when he finally dunks you in, it’s only a second of dryness before you’re submerged in the chilly water.

Your cigarette dies, and you manage to collect it, because you’re not in the interest of leaving your stick floating; you wedge it into your pocket.

“You’re such”—you gasp for air—“a dick!”

You’re smiling, though, flailing your legs to stay afloat. Carlos can’t help but stare, entranced with the way your eyelashes stick together, damp, the droplets of water on your cheeks, your two hands wringing saltwater out of your hair, and when you swim upward, the way your white tee leaves nothing to his imagination.

You can tell. He can tell you can tell—because the next thing you do, with some faux exaggerated sigh of annoyance, is say, “Can’t swim, too heavy,” and you’re taking off your shirt so all he sees is the red of your bikini top underneath. The white tee bobs softly with each passing wave, and you’re smiling up at him. Checkmate, you’re saying. I’ve got you. A skittish, playful smile on your lips.

“I can help you swim,” he offers—retaliates, more like, his height offering him great advantage. He finds your bare ankle underwater, guides it to wrap around his waist. Naturally, your other leg follows until you’re flush against him, held up by him so you don’t need to wag your legs around just to stay above water.

Your hands go on his still-clothed shoulders first, then eventually around them, fingers linking at the nape of his neck. Your smile is wicked. You’re so sinfully pretty. He wades deeper, holds you all the while, two big hands on either side of your waist, thumbs rubbing over your sides so you can shiver.

“‘M so wet,” you say, voice shaky with chill and laughter. His grip tightens and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to try and pretend you didn’t just say that.

He dips you underneath the surface to surprise you, and your shriek is cut off by the water—he pulls you up quick, laughing, but underestimates his strength because as he tugs, you barrel right onto him, forehead bumping his.

Your eyes are closed, and you momentarily detach from him to wipe salt out of them. “Ass.”

“Brat,” he responds.

You open your eyes to find he’s close, so close you could just lean forward an inch—an inch—and you’d be meeting his lips. You wonder how they feel, how he kisses. He’s confident everywhere else, would he kiss you like that, too? You lean closer, a wrecked gasp escaping you.

“You’re so pretty,” you say, and it’s supposed to be teasing, but your breathy voice is genuine, honest. A thumb swipes over his eyelashes, causing him to blink, then the bridge of his nose. He leans upward, tries to catch your lips, but pauses, his eyes fluttering open and closed.

“This is wrong,” he says in a quiet breath, making no move at all you stop either of you from kissing right now.

You want—need—to kiss him, but you can play the long game if he wishes to. Your eyes flit back up to his, dark brown and reflecting the moon.

“Then let’s head back,” you suggest, even if both of you want anything but.

Long game. He guides you back to shore, picks your tee up, uses it as a sieve for any loose ash and cigarette bits in your path back to shore, even finds your red lighter that’s now dispensing water. He apologizes for not having anything to dry you with, and drops you off at your room with a puddle in both of your wakes.

“Thank you again,” he says, his voice a whisper through your ajar door. He observes your room with what little vantage point he has. The posters on the wall, the art, postcards. The laptop on the bed, open. The phone charging on the nightstand. The thong hanging out of the hamper.

“No problem,” you say back, voice saccharine. Your hand wraps around his wrist. “See you tomorrow.”

Even if you’re doused in seawater, he can still smell the traces of your perfume, the summery sweet of it, when you close the door. He stays for a second, blinks, relishes in the hint of floral.

—

You spend three days walking on eggshells around each other, testing the limits of interaction.

Your night at the beach was risky, dangerous, thrilling—but it was fun, sending you both into antsy, restless trains of thought. Carlos self-medicates with coffee, beer in the afternoon, working on your dad’s car, and the first two hundred pages of the Marquez book you insisted he pick up. He spots you sometimes, lounging on the beach with his book in your grip, the waistline of your bikini bottoms leaving a tanline he can’t stop staring at when you walk back into the house.

But he can’t act on it—he was the one who labeled it wrong, the one who suppressed himself, held the urge back. He told you it was wrong. And it is wrong. He’s older, he should be wiser; he’s close with your dad; and a cacophony of other rational reasons he shouldn’t be playing into this skittish summer crush.

