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yoonmetogether · 17 days ago

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Not In the Cards Prelude pt. 2

pairing: gambler/drug dealer!yoongi x grad student!fem!reader, surprise pairings rating: mature MDNI! 18+ only. Blank/ageless blogs will be blocked!!! genre: strangers-to-lovers, age gap, intro to e2l mafia/bodyguard au summary: he shows up a second time. but does he stay? warnings/tags: oral (f. receiving), usage of sl*t, motorcycle riding, angst, bantering, dialogue heavy, smoking, implied drug dealing/usage, tiny bit of fluff, flashback of secondary school relationships, referenced underage drinking wc: 12k 😭 im sorryyyy huuuuuge ginormous humongous thank you to my beta reader @yoonglesyeobo for her extraordinary commentary and feedback that never fails to make me smile, as well as @syllviere for her emotional support lol and bouncing ideas with me for this fic. could not have done this without y'all and I’m so grateful for your friendship <333

prologue l ch 1. play nice l prelude. strangers 1/3 l prelude. 2/3 l prelude. 3/3 l

Boys. They’re so messy.

All four of you had been in the hotel room for only 15 minutes but already the floors and counters were littered with beer cans and food containers. Jin would’ve had an aneurysm if he’d seen how quickly things had turned into chaos.

You were sitting on the edge of one of the beds, sulking as you watched your brother get ready. He was choosing which snapback better matched his outfit while Tae leaned over the sink in the bathroom, smearing a charcoal pencil under his waterlines. Jimin, on the other hand, was on the bed opposite you, laying on his back with his phone in the air, playing some game. He’d been the first to get ready.

“Can’t I go? Please?” you whined.

“No,” Jungkook huffed, saying your name in a harsh tone.

“Why not?”

“Because Jin would skin me alive if he found out I took you to an underground poker game.”

“Oh, c’mon!” Tae intervened, stepping out of the bathroom, flashing you a wink. “You’re gonna cave just like you always do, so save yourself the trouble. You know Jin hyung would never do anything to his two precious babies.”

“You’re too nice to her,” Jungkook grumbled, fixing his small gauges.

“She’s so cute, I can’t help it!” Tae exclaimed, your brother rolling his eyes.

“She’s just my lame, annoying sister.” Your jaw dropped, entirely hurt, and Jimin sat up to look between you and your brother with a frown on his face. If only you could hug him without Jungkook throwing a fit. His hugs always made you feel better.

“You’re so mean!” Tae came to your defense. “She loves you and that’s why she wants to go everywhere with you. Maybe you should be nicer.”

Jungkook shook his head defiantly, narrowly missing the pillow you chucked at him. But then he looked at you with a grimace, and you shot up on your feet with a smile. The familiar look of reluctance.

“Don’t wander off or be a pain in my ass,” Jungkook pointed a stern finger at you to which you stuck your tongue out before giddily bouncing over to the bathroom where Tae was finishing up with his hair.

“Thanks, Tae,” you murmured softly as you stepped up next to him.

“Of course, little angel. I always got your back.” You smiled at his soft elbow nudge in your side. “He’s really the lame and annoying one. Not you.”

“I heard that!” Jungkook called out in an offended tone.

“Good!” Tae shot back, grinning widely as you giggled. “Go get ready. We have to leave soon to catch the bus.”

****

The bar was musty, smelling of cigarettes, gross men, and booze, and the dim lights had a green smokey film floating underneath, creating a spooky atmosphere.

“Guys, do you really think we should be here?” Jimin asked nervously, wringing his hands. You stared, wanting to hold one of them.

Tae turned around from where he was standing beside your brother and hopped over with a smile, hooking an arm around Jimin’s neck.

“Aw, it’s okay, Baby J. We have my big pitbull to protect us, remember?” Tae jutted a thumb over his shoulder at Jungkook. Jimin shoved him away.

“How about this?” Tae booped his nose, and you found it cute the way Jimin wrinkled it in response. “When I win, I’ll use the money to replace your shit car.”

You stifled a laugh as Jimin kicked at his shin and Tae skipped away with a laugh, stopping beside your brother who was rolling his eyes at your antics. But he smiled shyly when Tae slung an arm around his waist.

Jimin looked grateful when you hooked your elbows together, both of you sparing a look at your brother to make sure he didn’t notice. Jimin quickly pinched your cheek that flushed under his touch, heart racing when he soothed it with his thumb.

You’d get around to telling them eventually.

Jungkook got in a small argument with a server who thought his ID was a fake, and her eyes widened in shock when your brother turned around to reveal the family emblem permanently drawn on the back of his neck, hidden by the lid of his hat. Your stomach churned at the sight. In a few years, you’d have to get the same tattoo. The very reason why you hated crows.

The server ran off to retrieve the owner, who walked briskly towards your group, eyes hardened.

“Do you know what the boss would do to me if he found out I let you kids in here?” The bar owner exclaimed in a hushed tone, looking around as if Jin was lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Jungkook shrugged, adjusting the snapback. “Besides, I just turned 19, so I’m legally allowed to be here.”

“What about your friends?” Your brother glanced back at the three of you. Jimin looked like he was about to throw up and Tae consolingly rubbed his back.

“He’ll be 19 in December, and they have IDs saying they’re old enough.” Jungkook pointed at Tae, and then at you and Jimin.

The man nodded at you and you did your best to maintain a calm demeanor. “Even her?”

“She’s my kid sister, she goes everywhere with me. I’m basically her permanent babysitter.” You flipped him off.

“You’re making me walk a tight line, kid,” the owner sighed. “But alright, come on.”

“You’re the man,” Jungkook grinned, looking back and beckoning you three to follow him.

“Hopefully not a dead one anytime soon.” Your brother laughed as he walked past him, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Nah, you’ll be good.”

As Jungkook led the way through the bar towards some stairs in the back, ignoring the side-glances you all received from the grown men playing cards, you noticed Tae looking around, scanning every table, every face.

“Who are you looking for?” You asked when your brother got caught up ordering a drink.

“Oh, an old friend of mine from back home.”

“Is that why you wanted to come here?”

“Yeah," he nodded with a wistful frown. "It was a long shot but I still wanted to see if I could run into him. He brought me a couple of years ago and taught me how to play.”

A sad look appeared on his face, so you didn’t think he wanted to talk anymore about it.

At the poker table downstairs, Jungkook sat down among the men like he owned the place, Tae right beside him. You pulled up a chair to sit behind them as cards were dealt and chips stacked. Jimin disappeared into the bathroom and didn’t come out for a while.

When the first river was dealt, Tae leaned back to whisper into your ear,

“Remember, it’s all in the eyes, little angel. You can always tell someone’s true feelings in their eyes.”

You nodded, intently watching Tae and your brother play, paying attention to the other men as well, trying to catch their tells.

Jimin returned with a tight smile on his face, and you both squeezed onto the chair, taking his hand into your lap since Jungkook was too engrossed in the play.

Your brother won a few rounds, smug as ever, but Tae won more and just gave Jungkook subtle nudges of his shoulder and whispers in his ear. You reminded yourself to tease him about the blush on his face later.

When the game ended, Tae emerged victorious, and all four of you celebrated with some shots at the bar, Jungkook making you vow that you’d never tell Jin.

Back home, Tae kept his promise to Jimin and bought him a nicer car. Still old and used, but less prone to breaking down.

For your birthday, he gifted you a keyboard, and it became one of your most prized possessions. With it, you composed a piece for Jimin who recorded and saved it on his phone, often playing it in his car whenever you two got some alone time, holding hands over the gearshift while you avoided looking at each other.

Some of your favorite memories. Ones that shaped you, seared a forever nostalgic hole in your heart. Ones that feel like they existed in another lifetime. Ones you’d give anything to relive.

The hotel room is smaller than you thought.

The queen-sized bed is located in the middle of the room, facing the terrace that has a clear view of the ocean. Around the corner of the foyer and hallway closet, is the bathroom; on the other side of that is a small nook with a mini fridge underneath an L-shaped counter, two armchairs on either side. It’s cozy. But cold. Quiet. You’re getting tired of being alone.

Your bags are wet, so you unpack everything to check that nothing’s ruined, rushing to get out your sketchbook. Flipping through the pages, you’re relieved that there’s no water damage. That would be very fucking unfortunate and you don’t need a panic attack right now.

After being caught in the rain, stuck in a basement with greasy men and cigarette smoke, and fucked in a cleaning closet, a hot shower is just what you need. But you don’t scrub your skin too hard. His touch still lingers.

You can still feel the tingle left by his fingers digging into your hips, hand wrapped around your wrist, mouth molded against yours. You don’t want to lose that feeling. Even though you lost him.

You want to scream at the top of your lungs. Why the fuck did you let that man go? You know, in your heart of hearts, that you’ll never meet someone like him again. You won his money - he didn’t owe you a goddamn thing and yet he came after you when he thought you were in danger. That had to mean something, right?

The thought of what would’ve happened if he hadn’t shown up makes your hands feel clammy, despite the steamy shower stall. Who knows what intentions those men had, aside from forcing you to give them the money back. You can fight, but your odds were against you with a group of vengeful thugs. And you don’t have your knife - it would’ve gotten confiscated at the airport and it means too much to you to risk that.

But you do have another weapon, pretty much guaranteeing that you could’ve walked out of there alive. With one flash of the back of your neck, those guys would’ve backed off and run for the hills.

You don’t mull over if Yoongi would join them; instead, spend the rest of your shower fuming, hot water incomparable to the burning in your veins. Because of him, mostly. For being such a jerk even though you didn’t do anything wrong, even though you tried being nice to him. For acting like you’d been the bane of his existence but still fucking you. And for sending you into a confusing whirlwind but not leaving you any time to catch up. And still making you want him.

Maybe you’ll just go to bed and forget him. Do some sketches, get a headstart on upcoming assignments, and go home tomorrow pretending that there isn’t some strange crack in your soul left by a man you just met.

You’re just about to start your skin care routine when three knocks rap on the door. You freeze. It’s almost the middle of the night, who the fuck- Oh, shit. Wait. It can’t be those guys. Wrapped up in a robe, you tiptoe out of the bathroom, mind racing as you formulate a plan if it is them. Pressing against the door, thinking about the possibility of shimmying your way off the balcony since you’re only on the second floor, you peer into the peep hole, heart flatlining when there isn’t a group of thugs outside, but a familiar mop of orange hair.

What the hell is he doing here? Whatever the reason is, you’re way too relieved that it’s him. Teetering on elated, everything you’d come to peace with in the shower wiped away at the sight of him standing outside your door, hands in his pockets, staring down at his shoes.

You swing open the door just as he turns for the stairs, like he’s giving up. His eyes are wide when he faces you, narrowing as they fall on your robe-covered body.

“You just keep turning up, don’t you? Were you a stray cat in a past life?” You tease, snickering at his glare as you lean on the door. He sighs, stuffs his hands further in his jacket, glares harder at the threshold.

“I lied to you about the buses.” You smile softly at his confession.

“I know. They run till midnight.”

“And I don’t have a friend’s place to crash.”

“I figured that.”

He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t tell you what he’s here for, if he wants something. You already told him you’d give him money, you have more than enough, but you’ll be disappointed if that’s the only reason why he’s at your door.

“So, what? You showed up just to tell me that you lied?”

“No,” he mutters, shaking his head before snapping up to meet your gaze. The fire in his eyes is blazing. “For this.”

And suddenly he’s crowding your space, large, warm hands holding the side of your face. Again. And you barely have time to blink much less breathe before his lips crash onto yours. You thank your lucky stars.

He backs you into the wall behind the open door, and your heart runs in your chest when he starts kissing you just as hungrily as before. But this time, he makes the effort to angle your face with his in a way that he can kiss you passionately, with purpose, with heat, with his tongue meeting yours, exploring between your lips, into your mouth, like he’s trying to steal your breath away and you let him, kiss him back with equal fervor. He kisses you deeply enough that you can feel the effects all the way down to your toes, almost to the point of having an out of body experience, nothing you’ve ever felt before. He kisses you like he has no intention of stopping.

And you don’t want him to, but when you lift your arms to loop around his waist, bring him closer, his jacket is cool and wet, and his body vibrates beneath the layers. You break the kiss to catch your breath and tell him he feels cold, but apologies tumble through his swollen, pink lips.

“Shit, I don’t know what I was thinking, I should-” He takes a step back and you think he’s going to run again, so you grab the side of his damp jacket to keep him in place. Keep him near you.

“You’re shivering.”

He stiffens, but the back of his shoulders visibly tremble. You move past him to close the door, gesturing for him to take off his shoes.

“Do you want to shower?” He regards you for a moment, shoulders tense, and then nods, once. Directing him to the bathroom, you offer a small, warm smile but just as he reaches for the handle and opens the door a crack, you stretch your arm to land a hand on the frame, effectively blocking him.

“Admit that you think I’m pretty first.”

His eyebrows furrow, he blinks, and then swivels on his heels to head for the front door. Your loud laugh echoes after him.

“Have fun sleeping in the rain!”

He exhales a frustrated breath and another snicker fills the space in response as he turns back around.

“Come on, it’s not like you’ll be lying. For once.”

“Wow, pretentious, much?” he quips.

“Stubborn, much?”

His lip curls. “Annoying brat.”

“Grumpy jerk.” It’s enchanting, how quickly you match each other’s energy, hostile but with no real bite.

He scowls and tilts his head up to the ceiling, like he’s wondering what he’s gotten himself into. And your delighted grin glows at him.

“So, what’ll it be?” His glare flickers to you with a piercing glint.

“You’re pretty,” he grumbles, and even though you heard him, you lean forward, cupping your ear, wanting to hear it loud and clear.

“Hm? What was that?”

He speaks through clenched teeth. “You’re really fucking pretty. So there.”

“Dude, why do you look like you’re about to pop a vein?” You cackle and he runs a hand down his face.

“If it makes things any better, you’re not too bad looking yourself. I’d even go so far as to say you’re handsome. Like really fucking handsome,” You mock him and grin when he glowers at you. You nod to the bathroom.

“Get in there.” Twirling around, you just miss the way his cheeks tinge a subtle shade of pink.

As the door closes, your cheeks buzz with a dopey smile you can’t drop, color painting a part of your soul that’s been dormant for a long time, awoken when he showed up on your doorstep because he wanted to kiss you again.

“Hey, can you do me a favor?” you call out. “Would you mind handing me my clothes? They’re on the sink.”

“Haven’t I done you enough favors?” From his one small moment of vulnerability, you forgot that he’s a fucking asshole.

With a huff, you knock on the door rapidly, holding your breath as the handle clicks and the door swiftly swings open to reveal Yoongi’s dark, narrowed eyes. Are you disappointed that he’s only dressed down to a black-tee, still in his jeans? You’ll never admit it. One more glance would show you that they’re unbuttoned, belt removed. The same jeans that were smacking on your ass back in the-

“Were you hoping I’d walk in on you naked?”

He cocks his head with a slight smirk. “I was hoping you’d walk in here naked.”

Oh, he’s smooth. Pulse dancing, you school your expression to conceal how flustered you are.

“Maybe I would’ve if you were nice. Can I have my clothes?” You hold out your hand and he glances down at it, a sigh leaving him as he brings his arm into view, passing over your sleep clothes. You snatch them with a cheeky smile and walk away to change. The door doesn’t shut until you’re around the corner.

Fully dressed and pretty much ready for bed, jet lag starting to get the best of you, you’re sitting at the white counter next to the window, re-checking all the designs in your sketchbooks when the door opens and Yoongi’s bare feet pad on the floor. You tense with the urge to turn around and see whether or not he’s appearing as what you’re imagining in your mind. Towel wrapped low on his hips, chest bare, body lithe and sleek and beautiful. When he passes behind you, the air around you thickens with his musk, the clinging scent of hotel soap and shampoo. Your legs cross under the table.

He stands adjacent to your seat, and you sneak a glance up at him peering down at your sketchbook, shaking a small towel over his wet hair. But he’s wearing a damn robe, sash tugged tightly around his waist, his clavicles and center of his chest just barely peeking out, two chains accentuating it. One is medium-length and studded with tiny diamonds, the other a long collection of stainless steel beads that hold two dog tags from his military service.

You retract your gaze and pretend to draw, cheek warming against your fist. He’s so attractive, it’s not fair.

“Are you an architect or something?” he asks as he drops in the seat across from you, towel falling around his neck. His tone sounds accusatory, like he can’t fathom you being in that kind of profession, but you don’t take it personally. You figure it’s just another one of his asshole-isms.

“No, I’m just minoring,” you reply without looking at him. “These are some sketches I’m playing with for my thesis project in the spring.”

“How proactive. They’re, um,” he clears his throat. “They’re pretty decent.”

He’s still leaning over, so with a bashful smile, you slowly push the book to his side of the table, permission for him to examine more closely.

“Thanks. My friends and I are talking about opening up an architecture firm after we graduate, and they’re looking at me to take care of the business portion of it.”

“Hm.” He sounds indifferent, but he glimpses at you while you talk, so you think he’s at least listening. As soon as you stop, though, his eyes return to your sketchbook. And he’s not just flipping through them. He takes his time with each page, each design, even the messier ones with all the frustrated scribbles and eraser marks. Sometimes he leans in and squints to get a closer look at the smaller details and… No one has looked at your pages like that. Not even your friends. Or brothers. The only exception is your professors, but that’s for a grade. Something glimmers in your chest. Something warms.

You change the subject so you don’t dwell on it.

“What did you major in?”

Your question sparks a slight frown on his face as he flips a page. “I didn’t go to college. Not for me.”

You nod in understanding. “Then, what do you do? Or you just gamble for a living?”

