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kooyabooya · 26 days ago

Text

SPECTRE

m reader x giselle // 32k words

part one of silken promises

This astonishing thing about fate you realize - probably, is that it doesn’t have a solid line on the end of a paper for you to sign off on. And honestly, if that were to be the case, you’d wipe off the ink immediately after; call the offer off and hide under the flashing lights, waiting to reap you of your secrets.

In pure and utter laziness, you’re saying: “Well, I just had a different vision of it in my head, of how all of this would play out.”

Giselle twists her face to you with a raised eyebrow, clearly insulted.

“Sure, the simple life of having a house outside of town and in the woods sounds nice and all, maybe some kids to fill the empty space between the rooms, but I just thought that we would have-”

She flicks away her cigarette. “It’s an arranged marriage, you dumbass. They wouldn’t care how we thought it’d go either way.”

The conclusions were already drawn up, and agreements were already in place. You have your reasons for stalling the talks. She tells you that the deal’s ludicrous; you consider it to be archaic - as a counterargument, you think, and holds your point there.

“Now that you’ve signed the damn papers finally,” Giselle proposes, “How do you want to go about this?” She asks, already wondering what will make the two of you being ‘officially’ together.

Your answer didn’t matter to your parents nor hers, but just with Giselle and Giselle only. She sees this forced entanglement to be a matter of principle; to appeal the masses, and suffer the flack in the latter later. You see it as your own life being sealed away, without fully grasping your head at the fact of what you’re getting yourself into.

–

To address the armageddon of narratives bouncing around and between the headlines capped in bold fonts through the phone screen, this is what you know:

You’ve got a stake in the family business - a rough, sizable percentage in the double digits if you want to consider it comfy but - no point in disputing the diluted shares over your father’s dead body. He’s overseen the company’s growth from when you were in diapers, blindly convincing you on a dare to work alongside him; law and business degree aside, you wished that you’d focused on writing, or architecture. You’re not so entirely sure yourself, but your luck in being born into a family that’s made themselves well off two to three decades away from retiring and enjoying the tempting pastures that life has to offer; it’ll happen soon, but needless to say: you’re rich, and pretty famous.

There’s this new family merging into the family business group: the Uchinagas. At first glance, the family is like yours, probably placed on the other side of the coin. The father’s been a longtime friend with your father since college, starting up various start-up projects before eventually parting ways to build their own business to high degrees of success. The same could also be said for the mother: knee-deep in the fashion industry with connections and almost every top model that she could ever call in her contact list, and your mother’s got her nose in some brands that crossover with her mutuals. Then, there’s the daughter.

On another refresh and through a different outlet of news on your phone, you see this one website was claiming that the Uchinaga’s are a bright new addition to the family business, a cover photo capturing you and her standing side by side for a gala event that was hosted by her family. Her birthday party, as a matter of fact.

Right off the bat, she looks amazing in the photo, there’s no denying that. It’s got everything within the lines of glitz and glamor, considering the amount of effort that they’ve put in towards the party held in their backyard, let alone the sizable guest list (that you had no idea of making it in, but it’s written in ink); Giselle Uchinaga’s shoulder brushes against yours - drinking in the moment - where all the eyes, cameras, and lights are solely on her, and you also arm your look of genuine admiration to her at the side.

Her hair is in these embered, wavy locks, resting right beside the bust of her off-white dress, wrists and neck shining with the most expensive jewelry that could ever be gifted to her. More of the pictures from her birthday celebration actually make it into the article, building a profile for the hottest global ‘it girl’ that’s got nearly all the rich guys or guys with notable profiles fawning over her when she’s in close proximity. She seems very camera shy at times, and that’s apparent when your shoulder shields half of her face when you’re beaming the widest smirk that you could wear. In a way, this still serves as a clear foreshadowing that’s yet to be foreseen, since the posse that you two possess almost candidly appears that way: a wedding celebration, or a grand coronation of something bigger, like royalty.

(It’s a pairing that the people realize that it’s the kind of pairing that wasn’t wanted, but needed.)

The pictures from the party continue to get swiped across the screen. And you can kind of see what everyone’s been talking about.

Sure, there’s the shared history of attending the same law school together, taking the same classes, meeting in various events with the respective families in different showcases and brand engagements. Sharing a few words with each other but never really escalating above that imaginary barrier that you’ve falsely put up in your mind to make sure that you’re not thinking about the different kinds of ‘what if’s’ and ‘maybe’s’.

You and Giselle aren’t exactly friends, just mere acquaintances - to better the title between you two at best.

(You’ve played it safe, however: away from the tabloids, not getting yourself into any kind of trouble whether it’s outside of office hours or in various business dealings that you were tasked with. Needless to say, you’ve got it easy; while the same can’t really be said for Giselle, who’s always getting herself into trouble. She’s no stranger to scandals, let alone having her name and face on the front page of a newspaper or the first thing you see starting up your computer in the mornings. Always involved in some form of drama that gets twisted by the journalists, some of them wanting to taint the image of not only her’s, but the family’s as well.

Aside from that infamous picture of you and her together at the birthday party, there’s also one other article from a shady news source that only focuses on the worst in celebrities. She’s managed to put herself right into the primed position - where she’s getting busy with someone she met from the nightclub on a whim, fingers twiddling with the belt buckle of said lucky contestant, while his hands are about to get busy, pressing deeper into the mix of fabric harboring the skin of her hips. Everyone within the first five seconds of seeing that picture can immediately put two and two together - write up different points of commentary and subtext between the lines; but the words, especially the ones that are created soon after - it sparks a supernova of sorts in the media.)

But you switch to the original tab and scroll back up to the photo from the birthday party, just to get a good look at it. A double take with the provided optics. You can see why people are in awe between you two. It’s laughable that people online are calling for this waiting ship to sail.

So much for saying that you and Giselle are just ‘mere acquaintances’ to each other, but you’ll let the rumors curdle in speculation.

–

This merger, however, was supposed to be seen with a positive outlook in mind.

It was supposed to be seen as a healthy, mutual relationship between the two parties of your family and Giselle’s family, along with the deeply rooted rapport lying underneath the professional connection. It was supposed to be a step towards something great; not only for the business, but the image of all companies involved to gain a massive boost in profits from the public.

Doesn’t help with the fact that there were some ambitious individuals in the field of journalism who were willing to undermine this special moment, threatening to expose a scam that involved your father and Giselle’s father in a business venture gone bad years ago. Murky details aside, but we’ll just say that there’s blood on someone’s hands. No amount of money bribed could ever sway those guys to walk away from a story that will create shockwaves throughout the industry - if it did get out.

Luckily, they agreed to the hush-money settlement, with some persuasive (and questionable methods, but you couldn’t care fuck all about their overall condition physically) methods from your family’s legal team, but that incident was just the sole catalyst for more people to start sniffing around the business. The questions keep coming in, and the news are always hungry for a story born out of blood.

So.

There was an agreement that’s nearly set in stone. An agreement without you or Giselle knowing of the deal in the first place: to have you and her to be used by the family as trojan horses - as scapegoats - to veer the burning spotlight away from the anticipating merger and have it focus on the forced relationship fabricated between you two.

The announcement has still yet to be made, the primary reason is because you were reluctant to show up to the three meetings prior with Giselle’s family to discuss terms and conditions, but she’s also done the same in not being in attendance. A form of protest that you didn’t even get in contact with her to do, but you’re also content that she’s on the same page as you.

Albeit this was a clear non-verbal middle finger to both your parents and Giselle’s, you’d do everything you can to drag out the talks for as long as you could. This proved to be effective, until your father started to meddle with your personal stake of the company, intimidating you to reconsider the offer; or else your piece of the business, the one that you’ve created from the ground up, was absorbed back to his control.

You’re fighting a battle that you cannot win. Not when you’re cornered and bottlenecked to the point where it feels like you’ve got no way out.

At least you’re not alone on your side.

–

“The Uchinaga’s are waiting,” someone says to you. Your eyes fixated on the monitor and the packet on your desk being skimmed through with a twirl to your pen, “Should I let them know that you’ll head over in a minute or two? Sir?”

Then it hits you when you look up. The deadline. This arrangement was the last round of talks before the final decision could be drawn up, regardless if you put in your own word or not. It’s a little late in the morning, and you’ve got yourself knee-deep in paperwork. What’s even the point of showing up to the meeting if you haven’t been to them for the past couple weeks?

“My bad, Winter,” you say to your secretary, dropping whatever you were doing at your desk to prepare yourself, listening to the clicks of heels along the floor as Winter helps you put on your jacket, following her out of your office, “I completely forgot that the meeting was today. I owe you for that.”

“You can save it for after when you get out of your own little pickle,” Winter tuts, sitting back down at her desk right outside the main walkway. “May I remind you that you’re also the one that got into this mess in the first place?”

“Do you really have to remind me with that question every time these meetings are about to happen?”

“What? It's a good starting point in conversation.” Winter answers, looking over along with you to the increase of people pooling through the main entrance past the elevators. “Look at that,” she says, raising her eyebrows when you're doing the double take, “And so the hurricane comes crashing in.”

Even from a distance, you can still single out Giselle and her parents as they walk more into the floor of your office. The visuals are still insane to see; not a flaw to be noticed from any of the three. It’s a little bit frightening. Giselle takes her place right behind her father and mother, as if they too, were her own line of defense, protecting her like some prize that was worth attaining, diverting some of the attention towards her in a different direction. The surrounding office workers take a pause to look, watch as they meet your parents, exchange greetings and the usual niceties since it’s second nature. Your mother looks at your father, assuming that the inquiry was about your presence, and your father actually flashes his eyes in your direction, telling you from afar: We’re expecting you to be here. Don’t be stupid and make us wait here all day.

As much as you’d want to refuse with a simple turn the other cheek, you know that today was not that day to do that. Not anymore. With a simple nod, you comply with your father’s demands, and he nods too. He then motions your mother, along with Giselle and her family inside the assigned room set up for the gathering, looking back to ensure that you won’t be long behind.

“Are you busy?” you ask Winter, surprising her with the sudden question that makes her tense up in her seat, “Normally you’re not busy since you’ve done the stuff that I’ve asked you to. So I’m just gonna assume that’s a yes.”

“How’d ya know? What are you, some kind of mind reader?” She laughs, hands up to emphasize the sarcastic propositions, “Who do you think you are, me?”

You shake your head, nicking it to the side to signal your request, “I’m not even gonna answer that. Just walk with me.”

Winter obeys, immediately standing up and rounding her desk to be at your right hand side, bearing down the pathway to the main conference room where the meeting was happening. “I gotta ask: Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Haven’t had an idea in the slightest.” You answer, speeding up your pace by one or two bigger steps in your stride. “Remember that preliminary assessment we had on Giselle? Why don’t you run that by me–”

Winter clicks her tongue, mind already fast enough to pick up on what you were asking: “Giselle is the only child of the Uchinaga family. She graduated top of her class with a degree in law at your alma mater, also has degrees in finance and business. She’s got praises from well-known individuals to be the poster child with her line of work. Oh hey, that really reminds me of someone else now that I think about it-”

“You smartass.” you smirk at the hidden verbal jab thrown at you, walking past the cubicles and heading right up the walkway, “Keep going.”

“She’s got herself in business and ambassador deals with brands that upped the stock prices for posters, billboards, social media posts, selfies with fans, daily engagements and appearances, etcetera etcetera- you name it.” Winter continues with the mini info exposition dump, matching your stride. “Every picture or tag that has her face or name plastered and attached is never ignored. Not to mention she’s-”

“I need to hear what matters, Wint.”

“She’s also a bit cynical, blowhard, a pretty pick-me girl, uncrowned royalty, someone that’s a bit reckless and in for the thrill of trouble. A bit spoiled with her things, I think. Bratty might also be another term thrown up in the air. Presents the refined etiquette when it matters, but in most cases, she doesn’t really care.” Winter muses, listing all of the different characteristics with her dainty fingers, “Is that too much, or can I add more?”

You stop at the door of the conference room. Behind it was your parents and Giselle’s, along with some considerable figures orchestrating the deal along with them, waiting for your arrival to commence the meeting. Right when you were about to enter, you bridge your eyebrows together towards Winter, nearly appalled at all the things she’s mentioned about the girl you’re being paired with, “Are you sure that’s what you assessed, or is what you’re saying about her just out of spite?”

Winter cocks her head, rolls her eyes up to where the eyelids rest at the top, “If you wanted me to be nicer, why didn’t you say so?”

(You know that Giselle’s got some good graces in her heart - but she’s not perfect, clearly - she’s on the same boat as you: a little problematic with a thing or two that’s worth hiding.)

“Just wanted to see what was your personal angle about Giselle, that’s all. Nothing too deep.”

“Among other things,” Winter breathes, stopping herself with a hand on her hip, “I think she’s amazing, aside from everything I just said about her,” she concedes soon after, sighing, “Most people with a status would kill to be in your position right now, even if they knew what was happening behind the scenes or not.”

“Are you telling me that there’s benefits to this?”

“Giselle’s a heartthrob.” Winter puts it simply. “Play your cards right with this deal, and who knows what might happen.”

Winter then walks away, walking backwards while maintaining eye contact with your widened eyes. There’s something in the back of your head that wants to admit some form of defeat, finding comfort that there’s a possible silver lining in a connection with Giselle. You don’t hate the girl. No. That would be too harsh - a spectre manifested deep within your mind out of uncertainties that would prove to be your own demise in the false name of love.

Love. You’re thinking as your fingers grip the door handle. That’s a little bit out of your lineage anyway - but what’s the worst that could happen?

–

Giselle, her parents, along with a few people that were comprised to be the additional handlers on the team are all seated around the table, binders and folders with various contracts - revised and refurbished - covering all the necessary details and crooks within the lines; you remember hearing the talks having orderly returns in terms of feedback, assuring that everything would cover the shady deal story from ever breaking out. You’re getting the proper representation, but still feel like you don’t have a say in this.

(But like you realized earlier: you’re not the only one, remember? You’re content that there’s at least one more person, other than yourself, who can share your hidden levels of pent up frustration - and she’s sitting right across from you.)

And even with the substantial profile, the aristocracy between these men and women wearing designer suits and pretty dresses, it still fills your mind with unease that there’s this tug-of-war, a dispute over control. You’ve got your own life to seize, and you definitely know that better than anyone else here sitting in this room with you.

But the press will love this, Giselle’s parents are explaining, but you and Giselle both have your tongues tied to the top of your throats - publicists and others managing your loose ends jotting down notes to make sure nothing is left unkempt. Giselle sits on the opposite end of the table, in between her parents mirrored to your format. She’s emitting this sense of tiredness, laid back and disconnected, like she was dragged to be here. Her eyes make contact with yours before darting away to a corner up on the ceiling or towards the window, while you twiddle your fingers in circles. The sigh that leaves your lips only exemplifies the boredom evermore.

“Is there a problem here?” Giselle's mother asks, laced with a tinge of annoyance - almost like you’re taking this as a complete joke, for what it’s worth. “I’d like to remind you of the fact that you and our daughter are the sole reason that there hasn’t been any motion moved forward with this plan in the first place.”

This is where one of your core flaws come to light: the absolute sense of unbotheredness that you bear in your demeanor. It’s not that you’re far-removed from things that you have no control over, it’s the notion that when it does get out of your hands, there isn’t really any effort coming from you to do something about it.

Your gaze returns to Giselle, who looks at you dead in the eyes, slightly pressed and on edge. She’s telling you with her irises that she would rather break that window five feet away from you, take a leap of faith, but instead she remains sitting still - looking over to her mother again who’s clearly unimpressed with your present attitude.

“Not at all,” you answer, a wave of the hand to double down on the sly smirk spread across your face, “I just hope that we’re not here for long so that I can agree to your terms and sign the damn contract. Is that not what we’re here for?”

Giselle’s father looks over to his wife, the people around the room also exchanging murmurs as to what just occurred. Your parents are also aren’t willing to even look at you for a second, shifting their attention to a hand or random page on the docket, discreetly sighing before your mother puts a hand on your shoulder to dial it back. Please, she’s telling you. Don’t make this any harder than it already is for us.

But Giselle’s mother stifles a laugh, one filled with languor and regalness as she turns her cheek the other way to hide her visible amusement. To be fair, she’s not the one that’s getting shoved into the deep end playing a cover up story; she’s got other things to divert her focus on, no worries filling up her head because she knows the endgame already. You’ve dealt with people like her before - to no avail, putting up with their tangents of how people in a lower step than them can’t really see eye to eye with those who are in the upper realms of society.

You’re wondering too, if Giselle is like that - god forbid if that’s the case, but only time will tell.

“Alright,” Giselle’s father says, easing the tension with a cleared throat once the laughs subside. “I don’t see why we can’t get straight to the point then: Why haven’t you signed the marriage license agreement?”

The answer has been pretty simple and straightforward up to this point, and you gave it to them the same way you’ve always had: “I still need time to think it through.”

“Think it through?” mocks Giselle’s mother, “What’s there for you to think through? You’ll marry our daughter while our family merges into your family’s business group. While that also takes care of the other ‘incident’, you’ll also get our unwavering support going forward.”

No doubt that you’ll get the benefits and the support, but if you’re really being honest with yourself: you’re just a simple guy when dancing with the idea of love. You’d rather tie the knot with someone that you have a genuine connection with that isn’t Giselle. It might be selfish for you to think that, but it’s the truth, nonetheless.

“It’s not that I have some sort of connection with Giselle,” you say, flipping fast to the end of the page where the blank line is still waiting to be written in ink, “I just think that it’s not fair or right for you to force us into this position; to be married, but not in love.”

“Love? You don’t think that you could be in love with my daughter?”

“Mrs. Uchinaga, perhaps my words weren’t as-”

Giselle’s mother grabs her daughter’s hands, delicate and precious as if she’s encased in marble. “Play your words carefully and wisely, young man,” coy smile armed and ready to fire, “I’ll have you know that she’s got more options in the list to choose other than you. I really hope you reconsider.”

“If I sign this contract, will you be satisfied for us to submit to your archaic idea?”

The question drops out of thin air, with silence filling up the room again. Giselle’s parents just stare in awe while you have the pen in your hand, putting your name down in cursive across separate documents. Your mother looks over your arm while your father raises his palm up to the ceiling, a smirk at the corner of his lip with an eyebrow raised. He’s probably saying, see? I told you guys that he’ll come around. Now we can discuss the other matters that need to be taken care of.

You exhale as the pen hits the desk. A relief of unnecessary stress lifted off your shoulders while Giselle and her parents look at you in genuine surprise.

“Okay,” you sigh, scanning everyone’s faces on the opposite end of the conference table. “Do you mind if I get some fresh air while you guys sort out the rest of the deal?”

–

Had it been any other meeting that you attended, you’d power yourself through and stay inside to discuss the final details and clauses, but your parents and Giselle’s parents both agreed that you could stand outside on the balcony while they shackle both of your names down to the legally binding contracts.

A ‘cathartic’ experience could also be one word to describe the thirty to forty-five minutes sitting in that room, hand quick to the pocket of your pants where your nearly cleaned out pack of cigarettes were. There were more ideal ways to relieve your stress that doesn’t involve in deteriorating your overall health, but your ears close in on the rough click of the lighter-

“Didn’t know that you were the smoking type of person.”

That moment right there. That’s what gets your attention; right when you least expect it and with your guard down.

At the turn of the head, there’s this flash of these bright, heavenly, light coffee brown locks. Her jewelry is also another point of interest, illuminating and highlighting the points in her neck and wrists where the sunlight will bounce right off of them. It’s like watching a firework pop up from two feet away, blinding you with this sort of simple elegance that compliments her cool, balmy expression.

“Do you normally come out here during the day on your breaks?” She asks, approaching closer to you while you’re indulging the rolled up piece of small paper captured between your teeth. “I mean, your parents aren’t exactly responsible for you but-”

“It’s already a bad first impression right off the bat. I know,” you tell Giselle, handing over your half-burnt cigarette, to which she takes from you as a surprise when she turns her profile out to the skyline and huffs out the smoky curls trailing from her lips. “Though, who’s gonna judge what you and I do in our spare time?”

“You have a fair point,” says Giselle, wrist slacked as she watches the embers at the end glow in a fading orange, “Can’t keep troublemakers like us in one place. And I still can’t believe that I had to be at this stupid meeting anyway. Like-”

“I mean, what did you think was gonna happen?” you ask, scoffing as you lean the side of your body to the paned glass on the balcony, “I’m curious to hear your side of the story.”

Giselle brings the cigarette to her pouty lips again. You watch as her eyelids flutter shut when she hollows her cheeks slightly for the inhale, tilt her head down a bit over the balcony where she has the streets of the city in her view. Her side profile is flawless, to say the least, until you notice a small string of hickey’s blooming on the bridge of her collarbone - it’s a mental note to keep to yourself - also not your place to ask, but you can assess early on what kind of girl she is.

The exhale she lets out is exaggerated, then the stream of smoke follows through soon after.

“Nothing but complete bullshit, if you ask me.” She answers, tapping the ends off the edge while examining, “What about you? Since it looks like you’re the one who’s holding the end of the deal for God knows why.”

She’s right in that regard, and you’re not denying it.

“Among other things, I just didn’t show up. And neither did you.” The hand behind your head softens the guilt - but not by much.

“What’s your point?”

“Well, I just had a different vision of it in my head, of how all of this would play out.”

–

The remaining details and clauses along with the marriage are finally set, with a schedule also talked about once you and Giselle head back inside.

But there’s nothing really significant that gets mentioned regarding who will be responsible for what, and the fact that you and her aren’t even giving a single fragment of attention to your parents, solidifies that.

“The job’s simple as it is, isn’t it?” You’re rolling your eyes while asking, “All we have to do is just pose like a married couple and look pretty?”

Giselle snorts, gratefully falling into the mere folly of the idea. “Didn’t think we’d be in this position, but I’m behind it.”

–

Here’s the thing about the whole idea, anyway. It never goes according to the original plan.

It’s out of your hands though, and it’s neither yours or Giselle’s fault to put the blame on the aspect of control and logistics:

“Mrs. Uchinaga. What can I do for you?” you greet Giselle’s mother at the desk of your secretary, interrupting their super-important gossip session in the opening hours of the usual workday. “I wasn’t expecting you to be back so soon, let alone have an opening for you in my schedule-”

“I’m just dropping by, don’t worry,” reassures Giselle’s mother, holding the button of her coat when you stop your bearings right in front of her and Winter. “I was just leaving, but not to inform you about your appointment.”

“Appointment? For what, exactly?”

“Your marriage in court.” Giselle’s mother sighs, with a flash of your eyes towards Winter, who looked completely out of the loop as well with the sudden news being dropped like a fresh bomb in water. “I had the date moved up because of some personal reasons, which I hope you don’t mind. Giselle was supposed to tell you, but I caught her out late at night, so here I am.”

“But-”

“I’ve left the note with your secretary,” she continues, beginning to depart from the desk. “It’s not a good look for you to be late to your own wedding now, is it?”

You only get the last flashes of her flowing hair as she reaches the other end of the walkway, mind still processing everything that just happened in the last minute or so. Turning to Winter, “Did you know about this? Or did she just-”

“I’m just as shocked as you.” Winter responds, an outreached hand with a simple note in her fingers, taking it and opening up the contents which confirms your suspicions. She then leans forward with the tilt of her head, “Am I invited to your ceremony? Hm?”

“I don’t need to answer that.” You tell Winter, crumpling up the court order redecorated into an invitation. “Just clear my schedule for lunch. I’ll be having it with Giselle today.”

“Hitting it off right from the jump, are we?”

“I’m gonna fire you if you don’t shut up.”

–

You’re hoping that this would be the first and only time you’d ever set a foot inside a courthouse.

Luckily, it isn’t too busy for anyone to really notice as to why you’re here. Just fulfilling your civic duties as a law-abiding citizen as a plausible reason; with the company of your family, your soon-to-be wife, and along with her family, everything about today might go well for you - keep wiping the sweaty palm along your slacks, you’ll do great, just trust me.

Right when the ceremony is about to start, your father walks up to you, doing some last minute checks along your outfit; patting down and fixing any loose crinkle or slant along your suit, goes a bit too tight on the necktie, making you pull the collar a bit so that you could breathe.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve thrown me into?” You ask your father, watching him get one good look at you before nodding in content.

“You know the story well enough, kid,” he answers, and you smirk at the subtle appreciation of honesty that your father has for himself. The no-nonsense type of deal, giving it to you straight - it’s how he made you the way you are, and you’re thankful for that. “I know that you can hold your own, so be proud.”

He gives a thumbs up from his seat as the doors open at the end of the room, welcoming Giselle. Her dress was simple, a floral pattern scattered across the cloth that radiated in this off-white tone, hugging every curve of her body (and her legs are just- okay, really? At a time like this?) as she finally reached the makeshift archway.

She locks eyes with you, light makeup and everything. Everything that’s framed on her face just leaks out perfection, it’s captivating. From the tilt of her lips, to how her long lashes bat towards you, the tilt of her chin when she slightly looks up to compensate for the height difference. It isn’t so bad after all: realizing how Giselle Uchinaga leaves quite the apprehension on you, all five-five of her to be exact.

“You look good,” you tell her in lieu of a hello, palms up to where her hands meet in the middle, taking yours as the small crowd of various family and team members take their seats, letting you two take the stage from this point on.

“Why thank you,” says Giselle, hiding the small blush breaking through cheeks as her fingers cling onto yours, voice gentle as you’re smiling along with her too. “I didn’t have time to prepare, so-”

“I didn’t have time either, so that makes us even.”

Giselle giggles a bit, holding herself back with a turn of her head near the wall. You decide you like that about her, but she pulls her composure back once the officiant finally gets the procession going. Everything that’s done in a wedding ceremony, regardless if it’s traditional or in court, it just ends up with endless words being stretched out for miles and miles, preaching about the joy of unity between two people. The idea alone is a beautiful tale to tell, but when it comes to the whole experience itself, it doesn't really translate the same way.

You remember upon arriving that Giselle was going to be the first in saying the vows. Not that you were complaining, of course, mostly because you were gazing into the universe hidden behind her eyes to not even hear your name from the officiant, but she answers I do, which doesn’t cause a hitch at all.

And what feels like forever, finally turns to the moment that everyone in the room was waiting for:

“Do you take Giselle Uchinaga to be your lawfully wedded wife?” The officiant asks.

“I do.”

Here is where you’re having second thoughts - for just a brief moment, not too long - how Giselle’s eyes know exactly what your worry was in that instant, telling you that it’s okay. It’ll be something that gets talked about after, no doubt a good laugh to come out of it, but if you’re gonna jump down into this sort of new hell, it’s a relief that Giselle is the one to jump down with you.

A close of the book: “You may kiss the bride.” The officiant says, and you do.

The angle where you take your mouth into hers is something worth swooning over. A proper lock where you’re tugging Giselle’s bottom lip slightly, slipping a bit of your tongue into her mouth that makes her grip on the back of your neck a bit tighter. She helps along with a raise of her leg with your hand, leaning her back until she presses a fingernail down into your skin, signifying a pause, returning back to the roaring cheers and applause from your inner circle watching from the seats.

You pull her back while her hands are loosely corralled to your collarbones, taking a note of how her perfect lips mesh with yours, how small her waist fits into your arms, nicking your forehead into hers, eliciting a laugh while looking left towards your parents.

“Hopefully I wasn’t a terrible kisser,” you mumble, parting a wisp of hair away from Giselle’s eye. “That was good, right?”

Giselle blinks again a few more times, watching your finger treat her cheekbone. “A bit of an impromptu, but we can practice that more if you want.”

You’re not opposed to the proposition already.

–

Another perk, or incentive - a benefit if you will, comes in the form of your living situation from your family estate to a proper loft settled into the heart of downtown. This also means that the commute to work won’t be much of a hassle - and you can most definitely dabble with the suggestion of sleeping in a little bit more, since you are your own boss, duh.

Just when you think that the issue of how your personal belongings would be moved over to the new place, your parents and Giselle’s had already taken the liberty of sorting that out for you two. The only thing that’s the main priority now is filling up the fridge with some of the essential goods from the market, along with some of the utensils, all in one trip up the complex.

“Do you think-” you’re huffing, fixing your grip on the paper bags brandished across your forearm, looking over as Giselle fiddles with the keypad of the lock, inputting the wrong passcode for the second time now, “-you can open a little bit faster? My arm is killing me.”

“Shut your whining,” Giselle replies back, getting the passcode right and swinging the door open, welcoming you and her into the relatively new space that you’ve only had for five or six days since the court wedding. Life moves a bit fast, but you’ll have a laugh to yourself when everything gets settled. “There, just set the bags down on the counter, I’ll sort them once we take a breather.”

The city lights shimmer in the open paned windows past the living area, given the fact that the clock on the wall adjacent to the glass tells you that it’s 8 pm, and taken into account of the two boxes brought in by your mom which had some of the last few things from your room - which you’ll get to later once the shoes are off and not on the walnut flooring.

“So,” Giselle’s beginning to say, the paper ruffling on the marble of the counter, “Just so that we’re clear again, we’re-

“Living in our separate rooms, like you requested.” You answer, circling around the kitchen island as Giselle hops up on the countertop, dangling her legs while she treats herself with a bowl full of grapes. “When we have guests over, we’ll use your room as the shared one.”

“Cool.” She happily bobs her head, popping a grape between her lips before sucking it in the second after. “And it’s not because my room is the bigger one.”

“Of course not,” you say, assessing the open space again before you fish another grape for yourself.

“Before we do our own things,” she starts again, fingers in her handbag, taking out a small box encased in leather. You could already tell what it is from the crimson shade protecting the contents inside - it could be anything inside you think, let the mind imagine all of the wonderful possibilities with the intention as a gift. “My mom wanted us to have this, for added insurance.”

When she opens the box, it reveals a silver pair of couples rings. The rigid pattern molded across the metal in two different sizes - had that not been obvious enough for who’s going to wear them.

You pull Giselle’s ring out first, take her left ring finger, and nestle that where it belongs. She does the same for your finger, watching as her eyes concentrate on her fingers grazing across the knuckle as she twists the ring a bit in place, to add some security in the placement.

“Looks cute,” you assess, matching your left hand with Giselle’s, watching the ring shimmer below the overhanging light. “Didn’t think your mom would be good with jewelry, but I hold my doubts back.”

Giselle stifles a chuckle, hitting your shoulder while hunching over, tapping your arm again before sitting upright. Her hair curtains a little more than half of your neck, a quick whiff of that oceanic scent from her body wash; but she pulls just a bit to where she has this glow emitting in her wicked smile. It’s almost worth falling for - the domesticity - you’ve got your keepsakes and Giselle’s got hers, in spaces big and small where it feels like they belong. There’s also that luck of moving things fast (maybe too fast, you’re also realizing, but given the circumstance, it’s for good reason) and the telltale of it all is something literally ripped out in multiple pages of a book. You and Giselle will occupy this space for as long as you need to, and who knows what that trail might lead to - it’ll be a bridge to cross once you get to it.

“Gotta have the appearance before you act the part,” tuts Giselle, letting her left wrist go slack, lightly resting her chin on the top of her hand. “We’ve checked off one box already, but for the other?”

“So you're saying that we should practice that more?”

“If you’re willing, then yes.”

It’s something you’re not willing to fight against, the way the balls of your feet elevate your heels off the floor, tilting your head and to the side when your lips lightly press against Giselle’s. She tastes sweet, how gentle she is when her hands wrap around your neck, pulling you, eyelashes fluttering in this twitching motion when you move up, deeper into her mouth, not ever wanting to part from them in the first place, but you yield for now.

Giselle pulls herself away, fingertips lightly gripping on the felt of your cardigan, exhaling as you lick your lips, savoring the sense a bit longer. “How was that?” she asks, your hands resting to the sides of her thighs, “You still feel uncomfortable?”

“That’s not exactly the word I would use,” you remark, but you might be falling apart already.

–

Not long after the last meeting with the families - give it about two or three weeks, maybe more - you’re not entirely sure at this point, the announcement regarding the arranged marriage set between you and Giselle gets out into the open world. Confirming the supposed relationship while also steering the rumors about the fraud case between both of your families away from the spotlight, just as they wanted.

The impressions and engagements from the various article posts say a bunch of good things in high regard between you two. Most of the comments you’re seeing and hearing are raving all over you and your new fiancė, claiming that there’s a lot to be expected in how your appearance in the public will change overall going forward.

You’ve got yourself involved with various testimonials and meet-and-greets, preaching about the value of success, with the occasional questionnaire at the end of every one of them. Some people ask about you, which you have no issue answering. While others ask about your love life (for fanservice, you assume, and something that makes all the girls crazy), to which you share your praises about Giselle; spewing all the good parts about her while holding yourself back from spilling too much, forcing a gushy expression to sell the act, but everyone adores it apparently.

(You never forget to give thanks for how people can be swayed into falsely believing anything that they read on paper or on their phones. A tragedy in itself, but when you’re high up on the pyramid of society-

“If only they knew the truth,” you’re telling her over the phone in the car, shaking your head at the tinted window after noticing all the people who came to the event - waving and screaming as you’re being escorted off the premises, seeing a picture on your phone of yourself hiding your face when they put a picture of Giselle on the big screen, scoffing as you get a closer look at it.

“Just be glad that they’re loving the news.” Giselle tells you, softly laughing on her end. “Because that shows proof that the whole idea of us is working.”

You’re probably wondering how long you can keep this facade up with her as the car continues to roll away.)

–

“I have a thing for you,” Winter declares in another way of saying ‘good morning’, looking up with a small scowl to her face as you closely approach her desk, “Your tie is also crooked, so unprofessional.”

“Wow, thanks for noticing, Captain Obvious,” you reply, “I was just about to fix it.”

“It’s called an observation, genius,” retorts Winter, twisting her chair left towards you resting your elbows on the desk, “Rough night?”

“I guess you could say.”

Winter chuckles, types a few words on the keyboard, hits enter. “Do I really want to know?”

“You don’t.”

“That I can accept. And oh- by the way, Giselle actually dropped by just ten minutes ago,” she adds on, placing an envelope next to your arm. “I think that’s the event happening tomorrow night.”

“What event?”

“Some party that both her and your parents are putting together. I don’t know, I’m just the messenger here.”

You rip the seal open and flip up half of the paper, which turns out to be an invite - or notice - for the obligatory gathering. Meeting with the extended family past the in-laws, all together for one big dinner and mixer. The preliminary plan right off the bat was to stay and indulge a bit, get acquainted with some of the other figures that Giselle is familiar with, then eventually leave the place and never come back for the rest of the night.

(Part of you wants to tear up the paper and bolt straight to the nearest window.)

–

“Our car’s already outside the lobby,” Giselle tells you the next day, a simple black gown with an opening to the side where some of her leg sticks out. “And I also have your watch if you’re still looking for it.” The bluntness is already enough as it continues to add in her paradigms of sayings.

“I’ve been ready,” you muse, stopping short by Giselle as she treats a hand to the collar of your shirt, you yourself patting down the jacket until she steps away; the blinking doesn’t stop however - seeing the prettiest features of her face up close. From those sly eyes, feathery lashes, even the dead expression shifts something in your composure.

She hands you back your watch which clicks around your wrist in no time. You raise it up after with your ring in view - it’s Checkov’s gun, a necessary tool for the appearance, a staple in the new look. Not to mention that it shines well along with the fanciness of your appearance and Giselle’s when she puts her hand up to match. “Look at us, hm?”

“Ready for some madness?” you ask, elbow out for her to hook. “I already want to leave.”

“Leave as in leave our place or leave from the party?”

Giselle gives you this look of genuine concern, causing you to look away with flared nostrils and a smirk painted across your lips.

“I was hoping that you’d get the joke,” you sigh looking down, and open the front door on the way out.

–

Once the sunset disappears into the horizon and the shroud of nightfall takes its place, you’re fighting every single urge in your body to look at the hands of your watch - strategizing the proper time frame to sweep Giselle from whatever conversation she’s got herself into with people that look like they’ve got enough money to hideaway on an island for the rest of their lives, a big circle in the sense of community, but also a really small bubble.

Anyway,

The rundown of the current party for you right now: everything’s relatively tame with the people that you’ve been talking to. Some of which you haven’t seen since grad school. You get pats on the shoulder, get a glass raised for your biggest score that you’ve ever hit in your life marrying Giselle. While you’ve got the feel-pretty-good face while nursing a mojito down, because you deserve it, it’s been a long week as it is.

So you talk - and keep talking, get some more drinks (but just enough for your own alcohol tolerance), grab a few bites from the provided food thanks to the insane catering service brought in by your parents. A few members of the press got inside access to this event, with the agreement that nothing was to be overshared. Aside from all the bright lights and nicely fitted outfits everyone’s got going on across the pad, it’s almost like they’re a part of the group too.

Word gets round the different pods of groups; your name getting bounced around with Giselle’s, but a lean of the ear and a side eye is all you give them. You’d assume that it’s in good faith, cocking your head back over to see Giselle at a bar on the other side - upper body leaned over the counter, sharing a laugh with someone, but her body language tells a different tale entirely.

It’s something not worth thinking twice the way your feet move at their own volition.

A closer look the more you maintain your heading: she’s got a hand stacked to his arm, the angle her body is facing appears to show more cleavage, leaning over to stick the round part of her ass some more, the wistful gaze she’s giving this person also puts a dirty look on your face. She’s gone way too far.

“Hey,” you greet, nose buried into her hair before you pull yourself back, giving the guy a quick look then back at Giselle. “Everything okay?”

Giselle nods, “Just conversing. Sorry.” She’s got her hand over yours, showing the glint of the rings towards the guy, and he gets the hint - walking away with a string of apologies spilling out of his mouth. “What the hell was that for?”

“I think we can take this discussion inside.” you say, and you grab her hand instinctively.

–

Aside from the liveliness happening right outside the doors, you’re sheltering yourself away deeper and deeper into the walls of this massive estate. Just down a few steps, into the hallway. You don’t even live here, not anymore at least. But anywhere far away until the crowd noise and music is nearly diminished. Giselle gets rid of your grip on her wrist, and the faint vibrations of the bass match with your heart, between your ears.

Her guard is slightly up, and she didn’t even have that much to drink:

“Wanna tell me what the fuck was your problem back up there?” Giselle asks, backpedaling away until her posterior taps the wall. The overhanging dim light in the hall makes her smaller. “I didn’t even do anything wrong, I swear.”

“You think?”

“No!” She softly exclaims, letting her shoulders drop while she racks her head about. “I couldn’t stand being with those girls earlier when we walked in, talking about all of my-” Her breath gets trapped between her lips, frozen still, as if she completely lost her train of thought right then and there.

“Your problems?”

She winces a bit, as if the word was a rough tear on an old wound. “Yes.”

“You could’ve,” you’re trying to say, stepping closer with a hand to the side of her head, looking up to the staircase where there’s an influx of laughter at the top steps, “Said something earlier, to me.”

The next revelation that follows hits you right on the nail, to the top of your head.

“I wanted to come to you.”

It’s a sinking ship; a capsize happening in full effect.

“So why didn’t you?”

In the low highlights of fluorescent purple mixed with darkness, you meet her eyes when they shine every few seconds. A thought is there, you can tell from her gaze alone. But this was just a part to play; you remember suddenly too, why was this going to be an instance where you’re worked up over nothing?

Deafening silence builds between the space of your bodies. A momentary time to reflect.

“I just didn’t,” is all she answers with, and her eyes go wide, hand to your tie, fiddling away. “I should’ve, but-”

“You didn’t.”

It could’ve been anyone else to be with her. It could’ve been someone other than you standing where you are right now. But you’re holding your breath, endlessly wondering why if at all-

“I’m glad that you did anyway.”

Everything gets thrown off the table when you have Giselle’s face in your hands, kissing away to your heart’s content. You ask questions later; the only thing that matters now is how you’re bruising up her face with yours, press into her lips, her cheeks, her nose, tilt her chin up with one wrist meshed into the wall, she’s twisting and tensing, returning the pressure and indirectly asking for more, her grip is getting greedy, greedier.

You’ve got a hold, and she’s got one on you. Her arms corral you, her leg hiked up by your hand, running upwards on her thigh. A small pocket forms between your lips and hers, and she inhales, nearly floating on air.

(This is a litmus test, a dry run, an improv - you don’t know how far the limit is but this is essentially a leap of faith. How far can you fall from grace in the short span of time spent with someone like her?)

But you hold back; not in nervousness, no, though her lidded eyes are in view while your breath weighs heavy. She’s not entirely sure what she’s doing, what she’s feeling. You’re also in the same boat as her; a finger to her jaw, her bottom lip, a potential claim waiting to be traced by you. It’s only natural for your hands to shift their way down to her hips, anchoring her in place with the wall, twisting her body as she patches a hot kiss to your cheek, the line of your chin, whimpering mindlessly as her dress rumples up between your fingertips-

“Watch yourself,” you mumble in her lips, get a quick hiccup out that makes her giggle - catching her open mouth again to keep her quiet, the hands also aren’t helping when they sift down lower to her ass, a grasp where she accepts it wholeheartedly, nodding away like yes, this is good, love it when you touch me like this, I know you want more.

The shared stumbles you and her take scaffold into this gentle slope, hobbling down the walkway as she figuratively and literally can’t keep her hands off of you, keeping herself close to where any second apart would pretty much kill her. An arm from you keeps her in check while the other is searching for an opening, a passage, a temporary asylum where you and her can harbor for a bit, away from the noise.

“Come on,” Giselle grits, her breath shaky and stuttery. “Don’t keep me waiting. I swear to fucking god. Don’t you dare make me wait.”

That ups the ante a bit, kissing as it’s the equivalent to drinking water. You and her are shuffling down the hallway, playing a little lottery game of opening doors that lead to somewhere safe, and a stroke of luck strikes after two or three attempts. It's a bit murky with all the alcohol in your system, but the tolerance is still there.

“What do you want?” you ask, the line coming off as a mere mutter when you take the space broadened by the tilt of her neck upwards, a lick as she burrows herself into your collarbone, seething at the teeth. “Tell me. Please, I’ll do it. I promise. Anything you want.”

“You,” she says, biting the sensitive skin of your throat that only makes the grasp of her waist even tighter. “I just want you. Nothing more.”

Giselle pleads, and she begs. Even when her back is against the closed door of one of the guest rooms. You’re not worried if someone will come looking for you. This shouldn’t take long, but it should also last forever.

“I’ll treat you right,” you tell her, and it’s an act you’ll double down on. She knows how good you’ve been. You can see it in the way her body relaxes, letting you have free reign for as long as she lets you. Even as you’re kissing her again, her hand’s already quick on the gun, bringing it down to her hiked dress, past lace she’s hidden under your nose cast aside for your fingers to dip down into her slick, and her mouth goes slack suddenly, spreading her apart, chest fluttering to the peak. “That’s my job, isn’t it?”

You can feel her, yeah. There’s no point in denying, if at all.

“-s’more than that, remember?” she barely spits, voice tethered, and the gratitude she has in the way her hand is literally a death grip on yours, inching your digits as far as you could take them; it also doesn’t help how your thumb it lightly pressed into her clit, and she just falters on the wall, completely fucked out in tandem with some of the drinks too. “God, I can’t believe-”

You let her have this: the way that she’s fucking herself onto your fingers, the yelp of pain into a sound of relief when your teeth mold into her skin along the line of her collarbone and neck. She’s got a little bit more of her dress higher now, watching her eyes go from sweet - to something more primal, the want infecting every inch of her body and mind as she shakes herself down again. In a split-second, you’ve got her on the nearby vanity, leaning down to keep her quiet with your mouth, a handful of her dress in one of your hands; she’s shutting her legs together with a hand stuck, fingers fully covered in her slippery cunt, yelping out loud to the point where the palm has to come in play as another muzzle, her eyes are welling up in tears and her cheeks are in this perfect rose shade, pumping your fingertips well past her breaking point. A part of you gets worried, but the soothing smacks of your lips across her exposed chest and marked up neck serve as an act of amnesty for her poor body, and she’s still asking for more.

“Shh,” you whisper in comfort, and Giselle calms down for just a bit - but she stills every muscle and bone in her body when you find that one spot that drops her whole mouth wide open, holding her breath right in her chest and throat. “You’re doing so good for me, baby. I bet it feels amazing: having you like this.”

She bears no answer to your merciless teasing, and the only thing that you’re fixed on is the feeling of her sopping pussy stretching out around your fingers. You almost laugh at how her hips slightly buckle upwards, and the irregular breathing as she looks down to witness the damage.

“Please, please, please,” says Giselle. “You know what I want right now. Don’t fucking-”

You’re reminded again at how well she can leave quite the impression. A bit unbelievable that all five-five of her small fame set on the vanity still functions properly after you’ve fucked the daylights out of her for the time being: her hands quick to undo the belt buckle and button and zipper, palming your cock that sends all synapses and impulses towards one action, and the both of you know that it’s something that you need. Her dress gets removed off little by little and-

She wasn’t wearing a fucking bra underneath that dress. You’ll come back to that later.

The jacket goes, then the collared shirt gets unbuttoned. Giselle’s got her legs spread out wide along with her folds, a thick tip as the first point of contact, throbbing at how the fucking clamp gets you off guard, sliding more into the proper groove. Giselle eyes lose focus, fluttering shut with a delayed movement to them, blinking. Her cunt embracing you fully, warm and inviting; it’s a lifeline, a burning one, you’ve got yourself buried deep where breaking her down comes a lot more easier.

Her cries get through your ear canals, muttering nonsense even when you’ve got your lips on her again to shut her up. Fuck, she’s telling you, and you’ve got half the frame of mind to be with her on that.