“Dad said the boat’s free,” a voice says, and he looks up from his book to find you standing in front of him, wearing nothing but a bikini top and a skirt, loose and riding low on your hips. Your lips stretch into a sweet smile. “Wanna come?”

He really shouldn’t. “Sí.”

So he goes. He’s thirty-five. That’s a grown age. If anything, he’s capable of making sure he stays responsible. He dog-ears his page and picks up his beer to follow you to where the boat is docked. He’d been on your dad’s yacht earlier in his trip here, to go fishing, but it’s quieter today, bobbing softly atop the water. You lie yourself down on the sunny side of the boat, sunglasses over your eyes.

“Stay anywhere you like,” you say charmingly. It’s silent for a while, Carlos seating himself on one of the lounge seats in the shaded area, and then you’re moving around on your towel.

You peer over your lenses, blinking and sitting up, and this is when he knows he can’t do it.

“Carlos,” you call out. “Can you put sunscreen on my back?” You get up again, rifling in your bag for the bottle of sunscreen, dragging a hand through your hair to comb it out. It falls in loose waves, swishing when you turn to hand him the bottle. He pretends he’d been distracted on page 210 when he accepts it, watching as you sit in front of the seat, your back turned to him, your little figure in-between his spread legs. 

A minute passes with no hand at your back. “Go ahead, move even slower,” you joke, and the tension breaks a little; he humors you, laughs and apologizes.

“It’s because hour hair is in the way,” he says, touching it gently, combing it to the side.

“Wait—” You dig through your bag again and pull out a blunt pink ribbon, slipping it into his hand. “Can you braid it for me?”

“Braid?” He doesn’t know jack shit about braiding hair. “I don’t know how.”

“At that age of yours and you don’t know anything about how to please a girl,” you whistle lowly. “Adult virgin?” 

But you guide him through it despite your teasing, teaching him to divide your hair in threes, weaving one strand over the other until “it looks half decent.” He fucks up a few times and your hair looks odd at some point, but in the end, it’s—well, it’s a braid.

“How is it?” You ask, and he can hear your smile.

He does the job well enough for a first-timer, he thinks, finishing it with the ribbon, which he ties loosely lest you’re unhappy with the finished product. It becomes easier to move your hair out of the way, and once your back is saturated with sunscreen, you unfold your legs and get up, turning around and smiling down at his sitting figure.. Loose tendrils of hair frame your face, the braid resting at your back softly, already loosening.

“Your hair can be braided, too,” you comment quietly, knotting a rogue few strands in your fingers. It hasn’t been this tense since that night at the beach, but that ended before the tension rose further—this, now, keeps going. You step closer and he leans back, smiling. “Can I?”

He blinks, nostrils flaring, then nods, his grip on your hips gentle when you sit on his lap, your legs on either side of his. You smile coquettishly, feeling how hard he is underneath you, the denim of his jeans rough against the skin of your bare thighs. Your skirt’s riding up on them with every little shift you make, just to rile him up.

Carlos drinks in the sight of you, sunkissed and on his lap, legs sprawled out, pretty little face framed, bottom lip in your teeth. You’re inviting him closer, your gaze meeting his with sleepy, demure eyes—do something. You look so fucking precious, so pretty. It makes him want to give you everything right now.

You reach forward, make an attempt to try and weave his hair together—but he grinds upward, your breath hitching and a whimper punched out of your mouth.

Your hands are shaking now, barely able to piece his hair together with how good his clothed cock feels pressed against you, where you need it most. 

“Carlos,” you gasp, and all he can really think is—where’d all your fight go? You were so used to being a brat and a half, now you’re whimpering, on the edge of begging.

“Be quiet,” Carlos grunts, digging his fingers into your hips. His other hand lifts your skirt, bunching the fabric around your hips for a better view of your cunt rubbing against the bulge in his pants. The damp fabric of your panties is swallowed between your lips with every grind you make forward and he has to stop himself from cursing out loud at the sight. “Good girl.”

Your hands move from his hair to his shoulders, sturdy and broad; you can feel him squeeze your waist with both hands, then pull you down against him, just once, so your weight presses down on the hard shape of his cock. It makes him shudder and you whine out loud. You resist the urge to grind over it; you’re already so wet you’re making a mess on his jeans.