“You and all these questions.”

“Fine. Be boring,” You huff, crossing your arms.

“I work on cars,” he reluctantly mutters. Perking up at that, you sit a little straighter.

“You’re a mechanic?”

He hums in acknowledgment and you launch into a mainly one-sided conversation about your favorite makes and models, wishing you could tell him about your brother’s extensive car and bike collection. You smile when he at least indulges you in his current vehicle choice - an Elantra. Ooh. Sporty.

You’re a tad too giddy when you ask, “Do you race?”

“I can. But I don’t.”

“Maybe one day I’ll beat you at that too.” He just sighs and shakes his head, and you wear your shit-eating grin as the conversation comes to a stand-still. Now that you’re not sure what else to say and he doesn’t seem too keen on entertaining more questions, you wait for that awkward tension to settle between you but it never comes.

It’s just… quiet. Except for the sound of your breathing as you ponder explanations for why your heart is pounding that doesn’t have to do with the man sitting across from you, still engrossed in your sketches.

It’d be nice if he gave you an indication that he was interested in doing anything besides this and kissing you, but you suppose the fact that he accepted your invitation to shower instead of just fucking you in the foyer and hitting the road again is indicative of he can now at least stand being in your presence.

“So, fixing cars makes you enough to gamble a few million won away at an illegal poker ring? All in one night?”

He glances at you with a glare, flipping another page. “Okay, smart ass. What do you think I do?”

“Hm, I don’t know,” you pretend to think. “Sell stuff.” He doesn’t look at you, a slight down tick at the corner of his mouth.

“Stuff.”

“Substances?” Narcotics is the word you want to say, but don’t. Scrutinizing another drawing, impassiveness covers his face.

“And would you have a problem with that?”

“Do I seem like I would have a problem with that?” His attention flits to you for a small moment and then stays down.

His silence is enough to say that he doesn’t want to talk any more about it and you won’t press him even though you’re a nosy little shit because you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. But you do want to let him know that you’re not one to judge.

If he is a dealer, you know just how easy it is to get into but so much harder to get out of.

“Well, whatever it is, shit’s tough out here, and sometimes we gotta do what we gotta do, y’know?”

He doesn’t say anything after that and so you let it go. But there’s still something else on your mind.

“Can I ask another question?”

“No,” he deadpans, and you ignore him.

“What was your plan after you dropped me off?”

He brings your book to the edge of the table and sits back in the chair.

“I was gonna go to a sauna, but I forgot I gave the rest of my cash to the cab driver.”

Your brow quirks inquisitively. “Cab? Weren’t you just on a motorcycle?”

Whole body stilling, he focuses on nothing for a moment before quietly grumbling,

“I paid him so he’d tell me where he took you.”

You gawk at him as everything sinks in. A ring of promise glows around the surface of your heart when you realize he went out of his way to find you.

To look out for you. To protect you. And expected nothing in return. Despite the fact that you kissed him, showed him you wanted more, he didn’t try to invite himself up. Just took off into the night without looking back. Like he didn’t just save your life. Like you don’t owe him for fucking stabbing someone for you.

“You really came looking for me,” you marvel. “Why?”

His jaw clenches, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“I don’t have to answer that.” Ugh, he’s so fucking difficult, with this wall around him that you desperately want to infiltrate.

“You and your attitude,” you scoff. “What’s your problem?”

When he doesn’t respond, you reach over to pull your sketchbook out of his grasp, slamming it closed on the table. You repeat your question with a harsh glare and he returns it with equal intensity.

“You,” he admits darkly, eyes hardened. “You are my problem.”

“Then what are you doing here?” His lips pull into a line and he stares at his flat hand on the table. You sit back again, dejected fingers rubbing over your sketchbook, watching him refuse to look at you.

You stand up before your brain gives the command, feet gliding around the table, heart pounding with each step, and end up next to his chair. He stares up at you with a pinch between his brows as you nudge your knee against his, and even though he looks confused, he turns away from the table to give you more room to stand in between his legs. Jet lag be damned, you dip a knuckle under his chin, holding his head up. His pupils on you are so dark, more than they’ve been all night as he doesn’t blink.

You can’t tell if he’s nervous, or scared, or upset, or a combination, similar to the complexity running in your veins.

“You’re the annoying one.” You stick a knee next to his hip, a hand on his shoulder, a pretense to lowering yourself into his lap. He cocks a brow.

“You can’t even tell me you want me.”

“You think I came back for what? A hot shower?” He says it so sarcastically, you almost laugh.

“Yeah, and a place to stay,” you murmur, resisting the temptation to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear.

“I would’ve figured something else out. Not my first time with nowhere to go.”

You frown at the thought of him being stuck in places where he wasn’t comfortable. Or safe. Even if he only came back so he wouldn’t end up spending a night in the rain, you would let him stay. You might put him up on the floor but at least he’d be inside.

When he doesn’t say a word, your other hand falls on his shoulders to finally settle yourself in his lap. his chest heaving in a deep breath. As you sit over his crotch, his hands flex, but remain dangling off the arms of the chair. Your eyes fall to the chains glinting on his pale chest and you hook a finger around the diamonds, lifting the small circular pendant, noticing a tiny inscription. You glance at him, silently asking for permission to study it. He just stares so you take that as a yes and lift it to get a closer look.

For my sonja, MYG

A soft smile on your lips, you drop the pendant and trail down to the tags that sit on his sternum and examine the carved information.

Huh. You have the same blood type.

“Are you dangerous, Min Yoongi?” The question pours out of your mouth, testing out his full name on your tongue. He squints at you with mirth.

“It’s a little late to ask that.”

Shrugging, your thumb runs over the metal tags, waiting for his answer.

“I’m not a stalker or a serial killer. Good enough?” It should be. But you have to be sure.

“If you wanted to hurt me, you would’ve done it by now, right?”

A few beats of silence pass, and vines of trepidation for his truth start to creep up your spine. But then warm, calloused yet soft hands coast up the sides of your thighs to rest on your hips. The vines spark with flames, traveling over every cell of your skin, ignited by his simple touch. Trepidation becomes suspense.

“I don’t hurt people who don’t deserve it.”

The implication should scare you. That he hurts people. Maybe even does it for a living. But you know, peering deeply into his dark, brown eyes, that he isn’t a threat to you.

He stabbed someone right in front of you, and instead of being afraid like you should’ve been, you ran away with him. In the middle of the street, soaked to the bone with piercing rain, you grabbed him by his shirt and kissed him like your life depended on it.

And you’re about to do it again.

Lifting your hand to cup his cheek, your heart dips when he flinches away, ever so slightly. What the fuck has this man been through? You drop it back on his shoulder, smooth it slowly, daringly, down to his left pec, fingers under his robe. Your breath hitches when you feel how strong his chest is, throat tightening when your palm radiates with the fast rate of his heartbeat.

Too fast to be normal. Too fast to hide that he’s affected by you.

“Do you want me?” you whisper, voice scared of rejection. His jaw ticks, his hands moving to your waist, pressing you forward and down on the solid erection forming beneath you. You gasp.

He grits his next words through clenched teeth, like it’s hard for him to say them.

“I wanted you the second you sat down at that goddamn poker table.”

Just like that moment in the rain, before you got on his bike and held onto him while he drove you into safety, you don’t think before crashing your lips onto his. He opens his mouth to welcome your tongue, and you lick over it with meaning.

The two of you set in motion a greedy and lascivious rhythm of sloppy tongues and experimental grinding hips. His fingers curl into the plush of your ass, encouraging the roll of your center over his erection, ruining your shorts with arousal. He sucks on your bottom lip, moaning when your hand sneaks into his lap and boldly squeezes his twitching length.

“If I suck your dick, are you gonna leave me on the floor again?” you challenge over his mouth.

He pulls away with a frown and a cross in his brows as he looks at you silently expecting some kind of an apology. But he doesn’t even open his swollen mouth, just pushes at your waist until you stand up from his lap, and before you can question what he’s doing, he kisses you again, gripping your waist as he walks you back to the bed. Hands slipping up to your ribcage, he lowers you down, heart hammering to the surface of your chest as he holds himself above you, one hand on your side, the other pressing into the comforter next to your head.

Warmth pools in your belly as his chains fall in between your breasts, then slide to rest on the base of your throat. You smile in between his lips, lifting a hand to tangle in the links.

“You better not break my jewelry,” he utters, tongue nudging your bottom lip to encourage your mouth open, and without opening your eyes or breaking from his enticing mouth, you grab his hand and encourage it towards your breast, shirt covering your pert nipple.

He softly squeezes a handful of your tit and you arch into him with a moan, his lips between yours curving up in a smug smile. Kissing you once, twice, he drags his mouth down your jaw, to your neck that you strain so he can bruise and bite at your skin. You curse when he moves to mouth over your clothed tit, gently pulling your nipple between his teeth to test out your reaction. You bite your lip with a moan and reach up to curl your fingers in his hair, squirming when he flattens his tongue over the tiny sting.

“So sensitive,” he smizes, cocksure. He laps at your tit once more before nosing down, fingers bunching up your shirt to reveal your stomach, moan escaping you when his lips graze your bare skin.

“Is this supposed to be an apology?”

He shrugs and you roll your eyes as he stands to drag down your sweats, your lungs constricting with every inch of skin he unveils. You know he already fucked you, knows what your pussy feels like, but he hasn’t seen you yet and your cheeks heat at the thought of baring your everything to him.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy,” he muses when your legs close in their bent form after he fully removes your sweats, tossing them back onto one of the chairs.

You shake your head in denial, but your eyes that refuse to open, refuse to see him staring at you, say otherwise.

“Where’s that dirty girl who wanted to get fucked in a closet by a stranger?”

“Don’t you mean slut?”

“Fine,” he smirks. “Bring back the dirty slut who practically begged me to fuck her in that closet.”

“Sure, as long as you don’t act like a prick anymore.”

Smirk falling, he averts his eyes, tilting his head to the side as his hand smoothes over your lower stomach, fingers dipping into the hem of your-

“Cute panties.”

“They’re shorts.”

“You call these shorts?” He snaps the fabric strained around your thighs. “Leaves little to the imagination.”

“Well, that’s good for you, right? Aren’t you too old to have an imagination?” He quirks a brow, lifts his head to level you with an entertained gaze.

“Says who?”

“Society,” you shrug, and he exhales an unamused huff.

“Wow, good argument. You should sign up for a debate team.”

“I was actually on one in school.”

“So why aren’t you any good?”

“Oh, shut up!” You admonish, and he snickers. If you really think about it, it’s crazy how easy it is to fall into conversation with him like this. And incredibly insane how it does really funny things to your heart.

A stuttered gasp pours from your lips when he cups your heat, rubbing his flattened fingers back and forth. You hiss when he pokes over your covered hole, panties/shorts soaked with your arousal.

“Damn, you get so wet for me,” he muses, tongue poking past his teeth as he pulls your panties to the side. Fuck, just that movement alone is enough to put a flutter in your stomach.

“A little grinding on my lap is all it takes, huh? Or do you just really like being called a slut?”

“Screw you.” His dark chuckle shamefully turning you on, he pulls back his fingers to circle feather-light around your clit. You pull your lips in and shut your eyes to lock away a moan. “We’re getting to that.” His hands slide under your ass, eyes trained on you as he pulls off your garment, and you take a deep breath when he pushes your legs apart.

“Scoot up.” With his hands holding your thighs, you wiggle your way back until your head nears the edge of the mattress, lust coursing through your blood as he lays down in between your legs, licking his lips at the sight of your bare cunt. You relax into the soft comforter as he starts off with dragging his lips on the inside of your thigh, humming as he goes along, and arousal builds at the vibrations on your skin. Glancing down at the appealing sight of his head between your legs, you’re tempted again to run your fingers through his soft locks.

“You could really use a root touch-up,” you think out loud. He huffs, breath hitting a spot on your thigh where he was sucking a small mark.

“Ah, hell. Can you be quiet?”

“Just saying.” He clicks his tongue.

As you break out into a laugh, your expression drops when his dark eyes fixate on you and he spits, loudly, right on your hole before dragging his tongue in a thorough, languid lick through your folds. Back arching with a moan, your hand flies into his hair, pulling a low growl from his throat. He pauses at your clit, nose nudging it before he sucks in a breath, tightens his hold around your thighs, and buries his face in your pussy.

He consumes you, flicking his tongue in some places and slurping in others, going back to the ones that you respond to more - it’s like you just served your pussy to him on a gold fucking platter and he’s savoring you like it’s his last meal.

Fingers tangled in his soft, damp locks, you use your other hand to stifle your whines that he’s drawing out with his expert tongue.

“Don’t hold back for me, dollface,” he insists over your clit. “You can’t get us caught this time.”

Resolve crumbling, you barely register the fact that he called you ‘dollface’ as your hand smacks onto the comforter and unrestrained, needy moans fill the room. He grunts in response and your trembling thighs squeeze around his head as he latches onto your clit, suckling and licking to add fire to the flame in your gut.

“Fuck, Yoongi!” you whimper, muscles tensing as the impending snap looms closer.

“Mm, say my name just like that,” he purrs, tongue flicking on your clit.

“You mean you want me to?” You antagonize, not entirely brain dead yet. “After all that grief you gave me about-”

He suddenly draws back, forcing you to groan at the orgasm he just snatched away, hips involuntarily chasing after his mouth.

“Say my fucking name,” he demands.

“Do something that will-”

His mouth wraps around your clit and he starts sucking in rapid motions, not stopping even as you writhe and squirm with pathetic cries, strong arms immobilizing your thighs.

“Yoongi- Yoongi, please!” you shriek, coming with another wanton wail of his name, gripping his roots, and a low, rough growl licks into your pulsing cunt.

Vision blurring with tears as he continues his assault on your clit, you sob at the threat of overstimulation, pushing at his head until he detaches. He kisses your dripping slit one more time just to have you jolt and curse, and then finally lets you catch your breath.

“You got a condom?” he asks after your blood pressure has simmered down to a somewhat normal level and you can comprehend your own thoughts again.

“Um, no?” you rasp, glancing down to his slick mouth and chin. “I thought you had those on deck.”

“I used my last one.”

“When?” You manage to joke. He glares at you through his bangs, shaking his head, and you don’t do well to hold back a laugh. “Oh. Bummer.”

He sighs, and then dots kisses through your folds before latching onto your clit again. Pumping his long fingers into your cunt this time, he gets a little lazy, but it doesn’t make it any less sensational. You lose count of how many times you come but you’re sweating and dripping and just a mess by the time you pass out.

You wake up on your stomach feeling heavy, but so, so good. Lifting your head, you look around, wondering what year it is. You’re still in the same spot you fell asleep in, but there’s a robe laid over you, covering your lower half. Over your shoulder, Yoongi is back at the table, scrolling through his plugged-in phone, and you silently thank the universe that you weren’t just dreaming him up. Because that would be devastating.

Rolling over, you slowly sit up and shift towards the edge of the bed, legs feeling like jelly before you even put any weight on them. You stand up with the robe and nearly lose your balance.

“You alright?” his gravelly voice carries across the room.

“I think I almost died,” you admit as you walk around the bed, rubbing your eyes. He smirks at his phone, looking a little too proud of himself. “How long was I out?”

“Like an hour?”

“Shit, I’m sorry. That jet lag really got to me.”

“Jet lag, huh?” He frowns and you playfully roll your eyes.

“You can take the credit for knocking me out.”

You walk away from his cocky grin to head for the bathroom.

After doing your business and admiring the subtle marks he left on the inside of your thighs, you realize how exhausted you are. From the plane, from all the events of the day, from your however-many orgasms, and you should be spent, ready to sleep like a rock through the night.

And yet, there’s a hunger gnawing in your chest. A greed in your gut. He gratified you beyond your imagination, and you still haven’t gotten your fill. But he ran out of fucking condoms.

You wrap the robe around your waist as you head back to the table, avoiding his gaze as you squat over your duffle.

Rummaging through it, you know a condom isn’t going to be anywhere in there no matter how badly you want there to be. Damn it. Are you that desperate? For that man, with that devilish tongue and monster in his pants? Hell fuckin’ yeah.

“You looking for something?”

“Oh, uh, I forgot to pack a toothbrush,” you stutter, tucking back a piece of your hair as you rise. “Do you think we can go to the convenience store? It’s only a couple miles away.”

“It’s kinda late.”

“It’s open all night.”

“Fine,” he sighs, standing and taking his used towels to the bathroom, shoulder just barely brushing yours as he passes you.

When both of you are changed, he lingers in the doorway of the bathroom where you’re standing in front of the sink, fixing yourself up in the mirror, and you don’t anticipate him to step in and appear mere inches behind you. You watch him fix his mussed hair, not sparing your reflection a single glance. Without the mirror, you’re not sure if you would’ve even noticed his stealth presence unless he touched you. You can’t even hear him breathing. And it makes you shiver. Just as nervousness sprouts at his proximity, you twist around to make an escape, immediately regretting it when you come face-to-face with his devastatingly handsome face and dark eyes that dart down to your lips. On pure impulse, you reach up to tussle his hair and scurry away as he turns around with a sharp, “Hey!”

Next to the front door, his glare sears into you as you lean down to put on your shoes, laughing when he nudges you so that you lose your balance. You guess you deserve that.

***

He parked his bike near some bushes in front of a stone wall farthest away from the main lot of the hotel, close to the ocean. You can’t help but skip towards it, excited to go on a ride again. When you reach it and glance back to see that he’s still catching up, you impulsively swing your leg over and settle into the leather seat.

“What are you doing?” he asks as he approaches you with a glare. You shoot him a sheepish grin over your shoulder.

