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lunaritex · 9 days ago

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𓏲࣪ ִֶָ ︎ִֶָ UNDER THE GLOVES 𖤐. — lee heeseung.

(๑>◡<๑) ৎ୭ lee heeseung + fem! reader co-workers to lovers office romance reader is part of the finance department brief appearances of the other members 𐙚 warning fighting, blood, violence, tooth-rotting fluff, confession, one kiss scene, someone save riki . . !? & 3930 — navigation

note. i like office romance and why not write something for the CFO aka lee heeseung haha... @riekiss

You let out a long and exhausted sigh, rubbing your temples as you looked away from the blinding screen of your computer. Hours had passed and you were still trying to figure out the solution for the problem you had encountered since eight in the morning. One glance at the time on the bottom right of the screen tells you it was close to five, which means you had wasted nearly the entire day wrecking your brain over a problem. You were tempted to slam your head against the desk, hoping the pain could make your brain cells come back to life.

I need a break.

Rubbing your eyes, you stood up and left your desk, heading to the pantry area to make a cup of much-needed coffee for yourself. You halted in your tracks when you realize someone was there before you. It was none other than the Chief Financial Officer of your company; Lee Heeseung. You remembered meeting him for the first time, back when you were still a newbie half a year ago. You remembered how you were practically trembling when your name was called and how you were instructed to see him in his office.

Heeseung was not an intimidating person. You have seen how he interacts with his friends; Jay and Sunghoon. Both men were from different departments but they always had their lunch together and sometimes went drinking with other people who you do not recognize. However, a part of you finds him hard to talk to and if preferred, you would rather avoid him at all costs. You were not sure why you were acting this way. Perhaps it was due to your shyness or perhaps, it could be something more.

“Oh, hi (Name), did you come here to catch a breather too?” Heeseung’s voice snapped you out of your trance. You blinked and saw your fellow co-worker leaning against the counter with a cup of freshly-brewed coffee held in his left hand.

“Uh,” you opened and closed your mouth before regaining your composure, “yeah, I’ve been staring at the same sheet since morning and I’m nowhere done,” you sighed, entering the pantry to make a cup of coffee.

The man gave you a sympathetic look as he took a sip from the paper cup. “That sounds rough, but I don’t mind helping you out. That is, if you don’t mind, of course.”

You blinked, “A-Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to waste your time-”

He dismissively waved off your response with his hand, “Nah, don’t worry about it. Besides, I don’t think helping a colleague out can be considered as wasting someone’s time. The sooner we get this done and over with, the sooner we can go home.”

You knew he had a fair point with that and you ended up agreeing. The both of you returned to your desk and you watched as Heeseung sat on your chair, pulling himself forward to get a clearer look at the screen. You, on the other hand, stood behind him on his left, leaning against the wall that separates you from the other people seated around you. Since you were hidden from his view, this grants you the rare opportunity to stare at him.

It was with no doubt that Heeseung is attractive and you had seen how many women tried to woo him, be it during or after working hours. He is a gentleman who knows how to treat women right and not to mention, he is kind-hearted, friendly and the list goes on. Your eyes slowly trailed down his cheek outline and that was when you noticed it.

A faint, tiny cut etched across his cheek, barely noticeable unless you looked closely. It was not the first time you had spotted something like this. A couple of weeks ago, it had been a bruise on his forearm, the yellowing edges suggesting it was healing. Before that, a small cut on his knuckles he brushed off as "nothing important." Each time, Heeseung had given you a vague response, quickly changing the subject or flashing his easygoing smile to disarm your curiosity. But this time, the suspicion gnawed at you a little harder.

Your gaze lingered on the faded mark, your mind racing with possibilities. Where did he keep getting these injuries? And why did he always seem so intent on hiding the truth behind them? As he straightened up and glanced at you with that ever-casual grin, you quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the computer screen. But the question had already planted itself firmly in your mind: What was Lee Heeseung hiding?

“...and that’s it. You just need to save it and you’re done for the day.”

Heeseung’s voice snapped you back to reality. Blinking, you realized he had finished explaining and was looking at you expectantly. You felt embarrassed at how you were not listening to a single word he had said and you awkwardly cleared your throat. He sighed and light-heartedly rolled his eyes.

“You weren’t listening, were you?” He questioned.

“Uh, well,” you opened and closed your mouth, resembling a fish. The other chuckled and you regained your composure, feeling your ears heating up, “Sorry, I was lost in my own thoughts.”

“It’s fine, I’m sure you must be tired. You can leave early if you want,” he proposed and you were about to protest but you were silenced when he raised his hand, stopping you as if he knew what you wanted to say.

“And before you say anything, I insist. I’m your superior and the last thing I want is to find out one of my colleagues is forced to work overtime on a Friday. You should go home and rest,” his eyes softened, concern seeping into his voice.

You ended up obeying him and you left the office, heading to the carpark where your car was parked. Once you got in and closed the door behind you, you let out an exhausted sigh as you leaned back into the seat, closing your eyes for a brief moment before reopening them. You started the engine, hearing the vehicle purring to life before driving home.

The second time you bumped into Heeseung was when you were trying to fix the printer. All you wanted was to print a few documents that you needed to compile together for the meeting today but just to your luck, the papers were stuck halfway. You sighed, kicking the printer in hopes of getting it to work despite knowing your attempt was futile.

“(Name), why are you kicking the printer?”

Jumping, you swirled around to see your superior looking at you, amused. You sheepishly scratched the back of your neck. “The papers I printed are stuck and I think the printer’s spoiled,” you replied, moving to the side when he drew closer.

Heeseung hums, eyes focused on the machine. “Is that so? Let me take a look to see if I can help you with that.”

“But-” You zipped your lips when he shot you a look and you allowed him to do as he pleased.

He crouched near the printer, rolling his sleeves up as he fiddled with its inner mechanics, trying to resolve the problem. The soft glow of the overhead lights casts a gentle shadow across his face. As he shifts slightly, something catches your eye—a faint purplish mark peeking out along his jawline, just below his cheekbone.

Your brows furrow, the sight stirring a mix of curiosity and concern. It was not the first time you have noticed marks like this, and the coincidence feels too uncanny to ignore. This time however, you were determined to get answers. You cross your arms and step closer, tilting your head as you speak.

“Heeseung,” you say, your tone carrying a hint of softness but also unmistakable firmness, “what happened to your jaw?”

Heeseung pauses, his fingers freezing mid-adjustment as if caught off guard. Slowly, he straightens up, brushing his hands off on his pants. His gaze flickers to you for a brief moment before darting away, his usual confidence replaced with a quiet hesitance.

“Oh, this?” He reaches up to touch the mark casually, almost as if just noticing it himself. A small, sheepish chuckle escaped his lips. “It’s nothing, really. I probably bumped into something—clumsy as always.”

But the way he avoids meeting your eyes, the slight delay in his response, feels off. You narrow your gaze, stepping a bit closer, determined not to let the matter drop so easily.

“You bumped into something? Again?” you press, folding your arms tighter. “Heeseung, you’ve had a lot of these ‘accidents’ lately. What’s really going on?”

For a moment, he opens his mouth to respond, but then he hesitates, letting out a soft sigh. He scratches the back of his neck, his usual easy going demeanor faltering. “Look, it’s nothing serious, okay?” he finally says, his voice quieter now, almost defensive. “Just... drop it, alright?”

You frowned, getting annoyed with how he kept dodging your questioning but he had already left without saying another word. You remained where you were, watching his retreating figure until he was out of your sight. Sighing, you approached the printer and you noticed the documents you needed had been fully ejected from the printer. You grumbled a string of curses under your breath as you snatched them away, storming back to your seat and slammed it down on your desk.

Bam!

The sudden sound startled the people around you. Some gave you annoyed looks while some were curious, wondering what had happened to ruin your mood. Riki, who sat on your left, leaned back so his head was popping out.

“You good?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

You looked at him and sighed, “No, I’m this close to losing my mind.”

Your friend only flashed you a sympathetic look before returning to his task at hand. You took a sip of your now cold coffee, rearranged the documents and got back to work.

Fine, if that’s how you want to play then two people can play that game. I’ll make sure I find out what you’re hiding, if that’s the last thing I do, Lee Heeseung.

The rest of the week passed in a blink of an eye and it was finally Friday, much to your relief. It is a weekly routine for you to eat and drink with your small group of friends; Sunoo, Jungwon and Riki. The four of you graduated from the same college and to say you were surprised to see familiar faces in your company would be an understatement. You had finished packing, waiting for Riki who was ready to send his final email for the day before logging off.

“So, where are we going tonight?” You asked, leaning back in your chair as you idly swayed side to side, legs outstretched before you.

“Oh right, I forgot to tell you but there’s been a change of plans,” Riki answered, shutting down his laptop as he closes it before shoving it into his work bag. You stared at him, bemused and he continued, “Jungwon has invited us somewhere and we’re going there now.”

You owlishly blinked your eyes. “Like right now?”

“Yes right now,” Riki nodded, rising to his full height and dragged you out of your office. One moment you found yourself seated in his car and the very next moment, you found yourself standing before a pair of closed metal doors.

The air was thick with the scent of sweat and adrenaline as you and Riki stepped cautiously into the dimly lit building. The door creaked shut behind you, its sound swallowed by the cacophony of voices and the rhythmic thud of gloves hitting flesh. Inside, the room was a stark contrast to the desolate streets outside.

It was alive—crowded with people of all kinds, from spectators yelling over the noise to fighters warming up in corners. Dim fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting an eerie glow over the chaotic scene. At the heart of it all was the boxing ring, its ropes frayed and canvas stained with years of battles fought and won.

As you tried to take it all in, your gaze wandered to the center of the ring. A match was already underway, the sound of rapid punches echoing through the room. It was not until the fighter ducked to avoid a hit, his sweat-dampened hair catching the light, that your breath caught in your throat.

It couldn’t be.

But it was.

Lee Heeseung—your superior, the same person who always seemed composed and meticulous at work—was in the middle of an intensive match. His usual buttoned-up demeanor was gone, replaced by a raw, almost primal intensity. His movements were sharp and calculated, each strike delivered with precision. Yet, even as he landed a clean hit on his opponent, his jawline bore faint bruises you now understood all too well.

“What the hell is he doing here?” you murmured, more to yourself than to Riki.

You could not tear your eyes away from him, observing his movement as he delivers a final blow to his opponent, effectively knocking him out. The crowd went wild, cheering and yelling at the top of their lungs when Heeseung was announced as the winner. You saw how his eyes scanned the crowd and your heart stopped when they landed on you. He was stunned, not expecting to see you here and you looked away.

The noise and heat of the boxing gym became too much, clawing at your chest like a vice. You turned abruptly, heart pounding, and pushed your way through the crowd. The voices around you blurred into a muffled roar as you stumbled out into the open, the cool night air hitting you like a slap to the face.

You kept walking, your steps uneven and aimless. The distant hum of streetlights and the faint echo of your own breathing filled the void left by the gym’s chaos. You didn’t know where you were going; you just needed to get away—to put as much distance as possible between yourself and the suffocating scene you’d just witnessed. But then, a sudden tug at your wrist stopped you in your tracks. Your body jerked backward slightly, and instinctively, you turned, your heart leaping to your throat.

It was Heeseung.

He stood there, chest rising and falling as he caught his breath, his face partially shadowed by the dim streetlights. Sweat clung to his skin, and his knuckles were faintly red—either from the match or the cold, you were not sure. His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes searching yours with an intensity that made you freeze.

“Why are you running?” he asked, his voice low and steady, but there was a crack in it—something vulnerable, almost desperate.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. The raw image of him in that ring—fighting with a kind of ferocity you didn’t think he was capable of—flashed in your mind, and a knot of emotion tightened in your chest.

“I—” You looked away, shaking your head as you tried to find the words. “I couldn’t... I just needed to get out of there. I didn’t know you—” You stopped, your voice trembling. “Why didn’t you tell me, Heeseung?”

His grip on your wrist loosened slightly, though he did not let go. “Because it’s not something I wanted you to know,” he admitted, his tone quiet but firm. “This... this part of me—it’s messy. Complicated.”

“Complicated?” you repeated, your voice rising in disbelief. “You’re risking your health, your safety, and for what? To keep it a secret?”

Heeseung’s jaw tightened, the flicker of defensiveness crossing his face. “It’s not about keeping it a secret,” he said sharply, then paused, exhaling slowly. “It’s... it’s how I deal with things. It’s something I need.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. The Heeseung you thought you knew—the calm, collected superior—felt like a stranger in that moment. And yet, there was something raw, something achingly human in his vulnerability that you couldn’t ignore.

“But why didn’t you let me in?” you asked softly, your voice breaking. “You didn’t have to go through this alone.”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, he looked as though he might say something—something real. But instead, he let out a soft, bitter laugh and looked away. “Because I didn’t want you to see this side of me,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then his eyes met yours again, and there was something in them—guilt, maybe regret. “I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

Your frustration bubbled over, and you yanked your wrist free from his grasp, stepping back to put some space between you. The cold air stung your cheeks, but it was nothing compared to the sting of his words.

“Think less of you?” you repeated, incredulous. “Are you serious right now, Heeseung? You’re out here throwing punches like your life depends on it, shutting people out, and you think that’s what would make me think less of you?”

Heeseung flinched slightly at your tone, but you did not care. The words poured out before you could stop them, each one fueled by the flood of emotions you had been holding back.

“You’re supposed to be this confident, composed guy who always has it together, but you’re human! You’re allowed to have flaws, to struggle, to need help! God, do you think I care if you’re messy or complicated?”

“(Name)-”

“I care about you, okay? I care about you so much that seeing you in that ring—seeing you like that—hurt more than I can even explain! And the fact that you didn’t trust me enough to let me in, to tell me what you were going through, makes me feel like I’m nothing more than just some... some coworker to you!”

You froze the moment the words left your mouth, realizing too late what you’d just said. The confession hung in the air, raw and unfiltered, as the world seemed to go silent around you. Heeseung’s eyes widened slightly, the shock evident on his face. His lips parted as if to say something, but no words came. For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the streetlights and the distant buzz of the gym behind you.

“I—” you started, suddenly panicking, the weight of your vulnerability crashing down on you. “I didn’t mean—”

“Wait,” Heeseung cut you off, his voice soft but urgent as he stepped closer. His expression had shifted, the vulnerability you’d seen before now mixed with something else—something you couldn’t quite place.

“You... care about me?” he asked, his tone careful, as if testing the words.

Your heart raced, and you felt the heat creeping up your neck. You wanted to deny it, to brush it off, but the look in his eyes stopped you. It was a look that made you feel exposed but also strangely safe, like he was seeing all of you—the good, the bad, and everything in between—and wasn’t pulling away.

“Yes,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I do.”

Heeseung lets out a shaky breath, running a hand through his damp hair as a small smile tugged at his lips. “I don’t know how to say this right,” he began, his voice softer now, filled with hesitation. “But you’re... so much more to me than I think you realize. I’ve been scared—scared of what you’d think if you saw this side of me. Scared you’d look at me differently.”

Your chest tightened, but this time, it was not with frustration or hurt. It was something warmer, something that melted away the tension from before.

“I don’t care about that, Heeseung,” you said softly, your voice steady now. “I care about you. All of you. Messy, complicated, whatever. None of that changes how I feel.”

Heeseung blinked, his expression a mix of awe and relief, as if hearing those words for the first time lifted some invisible weight off his shoulders. His lips quirked into a small, genuine smile, one that reached his tired eyes.

“Why are you always so... amazing?” he muttered, almost to himself, as his hand hesitated in the space between you. Slowly, he raised it, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his touch so gentle it made your heart flutter.

You let out a small laugh, feeling the tension dissolve into something light and tender. “Amazing? Says the guy who just beat someone to a pulp in a boxing ring.”

Heeseung chuckled, the sound soft and warm. “Yeah, well, that guy didn’t make me feel like my heart was going to explode every time I looked at him.”

Your cheeks burned at his words, and you playfully shoved his shoulder. “You’re such a dork, Lee Heeseung.”

“And you’re stuck with me now,” he teased, his grin widening, though his voice carried a hint of sincerity. The banter melted into silence as the both of you stood under the streetlights, the night air no longer feeling so cold. Then, as if drawn by some invisible force, Heeseung took another step closer, closing the gap between you.

“Can I...” He hesitated, his gaze flickering to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t hesitate. “You better.”

A soft laugh escaped him before he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was equal parts gentle and fervent, like he’d been holding back for far too long. The world around you disappeared entirely, leaving only the warmth of his touch and the rapid beat of your heart. When you finally pulled away, Heeseung rested his forehead against yours, his smile so soft and tender it made your knees weak.

“I’m really glad you care about me,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You grinned, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of his jawline. “I always will.”

The first person to find out about your relationship was Riki. The poor guy had gone to the pantry after coming to work at nine in the morning, only to drop his tumbler when he saw you and Heeseung making out in a public space. The horrified screech he let out made the both of you pulled away from one another, startled by his sudden appearance. You tried to pat down your hair but it was futile as Riki had unfortunately witnessed the whole scene.

“Wait, Riki-” You called out.

“Oh, Jungwon owns me lunch now,” he cackles like a maniac, bending down to pick up his tumbler. He was about to walk away when he turned to you. “Oh and congrats on your relationship but for God’s Sake, please do that nasty shit somewhere else.”

“RIKI!” You yelled, face turning as red as a tomato as he ran away while laughing. You sighed, turning to your superior who is also now your boyfriend, only to find him poorly hiding his laughter.

“I didn’t know this is funny to you,” you deadpanned.

“Sorry,” Heeseung coughs, running a hand through his unkempt hair. “Well, now that the cat’s out of the bag, how about we grab dinner tonight?” “Are you asking me out on a date?” You cocked your head to the side, grinning.

“And what if it is?” He copies your action, resting one hand on your waist.

“Then I accept but you’re paying, of course,” you replied, leaning in to press a kiss on the corner of his lips.

“Anything for you.”

#ꨄ writings #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #lee heeseung x reader #lee heeseung imagines #lee heeseung x you #lee heeseung x y/n #lee heeseung fluff #heeseung x reader #heeseung imagines #heeseung x you #heeseung x y/n #heeseung fluff

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cinnaminsvga · 9 months ago

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Harana | Jungkook

harana (n.): the act of wooing someone by serenading them

→ summary:

Unwilling to settle down with you after five years of dating, Jeon Jungkook decides to break up to chase after his dreams. In the aftermath, you leave your hometown, desperate to forget your past and relearn what it means to be on your own. Two years later while on your way to work, you pass by a familiar voice singing songs about a girl he had left behind.

{or alternatively: Jungkook still sings the love songs that he wrote for you. He still means them, too.}

→ genre: busker!au, exes to lovers, angst, humor → warnings: jimin is insane and kinda crude (he has some issues going on), jungkook is a pathetic wet bunny but he's trying his best, oc has So Many Problems, so much arguing and yearning, ambiguous ending??? but my god there is hope!! the humanity of it all!! → words: 16.1K → a/n: HOLY SHIT IM BACK (kinda) and happy new year!! yeah ok its march but im relearning how to form coherent sentences so be patient ;w; this is the first installment of my hfoh series that i teased a LONG time ago... i made it a resolution to complete this series by the end of the year before i kms (Keep Myself Safe) so here's to a brand new year :D (oh god @ universe pls be kind)

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

Two days before the incident, your shower nozzle decides to explode.

Okay, you have to admit that statement is a little misleading. Shower nozzles, in all its nonsentience, do not randomly decide to explode no matter how much you try to defend yourself to your landlord. Maybe your grip had been a little too harsh that morning, or maybe hanging 5 pounds of hair products on the handle had been a bit too much for the old sport to handle. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was warning you about the incident.

Whatever it was, it doesn’t erase the fact that your shower would be out of commission for the next week or so (though your landlord seems adamant about prolonging your suffering as long as possible). Until then, you’re going to have to find some other ways to keep the grease and grime from building on you. Heavens know that you already have a thriving ecosystem living in the back of your couch—you don’t need another one growing under your armpits.

Lucky for you, you have friends. More importantly, you have friends who have showers. There is one problem though—all your friends live on the other side of the country.

It’s been two years since you moved to the Big City™️, but you have done little to grow your social network. Call it introversion or depression, either way, you have no more contacts on your phone than you did when you left your hometown. Well, except for one person, if you could even consider him one. Frankly, you didn’t have a choice.

“Welcome to my humble abode, stinky,” Jimin greets you as you enter his house. Your nose is instantly assaulted by the smell of Bath & Body Works® Sweet Pea, reminding you once more why you didn’t consider him a friend.

“Hey,” you reply gruffly, shucking your ratty shoes near his entrance. Your shoes look incredibly out of place amidst the sea of designer Chelsea boots and a singular pair of thigh-high heels. You take a glance at his living room, already feeling worse about yourself tenfold.

You had met Park Jimin by complete accident, much like how his mother probably felt when she first saw him too. You had never known anyone quite as… interesting as him, to put it lightly.

When you got your job as a hostess for a luxury bar and restaurant, you figured you wouldn’t make many friends with your coworkers. Everyone was so… pretty, but in the shiny, untouchable sort of way. Almost all of the servers were as gorgeous as the models you’d see in magazines. You hadn’t known that the owners only hired a certain “demographic” of people for their restaurant, and you were equal parts flattered and disgusted that you’d somehow made it (though you suppose your bullshitting skills were all to thank).

Unsurprisingly, even the bartenders were gorgeous, including one Park Jimin. He did have an aura to him that screamed “I’m a cut above the rest and I know it,” but that could just be the gold chains dripping down his neck. You almost mistook him as one of the patrons who mistakenly made his way behind the bar, and knowing the sort of clientele you’ve had to deal with so far, you wouldn’t have been surprised. It took a couple of weeks before you finally found out who he was (and what his fucking problem was).

Jimin was a part-time bartender with a full-time job as a bitch a self-made entrepreneur. Which is to say, he sold… tasteful photos of himself on the internet. You had nothing against his line of work. In fact, you would go far as to say you didn’t give a shit what he did outside of your shared workspace. But if there’s one thing Jimin is, it’s that he hates being ignored.

So when you were adamant about not oohing and aahing at everything that makes Park Jimin perfect, he made it his self-appointed mission to befriend you. Or at least that’s what he claims, but given how he treats you lesser than the shit that cakes his cheeks, you have a lot of doubts. Perhaps he’s never made an effort to make a friend, hence his inexperience with being a decent human being. Or perhaps he’s just an asshole, but who is to say? The point is: he’s the only person you knew in this godforsaken city who would likely allow you to use his shower without being awkward about it and that’s that.

The worst part about being an acquaintance with Park Jimin was that he lived in the richest area of Downtown but he wasn’t old money, that’s for sure. His entire essence screamed overconsumption, and his myriad of little trinkets littered across his apartment confirmed your previous assessment. You wouldn’t be surprised if you opened his freezer and found ten types of ice sorted assorted by color and shape like the extra bitch that he was.

He made his money through sheer force, and it would have impressed you if he wasn’t, you know. Him.

“Bathroom is over there. I placed a towel and other shower amenities that you can borrow,” he says pointing to a door with a large “FART ZONE: ENTER WITH CAUTION” sign taped to it. You don’t ask.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You wait patiently for his out-of-pocket comment.

Like clockwork, Jimin smirks. “Sure thing. I gave you the super heavy-duty stuff. Figured you’d burn a hole through my expensive towels with how stinky you are, with your yeasty cu—”

“Aaaand I’ll be done in a few minutes. Thanks again Jimin,” you interrupt, making your way to the bathroom and slamming the door with as much force as you can muster. You hear something fall as the door shuts, and you vaguely hear Jimin mutter something about his “fart zone” signage.

You begin to prepare your shower routine, humming lowly as you go about your business. You try to ignore the suffocating scent of ten million diffusers entering your nostrils, wondering for the umpteenth time if Jimin is suffering from long-term olfactory dysfunction.

“Focus, Y/N. The quicker you shower, the quicker you can get the fuck out of here,” you whisper to yourself. However, in your haste, you knock over Jimin’s towel by accident. When the towel falls, a sheet of sandpaper slips out from underneath it, and you stare bemusedly until it finally hits you.

“YOU ARE SUCH A LITTLE BITCH!”

From behind the door, you can hear Jimin’s infamous cackle. “Did you find the loofah? I got it just for you, darling!” he shouts back through his laughter, and you just grumble back in response. How on earth no one has strangled him to death, you have no idea.

“Whatever. I’m gonna shower now! Go beat off or whatever the fuck you do in your spare time,” you grouse, stripping as quickly as possible.

When the first droplets of water hit your body, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. You had both anticipated and dreaded going to Jimin’s house, but you desperately needed the shower. So you go through your routine, trying to find some semblance of relaxation throughout the process. However, it seems that Jimin was yearning for a little bit of attention as he chose to recline on the other side of the door and chat your ear off. Peace was never an option, it seems.

“Hey, Y/N! So why haven’t I seen you at work recently?” Jimin hollers from his living room. Despite the wall separating you, his voice manages to retain its volume.

You squirt a large glob of Jimin’s (expensive) conditioner onto your hands. “What do you mean? I go to work every day. You were the one who hasn’t been clocking in.”

You can hear Jimin scoff. “Um, correction! I went to work last Friday, which so happened to be your day off. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed you were avoiding me.”

And right you are, you think. But instead, you say, “Yeah, what a coincidence. I’ll be back to my regular schedule on Monday, though.”

“So that means you didn’t see the Justin Bieber wannabe stationed outside the restaurant then?” Jimin asks, voice miffed. “The guy suddenly sat down by the entrance window and a whole damn crowd started to appear! The absolute nerve of these people—don’t they know Park Jimin was just past the doors?”

This provokes Jimin to go on his long epic soliloquy, which you’ve learned to drown out over the past two years. He could go on hour-long tirades if he wanted, and any interruption from you would just bounce off his nonfunctioning ears. And so, you allow his voice to fall to the back of your mind, similar to white noise if it wasn’t so grating.

However, this was likely your greatest mistake. If you hadn’t been so exhausted, or if Park Jimin hadn’t been so damn annoying all the time, or if the stars had aligned just right… Maybe you would have been forewarned about the incident. It’s as if the universe was screaming at you to pay attention, but alas… You were standing on the proverbial highway, unbeknownst to the incoming traffic because you had your metaphorical AirPods on.

So there you are, completely showered but none the wiser to your impending doom, naively looking to the future with unsuspecting eyes. Even if you had known of what was to come, would avoiding it even be possible? In hindsight, you suppose not, but you still kick yourself for being so blind. If only you’d steeled your heart, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt like vomiting in front of a crowd of innocent bystanders the very next day.

xxx

Monday comes and your shower still isn’t fixed. Jimin makes the benevolent gesture of allowing you to use his shower in the meantime, though you’ll only partake in his offer as minimally as possible. He does mention that he’ll need at least an hour’s notice, warning you about “accidental voyeurism.” You shudder to think of what sort of horror you might find if you did visit him without warning, and you pray for the continued well-being of your retinas.

On your way to work, you’re too busy watching cute videos of animals to notice the unusual flock of people idling close to your workplace. When you get closer, however, the growing commotion is enough to rip your gaze away from your phone, and the sight of the large crowd makes you stop in your tracks.

It is 4 pm and the usual line of waiting patrons should not start piling up for another three hours, so this confuses you more than anything. You shuffle closer, squinting at the crowd until you notice that they aren’t lined up at all; instead, they have congregated into a large circle, but you are too far to see what they are surrounding.

An accident? You worry, wondering if something terrible happened. You tiptoe above the heads of people, subtly moving forward to take a better look. Curse you and your curiosity. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself to see something grotesque or astonishing, but instead…

It’s worse.

Inching closer, you can begin to hear a soft thrumming of a guitar and a gentle singing voice that causes alarm bells to ring in your ears. The warm melody digs up old memories of a time long past: of ballads sung outside your childhood bedroom window, of promises whispered under Spiderman sheets, of tender caresses tucking stray hairs behind your ears… They flood your senses, but all you can feel is dread.

It can’t be who you think it is. You accidentally elbow a guy on your way to get closer, unsteadying his grip on his phone.

“Hey, watch it! I’m filming a totally not-staged TikTok over here!” He yells, but you can hardly pay attention to him when you feel unnaturally drawn to come closer, still.