“Holy s-” you huff, no point in stopping now, “Yeah, okay, you-you’re so, fuck.”

And when you do reach the base, sheathe yourself right at the hilt, this could be a culmination long awaited, but it’s right here, in this moment, where no one else is watching - let alone noticing where you two have gone, the strokes pick up a bit with Giselle’s breath in these staccatos with the thrusts you’re giving her, her head hits the mirror a bit, and a heel falls onto the floor.

“Fuck,” she groans again. “So-so fucking deep, ugh-”

“Oh you fucking know it,” you mutter again at the fine line of her throat, leaving another claim to the row of marks blossoming, unsure if this was what she wanted (but in truth, it’s exactly what it is.) “Relax baby, I know. Just be good for me, that’s all you have to do.”

She begs again. A quick please that gets silence with another harsh snap of your hips into her. You’ll take her. Tear her apart until the crimson is visible everywhere on her body. She’s got a hand to a singular tit, the rebound of these endless ripples on her hips and into the curves of her body. Looking at her will do damage to your brain, and listening was already bad enough as it is - the hisses, her moans, the praises showering you at how well your cock carves into her volcanic cunt-

You’re pulling yourself into this sort of flow state, kind of like zeroing in on a singular thing. Nothing else really mattered what was happening past this door, or what you’re thinking of doing come the next day. Giselle’s creaming cunt keeps you focused as she reaches out to lean your body forward again, lips forcing you to stay the course. As if the mere possibility of getting lost with her body was almost a one-hundred percent certainty.

“Christ,” says Giselle, back sliding down onto the counter as your fingers find a new hold into the crease where her hips and thighs meet, yanking her back as you meet her in the middle driving forward. It sends a shock up her spine, along with a forced yelp from her lips, gasping soon after you groan while steadying yourself again back into the consistent rhythm you’ve built. “So good, so-so good.”

“Wanted me to knock some sense into you huh?” You’re grinning as Giselle’s eyes roll back, borderline sobbing; the fucking too much to bear that she’ll give you an earful about it once all of this is done. But when her eyes look up it’s an expression that’ll be something worthy of a taunt or pretense for the next time: determination, and you might be done for. Her glint in those watered-brown eyes of hers are filled with satisfaction as they disappear underneath the eyelid again. “Was that the problem all along? What other issues do you fucking have as baggage, hm?”

“Not your business right now,” she shrieks a bit when your cock carves a bit deeper into her. “Jesus,” her ankle gets taut around the small of your back, pussy clamping hard around your cock, pausing your strokes in line with the heavy breathing. “It’s just- your cock, I can’t bel- ugh, it’s too- mmm, god.”

When you’ve got her past the edge, it’s a beautiful sight to see, watching her orgasm front and center. It’s in the rolled back eyes, the bright flush of pink spread across her face.

“There we go, Gis,” you say to her as her walls respond to the bodily reflex of your cock twitching inside of her. “Good girl, breathe for me. You naughty little-”

She grabs onto your hand while her teeth hold themselves captive in her mouth, muscles along her waist tensing until she leaks out a clear yell, “Fuck, fuck, fuck you, fuck your mouth, your fucking co- God, I hate how good you are at this, it’s infuri-”

You muffle her with the necktie, and a pinch of her clit while your cock bottoms out in her momentarily sedates the screaming.

“Too fucking loud,” you spit, watching her whimper away with the article trapped on top of her mouth: “Is my cock not enough for you to shut up?”

She couldn’t give any care for the questions - granted that they are rhetorical. But her pussy is still unbelievably tight around your cock still. She’s got some of her lower back rolled up, the slick spread across your hips and onto the vanity counter as well. Her heat is already addicting enough to where you only want more.

“Please, honey. Please keep going,” her voice is close to a siren’s call, laced with the begging, but your hands are a little faster than your mind, pulling her into you again, leaning down for another desperate kiss. You take and give, and you’ll let her have it. She’s gonna feel the soreness come tomorrow morning when you’ve carried her up the stairs and into her bed, watch her cling onto your arm or waist or the nape of your neck; get the grip of her in your fingers to a point where you’re pressing down so fucking hard that she’s gonna need a massage gun to better service her hands when she’s rubbing those hard-earned and sorry bruises across her hip bones and legs. A selfish thought consumes your brain; long-manifested from watching her at a distance with someone else that isn’t you-

“You’re mine,” you grit, biting into her skin. You simply can’t stop. “You’re all mine, oh god, baby, just-”

There’s really no other explanation to put in: filling her pussy endlessly as the back of her head hits the mirror, letting the clench of her walls around your shaft hold so tight to the point where you’ve got your fingers holding you true; in that dripping mess that keeps on leaking - hooking on one of her folds where she’s twitching again. Her entire body goes slack, a firm slap of her hand on the counter as her back arches upwards while you flinch at the pocket of air created in her cunt.

“No one else,” she says with a bit of a hitch, a winced noise followed by the crinkle across the bridge of her eyebrows, “you’ve always wondered why.” It’s a spontaneous confession, she’s too unsure if it’s her talking or the alcohol. “It’s just you.”

You get a bit sloppy with the snaps, fix her legs up to where the balls of her feet are pointing up to the ceiling - you kiss her calf and ankle, toss her other heel in a dark corner of the room. No surprise that you’re unsure too about the toss, but it’s worth going with the flow.

“Don’t do this to me,” you’re telling her, pleading, the sigh leaving your lips is almost pathetic. You’ve got your fingers right at her underboob, the dress rolled up to her waist where you hold yourself down with every motion, watching her uncovered tits ripple on the upstroke, putting your cock deep into her to the point she might go slack in her body. She gasps, an exhale of relief - and you could feel the meat of her calf tense along your shoulder; pressing her legs closer together - to wrap her around your cock tight. Tighter. The weight of your is unbearable for her as her back flushes across the table-

You get one good thrust in her again. Bottoming out, watching her keen at the thickness of it. Hold her there for a bit, listening to her steady stream of dry air, reveling in the slight throb your cock pulsates inside her cunt; you needed to take a quick breather, it’ll be too much if you get ahead of yourself-

She doesn’t seem to bother about your quick desire to stop, saying: “Go,” and, “Move for me.” Fucking hell, this front of her is going to be a nuisance. Her eyes roll back forward with the slimmest smile, slowly, cautiously-

“Do you always fuck your girls like this? Or am I just the lucky one who gets to see you this way?”

The grasp to her neck proves to be the sufficient answer you could give her.

Let alone the sound of the harsh crack of your hips slamming into the underside of her thighs.

“Oh god- baby, yes.” Even when her throat is wrapped around your fingers, the noise she makes and the words mold all around your digits. “Just like that.”

Another drag out of her wetness, and the pin drop inside her is a lot more forceful than the last. You’re pretty sure you could pick up the slight squelch her pussy makes around your cock.

“Jesus.” You’re saying, the simplicity alone is enough to not elaborate any further. “Giselle, your cunt, my goodness.”

Giselle nods, plummeting your mind deeper into her madness.

It won’t be any long now for her drink in the sight of you filling her up, your body bent over forward and buried between her tits, unwilling to look up at her small grin of satisfaction. And even when you do, just out of curiosity, she whimpers again once you’ve decided that the pace needed to be upped a bit faster; feel her quivering cunt collapsing around the length, watch her eyes go wide, match her parted lips and groans in the same volume as you hold her down - right where she belongs. A small intermission. A pause - spreading her wider, closing in the space between her legs again with your hips, and you pick up right where you left off into fucking her.

You’re being pulled in close again, a mandatory kiss where Giselle’s got her fingers into the line of your neck, slipping your tongue into the corner of your mouth. She laughs through her nose when you brush the tip of yours across her cheek, let her feel the crease in your eyebrows that gets tangled with her platinum shade hairs. Her lips taste like this mix of cider, with some additional drinks that she’s had in the past hour and a half or so, tongue licking away of all the sweat and slick spread across, hips moving on their own accord as you’re rebounding her back after every thrust.

“You feel so good.” That’s an admission that you’ll come back to every given time, slipping inside of Giselle’s pussy so easily. Consuming you. Safe to say that you’ve had your fair share of sexual experiences and escapades up till this point - some of which are more worthy of remembering than others, but for some reason this time is different, and you’re not so entirely sure as to why. “This fucking- ugh, your pussy is amazing.”

“Uh huh.” She simply nods, grazing her lips across your cheek and lips, lost in the movements, her throat bobbing down a swallow. Your grip loosens up a bit, tenderly, slowly dragging your cock out of her well-fucked pussy and watching the small slings of her slick form on her thighs and your hips. Her whole appearance is a battlefield personified: clean porcelain now tattered and stained with marks in a darker, rosy shade, her lipstick smeared at the corners, the fringes in her hair falling forward - curtaining her forehead just a bit, the glint in her eyes still shining in all of its glory, hiding behind her heavy eyelids in every languid blink as she rests her head on the mirror again for what might be the last time. “You’re-you’re gonna, you’re gonna make fucking cum.”

The reflexive clamp she has on your throbbing cock, brings you back to reality, drawing yourself back and pummeling deep into her creaming hole as you see the first hints of white splotches resting at the base when you coax the rhythm for a few seconds. It’s in the devil’s details, watching Giselle fall apart again right before your eyes, hands grasping and letting go bundles of your shirt as she spreads her legs even wider, holding her right at the divot of her hips and top of her legs; swollen pink pussy folds well wrapped around your shaft. She’s like a nice bundle of rope: unraveled, tattered, used.

“You’re getting so close,” she assesses, a teasing finger along the firm muscle of your stomach, clutching onto your shirt after. “I can feel you shaking.”

“Fuck-”

It comes in a shudder, when you’ve finally reached that high apex you’ve been working towards with her body, her cunt, her lips - sliding out of her with a hand fast around your shaft, fingers slipping a bit across the length as you leak out hot cum all over her hips. She’s gritting her teeth when you press her leg up a bit too high, the stretch of muscle a little bit too much as she’s shuddering at the feeling of your thick load hitting her flushed pink yet porcelain skin. A sigh of relief leaves her lips, loving everything about it; a bit shocked as you continue to pump out of your hand.

“Holy shit,” she mumbles, humming as her chest heaves in a decreasing pace, coming down, “You really just- wow, what a fucking mess you’ve made. Dirty boy.”

You pay half-attention to the taunt, doing everything in your power to lower your heart rate back to normal. The grip you have on your cock is a bit too tight, slapping the head on her clit, gets a soft ‘ah’ out of her, then she coos; grateful, satisfied.

“Can’t call me that with all the shit you said just now,” you tell her, thumb to her cheek, her bottom lip. She gives in so easily, a small peek into the neverending black hole she possesses with that look on her face, especially in her eyes, the way that your thumb slips into those plush lips of hers, sucking greedily, like she wants more out of you. The way the plane of her tongue brushes across the pad, how her cheeks hollow and suck as if it were your cock - oh, about that, that’s already a can of worms you’ll open up and uncover as a practicing theory, what will become of her after tonight - the different possibilities opening up as her eyelids flutter at your loving touch; the way she leans-

“Mmm,” she gives you, and her doe eyes give you this expression of neediness, the sparkles of lust still apparent in them, her tongue swirling as you try to fight the urge of catching your teeth with your bottom lip, wanting to do something about her slutty attitude. And the idea pops up in your head more quickly than expected.

Your hand retreats from her face, trails down to those perky breasts of hers, her sweaty abs, a quick hook onto the top of her thighs to pull her closer to you as she tries to sit up. Giselle laughs a bit as your cock lightly taps her pussy lips, making her suddenly tense up at the contact, humming after as she watches two of your fingers scoop up some of the filthy mess you’ve left all over her waist, rub it between your tips like it’s some sort of substance that’s unfamiliar, tap it against her lips as she opens up her mouth, following along to what you’re doing. She can be like this, which might be a good thing, and you’ll treat herself to the reward.

It’s in the way her cheeks flush again in the low light of the vanity. Your fingers in her mouth, holding, rubbing, cleaning off the sticky mess between your digits. Those plump, half open lips, you could see a bit of your cum on her tongue.

“Swallow,” you’re telling her, mind still trying to process the sight of her licking your load in between your fingers and knuckles. “All of it, Giselle. Swallow it all.”

She doesn’t say anything else after that, just being obedient to what you demanded of her to do.

Part of this feels right, but then at the same time it doesn’t.

Your hand trails the same pathway down, only this time stopping right at the side of her left breast, staying there. She offers up a hand for you to take, sitting her upright, lets her knees hang off the edge as you’re standing in between the pair of them still, stroking her thighs while you smother yourself back into her chest. This could be a moment of realization or regret, or that could just be your own mind playing the game of worrying too much over something that’s too little to be that big of a deal.

Giselle licks her lips, offers them to you, which you take - kissing her again. You could feel her jaw clench when you pull her by the side of her face, tongue slipping unconsciously back into her mouth, pressing and clashing with hers, inhaling the sweet stench of sex emitting from her body and yours too.

“You’re a mess,” she whispers, leaving a few strings of kisses across the lower half or your cheek, winces a bit when you pinch the side of her waist a bit too tightly, soreness still present. “How long have you been wanting to do that to me, mm?”

“Think we could save that for another time?” And you just happily play along to what she’s inquiring, voice low and inviting. “I’d rather worry about getting out of here first.”

You give Giselle a bit of space for her to rearrange her dress a bit, looking over your shoulder for that discarded heel in one of the dark corners; hand quick to her waist to lick and clean up the leaking mess while you swipe a piece of the bedsheets nearby to wipe down the mess on your waist and all over her cunt-

“Lend me your jacket.” She asks politely, finally standing up with a bit of a wobble in her legs. “It did get a little bit chilly when we walked on the way in.”

–

You see, nobody bats an eye or raises a brow in suspicion when you’ve managed to leave your family estate in record time.

As for those who did take notice, you simply told them that going home early was always the plan in the end. The valet who took care of your car at the front foyer also gave a look to you holding the door for Giselle; well, he could easily tell judging at the way your jacket was on her - heels in your hand as he could only assume one thing and one thing only. Kudos to him for keeping it on the low, in addition to the considerable tip you handed before driving away.

“Should’ve left a whole lot sooner,” she tells you, a bit of a harsh press on the brakes when you then stop at a t-junction.

She’s got the seat almost all the way back, her legs bunched up with your jacket now covering her front, fiddling with a finger between her lips as you alternate glances from her and the intersection. “That’s what I told you before we walked in earlier.”

To be fair, it isn’t your fault in the first place. All honesty aside, it was nice to spend some quality time with some old friends, play catchup and all. You could’ve stayed as long as you would’ve liked, stayed over for the night and just go back to your new home the next morning. Giselle would’ve been on board with the idea had you told her, but instead she had other things to set in motion.

“It’s events like these,” she breathes, “They’re always boring. So boring. It’s been that way with me since I was little.” The jacket falls a little below the shoulders, exposing her clavicles, and runs a hand over them as if she was doing some heavy lifting. Doesn’t help that her hair falls along with the piece, showing more of her pale, yet marked up neck.

“We’ve always crossed paths,” you say, slowly steering the car left and down the road. “I mean- I was literally with you at your birthday party, so of course I can relate to what you’re feeling.”

She looks left, then down at your hand resting on the gear shift, remembering the not-so-distant memory. “Yeah, I guess you can.”

“Hm?”

“Nobody else was appealing, when my parents were searching for someone that could be best suited to be my ‘husband’. All of the other considerable candidates never really made a case to be a worthy suitor in this absolute shitstorm.”

“Don’t you know it?”

Giselle chuckles again, the bright glow of the arrow signs reflecting off of the headlights, then fading away into the eventual darkness. Most of the ride has been filled with silence, with the low growl of the tires rolling against the pavement and the constant ambient whirring that the engine was emitting.

“So why me?” you ask, darting your eyes back from Giselle onto the road. “You could’ve gone with anyone else, but why choose me?”

“It was a simple decision,” she answers, shifting her body to the side with the seat belt loosening as you move through a few sequences of winding turns. “Most people aren’t very easy going when they warm up to me; but since I’ve known you for quite a bit, I thought it would feel just as natural since we’ve had that sort of-”

“Connection, huh?” you chuckle, putting the car in a lower gear when you reach a decline on the road. You give another look at her face shimmered in yellow, low eyelids and slightly parted lips as you and her examine each other’s features, nodding in agreement when nothing else is said.

Giselle then moves your hand over to her exposed thigh, letting it rest there as your thumb runs across the plush surface.

“I want another,” she says, clasping your hand on her leg, nails slightly digging into the skin of your wrist.

You snort in response, almost thrown off at the sudden request. “What do you mean, another?”

“You should know exactly what I mean.”

“I’m not entirely sure I’m following you on this.”

“Do you want me to put it in a way that makes you understand?” She asks, her voice teetering into a small smile, the blatant innuendo splayed across her face. The grip of your wrist in her hand grows a bit stiff, and yours holds steady on the underside of her thigh.

“How do you suppose that’ll go?” you ask, sliding your hand up into her more. “I can pick up on things pretty fast.”

“Pull the car over and I’ll give you the explanation.”

–

(Like you needed the necessary explanation.

All it took was a hand to your hardening crotch beneath your pants and before you know it, you’ve got the car off to the side of the road, not exactly secluded and discreet about the way that she’s bent over on the side of the car, hot breath fogging up the metal across the hood as she’s got other things to worry about in your cock filling her up again. Her dress is already back up to her waist as your slacks are slipping off the rim of your thighs. There’s also the occasional presence of some crickets sheltered away in the patches of grass, the slaps of your hips fucking into Giselle’s, turning your head in reflex when you hear an audible snap somewhere in the darkness - probably a fallen branch, or something like that.

It’s a bit hard to keep yourself composed when she’s cumming all over your cock again.

Her body goes limp, a hand is splayed on the headlight. You’re holding her by the breast, cream-slicked cock slipping inside her once more, ripping her open. She can’t even look back over her shoulder, the strained noises coming out of her keeps on filling your ears, throwing her lower half back into yours to make the blowback just as brutal. Every passing second underneath your pressure, she crumbles - well-worked and carnally raw.

“-s’deep. Fucking- bitch. Oh, darling - ah”

Your hands hold firm at her waist, driving in, watching as her ass perform this hypnotic ripple against your legs. She loves this, adores the fun of having a rough-fuck; unwilling to get enough of your cock sliding through her throbbing nerves when your shaft makes contact along the slick surface. The motion itself gets you lost endlessly, cupping her ass, pressing and grasping at the supple skin, leaning over when her back arches a bit, getting your face buried in the back of her head, flushing your hips into hers like it’s some long lost art piece. Like you realized just moments ago: she just can’t get enough, and neither can you. “Giselle,” you’re breathing, soft and gentle. She hushes you, lets the sopping wetness of her pussy speak for itself, grinding an angle at the hilt that makes your breath hitch.

Every plea, utterance, and worry that’s said after her exaggerated gasps when your cock slows its drag inside her walls, the declining rubs inside her cunt make her body convulse.

“You’re the fucking worst,” you tell her, and she nods with a smirk at the corner of her lip - an admission.

“Sounds just like me.” she says, all fucked out and gratified.)

–

The weekend passes, and the weekday rolls around again to take its place.

On most days, it’s a rinse and repeat: walk in, settle some deals, make some calls, sit through these boring ass meetings, toss the post-it notes stuck on your monitor by Winter in the trash can before your occasional smoke break, treat yourself to the catered lunch provided for the team members by the company. It’s relatively tame for the most part, and Giselle pops in the building every now and then in her family’s stead, making sure that the transition period in the merging process is going as smoothly as possible.

“She looks like she’s in good spirits,” Winter tells you when she sees you and Giselle wave goodbye to each other one afternoon outside your office, pen tapping on her pursed lips as you stop at the corner of her desk. “I’m surprised that she’s doing some work for her parents around here as well. Didn’t expect that.”

“Keeping me in check,” you say, closely observing the curve of her ass peeking around the fabric of her dress as it goes out of view past the corner and near the elevators. “It’s a transactional thing: ensuring that I’m doing my job just as much as she’s doing hers.”

“So, is it clicking between the two of you?” Winter asks, not even facing you.

“What do you mean?”

“I guess I meant that you’re holding up well after the whole arrangement?” Winter adds on, turning again fully invested, “Being forced into an arranged marriage. A loveless marriage would be a better term to coin it.”

“Well,” you try to answer, but your train of thought gets lost in your own head. “I feel like it’s a little bit out of convenience - letting my parents take advantage of a huge part of my life that I wanted to have control over. But we’re willing to make it work, I think.”

“Huh?”

“We have history, Winter.” The shake of your head makes your secretary laugh a bit, almost baffled at the declaration. “Who knows what happens from here on out. Besides, I might have a change of heart at some point, so have some hope.”

“If you’re happy, then I’m happy,” says Winter, tapping your hand resting on the railing of the cubicle. “You’ve got the ring on your finger to prove it, partially, but I’ll always love and support you in whatever you do with her.”

You wave a hand at her as you move away from her desk, a bit annoyed - still smiling.

“Do you wanna grab lunch with us whenever she drops by the floor again?” you ask, walking back to the open door of your office. “Offer stands on the table for the time being.”

Winter muses. Me? Third-wheeling? Pfft- low blow, boss. The mutter could be heard under your low chuckle. She raises a fist up in the air to celebrate, hides it away when you tell her to get back to work.

–

Giselle sends you a text two hours later in between breaks: Pick me up?

You’ve got roughly until five until you could clock out, but this report needs to be sent to your father before you leave. I could make a detour before we get some food later, but yeah. I can make that happen.

A smiling emoji. She sends. A bit vague, but you could tell that she’s ditzy on her end of the phone screen.

Almost done?

Some last minute submissions.

Nice.

Dinner somewhere?

You ask, you buy.

What about after?

I’ll pay you back when we get home.

(No point in asking how, she knows exactly how to go about that.)

–

It takes about one missed call followed up with a few more rings at the second time calling to the return, but Giselle answers with a whole-hearted laugh on her end.

“Sorry,” she greets after saying hello, “There’s been a change of plans. I’ll see you at home. Someone came to see me on my way out of the office and-”

There’s another laugh in the background. Sounds familiar, nearly cat-like and sly. A clear contrast to the gleaming tone Giselle has, radiating like the glare of the sun bouncing off the overhanging windows from the neighboring towers across the three-building campus.

“Darn,” you say, “And here I was actually getting excited to come see you.”

“We can move it to tomorrow, I should probably have you meet-” then the phone picks up a little shuffle of handlers, Giselle complaining a bit and suddenly, another feminine voice takes over the call - Sorry not sorry for stealing your girl. She’s been putting me off, but now she’s on my time. Hope you don’t mind.

“Wait,” you’re telling her again, confused, “Who’s your little girlfriend? She sounds cute as well.”

“You’ll see soon,” says Giselle, a bit airy. “A real dazzler, she’s absolutely perfect, a fucking bitch, but the complete package.” You’re thinking twice when there’s an audible smack of a pair of lips on her neck that makes her mewl on the microphone.

You’re rolling your eyes as you nestle in the backseat of the car, and say, “better play nice. I’ll see you later,” and then you end the call.

–

But you never really figure out this mystery woman is, who poached your wife right outside her office building. At least you’re thankful for the wonderful gentleman on Giselle’s detail bringing her back - in one piece, despite the disheveled appearance from the smeared lipstick to the waves of messy hair that would need to be tended to on her own terms. So, uh. You’ll ask for the debrief sometime in the morning.

–

Coffee grounds are getting brewed, and nothing fills up the apartment more than some homey jazz softly blasting from the speakers on the record player.

It’s an exceptionally slow kind of morning: the kind where you look at the alarm of your phone screen and just toss it off to the nightstand while muttering to yourself to stay in bed for five more minutes, and to be fair, maybe for the rest of the day.

While you’re waiting for the food on the cast iron to cool down, you indulge yourself to an article that covered a past press event that had you and Giselle both in attendance. Granted that it was one of her close friend’s fashion line releases in the form of a pop-up event Giselle insisted that you’d tag along just for the testy thrill. To get out of the office and breathe a little bit. C’mon, it’ll be fun.

There’s a thread of pictures you scroll by on your tablet of you and her taking in the moment of presentation; people absolutely losing their shit just by being and breathing the same air as you and her, nothing short of the love well received for the two of you. It’s seen in the details: you look up to the four levels above of people cheering both of your names, the next slide looking outward to a distant camera capturing the image. A few more following images show you laying your eyes on Giselle, from the embracing smile, her hand up in bright surprise, with another still showing her returning the same look she always does earnestly. But what the people don’t realize is that just before this showing, you and her had a small heated argument in the elevator minutes before stepping on stage; she came out of it clean while you’re the one with damage control - fixing up your collar and smearing some of the lipstick left on the single corner of your lip. The confused beam on your face sells the whole thing entirely.

The feed’s comments are still raving and fawning about this whole pairing, too. And it seems that isn’t going away anytime soon; even when the most liked comment says: “i bet they smile at each other when they fuck. God they’re so hot.”

<“you think their parents high-five each other whenever they see them together?”>

The list goes on, and one says: <“it’s still unbelievable that they’re actually together and omg i just can’t get over them!”>

Various comments are just filled with exclamation points and lovely emojis.

Another person also says a few swipes down: <“doesn’t seem convincing to me. almost as if they’re just showing for the title/label rather than out of genuine affection.”>

<“you’re right. also, where tf are their wedding pics?”>

See? It’s worth the subtle nod and the raise of impressive eyebrows to know that not everyone is fully onboard with the whole situation. You think, people can’t be easily swayed by what the media portrays, considering the fact that any shrivel of credibility is either legit or nothing but smoke.

Giselle then walks in from the hallway; encased in a linen robe, messy bedhead and with a lazy yawn. “You’re up early.”

“It’s almost ten.” You tell her. “I’m getting a late start to the morning.”

“Busy day?” asks Giselle, one eye open still when she rounds the kitchen island, puts her cheek against your shoulder, looking over to see your daily spontaneous read. “I was supposed to see someone later today.”

“Is it ‘your dazzler’ date from last night?” you address, towering over the top of Giselle’s head when she leans into you to see the assorted breakfast. “Looks to me like you had a little too much fun with her.”

“Not your business,” she replies, stealing a blueberry from your stack of pancakes. Not the ideal response from her - especially since she’s usually open and practically blunt with sharing bits of her life and adventures. “I saw those comments on that article you were looking at from our outing a while back and let me tell you: they’re right.”

“You think?”

“I know.” Her answer alone should serve all the truth as to what things are between you and her. The label of ‘husband and wife’ isn’t all extravagant fireworks and worth pulling the aged wines to swirl big glasses around over - let alone fooling nearly every person that follows your daily life into one big, misleading lie. When she settles into the high chair with a knee up, her sweater that isn’t exactly her’s and you know it, her pensive expression is far ahead of your thought process already.

“Do you think this whole marriage is out of convenience?”

She looks at you clearly baffled, eyes wide. “I- well, I was gonna ask you the same thing. What do you think?”

“I think your thoughts are more important than mine at the moment.”

Giselle leans forward with an elbow on the table, chin dipping low and heavy. “There’s something for our parents to gain from this. Some cover up; more money, more pull - blah blah blah blah blah. I think they just wanted us to get involved in some way, they’ve had the idea of us being set up since we were teenagers. The picture is one big fucking mess to me.”

“Well if you look at the comments, then-”

“We’ve already commensurated on that note, don’t you forget.” Giselle smirks, a faint fingertip tracing the inner part of her bottom lip. “A marriage out of convenience could also mean that we’re sex partners out of convenience. You’re not slick for ogling at me either, but what are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna head to work,” you say with the shake of your head, “We can have a chat about this later.”

Giselle looks at you in a firm victory; the corner of her lip quirks when you pass by her while clearing your throat, avoiding her question for the time being.

–

Yet the question bounces around your mind all day while in the office later, trailing off in spaced daydreams of all the things Giselle as you sit at your desk.

(She has completely fucked you up.)

–

You’d expect for an easy walk-in past the door once the long day’s already passed. Nothing too exhausting: a few business calls here, an outing with a client from your father’s agenda, and just staying chained to your office chair for a majority of the time isn’t very grand, but it’s the usual work flow.

But to your surprise, somebody’s already made themselves at home.

A quick dig into the heels of your loafers next to the pair of heels and you settle your bearings towards the living room - lights on and everything, safe to assume that Giselle’s only been here for no longer than a few minutes (hinted by handbag resting on one of the high-rising seats next to the kitchen island). Exhaustion fills up your mind, weighed down by the assortment of your keys and watch in hand, which you toss into the designated bowl signifying your arrival and growing presence that gives off this small echo down the hallways (since you also know that Giselle likes to keep her door propped open for better airflow).

Entering to your right, you hear: “Hey, home already?” She meets you in the middle as you stop short before the couch, turning to see Giselle in her casual one piece dress, half of her hair present as she combs it down with her fingers, blinking dutifully. “I thought you’d be back later.”

“Well yeah. But I figured that I could use some of the downtime now,” you’re saying, fishing a pen out of your pocket, then your phone; both of which get tossed to the center portion of the furniture. You unbutton your cufflinks with a tilt in your head as Giselle slips out of her cropped coat, “I don’t have anything for the rest of the evening.”

“Really,” she replies, and the prose isn’t necessarily a question nor proposition when she says that single word - hands already working to the zipper on the back of her attire. “I was hoping that you did.”

The first few buttons on your shirt start to part, and Giselle carries forward out of her dress, the black lace underneath presented to you in all of its glory.

“And what would you do with your alone time had I not come home at all?” you ask, closing the distance between you and her. “I suppose you would’ve had another problem on your lap for me to deal with.”

“You still have to answer my question from this morning.”

When she gets both hands deep into the space of your collarbones, hopping up from the floor as you catch the underside of her thighs, holding her in place at the hip when you lightly press her into the nearby pillar of your foyer, it’s a bit laughable in your head as to how easy it is for her to fall into this sense of rhythm - much like a waltz even, lips fast to yours with the dirtiest and most insatiable smile she could ever pull on you. These habits, her issues, the livelihood that she lives by, it’s a tattering case to your own personal code in which you have no complaint or refute to bring up-

“Sex partners out of convenience?” You say to her as she’s left breathless under your pressing touch, warm mouth and hands claiming familiar territory. “Now what makes you think that’s the overall gist of what we’re doing here?”

Giselle raises an eyebrow, hides away as she leans down to kiss you again, wanting to let her current appearance and actions do the talking for her. She plays you like it’s some game; pushing your buttons in all the ways that she knows and likes - for you to treat her like an exploit and an advantage to get her point across. And maybe you realize again: that’s all that she’s ever good for.

You run a finger through the fabric of her panties: “Baby, you’re soaking wet.”

“Now you’re talking about my kind of discussion.”

–

With that said discussion, there’s a few laws of honesty drawn up in your head:

The first law: it’s the rush of dopamine to blame when you have Giselle’s slick soak your face and fingertips - how she groans and writhes into the mattress as your tongue licks up the mess left out of her cunt; the shade goes to a hotter pink as she grinds her hips against you, eyes opening wide and fluttering shut, clenching in the same way her teeth scrape together. Another implication could be seen in the way that your hands hold firm on her plush, thick, marked up ass; how she let you have control as you turn her head and bend her limbs in all the ways to get you off, hushing out these profane sayings and words to her as you work up to her second orgasm - or third (who’s really keeping track at this point, huh?) You like it when she asks to take a breather, have you walk away for a bit before she gets in this pouty fit, a mood that needs to be sated in cumming again, choke her moans out on the couch for a change of scenery. When she reluctantly admits - as three of your fingers slide into her tightness while your other hand is to the small of her back and your head is at the side of her face, buried in her hair and keeping her arched up, digging deeper.

The second law: you wouldn’t have to do anything to Giselle and she’d immediately pick up on what you want, the way her eyes would tell you to ‘just come fuck me already, you know you want to’ and the sheer glint beneath her irises sparkle a bit more when you’re teasing the clit as you settle into the seat.

“Y’know, I always wondered what your other fuckbuddies would think: if they saw you with me and how I’m handling you,” you start to say, eyes focusing and unfocusing in the valley of her breasts - red lines visible along the pale skin as your fingers slip along her thighs a bit - still covered in Giselle’s juices.

“Hmm,” she sighs out, lowering herself onto your lap and the hitch of breath apparent as she expected for you to get right down to business; but you’re not, and clearly that’s driving her up the wall. Listless words whispered out with little to no meaning. It’s in the wet blanket of her pussy, the stickiness dragging a torrid heat all over your bare cock.

“Too bad they don’t have that kind of luxury anymore.” you continue on your senseless rambling. “Considering that I’m the lucky one now, which to be honest, is kind of one of the best things I have against you.”

“What are you even saying?” Giselle questions, losing her train of thought with a good thrust upward, letting her grind down on your hips; holding her down at the top of her thighs as her hands find their place around the crook of your neck. “Just because I let my past flirts use me as- as some fucktoy? You have that as the idea against one of my many points of leverage, baby. God, you-”

“I get what they mean, if that’s what you’re selling,” you assume.

She swears.

“Imagine that, Giselle - with a body like yours, only used to be fucked. Sounds like a pretty damn good deal to me.”

She elevates her hips for a slight second, hovering over your cockhead. The first few inches following your tip dips up into her cunt, the drenched, most prettiest pair of lips. You tilt your head back - watch the reaction on her face when you dial it back - the twitch in her shoulders and neck muscles as if she already was at that high again, the look on her face in nothing but positives and unbounded; and somewhere in her cerebral cortex, she should know that the moment you thrust up, she’d be a goner - that’s the effect your cock has on her, how she’d mindlessly fuck herself into using it, every opportunity presents a new suggestion, the intent of making her into a messy puddle of mush, a blithering wreck.

And it’s a form of entertainment in itself when the propositions are thrown up. In a rough write-up in paper and in the sketchbook in your head, the way that she looks in bed: her glistening pussy, dripping, and in a fucked-out mess. You keep dragging your cock through her swollen folds, stagnant, lethargic. You press on with the inquiries - asking, taunting - they’re never meant to be taken literally: “don’t you know that you can think of better ways to convince someone about something without putting your body and attitude to the equation?”

Her eyes open carefully, her grin tilts a bit, cheeks blushing, and the voice carrying the lump of air past her mouth gets winded: “wouldn’t have the slightest idea, honey.”

You could feel the warmth growing from her forearms as it nestled over your shoulders, fingers twitching for a proper hold, the press up of her thumbs raises your head to look up at her. She also tossed the idea to you when she visited your office earlier this week, the tempting proposition of just fucking her right then and there across your desk.

(It didn’t help in the way she presented it too:

“What would your other team members think?” she probes, the shiniest twinkle in her doe-eyes with the falsest naivety, “Hearing me getting fucked by you with the door wide open? Raise my skirt up for the easiest access you could ever have. Leave a few lipstick prints over your shirt so that everyone knows who you belong to?”

Blindsided or not, it sends a few synapses in your brain firing.)

So you’re playing the hard way, a clear contrast to how things unfolded last time, honestly - watching her do this little wiggle over your lap, eyes brimming with light. Her hips, and the little gut-punch movement of her stomach are slow, then pick up suddenly a second later, searching for something close to a rest but coming up empty. Your head dips back a bit to the crown of the couch when the sound of her whines hold steady, breathing cautiously when she fills the open space of your chest, panting into it.

Your grip on her waist when you bring your head forward again to kiss her left breast - catch a nipple between your teeth, nibbling, biting.

“Ow, ah-” she blurts, a pitiful chuckle following soon after. Maybe it’s in the double jeopardy - the way she gasps from the shackled chamber of her chest in this stuttering fashion and goes a little more frantically than normal when your thick tip rubs against the outright nub of her clit. She’s sensitive, and very fucking responsive. “Wow. Jesus.”

Giselle’s hot, pink, satin lips of her pretty, puffy little cunt, hovers right over it: dripping onto your hardened length as you dip your cockhead back in again, nearly there, the heavy weight of her sitting on your dick - but not quite yet, almost. She’s indecisive between grinding her bottom half on your cock, or getting more of your lips and fingers, could be both, anything would suffice for her. She isn’t really begging, per se, but you can just tell: all of the pretty little things that she wants, but can’t admit; the quiet please, I swear to God, why don’t you just stick it in me- or, the incoherent ‘more, baby, I can’t wait any longer, don’t make me- it’s so good - and you already know, you’ve heard it before, how badly she wants it when you let the pads of your fingertips deeper into the spots she loves and likes.

“You would lose it, so fast,” you start, a sigh of relief into the canal of Giselle’s ear, holding the bottom of her spine steady as your cock starts to stretch the drenched walls of her cunt and let her fall slowly - you could feel the tension in her thighs, her toes curl into the cushions. The sharp, high-pitched whine sounds broken.

She mutters a ‘please’ - and it rings so prettily, too.

“I really could let you just slide your perfect, sloppy cunt all over my cock. Be good for me. You wouldn’t even stop for a second, getting yourself off in an instant.”

Giselle’s eyes squeeze shut, nodding profusely, lips parted.

And in a way, christ, she could switch that look in her eyes from a flickering promise to a dwindling vortex instantaneously; the wide pupils she has that are near impossible to examine, the pretty mouth hung low a little past halfway, this magenta shade she emits and her head’s lolling. She’s getting more restless, hips moving shallow and not in the way that she wants them to. She knocks a bit of your forehead to your crown, a mix of a whimper and whisper of your name, and it’s a tempting beck and call to her.

It’s a little overdue for dinner and she’s fucking lost it, hips grinding with yours; the smooth, practied moves of her working cunt, hard, like she means it, like the need to cum for her has to be around something in the most vile ways - her whole face and neck and chest are flushed in this new shade of color and her eyes are hidden behind her eyelids, cock grinding hot between the space of her thighs. She’s squirming - coming apart and pleasing when she’s so out of control, only reduced to her barren sense. To the feeling, the fulfillment of your fingers - or the fine, hard line of your cock dragging along her wetness and thighs, at an angle that you’ve managed to hit a few times before.

“Just by thinking about it - it’s making you even more antsy,” you say delicately.

Giselle just blinks.

“You’ve managed to get me like this, using me to get yourself off whenever you fucking feel like it, right? Imagine. Anytime you just need it - in your office, in the kitchen, get a quick one out before we have a testimonial or showcase, don’t give any care for other people watching you get your pussy railed- stop, I know that look, fuck- it’s not gonna work on me.”

“Pretty good idea, right?” Giselle sputters out, panting, because you’re working deeper into that spot, you can tell - you can feel it. Her hands are clawing on your shoulders. “Just lift up my pretty dress or skirt and make a mess of me right there.”

“-be the problematic little bitch that everyone always talks about and has no other sensible thought because you enjoy it as it is.”

Giselle’s cunt tightens around your cock. You’re also pretty sure that there’s a hint of her squirting. Quite a bit. Dripping and molten-

“You-”

“Mhm?”

“Just- God, please. Want it - you, so fucking bad. Let me ride, I swear-” Giselle tells you, desperately - fucking sit there. She sounds so tenacious. Her hair a nice shade of brown, curtaining at the front of her cheek and a bit stuck to the side of her face.

There’s like this sheer sense of inevitability - you can see it in the way her body gives, the imaginary cloth around her body coming down. It’s in everything, the stimulation, the teasing - then there’s nothing, a clean slate. As if someone had all her thoughts on a small piece of paper: her arms go slack, a breath wriggles out of her esophagus. Her weight, yielding and bearable, easing herself down on top of you and the heatwave of her cunt snugs around your cock so perfectly, like it was meant to be there, where it always belongs. It also wouldn’t take long for her first fully-fledged orgasm to come in the form of a mixed gasped and whine: ugh, god, thank you - like the effort couldn't have been any easier.

Her head tilts back, and a smile slips out into something straight out of a lucid dream: falling, calling, chasing - until you realize it wasn't a dream at all.

And she’s keeping her upper body up with her dainty fingers, pulling herself back into you as her lips drag up into yours, thrusting up, slow and controlled. You feel it as Giselle clamps down again; that throbbing, quivering sensation before that tsunami of warmth captures you.

So you let her ride, in the way that she is. Her face is tucked to the top where your forehead and hairline meets, moaning for pretty much the entire time. “J’so fucking big, your cock inside me, fuck. I just move and it- god, it just rubs itself in every part of my pussy - yeah, okay, you did it again, so deep. Ugh. How do you do it?” Giselle sounds a bit on edge, frantic, talking complete gibberish - the heavy weight of her hips and ass presses onto your body and her nails mark up on your shoulders and sides as she keeps on riding through one orgasm onto the next, eyes rolling up to the ceiling and letting a series of sighs and slips out of her throat. These sweet, desperate, shameless cries and begs as she drops down, sucks you into her warmth.

“Honey, honey- so thick- like that, holy shit,” her pitch lines up to the tempo of her slaps.

“Look at that,” you mumble underneath her praises and heavy pants, the fast, jagged sounds - head nodding and shaking side to side furiously. She can’t even think straight to talk properly. “You’re so fucking wet.”

“God yes. Fuck yes, s’good-” Giselle moans, totally unchasted and debauched.

“And your pussy’s soaking up my cock again.”

“Shut the fuck up,” and most of her sentences are muddled in curses, the phonemes of her sounds morphing into one. Her eyelids are dropping low again, mouth curving to a close shape of an ‘o’ as your cock drives up against every sensitive part inside her, rubbing against the velvety folds. Digging, taking more.

Your voice comes as a hush following a groan. “Stretching out so well for me, taking it all in - isn’t that wonderful? Your needy little pussy, sliding up and down all over?”

Giselle’s trembling picks up where it left off, the noises curdle from the bottom of her throat, low and just flat out desperate. It’s in the responsiveness of her body, every single part of her thrust into chaos.

You could consider this to be a beneficiary: you being inside her. Giselle’s moaning out your name as she holds you close to your chest, burying your nose in between her tits like an offering, her body goes weak. She’s got her hair netted to the lines of her neck and chin; the pistoning of your cock upwards as the hinge in of her hips roll so she can cum all over your waist.

Giselle cums just like that. Again and again, totally impenitent.

The reaction on her face is one of pure bliss, full of relaxation; where everything working between the muscles and nerves go down for a second - her lips molding into a tiny fuck, holy fuck; the small uptick of her eyebrows as the aftershocks ripple through her hot cunt. An incredible sight, this thing.

“I guess that’s why you and I clicked so fast,” you note, a hand to the swell of her ass, the other on her hip. Every free curve of her figure invites the touch, how rough you can go, how far you could wreck her. It’s without any sense of remorse. You kiss the words right between her tits: “knowing that a special someone could ever make you feel like this, give wonders to you right where it’s needed, as if nothing else matters.”

“Stop- shut the fuck up,” and Giselle does the worst thing here, letting her upper half fall back outward, slips a hand behind and under to where your balls are, cradling them, the slightest cup of her fingers, it tenses up your thighs and the bottom of your spine and the grip in your fingernails creates this new line of light red across her hips.

“Gis-” you yelp on impulse, “holy shit, I-”

The angle is too much for her as she barely manages to keep herself upright, and then, “-fucker, that’s so deep. Do it again-”

“You’re something, baby. I can’t believe-”

She’s got a hand to the back of your head, thumb between your lips, moving her hips upward at the hilt that makes your cock twitch inside her. The giggle passing through your ears allures you towards a primal motive, a raw uncut want.

“Shh,” she coos.

“You-”

“This right here,” she says, “Could be our little secret. My little secret.”

“Giselle-”

“Hush, darling. And keep it that way.”

You grind, lift her up, and smack her back down. It’s the slap. The fucking moan. Her arms coil around your neck once more.

Taking in the makeshift taut of her waist. Growling, “fucking test me again, I dare you,” and Giselle gives nothing but an evil grin in good nature when she cups the side of your jaw to lift your gaze.

Her head knocks into yours and she cards her fingers through your hair, tugging away as you increase the pumps a little faster, harder. She’s trying to hold herself together with what little common sense she has left; in a bit of a disbelief, she tells you, off-the-cuff in the nook of her head, how you’ve put yourself far ahead than the past guys she’s fucked around with, the simplicity in her causalness as a royal gesture in itself.

“I guess you could say that,” you tell her, in the figures of semantics where you could take her literally.

A way to repay that said loyalty to her, would be fucking her tight little pussy until you’re dumping your cum inside her sopping cunt or painting all over her fucking waist, her ass, her face - an art piece curated by you out of ruination that wants to be flaunted and presented like it’s something that the people want. This woman with such grandness; this idol, showcased in the fanciest dresses and bows, to be showered in diamonds, to have anything she ever wanted worth purchasing be done with a wave of her finger.

Your cause is a bit different, lest not forget, but you’re complicit nonetheless - satisfying both parties of families to ensure that no one is left holding the bag in the event that they’re caught. But at least you can have a fill with an aching cunt between your legs, leaking all over your groin once the rush eventually dies down. Yeah, maybe you are right in this situation. “I’m the last one you’ll ever need.”

That cuts both ways, she tells you. A wicked smile is all she gives; she’s won.

You eventually snap, however, fucking Giselle on her hands and knees, flip her back around with her tits facing you again. You carry her back onto the pillar behind the couch for some more before moving to the bedroom, a little over a minute spent letting her reach that peak. Some fun gets thrown into the mix, pressing her front to the window as you carve your cock back up into her cunt. Your name keeps falling out of her mouth, obscene and maffled, over and over and over and over: fuck, you feel so good inside me, taking me so well, god, don’t stop, that feels so fucking good for you, doesn’t it? - she slams her ass back into you, face pressed against the glass, her breath fogging up a small portion of the pane. You take it back to the edge of her mattress where her ankles hook around your thighs and manage to dig her nails into the skin of your back. She acknowledges the small act of generosity, when you cum a little bit inside her pussy (to which you could admit that it’s one of the hottest things you can do to her, honestly), knowing that your cock fits so nice and snug into her cunt and fucks out all these dirty sounds that are some of the cutest things that she can sing out of her mouth; this little pussy messing you up as you tug yourself out of her properly-fucked cunt and leave the mess right where it stays. Where it should stay. That’s how this thing goes.