“Can I drive?”

“That’s something you ask before you get on the bike.”

“Oh. Well, can I?” With a shake of his head, he sighs and you half-expect him to scold you off, but instead he grabs the helmet resting on the rear seat and holds it out to you.

“Put this on first.” Pressing your warming cheek into your shoulder to hide your shy smile, you reach back and accept it, slipping it on. He looks reluctant as he slides onto the seat behind you and you twist forward, a throb rushing down your spine when his hands slide onto your hips and he adjusts himself to sit pressed lightly against you. He leans forward and you’re encased by him as he sticks the key into the ignition, shows you the switch that will bring the bike to life by tapping it twice, hand returning to your hip once you turn it and the engine rumbles alive loudly, vibrating beneath you.

Revving the handlebars, exhilaration flows into your veins as you look down at all the specs on the dashboard.

“You know how to ride, right?” He mumbles into your ear, sounding skeptical. You smirk.

“Remember what happened the last time you misjudged me?” Before he gets a chance to respond, you grasp his hand and pull it around to your stomach.

“Hold on tight,” you say in the lowest pitched voice you can muster in a poor attempt at imitating him from earlier in the night. He sighs and moves his other arm around your waist, and just as your heart starts to beat out of your chest, you kick back the stand, find your balance on the pedals, and rev the engine before taking off down the road, secretly wishing this road stretched on forever.

His fingers curl into your covered skin, presses his chest into your back and it encourages you to lean forward and go faster. You go a little too fast, but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t give you any indication that you should slow down. And when you arch your back, the hard length poking your ass tells you that he doesn’t mind the speed at all.

You pull up to the convenience store in under five minutes, the parking lot empty and Yoongi tells you to park it off to the side.

“I think you liked that more than I did,” you say after hopping off the bike. He stays in the seat as you remove the helmet and hold it out, grinning up at him.

“You like it when a girl rides your bike, Min Yoongi?” You lilt teasingly, the biggest shit-eating grin on your face clashing with his fierce glare.

“Go get your shit, you brat,” he grumbles, teeth gritted.

“You’re not coming?” You glance down at the glaring problem in the front of his jeans. “Oh, I guess you need a minute.”

His lip curls and he digs his foot into the pebbled asphalt, making you leap away with a giggle when he kicks a small pile at you.

Walking backwards, you blow him a kiss, laughing your way into the store when he returns it with a middle finger. A smile remains on your face as you start looking around for the toothbrush you lied about not having. At one point you realize that your cheeks hurt from still smiling. Is that the effect he has on you? It’s been a minute since a man, (or anyone, really) has made you smile like this.

Perusing the aisles for some midnight snacks, the doorbell chimes and when the cashier offers a monotone welcome, you perch up on your tiptoes to spot a black beanie making its way to the opposite corner of the store.

As you lean into a fridge for some drinks, he steps up into your periphery, and you take a quick glance, smiling at the bandana that’s wrapped around his face again.

“You want anything?” He shakes his head and you sigh, closing the door and turning around with a hand on your hip.

“Can you not be difficult for once and just pick something? Because I don’t share.”

He steps up to you. “I know you’re not calling me difficult.”

“I am.” You challenge, unintimidated despite being nearly nose to nose. “Get something.”

Keeping his glare on you, he reaches into the fridge and pulls an item out to drop it into the basket. You roll your eyes at the fact that he didn’t even look at it and grab a few more of what he picked, letting the door slam shut.

You pinch the bandana and give it a few gentle tugs, getting right in his face. “Is this what you stuffed in my mouth earlier?”

“Yes. And I’m tempted to do it again.”

“Ooh, kinky.”

“Maybe I just want to shut you up.”

“There’s more than one way to do that.” His dark eyes flash.

“Keep it moving.”

He lingers behind you as you finish shopping, but disappears once you head to the checkout. When he comes up behind you and casually tosses something on the counter next to your snacks waiting to be scanned, your whole face floods with heat as you stare at the box of condoms. A 12-pack. Large. You gulp, and the flush seeps down to your toes. This is what you came for, but a flood of embarrassment streams into you at the thought that he planned the same thing, or he caught onto you. To offset some of the flood, you swipe the box and hold it up to him.

“Don’t you need these in a smaller size?”

His eyes flicker up but he doesn’t look at you. Just turns and walks away, leaving you to fight down a laugh. Glancing back at the cashier, you’re grateful that her face hasn’t changed, even as she rings up the condoms. She could probably care less if you robbed the whole store.

Rushing out to the empty parking lot, you’re met with the loud revving of the Ducati and the sight of Yoongi wearing his helmet, looking over his shoulder at you through the open visor.

“Min Yoongi, don’t you dare leave me here!” you yell, stopping in your tracks when he flips down the visor, throws up a peace sign and zooms onto the street.

Your jaw drops. That. JERK! He can’t be serious. You run out to the end of the lot, looking up and down the empty stretch of road but he’s nowhere in sight, just the descendo of the engine hanging in the air.

The engine grows louder and he zips by you, sitting straight, one hand on the throttle, the other in the air, pointing a finger at you. Is he… laughing? It’s your turn to flip him off and you almost scream his name again when he suddenly pulls a sharp u-turn and heads back your way. You don’t expect it, but you’re incredibly impressed as he starts drifting in wide circles around you, his leg coming down to balance himself as the bike sharply turns, showcasing just how experienced he is and fuck if that isn’t attractive. And he knows exactly what he’s doing. Turning you on. But you pretend to be unbothered, crossing your arms as if this dangerous man on this dangerous bike isn’t looping around you like a vulture honing in on its prey.

“Are you done?” you tilt your head once he skids to a stop a few feet away in front of you, ignoring the ringing in your ears caused by his incessant drifting.

He switches off the engine and leans up, flipping the visor to reveal the top part of his face, arms dropping and crossing.

“Are you?” His dark muffled voice sends a shiver down your spine.

“What?”

“Done making a fool out of me.” Blowing a raspberry, you walk up to him, set the bag behind him with a wide grin.

“I don’t think you need me to do that.” He stares at you over his shoulder for a second before twisting around to grab the handlebars and just as he turns the ignition, your hand halts him by his elbow.

“You’re not gonna leave again.”

“Then get on.”

You watch, mesmerized, as he takes off the helmet and runs fingers through his hair, casually holding it over his shoulder for you to take.

This feels better, sitting behind him, arms around his waist, head between his shoulder blades so you can watch the trees lining the road and spot lights of the street lamps go by in a blur.

Alive. You feel so fucking alive. The danger of riding on this bike, trusting this man with your life once again. Stretching out your arm, you let the wind fly freely through your fingers, helmet blocking your periphery from catching the turn of his head for a few seconds before focusing back on the road.

He parks the bike in the same spot as before and you get off and return the helmet.

“Usually when guys go out of their way to show off like you did, they’re trying to compensate for something. Just letting you know.”

He looks at you with night in his eyes as he steps up in front of you, peering directly into your soul, and the pit of your stomach rolls with heat.

“You know damn well that I don’t have anything to compensate for,” he says slyly, eyes flickering to yours in a way that enthralls you. Oh, this cocky bastard. If only he wasn’t so fucking right.

“Or maybe you need to be reminded.”

“Isn’t that why you got these?” you ask, shaking the bag in his face.

“I also need to restock my wallet.”

You scoff, pointing at yourself. “And I’m the slut?”

He grins and your cheeks heat when he just stares for a moment, then takes off in the direction of the hotel without another word.

As you reach the stairs of the building to your room, he stops and you turn to him looking down to the stretch of neatly tailored lawn sitting across from the buildings, a few tables and chairs with closed umbrellas spread out in front of the stone wall, the dark ocean a pretty view from afar.

“It’s about to rain, so I’m gonna go smoke. I’ll be right back.”

“Can I come?”

“No.” He turns away and your heart cries to go after him, like some clingy, ankle-biting dog.

Stopping after a few steps, he looks back at you pouting and tilts his head.

“Don’t you do what you want anyway?” The dark night can’t hide your bright smile as you bound up to him.

He settles on the table closest to the short-stacked stone wall, wiping off the seat with the end of his sleeve before sitting down and taking out a box of cigarettes and a lighter from his jacket pocket. You want nothing more than to sit in his lap again, and, thankfully, there’s an old spot of something white and dirty on the opposite chair that the rain didn’t wash away.

So without warning, you approach him and ignore his repeated look of confusion as you invite yourself into his lap again with an arm around his neck.

“Um, there’s a chair over there.”

“It has bird shit on it,” you reply simply, adjusting yourself to sit sideways, legs hung over his knees. His arms hover in the air.

“So?”

“Would you sit there?”

“No.”

“Then shut up.”

Disregarding the click of his tongue, you lean over to try and snatch away his cigarette, but he holds it up out of your reach.

“This is my last cigarette and you already owe me one.” You sigh indignantly and lean back against the armrest, gawking as he pats the box against his palm to discharge the final cigarette, crushing the cardboard as he lifts the stick to hang loosely between his lips. He fires it up with an attractive flick of the lighter and cup of his hand around the end, sucking in a drag and letting the stick sit between his teeth as he pockets the empty box and lighter. Smoke filters out of the corner of his mouth as he removes the cigarette with two fingers, blowing the stench to the side, away from you. A string tugs from your heart at the considerate gesture. You redirect your attention to the design on the front of his jacket, grabbing the side to inspect it more closely.

“Is this a tiger?”

“Mhmm.” Is his response, tone disinterested as he flicks ash. Some falls on your thigh and he lightly brushes it away. His touch burns.

“Your favorite animal?” He shakes his head, still doesn’t look at you, blows more smoke away.

“It’s just a design.”

As you watch him smoke, the cigarette slowly withering, he lifts his hips to reach into the back pocket of his jeans, crotch rubbing the back of your knees, making your thighs squeeze together. He multitasks checking his phone and taking a drag, a frown appearing at something he does or doesn’t see on his screen. A thought occurs to you that creates a sinkhole in your chest.

“Are you expecting a call from your girlfriend or something?”

“Why, would that piss you off?” He remarks in a mocking tone, and you start to get up but his arm around your waist and a throaty chuckle traps you in place.

“I wouldn’t have fucked you if I had one. I would’ve still wanted to, but I do have a bit of self control over here.”

“You? A man? Self-control?”

“We’re not all disgusting pigs,” he mutters.

“Well, you’re a rare breed.” Lifting his head mid-drag, his eyebrows raise, a subtle smirk on the corner of his lips.

“So I bet you feel real lucky you met me.”

“Is your- oh wow, look at that,” you pretend to muse, putting your hands up to the side of his head as if measuring it. “Your head’s getting bigger. Not a good look for you.”

With a roll of his eyes, he waves your hands away, unlocks his phone to scroll through his messages that hold no new notifications. Staring at his screen, the desire to have your number and thread on there increases, a lump forming in your throat, unsure if you should cross into that boundary.

“No girlfriend,” he assures you, locking his phone to let it fall face down in his lap. “I’m checking to see if my deposit came through. I’m shit broke until then.”

Your eyes rove over his side profile, going back to that scene in the poker room, how blankly yet confidently he slid all of his chips into the center of the bet, thinking he had the winning hand.

“I could tell you’re a pro at poker, why did you put so much at risk?”

He sighs and looks away, staring across the compound as he takes another drag.

“Because you really sucked at first, and I thought you were just some dumb, overzealous kid who didn’t know what she was doing playing with the big boys like that. But you’re good, Angel. Too good, and I fell for it.”

“You’re the dummy,” your tone is soft, touched by his genuine admission and acknowledgement of your skills. You press a finger into his temple and push a little. He leans away with a small smile.

“I know.”

The ocean is dark and covered in white-caps, brewing in preparation for the storm. Listening to the waves crashing down below, you think back to your musings in the shower.

“Maybe I owe you for stabbing a dude for me.” Wind blows in your direction as he peers at you unsurely.

“I’m no hero.”

You shrug. “I just want to pay you back for going through all of that trouble.”

“Wouldn’t it make me a prick to take your money for something like that?”

“Not if I’m offering it.”

As you wait for him to argue, your phone buzzes in your hoodie and you quickly pull it out, anxiety flashing when ‘biggest bro’ flashes on the call screen.

“Oh, hang on, sorry, my brother’s calling.” You clamber out of his lap and stand, answering when you’re a few feet away.

“Hey,” you say quietly, somewhat relieved to finally hear from Jin. Even though if he knew where you were, he wouldn’t be. “What are you doing calling me on my regular cell?”

“Well, honey, I haven’t heard from you otherwise and oh, I don’t know. Wanted to make sure you’re still alive. Is that okay? How were your summer classes?”

You smile, start pacing in front of the stone wall. “I barely survived, but I made it out. And I’ve made a lot of progress on my project ideas.”

“That’s good to hear, kiddo. Send me some pictures of your designs one of these days. Any other good news you want to tell your big brother?”

“Like what?”

“Hmm. Like are you seeing any booooooys you might want to bring home some day?”

You cringe, a bit spooked by your brother’s 6th sense for knowing everything that goes on in your life. You spare a quick glance to the boy sitting behind you on his phone, turning your back to him just as he looks up at you, and walk a little further away.

“Like you’d approve of them,” you grumble. You’re sure as shit he wouldn’t approve of that man, especially if he found out about your little tryst in a fucking cleaning closet, at an illegal gambling ring no less. What Jin doesn’t know won’t kill him.

“Well, not if they’re jerks!”

“I could bring home a literal prince, and you and bro would interrogate him like he was threatening national security.”

He laughs. “Oh, come on. You know I want you to find someone nice who makes you happy.”

“How can I do that if I move around every eight months?” you ask defensively, that bitterness for your situation enforced onto you by him and your father bubbling to the surface. “I don’t think I’m gonna meet anyone who’d want to be with me like that.”

Silence hangs over the line. “You never know.”

You roll your eyes. He underestimates the kind of men that are around everywhere you go. They barely want to stay the night, much less follow you to the ends of the earth. You feel a prick of wonder if the man whose eyes you can feel on your back would.

“Well, either way, I’m too busy to date. Maybe I’ll have to wait to move back home to settle down,” you rush out, eager to put an end to this topic. “Speaking of which, do you think I can come back to see bro for his birthday?”

You can sense through another bout of Jin’s prolonged silence a big ‘No.’

“It’s not a good idea, honey. Not right now, he’s not doing well.” Jin takes a deep breath. “He almost relapsed.”

Your heart drops and you have to squat to combat the nausea filling your gut.

“That just makes me want to come home even more.”

“He doesn’t want you seeing him like this.”

Your palm lands against your forehead. “So what, am I just never going to get to see either of you again? Like I’m just gonna go the rest of my life living abroad? Do you know how much I hate the idea of that?”

Dead air meets the line again and you stand, suddenly overwhelmed by the notion that he might never let you.

“We’ll talk more about that when you finish with school, I want you to focus on your studies. Don’t worry about your brother, he’ll be alright.”

You do worry. You worry so much about him, sometimes you can’t sleep at night. You almost tell Jin that you’re in Jeju, that you could take a flight home tomorrow and just see them real quick but you have a feeling he would be less than enthusiastic and might turn it into a whole lecture about how irresponsible it is for you to fly back home unannounced. Among other things.

“Whatever.” You peek back to where Yoongi’s staring at his dark screen.

“Hey, don’t be like that, okay? This is just something we-” But you’re over this. There’s no point in arguing with him. He never lets you win.

“Sorry, I’m gonna go now.”

“Honey, I don’t want you to be upset.”

“I’m not,” you lie in a grumble. “I’m kind of with someone, so I should probably get back.”

“Oh?” his tone changes to curiosity. Oops. “Who is this ‘someone’?”

“A friend. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Hmm, alright,” he sounds unconvinced. “Well, be safe, you hear? And don’t let me go this long without hearing from you unless you want me to go gray with worry.”

“Don’t you already dye your hair?”

“Yah, you little punk! I’ll get you back for that one.”

“Sure you will. I’m hanging up now. Love you. Tell bro I love him too and that it wouldn’t hurt to call me once in a while.”

“I will. Love you too, honey. Call me in a couple days.”

“Yes, sir.” He chuckles, says bye, and waits for you to hang up.

Dropping the phone from your ear, you stare at it while contemplating whether or not you should call Jungkook, but turn and head for Yoongi when you doubt he would even pick up.

You sit back down on his lap like it has your name on it. He huffs in annoyance but still wraps his arm around your waist and rests his hand holding the nearly finished cigarette on your knee.

“Does your brother usually call this late?” he queries, voice soft and a touch hesitant.

“Now who’s being nosy?”

“You eavesdropped on me earlier!” You smile, stretching your arm on the back of the chair.

“He thinks I’m still abroad.”

“Are you supposed to be?”

“Mhmm. I was gonna go home and surprise my other brother for his birthday, but turns out that would be a bad idea.”

“Damn, two brothers? That’s gotta be tough.”

“Yeah, they’re both older. And annoying as fuck.”

“So you get it from them.” You can’t argue with that.

“Why’s it a bad idea to go home?” he asks softly after a stretch of quietude, waves crashing in the distant background. Your cheek turns to look at him, mildly bewildered, his eyes flitting between you and the ground.

“Are you trying to get to know me or something?” you deflect. Because that’s not a can of worms you really want to open right now.

“No, just making conversation.” He shrugs, a pout on his lips that mirrors the one that appeared when he told you his name.

“You didn’t want to do that earlier.”

“Fucks’ sake,” he mutters under his breath, ducking his head to lift the cigarette. “It’s easier for you to just call me a fucking jerk.”

“You’re a fucking jerk.” He chuckles while taking a drag, exhaling smoke through his nostrils.

“And I’m trying not to be one right now, okay?”