His praise, mumbled deep and slow in your ear, gets you feeling all warm, almost ditzy. Your hips roll on their own, chasing the delicious drag of rough denim against your clit, slick soaks into and through your panties, making the material cling to the shape your folds. Carlos’ hands are rough when they wander and grope, hiking this godforsaken skirt up so he can press a thumb against the centre of your folds.

“Been so good for you, Carlos,” you whine, circling your hips against him. He can’t stop staring at your pretty, fucked-out eyes, your bitten lips. He shoves two fingers in-between them, imagines how they looked just a few days ago slick with ice cream—now your tongue is laving over his hand. The braid you'd just taught him is quickly unraveling with every nod of your head. “‘M gonna—can I—” The pleas leave you quick, your voice choked.

Euphoric, your mind lifts, foggy and saturated with pleasure, the braid almost completely undone now. His praise is so addictive, gets you worked up and needy. Come on, he says. Make a mess. His accent, his deep voice, the way it rumbles right through you—his voice drops, his touch a little heavier as he presses harder.

You gonna cum for me? His thumb rubs faster until you’re gasping, shuddering, little ahs leaving your lips. He’s got the upper hand now, but you can hear the strain, the suppression in his voice as he rubs over the soaked fabric; you feel his cock growing under you, getting harder. 

P—please—I want to—please let me, you say breathlessly, and you’ve never needed it to the point of begging before, but Carlos is different. He keeps going, doesn’t give you permission, rubbing faster, your heart hammering in your chest.

Feel good?

Y—yeah, you whimper, trying your best not to fall apart here, on your dad’s boat, where anybody could walk on—or maybe see you from afar, humping your dad’s friend in broad daylight. He loves watching you like this; you’ve somehow become even prettier, face flushed and voice shaky.

Come on, he goads. Be a good girl. Cum for me.

It’s the only instruction that matters to you right now, your body seizing with it and cute little moans escaping you as you finish. You catch your breath against his chest, craving warmth even if it’s hot—maybe you’re craving him, his touch, Carlos, just Carlos. You maneuver yourself so legs, exhausted from shaking, are on one side of his body—he holds you close, humming.

He rubs a steady hand across your lower back, gentle and firm and you want him so much more now. “Are you okay?” He asks. “Talk to me.”

“Perfect,” you pant against his polo, fingers playing with the stitching, tugging the collar down so you can mouth at his skin. His hand plays with what’s left of the braid, winds the pink ribbon around his fingers. “Let’s go for a swim.”

—

“And we drove the jet ski around, too,” you say gleefully, your damp hair bobbing with every move of your head. Your face is sunkissed, a little sore from being in the sun for most of the afternoon. Carlos laughs along from where he is at the grill—he’s cooking for dinner, on a quest to make burgers because he’s known for making the best ones back in Madrid, apparently. Your dad, of course, insists on joining, and the two have been asking and answering questions while you and your mum sip rosé at the table.

“Did you have fun?” Your mum asks, her head turning to address Carlos.

“Yeah, tons,” he replies with a smile, his eyes meeting yours for a brief second. You know what he means. It’s been only two days since the afternoon on the boat, and since then you’ve mostly swam and ridden around on the jet ski with Carlos—nothing more.

“See, sweetie,” she adds, placing a hand over yours. “I told you this summer would be fun with him around!”

“Mmm, yeah,” you say, nodding and parting from your glass, “I can really count on him for some excitement.” The statement catches his attention and he almost trails off, eyes returning to yours, before he continues speaking in Spanish to your dad about something or other.

The burgers’ reputation precedes them, and is warranted, you learn later when you’re biting into it for the first time. The remainder of dinner passes by in lively conversation, the sun setting low underneath the Comporta horizon, wine taking the place of rosé. Carlos mentions the racing world again, about how he’ll be back into the thick of it sooner than later, and you pulse with something akin to sadness.

Your parents, apparently so grateful for the blessing that is Carlos’ burgers, offer to clean up and before long, they retreat to their downstairs bedroom. Upstairs, you marinate in your thoughts, blinking up at your ceiling, twining your pink ribbon around your fingers as your hair dries splayed over your bedding. You let your arm down, in the process bumping your elbow against a hard surface.