You’re nearly at the front, with just a couple of teenagers standing between you and the (not-so) mysterious street performer. But the distance is enough, and your breath catches. You can see him—

Black hair partially hidden under a bucket hat. Boots bigger than Pangaea and a pair of eyes equally as large. Dark ink snaking down his arms, peeking out from under oversized sleeves. Piercings that could rival Park Jimin on a good day. He isn’t facing you, but you can still see his big doe eyes, gentle sloping nose, and pretty lips stretched into a handsome smile.

Your heart is thundering in your chest. This can’t be happening, you panic. After two whole years of rebuilding and reshaping yourself, relearning how to be yourself and not… not just his girlfriend.

Jeon Jungkook stands before you, busking in front of your workplace of all locations. The universe could not have been any crueler to you.

You—you had been known as nothing more than Jeon Jungkook’s high school sweetheart. Buried memories of snide comments from jealous teen girls fill your mind, reminding you of the time when you were coined a simple side piece to the main attraction. Decor, as they would call you. Nothing more than a girl who happened to snag Jungkook before people realized he was going to turn… hot. A hot guy who could sing. An inevitable chic magnet, as they would call him.

And now, years later after much therapy and soul searching, your worst nightmare is standing in front of you in the flesh. This is what you will eventually dub the incident.

At that moment, however, there is little to no time to dwell on naming this ongoing core memory. All you can feel is the adrenaline pumping through your veins, as well as the nausea rising up your throat. You stumble backward, blatantly shoving onlookers away as you struggle to find some air to breathe. In hindsight, you probably should have backed away as subtly as possible, but you hope that your dyed hair might be different enough that Jungkook wouldn’t know it was you if he had glanced your way.

Even when you stagger towards your work establishment, the walls cannot perfectly muffle his soothing singing. You can’t make out the lyrics to his song too well, but his unmistakable voice is hard to ignore. Working as a hostess, your station is also coincidentally as close to the door as possible for maximum torture.

This can’t get any worse, you think as your mind races with conflicting emotions. You thought you had moved on, thought you were past the pain and the memories, but seeing Jungkook again, unexpectedly, stirs up a storm of feelings you thought were buried deep. Anger, hurt, betrayal—all rush to the surface, threatening to overwhelm you.

But there is no time to unpack all that baggage right now. Time will continue to march on, and your job is still on the line. How can you have the time to have a mental breakdown when you were still living paycheck to paycheck?

But even as you try to push Jungkook out of your mind, his voice echoes in your ears, his image burned into your memory. It's as if the universe is laughing at your misery, reminding you that despite all your supposed growth, you are still just you.

Painfully and pathetically you.

As you struggle to pull yourself together, a familiarly loud voice rings outside the edge of your consciousness. “Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you here…” Jimin greets you, his usual jovial demeanor halting midway when he sees your panicked expression. He clears his throat, perplexed. “Umm… Are you alright there, girl? You’re looking a little pale.”

You do not even have the mental capacity to wonder why Park Jimin was miraculously early to his shift, nor why he seems genuinely worried for you. Rather, all you can do is wave him off and use what little time you have before the restaurant opens to steel yourself for hours of melodious torture.

“I’m fine, Park. You should get to work,” you grit out, wiping your sweaty palms on your uniform. Normally, Jimin would have teased you about the obvious wrinkles on your skirt.

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jimin huffs, always the contrarian. He thinks better of it, however, and softens his tone. “Are you feeling sick or something? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You freeze, perhaps giving yourself away a little. “I’m fine,” you repeat.

“You know, if you refuse to elaborate, I’m going to have to retract your shower privileges,” Jimin taunts with a smirk.

You feel a migraine growing by your temple, making you wince. God, why must men be the source of all your problems?

“I’m just… a little annoyed by the busker outside the restaurant,” you eventually admit, trying to be vague. Unfortunately for you, Jimin hates beating around the bush and would never take your crap if he knows something is up.

Unable to withstand the weight of his unimpressed stare, you clarify, “He was someone I used to know, that’s all.” You aren’t going to be any more specific than that, though you imagine Jimin gets the picture. You zip your lips, hoping to whoever is causing you pain that Jimin would somehow let the matter drop and leave you to your misery.

You brace yourself for his onslaught of questioning to come, and… it doesn’t happen. Instead, when you glance at Jimin, he is mysteriously stone faced. You wait for him to speak for what feels like a few minutes, but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to tease or ridicule you. He simply watches you with a pensive expression. You can barely stop yourself from staring back at him, slack-jawed at his silence.

Of course, you aren’t just going to question your luck, or what little you have at least. So, you stay silent back and fidget uncomfortably.

Finally, Jimin seems to snap out of his strange reverie. He fixes you with a bizarrely sympathetic grin, patting you affectionately on the back. “I see… Well, if you ever need a drink tonight, head over to the bar for a little sip. I got you covered,” is all he says in response before sashaying away.

That was so fucking weird. You want to chase after him, perhaps beat the truth out of him. Jimin is nothing but a scheming dick, and you aren’t about to let him roam free with such sensitive information about yourself. Just as you’re about to stomp his ass (perhaps to relieve some of the building tension from your weary soul), your manager pops his head from his office door.

“Y/N! Make sure you’re logged into the booking system. There’s going to be a party of 20 coming in about an hour,” he reminds you, shooting you an apologetic look. You nod back with a sigh, swiping the booking tablet from the hostess desk and scrolling through the logs. Sure enough, it is going to be a busy night despite being a Monday evening. Perhaps a little busier than usual, in fact.

Whatever. You will use whatever distraction you can get, and perhaps the approaching noise from the restaurant patrons will be enough to drown out the sound of his voice.

You aren’t religious by any means, but you pray to whatever higher power exists that Jeon Jungkook doesn’t somehow decide to enter the restaurant. Stay outside, you plead. Outside the restaurant and your life, if possible.

Throughout the evening, you do your best to push aside the memories that threaten to resurface. You greet customers with a smile, lead them to their tables, and ensure their dining experience is pleasant despite the anxiety poisoning your insides. It's a routine you've perfected over time, a shield against the chaos of your emotions.

As the night wears on, you can feel Jimin's eyes on you from across the restaurant. You sneak glances back at him, and you blanch at his pitying gaze. If the restaurant had been slightly less crowded, you would have flipped him off.

He’s probably enjoying my suffering, you think darkly. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you straighten up and do your best to appear more unaffected. Just as you do so, you can hear Jungkook perfectly hitting a soulful high note.

“I’m so sorry for thinking I was strong,” you whisper to the universe. “Forgive me for my insolence.” You clench your fist in anguish, ignoring the confused looks from the customers in front of you.

By the time your shift comes to a close, you are completely and utterly drained. You feel like a snail that has been continuously salted over the past eight hours, and you cannot help but cheer in relief when the clock finally strikes two in the morning. You have to wait for the last few diners to make their leave, but otherwise you are ready to let your bed swallow you whole.

You stand by your hostess desk, leaning your head against it with a defeated sigh. Jungkook’s voice had died down only a few minutes ago, and you hope that by this point he has mercifully left the premises. You want to take a peek to make sure, but just as you’re about to make your way to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder stop you in your tracks.

“‘Sup, bitch.” Jimin still has that weird, pitying gaze pointed at you, though his words don’t match it. “Are you okay to go home alone tonight? I can bring your dumb ass home if you want.”

You shove his hand away, ready to bite his head off when you think better of it. If Jimin drives you home, then that lowers the chances of seeing Jungkook down to pretty much zero.

“You know what? Thanks,” you grouse. Jimin smiles at you winningly, and the image of it brings a shiver down your spine. You hit him, creeped out. “Hey. Stop that, will you? You’re being really weird?”

Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Me? Weird? At least I don’t look like a damn firework ready to explode just because my cringelord ex-boyfriend is singing sappy love songs outside—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethe, stomping on his foot. He yelps in pain and slaps your shoulder in retaliation.

“Ouch! Watch your ogre feet! My shoes are worth twice your monthly rent I’ll have you know,” he bristles. He breathes deeply, likely finding his inner calm (which you doubt exists). “But because I’m so nice, I’ll ignore your earlier transgression and blame it on your underdeveloped amygdala.”

You don’t know what’s more surprising: the fact that Jimin knew what an amygdala was or that he was forgiving you in the first place. “Whatever. Let’s finish closing up and then head out. I’m exhausted.”

You make quick work of your task and when you’re ready to head out, Jimin is already waiting by the backdoor. He’s twirling his car keys with a finger and gestures for you to follow him. As you make your way to his car in the back parking lot, you catch sight of a lone figure standing next to a beat-up pickup truck. He’s leaning against it, his hands busy tuning a battered guitar.

Your breath hitches, and you immediately feel nauseous. Of course the incident has yet to end. The night is young, after all.

Jimin accidentally slams the backdoor closed, and the noise wrenches Jungkook’s attention away from his ministrations. Immediately, his eyes lock with Jimin before finally turning to you.

Your heart skips a beat as he gazes at you, your mind racing with a hurricane of emotions. You hadn’t expected to see him again so soon, especially not after the tumultuous encounter earlier in the day. What did you say earlier? That “the chances of seeing Jungkook was down to pretty much zero”?

The chances of seeing Jungkook is low, but never zero, your mind unhelpfully supplies.

There is a long period of awkward silence. Jungkook has his mouth slightly agape, his hand subconsciously lowering his guitar to rest against his truck. To your left, Jimin’s breathing quickens slightly. You, on the other hand, are trying your best not to projectile vomit in this damned parking lot.

Jungkook is the one who decides to break the delicate silence. “Is that you…?” he calls out hesitantly.

Don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my—

“Y/N,” Jimin interjects. His gaze is steel cold, uncharacteristic of the carefree boy. He slings an arm around your shoulders, gently nudging you towards his car. With your view still fixed on Jungkook, you miss the way Jimin shoots the other boy with a playful smirk. “C’mon, babe. Let’s go home.”

His words startle both you and Jungkook. “Wha—? Jimin?” you splutter, flushing at his flirtatious undertone. You want to curse him out for his strange behavior, but all the shock has left you mute.

Jimin all but shoves you into the passenger seat. But just as he’s about to slam the car door, you hear Jungkook call out your name. It’s fleeting and quiet, but you heard him crystal clear.

It breaks your spirit to hear him say your name. For a moment, you feel as though you are floating.

When was the last time he called your name? And so softly, too? If you could replay that moment over and over, would you be able to catch some signs of tenderness in his voice? When you close your eyes later that night, would your dreams show you that he had been gazing at you with yearning? Was any of it true?

As Jimin starts the car and pulls away from the curb, you steal one last glance out the window, only to find Jungkook staring at you with an arm outstretched. You continue to watch him until his figure disappears into the night.

You are quietly immersed in your own thoughts, the whirlwind of emotions intensifying your persistent migraine. Unaccustomed to silence, Jimin decides to give his unsolicited two cents, as per usual.

“Geez. Didn’t know you were into the whole starving artist type. If I’d known, then maybe I’d stop trying to brag about my fortune to you,” Jimin scoffs. “If loser buskers like him impress you, then maybe I should—”

“Would you shut the fuck up for once in your fucking life!” You explode, whirling to face him with a glare. Jimin has the audacity to flinch, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

“What the fuck? Why the hell are you mad at me?”

“What the hell was that back there? ‘C’mon babe.’” You mimic his voice with a sneer. “Why on earth would you do that? Now he thinks that we…”

“Why do you care what he thinks? He’s your ex, remember?” Jimin cuts you off, but you can’t even refute him. He continues, “Figured as much. And judging by how spooked you’ve looked all day, I have to assume that he was an asshole, right? Why else would you accept my offer for a ride home if you really wanted to avoid seeing him?”

You shrink under his accurate assumptions. Damn, were you really that easy to read? “I… I mean, yeah but…” You clear your throat, still feeling wronged by him. “You didn’t have to act like a weird prick in front of him!”

Without warning, the floodgates burst forth. You begin to ramble, the thoughts that have been weighing you down pouring out of you in waves. “Jungkook was my ex, yeah. But he wasn’t an asshole. On the contrary, he was really sweet. The nicest guy in my school, at least. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, that sort of person. I dated him all throughout high school and he was a great partner.”

Jimin hums skeptically. “Then why the messy break-up?”

“It wasn’t messy!” You retort defensively.

“Could’ve fooled me!” Jimin snorts. “I also frequently act like a trembling kitten when I see my exes,” he says sarcastically.

You ignore him. “The reason we broke it off was because he wanted to pursue his dreams to become a singer after high school and I wanted to do other things. It was a mutual break-up! Honestly, I’m glad that we did. Too many girls wanted him and all the unwanted attention was getting on my nerves. I was glad to find a reason to end it all,” you explain, hoping you didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. What you said was mostly true, though you left out the important bits to yourself. Mostly to save some of your dignity intact. (Truthfully, you just didn’t want to admit things you weren’t ready to face.)

“Then if you’re so glad, why do you look like you wanted to shit yourself? It ain’t adding up,” Jimin fires back.

“It’s just—” you stammer, trying to find a reason why you were so bent out of shape after seeing him. “I-I was caught off guard, I guess. I knew he was pursuing his dreams to sing and all, so I expected him to leave the country. I wasn’t expecting to see him outside where I work, of all places,” you mutter lamely. You have your head bowed, biting your lips from the nerves. Again, you weren’t totally lying.

Jimin is silent for a moment, contemplating your admission. When he looks so calm like this, it’s hard to get a read on what he’s thinking. As Jimin speeds down the highway, the street lights illuminate his face in a strange way, and for once, he looks like a stranger. His steely expression makes you nervous, for some reason.

Eventually, he asks you a question you would never have expected. “And he just let you go?”

You pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Jimin huffs, irritated. “He just up and left without a fight? If I were him, I would have…” he trails off, his jaw clenching.

You don’t know where this Jimin came from. Under the moonlight, Jimin looks livid, but that can’t be right. Jimin, mad for you? Sure, you’ve seen his anger directed towards you, but this? Everything’s gotten so complicated, and you are just about ready to succumb to sleep and hope to wake from this nightmare.

The rest of the drive to your house is silent, save for the sounds coming from passing cars. Jimin pulls up to your apartment complex, his mysterious anger finally subsiding.

Just as you’re about to reach for the car door handle, Jimin places a hand on your shoulder. “Listen, Y/N. I’ll talk to management tomorrow morning. I know the manager well enough that I can probably convince him to do something about that ex of yours. He’s busking on private property, so it should be easy to get rid of him,” Jimin says, tone serious. He swallows, and for a moment you think he looks a little nervous. “If that’s what you want, I guess.”

His kindness scares you. You want to tease him, ask him where Mr. Bitchy and his $2000 Chelsea boots had gone. Anything to make this air of severe sincerity to abate. This new Jimin feels suffocating. But instead, you nod your head stiffly.

Jimin makes a pained expression for a moment, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual playful smirk. He slaps you upside the head, laughing heartily at your stunned face.

“Get some rest, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” he chuckles, reaching over to open the door for you. You scramble out into the cold city air, taking one last look back at him through his window.

He rolls it down, leaning forward to flash a toothy grin at you. “Hey, stop with all the angst, pookie. Wouldn’t want my favorite toy to get sick from overthinking. Who else would I bother at work if not you?”

You snort, both endeared and irritated in equal measure. He’s right. Everything was going back to normal tomorrow, you’re sure of it. You flip him off with a cheeky grin before making your way to your apartment.

Everything is going to be okay. Jimin says he’ll do something about it, and for whatever reason, you feel like you can trust him on this. Surely good fortune was soon to be upon you.

xxx

Jimin had texted you while you were still sleeping:

Spoke to Manager Jeong about your little problem. He said he’ll deal with him.

You breathe a sigh of relief, your body feeling significantly lighter. Your sleep last night had been tumultuous and restless. You feel more tired than you did when you went to bed, but all your weariness fades once you read Jimin’s text.

Once you make it to work, you find that management has gotten rid of Jungkook somehow. Added with the fact that your landlord has promised to look into repairing your shower (no guarantees, but you want to stay optimistic), today has been significantly better compared to yesterday. You even catch yourself humming as you set up your workstation, a small smile gracing your lips.

Jimin has a later shift this evening, and you find that you are somewhat disappointed for once. Your overwhelming gratitude is surely the only reason, otherwise you would never admit to wanting to see him at any given time.

You are in the midst of texting Jimin about all the good news when your manager passes by your desk. You are quick to pocket your phone away from his prying eyes, ready to defend that you aren’t slacking off… but his demeanor does not reveal any ire. In fact, he looks rather pleased for once.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeong. What’s up?” you ask, suspicious. You instinctively fold your hands behind your back; it is a subconscious effort on your part to keep your distance from him. Something about your manager always gives you a bad feeling when he looks a little too happy.

He grins widely. “Everything is going splendidly, Ms. Y/N. In fact, I think today might just be our lucky day!”

Never during your time working here has his and your luck ever coincided. “Our lucky day?” you echo.

“Why, yes! I spoke with your lovely friend and coworker Jimin this morning,” he starts, and immediately your alarm bells ring. You don’t even bother correcting him about the ‘friend’ part like you normally would. He continues, “He gave me a brilliant idea about the busker who had been performing in front of the restaurant the past two days.”

You nod slowly, not quite understanding. “Yes… The busker has been quite… the spectacle,” you say carefully. Somehow, you know calling Jungkook a ‘nuisance’ would have been the wrong choice in this instance.

Manager Jeong beams. “Exactly! You must have noticed the amount of people we served yesterday despite being a Monday. Additionally, almost all of those new customers requested outdoor seating no less!”

You feel the world tilt on its axis. What is he on abou��?

“What are you talking about?” you exhale.

“Don’t you think it would be even better for business if we got that busker to perform inside the restaurant? Why, it’s a brilliant idea and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first! Our live band has always been missing something special, and perhaps a vocal accompaniment is the exact answer to our problem! Think about it, the atmosphere would be…”

Manager Jeong continues to prattle animatedly about his plans to your unhearing ears. There must be static or cotton plugging your head because you cannot possibly understand anything he is saying. Jungkook? Inside? Performing at your restaurant? But Jimin said he had spoken to the manager about getting Jungkook away from you! None of this makes sense.

“That makes no sense,” you verbalize, unknowingly cutting Manager Jeong from his monologue. He halts in surprise, as if now just realizing you were standing there (much less capable of interrupting or disagreeing with him). When he snaps out of it, you sense that familiarly sinister aura emerging from him in waves. You belatedly realize he must have mistaken your outburst as antagonistic.

“Well, Ms. Y/N. Whether it makes sense or not, we have hired Mr. Jeon to perform live at the bar stage for the next four weeknights. If, for some unknowable reason, I am incorrect,” he pauses to emphasize his words, “then his services will be promptly terminated. However, judging by his popularity from simply standing out in the cold and singing silly love songs, I am sure that worry is unwarranted.”

Behind you, the telltale sound of the main door swinging open catches you even more off guard. You do not even have the chance to turn to face the newcomer, only managing to register the gust of cold wind that accompanies their entry.

And so, you hear him before you see him.

“Hello?” Jeon Jungkook greets quietly.

Even without turning, you can imagine how he looks, how he stands, how he feels, how he tastes—

Manager Jeong claps his hands gleefully. “Splendid timing! Speak of the devil…” The older man nearly skips towards Jungkook like a youthful school girl, accompanied by his uncharacteristic squeals of excitement.

You can feel his gaze on you, almost tangibly. With nothing but your shreds of dignity left intact, you force yourself to face him.

He’s still so tall, is all your mind can helpfully supply as you stand feet away from your high school sweetheart for the first time in two years. He’s still wearing the same bucket hat from the night before, semi-shielding him from view. Despite that, you catch a small flash of white graze his bottom lip as he chews the soft flesh nervously.

“Hi, Y/N.” He addresses you directly, completely overlooking your manager without a single glance. Despite his hat, he still has his eyes lasered on you, as if not quite believing you were there. You hate how his attention makes you shiver all the same.

Even though he ignored your manager (which would have been a major dispute had you done the same), Jungkook still receives a friendly handshake in return. “Mr. Jeon! I’m surprised you know Ms. Y/N, though I’m sure you must have spoken with her when she was escorting guests to the outdoor seating the other day.”

You had actually gotten your co-hostess to seat all the outdoor seatings yesterday, but you weren’t going to mention that.

Manager Jeong claps him on the back, inadvertently causing Jungkook to stumble forward closer to you. He looks up at you then, eyes bugging out of their sockets like a rabbit caught in a bear trap. You stagger backwards in turn, barely concealing the anxiety on your face. Oh fucking hell.

Your manager is none the wiser, of course. “Well, this makes my job much easier! Since you’re both acquainted, I’ll let Y/N show you the ropes. The band doesn’t start their set until later in the evening, but you’re free to take a look at the stage and other parts of our facility in the meantime,” he says, chuffed. Meanwhile, Jungkook looks like he’s been shot by a freeze ray.

Then, your manager points a sharper gaze at you. “Ms. Y/N, treat our super star well. I know you won’t disappoint me.”

Fucking superstar… You can only nod in defeat. “Y-Yes, sir…” you whisper, clenching your uniform with your fists. It is the only way to keep them from shaking like a leaf. You watch as his figure disappears behind his office door, leaving you to fend for yourself. Powerless, you train your gaze to the floor, unwilling to meet Jungkook’s eyes.

But the nerves are taking control of your body, screaming at you to eject, eject, eject!

“Sorry, I have to go to the toilet,” you splutter quickly, almost tripping over yourself on the way to the restroom. You dimly wonder if Jungkook is going to think you’re leaving to throw up, but you can’t find any self-respect left to care. All you need is air and space to breathe—preferably away from him.

You slam open the stall, hardly checking to see if anyone else is around before locking the door shut. You sit on the toilet, plant your face between your knees, and scream.

Should you go home and use sickness as an excuse? But even if you did, you still had shifts every weeknight. You would have to see him eventually. You can pray all you want that Jungkook will be fired by the end of the week, but even your delusional mind can never fathom the idea that anyone would willingly want to send Jeon Jungkook away. Plus, you remember that the regular band that plays at the restaurant has been wanting to get a singer to accompany them for ages, and you know just how damn affable he can be. They are going to love him, and you hate him for that.

It is clear to you that there is no other option:

You pull out your phone to quickly open up Indeed on your browser, frantically hunting for any openings that might fit your measly qualifications. However, you have to pause in your search to deliberate. Wouldn’t it be better to move out of the country? You had been so naive to think that moving cities was enough distance between you and Jungkook—going across the ocean is the obvious answer. Should you start up your Duolingo lessons again and hope that you can somehow survive in a different continent with only a few dollars to your name?

You shut your phone in despair. Whether or not your plans of escape are feasible or not, in the short term, you are stuck with having to suck it up and just learn to ignore your ex-boyfriend’s presence. Surely you can force out a fake smile or two, especially with how much practice you’ve gotten after working with unbearably entitled customers.

Taking a step outside of the restroom stall, you head to the sink to splash some cold on your face. You stare at the mirror, confronted by a girl who looks two seconds away from having a Netflix Original-esque meltdown. You rake your fingers through your hair, doing your best to look like you aren’t about to rush into incoming traffic. To no one's surprise, it doesn't work.

“Okay, I got this. Just pretend like he’s just some guy, because at the end of the day, he is just some guy,” you mutter to your reflection. She looks back at you unconvinced. “He may have broken my heart into little bite size pieces, but who cares! HE’S JUST A GUY!” You repeat the phrase over and over again like a lunatic, in a desperate attempt to cognitively alter your brain chemistry.

At that moment, one of the other stalls in the restroom creaks open, and a girl you recognize who works as one of the dishwashers walks out. You both have a silent eye conversation as she quietly studies your crazed expression and crumpled work uniform.

Eventually, she awkwardly clears her throat, pointing to the only sink in the restroom. “Uh, sorry to hear about your, uh, guy problem. Could I use the sink please?”

You hastily back away, allowing her to take your spot. You don’t even have the energy to apologize for your spectacle, just bowing sheepishly to her before making your way back to the main hall. If she rats you out to the rest of your coworkers, then that gives you another reason to move out of the country. Maybe you should consider a name change while you’re at it.

When you exit the restroom, you half expect Jungkook to be waiting for you by the door, but find that he isn’t anywhere nearby. He isn’t by your hostess station either, and you thank your lucky stars for once. Even if your manager had asked you to show him around, you’re sure that Jungkook can find his way around just fine. Plus, the stage is at the corner of the restaurant and is sufficiently far enough that you wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him if you were careful.

You don’t know which greater entity has been messing with your sanity these past few days, but you hope that they can show you mercy just once—a brief reprieve, if anything.

You clasp your hands in prayer. I’ll eat more vegetables, I’ll remember to floss, I’ll call my parents from time to time… Just please let me survive tonight.

“Remember, Y/N… He’s just some guy,” you reiterate through gritted teeth. If a passing coworker happens to overhear your demented chanting, then you pay them no mind.

You walk towards the entrance, flipping the sign to open. You feel like a video game character when you glance at the clock, which signals the start of your shift. You can imagine the red bold text hovering above your head: 8 more hours until freedom.

This is just like playing Five Nights at Freddy’s, except you’ve only watched the movie and you suspect your life is probably worse than whatever Josh Hutcherson had to survive through.

You take a couple heaving breaths to brace yourself for what will be the longest eight hours of your life. You’ll show Jungkook just how well-adjusted and mature you’ve become. You are a professional, and not even a boy with angelic vocals will make you crumble. After all, what’s the worst he can do?

xxx

He could, in fact, do a lot worse than you thought.

“I have many regrets being born at all,” you mutter bleakly, three hours into your shift.

Jungkook had started singing only an hour ago, so you had been filled with false confidence at first when the restaurant was filled with nothing but ambient chatter and soothing jazz music. You felt more and more confident as the minutes ticked by and your anxiety slowly melted away. You even forgot that he was somewhere in the back, likely warming up or whatever it is that singers did before a performance.

However, your brief moment of courage shatters almost immediately when Jungkook finally takes the stage.

At first, you did your best to tune out his voice, but it’s especially hard when whoever was in charge of the sound system decided to crank his volume to an excruciating level. You wanted desperately to grab some napkins and shove them in your ears, but you suspected that your customers (and manager) would be unappreciative of that gesture. And so there you lay, forced to wallow in Jungkook’s melodious singing like a criminal strapped to an electric chair.

But how much more pleasant an electric chair would be! Why on earth was Jungkook so adamant to sing sad love songs the entire time? Why couldn’t he be like his other singing contemporaries, who loved to write songs about getting bitches and making money? At the very least, even if he wasn’t quite a platinum selling artist just yet, surely he was constantly sharing beds with anyone he pleases? Couldn’t he sing about that?!

(In the back of your mind, you wonder if it would be less painful to learn that Jungkook has slept with multiple people… Because then, it would mean that he had moved on while you stood alone on your island, stranded and yearning.)

You didn’t want to think too deeply about his lyrics. However, you're only human. So when your mind barrier failed and you caught snippets of his singing, you noticed a pattern. There was always a girl in his songs. She was omnipresent, and Jungkook was always pleading for her. Begging and aching and wanting. But most all… he was always repenting. In every song, he always whispered a pious apology.

You feared what would happen if you turned around in those moments of weakness. You were terrified of admitting something, of letting words spill that had been trapped in your throat for the better part of two years.

Lucky for you, salvation comes in the form of one Park Jimin. Though, can you even count him as your savior when he had also inadvertently caused your demise?

Jimin doesn’t even have a shift today, so you’re more than surprised when his bright blonde head stumbles through the restaurant doors. His expensive coat is askew and his signature designer shades are nowhere to be found. He is panic incarnate—an expression you have never seen on his face before.

“Holy fuck,” he greets, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. His profanity startles the elderly couple waiting to be seated, their glares menacingly sharp. To his credit, Jimin doesn’t even seem phased.

In lieu of an answer, you gesture vaguely behind you. You can imagine how dejected you must look. “Holy fuck indeed,” you sigh.

It takes a moment for Jimin to regain his bearings. He straightens up and pats down his coat, but his hair is still tousled by the wind. If not for the fact that he has a car, you might have thought he had run all the way here.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen,” he starts, genuinely remorseful. “I texted Manager Jeong this morning and he said he’d get your ex to leave, but I didn’t think he’d offer the damn bastard a job!”

“Mind your language, Park. I’m still at work,” you scold. You try your best to ignore the scrutinizing gaze of the elderly couple. You lower your voice. “And don’t apologize. I know you’re an asshole, but I doubt you’d actually prey on my downfall like this. I know you’re not into public humiliation.”