“Well, don’t wear yourself out.”

“You’re gonna do that for me when we go back in, right?” He cheekily winks, demeanor doing a 180, and you mimic being annoyed but really you’re imagining all the ways you could do just that.

“Y’know, you have a really good libido for such an old man.”

His smirk flips to a scowl and when you laugh at his disdain, he pushes at your waist, a little harder than you think he meant to because you end up slipping off of his lap and onto the ground with a surprised squeal.

“Oh, shit!” he exclaims, reaching down for you as you groan in mild pain from your ass falling on the hard, wet lawn. You glare up at him when he visibly can’t hold back his amusement while he tries to grab your elbows to help you up but you only slap his hands away.

“I didn’t mean to push you.” He’s still laughing when you manage to get up and walk away but he grabs your wrist and you look back to see him throwing down his cigarette, a grin on his face as he doesn’t let you out of his grip.

“Hey, c’mere.”

“No,” you mumble stubbornly.

“Is your ass okay?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would.”

“Get lost.”

“No.”

He tugs you close and smirks now that you’re speechless, hands daring to go lower, waiting for you to have a problem, but you don’t, just allow him to glide his large palms to your ass.

“Feels okay to me.” He gives a squeeze and even though heat creeps down into your gut at the lust pooling in his eyes, you put your hands on his chest and push. He steps back with a grin and lunges after you with a hand on your elbow, laughing lowly when you playfully fight him off but he doesn’t let go.

Then a bolt of lightning strikes the atmosphere, freezing you in place, and he steps up next to you, unphased as you wait for the impending clap of thunder. Rain cascades from above and you both look up to the sky, droplets falling on your faces as you stare at the night darkened by the fast moving storm clouds. Your eyes lock and you share a look that reflects something you can’t describe - A boom shakes the world around you, nerves jumping and driving you to take off back towards the hotel, not realizing until you look over your shoulder that Yoongi’s hand is in yours as he runs behind you, a wild smile on his face.

Just as you reach the stairs, you glance down with wide eyes at both of your empty hands.

“I left the bag!” you exclaim, flinching as lightning flashes again. He looks over the distance you just crossed and jogs back over without hesitation or urgency despite the heavy winds.

Hugging yourself as you shiver under the onslaught of stinging rain, you silently beg him to hurry up as he strides back over to overshadow you, staring down with a furrow between his brows and a blink at your lips. Even though you want to interpret the way he’s looking at you through his wet bangs sticking on his face, you want to get the fuck out of the storm but as soon as your foot turns to dart up the stairs, his hand curls around the back of your neck and pulls you forward until you’re up on your toes. Pulse stuttering and eyebrows rising in shock and awe as his mouth collides with yours, you’re rendered still and breathless as he steps up to press your drenched bodies together, kissing you fervently, tipping your head up for a better angle. Storm water pours between you, and you both taste it after his tongue swipes over your bottom lip, droplets rolling down his face and into your mouth and you drink it up along with the taste of him. You don’t know what’s gotten into this man, but whatever it is, you’re living for it. You just wish, in this moment, you weren’t in the middle of a storm having the life kissed out of you.

“We’re gonna catch a cold if we keep making out in the rain,” you murmur, lips still brushing his.

“You can’t get sick just from some rain,” he retorts. You roll your eyes and tip up to kiss him chastely before twisting around to run up the stairs, not looking back as you shakily unlock the door. When his presence emerges behind you, a nervous smile breaks out on your face as you finally turn the key. The sky roars again, forcing out a laugh of adrenaline as you barrel into the door to hastily get inside.

Thank you so much for reading!! This is a terrible place to cut off but I had to split this into another part I'm sorry this chapter is taking a lot out of me and I started a new job so I'm dealing with the adjustment.

prelude part 3 will be out soon so we can move on lol. And it will be mostly smut 😅 and some yoongi pov

Comment or send an ask if you enjoyed reading and/or if you want to be added to the taglist!! (Pls have some indication on your blog that you are an adult or I will not add you!)

Feedback is appreciated - I’d love to know your thoughts!! And i love to yap in general lol

xxx - claret

masterlist

taglist:

@polarnightmyg @mar-lo-pap @wonh0oe @lixies-favorite-cookie @viankiss @futuristicenemychaos @busanbby-jjk @jajabro

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judesmoonbeauty · 5 months ago

Text

Miss Fairytale Keeper, Come Have Fun With Us: Jude vs. Nica - Chapter 2

Translations will not include screenshots or CGs as mentioned here. Fan translation only. Not 100% accurate. Please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Feel free to re-blog, but please do not post my translations elsewhere. Thank you, for you support! ☾.

For simplicity sake, I will be using Robin in place of Rotkehlchen. However, I will notate it with a (*) to let you know when he is using German.

Ftn [1] A straight is a hand that contains five cards of sequential rank. There are different kinds of straights. The highest card determines the strength of your hand.

Ftn [2] It seems Jude may have been the one to press the finger against the contract, but it does not specifically state this, so I left it as is.

The battle for my lips had began, but -

(So amazing…..)

Plump Noble: Oi, you lose again!

Pale Man: I-I don’t have anymore money! It’s all over for me…..!

Jude: Gonna stop? It’s only just started.

At the poker table, Jude had a straight hand and a pile of chips in front of him, [1]

(This is five wins in a row…..how does he do it.)

Although, I watched the players I suspected were cheating, I didn’t see any suspicious movements.

Pale Man: L-let’s bring this out! This a land transfer contract!

A piece of paper with a suburban address written on it was slammed onto the table.

Pale Man: If I lose, I’ll change the name of the holder immediately!

Jude glanced at the contract and smiled twistedly.

Jude: Alright, if ya lose, you’ll seal it in blood.

Pale Man: A blood seal…

Jude then grabbed the man by the collar and threatened him in a low voice.

Jude: Ya know what’ll happen if ya don’t keep yer promise.

(Jude’s so lively…..)

The cards were dealt again,

Jude: It’s my win.

Pale Man: No way, that’s cheating!

After signing the contract, Jude cut the man’s fingertip with a card.

Jude: Oi, ya hafta keep yer promise.

Pale Man: Oh, wait! I’ll do anything else.

He held down his bloody finger, and pressed it firmly against the contract. [2]

The man collapses when he sees the blood seal on the document,

Jude: Thanks a lot.

I snorted and was about to follow Jude away from the table when,

(There’s a a large group of women over there, but the one in the middle is…..)

At a roulette table, all the women were gambling as if competing for Nica in the center.

He then took a woman’s hand and kisses her on the back of it.

Looking closely at the table, I could see that all the women’s chips were in Nica’s hands -

Nica: I’ll bet on 15. What about everyone else?

Young Lady: 27!

Plump Noblewoman: I’ll bet on 3!

The women bet their chips one after the other.

Nica smiled seductively at the scene,

Nica: You ladies are such good girls.

Nica puts out just one chip as the roulette starts spinning.

The ball lands on the 15, and all the women lose -

(They look happy even though they lost…..?)

The women give their chips to him with spellbound looks on their faces, like they’re waiting for something.

Nica: Danke (Thank you). As thanks, I’ll give you something nice.

(Maybe he charmed the ladies into betting their chips so he could gain them?)

My mouth was ajar with surprise at how different his competition style is from Jude’s.

Jude: ….Whadda great personality.

Nica kisses the women on the cheek, says “See you later”, and then beckons us.

Nica: So then? Who earned more money, me or you?

(The amount of chips are the same, but….)

The one with the upper hand was Jude, who now held the land contract.

The roulette dealer rang a bell, and a man appears from the back.

It’s the same person I saw in a photo before the mission -

Viscount Smith: You’re both incredibly lucky. Would you like to have a game with me?

(It’s Viscount Smith!)

Jude: As ya can see, I already have ‘nuff chips.

Viscount Smith: It seems so. Then want do you want?

He glanced at me and I gave a small nod.

Jude: Since yer here, couldja gimme some information on the people who frequent the place?

Jude: Ya should be able to bet that much, with your current status.

Viscount Smith reacted slightly, but immediately smiled.

Viscount Smith: A customer’s information is a sign of trust, I can’t hand that over easily.

Viscount Smith: If we’re going to bet, it must be something of equal value. What are you betting?

Hearing those words, Jude at me with his chin,

Jude: A land transfer contract along with this woman.

Kate: WHAT?!

Jude: She’s healthy ‘n she’s learned all her manners. It’s up to ya whether or not to use or sell her.

Viscount Smith looked me up and down as if assessing me before he spoke.

Viscount Smith: Hmm, not bad.

Viscount Smith: Alright, how about we play a game of roulette?

(I’m sure he has some kind of plan.)

I held it in and kept quiet…..

Nica: Can I be included on that match?

Nica: It would be no good if I wasn’t apart of game where robin* was at stake.

Nica: Beside, don’t you think this roulette game will decide the winner?

He smiled provocatively when Jude spoke with disgust,

Jude: Whaddya bettin’, yerself. (Insert one Jude eyeroll.)

Nica: The ladies over there.

My gaze was set upon all the women that surrounded Nica earlier.

Nica: If I lose, you can do whatever you want with them, how about it?

However, there wasn’t a single complaint about being made a into bet, just by his raising his voice.

Viscount Smith: Very well, then let’s begin.

(What if they both lose….?)

Both of them turned to me as I was filled with anxiety,

Jude: Just watch ‘n keep quiet.

Nica: Robin*, I’m looking forward to our kiss.

At that moment the ball was released,

I held my breath and watched it’s course -

There was a LOUD explosion, and my body was thrown to the floor.

(What’s going on?)

Black smoke filled the casino, screams and shouts echoed all around.

Thin Man: If this place collapses, our debt disappears!

Apparent Male Debtor: Light the fire! Kill the manager!

Loud Man: It’s a riot! Run for it!

Gunshots ring out and I frantically look for them.

Jude & Nica: Kate!/Robin!*

I heard a voice, and two hands were held out in front of me.

(I —)

I reached out my hand to “him”.

This is such a pokeball moment: Jude Jazza, I choose you!

[Master List] [Jude End] [Nica End]

Dividers: @.adornedwithlight

Tags List: @sh0jun @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @letter-from-afar @cosmowgyrall. @lunaaka Please let me know if you'd like to be added to my tags list!

#jude jazza #nica schwartz #ikevil jude #ikevil nica #ikevil translations #cybird translations #jude jazza translations #nica schwartz translations

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 months ago

Text

All In 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: told myself to slow down, didn’t.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You finish your cocktail before you go into the concert hall. Roxie grabs a third and you pass, not wanting to run back and forth to the bathroom. Besides, you don’t really like the way the vodka stirs in your stomach and little behind your eyes.

The band is decent. You don’t know any of the songs and only vaguely heard of the artist they are a tribute to. Still, you enjoy the live show; you focus on their instruments and how they use them. You always wanted to be musical but never had a sense of tone or melody.

By the end of the set, you’re yawning. Your sister is on her fourth drink and you can’t tell if she’s swaying to the music or if it’s more than that. As the rows empty, you shuffle out with the rest of the concert goers. The bright lights of the casino greet your squint and your ears pulse slightly from the noise of the strumming and crashing show.

“Mm, so, what’d’ya say?” Your sister makes almost every word into one, “how do we spend this?”

She fishes out the chip and you give a sheepish frown. You almost forgot about it. You still think you should turn it in. You don’t feel right spending someone else’s money. You do that often enough, much too old to be living off your mom.

“Don’t be boring,” she warns, “jeez. It’s just cards. Odds are, whoever dropped it, would’ve lost it to the house anyway.”

She claps her hand around your shoulder. You pull back the sleeve of your cardigan to check the time. It’s after ten! You haven’t been out that late since... ever.

“I’m not boring,” you cross your arms and shrug her off. “I just... am different than you.”

“Boring,” she repeats. “You can’t spend all day in your room.”

Yes, you can. And you do.

You don’t argue. When she’s like this, it’s only bound to become a scene. There are too many strangers around for that.

“Black jack,” she declares and spins the coin. It slips from her grasp and falls between her feet. She bends over shamelessly in her dress to pluck it up. “Come on, let’s clean up.”

She struts ahead and you shuffle after her, nervously wringing the strap of your purse. Hopefully she loses it quickly and you can just retreat home in defeat. You catch up to her as she reaches the stairs. She giggles as she leans on the railing and you take her other arm, trying to support her wobbly steps.

“Want another drink?” She asks.

“No, think we’re good.”

“We?” She scoffs, “I’m fine.”

“Please, Rox, let’s just find a table,” you peek around as her voice rises a bit louder than you like.

“Pfft, fine, but if I win, I'm getting a drink.”

You nod. Go along to get along. That’s what your mother always told you when it came to your sister. She’s more like your father than she cares to admit.

You get to a table and she sits easily on the high seat of the tall stool. She lays down the single chip and the dealer offers to break it into smaller ones. She nods and shrugs. You envy how smoothly she just breezes through things.

You stand behind her. You don’t want to take up a seat and the stool is too much of a climb for you. You can see it wobbling as you attempt to hitch yourself up with the crossbar. You’re good, you shouldn’t get comfortable.

You listen to the shuffle of cards as your sister murmurs something you can’t make out. You can only hear the low drone of voices as you stand back. You sidle out of the way as a man claims the empty stool beside your sister. He buys in and another hand is dealt. Hasn’t she lost yet?

The man leans into your sister and you grimace. She turns her head to listen to him and she giggles. Your cheeks blaze hotly and you cross your arms and rock. Neither seem to notice you as they get closer and closer.

As the game progresses, you can only really make out what the dealer says; the different numbers that have grumbles coming from other players. You bring your hand up to pick at the button on your cardigan. The man puts his arm around your sister’s back, his hand on her hip as wiggles in her seat coyly. What about Tom?

You peer around awkwardly. Do you stop her? Remind her of the boyfriend that got her the tickets for tonight? You bounce in your flats and pause as you find someone else staring back at you. Or are they? Just as quickly as your eyes meet, the stranger’s eyes flit away and he’s back to chatting with another man. It’s the very same man who gave you the chip. Maybe her forgot you. That’s not a surprise.

You return your attention to your sister. The man has moved his arm between them and your sister squirms. You watch his elbow as he pulls his hand back. He’s touching her leg. She’s wiggling and suddenly, she shoves him away and screeches.

“EH! I got a boyfriend, perv! I said stop.”

Her voice carries along the high ceilings and you cringe. You back up, cowering away as she stands and the stool teeters dangerously. She fists her hand and you think for a moment she might just hit the guy. He scoffs and turns in his seat.

“Babe, just wanted to buy you a drink.”

“Whatever. You fucking creep!” She hollers.

“Ma’am,” the dealer calls from the table, “is there a problem?”

“Y-yeah,” she hiccups, “this dude had his hand up my skirt.”

“She’s drunk,” the man shakes his head, “listen to her.”

“I’m--” your sister’s denial catches in her throat, “doesn’t mean he can just touch me.”

“Ma’am, if you’re drunk, we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”

“I’m fine. I'm not that...” She slides off the stool and stands, grabbing the chips in front of her seat and tossing them across the table. “You’re all a bunch of crooks.”

Her ankles tangle as she spins and she barely gets her balance before she storms away. Her strides are uneven as she bobbles drunkenly. You watch after her with wide eyes before you follow. She leads you into the bathrooms as she growls and grumbles. She slams into a stall and you stand outside.

You wait until she comes out. She’s quieter and her eyes are hazy. She washes her hands and applies a new coat of lip gloss.

“What a bust,” she pouts and rolls her eyes, “one more drink and we’ll go.”

“Maybe we should just leave now.”

“That guy was such a pervert,” she sneers at you, “you saw where his hand was.”

You nod, “yeah, I did...”

“So, you know I wasn’t being dramatic.”

“Yeah, but... everyone heard.”

“Oh fuck off,” she pushes your shoulder and stomps past you.

You feel bad. It’s not that she shouldn’t defend herself. You admire that she can, but she didn’t need to be so obnoxious. You trail after her into the casino. She heads directly for the bar. You hang your head and wait behind her. This time, she doesn’t offer you a drink. She’s mad at you now so it’s the silent treatment.

“Honey,” another man approaches, “how about I get that for you?”

“Huh?” She babbles, “oh, sure, baby, that’s sweet.”

The man offers his card to the bartender and orders a highball. He leans his arm on the tall bar top as he faces your sister. She bats her lashes at him and giggles as she pulls her drink closer.

“What’s your name, gorgeous?” He asks.

You blink. It’s like you’re not even there. You watch awkwardly, wishing the floor would swallow you up. Instead, you find an empty stool one seat away.

“Roxie,” she answers as you struggle up onto the seat. “And you, handsome?”

“Sam,” he returns, “what’re you drinking then?”

You notice him touch her glass along the brim but can’t see much else around your sister. She replies and his own drink is served. You shrink down and sigh. She’ll get her free drink and then you can just leave. You hope. You hold your chin as you dread another scene.

“Can I get ya something?” The bartender approaches.

“Er, water, please,” you choke out. He seems disappointed but gets you a glass.

You try not to overhear your sister and that man. It’s awkward and you hate this. It’s not the first time she’s done it either. The few times she’s brought you along, you’ve somehow become a third wheel. It reminds you of when you were kids and your mom forced her to take you with her somewhere. She doesn’t actually want you around, she’s genetically obligated.

“Woah, baby, you okay?” The man raises his voice and your sister’s body slumps. Shoot. No.

You barely get off the stool as the man clings to her drooping body. She giggles wildly as you tweak your ankle and rush over. That man, Sam he called himself, seems somewhat calm given the situation.

“Slow down, babe,” he chortles, “Jesus.”

