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LAKE MISSOULA x JONAS VINGEGAARD
credits under cut!
lake missoula - richy mitch and the coal miners // jonas vingegaard - team presentation, tour de france 2024 // jonas vingegaard, tadej pogacar, and remco evenepoel - podium ceremony, tour de france 2024 (belga images) // tadej pogacar and jonas vingegaard - tour de france 2024 // wayward son - rainbow rowell // jonas vingegaard - stage 21, tour de france 2024 // it's down to legs - caley fretz // jonas vingegaard - stage 20, tour de france 2024 // jonas vingegaard - tour de france 2024 // jonas vingegaard - stage 11, tour de france 2024 // a poem on hope - wendell berry // jonas vingegaard and remco evenepoel - stage 19, tour de france 2024 // quora user shulamit widawsky // jonas vingegaard - stage 21, tour de france 2024 (getty images) // jonas vingegaard - stage 21, tour de france 2024 post-race interview (flobikes) // 'now the fight is over': jonas vingegaard concedes tour de france battle for yellow, but still aims for second - adam becket // jonas vingegaard - stage 19, tour de france 2024 post-race interview (flobikes) // video: jonas vingegaard and matteo jorgenson consoled after heart-breaking end to stage 19 of 2024 tour de france for team visma | lease a bike - kieran wood // jonas vingegaard - tour de france 2024 // jonas vingegaard - tour de france 2024 // 'probably the hardest moment of my career'-- jonas vingegaard on his crash and fight to be ready for the tour de france - stephen farrand // jonas vingegaard's tour de france was a venn diagram - iain treloar // rise up and salute the sun: the writings of suzy kassem - suzy kassem // jonas vingegaard - tour de france 2023 // jonas vingegaard - stage 21, tour de france 2024 // jonas vingegaard - stage 11, tour de france 2024 // vingegaard exhausted after tour de france: may cut season short - sjoerd valkering // jonas vingegaard and tadej pogacar - stage 20, tour de france 2024 (belga images) // the thing is - ellen bass // "if you had told me four months ago that i would be second, i wouldn't have believed you" - jonas vingegaard disappointed but proud of his tour de france - ondrej zhasil // jonas vingegaard and tadej pogacar - stage 11, tour de france 2024 // jonas vingegaard - stage 11, tour de france 2024 post-race interview (nbc sports) // alfred lord tennyson // jonas vingegaard and tadej pogacar - stage 11, tour de france 2024 // remco evenepoel and jonas vingegaard - stage 21, tour de france 2024 // jonas vingegaard and tadej pogacar - tour de france 2024 // matteo jorgenson and jonas vingegaard - stage 19, tour de france 2024 // matteo jorgenson and jonas vingegaard - tour de france 2024 // jonas vingegaard and tadej pogacar - podium ceremony, tour de france 2024 // jonas vingegaard and wout van aert - tour de france 2024 (team visma | lease a bike)
#obligatory jonasposting#i don’t know if i got the vibe i wanted to capture?? i feel like watching jonas race this year has ultimately been about hope#like the entire thing at its core feels like a leap of faith- of course visma was obsessively running numbers behind the scenes and#trying to prepare him as well as possible#but in the end he still hadn’t raced since april. he still had less than half the preparation and a massive question mark was following#them to the startline#but he still came. and he still believed. and everyone around him believed beyond everything else-#staff. commentators. fans. everyone was holding their breath because they don’t know where to place their bets#so it all comes down to crossing your fingers every time he gets a mechanical. saying a prayer under your breath when he loses 30 seconds.#and then stage 11 comes along! the tension is suddenly resolved and it’s like seeing the sun again!#but then things start to go downhill- but everyone still keeps hoping. the commentators i was watching were still saying “if” instead of#“when” about his podium in stage 21 because despite everything people still had hope! they don’t want to lay down the hammer#and even when he still finished second#the grief still mingled with the wonderful and beautiful fact that he still did it!#you take a step back and against all odds jonas vingegaard came back from the brink of death and podiumed the fucking tour de france!#and that heartbreak and wonder can coexist. you didn’t hope for nothing. the sky is still blue. the sun still shines. he made it.#sorry long tag rant i’m a yapper at heart y’all#me reading or listening to anything ever rn: omg this is so jonas coded!!!#jonas vingegaard#jv#tadej pogacar#remco evenepoel#wout van aert#wva#matteo jorgenson#tdf#tdf 2024#tour de france 2024#tour de france#cycling
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Tease
Chaewon x Male Reader | 8k words Tags: manager x idol, secret relationship, pent up, semi-public, sneaking away, horny as fuck, chaewon is hot as fuck, I wish it was me
Chaewon looks too good in that dress. Three weeks without sex. How long before you snap?
Jus sumn quick for yall.
Chaewon [1:42 AM]: I've been touching myself thinking about you every night this week. It's not enough.
Chaewon [1:43 AM]: Good luck keeping it professional tomorrow when you see what they have me wearing for the HOT trailer shoot 😈
You stare at your phone, heat flooding through your body. Three weeks without her. The longest you've gone since you started dating a year ago.
Fuck, she knows exactly what she's doing to you.
Three weeks without her touch has made every message like this a form of exquisite torture. You can practically hear her voice in your head as you read her texts.
You're dating Kim Chaewon. LE SSERAFIM's leader. And you're one of their managers.
It started on a company retreat last spring—a late-night conversation about music that turned into coffee, then dinner a week later, then her pressed against your apartment door, whispering that she'd wanted this since the moment you'd been assigned to their team.
You'd both agreed it would be just once.
That agreement lasted approximately 8 hours.
No one knows. Not the company. Not the members.
Not even Jiyeon, the other manager who works with you handling the girls' schedules.
And right now, your girlfriend is driving you fucking crazy.
The comeback prep for "HOT" has been exactly that—hot, intense, and keeping you both so busy you can barely catch your breath, let alone sneak away to be alone together.
You've tried everything to deal with the frustration. Late-night FaceTiming while she touches herself in her dorm room, biting her pillow to stay quiet. Watching the videos you've made together—her riding you on your couch, her bent over your bathroom sink, her on her knees looking up at you with those eyes.
None of it is enough. You need her. You need to taste her, feel her skin against yours, be inside her.
The warehouse set is all sleek white surfaces and ribbed glass partitions. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in cold natural light that makes everything look clean, sterile, and expensive. The perfect contrast to the fire they're trying to create with this concept.
Staff members in black hurry around with clipboards and equipment, speaking in hushed, urgent tones. This "BORN FIRE" trailer shoot has to be perfect—it's launching LE SSERAFIM's most ambitious album "HOT" yet.
You check your own clipboard, making sure everything's on schedule while trying not to think about Chaewon and whatever outfit has her texting you at 2 AM.
The irony isn't lost on you. Here you are, supervising the filming of a teaser—literally called "BORN FIRE"—while Chaewon herself is the true teaser. She's igniting something in you that's becoming increasingly difficult to contain. The line between her performance for the video and her performance for you is blurring dangerously.
"Manager-oppa, the director wants to run through the toy car scene again," Eunchae says, bouncing up to you in her feathered white outfit. "Have you seen Chaewon unnie? She's next."
"Still in wardrobe," you answer, keeping your voice steady. Like you're not thinking about how Chaewon moaned your name in that hotel in Jeju last month, her body shaking beneath yours as she came for the third time that night.
Sakura walks past with her stylist, the long white dress trailing behind her. You spot Kazuha already positioned on one of the white block structures that fill the set. The whole group is scattered around the space in various stages of preparation.
"Jiyeon-ssi," you call to your fellow manager, "can you check if hair and makeup are done with Chaewon?"
Jiyeon nods and heads toward the dressing area. You turn your attention back to the monitor, where the director is reviewing footage.
Then it happens.
The quiet murmur of the set shifts. You feel it before you see it.
Chaewon walks onto set, and your entire body goes rigid.
Your throat goes dry instantly. God, you love her in white—the way it makes her skin glow, how it emphasizes every curve you've memorized with your hands, your mouth. You force yourself to breathe normally even as memories flood your mind unbidden. She knows what this does to you. She's counting on it.
The white strapless dress is even shorter than it looked in the concept sketches and fittings you'd seen last week. It hugs her body perfectly, showing off shoulders you've kissed a hundred times.
The black belt cinches her waist—the waist you've held in your hands while she rode you until you both saw stars. But it's the boots that kill you. Thigh-high, black, lace-up boots that make her legs look endless.