Jimin brightens slightly at your joke, but he still looks like a guilty puppy who'd been caught shitting on the carpet. “Yeah, well. I happen to enjoy tormenting you and I won’t let some upstart Charlie Puth wannabe ruin your life. That’s my job.”

You smile wryly at him. “Well, that’s too bad. Jungkook’s been singing for a few hours now and I’m pretty sure Manager Jeong is going to keep him long-term. He might have broken my heart, but damn does he have vocals. I'm sure you'll have plenty competition when it comes to 'who can make Y/N's life feel like hell.'”

Jimin doesn't smile back, but instead studies your face for a moment. Then:

“Do you think if I offer to suck Manager Jeong off, he’ll fire him?”

“What the fuck?” You nearly yell out in surprise, your jaw dropping to the floor. Judging by his serious scowl, you know he's actually considering it. By now, the elderly couple waiting to be seated have left the premises.

Jimin continues, unperturbed. “I know he secretly wants me, based on how his wife seems to have a personal vendetta against me. He definitely wants a taste of my bus—.”

“Stop, I get it!” You wave your hands to make him shut up, heat rising up your cheeks. “Never say that string of words to me ever again. You have just inflicted ten years of suffering onto my poor brain.”

“Hey, I’m just offering solutions here!” Jimin pouts.

You stare at him, unimpressed. “Save it. You tried solving my problems already, so let’s just accept the fact that there’s nothing else for me to do but to suck it up. It’s time for me to put on my big girl pants for a change.”

“I mean, I could do all the sucking instead, but you’re being a little bitch about it,” Jimin mumbles. He’s lucky you didn’t hear him this time, lest you give him something to really whine about.

“Anyway, I guess this is my life now. Nothing to do except hope that he never tries to interact with me or I can find another job,” you shrug.

Over your shoulder, Jimin fixes Jungkook with an icy glare that is cold enough to give you the shivers. For the first time that entire night, you hazard a glance back at the stage, finding that Jungkook is already looking back at you.

You whip your head back forward, perspiration forming down your back. For fuck’s sake, this guy.

“Well, let me know if he tries anything. I’ll beat that little freak into the floor if he tries so much as breathing the same air as you.” Jimin huffs, puffing up his chest with false bravado. You can’t help but laugh at his empty threat, knowing that Jungkook could probably bench press Jimin without breaking a sweat. Jimin's muscles are only for aesthetics, after all.

“Don’t worry, he hasn’t actually spoken to me actually. He can keep singing his sad little love songs, I really don’t mind,” you say, like a liar. Jimin snorts, wholly unconvinced.

“Well, if you need me, I’m heading to the bar to grab a drink so I can stare at your ex uncomfortably until he leaves. See you!” Jimin bids you farewell with a cheery grin as he skips a little too happily inside the restaurant.

Why'd you have to befriend the largest lunatic in the city? You massage your forehead with a groan, willing away your growing headache.

The rest of the night trickles away like molasses. Jungkook continues to sing his heart out, save for an hour intermission where he presumably takes a short break. In his absence, you hear Jimin guffaw loudly, his laughter too sharp to be considered happy. You faintly hear Jungkook shy stutters in response, and you momentarily consider running in to interrupt.

Why? Did you want to save Jungkook from Jimin’s unnecessary harassment? It’s not like Jimin is doing it out nowhere, he was just trying to be… a good friend?

You pause to ponder. As much as you hate to admit it, you know why you want to help Jungkook. But Jimin on the other hand? Why did he want to help you? Questions begin flowing through your head like a whirlwind, and your nausea increases. God, when was your next therapy appointment again?

You save those questions for another day. As you look at your watch, there are only thirty minutes left until two in the morning. You tap your foot impatiently, smiling curtly at departing customers as the restaurant slowly emptied. As they left, you overhear some of your regulars giggling amongst themselves, whispering about the cute new singer and his charming demeanor.

The last nail on your coffin has been hammered. Yeah, Jungkook isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

With the restaurant closing soon, it sounds like Jungkook is ready to end his set as well.

Throughout the night, Jungkook rarely made a point to speak. The only time he didn’t sing was when he quietly introduced the title of his next song and the band swiftly began the first opening notes. For his last song, however, Jungkook decided to give a little more backstory for his final song.

“Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for listening to me for the night,” Jungkook says with a soft voice, his tone awfully shy despite his powerful belting throughout the evening. The few customers left give him a warm round of applause, and you hear the familiar sound of his timid giggles spill from the restaurant speakers.

“This will be my final song for the night. Most of the songs I sang today were covers, but this one is an original. I…” He hesitates for a moment, and something pulls you to turn despite the alarm bells ringing in your ears. You face him, and just like earlier in the evening, he is already looking back at you.

This time, you don’t look away; he does. His eyes flit to the ceiling, and he licks his lips from nerves. “I… I wrote this song a long while ago. I’ve never sang it in public before and I never thought it would ever see the light of day. Until, well…”

He stops again. This time, he gestures to the guitarist in the band, silently asking to borrow it. With a guitar in hand, he smiles a little more confidently at the small crowd of people. He begins strumming the first few notes, and your heart stops. “I hope everyone had a pleasant evening. Get home safe and have a great rest of your week. My name is Jungkook, and this last song is called…”

Before he can sing the first line of his song, you make a break for it.

You slam the restaurant doors open, and the stinging cold air immediately pierces their fangs into your skin. Your coat is still inside, but you can’t bring yourself to reenter. You take a long breath, the chill barely registering in your mind with how loudly your heart is pounding in your ears.

Hearing the opening to that song was enough to bring you back in time, three years ago:

You are in his childhood bedroom, his walls littered with concert posters and his floor a mess with unfolded laundry and guitar picks. The afternoon sun is streaming through his windows, bathing him in gold. You have an exam the next day and he has cram school to go to, but you’ve both chucked your books somewhere on his desk, left forgotten.

He has his eyes closed, concentrated. You’re both on his small twin bed, squished together side by side and thighs touching. You have your head on his shoulder and he has his hands on his guitar. He strums a few chords experimentally and sings a melody that only the two of you know.

(Not anymore.)

“Are you writing a new song?” you ask, voice a little scratchy. Neither of you had spoken for the past few hours, just basking in the setting sun and Jungkook’s indistinct strumming. But now, his chords sound more sure, more certain of something.

“Yeah, I just thought of it,” he hums. He opens his eyes a smidge, a smitten smile on his lips. You mirror him.

“What’s it about this time?”

His brows furrow. “I’ve been trying to write about other stuff, you know? Namjoon-hyung tells me it’s important that songs have meaning and impact.” He pauses in his strumming, looking a little conflicted. “And I get what he means. Art is all about saying something, but… I can’t help that there’s only one thing I ever want to talk about. Is that so wrong?”

You chuckle, understanding what he means. You nudge your head against his cheek, grinning from ear to ear. The fluttering in your chest has become routine to you at this point, but he somehow always knows how to increase it tenfold. “God, you’re such a sweet talker. Really, Koo. There’s no need to serenade with love songs—I’m already yours.”

He looks back at you, brimming with tender affection. “I know,” he responds. Then, he takes a pen from his bedside table, and begins writing.

During those years of dating him, you always thought that If he was a waterfall, then you were a teaspoon. You desperately tried to be enough for him, but you’re barely able to fathom the depth of his devotion. Everything about him was excessive, and you could seldom understand how he managed to contain himself. He was born to share himself, to tear bits of his soul so that the world may understand him, love him. His songs were a testament that he was trying to do that, and you always felt so lucky to be able to receive him, wholly and fully.

How cruel was it that Jungkook uses that same song to rip open the barely healed scab on your heart, leaving you bare and stinging and raw all over again.

You have no idea how long you've stood there in the cold. It must have been barely a few minutes when Jimin finds his way to you. He wordlessly shrugs his coat off and places it on your shoulders, but you make no move to acknowledge him.

You hope your silence is enough for Jimin to infer that you are not in a conversational mood, but he’s nothing if not impatient. He forcibly pulls you to face him, his hands warm even through your clothing.

“Hey, you good? Did something happen?” He asks with barely concealed irritation, but it’s not directed at you. Still, you flinch at his scathing tone, shrinking in on yourself. In your daze, you vaguely notice his resemblance to an angry baby chick.

“It’s nothing. Go back inside, I’ll be right there,” you mumble lamely, weakly pushing him back towards the restaurant. Jimin does not budge, instead leveling you with a hard stare. This time, you’re sure his irritation is for you.

“You idiot, you literally ran out like someone was out to get you. Of course it’s not nothing,” he grouses.

You sigh tiredly, shaking your head at him. “We can talk later. It’s almost closing time and I just want to go home and sleep.”

Before Jimin can argue further, the door to the restaurant opens once more, but it isn’t a leaving customer.

“What the fuck? What are you doing out here?” Jimin all but shouts at Jungkook. He holds up an accusatory finger at him and uses his other hand to nudge you behind him as if to shield you.

Jungkook winces, instinctively stepping back. Despite being a few inches taller than Jimin, Jungkook’s timidness makes him look smaller. “I… I was just worried about her—”

“Don’t you have a song to finish in there? Talk about professional,” Jimin spits out. Jimin maneuvers you so that Jungkook can’t see you, but you manage to catch sight of how his gaze follows you unfailingly.

“I finished up my set. It’s closing time.” Jungkook responds coolly. He’s still a little quiet, but you can sense some of his natural composure rising to the surface. When he needs to be, Jungkook has been known to stand his ground—usually when it comes to matters involving you.

At this time of the night and after hours of mental torture, the last thing you need is to watch your two worst nightmares duke it out in front of your work establishment. You are beyond exhausted, and you hardly have the fortitude to withstand another minute of their voices ringing in your ears.

Your eyes well up with tears of frustration, causing the two boys to freeze up in panic. You don’t give them the chance to fuss over you; instead, you haphazardly wipe your cheeks before roughly pushing them back towards the restaurant.

“Get back to work, you idiots.” Your voice sounds warbled even to your own ears, but you push past your overwhelming emotions in favor of getting back inside to close up. Hell, you might even call in sick tomorrow, just so you can cry pathetically into your bowl of cereal in solitude.

“I’m not even on the clock today!” Jimin complains faintly, but you only push him harder.

When you all reenter, you walk back to your desk and pointedly ignore the two of them until they awkwardly float away from your orbit. Despite the distance they give you, their gazes are still fixed plainly on you and they feel like knives digging into your back.

Eventually, all the final customers of the day take their leave, and your remaining coworkers start dimming the lights and bidding their goodbyes. From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook bowing respectfully to the band, who were giving him friendly pats on the back for a job well done. Jimin walks toward you, his car keys dangling from his left pinky.

“No thanks. I’ll take the bus home today,” you declare before he can offer a ride. Jimin opens his mouth like a goldfish, flapping his lips dumbly as he stares at you in shock. You have no idea why he’s so surprised, given how you’ve been making it obvious that you need some space.

He looks like he wants to argue again, but thinks better of it. A singular moment of restraint from Park Jimin, which is an act you once thought impossible. Maybe he does care about you more than you thought.

He stiffly nods at you, shoving his hands and keys into his pockets. He still has a frown on his face when he tells you to text him when you get home. You flip him off with a shaky smirk in response, a feeble attempt to bring some levity back to your now tense relationship. It works a little, and Jimin brightens up significantly. How simple-minded of him.

With a flippant wave, you leave work and head towards your bus stop. At this hour of the night, the streets are mostly dim, save for some street lamps and bars that stay open longer than your restaurant. There are always some people milling about, enough that you never feel too on edge about how late it is. Still, your bus stop is often empty, leaving you to mull over your thoughts in peace.

You are in the midst of jamming your earbuds into your ear when a presence makes itself known beside you.

Is it possible to go through the five stages of grief in under a second? You suppose not, but it’s hard to tell what sort of emotions swim through you when you come face to face with Jeon Jungkook again.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath. You pause the song playing on your phone to glare at him with as much venom as you can muster.

Jungkook holds up his hands in surrender, doe eyes wide like prey. “I-I’m heading home too! I’m not following you, I swear!”

You groan internally. Figures that you and Jungkook take the same bus home. But hold on— “Don’t you have a car? I remember you were parked near the restaurant the other night,” you note, squinting at him.

Jungkook looks sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. That car was my hyung’s. He lets me borrow it sometimes, but he needed it tonight.”

“Sure…” You level him with a skeptical frown. You remember his hyung, but don’t recall him ever owning a car. You aren’t even sure that his Namjoon-hyung is allowed by the country to drive a car, much less own one.

He could be lying, but you don’t want to give him an excuse to continue any conversation. So, you busy yourself with your phone and keep your head bowed away from him.

When the bus arrives, Jungkook makes it a point to sit a few rows behind you. Thankfully, he has a better understanding of social cues than a certain Park that you know. He leaves you alone, but your entire body still feels like a rope pulled taut. You have to convince yourself not to look behind you, your morbid curiosity scratching your insides raw.

You are in the home stretch now, and it’ll only be a few more minutes before you get to your stop and make your way to your safe haven. Hell resumes the next day and the next, but at the very least you’ll have your home to yourself. No one could take that away from you.

Again, this is where you learn that tempting fate is never a good idea.

When you exit the bus at your stop, you can hear his footsteps following you. It’s hard not to notice, especially when his large and distracting boots make such a distinct racket that makes him so Jungkook.

You hasten your pace towards your apartment complex, your shoulders hunched and hands shoved into your coat pockets in an attempt to hinder the bile rising from your stomach. He had promised that he wasn’t following you, but that proclamation seems to be standing on feeble legs with how long he’s been on your tail now.

Your street is filled with rows of low-rise apartment buildings, so you hope that if anything happens, you can yell as loud as you can and alert some compassionate neighbor to come to your aid. (Not that you think he would ever physically harm you, but… You can’t say the same about your mental state.)

Your home is just two buildings away from where you are, but Jungkook still seems determined to follow you to the end. You all but skip the remaining feet to your apartment entrance, your breath coming out in puffs as you finally muster up the courage to face your supposed stalker and give him a piece of your mind.

“If this is some convoluted way for you to find out where I live, then you aren’t being very subtle about it,” you say, your chin held up high despite the growing urge to vomit pathetically in front of your ex-boyfriend. You have your hand rested on the doorknob, just a moment’s notice away from bolting into your house if the need for a quick getaway arises.

To your surprise, Jungkook wasn’t following you as closely as you expected. He had stopped trailing you about two buildings down, his own hand poised on the door with a look of genuine shock.

You both stand there, staring at each other as mutual understanding dawns on the two of you.

Everyday, the universe learns of more creative ways to be cruel.

“Oh…” Jungkook’s voice falters. He looks simultaneously frightened and amazed, as if he too finds this entire situation unbelievably harsh. He swallows thickly, looking at you and back to his door in quick succession. “Well… This is a strange coincidence,” he murmurs.

You want to believe that this was his entire fault, that Jungkook had somehow managed to track you down to haunt you for the rest of your days. You want to believe that he’s a crazed stalker who is willing to find where you work and live so that every hour of your wretched life is filled with nothing but reminders of what-could-have-beens. You just want someone to blame instead of just the cosmos—you want someone tangible to hate so that your suffering can be given some sort of identity. You want to give your mourning and hurt a name so that you can learn how to heal.

You want to believe all of that, but it’s hard to do so when Jungkook looks so incredibly uncomfortable, as if he’d rather melt into the shadows and never be seen again.

In all your memories, you have never seen Jungkook look so small.

You heave a big sigh, your fingers grasping the door knob so tightly that you half-expect it to be dented from the force. You linger for a moment, your mouth opening but nothing spills out.

What is there to say? What do you say to an ex-boyfriend that you haven’t seen in two years, who is suddenly so deeply entwined in your life once more? Do you tell him goodnight? Tell him to stay away? Tell him to come home with you?

Jungkook looks equally as conflicted. His lips are pursed tight with words left unsaid. You aren’t sure whether you want to punch the confession out of his mouth or seal them up forever. It feels like eons before he finally breaks the silence with a mirthless laugh.

“I… I just wanted to say—back at the restaurant. When I sang that last song,” Jungkook begins, and his voice feels loud because of how empty the streets are. For a moment, you are reminded of a cathedral you once visited during a vacation, how sacred silence can be. The world holds its breath, waiting for him to speak.

“I meant it all. Every word. Every lyric. I never stopped…”

He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. He stares at you helplessly, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t want to listen any more, but your feet are planted to the ground. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, forced to brace against him as he crashes into you.

He continues, “And when we broke up back then… I never wanted that to happen. You broke it off before we could even try something—and I hated how I didn’t fight for you harder. I let you misunderstand me because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to stick around if I didn’t succeed. I convinced myself that I was holding you down, but I never gave you—us—a chance. I never stopped regretting it since.”

“Me? Break up with you?” You echo incredulously. That statement is enough to break you from your trance, the telltale signs of indignation rising up your chest. “How dare you suggest—Me? You were the one who broke up with me, asshole! You were the one who broke my heart and decided to up and leave to god knows where! Only to miraculously respawn right next to me, groveling at my feet with sad love songs as if that’s enough for me to forgive and forget? Fucking entitled bastard,” you seethe.

Somehow, Jungkook manages to shrink more, like a bunny with his tail tucked between his legs. “Yes, you’re right that I broke your heart but… When I told you I was moving away to try and become a singer, it was always with the intention of staying together. I know it would have been difficult, but I wanted you to be with me through thick and thin. But when you misunderstood and took it as a break up, I let you go because, well… I was scared that it would happen eventually. Who wants to date a broke busking fool anyway?”

He laughs, but it sounds watery. He sniffles, and you hope it's only because of the cold. “I tried looking for you, but you blocked me everywhere and no one from back home seemed to know where you went. So I just accepted that we’d never see each other again… Until a few days ago, that is.”

A misunderstanding? Is that what everything boils down to? Years of trying to build yourself back up again, relearning what it means to be happy—all the fallen domino pieces in your life trailing back to a single moment in time? All because Jungkook was scared that you didn't love him enough?

You’ve never felt angrier in your life. You fear what you might say if you continue to stand outside there, face to face with the singular person strong enough to whittle you down to the bone. Jeon Jungkook is all soft smiles and sweet songs, but how come he’s always able to knock you off your axis? Few people on this earth can stitch you up and break you down in equal measure, but somehow, Jungkook manages to do all that and more.

Then, comes the guilt. Had it been all your fault? That you hadn't returned his love in equal measure? Had you secretly given up on the hope of being on his level? Always looking down on yourself: unable to move past your insecurities. Were you terrified of being his side piece, his girlfriend, forever?

Who are you, even? And where do you stand?

(Beside him, is what you want to answer. You don't know if that's the right choice.)

You can’t bear to look at him, least of all answer him. Without another word, you shove your house key into the door before slamming it shut despite the late hour. If you awaken any neighbors, you’ll apologize later. For now, all you require is sleep and hope that this has been all a terrible nightmare.

xxx

Reality is a bitter pill to swallow.

Jeon Jungkook continues to sing at the restaurant, and after only two days of repeat stellar performances, your manager decides to promote him as the official vocalist for the band. It hurts to admit that you're not the least bit surprised; you might have a hard time looking at him, but you can never deny his talent.

His song list has added a larger variety of genres ever since his first performance. That is to say, he isn’t always singing about lost loves and tragic couples every night. Perhaps it is due to some requests from customers or his other bandmates, but it doesn’t stop him from sprinkling one or two love songs into the mix.

He doesn’t sing any original songs ever again. That, at least, is a small mercy. He doesn’t make any moves to speak with you either, despite the daily awkward trips back home after the end of your shifts. Whether that’s because he’s given up on you (again), or he’s waiting for you to make the first move, you don’t know. Frankly, you don’t think you have the energy (nor courage) to do anything about it.

It’s a few weeks after Jungkook’s first performance at the restaurant, and closing time is approaching. You appreciate Friday nights the most because it means you’ll have two consecutive days to relax and avoid your problems. It’s also the busiest night of the week, when white-collar workers decide to drink and eat for as long as the night allows them. Busier nights mean more distractions, and you’re willing to deal with twenty Karens over one Jungkook.

During nights like these, your manager occasionally asks you to fulfill some waitress duties when there aren’t enough hands on deck. Normally you’d hate it, but earning the extra tips is enough to keep your grumbling to a minimum To this day, your landlord has yet to do anything about your broken shower, and you’ve finally conceded to the fact that you’ll have to be the one to do something about it.

As you inform the customers in your area that the last call for orders is approaching, you sneak a glance at the bar to see Jimin dutifully performing his job. That is to say, he’s flirting up a storm, getting women and men alike to blush from head to toe as he serves their drinks with a salacious smirk.

What a swindler, you think to yourself, snorting when he makes eye contact with you. He gives you a cheeky salute, mouthing something as he gestures to the back door.

Despite the semi-fight the two of you had all those weeks ago, Jimin was never one to argue about the same topic two days in a row. When you saw him the next day after your confrontation with Jungkook, Jimin was back to all smiles. You still catch him sending death glares towards Jungkook on most nights, but he doesn’t bring up the matter with you anymore. For that reason, you’ve gratefully settled back into your weird, banterful friendship with him. Even if there’s still a lingering tension between the two of you that you refuse to acknowledge.

You nod thankfully back at him, excited to go to his house and take a much needed shower. At this point, going to his house has become second nature to you, and it gives you an excuse to not see Jungkook at your regular bus stop every day. You have half a mind to never fix your shower for that reason, but of course there is still the problem of having to deal with Jimin every time you need to bathe. You hardly consider yourself an impatient person, but Jimin likes to toe the line far more often than necessary.

You’re down to your last two tables before you can close up shop when your manager suddenly barrels right into your path. You nearly drop your tray of dirty dishes to the floor, holding in a loud yelp as your suspiciously stern-faced manager halts you in place.

“Ms. Y/N, may I have a word with you for a moment? It’s regarding your paycheck for the month,” he barks, lips downturned. He appears disgruntled about something, and it sends a worried shiver down your spine. And here you thought Fridays are meant to be fun. He doesn’t wait for you to reply before he stalks back to his office, an unspoken command for you to follow.

You unload your dishes in the kitchen before making your way to his office. The small, dark room is cramped with overflowing file folders and coupons from multiple take-out places. You accidentally step on a stack of papers, and upon further inspection, seem to be a pile of applications for new hires. You distinctly remember complaining to him months prior about being understaffed and him replying that no inquiries were coming in.

As you approach, your manager shuffles through your coworkers pay stubs, and you notice yours and Jungkook’s on top of the piles.

Manager Jeong clears his throat. “Well, Y/N. It seems to be your lucky day. As you know, we split the tips based on your hours and what sort of duties you fulfill. With the new hire we have as our in-house singer, we’ve had to split it one way more to accommodate his arrival. However, he has recently requested to me that his portion be reallocated… to you, Ms. Y/N.”

Your jaw drops immediately. “I-I don’t understand, Manager Jeong,” you sputter.

Manager Jeong snorts, bemused by your reaction. “Don’t understand? Well, I suppose you’ll have to ask Mr. Jeon if you want his reasoning. Regardless, since we normally deposit your salary straight to your bank account, would it be alright if I hand you his tips in cash for now? He only informed me about his request an hour ago, and the accountant has already clocked out for the week.”

All you can do is nod dumbly back at him. With a huff, your manager presses a white envelope into your hands before promptly ushering you out of his office. “Well, that's settled. Out you go! Have a good weekend, Ms. Y/N. Don’t forget to lock the register before you leave!” He calls out before slamming his door in your face.

It takes you a moment to reanimate back to life. You stare at the white envelope for a long while, unable to fathom the scribbled out name of Jeon Jungkook replaced with your own name. Then, you crumple it into your fist before stomping over to where Jungkook and the rest of the band are in the middle of packing it up for the night.

Jungkook looks up from his guitar case when he senses you fast approaching. For a fleeting second, a smile graces his handsome face before it’s smacked away by your crumpled envelope.

“Keep your fucking cash, Jungkook. What the hell is your problem?” You fume, cheeks heating from agitation. Jungkook splutters for a moment, prying the envelope away from his face and looking at it in bewilderment. When he sees it clearly, recognition dawns on his face, followed by guilt.

“It’s just… my way of saying sorry, I guess.” He answers you meekly, neck flushing red in embarrassment. Behind him, the rest of the band grow silent at the scene before them, and you debate on telling them to mind their own business when they quicken their pace to leave.

“Well, keep your apology to yourself. There’s nothing to apologize for,” you correct him with a frown. To offer an apology is to offer accountability. You aren’t sure if you’re ready to hear him say that.

“No, it’s a sorry for… using you, I suppose.”

“Using me?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “For what?”

Jungkook smiles wryly back at you. “For inspiration?” he clarifies. For being the reason I can sing? He leaves that part unsaid, but you can almost imagine him saying it.

You feel heat rising to your cheeks again, but this time you aren’t quite sure if it’s from embarrassment, anger… or something else.

Unable to conjure up a response to his simple confession, you stomp away from him with a pounding heart and shaking hands. You continue the rest of your closing shift routine instinctually, your body moving on autopilot as Jungkook’s words continue to ring inside your head. When all is said and done, Jimin makes his way to your station with a questioning stare, but you wave him off in favor of stomping ahead of him to the parking lot.

In his car, Jimin rattles off about his latest exploits and purchases, his grating voice a comfort for once. You hum noncommittally during his stories when appropriate, but you suppose your usual indifference feels different, even to Jimin's untrained ears.

At his house, you drift to his bathroom immediately. You already have a shirt button undone by the time you get a handle on the door when Jimin’s hand stops you in place. You can feel his warmth emanating against your back as he slowly pulls the bathroom door close. With a tired sigh, you reluctantly turn to face him and find him standing closer than you expected.

He has an arm resting above your head, effectively caging you. You feel your shoulders sag. Damn, here comes another confrontation. Why can’t everyone just leave you alone?!

“Talk to me,” he says. No, he demands.

You push him away weakly, but he hardly budges. “Nothing to talk about,” you lie. Had you no filter, you’d be word vomiting all over the place ages ago.

Jimin groans, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Enough with the emotional constipation. I’m here to listen, alright? No teasing or anything, I’m all ears and maybe a shoulder to cry on. Just don’t stain my Chanel top too bad,” he jokes.

You puff out a short breath—a sorry excuse for a laugh. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to talk about it, and that’s that.”

“It’ll make you feel a lot better, though,” he offers.

You scoff. “What makes you think that? What if I just want to ignore all my problems forever and never grow from it? Is that so bad?”

Jimin pushes himself away from you, raising his hands in mock defeat. “You’re so fucking annoying. Can you stop running away from your problems and talk to me? Hell, talk to Jungkook for all I care! Just stop being a doormat and speak your mind for once in your damn life!”

“What are you, my therapist?” You brush past him, shower all but forgotten. You begin toeing your shoes back on, ready to head home tired and smelly. At the very least, you won’t have to deal with this stupid annoying asshole any longer.

Jimin strides back towards you, but for once he doesn’t do anything to forcibly stop you. Jimin has always been gruff with you, not afraid to push and pull you in any which direction. It’s part of the reason why you can’t take him seriously, even though you’ve recently realized why he was always being such a prick towards you—

“Yeah, I’m not your therapist. But for better or for worse, I’m your friend and I—I fucking care about you, alright? And it sucks seeing that good-for-nothing stick his nose in your business and act like he can do anything without any repercussions.”

Is Jimin being for real right now? “With how often you look at yourself in the mirror, you’d think you’d be better at introspection,” is all you say to that. You shove your feet into your shoes, not caring that you’ve probably put them on wrong. Maybe it’s because it’s Friday and the fatigue from the week has finally settled deep in your bones, but you can’t help but leave one last scathing remark to drive the final nail in the coffin.

“You know, if you were a little nicer to me, maybe I would talk to you. Hell, maybe I’d like you back. But no, just keep being your domineering, asshole self and I’ll keep being the same fucking doormat bitch you know and love,” you spit, turning towards the door and away from his face. You’re not even curious to see how he reacts. “I don’t need protection, alright? When I tell you to stay out of my business, you stay out of it. So don’t try and pretend to be my knight in shining armor.”

There’s an ocean of silence, enough to hear a pin drop. The urge to apologize surges to the surface, but you stamp it down. He’s petty all the time, so now it’s your turn.

Okay, maybe that’s a little too mean on your part, but you’re exhausted. Perhaps it is true when they say you should never act on your anger when it’s past midnight. But can anyone blame you? You’re only a girl, and girls need to snap too.