Giselle presses a nail into your hip, another bruise along with the scratches and bite marks that’ll show up tomorrow. You’ll look at it in the mirror at work sometime, just to think back.

Though she’s created an opportunity for herself where you have to answer whenever she’s around. No matter what the excuse may be, she’ll slither her way inside your office or at home, talk about something about the day, and you’ll try to stay on task or topic until the option to eat her out or fuck her till she can’t walk straight or maybe even both doesn’t seem too far off to pass time.

(She’ll ask: you mind doing a favor for me? Of course you have to say yes.

And it’s practically impossible to refuse anyway, since it’s not worth telling no when there’s advantages.)

–

Giselle is not perfect; despite what the media presents and what the people say portraying her to be.

She’s got a past, one of which she's not proud of. She has her shortcomings, her flaws, but she’s still human. You’ve assumed at first that there’s things about her to be accepting even with the stuff she’s got herself into. Giselle’s impetuous and a bit dense, but she’s also a strong thorn in points you hate to admit that she could have an upper hand on.

But even so-

Even so-

Despite her imperfections, she’s aware of them. She’s turned them into strengths that very few people can break down without effort backed behind it. You get one good look at her and it’s simple. Her grin with closed lips is wicked and unbeatable, and now that you’re with her in this mess of a marriage you can’t find anything that’s worth swaying you to think otherwise.

“What is it that you want from your family’s company?” she asks, her body melded one with the sheets as she lays on her stomach, feet sticking up with ankles crossed, face still fading from the hot blush of pink. “I mean, there isn’t really an incentive for us exclusively while they’re trying to make this story go away unnoticed.”

“If I knew everything. And I mean, everything, then I’d tell you. But I don’t.”

“So what, you don’t know what happens despite us being protected?”

“It may look like we’re safe,” you say, looking down and out the window again, holding yourself back from rambling even further. “But it’s only a matter of time until people start sniffing around places that they’re not supposed to.”

“They’re not gonna stop searching, hun.” Giselle presumes, “Not until they really figure out what’s going on behind the scenes. But where’s the exposure in that?”

“What makes this whole thing dangerous is that all it took for people to find this relationship believable was a good lie and a lot of money to twist the words in the press into reality.”

“Isn’t that a shame,” her voice trails off, head falling left to the nearby pillow resting on her arm. She keeps her eyes on you, rubbing up your shoulder from the amount of scratches and bite marks she’s left all over it, the skin still red to the touch. “Watching yourself settle as bits and pieces of your life start to wither away. No risk taken for the reward or consequence to follow. You’re so boring, but your cock, and the way that you fuck me deflates the whole argument entirely.”

“Amazing,” you deadpan, “That’s probably one of the nicest compliments you’ve ever given to me.”

Giselle rolls her eyes, holds back a laugh between her lips. “You’re so into me and you don’t even want to admit it. Where else would you get the ring on your finger from, hm? Let alone who?” The squint in your eyes proves that she’s winning this dispute. “Still got no answer for me, babe? Hmph. I guess you just solidified my thoughts just now.”

“You really are the worst pick for guys like me, aren’t you?” you ask, approaching closer to the bed as your kneecaps make contact to the edge, bending them until you’re crawling across the mattress.

She has an outreached hand to you; taking, pulling, inviting. “Who said I was a bad choice for you? Someone’s got to keep your mind off the deal for the time being.”

Before you even say anything else, you kiss her twice, and then some more. It’s a thing remotely close to yielding yourself to her - you pull the sheets from underneath her over, get your lips back on her neck again, and fuck her deep into the bed.

Some pressure is relieved off of your shoulders and head, and you wonder if she’s the one responsible for that.

–

Everything resumes as normal. Business stays busy, public engagements and appearances are still a regular occurrence every other day or so, and you’re ensuring that the tracks get covered up before anyone in the press starts to take notice. You’re not a bad person - and neither are your parents in this case, the needs of this cause will pay off in protecting your own life. Being a workaholic isn’t the healthiest way to go by, but in all fairness, you’re just doing your job.

Giselle also holds her end of the bargain; while you’re married to your work, she’s married to her blessing of wealth. When you’re swamped with paperworks and projects compounded with usual check-ins with her parents and yours about the investment failure cover-up, she seeks her own adventures elsewhere: getting herself into these entanglements with other guys at high-profile events, reining them in with her flirty charms and in return gets their dick stuck up inside her. She may be terrible at keeping faith in you when she does go out with her friends, but you know that she’ll always come back to you in the end.

“Are you sure you want to go ahead with the meeting?” Winter asks you one afternoon, sitting on the edge of your desk as she looks over one of your client’s portfolios to see if the numbers add up, “cause this does look finished, but I can set some time aside to run a final check before you send it over.”

For some reason, and only God really knows why, but you feel this sudden chill run down your neck as Giselle makes her way past the door into your office; her stride a little more pushy today than usual, and that spells only one thing: she’s aggravated.

“Sorry Winter, do you mind giving us the room?” she tells her, and it’s not a request. You nod your head as Winter immediately picks up on the sudden shift of tension in the air, swapping places as Giselle drops her handbag on the chair while darting a quick glance at Winter.

“The door, please. And you know what to say.” Winter closes the door on her way out while Giselle rounds the desk and settles herself into your lap. You remember her barging in when you had a meeting with one of your early acquisitions in the business, sitting in the same way that she is now for the entirety of that appointment.

“Cancel your meeting.” Giselle commands, fingers quick to the middle of your necktie.

“I can’t. It’s the new person my father just brought in yesterday.”

“I wasn’t asking. You promised.”

Her lips proved to be a suitable truth-serum to your inhibitions; and suddenly you completely forget what she was even complaining about earlier.

–

So you make good on your promise. You had to.

Giselle’s hand shoots up to her mouth, not doing much with the moans that leak out from the bottom of her wrist.

“Baby,” she coos, and you draw yourself back from between her thighs to swallow a bit, drink in the sight of how her face writhes in pleasure. You hate how pretty she is when she looks like this, eyes closed elegantly and mouth dropped in pure awe. She literally had her pussy eaten out by you in the morning, but it’s clear that she can’t get enough, and you’ll definitely do it again.

The pager on your desk starts to beep, and you don’t answer it; instead, you dip your tongue back into her leaking entrance. Her breath starts to stutter as the sides of her thighs start to press against your head. A spread of her lips between your fingers, and you slash up your tongue inside her walls again, hips bucking forward off the woodwork.

“You taste so fucking good, honey,” you praise, holding her down with the flex of your wrists and press of your fingers. Giselle shudders a bit as you shove your nose right up against her clit, let the vibration of your hums send shockwaves up her waist from within. Her hand tangled into your hair serves all the signs of her wanting, begging for more. When you ask, and it’s just out of plain fun when you do: “Wanna cum so badly on my face, don’t you? Soak your shit into my mouth and all over my chin? Tell me what you want. You haven’t had enough cock this week, haven’t you? Fucking filthy ass slut.”

Giselle, in the current state that she’s in, just sighs. If there’s anything that you’ve learned from all the times you’ve spent exploring her body, imploding her senses from within, she loves to be held down and fucked ruthlessly - but more than anything, she loves to be teased, to be degraded.

That stupid pager is still fucking ringing.

But you inhale the sweet aroma of her pussy, slide your tongue up those slutty, puffy folds, stop right at the clit, and you suck.

“Yes, yes- fuck, God yes, just like that,” she breathes out, pulling your head deeper into her cunt. She wants you to be cruel, to rip off that pencil skirt of hers, raise that dress shirt she stole from your wardrobe and put your cock inside her like she so undeservedly owes. Giselle’s eyebrows twist along with the lines of her face, squeezing your hand as she soaks more of herself onto your lips, the taste of her slick flowing down like water, lapping her up clean.

“Close,” she tells you, breaths becoming irregular as her voice goes up in familiar, ascending octaves. “God- keep going, yes, baby, I’m g- I’m gonna-”

You just hum, let the sweet venom of her release coat your taste buds - a delicacy that you’ll indulge in every time. You fail to let her go from your grasp, meeting her dreamy gaze, lashes gliding up and down gracefully, trying to conjure up some sort of thought. “Your cock,” she says, chest heaving. “Give it to me.”

It’s not worth denying the demand; and besides: you were never going to make it to that meeting anyway.

–

The workflow chokes up the rest of the week so much to the point where the days and nights start to blend together. You’re doing some nightly readings midway out on the couch until Giselle walks in with a robe encasing her nice figure - dropping the piece in front of you which makes you toss the tablet off to the side.

“A gift for you,” she says, a towel tending to her damp hair that wets the front of her shirt while you’re fixing up a quick meal of eggs on the stove, following you cumming inside of her and on her face not too long after that ends up staining her sheets. “For the race this upcoming weekend.”

You’re paying zero attention, focused on not letting the scrambled bits stick to the pan as she slithers a hand through the open space of your hand-to-hip, stealing a bite of the waffles you also made off to the side for more variety, watch as she fills up her cheeks with the food. The simplest of actions, she does with ease. But then you say: Race? You didn’t tell me you were into cars like that. If at all.

“Had I told you that I had a stake in a racing team, and you would’ve been instantly hard,” she deadpans, her stare flickering with a shake of her head. “Like I’ve told you before: I have my own interests.”

“Prove it.” you taunt.

Giselle then walks over to her handbag resting on one of the seats where she always leaves it for a quick grab of whatever, pulls out two special passes; the red lanyard with your picture and hers highlighted at the center with a barcode below it as well as the details of the event. The raise in your eyebrows indicate a hint of impressiveness and Giselle just tilts her head in victory, because she knows you’re not hard to convince.

“F1 passes, huh?” you muse, taking the one from her hand to further examine it, “Now how in the hell did you score these?”

“Courtesy of a friend,” replies Giselle, taking your pass back and into her handbag. “You probably know her, but if you don’t, I’d love for you to meet her.”

“Aren’t you excited.”

“What’s with that tone?”

“Tone?”

She sighs, chin lifted up as her hum rises in amusement, “It’s not like you to have my attitude suddenly, it actually fits you well.”

“I’m always like this,” you tell her.

“Right.”

“I’d be happy to pitch you as to why if you’re interested.”

“Save it,” Giselle tsks, flipping her towel forward from her shoulders. “Besides, it’s gonna be a fun weekend either way. And oh- happy birthday.”

–

Much like other events you’ve attended in the past, this one is certainly no exception. Stepping out of the car to be greeted with endless amounts of people stretched across the barriers outside the track, screaming your name and Giselle’s to offer a variety of things to sign: a hat, a bottle, a racing jersey, and some random person’s arm; a nice gesture to show, and it’s all in good fun.

The photo op’s are having a fucking field day with your appearance, cameras nearly floating across towards you walking to get their many mandatory snaps of the day. Hey, over here! Click! Click! Click! You and Giselle keep it casual in answering the questions also like how’s the morning going? Who do you think is gonna win the race today? Are you the special person that’s going to be waving the checkered flag or present the trophies to the top three racers later?

Click! And someone greets Giselle off to the side - probably someone running social media from one of the racing teams, you think. Her hair flows so coolly in the wind, walking in a fashion that pretty much trumps every other hot model you’ve seen at shows; the curves of her body sloping along her clothes. Her sunglasses only punctuate her cunty expression when she takes them off, earning a few gasps from other surrounding VIP members, which isn’t fair, but it serves you exactly right when her face lights up greeting the provider for your special passes.

She smiles so effortlessly. Her energy is infectious the more she steps into the paddock.

Everything is pretty much major brain overload, astounded at how everything is sleek inside the garage; tools hidden away in perfectly-fit drawers that literally look straight out of a sci-fi movie. The car alone is a sight to behold too; sure, the wheels aren’t on and they’re still doing some minor tweaks across the chassis, but the race engineer who bumps your shoulder puts you in a momentary conversation about how insane everything looks.

It wasn’t long until Giselle disappears from your view, only to return with a plus-one that irks your curiosity - laughing and sounding clearly in awe and excitement.

“I’m sure you’ve seen this charmer before,” Giselle introduces, hand tugging on your jacket so casually, pulling you closer. “Has a thing for cars, if that isn’t news to you already.”

“Looks familiar, but never up close.” Her mouth peers into this wide grin, lips coated with a light sanguine shade, the gloss almost shimmering. Your ears perch up to the tone of her voice, a sleek and piercing characteristic to notice, considering how dangerously familiar it sounded. She’s got a racing shirt on, despite her bottoms being baggy jeans. The temperature around the track was forecasted to be hot, and she’s wearing a simple dad cap to pool those flowing locks over her shoulders. Judging from the hoops hanging from her ears, you assume that she and Giselle are in the same lineage - since they’ve got so much money deep in their pockets to afford everything and all that jazz.

Yu Jimin takes your hand in hers, and asks something along the lines of: you’re into cars? Is this your first time in an F1 garage?

You laugh, and answer: I’ve dabbled here and there. Giselle didn’t tell me that she had a minority stake in something like this.

“She’s the one who gifted the passes,” Giselle supplies immediately, because apparently Karina should already have this as common knowledge.

“Never got to hear you two say thanks.” She blinks and smiles. You blank out for a second. Though it’s also interesting how her face is so molded in the right angles like she’d been carved to perfection in one take. Her figure is undoubtedly amazing, with a long waist and these wide hips. It’s a bit of seeing to actual believing - where you think that all women like Giselle had similar traits. You’re still unsure, however, but maybe that’s just the simple commonality women have when they’ve either got money or a status.

“Your wife here funds the team’s success,” Karina adds - looking over to see a handful of mechanics having a laugh about something with her racing teammate. “She’s the reason why I’m winning.”

“That so?” You fire back with pursed lips. “Hopefully her money’s put in good use.”

Karina laughs. “It has, believe me.”

Giselle, in this situation at least, the last person who takes charge of calling your shots. Or reading the room. You’re just keeping it casual, though, getting acquainted with someone new like it’s nothing wrong.

“How else could we have swayed you into signing that new deal?” Giselle presses her tongue up to the inside of her cheek - throws a side-eye at you. She’s reminiscing over a certain reference that you clearly have no idea of understanding.

“Didn’t think the figures would be that much,” ponders Karina.

“Need I mention you’re little ‘incident’ with the other-”

“Are you fucking crazy? I almost got crucified with the press if that story got out.” She leans closer to Giselle with her fingers covering her mouth. Her hair moves in these calm waves - laughing like there’s no care in the world for her actions.

So the two of them go at it a bit, trading moments and memories between them. Giselle’s attempt of pressing herself back onto your crotch serves as some sort of provocation rather than a distraction. You play it off with a hand to her midriff, pinching it slightly as a rebuttal, and a promise.

Aside from the ice breaking topics, you look over to see Karina’s personal performance coach, notifying her of the preparations of the race ahead. She hasn’t got much time, so she leaves the both of you off with this:

“Think I can find you guys once this race is finished?” A mechanical drill sounds off on the far end of the garage. Then, she glances in this devilish way that means she knows everything, Karina says: “I can have my guy grab you two back to the trailer.”

“You can make that work,” Giselle answers, rolling her head into the upper profile of your chest and smiling. “We’re your special guests for the day, so I expect the best hospitality.”

–

And, about the race later as you’re watching, Karina blows everyone else out of the competition. Her winning first place is an absolute certainty.

–

Once the champagne showers have died down and everything logistically in the press gets recorded and logged in after another successful race weekend, it didn’t take Karina that much longer to find you and Giselle hanging around the complementary areas, prompting that the celebrations outside the track can start a little bit later. Since the party was well going to be deep into the night somewhere in the city, the three of you actually never make it there on time.

Probably because your back to the door with a hand to the lock is preventing you from ever getting out; the two bodies of Karina and Giselle pinning you down the middle between the pair, a hand to your waist while the other is well worked around your cock. It also didn’t help that the lights were off, to give the impression that no one was inside - the worrying thought of someone knocking would suddenly be washed away when Giselle lowers her wet mouth all over you; a hand through her hair and a small shuffle of your feet as Karina smoothens your shirt, humming gleefully into your chest as the same feeling happens further down south.

“You love her mouth so much, hm?” Karina asks, the brim of her cap hitting your nose, tilting it upward to slide her tongue back between your lips. “She’s been telling me how much her jaw aches when it comes to blowing you.”

You try to look down, but Karina had other ideas. Ah ah ah, pretty boy. Keep your eyes only on me. If Karina’s lips were meant to spill out all of these subtle projections of sex, you’re able to deduce the fact that Giselle likes to be all talk - though she prefers to let her mouth serve a different purpose. She lets out a small gargle in her throat when her plump lips reach the base, the tip of her tongue swipes the point perpendicular where your length stems out from the root, feeling that twitch of your cock head hit the top of her mouth. All to play for when you’re losing focus, and then-

“Karina, your hat,” you stumble in your words, watch her flip the cap back around, “Shit, baby. The door too-“

“Shhh, relax,” she coos, hand ghosting over your face, the broad line of your shoulders. She kisses you with the cap facing backward. “Bet that feels really good for you, doesn’t it?”

“Fuck,” you barely manage. It’s a bit early for your voice to be this raked through the mud; though, the light depression of your lungs serves as an emphasis. ”She’s perfect.”

Giselle gently laughs, slightly hollowing out her cheeks some more. Slapping her plum, bottom lip with your tip, she flashes an innocent smile, sticking her tongue out just to push your urge further. “That isn’t news for anyone,” she yields, sliding her palm up the length. “Take my other boy-toys in the past. Ask them about anything, really. They’d all say the same thing: how I keep a hidden talent for sucking dick a personal secret of mine.” Karina provides a nod and a laugh, knowing that her saying goes both ways.

“Consider me shocked, then. You two are absolute freaks.”

“Okay,” Karina deadpans, and her expression goes calm, a lifted eyebrow in suspicion. She gets her hand to the back of Giselle’s head, pushing her back between your legs. Giselle takes you right back into the well of her mouth and picks up right where she left off, this smooth flow - in tandem with the friction of her fingers, as her lips take in the soaked inch or two of your cock, gagging a bit, fuck. Her eyes go wide, and then they close, braces herself with her hands on your thighs, pushing herself deeper until her lips finally reach the base; the head, and the rest of your shaft, into the velvety opening of her throat, willing to hang you for as long as you or her could possibly take.

Your palm slides down against the sliding door, and the impulsive shift of your hips forward comes as an act of desperation into that addicting rub in the big of her mouth.

Karina doubles down her efforts, kissing up your neck, your jaw; carrying your face with her dainty finger to the right to graze the tip of her nose against yours, feeling her hot breath touch your chin as she’s telling you all the right praises of how amazing you two look. She’s got a handful of Giselle’s hair in her hand, pulling her up and driving her back in, the subtle sighs and staggered breaths that gets overpowered by Giselle’s endless gagging, hands braced to your thighs as your hips work a bit to meet in the middle of her effort. This engulfing heat, rising up from waist, much like diving feet first into a bottomless hot spring - nerves going haywire from your spine, the muscles along your lower half constantly tensing as Giselle bottoms you out again, slathering your cock in her saliva as she chokes.

“Fuck her mouth again. I know you want to,” Karina says, pressing up her tits to the side of your chest, another lick of the end of your collarbone, it earns her another shallow ‘christ’ from you. “She’ll let you do anything,” and in a way, she isn’t wrong: “‘Cause I know that you’ll give her the promise of fucking her brains out after.”

So, all you had to do at this point: was follow and listen.

The constant deepthroating would make anyone go mad, really; have their balls burst in a matter of minutes. Karina takes this emphatic role of judge, jury, and executioner to a whole different implication, her hands and mouth an extension of the many things you want Giselle to be ruined by, and you’ll shower her some form of thanks for that.

And when Giselle does slide you out of her mouth, a trail of spit forming around the crown, twisting her hand languidly around you as she clears her throat. Right around that time, the three of you hear a knock on the door - probably Karina’s security detail, or someone else, there’s really no point in knowing. You and Karina look at each other to hear whatever the hell the guy outside was saying, but Karina has a finger between your lips as Giselle continues where she left off, giving your brain a dilemma on what - or who - to focus on.

“We should’ve left thirty minutes ago,” you confess - the honesty alone an antithesis to your level-headedness; a moment to reflect, at how pathetic you are - “how long are-”

Karina giggles, a cheeky grin to add: “we gonna take? Hopefully we’ll wrap you up soon, sweetie.”

You’re hoping to unravel in the next few minutes or so. Giselle’s mouth is not worth throwing up the curtain of ignorance, as she continues bob her head up and down the length - each knock of your cockhead to her uvula is flawless.

Karina on the other hand, does the least merciful act she could possibly do, considering how she’s a walking devil in broad daylight: sliding her hands across your chest as she sinks down to her knees at Giselle’s level, nose buried in the cuff of her ear as she grasps her boob while the motion of her head starts to match with Giselle’s tempo of gags. She pulls back, the cap nearly falling off the top of her head, draws her hair over her ears as she settles in with those quick licks at the base where Giselle struggled to reach and well - crap. Giselle drags the tip of her tongue over your head, Karina treating the underside before meeting her lips with hers. They both giggle at the first kiss - hot air over your cock right smack in the middle of that space. Indulging a bit more with their clashing tongue, wanting to get more of a savoring taste of cock. Of you. The inner cavity of your chest broadens up, drawing in a sharp inhale, and the heat of the trailer gets a bit sweltering. Okay, you might be sweating more than usual.

As if they’d rehearsed this before, the pair at your hips take turns with your cock, licking up the slick spit, your precum, all these wet kisses and heavy moans across the surface; they pull half of your shaft back into their mouths, drag your head to the inner part of their cheeks, slowly and gracefully taking you in, treating the areas where they’re not touched. “Mmm.” and “Hmph.” Karina is still laughing - fingers now tethered around the root of you and your balls while Giselle slacks her jaw a bit more, letting you fill the space of her throat as you’re holding yourself steady against the wall. The chinch of her shut eyes and eagerness to go past her personal threshold of taking you deep; and Karina has a hand to the back of her head, caressing her throat whispering these praises into her ear. Good girl, all the way into your throat. You know that he likes it so much. There there, keep choking on his cock - because it’s yours.

And when she does pull herself up and out, she’s coughing, eyelashes fluttering and eyes shimmering. They both look at you with their jaws hung, a small tug of a smile at the corners of their lips, tilting their heads up as you impulsively move your hips forward and back - slathering the belly of your cock with the pads of their tongues.

“You girls look so good like that,” you barely manage to say. Their swollen and plump mouths already serve as this new vehicle of addiction. “The sluttiest kinds are always the ones where you least expect it.”

Giselle breathes out this hearty laugh, shields her face with the back of her hand. Karina’s mouth then takes over for a bit, and you could feel her fingers start to press deeper into the skin of your thighs. “She’s a messy bitch. Believe me when I say this: she’s been dying to have a taste of you.”

“Not true,” Karina butts in, a trail of spit forming from her bottom lip when she kisses your soaked tip. “At least, that’s what she was trying to say, when I had her stuttering in her words with my mouth and fingers all up inside her. Came on my face a bit after - she’s the one who’s more dirty than me.”

“Didn’t you make a bet that you can make him cum faster than me?” Giselle inquires, doe eyes and with a hint of a taunt mixed in with her tone. “I could’ve sworn that you did.”

While she asks, Karina doubles down her efforts, taking you well into the column of her throat. You’ve got a hand through her hair, gripping to a point where the need for these two girls to fuck you senseless in the trailer takes over. The sense of control and liberation courses through like a reflex - a fight or flight response - you can’t let them have their way for too long, and it’s way too early to yield from their oral assault.

“He’ll be good for us, I’m sure.” Karina says, a bit quizzical at that too. Her hand is jerking around the base while Giselle takes the hint and slides her hand across the upper half of your shaft. “I’m sure this isn’t his first rodeo of letting two girls drop to their knees and have a little bit of fun for themselves, right?”

Yeah, the groan you give punctuates the point clearly: they broke you.

It didn’t take much long after that, when the both of them have an alternating cycle of hand to mouth and mouth to hand, working you up through these harsh sucks, the fierce licks across your slit, engulfing your balls and colliding their lips - trading off stares as they could tell in the way that your legs are shaking. They see this. They feel this. All this hard work was about to be paid off soon. Your hands are reaching out in desperation - the inevitability of it, the pulses and wires in your body already at the limit, pushing your buttons with the ever-concluding contraction of your muscles-

“Cum for us, baby,” Giselle murmurs. With her hand and Karina's wrapped true along with her desperate hums and moans across your shaft proves as the lethal combination, “all over our pretty little faces, okay? All over. Just let go and let us taste you, that’s all we want.”

They both look up at you, the image seared into your optics: your cock is practically magma in their hands, releasing in harsh jolts and jerks, every thread of your cum landing on their foreheads and on the slopes of their cheeks - blissed out and and job done. Giselle tilts her head back while Karina’s hand finds the bottom of her chin, lapping up the mess below her lip as you press your cock in between their faces again, the sounds of satisfaction humming low in their throats, and their congratulatory kiss comes as a celebration. Your head feels dizzy, chest cavity staggering with the inhales and exhales; you’re not even sure how you’re still standing at this point-

“Fucking look at that,” Karina sneers, fingers pressing into the skin of Giselle’s cheek - the other digging down her unbuttoned pants, assessing the damage as she kisses up along the side of her face, “She’s so wet for you, like the perfect girl she is, lapping up your hot mess to make up for being the filthiest, fucking, fine whore-”

“Mmmm- fuck,” Giselle just says, sucking harshly on your sensitive cockhead, retreating with a loud ‘pop’ as Karina scoops up the dribbles of cum on her fingertips, cleaning them up as the both of them soothe the fading ache in your thighs.

“You guys are the worst,” you breathe, head hitting the door to the closet as you’re fighting every urge to not melt right into the floor.

“He doesn’t mean that, right?” Karina asks, eyes pleading.

“Don’t worry,” Giselle adds, “He owes us more when we get back home.”

“Should we get out of here?” Karina prompts, wiggling her head back as Giselle matches the look from below. “Oh- and Giselle honey, you can’t clean yourself up.”

“What?! That was the deal? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Giselle asks in shock.

“It was better to see your reaction if you didn’t know; but now that you know, the forfeit still stands.”

These two are basically asking to get themselves trending on the headlines first thing tomorrow morning.

–

It’ll probably be ignored as you’re doing the daily checks of your meetings, reminders, or emails on your phone, but there’s a surfaced picture of you and Giselle seated together in one of the booths at the club you were initially going to. Karina managed to tag herself along despite not being on the exclusive guest list - though, she thanked Giselle for pulling some strings to get inside.

There isn’t much to recall from last night, however, aside from letting yourself unwind from the stresses and pressure of work. Karina and Giselle keep the conversation going over a few drinks - toying with the idea of leaving so that they could pick up on the fun you three did back at her trailer. A few laughs are shared here and there, you’re not so entirely sure, until you make the judgment call to leave and Karina manages to get her lips on you in the hall walking out.

“I’ve got the-” you say on your way into the bedroom when a pair of lacy panties latches onto your shoulder, looking up in confusion. “-coffee you asked for.”

Giselle’s laying on of the mattress, head at the edge, her tits just left barren and facing up to the open air. A ruffle in the sheets next to her occurs, and the person underneath does this mix of a yawn and giggle as the typical fringe of her messy bed head rests along the front of her chest. You’ve had your fair share of having a few triad’s in your lifetime, but it’s safe to say that this current lineup takes the cake.

“He’s cheating by the way,” Karina says, sitting upright as her breasts are revealed to you above the sheets; all marked up and tattered from last night’s fuckfest that move in this heavy and hypnotic way as she does this little wiggle with her upper body - like she’s pouting for an apology after committing a scandalous act. “Why does he get to put his underwear on?”

“I’m not walking around the house naked,” you rebuke, “It’s just weird.”

“But I do it all the time and he doesn’t complain,” Giselle says to her, flashing a look back at you as she watches you take a sip from her cup of coffee. “Breakfast still on the cards?”

“What do you have in mind?” you ask, walking up to the two fine girls taking refuge in your bed. “I can go out of my way and set an arrangement.”

Karina scoots up next to Giselle, laying in the same fashion as she’s doing, traces a line along the elastic of your boxers. Giselle bites her lip as she starts to palm the growing bulge pulsing between your legs. She asked for a cup of coffee, but it’s always better to chow down on something while she drinks; her personal preference, really.

“I think your coffee needs a little creamer, no?” Karina proposes, testing with a swift lick on the underside of your cock, snorting soon after.

“You’re really fucking weird,” Giselle tells her, and pulls the waistband down, springing your cock forward. “But I fucking love it”

–

Life, in every passing day and night amongst you two, starts to make sense. Giselle at first used to do things separately: the contrast of staying in different rooms, the deliverables and press engagements of her brands and investments, keeping the scheduling consistent without any changes unless she saw fit or just by feel. Her presence was an oddity let alone a fast flurry of complications falling onto your lap.

Now:

There’s a growing flow of comfort between the two of you. Always has been. With all the dates and hangouts and impromptu office visits, it would be basically impossible to not get acclimated in the short span of time. She’s gone from her bed to yours, her toothbrush in the same cup on the bathroom sink, there’s far less dishes to wash meal to meal, watches you work or even get some work done herself - leading to a familiar end of the night that becomes all the regular.

“You’re staying in tonight?” you ask, noticing a woozy Giselle bunched up in one of your shirts, leaning against your arm on the couch one late evening, a split-screen of a portfolio and the typical news articles that you have little to no care of skimming through on your laptop. “I thought you had something planned.”

“I did,” she admits in reply; her tone is lazy, dry, sleepy. As if this was the first time in a while where her social battery was depleted to zero.

You sigh, tilt your head over to the right side, and kiss the crown of her head. “Guess I should call it also a night, then.”

Giselle nods, eyelids slowly falling shut as you toss your laptop off to the side, pick her up in your arms, and start to make your way to settle back into your bed - playing the role perfectly and as authentically as you could create it.

–

Later that morning after, she plays the part so well:

“For me?” she asks, arms well wrapped around your waist as you’re tending to the first batch of pancakes. Her nose is buried into your shirt, never wanting to let the scent of you go to waste. “You might be the best husband ever, I fear.”

Your nose scrunches as she giggles, leaning your head down with a chaste kiss to her lips - pulling away with a hum, “Sweetie, I’d be terrified.”

–

“Your father’s calling,” Winter tells you while hanging her head along the door frame of your office, “He’s on line one.”

The lift of your eyebrows signifies that you got the message, and he doesn’t sound pleased when you pick up the phone saying: look, I’m all for the idea of getting all nice and cute and cozy with Giselle, but we need a little push from the both of you. I’ve got some figures in our board and investors that are catching wind of our past case. People like them aren’t easily swayed by the media, they’re smarter than that.

You knew what you were doing when you first made the company, dad.

And I know that you’re aware of Giselle’s previous activities? Do I need to remind you of who made the file for you to look at when we first set up this whole damn thing?

(Goes without saying, she was problematic. Keyword: was.)

What’s your point?

Don’t bullshit me with filling the blanks and details. You know. I’ve pitched you to her parents for a reason. You didn’t like the idea of sleeping with someone you aren’t familiar with; but now look at you, doing exactly that.

Creative writing can only serve so much purpose to the public.

All the more reason to use some money to twist a few words about you and that whore.

Dad-

Do the right thing, son. We’ve got you in a good position, now take advantage of it.

–

Staring out your window serves as a second viable option partial to marooning yourself on the balcony; taking some time aside to personally reflect on the state of your life, figure out what your next move is, etcetera etcetera. To be fair, you’ve got a good track record of not getting into trouble whatsoever. You’re clean - and sure, there’s a few hiccups here and there, but nothing too monumental to really derail your career and success.

All of this has been public from the start, you and Giselle. Ever since you two tied the knot, it’s been nothing short of coverage for the both of you, the usual freakouts people have when they see you or her doing the usual events or activities like everyone else. It’s in the recognition, the exposure. You’d honestly hoped that carrying on with your duties in the family business would be sufficient enough to satisfy the needs of the higher ups - all the while trying to keep what’s going on in the inner circle a secret.

Too bad that secret isn’t nicely kept under wraps, and you’re aware of this; you understand so much of the extent because there’s everything to lose since the microscope is so close. Even when you’ve parted Giselle’s legs and slid your hands up the sides of her waist, it’s the beauty in that risk - like the suggestion was already guaranteed from the start.

“What’d I tell you?” Giselle says to you, lounging on your couch in the office, rucking down her dress and combing her slightly tattered hair to the front, her toes in the pantyhose curled and spread soon after, the portion of the clothing at her inner thighs are torn through, looking out the window to see if anyone had noticed (but they heard it all already,) “They gave us a hand to play.”

“And you want us to play their game? It’s basically letting them call the shots if you ask me.”

“Hey,” she leans back to the head of the couch, lounges her legs a bit further out, “That’s my line.”

You scowl at her as she looks down with a subtle lip bite.

–

So there’s two incidents that follow:

The first one was out on a regular nightclub outing. Of all places, you let Giselle get the best of you in the bathroom stall, keeping your cock warm inside her as she’s itching for the filthy feeling at your hips. Doesn’t help the fact that other guys were coming in the restroom at a regular pace, not paying any sort of attention to the indecency they’re witnessing. They all look at you for a second, identify your face, and shake their head soon after.

“You two really couldn’t help each other to get a room, huh?” Someone asks, but you don’t bother answering other than a nod. He then turns his head to face the wall as he’s relieving himself with the urinal.

–

The second time, unsurprisingly, happens at work. Giselle was the first one out of the printing room, a stray hand trailing behind her with one of the associates in your team, with you following behind them. Some of the worker’s eyes fall between one of you three, and when you’re settling around Winter’s desk:

“Did you and Giselle just-”

“Winter,” you sigh, fixing the knot of your tie. “Just don’t.”

–

But there’s also the third time, where she calls you out of the blue when your father’s in the office for the day, debating: “Emerald green or Scarlet rose?”

Naively, you answer: “Just say green, sweetie.” Right after, Winter swoops in to pick you up before the meeting and Giselle ends the phone call, leaving you a bit confused as to what color scheme she was putting together for her outfit.

The vibrations of your phone thirty minutes into the meeting throws the overpassing voice into white noise as you get a closer look.

Green. Green. Green. It’s all you see. She’s wearing a lingerie set, there’s these pretty little bows tied up around her hair, and the unfortunate dress shirt stolen from your closet seals the whole look. A vixen is what she is. The plethora of photos and selfies sent show her laying across the bed, aiming at the mirror, her legs canvassing the comforter - one of them reveals her panties, and the fact there’s nothing in the fucking middle-

“You like?” She texts, but she adds on, “You come home in forty-five and you can take it off with your hands, any later than that and you’re doing it with your teeth.”

–

“You should take a break.” Giselle calls out to you one night, watching as you’re settled into your personal study, reading multiple screens of different reports about you and her. “It’s late anyway.”

You look up from your glasses, notice as Giselle’s standing on the doorframe, swirling a wine glass in her hand. And the thin layer of lace isn’t doing her any justice covering her figure. She’s got nothing underneath.

“Who are you to stop me?” you ask, the tablet in your hand falling onto the desk as you stretch in your seat, eyes focused on her as she starts to make her way towards you. The tongue captured between your teeth already starts a spur of ideas of how you’ll twist and bend her fragile body, rip the robe off of her shoulders as she’s light on her tiptoes. There’s also the effortless flow of her hair rising and falling with every step, and the bounce of her tits is too casual for someone like her. “Besides, I just felt like reading the assurance that we’re doing our job.”

She keeps swirling the wine, downs the last bits of it. The glass gets thrown somewhere across the room, and hits a random bookcase. There’s shards everywhere. Being mad at her right now is one thing, but you’re playing the long game as you swivel your chair towards her when she sets herself up on your desk, crosses her ankles together as she leans back and fiddles with the outlines of her robe.

“Are you drunk?” you ask her again, the fingers resting along your thigh starting to curl up in a short flare of anger. “We’ve only had that glass set for a week.”

“That should be the least of your problems.” Giselle refutes, shifting herself across the smooth woodwork. Until she’s rested over your thighs, a coy smile spreading across her lips. Her eyes stay trained on you as her forearms land on the bridge of your collarbones, fingers carding through the hair on the back of your head. You give a sign of impulse when you tug the underside of her knees closer to you, lean further back on the chair until she’s properly straddled, tilting herself down as the press of her lips start to fall across your neck. “Why’d you think I came to you in the first place?”

“You told me that you were going to bed early.”

“I was,” her voice trails off when she tilts your head up by the chin, gently leaving a peck of your lips once, twice, thrice. A thumb rubs the side of your cheek, and she pulls you back in again, the sharp inhale from your nose only boosts the confidence further. You could feel yourself sinking deeper into the seat, your stomach plummeting further down as your mind is trying to play defense and put up a response. But you’ve got your hands and lips full of her, and decide to plunge into that need she’s got you tethered to.

So you pull back, for a momentary second, and Giselle sees an opening where she fixes the sudden crookedness in your glasses, holding your face gently as she examines the slopes and lines of your expression. You’re still sitting there, breathless, gaze almost in this form of wonder as she admires from the high ground. “What changed your mind?”

“That’s for you to figure out.”

“Doesn’t really help my case in any way, if at all.” you concede, and Giselle starts to laugh a bit, knocking her head against yours which earns a soft ‘ow’ from your lips. “Okay, what is it that you want?”

“A lot of things, actually.”

“Like what?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“I’ve got a few ideas so far,” you say, blinking with a skeptical arch in your eyebrows. Giselle sighs a bit when your hands snake to her ass, fingertips pressing down as your hips produce the lightest, and slightest grind against your pants. The quick exhale and dip of her head proves as a sign of satisfaction. You’re on the right path. “Maybe my hands are thinking ahead of the curve here?”

Giselle tugs her hips forward, her fingers curl around your nape a little more desperately. The whine bubbling in her throat starts to collapse her whole facade, the pressure of your hands gripping tighter around the swell of her ass while your mouth canvasses her chest and collarbones, letting her take you deeper into her arms. “You’re brilliant when you’re speechless.”

She nods through it, knowing the whole truth.

“Want you-” she attempts to say, the breathiness of her words leaving her lips coming off as an uncertainty, “want you to tell me-” you’ve got her so close where the cornerstone of your hips holds her down, the inside of her thighs pressing on the outside of yours. There’s a clear wire being cut, the curtain raiser, the green light clicking in her head. She’s whittled down so fast and you’ve barely laid a finger on her sensitive parts. “What should I do?”

You push her back, watch as her eyes flick up in confusion, but her lips hang in limbo for a second before the next set of words leaving your mouth serves as the proper instruction: Move your hand down. She does. Slowly. Her right hand trails down her midsection so painstakingly slow - until she shifts her legs wider in the seat of your knees. You’re no help too; sliding your hand up her inner thigh as she finally reaches the region just above her clit, her finger taking the first move when she starts touching herself. Look at you, so needy. The wince she does lower your eyelids, that wave of lust consuming her little by little. Your thumbs rest nicely in the divot of her hips, grinding her back as you lean forward to rest your head right right where her heart is.

“Need a little help there?” You prompt, hand shifting over to where hers is between her legs, pushing her fingers along the glide of her leaking folds. Giselle’s breath is seeping out of the gritty cage of her teeth, driving herself insane with the way that you’re teasing her by her own hand. “It’s pretty how wet you are for me, I like that.”

Giselle’s eyes are hooded, the light in her irises fading as if there’s another entity taking control of her. “Want you to grab me. Fuck me. Make me yours.”

(She always wants a challenge, and you’re not getting it twisted here. But hey, when the opportunity persists-)

It’s a bit of a swift move when you lift her up from the chair and onto the chair. Different articles of pens and papers and other various amenities hit the floor, and there’s nobody else in this home besides you too. “When you put it like that, it already looks like that I’ve won.”

Giselle keeps on nodding, trying to keep her focus away from how your fingers slide into her aching cunt, laying her delicately across the smooth surface once she slips out of her thin robe. The anticipation. The thrill. All roads with her end in the same way of sorts. She tries to go on the offensive when she pulls you in for another desperate kiss, guiding her leg around the bend of your hip as the seat of your pants grinds against her aching heat.

Your hands are fast on the buckle, she’s playing the supporting role with the curls of her fingers abducting the waistband of your pants, sliding them down. A lick of your thumb is the apparent preamble, swiping up her pussy as it draws out a hushed gasp from her, the strain in your cock firing up all nerve impulses. Her eye contact with you goes away, as she anticipates the inevitable outcome; the way that your cockhead presses up against her entrance, the euphoric rush of her clamp when she softly chirps, “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-”

She goes limp over your weight pressing down on her. That motion repeated, over and over: embedding your cock right into the heat of her lovely cunt. Her nails scrape along the skin of your arm, the length easing as you move deeper, sinking.

“-ere we go. Look at you, all dicked out of enjoyment, huh?” You rasp, the two senses of your sight and hearing focused on the way she writhes underneath you, her voice fading in and out of your ear canals. “Couldn’t have a proper good night’s sleep until I fucked you properly-”

“Hate it. I hate how hot you sound when you talk to me like that.”

You snap your hips, and the rebound of her tits wiggle across her chest.

“You’re gonna cum so fast. I can feel it,” you tell her, pushing yourself deeper into her cunt with these practiced strokes. “Fill you up so well that you’ll come back for more. Or maybe, I can take that away, and have you squirting all over my face to have the real deal later-”

“Please-”

“Hmm?” you coax, dragging yourself out and meticulously sliding back in, throwing her off of the typical rhythm that you always give her. “Use your words, honey. I didn’t quite hear you there.”

Her body jitters at your touch. She manages to get an elbow on the desk, the fringe of her hair falls forward onto her face - a sight that you’re so used to seeing no matter what time of the day it is. The words are a bit incoherent, barely mouthing them. You slap your hips up against the underside of her thighs to knock some sense into her, and her head bobbles back, waking her up.

“-take-”

She looks amazing. She feels amazing.

“Come take what’s yours,” she orders, huffing. The glint in her eyes makes the whole command an absolute guarantee; because she knows, and she’s programmed you long enough for you to cement that resolve in your head.

So it’s just like this: you’ll give it to her. Hard.

Because you’ve learned early on how easy it is to fuck Giselle like this - picking up on her little habits and through countless times before - you’ve got her wrapped so well around your cock, and she’s got you well wrapped around her finger. It’s a clear trade off, transactional. Your arm hooks under the small of her back as she digs her ankles around your waist, pumping into her at a fast pace to where she’s constantly leaking all over your cock with every passing second.

“God,” she giggles, and there’s the little slip-up of a sob falling soon after. It’s the bait and switch - how she finally got what she wanted, but the burying of your dick inside her baptizes that quick relief, only to be swept across the desk and find a new angle to put down, “fuck.”

“A little speechless, are ya?” You ask. The pressure closing in, enveloping. It’s in the length, your weight, the stretch, finally settling your fill. You’ll siphon the air right out of her lungs, leave her with the rest.

Her head falls slack: the beginning of her downfall; or yours, it’s all the same.

“Mhm.”

“Like this?” you ask again, arm teetering to her side, hand to the back of her neck. “A little more of what you can take?”

“S’good-”

“Again, baby.”

“You’re s’good, I love riling you up like this, irritating you to the point where you just have to fuck me. Please, ugh- keep going, god-” she tells you, her hand flies up when one of the strokes into her was a bit too much, and your monitor is one of the things that falls off the desk. You’ll worry about damage control later, all the while you’re using Giselle’s sopping cunt.

“See what happens when a pretty girl like you has nothing but issues? They don’t know how to handle themselves unless someone tells or shows them the right way,” you pant, grinding yourself down to the hilt, and you give her the generosity of gyrating her hips for her in circles.

Giselle closes her eyes, breathes in, and realizes.

You’re aware. Her brain is split up in two halves: frizzled and rapture, her tits are hypnotic in the way that they move with every piston your cock makes inside her. She isn’t moving her head much now, she looks up to the ceiling for something to keep her gaze on, but to no avail. Her hands don’t really know where they’re going at this point as it goes to your arms, then the desk, then wherever she could grab for a proper hold. She’s helpless; blowing her pussy out to smithereens where all of the obscene phrases and noises she’s letting out can be captured into these books on the shelves, a post-it note on your desk to have her play the beck and call to relieve your stresses with the simple clutch of her cunt. Her spine is basically ground zero at this point, tearing her apart nerve by nerve until she finally cums all over your waist.

You’ve got no right to be gentle with her. Not anymore.

Not when she’s inviting you in the way that she is. She’s glistening in sweat, smothering your cock in her cream, the slickness making the simple push in and pull out motion all the easier. You’ve reduced her well enough to just mere sounds and nods, bottoming her quivering cunt out as you rest your cheek well above the plush of her breast-

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you whisper, snapping your hips forward with the little bend of your lower back. “I’ll let you have me. I know how bad you need it. God, baby. You’re beautiful. Whining nothing but nonsense just to get me to use this body. This pussy, fuck-”

“Uh huh,” she says, since the single utterances and mantras of ‘yeah’s’ can only say so much. She’s fogged up your mind, but also clears it in a sense. You have to fuck her. You’ve got to. “Don’t-” she sputters again, but the message was already registered in your head, voice cracking, “Don’t-”

Her hands slide up to the sides of your ribs, some part of hips aren’t even touching the desk anymore, and the angle where your cock carves it’s pathway into a deeper spot that she couldn’t even imagine you hitting - she fucking wails.