You force yourself to look away, back at your clipboard. Professional. You're a professional.
But memories flood your mind anyway:
Chaewon straddling you in the backseat of your car, hand pressed against your mouth to keep you quiet while security guards walked past.
Chaewon pressed against your kitchen counter, panties around one ankle, begging you not to stop as you dropped to your knees.
Chaewon in your bed, hair spread across your pillow, eyes locked with yours as you moved inside her, whispering that she loves you.
You still remember the first time she said those words—three months in, both of you sweaty and breathless, her eyes wide with something like surprise at her own admission. You'd felt it too, that terrifying, exhilarating free-fall into something neither of you had planned for.
"You good?" asks one of the camera assistants, noticing how you've been staring at nothing.
"Fine," you say, the word clipped.
On set, Chaewon takes her position. In one scene, she stands tall on a miniature white car, the contrast of the boots against the white making her look like some kind of goddess. In another setup, she holds a diagram against her bare shoulder, eyes focused directly at the camera.
She's perfect. Professional. The director loves every take.
But then, during a lighting adjustment, when everyone's attention is elsewhere, she looks directly at you.
It's quick—barely a second—but in that moment, her professional mask slips. Her eyes darken. The corner of her mouth quirks up.
It's the same look she gave you the first time you told her to get on her knees.
The director calls for the next setup. Chaewon moves into position with the other members, all of them in white, creating a visual that's both innocent and somehow sinful.
You take a deep breath. You've been so good. So professional.
But when she walks past you, she whispers, "Bet you want to take this off me so bad," so quietly only you can hear it, you know exactly how this day is going to end.
You are completely, totally fucked.
You're in hell.
Not the burning, fire-and-brimstone kind. The sleek, white, glass-walled kind.
A special kind of hell designed with surgical precision by Kim Chaewon—your weakness, your fucking undoing.
The "BORN FIRE" shoot continues. It's been three hours. You've managed to stay professional for exactly none of them.
"Cut! Five minute break," the director calls.
The set erupts into controlled chaos—stylists rushing to touch up makeup, lighting techs adjusting gear, Kazuha and Eunchae huddled near the white blocks watching practice videos on their phones.
You stare at your clipboard like it contains the secrets of the universe.
Chaewon moves through the space like she owns it, boots clicking against the polished concrete floor. The sound alone makes your pulse kick.
She stands by the glass partition, sunlight catching on her hair, making it glow against all the sterile white. Your eyes follow her despite your brain screaming not to.
"Manager-oppa," she calls, voice sweet and professional. The sound hits you low in your stomach—the same tone she uses right before she begs you to fuck her harder.
"Can you bring me some water?"
She knows exactly what she's doing. Every staff member sees a hardworking idol asking her manager for a simple favor.
You know better.
You grab a bottle and walk it over to her. That's when she strikes.
Her fingers brush yours as she takes the bottle—deliberate, electric—the touch lasting a half-second too long to be accidental.
"Had a dream about you last night," she murmurs, voice pitched for your ears only.
The cap of the water bottle clicks as she twists it open. She drinks slowly, throat working in a way that triggers a vivid flashback—her on her knees three weeks ago, swallowing around you, looking up with those same dark eyes. You'd gripped her hair so tight she'd moaned around you.
Her tongue darts out to catch a drop on her lower lip. Her eyes never leave yours.
You say nothing. Your grip on the clipboard turns your knuckles white.
Jiyeon passes by, checking her watch. "Chaewon-ah, wardrobe wants to check your outfit before the next shot."
Chaewon nods, all professional sweetness. "Coming!"
She brushes past you, close enough that you catch her scent—something floral and expensive that you've tasted on her skin a hundred times before.
The stylist adjusts something on the back of her dress while she stands in front of the monitor. You try to focus on the schedule, on anything but the curve of her shoulder blades, the way the belt cinches her waist.
"Everything good?" the stylist asks.
Chaewon nods, then turns slightly. Her eyes find yours in the reflection of the monitor. "Perfect."
The tech walks away. You're about to do the same when—
"Woke up so wet this morning."
The words hit you like a physical blow. Your body responds instantly, a rush of heat that makes you grit your teeth.
She doesn't even look at you. Just keeps checking her reflection, adjusting a strand of hair like she didn't just set you on fire.
You step closer, voice low. "Watch yourself."
She smiles—sweet, sharp, fucking dangerous. "Always do. That's why I look so good."
The director calls everyone back. You retreat to the safety of the production table.
You adjust your clipboard, grateful for its coverage. This is what she reduces you to—a professional with years of industry experience hiding an erection like a teenager. The thought should embarrass you, but instead, there's a twisted pride in how she still affects you this way, even after a year together.
For exactly twelve minutes, you breathe. Focus. Reset.
Then she slides into the chair next to you.
"Can I see the schedule?" she asks, loud enough for others to hear. Professional. Proper.
You hand her your tablet without looking up. Three staff members hover nearby, discussing lighting for the next scene.
Sakura sits across the table, focused on crocheting something delicate and blue, her fingers moving with practiced precision. The click of her crochet hook provides a steady rhythm to the chaos around you.
That's when you feel it—her hand on your thigh under the table. Casual. Like it belongs there.
Your entire body goes rigid.
"Chaewon," you warn, barely a whisper.
"Mmm?" She leans in, pretending to point at something on the screen. Her fingers start to move. Slow strokes up, then down. Teasing.
You inhale sharply, willing your face to stay neutral.
The staff members move away. But Sakura is still there, focused on her project, the hook moving in and out of the yarn.
Chaewon's hand inches higher, bolder than she's ever been. Her pinky grazes dangerously close to where you're already hardening against your will.
"Stop," you hiss.
She leans closer, her breath against your ear. "I'm ovulating, you know."
Your vision blurs. Blood rushes in your ears.
"You'd feel it the moment you were inside me—"
Sakura looks up suddenly, her eyes meeting yours across the table.
Your heart stops.
Chaewon doesn't move her hand. Instead, she laughs at something on the screen, all innocent charm. "Manager-oppa, the schedule looks too tight. Don't you think?"
Sakura tilts her head, then returns to her crocheting, seemingly oblivious to the fact that your girlfriend's hand is still on your thigh, still dangerously high.
You wrap your fingers around her wrist under the table, stopping her hand but not removing it. A dangerous compromise.
Her pupils dilate. That's when you see it—she's not just playing with you. She's affected too. Her cheeks flushed, her breathing just a little too quick.
She's as desperate as you are.
The realization hits you like a kick to the chest.
"Two minutes!" someone calls.
She extracts her hand slowly, deliberately. Stands up, smooths down her dress. The movement pulls the hem even higher on her thigh.
"Think you can last the rest of the day?" she asks, a challenge glinting in her eyes.
Before you can answer, Jiyeon approaches. "Chaewon-ah, they need you for the car shot."
Chaewon nods, all business again. But as she walks away, she glances back—just once. Just enough for you to see the hunger there, mirroring your own.
The next hour is psychological warfare.
Around you, the set buzzes with activity. Makeup artists touch up the members between shots. The director argues with the cinematographer about lighting. A production assistant nearly trips over a cable, sending everyone scrambling.
And through it all, Chaewon wages her private campaign against your sanity.
This is high-stakes chess played under fluorescent lights.
Every staff member represents a potential career-ending leak. The director who's worked with three generations of idol groups and has seen every possible scandal. The company photographer who reports directly to the CEO. The stylists who know every whispered secret in the industry.
One wrong move, one lingering glance held too long, and everything you've both worked for collapses.
She steps onto the miniature white car, boots planted wide, the dress riding up her thighs as she poses. The camera loves her. Every angle is perfection.
You remember the first time you took her for a drive, six months into your secret relationship. She'd climbed into your lap at a deserted scenic point, the gear shift digging into her leg as she rode you, both of you half-clothed, desperate, her breath fogging the windows as she came.
Now, as she stands on that toy car, her eyes find yours between every take.
During the group shot with the white blocks, she trails her fingers along the edge of the structure, the same way she's traced paths across your chest in the dark of your bedroom. Her fingernails scrape lightly against the white surface, and you swear you can feel phantom scratches down your back.
Each pose becomes more provocative. Each glance more daring.
When the stylist adjusts her dress between shots, Chaewon stretches her arms overhead, making the hem ride dangerously high. The movement fills your nostrils with the scent of her perfume—jasmine and something deeper—that clings to your sheets for days after she leaves.