Upon investigation, you find it’s a copy of Norweigan Wood. 

Carlos is at his desk, taking a timezone-separated call about simulation and season prep, when two soft knocks go at his door and it creaks open. He turns the chair away from the desk to see who it is. An ankle steps in first, then more leg, and then you—in a lovely, pretty pink lace dress, your face illuminated by the moonlight outside. One hand clutches a copy of his book; the other, the ribbon he’d used on your hair earlier.

He’s nursing a bottle of beer, just to help ease the drag of the day, and he watches you approach him, your footsteps quiet against the hardwood of the floor. Wait, he mouths, finishing the call in a hushed tone, and when he hangs up you approach him again.

“I thought you should have this back,” you say, offering him the book. Your eyes rake over him, wearing the same getup he’d worn to dinner—denim jeans, because he’d ducked out to buy food, except he’s ridden himself of his shirt. 

He takes the book, places it on the table, continues staring up at you. “And I thought you should keep this.” The ribbon, pale pink, is now looped around his wrist and tied into a delicate ribbon at the apex of it. You admire your handiwork with a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

You lean down, face just shy of his. “We shouldn’t,” he manages to eke out, his voice strained.

“But you want to,” you respond softly. “No one’s going to know. Our little secret.”

His eyes are shut, contemplating, and then he’s kissing you—the only thing you’ve wanted, craved, touched yourself to the thought of over the course of the summer. You reciprocate immediately, parting your lips to let him kiss you deeper, a whimper leaving your mouth. He kisses like he knows he’s a good kisser, and he really is. His scent is intoxicating, a drug, sending arousal and desire straight through you.

You part, eyes half-lidded as you stand straight again. You cock your head slowly to the side, and with your head’s movement your hair follows, gathering on one side. It exposes much of your shoulder and collarbones, which lay underneath the thin lace dress you wear to sleep, and which is now subject to Carlos' unwavering stare. He has no shame, eyes raking over you, up and down and back up. One hand curled around a bottle of beer, the other coming up to slowly graze the back of your thigh.

Your breath hitches. “Do you like the dress?” You ask softly, teasingly. It’s nothing special, Carlos, you seem to say; it’s just a nightie.

His hand is rough against the thin skin of your leg, traveling upward. He gives you a nod in response; he does like it, the sheer material, the pink color, the loose way it hugs your body. Roughly, he voices his assent. “Come sit on my lap.”

“Wait,” you say, pouting. Your knee rubs softly against the material of his jeans, and you slowly sink onto your knees, hands placing themselves on your thighs. His grip goes from the back of your thigh to your hair, combing it softly, cradling your face. 

“Let me,” you say, letting your silence imply everything unsaid. He’s going crazy, losing his mind.

“So pretty,” he says, nodding. his voice thin. “Go ahead, baby.”

The petname gets you dizzy. You lean forward, resting your face on the hard bulge in his pants, smiling up at him. You’ve got these big, doe eyes, begging him, and he’s not so sure he even has the upper hand anymore—he would do anything you asked, any request that left those pretty bitten lips. He gathers your hair in two hands, forms a messy, unclean braid, crisscross at the back of your head just so he has something to grip while he fucks your throat.

You make quick, deft work of unbuttoning his jeans, and he watches, leaned back on the chair, legs spread wide with bent knees on either side of your body, caging you in. Carlos’ eyes are half-lidded, a hand at your braid, bringing his beer to his lips, swallowing before he sets it onto the adjacent desk.

His cock is big—thick, intimidating—and you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to fit the whole thing in your mouth without choking. It twitches in your palms the longer you stroke him, precum weeping from the head and slicking up your palms. Gruff expletives, in Spanish and English, slip past his gritted teeth and the sounds travel directly to your core, causing you to instinctively press your thighs together to soothe the ache blossoming there.

You take head of his cock into your mouth, feel it roll over your tongue, heavy and warm. Drool gathers in your mouth and your fingers dig into the muscle of his thighs in anticipation. The hand wound around your braid, pressed against your head, presses heavier slowly, slotting the first few inches of cock into your mouth while avoiding the back of your throat. You relax, letting your lips seal around the length, cheeks hollowing and tongue lulling at the underside. He curses.