When he responds, his voice sounds weak. Park Jimin, weak? It's almost unthinkable. "Why don't you trust me?"

Isn't it obvious? you want to say. But some mercy remains within you. You'll pick up the pieces another time. Instead, you rasp out, “Good night, Park. I’ll see you on Monday.”

The walk of shame back to your house is long and arduous. Your phone dings thrice, likely signaling texts from Jimin, but you turn it off without checking for sure. For once, the weight on your shoulders is slightly lighter. You huff out a dry laugh, realizing belatedly that maybe Jimin is right—maybe speaking your mind has its benefits.

There’s a small park in your neighborhood that you always pass by. You don’t remember the last time you spared it a second glance, but this time you notice a lone figure swinging back and forth, arching dangerously higher than what you would consider safe. From a distance, all you can make out are the person’s comically bright boots, and you have a sinking suspicion you know who it is without seeing their face.

Cosmos, or whoever it is that controls my life, why must you braid our strings of fate so tightly? You ask, but as always, it refuses to reply.

Against your better judgment, your feet bring you closer towards him. He has his back towards you, his feet pumping him higher and higher and you half expect him to swing in a perfect arc like a gymnast on parallel bars. You have to keep your distance a bit, lest you get the wind knocked out of you by his signature stompers.

You clear your throat, and the boy stops mid-swing and nearly catapults himself into the spongey, playground floor. Hunched over and wheezing, Jungkook directs his shocked eyes at you with a comical stare.

You raise a hand in greeting. A peace offering, maybe. “Hello—”

“I swear I’m not stalking you!” Jungkook interrupts as he scrambles to his feet. He bows deeply in remorse, the action so endearingly him. “S-sorry, I’ll make my way home now…”

“I don’t own the park, Jungkook. I was just saying hello…” You snort, wringing your hands uncomfortably. You grind your shoes into the ground, the sound of crunching leaves breaking the still air. “A-and… to say sorry, for earlier.”

“Sorry?” Jungkook repeats, confused. When he realizes what you mean, he waves his hands frantically. “No, no! Don’t be sorry! It was my fault for being so inconsiderate. I understand how you might misconstrue my actions, and I made things more awkward. I’ll consider your feelings more in the future…”

In the future… You cough, unwilling to meet his bright and honest gaze. If you stare too long, you fear you might go blind.

“I come here to the park often, when I feel too cramped inside my apartment,” Jungkook explains, frantic energy radiating off him in waves. He’s gesticulating too much, a clear sign that he’s trying to hide his nerves. You remember how he would do the same thing in high school, whenever he had to present his projects in front of the class.

You hold a hand up, a weak attempt to get him to calm down. “I’m not here to interrogate you. I just wanted to…” What is it that you wanted to do?

The two of you just stand awkwardly like that, similar to a few weeks ago when you discovered you were neighbors. You’re grasping at straws in your head, both conflicted for wanting to tell him something and running away. Even if you were to talk to him, what would you say? There’s a reason you told Jimin you didn’t want to talk—frankly, it’s mostly because you have no idea what to say or feel.

But you do know, the universe responds.

I ask you questions all the time, and this is how you respond?

Either that, or you’re going insane, the universe remarks.

Jungkook pulls out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he unlocks it. He takes a furtive step towards you, but thinks better of it. There’s a few feet of distance between you, but it feels like worlds apart. Close and yet so far. You recall how you’d easily pull him towards you in the past, how being together felt as natural as breathing.

“I know you absolutely hated it the last time I played my original song at the restaurant, so I refrained from performing any ever since that night. But that didn’t stop me from writing them. I was fine with keeping them locked in a vault forever, but…” He hesitates, searching you for any signs of discomfort. When he sees the carefully blank look on your face, he continues with trepidation.

“Can I try a song for you? You don’t have to say yes, and you’re free to tell me to fuck off and I’ll never even look at you ever again. Just…” He flails one last time, a choked sob making its escape from his throat.

Are you hopeless for wanting to say yes? Or were you reverting back to your old self who relied on him and believed in him so heavily? If you wanted him out of your life for good, you would have quit your job at the first sight of him. Maybe you were masochistic. Or maybe were you hopeful for a new start, a chance to rekindle a relationship that you’ve secretly always wanted to repair.

You have so much life ahead of you. Many more mistakes will be made and maybe they’ll haunt you when you’re older. But would it really be such a terrible gamble to take one more chance?

You nod, and seal your fate.

He presses play, and the soft strumming of a guitar fills the empty playground air.

Not for the first time, you wonder how it can be so easy for Jungkook to be so… honest. He spills his heart in every song that he writes, and you know he’s never been a great liar. He can’t help it, being genuine is in his DNA. This crashing waterfall, this boy with overflowing emotions—he sings what he thinks but feels terrified because of it. You might not understand his honesty, but you know that fear. You know it all too well.

He beholds himself to you—raw and unfiltered. A little battered and bruised, but still Jungkook. Behind everything, still the boy you’ve been yearning for.

Maybe this song is what will give you enough confidence to admit everything to him, too. As you stand there, listening to his mellow voice sing confessions to no one but you and the stars, you think you grow a little more courageous that day.

Maybe you won’t be able to tell him tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, nor next week either. But as you gaze back at his hopeful eyes, you know deep in your heart that you’ll find the words you’ve been looking for.

“I’ll keep waiting for you, if you let me.” Jungkook’s voice floats gently to you, and settles in your open palms. This time, you don’t let go

xxx

Months later, Jungkook stops working at the restaurant when an offer from a major record company arrives in his mail. Apparently, a big shot from the local radio station had pitched him to an employee at that company and they were all pleasantly surprised to find a hidden gem at a random bar and restaurant.

In your apartment, you stare outside your window and to where his home is—well, where it was. You wonder if he finished packing his things, ready to make the big move tomorrow. You stand up with a stretch, sparing a glance at your still broken shower. It would be nice to have one more shower at his place… And after that? Maybe you should start looking for a nicer apartment; somewhere far away might be nice.

Your phone rings, and you see his contact photo light up your screen. With a smile, you answer.

“Come over, if you want. I won’t make you,” Jungkook assures you.

You laugh lightly, already halfway out the door.

#bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bangtan #bts #bts fanfic

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fancyfeathers · 20 days ago

Note

Love the mother daughter pair, but not gonna lie, fascinated by the thought of bruce blackmailing reader, and then having to properly try and woo her back essentially. If he really wants a seemingly loving family, he has to know he needs to coax his wife and the mother of his daughter into a better mood and viewpoint. No matter how much blackmail he has, she can start gaining just as much now that she's in his life, and I doubt the daughter will start trusting him properly with the tension between him and her mother. How would bruce coax the mother back? And would Talia actually have an easier time establishing a connection? Could see Bruce feeling jealous of Talia if that was the case. Idk just the tangent my mind ran on, even if that's not the case still love the work

Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling Masterlist

The blackmail is practically all there is he does that truly hurts him, and that’s only if she does not agree to his proposal when states his intent of gaining custody of their daughter. But after that comes to pass everything would be perfect for a normal couple, news about their engagement spreads like fire, and the wedding will probably be the social event of the century given how they were engaged once before and now it’s back on. The most perfect white wedding and Bruce treating his darling like the perfect husband.

Their daughter does not know the details of what happened, one moment it’s her and her mama having a perfect life together, traveling the world and being each other’s best friend, and then the next all of that is over, her father is back in her mother’s life and now she has siblings and none of them feel like the family she had with her mama, it feels suffocating and her mama doesn’t seem as bright as she once did.She clings to her mama every single day and is only separated when her attention is dragged away forcefully from her daughter and one of her brothers of father comes right to the littlest one’s side.

His wife does not push any of them away, she lets her husband hold her in the morning hours when they have just woken up and press kisses onto her face, she lets Dick call her mom as he runs up to hug her, she lets Jason help her daughter with her homework even though she asked her for help, she lets Tim take her daughter out to the park even if it’s their mother-daughter day they have, or used to have, every week, she lets Damian sit down by her and lay against her while she reads to her daughter. She will never be happy but she will fake it, she does not want to make a scene and have her daughter see and realize something is wrong and do something herself. She wants her daughter to be happy and have a future, go to university, leave Gotham and go back to what is left of the life they had, parents make sacrifices for their children and she is willing to do everything for her. She plays the game of pretend, acts like the perfect wife and mother and stepmother, stays calm and bites back all the internal rage she has building up inside her.

Honestly it is after every she has been through just for her daughter’s sake is when Talia starts to think a bit more highly of her, she understands the strength it takes to make sacrifices for one’s child. She also knows how possessive and protective they all are of her and her daughter, so meeting her discreetly is the best option. Like at a charity gala and someone accidentally spills something on her dress and has to go to the bathroom to clean up and-

“Hello again.”

She nearly screamed when she turned on the bathroom light and saw Talia’s reflection in the mirror. Talia helps her clean up and change into a new dress all while talking to her about what she has found out. She went from viewing her as Bruce’s house pet, because it was clear their marriage was not equal, to seeing a mother who is willing to sacrifice and do whatever it takes to take care of her daughter.

But it is during this the question arises and the answer is terrifying…

“What are you going to do if your daughter is just as trapped as you are? What if all you did for her was in vein?”

“I-I….”

“You are far too soft, you will never get what you desire for your daughter while you stay docile, playing the role of a perfect housewife, a house pet…”

“Talia…”

“I should be off now, but do take care of my Damian, he adores you as his stepmother.”

She leaves her alone in the bathroom and she just cries, feeling like a failure of a mother and she she can barely look her daughter in the eye again.

She just lays awake at night with the thoughts of the life she grew up with, she had a golden childhood and all she wanted was that happiness for her own daughter.

After that there is no chance of anyone winning her over, but she will not act out either, she just feels dead inside, like a complete failure of a mother. Her daughter clearly notices something is wrong and while her mother will stay perfectly compliant, her daughter is a completely different story.

The moment she sees her mom loose that shine in her eyes like she had when raising her on her own she knows this is all of their faults, they took her and her mom away from their life they loved and now there is nothing left of the mother who used to teach her to dance at parties, or attend her piano recitals and sat in the front row to applaud the loudest and despite the busy schedule of meetings she had she never missed one, or when her mom who could not help but boast about her daughter’s latest achievements…

Remember she is still her father’s daughter and has a level of determination that should not be tired under pressure.

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coquettepascal · 3 months ago

Text

like tiramisu

summary: nothing beats summer vacation like a secret relationship with your dad's best friend, right? wrong! what really beats summer vacation is trying not do jump joel's bones every time you're alone.

tags: 18+, smut, fluff, beach fic, age gap (it's dbf!joel, imagine what you want), dbf!joel, misuse of sunscreen, semi-public activities (not sex), groping, massaging, reader has a dad and brother, overuse of the word pretty, nicknames like pretty___ and baby, oral sex (f!recieving), she/her pronouns for your pussy, joel gets blueballed, fluff, joel and reader are very much in love, established relationship, secret relationship, stereotypical oblivious reader's!dad, mention of food poisoning (nothing graphic), slight grumpy!joel, soft!dom joel (ish)

a/n: woo!! i did it :D this is my submission for @hellishjoel's hot dilf summer challenge (link to the masterlist.) i'm a big fan of their work so i'm just happy to participate. tysm for this opportunity!

(3.6k, not beta read.)

Every year you travel to the coast with your dad and brother, enjoying a week at the tail end of summer to really relax. This year, your brother got sick, and so Joel took his place.

Like Joel, your dad’s best friend. You know, the one that you slept with a month ago one night after everyone went to bed? Joel like kind-of-your-secret-boyfriend-Joel. Simple situation really, you don’t know why you nearly shit yourself when Joel was standing in your driveway dragging a suitcase behind him.

But, as Joel does, he’s made this easy. It shouldn’t be easy to be separated from him, but it’s made the small moments you can get with him better. Besides, you still get to see him in his handsome glory, all tan and broad and…

The not-easy part is not jumping on him every time your dad turns around.

—

“Why is this so much more expensive than ice cream?” Joel asks you, eyes squinted as he peers at the chalkboard that hangs above the gelato cooler.

The family in front of you orders and literally pays with a 50 dollar bill, still not getting anywhere near a justifiable amount of change back. Joel squints at the board harder and you smile up at him. He needs glasses, you’ve been telling him this whole trip.

“Having trouble?” You ask teasingly. Joel’s head turns, face already scowling, but then the employee behind the counter is asking for your order before he can tear you a new one.

Joel is still scowling at you as he shells out 25 dollars for 2 “adult size” cones.

“S’not necessary to spend this much money on vacation, darlin’, we’re already relaxed,” He grumbles as you walk out of the air conditioned business, back into the beachy heat outside.

Innocently, you lick up a drip of the tiramisu flavored gelato that drips down the cone. Joel’s eyes narrow more, clearly not appreciative of your behavior so far today. His face eases up when he takes a bite out of his mango sherbet, cooling his flamed temper.

Your hand snakes into his free one as you walk down the beach, back to where your things are. It’s a quieter day on the beach, luckily. The past week you’ve spent with your father and Joel has been a hectic race for who can find a good spot on the beach, who can find a good spot to sit and eat, and who can find a good spot where the three of you can be left the fuck alone.

Today you’ve found a good spot, tucked away behind some larger rocks. It kind of looks like it could be dangerous to be there when the tide comes in, but it’s out far today. You’re fine, you’re with Joel, and most importantly, the two of you are alone.

Your dad ate some bad shrimp last night at dinner and has a horrible case of food poisoning. He assured both of you that he’d be fine on his own, to go enjoy the sun.

God knows you both will.

You hop over to the blanket you had laid out, cowering under the shade of the rainbow umbrella Joel had bought earlier in the week. He claimed it was so you wouldn’t get heatstroke, but you have a feeling it was more for the sake of his skin.

As you kick off your sandals, Joel sits down beside you under the umbrella, slurping obnoxiously at the remnants of his mango cone. Most of yours is still intact, though a bit melty. It’s something to marvel at, how Joel can inhale any food of any temperature in the blink of an eye. But it makes up his soft tummy, the one you can rest your head on later when you want to soak up the sun.

“Do you wanna try mine?” You ask, noting the hungry eyes he’s giving your gelato. He nods and so you lean over to him, extending the cone.

And just as he leans in to take a massive bite, you jerk your hand, smearing tiramisu gelato onto the tip of his nose.

“Oh my fucking god,” he groans, pulling back, “that’s not fucking funny.”

But it is funny. Seeing the white cream smudged on his nose, tangled in the bristles of his moustache. You can’t help but laugh at him.

“That’s what you get for trying to chomp half of my treat!” You point out.

Joel’s head tilts at you, as if to say “really?”

“Okay fine, I’ll fix it,” you huff. Passing your gelato to your free hand, you lean forward and suck the tip of his nose into your mouth, slurping off the remaining mess.

Pulling back with a pop, you see Joel’s horrified face.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He groans, wiping your saliva off his face.

Joel gives you a look, clearly expecting some sort of repayment for the ridiculous stunt you just pulled. Begrudgingly, you hand the rest of your cone to him, but only because you really should put on sunscreen.

—

The sun beats down on you as you lay against Joel’s chest and belly, his legs spread to make room for you. He’s wearing black board shorts that cut off around his mid-thigh, leaving more skin exposed. Joel didn’t wear these ones yesterday, or any day previous. It was just the same red shorts that went down to his knees. But today, he matches you and your black two piece. His thick thighs firmly frame you, keeping you in place.

“You need to reapply your sunscreen, sweetheart,” Joel hums, blindly pawing the blanket for wherever you tossed the bottle earlier.

Streams of sunlight bathe you where you sit, the sun no longer blocked by the rainbow umbrella Joel insisted on. You planned on tanning anyways, so you don’t mind as much as Joel seems to. He grabs the sunscreen and his sunglasses, tossing them on.

Your chin is tucked to your chest, crunched as Joel leans over you more, opening the cap of the lotion. The liquid is so cold in comparison to the warm sun rays that blanket the two of you, a near-pained hiss escaping you.

“Don’t be a baby,” Joel grunts, working the sunscreen into your abdomen.

His hands work your soft flesh so gently, his calloused palms spreading the protective lotion carefully. Joel’s thumbs dig a little harder as he feels your hip bones beneath his hands, making you protest weakly. You know what he’s doing, taking this private opportunity for his own gain.

“Joel,” you warn whinily, squirming.

His hands grasp you in place, holding you while the cords of muscle on his forearms pop.

“I said don’t be a baby,” he repeats slower this time, his voice rumbling in your ear.

“We both know you’ve taken worse.”

Yeah. Yeah you do know that. It doesn’t shut you up anymore, whining as he reaches to massage your thighs, his hands slipping to your inner thighs fast. You can barely process his touch there before he’s sliding his hands back to a more appropriate spot, your arms. He’s keeping it PG for the most part at least. The nagging fear of your dad suddenly showing up despite his illness lives in the back of your mind.

Joel massages your wrists and the palms of your hands, thumbs pushing the flesh soothingly as he murmurs in your ear about how soft you are, how perfect.

He was keeping it PG, but he’s getting selfish now. The orange sun is painting your skin in a way that’s making it hard for him to think, and it’s been so long since he’s had you alone. Your eyes glaze over as he drips more lotion into his palms, rubbing it between them slowly.

“Don’t wanna forget your chest, would hate for my pretty girl to burn,” is all the warning you get.

Joel’s arms loop beneath yours, his wet palms sliding up your abdomen and then beneath your swim top. Big hands envelope the starting swell of your breasts, coming upwards and smothering your sensitive skin in sunscreen. His name slips out again, choked and surprised, but this isn’t unwanted.

You miss Joel. Even as he’s been here with you for this whole week, you miss his kisses and his touch. Sleeping in the same room as him, but in separate beds, has been awful. To hear him snore without feeling the vibration of it on your own skin has been treacherous.

So you’re letting him have this, because as much as you hunger for him, that man is ravenous.

His thumbs rub over your nipples, most of your top bunched up on his knuckles now. Joel’s voice is low in your ears, talking soft like you aren’t in total privacy on the beach. Everything is flying now, his mouth uncontrollable as he tells you how good you feel, how much he missed you.

“So fuckin’ pretty, all week you’ve been so gorgeous, darlin,’”

And then the kisses start. Hot down your neck, his scruffy face trails, tongue tracing the bitemarks he leaves occasionally.

“Joel– Joel no marks,” you remind softly.

He obliges with a grunt, clearly unhappy with the situation. Sometimes he can get away with little marks, ones like on your inner thighs or your tits. But not here on a beach vacation, not so close to your dad.

Joel continues to kiss you regardless, tilting your head so he can awkwardly meet your lips as he gropes you, massaging the lotion in as if the sun would ever hit any skin below your swimsuit. The atmosphere is only getting hotter as he touches you, the sun blazing against your skin as Joel rolls your nipples between his fingers, making you cry out.

You want more, you need more.

You can feel him hard against you, slightly digging into your back. Sex on the beach is a terrible idea. Public indecency, sand in places it shouldn’t be… but it’s so tempting when you feel how badly he wants you, how badly he missed you.

Desperately, you turn in his embrace, his hands slipping out of your top, leaving you exposed. You shove your face against his hungrily, feeling as his sunscreen greased hand cups your jaw, gentle even when he’s starving. You open for him easily, letting his hungry tongue taste where he wants. He tastes like waffle cones and tiramisu, you want to lick him clean. You breathe heavily when he slips off your mouth and kisses the side of your face.

“S’a good girl, lettin’ me miss her,” he says into your skin.

Your mouth feels rubbed raw, your nipples are buzzing, and the sun blazes across your back. Everywhere feels warm, his lips, his tongue, your skin, your cunt in these bikini bottoms that stick to you in the worst way. You want Joel’s fingers, spreading you open however he wants.

Joel is so good at taking care of you, so good that he can hear the rambunctious group of people coming before you can. Hands tug down your top and flip you back around before you can realize.

“You’re alright, s’okay, just some people,” Joel says, sounding anxious himself.

Just some people. Not anyone you know, just some people.

The two of you quickly switch back to how youwere, your head on his chest while you rest between his thighs. One of his hands rests on your abdomen as he squeezes you affectionately between his legs. It’s really frustrating, watching as the group of people sets up not too far down from the both of you. So much for your private spot on the beach, and potential sex.

He shifts beneath you, the bulge in his swim shorts uncomfortable. Joel has settled for rubbing his thumb against the smooth skin of your tummy, catching his breath still.

“You can sleep, baby. Jus’ enjoy the sun, okay?”

The last thing on your mind is sleep, you’re more focused on the conch shell in his pants, but whatever. The sun is warm, and you’re with Joel. His hand stills on your belly, a warm weight in an attempt to soothe you.

It works, you fall asleep as the sun sets, and wake up when the cool night air shivers past you. Joel has managed to snake out from under you, using an unused beach towel to make a pillow for you. He’s packed everything up, sans the towel pillow and the blanket you lay on. Everything is ready to go, he’s just been waiting for you.

You watch from where you lay, as he dips his toes in the water. His broad shoulders are covered by a white, linen, shirt, highlighting him across the shore. Something about this is so right, to be on vacation with him, to be taken care of by him. Laying back, eyes staring into the inky night, you wonder what would have happened if the two of you hadn’t stayed up late that night, chatting and flirting. How long would you have gone without feeling loved, and like you belonged?

Being Joel’s girl is more than that, even if no one knows you’re his, you have come to know yourself through him. His hands brushed away the sands that blurred your eyes, you’re seeing clearly for what feels like the first time ever.

Your love for him crashes down on you hard when he turns, walking back to you with a soft, dorky, smile. That’s your man, that’s your stupid old man, and he loves you.

“You ready t’go, darlin?” Joel asks, clearly relieved you eventually woke up.

With a nod, you walk as a pair back to the hotel. Joel insists on carrying everything, claiming he “don’t need” your help, even as he grunts.

Entering the lobby of the hotel is a reminder that you have to be normal again, you and Joel are just getting along swell, and not seriously infatuated with one another.

His eyes bear into you when you step into the elevator, you can feel his eyes on your back as you press the button for your floor.

“What?” You ask, stepping back to lean against the railing.

Joel’s mouth seems to be dry as he responds, eyes tracing something on your stomach.

“Your tummy,” he manages.

You look down instantly, concerned you’ve managed a sunburn despite Joel’s efforts. Instead though, you find a tan line. A tan line in the shape of Joel’s hand, where it rested as you slept. Ghosts of Joel’s lips and teeth on your neck from earlier murmur across your skin, misting tingles across your shoulders and chest. He wanted to mark you so badly, wanted to sink his teeth into you the way he should have been able to, despite your refusal. Now he has his mark, across your tummy in the shape of his hands, the ones that carefully nurture you.

You can see how it’s making him tick, how his scruffy jaw is clenched as his eyes are entranced by the shape on your belly. He has to spend the rest of the evening, the last couple of days of this trip, with his mark on you. Joel has to do all of that and not jump onto you at every opportunity he can.

“Baby,” Joel breathes, but the elevator doors open, and your dad is right there.

Your arms instantly wrap around your middle, trying to hide away the Joel-hand shaped tan line. As sick as your dad was this morning, he’s looking miles better. There’s colour in his cheeks, that isn’t green, and he’s standing up.

“Hey kid,” he greets cheerfully, “I’m feelin’ a helluva lot better so I was gonna go out and grab a bite to eat.”

The elevator is so quiet, the doors try to shut and Joel slams a hand against it, to keep it open. Your dad looks a little weirded out, but just smiles. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” you manage to say, sounding like your lungs have been cut out of your chest.

In the few months that you and Joel have been “together” you haven’t been caught, or even close to being caught. This tan line on your tummy could have been the cat out of the bag, but thankfully your dad seems oblivious.

He steps into the elevator between you two, gently nodding at the elevator doors.

“Y’all gettin’ out? Both of y’look kinda sunfried,” your dad asks.

Joel manages to respond this time as the two of you hurriedly leave the confined space. -

He practically dragged you down the hallway and back to your room once the elevator doors shut, leaving your dad in the dark. Joel dumped all your stuff on the floor near the door, pushing you off him when you tried to kiss at him.

“Naw. Bed,” he had grumbled, making a vague gesture to your bed.

You both knew you had limited time, your dad would be gone for an hour tops. Joel had peeled off his shirt while you shimmied out of what little clothes you had on, your swimsuit coverup falling away easily.

Now, you lay on your back, and if you could look down, you would see the sweat that’s soaking his back and the mess of hair on his head.

But you can’t look down, you can barely move as is. Your legs, which are tossed over his shoulders, shiver, toes curled. You want to ask if he can breathe down there, but your voice keeps catching, repeating his name again and again. The bristles of his facial hair might be chafing, but everything is wet right now, your cunt, his face, your thighs. He’s suffocating in your flesh, opening his mouth to sloppily make out with your pussy, licking at your clit as he sucks it between his lips. It isn’t gentle, he’s fucking famished.

“Joel– Baby, please,” you manage to whimper.

He probably can’t hear you with the headlock you’ve put him in, soft thighs trapping his ears. Joel’s face slides down further to push his tongue into you, making you clench and gush as his nose presses to your clit. Reaching your hand down, you lace your fingers against his curls, trying to pry him away, but he just won’t quit. Your fingers slip from his sweaty strands, slamming onto the sheets as he doesn’t let up.

“Missed you, missed her,” he rasps between kisses.

Joel loves this, loves pleasing you. This isn’t submission, this is worship. He talks to your cunt like he knows her, like he’s dating her too. Gentle as he is, he knows where your aches and cricks are, knows how to massage them with his fingers and tongue. Joel takes care of you both, it’s what he lives for.

“I know, I can feel it, I missed you too,” you babble, hands flagrant between his hair and the sheets.

He laughs softly into you, smiling. You tug him closer, grinding onto his nose as a tease.

Joel focuses on bringing himself closer, arms snaking up beneath your ass to curl his hands around your thighs, fingers digging in as he pulls you closer. “Been so patient all week, need you t’come for me, please pretty thing?” He groans.

Nodding your head, you start to work with him. Again and again you roll your hips into his face. The two of you are fucking on borrowed time and Joel hastily promises you that he can take care of himself in the shower later, that he just needs to focus on you.

“Just need to taste you, remember your cunt in my mouth, please?” Joel asks.

You nod even faster now, huffing out air as your hips rise and he pulls you closer, tongue and teeth and nose buried in you. Every movement he makes begs for your release, begs for you to give him what he wants. His voice rumbles around your head, a voice encouraging this selfish feeling of pleasure.

“C’mon darlin, I’ve been waitin’ all week to have you. Let go for me, I’ve been patient.”

It sends you over, the mixture of Joel getting pussydrunk on you and the thoughts of him in your head. Your thighs lock around his head even harder, and he powers through without taking a breath for himself. Thoughts of times with him previous flash through your mind as you shiver, thoughts of what he’ll do to you once you’re both home make you gush. He laps it all up, his reward for being patient.

When he pulls away, your essence is all over his face. Slicked through his facial hair and even on the tip of his nose, like tiramisu gelato.

Unlike the gelato, you decide not to suck this cream off his nose.

Gently, you swipe a finger over his nose, cleaning it off with your own tongue.

“Thank you, baby,” you hum.

Joel manages to drag himself up your body, caging you beneath him while he smiles. Soft kisses are shared between the two of you, enjoying the peaceful moment where you’re finally, truly, alone. His moustache prickles your upper lip as he smiles and pulls away.

“Can give me your ‘thank you’s’ in a few days time, sweet girl.” He says, pulling himself down to kiss the 5 fingertips of the hand tan line he left.

Looking down at him as he kisses your belly, you hope you'll be exchanging thank you's for a very long time.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader smut #hot dilf summer #tlou hbo #joel x you #joel the last of us #reader insert #dbf!joel #dbf!joel smut #dilf!joel #ellie's fics

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azzibuckets · 3 months ago

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attitude [pazzi]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: paige catches attitude and azzi keeps her in check

a/n: basically the nyfw and ny liberty game fic yall requested. @makethemhoesmad to thank for the prompt!!!!

masterlist

Paige had never been a big fan of side parts, but that was before Azzi Fudd.

Now, as she stared at her girlfriend, her soft curls tossed to the left and framing her doe brown eyes in just the right way, Paige wanted to tangle her fingers in Azzi’s hair and kiss her and kiss her.

But knowing Azzi likely wouldn’t take kindly to messing up her makeup after hours of sitting in her chair, Paige settled for merely inching a little bit closer to her best friend on the couch where they were sitting. Azzi’s cheeks turned a faint red when Paige brushed her pinky against hers. “I’m not gonna lie, you look hot as hell right now,” Paige said lowly, voice thick with want.