In the solo shot with the diagram pressed against her bare shoulder, she turns just enough that only you can see how her teeth catch her bottom lip—the same way they do when you're deep inside her.
Your heart hammers against your ribs. Your skin feels too tight. Every minute is torture, and the fact that you're surrounded by people—Jiyeon checking the time, Eunchae asking you questions, staff members constantly brushing past—only makes it worse.
This isn't just teasing anymore. This is Chaewon pushing both of you to the edge.
Then comes the final blow.
During the last break, when the set is buzzing with activity, she passes by the narrow space between the equipment cases where you're checking inventory.
No one can see you here. Just a sliver of space hidden from the main floor.
She stops, just for a second. Leans in.
"Just fuck me in the changing room already."
The clipboard nearly snaps in your grip.
She walks away, satisfied smirk playing on her lips.
And something in you—the last thread of your control—finally snaps.
You count to ten. Wait until she's back in position on set.
Then you move through the space with purpose, face composed, steps measured.
Professional.
You reach her just as the director calls for a lighting check.
Your fingers wrap around her wrist—firm, decisive.
She looks up, triumph flashing in her eyes.
"Do you wanna get caught, you stupid bitch?" you whisper, the words harsh but your tone almost loving.
Her lips part. A small gasp that only you can hear.
"Manager-nim, is something wrong?" the director asks.
"Wardrobe issue," you say smoothly. "Won't take long."
You pull her away from the set, past curious eyes, past Jiyeon's raised eyebrow.
The changing room is too exposed. Too many people.
Five years in this industry has taught you one thing: discretion isn't just preferred, it's survival.
You've built your reputation on professionalism, on being the manager who anticipates problems before they happen.
Chaewon is the one variable you can never fully calculate, the one risk you can't mitigate. And God help you, you wouldn't have it any other way.
You spot it—a storage room door, slightly ajar. Dark. Empty.
Perfect.
Her breath catches as you change direction, leading her toward it.
"What are you—"
You push the door open. Pull her inside The storage room door closes with a soft click.
And finally—fucking finally—you're alone.
One second passes.
Two.
Then Chaewon launches herself at you.
Her hands grab your face with bruising intensity, fingernails digging into your scalp, your jaw, anywhere she can grip. The heat of her palms sears your skin as her mouth finds yours with desperate precision. The kiss is nuclear—all teeth and tongue and hunger. She bites your lower lip, hard enough to make you taste the metallic hint of blood, then soothes it with the velvety warmth of her tongue, exploring your mouth like she's trying to devour you whole.
Her body presses against yours, tits crushed against your chest, her hips grinding with shameless need. She grabs your hands and places them on her ass, demanding your touch without saying a word.
"Fuck, I missed your mouth," she gasps, her breath hot against your lips as she pulls at your clothes, fingers trembling and scrabbling at your belt, nails occasionally scraping against your abdomen. She can't seem to decide where to touch you—her hands moving from your chest to your shoulders to your neck, back to your belt, frantic and greedy. "Missed your hands. Missed your cock."
You slam her against the shelves, the metal rattling with a satisfying clang that echoes her gasp. Your hands are everywhere—her face, flushed and warm beneath your palms; her throat, pulse hammering wildly under your fingertips; the soft swell of her breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath; the dramatic curve of her waist that fits perfectly in your grip. Every touch relearns the terrain you've been starved of for three endless weeks.
She reaches behind and grabs your wrists, dragging your hands to her ass, forcing you to squeeze the firm flesh. "Touch me everywhere," she demands, voice thick with need. "I've been dying for it."
"You took too fucking long," she pants against your lips, her voice vibrating through you as her hands finally get your pants open, the sudden coolness of air a sharp contrast to the heat of her touch. Her fingers brush against your cock, a teasing touch that makes your jaw clench.
The storage room closes around you—metal shelves on one wall digging into her back, garment racks crowded with costumes exhaling the scent of fabric softener and makeup, cardboard boxes stacked in the corner threatening to topple with each movement. A single fluorescent light buzzes overhead, casting harsh shadows that carve her features into something almost feral with need, highlighting the sheen of sweat beginning to form at her temples, at the hollow of her throat.
She makes quick work of the black safety shorts beneath her dress, the fabric making a soft whisper as it slides down her legs before she kicks them away. The movement is so fluid, so urgent, that your mouth goes dry with anticipation. She grabs your hand, guiding it between her legs, letting you feel how ready she is. "See what you do to me?" she whispers, eyes locked on yours.
You spin her around, the quick motion making her gasp. For a moment, you just look at her—the elegant column of her neck where a few baby hairs escape her bob cut, curling with perspiration; the delicate slope of her shoulders, pale and perfect under the harsh light; the dramatic curve where her waist meets the swell of her ass, emphasized by the black belt that begs to be gripped. The white dress clings to every inch, revealing the heat she's generating beneath it. Your mouth waters just looking at her, tongue dragging across suddenly parched lips.
Your hand comes down on her ass with a sharp crack, the sound startlingly loud in the confined space. She jerks forward, a surprised gasp escaping her lips. The pale skin instantly flushes pink under your palm.
"Hurry up," she demands, looking back at you over her shoulder, eyes dark and glassy with impatience, pupils blown wide until only a thin ring of brown remains. She arches her back, pushing her ass against your hand, silently begging for more.
You grip her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave impressions. "Shut the fuck up."
Her breath catches with an audible hitch. You know she loves it when you talk to her like this—can feel it in the goosebumps that rise under your touch, in the way her thighs tremble slightly.
You run your hands up her sides, feeling the heat radiating through the thin fabric, then down to the hem of her dress, bunching the material as you start to lift it. The fabric makes a soft rustling sound that seems obscenely loud in the small space. Your hands slide up her thighs, skin like silk beneath your calloused palms, finding the lace edge of her panties. Black, of course. The contrast against her pale skin is stark and mouthwatering.
Another smack lands on her ass, harder this time. You watch the flesh jiggle under the impact, the imprint of your hand blooming pink against her porcelain skin. "You like that?" you ask, already knowing the answer as she pushes back against you.
"Yes," she hisses, grinding back against your hand. "Again. Harder."
You comply, landing another sharp slap, watching the way her body jerks forward before pressing back, seeking more. "Look at you," you murmur, "So perfect for the cameras, but in here, you're just a dirty little slut who gets wet from being spanked."
She moans at your words, the sound vibrating through her entire body. "Only for you," she whispers, the admission hanging heavy in the air between you.
Spinning her back around, you claim her mouth again, tasting mint and desperation on her tongue as your hand slips between her legs, pressing the lace against her. The fabric is soaked through, warm and clinging to her folds. Her hands are everywhere—gripping your shoulders, sliding down your chest, grabbing at your ass to pull you closer, like she can't get enough of touching you.
"Goddamn," you mutter against her lips, the words a vibration between your connected mouths. "Your pussy's fucking drenched."
You hook your fingers into the lace and yank it aside, the elastic snapping against her thigh. Your middle finger slides through her folds, gathering her wetness, feeling how swollen and ready she is—hot and slick and perfect against your fingertips.
"Look how fucking wet you are," you murmur, watching her face contort with pleasure as you circle her clit, feeling it harden beneath your touch. "Been thinking about this all day, haven't you?"
She whimpers, a high, needy sound that goes straight to your cock as she grinds against your hand. "I told you I've been wet since I woke up," she pants, her breath coming in short, hot puffs against your face. "Thinking about you. About this. About you bending me over and fucking me until I can't remember my own name."
She tries to reach for you, but you catch her wrist with your free hand, her pulse jumping beneath your grip as you pin it above her head against the shelves. The metal is cold against her skin, making her hiss.
"Not yet," you tell her, voice dropping to a growl. "I want you desperate first."
"I'm already desperate," she hisses, trying to rock against your hand, the movement making her belt buckle clink against itself. Her free hand grabs at your shirt, your arm, anywhere she can reach. "Just fuck me already."
You turn her again, pressing her face-first against the metal shelving. The cold surface makes her gasp, back arching instinctively away from it. She braces herself, legs automatically spreading wider on the concrete floor, the heel of her boots making a sharp click as she repositions.
You grab her belt from behind, leather warm from her body heat, using it to arch her back, positioning her ass higher. The positioning makes the dress ride up further, exposing more of her thighs, making her stance more obscene, more perfect.
Another smack lands on her exposed ass, harder than before, the sound cracking through the small room. She jerks forward, a moan ripping from her throat.