You don’t say anything. Hell, you can’t even afford to say anything. Giselle is so fucking shameless, it’s a bit pathetic. Every passing thrash her body makes against yours is like a panic mode - similar to a state of shock where the mind and muscles are in this disconnect, fighting each other over what is the best course of action. She keeps taking your cock so well, the shake in her thighs, it’s no different. The symphonic tone of her voice rising up in these octaves as the pace gets faster, erratic.

“Like that. Please, just like that- like that, like that, like that, oh fuck!” She’s shattered, much like the blowback from an explosion or shockwave. The yank you give her to her legs is nasty and mean. All bets are off the table, she’ll seal the deal in any way that you like. You’ve ruined her. She’s completely fucked - all these sharp noises and mewls and moans earning a rite of passage past those pretty lips of hers; fucking and pounding her sorry cunt as a means of shutting her up, which has worked countless times before, and it isn’t any different now.

“Baby, you’re amazing,” you praise, and the heat of your forehead meets hers. And you swear there’s a sudden shock happening between when you rock your cock down into her cunt at the same time during the contact.

Her brows collapse above her closed eyelids, and her stomach is so sucked in where you could see the bottom of her ribcage. You’ve got your fingers rested into the divots of her back, rutting your hips as your cock is well rested into her cunt clenched at the base, rubbing her clit - and she fucking keens. “Gonna cum all over your fucking cock,” she mutters, lip wobbling, “Keep going, I swear to-”

There’s no reproach. It’s got pleasure written all over your body and hers. The grip of her cunt over your cock, that vice - she puts your frame of mind on a pedestal that not a lot of people were able to put you on, so you do the next logical thing to fill that bucket of ego in your head: drive that aching cock so deep into her fucking cunt, fuck her hard and fast until she shrieks, keep pumping and pumping and pumping until that sopping cunt is nothing but mush. And when you do, you hold her down at the crease where her hips and legs meet, fucking your pusling load into that tight hole of hers. She screams at the spill, cooing soon after once her mind registers past the wreckage.

“So much. It’s so much. God, it’s so fucking much.”

Yeah. You know.

Giselle’s gravity has you so low, where you’ve rested well inside her, so close to where you can take it, feel it, that fucking suck of wetness where your cock shapes perfectly into her cunt. Marking the spot as yours. The soreness of it is downright disgusting. She thrives in the ache - the fine line met in the middle with your hips; maybe in a place deep within that no one else really sees, besides her. She can’t stop babbling the nonsense; so you just keep- you keep fucking into her. Until you finally stay as the pace fades.

When the thrums of your beating heart start to subside.

The ragged breathing you two profess is the only constant as your cock softens up inside her, pulling out as a few remnants of your cum leaks out of her thighs, dripping onto the desk, staining the stray paperworks caught in the crossfire.

She keeps on whimpering, even when you’re running your fingertips and lips over the valley of her figure. Her chest carries on with the rise and fall as you’re pulling the messy strands away from her face, lock your gaze onto hers; the mere intimacy of it not your typical craving or cup of tea, but the lazy and sweet smile she pulls earns a tilt of your head, and you keep on admiring.

“Umngh,” she finally says, worn-out and pliant.

“Tired?”

Giselle raises those lazy, doe eyes of hers, the flush of her cheeks still fresh to the image - almost feverish. Her mouth wobbles a bit, jaw dangling as she tries to find the right ways to move them like she normally does. But she nods. She nods and nods and nods.

You kiss her forehead, and tell her, “alright, I’ll carry you to bed.”

–

“Maybe if,” she’s telling you later, snuggled up against your side, finger tracing along your bare chest as you continue to let your eyes wander around the ceiling, “We could throw in the idea of leaving everything behind. Light the match. Elope. Get away from this circle so that it can just be us, only us.”

You shift a bit in your crater of the mattress, the low hum rumbling in pensiveness, “For once, I actually think we agree on something.”

Giselle moves up to leave a kiss to your chin, nestles her head back into the dip of your collarbone. “You just get me. It’s one of the few things I love about you.” She doesn’t say anything after that, drifting away into her eventual slumber.

(It gets you thinking, though. The potency to do exactly what she suggested: to create a whirlpool of shit that tanks the whole cover story plan into oblivion. You’re not feeling any sense of regret whatsoever, for the very few things that were handed to you while you worked hard to capture the rest.

You’ve always believed that things happen for a reason. And even as you’re aware of all the details and facts, you can’t help but feel left in the dark despite knowing that there’s a inkling of light to be seen at the end of the tunnel. All it takes for the tinderbox to ignite, is for someone to start the fire.

If Giselle was willing to start it, then you would be willing to also.)

–

To describe the current state of this whole situation with a single word, you’d draw it up to be content; comfortable felt too safe, and with that said notion of security it’s right there in the meaning, but falling short just a bit.

Chatter surrounding the family mergers does die down for a bit, and the media cycle’s attention goes towards other things. In layman’s terms: it’s a nice refreshing breath of fresh air. You’ve held your end of the deal for your parents, running the fake play much to the point that the chief editors got fed up with having their lens too close to you. They can’t scan nor decode from the stills and written reports alone, at least for now.

Giselle’s lounging on your couch in the office as per usual, heels off and legs folded nicely after coming from a breakfast outing with one of her tight-knit business partners, filling you in on the various discussions they had over a few cups of expensive espressos.

“You’ve got anything on your agenda still?” Giselle asks, rubbing over the touched-up polish on her nails, waiting for an answer.

“Just stepping out to get a drink for Winter,” you say, walking over to her with a hand in your pocket, the same head tilt you always give her to keep you grounded, “since I owe her.”

“Long?”

You shake your head, take her hand in yours and place a kiss to the three knuckles of her fingers, “No, it’s a quick run to the place right at the corner.”

Giselle nods soon after, “Okay, I’ll be here. I just have to make a quick phone call to someone.”

The swivel on your neck stays on her as the rest of your body is moving towards the door. She gives a longing look, one with a slight of visible confusion as she presses her phone to her ear, waiting for the line to connect at the other end. The arch of her eyebrows says ‘What?’ and you’re smirking like a carefree idiot, mouthing the old expressive phrase that sounds too cliché to even say aloud, but she tips her head down, sighing out an airy laugh to let you know she got the message.

“You idiot, I know. Now go.”

No bother in refusing, because that wavelength was already established from the start, and you move forward.

–

What happens next, will be a moment in time where the world stands still; for just a moment. It leaves everyone in shock as to the how’s and why’s, and some are rather more piqued at the aftermath than the cause.

(The cause itself is harmless at first, until the twist of time and circumstance finds some sinister way to turn it against you.)

You’re following the usual routine as always getting the occasional drink once in a while: walk out the main entrance of the building, get into your car, weave into traffic for about five or so minutes until your driver pulls over to the curb with the hazard lights on as you’re putting in the typical order of Winter’s go-to beverage: a simple iced americano with two packs of sugar to give the test a little more tackiness and bite that somehow does the trick in her productivity. She could’ve picked something more simpler, but it helps her get the job done.

The thing is, you never actually make it to the car in the first place. Rather, you’re stopping yourself right out the front door when a peculiar figure stands right at the bottom steps next to one of the neighboring railings. A girl; someone that you give a quick glance to and go on with your day. She’s got a small Versace handbag in her left hand, her right with a cigarette as she looks about done with the roll anyway, but holds it up once her eyes are dead set through her shades, examining.

Here’s where the disarm happens, and it’s so easy to fall into - because whether she’s five feet close or two hundred feet away, she’s got you right where she wants. “Funny. I was starting to think that your phone was broken.”

You look dead set at her face, confused. The voice alone pulls you in like a flood. No. No, there’s possibly no fucking way-

So you test: “Yiz?" You're pretty sure entirely, it's her. "Oh god, don’t tell me.”

Yizuho laughs softly, pulling her sunglasses away from her face, and the hair flip she does is subtle, but one where she’s done countless times, and every instance has the same effect on you. It’s lethal, captivating, attractive, downright beautiful - exuding all of the things that push the boundaries of traditional classiness. She looks down, flashes her eyes back up to yours; an inquisitive expression is painted across her face, “You know how much I hate that name. Jesus, you’re the worst.”

You’re not helping yourself, leaning a bit to the right with a hand in your pocket, lowering your guard. “Sorry. It’s a bad habit of mine, you know this. Ningning.”

Ningning concedes, accepting your poor apology, looking off into the distance again - almost as if she was being followed like in those thriller movies where she would be the damsel in distress, coming to you for a sense of protection. She picks up fast after the niceties, “You got a minute to talk?”

“Not really. I’m on a schedule here.”

Getting sidetracked wasn’t in the cards for today, and you’re doing a decent job of neutralizing the conversation when you’re about to walk away. Only to be sucked in by Ningning’s voice again, a poor move on your behalf. “That’s the thing. It’s urgent.”

“Think we can arrange something for later this week?”

“I was hoping that you can talk now.”

Your feet freeze at the right time as two guys come up behind your flank, grabbing your arm and wrist as the metal grind almost sounds like the rip of a sheet of paper. Next thing you know, you’re handcuffed; and the only thing that your mind at that second was: shit, this is not good.

“Ning, what the fuck-”

“Retribution, sweetie,” she sneers, “It looks perfect on you.”

And it’s almost as if the universe decided to spin the wheel on you today, of all days, to take another turn in your fate; undermining nearly all of the good deeds you’ve done in your life up to this point. But that’s not the worst part, people take notice of the commotion, and start to close in on you four. They’ve got their phones out, recording, taking pictures; documenting the whole thing.

Ningning’s got her phone to her ear, most likely confirming with the person on the other end that the deal’s been done, and her screen is faced towards you as soon as she ends the call.

Make no fucking mistake, you’ll fight the world bare-handed to get to the bottom of this. Even if the first person you'd go for would be the contact on Ningning's phone whose name starts with the letter ‘G’.

#giselle smut #aespa smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #male reader smut #giselle x male reader #aespa x male reader

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coryndoll · 2 months ago

Text

lover of mine

drew starkey x actress!reader au

— in which drew and y/n, secretly exes, must fake date in order to keep the peace at a mutual friend’s wedding, but the forced proximity makes them question whether they ever truly moved on.

warnings: y/n lowkey being difficult because she doesnt want to lie to her best friend, DREW TRYING HIS BEST

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authors note: okay she was a little UGHcore but i just needed a rocky start before things got cute n theyll be communicating soon. guys i promise theyll get better n y/n also wont feel so guilty as time goes on !!!!!

you gaze up at the home through the window of the car. drew is driving beside you, insisting you begin the plan by arriving together to the address leila forwarded to everyone.

“it’s . . . i didn’t think it would look like this,” you say aloud, and drew turns down the volume of the radio after he parks the car out front.

the house is big, surrounded by a few others down the road that look similar to it. the first floor seems like a basement area because the stairs at the front of the house lead all the way up to the second floor and continue two more, standing at four in total.

it’s just a few miles away from town that you and drew were able to drive by and take a look at on the way there. the area is beautiful. no wonder why leila’s mom and her boyfriend stay there.

the front door is open and you spot leila’s head peeking out of the doorway just on time. she disappears for a moment before she’s leaving the house to hurry down the stairs, probably to greet you both. you’re already unbuckling your seatbelt and getting out of the car to meet her halfway.

“isn’t it amazing? was it a safe drive from los angeles?” leila asks as you quickly greet her with a hug, before you walk her over to drew’s car. he’s opened the trunk and back doors to retrieve your things. “two weeks here will be nice, huh?”

“oh absolutely,” you agree with her, and you grab your purse from the backseat and drew’s backpack, then shut the door. “is everyone else here?”

“yeah, they just got here an hour ago—gia brought her boyfriend, roman. he’s a little shady but they’re kinda cute. libby’s here too, ooh, and oscar, theo’s childhood friend,” leila says and you can just hear the excitement in her voice that makes you smile.

you hold one of the straps of drew’s backpack and hold it up for him to take it while leila keeps talking. you watch as he eyes it for a moment before looking at you, as if he’s wondering why you don’t want to take it.

the thought doesn’t even cross your mind but it’s fine. he takes his backpack and slings it over his shoulder, then continues to grab the handle of his suitcase and carry it out of the trunk, then yours.

you stand there and wait for him to hand you something to carry but he just keeps his backpack on both shoulders, shuts the trunk, locks the car, and then grasps both suitcase’s handles with either of his hands, ready to head up. there’s a faint smile on his face when he faces you and leila.

“you’re taking them?” you ask, referring to both of your things so you can just bring your purse to the house.

he nods like it’s nothing, “yeah, i got it.”

leila can’t help but awe at you two. “you guys are so adorable. theo and i missed having you both around,” she says as she turns around and heads to the home.

at her words, you peer over your shoulder and send drew a knowing look, but there’s a slight twinge of guilt in both of your expressions that you have to shrug off.

you and drew stand side-by-side as you confront the home, watching as leila walks up the steps and is immediately approached by theo, who hands her a drink.

they share a kiss, and right past them you can just barely spot a few figures that must be the rest of the group. they’re shouting and laughing with one another, leaving you to look at drew again.

he gives you a nudge. “professionals, remember?” he’s referring back to your initial conversation about the plan just two weeks ago.

something about all of this just makes your stomach turn, but you nod. “professionals,” you repeat, and then look at the house again, then you take your step.

you’re carefully settling down on the bed leila’s given you and drew. it’s in a separate room right next to where she and theo will be sleeping. and of course, there’s just one bed.

“i can take the couch tonight if you want,” drew offers as he sets both of your belongings on the side, but he’s talking about sleeping on the small couch on the opposite side of the room to the bed, just against the window.

“it’s just sleeping in a bed, star, it’s nothing we haven’t done before,” you tell him with a shake of your head, and drew’s shoulders drop ever so slightly at the sound of his old nickname, the one that once rolled off your tongue so effortlessly. now, it feels like a small peace offering, a reminder of when things were simpler.

he gives it a few moments to make sure you’re okay with it, before he nods. “okay,” he says.

you check the time on your phone. it’s already eleven in the morning and leila said she wanted to go swimming in the afternoon. you have a whole beach ahead of the house but she insists on using the pool in the back. theo even suggested earlier that he and oscar can grill some lunch.

“i should get ready,” you say as you stand and toss your phone on the bed, then approach your suitcase. there’s a knock at the door and you know it’s leila. “i’ll be out soon, sorry!” you tell her, hoping you’re loud enough for her to hear you from all the music they’re playing out there.

you glance up at drew when you see he’s just standing there. “what are you gonna be doing?” you ask him, then rifle around your clothes for a bikini.

he scratches the back of his head as he settles on the couch, and he shrugs, “might join theo and oscar since they’ve been down there already.”

you only nod as you find a matching set that you’ll decide to wear today. drew is looking around the room, even outside where the views are like paintings on a canvas.

“this place is so nice,” he says, a little too casually, like he’s trying to ease the awkwardness. “lei’s mom really knows how to live it up.”

you don’t respond right away, focusing on your makeup bag that you need to retrieve something in. it’s not that you don’t hear him, you just . . . don’t feel like talking. when you finally do, your voice comes out flatter than intended. “yeah. it’s a nice place.”

tension lingers heavy in the air. you hear drew shift on the couch, probably sensing your mood, but he continues. “kinda reminds me of that trip we took up the coast. remember that little inn with the—”

“i don’t really want to talk about that right now,” you cut him off, your tone sharper than you mean it to be. you don’t look at him, you just reapply your perfume as if it’s the most important task in the world.

there’s a pause, and you can feel drew’s gaze on you. “right,” he says quietly, “sorry.”

you exhale, trying to shake off the tension building in your chest. you know it’s not his fault—not entirely. this whole thing was a bad idea from the start, but you agreed. you’re here. and now, you’re stuck with him, in this room, pretending like everything’s fine when it’s the furthest thing from it.

“i . . . didn’t mean to snap,” you say, softer this time. “it’s just, i’m still not completely okay with all of this.”

drew leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “i get that. but we’ve already talked about it. we agreed to do this, and now we’re here. you know that it’s too late to back out.”

you close your suitcase with more force than necessary, finally looking up at him. “yeah, but it wasn’t my idea to lie to my best friend, drew.”

his jaw clenches for a second, and you can see the faint flicker of hurt in his eyes, but he doesn’t lash out. he just nods, “i know it wasn’t. but you’re here. you agreed.”

you purse your lips, frustration building. “yeah. because you asked me to. not because i wanted to.”

he runs a hand through his hair, letting out a slow breath. “i didn’t want to drag you into this if you were gonna be miserable the whole time.”

“i’m not miserable,” you snap, but the lie feels heavy as it leaves your lips. you avoid his gaze, the weight of everything sitting on your shoulders. “i just don’t want to pretend everything’s okay when it’s not.”

he’s quiet for a moment, the silence thick between you two. “i’m trying, y/n,” drew says finally, his voice low, almost pleading. “i’m trying to make this less . . . awkward, but it feels like no matter what i say, it’s wrong.”

you just fold your arms, staring at the floor. “maybe that’s because it’s not just about this trip. it’s about everything that happened before.”

drew’s expression hardens, but he doesn’t argue. “i know. i just thought that maybe this could be a chance for us to be around each other again. figure things out.”

you raise your eyebrows. “figure what out? there’s nothing left to figure out. we’re not together. and pretending like we are just feels wrong.”

he’s silent for a long moment, staring at you like he’s trying to find the right words but can’t. eventually, he just stands, moving over to the window. “if you want out, y/n, you can tell them the truth. i’m not gonna stop you.”

you swallow hard, not knowing what to say to that. of course, he’s not wrong—you could end this charade whenever you want. but something keeps you from doing it. maybe it’s the fear of letting everyone down. maybe it’s the guilt of seeing leila so happy, thinking everything’s fine between you and drew.

or maybe it’s something deeper—something you’re not ready to admit to yourself yet.

“i’m not gonna ruin leila and theo’s plan,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him. “i’m sticking to ours.”

you’ve collected your swim suit and a pair of shorts and head for the bathroom. before you close the door behind you, you hear drew’s quiet voice, more resigned than angry now.

“i’m trying, y/n. i wish you’d let me.”

you’ve joined leila downstairs, as she’s planned on preparing other food for todays lunch in the kitchen, so libby, gia, and roman are already there enjoying themselves. they’re mainly just talking, not doing much other than that. leila’s already set everything up for you and her to work on for the next half hour or so.

you greet libby and gia with a small wave, having already said hello to them when you first got there. libby is a publicist in hollywood who met leila while she was filming some indie movie earlier in her career. she was brought in to manage leila’s pr during a press tour and boom—immediate friends.

gia and roman came sometime after. all you know is that leila met gia at a party like you and leila. gia’s incredible in fashion and helped leila with some of her carpet looks. roman’s just this alternative musician who she started dating this year. cute, but a little weird, like leila said.

“so, you and drew starkey?” roman asks as he pops a grape in his mouth, eyeing you. “i thought outerbanks didn’t have a girlfriend.”

“you thought that, and a lot of people still do,” you tell him. leila’s showing you her plan on what to cook while you watch. “he and i like to keep it private.”

“more like a complete secret,” he says, in which gia has to smack his arm to tell him to stop talking. “what? nobody knows.”

“some relationships work better that way,” you say.

“yeah, maybe take a page out of their book and do the same,” libby tells roman, and you see leila smiling at her friends as she works on dicing the vegetables. “there’s a few photos of you two out on the internet. i mean gia, baby, if i were you, i’d keep it a secret. roman’s so blah.”

he shakes his head at her and it makes you smile this time. libby catches it and grins, giving you a nod as she peels her orange.

after eating lunch and playing around in the water for hours, you all finally settle at the firepit, minus gia and roman who insisted they needed to sleep earlier because of their flight in today.

you’re leaning back against the seat, sitting next to leila who’s wrapped up in her blanket. the boys and libby are talking on their own about whatever. you don’t know. you just see drew smiling and constantly leaning forward and laughing, in which you tell him every time to be careful in case he gets too close to the fire.

your focus wavers when you feel his hand casually rest on your thigh. it’s not possessive, but there’s a weight to it. you immediately stiffen, your body instinctively tensing at the sudden contact.

your gaze flicks to his hand, then up to his face. he’s not even looking at you, continuing his conversation, acting as though the gesture is completely natural. it’s all part of the act, you remind yourself. he’s only doing it to make sure no one suspects anything. you know you can’t react—any sign of discomfort would raise questions you don’t want to answer—but it pulls you out of the moment with leila.

you force a small, tight smile and try to refocus, nodding along to whatever leila is saying.

“how have you and drew been?” she asks you, and you suddenly feel that guilt creeping up on you at that moment. that’s a terrible question.

you blink twice, considering your words before speaking, “we’re good, really good. it’s gonna be a little hard when drew leaves to film soon, but you know how it goes.”

she hums. “that’s how theo said he felt like when i was away for white lotus,” she says gently, understanding where you’re coming from.

you smile, but the weight of your lie settles deep in your chest. it’s a weird feeling, pretending to be something you're not, especially when leila’s eyes are so kind, so trusting. you know she means well, but there’s just so much guilt.

leila tilts her head and leans it on the back of the couch, watching you. “it’s tough, isn’t it? balancing everything—work, life, love. theo and i had such a hard time with it at first.”

you nod, keeping your hands busy by fiddling to avoid looking at her. “yeah, it is. i mean, it’s always been a challenge with our schedules.”

leila’s brows furrows slightly. “you two have always seemed like you handle it so well, though. what’s your secret?”

your heart races a little, and you force a chuckle. “i guess we’ve just gotten used to it.”

the words feel hollow, and you wonder if she can sense it. it’s not a complete lie—you and drew had gotten used to it all, but that was before everything fell apart. before the distance between you became more than just physical.

leila catches your eye again, her voice softer. “you two have always been so private. it’s kinda nice, though. you don’t have to deal with all the drama the rest of us go through with the media and stuff.”

you force a laugh, and you can just feel the warmth radiating off your body. “yeah, it has its perks.”

you can’t even look at her. your gaze keeps getting drawn to the fire that leila can just sense the awkwardness, tilting her head a little, and you can see the faintest trace of concern in her expression.

“you okay, y/n? you seem . . . i don’t know. tired?”

“i’m fine,” you say, a little too quickly. you clear your throat, trying to keep your voice steady as you continue. “it’s just . . .” you pause, checking that the others aren’t listening before leaning in to speak quietly, “drew and i, we’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. work and everything. i think it’s just catching up with us.”

leila nods, sympathy in her eyes. “i get it. it’s hard when you don’t get enough time together.” she pauses, looking like she’s considering her next words. “but hey, at least you’re here now. a couple of weeks without any distractions, right? this could be good for you two.”

leila’s gaze shifts to the others where drew is still laughing with theo, libby, and oscar. her voice softens again, and she leans closer to you this time. “it’s just nice to see you both here. i don’t think i’ve even seen him since that last time we all hung out a year ago. it’s been a while.”

your heart drops because she’s right—the last time she saw drew was when you were still together, a year ago.

leila just smiles, “well i’m glad you’re both here. theo and i were saying how we miss having you two around more often. it’s gonna be so fun, just like old times.”

you nod, the guilt wrapping itself tighter around your chest, making it hard to breathe to your own best friend. you manage to force another smile, but it feels brittle, like it could shatter at any second.

just then, drew catches your eye as you and leila continue your conversation. his grin falters for just a second when he sees you, like he knows what’s on your mind. and for a brief moment, you wonder if this whole charade is even worth it.

“yeah . . . just like old times.”

@rubixgsworld @itgirlbrina @thepopcultureaddict @samsmelodrama @kissfinalgirl @itsamegazaddysworld

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tinytennisskirt · 3 months ago

Text

Sweetheart

girl dad!patrick x babysitter!reader

summary: the growth of a mutual ‘crush’ between babysitter!reaser and the father of the little girl she babysits. problem is, he’s about fifteen years older than her and they get along a little too well. he has to remember fucking a twenty-year-old is wrong, no matter how much he might want to. no matter what other feelings might be involved… he just knows what he wants and it’s hard to ignore it when she feels the same way.

warnings: unedited from the notes app and i accidentally switched tenses so ignore that!!! and SMUT. tension. flirting. age gap, obvi! sex. sex. sex. rough.

babysitting for DILF! Patrick, his house is a little cluttered and messy but it’s his. He’s fixing his screen door when you come by, he’s got a nail clenched between his teeth, he’s not worried.

he thought you’d be younger, sixteen, maybe, but you’re twenty and a half, he deducts from asking about your birthday. he still thinks you’re gorgeous before he does the math, he’s a bit of a dirtbag that way…

tells you all about his daughter and what she likes to watch, what she likes to eat, says you can order pizza if you want and as long as she’s asleep by midnight, he’s happy. he’s more carefree than other parents you babysit for. you find your eyes resting on the muscle of his upper arm as he shows you around the house just so you can find your way. part of his introduction is just flirting, his face getting a little close to yours with that smirk of his.

you’re standing your ground and he likes that. he’s only half-aware of his intentions. asks again what your hourly rate is and when you tell him, he tacks four dollars onto it. you’re saying thank you, but he says he’ll be back by 1:30 and he’s out the door.

his daughter, dark curls and freckles is standing on the steps. she’s a happy girl, she’s polite and she’s smart, like- gifted smart. she’s silly and has hobbies of building cubes out of paper. she teaches you how and soon you’re in a pile of paper cubes.

she’s in bed by ten just because you asked her to be and she’s not fussy at all, just silly when she brushes her teeth. she has a good sense of humour and makes good references. as you tuck her into her pretty pink room with lots of books, she tells you she has ice cream in the freezer and that you’re welcome to it because she only pretends to like the flavour her dad buys her- eating it would help her out. she’s only six but her brain is amazing. you hope you see her again.

she goes to sleep and you turn off her lamp and slip out of her room. the hallway is dimly lit and you find yourself looking at the pictures on the wall. patrick was or is a tennis player, there are trophies on top of cabinets and old player photos. old player IDs and he was… hot. not that he wasn’t now, he was, but he was your age in these photos no doubt… came naturally to find him attractive. you continue down the hall and his daughter starts appearing in photos and he looks a little older but you’re noticing that there’s not a single photo of her mother.

it’s just them, you deduct. she’s not in any picture so she must not be in the

picture. you get the small tub of ice cream from the freezer and eat it on the couch, finding a show you’re fond of and watching it, finishing the small bit left, twirling the spoon around in your mouth.

you get up and look around the house a bit more. observing the clutter of books where his daughter sits on the couch, walking to where there’s a bit of sports equipment, tennis rackets, a few looking a bit… broken. smashed. you wondered if he broke them himself. your fingers traced over the pictures on the kitchen wall. he looks good without facial hair, you note, but you prefer him with. he looks like a great dad, the various photos of him and his daughter in various places, the beach, outside of a restaurant, pictures of her holding up his trophy while sitting on his shoulders. a duo for sure.

you wash your dishes in the sink and decide to maybe tidy up a bit, cleaning a few other things. you wipe down the counters and make the clutter into piles. you busy yourself until you hear the key in the lock. you’ve made the living room neat and tidy and you don’t know what to do when he comes in and he looks over everything. you just stand in the centre of the living room.

“she was really good,” you say, hand on your stomach. “she really likes broccoli, which i didn’t expect, but she showed me how to make paper cubes and she was in bed around ten, so i cleaned a little bit.”

he looked a little rustled, his shirt a little more wrinkled and his curls a little more all over. you assumed he’d had a good night out. he looked good, though. lucky woman, you were thinking. “yeah, i see.” he chuckled, setting his jacket down on the back of the couch.

you’re young and you’re shy and he can tell you’re nervous, “it’s okay? you don’t mind, i hope you don’t mind.”

“i don’t mind,” he grinned, pulling out his wallet, “it looks good, i never would have done it.” he steps closer, close to you, just in front of you, looking down at you. you’re under his gaze and he keeps eye contact with you as he pulls out his wallet and you’re a little taken aback by how intense it is. “i owe you how much?”

you state your old rate and he just grins, dimples on his face. the ones you only saw in his photos with his daughter. he smells like cigarettes and cologne. something about the way he looks at you makes you feel a little weak. your eyes fall on his hand as he flicks through bills, handing you about $60 more than you were owed. his bonus and a second bonus for the cleaning. “you don’t have to… i usually tidy up where i babysit.”

“well, i didn’t ask you to, nor did i expect it.” he says, grinning down at you. it’s smug and he smells good and he’s looking at you like you’re a meal and you kind of like it but he’s… an older guy. he has a daughter and she’s asleep and he’s tall and you are staring. he’s hot. he’s really hot and he’s looking back at you, “thank you. i’ll probably need you again in a week, are you free?”

you blink, “i’m free.” you tell him. “thank you… again. i really should be going.”

“do you need a ride home? she’s okay to be alone for a few minutes.” he’s still close, he’s still standing over you.

“thank you, but i’m okay. i just walked over, i listen to music there and back.”

“you’re sure? it’s late.” his grin is all consuming. you’re sure it’s stealing your thoughts as you continue to blank.

“i’m sure. thank you again. for everything.” you step past him and he turns with you as you go and slip on your shoes.

“thank you,” he says, shoving his wallet back into his pocket. “have a good night, alright?”

“i’ll try. goodnight mr. zweig,” you smile as you pull open the front door.

“patrick.”

“hm?”

“call me patrick.” he repeats, nodding.

“goodnight, patrick.” your smile grows into a grin and you slip out the door. he hates how he feels about you. you’re cute, he notes, but you had something about you. something he observed when he was handing you your pay that told you there was something more to you. more than nervousness and doe eyes and mid-length skirts. maybe not. but you’d be back here next week.

he heard how much his daughter liked you the next day. she rambled on and on about how pretty you were and how sweet and nice you were, how good your food was. patrick found it good to hear, the other babysitters often couldn’t handle her, but you seemed to with ease.

the next babysitting gig you were wearing a baby tee. a short sleeved, almost cropped t-shirt and jeans and you greeted him as mr.zweig again and this time he didn’t correct you. he told you to help yourself to anything in the fridge and that he’d be back around 1:00 this time. your bright eyes lingered on his hands, his forearms as he spoke, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. you couldn’t help it, he was gorgeous. and tall. he was very tall and very strong looking and maybe, just maybe it couldn’t hurt to have a small crush on him. only natural right?

he wasn’t oblivious. he saw the way you nodded when he was speaking. the way you fidgeted with the ring around your pinkie finger. you were gorgeous and you were sweet but you were young. too young. and he was going out on a date with a woman who was in fact, age appropriate. he wasn’t opposed to watching the way your hips moved or the way your ass looked when you went upstairs to find his daughter, but he was opposed to doing anything about it. you were a good treat. that was about all he could let himself think.

you had a good time with his daughter and once again put her to bed just a little earlier. 9:30. she didn’t mind, you did so much with her that she was right out. you swept, did some dishes, nothing too noticeable. you’re sprawled out on his couch when he gets back, you don’t even hear him come in. he nods, watching you watch tv for a minute before he makes himself known. he doesn’t want to startle you, so he jiggles the doorknob and pretends to shut the door so you wouldn’t know he’d been watching for a moment. you turn your head and sit up. “no rush,” patrick says with a smile. “how was she?”

“excellent.” you reply, sliding your hands down your thighs and onto your knees. “she’s amazing, i’ve never met any little girl so well-behaved and so smart. she’s very well-rounded. you did a great job.”

you almost made a grown man bashful. he smiled, looked at the wall, “she doesn’t get any of it from me. it’s all her mom.”

“oh… how long has it just been the two of you? i assumed… from the pictures.”

“her mom left a year in,” patrick replied.

“so it is from you.” you answered. “must be, who else?”

“must be.” he said, a bigger smile creeping up his face. “so you come over, watch a kid and flatter the parents, hm?”

“yes but only when i feel like it.”

“does it work?”

“with you, yes.” you were more bold, he noted. last time he’d made you nervous but he was standing just far enough away where you could hold your own. he wondered, stepping closer, if he could change that. he did the same thing as last time and stood over you while he went though his wallet for his money.

he hands the money to you, “that’s enough?”

you look at him with those wide eyes again, “mhm. yes. more than. thank you.” he was right, all it took was the close proximity to make you nervous. “you know i wasn’t trying to flatter you?”

“i’d prefer you pretend you were so i can pretend to hate it.” he chuckled, “thank you.”

“for?”

“she really likes you. you’re good with her. i’ll need you again in two days, are you free?” he smiles down at you. his eyes linger on your lips, slightly open. he found himself thinking impure things as he stared. he wouldn’t stop himself. there was no reason to stop himself. what a treat you were to have around, he reminds himself. such a pretty thing.

you smile at his ask, “i can be. i’ll text?”

“sounds good.” he nods. “need a ride home?”

“i’ll be okay.” you nodback. “thank you though.” you pick up your sweater and get your shoes on. you’re sweet, patrick wonders why you’re so okay with walking. it would cut the time to get home in more than half. aside from time alone with you, he does have a daughter and he would like it if you got home safe. “goodnight, mr. zweig.”

“patrick,” he corrects you again with that gorgeous, sly grin of his “please.”

“patrick.” you say, locking it in. but it feels wrong. too personal. “goodnight.”

“goodnight, Y/N.” he answers. your name on his tongue feels so strange to hear. you’re pressing your back to the door. god, he’s fucking hot. the other parents you’ve babysat for are very much so married and both balding, the boys your age weren’t so charming. this might be a problem, you developing a small crush… earlier it seemed fine, but faced with him. dear god.

you were back there a few days later and was patrick mistaken or was your short a little shorter? a tank top, completely reasonable for the heat, but it hit just above your belly button, just under if you weren’t moving. it’s not like it was inappropriate, if anything what was a babysitter if not hot? patrick remembered his babysitters from back when he was a kid and yeah, they were always hot and older and just out of reach. you fit the genre today expect not the older part. you were younger- much younger. at least your skirt was mid-length.

he looked at you, “you know my rules. that i really don’t have any and i’ll be back at 1:00, 1:30 latest.”

“leaving some room for a kiss goodbye,” you said under your breath. he caught that.

“something like that,” he smiled. if he didn’t know better, it was a pass at him for going out with women. it made him grin, in fact. it had some affect on you and you’d only seen him how many times?

you wouldn’t do anything, you knew that, but he seemed to look better and better every time you saw him. at first it was black polo t-shirts and jeans and he’d moved to long sleeved shirts with the sleeves rolled up and he smelled so fucking good, it was hard to ignore. you looked another way at his response, knowing he’d heard you, but what did it matter. could have meant anything… he could fire you if he thought you were bitter or judgemental.

his daughter was so excited to see you, she practically leapt into your arms. she was a thin girl, short in stature, it was no big deal. the perfect saved by the bell moment. “y/n!” she exlaimed. she was so happy to see you, it made patrick chuckle a little. you held her to your hip and something in him shifted just a little, seeing her resting in the crook of your hip like that. it flashed through him like a blast of heat and then it was gone. “you have to come see what i made today. a big cube!” she was so excited.

patrick shook off whatever the hell he just felt, snapping back to reality. “alright, honey, i’m heading out.” he told his daughter. he advanced a step to ruffle her braided hair. you wondered if he braided it himself… the thought was interrupted by his hand sliding over your waist just for a split second, enough for the leverage to kiss his daughter on the forehead. before you could think, his hand was gone and he stepped toward the door, grin on his face. “have fun. if you end up eating the ice cream, save me the last few bites.”

“okay!” she called to her father as he opened both doors, waving enthusiastically at her as he shut them behind himself. the second he was gone, she turned to you, “you’re eating it, not me.”

“deal,” you nodded at her. and you went upstairs to go see her big paper cube. You had her in bed at 9:30 again. you went to lay on the couch, kicking your feet up, your eyes settling on the picture of patrick on the wall. he was a good looking guy at your age. freshly shaved, not exactly baby-faced but compared to now, entirely baby-faced. you wondered what his type was, his daughter was such a little copy of him. she was a pretty little girl, long eyelashes and pigmented lips. her nose wasn’t exactly a button nose, but it was only a little bigger and it was perfectly proportionate.

you got up, looking at the pictures on the walls again. him, clean shaven, holding his daughter as a baby, big smile on his face. you smiled just a little at it. and the one of him holding her up in the air like she was simba from the lion king. she said her father helped her with the big cube… he was a good father. and she was lucky to have him.

you went and you got the tiny ice cream tub from the kitchen along with a spoon and you followed the pictures down the hall again. the pictures turned more to tennis memorabilia as you got closer to the end of the hall, where his room was. you found it really admirable that he never brought a woman back to the house. you stared at the door, just a little curious, but you weren’t that kind of person, so you continued to eat the ice cream and sat down on the couch again, snooping through his DVDs instead.

you left him about a cup and a half serving in the tub and watched pineapple express and thirty minutes or less and he came home at 1:05am. you turned, eyes meeting his before any words were spoken. he smiled just a little, “how was she?”

“perfect. you’re raising an angel, did you know that?”

“news to me,” he said, dropping his wallet and keys on the table by the door, adjusting his belt just a little. your eyes lingered on his hands. “here i thought i just had a daughter.”

“well, your daughter is an angel. she showed me her big paper cube, she’s very proud but she made sure you got your credit.” you said, moving your feet to the floor.

��i just held it together while she taped, she’s very authoritative when she needs to be.” he headed more into the house and you rose to your feet. “but she’s good with you. she likes you a lot, she doesn’t let me go a day without hearing about something you said or something you like.“

“ooh, and what do i like?” you said, moving around the couch to meet him on the other side. his hand was in his pocket, he grinned a little, that dimple on his face on full display.

“she says iced tea and chinchillas.”

“ooh, i do like those things.” you smiled a little. “she knows me.”

you were so peppy, he wasn’t one to want to get rid of that, but he was looking forward to his favourite part of the nights with you. he stepped forward, the same fashion as always, close to you. grabbed his wallet again, went through his bills. pretended not to notice the way you instinctively pushed your hair behind your ears. you were met with the scent of his cologne again. “she really does like you, you know. do you watch kids during the day? i have something to attend to on wednesday and i need you friday night. you’re free then?”

“i think so.” you nodded. “and i do watch kids during the day, i would love to come by and watch her, how long were you thinking?” your sentences lost their pep and spice at his closeness.

“i’ll let you know,” he nodded, handing you the money and meeting your eyes, sly grin on his face still. you were so pretty, all doe-eyed. “i paid you until 1:30, by the way,” he said, watching you eye the money in your hands. “to spare the thirty minutes kissing goodbye before i came home.”

you pressed your hand to your head, “i am sorry i said that, it’s not my place.” you were more apologetic than you’d been when he was several feet away the first time you thought it him.

he just grinned, knowing he made you feel bad for something he didn’t take to heart. “you were right. no shame in it.” he said. “how are you getting home?”

you uncovered your face, “bus today.”

“you know who rides the bus at 1 am?”

“me?”

“not tonight.” he said. “i’ll drive you.” he didn’t even ask this time. “c’mon.” he tossed his keys up and snatched them out of the air and it was hot. he was too hot. too hot to be in a car with for the ten minute drive.

you swallowed hard, grabbing your jacket and slipping out the front door, patrick locking it behind him. he had a camera outside his door, she’d only be alone asleep a little while. “you don’t have to drive me home, mr. zweig,” you spoke up once you were more than a few feet away. “i usually make it just fine on my own.”

“i’d feel better seeing you get home safely.” he said, opening the passenger door for you. you hadn’t thought him the type to. “you live with your parents?”

“no,” you said, getting in. his car was a little messy but it was mostly papers and an empty cigarette carton or two. you moved them to the back seat. “i have an apartment off aberdeen street.”

“mmm, yeah i know where that is.” he nodded, starting the car. “just want to see to it you get home alright. i haven’t been the best with it, but you’re the best babysitter we’ve met and i can’t have you going missing or see you in the obits.”

“morbid,” you noted, smiling. “i’m that good? is that your thing, babysitter comes over, watches your kid, and then you flatter the baby sitter?”

patrick grinned wide as he reversed, which was hot, his arm on the back of his seat as he did. “yeah, but only when i feel like it.” he rebutted. you smiled.

“and does it work?”

“you tell me,” he answered, your heart skipped a beat. he was probably the hottest man you’d ever seen in your life and you had to come to terms with that. you swallowed hard. he was good with callbacks.

you couldn’t even answer his question. you had to straighten out, recalibrate. he understood your silence. maybe he’d overstepped with that last one. “does she like tennis?” you asked him.

his smile got humble, “i tried. she’s not a sports girl.”

“that’s fair. neither am i.” you nodded. “tried, couldn’t.”

“also fair.” he chuckled. “so what kind of girl were you?”

“were or am?” you asked. he hated that he wanted to know so badly… he hated wanting to know anything about you, but he wanted everything. the image of his daughter resting on your hip flashed in his mind again. “i think more… writing. reading”

“anything good?”

the conversation continued, going over books and ones he skipped reading in highschool. that and tennis, his career. you were impressed. and he pulled into the lot of your building, putting the car in park.

“thank you for the ride,” you said, just a little desperate to get away from him. all the closeness and the conversation god he was so fucking hot. the car smelled like him and the cigarettes and you were just a little bit dazed.

he chuckled, watching you undo your seatbelt, his eyes on the exposed skin of your waist. “i’ll see you wednesday?”

“i still need a time,” you nodded, “but i’ll stay flexible.” you said, opening the car door. you could smirk when he wasn’t so close to you. he smiled back. “see you then. thank you again for the ride home.”

“you’re welcome, sweetheart,” he grinned. and he was evil. he knew it. he watched your expression struggle to stay the same, those pretty eyes wide. you smiled a little nervously, shutting the door and fully reacting once he couldn’t see you. you tried to compose yourself, but your body felt like it had burst into flames. you waved, going into your building as fast as you could. the entire ride up the elevator, you were thinking about it. replaying it, repeating his sentence in your own voice just completely thrown. it was a lot. sweetheart.

fuck. you took a cold shower but it wasn’t enough to keep your hand from diving between your legs. back arched, sweetheart echoing around your head. imagining those hands of his on your throat, wide, strong. he probably tasted like cigarettes and god, the thought of it was more than enough. it was only the first time of a few that night that you did the same thing.

the next morning you woke up feeling just a little confused, but he was the first thought in your head. and what was two more times before breakfast?

you got up eventually, grabbing your phone off the counter where you’d left in such a haste last night. you looked over the new messages in your phone,

was thinking 3-7, that work for you?

with freshly washed hands, you typed back

sounds good.

so casual. and you got there at 2:55pm on wednesday. patrick was dressed for tennis, leaving with his rackets. “you still play.” you said, looking at his things. “game day?”

he let you in, smiling, “practice. hi.” he noted your skort and tank top. more skin. “have you had lunch?”

“no, actually, i was just going to wait until dinner-“

“there’s hot dogs on the stove,” he said. “help yourself.” he seemed like he was in a rush, grabbing his water bottle. “and iced tea in the fridge. yours.” he said, grabbing his keys. he stopped in front of you, close to you, smile on his face. it clouded your thoughts a moment. “see you at seven.”

“see you,” you replied warily, blinking hard. he looked you up and down before leaving. you slowly made your way up the steps. it was a good thing his daughter was so happy to see you, you would have read into that.

she talked to you all about her drawings, showing you one of yourself. she was so sweet. she talked to you all about her drawing of her dad, her tennis rackets oddly detailed in crayon. you spent the afternoon together, you helped yourself to one of the cans of iced tea in the fridge.

patrick was back by four, just a little sweaty. you hated that. after last night’s sex imagery, seeing him all sweaty was a horny girl’s nightmare.

“dad!” his daughter greeted him by jumping up on him. he dropped his bag to pick her up. “me and y/n made hot dog people. come eat, come eat.” she said. you pressed your lips together to stop from smiling when patrick shot you a semi-confused look. he carried her into the kitchen, you grabbing your purse, getting ready to go. you had just finished making dinner, which you didn’t have to do, turning the hot dogs from lunch into a topping for the macaroni and cheese you’d made. that and broccoli. simple, something little miss picky eater would have.

“wow,” patrick nodded, looking at the hot dogs that had been cut strategically in person. he looked at you, sitting in the chair at the table with her on his knee. “you did all this?”

“all this?” you chuckled, “of course not, i had help.”

“i stirred,” his daughter nodded.

“very good.” patrick nodded. “think you’re going to be a chef?”

“maybe,” she said, a little sing-songy. “i’m

good at stirring.”

“she’s so good at stirring,” you nodded. patrick chuckled, eyes set on you. “i’ll get going.” you said, checking your purse for your phone. “you guys enjoy. i’ll be back tomorrow, so no need to pay me.”

“n- why don’t you stay for dinner? i didn’t hire you to make us food and run.”

“please!” his daughter leapt off his lap and pulled you to the chair. “eat!”

you smiled, “thank you. i really can’t though, i have to run! i’m so sorry, baby.” you crouched down to her height. she pouted. “if i didn’t have to go meet my mom, i’d be here eating our food, i promise.”

“your mom?”

“my mom came to visit me today, she’s at my apartment waiting. i’m so sorry, baby.” you said, wrapping your arms around her. patrick watched the way her arms wrapped around you too. she really, really liked you. “i’ll see you tomorrow night though. i’ll be here early, we can make dinner again and everything. whatever you want.”

“can we make pizza?”

“it’s a friday night, why not?” you smiled. it was cute. “i’ll bring the ingredients tomorrow.”

“yay!”