You continue bobbing your head, lewd noises leaving your mouth with every move you make; it embarrasses you, but also sends slick gushing out of you.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when the tip of his cock grazes the back of your throat; you cough, fingers heavy as they dig into the flesh of his still-denim clas thighs; drool trickles onto his balls. The hand remains there, though, pushing you and keeping you pinned in place as he slowly thrusts upward. You haven’t even gotten him all the way.

You gag and sputter, eyes fully watering the harder Carlos bullies his cock into your throat; you’re dizzy with arousal and submission, maybe one, maybe both, you’re too far gone.

“Easy,” he orders, and you will yourself to breathe nasally, relaxing, burying more of him in you. He loves seeing you like this, hair all pretty—his braid, too—and on your knees, trying your best to please him. “Being so good for me, good girl,” he says, losing resolve. You’re so pretty when you cry, eyes rimmed and bloodshot, tear streaks all over your cheekbones.

He ruts shallowly into your throat, every move punctuated by a guttural gag from your end—once, twice, a third time, before finally he releases you. You let out a cough, and a gasp, breathy, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. He doesn’t want to cum yet—not like this. You gaze up at him, big eyes anticipating, and he guides you upward, on the bed.

He kicks his jeans off and readjusts his briefs, watches you scramble to position yourself on the bed, sitting down properly. “Will you fuck me now?” You ask, your sweet voice raspy. He likes knowing he’s the reason why.

You inch yourself backward so you’re fully on his bed, a hand traveling to stop your tiny dress from riding up any further. He steps closer, one knee on the bed, caging you in again, and stops you. His gaze flickers down to your legs, forces your knees apart so he can see in between them. Your pretty cunt’s soaked through your panties. “Don’t hide from me,” he says, voice rough as he steps back off the bed and kneels beside it.

“Carlos,” you breathe, letting him have his way with you. Your mind’s all fuzzy, but it’s okay—he takes care of you. 

Strong arms snake around your thighs and pull you toward him until your cunt is level with his face. His breath, warm, fans against you, muted by the thin fabric of your panties and it does nothing to help the unadulterated, dirty arousal throbbing in your cunt. He bites at the flesh of your inner thigh, then hooks two fingers into your panties and pulls them aside.

The taste of you is so good; it goes straight to Carlos’ head. And all of your embarrassed, whiny whimpers, the way your fingers knot helplessly into his hair as he drags his tongue up your cunt — that drives him absolutely crazy. He licks at your pussy, sticks his tongue in, nudges your clit with his nose, ekes whimpers and debauched moans out of your lips.

He pushes two fingers into you, doesn’t give you time to adjust before he’s fucking them in and out, moans spilling out of you involuntarily. It’s lewd, it’s dirty, getting his friend’s daughter all spread out for him like this, but Carlos loves it. More, you sob, more, please, I need—yeah—

His skilled tongue doesn’t let up, continues toying with you, licking up all the arousal oozing out of your cunt. He eats you, fucks you with his fingers, until your eyes are welling up with overwhelm and the need to release, your hands pulling at his long hair—your pussy dripping, quivering, right at the edge of your orgasm.

Any of the reservations you had are now out the window. Your grip on Carlos’ hair is tight, pushing his head deeper into your pussy and grinding against his mouth mindlessly.

I’m cumming—!

Your voice is so dirty, so lewd, so needy, when you finally finish around him, slick dripping out and your pussy twitching, clenching and unclenching around nothing as you release. Panting, you hoist yourself on your elbows, your braid surprisingly intact, and pout down at him.

“I said fuck me.”

“So you complain,” he responds with a coy smile, his lips shiny with your slick. You want him to fuck you stupid.

He does eventually, gets you all calm and lying down on the bed, knees to your chest. Your feet cross and uncross with anticipation. He lets his cock rest first on your stomach, where it twitches, smearing precum under your belly button.

“That’s where you’ll be,” you say, stroking him. When he finally does begin thrusting into you, he wishes he could save the image of your pretty eyes fluttering closed, puffy lips open in a whimper.

Your legs tremble with the size you’re taking, his hand gentle as it is firm on your hips, forcing you to take him, take him good, take him better. Good girl, he’s saying, good fucking girl. Inch by inch, you struggle to take all of him, his girth thicker than what your cunt is willing to take. You’re positive you’ll feel him in your stomach.