Azzi’s blush turned fiery. “You sure know how to woo a girl,” she said sarcastically.

Paige leaned in closer. “Is it working?” she asked, her lips only a few centimeters from Azzi’s mouth. Azzi’s eyes flicked down before she inhaled and scooted back. “You’re gonna mess up my makeup.”

Paige looked wounded at the distance between them. “You weren’t saying that last night,” she quipped, earning a smack to the head. “Yo, you’re gonna mess up my hair,” Paige complained, turning to face the mirror and adjust some strands.

“Good, maybe all the bitches will back off,” Azzi joked lightly.

“At least those bitches would kiss me,” Paige grumbled, eyes glazing over as she stared at Azzi’s lips.

“Control your face,” Azzi chastised, though her heart warmed at how Paige looked more in love with her every time she saw her. “Especially in front of the cameras later.”

“I know, I know.”

•••••••••••••••••••••

Paige was not controlling her face.

She had done a pretty good job at the beginning of the event. Hell, she’d been beaming and shit seeing the crowd she was intermingling with, filled with celebrities she’d never thought she’d meet in person.

That was until that same redheaded slut kept approaching her girlfriend and smiling at her in that slinky way. It didn’t help that she was unable to secure neighboring seats with Azzi, forcing her to sit across the room and burn holes into the ginger’s head as she laughed at everything her girlfriend was saying.

“Remind me to play poker with you some day,” Brittany piped up from next to her. “I would walk away a millionaire.”

Paige clenched her jaw. “You think this is funny?”

“You really think carrot head holds a candle to you?”

“Her boobs are sticking out and shit in that dress she’s wearing,” Paige gritted through her teeth, completely ignoring Brittany’s words.

Brittany smiled, enjoying the show unfolding before her. “Maybe you should do something about it,” she goaded.

“Fuck this.” Paige slid out her phone, hoping to distract herself by scrolling through Instagram. Her grip tightened, almost cracking her phone when the first post she came across was a picture of her and Azzi posing from the hour before, and all she saw in the comments were people thirsting over her girlfriend like animals (Aka me). “People have no civility these days,” she decided, shoving her phone back into her pocket.

Brittany only smirked.

As soon as the runway ended, Paige leapt from her seat and started making her way towards her girlfriend. All thoughts of wayward cameras left her mind as her vision tunneled in on the way the redhead’s acrylics scraped lightly over Azzi’s bicep.

“Hey,” she said lowly, hands tracing down Azzi’s sides before settling at her hips. “Who’s this?” She nodded at the girl but kept her eyes on Azzi.

Azzi’s eyes furrowed in confusion at Paige’s carelessness, her hands subtly covering the blonde’s and gently pushing them away. “This is Odelia. She’s one of the interns coordinating New York Fashion Week!”

“That’s nice.” Paige’s voice dripped with fake enthusiasm as she leaned her chin on Azzi’s shoulder, arms going back to circle her waist. “I bet you’re an amazing intern.”

Azzi shifted at the condescending way Paige emphasized intern. She stepped away, causing Paige’s hands to drop. From the way Azzi’s eyes glared daggers into her, Paige knew she was in for it later. Oh well. The look in Odelia’s face had been worth it.

•••••••••••••••••••

“I’m hungry,” Azzi announced as soon as she slid in the back seat of her car.

Paige stared out the window, her neck stiff. “Maybe you should’ve eaten that redhead bitch.”

Azzi stilled, only halfway into the car before she realized her surroundings and climbed fully in, shutting the door behind her. “That redhead bitch?” Azzi repeated, mocking the same tone Paige had used.

Paige slumped low into her seat, pulling down the drawstrings of her hoodie that she’d replaced her sweater with. “Fucking looking at her like she was a four course meal,” she muttered under her breath, her gaze stilled fixed on the buildings whirring past outside.

Azzi decided to ignore Paige, not wanting to have a conversation like this in the backseat of the Uber. “Can you make a stop at McDonald’s?” she asked the driver, who nodded and started to shift lanes.

“Bro, let me just go home,” Paige complained.

“Drop the attitude,” Azzi warned, her tone deadly. Paige glowered even more but immediately shut up.

“You want anything?” Azzi asked as they pulled up to the drive through.

No response.

“Paige Madison Bueckers.”

“A cheeseburger and fries.”

When they were given their food, Paige made sure to start munching loudly, knowing Azzi’s pet peeve was loud chewers.

Azzi set down her burger and rubbed her temples. “So you’re gonna keep being a brat?”

Paige chewed louder.

In one quick motion, Azzi snatched the fries from Paige’s hand and dumped them into the bag. Paige immediately reached over to grab it back, but Azzi quickly menauevered it, putting the food between the door and her body. “Act like a kid and get treated like a kid,” Azzi said, her voice hard.

••••••••••••

If Paige had been mad last night, she was furious now. After they’d got home, they’d had a little fight before Paige had stubbornly went to the couch for the night. With the business of their trip, they hadn’t had time to talk about it since, and it was killing Paige not being able to hug and kiss her girlfriend for the entire day.

Did Paige know she was being bratty and stupid? Yes. But Azzi was always so sexy when she was worked up.

Paige did have a tactic. She was trying her hardest to not let her gaze settle, but for the tenth time in five minutes she found herself staring at Azzi again from across the arena. Her girlfriend’s hair was up in a bun now, slut strands framing her face. With the sunglasses she was wearing and the gum she was chewing, she looked perfectly poised, but Paige knew Azzi was still tense from their argument.

In all honesty, Paige wanted to be in Azzi’s lap, not sitting here watching the game. She’d tried to take her mind off Azzi’s long legs by striking up a conversation with Klay Thompson, who sat next to her, but as soon as the NBA star opened his mouth to respond, her thoughts returned to Azzi Azzi Azzi.

After the game, Paige tried to rush through all the pictures, but Azzi, who seemed to know what she was doing, merely smirked and took her time. She must’ve said hi to every single person on the Liberty and Aces roster before joining Paige at the exit.

“Someone’s in a rush,” Azzi noted as Paige sped walked to the car.

“Shut up right now.”

••••••••••••••

As soon as the door clicked behind them, Paige’s mouth was pressed feverishly against Azzi’s, her hands roaming across every single part of the younger girl’s body. “Looked like such a good fucking girl in this outfit,” she panted. “Got everyone fooled, but I see right through it.”

Azzi pressed Paige’s hips against the wall, holding her there. The blonde squirmed under Azzi’s stare coming from half lidded eyes. “Let’s talk about last night,” Azzi jabbed back. “Acting like a little fucking brat.”

Paige raised her hips, trying to roll them against Azzi’s, but Azzi’s grip was too firm. “You gonna punish me?” she breathed out, hands going up to Azzi’s shoulders to steady herself.

“I know your game,” Azzi husked, teeth dragging over Paige’s earlobe. “You think you’re so smart, huh?”

“Want you,” Paige whined, fingers hiking up Azzi’s shirt. “Need you.”

Azzi tsked, backing away from Paige. It took all of her self control not to take her right then and there, with the blonde slumped against the wall, eyes glazed over and hair a mess as she pouted. “No touching,” she said lowly. “Keep your hands to yourself.” Azzi slowly dragged her thumb down Paige’s jawline, relishing the heat of her skin and the way the older girl trembled under her touch. “Gonna make you regret all your attitude.”

Paige’s eyes fluttered shut. She fought back a smile. Azzi didn’t know it, but Paige had won.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #uconnwbb #pazzi #paige x azzi #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #wcbb #fic #blurb

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last-words-ofashootingstar · 1 year ago

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DJANGO

Choi San x fem reader x Jung Wooyoung (heavy hints at ot8)

a/n: nobody talk to me nobody touch me nobody look at me i'm loosing my mind over this comeback you don't even understand

"Ain't nobody mess with Django, call me Django." -ATEEZ

✫彡wordcount: 5.5k (sorry?!?)

(>ᴗ•) genre: smut w/plot

ಠ_ಠwarnings/content: violence and injuries, dystopian/lore universe, lots of cussing, angst, poly relationship, brief mention of drinking as coping, extreme pda LMAO, woo is a bit of a little shit in the first half, dry humping, making out(lots of it), also lots of pet names, multiple rounds, threesome, light choking&degrading, snowballing, oral, boobjob, dp, overstim, teasing, orgasm control, praise kink teehee, dom san/sub woo/switch-sub reader, m x m, unprotected( don't do that🗣️), NOT EDITED

taglist: @calicanbeevil @pansies-garden @kissezfornamjoon @wisejudgedragonhairdo

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

The van shook as another vehicle passed, making San groan as you fell down onto him.

"I'm sorry, Baby," you cooed softly, kissing the bruise on his collarbone that you had unintentionally fallen onto. The soaked rag that you cleaned him with was handed back to you from its fallen place on the shag carpet by Wooyoung with a soft laugh.

"You baby him too much, he's a big boy," he claps his hand onto his shoulder, making him groan again- glaring at the younger man, "right, Champ?"

"I'll beat your ass, Woo."

"Oh, I bet you will, you beat up that scrawny little guy too!" He cackles, clapping and leaning away as San swipes at him tiredly.

"He was faster than I expected!"

"You two knock it off," you sigh exasperatedly as you wipe the grime from his swollen pec, rolling your eyes at your boyfriends bickering. Being stuck in such a small space had taken a toll on the three of yours relationship- especially the two men. They were at each other throats more often than not-even it was playfully. "I'll blow our cover just to tell Hongjoong."

"You wouldn't..." Wooyoung eyes you suspiciously as you smirk. "You wouldn't!"

"I will if you two don't give me a second of peace." You cock your brow at him, tossing the rag into the pile that is your dirty laundry, silently cursing yourself for choosing to hide out with them instead of with Yunho and Jongho in their shop. They even had a cool talking bird.

You place a gentle kiss to Sans eye, a healing bruise almost faded under your lips. "Stop getting hit in the face, yeah?"

"Yeah, I'll politely tell my opponents that my girlfriend likes her boys pretty~" he rolls his eyes and whines as your body heat leaves his sore body.

"So what if I do, pretty boys happen to be my type!" You shrug and crawl off of the spent man, over to the other side and into Wooyoungs lap.

He smirks at his boyfriend cockily as you rest your head on his shoulder, "that's why she's cuddling me right n-ow!" His smirk turns to a pout as you flick his chest.

"Can you two manage a peace treaty while I get some shut eye? It's four hours drive to the next town and it's my turn to drive in the morning."

"Of course, Darling." They chime together, silently scowling at one another but keeping quiet as you close your eyes.

"Wakey, wakey," you shake the buff man softly, safely parked in the back alley of the abandoned building. Wooyoung stood just outside of the open van doors, abs on display as he changed into a better looking shirt.

"Yah, wake up!"

You glare at him as he startles San awake, who holds you close protectively in his delirium, still scared of the run in you had experienced with HalaTeez months ago. No matter how much he swears to the lot of you that he doesn't feel guilty, the way his eyes sadden when he focuses on the scar over your left brow for too long gives it away. Hala-San, as you call him to real-Sans dismay, had tricked you all too well and after that... you couldn't look at the real, loving, caring San for weeks. You had to split off with Mingi and frequented a bar, drinking away any memory of Hala-Sans torment until Hongjoong found you and picked up the pieces when the bottle ran empty.

"You dick," San rasps as he rubs your sides, his gentle touch a contrast to the way he gives his cackling boyfriend the stink eye.

"Rise and shine, Sannie~" he teases, buttoning up his shirt and soothing his long hair down, "time to get your ass whopped again."

"Oh, like you'd do any better! You'd be demolished!"

You let out a sigh and slide out of the van, soothing your dress- which in reality is Jongho's shirt with a belt around your waist. "I'll be signing in." You speak shortly before wondering off, leaving them fighting more than ever over how they upset you.

San insists it's all Wooyoungs fault for being such a whiny shit.

Wooyoung is adamant that San is at fault for hogging all of your attention.

They go back and forth for a while until a Strickland patrol vechile speeds by, spooking the both of them into the building.

Wooyoung immediately wraps his arms around your waist as they find you bent over signing Sans pseudonym, DJANGO, into the fighting brackets. San is busy eyeing everyone around you, both in suspicion of Halateez and Strickland and simply to scope out his potential competition.

"Entry fee is three k," the woman on the other side of the pop-up table looks as if she's ready to kick your trio out in a single breath when you don't provide the money, eyeing up Sans messy tank top and your days old makeup with distain.

"That's it?" You pout, tutting your tongue as you turn away from the rude woman, sighing dramatically as you dig into Wooyoungs pockets, grabbing hold of multiple tightly rolled wads of money.

Both of them smirk at your antics, so clearly eager to prove this stranger wrong about her preconceived notions about you and your lovers as you count the wads, dropping a few down before skipping past her with a wave.

The crowded arena does nothing for Sans anxiety, his eyes scanning at a million miles an hour as he keeps a possessive hand on the small of your back. Wooyoung has similar feelings as he drapes his arm over your shoulders in a way that clearly shouts, 'don't touch' to anyone who looks your way. You feel much safer on the other hand, both of your boyfriends touching you at once for the first time in what feels like ages, both ready to toss themselves infront of danger if it presents itself.

You all squeeze your way to the front, right up to the edge of the ring, where a fight is already taking place, one of the men nearly teasing the other with the way he bounces around on his tip-toes, not letting the other get a single touch in.

"She said not many fighters showed up," you practically have to yell for the men to hear you, "Strickland cracking down again!" You explain loudly, rubbing Sans lower back in an attempt to comfort his nerves as he stretches his wrists. Wooyoung has split off to make bets with other players, making sure to stick out like a sore thumb with his flashy shirt. "Might have to find a new income soon if they don't back off!"

He sighs, rolling his head back and stretching his neck out, letting you admire the freckles on his skin that he knows you love.

As the quick moving fighter finally wears out his opponent, he gets sloppy, and he starts getting hits in. You slide behind San and hide your face in his back, wrapping your arms around his waist and stroking his stomach softly. "I hate that you have to do this!"

He holds his hands over your own and rubs his thumbs over your skin, watching the man who will clearly be his opponent wailing on the other man.

"Got nine grand riding on you tonight, Babe," Wooyoung slides back into the conversation, cupping the back of Sans neck.

Although they had their on and off moments, he would always be in tune to his emotions and try to calm him. And trying to keep the peace was even more worth it when you were around. Usually, they had Yeosang as a voice of reason but he was off with Seonghwa doing God-knows what in preparation for your next mission.

Being apart was straining and stressful for every last one of you. But groups larger than three were banned by Hongjoong after four of you had caught Halateez's attention a few months back. He didn't want to risk it again and he certainly didn't want to risk a group of nine most wanted outlaws being together. The combined reward for your captures was the largest amount of money you had ever read. You weren't sure how to even pronounce it.

It was almost an entire year of being in hiding.

You didn't know how much more you could take.

"- DJANGO!!" The name catches your attention over the blaring speaker. How was he up so early? You peek around San and see the fast man catching his breath in the opposite corner. Blood being wiped up and a limp body being carried out.

"We can always find a new way to get money," you scream to San as he rolls out his stiff shoulders, whining as Wooyoung pulls you away gently. "Seriously, Sannie!"

"He'll be okay, Darling," Wooyoungs chaste kiss to your head does nothing to calm your raging nerves as San bends down and slides into the ring. You pull away in a hurry and hop up on the ledge, grabbing his top over the ropes.

"Forgot something?" You lean your torso over and immediately take San into a heated kiss, his calloused hands cupping your face firmly and pulling you close. People all around whistle and call loudly, a blush creeping up Wooyoung neck as he watches your lips meld together.

It been almost a year on the run. Almost five months since any of the three of you have touched one another in an intimate, primal way.

He doesn't know how much longer he can take it. When you crawled into his lap earlier he nearly took you right there.

You always do something after a needy kiss that makes every single one of them feral.

You lick up Sans lips to his cheekbone and moan.

People start nearly howling, and his opponent looks antsy.

"Fuck him up, Baby," you cup his chin in your hand as you block out the world around you for a moment and take one last good look at him before you know you'll go away during his fights. You can't bring yourself to watch no matter how long he's been fighting. But that doesn't mean you won't hype him up while you can.

You slap his shoulder softly, making sure to make it look harder than it was in reality before giving his fist a gentle kiss.

"Fuck him up," you repeated before hopping down.

The van door opening makes your head snap, setting away the headphones that play Yeosangs violin melody.

"Hey, how'd ev-"

San jumps on you before you can finish greeting them properly, kissing you deeply and feeling you up like it's the first time he's ever touched you. The clotted blood on his lip doesn't discourage either of you, the pain only stirs him on as Wooyoung climbs in and slams the doors shut behind him.

The dull thud of the duffel bag he drops makes you look over, San letting you breath and nipping at your neck and jaw instead. "Holy shit, Baby, you won?!"

"Fuck yeah, I did, Beautiful," he moans breathlessly, holding himself up above you to speak with a sultry purr, "let me spoil you." He looks over to Wooyoung lustfully. "Both. Let me spoil you both."

Wooyoung smiles at him. Genuinely. For the first time in weeks.

If there's one thing that makes him weak it's being spoiled by his lovers. So when San lifts you up and settles you in his lap and climbs into the drivers seat, he doesn't complain: he simply dives into your lips like a man starved.

And he is, lips suctioned onto yours so deeply and passionately that neither of you notice as the van lurches to life and begins speeding away. You fall to the floor ontop of him and hold him tightly. Like he's an illusion that will disappear like smoke if you let go.

He body feels so right on yours. Clinged together on the shag floor. Melting together. The outside world and all of its problems fading away as his hands wander your body.

How you've managed to keep your hands off one another for this long is a world's greatest mystery.

"Fuck," he moans as you lap at his lips, his hands sliding up the edge of your dress and cupping the round of your ass. "Fuck, Princess, please," he whines.

You can hear the smirk in the way San chuckles from the front seat, but it doesn't stop him from speeding up. He loves how whiney Wooyoung gets just as much as you do.

You clumsily undo his bottoms and pull them down just enough to press your heat to his growing bulge. The thin layers of cloth separating you doesn't stop the feral groan that he lets out, holding your hips with a bruising force as he grinds up into you. If anything, the soft fabric pressing into your clit with each of his uncoordinated thrusts makes it feel more euphoric.

"Oh, God~"

The soft moans you let out have Wooyoung rock hard and San palming himself. "Ffffuck, Baby," you groan, hugging his neck tightly as his hips buck below you.

Everyone got the 'Babyyy' treatment when they were good or needed a pick me up. The way it rolled off of your tongue was like a drug to them. Even more so when it's so deep and passionate. Even more so when their cock is pressing against you.

Sans eager left turn has the both of you rolling on the floor, laughing as he apologizes loudly from the driver seat. "Sorry, continue!"

"You heard the man," you laugh from below Wooyoung, "continue."

And he does, burying his face in your neck and biting and licking and sucking as he rubs his bulge against you like it's the last human touch he'll ever experience. "M'cum," your moan has him rolling into you with a new purpose in life, nearly growling as he holds himself back from painting his underwear white, "shit, Youngie!" You wrap your legs around his waist tightly as you release, shivering and shaking with your jaw slack.

He isn't far behind by even a second, his gut clenching as he turns his bottoms sticky with his own pleasure, panting into your ear as he continues to roll into you, drawing out your euphoria and making you mewl out, clawing at his scalp.

In your bliss, you fail to notice that Sans parked outside of a double story motel and ran out with a wad of cash, clearly in a hurry.

Yours hands are wrapped in each others hair, breathing deeply with your foreheads pressed together, almost as it trying to meld your souls together with passion.

The doors behind the both of you open and flood you in the neon light of the motel signs, and you peek around Wooyoungs frame as he falls over you protectively from what he thinks is prying eyes. "Sannie~" you call, making Wooyoung relax ontop of you.

"You alive, Foxy?" San teases as he climbs in and crawls to you both.

"Mhm," he moans into your jaw, "very alive." He gasps as San pulls him away from you by his neck, taking him in a feverish kiss as you watch on in awe. You can tell San his slipping his tongue into Wooyoungs mouth by the way he holds his jaw open, the way Wooyoung grinds his bulge back into you.

"Youngie, Baby," you whine as he rolls his self into your swollen clit, but it only makes him go faster, his hands finding purchase on Sans waist. "Ah s-" You writhe below him, stopped when one of Sans hands comes and holds you in place by pressing on your stomach: all the while he never opens his eyes or pulls away from your boyfriend. "Fuck, please don't tease!"

He chuckles into his lips, gently stroking his neck. "C'mon, I got us a room for a few days."

Wooyoung begrudgingly slides out of the van, gathering your few bags and bouncing in anticipation as he fixes his pants to the best of his ability. San scoops you up to his chest and you cling to him like a koala bear, kissing all over his face as he carries you up the stairs and down the balcony hall.

Wooyoung drops the bags at the entrance of the room and immediately goes to investigate the single bedded room and bathroom before urging San in, latching the door shut behind him.

You're dropped to the bed and bounce with a soft laugh, opening your legs wide to fit Sans large frame as he slots himself between them. Wooyoung slides next to you and is immediately latched onto your neck as he unbuttons your dress.

"Ah fuck," you mewl out, cradling his head close as your head spins, San slipping off your panties and shimmying down. He holds your thighs apart as he licks a slow, deep stripe up your soaking heat, reveling in the way you moan for him. He wastes no time diving in and eating you out like it's his last meal. His tongue flicking and swiping against every inch it can reach. His nose pressed against your clit as his head bobs.

You're lost in the pleasure between your legs so much so that you don't notice that you and Wooyoung are both naked until he climbs onto your stomach, his hot member gliding between your breasts. Despite how long it's been, your body has its muscle memory from how often you two would do this.

You cup your breasts and push them together, encasing his length in the soft flesh as he grips the headboard roughly, the tip of his cock leaking on the base of your collar bones.

It's hard to appreciate just how beautiful he is while San is ravaging your cunt with his tongue, but you manage. Looking up with blown irises, he's so pretty. His long hair softly framing his face, bouncing with each of his rough, slow thrusts against your supple skin. His swollen lips parted with moans. Toned abs expanding and constricting as he heaves.

"Foxy," you whisper out, catching his eyes with a deep blush on both of your cheeks, "so pretty, Baby."

He curses loudly and reaches one hand down, cradling your face so gently in comparison to how he fucks your tits. "My woman."

The words make your eyes roll back, a wave of your arousal coating Sans tongue as you cum, gripping your breasts tightly and whimpering out as the sensations continue well past your peak.

Wooyoung wills himself to hold back from cumming until he's told, and San holds himself back as he laps up your juices-grinding his hardness onto the bed slowly. Both of your moans are a magic melody to him, and he can't help but crave more. He pulls away and joins Wooyoung over top of you, wrapping his arms around the younger man and spooking him. He slides his hands up his naked torso teasingly slow, grinding on his backside.

"Shit, Babe," he groans, tossing his head back on his shoulder and simultaneously trying to bury his cock in your warm skin and grind back on San's bulge. "Fuck, I ne-"

"Cum, Youngie." The command from the both of you at the same time has him painting your collarbones and neck in a millisecond flat, jaw slack as San continues to stroke him even as his hips stop.

"Fuck, fuck, please, oh my God," he stirs back to life from his void of pleasure as you bend your neck and lick his sensitive tip. He tries to back away only to bump right into Sans girth on his bare backside. "Oh God~"

"Need a breather, Sexy?" San coos as he slowly moves Wooyoung off of you, already knowing that he can't cum back to back. He needs at least five minutes at that's all San needs to get you ready for what's about to come.

Wooyoung comes crawling back into you, lapping up his own seed with a quiet moan as San slides down your body and hooks your legs over his hips. "Ready, Darling?"

"Yes, holy fuck am I ready, please give it to me," you babble on, only silenced as he inches into your sopping core. He's by far the girthiest man you've even been with. And the stretch always feels so delicious.

Wooyoung takes advantage as your jaw falls open, leaning over you to drip all of his release into your mouth. The moans and whimpers of pleasure are unstoppable as you swallow all of it down eagerly, hands wrapped up in his hair and pulling him impossibly close. His body follows his head, almost snuggling you as he presses his body flush to your side, one leg hooked over your hips as he grinds his hardening member into your hip.

It's all so warm and welcoming, a familiar and comfortable feeling washing over you along with the overstimulation of your third orgasm building up as San thrusts into you with a steady slow pace. "Fuck," you moan into Wooyoung, "so big," you whimper as your cunt uncontrollably clenches around him. He swallows up all of your noises as he moves his lips against yours zealously, and sneaky hand rubbing the column of your breasts and up to your neck, simply resting: bouncing with each of Sans increasingly rough thrusts that bounce your body.

"Take me so well," Sans praise has you leaking onto the blanket, panting like crazy and slapping at Wooyoungs shoulders as he bites at your lips hungrily, "pretty Angel, made just for us, hm?"

"Mmhmph-" Your affirmative moan turns into a yelp as Wooyoung tightens his hand over your neck.

Damn them. When they decided to be on the same team they were almost scary at how well the schemed without even speaking a single word. San held your hips in place and drilled into you. Wooyoung assaulting your ear with kisses and bites, squeezing your neck in time with Sans hips.

"Pretty Angel looks like she wants your cum," Wooyoung teases as you swirl your hips in Sans hold, holding you down securely with his hand pressing your neck into the mattress as he looks down at where you're connected.

"Mmh, she does," San groans loudly, hips snapping into you needily, "looks like a bitch in heat." His words make both of you moan out, your eyes rolling into your skull for a moment before he buries himself to the hilt and stops.

"No, no, no, please! I wasn't going to cum, pleaseee, Sannie Baby~!" If there's one thing that gets San off, it's when his lover begs him for permission. When their with someone else- cum as much as you like. But with him? Grovel at his feet and beg him for a release only he can give you. "Fuuuck, shit, please, I need you, fuck me!"

Wooyoung watches you with gazed over eyes, holding you still as you attempt to writhe and get more stimulation. "She wants it's so bad, Babe~" He smirks as San, a look that makes his cock twitch inside of you, You muster up your best begging pout and let go of him, reaching for San's hands that are gripping your hips with a bruising force as he holds himself back until he's satisfied with your begging.

"I want you to make me cum, please, Django?"

All of the breath is fucked out of your lungs as he pounds into you. Fast and hard and nearly animalistic in the way he buries himself in your sopping heat with a string of curses, his fingers interlacing with yours in a soft intimacy that makes your head fuzzy. You can barely moan, how good it is. But he knows. Wooyoung knows.

As you finally come to your senses and scream out with your release, the whole district must know how well Django is fucking you.

He stops himself with a deep groan as your walls flutter and clench around him, squeezing your hands to ground your soul to your body as Wooyoung dips his head and laps at your hardened nipples. You squeeze his hands tightly, arched off of the bed in pure ecstasy as he fills you with his warm cum.

San slips his arms under your arched back and holds you close to his chest as he flips the two of you, a squeal of pleasure leaving you as he hits an all new angle. He holds you securely as he looks at Wooyoung, almost silently communicating.

He slips behind you, the feeling of his leaking tip prodding at your stretched hole has you gripping Sans shoulders tightly, rolling your hips back into him. "Oh, fuck, yes yes yes yes y-" Sans lips catch yours and silence you as he ravenously slips his tongue into your mouth and licks at your tongue, feeding on all of your moans as Wooyoung slides in with him.

"So good, my woman," his mind is gone, unaware of how your walls grow slicker with his praise as he slowly sheaths himself into you fully.

He nowhere near as thick as San, but dear lord that man has length to make up for it. The both of them together is making your stomach feel hot, the hair on the back of your neck standing up.

San pulls away panting, his lips swollen and wet with your saliva. "Beautiful Angel," you official feel lightheaded as he cradles your face oh so gently as he moves his hips. Wooyoung follows suit, holding your back and fucking into you ruthlessly, rubbing against Sans girth inside of you like it's his favorite thing to do in the universe and it's about to be ripped away.

All you can do is moan and gasp with them, a melody that your neighbors must be cursing as the headboard bangs into the thin walls.

Your chest is pressed into Sans roughly, faces barely an inch away as you all move together. His hands cupping your cheeks and keeping you upright as your body threatens to give out. "Sannie, please, n'cum," he can just make out your slurs over the panting and slapping of skin in the humid room, the smell of sex already soaking into the air.