“yay is right.” you kissed her cheek and cupped her face just a little before standing up again. “you enjoy your hot dog people.” you said. you looked at patrick, who hadn’t seen you in action with his daughter yet. he was a little bit in awe. she loved you. it was more than a like. the other babysitters were tantrum material but you were an angel just the same as his daughter. he hated how he was thinking about you after something so pure, thinking about you. eyes lingering on your thighs, your waist. thinking about you, something so fucking paternal in him wanting you. it was dark. “i’ll see you both tomorrow.” you said, giving him a little look. it was cheeky. like you knew something.

“thank you,” patrick nodded.

you nodded back, waving bye to his daughter before slipping out the door. patrick would be lying if he didn’t give into himself that night. his hand pressed to the shower wall, hand pumping as the water poured over his body. he hated himself for it, but it was your image that pushed him over the edge. his daughter fast asleep, his thoughts were disgusting. he felt disgusting, it’s why he chose the shower. you were too young. and well he was a bit of a dirtbag, the age gap was enough to even throw himself off.

you, your little shirts and little skirts, the way you looked in jeans, the pout to your lips, your eyelashes, your eyes that screamed innocence when he got too close. fuck, it was dirty the way he thought about you. he thought about fucking you on that couch you were always on. the extent to which his mind went was so fucking wrong, so wrong, he reminded himself. he went to bed guilty. a grown man turned guilty.

patrick was glad he had a date the next night. someone to fuck his age to get you out of his head. he was never more glad for a sad date. his eyes fixated on you. “gonna let me in?” you smiled. he realized he was just standing in the doorway after you knocked. a near-bashful grin spread up his face, turning sly. “you know, you’re paying me by the hour and it’s 5 right now. you’re paying me to stand outside your door.”

he smirked, moving out of the way to let you in. he smelled good, date night cologne. you almost rolled your eyes. “i pay you enough for it, don’t i?”

you giggled a little, “true! i’ll go back out there if you want.”

he chuckled, fixing the cuffs of his sleeves. “i wouldn’t hate to see it. if you didn’t make a promise for pizza to little miss upstairs. all she’s talked about.”

“oh i love that, i’m so excited,” you said, putting the bag of ingredients on the table. “i was thinking of making you one too, are you a fan of pepperoni?”

“big fan,” he nodded. “olives too.” he looked into the bag of ingredients, pulling them out.

“you don’t have somewhere to be?” you asked, coming to help pull things out of the bag with him. “hot date?”

“something like that,” he answered a little monotone. “i’ll be back at one.” he nodded, backing away. you nodded back, following him to the door. god, he needed to leave for his date before your eyes got to him. your hand trailed the back of the couch, walking with him. “that’s okay?”

“you’re asking me?”

“you look like you’re about to tell me my curfew,” he replied, grabbing his wallet and keys.

you smirked just a little. your mind wandered down to his hands, the hand that had your waist just days before. your eyes met his, “oh yeah. come home when the streetlights come on?” you joked, that gorgeous smile his main focus.

he grinned, “i’ll try,” you were so cheeky, god he wanted to fuck that grin off your face, he had better be gone before he did. “have fun with the pizza, help yourself to the drinks in the fridge. she’s in the backyard.” he held his keys a little too tight in his hand.

your smirk stayed. he’d never been more glad to be going out as he drove over with your voice in his head. he ordered a drink as soon as he could.

your pizza night went well. it was good, delicious, even. she was a good little helper, obsessed with getting everything perfect on her dad’s pizza. you smiled. she slept early again, tired from all the pizza and karaoke and dancing. you were a little bit tired too. you hopped on that couch and you were out like a light.

you woke to patrick’s hand gently on your shoulder. you blinked a few times, rubbing your eyes. “oh my god, i fell asleep.”

“you’re okay,” he chuckled. “it’s a good couch for it.”

“great for it, apparently.” you nodded, sitting up. “i’m so sorry, that’s so irresponsible of me.”

“it’s late, it’s understandable.” he replied. “i’ll drive you home.”

you tilted your head, with a smile, “kicked out so fast. i’m so sorry for falling asleep on your couch, if i’d known it would ruin the way you see me, i would have never even sat on it.”

he chuckled, “okay, c’mon. i’m not kicking you out, i’m getting you home in one piece.”

“i appreciate it,” you smiled genuinely. “but i’ll be okay.”

“you were asleep about two minutes ago,” he said. “you’re not going home alone.”

you really couldn’t handle another ten minutes alone with him in his car. your hand was still cramping from the other day. he gestured the way of his car. “you had fun?”

“so much,” you told him. “she insisted on making your pizza ‘happy’ which took her about thirty minutes because the smile didn’t look right. your pizza is resting on the stove. she devoured hers and probably half a bag of mozzarella cheese.”

“she loves cheese,” he chuckled. “i’ll need you again tomorrow, is that okay?”

“tomorrow night?” you asked. you stepped closer to him, a twist of fate he didn’t expect as he grabbed his wallet. it was that time of night, but it was you who moved forward on him.

“tomorrow night,” he said. you fought the urge to ask if it was the same woman. it wasn’t your place to ask. he looked at you, the way you were looking up at him, so fucking perfect and so fucking… he felt his pants tighten at his growing erection. fuck. he hated that you had him like this. such a fucking grip on his mind, his emotions. it was so frustrating, beyond frustrating. “that’s okay with you? short notice.”

“i wasn’t busy.”

“you’re never busy.” he smiled a little. “you know most girls your age go to the bar. flirt. drink.”

“i’m not legal drinking age,” you reminded him. fuck, that was too true. couldn’t be more fucking true. you were only twenty. “i’m well aware of what girls my age do. i find the time between, believe me.”

he chuckled, “yeah?”

“yes. i do all of those things you mentioned and more. i’m a riot. a party girl. you know this money pays for my coke addiction.”

he held the door for you, grinning, “glad to be of service. you know how obsessed little miss upstairs is with the snow queen from narnia.”

you laughed, hand on your stomach. he kept his smile smug. “that’s good!” you laughed, leaning against his car. he locked the door and walked down the few steps. he stepped close, your laugh faded away as he reached around you to open the door for you. you were trapped between him and his arm and the car. you blinked a few times and he smirked as he walked to his side of the car and got in.

you got in with him, buckling up. fuck. he was good. you almost recovered from the close contact, he put a cigarette between his teeth as he backed out of the driveway. you thought that was hot. “you smoke?” he asked, pulling onto the road, lighting his cigarette.

“no.”

“mmm, good girl.” he said, blowing smoke out the window. he grinned to himself. if you weren’t wet before, you were now. your breath caught in your throat and you felt your cheeks and ears burn. fuck. fuck. fuck. it was all you could think about. good girl, he knew exactly what you wanted to hear and it was a good thing it was exactly his vocabulary. if he gave in right now he’d pull over and fuck you to pieces and you know what, you’d take it. you almost veered the car off the road yourself.

your throat was dry. your brain was screaming to kiss him at every red light. fuck him here in his car in the middle of the road and get dragged away only by cops with tasers and guns and batons. your whole body was hot, white hot, burning.

he just smiled to himself as he drove. he didn’t mind the silence, it had a good reason. it had flustered you so badly, you couldn’t crack any witty little cheeky jokes. he said goodnight and watched your ass as you walked inside.

the desperate need to get off was so wild you almost called an ex. like you were drunk on some strong alcohol his words reverberated around your brain it called for bad decisions and a need to fuck SOMETHING. like you were a creature, you needed something, someone inside of you now. it couldn’t be him, he was gone.

no, he was too old, it wasn’t because he’d gone home to his perfect, lovely daughter because he was a grown man with a six year old daughter and he was technically your employer and fucking him would be wrong. but it would feel so good. you had to resort to your own hands, sliding down into your underwear on your couch in your apartment. fingers rubbing your clit vigorously. you breathed hard, thinking about him fucking you in his shitty car on top of all the papers and cigarette cartons. fucking you so hard your head hit the car door repeatedly. he could have. if he had done anything to you after saying those two words, you would have let him do anything he fucking wanted to you.

you slept like a baby, knocked out after several rounds, enough to dull the need to be fucked to a low hum. he messaged you. before you went, though.

3-8?

perfect.

you replied short and sweet before passing out.

the next day you were back at his. he was in the driveway, you were just a little late. it wasn’t a big deal. he said goodbye, very friendly, very normal. you went inside and did various crafts and activities with his daughter, letting the good girl thing slip your mind.

he was back by eight. eight on the dot. talking about his mom being in town. you didn’t inquire. you had to meet some friends for ‘drinks’ at her place. you said goodbye to his daughter, smiling and telling her you’d see her soon. patrick thanked you for making chicken, paid you extra plus bonus for the pizza ingredients the other day. he didn’t seem like he really had this kind of money to be giving you, but you took it.

in taking everything else, you said goodnight and headed over to your friends house. had a can or two of a pre-mixed margarita, talked about things with your friends. it wasn’t until the conversation turned to something you needed to show them a picture of when you realized you didn’t have your phone. you looked around everywhere- your phone was expensive, you didn’t have the money for a new one. you got up and looked around and then it hit you. your phone was probably at patrick’s.

you didn’t have his number memorized. “do you need it?” your friend asked. “can you get it tomorrow?”

“i guess i could, but that’s my uber home and all of my cards are in the back, i wouldn’t have bus fare, i wouldn’t have- fuck.”

“just go honey, we’re not going anywhere!” your other friend chimed in. “i literally only have enough for you to get one bus, but get a transfer to come back?” none of them could drive impaired. or would. you shut your eyes. you hated the idea of showing up unannounced. but you took that bus fare. and you got on a bus over to patrick’s. you walked down his street trying to rehearse what stupid thing you’d say about this. forgetting your phone- like an absolute idiot. you had no idea where it even was but you came straight from there to your friends so it could be three places and the bus was not an option you could seek out.

you walked up the front steps and quietly knocked. you tucked your hair behind your ears and folded your arms over your chest. the evening air was chilly for a tank top and a skirt. it was a moment before he answered the door, it was around midnight so you knew he’d be up. or you hoped. it was stupid to even have come, but the margs were hitting just enough to screw up your decision making.

he was surprised to see you at the door. opened the screen door. “hey,” you said. “i’m so sorry about this, i’m so sorry- i know it’s late-“

“yeah- are you okay?” he asked, looking to see how you got there.

“i’m fine, i just… i think i forgot my phone here.” you said. it wasn’t the smoothest delivery. your eyes wandered down his body, eyeing his true build, hidden underneath those other shirts. the one he was currently in was tight, a black t-shirt. and sweatpants. he was muscular but it was all soft, soft features. one of those dad bods that bad definition not to pass as a true dad bod, but one still. holy fuck, this was a terrible idea. he grinned, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the doorframe. “it’s so stupid, i know.”

“happens,” he chuckled. “you want to come in and look for it?”

“could i? i would be so quick,”

“i’m not in any rush,” he replied. “c’mon.” he stepped out of your way, holding the door as you came into the house. most of the lights were off aside from the adjustable dim ones in the kitchen. he turned on the lamp in the corner. “she’s with her grandma at the hotel tonight.” patrick said, starting to look around. you looked over at him. “is your ringer on?”

“i have it off when i’m with her,” you replied. patrick smiled. it was sweet. “fuck, i really am so sorry about this mr. zweig, i-“

“how many times before you call me patrick?”

“hm?”

“patrick.” he restated. “i’m not calling you ‘miss y/l/n’.”

“very true, i’m sorry sir,” you said, leaning in a little as you passed him, looking up on the mantle of the fireplace.

“that’s worse,” he chuckled.

“i think you like it.”

oh, it kicked into existence. hard. that fire you’d felt before lit up in his body. you were so smug when you thought you could be. it was all witty and teasing and the need to fuck that teasing smile off your face was back. you were too young, he reminded himself, watching you bend to look under the couch cushions. fuck, why did you have to be so…

the margaritas maybe made you a little bold. not too much, you were still you. he checked the table, looking around more for your phone. “what does it look like?”

your laugh from the other room was so pretty. “red!” you called back. red phone… red phone… patrick was so glad to be separated from you by a wall. he was hard just thinking about you. having you here was dangerous, his daughter away, nobody could stop him from doing what he wanted but himself. his morals. you were twenty years old. barely fucking legal. he was almost 20 years older than you. but you followed him into the kitchen, pretty doe eyes and pouty lips and worried eyebrows and he could have fucked you on the table when you looked at him. “nothing? again, i’m so sorry for coming in like this.”

“it’s fine,” his words were a little more forced than natural. “bright red?”

“dark red,” you replied.

“flashy?” he meant if it had anything to make it stand out.

“no sir.” you put your hands on your hips and turned around, looking on top of the microwave, behind the stove. anything. you and that tiny skirt, what the fuck was he supposed to do with himself? twenty, in a little skirt on the tips of your toes looking in high up places. the skin of your waist showing as you stretched, finding nothing. “fuck, it’s really nowhere.” you turned to patrick again, pressing a hand to the side of your face. “tell me you hid it and this is funny and that i didn’t drop my phone with all my cards on the bus on the way to my friend’s. i’m begging you.”

he shook his head, grimacing a little. but you were standing just below him, close to him. you looked up at him, observing his expressions while thinking this all over. you’d been so stressed you forgot patrick was hot as fuck. and it almost took you by surprise to snap back to reality here, where he was looking at you like there was something he wanted from you. it was extremely flustering, you blinked it off and went back to the living room to check again. patrick went down the hall and checked the bathroom.

“found it,” he called from the bathroom. you were glad this was over, you needed to get out of this house before the idea of being home alone with him sunk in. him in his tight black undershirt… him in his sweatpants, you tried and tried to ignore the print. he handed you your phone and you slid it into your purse.

“thank you so much,” you nodded, eyes meeting his. his eyes were dark. “again, i’m so sorry to disturb you this late and without warning.”

“anytime,” he was so excited to have you get the fuck out of his house. he watched your hips move as you walked out of the bathroom and down the hall. “where are you off to now?”

“i’ve got to go meet my friends again. i’m probably going to get the bus back, i have a transfer.” you showed him the little white slip of paper, your back pressed to his wall by the door. you looked him over, trying not to think about his ‘sweetheart’ and the way his ‘good girl’ lingered in your brain. you felt that fire ignite in your lower stomach. you had to say goodbye. and fast.

“let me drive you?” he offered. he didn’t know why. he’d probably crash the car. something about the night, something about the way you looked in this lamp light, the idea of being alone.

“i’ll be okay,” you said, stepping just a little closer and it wasn’t even voluntary. “it’s a short trip. a few stops.”

“remember what i said about the obits?” he tsked. “i’d rather see you here at my house than in that section of the newspaper, thanks.”

“here at your house?” you smiled. “it’s either die or be here at your house, i love that.”

“what can i say? i like you here.” he shrugged. you tilted your head. he cleared his throat, “you’re good with her.”

“so you’ve said.” you nodded. “thank you.”

“no problem, sweetheart. and i’m driving you.”

“you’re not driving me,” you replied.

“but i am. c’mon.” he picked up his keys.

“mr zweig,” you reasoned, pressing your hand to his chest. your heart beat hard in your chest as his choice of words. “i’m fine.”

it was getting harder and harder to remember why fucking a twenty year old felt so wrong. he looked down at you, your hand on his chest. mr. zweig, like it was the worst thing on earth but the hottest fucking thing to come out of anyone’s mouth. he looked at you, his chest rising and falling like his restraint was an exercise, like it was a fight. it might have been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. your magnetic force was pulling him in and soon he’d have to chain himself to something so he didn’t do anything that’d get him in trouble. you were too fucking young. too young. too young.

you stared back. and the moment felt like forever. you could make it back alone but you weren’t sure if you candle heading back to your friends when you felt like this. that ache was back, the one that felt like drugs, like alcohol, like gambling, like the edge of an addiction, knowing the hook, the high is right there. your restraint was prettier, just a reminder that he wouldn’t. you’d let him, but he wouldn’t. it was more cut and dry to believe it was a crush and as much as you wanted him, he wouldn’t. for his daughter, for the sake of the springs on his bed, you hoped. you let out a breath between perfectly parted lips, shrinking into it.

he couldn’t. he wouldn’t. the problem was that he would. he would. he wanted to. he needed to. the second you were gone he’d go feel disgusting about it as he fucked violently into his hand, crude imagery plastered on the inside of his eyelids and he’d go to bed guilty and vile and disturbed. but you were right here and you weren’t gone yet. it was the same feeling, knowing you’d probably take the bus home just to find peace with a showerhead or even the fucking doorman of your building. you’d take anything at this very moment. what patrick wouldn’t give to have some trashy woman in his bed right now. he could call one of his dates up to fuck- he would have given so much to have been with one of them right now. because looking at you, he couldn’t… you were too pretty to be fucked by him, he’d ruin you. you were too young for him. too young and too pretty and too perfect.

he wouldn’t. you were fantasizing just looking at him. your body in flames, burning in a pit of lava, absolutely rolling in hot coals. you needed to stop. you needed cold water. ice water. liquid nitrogen. cryogenic freezing.

“i think you should go,” patrick managed. his voice was cold but not cold enough to cool you down. but he was right. you should go. the idea you’d leave was the same as believing it was all over and a guard was let down. you had the same feeling, moving just slightly to put your shoes back on, but only getting so far as an inch.

it was spontaneous and it was harsh, but it was insanely mutual, the way you kissed. you’d believed you’d get peace and that you could leave, no, wrong move. very wrong move. he kissed you with a force that pinned you to the wall, lust masking the impact of your head against the wall. hungry, starved, violent, he kissed you, hands on your waist, gripping hard as they moved down to your ass, squeezing, grabbing. fast, messy, sinful, his hands under your ass, he lifted you up against the wall.

it would have taken more than the jaws of life to pull the two of you apart. it was fast paced, like the both of you were in some sort of vicious caged battle, your arms around his neck, fingers curled right into his hair. you’d never been kissed or touched like this before. you were moaning from just the kiss and he swore the god he’d never been harder in his life. neither of you could wait, there was no time to just kiss, you weren’t teenagers, you weren’t patient or naive or curious, you were demanding, grabbing at each other like a lifeline.

he stepped off the wall, carrying you the best he could, too distracted to actually know which way his room was. he could have you on the couch, he was impatient, so were you. he let your feet down, your hands desperately clutching his shirt, pulling him down the hall as you kissed nonstop, breaking only for small breaths and for your shirts being stripped as you walked backward. his big hands cupped your face, pressing you against both sides of the hallway while your hands fumbled with the drawstring of his sweats. there was no time for any of this.

it was animalistic. it was the basic need, it was desperate. you crashed into his closed door and patrick swore to god he’d destroy anything in the way of him fucking you right now. he would have either kicked his door in or fucked you against it, no problem, but you reached behind you and opened his door so he didn’t have to do either of those things. he was blinded by lust, your hand down the front of his boxers within seconds of being in his room. you crashed backward onto his bed, crawling over him in your skirt, your hand stroking him up and down, but he had no need for it.

in seconds you were flipped onto your back and you were working together to kick your skirt and underwear off, gone to the same abyss his pants and boxers went. you were too young, patrick reminded himself as your bra came off. too young for him, too young, to pretty, too perfect to be fucked so hard by him. but he had you and there was no stopping him. it was a mistake, it was wrong, but there was nothing in his way as your hand slid down over his chest, following the trail of hair. he kissed your neck enough to make you cry out as his teeth followed his lips, leaving what would be nasty marks by morning.

your legs open, ready for him, he didn’t waste a single fucking second more, grabbing your hips and fucking into you. you swore to god you felt stars with how hard his first thrust was. he filled you to the brim, you weren’t sure you had any more space of all of him inside of you. you felt him stretch you out from the inside and you had no time to adjust to just how huge he was as he was instantly pounding into you. “good girl, taking all of it so perfectly,” he groaned. your nails were already in his back, desperately grabbing for something. your moans were loud and fucking pornographic. he wouldn’t have thought something like that could come from your pretty mouth. he wasn’t very considerate for your young, tight pussy as he thrusted into it with a violence only seen in the most gruesome of acts. he’d wanted to fuck women before, but he’d never needed to fuck someone so badly in his entire life. and it showed with the sheer force of which he fucked you. “you feel so fucking good.” he assured you with a decency that was not genuine whatsoever. it came from a place that disgusted even himself. you were only twenty…

“oh my god!” you exclaimed. you were sure he was actively bruising your cervix. it hurt so fucking badly but it felt too good for you to care. you saw stars, they spun and danced as your pleasure took over your entire body, legs wrapped around him, shaking already from the impact. skin on skin, loud as you both were, groaning, moaning, dirty little strings of words slipping from his mouth as he fucked you. “fuck me, fuck me- fuck!” you couldn’t help the noises you made, pathetic, reduced to just a moaning mess and a puddle of a girl who had only thought this was a violent crush.

“so wet for me, you wanted this so fucking bad, hm?” he taunted, evil grin on his face.

“uh-huh,” you sighed, hardly able to say the words. “s-so-“ you knew you had something to say but it was gone, erased repeatedly with every thrust into you. you’d have a witty response if it wasn’t for how good and all-consuming this was. “god-“

he fucked you with all of his pent up frustration, his hand sliding up the soft skin of your neck, pressing just gently, but enough. you were moaning loudly, the headboard hit the wall hard, and that hand on your neck moved to shove his fingers in your mouth. it was enough to make you into something even less, taking them in your mouth like you should. “so good for me, so pretty- fuck-“ he groaned, strong thrusts not faltering for a second. “this what you wanted?”

“m-mhm,” you said, pretty lips closed around his fingers, struggling to feel so much at once.

“so fucking perfect, guys your age fuck you this good?”

“god- fuck- no,” you moaned. he took his fingers away. he lifted your leg up, fucking into you with a new angle that spread goosebumps all down your skin. you were being fucked dumb- you were sure that you were forgetting your own name actively. losing yourself in this. patrick had never fucked anyone so hard in his life, feeling himself reach the furthest point inside of you over and over and over. “patrick-“

his name moaned from you gave him new momentum and you couldn’t help the constant warm rushes that ran over your body like pulses, like waves on a shore. your body was a solar system of exploding stars. the hands that travelled your body were sure to leave bruises on you by later… harsh and strong and not letting go, fingers in your flesh. it was only fair, your nails dug into his back, he was probably bleeding. “gonna come for me, sweetheart?” he said, grinning over his own groans. if he’d been anyone else the question would have been stupid, sex is never that good, but this was. no clitoral stimulation needed he was hitting every right spot in the right way. you felt it like a knot coming undone, like all the stars that were exploding were both imploding and exploding rapidly, like a blinking threat for the collapse of a universe. dramatic, an imperfect display and an unfair comparison but so fucking needed. you nodded hard, mouth open, breathing hard, kissing him when you could. it was messy, uncalculated, but so fucking perfect.

out of desperation, you lifted your hips the best you could to meet his harsh thrusts. needing to finish, needing this more than you’ve ever needed anything. you couldn’t help the grin that spread up your face, even in the heat of things. you won. he caved, you won. and he couldn’t fuck this smile off your face. you only held it as long as you cut put off finishing, the friction, the feeling building up to crash around you. it was full-body, felt entirely. your nails dug into him harder and he waited just another moment to spill into you. you felt it hot between your legs as he continued to pump in and out of you, so much cum that it seeped out before he could pull out. he didn’t think about anything but you, how wrapped up he was in this, how fucked he was. he’d lost to a pretty twenty year old. as if this was some sick game. you’d both gotten what you wanted, but the cost was greater.

it was the hardest orgasm you both had ever felt, both of your ears ringing, breathing heavily, feeling all of it. to the greatest extent possible. he pulled out and collapsed beside you, his back stinging as it hit the bed. your smile returned as you tried to catch your breath, the stars dancing out of sight slowly. “oh, i’m fucked,” patrick breathed, hand falling onto his chest.

you laughed breathily, “other way around.”

he chuckled over his harsh breathing, chest rising and falling deeply. he rubbed his face, but it couldn’t erase the fact he had sex with a controversially young woman. what was worse? the fact he had needed to fuck her so badly or the fact he didn’t feel any better about it afterward? or the surprise third thing that was the urge to keep you close?

“okay, listen-“ he said, propping himself up on his elbow turning your way, but you grabbed him by the jaw and pulled him into another kiss. a second kiss, with a different meaning than the first one. it was still hard to breathe but he didn’t mind, grin spreading up his face, a little sly, dimple showing. he felt a little less ashamed with this kiss in the way. it was different. oh he was soooo much more than fucked now.

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avis-writeshq · 1 year ago

Text

platform ten – spencer reid

summary: two months after he embarrassingly got caught ogling at the pretty girl on the train, Spencer’s team begins to suspect something.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

genre: friends to lovers, rated G for mutual pining and second hand embarrassment. no use of (Y/N).

warnings: fluff, boy band spencer reid (caution, hot!), reader wears lipgloss, excessive mentions of Edgar Allen Poe (one of my favourite Gothic authors), not proof read

wc: 3.4k

part one: carriage six

“So, I’ve been reading Poe’s works,” you begin, your headphones around your neck and you pull out ‘The Complete Poetry of Edgar Allan Poe’, flipping to ‘Annabel Lee’.

Spencer watches as you flick to the page, his heart soaring at the sight of the annotations that litter the page. There are different colours and highlighters across the words and from what he could tell pink talked about language and that was the colour that stood out to him most. You bring the book closer so that he can read your annotations too and his heart stutters in his chest at the close proximity. He can smell the strawberry and honey shampoo in your hair and the heat rises up to his cheeks. It’s intoxicating.

“I really don’t think the narrator is a crazy psychopath,” you say, glancing at him. “It just sounds like he’s really, seriously in love with her which just makes a bunch of people jealous.”

He watches the way you point to a certain line, ‘But we loved with a love that was more than love— I and my Annabel Lee.’

“Does that not sound like something you would say when you’re in love?” You ask, swooning a little. “It’s romantic, don’t you think? And their love is so brilliant and pure that the angels stole her away from him. I mean, it’s sad, but it’s kind of a picture of how amazing their love is.”

He nods along, his cheeks flushed because that’s what he thinks when he thinks of you. But he’ll never tell you that. How could he even dream of you feeling the same? The idea in itself is just so bizarre that he doesn’t even dare to entertain the thought. Not even when it’s late at night and he’s by himself, thinking through every single interaction you’ve had with him since he finally talked to you two months ago.

“And I mean, think about it,” you continue, gesticulating with every word, eyes wide with excitement. “The last stanza. He’s still in love with her even after she’s passed away. How romantic is that?”

“Very romantic,” Spencer agrees, and he wonders if that’s how he looks when he rambles. “Alright, it’s definitely a love poem.”

He relishes in the way your eyes light up at his acceptance, the way you grin up at him and he wants to make you smile this way every day. His eyes wander to your lips and he swallows thickly. You’re wearing that lipgloss again, a cool berry tone that makes your lips shine and–

“Spencer? Are you okay?”

He all but jolts out of his trance and he coughs awkwardly, his cheeks flushed. “Yes!” He squeaks, before clearing his throat and repeating the word. “Yes. Yes, I’m okay.”

He watches as an amused smile quirks at your lips as you ask, “are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” he manages to croak, his ears red.

He can’t even look at you. His eyes turn back to the book you’re holding, reading through the annotations you’ve made on the page for the nth time over. This is an example of one of the instances he doesn’t want to remember and prays that his stop would miraculously be next.

“I’ve been reading The Tell-Tale Heart,” you say, bringing him out of his thoughts.

Spencer forces himself to maintain eye contact with you and he manages a small, “really?”

You laugh and nod. “Yep! It’s really good. Kinda creepy.”

“It is a little creepy,” he admits, his gaze flicking to your lips again. He’s kicking himself internally, asking, ‘who’s the creepy one now, weirdo?!’

He figures that you’re either incredibly gracious or incredibly used to it because you don’t mention the way his attention wavers.

“You don’t seem okay.”

Or so he thought.

“What— um— what makes you say that?” He asks, clearing his throat.

You shoot him a smile. “You’re not going on about the text like you usually do.”

He opens his mouth and then shuts it again, his brain short circuiting. He can imagine Derek snickering and Emily commenting her usual, ‘IQ of 187, slashed to 60’.

“Spencer?” You look amused, a smile on his face and a mischievous glimmer in your eye. “Are you—“

“I’m fine!” Spencer says quickly, ears burning. “I’m just— thinking? Yes, thinking.”

You laugh. “Dangerous pastime.”

“What?”

“I— never mind,” you shake your head, continuing to laugh. “But I do want to hear your thoughts on ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’ at some point.”

“Totally!” He jolts, and he’s kicking himself internally for being so eager. “Yes. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

The train lurches to a stop and Spencer gets up from his seat.

“Bye, Spencer,” you say, smiling brilliantly at him, and it takes every ounce of self control in him to not just grab your face and kiss you.

“Bye,” he says, saying your name, before getting off the train.

***

Spencer has been acting weird. That is the conclusion Derek has come to as he watches the youngest member of their team enter the bullpen with the widest grin on the planet for the fourth time that week. He watches as Spencer sits down at his desk, looking like a literal teenager, and gets down to work. He has his earphones plugged in, the kind you would get at a dollar store, or the complementary ones you get from airports that never fit your ears right and leave you with headaches because of the horrible audio quality. Derek supposes he’s just listening to Beethoven or Bach or another dead classical musician. But as he passes Spencer’s desk, he hears something that makes him stop in his tracks. Spencer is humming. No, not just humming. He’s muttering lyrics under his breath. Since when did classical music have lyrics?

“What the hell…?” Derek asks under his breath to no one in particular.

“You talking about Reid?” Emily asks, an amused grin on her face. “He’s acting weird.”

“Thank God, I thought I was the only one.” JJ seemingly appears out of nowhere, standing beside them with her arms crossed and a sly smile tugging at her lips.

Rossi enters the bullpen, nodding towards Spencer who was sitting at his desk, blissfully unaware. “We talking about the kid?”

“He’s been acting weird all week,” Derek insists, his brows furrowing. “What do you think it is?”

“Maybe he won a chess tournament,” JJ says with a soft laugh.

Emily rolls her eyes at the idea. “Please, Reid’s probably the winner of every single chess tournament in the state.”

“Maybe his mother is doing better?” Rossi suggests.

“Doesn’t explain why he’s listening to, I don’t know, not Mozart,” Derek points out.

There’s a silence that pulls over the group as they stare at the back of Reid’s head. It isn’t long before he turns around to face his coworkers, raising an eyebrow.

“… Why are you staring at me?” Spencer asks, giving them all pointed looks.

“You’re acting weird,” Morgan says, cutting straight to the chase. “Care to share with the class?”

Spencer offers them all confused looks. “I’m… not acting weird? If anything, you guys are the ones acting weird.”

“Ohh, no, don’t turn this around on us.” Emily grins, walking over to him. “What’s going on?”

“What— guys, what happened to ‘no profiling each other’?” Spencer spluttered, shooting accusatory looks towards his coworkers.

“We’re just worried, that’s all,” JJ says with maternal sympathy, but Spencer can tell that she’s hiding a smile.

He groans, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. “I’m fine guys. I’m not acting ‘weird’ or anything.”

“Who are you listening to, Reid?” Rossi asks quickly, nodding towards the ear phones.

“What?” Spencer’s head snaps up, redness crawling up to his ears.

Emily smirks. “Yeah Reid. Who are you listening to?”

“No one,” he answers, avoiding their gaze. “I’m uh— I’m going back to work.”

He quickly turns his chair around, busting himself with his files. His co-workers all exchange glances, mischievous grins on their faces.

“You know, I could just ask Garcia to dig into your phone,” Derek says with a shrug. “Or you could tell us yourself.”

Spencer shoots him a light hearted glare. “You wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You wouldn’t.”

***

Spencer thinks he’s going to die of mortification. He spent that entire week downloading all of the released songs by Taylor Swift, dutifully listening to each song and reporting back to you on his opinions. He has since come to a conclusion: Taylor Swift is a lyrical genius. Granted, he doesn’t have much experience with other branches of music that involves lyrics, but he figures it’s pretty similar to poetry. Regardless, he’s one hundred percent sure that he’s in for a world of teasing and tasteful jabs towards his sudden shift in music taste.

He’s also been doing this thing called texting, and he even went as far as getting a new phone and email address just so that he could properly contact you. He’s been in contact with you for the past eight weeks, going as far as messaging and calling you during break times and hiding in the bathroom to have an ounce of privacy. He feels like a changed person, all because of a tiny handheld device that fits in his back pocket. And you. Mostly you. The worst thing about this entire situation is the fact that Morgan did in fact manage to convince Garcia to snoop into his phone.

“Alright, Reid, quit hiding. Who’s the girl?” Derek demands, slapping a piece of paper onto Spencer’s desk. It’s a log of calls and downloads. In other words, it’s a log of all the times he’s called the same number and all the Taylor Swift songs he’s downloaded.

“Girl? What— what girl?” Spencer asks, playing dumb and willing himself to look Derek in the eye. His mind is spinning. ‘Blink evenly. Maintain eye contact. Don’t stutter. Answer his questions evenly. Play dumb. There is no girl, there is no girl there is no—‘

“Reid? Reid? Spencer!” Derek snaps his fingers in front of his face, jolting him out of his trance.

“Huh?” Spencer jolts, snapping out of his trance. “What?”

Derek snorts at his reaction. “Look, kid. This person calls your cell every day at 12:30, which just so happens to be in two minutes. So, either you tell me and I let you have your fun, or she calls you and she’ll be hearing my voice instead of yours.”

Spencer scoffs, holding his phone firmly in the palm of his hand. “There is no girl, Morgan.”

“Right.”

“I’m serious!” Spencer says, his voice going up and octave and he cringes internally. Smooth. “There is no girl.”

“Totally believe you.”

He groans, wiping a hand over his face to calm himself down. Before he could respond, the phone in his hand begins to ring. A smirk tugs at Derek’s lips and he immediately lunges for the phone, eliciting a yelp from Spencer who leaps from his seat.

“Morgan— Morgan no—“

“C’mon kid, it’ll be a lot easier if you just give in!”

“No! Nope, nope, Morgan I swear to-“

In seconds, Derek snatches Spencer’s phone out of his hand, a triumphant look on his face. He keeps Spencer at arm’s length as he picks up the phone.

“Hey Spence!” A voice rings through the phone.

“Sorry, sweetheart, not Spencer,” Derek responds, his voice smug.

“… that’s concerning,” The voice responds slowly, cautiously. “Who is this?”

Spencer grabs the phone out of Derek’s hand, running out of the bullpen as quickly as his long legs could carry him, flipping his coworker the finger before he leaves.

“Hello?” He asks into the phone. “I’m so sorry, that was Derek, my co-worker.”

“Oh, the bald one!” You say quickly, recalling his name from the photos Spencer had shown you beforehand. “I thought it was like… a bad guy or something.”

He laughs softly into the phone, his cheeks warm and wearing a smile that could split his face in two. “Don’t worry, he’s not a bad guy. A pain in the ass, maybe, but not a bad guy.”

He hears you chuckle from the other side of the line. “Yeah, he seems like a nice person. Your entire team sounds really cool.”

“Maybe you could meet them at some point,” Spencer says quietly, his heart thundering in his chest. “I mean, they kind of already know you exist.”

“That would be fun,” You muse, and he hears the soft ruffling of cling wrap in the background.

“Lunch?”

He hears you hum in response, and he can’t help but chuckle. There’s a silence for a few seconds, and he assumes you were eating, before your voice picks up again.

“I’d love to meet your team at some point, Spence. They seem like really amazing people.”

He can’t help but smile, running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. They are. You’d love them, and I’m sure they’d love you just as much.”

Before long, lunch break is over and Spencer begrudgingly hangs up and returns to the bullpen, his team all wearing frustratingly smug faces. He rolls his eyes, not paying them any kind as he returns to his desk. He ignores the very blatant whistle Derek does in his direction and the snort Emily fails to hide.

“So…” JJ begins, dragging her words out. “You’ve got a girlfriend?”

Spencer chokes on air and bites his tongue, grimacing at the taste of blood. “I do not have a girlfriend.” It’s not a lie.

“But you want her to be,” Emily says, smirking.

“No! Yes. I don’t know, maybe?” Spencer feels like a teenage boy being lectured by his parents. Not that he knows what that feels like.

“Alright, well, have you asked her on a date?” Derek asks as he raises an eyebrow.

Spencer coughs, reaching for his mug of stale coffee. That’s all he needs to do to answer Derek’s question, because in moments Derek is screaming in his ear.

“Why haven’t you asked her out yet?!”

“We talk loads of times,” Spencer insists, hiding behind his disgustingly old coffee. “We just never… we’re just friends.”

Rossi bites back a chuckle. “Yes, because friends call each other every day during their lunch breaks.”

Spencer feels his face grow impossibly hotter and he chugs the last of his coffee. He cringes before turning his attention back to his files in an attempt to calm himself down. It doesn’t work.

“How did you meet her?” JJ asks, gentler this time.

Spencer flushes and plays with his watch. “On the train.”

“That’s very you,” she laughs, ruffling his hair. “She seems really nice, Spencer.”

He preens at the compliment, his mind drifting to your pretty hair and glossy lips. He sports a grin and he nods. “She’s really, really nice.”

***

Spencer sits next to you on the train as usual. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is combed to be a little neater, only for his efforts to be destroyed when a strong gust of wind hits his face the moment he left his apartment. He reminds himself to put a comb into his bag after work. You’re talking about another one of Poe’s works, this time ‘The Raven’, another love poem. Your eyes are bright with excitement as you go on and on about the writing style and whatever else.

Spencer is far from religious but your existence alone is enough to have him thanking the heaven’s that he is alive. He can’t help but smile every time you do, his gaze perpetually on your lips. He feels a little guilty about it, about how he can’t even control himself when he’s around you but you’re just so beautiful that he can’t help himself. He feels even guiltier when he realises he hasn’t processed a word you’ve said.

“... and that’s why I think Edgar Allen Poe is really just a huge softie who wants to be loved,” you finish, snapping the book closed. “What do you think, Doctor Genius?”

“Totally,” Spencer agrees quickly, almost biting his tongue. “Absolutely.”

You laugh and Spencer thinks he’s going to faint.

“Where are you up to in your Taylor Swift project?” You ask teasingly, nudging his arm. If it were anyone else, Spencer would have grimaced and shrugged them off but you aren’t just ‘anyone’. You’re the most amazing person in the world.

“I’m up to 1989 track 9, Wildest Dreams,” Spencer recites, pulling out his notebook from his inner jacket pocket. It’s a small leatherbound notebook that he’s been writing all his thoughts in regards to the Taylor Swift songs, all in chronological order. He’s actually quite proud of it as he flicks to the latest page. “I really like this one. I did some research and I found out that the bass sound in the background is actually her heartbeat. That’s pretty interesting.”

You almost scream in excitement, leaning closer to him to read his notes. “I love this song! It’s my favourite Taylor Swift song ever and it’s just so pretty, you know?”

He nods in agreement, his cheeks flushed at the close proximity and he finds that he can no longer feel his tongue. He should get that checked out.

“It reminds me of you sometimes,” you say, completely unabashed. Spencer thinks you’re trying to kill him.

“What?” He asks meekly, recalling every lyric from the song.

You freeze, flustered and you pull away from him. Spencer frowns at the sudden space but he watches as you stammer and stumble over your words.

“I just meant– you know, it’s a good song! That’s all.” You laugh anxiously, fiddling with the book in your hand. “Never mind, just ignore me. Tell me more about what you like about the song.”

In an almost uncharacteristic bout of confidence, Spencer reaches out to take your hand in his. At first, he thought his head was going to explode. It felt heavy and light all at the same time and he was almost about to pull his hand away when you squeezed his fingers. Just like that, all doubts are gone. You’re smiling at him and Spencer knows that he would do absolutely anything to make sure to keep it there.

When the train lurches to a stop at Quantico, Spencer doesn’t make any effort to move. He’s grinning ear-to-ear, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Isn’t this your stop?” You ask gently, loosening your hold on his hand.

He shrugs, holding onto your hand tighter. “I’m always early. I can be late for once.”

Besides, he thinks to himself, inching closer to you, this is so worth it.

Pride bubbles in his heart when he hears you laugh again and his smile grows impossibly wider.

“We’re almost at my stop,” you say, rubbing your thumb against the back of his hand. “We should go out. You know, instead of just meeting on the train.”

Spencer nods immediately at the suggestion. “I’d like that. Are you free on Saturday?”

“I’m definitely free on Saturday,” you respond, squeezing his hand again.

Spencer sits there with you until you make it to your stop. The corners of his eyes are crinkled and he feels happy, so goddamn happy, and he wonders how he’s lived without you. Before you get off the train, he calls your name. He relishes in the way you turn around, the confusion palpable in your eyes.

“Yeah?”

He takes a step closer to you, his face in front of yours. His heartbeat is in his ears but at the same time he feels an incredibly ironic sense of calm. In seconds, he presses his lips to yours in a short kiss. He grins at you as you stumble out of the train dazed, waving goodbye. From the window he could see you press your cold hands to your cheeks before reaching for your phone.

The smile that grows on his face when he sees your face light up his phone is embarrassing. It’s goofy and silly and he is so grateful that the carriage is empty.

“Hello?”

“You cannot–” your voice comes through the speaker and he grins again– “you cannot just kiss me randomly and then leave.”

“Technically the train left, not me,” Spencer says with a small laugh.

You’re quiet on the other end before replying, “We need a re-do on Saturday.”

Spencer has no complaints.

reblogs are always appreciated!

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babyblue711 · 8 months ago

Text

Surrender

Aegon II Targaryen (Modern AU) x Reader Summary: Helaena invites you to the Targaryen countryside estate for a relaxing weekend away from the city where you form an unexpected connection with her older brother, Aegon. Words: 4.2K

Warnings: NSFW, Sexual Content 18+, Smut, Language, Alcohol, Aemond being uptight A/N: I just want to give a quick shout out to the authors who have the amazing ability to write well thought out, smutty one-shots and somehow magically keep it under 3K words. YOU ALL are incredibly talented and I wish I could do the same. The smut alone is over half this fic. I tried to keep it short, y'all, I really did. Anyway, this is my first time writing for Aegon. As I said in a previous post, this story is incredibly self indulgent but thank you for reading and I hope you all enjoy! 🔥 Update 7/9/24: Welcome new readers! Please don't be shy and feel free to leave me a comment! I'm still around Tumblr, just taking a break from writing at the moment but love reading your comments and thoughts about the fic! xoxo 💙 Beta read by the wonderful: @myfandomprompts

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Warm water pours over your head and down your back as you rinse the shampoo out of your long hair; the fragrance of your favorite soap washing away the remnants of the day’s activities. Yet, within the confines of your mind, memories unfold like scenes from a movie.

Each moment is vivid and alive; seeing him atop his grey gelding as he waits for you to mount his brother’s tall, dark bay mare; your knees almost touching with his as your horses walk side by side down the winding trail.

You recall the admiration in his smile as he looks over at you, observing the way you sway with your horse’s long stride with ease; your mutual love for horseback riding came as a surprise to you both. The brief ride had come to a halt all too soon, as ominous storm clouds gathered on the horizon. Just a mile away from the barn, you jointly decided to turn for home.

You can still feel the wind in your hair as you and Aegon galloped back to the barn, trying to outrace the storm as thunder clapped in the distance. Laughter spilled from your lips at the thrill of the speed of your horse and your worries seemed to melt away with each leaping stride. It had been years since you had felt so light and carefree.

Luckily, you had arrived back at the barn just as the rain began to fall, giving your horse a grateful pat while reluctantly handing him off to the attending groom; Aegon seemed exhilarated from the ride as well as the two of you began to exchange lighthearted banter about your spontaneous adventure. Among your group, only you had embraced the opportunity to ride with him, given it was your favorite childhood pastime that you rarely got to enjoy as an adult. Everyone else had decided to retire to the house to get ready for dinner.

Amused, you watched as he bends to pet the barn cat weaving between his legs, wondering why you had never seen this side of him before. Because he is your best friend’s older brother, a small voice answered in the back of your mind. When you first met Helaena at uni, your perception of Aegon was clouded by his reputation for being frequently drunk, arrogant, and unpredictable, and you assumed that was all there was to him. However, after spending the weekend with the Targaryen siblings at their countryside estate, you began to wonder if there was more to him than met the eye.

Standing together in the doorway of the barn, easy conversation continued as you waited out the storm and you couldn’t help but feel impressed by Aegon's charm and clever banter, more so than you'd like to admit. The rain intensified, accompanied by a cool breeze which caused you to shiver slightly. He moved closer as if to shield you from the cool air, thunder clapping overhead. Heat radiated off his skin, giving you goosebumps as an electric charge zings through the atmosphere and you’re unsure if it's caused by the lightning or his sudden proximity. Your eyes flicked up to his face.

“Cold?” Aegon had said, his full lips curling into a perfect one-sided smirk. You locked eyes with him for a heartbeat too long and suddenly you’re melting into his dark blue gaze.

Flashing back to the present, you feel a blush bloom on your cheeks as you remember what had happened next. Still in the middle of your shower routine, you close your eyes and his face materializes in front of you again. With perfect clarity, you recall his damp blonde hair tousled by the wind, his sun-kissed skin, his warm, soft lips.

The kiss that had transpired was completely unexpected, but had felt so absolutely right in the moment. It was tender and slow and sweet. You remembered the gentle way his hand cupped your face when he pulled away, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. Your heart pounded in your chest and words eluded you in that moment, lost in the whirlwind of emotions stirred by his kiss.