"Fucking perfect," you mutter, kneading the flesh you just struck, watching the pink handprint fade and bloom again under your touch. You land another blow on the opposite cheek, evening her out, making her squirm.
The scent of her arousal hits you fully now—musky, sweet, unmistakable. Your mouth waters at the smell of her, cock throbbing painfully in response.
You reach up, fingers finding her hair, gripping the short strands of her bob at the nape of her neck. Not pulling, just holding, controlling. The sensation makes her moan, her head falling back into your grip.
"Please," she whispers, the word a broken, ragged thing as she tries to push back against you.
You keep her in place with your dual grip on her belt and hair. "Please what?"
"Please fuck me," she begs, all teasing gone from her voice, replaced with raw need. "I need your cock inside me. Now."
You release her hair to lean over her, your chest pressing against her back, trapping her heat between your bodies. Your mouth finds her ear, teeth grazing the sensitive lobe. "After all that teasing? All those filthy little comments with people right fucking there?"
You land another hard slap on her ass, watching the flesh redden under your palm. "This what you wanted? Getting your ass slapped while the whole crew is just outside?"
"Yes," she admits, voice small but sure. "Needed it so bad."
You drag the head of your cock through her slick folds, the sensation making both of you groan—her wetness hot and silky against you, making everything gloriously frictionless. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't make you wait longer."
"Because," she pants, voice vibrating with need, "you want this as bad as I do."
She's right, and you both know it.
You guide yourself to her entrance and thrust in with one brutal stroke, burying yourself to the hilt in her tight, clinging heat.
The sound she makes is primal—half gasp, half moan, pure fucking need. Your hand clamps over her mouth immediately, palm registering the warm wetness of her breath, the softness of her lips.
"Shhh," you warn even as you pull back and drive in again, the slick sound of your joining obscenely loud in the small space. "You want the whole fucking staff to hear how you take cock? How their perfect Kim Chaewon is just a dirty little whore in here?"
She shakes her head, but her pussy clenches around you at the words, a vice-like grip that sends stars exploding behind your eyelids. You know she loves the risk, the filth, the knowledge that just outside this door, she's Kim Chaewon of LE SSERAFIM, but in here, she's just yours to use.
"That's what gets you off, isn't it?" you growl against her ear, punctuating each word with a hard thrust. "Knowing they all think you're so sweet, so professional, when really you're in here letting me fuck you raw in a storage room."
Moving your hand from her mouth to her throat, you feel her swallow against your palm, her pulse racing beneath your fingers. You don't squeeze, just hold, feeling the vibrations of her moans traveling through her slender neck.
"That's right," you growl against her ear, teeth scraping the shell. "Remember who you belong to."
Her response is a full-body shudder, her inner walls clenching around you, making you groan at the sensation.
You fuck her hard, each thrust making her body jolt against the shelves. The metal creaks ominously, the sound mixing with the wet slap of skin on skin, the harsh sounds of your combined breathing. Your hand comes down on her ass again, the sting making her gasp, her pussy clenching around you in response.
"You love that, don't you?" you murmur, watching the red handprint bloom on her pale skin. "Love getting your ass slapped while your tight little pussy gets stretched around my cock."
"Yes," she admits, voice breaking around the word. "Love it. Love everything you do to me."
Without pulling out, you grab her left thigh and lift it, the smooth leather of her boot sliding against your palm as you plant her foot against a lower shelf. The new position opens her up, lets you sink even deeper into her molten core.
"Fuck," she whimpers, head falling forward against her braced arm, the tendons in her neck standing out in sharp relief.
"That's it," you growl, watching yourself disappear inside her over and over, mesmerized by the sight of her taking you, by the glistening evidence of her arousal coating you. "Take it deeper."
You grip her belt with one hand, bunching her dress even higher with the other until it's completely out of the way. The sight of her perfect ass jiggling with each impact makes your head swim, blood rushing in your ears. It's already pink from your earlier attention, the skin warm to the touch.
Your hand slides up her spine to grip her hair again, this time with purpose. You gather the short strands in your fist, tugging just enough to make her back arch further, to make her gasp, throat exposed and vulnerable.
"Look at you," you say, voice rough with exertion, the words punched out of you with each thrust. "LE SSERAFIM's perfect leader, taking cock in a storage room, being such a whore. Such a pretty little slut with your ass all red from my hands, your pussy dripping all over my cock."
She pushes back against you, taking you deeper, her body greedily swallowing every inch. "Harder," she demands, voice breaking on the word. "Fuck me harder. Make me feel it tomorrow."
You grip both her hips now, fingers digging into soft flesh, and pick up the pace. The new angle has you hitting that spot inside her that makes her whole body tremble, makes her walls flutter and clench around you. The wet sounds of her pussy taking your cock fill the small space—obscene, filthy, perfect.
"You're so fucking tight," you groan, feeling her walls grip you like a silken vice. "Squeezing my cock like you're trying to milk it dry."
You switch your grip, one hand finding her throat again, feeling her swallow against your palm as you apply the gentlest pressure. Just enough to remind her who's in control, to make her breath catch. Your other hand comes down hard on her ass again, the smack loud enough to make you both freeze for a second, worried it might have been heard outside.
"You've been a fucking menace all day," you growl, your pace relentless, the sound of your bodies coming together a wet percussion. "Strutting around in this dress, whispering that shit in my ear, touching me under the table."
Your grip on her throat tightens fractionally, making her pulse jump against your fingers. Her only response is to push back harder, taking you deeper, her body yielding and demanding all at once.
"You'd let me do anything to you, wouldn't you?" you ask, voice low and rough in her ear. "Slap your ass, pull your hair, fuck you where anyone could walk in and see you—see what a desperate little whore you really are."
"Yes," she admits, the confession barely audible. "Anything. Everything."
The tension builds between you, a tangible thing in the small, overheated room. The air is thick with the scent of sex, with the sounds of pleasure barely contained, with the electric certainty that this is exactly where you both need to be.
You change the angle again, leaning over her back to reach around to her front. The new position grinds your pelvis against her ass with each thrust, your cock hitting new spots inside her. Your fingers find her clit, circling it in tight, firm motions, feeling it swell and harden under your touch.
"Oh fuck," she gasps, her inner walls fluttering around you like wings. "Right there, don't stop."
You don't stop. You keep up the relentless pace, feeling her get wetter around you with each stroke, her arousal making everything slick and hot and perfect. Your fingers on her clit get slicker, the combination of her arousal and your spit making obscene wet sounds that mix with the slap of skin on skin.
"That's right, take it just like that," you encourage, voice strained. "Take it like the cock-hungry little slut you are."
Instead of being offended, she moans louder, her body responding to your words as much as to your touch. You know exactly what she likes to hear, exactly how far to push the fantasy of degradation that excites her so much.
The pleasure is so intense you have to grit your teeth to keep from coming too soon. Three weeks without this—without her tight heat squeezing you, without her desperate little sounds, without the feeling of being buried inside her—has left you balanced on a knife's edge of control.
"You close?" you ask, voice strained, the words feeling like they're being ripped from your chest.
"Yes," she pants, the word almost a sob. "So close."
You reach up with your free hand, tangling your fingers in her hair again, carefully pulling her head back to expose the elegant line of her neck, watching the muscles work beneath the skin as she swallows. You bend to press open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder, right where the dress leaves her skin bare, tasting salt and sweetness.
"Think about this tomorrow," you murmur against her skin, lips dragging over the goosebumps your breath creates. "When you're sitting in meetings, when you're in practice, when you're smiling for the cameras—remember how fucked you look right now. Remember how your ass felt getting spanked while my cock was inside you. Remember what a perfect little whore you are for me."
Her breath catches. Her pussy clenches around you. She's right on the edge, her body wound tight as a bowstring.
"Remember you're fucking mine," you growl, punctuating the words with a particularly deep thrust that makes her cry out before she can stop herself, the sound sharp and startling in the quiet room.
You cover her mouth again, palm feeling the heat of her breath, the wetness of her lips, but it's too late—the sound echoed in the small room. Both of you freeze, hearts pounding, listening for any reaction from outside.
Nothing. Just the continued sounds of the busy set.
The moment of fear transforms quickly back into desperate need. Your thrusts become harder, deeper, more deliberate. Her body responds with renewed hunger, pushing back to meet you stroke for stroke, the rhythm between you perfect and instinctive.
Your hand slips from her mouth to her throat, not squeezing, just feeling her pulse race under your palm, feeling the vibrations of her moans travel through your fingertips.