“Carlos,” you whimper, voice aching.

“Fuck,” is all he can muster, watching your pussy swallow him. “So tight.”

He’s drunk on the feeling of you, wet and clenching around him, so tight. He can tell you’re high on it too, on the stretch of him, the way you keep trying to meet every thrust, legs already beginning to tremble with pleasure and deep arousal. He bottoms out, an expletive leaving him in Spanish, and then slowly begins to fuck in and out of you.

He watches your face, the way your brows knit as you take him, take his cock, eyelides fluttering. “So good,” you moan, mouth open. He drops a glob of spit onto your tongue, tells you to swallow—you do, presenting your empty tongue to him. Good girl, prettiest girl—any and all praise leaves him in dizzy, heady breaths.

“Teasing me for so long,” he pants, his dick splitting you in half. “This what you wanted? Hmm?”

But even in your cloudy mind, you find the grit to retaliate, teasingly, a cloy smile on your lips. “You said it was wrong,” you gasp out with every thrust. “Fucking your friend’s daughter.”

“But you love it,” Carlos goads. “Do you?”

You nod, cockdrunk, but it’s not enough. “Use your words, pretty. You can do it.”

“I do, I love it. I need more,” you whine, getting off on his teasing, on the implication that this is all wrong, that neither of you should be doing this. “Needed this so much, Carlos.” You crack your eyes open to watch the bulge in your abdomen, the shape of his girth splitting you open. He slams into you harder and you try to squirm away, but he keeps you pinned in place.

“And if your dad walked in?”

You gush slick all over him. “Carlos,” you plead.

“Saw his daughter taking his friend’s dick?” He says it low into your ear, bending to make sure you hear all of it. “Taking it like a good girl, too.” He pulls out, slaps your ruined hole with his dick, then shoves it in deep again, groaning when you cry out—getting off on you whining about how sensitive you are, the way you tremble under him and around him. Your pretty little face, all sweaty and ruined.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m, Carlos—I’m gonna cum,” you say, nodding. You’ve probably cum twice already, little bursts of pleasure causing your cunt to twitch around him, sensitive. “Can I—?” 

“That’s it,” he praises. “Come on, cum for me. Been so good for me.” You tremble around him as you finish, broken moans fucked out of you with every surge of his hips forward.

He’s close, too, having held off fucking you for the past how many days, and you can tell; his thrusts get shallower, faster, until his hips are stuttering and he’s panting your name out, long hair framing his flushed, pretty face. You reach up to comb a hand through it. “Cum inside me,” you beg, watching him go crazy, his nostrils flaring and eyes blinking quick. 

He pumps his cum into you, thrusting several times as he rides it out, fucking you full of him, of his cum. You relish in the feeling, of being his girl, his good girl. “You’re a mess,” he comments, his face buried into your neck. He pulls out, both of you sighing at the sight and feeling of his cum dribbling out of you, onto the bed.

You unfold your legs, sitting up despite how sore you feel. Your dress is damp with sweat, and slick, and cum. “I feel a mess.” You pout.

“You look pretty.”

“Can I sleep here tonight?” You ask, voice meek. He nods, holds you tight as you both drift off, like he knows that you won’t be his to call his by the time the summer wanes and Comporta is left empty again.

—

“It’s the post-race interview,” Ali calls. “Hurry!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” You hop into the living room, tossing her the bag of popcorn she’d requested you to cook. Fall has officially dawned upon the city, adorning it with orange and red leaves, jazz music and cold nights—and weekends watching races.

Around you, all your university friends watch with intense gazes at the winner of the latest Formula One grand prix—something none of you had been remotely interested in just months prior.

You watch, eyes glittering, at the winner. Tan skin, long hair, jogging over to the journalist. Sainz, what a stellar drive! She sounds awestruck, genuinely taken aback by his dominance on the track today. She asks for a message in Spanish, as always; a few words of inspiration, and then, just as a fun little tidbit—did you have a good luck charm today?

He smiles to himself, like he’s just heard an inside joke and seems to think for a minute. “No, not really.” Then he combs a hand through his hair. There, looped around his wrist, is a pretty, pale pink ribbon.