The rest of the evening had passed in a blur, the storm blowing over just as quickly as it began. Dinner with the Targaryens was always an interesting affair because their personalities were so entirely opposite of one another. The youngest sibling, Daeron, had obviously decided to take a leaf out of Aegon’s book and had already plowed through several beers by the time you walked back up to the house. Helaena immediately took you to the side to show you a picture of a ladybug she had drawn while you had been out riding, and Aemond brooded silently in the corner with a book.

Meanwhile, you and Aegon seemed to have an unspoken agreement not to mention anything to the others which suited you just fine. The kiss had been too unexpected, too private, just meant for the two of you. His siblings did not need to know about any of his extracurricular activities, especially when it involved their sister’s best friend.

Unbidden, butterflies had formed in your stomach for the rest of the evening and you could hardly eat. What was wrong with you? This sort of reaction was something you would expect of a silly school girl and you had to remind yourself that you were a grown ass woman and could do as you please without catching feelings. Your last relationship had ended poorly and you were still trying to recover from it. The drama, the heartbreak, the endless cycles of disappointment—it was exhausting. Before today, guys like Aegon were the exact reason you had sworn off dating and relationships, choosing to fiercely embrace your freedom and independence instead.

Yet here you sat, unable to stop thinking about the perfect shape of Aegon’s lips. When had he changed so much? Or had he been this way all along and you just hadn’t noticed? Gone was his arrogance and, in its place, a seemingly gentle and caring soul. It was the first time in a long while that you felt a genuine connection with the opposite sex. His kiss had reminded you of the excitement of a new fling, the rush of emotions, and the intoxicating feeling of being wanted, of feeling desirable.

Wary of these feelings, you decided to prioritize your own well-being and enjoy the moment for what it was—a fleeting spark of connection—and you wouldn't let it consume you or lead you down a path you weren't ready for.

Except, you hadn’t anticipated that Aegon wouldn’t be on the same page as you. Although both of you were resolutely acting like nothing happened, subtlety, he offered to clear your plate from the dinner table and then brought you another beer unasked, surprising you with his sudden thoughtfulness. You secretly hope his attentiveness goes unnoticed by the rest of his family.

Luckily, Daeron is immersed in his own world of revelry, acting as if he’s in competition with himself to drink the most beer, or perhaps aiming to match Aegon’s former partying ways. Helaena, more adept at picking up social cues, pretended not to notice, but Aemond’s intense stare tells you all you needed to know of his suspicions as his eyes flicked back and forth between you two.

At last, you excused yourself for the evening to shower and go to bed, desperate to find some peace with your inner turmoil by getting away from the group and from him.

Now, drying your hair with a towel, you finally feel relaxed from the chance to clear your head. Dressed in a loose fitting t-shirt and shorts, you emerge from your bathroom and survey the opulent bedroom, grateful for securing one of the best rooms in this expansive house. Your balcony doors are open to let in the warm summer breeze, cooled slightly from the earlier rain. Enticed by the twinkling of the stars that you never get to see in the city, you step outside onto the balcony and gaze up at the night sky, oblivious to someone approaching you from behind.

“Penny for your thoughts?” His deep voice sends your heart into your throat as you jump and whirl to face him.

“Aegon!” you exclaim, with a mixture of annoyance and relief. “You have to stop doing that!”

“Doing what?” he asks with a wolfish grin and you roll your eyes at his feigned innocence.

“Surprising me unexpectedly,” you almost growl in response and his grin grows wider as he gives a nonchalant shrug.

“Oh, I think you like surprises,” he says easily, coming to lean on the railing next to you and observing the sky.

You roll your eyes again and choose not to comment as you look out onto the dark grounds, suddenly conscious that you aren’t wearing a bra and the air is cool. Quickly crossing your arms over your chest, you contemplate what to say to him for a moment and opt to cut to the chase.

“What do you want, Aegon?” you say with a sigh, trying to act as if you truly didn't care. His response is immediate and direct, sending a shiver down your spine.

"You," he purrs, his deep blue eyes seem to pierce you with an intensity that leaves you breathless. There’s a darkness in his stare, a hunger, a need, a longing. Tension crackles like lightning in the air.

Your heart jolts with delight at his words, just as conflicting thoughts invade your mind. Your breakup was still relatively fresh and you weren’t fooled by what he meant by “you”. Is that something you were ready for?

Instantly, your doubt is questioned by an opposing voice in your head that counters with, “But you have needs too, as much as you keep denying yourself. If you wanted to have a one night stand then, why not? He was familiar at least. You deserve to have some fun. When was the last time you had sex?”

Mentally, you think you’ve made a good argument with yourself, until the rational side of your brain reminds you delicately of your choice to swear off men and be happy to live a life free of their soul-sucking ways, remembering the toll your ex had taken on you mentally, emotionally and physically over the years.

But it doesn’t have to be like that anymore, the opposing voice reasons irresistibly in your other ear. You hold the power. You know your worth.

This quick mental battle between your righteous consciousness and lustful desires happens in an instant, but Aegon looks like he knows exactly what internal struggle you are having as he steps closer to you, crowding your space without asking permission, tilting your chin up with his forefinger, the glow of the moon casting a soft light on his face.

“Let me remind you of what you’re missing,” he whispers seductively against your lips, reading you perfectly. He begins the kiss gently, his lips exploring yours before deepening the connection with his tongue. Taking a fistful of your damp hair at the back of your neck, he holds you in place against him as he continues to kiss you passionately. You're enveloped in his taste, his scent, his presence; the musky fragrance of his shampoo only serves to heighten your desire for him.

After a few moments, you feel yourself melt into him, a soft moan escaping your lips as you push your chest into his, nipples hard underneath your t-shirt. All rational thought is wiped clean from your mind as you make your decision.

Breaking the kiss, you take his hand and lead him back inside to stand next to your high, ornate bed. Not one to waste time, lest you change your mind, you grab a fistful of his shirt, pulling it over his head as yours follows suit. His dark gaze drinks in the sight of your bare breasts and he moves towards you as if in a trance, dipping his head to clamp his lips on your collarbone. You move your neck to the side and hum low in your throat as your hands explore the muscles of his broad back.

Within a few moments, you feel him tugging at your shorts, his touch deft and confident as he loosens the drawstrings. They fall to the ground, leaving you only in your thin, silk panties. His large hands slide down your hips and over your ass, and suddenly, he picks you up and throws you effortlessly onto the bed.

Before you can fully catch your breath, Aegon is on top of you again, his body pressing against yours with a delicious weight. You feel his hunger, his desire, as he devours you with an intensity that leaves you gasping for more. Every touch, every kiss, every caress, sends electric pulses of pleasure coursing through your veins. His touch intoxicates you, numbing your mind better than any drug ever could. When was the last time someone had made you feel this good?

An ache starts to form between your legs and you rock your hips upwards, against Aegon’s erect length through his shorts. He hums while kissing his way down your body, suckling at your breasts, skimming your ribs with his teeth, biting your hip bones as he journeys downward, devouring your curves as he goes. At last, his face rests between your legs where he gently kisses the insides of your thighs.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he whispers fervently as he hooks his fingers into the waistline of your panties. You lift your hips and he removes your underwear, finally bearing you to him completely.

“So wet for me already,” he murmurs as he gazes at your sex, slick with desire for him. You start to feel self conscious at the hungry way he is looking at you, closing your knees to his line of sight. His eyes flick back up to your face, now dark pools of lust as he removes his own shorts and comes to lay naked next to you on the bed. You glance down at his cock before his lips take hold of yours again and your breath catches in your chest once more. My god, you think, was it a trick of the dim light or is he really that big?

The thought is quickly swept from your mind as he continues kissing you for several minutes, kneading your breasts and rubbing your sides and hips and you decidedly become more impatient than him, a desperate ache between your legs and you reach for his length but he grabs your wrist firmly to stop you, smiling lightly.

“You first,” he whispers and pushes you back onto the bed so that you rest on your back; his hand trails down your stomach and runs along your inner thigh. Your breasts rise and fall with each quickened breath, anticipating what's next.

Feeling like you burst into flames from all the sexual tension, touch me already! resonates loudly inside your head. Finally, his fingertips brush over your slick folds and he gives a low moan of appreciation. You mewl pathetically and arch your back, needing more friction as he expertly rubs circles around your bud.

“More, Aegon, please,” you aren’t even embarrassed to be begging so early on. He chuckles lightly in response and blessedly acquiesces as he slips a finger inside you, quickly followed by another. He pumps his fingers in and out for a moment and returns to kissing you deeply. Pleasure begins to overload your brain until nothing is left but him. The smell of his skin, the taste of his tongue, the stretch of your pussy as his fingers move deep inside you, so much thicker than yours, reaching so much deeper than you ever could yourself.

With his palm set on your bud, fingers buried deep, he sets a steady rhythm, stroking that sweet spot inside you while his face is buried into your neck. You grip the back of his hair and close your eyes, gasping as pleasure builds deep from within. It doesn’t take long until your breathing picks up as the coil tightens inside, causing you to pant and lose whatever dignity remained to you as you start to mumble incoherent nonsense, willing Aegon not to stop his pace as the pleasure mounts.

“Cum for me, babygirl,” Aegon moans into your ear and your climax crashes over you in one enormous wave as you soar to ecstasy. You clap your hand over your mouth to stifle your wail of pleasure, just in case anyone else in the house could hear you cumming loudly. Aegon grunts from beside you as your pussy clamps down onto his fingers and you think you hear him whisper “fucking hell” very softly, but you are too lost in mindnumbing bliss to pay attention. He continues his rhythm as the waves crash over you and doesn’t stop until you have to push his hand away, on the brink of overstimulation. You lay panting next to him, trying to catch your breath, realizing it has been years since the last time a man has made you cum so hard.

Aegon rolls onto his back and begins to stroke his length, covering himself in your slick as he waits for you to regain control of your senses. Recovering slightly, you glance down and realize you didn’t just imagine it, he really was impressively large, bigger than any of your exes. You prop yourself onto your side next to him and boldly take him in hand, causing him to smirk. As if you were drunk from the ecstasy of your peak, you can’t stop the words that tumble from your lips.

“Fuck, you’re big,” you practically slur at him and his cheshire cat grin widens.

“I think I may have heard that before,” he quips, sounding amused, while running his nose along your jawline, his breath hot against the skin of your neck, “But don’t worry, it’ll fit.” A slight moment of panic flutters in your heart, you were no virgin but you certainly had never handled that before.

Aegon rolls on top and you cringe inwardly, not from worry about his size but rather remembering this was your ex's favorite position because it gave him a sense of power over you. Dark memories interrupt your excitement as they flash like lightning through your mind. But that worthless fool had never made you cum as hard as Aegon just had; he normally hadn’t worried if you came at all. With an enormous effort, you push the intrusive thoughts out of your mind and focus on the present moment.

Mentally, you completely let go and surrender to Aegon... it felt so good for once. To let someone else take the lead, to let go of control, to not have to think, to not have to do anything but allow him to consume you.

You spread your legs and welcome him eagerly as his hips come to rest lightly on yours. You squirm underneath him as your nails rake along his back and down over his ass, causing him to shudder slightly as he continues to kiss along your jawline to your earlobe.

“Aegon, I’m on birth control,” you whisper in his ear as you rub your slick folds along the length of his hard, thick cock.

“Hmm, good,” he hums into your mouth as he grinds back against you, “Because I wanna see your pussy overflow with my cum,” he inserts his tongue into your mouth for emphasis, swallowing your heady moans.

You lift your hips as you feel Aegon guide the tip of his cock to your entrance, unable to stop your gasp as he pushes slowly inside. The intense stretch wipes everything from your mind and if you were being honest with yourself, it feels like the first time all over again, albeit more exciting now. Holy shit…holy fucking shit! is all you can think as he slides in slowly and you wonder if not having sex for a long time makes you a born-again virgin.

Aegon, to his credit, doesn’t thrust roughly into you, rocking gently instead, getting a little deeper with each stroke as you attempt to breathe through your nose and will yourself to relax and open up for him. At last, he bottoms out inside of you and you’ve never felt so full before in your life. He rolls his hips into yours and you moan at the sensation as his thick cock dragging along your soft velvet walls. You pant and mewl underneath him, hands wrapping around his biceps that have your head caged in. After a few slow strokes, you find yourself adjusting to his size and you can’t help but beg for more.

“More, Aegon, please - harder,” you whine.

“Impatient, are we?” he teases and picks up the pace but only a little and you know he’s savoring the moment. He pulls himself almost all of the way out before sliding back in with long, slow, deep strokes. Your hips start to rise to meet his own, willing him to go faster. On the next stroke his hips snap into yours, causing you to gasp at the pleasure that courses through your slick pussy, sending electric currents through your chest as he starts to earnestly fuck you into the bed.

Unable to control the uninterrupted moans of pleasure, you cover your mouth again, thankful, at least, that the heavy framework of the bed is sturdy and does not make so much as a squeak despite his deep thrusts. He frowns down at you, roughly removing your hand from your mouth in displeasure, squeezing your wrist harshly, but the pain only enhances your pleasure.

“Stop doing that. I want to hear you scream,” he says gruffly through puffs of his own heavy breathing.

Suddenly, he pulls out and leans back on his heels, flipping you over and bringing your ass in the air. He re-enters you and grabs your hair, holding your head back as he roughly thrusts into you from behind. You're breathless at the unexpected change in position but moan lustfully as he slaps your ass hard with a large hand, releasing his grip on your hair to take hold of your hips, pistoning even faster. The sound of skin slapping together erotically fills the room as pleasure coils deep in your belly.

“That’s it, babygirl, taking my cock so well,” he growls as his hands squeeze your ass cheeks so hard you think you’ll have bruises.

You whine noisily at his praise while reaching your hand down to play with your bud, knowing you can cum again in this position with a little extra friction. Aegon can feel your pussy fluttering around his cock as your breathing picks up again, another climax approaching quickly. He grunts and pants as he nears his own release.

As your walls spasm around him, you cry out again, your orgasm ripping through your core, clenching down on his thick length. He groans as he rides out your peak for as long as he can, thrusting harshly into you one last time as he pours himself deep within. You can feel his thick cock pulsate inside you, milked by your clenching pussy, and find that you love the thought of him filling you with his spend.

As he withdraws, he pulls your ass cheeks apart, admiring the mess he’s made of you, enjoying the sight of his cum leaking from your cunt. At last, you collapse onto the bed, utterly spent but entirely well-fucked, perhaps the most satiated you had ever been in your whole life.

You lay, breathing heavily, trying to regain your strength, when strong arms come to cradle you as Aegon scoops you up and lays you gently back on the bed in a more dignified position, pulling the covers up and over you.

He slips into bed beside you and snuggles close. In comfortable silence, you both savor the intimate connection, skin to skin, listening to the rhythm of his breathing and the steady beat of your heart. Nestled securely in his embrace, your eyelids begin to droop, and just as you teeter on the edge of sleep, a gentle kiss brushes across your forehead.

Daylight filters through the balcony's glass doors, gently rousing you from sleep. It takes a moment for the vivid memories of last night to flood your mind. You find yourself still unclothed under the sheets, yet the bed is empty beside you. Letting out a soft groan, you stretch your sore muscles, contemplating how you were going to face Aegon that day. Are you both going to continue to pretend like nothing happened?

Automatically, you reach for your phone on the nightstand and see there’s a text, not from Aegon but from Aemond. Confusion swirls in your mind as you tap it open.

[Aemond]: Look. My bedroom is right next to yours. Could you keep it down next time?

You could practically feel his irritation and you blush, mortified. Fuck, had you really been that loud? You knew the answer to that was a resounding “yes” because you hated being quiet, but you had really hoped the expansive house would have muffled some of the noise. Shit.

Feeling guilty, you start to type back an apology but then decide sex is nothing to be ashamed of and you were going to have fun teasing rigid, proper Aemond.

[Y/N]: Join us next time, then? 😉

>>>> Part 2

A/N: It was the HOTD trailer that pushed me over the edge for Aegon, but y'all can thank these photos from TGC's IG for the inspiration for this story.

#house of the dragon #aegon smut #aegon fanfic #aegon targaryen #modern au aegon #aegon ii targaryen #hotd aegon #aegon the second #aegon targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #tom glynn carney

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eupheme · 6 months ago

Text

— mine, all mine

cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 4.2k

tags: jealous!cooper, sort-of alternate timeline (includes a fo4 character for fun), partners-with-benefits, mutual yearning, light angst, fingering, oral sex, one pussy slap, come marking

prompt: something where he's possessive and jealous. anything that would cause a man like The Ghoul to get jealous. He needs to remind everyone (including her) who she belongs to.

Cooper doesn’t take kindly to the man you picked up, even if he himself had made the deal to escort him to New Vegas. Not liking their old-world charm, that easy smile. Can’t be up to any good, and he hates that you might be falling for it.

It has him thinking that he just might have to remind you of a few things. Set you straight. Make sure you don’t forget who you belong to.

You can’t help the little laugh that bubbles in your throat, as you follow through the door at Cooper’s heels.

Seeking shelter for the night, after a long day on the road. Something different than the usual bounty. Escorting a man through the Mojave Wasteland, to New Vegas. Following another lead, they had said.

He had seemed capable enough, but didn’t know the area. His home was far to the east, not used to the harsh desert sun, the creatures that lurked here. A heavy bag of caps offered that neither one of you could say no to. Enough to buy a couple months worth of vials, and that meant more to you than anything.

“No shit. It really worked?” You glance back at the man from over your shoulder. The handle of your gun a familiar weight in your hand, as you check the hallways after your partner, “You really were him, costume and everything?”

“The Silver Shroud, in the flesh.” Nate flashes you a straight, white-toothed smile, “Calling cards and everything.”

Your head shakes in amazement. He was interesting - full of stories that didn’t seem possible to be true. Leader of the Minutemen. A retired veteran from before - or so he tells you.

Hard to believe such a thing could be true. It has you distracted - your boot catching on an overturned side table, a set of chairs.

A little yelp as you tilt off-balance. The Ghoul turning, a gloved hand stretching out out - but there’s already another at the small of your back, another at your elbow.

“Careful now, sugarbomb.” Nate huffs in your ear, steadying you until you catch your balance.

It has heat flaring in your cheeks - at his words and how you embarrassed yourself in front of both of them. Ignoring the hand, and winding yourself free, giving the mess of furniture a wide berth instead of stepping over as they did.

“Did you hear about him on the radio?” You ask Cooper instead, trying to change the subject.

Instead of an answer, the Ghoul gives you a rough grunt. Turning away from you, fingers tracing over the thick bullets lined up in his bandolier.

“Gonna sweep the second floor.” He rasps, “Stay put, alright?”

He must not have heard you, too busy concentrating on clearing the space.

You nod, a little flutter in your belly at his words as he leaves you. A hint of protection in them, layered deep. He hadn’t spoken much since he picked up this job. Eyes always watchful, fingers curled around the handle of his gun.

But you didn’t think there was anything too dangerous about Nate. He seemed nice - filling the space that you leave for him with his stories. The days traveling has been spent quickly, and you couldn’t help but feel sorry when you hear how he’d lost everything.

His wife, and his son. Waking up after it was all over - alone.

You wonder how he could press on, be so cheerful now. But you suppose someone could learn to shoulder a lot, after so many years had passed.

It has you shivering, in the old apartment. Thick brick walls - the radiators are long dead, the cold seeping through the cracks in the window panes.

“Hey.” You hear behind you. Nate’s shoulders flexing as he peels his leather bomber jacket off, fingers hooking under the collar as he holds it out to you.

The worn vault suit underneath clings tight to his chest. Silver threading through his dark hair, peppering his beard at the curve of his chin. Handsome, in an old-world way - something you haven’t been able to help noticing.

Not that you’re interested.

It’s only because he makes you think of him, a little. The same strange way of saying things. Phrases you don’t know from your time growing up in the wasteland.

And you can’t pretend you haven’t wondered, just a tiny bit. What Cooper might have been like, before.

Part of you had thought that would make them a little more friendly - that point of connection between them - but the Ghoul has been wrapped up in thorns for days now.

Distant even, but you think you get it. Suppose he thinks it’s safer, this way.

“Oh,” It takes you a second to accept his offering. Not used to generosity without a price. A soft sigh when you shrug it on - the fabric warmed by his body heat, “Thank you. Are you sure? It’s just, these old buildings-”

“This is almost warm compared to where I come from,” He smiles, shooting you a wink, “Least I can do, with what you’re doing for me.”

There’s a sweep of his eyes, as your hands slip through the sleeves - a considering tilt of his head, “Looks better on you, anyways.”

The compliment sends an uneasy ripple across your skin, a warm heat in your cheeks. His easy charm sets you on edge - not used to words and tones like his. Not knowing what to do with it - your eyes flicking towards the staircase.

There’s a pause, before he’s inhaling a breath.

“Listen. About your… associate,” Nate takes a step towards you, his voice lowering, “I don’t know if you owe him caps or something, but if you need to split, you’re welcome to come with me.”

It stuns you for a second. How he thinks you might need help, that you’re indebted.

“Oh!” You manage - that eye contact breaking, as you search for words, “I’m not. We’re actually, uh-”

But you don’t have a straight answer. Involved, perhaps. You wouldn’t say together, as much as you wished it would be. Companions is too soft a word for the path you travel together.

His word - associate - too formal.

“Really?” Nate’s voice tips up - just before his eyes dip down you and back up, in a quick circuit, “Huh. Good for him, then.”

The silence that lingers is stilted. His hands raise, with the lift of your brow.

“Didn’t mean any harm,” He adds, easily, “Just, if you change your mind… it’d be good to have you on the road with me.”

Leaving you then - letting the offer hang as he pokes around in the side rooms.

Another thing that you had found fascinating - the junk that he carries with him. Not just old tape but bottles of adhesive, cans of oil. Broken hot plates, all tucked into his bag.

Your head shakes, as you move deeper.

Winding your way into the kitchen, picking through broken cabinets - snatching up cans of cram. Ending up in a study, through another door.

Books spill from the shelves. There’s an old, deep desk bumped up near a wall, the upholstered chair toppled over next to it.

A few of the novels catch your eye - nose dipping to inhale the familiar, musty smell of the pages as you crouch. Thumbing through them, trying to pick one or two to keep.

Engrossed enough that you don’t hear the creak of boots on wood. The low jangle of spurs, until the door is closing shut behind you.

There’s a slow, upward pull of your eyes, until you see the way he looms over you - eyes narrowing. A hard set to his jaw, a hand that curls around your bicep as he tugs you up and onto your feet.

“Something wrong?” You ask, as you catch the pull of his brow bone, “With the house, is it safe?”

“House’s fine,” He grits. A hand tracing up the zipper of the jacket, curling around the collar.

The frown deepens, as his eyes drag over you, “You take this off the Vaultie?”

Your eyebrows raise, “I didn’t take it off him. He gave it to me because I was cold.”

He clicks his tongue at that, one side of his lip curling. Stepping into your space, until you’re bumping up against that desk.

“Can’t leave you alone for a goddamn minute, can I?” Cooper growls.

Fingers tracing up your sides until they’re fitting beneath the fabric at your shoulders, pushing the worn leather from them.

“What do you mean?” You frown - letting him. The evening chill isn’t so bad in here, the room tucked deeper into the house. No windows to let the evening air in.

“You know exactly what I mean, sugarbomb.” He drawls, acid in his tone, “Smoothie can’t keep his hands off you.”

The jacket pools on the desk, a flick of his wrist sending it to the floor. You don’t know why the Ghoul is so angry - not when he’s made it clear this something between you is just a diversion.

Nothing more than business mixing with pleasure.

“It’s not like that.” You protest, though your mind flickers back to before. Cheeks burning as you shift back, but follows - crowding you, “He’s looking for his son.”

It has your hip pressing against a desk, his own fitting against yours. Hands flattening against the top of the desk, as he leans over you.

“Lookin’ to get his dick wet, more like.” His words are a low growl, “‘Sides, is that all it takes you get you starry-eyed? Fella lookin’ for his kid?”

There’s something in the way he says it. A tick in his jaw, the way his tone pushes at you. Needling deep, as if there’s something more to what he’s saying.

Your arms prop on your hips, “I’m not starry-eyed-”

“Aren’t you?” His head cocks, “You gonna be keepin’ his bedroll warm tonight, sweetheart?”

There’s mockery in his tone. A curl of his lip and bared teeth, all while his eyes catalog each and every expression.

Your hands press against his chest then, scoffing. Yes, Nate had flirted with you. Said you could come with him, but surely that wasn’t the reason why.

Was it?

“That’s ridiculous,” It comes out flustered, unconvincing, “He was married, he’s not-”

The Ghoul shifts, his hands fitting against your hips. Pushing, until you’re sitting on top of the desk, thighs spread so he can fit between them. Distracting you, though his look is no less fierce.

“That don’t mean much, sweetie,” He growls, “Key word here is was. Not gonna keep him from tryin’, I’ll tell you that much.”

And you think you get it now. His raised hackles from the very beginning, when Nate’s hand curled around yours.

Maybe he’d burn right up, if he had heard your conversation. You wonder if he caught any - drifting up through the floorboards. Sending him right down to you, to stake his claim.

It has you softening. Fingers hooking around the thick leather of his belt, tugging him flush.

“He can try all he wants, cowboy,” You shrug, looking at him from beneath your lashes, “It’s not gonna sway me. Was just being nice because he was.”

“Nice.” He echos, as his hands slip up to your waist. Fingers curling in the folds of your shirt, rocking you against him, “That what you think you want, sweetheart?”

There’s the dip of his head, and your eyes are closing. But he just hovers, close enough that you can feel the exhale of his breath. A jerk of his head when your chin tips up, seeking him.

“You think nice is gonna take care of you the way I do?” His hand drifts up - fitting at the curve of your ribs. Thumb brushing at your breast, as you suck in a breath.

“What are you doing?” You breathe, as your eyes open. A shiver at how close he is, how his crotch presses right against the seam of your pants.

His answer is a low rasp.

“Remindin’ you of a couple o’ things.”

There’s a familiarity in the way his other hand dips down. Those hazel eyes are still on yours, as he gives the button on your pants a sharp tug. A soft slide of the zipper.

Your fingers curl, holding on tightly. Anticipation sings in you, melding with the sharp flutter of nerves.

“W-We can’t,” It comes out as a stammer - your concentration torn. “He’s still-”

The Ghoul’s hand leaves you, but it’s only so his teeth can sink into the tip of a leather glove - the jerk of his head to pull his hand free. Already coming back to you, giving the fabric of your pants a sharp tug downwards.

“‘s cute you think I give a shit.” He husks - his eyes dark, as he jerks his chin towards your hips.

They seem to move on their own. A hum of approval as they lift - so he can tug both layers down to your ankles, leaving them to tangle with your boots.

His hands are warm as they trace back up your bare thighs. Soothing the chill - forever warmed by the radiation that lingers in him. Your thighs spread wider without thought, though his fingers linger.

Tracing the soft skin, just where your thigh meets hip. Close enough that surely he can feel the heat that lingers there - the scrape of his nails against sensitive skin sending up goosebumps, as his tongue pinches between teeth.

Eyes caught on how easily you open for him. The way you clench in anticipation, shifting into his touch.

Another protesting whimper falls from your lips, the ghost of a smile as his eyes flip up to yours.

“You’re gonna tell me you don’t want this,” His thumb twitches against you, ghosting along your slit, “When I can see you practically droolin’ for me?”

He lifts his hand for emphasis, casually examining the sheen that coats the pad of his thumb. Head cocked as he waits - dragging it slowly along the flat of his tongue.

“I do want it,” It’s hushed, though no less needy.

His tongue peeks out again. Pinched between teeth, before ghosting across a lower lip - the taste of you lingering. You expect him to bend you over the table, or lay you back against it.

Instead, his fingers pluck the hat from his head. Dropping it onto yours, the brim distorting your view as he bends. Crouching - his left knee pressing into the floorboards, as he situates himself between your thighs.

It has your breath hitching. Another exploration of his fingers, thumb pressing against your folds. Tugging you open, examining you, just like he’d do for a piece of found scrap.

Heat floods through you. There’s no mistaking that he’s still calling every shot, even when he’s on his knees.

“Then answer my question.” His voice takes on a sharp edge, those eyes back on yours, “You think he could give you what you need?”

From here, you can see the pretty fan of his eyelashes. The flecks of gold and green in his brown eyes, each little pitted scar and shiny stretch of skin.

Your head shakes.

“No.” Your thighs inch wider - hips bucking into his touch, “Only you, Cooper.”

He growls at the sound of his name, his hand coming to cup against your cunt. Fingers insistent, where they nudge at your opening. The tips of two sinking into your heat, ripping a muffled gasp from you.

A low hum, when he feels how wet you are. How you wrap so warm and tightly around him - an obscene sound as he presses them deep.

Unable to hide how he affects you, not when the pace picks up, until the heel of his hand is grinding against your clit. Until you’re dripping against his palm.

Your moan is bitten back. Fingers curling around the edge of the desk, needing something to hold onto.

His pace is steady, but he’s just teasing. Fingers merely filling you, stretching you out. No careful curl - just bringing you to hover on a plateau, leaving you to clench around him with desperation.

“Please,” You whine.

Relief then, as his fingers hook. Dragging against your spongy inner wall, as you whimper in approval.

“Yeah?” He hums - watching how your brows pinch, when his fingers flex again, “Change your mind about gettin’ fucked, honey?”

Teeth clicking together with your bitten-back whine, needing to feel more than just the unhurried crook of his fingers.

“Yes. I need more,” Your hips lift with your answer - bucking into his touch, “Need your cock, Cooper. I’ve missed it-”

A dirty trick, to use his name again.

To beg, like this.

He knows it, a heartbeat lingering before his fingers begin to move with purpose. The tilt of his head, and then - his tongue is flattening against your slit. Giving you something else, instead.

You cry out before you remember where you are - your hand quick to press against your mouth to muffle the sound.

He groans at the taste of you, as it floods his tongue. A dark glitter in his eyes, you think he did this on purpose. Trying to pull those sounds from you.

This thought solidified as he begins to devour you. Licking you from clit to hole, dipping between his knuckles. Working the muscle in until he can feel you clench around it too, his own groan caught in his throat. Coming back up - lips wrapping around the tight bud as you gasp, nails biting into wood as you moan.

Ones you still try to hide. Your breath sharp through your nose, palm pressed flat against your mouth. But it doesn’t stop the squeak of the desk as your hips move. The sticky plunge of his fingers, the wet lap of his tongue.

Something molten pooling inside you, red-hot. He knows how much you can take, how the stretch of his fingers slips into something honey-sweet.

His head rears back, as his eyes open. A sharp click of his tongue, before his left hand curls like a vice around your wrist. Capturing the other - fingers spreading wide as he pins them against your belly.

A smirk that grows wider - more sinister - when you realize you won’t be able to hide your sounds any longer. When all you can do is accept what he gives you.

“Oh, don’t hold back, sweetheart.” He coos - a rough breath, as he sees your jaw grit, eyes screwing shut, “Want him to hear just what I’m doin to you.”

A tilt of his head - slow in the way he returns to you. A pointed thrust of his fingers, another one slipping into you. Tongue flicking lazily, before spit is pooling on his tongue.

Pressing his fingers deep, as it falls from his lips. Dripping down your slit, before he’s sucking on your clit again.

The keen that pulls from you is loud. Drawn-out, your breath hissed through your teeth.

He grins into your cunt, the words murmured against your skin, “That’s more like it. Atta girl.”

Taking, as he gives.

Guilt lingers in you - thinking about Nate, wandering in the house. Hearing the muted moans and cries as you’re devoured against the desk. It has your lips pressing harder together, though it does nothing to mute the pleasure that winds higher and higher.

But he notices. Of course he does - fingers slipping free, curling against your clit before he’s pinching it between his fingertips. Teeth nipping at your inner thighs, marks blooming against your skin.

Another cry loosens, as your hips jerk.

“Now I know you want my cock, sweetheart. Asked for it so nicely, after all,” He husks, as his head tips up, “But you’re not gettin’ it till later.”

A threat and a promise, layered in the heavy pant of his breath.

“Plan on takin’ you by the fire. From three feet away, if I have to,” His smile is near-feral, “Let him hear how pretty your pussy sounds taking me. Knowin’ he can’t touch.”

You moan at his words. At the pet of his fingers - each breath short, growing louder as he brings you close to the edge. Keyed up enough over the past few days - leaving you desperate.

And you think that maybe - he just might be as well. It’s there in the way his shoulders curl in. The spread and rock of his own thighs, where you can see the tent of his hard cock.

That desire to make you come tipping into something that feels like need.

“You know why he can’t?” He coaxes, his words a slow drawl.

His fingers flattening when you’re slow to answer - pleasure-drunk, landing a harsh tap against your cunt that has you gasping in shock.

“Because…” You search for the words, grasping at their hazy shapes, “Because I’m yours.”

It comes so easily, the things you’ve thought but never said.

His knees shift, hips tilting on their own. A rough sound in his throat, as he watches how your lips form the words.

“That’s right,” Cooper coos, “Good fuckin’ girl. Knowing who she belongs to.”

It does something to you. That desire blooming into something tangible, racing from your thoughts to the needy throb of your clit.

He can hear the change in your breath. How it pitches high, drawn out. No longer holding it back - unable to, as your vision starts to go hazy.

“You liked that, sweetheart? Knowin’ that you’re owned?” He rasps, “Fuckin’ close, aren’t you. Gonna come?”

“Yes,” You chant, “Make me come. Cooper, please-”

His hand leaves your wrists - your palms curling into his jacket as he loosens his own belt. Fist wrapping around his cock as his tongue replaces the swirl of his fingers.

A whine - loud, in the quiet room - when those three fingers sink deep again, filling you. Only a few deep plunges of of his fingers before your breath is catching, eyes going wide.

The cry catches in your throat, coming out ragged. Unmistakable for anything else, as your pussy tightens around him - that thudding beat that starts low, rippling through you.

Pulsing against his tongue. Stealing your strength, leaving you boneless as your fingers anchor themselves against his shoulders.

He groans into your cunt, as he feels you gush against his palm. The way he can taste your release as it leaks against his knuckles, his tongue dipping down to taste.

Greedy again, with his gaze. Fixed on how wrecked you are - rumpled clothes, how you’re still speared on his fingers, thighs slick with need.

No one else can ruin you so thoroughly. You both know it - it’s enough that he lets go, chasing his own end. An unsteady push to his feet, as his fingers slip free.

His other hand flattening against your abdomen, pushing you back against the desk. A messy twist of his fist, seeing the gape his fingers left behind - that tension twisting, about to snap in his own belly.

His cock is coated in your release, when he comes. A feral snarl as his fist jerks - harkening back to your first few nights together. Back when he held back from spilling inside you, the vials too precious to spend on a stranger.

Fingers twitching against your belly, keeping you pinned as his own moan slips through his teeth. A needy buck of his hips into the tight curl of his hand, a cruel mockery of where he imagines it buried. But it’s enough - another rough sound before ropes of his spend arc across your mound.

Warm against your skin, as he covers you. Dripping down against your slit when he angles himself, making a mess of your slick pussy.

It already has anticipation simmering, deep inside. Unsure if he was being serious about later - but the thought of him taking you nice and slow, drawing it out - you might not be able to ever look Nate in the eye, but christ, it could be worth it.

Though something hangs heavy, as he comes back down. His head lowers from where it tipped back in pleasure. The slow drag of the tip of a finger through his release, glossy against your skin, before he finds the hem of your underwear. Tugging it back into place as you whine in protest.

“Hush, now.” He coos - stroking you over the thin fabric. Seeing how his come seeps in. A teasing circle against your clit, before his palm presses flush. Smearing himself against your cunt.

Staking a claim, you think. He’s always let you clean up before. And this isn’t a punishment, though the wait will be torture.

Fingers smooth the faded fabric when he’s content, his radiation-reddened fingers fitting against the soft curves of your hips.

And, maybe now you understand.

“I’m not going to leave you, you know.”

It’s quiet, breathed out as you gaze up at him.

He almost flinches. A different kind of shudder that runs through him, fingers pinching hard where they dent your flesh.

“You should,” His jaw grits. Voice low, the words coming out hoarse, “If you had any sense.”

But you both know you have none. Not when it comes to him.

Your hands fit in his, as he tugs you off the table. The snug fit of your pants as you tug them back into place, already feeling how he sticks against your skin.

Thoroughly marked. Unable to help the clench as you think about later - missing the fullness of his fingers already. A wobble to your legs - a hazy remnant from your orgasm - as you right yourself, fitting everything back into its place. Before stooping, to grab the jacket off the floor.

Cooper’s hand reaches out - fingers beckoning. His own duster already shrugging off his shoulders. Bundled up, as he holds it aloft.

“You get cold again, you tell me.”

It’s gruff. An offering, with the extension of his hand. Swapping the bomber jacket for his. The worn fabric enveloping you as you tug it on, that greedy look seeping back as he takes in how you look in his things.

A little nod, before he’s turning - making for the door.

Leaving you to follow behind, hiding your smile.

this started a couple different ways (flirting with a bounty or with a bartender) but I thought it would be interesting to have Cooper in a situation with a genuinely good guy (Nate is the MMC in FO4 if you choose his route!) because that would surely and truly drive him nuts (rip what a couple to join up with) 💖 thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed!

edit: the companion fic is here - this scenario with them picking up Nora and Reader being the jealous one!

#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you

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lowkeyrobin · 4 months ago

Note

Miguel x reader but reader is just absolutely in love with Miguel but Miguel has eyes for sam and reader tries to be supportive be can't so they distance themself away from Miguel😁

- ♠️

dude I swear we're gonna brawl and I'm gonna make the guy ur talking too watch as I win. I'm so srs rn I'm gonna tell meemaw (I lit don't even know them all that well but idc) ; anyways thanks I guess 😒 /sarc ; but I went a little off the rails w this one cause why not

MIGUEL DIAZ ; casual

summary ; you have eyes for miguel while he slowly distances himself to be with sam, and you accept your fate

warnings ; language, physical fighting / a punch thrown

disclaimers ; miguel is a whole fucking villain, kinda off to canon timeline cause I'm rewatching atm and it's hard to keep 5 seasons straight in the brain, fun hawk tory and demetri content cause they'd be so cool together

track ; casual, chappell roan

word count ; 1.4k

masterlist

You thought that maybe after all these months being with Miguel meant that you were together. Apparently not.

After two weeks of dating, his mom invited you over for dinner.

You gave him everything.

You did everything for him, you owed him everything, you could only thank him for being alive now.

After all the passionate making out, the special dates, the first time experiences, after everything, he said that. He said that there were no attachments. Every time you kissed, you gained anger issues, knowing his lips were probably on another's at some point between the last and now.

He made out with you after pressing you against the wall while his family sat at the dinner table down the hall.

But no, it was just casual.

You knew he just told his friends that it was just casual.

You loved being dumb about it for a while, at least while you thought it was real. After graduation, you'd have an apartment, and he'd show you off to his friends at the pier.

You noticed his unfocused gaze upon you. You noticed how he looked more interested in Sam LaRusso, again, for that matter.

You were just a rebound, apparently.

But apparently, it was just casual when he made out with you in the locker room just before the All Valley tournament. Yeah, it was just casual when you were on the phone trying to convince him not to run away to go find his dad, yet he went anyways.

You made out with him when you went to dinner, his mom and Johnny at the table.

Yet once he knew that you knew that he was into Sam again, he wondered why you were bitter. He bragged to his friends about how much he loved your lips, how much he wanted you and how amazing you were.

You hated how you allowed it to drag on, how you let it break you as much as it possibly could before you just gave the fuck up.

You hated yourself.

You hated yourself for allowing it to happen. You hated yourself for letting him think it was just casual. You hated yourself for not fucking killing him once you caught him in the act.

But no, you had to be the chill person who would just shrug it off.

At least some of your mutual friends were on your side after you texted them about it. Demetri, Tory, and Hawk the most, slightly surprisingly on Hawk's part.

The trio immediately rushed to your house, knowing you needed someone to lean on. For fuck's sake, you just saw your supposed boyfriend making out with his ex in a rollerrink.

The (kind of unlikely) trio, during a grace period between Eagle Fang slash Cobra Kai and Miyagi-Do, had to team up just this once for their favorite, non-Miguel friend. They were all shocked and disgusted by Miguel's actions, though kind of expecting it.

He was infamous for his love triangles, apparently.

Tory holds you in her arms, allowing your vulnerability to show through while Demetri talks, hoping his rambles would ease your pain. Hawk is downstairs, making you some mac and cheese since you hadn't eaten dinner.

"Fuck him," Tory smiles, cutting of Demetri's nonsense ramble. "You're better than him, in many ways, actually. But, he lost you, that's his problem. You're free, Y/n. It wasn't just casual, I don't know why he's lying to himself, but he and Sam can go suck it. He clearly doesn't deserve you. You're way out of his league anyway"

You look up at her, a smile painting your face before you hug her. "Thanks, Tory"

Demetri awkwardly sits on the foot of your bed, unknowing of what to say or do. Tory gives him a look, considering you'd need feedback from both male and female friends of yours slash Miguel's. Her current state of mind was just showing you that there were apparently sides and they were on yours.

Demetri nods, quickly getting the message. "Yeah, he doesn't deserve you. You should like, get him back or something. Or at least yell at him, or something. I mean, getting back with your ex while trying to tell your current partner it's just casual? He fumbled"

You giggle, wiping your tears away. "Thanks, dude."

A light knock is heard at the door before it's opened, revealing Hawk with a tray carrying four bowls of mac and cheese, forks stuck in each of them. In his pockets are water bottles, two shoved in each one. The purple haired boy lightly sets the food down on your dresser, handing a bowl to each of you, then tossing you a bottle of water.

You all eat in silence, you trying to gather your thoughts while the others attempt to even wrap their minds around what you were going through after what Miguel did. In the background, on Demetri's phone, The Umbrella Academy plays, his phone perched against a few pillows on the bed where you were all huddled together.

Hawk and Tory share a look before turning back to the screen, enjoying the calm quiet that basked over them.

"what do you mean, why am i bitter???"

"youre being weird about this, we were never anything. you were basically a rebound. get over it omfg"

The three look up from your phone then at you, astonished looks painting their expressions. Their eyebrows are furrowed, their eyes widened.

"What the fuck?" Tory asks, "You weren't lying about that, were you?"

You shake your head. "Literally, what does he want from me? Of course I'm mad, he basically lead me on and won't explain why he was making out with his ex, then bragging to his friends about "oh we're casual"

Demetri bites his lower lip, trying not to laugh, considering it was a nervous tic of his. He shares an eyebrow jump with Hawk before listening in again. Hawk quickly grabs your phone from your hands unexpectedly.

"Dude-"

"What're you doing?"

"Calling him"

"What?!"

"Why?"

"I'm not talking to him-"

The dial tone makes your skin crawl as you hear it.

"Just let it out," Hawk shrugs, handing you the phone.

"Feel like I'd rather do this in real life, Moskowitz."

You feel an absolute weight fall from your shoulders as it moves to the voicemail, seeing as Miguel declined the call himself. You sigh out of relief, quickly shutting your phone off.

You glare at Hawk.

"Would you rather do it face to face? I can tell him to meet me somewhere and we'll jump him or something" He shrugs.

"Violence isn't gonna help anything," Tory declines. "We'll get him to go somewhere quiet yet busy. That way, you can expose him or something. Mental violence is better than physical"

"Says the champion of the All Valley girl's team"

"I'm tempted to paralyze him again."

The three friends share half fearful looks, knowing you didn't joke lightly in times like this. They lay their eyes upon Sam and Miguel again, holding hands as they walk through the hallway.

You bite your tongue, trying to hold back yelling profanities as they walk past you. You lean against the red lockers where Demetri fishes out a few textbooks from his. Tory stands by you while Hawk leans against them as well, arms crossed.

"What if we tell people there's a fight, you expose him, since you got receipts, and you beat him up?" Hawk suggests, throwing his idea out there.

You shrug. "I think he could beat my ass. That'd be embarrassing"

He shrugs in return. "Eh. He hasn't been practicing recently. He's probably a little rusty. Like, he hasn't been showing up to class for days"

Tory and Demetri nod to confirm Hawk's statement. You shrug again.

"M'kay"

"You wanna get suspended over this?" Demetri asks, closing his locker.

"First offense," you reply with an informative tone.

"Oh, I'm crazy because I thought you gave a shit about me? Please, inform me what casual is to you"

"Something not serious."

"But that's why we went out on dates, and why I did everything you asked of me?"

"You didn't have too"

"So?"

"So what?"

"So you're a bitch"

You quickly pull your clenched fist back, then push forward to hit Miguel straight in the face. He quickly gasps, along with the bystanders, holding a hand to his now bleeding nose.

"What the hell?"

Tory and Hawk goofily grin while Demetri lightly smiles, proud of you for sticking to your word.

"Too-da-loo, mister casual." You spin on your heel, walking back to your three friends.

They wrap you into side hugs, pulling you away from the shocked boy who'd essentially played you. Bystanders laugh at him and gawk at you, snapping pictures, sending videos across the school.

A happy little smile remains on your face as you're sent home for the rest of the week.

#lowkeyrobin #gn reader #gender neutral reader #they/them reader #cobra kai x reader #cobra kai #miguel diaz x reader #miguel diaz x you #xolo maridueña #xolo mariduena x reader #♣️ anon

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ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 5 months ago

Note

aaron hotchner x jacks nanny/babysitter

she’s got a crazy ex that stalked and threatened her so she moved far away to live a simple, under the radar life and started working for hotch. he knows her situation and does his best to look out for her, maybe she’s like a live in nanny ? neither of them is bold enough to make a move first until her ex finds her and hotch and the team race to save her. ends with love confessions and all the sappy stuff

could be a one shot or a short lil series i’m sure whatever you write will be amazing !