"You gonna come for me?" you ask, feeling your own orgasm building at the base of your spine, heat coiling tight and insistent. "Gonna come all over my cock like the needy little slut you are?"
She nods frantically, beyond words now. Her body tightens around you, clenching with each thrust, the pressure building visibly in the arch of her back, the tension in her thighs, the way her fingers curl against the metal shelf.
You can feel your own release building, the tight grip of her pussy dragging you toward the edge. You've been thinking about this for weeks—dreaming about it, jerking off to memories of it—and now you're finally here, buried inside her, both of you desperate and filthy and perfect.
Her breath hitches. Her pussy flutters around your cock. You know the signs—she's right there, teetering on the precipice.
One more hard slap on her ass, the sting making her gasp, her inner walls clenching around you in response.
You lower her leg from the shelf, repositioning her with both feet on the ground, but spread wide. You grip her belt again with one hand, keeping up the pressure on her clit with the other. The new angle has you grinding against that spot inside her that makes her go crazy, makes her whole body tremble.
"Come on," you urge, your own control slipping, voice rough and broken. "Come on my cock, Chaewon. Let me feel it. Let me feel what a fucking whore you are for me."
Her body responds instantly, like your words were the final trigger she needed. She buries her face against her arm to muffle the sound as her orgasm rips through her, her pussy clamping down on you in rhythmic pulses, a flood of warmth surrounding you. Her legs shake so hard you have to hold her up with the grip on her belt, feeling the tremors travel through her entire body.
The sight of her completely wrecked, the feel of her convulsing around you, the knowledge that you did this to her—it all sends you over the edge. You thrust deep one last time, grinding against her ass as you come, filling her up with pulse after pulse, the pleasure so intense it's almost pain, radiating from your core to the tips of your fingers, the backs of your knees, the top of your skull.
"Fuck, Chaewon, fuck," you chant, forehead pressed between her shoulder blades as you empty yourself inside her, feeling the way she milks every drop from you, her body greedy even in its exhaustion.
For a long moment, neither of you moves. Just the sound of ragged breathing, your heartbeats gradually slowing from their frantic pace, the distant muffled voices of the set filtering back into your awareness.
You're still inside her, softening but reluctant to break the connection. Her body occasionally trembles with aftershocks, her pussy giving your cock little squeezes that make you hiss with oversensitivity, the sensation bordering on too much.
You run your hand gently over her ass, soothing the skin you'd been striking moments ago. It's still warm to the touch, a faint pink that will fade before she has to be back on set. Your touch is gentle now, a stark contrast to the roughness from before.
"You okay?" you murmur against her ear, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her neck.
"Better than okay," she whispers back, voice wrecked but satisfied.
Eventually, you pull out slowly, both of you groaning at the sensation. You watch as a trickle of your come leaks from her, sliding down her inner thigh. The sight sends a possessive thrill through you, primal and satisfying.
She straightens, turning to face you. Her makeup is smeared, her lips swollen and red, her cheeks flushed. Her eyes have that dazed, satisfied look that only comes after she's been thoroughly fucked. A thin sheen of sweat makes her skin glow under the fluorescent light. Her short hair is disheveled where you'd gripped it, sticking up in places that you smooth down with gentle fingers.
You grab tissues from a box on the shelf, gently cleaning between her legs. She watches you, a soft smile playing on her lips—so different from the smirk she's been tormenting you with all day.
"Did I hurt you?" you ask, suddenly aware of how rough you were, eyes searching for marks on her throat, her wrists, her hips, ghosting your fingers over her ass where you'd struck her.
She shakes her head, running her fingers through your hair, nails scraping lightly against your scalp in a way that makes you shiver. "Babe, It was perfect."
You retrieve her safety shorts from the floor and help her back into them, then smooth down her dress. Your hands linger on her waist, not quite ready to let go, feeling the warmth of her through the fabric.
A smirk forms slowly on her face, eyes glittering with mischief as she leans in close, her breath warm against your ear. "Think they heard?"
You press a final kiss to her shoulder, lingering there, inhaling deeply—tasting salt and perfume and her, that essence that's uniquely Chaewon beneath the expensive fragrance. Your lips trace a path to the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, feeling her pulse still racing beneath your mouth.
"Not if you keep your mouth shut next time," you murmur against her skin, unable to resist giving her one more gentle bite.
She hums, the sound vibrating against your lips. "But where's the fun in that?" she whispers, that familiar playful defiance in her voice.
As she attempts to take a step back, her legs buckle. She grabs your shoulders to steady herself, her usual composure completely absent, the bratty confidence from seconds ago vanishing.
"I can't move," she whispers, voice wrecked, blinking up at you with unfocused eyes. All the sharp edges of her personality momentarily dissolved, leaving her soft and vulnerable in a way no one else ever sees. "My legs won't work."
"Good," you murmur, unable to hide your satisfaction as you press a kiss to her forehead, supporting her weight. You hold her close for a moment, feeling the way she melts against you, completely undone.
After a moment, that familiar glint of mischief gradually returns to her eyes. The transformation is beginning; the desperate, wrecked woman slowly rebuilding herself into the polished idol.
In this moment, with her guard completely down, she looks younger, softer. The harsh fluorescent lighting should be unflattering, but somehow it just makes her look more real—smudged eyeshadow, faint red marks on her throat where your fingers were, her hair disheveled despite her attempts to smooth it. For a few seconds more, she's just yours.
She reaches up, her hand cupping your cheek with surprising tenderness. Her eyes, usually sharp and mischievous, soften as she looks at you. She leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips—so different from the desperate ones you shared minutes ago. This one is deliberate, unhurried.
"I love you," she whispers against your mouth, the words barely audible but unmistakable. It's not something she says often—both of you knowing how dangerous those words can be in your situation.
Your hand comes up to cover hers where it rests against your face, holding her there for a moment. "I love you too," you reply quietly, the words filling the small space between you. "Even when you're being a menace."
Her eyes crinkle at the corners. "Especially when I'm being a menace," she corrects, and you can't help but smile.
You glare at her playfully, and she giggles—the sound at complete odds with what just happened, with the filthy things you both just did, with the woman who was begging for your cock and calling herself your whore minutes ago. The contrast is jarring and perfect; this duality of hers that only you get to witness.
She leans in and kisses you deeply, but without the desperate edge from before. This kiss is softer, a promise.
When she pulls back, you can see the clock ticking in her head. Reality intruding.
"You go first," you say, checking your watch. "They'll be looking for you. The shoot needs to wrap in twenty minutes."
She nods, takes a deep breath, and you watch in fascination as she transforms back into LE SSERAFIM's leader right before your eyes. Her shoulders straighten, her chin lifts, her expression becomes more controlled. It's like watching an actress step into character—except you know both versions are equally real.
She checks her reflection in her phone, adjusts her belt, smooths her hair with practiced precision. Only you would notice the slight tremble in her fingers, the pink marks on her hips where your hands were, the satisfied glow in her eyes that the camera won't quite catch but you can see clearly.
"How do I look?" she asks, voice steady now, almost back to the professional tone she uses with everyone else.
Like she's just been thoroughly fucked. Like her thighs are still sticky with both of you. Like she's hiding a universe of secrets behind that poised expression. Like she's yours.
"Perfect," you say instead, swallowing the possessive thoughts.
She smiles—not the coy smirk from before, but something genuine that crinkles the corners of her eyes. Then it's gone, replaced by the polished mask she wears for everyone else.
Just as you think she's about to leave, she presses one last kiss to your jaw, her fingers trailing down your chest with deliberate slowness. Her lips move to your ear, breath hot against your skin.
"I'll be thinking about this all night," she whispers, voice dropping to that register that makes your pulse quicken despite your recent release. Then, even lower, just for you: "And touching myself the second I get back to the dorm."
Before you can respond, she's slipped out the door with a final squeeze of your hand, leaving you alone in the storage room with her promise echoing in your mind, the scent of sex still hanging in the air, mingling with her perfume.
You give it two minutes before following, clipboard held strategically in front of you, expression carefully neutral as you adjust your own mask—the efficient manager, all business.
By the time you return, Chaewon is already back on set, taking direction for the next shot, nodding professionally at the photographer's instructions. Her posture is immaculate, her expression perfectly calibrated—looking as composed and professional as if she'd just been touching up her makeup instead of being bent over a shelf with your hand prints on her ass.
No one looks at her twice. No one notices the way she stands slightly differently, favoring one leg. No one sees the slight darkening at the base of her throat where your mouth had been.