His brain is nearly gone as he feels Wooyoungs length twitch against him along with your cunt squeezing mercilessly, only nodding at the both of you for permission as he himself lets his soul float away in a wave of pleasure, squeezing you to himself possessively as he cums inside of you. Wooyoung isn't a moment behind, the second he feels Sans warmth flood you, his is joining. And the feeling of both of them soaking your womb makes you lose yourself, dunked in pleasure.

Wooyoung falls ontop of you, sandwiching you between their body warmth. San reaches around and hugs his arms around both of you, heavy breaths lulling you to sleep.

"Holy shit." Is all that can be said.

The next morning you decide to take advantage of the running water that San must have paid extra for, washing away the grime that stuck to you despite how many bird baths Wooyoung have you on the side of the road.

San, despite you and Wooyoungs best begging, went off on his own to meet with Hongjoong after he got a call on the prepaid flip phone in the middle of the night.

Wooyoung noticed you eyeing the bag of dirty laundry when you woke up and immediately offered to go wash them and grab some food for the both of you.

You're so wrapped up in the welcoming feeling of the warm water pelting your body that you fail to notice the door opening, letting the steam rise to the ceiling of the motel room. You sung one of Jongho's songs sung softly, the sound echoing on the fiberglass and acrylic shower wall.

"Darling?"

You grab the knife you left on the edge and swipe the shower curtain back. "Jesus!" Both of you yell. Wooyoungs hands fly up in a defense position as you aim the knife at him for a moment.

You flip it in your hand and hand it over to him by the handle, visibly relaxing as you see it's only your sneaky boyfriend. "Perv~" You tease before sliding the curtain shut dramatically. You can hear him shuffling around, and the sound of his zipper confirms your suspicions.

He steps over the tub edge and joins you, hugging you close from behind and kissing your neck gently. "Did you-"

"Mhm, foods on the bed, Princess." You laugh softly before turning in his arms and hugging his neck loosely.

"You're the best, you know?"

"I sure do~"

He reaches over you and grabs the travel size bottle of shampoo, cursing them silently because he will most definitely have to go get some more from the main desk before your stay is over. He lathers it up in his hands a bit before massaging your hair tenderly. "You miss them, don't you?"

His question catches you off guard for a moment, wondering just what he means until you realize that he must have heard you singing the song Jongho wrote all those years ago on The Illusion.

Those times were so much simpler. A group of pirates and the open sea. Beautiful blue water and all the time together that you could ever ask for.

"Don't you?" The way your eyes glaze over is enough to tell him. You miss them just as much as he does. You wish this would end just as much as he does.

"It hurts like hell."

"I know, Baby."

"I want to kill them."

Hala-Teez, the Strickland officials? All of them. "Me too, Baby."

He leans your head back carefully and rinses away the coconut scented soap from your hair gently. "I love you." You speak. Just above a whisper. But he catches it even over the raining water.

"I love you, Darling. This will all be over soon." He doesn't promise because he knows he can't. He doesn't know how long this situation will last. You could be on the run from Strickland and looking over your shoulders for Hala-Teez until your last breath.

"Joong will figure something out." You don't promise. Because Hongjoong hasn't. He can't. He won't promise something that he doesn't know he cant follow through with. He could be trying to come up with a plan for decades.

You stand in silence for a moment as you wash his hair gently before he speaks again, "don't cry, Love."

"What?"

When you look up, he's blurry. When did you start crying? How did this happen?

He closes his eyes and hugs you close with his head under the stream of steaming water.

After a small cry-session in the shower together, you and Wooyoung curled up in the bed and ate your takeout, watching one of the decade old dvd's on the laptop that Yeosang managed to get to you guys a few weeks ago.

The ban from being together for safety didn't stop small run ins with a familiar looking delivery man. Be it disguised as a food delivery man, a mailman, an exterminator- Yeosang always found a way to travel around the city and deliver small gifts from one member to another along with messages from Hongjoong when the phones were down.

A wave of laughter is cut off by a knock on the door. His hand immediately grabs a small hand gun on the nightstand as he stands, your own going to your knife that's sandwiched between the mattress and bed box as you slam the laptop closed.

"Delivery!" The voice makes you relax.

"Fucker," you huff as you jump over the bed and beat Wooyoung to the door and smile at the helmeted man. You can't see him, but you know who it is. "Goody~" You peek out into the halls and spot a few suspicious looking people, so you pretend to slip him some money before taking the box and take one last look as he walks away.

"Open it," he urges impatiently, nearly knocking you over to get to the pizza box as you set it on the small table.

Ontop of your favorite pizza. A small piece of paper. Sans handwriting.

let's bounce

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez wooyoung #ateez san #jung wooyoung #choi san #wooyoung smut #choi san smut #wooyoung x reader #choi san x reader #smut fic #woosan #woosan x reader #smau #ateez smau

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obsessedwithceleste · 4 months ago

Text

You’re Not Everyone Else

Lorenzo Berkshire x reader

Based on this request🫶🏽

Summary: Enz thought he knew everything there was to know when it came to wooing pretty witches, but it will take a lot more than the botanical gardens to win you over.

word count: 4.4k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

You glare menacingly at the offending bundle of flowers propped up perfectly against your pillow, practically glowing as the sunlight streams onto them through the window. As if it were a sign that the flowers were bloody heaven sent.

Daphne’s mouth is practically on the floor as she watches you dump the fresh bouquet of expensive looking tulips directly into the trash can.

The flowers had been waiting for you on your bed when you came back from class, and you didn’t need to read the note attached to guess who they were from.

You can tell that she wants to protest, but you cut her off before she’s able to even get a word in.

“Don’t. You know how I feel about Berkshire. It’s not going to happen.” You sigh, rolling your eyes at the mere thought of Lorenzo Berkshire actually managing to weasel his way into your heart.

That boy was no good. He had a pretty face and the charisma to go along with it. He was nothing but a womanizer and you had heard all the stories to prove it. In fact, there was probably an alphabetized list of all the girls that had fallen victim to Lorenzo Berkshire floating around somewhere. He practically had his pick of the litter when it came to the Hogwarts dating pool, and yet for some reason he had landed his sights on you.

You could remember the first time Daphne had brought you to the Parkinson estate, introducing you to all of her friends. He had been their. Young, but charming as ever. He had been kind then. And sweet. But that was just to lure you in. By Christmas that same year you had heard all about his escapades and wanted nothing to do with it.

Daphne, to her credit, had tried to dissuade you, vouching for her friend, but you could never quite see past the swirling whispers that seemed to damper the boy's shine. He was her friend. Fine. He had been her friend first after all, but that was all he'd ever be. A friend of a friend.

But it had been years at this point, of flowers being left in your dorm room, chocolates, even soppy love poems declaring his affection for you, but you were having none of it. And it seemed the more you pushed the boy away, the more determined he was to make you his.

“It’s so romantic though,” Daphne protests, looking like she’s debating fishing the flowers out of the trash can. It was the third bouquet this week. And it was only Tuesday.

“Pft. Manipulative is more like it. He only wants one thing Daph, and you know it,” you reply, collapsing onto your bed with an annoyed huff.

Your friend is silent for a moment, mulling over her words.

"You liked him at one point. You told me so," she says finally.

"Sure, when I was thirteen. He's only after me now cause he likes the chase. He'll get bored," you reply, rolling your eyes slightly and brushing off the girl's comment.

Your roommate lets out a sigh, wringing her hands as she takes a seat on her own bed across the room.

“Oh I don’t think Enz would do that to you. I’ve known him since we were kids. He seems so serious about this.” Daphne replies.

You’d heard Daph say that same thing what felt like a million times over since this whole thing started.

“Yeah, well. It’s going to take a lot more than the botanical gardens to win me over.”

Lorenzo Berkshire was infamously known around the halls of Hogwarts for his flirtatious tendencies. It didn’t bother him much, even though half the things being said about him weren’t true in the slightest. But really what was denying any of it going to do?

Let people think what they want was what he always thought. Only one person’s opinion really mattered anyway. Yours.

Lorenzo had always been the romantic of the group, not that there was really any competition for the title, but still. From the day he met you, he knew that you were the one. You were perfect. Funny, and smart, and kind, always playfully bantering with your friends.

He remembered the summer after third year when Daphne had introduced you to the group. All of you gathered at the Parkinson estate. You had swept Theo in chess and Lorenzo had just sat there staring at you. Completely mesmerized. After that everyone seemed to love you, and you seemed to get along with everyone too. Even him. At first.

The first few months were bliss. Lorenzo loved making you laugh, seeing you smile. He knew then that he was down bad. But then, halfway through your fourth year, it was like a switch had flipped. He didn’t have the faintest clue as to why you suddenly seemed to have a certain level of hostility towards him. But he knew that he missed you.

“What in Salazar’s name could I have possibly done wrong?” Lorenzo groans, head falling back, face in hands as he leans back on the common room sofa. “I thought I was doing everything girls want. I send flowers. I send sweets. I even wrote her heart felt poems about how I feel about her!”

“That is disgusting. Have some dignity,” Draco snorts from his spot across from Lorenzo who just sticks his tongue out at the blonde boy in response.

“Oh hush Draco. I think it all sounds perfectly reasonable,” Pansy remarks, giving Enzo a nod of approval.

“Well it would be perfectly reasonable if it worked! She won’t even give me a second glance. She’s so nice to everyone. Bubbly and sweet and talkative. But as soon as I’m around she clams up! Did you know she’s helping Mattheo with charms right as we speak? Bloody traitor he is.” Lorenzo laments.

To be fair, you had had an upstanding tutoring session with Mattheo for weeks now, instituted my Professor Flitwick, but minor details.

“Well she is pretty talented when it comes to charms,” Daphne says awkwardly, lips pursed as she shifts uncomfortably in her seat, trying not to be noticed.

Pansy squints at her friend, squirming and fidgeting. It was entirely unlike her. She was usually the one with her head screwed on correctly.

“Hold on Daph. You know something. What is it?” She demands.

Daphne looks at the raven haired girl in alarm, shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders not daring to utter a word.

“Daph, come on, look at this man. He’s utterly pathetic,” Draco adds, gesturing towards the distressed brunette. Enzo glares at his friend.

“Just spit it out,” Pansy orders.

“She thinks you’re just trying to use her for sex!” Daphne blurts out, crumbling under the pressure.

Lorenzo blinks once. Then again.

“What?”

Daphne just shrugs once more rather helplessly as the group just stares at her as if she would solve all of Enzo’s problems.

“To be perfectly fair, there are a lot of rumors about you that have been circulating for years. I think, you just might be coming off a bit- ah, disingenuous perhaps?” Daphne says finally.

She could practically see the gears working in Lorenzo’s head as he takes in her words. She’s a bit worried she’d broken him when he remains silent for what seems like forever.

“I have so much work to do,” he announces finally, standing up and marching off to his dormitory, a look of fierce determination sketched onto his face.

“Oh now look what you’ve done Daph,” Draco groans, looking at the retreating back of his friend.

“She’s the one who made me say something,” Daphne protests, pointing an accusatory finger at Pansy.

“Shush Draco. None of us wanted to hear him monologue about his undying love again anyway,” Pansy retorts.

To be quite honest, you were feeling a bit ambushed as none other than Lorenzo Berkshire plopped down beside you on the sofa that you had claimed in one of the rather abandoned corners of the library.

“Afternoon love,” he chirps happily, shooting you one of his famous smiles. The kind that normally made girls melt at the mere sight.

“Hello Lorenzo.”

“You never responded to my note,” the boy chatters on, ignoring your clear disinterest in his presence. You really weren’t sure if the boy didn’t notice, or didn’t care.

“What note?”

The boy blinks at you. “The note I sent with the tulips the other day?” He replies, as if it should have been obvious.

“Oh. I threw those away.”

“Oh, you threw them aw- what?” He asks, apparently caught off guard by your nonchalant answer.

“I threw them away, placed them in the trash can, sentenced them to eternal damnation. Do try to keep up Enz.”

“Wha- why?” He splutters, genuinely looking a bit hurt.

You look at the boy raising an eyebrow. "I throw away all of your flowers."

"All of them?"

"Are you daft?"

Lorenzo's jaw is practically on the floor, his ego clearly being knocked down a peg or ten.

"Yes- I mean no- I mean- why are you throwing away my flowers?" He splutters.

Growing increasingly more frustrated, you glare at the boy.

"Can you quite down? And if I can be quite honest Lorenzo, I'm not exactly your biggest fan. It's nothing personal of course, you understand," you sigh, trying to get back to your reading.

Enzo is having none of it however as he tries to replay every interaction he could think of between the two of you. He simply doesn't understand. He thought he'd never been anything but a gentleman to you.

"You don't like me? Me specifically? But- you like everyone!"

It was true. Lorenzo had never heard a bad thing about you from anyone. Not even Draco had a bad word to say since you seemed to go out of your way to show kindness to everyone around you.

"Yes well, you're not everyone else Lorenzo."

Lorenzo's mind races as he stares at you in shock. You looked awfully lovely today. Damn it, stay focused. He just wanted you to see him. Was that too much to ask?

"I'm not just trying to use you for sex!" he blurts out, immediately slapping a hand over his mouth, staring at you wide eyed. Real smooth Berkshire.

With a groan, you snap your book shut, closing your eyes in frustration as you realize that you're not going to be getting any reading done with Lorenzo sitting next to you.

Taking a slow inhale, you turn to get a good look at the boy beside you. Fluffy brown hair, warm, earnest eyes, only marred by the subtle pout adorning his lips.

“Let’s just say I were to give you a chance-“ you start.

“You won’t regret it. Pick you up at 8 tomorrow!” He replies, jumping in, the widest smile gracing his face.

Looking at the boy was like looking at a golden retriever puppy. You knew he was anything but, but how could you say no to that face?

“Alright Berkshire. One chance. Then, I never want to hear about this again.”

He was not going to blow this. He simply wouldn’t allow himself to. Everything that he had been working for these past months was leading up to this, he just couldn’t let it slip through his fingers. Enzo was giddy with anticipation as he lead you carefully down the cobblestone path.

“You better not be leading me out to the forest to murder me,” you call out to the boy behind you, his hands firmly in place over your eyes.

You were only half joking.

Before he even needs to respond, Enzo drops his hands and you’re immediately hit with bright sunlight.

“Where are we?” You ask in shocked amazement, staring around at the garden before you. It was straight out of a fairytale really. Bright, glowing green leaves, flowers of every color. There were even little, glittering sprites dancing about the flora.

“Hogwarts gardens. You never been?” Enzo asks, walking over to a spread on the lawn that you hadn’t even registered yet.

It was clear that he had put in some effort. The soft blanket laid out on the grass was littered with fruits and pastries, even a variety of little sandwiches.

“Didn’t even know this place existed,” you mutter, allowing the boy to guide you to a nice, sunny spot on the lawn.

“I’ve been working out here with Sprout for years. My favorite place,” Enzo tells you offhandedly, popping a strawberry into his mouth.

Under the warm sunlight, he looked unreal. Like an ethereal creature who took a wrong turn and somehow ended up sitting in front of you. You really could see what all the fuss was about when he was staring intently at you, a soft smile gracing his lips.

Wait.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you realize you’d been staring as well, but Enzo doesn’t seem to mind.

“I think Daph mentioned that you were some herbology buff,” you say in an attempt to recover a bit of your dignity.

Enzo smirks. “I suppose that’s one way to put it. I am top of the class.”

“I thought that honor went to Longbottom,” you reply, picking at the food in front of you.

Lorenzo's face turns to a grimace.

"He could be real competition if he weren't a such pyromaniac. Sprout is still giving him the cold shoulder after he almost burned her prized Cobra Lily. Thing deserved it though. Always hissing at me."

You don't know why, but you can't help but let out a laugh at the thought of the Lorenzo Berkshire having an ongoing feud with a plant.

"Haha, yeah. You laugh now, but that bloody plant has been antagonizing me for weeks. I'm one hiss away from dropping the damn thing off of the astronomy tower." He responds sarcastically to your laughter, only causing you to fall into a further fit of giggles. The brunette boy just sticks his tongue out at you in defeat.

"Oh come on now, that's no way charm a witch," you tease, pulling yourself together as you grin at the boy in front of you.

"Yeah, well I've tried every other way I can think of, so it was worth a shot," Enz replies, his joking smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Your grin falters as Enzo's eyes drop to the grass surrounding the both of you and you take in the sudden silence of the gardens.

"It's hard to believe someone actually likes you when you're just another face in the crowd," you say finally, not willing to meet the boy's eyes.

"You don't have to believe me now. I'll wait."

It was a moment of sincerity that you weren't expecting out of the boy. Usually he was all jokiness and smiles. Not a bad quality by any means, but you were never sure when you could trust the boy's words. You felt like you could trust him now though, in that moment.

After that, you find yourself quite enjoying your afternoon. You had forgotten how easily the two of you actually got on when you weren't avoiding the boy like the plague. He had so many stories about the gardens, and it quickly became apparent that the particular spot he had brought you to was his sanctuary. It was nice getting to hear him talk, without all the extra noise and whispers, and off-putting looks from your classmates. You had missed him.

In the days following your garden excursion, Enzo keeps his word- backing off a bit from his pursuit for your affection. He was still around of course as you shared a friend group, but the excessive love poems had stopped and the next bouquet of tulips that appeared in your dorm was addressed to both you and Daph which she was thrilled about.

Over the next few weeks, it did not go unnoticed by you that your eyes had seemingly become magnetized to a certain brunette boy, quietly observing. He'd caught you watching a few times, tossing you one of his famous, dazzling smiles.

Slowly, you find yourself seeking the boy out on purpose as you found that you rather liked the way he had been able to make you laugh so easily that day in the garden. You had forgotten how much fun he was to be around. How warm and happy you felt when he looked at you. And he was rather sweet when he wanted to be. You had known the boy for years at this point. You thought you could read him like a book, but he still managed to surprise you.

In fact, you were as surprised as anyone to find yourself seated next to the boy in your astronomy class. It was a relatively new seating arrangement, but you found that he made the late night class significantly more tolerable. You didn't know what time it was now, but it was late, and you were tired.

"If you fall asleep, I'm not going to catch you if you fall out of the tower," Enz whispers in your ear as you fight to keep your eyes open and trained on the night sky.

"Yes you would, you’re too obsessed with me to let me fall," you respond, still able to feel his breath on the back of your neck.

You couldn't remember when the two of you got so comfortable with one another, but it had happened so quickly you almost didn't realize. Almost.

He hums in response, backing away and scribbling down the name of some constellation before gazing out at the sky once more.

“Whose idea even was it to let sleep deprived teenagers take a class at midnight in a tower without railings. They’re practically asking for a student to fall,” you grumble, slumping against Enz dramatically.

He lets out a soft snort of laughter this time as he continues to chart different constellations onto his parchment. You had finished the night's assignment ages ago and now had nothing to do but watch him quietly, resting your chin on his shoulder as he draws perfect little stars.

“What’s that?” You ask, reaching over the boys shoulder to pull something out of the notebook.

The soft pink color had caught your eye, peeking out of the pages, and a gentle tug reveals the petals of a tulip, followed by a green step. The flower isn’t as vibrant as it should be, and is flattened like a book page.

Enzo pauses, looking at the flower carefully.

“That’s from the first time we met.” He says, trying hard to sound casual. He continues to stare down at his notebook, but the stiffness in his arm makes it clear that he isn’t focused on stars anymore.

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion.

“Pansy doesn’t have tulips at the estate,” you reply, suddenly feeling more awake.

“No. But the greenhouse here does.”

Feeling even more confused, you tilt your head, waiting for Enzo to go on.

He carefully plucks the flower out of your hand, tucking it safely back into his notebook.

“The first time we met was in second year. We were learning the Herbivicus charm and I just couldn’t get it. But you got it so quick. You helped me, and that’s the flower we grew.”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t even remember that day. It seemed so insignificant to you at the time.

“And you kept it?” You ask, your confusion amplified by your sleepy haze.

“I liked you,” is all you get in response.

You’re quiet after that, watching silently as Enzo scratches away at his parchment. His eyes flickering over to you nervously every so often. It was strange seeing him without his usual confident smirk.

As class eventually wraps up, the two of you slowly make your way down the winding staircase, quickly falling behind the other students who were racing off to get some much needed rest.

Your feet reach the final step with a muffled thud as you come to a hesitant stop. Normally this is where you and Enzo would split off for the night, but looking up at the boy, rays of moonlight glowing across his face, you can’t find it in yourself to move away.

With a sudden wave a confidence, impulsiveness, and probably a fair bit of deliriousness, you find yourself grabbing onto the collar of Enzo’s shirt, pulling down, and crashing his lips onto yours.

It takes a moment for realization to fully hit Enz, but you quickly find yourself back against the cold stone wall, Enzo’s lips still firmly on yours, deepening the kiss as he boxes you in. He moves against you with sheer lust, years of pining pouring out.

You vaguely feel his hand moving up your thigh, gripping tightly at your waist before moving up to cup your face, thumb brushing against your cheek softly tilting your head up further as his lips move against yours.

It’s hot, and dizzying, and just, right. You’re not quite sure how to describe it.

When Enz finally pulls away, you can feel his breath against your lips from his soft pants as he looms over you.

“I think a like you too,” you murmur, lips just barely brushing his with every word.

That’s apparently all Enzo needed to hear before he’s practically carrying you back to his dorm.

It’s a blurry haze as you find yourself pulling him onto the bed, lips connecting once more as your bodies move methodically against each other. It’s as if you’d simply turned off your brain, any worries or doubts scattering to the winds as Enzo’s warmth overtakes you.

The next morning a wave of icey cold fear washes over you as you realize what you’d done. What had you been thinking? All these years of avoiding him and for what? Rolling over in the tangle of sheets, Enz is still fast asleep, bathed in streams of sunlight peaking through the curtains. He really was gorgeous.

“Mornin love,” his voice shaking you from your thoughts.

“Hi,” you reply cautiously, turning to meet the boy’s eyes.

His eyes shine as he grins contentedly at you, pulling you closer so your noses are practically touching.

“I can tell what you’re thinking. Stop it. You’re stuck with me now,” he says, pressing a quick peck onto your lips.

Your face grows warm as he continues to pepper your face with kisses.

“I don’t ever want to leave this moment,” you sigh.

You can feel Enzo’s smile.

“I’m that good am I?” He asks cockily.

You snort. “Don’t want to have to admit to Daph that I can actually tolerate you for extended periods of time.”

“Aw, c’mon now love, don’t be like that,” Enz chuckles, tapping your nose lightly with his finger.

You can’t help but let out a small laugh as you feign annoyance, batting his hand away.

“I’m going back to sleep. I don’t want to deal with you anymore,” you tease, rolling over.

Enz just laughs, snaking his arm around you and pulling you close, pressing a kiss on the back of your head.

“Now that I have you, I’m not letting you go,” he murmurs as you allow your eyes to flutter shut once more.

“Wouldn’t want to be with anyone else.”

Did I start writing this way back in April? Yes. Do I remember what the original plot was going to be? No. Is this edited? Also no.

Anyway, Live Laugh Love Lorenzo Berkshire🤪

#slytherin boys #slytherin #lorenzo berkshire #enzo berkshire #lorenzo berkshire fanfic #lorenzo berkshire fanfiction #enzo berkshire x y/n #enzo berkshire x reader #lorenzo berkshire x y/n #lorenzo berkshire x you #lorenzo berkshire x reader #lorenzo berkshire fluff #live laugh love lorenzo berkshire

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edenesth · 6 months ago

Text

[5:45 PM]

'Don't wait up for me! Go home first, Woo. There's food in the fridge.' — future wifey💘

Your boyfriend pouted as he read the text you'd sent him at 5pm. He had arrived at your office building and was waiting at his usual spot when he received your message. Normally, you got off work sharp at 5, but today you seemed overwhelmingly busy. Unlike usual, you hadn't even been very responsive during lunch hour.

Wooyoung glanced up and noticed that the lights in your office were among the few still on. Although it was still early, it was a Friday evening, and most people preferred to leave on time and deal with any leftover work on the following Monday.

How long could she take anyway? I'll wait.

Refusing to go home without you, he patiently waited downstairs, hoping to surprise you when you eventually emerged from the building. His unease grew as he watched more and more people leave, the offices slowly emptying, and the sky darkening, yet there was still no sign of you. There were times when you stayed late at work, but never this late.

Nearly an hour later, he sent you a text to let you know he didn't mind waiting and was still in the same spot, asking how much longer you would be. If you needed more time, he'd go to the nearby café for a drink while waiting. But he frowned when 10 minutes passed, and you hadn't even been online; his message was sent but still unread. The final straw was when his call went unanswered.

Despite feeling panic creep in, he tried to stay calm as he walked into the lobby of your office building. Breathe, Jung Wooyoung, breathe. He tells himself you were probably just really busy. But why? You had told him the peak season ended a week ago, so this should have been a slow week. It didn't make sense that you were working so late now. What weren't you telling him?

Crap, is she cheating on me?

Slapping himself on the cheek, he chastised himself for even entertaining such a thought. You had been nothing but the best and most dedicated girlfriend he'd ever had. How could he think that way about you? Now, he only prayed you were alright. What if something had happened to you? What if you had passed out? What if someone at work was doing something untoward to you? He remembered you mentioning a coworker who persistently pursued you despite knowing you were taken.

Well, that wasn’t comforting at all.

"Come on, come on, come on!" he muttered through gritted teeth as he watched the elevator numbers climb slowly. He only needed to get to the ninth floor, but the trip had never felt longer. His mind conjured up all sorts of wild scenarios, and his heart was pounding in his chest. He needed to see you right now, to have you safe and sound in front of him so he could be okay again.

Ding!

Before the elevator doors fully opened, he was already dashing out at full speed. The dim, empty reception counter of your department greeted him as he sprinted towards your office—the only place he knew to go. "I'm coming, love. Just wait for me."

He had no idea what to expect as he saw your door open, the light from your room spilling into the dark and silent office. Anxiety flooded him as he braced for the unexpected. And indeed, it was unexpected. His steps faltered as he stopped to catch his breath at the entrance of your office, eyes glued to the sight before him. He didn't know whether to cry or laugh at the extent of his overthinking.

Wooyoung let out a huge sigh of relief, his eyes softening as he took in your petite frame, now slumped over your workdesk, fast asleep amidst piles of documents. The glaring screen of your PC reflected off your glasses, which were crooked on your face as you snored lightly. Your phone, in silent mode, lay beside you.

This explained everything.

Your boyfriend approached you slowly, careful not to wake you yet. With one glance at your computer, he immediately understood why you had been so busy today. Your team leader's emergency leave had left you responsible for a case that ran into some hiccups. Scrolling down the trail of emails, he felt relieved to see that you had eventually solved the issue. The exhaustion must have hit you hard once the adrenaline was gone.

Gently, he removed your glasses from your face, placing them back in their case before running his hand through your hair, tucking loose strands away from your face. Unable to resist, he leaned down to press a lingering kiss onto your temple.

That seemed to have stirred you awake. You emitted a small groan and fluttered your eyes open, prompting him to step back slightly. But you reached out and held onto his shirt.

"Woo? Wh-what are you doing here?"

He shook his head, planting another kiss on your cheek before standing upright, his hands resting on his hips. "What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you sleep in the office, hm? Pack up now, we're going home."

Your heart warmed at his words. Just when you thought it wasn't possible to love him any more, he continued to prove you wrong each time. "Yes, sir."

Despite his directive, he ended up doing all the packing for you as your sleepy form waited by his side. After shutting down your PC, he reached for your bag and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. "Come, let's go."

Suddenly, in the elevator, he found himself wishing the trip would last longer. He pulled your cardigan snugly around you, sliding an arm behind your back and resting his forehead against yours. Admiring the way your sleep-deprived eyes drooped adorably, he grinned softly, biting his lip. His other hand cupped your face as he whispered, "Just hold on a little longer, love. You'll get to rest soon."

You nodded with a pout, and the sight of your tempting pink, soft lips made a sigh escape his mouth. "Good girl," he muttered before leaning in to capture your lips.

His heart skipped a beat when, despite your exhaustion, you responded to his kiss almost instinctively, though a bit more sluggish than usual. His heart swelled with affection at how your body reacted to him, knowing it was only for him. Stroking your cheeks lovingly, he deepened the kiss, only to let out a disappointed whine when the elevator dinged too soon.