༉‧₊˚. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨-𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 || 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

— pairing: aaron hotchner x plus size babysitter!reader

— summary: your new life as a live-in nanny was wonderful, and with your dark past behind you, there was nothing that could ruin this. but as they say, what goes around comes around.

— warnings: heavily detailed violence BEWARE, surprisingly light angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, physical hurt/comfort, mutual pining, abusive ex's :[, guns, and a horribly written action/fight scene (forgive me).

— wc: 1965

⋆ a/n: okay this is a heavy fic so beware once more, but aside from that this takes a fully turn! i don't really have anything else to say besides enjoy!

masterlist | AO3

“Backpack? Check. Lunchbox? Check. Shoes are tied? Check.”

You placed your hands on your hips triumphantly, a proud smile on your face as you examined the little boy.

Being a live-in nanny came with being organizational and making sure that Jack was ready for school everyday without fail. It wasn’t like Aaron was super strict on you; he understands when you have your days where things are a bit out of place, but honestly it was a personal preference, and totally not because you have a big fat crush on the FBI agent.

You had been very skeptical about your babysitting position at first because of your ex who was absolutely bat shit crazy. It was a situation you had barely escaped from, and it had taken almost everything in you to get where you were now, so you were a little afraid of men in general. But Aaron was kind, and welcoming, and fatherly, someone that you felt safe with.

And then, you fell in love.

It had scared the shit out of you of course, but now it was a feeling that you welcomed with open arms, even if you couldn’t act on it.

Your phone began to ring as you searched for the car keys, the contact name read ‘Aaron <3’.

“Morning!” You greeted with a smile as you picked up. “Good morning. How are you guys?” The older man asked. “We're doing just fine, as always,” You successfully found the keys. “How are things?” You knew better than to ask how he was, because if you had the kind of job that he did, there was no way you could answer positively.

“We pretty much have everything we need, so we’ll probably be able to wrap this case up early.”

“Oh Aaron, that's great!” You cheer happily and make your way back to where Jack was waiting for you. “You ready to go, little man?” Jack looks up at you from his toys. “Is that daddy on the phone?”

“Yeah buddy, you wanna say hi?”

“Yes!” Jack’s answer was full of excitement, and you can’t help but smile. “As much as I enjoy talking to you, it looks like I’m handing you over.” You swear you could hear Aaron chuckle.

Yeah, this was a life that you could get used to.

Having the house to yourself was weird.

With Jack away at his aunt’s for the weekend, it was strangely quiet due to the emptiness of the child’s presence. You suppose you’re grateful for the break even though taking care of Jack really isn’t as tiring as one might think.

Despite Aaron rarely being home, he’s managed to raise the boy well when he could, and it’s honestly very admirable. It’s one of the many things that made you fall in love with him. You gaze down into the wine glass at the thought, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Ugh, why does love make you such a loser?

Your bashful train of thought was stopped by a suspicious thump coming from the back of the house. Your smile dropped and a feeling of anxiety and worry twisted in your gut as you grabbed your phone that was lying on the kitchen counter.

You’re quick to dial Aaron’s number and your fingernail finds itself in your mouth as you chew on it anxiously. It’s an old habit, one that you had picked up back in your old relationship.

“Hello?” Rasped Aaron.

You knew he had just recently flown in from wherever he was because you could hear the foot traffic of everyone grabbing their luggage from the plane’s storage.

“Hey,” Your greeting was nervous and it was something that Aaron easily picked up on. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?” He asks with a furrowed brow. “Yeah, just um - I’m just hearing some weird things so I just wanted to know when you think you might be getting home.” I miss you.

“Honey what type of weird things?” Before you were able to answer, there was a loud crashing sound. You instantly dropped to the floor to hide behind the counter; you cradled the phone to your ear, “Okay uh - change of claim,” You attempted to joke. “Someone is most definitely in the house.”

Aaron tries not to panic at the way his insides turn cold, “You remember what to do, right?” He asks with a hardened voice. You gulp, stretching slightly to peer over the marble. You stare out into the darkness and a frightened shiver shoots up your spine.

“Get to your room and enter the safe.” You reiterated what he had told you almost a year ago when you had first moved in. You’ve never shot a gun before but tonight might be the night where you learn how too.

“That’s right, and do you remember the code?”

As you went to answer him, you were snatched up by your hair and a scream rang out and into the phone. Even though you weren’t on speaker the others that were currently standing outside with Aaron could hear it.

Aaron desperately calls out your name, and with your silence he takes off without any explanation, but his team knows to follow close behind.

“So, this is what you’ve been doing since you tried to leave me?!”

You cried out as another blow was delivered to your gut but a heavy boot. Your lungs burned and there were tears streaming down your face. He had pulled you so hard over the counter that it made your scalp burn, a blistering headache beginning to form at the base of your skull.

“Fuck you!” You spat as you attempted to prop yourself up on your elbows.

There was a fine line between anger and fear, and this was one of those moments where they blend together. If you ended up dying tonight, at least you didn’t go down in vain.

This time he punched you in the face before snatching you up by your arms. There was a metallic taste in your mouth, a bruise already developing near your eye. “Why’d you leave me, huh?! We had a good thing going and you just… you just ruined it!”

“I didn’t ruin shit asshole!” You screamed and pushed at him but it was no use. “We were gonna get married but you… but you wanted to play house with an old man, really?!”

“You’ve been watching me.” You said in disbelief. It made your stomach twist in nausea and horror at the thought of him watching Jack, what he could’ve done to him. You had actively put the man you loved kid in danger and it devastated you.

“I had no choice!”

“You’re fucking crazy!”

“Put your hands where I can see them.” Aaron’s voice rang out throughout the house.

Before you knew it you were spun around with a gun to your head, his arm locked against your neck, faintly strangling you.

“Aaron!” You called out in relief, but it turned into a grunt as you tugged further into your ex’s chest.

Aaron’s gun was raised steadily, his eyes focused on your attacker, but he doesn’t hesitate to cast you a reassuring look. When he sees your bloody and bruised face his jaw tightens, the vein in his neck popping and visible through his skin.

“Boyfriend to the rescue, huh?” Your ex sneers into your cheek. You shudder.

“Put the gun down.” Aaron continues to coax, and out the corner of your eye you can see Morgan approaching through the darkness.

“Why do you want to save this slut? Don’t tell me you’ve already -” A shot rings out into the fair followed by a scream of pain.

Your ex collapses to the ground, cradling the gunshot wound in his knee as blood spills through his fingers. Aaron was the one that pulled the trigger and Morgan is already in the kitchen by the time he’s tugging you away and into his arms.

“Oh God.” You finally cried. “You came, you came…” His arms are wound tightly around you, purposefully tucking your face into his chest. “I’m here, I’m here.” He shushes and rocks you side to side in order to try and lull you.

Aaron – softly – orders you to sit down while he cleans up the blood when the rest of the team has already left.

You can’t help but watch him from where you’re sitting on the couch with his sleeves of his white button up rolled up and his hands gloved. “I’m sorry.” You decide to say, because you really were. “I’m sorry for everything.” There was so much more you wanted to say, but you felt your throat tighten with unshed tears.

“No, don’t apologize.” He says softly, abandoning the rag that he was using to scrub up said blood. “No Aaron you don’t understand. I put you and Jack in danger because of my bullshit and I thought that I had put it all behind me and I don’t -”

“Stop.” It’s a bit firmer this time. “I knew exactly what I was getting myself into when I offered you to live with me and my son. Nothing that has occurred tonight has swayed my trust or opinion about you, you know that, right?”

“Right.” His hand holds your cheek and strokes the soft skin of it. “Good.”

Your eyes flicker down to his lips before peering back into his eyes, “If I asked you to kiss me, would you?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I promise this isn’t like a trauma bond thing. I’ve liked you for as long as I’ve worked for you and I didn’t want to tell you because I have nowhere else to go if you say no. Plus,” You sigh, “I just don’t want to make things difficult or uncomfortable for you.”

“You could never do that, feelings reciprocated or not.” He reassures.

“Well are they?”

He grins at your question, “I’d be an idiot not to feel the same way.” You laugh and he leans forward to join your lips together.

A warm feeling spreads in your gut and you knew that this is what love was supposed to feel like.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @alixwriter @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus @khxna @moonysreid

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punkshort · 7 months ago

Text

Roommates | 3. fun in the sun

Pairing: pornstar!joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Maria organizes a getaway to Lake Travis for a long weekend. You invite your new boyfriend, but things quickly deteriorate, leaving Joel to help you pick up the pieces.

Chapter Warnings: language, smoking cigarettes, alcohol consumption, flirting, sexual tension, jealousy, mutual pining, smut (18+ MDNI), semi-pubic sex, fingering, hand job, description of a panic attack, heartbreak, food consumption, golf

WC: 8.4K

Series Masterlist

Charlie was cute.

Well, cute didn't seem like the right word, and handsome sounded too stiff. But he was both those things and more. You discovered he was also very dapper when you met him for lunch one day during work. He wore a perfectly tailored dark blue suit with a crisp white shirt. One button was left open at the top, revealing a sliver of his tanned skin underneath. You almost felt out of place wearing what you thought was one of your nicer dresses when he took you to some steakhouse you never heard of that didn't have the prices on the menu and you began to wonder how he didn't own a home yet since he appeared so successful.

"I never have the time to look, to be honest," he told you with a shrug. "Work keeps me busy during the week, and even some weekends. Then between grocery shopping and laundry and occasionally going to parties and meeting super pretty girls," he smiled with a wink and you giggled, "I just never find the time to house hunt."

"I guess I got lucky with Maria doing all the heavy lifting for me," you joked as you picked at the remains of your salad.

"Yeah, and she did a great job. It's a good starter house," he said with a nod before checking his phone.

"Mm, I don't know about starter. She was hoping to raise a family in that neighborhood one day. She really likes the schools."

Charlie made a little noise and you glanced up. "What?" you asked with a small smile.

"Nothing, it's nothing," Charlie said, setting his phone back down on the table. When you tilted your head and gave him a look, he sighed. "It's a fine area of town, I just personally would prefer to raise a family elsewhere."

"Oh, yeah? Like where?"

"Barton Creek would be great," he said, and you nearly choked on your drink.

"Barton Creek? That's like, so expensive," you laughed but his mouth didn't twitch. Your smile slowly fell and you said, "are you serious?"

"Of course I'm serious. You wouldn't want to live there?"

You huffed and sat back in your chair. "Yeah, sure, in my dreams. But I could never afford something like that."

Charlie leaned forward and took your hand. "But one day, maybe you could. If you go back to school at night and really apply yourself, it would only take a few years-"

"I told you I'm not interested in becoming a lawyer," you said, smiling up as the waiter cleared your plates. "I'm happy doing what I'm doing right now."

"Well, I'm just saying. You're young, there's options out there. You should really give it some thought."

At the time, you thought Charlie was being sweet and encouraging by trying to help you reach your full potential, but you would later discover you were wrong.

"I want to get out of town for a bit," Maria said at family dinner one night. You all looked up at her, bracing yourselves for whatever she had already planned in her head. "What do you think about renting a spot on Lake Travis?"

She immediately clocked the table's hesitation. "Just a long weekend. Four days on the lake, get out of this heat and on the water. Doesn't that sound nice?"

"When?" Tommy asked, and Maria knew instantly she had won.

She gave him a few different options while he scrolled the calendar in his phone to look at his work schedule. Weekends were hard for Tommy and hit or miss with Joel, so she knew it would be a tough sell.

Tommy picked a weekend and Maria's eyes lit up. Joel was about to decline when you piped up and agreed to go and suddenly, he couldn't resist.

"Amazing!" Maria said, clapping her hands giddily. She picked up her phone and began to look at availability for lodging. "You can invite Charlie, too, of course," she added without looking up.

"Oh, right," you said, feeling stupid for not even considering him. "Yeah, let me see if he's free."

Joel's heart sank and he looked down at his food, pushing the pasta around on his plate while you texted that guy you've been seeing, completely unaware that it was tearing him up inside. He tried to not let it bother him and he thought he was doing a really good job so far, but he wasn't sure how he would be able to handle four days in the same house, watching him touch you and kiss you and make you laugh. All the things he wanted to be doing, and more, but couldn't.

"He can come for Saturday and Sunday but he has to work Friday and Monday," you announced. Okay, so two days of watching another man touch what should be his.

Maria spent the rest of the night planning the trip while Joel bit his tongue. Why couldn't Charlie take off work a month in advance? he wanted to ask. Doesn't he want to spend time with you?

But of course, he didn't say a word. He and Tommy listened as the two of you researched activities, restaurants and bars in the area and planned out the weekend, making sure to carve out enough time to relax on the beach because you knew that's what he and Tommy really wanted to do. Fuck, he couldn't wait to see you in a bikini.

"Aren't you excited?" you asked him when Tommy and Maria headed up to bed.

"'Course I am."

"You don't seem like it. I thought this would be right up your alley."

"Oh, yeah?" he asked, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees. "Why's that?"

You grinned and settled back into the couch. "Girls on the beach, obviously. Dripping wet from the water or sweating from the heat. I thought you would be more excited."

"I am," he said, leaving out that he was excited to see you dripping wet from the water or sweat. You hummed and stretched out your legs on the couch.

"Feel like watching a movie?" you asked, and he quickly nodded.

He knew it was pathetic but he couldn't help it. Any amount of time you wanted to spend with him alone, he would take. And when you curled up under a blanket and shoved your feet underneath his thigh while you watched the TV, it took everything in him not to pull you into his lap and press his lips against yours.

Because you were spoken for. And that would be wrong.

It was so fucking hot.

The day you left for the lake, the temperature was close to record breaking and all of you had to admit once you were in the comfort of the air conditioned truck that Maria's plan to get out of town was truly inspired. And once you arrived at the house you rented, you had to give Maria even more credit because the place was stunning.

It was a two story cabin with four bedrooms, a spacious living area and a kitchen behind it. The walls were all made of wood, stained a dark cherry for ambiance while the house sat a mere ten minute walk to the beach.

"Oh my god, this place is so cool," you said softly as you walked around the upper level, checking out each bedroom. It was hard to choose, they were all equally beautiful and had great views of the small forest around you, so you didn't mind when Tommy and Maria picked the master suite. Each room had its own charm.

The first evening you were there, you decided to go to dinner and then hit up a bar nearby, just the four of you. Charlie had planned on arriving sometime the next morning and then you would head to the beach, where you would spend a majority of the day getting tan and drinking whatever was coldest from the cooler you brought from home.

"Okay, do not even start that shit with me, Joel! You know I have a fear of heights! I'm not going anywhere near that fucking thing!"

He laughed and wrapped an arm around your shoulders as you walked down the boardwalk behind Tommy and Maria.

"It ain't even that high! It's just a goddamn ferris wheel!"

"I don't care, I'm not going on it. You guys can go and have a lovely time. I will stay down here, safe on the ground where I can't plummet to my death."

"C'mon, now. You know I won't let anythin' bad happen to you," Joel said, his voice dropping an octave lower as he pulled you in closer, the alcohol coursing through both your veins began to call the shots when you leaned into his hold.

"And what are you gonna do, Joel, if the thing breaks and I'm stuck up there? Do you have some superpowers I'm not aware of?"

"No, I think you're aware of all my superpowers," he teased, making you blush and shove him away with a laugh. "But I know I could distract you. Help keep your mind off it til help arrives."

You stumbled a bit as you laughed harder, Tommy and Maria leaving you behind when they spotted an ice cream stand.

"Yeah, I bet you would. Telling me shitty jokes or more stories of how you tormented Tommy on the school bus?"

Joel grinned and grabbed your hand, yanking you into him again as you continued to walk past various bars and restaurants packed with tourists.

"Both would work, I'm sure of it, but I had somethin' else in mind," he said without thinking, getting too carried away in the moment. It felt too good, it felt so natural as you walked with your fingers linked together around your shoulders and your head leaning against the side of his chest.

"Oh yeah? Like what?" you giggled, then hiccuped, then giggled again. Why did you have to be so fucking cute?

He opened his mouth to say something he would probably regret in the morning, then bit his tongue when you looked up at him curiously. You saw the look in his eye and you cleared your throat, leaning away from him when you realized how inappropriate the two of you must have looked.

"Maybe I'll try the smaller one," you said, trying to steer the conversation back after the awkward moment.

"Nah, I'm just teasin' you. Don't do anythin' you ain't comfortable with," he told you, making you smile right as you caught up with Tommy and Maria. He loved making you smile.

"You guys wanna head back?" Tommy asked, tossing a handful of used napkins in a nearby trash can.

"Yeah, I should probably get to bed. Charlie's getting here early tomorrow and he wanted to try to get a hike in before the beach," you said, pulling your phone out to see if you had any missed texts from him. Joel swallowed and looked away.

"A hike? Since when are you a hiker?" Maria said with a laugh. You shrugged and grinned before looping your arm with hers, heading back in the direction of the house.

"Charlie must really like her," Tommy said as he walked side by side with Joel, both of them watching you and Maria giggling and poking each other in the ribs. "Always took him for a workaholic. Surprised he would be interested in coming out here."

Joel frowned before lighting up a cigarette. "It's the weekend. Didn't think he worked on the weekends."

"Oh, he doesn't, but he likes to put in extra time. Always chasin' that next promotion. Always been that way."

Joel exhaled a puff of smoke before replying. "How'd you know him again?"

"Used to work at the bar with me, if you can believe it," Tommy said, "but it was just somethin' to keep money in his pocket while he finished school. He was always a hard worker, even behind the bar. Real focused, y'know? Wasn't surprised at all when he got a job right outta college with that finance company."

Joel took another drag from his cigarette and allowed his gaze to drift to the curve of your ass in your shorts, knowing that the darkness would give him cover. "And you stayed friends all these years? Doesn't sound like you got much in common."

Tommy shrugged. "He's a nice guy and fun to hang out with when he lets loose. Used to be a good wingman back in the day. But he's the type of guy who's real driven. Sets his sights on a goal and will do whatever it takes to get it. I think his parents put alotta pressure on him growin' up."

Joel nodded and flicked his cigarette onto the pavement as they walked up the driveway to the house. He should be happy for you. It sounded like Charlie was a catch but he couldn't stop from comparing himself to your boyfriend. Even if he quit his job tomorrow and started over doing something normal, he would never reach the level of success Charlie had.

He didn't stand a chance in hell.

Maria was right. You were decidedly not a hiker. But Charlie seemed so excited to explore the area and you were just so grateful he took time out of his busy schedule to spend an entire weekend with you that you felt compelled to agree.

At least he gave you a great view of his muscular back as you trailed behind him, your legs ready to give out from the exertion any minute.

"I bet you made so much money as a bartender," you told him. He turned around and shot you a smirk.

"You checking me out back there?"

"Can you blame me?" you giggled.

"It's beautiful out here, babe," he said once you reached a high point with a clearing. He took a swig of water while you caught your breath. "Thanks for inviting me. I've never been out this way before."

"Really?" you asked in disbelief, "it's not that far from the city."

"Yeah, well, you know how it is," was all he said. You sat down on a fallen tree and stretched out your legs while Charlie took a few pictures of the view.

"Isn't Joel seeing anyone he could have invited this weekend?" Charlie asked out of the blue. You paused for a moment, taken off guard at the thought of Joel with a girlfriend. Something you never really considered before.

"Uh, I don't think he's seeing anyone serious," you replied.

Charlie chuckled and sat down next to you. "He's a bit of a fifth wheel, don't you think?"

Your face twisted up in disapproval when you looked at him. "Not at all. He's, like, part of our family. If anything-"

You stopped yourself before finishing your sentence but it didn't matter. Charlie furrowed his brow and glared at you.

"What? If anything, I'm the fifth wheel?"

"I didn't say that."

"But you were about to."

You sighed and rubbed your eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it. It's just because we all live together, that's all."

He scoffed and stood up, brushing off the back of his shorts before picking up his water bottle from the ground.

"We should head back," he grumbled as the guilt settled deep in your chest. You stood and wrapped your fingers around his bicep.

"Wait, come here," you said softly. He sighed and hung his head before turning around to face you. "I'm sorry. Really. I am," you reached up to cup his face and pressed your lips tenderly against his. You felt him relax into your touch and you smiled against his lips. "Can I make it up to you later?" you asked suggestively, and Charlie laughed.

"I'll hold you to it," he said with a playful swat on your ass. You squeaked and he grabbed your hand. "Let's get back. I wanna go to the beach and relax with you."

"That sounds amazing," you said dreamily as you followed him back the way you came, grateful the trail was now downhill.

Joel didn't like Charlie.

And it wasn't because he had his hands all over you the entire fucking day, but that didn't help matters. He tried to keep an open mind, he really did, but something about him just felt off. It clicked with Joel later when he noticed Charlie had encouraged you to cover up your bikini before heading over to the bar to grab some drinks, even though they had brought plenty to share in the cooler. You had initially protested, laughing him off when you thought he was joking, but gave in when you realized he didn't want other men staring at you at the bar.

Charlie was trying to control you and you didn't even realize it.

Those chips are terrible for you, babe. Try these instead. They're baked.

You gotta reapply sunscreen after swimming. Don't you know that, babe?

What are you reading that trash for? You gotta let me broaden your horizons, babe.

Babe. Babe. Babe. Babe.

It was really getting under Joel's fucking skin.

"You're so quiet today," you said, plopping down next to him after spreading out a towel on the sand.

"Am I?"

You gave him a look and grinned. "Yeah. What's up with you? Did you not sleep good or something?"

Joel shrugged and looked out at the water, grateful his sunglasses were able to disguise his feelings on that particular day. "Not really."

You hummed and regarded him silently for another moment before lying flat on your back, stretching yourself out to bask in the sun's warm rays. You took off your sunglasses and closed your eyes with a contented sigh while he fought the urge to stare at your perfect body so goddamn close to him.

He forced himself to scan the beach, looking for anything to keep his mind off your soft skin coated in a thin sheen of sweat just within an arm's reach. He felt a stirring below his waist when he imagined running his tongue between your breasts, licking up the sweat collecting there.

"Everything okay?" you asked when Charlie reappeared, his phone in hand. Joel shifted and tried to subtly rest his book over his crotch.

"Yeah, just a quick work call. Hey Joel, I think that girl's checking you out," Charlie said, sitting down in the sand next to you.

Joel resisted the urge to roll his eyes and forced himself to be nice. For your sake.

"Oh yeah? Where?"

"The one in the white bikini. Blonde hair, big tits."

You whipped your head in Charlie's direction, unable to keep the shock from your tone when you whispered his name in disbelief. Joel tried not to watch but he could tell you were offended and he hardly blamed you. Who says that in front of their girlfriend?

"Not really my type," Joel said, settling back in his chair and closing his eyes.

"Not your type?" Charlie scoffed, and Joel cracked open one eye, once again grateful for his sunglasses because he caught you trying to silently shut Charlie up, but he continued to ignore you. "If she's not your type then who is?"

Your fucking girlfriend is my type, asshole, he wanted to say. Instead he just shrugged and hoped he would drop it.

He didn't.

"Come on, why don't you at least try to talk to her. Maybe invite her to dinner tonight. Then it would be all couples for once."

"Charlie," you hissed, a little louder this time. "He's not interested. Leave him alone."

"What's the problem? You were just saying earlier how you wished Joel would find a girl. I'm just trying to give him a little encouragement," Charlie said with a smirk. Your mouth fell open and you shook your head but it was too late. Joel's heart plummeted into his stomach and the familiar sting of rejection crept up his throat, strangling him. If you were privately telling Charlie you wanted him find someone, that must mean you were really over him, and whatever foolish shred of hope he was clinging to was all for nothing.

"I never said that! Joel, I'm so sorry," you said, scrambling up from the sand and turning on Charlie angrily. "Why would you-"

"It's fine," Joel said curtly, standing up and brushing the sand off his swim trunks. "You're right. I'm gonna go talk to her."

You twisted your neck to look up at him, your mouth opening and shutting as you struggled to come up with something to say.

"Y-yeah. I mean... go for it," you stammered and watched as Joel made his way across the beach. Even from a distance you could see the girl's face light up as he approached and you felt a pit form in your stomach.

"Why would you lie to him like that?" you asked Charlie with a scowl. He grinned and settled back into his chair with a book.

"I just had a feeling if a close friend motivated him, he would do it. Poor guy needs to get laid."

Fortunately you could blame the heat from the sun on your reddening cheeks. Charlie had no idea what Joel really did for work. You always skirted around the question whenever it was brought up because deep down, you knew Charlie would have a problem with it.

You slipped your sunglasses back on with a sigh and crossed your arms, still pissed off with Charlie but not in the mood to get into an argument. You tried not to stare as Joel flirted with the girl in the white bikini. She leaned into him and playfully shoved his shoulder with a giggle and your chest tightened when you saw him thread his fingers together with hers and lead her towards the bar.

You had absolutely no right to get jealous. Joel wasn't your boyfriend for that exact reason: jealousy. You had your own boyfriend who was very smart, handsome and successful. And sure, sometimes Charlie pushed you into doing things out of your comfort zone, but he was trying to help you grow as a person. So if he was so great, why did you spend so much time thinking about Joel?

Chelsea was sweet, in her late twenties, got her degree in economics and also spent the better part of half an hour subtly rubbing her ass against Joel's hips at the bar. It was crowded, being right on the beach, and getting louder and rowdier as the afternoon dragged on. At first, Joel thought it was an accident, that the crowds of people forced her to press up against him. But he soon discovered it was quite intentional when she ducked her hand under the bar to rub his cock through his swim trunks.

"Whoa, what're you doin' down there?" he chuckled. She beamed up at him innocently.

"Feel like going for a swim?" she asked. He thought she was ignoring his question until they got in the water, swimming out a ways where it was quiet, but not too deep. Chelsea glanced around before wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her mouth against his, wasting no time slipping her tongue past his lips with a soft moan.

"I recognized you," she admitted, dragging her mouth down the column of his throat and dipping her hand below the water. He hissed when she slid past his waistband and wrapped her hand around his cock.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Mhmm," she said with a mischievous grin, her fist languidly stroking him up and down where nobody could see. "You're in dirty movies."

He laughed and squeezed her hips, encouraging her to come closer to him.

"You got me."

Even though she had her hand down his shorts in the middle of a lake surrounded by people enjoying a hot summer day, he had to admit that Charlie was right about her. She was sexy and charming and he liked how confident she was. She also seemed more than okay with his profession, which thrilled him. Maybe this was something that could actually work.

The first red flag came when he had two fingers curled inside her and she murmured I bet I feel better than those girls you have to fuck, huh?

It took him off guard for a moment but he shrugged it off, thinking it was just an idea that turned her on, so he told her yeah, so tight, baby.

The second red flag was when she asked are you gonna think about me next time you're at work?

His hips stuttered a bit underwater and he could feel the mental block building up. He tried kissing Chelsea to keep her from talking but it was too late, so instead he focused all his energy on getting her off with his fingers. Her grip loosened around his cock when she came, her moans muffled against his mouth. She grabbed at his shoulders desperately as her muscles went lax and he whispered I got you and held her against his chest until she caught her breath.

Over Chelsea's shoulder he could see you and Charlie on the beach. It was far away but he could spot you anywhere. While Chelsea murmured into his skin and raked her fingers through his hair, his eyes were pinned on you. You were standing up and brushing the sand off your legs, your perfect ass sticking out when you bent over in that hot pink bikini that was driving him fucking crazy all day.

Chelsea's hand was wrapped around his cock again, the mental block disappearing the longer he watched you. He groaned when you began to rub sunscreen into your arms, your tits bouncing with each and every movement. Chelsea took that as a sign to go faster. She whispered in his ear how big he was and before he even had a chance to stop it, his mind was imagining you saying that, instead. He remembered how nervous you were but then how you begged for his cock and his hips began to thrust into her hand underwater. Then, his breath caught in his throat when he watched you untie your bikini top, your arm holding the tiny pieces of fabric against your chest as the strings hung loose and you positioned yourself face down on the towel to tan in the sun.

"Fuck," Joel groaned, his cock pulsing in Chelsea's hand as he came. His breath was ragged and he fought to stand up in the water and not succumb to sinking to the bottom of the lake. She seemed to sense his struggle because she whispered in his ear let's go back.

As he swam to shore, the guilt began to wash over him for thinking about you when he was with another girl. That wasn't his intention at all. It was disrespectful to both you and Chelsea. But you were directly in his eyeline and he couldn't seem to stop himself. He could do better. He would do better.

"Hey, what're you doin' for dinner? A few of my friends are all goin' to this Italian place-"

"Oh," Chelsea said, cutting him off in surprise when they finally made it to the beach. "I'm sorry, thank you, but I have plans tonight."

He was a little disappointed but he knew giving a girl he just met a couple hours notice to go to dinner was asking a lot. "Don't worry 'bout it. Can I get your number? Maybe we can meet up tomorrow?"

Chelsea gave him a disbelieving look as she adjusted her swimsuit. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, 'course I am. I'd like to get to know you better," he said with a lopsided grin. She laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of her neck and that was when Joel felt the uneasiness settle deep in his chest.

"I'm sorry, Joel. I thought this was just a hook up," she said, biting her lip and glancing around the beach. He could feel the smile fall from his face but he cleared his throat, trying to hide his disappointment.

"Y-yeah, sure, I get it."

"I mean, you're really sweet and all, it's just... you know," she said with a little shrug. He swallowed and nodded. He knew. You can't take a pornstar home to meet your parents.

"Maybe I'll see you around?" he said, and Chelsea nodded. She kissed him goodbye and he watched as she made her way down the beach towards her group of friends, who had been watching with great interest.

He was living every man's dream and he couldn't feel shittier about it.

He didn't want to just hook up with random girls anymore. It was fun when he was in his twenties but now it just felt pathetic. He sighed and turned his head in your direction. Charlie looked like he had dozed off in his chair while you were still laying face down with your eyes closed on your towel, your smooth skin coated with a sheen of sweat, pinkening under the sun's rays.

As he began to walk back towards the pair of you, he spotted Tommy and Maria making their way over from the opposite side of the beach, having done their own excursion for a couple hours that day and promised to catch up with the rest of you before dinner.

Joel was relieved. At least there would be a buffer.

Admittedly, Joel drank a little too much at dinner. He was still a little bothered by his afternoon with Chelsea, but he would have gotten over it had Charlie not picked at the scab every chance he got. First, he ribbed him about not being able to seal the deal when he showed up to dinner alone, but Joel just politely laughed it off. Then, as dinner progressed and the table was on their third round, Charlie began to point out girls around the restaurant who looked like they could be single, asking Joel if he thought they were his type with a teasing lilt to his voice.

You hadn't really been paying attention. You were too engrossed with something Maria was saying, leaning across the table excitedly as the thin strap of your sundress slid down your shoulder. Your skin was practically glowing from the sun, your eyes sparkled when you giggled with Maria and Joel was finding it more and more difficult to keep his gaze off you. Charlie either didn't notice or care. His arm was resting along the back of your chair, his thumb brushing against your back or your arm while he explained to Tommy the Chelsea backstory. Tommy's eyes flickered back and forth between Charlie and Joel, providing a few forced chuckles at his teasing, then changed the subject the first chance he got.

"What d'we wanna do tonight?" he had asked, breaking up your private conversation at the other end of the table.

"Why don't we hit the boardwalk?" Charlie offered, tossing back the rest of his old fashioned.

"We did that last night," you said.

"It's my only night here, babe. I wanna check out the rides and shit."

Joel's jaw tensed and he looked down at the table.

Of course, everyone agreed, so once dinner was over they all strolled down the sidewalk towards all the bright lights, the intoxicating smell of sugar and the sound of carnival games in the air. Charlie spotted the Ferris wheel and snatched your hand.

"C'mon, babe, let's check it out!"

You stopped dead in your tracks, making him spin around in surprise. "I don't like heights, I'll just wait-"

"Oh, come on! It'll be romantic," Charlie murmured suggestively, pulling you into his chest and pinching your chin. Joel hurriedly walked past to catch up with Tommy and Maria, unable to stand there and watch him kiss you. He knew he was being unreasonable. He knew he had to get his jealousy under control or else it would drive a wedge between the two of you and he couldn't possibly risk that. You meant far too much to him. So, he tried to distance himself for the remainder of the night. He hung out with Tommy and Maria, checking out various shops, getting candied apples and playing games while he forced himself to not look over his shoulder and seek you out.

Looking back on it, he probably shouldn't have gotten that beer and shot at the bar after Tommy and Maria ducked into a photo booth. His head was already swimming from the drinks at dinner but he really didn't want to be awake later to hear you and Charlie through the walls.

Tommy and Maria found him after the photo booth and showed him the strip of pictures, laughing at some of the props and faces they were making when Maria suggested they take a ride on the ferris wheel since it would likely be their last chance. Joel told them he would just wait, not wanting to admit the mere thought of those little cars swaying back and forth made his stomach churn with the amount of alcohol he had drank that night.

He was smoking a cigarette and scrolling on his phone, sitting on a bench near the ferris wheel after Tommy and Maria had gotten in line when he heard you. The panic in your voice sent a jolt of fear down his spine and he jumped up, flicking his cigarette on the ground as he whipped his head back and forth, searching for you. Finally, he spotted you pushing your way through the crowds of people in front of the ride, your face red and soaked with tears. His heart sank and he rushed over just as Charlie emerged a few seconds behind you. When he reached out to touch your arm, you yanked it back so forcefully that you fell on your hands and knees, scraping your skin against the hot blacktop.

Joel called your name and you looked up frantically, your chest heaving. You reached out a shaky arm towards him and he immediately pulled you up off the ground, his eyes raking up and down your body, assessing you for damage. Aside from some red scrapes on your hands and knees from the fall, you appeared fine, but you clawed at his arms and gasped I can't breathe and his heart began to slam wildly in his chest. He held you up against him and twisted around, trying to spot a paramedic when Charlie waved you both off with a dry laugh.

"Bro, she's fine, she just got scared on the ferris wheel."

"She's not fine, fuckin' look at her!" Joel yelled, turning a few heads, but he didn't care. He dropped his gaze to your face, cupping your jaw and wiping your tears away. "You're alright. Hey, c'mon, you can do this. Take a deep breath in through your nose, like this. Watch-" he inhaled deeply and you did the same through clenched teeth, then he exhaled slowly, pursing his lips as you continued to follow his lead. He did it a few more times until the tears stopped and your color returned to normal.

"You alright?" he asked softly, brushing your hair away from your face. You nodded and looked around for somewhere to sit. He seemed to read your mind because he led you by the elbow towards the bench he vacated. Giving you a chance to catch your breath, he turned on Charlie.

"What the fuck, man? Why'd you make her go on that goddamn thing?"

His nostrils were flaring and he could feel the anger bubbling up into his chest.

"I didn't force her to do anything," Charlie said with a frown. "She's a fucking adult, she made her own decision-"

"Because you fuckin' pressured her!" Joel shouted, taking a menacing step forward. "I heard her tell you she was afraid of heights so don't bullshit me."

Charlie's hand clenched into a fist and his jaw tensed. "Why don't you mind your own fucking business before I knock you on your ass?"

"Is that a threat?" Joel countered, closing the distance between him and Charlie, staring him dead in the eye as he waited for him to make a move.

You shoved yourself off the bench and quickly wedged yourself between the two men, a palm pressed against each of their chests, pushing them apart. "Stop it, please," you begged, "I just wanna go back to the house."

They stared each other down for another moment before Charlie looked away with a scoff. He grabbed your hand and muttered something under his breath as he began to lead you away, but when you passed by Joel, you stopped.

"Thank you," you told him softly. You reached out to grab his hand and gave it a grateful squeeze. He nodded and forced a small smile before Charlie tugged on your other hand. Joel watched until the two of you disappeared into the crowd before he sighed and collapsed back onto the bench. He raked his fingers through his hair, trying to get his temper under control when Tommy and Maria walked over, hand in hand with huge grins on their faces.

"You missed such a great view, Joel," Maria said, then looked around the boardwalk, asking where he thought you and Charlie went.

"Back to the house," was all Joel said before gruffly standing up and lighting another cigarette to help with the burst of adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

Joel managed to calm down by the time the three of them arrived back at the house. He replayed what he had said and done over and over and just hoped that you didn't hold it against him. It didn't seem like you were pissed with him when you left but he knew his actions just made the next day incredibly awkward, so Joel decided once he saw Charlie in the morning, he would apologize.

When he walked by your closed bedroom door, it was quiet with the exception of the water running in the bathroom. He slipped into his own bedroom down the hall, then turned on the TV and fell asleep.

He slept in a little later than he intended but he had a hunch he wasn't the only one. It seemed like everyone had a little too much to drink the night before and from the sound of the plates and silverware clinking together in the kitchen below, everyone was getting a slow start to the day.

"Mornin'," Joel mumbled to Tommy, who was sitting at the table, rubbing his eyes over a steaming cup of coffee. He glanced up and nodded in return before bringing the mug to his lips and taking a sip.

"Need help with anythin'?" Joel asked Maria who was busy cracking eggs. She laughed and shook her head.

"Go sit down. You look like you feel about as shitty as your brother."

Joel didn't need to be told twice. He sat down next to Tommy with a grunt, his hands curling around his own cup of coffee, blankly staring down at it, hoping it would bring him back to life.

"Hey," Tommy whispered, eyeing Maria from across the room who was busy gathering things from the fridge. Joel leaned forward and arched an eyebrow. "Charlie left real early this mornin'. I heard a car door slam and noticed his car's gone when we got downstairs."

"Shit," Joel muttered, glancing over at Maria quickly, making sure she didn't notice them gossiping about her best friend.

"Think they got in a fight or somethin'?" Tommy asked, but right as Joel opened his mouth to tell him the details of what happened the night before, Maria bounced over to them with a plate in each hand.

"I'm gonna go wake them up," she said, turning on her heel. Joel gave Tommy a curious look and he just shrugged.

"Didn't tell her," was all he said, then rolled his wrist in the air. "Tell me before they come down."

Joel managed to give Tommy the bullet points then began quickly shoveling eggs into his mouth when they heard Maria descending the steps. She entered the kitchen with her hands on her hips, looking concerned.

"What's up, baby?" Tommy asked innocently. She swiveled her finger around in the air as the gears turned in her head.

"Charlie left."

They both did a good job of acting surprised as Maria sat down with her own plate of food and with a hushed voice, told them you were upset and didn't want to come down for breakfast.

"Did they break up?" Joel asked, realizing too late that he sounded a little too eager, but Maria didn't seem to pick up on it. She was biting her nail, worried about you and trying to figure out how to navigate the rest of the day.

"I think so."

Conflicted was the only word to describe what Joel felt in that moment. He really didn't like Charlie but he hated the idea that he could be partially responsible for your pain.

After they finished eating, Maria checked the time and tapped her foot. "I think I should cancel the zip-line, Tommy," she said, "I don't want to leave her here all alone." Maria had planned for her, Tommy and Joel to zip-line over the beach, overlooking the lake. Knowing your fear of heights, she had intentionally picked that day, expecting you and Charlie to spend some alone time together.

"I'll stay, you two go," Joel said immediately, picking up their plates and heading to the sink.

"Are you sure?" Tommy asked, and Joel nodded.

"I'm not exactly in the best shape to be flying through the air, anyway."

"And I am?" Tommy replied, but Maria shoved his shoulder and put her finger to her lips behind Joel's back while he scrubbed the plates. "Uh, yeah, thanks Joel. You let us know if you end up goin' out and we'll meet up."

Joel stayed downstairs, alternating between going on his phone or watching TV. When it got closer to noon and you still hadn't come down, he began to worry. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a couple water bottles. Putting them on the counter, he scoured the fridge and scratched his chin. He was always a terrible cook, so he gave up quickly and resorted to ordering a couple burgers for delivery before taking the waters upstairs.

He rapped two knuckles gently on the door, then heard some shuffling before your voice called out, inviting him in.

"Oh, sweetheart," he said sympathetically when he saw your puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. You sat up in bed and tried to run your fingers through your tangled hair before sighing and giving up.

"Leave it to me to get dumped on vacation."

He gave you a sad smile and held out a bottle of water, which you eagerly accepted. He sat down on the edge of your bed and watched as you drained almost the entire bottle, then handed you his. You thanked him and set both on the end table before turning your attention back on your television, which he hadn't even realized was on.

"Legally Blonde?"

"I wanted to laugh but I forgot she gets dumped in, like, the first twenty minutes."

Joel chuckled and leaned back against your headboard. "I'm so sorry. If it was 'bout last night-"

"It's not your fault," you sniffled, pulling the comforter up to your chin.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Not yet."

He hummed and nodded, turning back to the television. He gave you all the time and space you needed, staying close by for the rest of the afternoon in case you wanted to talk, only leaving to get the burgers when they arrived. You ate them in your bed, grease dripping from your fingers and laughing at stupid movies until you felt good enough to get up and shower.

"You wanna go mini golfing?" you asked over your shoulder as you fixed your hair in the mirror. Joel cringed but agreed. He absolutely hated golfing, but for you, he would suffer through it. Especially considering your mood seemed to be improving.

"Lemme text Tommy and let 'em know where we're goin'," he said, pulling out his phone and following you out the door.

"Oh, let's just do our own thing tonight," you said, then cleared your throat when you realized how that sounded. "I mean, y'know, they probably want time to themselves, right?"

"Yeah, sure," Joel agreed, side eying you before hopping into the truck. You gave him directions to a mini golf course ten minutes away, then rolled down the window and stretched your arm out, the warm summer air slipping through your wiggling fingers. Even though the sun had set, the air was still so thick with heat it felt like you could grab it.

"It's so hot," you said, sliding out of the passenger seat once Joel parked the truck. You fixed your skirt; a flowy, white number that felt feather light against your thighs as you walked. Joel agreed and checked his phone, noticing a text from Tommy.

"Hold up," he said, and you twisted around, your tennis shoes crunching on the gravel parking lot.

We're gonna go to that Mexican place. 30 minutes.

"They're invitin' us to dinner," he told you without looking up.

"Tell him we already ate."

He nodded and tapped out a quick reply before pocketing the phone and approached the cashier.

"Two tonight?" she asked, smacking her gum between her teeth.

"Yes, but I'll pay for mine," you said, reaching for your wallet.

"Nuh-uh," Joel said with a frown, about to argue but the cashier spoke up first.

"It's date night. Two for the price of one."

Your cheeks felt hot at the insinuation that you were on a date with Joel, but you couldn't pass up the deal to play for half price. Glancing at him awkwardly, you shrugged and he slapped his card down with a cocky smirk.

"Alright, pick out your ball, but for the love of god don't pick the-"

"Oh, look at the hot pink one!" you exclaimed gleefully, snatching it up from the bucket. He groaned and buried his face in his hands. "What?" you giggled, shouldering him playfully as you admired your ball.

"It's just such a girl thing to do," he said with a grin, then leaned over to pick a neon yellow ball for himself.

"Well last I checked, I am a girl," you winked and headed towards the door, his gaze falling to your ass only once before getting himself together and following you.

"Shoulda known," he tsked once he caught up, "matches your bathing suit and everythin'."

Your stomach flipped and you felt your cheeks grow hot once again but you just laughed him off and approached the first hole. The course was packed with couples, no doubt taking advantage of the deal, so it was slow going. By the fifth hole, Joel grew impatient and plopped down on a bench.

"Giving up so soon?" you teased, and he huffed.

"I ain't a quitter, just waitin' for some of these people to play through. Sick of standin' around."

"You sure it's not because I'm beating you by six?" you grinned as you sat down next to him.

"I'm lettin' you win, darlin'. Tryin' to mend your poor, broken heart," he said, rolling his head to the side with a smirk.

"Eh, I don't think we were together long enough to say he broke my heart, but it still sucks," you sighed, playing with your golf ball in the palm of your hand.

Joel eyed you for a moment, trying to choose his next words carefully. "You ready to talk 'bout it, or-"

"I thought he was nice, y'know? Like, okay, he could be a little pushy sometimes, but I really thought he was just encouraging me to get out of my comfort zone."

Joel frowned and shifted his weight on the bench. "What'dya mean?"

"Like, professionally. He was encouraging me to go back to school so I could get a better job, but I like my job. And other things, too. The ferris wheel," you said, rolling your eyes, "told me I should face my fears and all that."

"You're better off without him," Joel said without even thinking. You laughed and glanced up at him through your lashes.

"You think?"

"'Course. You don't need someone to tell you how to live your life. If you like your job, then why change it? If you're afraid of heights, who cares? Seemed to me like he was tryin' to fix you, and from where I'm sittin', you're-" he cut himself off and looked down at his hands, chewing on the inside of his lip to keep himself from finishing his sentence.

You stared at him for a moment, watching something flicker across his face. "I'm... what?" you asked gently.

He shrugged and took a deep breath. You're perfect, he wanted to say, but instead he went with "you don't need fixin'."

You smiled shyly and poked him in the ribs, making him chuckle.

"Thank you, Joel. You managed to save me from wasting the last day of vacation moping around in bed."

He let you drag him up from the bench so you could continue playing the course, but your conversation kept replaying in his head, distracting him. Even though you weren't a fan of his job, you never once pressured him to find a different one. You accepted him for who he was and it bothered him that Charlie couldn't do the same for you.

Joel watched you with a smile as you bent your head and lined up your putter with your golf ball. A little crease formed between your eyebrows as you focused on the windmill eclipsing the sixth hole, trying to time it just right. How could anybody want to change you? You were so adorable and sweet and you deserved someone who would worship the ground you walked on.

A foolish thought popped into his head and he opened his mouth, about to ask you a question that could possibly change everything.