You watch from behind the monitor, maintaining a careful distance, occasionally checking your phone or making notes on your clipboard. The perfect picture of professionalism.
She gets into position, poised and beautiful under the lights, following direction flawlessly. The camera loves her—captures her elegance, her poise, but misses completely the woman you know.
Then she glances directly at the camera, and for just a second—
The look she gives—half-lidded eyes, the barest hint of teeth catching her lower lip, a fleeting microexpression of remembered pleasure—that's just for you.
And you know, watching her seamlessly return to her perfect idol persona, that you'll both be counting the minutes until you can be alone again.
...
AN: Yes I'm a certified CHAEWON simp. This is strike 3 chaewon from me with more coming.
#cloudtrnsprncy#cloudtsmut#malereader#kpop smut#chaewon x reader#kim chaewon#chaewon#chaewon x male reader#lesserafim#chaewon hot
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Redamancy ['red-a-man-sE] noun ;a love returned in full



Part II out now!
{ Pairing } - idol!bangchan x staff!afab.reader (with a hint of bestfriend!jisung?)
{ Genre } - NSFW, the trifecta (s/a/f), frenimies to friends to lovers? idk but we'll get there in the end
{ Synopsis } - Han Jisung is your new bestie & technical colleague, of course you befriended the rest of his members. Group nights became a tradition, & tonight involves liquor and drinking games for the first time. Truth or drink?
{ WC } - 6.7k
{ Warnings & tags } - 18+ MDNI, NSFW, smut, angst, fluff, drinking, breath play (choking), swearing, dry humping, use of 'babygirl', mention of wet dream, talk of edging, talk of domming, talk of choking, talk of exhibitionism, all of ot8 is suggestive af when they drink, reader and jisung are PLATONIC I promise they're just touchy, they're all giggly drunks so overuse of laughing chuckling and giggling, chan is kinda dumb in this he just... is in denial land but we'll find out more about that later, unrealistic work scenarios, unrealistic dorm setup? idk lol
{ Disclaimer } - This work is in no way associated with the actual skz, and is a fictional piece. I DO NOT own Stray Kids, this fic is just influenced by them!
{ A/N } - Okay I know I took forever to post & this intro is hella long & I'm sorry! Once again, I will say this is my first skz fic. I come from the world of AO3 & dramione. I am out of my comfort zone lol. First time posting stories on tumblr too! So if I missed anything please let me know <3 there will be a part 2, I've already started writing it! The plot is weak af, but gimme a few more stories and I'll find my groove. Promise! Unbeta'd, be gentle with me ♡
It was supposed to be a relatively chill Saturday night, so you were excited. You just got off work, and had arrived at Jisung's. He swung the door open smiling and pulled you inside, into an immediate hug. Everyone said their greetings, and then Jisung went immediately to whining.
"Finally, what kept you so late?"
You took your shoes, mask, sunglasses, and hat off, letting your curls fall down your back. Then you unzipped your sweatshirt, shrugging it off your shoulders and exposing your fitted white tee. You gave your jacket and bag to Ji so he could put them away. You always arrived in 'disguise', in baggy clothing so that no one suspected anything. Though you thought it was ridiculous. It doesn't matter how baggy the sweat pants or hoodie is, there's no hiding the curve of your ass.
You were a content editor at JYPE, and had become really good friends with Han Jisung. Friendships between idols and staff certainly aren't forbidden, in fact they're encouraged to an extent... as long as no lines are crossed. But it's pretty much an ignored rule. Anyways, you were a small 'behind-the-scenes' employee, not a manager or assistant or makeup artist. Not anyone directly involved with any idols. No one off the street knew who you were. Still, over the last almost year or so, you and him became besties. You frequently shared meals together at work, had sleepovers, you even went camping. You were basically glued to each other. It could easily be taken the wrong way by the media and fans. Hell, it gets taken the wrong way by co-workers, other idols, and even his group members. Although they've mostly accepted that's not the case. It's a given with the way you two act though.
Your relationship is definitely platonic, confirming pretty early on that neither of you felt anything more than friendly love for each other. But you both love teasing the other suggestively. You suppose that's partly why you two got so close so quickly. Your personalities are so similar, it's like you share the same singular brain cell sometimes.
"Editing, per usual." You finally reply with a sigh, "We had to cut A LOT out of nexz's new video. They're so high energy, they slip up a lot, especially with the swearing, but nothing we can't handle."
"Gotta love kids." Chan snorts while sipping a beer.
You smile awkwardly in response and look around the room. Everyone is here, all with their preferred beverages, and chatting away or scrolling.
Ji comes back with a drink for you, he knows you're partial to tequila and always keeps it on deck. Normally, you spend every weekend you can together, which sometimes is not as often as either of you would like. Sometimes you'd both head back to your place, and just have all nighters, binge watching anime and gorging yourselves on junk food. More recently, like tonight, you get invited over to hang with him and the rest of the boys.
It usually results in a few drinks and a movie, or talk about work. Sometimes you just play music and talk and vibe, or try to cook food together when you get the munchies... Which more than likely results in Minho taking over because he just can't help himself. However the nights play out, they're always fun, and you're gradually getting closer to the rest of the members too. Although no one can compare to the bond you have with your Jiji.
"I don't wanna watch a movie tonight, my eyes hurt too much." He starts complaining.
"Poor baby." You tease and run your fingers through his hair, laughing.
"When are you two just going to come out with the fact that you're in love?" Seungmin asks.
You roll your eyes, "When dwaekki's fly."
"I can easily make that happen." Changbin laughs.
"We could play a game?" Felix suggests, already looking flushed from the alcohol.
Jeongin gets excited, "Let's do a drinking game! It's been a while."
"I don't believe I've ever played a drinking game with y'all."
Hyunjin hums, "Mm, you haven't. Mostly because we get crazy, we've never brought up the idea."
This piqued your interest, "More crazy than I've already seen? I don't think that's possible."
Minho chimes in this time, "You forget we're a group of men sometimes, I swear. Mix alcohol and suggestive games, it definitely gets 'crazier' than you've seen, inappropriately crazy."
You level him with a smirk, "I'm down."
"That's my y/n!" Ji says, while pulling you to sit in his lap, "Fearless."
You giggle and lean into him while Minho just narrows his eyes at you and purses his lips. Something tells you he's up to something, but you're ready for any challenge.
"Fine. Then we'll play something easy, truth or drink. If someone refuses to answer, they drink. Whoever finishes their drink first loses." Minho says.
"What does the loser have to do?" You ask.
"Pay for everyone's lunch every day for a month!" Changbin says.
"Deal." You say.
You're an open book, Ji knows this. There's no question you won't answer.
Everyone is up now, getting new drinks & refills before the game starts. You can't help but notice that Chan didn't get up, he looks a little nervous for some reason. He was always the most worried about you being around so much. In the beginning it definitely came across like he didn't like you. Now you know that's not the case... you think. He tolerates you now to say the least. You couldn't blame him too much, he was just protective of his boys. You actually found it incredibly sweet, or maybe it's just that stupid soft spot you have for him.
He always tried to keep you at arms length from the group. Not wanting anyone to get too close to you. Until Jisung put him in his place, as best he could anyways.
You were in Ji's lap, watching Spirited Away. He was drawing imaginary lines and shapes on your back, while you rested your head on his shoulder, facing the tv. His head was resting on top of yours as well, and a blanket covered you both.
Chan walked in seeing this, and nearly had a stroke. He said we were being inappropriate. And specifically made it a point to tell you to be more professional as a member of the staff. Short version: know your fucking place, you're overstepping.
You scoffed at him, prepared to confront him about his growing disdain towards you. Let him know he's the one being inappropriate, downright childish. But Ji nudged you onto the couch and got to him first.
It was kind of cute watching him standing there, ears becoming red and getting in Chan's face. Cute in the way that it was like a maltese puppy trying to stand up to a doberman. Then he proceeded to yell at him about how he was way out of line. Saying he was being flat out disrespectful and that he was done with the ridiculous way he has been acting about you. The last thing he said was that he didn't know what got into him, and that he'd never seen this side of Chan before.
Chan was silent, looking intensely into Jisungs eyes. But he never backed down, so Chan poked his tongue to his cheek, then retreated to his room for the whole night. You had to scoop Ji off the floor right afterwards. He had let his knees buckle, and fell to the floor once Chan was gone. Citing that he wasn't sure he was going to live through the night to see the morning sun. Typical dramatic fashion for your best friend. But you soothed him, fluffing up his ego about 'defending your honor'. His words, not yours.