She’s drunk. You knew she shouldn’t have had another drink. Your eyes meet Sam’s and he squints.

“You know her?”

“My sister,” you murmur.

“Oh, right, well...” he clears his throat and looks around, “you can take care of her then.”

“Wait--” you barely keep her up as she leans on you as she’s almost sideways on the stool.

He’s just leaving you? What the heck? You guess if he can’t get anything out of her, she isn’t worth the effort.

You sniff and struggle to slide your sister down to her feet. She’s heavier than you expect and her height makes her difficult to balance. You glance over as the bartender nears.

“Everything okay?” He asks sternly.

“We’re leaving,” you assure him, “sorry.”

“Five minutes,” he taps his watch face, “or I call security.”

You nod and move your arm around your sister’s back, “please, Rox, gotta work with me.”

She laughs again, “hey, where’d that cute guy go?”

“Please,” you beg again, “don’t...”

“Oh, hi,” she touches your faces and squeezes your cheeks, “baby sister.”

You hate when she’s like this. She’s always been a drinker, ever since high school when her friends would sneak out bottle from their parents’ stash. What was once an act of rebellion as a teen is now concerning as an adult.

“Excuse me, everything okay?” The timbre makes your heart drop and you nearly let go of Roxie as she leans in the other direction.

You look up. Oh god. It’s him. That dark-haired man in his expensive suit.

“I’m just... we’re on our way out--”

“She alright?” He points at your sister.

“Tipsy,” you utter.

“I see,” he pushes his hair back as it slips forward, “can I help?”

“Uh, you don’t--”

Before you can answer, he has your sister’s other arm. He almost lifts her entire weight off of you as he supports her against his shoulder. Your entire body is emblazoned in humiliation. You refuse to look above the floor as you’re certain you must have an audience.

You get your sister across the floor and into a hallway. There's an exit sign ahead but you're all turned around. The man stops you and Roxie.

"Where'd you park?" He asks, "this leads to Lot 5."

"Oh, uh..." you blanch. You hadn't thought of any of that. You slouch under Roxie's weight and try to see around her. "I'm not sure but... I don't drive. She was supposed to."

"Ah," he clucks, "and now she can't."

"Right," you agree glumly, "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? Why?" He asks.

"I didn't think... I let her--"

"Did you let her drink or did she make that choice knowing she was supposed to get behind a wheel?" He challenges.

"I guess... yeah. Sorry."

"Really, doll, no need to keep going on like that," he dismisses, "well, it's late and I can't in good conscience let you wander out with her like this. Especially if you don't have a way home."

"I could..." you begin. A taxi? You'd have to ask your mom to pay the driver when you get home. "Why would you... care?"

"Well, as the owner of this establishment, it won't look good on me if two pretty girls left and went missing," he chuckles then stops himself, "sorry, that's not funny. I just... we overserved your sister obviously so it's on us."

"Owner?" You gulp. You didn't think this could be any more humiliating.

"Bucky," he reaches around you sister.

You hesitate. You can't shake his hand properly as yours is around your sister so you just sorta grab his hand briefly and squeeze two fingers, retracting with another raze of embarrasment. You barely squeak out your name.

He repeats your name before he continues, "I'll get you two a room so she can sober up."

"What? No. That's... too much."

"It's late," he insists, "here," he pulls Roxie away from you as her head lolls and she snorts. He lifts her against his chest, carrying her easily. "I know a back way, just follow my lead, doll."

"Ummmmm," you drone and he waltzes back the way he came, hardly detered by the drunken body in his arms. You can only kick yourself and scramble after him. This night could not have ended any worse. Well, you guess it could if it went the way he suggested.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #all in #au #casino au #marvel #mcu #avengers #captain america #winter soldier

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sevs-corner · 2 months ago

Text

the voices are talking again and they have concluded on the random idea of -- Tf 141: Transformers AU but they're like Cade Yeager and you're Tessa Yeargar (this is gonna be more on the found family genre, ok?)

Imagine the setting is based on the movie "Age of Extinction"

The four are just strugglin' to make ends meet as country-side mechanics out in the wild west. They could barely feed each other, living by each passing pay they could scrape together with all the odd jobs they pick up on the side. From mowing lawns, fixing plumbing, working in construction, double timing shifts at groceries and mechanic shops-- they do all this to support their family. To put food on their table.

And to make sure you get to live a comfortable life.

Yes, you-- the infamously adopted daughter of those gay couple at the corner of town. Clearly they're relationship status was viewed in poor taste by the townsfolk (those stubborn traditionalists) and in return, you were often associated with that status and unjustly judged for it.

School was always shit, a pain to go to and see-- but you needed to do it. Needed to finish it and graduate.

Not just because you're ass was on the line if you didn't, but you wanted to go to college for engineering. You were inspired by your dads (and secretly wanted to make them proud) and worked closely with them whenever they would coop up in their 'man-cave' (aka their working barn but they hang out there often too, so they resolve to calling it that.)

Day-in and day-out, you would help them after doing homework, helping some left over clean-up work they had to do before cooking dinner and sharing a couple of beers in front of a televised game. Once you were sure that they were all conked-up and snoring, sometimes, you would sneak into their garage and grab some of their old inventions-- trying to replicate them without any of their blueprints and study the purpose behind it. You would do this in your own personal workshop with your prized car that you fixed up yourself (and sometimes used in the drag car races.)

Hence, in similar fashion, you work as hard as them and in return, they try their best to support you-- with the only thing holding them back is the point that you might be away from them.

The best engineering college is states away and they just can't see why you can't just attend the college they have nearby, and still live with them to cut on costs on rent and other daily necessities.

But to their frustrations, you were just as stubborn as them (you were raised by them after all) and wouldn't back down from that argument. It wasn't like it was sure-ball guarantee you were going to leave-- what if you really sucked and that top league university doesn't take you? So, to you, they were just unnecessarily worrying for something that might not even happen in the first place.

Until... it does.

You're days awaiting for your graduation date and just fulfilling some left over requirements your school does for the students at the end of the year. You've started picking up on your side-hustle of also becoming a mechanic (and a secret drag racer at the side) at the car dealer and their mechanic shop, hoping to earn as much as you can for whatever fate has dealt in her cards for you.

These men are antsy.

They could feel the date coming closer and closer and either side had not come to a compromise on what you would do.

Until they see it.

That dreaded fucking mailman on a rickety old bike, their daily papers and some envelopes in his hand as he slots it in their old- but automatic- mailbox. When he looks up, the mailman sweats profusely, seeing all their pointed glares aimed at him, and just as he was about to pedal away-- a dog (Riley) chases after him like its his routine yet he still screams and bikes away.

Though he goes faster than before once he sees the dog actually jump over the fence this time.

All of them huff out a chuckle before Soap decides to grab the mail with Gaz giving him a quick smooch on his shaved off head in thanks while the other three of them go back to working out the old mobile their neighbor wanted fixed up.

Yet this gets interrupted by the most horrific scream Johnny lets out, making them whip their heads to the noise and immediately make their way to him.

And there they see, in his trembling hand, the letter.

In bright bold font behind the transparent section of the envelope, it says...

"Congratulations for being accepted."

Sadly, this news never reached you, no matter how much you pried for it. Seeing in your email that the letter was in transit and should be on the way soon, but still-- there was no news.

And the four men they call themselves cannot muster the courage to break this to you in fear that you would leave them.

Although this stone is left unturned when the truck- that Ghost found in an old theater his friend asked him to fix-up, became a fucking autobot in their barn.

Chaos ensues just like the plot of the movie.

They learn of your drag racing driving skills from the 'boyfriend' that saved you guys before getting picked off by the black ops unit of the CIA- the Cemetery Wind (or in this case, the Shadow Company) led by Philipp Graves.

Your boyfriend, being Alex Keller, a top race car driver that actually trained you and cleaned up your skills as a driver, which he was thankful at the moment when you proceed to pull out moves that crashed the other cars behind you and lose them in the explosion that helped you get off the grid for a moment.

The four men don't know what's worse now.

You not agreeing with them in your choice of college or you keeping a secret boyfriend from them under their nose-- and they have to see HIM cuddle up with YOU- THEIR PRECIOUS DAUGHTER?

Yeah, that's not gonna happen.

So, the whole time, they're trying to keep you away from each other-- and it was quite easy with four bodyguards orbiting around you 24/7.

All the while, you guys plan with Optimus to meet up with the rest of the Autobots to infiltrate the headquarters of K.S.I. after discovering that the company behind the attacks on the autobots. You had no choice but to accompany your family, you didn't trust them to keep themselves safe so you were gonna keep them in check-- with your boyfriend, of course.

On the other side of this story (for the other characters), Shepherd (in place of Joshua Joyce as the CEO) is the great big antagonist that helps rebuild Galvatron while in kahoots with Graves to forward their plan of improving the world through the use of the 'seed.'

Laswell, for this role, was the secretary of Shepherd-- but after the attack of their headquarters, gets in contact with the Optimus crew and offers her aid and connections to over turn the corrupted tide that was surely going to end their world.

The boys are obviously hesistant, but once she proves her information to be correct once she showed the company's plans on Galvatron-- they knew they needed her to accomplish it.

And so the plot continues as per the movie with its own sprinkle of excitement (once i build this in my drafts lol)

Welp, that was my word vomit for today-- you can find my masterlist here!

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celestialprincesse · 1 year ago

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🪩♢

The 141 casino, usually bustling at all hours of both the day and night, is surprisingly quiet when you make your way in through the side door, the usual suspects undoubtedly having been ushered out by security in order to allow the cleaners to do their job, for the dealers to sort through their cards and the boss upstairs to keep an eye on his club whilst there's no one to keep an eye on him.

It's hard not to feel relieved at the lack of women in beautiful dresses and double digit karats who normally make an appearance in your day-to-day life, leering at you as though you're the one in control of their husbands stares. Occasionally you've had patrons invite you back to their rooms with them and their partners, mostly in the hopes of spicing up their otherwise non-existent sex lives, or trying to seem far more liberal and easygoing than they are. It's really not the compliment they think it is, more verbalising their perception of you as essentially a sex toy on legs, made only for their pleasure. One look at the shiny pole supported by a perspex platform up at the front of the room reminds you that the latter is somewhat true.

"Well, look at who the cat dragged in." Kyle's observation is quiet, his clear earpiece hanging down the lapel of his jacket whilst he nurses a whiskey at the otherwise empty bar. "And here I was thinking that you only came out at night." His warm accent continues to chide as you drop your duffel and begin to remove your hoodie and sweats in favour of more practical clothes, less slippery.

"Got hungry." You quip back, long used to the old vampire joke which Kyle and MacTavish find to be particularly amusing, especially after a few rounds after a shift.

"Come to work on some new stuff?" The bouncer admires you over the rim of his glass, just like he does every night after his shift wraps up and he sits behind the bar, watching you with reverent eyes through the mirrored backsplash, protecting you long after he's required to.

"I've been meaning to for a while now. S' been too busy to get into the feel of things most days though." Your murmured response fills the room as you stretch your arms so hard your shoulders pop.

"I liked that one you tried out a while ago the star .. star girl?" "Stargirl? The Lana one?" You murmur, looking up to him as you stretch before checking that everything is secure with the pole.

"Yeah, yeah that one. Suits you. Shining and whatnot."

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zee-143 · 1 year ago

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~𝙵𝚊𝚗!𝚂𝚔𝚣 𝚡 𝙸𝚍𝚘𝚕! 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜~

♡A/N: This is what won the polls so this is what I'll write. Also ty to everyone who likes my content. I have other fics coming up so stay tuned and hope you enjoy this one❤❤ Skz aren't idols in this btw. Just you :) I did reread this but if u do find mistakes I apologize 😭

SKZ x Fem! Reader

♡Genre: Fluff

♡Warnings: Noneee

Chan

He first heard about your music through a friend.

He was instantly hooked

He practically loved every single song you wrote and released

Chan was definitely a committed fan too

He'd follow all your social media just to stay updated on everything you were doing

Nothing creepy. Only to stay informed of course

If you had a fan meeting? He would totally be there. Even if it meant dragging a friend along with

A concert? He will be there just to support you

Chan simply loves anything you do. Whether it be the way you eat or talk. Everything just seems so... Perfect

Now, as a fan, Chan knows he shouldn't get too attached but its been difficult to say the least

Ever since that one encounter with you, Chan couldn't help but get a little excited at the thought of you

It was your 5th fan meeting. You were happily greeting fans, receiving their gifts or compliments like a complete professional. Chan stood in line, excitedly tapping his feet. He held a paper bag(that was your favorite color) with loads of gifts in them.

The line moved quite slowly but Chan didn't mind. If it was to see you, he'd wait a century. The closer he moved though, the more excited and nervous he became.

Finally, it was his turn to meet you

You happily greet him and he greets back. You spark up a little conversation by complimenting his outfit. Chan compliments back, saying how he admired your outfit too.

Chan revealed all the presents he bought for you. You were extremely surprised by how many things they were. Your staff can along, taking the gifts and placing them with the others

"You didn't have to buy all that stuff you know" You laughed. Your smile caused a light pink to spread across Chan's face. "I don't mind. You really inspire me and make me very joyful. It's the least I can do" Chan grins confidently. You nod, signing the poster and album he brought along

"Well, thank you so much. It's really amazing that I get to make fans like you so happy. It makes me happy. Don't stop smiling for me, alright? " He never forget those words. He never forgot his promise to her. He smiled, whenever a smile needed to be present.

Chan sometimes wonders if you remember him. It is unlikely. You do have millions of fans everywhere all around the world. Meeting you was enough for him though. It was just enough.

Minho

He was just scrolling through YouTube one day when he came across on of your music videos. With 93 million views?

He felt that was a little much but who knows maybe it wasn't bad.

Minho was wrong though. It wasn't just bad. Your music was 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨. He felt like he just found a drug and you were the dealer.

He tried not admitting how much he actually liked your music but failed

The posters on the walls aren't there for nothing obviously

He loved your dance style. It was so clean yet fun. He'd spend hours in his room just watching performance videos and trying to master your dances

Minho was intrigued by your stage presence more than anything. You captivated the crowd with just one look. You definitely had a way with face expressions and emotions

His room was filled with different types of merchandise. From posters to photo cards to albums to hoodies and even more

With all the merch though, it was hard to keep his little obsession a secret. And not because he was embarrassed. He just didn't want people getting all nosy with this one little interest. It was his and his alone.

One moment he won't forget was that one live he watched

Minho wasn't particularly feeling well that day but luckily you were on the rescue. You decided to go live and just ramble about whatever has been happening. Nothing special, which Minho didn't mind. He just loved your voice.

Minho was slightly bored. He deciding on commenting something. It's not like he was hoping for you to see it. He typed out something sweet but simple: 𝘐𝘮 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳. He read through the comment before sending it through

You, on the other hand, we're reading through the comments until one caused you to raise your eyebrows and smile. "I'm feeling really bad today but your voice makes everything a little brighter" You read.

Minho practically panicked, noticing you read his comment. That was 𝙝𝙞𝙨 comment. He slapped his cheek just to make sure he wasn't dreaming. And sure enough he wasn't.

"I'm sorry that you're feeling bad but it'll get better. Life sucks but don't let that stop you. I'm glad I'm helping just a bit. To which ever fan who commented that and everyone else, I love you so much and don't ever forget that" You raised a thumbs up before staring back down at your phone, looking for more comments to read

Minho felt his heart skip a beat. Skip multiple beats in fact. Though the last few words weren't only directed towards him it felt that way. And that's all that matters.

Changbin

Changbin had always been a fan of you. Ever since debut he was rooting for you to succeed

And boy did you do just that

You had millions of fans from all over the globe now and he felt proud of you for that. He loved that you got where you wanted to be.

He enjoyed more of your older songs as that's what he's used to but the newer songs are amazing too.

What really stood out to him about you though was your laugh. You had such a pretty and contagious laugh. Every video he watches, he just hopes you'll laugh. It makes him smile.

He also relates to you food wise. Changbin is someone who loves food and for you to love food as much as he does. Well, that's nice to hear

It was funny how stupidly similar you both were but who knows.. Maybe he's just being delusional

He sometimes thinks about what it would be like to befriend you. He was positive that it wouldn't be a boring experience that's for sure.

He basically stalks your Instagram account and other social media too.

If you post something, he's most likely already seen it or read it. Everything you post is something different, so he always makes sure to stay updated

He also noticed how you both practically have the same sense of humor. Any joke you say seems to crack him up more than anything else

Changbin was watching a recent vlog you recorded and couldn't help but notice a funny detail. After the video he hopped onto Twitter and shared his observation

'𝘏𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘸 (𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦) 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 2 𝘵𝘰 3 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴. 𝘔𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥'

A few hours, Changbin returned to Twitter noticing the attention his post got. Many were agreeing and others were just pointing out other details. But one comment left him shocked

He couldn't believe it. He even clicked on the profile and did everything. And surely enough, that comment was from you

'𝘓𝘰𝘭𝘭, 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 😭"

You liked his little joke. YOU ACTUALLY LIKED IT. He tried not to scream as he was in a restaurant with a bunch of friends. He must have been dreaming, or dead maybe.

Either way, he was glad you got to laugh at his silly comment. Who knows. Maybe they'll be more silly comments you'll see and laugh at even more

Hyunjin

Hyunjin loves you. And when I say love, I mean he 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙨 you.

He listens to your music every single day. Maybe while painting or doodling, he played one his favorite songs

I mean, all your songs were his favorite song, but he had a few that he held close to his heart.