You giggled, gently pushing him away. "You know we can continue in the car, right?" His excitement reignited at the suggestion. Insisting he'd help you with your things and settling you in the passenger seat first, he felt his heart flutter as he hurried to the driver's seat. "Alright, where were we?" he asked eagerly, only to find you fast asleep.

Of course, she's asleep. What did I expect?

He chuckled in disbelief, securing your seatbelt and shaking his head in amusement. As he started driving, he slipped his hand into yours, smiling when he felt your fingers unconsciously curling around his.

God, how he loved you.

ATEEZ Masterlist

This is me failing miserably at my "try to stay loyal to Park Seonghwa challenge" because what the hell is Jung Wooyoung so attractive for? The way bro made me write the longest timestamp to date...

Also, guess who clowned herself thinking she could post the first part of Mingi's TWTHH spinoff this weekend?🤡 it's only 1k+ words in so far, I was out all day yesterday and didn't get to write much huhu but hopefully by next week, it'll be out! Hopefully🤞🏻

Anyways, hope y'all enjoyed this random little timestamp and as always, let me know your thoughts! <3

General ATEEZ Tag list:

@aurasblue @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01 |

@evidive @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho |

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @vantediary @green-agent @skzline |

@sharksandminhos @writingwieny @heyitsmetonid @tinyteezer @hollxe1 |

@pandabur666 @vampzity @tournesol155 @lilactangerine @oddracha |

@haven-cove @idfkeddieishot

#edenesth #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #jung wooyoung #ateez wooyoung #ateez timestamps #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x you #ateez drabbles #wooyoung drabble #wooyoung fluff #ateez fic #ateez imagines

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ktownshizzle · 2 months ago

Text

Terms & Conditions | Chapter 2

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader

Summary: Managing Min Yoongi as one of your encoders during his alternative military service should’ve been simple. He is quiet, punctual—and can apparently type as fast as he can rap! Not to mention the fact that he is easy on the eyes and keeps wanting to help you. You’ve signed an iron-clad NDA, detailing the full terms and conditions of his temporary employment, so you’re supposed to keep things professional, but what happens if neither of you wants to?

Genre: Fluff, eventual smut, co-workers to lovers, office romance, idol!au

Warnings: Purely speculative regarding Yoongi’s alternative military service and how this is really done in SK, I might include scootergate in a future chapter but please know it will be written sensibly imo and with so much love for our Yoongi (I just wanna protecc him at all costs even thru this silly story!), some cursing, boss/employee relationship sorta but there's no power play involved, reader and Yoongi are within the same age range, tbh still nothing too bad in this chapter

Word count: 4k (approx. 18 mins to read)

Posting date: October 15, 2024

Notes: Wow this next update came very early. Really loving writing this couple so much. Btw, winner of this poll is written in and will be appearing in succeeding chapters. Enjoy~

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Masterlist

It’s not like you’ll miss him (you’ve told yourself that repeatedly)—there’s just something in the atmosphere that feels off today, is all.

The truth? It was just you. Everyone else is counting down the seconds, ready to bail and do whatever gets them through the weekend. But you? You wanna stretch the day out a bit more, if it means spending a little more time with him.

You received an email from Hyun-woo earlier, informing you that Yoongi is leaving for his two-week basic training camp. The news dropped into your inbox like a stone, and ever since, a funny weight has settled in your stomach, refusing to budge.

By 5 p.m., the office has thinned out. The soft hum of the a/c is the only sound left in the room. You’re absently adjusting the tiny plant on your desk when you notice him hovering nearby, one hand awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, the other stuffed into his pocket.

“So, um, I’ll be gone for a bit,” he mumbles, voice low and a tad raspy. His eyes flick to yours, just for a second, before darting away again. He pokes at the leaves of your plant, as if it suddenly piqued his interest.

“I know,” you reply with a playful pout, trying to keep things light. “You’re just abandoning me here with all this work, huh?”

A tiny smile quirks up the corner of his lips, but something in it feels distant, like he’s keeping some emotions at bay. “Yeah, sorry. You’ll survive, though.”

“I will.” You look away with mischief on your lips, clicking X on some of the windows in your computer. “Besides, I hear Jeon Jungkook—you know him, right?—is dying for a transfer here. I might just say yes.”

His eyes narrow slightly, and you catch the quick flare of something—annoyance, maybe?—before he huffs out a breath. His mouth curls into a half-snarl, half-smirk. “Wow. The body isn’t even buried yet.”

You’d laugh, but the sight of him pushing his tense fingers through his hair as his tongue skirts the edge of his bottom lip apparently has your pussy on speed dial. Why is that single action so goddamn sexy? You blink, quickly shaking the thought from your mind before it escalates.

“I’m just playing,” you mutter, leaning back in your chair to put some distance between your thoughts and his presence. “You take care of yourself, loser.”

He hesitates for a beat, his fingers resting on the edge of your mouse pad, close enough to yours. There’s something happening, curious and charged, but before you can make sense of it, he bites his lip and nods.

And, of course, he says the one thing you promised yourself you would do anyway. “Don’t miss me too much.”

Your heart skips a beat, but your lips form a straight line, pretending you didn’t feel it. “I won’t.” The words come out too quickly, too light, as if you’re trying to convince yourself more than him.

The door closes softly behind him, but the space feels bigger, emptier without him there. You sit back, staring at the spot where he stood moments ago. The quiet settles in, heavier than before, and you can’t help but notice how different the room feels already.

It’s fine. You’ll barely notice he’s gone.

Except… you do notice.

The first few days pass in a blur of silence and monotony. Your office feels out of sorts without him, like something’s missing. His desk remains untouched, where he orphaned a pair of Galaxy earbuds and a relatively normal-sized black tumbler compared to yours.

You tell yourself it’s just the routine that’s off—that’s all. But then you find yourself thinking about the way his mouth always hangs open when he’s concentrating, or how the other day he tripped over the trash can that the cleaning lady keeps moving around and suddenly you have this goofy smile on your face.

The next Monday, you catch yourself looking at the door, waiting for the familiar sound of him coming in, and the realization burns you like the cheap-ass Tequila you had in college: you do miss him.

You groan internally, pressing your fingers to your temples. Great. Just great.

Actually, not great. This is fucking bad. Like violating a multi-million-won NDA bad.

You gotta keep this unspeakable thing locked airtight in the recesses of your brain. Your Youtube and Naver browsing history will definitely betray you so you need to clear that shit A-SAP. Chae will never out you, but you might want to have another convo just for your peace of mind. And finally, you need to put a stop to the friendly-flirty thing you have going on with Yoongi. You had your fun, but it’s time to stop.

Of course that’s easier said than done. Not when two weeks was up, the sight of Yoongi made you almost drop to your goddamn knees.

You didn’t recognize him at first. His hair is gone. Well, mostly. The buzz cut threw you off. So did the round metal-rim glasses. You blink, trying to process the change, but your brain has officially malfunctioned.

Is this really him? You verify through the name patch on his shirt. Min Yoongi. Daegu. It read. It really is him, and you are no longer yourself.

“Hey,” he says with a small grin as he approaches you.

“Hello,” you manage, eyes fixed on him, still. The glasses. The buzz cut. Shit. He looks ridiculously cute.

Yoongi drops something on your desk—a small bag. You glance at it, then at him, but he’s already walking away, back to his desk like nothing happened.

Tangerines. It’s a bag of tangerines. Maybe 7 of them.

Your chest tightens in the strangest way. You know tangerines are his favorite fruit as he shared during one of your coffee breaks, but the fact that he brought them for you as he returned from bootcamp? Why does it feel so… personal?

You really want to keep your distance and protect yourself, but this man acts like an angel and looks just like heaven—so you don’t stand a chance at all. You’re going straight to hell. Or jail.

Later that evening, you practically burst through your apartment door, your mind still reeling from the sight of Yoongi with that stupidly cute hair cut. Chae is already in the kitchen, humming as she slices what looks like gimbap.

One look at you, and her eyes narrow with curiosity. “What’s up with you? You look manic.”

You toss your bag down and place the bag of fruit on the counter before you flop onto the couch. “He’s back.”

“Who?”

“You know who,” you groan, burying your face in a pillow. “Yoongi.”

Chae immediately perks up, abandoning the knife to focus on your conversation. “Oh? How is he?”

You point to the citrus. “Those are from him, by the way.”

“Wait, wha—aww his favorite and he brought you some? And he got you seven? Oh my god…” Chae swoons as she rummages through the plastic, picking up one of the plush oranges to sniff it.

“How’d you know it's his fave? And so what if it’s 7?”

Chae places the fruit back in the plastic and exhales dramatically as if she was exasperated by your questions.

“Every self-respecting ARMY knows about Yoongi’s tangerines obsession. And there’s seven of them in BTS,” Chae explains pointedly, before crossing her arms. “Babe, if you’re going to be his girlfriend, you gotta know these things.”

“Fuck off,” you roll your eyes and lie back on the cushions so she’s out of sight.

“Wait…” she says, rounding the kitchen island to lean over the couch by your feet. “So Yoongi’s back. Why do you look a little… unhinged?”

“Ok,” you start, leaning forward and resting your weight on your elbows. “He came back with a buzz cut. And glasses. Like, really cute glasses, Chae. Granted it’s the same ones those fuckbois in Hongdae always wore. But he looked… ugh, I don’t even know how to explain it. Like it suits him. It’s so nerdy, but… sexy. His face is so like…” You drop your head back down on the pillow and sigh.

She shakes her head. “You got it bad, bro.”

You sit up again, glaring at her, but it’s useless. “Fine. Okay, fine. I have a crush. Happy now?”

Chae cackles, going back to her chopping board with way too much enthusiasm. “I knew it! You’ve been soft for him since day one.”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know what to do about it. He’s my co-worker.”

“And?”

“And he’s a goddamn idol. Plus, I signed that NDA.”

Before Chae could even react, your words continue to spill out from the leaky bucket that was your brain.

“But like, Chae, he got me a whole bag of tangerines. The fuck is that? And he made me a latte—said he made too much by mistake, but I know the machine, there’s literally only one setting. And there’s this look. And when he smiles. Like, I don’t know, like…” Hell, you can't get more words out, because you know you legitimately sound insane. Is Min Yoongi, rapper, producer, billionaire, actually giving you the time of day?

Chae nods, completely unbothered by your spiraling as she chops the kimchi on the board. “Uh-huh. So, when’s the wedding?”

“Not helpful!” you groan, throwing yourself back down onto the couch and covering your face with the throw blanket. You know she’s teasing, but it’s starting to feel too real.

“Look,” you hear her muffled voice from under the cloth. “I'm honestly super jealous right now, don't get it twisted. But I'm really, really excited for you. And not just because he is my bias wrecker, but because you haven't been excited over a guy in like forever.”

You stay mum as you process her words.

“Do you want my advice?”

“Yes.” You pull the blanket away and sit up to look at her.

“Let the chips fall where they may…” she declares as she sprinkles sesame seeds on the gimbap with a flourish.

“That's vague as hell.”

“Listen, you are a smart, capable, smokeshow of a woman. You've got very weird cardigans, but thank god you wear a uniform.”

“Rude?!”

“It seems that he wants at the very least a friendship with you, so just have fun with it,” Chae winks, her voice taking on a teasing tone. “You’ll know when to make a move.”

You stare at her, feeling your face heat up. “Oho I’m not making a move. I’m just… acknowledging the fact that I might be into him.”

She laughs, her spoon waving in the air. “Aight. Good luck with that, then.”

The steady click of your keyboard echoes through the dimly lit office, the glow from your screen casting long shadows on the walls. It is well past 9 p.m. and the office is virtually empty. You are deep into your report, fingers flying over the keys, when the door to your office opens.

You startle but not by much, removing your earphones that were filtering lo-fi music that usually helped with your concentration.

Your visitor leans against the doorway, sharp eyes lingering on you. Work uniform gone, he sports a branded black shirt and black pants, a gray beanie hiding the fuzz you have been obsessed with for days.

“Still at it?” he asks.

“Yeah. Told you I was gonna try to get this done after hours,” you say, flashing him a tired smile. “Thought you left.”

He seems about to say something, but he pauses, glancing around the room before his gaze settles on his desk. He moves toward it, clearing his throat.

“Ah, yeah. I did,” he says, his voice casual, almost too casual. “But then I realized I forgot my earbuds.”

He plucks the pod case from the table, holding it up with a little shrug. “Couldn’t exactly leave without these, right?”

You narrow your eyes at him, one eyebrow raised. “Didn’t you leave those here for, like, two weeks when you were at bootcamp?”

Yoongi’s grin flickers—just for a second—but then it’s back in place, lazy and effortless. “Must’ve missed them this time.” He slides into a chair beside you, settling in like he has no intention of leaving.

Curious. Very curious. He is not about to waste his Friday night to be in this office with you. Or is he?

“So I have an idea that might make tonight more… interesting.” He declares, setting his bag down against your desk.

Before you can ask what he meant, he stands up and disappears out the door. A few minutes later, he returns, a mischievous glint in his eye and a bottle of wine clutched in his hand.

You sit up straighter, eyes wide. “Yoongi, where the hell did you get that?”

“Hyun-woo’s stash.” His grin was impish as he set the bottle down between you. “He gave me keys to his office.”

“I don’t think he gave it to you for this purpose,” You gape at him, disbelieving. “You’re going to get us in so much trouble.”

He shrugs, looking entirely unfazed. “It’s after hours. Nobody’s around. Besides…” He glances towards the CCTV camera in the corner, then reaches for a small box on top of the filing cabinet and slides it in front of the camera’s view. “Oops.”

You can’t help but laugh at his boldness, shaking your head. “You know I signed an NDA about working with you, and now you’ve got me breaking the code of conduct? You’re trouble, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi beams as he twists the cap off the bottle. “Yet here you are enabling me.”

You raise an eyebrow, snatching the bottle from his hand and taking a sip. The wine was surprisingly decent for something hidden away in an office drawer. Some fruity red that went smoothly down your throat. As you pass the bottle back to him, you fish through your desk drawer, pulling out a bag of cheese crackers and mini pretzels.

“See, enabler,” Yoongi remarked, gulping from the bottle before shoving a piece of pretzel in his mouth.

“Your tshirt says you’re the ‘mastermind’ though,” you point out.

He glances down on the print of his shirt and nods, “That I am” before he presents you the gummiest smile you’ve ever seen.

You fall into an easy relay after that, taking turns with the wine bottle while you continue to type away your report. Meanwhile he takes out his laptop and perches it on the side of your desk so he can work beside you on what seems like a personal project, perhaps a song. But you can’t ask because the NDA states you are not allowed to ask him anything about BTS or his music career.

“How’s the deck coming along?” Yoongi asks after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“I’ve got the wireframe done. Just need to fill in the details.” You glance at his screen. “You seem busy.”

“Yeah, I’m reviewing materials for a documentary about the last tour,” he says, letting out a long sigh as he slouches further into his chair.

You hum in response, biting your lip, holding back the questions dancing on your tongue. NDA, remember.

He must notice your hesitation, because he waves his hand dismissively. “I know the contract says you’re not supposed to ask about music, but it’s cool. You can ask.”

Before you can second-guess yourself, you blurt out, “Do you miss it?”

Yoongi turns his head slightly, meeting your eyes. You clarify, quieter now, “Making music. Being with the others.”

He doesn’t answer right away, picking at his lip. There’s a pause, long enough that you almost regret asking.

“Yes,” he finally says, voice low. “And no.”

You wait, sensing there’s more.

“Yes, because it’s music,” he continues, leaning back. “It’s what I’ve done my whole life. It’s where I feel… alive, you know? Like everything clicks into place when I’m creating. It’s hard to explain, but when I’m in it, everything makes sense.”

His words pull at something in you—the way his voice changes when he talks about it, that quiet intensity he wears so well. But then he looks down, fingers tracing the cork of the wine bottle.

“But no, too,” he says, softer. “This is the first time in years I’ve been able to step back. To just be… normal.” He glances up, a small grin touching his lips, the kind that never quite reaches his eyes. “It’s weird, right? But it’s freeing.”

You’ve never been an idol, but you can imagine the pressure of always being watched. You tilt your head, curious. “Freeing how?”

He shrugs, eyes drifting to the ceiling. “I get to slow down. Figure out parts of me I didn’t have time for before. Meet new people. Like you.” The way he says it is casual, but your heart does a little cartwheel.

“I’m not locked in the same cycle—touring, writing, performing. I love it, but sometimes… It's a lot. Now, I can just breathe.”

You nod slowly, absorbing his words. You can see how much music means to him, but there’s something grounding about this version of him—without the spotlight, without the expectations.

“Does that make sense?” His voice lightens, like he’s suddenly aware of how much he’s shared.

Your lips quirk a bit. “Yeah, for sure.”

He gives a small nod, almost imperceptible, before reaching for the bottle again, taking a slow sip. “Don’t get me wrong,” he adds, his tone slipping back into something more familiar. “I’ll be back at it soon. But right now… this isn’t so bad.”

For a moment, his eyes meet yours, and there’s a flicker of something there—something deeper, quieter. It’s a side of him you don’t see often, a side that’s relieved to step away from the noise, even if just for a while.

His gaze makes you think of your own life, your own lack of direction. You shift slightly, glancing back at the document in front of you.

“You look like you’re thinking about something,” Yoongi says, his attention shifting fully to you as he shuts his laptop.

You hesitate, nibbling on a cracker, not sure why you’re even about to say this out loud. “I don’t know… sometimes I wonder how I got here.”

Yoongi’s brow lifts, and you feel the heat of his gaze on you. “Here?”

“At this job,” you clarify. “It wasn’t really part of the plan. But somehow, I’ve stayed. And now it’s been years.” You laugh a little, but it feels tight, almost self-conscious.

“What do you mean?” he asks, his voice steady, as if he’s urging you to go on.

You sigh, glancing down at your hands. “I guess… a lot of people around me, they have these big dreams. They’re doing things that sound so… important. My best friend Chae, she’s working in this Michelin star restaurant, on her way to becoming head chef. And I’m just… here. Still figuring things out. Shouldn’t I want more?”

The words slip out before you can catch them, and suddenly you’re left with that familiar weight in your chest, the one that sneaks up on you late at night when you wonder if you’re not doing enough. It feels silly now, admitting it out loud.

Yoongi stays quiet for a beat, thinking, his fingers tapping the wine bottle lightly. When he speaks, his voice is low, thoughtful.

“Not everyone needs to have some grand dream to chase. Sometimes, just doing what makes you feel steady is enough.”

You glance at him, caught off guard by how easily he says it. There’s something honest in the way he looks at you, like he’s sharing a truth he’s only just come to understand himself.

“There’s no rule,” he adds, “that says you have to follow everyone else’s path. It’s okay to take your time figuring things out.”

You bite your lip, his words settling over you like a quiet comfort. “You really think that?”

Yoongi nods, leaning in just a little. “Yeah. Some people chase after their dreams because they think that’s the only way to prove something. But sometimes… just living and finding what makes you feel steady is enough.”

His words strike deep, but they’re simple. You smile, feeling warmth uncurling in your chest. And you know it’s not just the wine.

“Thanks,” you murmur, offering him the bottle, your fingers barely holding on.

He takes it, and when his hand brushes yours, something tightens in your stomach. You let go without a fight.

Yoongi leans back, that smirk tugging at his lips again—like he’s fully aware of the effect he’s having. “If you get fired for this, at least we’re going down together.”

Your laugh slips out softer than expected, probably because he’s so maddeningly calm. Like he’d still have that cocky mouth even if the world was burning.

You both reach for a pretzel at the same time, fingers grazing his. “Oh, my bad,” you say, forcing casual, but inside, it’s like an electric shock.

He doesn’t pull away right away. His hand lingers for a second—just long enough to make you notice. That twitch at the corner of his mouth is lethal.

You chuckle, but it feels hollow, like you’re trying to shake off the sudden flutter in your chest. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

Yoongi laughs, low and quiet, and it does something to you. His knee bumps yours under the table, and he doesn’t move it. “You don’t seem too bothered by trouble.”

It’s a quiet sort of ambush. Nothing pushy, just… unexpected.

You glance up and catch him staring—not at your eyes, but your lips. It’s barely a second, but it makes your pulse spike like he’s just yanked the ground out from under you.

You shift in your seat, trying to play it cool, but there’s a hint of something else, something daring. Your gaze drifts to his lips, wondering, for a split second, what he’d taste like if you were bold enough to just go for it like Chae had said.

But… no. That’s insane. You could definitely get fired for that.

He’s still watching you, face neutral, but his cheeks are flushed, a pink stain that gives him away.

“You good?” you ask, keeping it light, teasing.

“Yeah,” he mutters, looking away. “Just warm.”

The way he yanks off his beanie and runs a hand through his hair shouldn’t feel like a whole damn striptease, but here you are, heart pounding, as if you’re witnessing something way more scandalous than him adjusting his hair. The tips of his ears are red, so maybe he is more affected than he lets on.

“Yeah, it is kinda warm.” You fumble for something to do with your hands, tying your hair up into a messy bun. You don’t think much of it, until you catch the way Yoongi watches, gaze lingering a second too long on the bare skin of your neck. He’s not subtle about it, either. His lips part, and suddenly, it’s like you’ve knocked the wind out of him.

The look he is giving you is devastating. Fuck.

The way his tongue drags across his wine-stained bottom lip is downright diabolical. It’s a subtle motion, but it hits with cutting precision, like he knows exactly what he’s doing and how it’s affecting you. And you know he has this down to a science at this point, being an idol, and knowing how to bring fans to their knees.

“Trouble,” you mutter, shaking your head. It’s not just teasing anymore. It’s acknowledgment, an unspoken agreement that you both know what’s happening.

He licks his teeth, smirking. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You roll your eyes, laughing softly, trying to ease the tension. “Can’t believe I let you drag me into this.”

And by this, you both know you’re not just talking about this night, but all the moments leading up to it. Leading up to these new feelings you haven’t fully unraveled.

“You like it,” he teases, taking another swig, feline eyes locked in on yours a second longer than necessary, like he’s daring you to deny it.

Welp. Maybe he’s right. Maybe you’re starting to.

Maybe you already do.

A/N: So what do we think? Tell me what you liked about the chapter and what you want to see in the next ones!

Btw y'all really wanted JK in this one so I had to write him in. Personally, I was imagining Seungcheol (my Daegu bbs) and initially had him in the drafts, but Woozi would've been comedy gold, too.

Next chapter is half-way written haha who am i?! Look forward to 1,000 words about Yoongi's large, veiny hands. Who's down?

Chapter Three >

Taglist: @glossdebut @kam9404 @mar-lo-pap @nnybtitts08 @granataepfelchen

@perfectiondazesworld @wobblewobble822 @yoongznme @caressesurloceanlove @rinkud

@kayleefriedchicken @jajabro @tinytan-gerine @xxbibin1208 @forevercarpediem227

@yoongicatagenda @someshinesomedont @marnz1990 @iheartshopping @confidentjus

@queenbloody @whydoeyecare @sadroses98 @curlyquennn

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possiblyreallyme · 3 months ago

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Once a Beckman girl, always a Beckman girl

warning: very spicey/smutty but no actual penetration, toys (vibrator), size kink if you squint, big dick benn canon.

hello! i got this idea from one of my favorite one piece writer on tumbler, @innerfare!! everyone, go check them out!! thank you so much!!

"Come on, honey. Don't you wanna come back to my cabin?" Shanks asked drunkenly through his hiccups and wolfish grin, staggering over the countertop to hold onto the wood and wink at you.

You'd giggle, but you shook your head, cleaning the counter when he knocked over a glass of alcohol with his one elbow.

"I'm sorry, sir," You told him with that sweet smile, though you didn't seem very sorry. "I already have plans with your first mate."

Shanks backed off immediately, nodding his head and walking away before you could ask why. Even in his drunken state, he knew it was a complete waste of time to try and woo one of Benn's girls.

Plus, his first mate wasn't one to sleep around, so Shanks knew better than to interfere when he needed a night to relax. He was drunk, not heartless.

"Tough luck," Lucky Roux murmured through his mouthful of meat when Shanks told the table of pirates about the barmaid, not even looking up to console his captain. "No one gets one of Benn's girls."

"Yeah, no shit," The captain murmured with a hiccup, before slouching against the table with a few more, spinning a bottle cap around like a pouty child.

"I just wish we knew what he does to get girls so crazy," Yasopp replied under his breath, though he didn't necessarily care to keep his voice low. Anyone who knew Benn knew he was a charmer, even if he didn't go around flirting as much as his captain.

If only they knew. If only they knew how their Benn could drag his fingers across a lady's skin and make her feel like she was a work of art. How as much as Shanks told him one-night stands and hookups shouldn't last more than 30 minutes, he just can't leave a girl like that.

Was he not supposed to stretch her with his fingers? How was she supposed to fit him if he didn't— while you're at it, doesn't it feel better when you let her ride your face until she's squealing and pulling at your hair? And it would weight much too heavy on his conscious if he left a woman alone in bed when she's tired and sore and in need of some love, when he could put his left-over energy to use and make her a nice meal, maybe give her a massage to ease the ache he caused.

Of course a man like him was so popular with the ladies. He was practically made for women, with how he could memorize your body like the back of his hand, as if he's known you his whole life, but he only just learned your damn name.

He'll coo in that deep voice of his, say things a pirate most certainly shouldn't be saying to someone he'll never see again, with that charming smile on his face and slowly rolling his hips into yours, thumbing at your clit until you've coated the sheets in as much cum as you could give him.

And yet, he's never come across as a player. He isn't a womanizer; he isn't someone like Shanks who can't be trusted to remember his partners names after a week. He's tough as nails and brutal, but to the women whose hearts still throb for the first mate, he was a sweetheart. The type to empathize and sooth when he's just a little too big to fit all the way in your cunt, wiping your tears with kisses and assure you that you've taken more than enough for him to enjoy, so don't feel guilty.

"Benn," You're whining that night, just after you close and the Red Force was snickering when Beckman puts his hand on the small of your back, dwarfing you so intensely you felt your face go hot. You should have fucking guessed that a man with hands bigger than your head had a cock to match.

"Shh, I know, sweetheart. Just relax," He soothed, large fingers parting your labia and pulling up the hood of your clit, circling the little nerve with an ease that made you wonder if he'd done this before with you.

You knew good and damn well you'd remember if a man like this had ever been with you before, but he hadn't even taken his eyes off your face and yet he found your clit almost faster than you could.

You couldn't focus on that though, already fighting off delirium you only thought a cock could bring you, taken by surprise how he could get you so dumb when all he had done was fuck you with that big black vibrator. He kept you sat upright on his desk by letting you lay your head on his shoulder, fluttering kisses against your jaw and rubbing your back when you clenched around the toy and whined for more, soothing you with his whispers like a father soothing his baby in the dead of night.

"Not yet, little one." It had been not yet all damn night, and you were ready for more. Eyes locked on the tent in his pants, large and clearly thick enough to stretch you to your limit, but you couldn't find it in you to care how much it would hurt. He cared though, and thank God for that. He couldn't live with himself if one of his sweethearts got hurt when it was his job to make sure they were well taken care of and happy, even though Shanks tried to explain to him that his job was simply to get off and go.

When he finally pulled the vibrator out and let you slump against hi desk, he kissed along the inside of your thighs and cleaned up the mess dripping to your knees, murmuring enough poetic praise to keep you high on orgasm for longer than your ego appreciated.

"Aw, baby doll," He chuckled faintly against your cunt, a smile stretching across his lips when you squirmed and whined when his stubble brushed along your sensitive thighs. "You still wanna take my cock, don't you?"

"Yes." Your mother would be ashamed at how fast you answered the pirate, who merely chuckled again and lifted you into his arms.

#benn beckman x reader #one piece #one piece smut #benn beckman smut #benn beckman x you #sorry this took so long y'all #one piece x reader

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anto-pops · 2 years ago

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Fissured Composure - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: After watching you hold your own against a handsy classmate, Sebastian is feeling particularly needy and steals you away to the Undercroft to show you just how worked up your right hook got him.

Alternatively summarized as Sebastian reverently going down on you after you break Leander's nose

Based on this request I received! Hope you like it anon :))

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, minor violence, explicit sexual content, rough sex

Full fic can be found here on Ao3 as always !

Many of your friends would agree that you had the patience of a damn Saint.

Beyond dealing with Sebastian’s hard-headedness on a regular basis and keeping up appearances with your classmates, it was a wonder you had managed to maintain your cool, collected facade for so long. You could recall losing it once before, shortly after Professor Fig died. But the whole debacle had gone down in the safety and privacy of the Room of Requirement, so no one had been around to witness your indignant anger take root and assist you in trashing two thirds of your sacred space.