As that night went on though, the tiniest bit of worry coursed through you. Chan hadn't come back out. Not even when the other members came home, trying to knock on his door to greet him. Or when the food was ready to be served, you had even given knocking a try. Only after Hyunjin begged you to, because 'He already doesn't take care of himself. He needs to eat.' No, you didn't see him again that night until you had already walked out the front door. He slipped out behind you shortly after, grabbing you by the wrist and stopping you.
You thought he was going to continue the argument for a moment, but no, he was apologizing. Not much more was said afterwards, but his apology was genuine and heartfelt, so you accepted it. You two ended up hugging it out, and thank goodness no one saw that, because it was incredibly cringeworthy. He had no more major issues after that. But he was still unexplainably awkward around you, but it's not like you were any better. You two simply didn't know how to interact with each other for longer than 30 seconds. And that was pushing it. You suspected that might not ever go away. He likes to keep his walls high and strong, and you're stubborn at times.
But of course, despite that stubbornness. You developed some sort of feelings towards him. Feelings you refused to acknowledge, well tried to refuse. You would push those feelings down deep within your heart, put them in a little box, and tape it shut trying to forget it's there. There was no need to pine over the man, he had stay to do that for him, and who knows who else in his life. Somehow that box always ended up ripped open again.
There was never a reason to act on these feelings. Not to mention, you think you'd be breaking SO MANY rules. Putting your job, his job, hell everyone's job at risk. Or worse, making a fool of yourself when he would downright reject you.
You keep watching him, now he's shaking his leg up and down, seeming agitated. Maybe he just doesn't want everyone getting into a vulnerable state of mind while playing? Maybe he's worried somebody will say or do something wrong? That someone will cross a line, as he loves to say?
Trying to ease his negative feelings, and extend yet another olive branch. You toss a throw pillow at him, hitting him in the chest and pulling him out of his thoughts.
He looks at you, eyebrows wrinkled in confusion, and you just chuckle nervously at him saying, "Don't worry, it's like Vegas. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas."
"God how fuckin' corny was that?" Ji teases you, poking your side making you giggle more.
To your relief, Chan is laughing with you, and shaking his head, "I just want them to behave."
"Oh relax, we're all grown. We're all friends. So we'll get to know each other more intimately, big whoop." You shrug.
"Mmm..." He replied, before raising his voice so everyone could hear him, "Whatever is spoken about tonight, doesn't leave this room."
"I swear you're the one with anxiety sometimes, not me." Ji mumbles.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah... dad." Hyunjin says as he sits next to you and Ji.
"As if that announcement even had to be made, I swear, and you wonder why we call you old." Seungmin comments.
Once everyone is settled in with their drinks, Minho directs Chan to start the game.
"Jisung, when was the last time you cried?"
He laughed, "You're trying to embarrass me because you know it was this morning, but I am confident and secure in the fact that I am a sensitive man."
He said the last bit with his hand over his heart, and his eyes closed, effectively making everyone chuckle.
"My poor baby, why were you crying?" You question teasingly.
"Please don't bring it up, he'll start blubbering all over again. Stupid, sad, dog rescue videos." Seungmin mumbles.
"Minho!" Ji shouts, pointing at him dramatically, "This question is for you. If you had to kiss someone in this room on the cheek, who would it be?"
"Hyunjin." He said bluntly, making you and everyone else laugh while Hyune just rolled his eyes.
"Would you kiss me back?" He asked him, eyes full of hope and bottom lip jutted out and pouting, trying to act cute. And succeeding, honestly.
Hyunjin acted like he was pondering the question, but ultimately was the first to take a sip from his glass, "I decline to answer."
He looked to you next, a suggestive smirk on his face, making you the next victim, "Y/niiieee..."
"Oi, be respectful." Chan scolds immediately, not liking the look at all.
"All I was going to do was repeat the question!" He said defensively, "Y/n, if you had to choose, who would you kiss on the cheek?"
You tried hard to keep your eyes from trailing over to Chan, a tingly feeling spreading across your skin at the mere thought of innocently kissing his cheek. Instead you chose the easy answer, because it wasn't a lie. You'd also kiss your best friend on the cheek any time.
"My Jiji of course," And you took his face in one hand, squeezing his cheeks between your middle finger and thumb, and plant a loud smooch on each of them, "he probably only asked because he wanted one anyways."
He just chuckles, letting you baby him and Seungmin fake gags.
"Minnieee..." You pause trying to come up with a question, "when you dye your hair next, what color would you want?"
"Green, my entire head green."
"That would look interesting." You laugh.
You all go 'round in circles for a few rounds, completely forgetting about the rules of the game. Having now finished your glasses from casually sipping throughout the game, most of you have switched to occasional shots. You're starting to feel warm and tipsy. Of course the more you all drank, the more the questions started to get more... amorous. Which is exactly how you all assumed this game would go. No wonder Chan was so anxious.
However looking over to him now, he's definitely having a good time. Like every other person, he loosens up while drinking, but tonight he seems even more so.
"Y/n," Chan starts with a sly look making your skin buzz again. Among all of you, he is 100% the most inebriated right now, "when was your first kiss?"
"Yah! He tells us to be respectful, but look how he is after a few drinks!" Changbin yells laughing.
Chan loses it, "You're right Binnie, you don't have to answer or drink." He says in between fits of squeaky laughter.
You think you could listen to him laugh all day.
You shake your head and snort, "I've answered worse questions playing this game before. I was 13 when I had my first kiss."
Hyunjin nearly spits his drink out, because again, no one is drinking just as punishment anymore, "13?!"
"Well, yeah, it's a pretty normal age in America... I think..." you started to blush, "why, how old were you?" you ask Hyunjin.
He hesitates, but eventually he spoke, "I was 18."
The rest chime in saying they were also 18 or 19. With the exception of Felix who said he was 16.
Without even thinking you start to say, "Aaah, see I was 18 when I-" and you're abruptly stopped with Ji's hand slapping over your mouth.
Your eyes go wide, caught off guard, but understanding as you almost blurted out unnecessary information. Nothing that Ji hadn't known obviously, it's just that everyone else doesn't really know you on that level.
"Jagi, you only had to answer the one question, adding extra info, that's not how you play the gaaaaame." He says in a sing-song voice, "Hyunjin it's your turn to ask someone."
"No no no no! What was she going to say?" Chan chuckles.
When you looked at him, he winked at you, and you had to stop yourself from going limp in Ji's arms. He knew damn well what you were going to say. Why is he teasing, no torturing you like this?
You peel Ji's hand off your mouth to respond "It's not your turn, you'll have to wait to ask me that."
The group starts laughing and shouting, teasing Chan who is ignoring it all, just staring at you with curious eyes and his tongue in his cheek. Does he know how hot he looks doing that?
"Okay, so then I'll ask you. What were you going to say?" Hyunjin asks calmly, trying to fight the smile off his face.
You pour yet another shot, and knock it back thinking, what the hell, "I was going to say I was 18 when I first hooked up with a man."
Some members looked surprised, the game taking an obvious turn. However Hyunjin, Felix, and Chan started laughing again.
"I knew that's what you were going to say." Felix slurred.
"Yeah I was definitely teasing you on that, because I knew." Chan followed.
"Mmm, well judging from the shocked faces of everyone else, you two seem to be the only psychics." You try to joke, wanting the attention off of you suddenly.
"No, don't get us wrong, not all of us are as innocent as you think." Seungmin says defensively.
"Oh really now?" You respond, one brow quirking up.
Seungmin just turned red, and sat back in his seat. To which Chan started laughing, yet again. He's a giggly drunk, and you love it.
"Don't tease my puppy, babe." Ji slurred, trying to reach his arm to console Seungmin, but ultimately failing.
"I mean I was 18 too, with the same girl I first kissed." Hyunjin shrugged.
"But what do you mean 'to a man'?" Jeongin asked with a shit eating grin on his face.
You promptly turned into a tomato, and started choking on air.
"You're not that slow pabo, obviously it means she's been with women too." Ji says, rather loudly and speaking freely, all while patting your back.
You're quiet. It's not like it's a secret, you've never hidden your sexuality. But it never came up in conversation with anyone here, except Jisung.
Wanting to ease the tone, Felix speaks up, "Well I was 18 when I first hooked up with a dude."
"I was 21, but everyone already knows that story." Ji slurred.