When with friends, he always has an urge to bring you up in literally anything conversation

"Did you see (name) at Paris Fashion Week "

"Did you know (name) can do that too"

"Woah, that reminds me of (name). She's a great idol and her music is fantastic! "

Just a few examples of his undying love to you

Hyunjin really believes that you both are soul mates. Now, that is quite delusional but it makes sense! (To him anyway)

You once described, in an interview, what your type is and he ticked all the boxes. But maybe that's just his ego talking. Just a hopeless romantic in love

He celebrated your birthday like it was his own.

His gallery was filled with more pictures of you than his own family

It was all very concerning but Hyunjin didn't care. He was happy. He was happy knowing you.

Hyunjin did do other things too. He occasionally posted his art which gained lots of attraction. It was good after all. At some point, you mentioned how you didn't know what cover to use for your upcoming album.

Hyunjin took it upon himself to make a fan made album cover. It was soo good, people actually thought it was official. You soon saw the cover and was so impressed. You needed to use it. It was perfect

Hyunjin woke up to something unexpected the next day. Other than the thousands of notifications, he got a DM. From you. He almost dropped his phone from pure surprise

'𝘏𝘦𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦!! 𝘐 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘢𝘭𝘣𝘶𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵!! 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯. 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘵, 𝘏𝘺𝘶𝘯𝘫𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵? '

'𝘠𝘶𝘱, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴. 𝘐𝘮 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘯 😖"

"𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭!! 𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬. 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 :)"

"𝘖𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘳!!"

And with that, Hyunjin's artwork was the official album cover

He was over the roof. Seeing his art piece on the YOUR official album with YOUR songs. Okay, saying he was over the roof is an understatement

You later had an interview about the album and basically praised Hyunjin for his work for around 2 minutes. He watched that interview more than he could count. Needless to say, he didn't want to forget this moment.

Jisung

Jisung wasn't an artist but he liked music. Music was like a child to him. To some extent anyway

It did make sense though

His father was the owner of a huge kpop company. The company you were under in fact

Jisung wasn't interested in your music at first. Until, he followed his father in the recording studio you were working in. It was just a check up on your latest song. After one listen, he couldn't get the song out of his head.

He did some research about you and realized you were quite a popular idol in the community. That's where his fan obsession began

He liked watching all your interviews. Your personality was something he couldn't get over. You were always so nice and thoughtful towards anyone around. He was very intrigued by everything.

Though you were in the same company his father owned, you both never interacted. Mainly because he avoided you as much as possible. Embarrassment was not an option.

As a fan, Jisung listened to your music. He had a special playlist just for your songs and songs you liked.Songs he thought 𝙮𝙤𝙪 would like too.

He basically carried a photocard of you everywhere. Jisung believes it brings him good luck. Which was a cute gesture but it did sound a bit silly

He didn't care at all. Even if it was silly, it kept him at ease. He liked it that way

You had to write a song for a special performance. It was to be the company's 50th birthday but you had no ideas. That's when Jisung came in

"I heard you were having trouble with song writing. I brought my son to help you. He is quite the song writer" Your boss smiled. You eyed Jisung curiously. This was all to sudden but time was running out. You allowed it.

Jisung on the other hand was a nervous wreck. He couldn't even focus without getting scared. You noticed this and decided to give him some space.

When you returned, the song was finished. You excitedly examined the lyrics. You were impressed to say the least. The lyrics naturally connected to you, as if they were your own

"Oh my- this is perfect Jisung. You really are a great song writer"

"Really? It's not dumb or anything...? "

"Not at all. It's so professional and well done. Good job"

You gave the male a quick but thoughtful hug. He hugged back. You were his favorite idol and he couldn't believe he got to be this close to you. It was a dream come true.

The song did extremely well. At the show, Jisung got a whole shoutout with his face on the big screen. He was embarrassed but glad. Glad he could help you out.

Felix

Felix found you through Tiktok. How? Well your MAMA performance was trending and it was practically every where. It was impossible for anyone not to see at least one edit.

Felix did watch MAMA and he knew about you. He has known for a while. But wasn't a fan. He just knew you were a popular idol. What he didn't know though, was how obsessed he would become.

Like Minho, Felix was mesmerized by how you dance. He imagined you were the best dancer he had ever watched. Felix would often practice your dances, simply for fun

Everything was for fun

Did he read the fan fictions? Well... No but yes. He did read them but only sometimes. And he only read the cute stuff. He was delusional at the thought of you. Just a cute fanboy

Felix absolutely loved your smile. He often called you a sunshine or something like that. He believes you bring sunlight and everything bright. Anyone could go blind even looking at you or that's what he thought.

Your voice. He was one of the fans who could listen to your voice for ages on end.

He was passionate about you. Talking about you just came naturally or even accidentally though he did feel embarrassed after rambling. He didn't want to seem annoying in front of his friends. It was hard to control.

Felix watched all the edits he could find. Any edit. Any meme. Any video. He would watch it. He enjoyed all the content fans made of you.

Like most, Felix had merchandise. All neatly organized and placed in his room. He didn't like misplacing any of it. Not because it was expensive. He just didn't need to loose anything. It was all important to him

Felix opened Tiktok one day. You posted a challenge. A challenge for a song that he was in love with. There wasn't one day he didn't think of this song. It didn't have any choreography ... Until now

So a challenge? He had to try it out!

After a few hours of practice and life regret, Felix memorized the dance. He joined on the challenge posting his version on Tiktok.

Felix knew the video was going to blow up but he didn't expect it to get him a deal with you

Now, the male was patiently sitting in your studio. A few staff members with him. You hurriedly entered the studio.

"Hello! So glad you could make it Felix"

"Uhm... It wasn't a problem but... Why am I here? "

"I need a dance partner. I saw your video giving a go at my challenge. You're perfect"

Felix tilts his head. He was curious about why she chose him but decided to learn that later on. Hey, he was given a deal to dance with someone he admired. Why not take it.

He worked really hard to learn all the dance steps and everything. With you of course. You were extremely helpful. Your smile had to be the best part of everything though. It was as bright as he thought.

The concert day has to have been the best though. The performance went really well. Felix became quite popular with your fans. Everyone was so supportive rather than jealous. It was the best day of his life. That day never left his mind. It definitely was something he'd never forget.

Seungmin

Seungmin isn't your biggest fan.

He does like your music. Your personality. Etc. He is definitely not a BIG fan of you

You were just an idol he was fond of

Seungmin had few amounts of merchandise. Again, he's just fond of you

Seungmin was captivated by your singing voice. That's what he first noticed. Nothing healed his heart more than your singing.

It was a melody he simply wouldn't get over. Seungmin, personally, sang himself. He actually was a trainee under your company too.

He'd often bump into you but it wasn't a huge deal. He saw you as any other idol in the company. Just a human with a big platform

You both often had a brief and quick interaction before moving on. Getting on with your own lives.

He was more normal about you than the others, obviously

The thing that changed though, was how much of a fan he was towards you

The company gave him a challenge to learn then sing a cover from the list that was provided

Alright, seems easy. He chose the hardest song. One of yours. Did he want to show off? Yes. Was it because he wanted to impress you? To an extent, definitely

The highnotes in the song are what he was ready for. He practiced. And practiced. And practiced some more.

Seungmin, like his other trainee peers, we're given the same challenge. One by one, they all perform their covers in front of the judges. The judges were honest. Really honest from what he heard. A girl ran back crying. Seungmins breath quickened and he lightly tapped his foot on the ground

He was anxious

His turn arrived. He stared at the judges, noticing you were there. 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 up, he thought. The greetings and introductions ended. Now it was time for Seungmin to impress everyone (cough cough you)

The song reached its end. The room was quiet. The judges glanced at each other, with stunned expressions.

They all gave their feedback. The feedback was honest but decent. Your opinion was something that stuck with him forever though

"Well, that was my song and I haven't heard anyone sing it better than me. I'm actually so impressed Seungmin. I'm jealous. You have an angelic voice which I need on one of my songs. "

Everyone agreed and nod their heads

"When you debut, I'd love you to feature on some of my future music"

Seungmin left the company that day in a cheery mood. He couldn't believe one day you'd want to work on a song with him. Oh he was definitely going to learn as many of your songs as possible now.

Jeongin

Jeongin is definitely someone who keeps his love for you a personal thing

Only close friends knew about it

He liked it that way

Your fashion sense is something he is obsessed with. Jeongin is someone who takes time when it comes to dressing up. As soon as you mentioned, in an interview, that most of your stage outfits or general outfits are what you pick yourself. He could definitely relate

You dress like someone who cares about what you look like. Just like him.

You are an ambassador for a fashion brand after all. His seen plenty of ads in the mall or on the internet of you. He liked pointing them out in front of his friends

Jeongin thought you were sweet. Sweet like honey

He had no specific reason on why he wanted to know so much about you. Maybe it was his personal connection with you.

Or maybe he just wanted something to be attached to

Either way he was a big fan. Jeongin was simple about this whole thing. He felt happy when watching your content

He definitely was over protective about you though. He knows he shouldn't. It just sucks when someone comments a negative opinion. Of course, criticizing an idol is necessary for improvement. Though some take it too far. That's what pisses him off

Other than that, Jeongin is relaxed. Most of the time, especially in winter, he wears the same exact beanie. When asked about it, he doesn't really know how to answer but it is quite a story.

He attended a concert of yours. He was close to the stage which was just perfect. Of course, he brought friends with him. Friends that are fans as all.

Jeongin practically sang his heart out to every song. One of your more intense songs with a lot of energetic dances played. While dancing your beanie accidentally flew into the crowd. Luckily, Jeongin caught it.

The performance ended. You joked about the beanie flying off and asking if anyone caught it. Jeongins friends screamed in his direction bringing all the attention towards him.

A bright red paints on his face. The concert venue was dim. You hopefully couldn't see it. You laughed lightly noticing the shock in his face

"You know what. You can keep it"

Jeongin frantically shook his head insisting on you taking it back.

"Really, take it. You spent a whole ton of money just to see me sing and dance. It's the least I could do for such a cute fan"

Jeongin felt like passing out. One of his friends roughly shook him while the crowd screamed

He smiled at the thought, anytime he saw the piece of clothing. It was a wonderful experience. An experience he had to relive again.

◦•●◉✿♡✿◉●•◦

A/N: This has to have been the longest ass thing I've written so far. But I hope you enjoyed this little thing. Thanks soooo much for reading ♡♡

152 notes · View notes

liillyliilly · 7 months ago

Text

Mercedes-Benz

miya atsumu x reader words; 4467 synopsis; underground racing, she has a slight gambling habit, he drives a sleek black mercedes-benz

Evil incarnate. Satan spawn. Devil’s favorite drug dealer.

Then why was he so delicious?

“Well folks, what we have here today is a game truly unparalleled by any other.”

“Well, Iwaizumi Hajime, I think the level of competition we have here goes beyond just a game.”

“You’re right Miya Osamu, what we have here is a battle of man versus man.”

Miya Osamu burst into laughter, “Oh but Iwaizumi, it’s a battle between boy and woman.”

You didn’t appreciate them narrating your current state of undress. In all fairness, they were also commentating on Atsumu’s lack of fabric entrapments.

Yachi was too busy nursing her heart by downing all the orange juice the Miya’s had in their fridge. Kiyoko was duly scrolling through her phone outside, waiting for you to finish up so she could drive the three of you back to your dorm. Everyone else in the frat house was mad that Suna Rintarou had confiscated all phones before entry into the Inarizaki Phi Alpha mid-term party.

Because of the photos, they would have gotten. Oh, the images of moments they could have captured.

“Hit.” You dealt Atsumu another card from your deck. A seven of spades. Adding that to his nine of hearts, two of diamonds, and four of spades, he had busted. With one measly point above a perfect twenty-one.

He groaned, tugging on his hair and rocking back slightly. You two were sitting cross legged in front of each other, with less clothes on than should have been allowed at the moment.

“You’re such a cheater.”

“Nope. Always bet on the House for a reason ‘Tsumu. You have two options left, your sock or your underwear.”

He threw his sock at your face. You put it on his folded trousers, t-shirt, sweatshirt, other sock, and watch.

He had your top, pants, and one sock. This left you in a bra, underwear, and one sock.

“Listen, Atsumu, it’s in your best interest to not play another round. She still has a sock. You’re screwed. Point-wise, she even started with less clothing than you. Take the punishment.” Miya Osamu carefully advised his brother.

Iwaizumi just scoffed and passed another twenty-dollar bill to Matsukawa. “How’d you know that she would win?”

Matsukawa inhaled, his mango vape on its last leg, “She always beats him in these things, it's almost like she’s cursed him with what I like to call: Boobs Over Boners”

Atsumu shoves his leg back into his pants, and you shimmy back into your shirt. The party quickly dissipated after the two of you shook hands in agreement to end the game.

“I like your white bra better.” He stretched, sitting down on the hardwood floor had dulled his spine and made his back hurt.

“If you won you actually could’ve seen me in it again.”

“Don’t remind me of what I’m missing out on.”

Strip Blackjack was a creation you and he had invented two years ago, it had become an annual event to play it at each mid-term party, so far, you were leading in wins with four and he had one.

This time he had put seven minutes in heaven on the line, you put his brand new Mercedes-Benz on the line. You weren’t going to take his car from him, he would just become your chauffeur for the foreseeable future.

You told Yachi she could head back with Kiyoko, you had gotten a sweeter ride. Kiyoko rolled her eyes and put her hand on your arm. “Don’t wait up, I have some plans.”

“It’s already midnight, what more could you need to accomplish?”

“The fun’s only starting. I have five more hours of entertainment awaiting me.”

“When you get sick, I’ll have the medicine cabinet ready for you.” You hugged Kiyoko as she pulled Yachi away from a Health Science major who had been lurking around.

The Benz life was something you could get used to. A sleek black finish, rich leather, and seat warmers. Atsumu grabbed his water bottle before meeting you in the parking lot.

Leaning back on the front of the car, your back was supported by the hood of his Mercedes-Benz and your arms were slowly touching the curves and edges. Atsumu thought that the view of you and his car was going to put him into cardiac arrest.

Pressing the start engine button, Atsumu turned to you. “Where to first?”

“The highway. Let’s baptize this bad boy,” You leaned forward and slid your fingers over the textured glove department.

“I am not taking my car to whatever blood demon summoning ritual you have in mind.”

You faced him, noticing the volleyball keychain hanging from the rear-view mirror, “You’ve seriously never baptized a car?”

“My car is agnostic.”

“A car baptism is when you hit a little over 160 kilometers, or if you like 100 miles per hour.”

“Those are the same speed.”

“Miles is lower than kilometers, more likely to get you to agree that way.”

He nods, backing his car out of his spot. Neither of you had made a move to turn on music quite yet, preferring to just embrace the smooth transportation.

Several texts from Suna popped up on Asumu’s display on the dashboard. Atsumu kept his eyes on the road, while you had free reign to watch whatever was going to unfold.

You sexy mofo

Why arnt you flirting back babe

Atsumu you dick

Ohhhhhhhhhh

You're actually doing something with her huh

I know a good detailer

Cleans everything right up

Several eggplant emojis later, and you just shook your head in amusement. All Atsumu had to do was ask, and this scenario Suna was proposing could very well be real, but he’d never tried anything more than grinding with you at the clubs.

Minus all the times he had leaned in for a kiss, especially after acing an exam he thought he would fail. Or when he felt sore from volleyball. Or when he just wanted to get a taste of your lip gloss. The attraction was there, and you saw no reason for him to hold back. He held back anyway.

There was still time before you reached the highway, so you just sat pretty, soaking up his presence. He smells expensive. With a physical presence so demanding, you have to wonder why Atsumu and Osamu were received so differently by those around them.

Atsumu couldn’t stand just being there with you, if he got any more jittery then he fully believed his driving skills would be impeded, which only had worst-case scenarios. So he reaches below his information screen, grabbing the aux cord.

“What do you wanna listen to?” You took the cord and plugged your phone in, mentally crossing off songs you didn’t want him to know that you listened to.

“Whatever you want to listen to. I’m not picky with car music, that’s ‘Samu’s field.”

“Driver picks the music, that's the most unspoken but most important car rule known to man.” A recollection of all the times Kiyokyo lightly slapped your hand away from her Spotify search option on her mom mobile. And all the times Yachi discreetly changed your music back to hers when she was giving you a ride to the grocery store so you both could get more juice.

“Passenger Princess picks the music in my car.”

You could live with being his passenger princess. The silence was chopped up and boiled alive with your late-night playlist.

Atsumu taps his fingers on the steering wheel, signaling left to merge onto the highway.

It was practically empty, minus the usual car here and there. The best part of driving on the highway at night was the lights. Towering buildings with spotted office lights still on, colorful lights from bars and various other fast-food restaurants, and lights from airplanes in the sky. Tokyo at night was perfect.

Atsumu, Tokyo, and you, however, that was a trio made to be.

He sped up. Not quite hitting your desired speed, but enough to put a chill around the car that was slowly seeping in.

“I have an extra sweatshirt under the seat.” Atsumu tilts his head slightly, urging you to accept his offer. He prayed that you wouldn’t ask him just to turn up the heat in the car.

You reached down and took the sweater out of the cubby below the seat. It was straight fleece on the inside, but a smooth cotton blend on the exterior. It was also a sweatshirt that had embroidery on the cuffs. His family name was on the left, and what you could only assume was his jersey number on the right.

“Thanks, it’s soft.” You brought the collar up slightly to rub the side of your face on the fleece.

Atsumu was grateful for the lack of lighting in the interior of his car, hiding the way he knew a blush was spreading rapidly across his ears and face.

Clearing his throat, Atsumu questioned your plans for the night, “Besides my veto-ing the baptism, what else did you have in mind? You said to your friends you were going to be busy until at least five.”