"What if-"

He cut himself off when you tapped the ball down the turf, both of you watching and holding your breath when your hot pink golf ball managed to avoid the blades of the windmill and dropped into the little plastic cup with a soft clink.

"Holy shit!" you exclaimed, garnering a few odd looks in your direction, but neither of you cared. You dropped your golf club and jumped into his waiting arms, letting Joel spin you around as you both laughed and he told you what a great job you did, deciding it was best he never finished his question, anyway.

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personasintro · 1 year ago

Text

Mutual Help | #56

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps you with your sexual desires ⏤ he calls it mutual help

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jungkook x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fake dating au, fluff, angst, smut, slow burn

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 9.7k+

⇠ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯. | 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ⇢

Your trip is slowly but surely coming to an end.

Minus some bumps along the way, it's safe to say you had a great time either way. You and Jungkook have managed to talk like proper adults and it went well. But most importantly, you've made up. It is sad there's goodbyes soon to be said. You kind of wish you could stay here for at least another day.

But all of you have to go back to adult life. The weight is lifted off your chest, practically non-exist as you and Jungkook share a soft smile while all of you pack your things. Well – except Taehyung who's sitting on one of the portable chairs with sunglasses on, too hungover to help his best friend who's been complaining for the past ten minutes.

"I take it you finally made up." Maya comes up to you, folding up a thin blanket when there's no one nearby.

"We finally talked." you answer.

She surely notices the relaxation behind your tone and features, causing her to smile knowingly instead of saying anything for a moment.

"And? How did it go?"

"Good. Great, actually. I explained myself well and we both had something to apologize for. It's not even about the apology. I think us talking is more important and even though I was pretty scared and unsure to just walk up to him and talk, I'm glad I got it off my chest."

"Being honest is not always easy but I knew you guys would work it out. From what I heard, your friendship has always been strong." Maya grins.

"How do you know that?"

"Namjoon," she chuckles simply. "But that doesn't matter. Even I can confidently say it's true. And I haven't known you for too long and I solely know this just from seeing you and him, plus hearing you talk about him."

You avert your gaze to the ground, your shy smile causing you to feel even more shy when you feel her eyes on you.

"I'm jealous though. The sex after such an argument is gonna be amazing."

And just like that, the air shifts and your gaze snaps toward blunt Maya who's already grinning, expecting your reaction of shock and disbelief.

"Yeah, that's not happening." You cringe, muttering.

"You don't want to? Wow, I mean—shit." Maya's the one who's shocked which has you snickering under your breath. She's unbelievable.

"Not that I don't want to, but we've decided to take a break from... the sex part."

"And whose stupid idea that was?" she exclaims, a laugh escaping from your lips the moment you see her face while she dramatically leaves her mouth open.

"Mine."

"That explains it."

"Hey!"

She laughs, letting you know she's only joking.

"I thought it would be for the best. I can't really explain it. I just think it's time for a break."

You're not going to tell her he fucked you in the woods while you both were unable to communicate together and were pissed off at each other. While you don't find it uncomfortable to be talking with her about your sex life, there are some things that are better left between you and Jungkook only. It's not like you're embarrassed about it but it feels too personal and intimate to talk about it openly. In the end, just like you told Jungkook, you wanted it at that moment and you don't regret it happening. He was right when he said the sex was good. It always is.

But anyway... you two hooking up surely changed a few things between you and him. You let lust control you and while you believe sex like this doesn't necessarily have to mean a bad thing, you wonder how else would you solve it if you weren't hooking up.

It's all frustrating and it seems like there are a few things you can't answer because it's that confusing. And you don't understand them.

It might sound all dramatic but it's nothing like that. It's no big deal. You'll continue your friendship the same way and the only difference will be sex. You can't think about it too much, knowing once your hormones get the best out of you, you're going to have a hard time accepting your own idea.

"What about you guys? Are you ready to go back home?"

Maya groans, tilting her head back as she nods. "Yeah, I could do another day here. Though we've got a wedding to plan."

"Do you know what month it's gonna be?"

"We don't. We're about to make some calls and meet up with a few people to see which place is closest to our terms. I'm excited, don't get me wrong, but it's so stressful to plan everything. We definitely want it to happen this year after having a conversation. But summer is pretty much all booked everywhere, unless we want some unaesthetic and cheap place."

She sighs before smiling.

"But it's okay. Joon is a huge help and he's very much involved. We're doing everything together."

"That's great. Let me know if there's anything I can help with. I'm not sure how I'd be able to help, I know shit about weddings but just call me if there's anything I could do."

Maya gives you an appreciative smile. "You're a sweetheart."

With a smile on your face, you start folding a sleeping bag which you're sure belongs to Yoongi, who (surprisingly) is cleaning up the truck of his car so everything is neat and good to go. You're unaware of Maya's stare that's aimed behind you until she speaks up.

"A stupid sweetheart if you decided not to fuck him."

"What?" you mumble, following her eyes.

There he is.

Jungkook stops his task to grasp the hem of his shirt, bringing it up and dabbing the tiny droplets of sweat covering his forehead. That wouldn't be the issue if he didn't expose his abs to everyone's eyes – even though only you and Maya are staring – showing his bulky chest. Dryly gulping, you quickly turn around and nudge Maya to look away.

She gives you a knowing look, offering you a friendly pat to your shoulder as you click your tongue in annoyance.

They're just abs. Ones you've seen multiple times. You're fine.

You're going to be fine.

You still rush to pack your things, not even glancing in Jungkook's direction. Too scared to see him doing bare minimum and look absolutely hot while doing it.

Everything went back to normal. Well, new normal.

Yoongi acts like he hasn't spent a whole weekend with you, still patiently waiting for his lunch every day. Even on the way back home, he barely said a word and hummed quietly to his playlist. Surprisingly, you took a decent nap, catching up the lost sleep you experienced the night before.

After four days of constantly buying Yoongi a lunch, you regret ever inviting him more and more each day. The man demands his lunch, holding you up to your deal. Are you surprised? No. Were you hoping he would leave you alone after a few days? Yes .

The group chat is full of memes and possibly dates to hang out again, reminding you of your supposedly summer vacation. After the camping trip, you're a little bit more wary to plan something longer and serious than just a casual hangout. It's pretty stupid. One argument shouldn't hold you back from experiencing new memories with your friends.

You and Jungkook haven't really spoken since the camping trip. You got to say a warm goodbye and ever since then, both of you have been too busy jumping back to your lives to talk. You know you're fine though. In your friends group chat, you've replied to one another a few times – mostly reacting to the memes or just to joke around. So far, there's not much change in your relationship with Jungkook. It feels pretty same and you know it's only because you haven't had the time to hang out and be alone. Is it stupid of you to say that you're a little bit nervous when that time comes?

However, it eventually comes just when you anticipate it and you don't avoid it. This has been your idea after all.

You and Jungkook text back and forth, this time in a separate chat without prying eyes of Jimin and Taehyung. Jungkook's days and evenings are fully packed. There's not much time to hang out typically at your or his place – which again might be dangerous and too soon for you. You're being dramatic, that's for sure. But once he comes up with a plan, for some reason you agree even if his plan is the least common place to hang out for you and him.

Stepping inside the building, you're surprisingly met with a nice scent of freshness instead of sweat and testosterone. The gym Jungkook visits is certainly popular and modern, based on the fully packed gym and its interior that has a sweat already rolling down your back.

“This is most certainly new.” you mutter, eyes wide staring around you as Jungkook cackles, leading you toward the front desk.

There, of course, is a young female receptionist wearing a cropped tank top with leggings as if she's the one that's about to work out. Once again, Jungkook's often visit here shows when she easily recognizes him and both drops formality, which you don't expect.

While Jungkook goes to equip your gym access after you greet each other with the receptionist, you silently standby and listen to their conversation. You're aware of Jungkook's membership here and judging by the clear sight of the receptionist recognizing and knowing him, he doesn't have to show anything to prove his identity.

“Are you interested in getting a trainer for this session?” she asks, eyes jumping between you and Jungkook.

“No.” You and him speak at the same time.

Nodding, she clicks off a few things on the computer before she says the price for a single access which has your eyes almost falling out their sockets. You and Jungkook both pull out your wallets. Desperately trying to beat him, you're too late as he pulls out his card sooner and pays.

“I could've paid for myself.” you point out, pursing your lips in a mere annoyance. Can't lie though. Your heart surely feels lighter knowing you haven't had to pay such a price for a full hour and half of torture.

Suddenly, Jungkook's plan doesn't seem that good at all. You would very much test your willpower back at his or your place.

“I know you could've.” he sings out annoyingly, leaving you to roll your eyes at him as he thanks the woman, leading you away. “It was my idea, I know this gym is a bit pricey and you're not exactly the type to spend money on something like this.”

“Yah!” you nudge him, met with a toothy grin as he teasingly nudges you back. “What are you saying? Maybe I'll enjoy working out. I should work on those muscles.”

You and him share a look, grinning at each other after cracking up a few moments later, knowing very well he's right and you're full of shit. Working out is not exactly your priority. You have enough exercise when working, constantly on your feet all day. Not mentioning how much you walk and sometimes rush to get Yoongi his fucking lunch. But well, that's completely on you. It's a nice reminder to never do that again. To involve him in your stupid plans.

While Jungkook leads you to the gym equipment (you're sure he would know his way around blindfolded), you're trying your best not to stare at all those muscular and slim people around you. Damn, you're really out of place right now. They all seem to know what they're doing.

“You wanna lift some weights?” Jungkook asks, tossing down water bottles and two towels he grabbed from home for you and him. “Wait, you did some stretching before coming here, right?”

When he's met with silence, he looks up just to see your brow raised with a frown on your lips. He sighs, disapprovingly and not very subtly shaking his head as he mutters your name.

“I got into this bizarre outfit right after I got from work!” you exclaim, pointing at yourself.

You tried your best, alright? A simple black leggings and an oversized shirt. It's definitely not the hottest outfit you would often see on Instagram of some fitness model, or just most women who work out and want to look nice. But who cares?

“And I don't ever stretch. Nobody's got time for that.” you mutter.

Jungkook snickers, some of his hair falling and shielding his forehead as he sits down on the bench. “You should stretch every morning, regardless if you work out or not.”

He used to stretch your muscles in other ways.

Oops –intrusive thoughts!

“Alright, alright.” You roll your eyes at him which has him laughing.

“Okay, do some basic stretching while I do some lifting.” Already seeing your disapproving face, he continues. “Trust me, you're gonna thank me later.”

“But you said you would go easy on me!”

He did say that. In fact, he doesn't plan to destroy you on your first proper work out session. And probably the last because who knows? You're unpredictable sometimes.

But instead of calming down your nerves, he lies down but not before shooting you a smirk. “When have I ever?”

He starts lifting the heavy weight, pressing his lips tightly as he occasionally groans, some of them taking you far away from the gym. Still standing there, you dryly gulp and wonder, why the fuck you haven't invited him over instead? Suddenly, it sounds way more safer than this for numerous reasons.

Jeon Jungkook is coming for your neck.

All he does is the same thing he would’ve done if you weren’t here. He’s focused, checking on you to see if you’re really stretching your muscles like he has advised you from time to time. While he’s oblivious to your inner thoughts and how much you’re actually trying to ignore the way his muscles tense and flex during his workout, he makes sure to give you a stern look every time he sees you flaking.

He would’ve been a stern trainer, that’s for sure.

One thing about him is that he takes his job and hobbies very seriously. He doesn’t like when people fuck around — maybe that’s why he’s so opposed to take Taehyung to workout with him. You’re clear Taehyung would enjoy being here just as much as some of the female audience clearly enjoy watching Jungkook. Obviously, he would not enjoy them eyeing and salivating over him, but rather appreciate the clear attention because you know they would eye Taehyung just as much.

But Jungkook stays focused on himself, partly focused on you while you’ve been stretching your legs for the past five minutes until Jungkook reminds you to switch and stretch other parts with breathless voice.

Once he finishes, he sits up and takes a short break as he watches you with an amused expression, sparkles dancing in his dark brown eyes.

“What?” you huff out. “Am I doing it wrong?”

“No,” he laughs. “I just never thought I’d see the day of you working out.”

Straightening up, you flip him off with a sarcastic smile which allows him to laugh even more. “Don’t sweat it. I’m not working out yet.”

After a minute, you stop stretching feeling like you’ve done a decent job. Met with Jungkook’s gaze, you purse your lips.

“You know… we could’ve gone to a cinema or do something instead.”

“Complaining already?” he asks amusingly, resting his arm over his thigh as he manspreads himself.

Are you? It definitely sounds like it and to be honest, you're not sure. You thought spending time with him just hanging out would be a great opportunity to get your friendship back to the old ways. Even though there was a thought in the back of your mind of how that was going to go when you simply imagined Jungkook's sweaty body. You've had the opportunity to see him working out at his place and even back then, you had an awful time trying not to gawk at him.

With the never-ending thoughts, you grow more upset at yourself. Jungkook is one fine piece of man and that's definitely not how you only see him. He's much more than that. When you look at him, you see him . Not just the physically attractive side of him. Not the way those girls are still eyeing him shamelessly.

Although, you're not complaining for a reason Jungkook might think. You're not the athletic type like him, he knows that – hell, everyone knows it around you. Or perhaps, it's the tiny bit of this reason too. This is what you wanted.

Perhaps you made things more dramatic and serious than they have to be. Looking at Jungkook, seeing his toothy grin he sends your way while he's completely oblivious to your inner (and annoying) thoughts, some of the weight lifts off your chest.

“Not at all.” you assure him, ignoring his knowing look but luckily, he doesn't call you out on your bluff.

“Come on, maybe we should do some cardio now. Get you heated up a little.”

Don't worry, you already took care of it, you think as you nod with a tight smile, following him across the room.

Jungkook sets up the treadmill for you, setting up a manageable pace for you before he joins you.

While music hits of this year blasts through the speakers, he advises you to focus on your breathing before he informs you you're going to do a few miles. Jungkook is keeping up with you, not sticking to his usual routine and for that, you're grateful. It feels nice to do the same thing together, just being in each other's presence even though there's not much time to actually have a conversation.

After a while, you notice the same women who were shamelessly watching Jungkook the entire time since they noticed him, join you on the treadmills. Scoffing a little under your breath, you glance at Jungkook who's too focused to even notice anything.

As you open your mouth to comment on it in front of him, Jungkook is in his own world as he suddenly tugs his shirt over his head before he tosses it over the handrail. That's when he must sense your prominent eyes on him as he glances your way.

“Seriously?”

“It's getting hot.” he explains, shrugging as he continues totally unbothered.

Huffing out, you tuck a strand of hair behind your hair that has managed to get out of your ponytail. “You're aware of your fanclub here, right?”

“What?” Jungkook breathes out, shooting you a confused look. “What are you talking about?”

You snicker, “There are like three women who have been eyeing you since the moment they spotted you. They even followed us here, so they could stare .” you inform him amusingly, shaking your head when you see his frowned expression. “Oh come on. Don't tell me you're not aware. It probably happens every time you come here.”

You're not dumb and neither is Jungkook. He's definitely not clueless how many female gazes he catches (sometimes even male).

“I wasn't aware of them . But yeah, it happens.” he admits almost shyly, clearing his throat.

You trace his tattooed arm with your eyes for a moment, before saying: “Has anyone hit on you while you were working out?”

“Y/N!” he exclaims, sounding almost scandalized by your blunt question. “I said focus on your breathing.”

Is Jeon Jungkook being flustered? It only spurs you on and spreads your cheeky grin even wider. “Oh, so you do get hit on.”

Jungkook huffs, “Yeah, it happens sometimes.”

Hm, sometimes. You're not sure if you believe that.

“How fast?”

“What is this?” Jungkook laughs, “Are you interrogating me?”

“Just curious.”

You really are. You haven't experienced being at the gym with him before. It's fascinating how he behaves here. Not that he's different or something, but it is quite interesting to witness this part of his life.

He sighs when she spots your curious gaze and the cheeky grin, rolling his eyes at you before he huffs out his response. “It usually happens by now. But you're here with me, so I'm guessing that's what holds them back.”

Why is that not surprising? Instead of feeling anything negative, you find that fact amusing and it makes you chuckle. “Oh, should I leave? Give them a chance to come here?” you joke, laughing even more when you see Jungkook's glare.

“You're annoying.”

In the midst of your laughing, you notice him cracking a grin which he has tried to hide. Your body feels lighter, despite your muscles growing tired already, but the moment between you lingers. This is how it felt before. Just you and him – teasing each other.

Turning off the treadmill sooner than you should've (after hoping you've clicked the right button), you take the small towel Jungkook has brought you and wipe your forehead. You bite back the laugh that wants to come out when you see Jungkook's suspicious stare.

“Scared I'm gonna leave?” you tease, causing him to huff out as he cuts off his run and turns off the equipment.

“Don't you dare.” he says, wiping his own sweat as he grabs the bottle of water and takes a few gulps.

While his head is tilted back, throat bobbing at the way he gulps, you find yourself eyeing his buffed out chest. You don't expect to see Jungkook's eyes on you as soon as you look away from the amount of naked flesh, cheeks heating up immediately as his lips curl into a smirk.

“Stop teasing me.” he simply says, moving closer as he drapes his towel over his shoulder.

“Are you sure I'm the one that's teasing?” you ask silently, eyes flickering down to his chest again as he chuckles.

“I always tend to take off my shirt. I promise I'm not teasing.”

You believe that. Jungkook doesn't owe you an explanation and after all, you do know very well he prefers to be as naked as possible. Looking around, you spot a few guys shirtless as well and it's not that unusual to see the extra skin here.

“Perhaps you could control yourself a little, you know, around me.” you say with a cheeky tone, pointing at his body as he plays your game, humming while nodding.

And then he does something unexpected. He brushes his thumb across your bottom lip, feeling the softness of it as it feels like he prints his fingertip to the skin he tasted many times before. “You wanted the break, remember?”

The way he drops his tone but still keeps it light and teasing causes your heartbeat to pick up its pace. Stop, stop, stop . Hearing the warnings and red lights going on in your head, you stay rooted in your spot as Jungkook drops his hand, lips twitching.

He's not oblivious when it comes to you though. He can tell your single body language or expression from miles away.

“Perhaps you're the one who needs to control yourself a little.” And then he's patting your shoulder in a comforting manner.

He walks away, laughing and fully content at your speechless appearance, ushering to continue in your routine as you mindlessly follow him. But not before sending a small glare toward Jungkook's fanclub, seeing them whispering among themselves.

Surprisingly, things go back to normal and there's no teasing happening after that. While your heart still beats a little faster than it should've – and it's definitely not from working out and following Jungkook's instructions – the lingering tension is almost not there. Jungkook is back to being serious, showing you the right way to do things when needed and you listen obediently, doing an actual good job at it. Even if he's back in your mind during all of that, you find yourself to be distracted enough to enjoy your time here. And just you and him hanging out.

Hour and a half passes quickly. Quicker than you previously thought it would. You get separated when it's time to take a shower and change clothes. Jungkook is finished soon, waiting for you at the reception (no surprise) as he's chatting with the receptionist again. Once he sees you done, he bids a goodbye and wraps his arm around your shoulder.

“So, what are you saying? Are you gonna be my workout partner?” he teases, the two of you walking out of the building as he leads you to his parked car.

All you can muster to do in response is to let out an awkward chuckle. “I would rather not.”

For obvious reasons.

Tossing the packaged food, beef burger and big fries precisely, onto the desk, you watch the bane of your existence slowly turn his chair in your direction as he makes sure you see his well amused and annoying grin. Delivering him a huge sarcastic and tight smile, you hold yourself back from wrapping your hands around his neck and choke him.

Min Yoongi has been nothing but a big menace. The worst thing is that you can't really complain because you agreed to it.

Today, he requested to get a burger with fries for his lunch. The closest place is around twenty minutes from your workplace by a car, so you spent most of your lunchbreak getting his fucking burger, waiting for them to prepare it and then driving back. Your bank account is slowly starting to cry. Or is that you ?

“Why thank you.” he beams sarcastically, sniffling the air around him as he leans closer to the packed meal, only spurring your annoyance for sure.

“It's not like I had a choice.” you remind him sweetly.

“A deal is a deal.” he sings out, the sound of you taking a deep breath causing his lips to twitch.

You don't give him the joy of begging him, or even trying to talk him out of this. After all, he's not wrong. You like to think of it as your punishment for making a stupid decision. Overall, it wasn't that bad and for that, you're glad. Yoongi (surprisingly) got along with the guys and for what could be assumed a weak moment, he even told you he was enjoying the time there. It was certainly a weak moment on your part when you allowed yourself to cry in front of Min Yoongi. Somehow, you managed to convince him to hug you. The awkward hug makes you cringe till this day and you're sure Yoongi feels the same. However, he seemed to have his own weak moments for sure. Why else would he ever assure you that he did have a good time? Min Yoongi is not all bad, deep down you know that.

“So how are things with your boyfriend?” He starts unpacking his meal, the scent filling the room as the office is yet to be filled with your colleagues. Most of them haven't gotten back from their lunch breaks, but that will soon change as it's supposed to end in five minutes. Unless they don't want Junho to come for their asses and spend the rest of the day listening to him complaining.

“Good?” you ask confusingly. “Since when do you care?”

“I don't, but today has been boring as fuck.” he says simply, taking the first bite of the hamburger you paid for. You ignore the way your mouth salivates. You've managed to eat fries on your way here – something Jungkook would surely scold you for. He wouldn't approve of you eating while driving. Good thing he doesn't know.

“I told you I'm not here for your amusement, Min.” you remind him.

“Back to last name basis? I thought we're closer than that after our weekend together.” he says loud enough for Benjamin to hear who's passing by, your cheeks flaring hot as he gives you both a weird look, luckily continuing his way toward the breakroom, you assume.

“Our weekend? First of all, ew,” You cringe, erupting a laugh from him as his cheeks are puffed out with the hamburger. “And seriously? Do you really want rumors to start going around?”

“Nobody would believe I would go for you, relax.” he scoffs while your jaw drops to the floor. Once you collect yourself, you sit yourself on the edge of his desk.

“You did go for me once, as far as I can remember. And if I remember correctly, you did tell me my pu–”

“We don't talk about that.” he cuts you off abruptly, worth enough for you to say the words aloud when seeing his reaction as he looks flustered of you bringing it up.

It's not like you wanted to, he didn't give you a chance.

“Me and my boyfriend are doing great though. How about you? Have you found yourself a suitable partner that is willing to keep up with your ass?”

Yoongi chokes on his spit, trying his best for the food to stay in his mouth and that's when you know your job is done.

“Enjoy your meal, Yoongi.” you tell him sweetly, getting off his desk and walking away with a triumphal grin.

The rest of your day goes smoothly, even when you haven't had a proper lunch but your latest interaction with Yoongi just brightens up your whole day. The look on his face and the little frown he made sure you see just made your day. And you made sure to let him know that. Not even Benjamin giving you a weird look very subtly could make you ruin your day.

That's how you've felt until you get inside your apartment building, knowing you have to change your clothes and freshen up before the guys come here. Taehyung is still at work and you're pretty sure so is Jimin, so you have a little bit of time before their arrival. Just as you're putting your phone back inside your purse, you lift your gaze to greet the neighbor just for you to let out an audible gasp. One that gets the attention of the very last person you've expected to see.

In full glory, your ex-boyfriend stands a few doors away as he looks up, surely hearing you before his own eyes widen and mouth opens in surprise.

“Y/N,” he breathes out, surprised just as much as you are.

“You've got to be kidding me.” you mutter, not dropping your eyes off Haneul.

He hasn't changed, yet he seems different than the last time you saw him. He's sober this time for sure but that's not what you meant. At the sight of him, you're reminded of the moments you've spent together. Still shocked to see him, Haneul carefully walks closer.

“I–uh, my friend moved here. I was just visiting him, I didn't know you live here, I swear.”

The little panicked tone and expression on his face makes your features soften. The last encounter you had with him wasn't a pleasant one. You've had enough reasons to stay mad at him. And maybe a tiny part of you still is because of his own mistake. You wouldn't like to go back to it though. You've talked since then and you ended that chapter in your life. But still. Seeing him in front of you, looking panicked and careful like a lost puppy makes you feel bad for some reason.

He has gained weight. Not lots of it but he looks… bigger and buff, though his cheekbones and jaw are more prominent. He's wearing jeans, a simple white shirt with a patterned overshirt over it. He looks… good. Even his hair is darker and longer. That's what reminds you of the last time you've seen him.

“It's okay,” you assure him slowly, not quite sure what to say. “I'm just surprised to see you here.”

“So am I,” he says, his features turning alarmed once again as he quickly jumps to elaborate. “I mean I'm surprised to see you here too. I really didn't know you live here.”

“It's fine.” you chuckle a little. You know how weird it must be for him too. Since the last time he assured you he wasn't stalking you, and based on his body language and expression right now, you're aware that he is actually scared of you to think otherwise.

He's nervous. You're actually surprised that you can tell even after all these months.

“I never thought I would see you again,” he says softly. “I–do you have a minute?”

Frowning automatically, you look around and shift on your spot. He is not oblivious to your evident uncertainty and perhaps discomfort, his face saddening.

“It won't be long. I just want to tell you something. It's been haunting me ever since… ever since the last time I saw you. I understand if you don't want to but…” he trails off, scratching his temple.

Looking back and forth between your apartment's door, you hesitate for a moment. For one, you're still shocked to see him here. To see him standing just a few feet away from you, looking at you in a total hope as he pleads with his eyes.

Do you want him inside your place? It sounds too… intimate. Your place is private. To have him there out of all people… you're not sure how to feel about it. But one thing is sure, you definitely don't want to have this conversation in the hallway where anyone could hear you.

“Let's take it inside, this is not a proper place to have any conversation.” you decide to say, slow with your movements as you move to tap your code and open the door.

“Are you sure? I don't wanna overstep.”

Looking across your shoulder, you find him staring into the distance to avoid looking at your code to give you some privacy. That alone makes you feel safer because you know he wouldn't hurt you. Whatever happened back at the club… it was a mess but that shouldn't define all of him.

Still, you create a distance between you and him, still making sure he sees your hardened gaze as you invite him inside.

“We can just talk here,” he says as soon as he closes the front door. “We don't have to go further.” He proposes.

Taking off your shoes, you cross your arms over your chest before leaning against the wall. “Okay, then talk.”

For a moment, he seems to be lost at words. But once you cock your brow at him, he shakes himself out of it and fumbles over his words. You're patient though, waiting for him to say whatever he needs to.

“I don't remember much from our last… from the last time I saw you. I mean–I do remember bits of it but I was too wasted to remember or even know what I was doing. I never reached out to you, not that I didn't want to, but I thought it's better if I didn't,”

You give him a look, raising your brow again as if to tell him that he's damn right .

“Listen, I don't wanna take any more of your time or bother you. I owe you a big apology, I shouldn't have ever cornered you like that. I was drunk and out of my mind. I still wasn't over our break-up and when I saw you–I lost it, I drank too much and I had no control over myself and for that, I'm ashamed.”

Squeezing your forearms subtly, you just stare at him before you sigh. “I was drunk too. I almost let you kiss me. And I probably would've if…” Jungkook didn't get between you two.

Haneul knows that, nodding understandably.

“I never had a peace of mind after that. I was dumb and irresponsible. I still wasn't over the first love as they say.”

You stand up straight, arms still crossed. “I do hope you find your happiness.”

“Can I ask you something?” He tries, waiting for your nod. Once he gets it, he takes a breath and opens his mouth again. “How did you get over it?”

“Time,” you say as he nods, knowing that must be his answer as well. “And I had my friends too.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, he looks away as he nods. He knows who is included in your friend's circle and his very subtly annoyed reaction proves it. Jealousy is what got you into this mess in the first place. Who knows where you two would be if it weren't for the entire argument that took place during winter.

“Um, well thank you for giving me a chance to apologize in person. I really needed that and I appreciate it.”

You nod. You could tell him that you hope he truly moved on. That he deserves happiness too and he shouldn't beat himself over his past mistakes too much. Or that you hope he matured into the right person because deep down, you know he's not bad. He had hurt you and you never expected it from him, but looking at you now, you've moved on faster than he has. He is still here, has waited for his moment to apologize again and you appreciate that. But to create more distance and avoid unnecessary affection, you stay quiet. Something tells you it's better this way.

Perhaps you're being harsh. Or just reasonable and smart.

Who knows.

He opens his door and you follow him, ready to say the final goodbye which doesn't necessarily mean you won't ever say hi again if you see each other in person. Knowing now that one of his friends lives here, there might be times when you see each other again. But there's no longer any connection there. You won't stay friends like you could've. You think it could only mess with his head.

Once you look up, you wonder why Haneul hasn't stepped out yet only to find Jungkook standing on the opposite side of the door, a prominent frown and glare framing his face.

“What the fuck.”

Getting in between them, you pull Jungkook inside as he spares you a short glance before his eyes don't leave Haneul's figure. You get Jungkook behind you and as Haneul gets the clue, he steps out of your place.

“Thanks again.” he murmurs, trying not to glare too much at Jungkook who's still standing behind you.

Giving Haneul one final nod and silent goodbye, you watch his figure retrieve as you let out a big sigh.

“What was he doing here?” Jungkook asks, breathlessly almost getting worked up at seeing Haneul here.

It's not like you blame him. Haneul wasn't on his best behavior the last time he saw him. And before that too.

“His friend moved here and we bumped into each other.”

“Great.” he states sarcastically, taking off his sneakers as he gives you a stern look which makes you innocently shrug before closing the door.

“He wanted to apologize.”

“And you let him inside your apartment? Jesus, Y/N.” He rubs his forehead, causing you to shrug.

“He was drunk at that time, Kook. He wouldn't hurt me.”

“You don't know that.”

“I do know that!” you argue, watching his brow raise as you retrieve a little, nibbling on your lip.

Okay, maybe you don't know that. Haneul has proved himself to be… unexpected. But you don't think he would go far as to hurt you.

Jungkook sighs, closing his eyes as he leans his head back and stares at the ceiling for a second. He walks up to you, expression softening. “Y/N, baby,” He cups your cheek to make you look at him. You dryly gulp, having him this close to you after a long time. “We both know sometimes you can get upset and with a guy like him, you don't know how he's gonna react.”

You do know what he means. Sometimes you can't control your mouth. But that's the last thing on your mind, not with him so close and calling you– “Baby,” You crack a grin. “We're on a break, remember?”

Jungkook huffs out a laugh, dropping his hands as you try to ignore the mere disappointment by that simple action. “Sorry.”

“I liked it.” you silently confess.

He lifts up his gaze, mouth opening slightly before hard knocks behind you causes you to flinch. That breaks a moment as you see Taehyung's close up face on the display next to your door right after a ringbell can be heard, the system turning on the camera automatically. Jimin is behind him, nudging his head out of the camera. Snickering, you open the door as the lock unclicks and you're met with your friends face to face.

“What's up fuckers? What's the commotion about?” Taehyung cackles, tossing his sneakers off as Jimin sighs and shakes his head at evidently very active Taehyung.

“Ignore him. He had a few drinks after work with his co-workers.”

“I was celebrating!”

“You celebrate a lot then.” Jimin mutters, ignoring Taehyung's glare before his sharp eyes stop on you two.

“Commotion? What were you talking about?”

“We heard your voices when we got out of the elevator.” Taehyung answers you.

“Were you listening behind the door, Kim Taehyung?” you exclaim, shooting him a disapproving look as he gasps and shakes his head, clearly offended by the suggestion. As if that couldn't happen when it comes to him.

“We really weren't. We just heard voices because surprisingly, this fucker here was quiet the whole time on the elevator and even after we got out of it. We couldn't hear much. Taehyung is just as dramatic as always.”

“I was just joking, jesus. And who you're calling fucker?”

You roll your eyes. “You just called us fuckers.” you point out, everyone going further down your apartment as you turn on the lights since you haven't had the chance to go fully inside.

Taehyung just innocently shrugs. “But what's with the faces?”

“Y/N had her ex-boyfriend over.” Jungkook shrugs, your head snapping toward his direction as everyone in the room gasps.

Jimin and Taehyung stare at you as if you were caught in a lie, their mouths open as their asses drop down onto your couch at the same time. The scenario is funny and you would surely laugh at them if it weren't for their disapproving and scandalized looks.

“Ex-boyfriend as the slut shaming asshole?” Taehyung asks, narrowing his eyes at you as you sigh.

“It wasn't exactly that, thanks a lot Jungkook,” you point at him, just as he shrugs in return before making himself comfortable in your chair. “His friend lives here, on the same floor I assume. We bumped into each other and he wanted to talk.”

“And you invited him here?” Jimin asks, frowning as you sigh just as Jungkook butts in.

“That's what I said!”

“I–” You stop for a second, rubbing your nose before sitting down on the arm rest, close to Taehyung. “I didn't wanna talk about it in the hallway. You guys didn't see him–” They start rolling their eyes and muttering a bunch of disapprovals before you quickly add. “He seriously just wanted to apologize for the last time. I gave him that choice and I'm unharmed. I'm okay. See?”

“You better be.” Taehyung warns. Jimin nods, agreeing.

“You guys act like he physically harmed me. He's not that violent.” you inform them.

As much as you appreciate their protective nature, you know Haneul is not the type to harm you physically. They all make it seem like that and you do think maybe they're a bit overprotective in this manner.

“And I'm perfectly fine to tell him to fuck off.”

“Sometimes that's not enough. Sometimes that can cause more harm than you think.” Taehyung reminds you.

“Yeah, sorry Y/N but Tae's right.” Jimin agrees.

“You never know how any guy can react when they're mad.”

“You guys are being dramatic now.”

“Maybe, but better be safe than sorry.” Jungkook mutters. His elbow is resting against the armrest, fingers nibbling on his bottom lip as he gives you a stern look.

“Kook's right,” Taehyung agrees. “Wait–Jungkook, you saw him? Was there a fight I missed?”

You snicker, “There was no fight, Tae because there wasn't a need for one.”

He disappointedly leans back with a pout.

“He left peacefully. Said what he wanted to say and he's gone.”

“I hope you're not planning to see him again.” Jimin wonders, giving you a suspicious look as you stutter over your words, shocked at his suspicion while Taehyung snaps his head toward you, already ready to react.

“Why would she? God, don't be stupid to get back to him, Y/N.”

“Oh my god!” You shake your head, stopping him right away. “First of all, no one is getting back with anyone. I'm not interested in him like that, not that it's any of your business.” You tell them sternly, looking at every one of them, met with frowning Jungkook and then a second after, with the same looking Jimin and Taehyung.

“We're just worried about you, that's all. But Jimin-ah, she has Jungkook now, right?” Taehyung teases.

“I appreciate the concern, but I'm not that dumb. And please stop bringing up me and Kook. We're not… doing that anymore.”

“What?!”

“You're not?”

Their reaction comes at the same time, bouncing against the wall of your small living room as the duo glance at Jungkook who nods in confirmation.

You weren't exactly planning on telling them, in fact you and Jungkook never talked about telling anyone but that's simply because there was no need to. As always, that's between you and Jungkook. But now it seems like a good thing to inform them since Taehyung practically assumes you and Jungkook are hooking up. And despite his obvious shock and almost disappointment, his mouth frowns as Jimin suspiciously eyes you and Jungkook.

You don't tell them that you took a break. It's almost embarrassing to admit that you want to continue hooking up with Jungkook. Firstly, you want to focus on hanging out with him only. It seems fresh and nice, despite all the difficulties you have to go through every day.

“So you're no longer hooking up?”

“Who's dumb idea that was?” Taehyung exclaims as Jimin clicks his tongue at him.

“So you're just… friends? Everything went back to normal?” he asks, staring at you before focusing his eyes on Jungkook this time as he nods.

“Do we have to talk about this?” Jungkook asks. “It's not like you discuss your sex life with me.”

“Well–”

“Not you, Tae.” Jungkook cuts him off, causing you to snicker. “But yes, she's telling the truth. Can we move on? I seriously don't wanna talk about my sex life.”

“The lack of right now.” Taehyung snickers, causing Jungkook to throw a pillow at him.

Everyone knows that if Jungkook wanted to get his dick wet, he could do it anytime. The difference is that he's not that type of person and it's something he and Taehyung don't share. Minus Jimin since he's in a relationship now which still blows your mind to be honest.

“I'm glad you guys got some sense after all.” Jimin says, leaning back as he makes himself more comfortable.

You and Jungkook share a look, your breath close to hitching once you spot those dark brown eyes from the distance, as you give Jimin a smile. One that you hope doesn't look nervous just as much as you seem.

“What about Greece?” Taehyung asks, filling up the thoughtful silence.

Luckily, for your and Jungkook's sake, the topic of your sex-life is no longer discussed – even though you know Taehyung is itching to know more details. Each of you has their phone in their hands, searching for the right destination for your first proper friend vacation.

There have been a few suggestions, though you have to stay realistic. And all of you got bills to pay.

“Won't that be more expensive?” Jimin questions, not quite sold on the latest suggestion.

“Not necessarily. We can always check.” he responds, shrugging.

“And what about Hawaii? Many Koreans visit it, it's familiar and kinda verified if that makes sense.” Jimin says.

“Hawaii sounds nice.” Jungkook hums.

“Oh–Hawaii! Let's go to Hawaii!” Taehyung says excitedly, straightening himself off the sofa as you laugh at his sudden excitement. “I saw this TikTok about Hawaii destinations. It was beautiful.”

“Are you sure it's the destination you saw in that video?” Jungkook teases, both of you cackling as Taehyung flips him off.

“Ah, my aunt went there last year. She can't stop talking about it.” Jimin ignores the three of you, sticking up to the topic while Jungkook and Taehyung stick their tongues out at each other. Kids.

“Honestly, I don't care much where we're gonna go. As long as it's a nice place.” you shrug. “Hawaii sounds nice. Let's check it more, so we can finally decide.”

Everyone agrees with you. When the four of you start searching for more details that entail what island you would pick, accommodation, flight tickets and overall the prices. The tiredness slowly overcomes you, your friends talk too much to the point you zone out. Their voices drift off as your head falls down on Jungkook's shoulder.

You hear them teasing you for falling asleep, but it gets ignored as you simply shrug and continue in your slumber. It's until Jungkook shakes you out of your sleepiness, his soft features are blurry until you blink a few times. In the distance you can see Jimin and Taehyung cleaning after themselves, the two of them in their own conversation. He gives you a gentle smile.

“We're going to Hawaii.”

Over the course of a couple of days, everything is booked and set up. It feels nearly unreal. You've never experienced a vacation that involved a proper beach and island. It doesn't properly kick in, not even when you inform Junho about the vacation leave you want to take in mid July. Not very pleased by that, he knew you do have a right to take one, so he had to accept it. When everyone got a free pass, the group chat was filled with exciting gifs and memes.

All that is left is to wait.

Taehyung: I fucking need this vacation y'all

Jimin: work?

He expects his job to be the cause of Taehyung's sudden message to the group chat.

Taehyung: no lol

Taehyung: just thinking about all chicks I'm gonna get

Jimin: dude…

Taehyung: what? you used to be way more fun -_-

Taehyung: you act like a priest now

Jimin: I don't think priest has a girlfriend

Taehyung: doesn't it depend on religion?

Jimin: do you know anything about religion man???

Taehyung: than you're just stuck up man then

Taehyung: fyi I do know a lot

Taehyung: women love to scream for god when I 🍆🍩

“Ewww wtf”

Jimin: we didn't need to know that

Taehyung: you guys are no fun -_-

Kook: Just another day in this gc I see

Taehyung: so boring

Taehyung: where are my friends?! >.<

“They're responsible”

Taehyung: like you're one to talk about responsibility

You gasp, snickering.

“Fuck you”

Taehyung: come here then bby :P

Jimin sends a laughing gif, probably rolling from Taehyung's ridiculous messages.

Jimin: we've matured Tae, time to find a girlfriend

Taehyung: I'd rather cut my dick off

“Can I do it? 🥺”

Jungkook sends laughing emojis.

Taehyung: I knew you were kinky little shit

“Seems like you're the kinky little shit”

Taehyung: I never hid it ;)

“again… EW! -_-”

Jimin: petition to cut tae's dick

“Maybe then he'll finally think with his head rather than his dick”

Taehyung: you little bitch

You send an emoji sending a kiss.

Taehyung: y'all are so mean

Kook: I'm in the middle of photoshoot and I'm reading about Tae's dick

Kook: get a grip

“But I love talking about Tae's dick :(((“

Taehyung: YES!

Jimin: lmaooo

Kook: seriously? -_-

“Yes 😘”

Taehyung: she can talk about yours if you want kook

Kook: I'm outta here

“Taehyung -_-”

Taehyung: just jk omg

Jimin: let them live bro

Taehyung: you're one to talk dude

Jimin: fuck off

“Are the flight tickets returnable?”

Taehyung: no you're stuck with us

Jimin: actually they are but you're going with us

Taehyung: you have no choice ;)

“I'm seriously gonna slap the shit out of you Taehyung”

“But I can't I'm working”

Taehyung: I can visit you ;) just try me

Jimin: yeah don't do it girl

“I'm seriously gonna kick your ass”

Taehyung: I thought you wanted to slap the shit outta me :(

“I can do both”

Taehyung: I'm sure you can

Taehyung: Kook??

Kook: leave me alone

Taehyung: disrespectful brat

“Tell him to leave me alone too :<”

Kook: yeah leave her alone too

Taehyung: because what? what you're gonna do? :))

Jimin: you're never gonna let that go will you

Taehyung: nope ;) love to tease them

“Just come here, I'm gonna show you what's teasing”

Taehyung: cumming!!

Taehyung: oops I meant *coming :)))

Kook: 🙄

“🤮”

Jimin: lmaooooo they disgusted

Jimin: me too me too

Taehyung: now that my job's done, enjoy your day you fuckers 😘

There are no messages for a while. You're guessing all of you are busy. It's the middle of the day after all.

“Is he drunk?”

Jimin: no… just taehyung

Somehow, that sums it all up.

After work, you're in the middle of sorting out your laundry when you videochat with the guys. Much to your surprise, you ended up clocking off early which doesn't happen very often – if ever. Junho has seemed to be in a good mood today, which resulted in letting some of you leave early. Yoongi included who couldn't seem to be happiest as he rushed out of the door as first.

“Where's Jimin?” Taehyung asks, holding his phone down as he unlocks the door of his apartment. The angle would not be very flattering for most people, but it's unfair it's not unflattering when it comes to him at all.

“I think he's on a date.” Jungkook answers, one hand on a wheel as his phone is perfectly angled at him.

You laugh at Taehyung's face. “You know, you could try to go on a date too. I've got a few coworkers who would surely be interested.” you tease him, laughing even more when you see his features scowl in a mere disgust and disinterest.

Jungkook cackles, eyes focused on the road.

“If they're interested in having the time of their lives, my phone's on.” Taehyung jokes.

“You're so confident about that.” Jungkook laughs.

“You know Kook, you should've known that–”

“Alright, alright. Spare me the details. I'm driving.” Jungkook cuts him off quickly, making a grimace that makes you giggle.

“Besides, I'm heading to the club tonight.”

“Alone?” you ask, brows raised in surprise.

It's not like Taehyung is not the type to go somewhere alone, especially to a club. But it used to be something at least one of you went to do together.

“No, I'm meeting Mark in an hour.”

“Wait–Mark as in the Mark I worked with?” you ask, closing the washing machine's door with a thud as you stare wide-eyed at the screen.

“Yeah.”

“How do you know him?” you ask, “I mean—how did this happen?”

You haven't heard of Mark for months. It's true you've seen him a few times after you quit the job there while visiting, but he hasn't been on your mind since then. It's not that weird because Taehyung knows him, you introduced them and Taehyung is very social, but you would've never guessed they actually hung out.

“You know.. My friends started to focus on monogamy, so–”

“Shut up.” You laugh as Taehyung grins before giving you a proper explanation.

“I don't really know, I was in this other club one night and he was working there. I remember him from the time you worked together. Anyway, got drunk and we talked. We bumped into each other a few times since then and we kinda started hanging out.”

“Well, say hi to him from me.”

“Will do.”

A message pops on the top of your screen. You read the name, seeing it's Jungkook texting you. Taehyung starts to ramble, while Jungkook waits at the red light that illuminates his face as he cocks his head toward his phone, motioning for you to text him back.

Kook: movie night tonight? have a free evening

A sudden rush of happiness evokes in your chest and you're too quick to type back.

“Yes!! Got a few movies recs we can watch”

“What are the two of you smiling about?” Taehyung asks, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

“Nothing, nothing.” you sing out, seeing Jungkook chuckle as he starts driving again.

“You can join me.” Taehyung suggests.

“I don't feel like clubbing tonight.”

“Yeah, me neither. ” Jungkook hums.

“Boring, I'm telling y'all. You are getting boring as fuck.”

“We're getting older, Tae.” you laugh.

“You? You're the youngest out of all of us! ” he exclaims.

“I'm an old soul, Tae. What can I say?”

“Old soul my ass.” he grumbles.

The three of you laugh and joke around until the call ends shortly after. A few minutes later, there's a knock at your door signalizing you of someone's arrival. Opening the door with a huge grin, your features falter a little when you see him. Jeon Jungkook stands in front of your door, hair wet as he informs you of the short summer rain he caught on his way here and that you've completely missed. Tattooed hand goes into his hair, swiping them off his forehead as a few droplets drop down his thin black leather jacket.

He looks straight out of a movie. A total heartthrob.

He arches his brow at you, chuckling. “You're gonna let me in or not?”

Fuck.

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