That had been two years ago, so you liked to think you’d gotten better at controlling your emotions since then.

Leander fucking Prewett, however, had seemingly made it his life’s mission to frustrate you to no foreseeable end.

While you had felt bad for him in your fifth-year and entertained his rambling mostly out of pity, somewhere along the way your lack of interest got lost in translation. He was a rather boastful individual, preferring to brag about himself and put down anyone that excelled in areas he wanted to be the best in. His attitude had only worsened with age, and for the last few months he had suddenly taken to attempting to woo you in passing.

His efforts were too pathetic to take to heart, but you certainly hadn’t told Sebastian about it yet. Not unless you wanted to trigger a fight that you knew you wouldn’t be able to intervene in, because the whole reason Leander was even trying with you was to get under your boyfriend’s skin.

Today was Wednesday, and you shared Herbology class with Leander, much to your displeasure. Your attempts at escaping out the door quickly had been thwarted when Professor Garlick asked to speak with you after class, and despite hoping against all odds that you would be left alone, Prewett was waiting for you at the top of the steps when you ascended the staircase.

“Ah, there you are,” he drawled, with far too much familiarity for your liking. “Did Professor Garlick hold you back to scold you for something?”

You grasped at the fringes of your self-restraint with everything in you. “No, we were just discussing some extra assignments she gave me last week.”

Wanting to leave the interaction at that, you picked up your pace and strode past him, eager to meet up with Sebastian and Ominis for lunch. At the very least, Sebastian’s presence would act as a safeguard against Leander’s incessant pestering. Unfortunately, the Gryffindor had no qualms about lengthening his stride to match your own, and he fell annoyingly into step beside you.

He raked one of his hands through his long strands of red hair, trying and failing to raise a brow at you questioningly. Instead he just looked constipated. “Wow, extra assignments? You must be some child genius turned prodigy, I can’t think of anyone who willingly says yes to more homework.”

“...I’ve been doing it for two years, Leander.”

Waving you off, he pressed on, “Then you’re way smarter than you let on.” What? “Not that I’ve heard otherwise from anyone, but someone as bright as you likely values intellect and wit, and I can’t help but notice Sebastian is in short supply of both these days–”

“Leander, now really isn’t the time.” Not this shit again. You pushed through the double doors leading to Central Hall, desperate to put your two Slytherin companions in between yourself the daft idiot tailing you.

“Oh, come on. I’m only suggesting we take some time to study together. Or maybe we could take a stroll through the Library since you’re so fond of books. Everyone knows you’ve got a thing for sneaking into the Restricted Section, although sometimes I wonder how much reading you actually do when you disappear there with Sallow.”

By now you had made it beside the fountain in the middle of the room, but your legs halted entirely when you registered the implication hidden in his words. One of your nails broke as you dug your fingers into the cover of your textbook, and you willed the thrum of your blood roaring in your ears to lessen as you finally pivoted to face Leander fully.

Your expression was stormy when you fixed your eyes on his beady ones, and you allowed yourself a moment to appreciate the nervous bob of his throat. “What is it you think I do then, Leander? What vapid, tasteless thoughts do you have whipping around in that giant head of yours, hm?”

At least he had the good sense to look sheepish, but he masked the look quickly with that false bravado that made your hands twitch. He raised his arms in a gesture of surrender, “Relax, doll. I’m just connecting the dots out loud. What does your prized boytoy tempt you with to convince you to break the rules so often?”

Merlin’s bloody balls, if you didn’t leave now, you were going to lose it in the middle of the school. There was no hiding your blatant scowl of disgust, but you found the frayed tethers of your composure and grabbed the ends like a lifeline. You pulled a deep breath into your lungs, exhaling in a way that conveyed your thinning temper, and turned to walk away.

You saw Sebastian standing on the other side of Central Hall talking to Garreth, and he was spying over the redhead’s shoulder to watch you. His face was contorted into a dark, threatening expression, and you knew he could read your own emotions plainly on your face. He was well aware that you were pissed off, and he jumped into action then, muttering something to Weasley under his breath before he was striding across the foyer to get to you.

You’d made it roughly three steps away from Leander when you suddenly felt his slimy hand slithering around your waist to haul you back against his chest. The brazen action took you by surprise, which was the only reason the bastard succeeded in squeezing the curve of your hip so generously. The feeling had you tensing all over, and you dimly registered Sebastian’s murderous expression nearing the opposite side of the fountain before your own anger took root.

“What, you’re not even going to dignify me with a response? That’s awfully cruel–”

A faceful of your fist cut him off mid sentence, and you watched through your narrowed eyes as Leander’s head flew back, his momentum carrying him to the ground in a sprawled, limp heap. You heard a series of gasps erupt from the students that were seated nearby, but you didn’t care. It took you a second to process the scene as you blinked the rage from your mind, but once you had, you were pleased to find Prewett’s nose hugging his cheek at a very broken angle.

“There’s your response, you prick,” you swore at him, bending down to snatch up your Herbology textbook that had fallen from your grip. Your knuckles throbbed from the impact still, but you simply flexed your fingers and shook the pain away. It felt good to get that out of your system, and entirely worth the bruises you would surely be sporting in the morning. “Do yourself a favor and stay the hell away from me, or I’ll be happy to show you exactly what I’ve learned from the books in the Restricted Section.”

As soon as you moved away from Leander, a group of younger students were flocking to his side, wisely giving you a wide berth as you left. Sebastian was frozen still as a statue on the other side of the fountain, looking at you slack-jawed with admiration twinkling in his dark eyes. You smiled softly at him, the look so at odds with the feral energy you had just exhibited twenty seconds prior.

“I– what the bloody hell was that?” Sebastian asked at the same time you circled your arm around his waist to lead him away from the bleeding Gryffindor.

“It was well deserved, that’s what it was,” you replied evenly, and then you felt Sebastian’s fingertips digging into the small of your back. “Don’t worry about it, please. He won’t bother me anymore, that’s for damn sure.”

Sebastian’s laugh sounded breathless, and he shook his head in disbelief, his pupils blown wide as he stared down at you. “Oh I’ll definitely be needing the backstory to that whole altercation at some point, but I’m more hung up on the fact that you actually punched somebody. You never get physical like that, where in Merlin’s name did that come from?”

You’d been leading Sebastian towards the Great Hall, having had your mind set on lunch for the better part of a half hour. But then you felt Sebastian take control of steering, and instead of turning down the corridor that led to your destination, he instead appeared to be guiding you in the direction of the Dark Arts Tower. “You’re acting like it’s unheard of for someone to lose their temper. In case you forgot, Prewett is particularly insufferable. Today he crossed one too many lines, so I reeducated him. End of story.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Sebastian murmured as you came up the staircase leading to a familiar alcove, and things suddenly started to click into place. “That was quite possibly the sexiest thing you’ve ever done.”

All the blood in your body seemed to flood into your cheeks then. Sebastian gazed down at you hungrily, whipping his wand out briefly to unlock the latch concealing the entryway behind the large clock. It opened with a clang, and before you could formulate a response to his statement, he was gently pushing you through the opening ahead of him.

While the two of you descended the narrow stairwell leading into the Undercroft, Sebastian replayed the glorious sight of your wicked right hook in his mind. He didn’t know what the hell Leander had been whispering to you about, but the look on your face had told him it wasn’t anything pleasant. Being the chivalrous and overprotective boyfriend he was, of course he’d bailed on his conversation with Garreth to step in.

Watching Prewett’s offensive appendage coil around your waist had sealed the deal, however; Sebastian had fully intended on sending the Gryffindor into an early grave. But then you’d dropped your items and spun around so fast– your textbook was still falling when your fist connected with his nose. It wasn’t the most tactful means of defense for a lot of people. After all, in a world of magic, who the hell bothered with brawling? There was no denying the appeal of it though. It was a more personal way of telling someone to go fuck themselves, and watching you set your boundries in such a way had driven Sebastian’s blood supply straight to his cock.

He liked this unrestrained side of you. He was desperate to see more of it.

Once you were past the threshold of the gate, you stopped to turn to Sebastian, ready to clarify that seriously– was he this affected by you throwing a punch? But then his larger body slammed against you, stealing the words from your throat as he captured your lips in a frantic, hungry kiss, and you were manhandled into his arms so he could walk the two of you over to the lounge stuffed away in the corner of the room.

As soon as your ass made contact with the velvet cushions, Sebastian broke away so his hands could get to work on hauling your skirt down your legs. The ferocity of the movement nearly sent you flying to the floor with the attire, but then the freckled man was moving back into your personal space so abruptly, your teeth knocked together before he began biting and sucking at your bottom lip.

“Fuck– Sebastian, what the hell’s gotten into you?” The pain from his ministrations quickly blurred together with the unmistakable arousal pooling between your legs, and when he pressed the pad of his thumb roughly against your clit through your soaked undergarments, he swallowed your shaky moans with a nefarious kiss.

“I have to have you,” Sebastian murmured as his hands came up to remove your blouse, exerting a smidge more self-control than he did with your skirt so he didn’t render your uniform unusable afterwards. There was still the matter of school technically being in session, but after watching Leander put his hands on you, Sebastian was feeling especially possessive, and seeing you lay the brute out like it was nothing made his thirst for you seem borderline unquenchable. He asked hurriedly, “Merlin’s balls, let me eat you out– please?”

You shivered as he undid the last button on your shirt and slipped the material over your shoulders, tossing it to the stone floor alongside the rest of your clothes. Having long since given up on wearing your bras after Sebastian ripped the straps of your last two, you were completely bare– an open invitation for him to begin kneading your breasts and pinching your nipples hard enough to make you arch into his touch.

He took full advantage of your close proximity and latched his lips over your thundering pulse, sinking his teeth into the skin to work a mark there, and you nodded shamelessly when you felt his fingers slip beneath your underwear.

“O-Okay. Alright– fine, but take this off,” your hands tugged at the collar of his shirt, ardently conveying that if you were going to let him satiate himself, the least he could do was let you look at him.

Sebastian was obliging you in a heartbeat, pulling away from your spread legs to wriggle his tie loose. It hung messily around his neck– just enough for him to swiftly begin undoing his button up– and the entire time he worked to shed the clothing, his dark, penetrating gaze never left your flushed body. Once the front of his shirt fell open and he’d discarded it, you were met with the tantalizing sight of Sebastian’s toned, freckled chest. The mouth watering trail of hair running below his navel paved a path to the tenting fabric of his trousers, and as soon as Sebastian caught you staring, his brown eyes were darkening impossibly further.

Prowling forward with feline grace, Sebastian smirked as he lifted his tie off of his shoulders to drape over your head. He didn’t bother tightening it, instead letting it hang in a disheveled heap between your breasts, and the sight did more for him than he cared to admit, his cock straining uncomfortably in his trousers. But right now wasn’t about him– not really– it was about you, and Sebastian’s reverent need to please you.

“Hold that for me,” he purred down at you before he was dropping to his knees in front of you.

A brilliant flush swept up your torso as his warm, broad hands came to finally slip your drenched panties away from your aching heat, gliding the material down your outstretched legs without tearing his eyes away from you. Goosebumps broke out all over your skin when the chill of the Undercroft passed over you, and your breath caught in your throat when he eagerly licked his lips and sidled up to the edge of the couch.

Sebastian looped his arms under your thighs, tugging you closer to him so that your ass dangled precariously off the cushions, causing you to shiver under his unyielding stare. He nudged your legs up onto his shoulders, casting a mischievous look your way before he was nuzzling his face into the sensitive skin of your legs, and the adoring kisses he peppered up the apex of your thighs had your stomach tensing in anticipation.

“Do you think we could try sparring one day?” Sebastian asked randomly, teasing his fingers closer to your dripping folds before pulling them away entirely. The dejected sigh that slipped from your lips made him chuckle darkly, and you narrowed your eyes at him as his question finally processed.

“Sparring? What the hell for?”

He shrugged, jostling your raised legs as his fingers dug firmly into your hips for a modicum of restraint. “I think I’d enjoy getting thrown around by you. Do you think you could?”

Merlin– he had officially lost his mind. “Maybe? I wouldn’t want to hurt you, though.”

Something wild sparked behind his irises then, and he began placing lingering kisses in the hollow of your leg. “I would love it if you did,” another soft press of his lips, this time right beside your aching center. “Seriously, when we do, promise me you won’t hold back.”

“You’re actually insane,” you wheezed out as his next kiss fell directly against your clit, and your nails dug fitfully into the padding of the lounge at the featherlight feeling.

“Only for you, darling.” Sebastian’s grip on your hips tightened as he mercifully sealed his mouth over your cunt, and your head kicked back against the sofa with an audible whack as your shrill voice suddenly echoed off the walls of the cavernous room. Your next breath was stolen from you as you felt Sebastian’s tongue circle over your clit, pressing and dragging the muscle down your heat to lap up as much of you as you could– and you swore you’d never been so wet in your fucking life.

By some miracle, you didn’t pass out from the overwhelming bliss, but you sure as hell saw stars dancing in the corners of your vision when Sebastian tongued at your tight entrance. The sordid sounds coming from the brunet between your legs was enough to have you clenching your thighs on either side of his head, and the blatantly aroused groan it pulled from his throat reverberated against you perfectly.

“Fuck, Sebastian,” you whimpered, snapping your hands up from the seat to fist in his curly, brown locs, and when you pulled him against you harder, he moaned at the sensation of your nails scraping against his scalp. He switched tactics then, shaking his head from side to side softly to rub his lips sinfully over your bundle of nerves. The friction was dizzying, and you brazenly bucked your hips against his chin to chase your steadily mounting pleasure. “Merlin–”

Sebastian was utterly transfixed by you. Through hooded eyes, he watched rapaciously as you crumbled above him; your chest rose and fell with labored breaths, and the ever darkening flush that decorated your skin made the green of his tie around your neck stand out even more, acting like a proprietary flag that claimed you as his. You cracked open your eyes to stare down at him, and your stomach flipped at his unbridled, lust-filled gaze boring into you.

Sitting forward more, Sebastian wound one of his arms over the angular curve of your hip bones, simultaneously pressing you harder into him while preventing you from shifting around. He mouthed sloppily against you, and you were left to balance your leg over his shoulder when he dropped his other hand to begin teasing at your soaked hole. He pressed the tip of his finger in slowly before withdrawing it completely, and he repeated the same motion a few more times until you were on the verge of tearing a fistfull of his hair out.

A keening sound ripped from your chest when he removed the digit slower than before, and you could feel Sebastian smirk against you. “S-Stop teasing,” you stuttered, your voice strained and airy.

Sebastian pulled away with a conniving chuckle, and the sight of your slick coating the entirety of his lower face damn near killed you on the spot. “I’m trying to take my time here– you taste so fucking sweet.”

His finger was back, sliding into you once again– only this time he spared you further torment by burying the appendage inside of you to the knuckle and curling it deliciously upwards. You gasped, arching off the back of the lounge in some vain attempt to feel more of him, but his strength pressing into your hips held you firmly in place, and a legitimate whine tumbled from your swollen lips.

He set an achingly slow pace, focusing more on wiggling his finger inside of you before pulling it back to thrust in again, and your throaty groan was cut short when Sebastian’s mouth reappeared on your cunt. He lapped at you furiously, working your brain into a tizzy with the rapid flicks of his tongue against your clit, and the cord in your gut was wrought tight as your climax roared to life in the far reaches of your mind. The wanton moans that slipped from Sebastian were electrifying, and the intensity of his ministrations increased when he added a second finger to the mix. Any pain or discomfort was nonexistent; all you could focus on was the sheer exhilaration his efforts brought you, and your hands tightened in his hair to silently warn him that you were close.

Leaning sideways for a better angle, Sebastian rolled his head against your inner thigh to peer up at you. Once your glazed over eyes landed on him, he let his mouth hang open in an obscene manner to lewdly flick his tongue over your nub at the same time he stroked your inner walls, and that was as much as you could take before you were crying out for Sebastian loud. Your orgasm hit you with the force of a train, stealing your breath and making your muscles tense so hard that your boyfriend’s face was effectively crushed between your trembling legs.

Sebastian took everything that you inflicted upon him in stride; the stinging drag of your nails through his hair, as well as the suffocating squeeze of your thighs on either side of his head. He relished in it– and he positively lived for how he could make you fall apart in such a way. His cock concurred with his thoughts, twitching enthusiastically against the confines of his trousers.

The freckled, Adonis incarnate before you rose to his full height after you had the good grace to release him from the stifling confines of your legs, groaning softly when his fingers slipped out of you. Sebastian regarded you with a predatory look that promised more, and you swallowed thickly as you watched his hands languidly work to undo the catch of his pants.

Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, Sebastian’s brows pinched together with blatant need as he scanned your prone form against the sofa. “Fuck, do you have any idea what you do to me?” His imposing stature over you– shirtless and flushed, with his chest rising and falling from the strained breaths he pulled into his lungs– it had your heart hammering wildly against your sternum. You shook your head. “Then I’ll show you,” he vowed, and the timbre to his voice seemed to reignite the fire burning in your veins.

Working quickly, Sebastian shoved his trousers down to his thighs, pulling himself out of his briefs with a needy groan. He gave himself a few testing pumps, tipping his head back slightly when his fist squeezed around the bright red tip, and then he was zeroing in on you like you were the only thing in the room he cared to pay attention to. You were still quivering in your spot on the lounge when Sebastian stepped forward, hauling you upright by the tie around your bare neck to spin you around so you were kneeling on the cushions with your front pressed into the backrest of the couch.

It took everything in you not to sink back down on your wobbly legs, but then you felt Sebastian’s hands running down your back towards the shapely curve of your ass, and he squeezed at the skin there greedily before lining himself up with your spit-slick cunt. Far too eager to feel his cock inside of you, you watched over your shoulder as Sebastian gingerly pressed into you with a low, raspy moan, and your fingers dug into the backrest so hard, your knuckles blanched white.

Despite his urgency, Sebastian took his time rocking his hips into you, drinking in your sweet little sounds as he filled you up and slid home. “Fuck,” he breathed, leaning forward to rest his head between your shoulder blades as he buried himself to the hilt. His hands moved from your ass to your waist, holding you still with bruising strength as he got used to the sensation of your hypersensitive walls contracting around him. Your breaths were coming out fast and shallow, completely overwhelmed by the sheer size of him compared to his fingers. Having already come, you were like putty in Sebastian’s hands as he ground his cock into you firmly, and you felt him twitch inside you when your head fell forward against the upholstery of the seat with a gasp. “Fuck– you’re so wet still– feels so fucking perfect.”

When Sebastian pulled back to torturously thrust into you slowly, your hips rocked in tandem against him, and he redirected his eyes up from where the two of you were connected so he could drink in the expression on your face. Your lips were parted around a choked moan as he moved inside of you, those beautiful, luminescent eyes of yours sparkling with rampant affection and arousal, and his tie swayed around your neck in sync with his movements.

Sebastian hunched forward, lifting one of his hands to rake through your disheveled hair and pull your head back towards his shoulder, and you cried out suddenly before the sound transformed into a filthy moan that only served to spur Sebastian forward faster. His hold on you was unrelenting, effectively bending you backwards against his sweaty chest as he increased his pace and began spearing his cock into you with brutal efficiency.

It didn’t take long for him to start hitting the deepest parts of you, the thick head of his shaft curving up to graze deliciously over your sweet spot with every rough thrust. Your eyes rolled back in your skull, shameless noises spilling from your lips as Sebastian folded you backwards onto his cock to satiate himself. That familiar feeling blossomed low in your gut, and one of your hands flew back to dig your nails into the bare skin of Sebastian’s thigh behind you.

“Fuck, fuck, Sebastian–” your warbled voice was like music to his ears, pulling the corners of his mouth up into a devilish smile. His next thrust was particularly forceful, and the incriminating sound of skin slapping against skin filled the Undercroft, seemingly harmonizing with the cacophony of noises that the two of you created together. “Merlin–”

Sebastian growled, releasing your hair to trail his hand across your front and curl around your throat. He tightened his hold there, squeezing just enough so that your walls clenched around his cock as he upped his tempo. You were completely enveloped by him, held fast to his damp chest as he ruthlessly pounded into you, and the lack of oxygen to your brain numbed everything else as your second orgasm loomed threateningly overhead.

Overcome with telltale urgency, Sebastian chased his own pleasure desperately, bucking his cock deep into your clenching heat, wringing choked gasps and stuttered cries of his name from your open mouth, and he was fucking dizzy from how good it felt to be pressed against you, holding you tight in his arms. Sebastian tugged you closer to him to latch his lips over the sweaty skin below your ear, biting and sucking a mark there as he propelled his hips upwards inside of you.

There really wasn’t anything you could do to stop yourself from frantically rutting back in search of that building euphoria. You rode back onto Sebastian with as much give as you were allowed, your eyes squeezed shut from the pleasure and your thighs shaking from how good Sebastian was fucking you, filling you up deep and hard and fast, just how you liked it. The way he slammed you back down onto his rough thrusts by your throat only added fuel to the fire, leaving you a sloppy, gasping, pleading mess in his arms.

Sebastian released his ironclad grip around your waist to snake his hand lower to your sensitive clit, and your head fell back against his shoulder as he started rubbing firm circles over the overstimulated nub. Your voice strained against his uncompromising hold on your throat, “Fuck– Sebastian, please–”

“Come, darling, come on my cock. Let me hear your pretty noises, I’m so close,” he muttered the command against the shell of your ear, railing his cock into you so fast and so harshly, you had no choice but to oblige him.

Sebastian watched as you crumbled against him for the second time, utterly in love with the way your spine rounded as you sank into him, every part of your body trembling. Your walls tightened impossibly further around him, causing him to gasp into the crook of your neck, and Sebastian slammed his cock into your incredible cunt— nearly mindless from how you shook against him— and he fucked you clean through your orgasm until your sounds and body yanked him right over the edge with you. His dark eyes rolled shut, growling your name through his clenched teeth as his pace faltered before he was burying himself deep in you with a heady gasp.

The feeling of Sebastian emptying inside of you rendered you boneless, leaving your boyfriend with the task of keeping you upright as he ground his hips against your ass, milking himself dry with broken whimpers before halting his movements entirely. His hold around your throat loosened, and the rush of blood returning to your brain was akin to pure bliss alongside the remnants of your climax.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned after a few heated seconds, relaxing his grip on you so that he could slide himself out before gingerly lowering the two of you down onto the cushions together. Your hands slipped from the back of the couch and fell into your lap as Sebastian maneuvered you into a sitting position, your body too limp to even bother moving yourself. “Are you okay?”

You gave him a nonplussed blink as you willed your brain to function properly again, and then you nodded shakily. “Shit, yeah. I had no idea your bloodlust would turn you into such a lunatic, though,” you muttered, and Sebastian’s bellowing laugh roused you further from your post-coital state.

“It’s not bloodlust, darling. It’s you,” he countered easily, a smug smile playing on his freckled lips. He tucked his softening cock back into his briefs and tugged his pants back up over his hips before moving away from you to retrieve the scattered pieces of your uniform. When he reappeared with the ball of clothing, you took it graciously, staying seated on the couch as you worked your underwear up your unsteady legs. “I was serious about the sparring thing, too. I think it would be fun watching you let loose.”

You shot him a hesitant look, not particularly keen on his eagerness to get bloodied up at your hands, but his excitement at the thought was palpable, and you found yourself relenting to his ludicrous idea with a sigh after a few beats of silence. “Fine,” you conceded. “But only once. I don’t care how horny it makes you– I don’t like the thought of hurting you, no matter how easy it is to fix broken bones here.”

He had bent down to snatch his button up off the floor, but paused on his way up to glance at you with a pleased expression on his face. The shirt was momentarily forgotten as Sebastian fell to his knees once again, only this time it was to cradle your face in his warm hands and pull you in for a toe curling kiss. His thumbs traced along your cheekbones as his tongue delved deep in your mouth, and you sighed contentedly. The gentleness that always followed these heated moments between the two of you was, without a doubt, one of your favorite things.

Sebastian broke away to pepper a quick succession of lighter kisses all over your face, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly at his reverence. “Hell yes, whatever you want. I’ll do it wearing a damn ball gown if that’s what it takes.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re barking mad?”

He smirked, far too pleased to be hearing you say so. “From time to time, yes. Don’t lie, you love it.”

Your eyes twinkled with amusement, and fighting your smile proved to be easier said than done. “I love you. Your crazy ideas, however, I take with a grain of salt.”

From there, he stood fully to throw his shirt over his shoulders, and you mirrored his actions, redressing yourself as quickly as your shaky legs would allow. Once finished, you slipped Sebastian’s tie off of your neck, draping it over his shoulders with a coy smile, and you felt his arm coil around your waist to tug you flush against his front, stealing your lips in another steamy, doting kiss. You returned the gesture with equal fervor, rising to your tip-toes to trail your hands up into his hair to scratch shiver-inducing stripes down the nape of his neck.

The two of you stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity before the screeching gears of the metal gate drew your attention, and you pulled apart at the same time Ominis strode into the Undercroft. His face was contorted in concentration, his wand sweeping across the room until he seemed to sense that yes, his two best friends had indeed abandoned him in the Great Hall to disappear into their shared space.

“Where the hell have you two been?” He asked, not even bothering to confirm that you were truly there. His outstretched wand pointed towards you both as he made his way to the back of the room. “I thought we were meeting for lunch, I’ve been entertaining idle gossip for the better part of a half hour. What is it that I keep hearing about Leander getting punched in the face?”

At that, you stepped away from Sebastian, adjusting your skirt slightly before bashfully rubbing the back of your neck. “Ah, yeah. That was me,” you confessed. “Word travels fast. What exactly is being said?”

Ominis cocked a brow at you as he came to halt a few feet away, a strange look passing over his features as his wand pulsed in your direction. “Rumor has it you broke his nose. Please tell me this isn’t going to become a regular occurrence– I can hardly keep up with Sebastian coming to blows with students as it is.”

“It won’t, don’t worry. I doubt he’ll even come around me anymore after this.”

Sebastian snickered under his breath, eyeing you with a proud look that reminded you of your recent escapades, and you blushed under his knowing stare. “If Leander knows what’s good for him, he won’t so much as glance in your direction for the rest of the year. But on that note, I’m famished. Anyone up for food?”

“I’ve been ‘up for food’ for thirty minutes,” Ominis muttered as he turned on his heel to head for the gate. The three of you fell into step alongside one another, Sebastian’s hand brushing against yours as you walked towards the exit, but then Ominis was pausing mid step, tilting his head up to… sniff the air? How odd. “Merlin’s beard, it smells like sex in here.”

You snatched your hand away from Sebastian’s to slap your palms over your eyes in embarrassment, every ounce of blood in your body rushing to your head and heating your cheeks as you willed the floor to open up underfoot and swallow you whole. Your boyfriend, however, only laughed.

“We had to work up an appetite before finding you,” Sebastian mused, unashamed at having been caught by the blond man. “Sorry, Ominis. I’ll send an owl next time.”

“Please stop fucking in the Undercroft. I’m too scared to sit down here anymore– I can’t tell whether I’m avoiding your cum stains or not.”

“You’ll want to steer clear of the lounge for the foreseeable future, then.” Sebastian fired back instantly, not a lick of chagrin to be detected in his voice. “That’s a mess you’ll want to avoid.”

“Please stop talking,” you grit through your teeth, and the coquettish expression on the brunet’s face warranted a sharp look from you. “Or I can’t promise I won’t punch you in the face next.”

“Didn’t we just establish that I want you to go that route? Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Ominis threw his hands up in utter exasperation, shaking his head in disbelief at Sebastian’s gall before damn near sprinting to leave the Undercroft, and the two of you were forced to skip after him as he ascended the staircase to head for the Great Hall. Even after sitting down and piling food on his plate, Sebastian continued to oggle you from his seat across the table. Every so often you would feel his foot nudge your calf, trailing the appendage up your leg to play with the hem of your skirt.

Despite your earlier mortification, he did a stellar job of brightening your mood, and when Ominis groused over his mug that the two of you should just get fucking married already, Sebastian looked at you wonderstruck, and he seemed to seriously consider it.

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x female!reader #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x mc #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow oneshot #sebastian sallow fanfic #ominis gaunt #leander prewett #sebastian sallow smut #my writing #probably counter productive to post this at 1am but I don't wanna look at it anymore

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