You had two possible options in mind. Both of which would terrify Atsumu. You picked around his glove box for a moment, before grabbing a coin.

“Heads is option one. Tails is option two.”

“Aren’t I supposed to know the options?”

You reached over and put a finger to his lips, “Shush, my game my rules.”

You warmed the coin up in your palms, before tossing it slightly and then hitting it against the back of your hand. Atsumu kept his left hand on the wheel, letting his right lay on your armrest closest to him, invading your undefined bubble.

“Option one.”

“I didn’t even tell you what the coin faced.”

“I know, I chose option one.”

“There’s a drift competition I heard about from the Grapevine.”

Of course, it was from the Grapevine. The vaguely illegal social media site that all college students would die to get an invite to join. No one knew who ran the platform, just that one day, if you were lucky, you got a text with an assigned username and password key to join. Atsumu had decidedly not been cool enough to receive such a text yet.

You, however, were one of the first people to get onto the Grapevine.

You clarified for Atsumu, “I won’t put your baby through the ringer, I just heard the gambling’s good. Apparently all the people who said they’d be racing are either bringing an imported car or they have a super tricked-out home-cooked car.”

Atsumu would be lying if he said he wasn’t interested. He just hummed, pulling up his GPS, and you typed in the address.

It was half past one when you got there. Atsumu parked his car about half a mile away from the location you had input. You praised him, calling him smart to do his best to avoid damaging your escape car.

When you got into the abandoned car parking lot, and walked down to the basement level, you were surprised. Atsumu stayed close by, walking slightly to the right of you but staying behind you.

Bumping from speakers was all kinds of music.

A yellow 1997 Mazda RX-7 had J-Pop blaring, with a decently young guy tweaking wires under the hood. A red 2006 Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution IX had Teriyaki Boyz’s “Tokyo Drift” playing, with various stripped-down women investigating the lights embedded in the wheels. There were several other cars similarly tricked out, each with their unique personality and appeal.

Atsumu pulled you back into him by your elbow, “This is insane.”

“It’s dope, that's what it is.” You scanned around for any kind of money being exchanged. “Winner, winner.”

You grabbed Atsumu’s hand, leading him to a turquoise-colored car.

“There’s my mischievous queen.” Oikawa looked you up and down, you just kicked your leg up and put your hands under your chin in an attempt to appear cutesy. “And then this stick in the mud.”

Atsumu just did a head nod to acknowledge Oikawa’s presence.

Oikawa was dressed in a white ribbed tank top and some lilac cargo pants. His Aoba Johsai medallion hung on a gold chain around his neck.

“I don’t suppose this perfectionist is gonna race. Bet he drives a Toyota Sienna.” Oikawa grazes your hip with his hand, trying to tug you over to him.

You can’t help but go over to Oikawa’s car. “2001 Nissan Silvia S15 Spec-S, my friend Ushijima helped me to change the colorway.”

“It’s gorgeous, just look at those LEDs,” You skimmed the attached lights around the door of the car, appreciating the overall look of the car, then investigating the smaller decals in the corners of the windows.

Inside Oikawa’s car were his over-the-shoulder seat belts embedded in the driver’s seat, a silver pack of something you couldn’t quite identify in the central console, and his phone lying on the passenger’s seat.

“Wanna go for a quick spin before it’s go time?” Oikawa flipped his keys around his finger, and a small diamond decoration caught the light from the various beamers around the car garage.

You looked back toward Atsumu, his eyes had narrowed.

“Nah, I’m happy just to do some gambling.” You wrapped an arm around Atsumu, holding onto his side. This was an effective enough deterrent for Oikawa.

“I see how it is, put your money on me though, some of these other drifters can barely keep their throttle going long enough for a good spin.”

“Noted. It was nice seeing you,” You waved, and Atsumu copied the wave, adding the repeated motion of bending his fingers at the knuckles, a teasing victory wave of sorts.

Oikawa and you knew each other through a mutual friendship in Iwaizumi, he was older than you by a few years, working on a graduate program in Argentina. He came back to Tokyo for the racing, only the racing. At least, that’s always what he told himself.

It would be a lie to say that Oikawa didn’t still love you. How can you not when you propose twice in one month, begging someone to come to a foreign country with you, telling them that you would take care of them, and they would never have to worry about anything? Just be with me and everything will be perfect.

You put a few bills on Oikawa, much to Atsumu’s chagrin.

The lineup was two cars at a time, going from the bottom floor up to the roof of the parking garage. There would be six brackets, for a total of twelve competing drifters.

If Oikawa did indeed win the whole thing, you stood to make a crisp four hundred dollars. If he placed in the top four, you got two hundred. Anything below the top four and you’d be out a flat hundred, all the money you skimmed off the bets from Strip Blackjack earlier this night.

People were lined up on either side of the starting point, you didn’t have the best vantage point seeing as all the tallest guys had already conglomerated to see the skidouts fail. Atsumu asked if you could see alright, and you just shrugged, it was an inconvenience but wouldn’t ruin the experience.

So he scouted for a better standing spot. “How’d you feel not watching the beginning of the race?”

In a moment, you two had jogged up the stairs, going to the roof. Only the various car techs were already up here, typing away on laptops.

The view was stunning. And had an ample vantage point. The car garage was scaffolded, so each floor going high was smaller than the layer below. The spiral going up to the finish line was readily viewable from where you and Atsumu were leaning against the concrete half-wall. You would get to see the final moments of the race, as well as see the billowing tire smoke from the levels below, various obstacles were on each floor. Barriers, iron gates, and pillars originally designed to guide cars to parking spots now functioned as ways to show off the iconic sideways slide of drifting.

Atsumu pulled out his phone when you were leaning over the half wall, inspecting the route the cars would have to take. It was just a few subtle pictures he told himself, of the way you were grinning wildly at the upcoming race, wearing his sweatshirt.

He couldn’t resist just sending one or two photos to Suna to humble brag.

Youre gonna kill her?

Push her off the ledge?

Im not gonna hide her body with you

Necrophilia is not hot

Youre such a douche you know that

Only for u my asian baby boy

she really is your type tho

Look at those legs, scrumptious

I will push you off a ledge

You think she would play strip blackjack with me? Without cards ofc just the stripping part

Blocking you rn

Ohhhhh noooo how will i survive without my precious

The roar of cars is louder than expected, Atsumu fumbles while trying to shove his phone back into his pocket. You just start giggling, lightly stomping your feet in excitement.

“Watch this!” A rapid twist from the yellow car as they continued to cut off what Atsumu recognized as Oikawa’s car.

The speed at which they were going shook Atsumu to the core. Each new drift circling a barrier to a straight path just intensified as they managed to go up each level in progressively intense challenges. Smoke billows from the tires against the pavement, flaring out the lights attached to the cars, creating what looked like a chalk bomb in the air full of color.

In a second, Oikawa spun out, cutting another corner and overtaking yellow. When he was sliding his way up the spiral, Atsumu had to admit to himself that what Oikawa had accomplished was pretty solid. Impressive even.

The rumbling and purring of the cars scratched a mental itch that you didn’t know you had. Like live animals, the cars came alive with each round. Despite the same route, new shortcuts and clean ‘barely made it’ moments richly colored each round.

It was exhilarating. For a moment you tried to imagine what it was like inside the car, the wind on your face, the jerking of your seatbelt while trying to move the steering wheel. It was golden material for a daydream just waiting to be utilized in your boring moments.

You made your full four hundred dollars, tucking it away in your bra when the coordinator passed you the cash wrapped in a rubber band.

Trying to fight a yawn, Atsumu ran a hand through his hair.

“Are you good to drive back to university?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

On the walk back to his car, you didn’t realize just how tired you were as well. You tripped on your foot. But he caught you, both hands holding your waist, lifting you up so just your toes were on the ground. You sheepishly smiled.

“What time is it?”

You checked your phone, but it was dead. “Mine’s outta juice.”

He checked his phone only for the result to be the same unfortunate situation.

Suddenly the lights on the streets were flickering, not fulfilling their role of being beacons of guidance back to Atsumu’s Mercedes.

A low hum approached the two of you from behind, “Not this guy again.” He mumbled. Atsumu was face to face with Oikawa again.

“Need a ride out the boonies?”

You looked at Atsumu, and despite sensing the potential for conflict, you decided it was more important to get back to the car than to worry about his ego.

“Yes please.”

“Hop in,” Oikawa held the door for you as you climbed into the sole back seat, Atsumu clambered into the passenger’s side.

He drove for around five minutes, but then after flashing his brights, you located the car. In a change of attitude, Oikawa gave Atsumu a smooth dap. “I can respect a man with a Benz like that.”

“Your car isn’t too bad either.”

“Oh no, mine's definitely better. But if I was placing a bet, I bet this is the car she likes better at the end of the day.” Oikawa threw a thumb in your direction as you were already at the car, wrapping your arms around yourself, teeth chattering.

Oikawa considered the possibility of rekindling something that had fizzled out. Then he remembered all the times you had talked about the little games you played with Atsumu, a light that shone on your face that never appeared when you were with him.

Argentina was home now. Could it truly be home without you though?

In a storm of dust, Oikawa drove off, leaving you and Atsumu sitting in his black car. He turned the heater up to maximum levels, easing your chill little by little.

The car clock showed the time being close to four in the morning.

“Still want to stay out until five?” Atsumu was back on the main road, he had found a piece of mint gum to chew to help him stay awake. He was grateful for all the flights across the country for volleyball matches that he was able to stay awake and cognizant even running on low sleep hours.

“I think I’m good actually.”

Atsumu was curious, so he asked what option two was. The other thing you had thought had the potential to burn through the night besides an underground drifting culture experience.

“Seven minutes in Atsumu’s Mercedes-Benz.”

“You tease.”

“True that.” Your phone finally reached a charge point where you could take it off the charger, hooking up Atsumu’s phone in place of yours. You started to stare out the window, glad that Atsumu didn’t care for music so you could let the meek hum of the car lull you away from consciousness.

“Genuinely, though, what other things could you have seen us doing tonight.”

You had fallen asleep within three minutes, curling into the back of the seat. Atsumu pulled over to the side of the road, reached over, and lowered the seat, so it was as close to flat as the car would allow. He took the emergency blanket from the trunk and wrapped it around you, tucking the blanket beneath you to secure it.

Once Atsumu got back to the university, he realized that he did not have either of your roommates' numbers. And your phone didn’t have facial recognition so he could just quickly call them while you were still asleep.

That was when he saw the note taped to the front of your housing unit. His name was written on the front in cursive lettering.

Hey Miya, we know you have our roommate with you. She’s probably asleep, and you never got our numbers. I, Kiyoko, am at a friend’s house, and Yachi sleeps like the dead so it is very unlikely that you’ll be able to put our sweet best friend back into her bed. Sorry for the inconvenience. We love her, but she never thinks more than three steps ahead at most. Touch her and you die. Sincerely, Shimizu Kiyoko.

Well, there’s that.

He makes his way back to the car. He can’t leave you asleep in the car. He can’t get you back to your room. So he does the next best thing, taking you back to his fraternity.

Transferring you from the car to the house was easy enough, he had called Suna to open the door while he brought you in.

“Osamu snores too much.” Suna supplied but agreed to not wake Osamu up and make him move back into his shared room with Atsumu.

With no deliberation, Atsumu put you on his bed, removing your shoes and putting them at the foot of his bed. He pulled his grey covers up and over your body. Your chest was rising and falling slowly. He sat on Osamu’s bed just watching you for a moment.

He couldn’t fight sleep forever though.

He woke up when the sun finally started to peek over the mountains in the distance. He would plan to take a nap later in the day, enjoying his Saturday to the fullest.

The notification on his phone did shock him for sure, his very own Grapevine account. Atsumu didn’t care much for social media, but he did enjoy knowing that he did something to warrant one of the rare invites.

It functioned the same as most other online communities, following options, posting options, etc. There was a main tab of events curated by whoever was behind Grapevine, he clicked on the official account. There he saw a picture of you and him at the drift event, when you had grabbed onto his arm and leaned into his side before the race started.

Ignoring the creepiness of getting this specific photo, he looked at the subtitle of the picture.

“Drifting’s Hottest New Couple, The Gamblers Who Love To Flirt With A Good Wager”

Who were they kidding, you were the one who actually made the money, Atsumu was just there to observe. But at least they had associated you with Atsumu instead of you and Oikawa. He considered this a win.

He turned off his phone.

You were stretching, shifting around the sheets, and you pulled your wad of cash out from your bra.

“Want gas money?” Waving the stack of twenty dollar bills, you kicked your feet slightly, shaking off your sleep.

“Nah, keep it. I lost Blackjack fair and square.”

Both of you were still lying in the beds, but facing each other.

“Want to stay in bed and watch this show I found?” Atsumu unplugged his laptop from the shared desk between the beds, clicking away.

After nodding, you sat up, and Atsumu crawled in next to you.

The intro music to the limited series drama started to play. It was raining outside, leaving raindrops racing on the window in the dorm room. There was some chatter outside the room, but together, you and Atsumu created your own space, undisturbed.

You think you love him.

Downstairs, in the shared fraternity kitchen, Suna was sipping coffee.

He was on his software program, checking for anything that needed to be fixed on his magnum opus, the Grapevine. He saw another request from a moderator on the platform, asking if Suna (under his pseudonym) would make an official post about another drift race.

Suna posted the details, swapped back into his personal account, and sent the link to Atsumu.

“No rest for the wicked.” Suna killed off the rest of his coffee, shoved his stuff into his backpack, and sent a text.

U got one more shot

Man, Oikawa owed Suna big time for this one.

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expia · 2 years ago

Text

scammer toji <3

w; semi nsfw , mean dom!toji , size kink - almost bum toji

scammer toji who does anything you can for a quick buck

scammer toji who had a decent 9-5 job getting good money but he’s got a bad attitude and got fired and his babymama left him same day

scammer toji who does it all to support for him and megumi

pyramid schemes to credit card methods to cashapp methods even down right thieving money out peoples pockets if he got too

scammer toji who moved into a slightly nicer who apartment

scammer toji who sees you, his cute little next door neighbor

scammer toji who at first did wanna scam you but you were just to adorable

scammer toji who tries to become your friend using megumi

and oh god did it work not only do you love “gumball” you now named megumi but also his fine ass daddy

scammer toji who impressed you with not only his money but his personality

scammer toji who tells you all about his old life , the time he was a drug dealer, how his met megs mom everything

scammer toji who told you he works remote

scammer toji who buys you any and everything you want

scammer toji who is scamming 10x harder to help you with bills and tuition

scammer toji who now basically lives in your place

“gumball” has his own room , own chair , toothbrush, toys , clothes all in ur home

scammer toji who loves fucking while meg is sleeping

scammer toji whos big and he knows it

scammer toji who loves to force himself into you’re dripping cunt

scammer toji who punishes you anytime you’re loud because he doesn’t want “ a dirty whore drunk on dick “ to wake up yalls son

scammer toji who makes sure to cum inside you everytime and promise one day he’ll knock you up

scammer toji who always calls you his baby mama even tho y’all have no kids together

scammer toji who refers to megumi around you as “our son”

scammer toji who thinks he doesn’t wanna be a scammer anymore

scammer toji who feels so safe and comfortable around you

scammer toji: who hates that the life he lives might get you and megumi hurt

scammer toji who’s starting to look for a real job maybe real-estate

scammer toji who just wants a peaceful life with you and his son

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x black reader #toji x reader #toji fluff #toji smut #toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x black reader #toji fushiguro x black reader #anime x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x black reader

1K notes · View notes

gauloiseblue · 11 months ago

Text

John Price as a arm candy personal bodyguard

General HQ | Part I | Part II

(Enemy to friend to lover AU)

Price first met his wife on a mission where he's investigating her under the suspicion of smuggling. She's an antique dealer, and sells any kind of expensive artworks, and for that reason, she gave away a lot of bribes for the transport.

She laughed at him when he confronted her about it, and told him narcotics have no value over the works of art she collected.

She didn't hide her hostility whenever he and his men came to her place, and wouldn't hesitate to whack anyone who's careless at handling her collections with her cane.

(She has a black cane, with a golden lion's head on top)

They didn't find anything that could tie her to the case, but that didn't mean her name was cleared yet.

If they couldn't find the drugs in the warehouse, then they must've been unpacked right after they arrived at the port.

It took months of negotiations, persuasions, pressures, and an expensive bottle of wine to get her to cooperate with them.

Since it had a tie with Las Almas Cartel, he needed to call Alejandro and Rodolfo over.

He was actually scared that his presence would hinder the investigation, because Alejandro's personality might clash with hers. To his surprise, they got along well.

"I like him, he's very honest." She said, "Unlike a certain man in your force."

Their relationship was so bitter that he, a man who rarely complained, ranted about her over drinks. It was bad that the whole team and some of the upper ups knew about their dispute.

Still, they maintained some sort of professionalism whenever they needed to get on the case.

After several months of investigation, they finally stumbled upon the first breakthrough, and that is the fine china. The cartel had smuggled the drugs through the import of high-quality porcelain.

She was stunned when he revealed it at the meeting, and stared at the papers in front of her until the meeting ended. She then asked for his audience, alone in her office.

To his surprise, she wanted to know about his opinion on the plan, before she gave him her own thoughts.

"If what you said is true, then I know who the man is—rather, it's a woman."

She proceeded to tell him her plan to trap the suspect, and the possibility of capturing her. He nodded and took her plan into consideration. They discussed it until midnight, and for the first time, they shared the same thoughts.

The operation went smoothly thanks to her idea of giving the culprit a false sense of security, in which she collaborated really well by getting into her role.

The woman turned out to be her right hand, who usually handled the transport of her collections. During the capture, she begged her to help her and played the victim card, before she straight up threatened her. She did it so viciously, that he felt a pity for her. Yes, he hated her, but she didn't deserve to hear those words.

At night, after clearing up the mess, he paid her a visit at the office. Despite the indifference that she showed earlier, she looked as if she'd been crying when he saw her that night.

When she saw him walking into the room, she quietly sighed. "It'll take a long time before I can find someone as competent as her. She's irreplaceable."

"You'll find them eventually." He mused.

"But it won't be the same." She said, "She was my friend, I trusted her."

He kept quiet, as he understood what she truly meant.

"I don't think you'd understand, John." She began, "I'd forgive her if she stole any of the antiques and covered it up with laughable excuses, but this?" She shook her head, "How could she be so stupid?"

"Money can turn people blind."

"I gave her enough to support her and her family." She scoffed, "I don't understand how it's not enough, she could've asked—"

She paused, as she decided to hold back mid sentence.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For not believing you."

"... It's all in the past."

She turned to him, giving him a slight smile. "I'm in the mood for bourbon. Would you join me?"

That was the mark of their affinities

On the last day of the mission, she bid him goodbye in person.

"Goodbye John, I hope we'll never see each other again."

To any person who's not familiar with her, it might sound like she still harbors a hatred for him. But if they looked close enough, they'd see a small smile on the corner of her lips.

"The feeling's mutual."

She let out an amused snort when he lifted his hat as he left.

From that point forward, they lost contact for over a year, and would stay that way if he didn't send her a postcard on Christmas.

If someone asked him why he did it, he wouldn't know why either. The thought of her just came to him when the first snow fell.

Days later, as he browsed through the newspapers stall, he stumbled upon an article written by her about the modern depiction of Christmas.

"... while it might’ve lost its meaning in a traditional sense, it still holds the very core of it; to celebrate the blessing of life… For those who wrote without return addresses, I hope happiness would find you still."

He still carries the clipping of it to this day.

The thought of her soon forgotten as he received more and more missions, until one day, his team was in shambles as they were branded as traitors.

That night, he arrived at her door—bloody, and dazed—with a pitiful disclosure; "I have nowhere else to go."

She didn't say much, as she stepped aside to let him in.

After all of his wounds were taken care of, he confessed to her about his current status.

"So you've become a fugitive?"

"Not just me, but my whole task force."

She then asked about his plan and what he'd do in the future, but he hadn't thought much about it yet.

"One thing for sure, I'm gonna clear my team's name on this."

"... I see." She mused, "In the meantime, you should focus on your recovery."

He ended up taking her office's sofa as his bed. It was stiff, but certainly better than what he used to have.

The next morning, he woke up with a jolt when the door suddenly opened. With blurry vision, he saw two men carrying a wooden desk to the corner of the room, before she appeared to give them instructions. After all the things was settled, she turned to him to announce that he could work in this room.

"You don't have to." He muttered, still half awake.

"Well, where are you going to work then? The kitchen?"

He couldn't find the answer for it.

"Don't worry, John, I don't expect you to repay me in any way."

And just like that, she left the room, leaving him dumbfounded by the turn of events.

#cod #call of duty #captain price #john price x reader #price x reader #this is very self indulgent #I'd like to think that the reader is the rich one so she could take care of him after his retirement #idk #i feel like that's only fair #he worked hard for the army it's only fair that he got to live a comfortable life afterward

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randomlywanderingmoth · 6 months ago

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Part of the problem with Fate Grand Order is the core gameplay is fundamentally flawed, and it's very difficult to restore "a fun game" around a flawed core.

Quick and Buster and Arts were all interesting notions, and could have mapped into action gameplay (if we were to merge FGO's ideas with FSR's gameplay I would equate them to fast attacks, heavy attacks, and weaker attacks meant to charge your special bar, but I digress).

As it is, though, it just makes for unpleasant feelings in gameplay, demanding optimizations (I would point out that in the international release we only recently got the ability to combo all three together, and made Quick chains strong enough to consider independently). Those optimizations rise up around every aspect of the game; only a select few Servants have the ability to AoE without accessing their Noble Phantasm, and they haven't even made it to international. There's a wide range of Craft Essences, but only a few that ever matter. Creativity in builds is tamped down around increasingly narrowed build notions as the devs design with over-optimized teams in mind.

The end result is a game that, optimally, advises you to use your super rare fully powered optimized support, your friends' identically super rare fully powered optimized support, and a high power damage Servant, and repeatedly fire the damage dealer's Noble Phantasm to either clear waves or kill bosses.

Speaking of which, from a lore perspective, this is also completely messed up. By the lore of the Nasuverse, a Noble Phantasm is a Servant's super secret ultimate move, only meant for the final hour. This is fully incongruous with the gameplay, where you typically throw the same world-ending mythology-defining techniques three times in a row and call it a day. (Entertainingly, in the International release, we've also made it to Traum, where we see faceless Servants fire their Noble Phantasms like simple artillery, but that's its own commentary.)

Like, it's so effortless to imagine better systems than this! Servants deployed on a chessboard-like map, heralding back to the themes of Fate Apocrypha; suddenly we don't need anything as mechanically obtuse as Class Advantages when we could organically differentiate each Class by how they navigate the board or how they fight each other (Riders can leap over enemies like knight pieces in chess; Archers can attack at range without moving; Lancers do really well on Attack but have poor Defense; and Berserkers can be the units of terror that lore implies!)

Alternatively, the Grail Battlefronts we've already seen- rework the entire game to operate more organically like that; maybe Servants can use skills without entering combat, but it exhausts their actions. Then different forms of gameplay can exist beyond just "mulch the enemy"; like "defend this location" or "collect these resources" or "defeat This Particular Foe".

Or, even if we had to work with just the system we have! Change THAT! Rather than select three cards from a set of five, have it go down the list; each Servant gets One Action to either pick from "Quick, Buster, Arts, Use A Skill".

As for Servant Customization, walk it all the way back, all the way back up to the Attack/HP boosting. Make it so that players can individually optimize Servant performance in different ways- this Servant has better output in Arts, that Servant has higher Crit Star generation. And for folks who'd already spent their Fous, you could just say "right, so anybody with Fous spent can now allocate those points into these new Stats! No harm done!"

Of course, in order to do this, they would likely need to construct a whole new framework for their game, whilst preserving the progress people have made until now.

Then again, they are presently building castles in the sand during the rising tide with one hand and bandaging bullet wounds with the other, so maybe a long shot like that is what they need.

#fgo #fate grand order #my ramble box #maybe my next ramble box will be How I Would Make A Better FGO from the ground up

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chitty-chitty-bang-bang-bang · 4 months ago

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“Remember that one time with…”

Age Restrictions: 16+ (vulgar language)

Author’s Note (1): The reader is human here and all stories exist separately from each other.

Author’s note (2): I’m not crying because it’s the last season of wwdits, you are. But in all seriousness, I am literally so depressed over this, so I wanted to write something feel-good to celebrate the end of the series. Bye bye wwdits show!

__________________________________________

Nadja of Antipaxos

Ah yes, the wild 50s that you spent in New York city were absolutely magical. You were just a small street musician tap dancing your little heart out for a few cents, when Nadja, the Nadja of the famous Rat Pack took a liking to you!

She took you under her wing and supported your passion like nobody else ever did. You spent a lot of time together, dancing, talking or creating music. She was charming and even if sometimes her straightforwardness could throw you off, she was never outright mean. On the contrary, you grew incredibly close.

Suddenly, you became the cream of the crop, getting recognised on the streets, invited to exclusive parties and being written about in the newspapers. The fame was so unexpected and unpredictable, that you had real trouble adjusting to the constant pressure of being observed in the public eye. It felt, like your every move was constantly watched and observed, trying to find any small imperfection that could be ridiculed by the masses.

On one night, when the stress of it all started to really get to its boiling point, you had an accident onstage. During your big number, you just fell down and couldn’t find it in you to get up. Was it the clearly broken ankle or the lack of inner motivation, but you just laid there, limply observing the flashing lights of photo cameras in the crowd.

That’s when Nadja sprung into action.

You’re not sure how she did it, but she convinced everyone to never mention this accident ever happening and escorted you off the stage. Nadja stayed with you the whole time, before ambulance could arrive and comforted you in what seemed to be one of the worst moments of your life.

You expected to see your face in the papers next day with some disgusting headline, but there was absolutely nothing. For some reason, the journalists actually complied to Nadja’s order. And Nadja herself? Well, she was in your life for a couple more years, before disappearing without a trace… You tried to find her, but it’s like she never existed at all. Still, you hold memories of her close and dear.

Laszlo Cravensworth

Working as a dealer in a casino led you to have quite a few ridiculous and interesting stories to recall from your job. All kinds of people are swept into casinos daily and nightly and not all of them are alright in the head. Some of them were huge dicks, flirty assholes and self-proclaimed lover boys, while others were funny, charming and rather unconventional idiots.

From the last ones, your favourite story to remember is meeting an Englishman, who was dressed in some goth-ish clothes, velvet, silk and wore fake fangs, seemingly pretending to be a vampire, which you found hilarious. The best part was just how committed to the bit he was.

Laszlo Cravensworth was how he introduced himself. The whole time he sat at your table, you couldn’t really tell if he actually had no clue how to play poker or if he was just a very good actor. Nonetheless his outrageous playing strategies (or an evident lack there of) deterred anyone from sitting at this particular table, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Out of boredom you just started showing him magic tricks with cards, that you learned in your free time, in response to which he showed you his own and they were quite impressive. So impressive, that it actually made you think that it was magic for a second. When you tried to get him to show you the way his tricks are performed he got a bit nervous and came up with a thousand and one excuse on why ‘magicians never reveal their secrets’.

He just kept you busy with random talk about his wife, about his roommates, about his adventures, about his heritage and you just couldn’t stop listening. Not because you were obligated to, you could’ve easily told him to leave the table if he wasn’t going to play, but you didn’t. Your whole night was spent at that very same table with the conversations drifting from small talk to deep philosophical debates on topics, that you had no relation to, but still wanted to discuss.

At the end of the night, he admitted to you, that he was a vampire. Of course, you laughed it off and didn’t believe him. A vampire? That’s ridiculous. And after that he finally left.

A few days later you saw a report in the news about several people going missing in the hotel, where you were working and the last time they were scene is in one of the rooms, booked by four people. To your shock one of their names was indeed Laszlo Cravensworth.

To this day, you’re not quite sure who you met.

The Guide

College was a tough time for you, since student debt is no joke and it’s not like you could really work during the day, because you were way too busy with studying. So you decided to get a side hustle as a night guard at some small business centre in Staten Island, not far from your place. It wasn’t ideal, but it fed you, so that was enough.

You weren’t too familiar with anyone working in that place, because by the time your shift started, most people were already leaving. The only ones who seemed to remain in the building for quite a while were some kind of weird gothic club, that worked in the basement and called themselves “The Vampiric Council”. You’d found it rather funny, but didn’t think much of it, because they seemed nice enough. Especially one lady, who seemed to spend most of her time there.

You could quite recall her name. Was it Gail? Gaia? Guinn? But she often came to your desk to just chat when she had nothing to do. Even though she seemed to sometimes look down on you a bit, presumably because of how young you were, she still always gravitated to your desk, because both of you were very lonely in that building.

Sometimes you didn’t even talk about anything in particular, just told each other stories or played games like “I spy”. She was one of the only reasons you didn’t just blatantly fall asleep at your desk every single night.

One particular night, however, you felt like absolute shit. It was the exam period and you studied throughout the whole day, but still couldn’t write down certain crucial parts in time, so you continued your shift with your nose buried in books and your own notes. Naturally, by 1am, you were asleep, because your mind and body completely shut down for the day, no matter how much you tried to fight against it.

When you woke up, your first instinct was to panic, because you clearly recalled not finishing your notes. But contrary to your belief, the notes were completed perfectly in a handwriting you didn’t recognise. You figured that only one person could’ve done that. The woman from “The Vampiric Council”. You remembered to thank her for it on your next shift.

After you stopped working as a night guard, you didn’t see that woman anymore, no matter how hard you tried to find her. But memories of her still leave a pleasant warm feeling in your heart.

Colin Robinson

You still vividly remember your first job at a visa center in New York. It was better than you may think. The pay was great, the schedule was pretty much perfect and the work itself wasn’t too complicated. Everything suited you, though there were some complications with the coworkers.

The whole place seemed pretty much dead and you had no idea why. People looked exhausted and uninterested in holding a conversation for even a second. It’s like all of their energy was completely sucked out of them. Though, one person was different. A middle aged man named Colin Robinson. You remember him well, because he was a walking stereotype of a white guy.

But the thing is, as much as you thought you could never get along with someone like him, you did. Sure, sometimes it felt like he was purposely getting on your nerves, but other than that, he was fun. He always had something interesting to say like a fun fact or a dumb story. He made stupid impressions of people and for some reason seemed really surprised and even mildly annoyed that you found him fun to be around.

One time you were feeling sick, but still came to work, because you had no sick days left. The longer you sat in the dusty old space, the more you felt your consciousness slip away and your body get hotter. You sat in the break room, drinking some cold soda to try and chill your body down, but it didn’t work.

Colin walked in on you slowly breaking down, because of how horrible you felt from the fever and told you to go see a doctor. You tried to argue, but he didn’t budge and told you that you were being annoying for sulking around the office, since usually you’re the only happy person there.

You left work at lunch and visited a doctor. Turns out you had a temperature of forty degrees and thankfully they were able to lower it just in time. But if you stayed at work that day, who knows what could’ve happened to you?

You took Colin out for a coffee as a gesture of gratitude and a few months later he got fired from your company, but you still text each other from time to time. It’s nice to have acquaintances.

Guillermo de la Cruz

The 2010s was probably the least exciting time of your life. Actually, it was rather miserable. You had just moved into New York, hoping for an amazing career, loads of new opportunities, parties, celebrities and so on. But what you really got was a tiny apartment in Brooklyn, a very reclusive roommate and a job at Panera Bread fifteen minutes away from your street. Just what you hoped for, right?

But, of course, there were upsides. You still made new friends and one of them was your colleague. A cheerful young man named Guillermo, who hated this place just as much as you did. You just immediately clicked together for some reason, talking about dumb customers, vampire movies, celebrity drama. And all of a sudden coming to work wasn’t as bad, because at least you got to spend some time with a person you relate to.

Though not all days could be recalled as pleasant.

One time, a person came in with their young daughter and stood in front of the cash register to order. You were the cashier but also simultaneously helped out with some orders and you were taking just a little too long to get to the register for this person to take. So while you were taking their order, they threw a couple of petty jabs at you along the lines of “how do they even hire people like you”, but you decided you don’t care enough to make a whole deal out of it and just moved on.

Unfortunately, a whole deal was made out of it later and not by you. A couple of minutes passed after you handed out their order, when they came back and in a rather agitated tone asked for a manager, because they wanted to file a complaint on you. When you tried to ask why, they just dismissed it and kept insisting that you bring the manager. Obviously, you didn’t want to do that, because the manager will kick your ass for this even if you had nothing to do with it.

Thankfully, you and Guillermo got a pretty good system for this kinds of situations, so you went up to him and gave him a quick rap of what had happened. He went back with you and you presented him as the manager, which he was not, but it’s not like anyone would check right now. The person started giving him a whole speech about how they were convinced you spat in their mac n’ cheese, because it tasted weird and you seemed upset after they scolded you a few minutes back.

Guillermo tried to have a reasonable conversation with them at first, but that clearly didn’t seem to work, because they kept demanding refund. So he just gave them back their money and they left feeling delighted at their little victory. Only later did he tell you, that the money he gave them was the fake money you used to play poker during the breaks. He just happened to have them in his pocket from the unfinished game that you had that day.

Even now, as he’s not working in Panera Bread, you’re still close friends and often recall this silly story.

Nandor the Relentless

Oh to be a traveler, touring around the world, seeing all kinds of amazing places and sights. You were one of these lucky people in late nineties who had enough fortune to let yourself just explore the world and its bounds. When you were in America, you had the chance to visit the legendary Woodstock festival! You would be a fool to not take that opportunity, so you did. Naturally.

You weren’t sure if the festival was supposed to be this crowded, but it was indeed full of life and a load of very interesting people. On the first evening you met a very nice man named Nandor from some country Al Qolnidar, that you didn’t know much about. You pretty much spent the whole night with him, getting high, singing and dancing. He was a lot of fun and seemed to really take a liking to you. By day he disappeared and you couldn’t find him anywhere, but by night he was with you again.

The conditions of the festival seemed to be only worsening with time and you felt yourself getting more and more sick after each interaction with the chaos and the lack of food and water. On the last day, people went absolutely apeshit and started to burn stuff, tear down the stage, assault each other and frankly you were terrified. So when the whole ordeal started to get completely out of hand, you spotted Nandor in the crowd, took his hand and started to sprint as far away from the crowd as possible.

It later turned out to be the right decision, when you could see people basically burn down half of the sound equipment as well as set pieces of the stage on fire. It all went up in bright lights by the middle of the night. You two spent the rest of the night sitting in the mud, as you munched on half a protein bar that was left in your pocket, and just talked about anything and everything. Soon enough, police and ambulances arrived, taking people away and you guys just turned out to be lucky enough getting out of there at the right time.

After Woodstock ended, you kept in touch with Nandor over mail. He preferred the old fashioned way of communicating by letter, which, you had to admit, was very romantic. But with your constant travelling, one day you both just lost each other’s address and it was the end of your story… But those legendary three days stayed with you for the rest of your life.

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