The whole conversation triggers another group laughing fit. Except for Chan, who is looking at you with those dark eyes again. And... is he blushing? Or is that the alcohol? He eventually snaps out of whatever daze he was in, and slowly smiles at you reassuringly.
You mentally kick yourself for getting your hopes up, of course he couldn't ever think of you like that. You're imagining things.
"But then, how old were you when you first hooked up with a girl?" Jeongin asked again, genuinely curious.
"A lot younger than 18..." You trailed off laughing, "I'll just say in high school."
"The air is different outside of Korea." Changbin says suddenly, sounding thoughtful.
Hyunjin nearly collapsed laughing, slapping Minho on the knee repeatedly, despite the glare he was shooting him.
"Well I just answered a bunch of questions in a row so that means I get to ask two people a question. And the second person I ask gets the next turn." You say, making up new rules.
"So... Chan." He looks at you with his eyebrows raised and you just smirk, knowing you're trying to get back at him, "How old were YOU when you lost your virginity?"
He gulps and looks around at the group before answering, "I... was 18."
"Chan-hyung, you never answered us when we would ask you! Why answer her?" Jisung whines.
"I honestly don't know, maybe it's the liquor. None of you ever asked me drunk." He starts giggling.
"Okay so question 2... Binnie!" He gulps and looks at you with wide eyes, "Are you more of a boob guy?" You say grabbing your own, not even really thinking about it, "Or an ass guy?"
Changbin started laughing and answered, "Definitely ass, but I appreciate boobs too, equality."
"I am just learning so much about my fellow members lately." Seungmin whispers.
"Is that a bad thing?" You giggle.
"Not at all, it feels strangely comforting, letting loose like this." He replies and smiles softly at me, "It's been a while."
"It's freeing!" Jeongin yells abruptly, throwing his hands in the air.
"Aye, my question is for you then Min. Have you ever had a wet dream?" Changbin asks.
"... what guy hasn't? Don't all guys get them?" He asks looking around.
Then you chime in again frankly, "Girls can get them too you know."
Why does it feel like you've opened pandora's box on your sex life, in every single aspect?
Ji starts laughing, nodding his head vigorously and you know where this is about to go.
"Really now?" Felix says, mimicking your exact tone from earlier, "What was it about?"
"Mmmm... it's not your turn to ask," Then you turn to Seungmin, "And if you ask me, I will absolutely drink and not answer. No way I'm explaining a sex dream right now."
Seungmin just rolls his eyes and huffs out a laugh.
"But I wanna knooooooow," Jisung whines, "You looked so cute having one last weekend, you never told me what it was about."
Everyone was watching you two closely now, waiting to hear how he knew what you looked like in that situation.
You turned around and smacked his arm, "We weren't going to mention that ever again! Remember?!" You attempt to be angry, but you can't help it and end up smiling.
"Okay, well now I'm curious since you two are bringing this up." Minho says with a glint in his eye.
"Y/n may or may not have had one when I slept over, and I woke up to her moaning and hump--"
This time it was your turn to slap a hand over his mouth, "Jiji, Sungie, my love, my sweet sweet SWEET best friend. I don't want to kill you, but I will." You say in a dulcet tone.
He raised his hands, eyes wide and nodded his head. You couldn't help but laugh, apparently you're a giggly drunk too.
Out of the corner of your eye, you swore you saw Chan adjusting himself in his pants. But then you reminded yourself that it was just wishful thinking and an alcohol induced hallucination. Horny hallucination. God you needed to get over him and under someone else. This unrequited shit wasn't for you.
"I'm so never going to drop this you know, I wanna know what the hell happened." Minho smirked at you, to which you flipped him off jokingly.
It's Seungmin's turn next, and he's just staring at Jeongin with a blank face, "Have you ever had a one night stand?"
He pauses for a moment and then finally answers, "No, I haven't."
He looked at you now, asking his question, "You know what I have to ask now, right?"
"Go ahead." You challenge, fully prepared to choke down another shot and not answer his question, and he smiles.
"What's one of your kinks?"
You were unprepared for that question. And how could you know he would ask that, these men like to fuck around with your head.
"Relax, I just wanted to see your reaction." He says before chuckling.
You glared at him for a moment, halfheartedly. They think they can just retract questions when they get scared that they went too far. Screw that, you're answering.
"I guess the most simple one I have is edging." You shrug.
"The most simple one?!" Hyunjin asked.
"What are you a masochist? Edging is the worst, feels like torture to me." Ji says.
"But the build up is so delicious, and the end result is so worth it. It's so intense." Felix chimes in, "Choking too, that can be intense."
"Hm, breath play might actually be my favorite." You admit.
"Damn y/n." Ji says, eyeing you with a smile, "You're full of surprises, even to this day."
You shrug again, "Everyone has different kinks... What's one of yours?" You ask him.
He ponders for a moment, "I like being dommed sometimes."
"Big surprise." Minho says and you all laugh.
"Good one though," You nod, "That's one of mine too."
"I think I'm an exhibitionist, to an extent of course." Hyunjin says next.
"That's also not a surprise." Minho replies.
You can't help but let your eyes wander over to Chan again, while everyone else is sharing different things they're into in bed. The liquor has everyone speaking loosely. But Chan doesn't seem to care about it anymore.
You find him staring right back at you, that same look in his eyes from earlier, and you feel heat spread in your stomach, and wetness starts to pool in your panties. Maybe you weren't imagining things.
But you don't notice that Ji's observing both of you in his drunken haze. Not too faded to ignore you and Chan eye-fucking each other.
Your heart starts racing the longer you hold eye contact, and you start shifting uncomfortably on his lap, before looking away and deciding to get up.
"Alright... I need some bread to soak up this alcohol, and then I need to get home because it's already 2 in the morning." You say with a shaky breath.
"Yeah, I'm wasted right now," Jeongin says and stands, "Bed's a good idea. Goodnight everyone." And he leaves to his room.
Ji grabs your wrist, preventing you from moving, "You're not going anywhere. We're all drunk, you can't drive and no one can bring you back home."
"Fiiiiiiine," You say, "but I still want bread."
"You and your bread fixation whenever you drink." Minho mumbles, heading to the kitchen anyways to grab you some.
When he comes back he hands it to you and you start munching away happily, doing a little dance.
Meanwhile, Felix is trying to tug Chan's arms to make him stand up, but he's fighting him on it and whining. Clearly he exceeded his limit tonight drinking. He probably won't even remember the looks he was giving you, you think.
"I don't wanna go to bed." Chan whines.
Felix finally succeeds in pulling him up, "C'mon mate, you definitely need to sleep this off. You'll be miserable tomorrow. Let's get you some water too, hmm?"
Chan reluctantly holds his arm, and follows him down the hall, stumbling over his own two feet along the way. You can't help but laugh at the sight.
More of the boys say goodnight and head off to their rooms, but Ji and Minho stay with you in the living room, chatting a little longer before bed.
Ji starts going through his bags, determined that you left some pajamas here from when you slept over previously, and he kept them in a bag to give back to you. He pulls out the nightie, that you honestly forgot you brought here. But you see why you didn't ever wear it at the time. It's dark green, spaghetti straps and has lace along the bust line. It also has slits on each side of your thigh, and only covers you to the middle of your thighs. Your go to sleepware was always nighties or large tees, they're comfortable and sometimes you get hot at night. Mix in the fact that you were drinking tonight? You're already feeling overheated. But wearing this?
"Jiiiiiii, don't you have any t-shirts I can wear?" You whine.
He's already under the covers, fighting sleep, "Sorry babe... haven't done laundry... Nothing clean..."
You whine again before taking it and heading across the hall into one of the bathrooms. It was this or sleep in your sweats, and that idea sounded entirely too suffocating to you.
You slip the nightie on and brush your teeth with your designated toothbrush you had there. Jisungs idea, after you had too much tequila one night and he diligently held your hair back as you got sick.
You sigh as you're leaving, and make your way towards Ji's room. Before you reach the door though, Chan walks out of his room. He's in a black tank top, and red boxer briefs... your eyes immediately trail down and go wide. His outline clear as day. But you change your view quickly, hopefully before he notices.
It doesn't help though, now all you're doing is eyeing his arms, the muscles cut throughout them. The veins that trail all the way down to his hands. God, his hands... What wouldn't you let those hands do to you...
He scratches the back of his head, and the movement snaps you out of your gaze. You find him staring back at you for a second before answering, "Sorry, I'll just..."
You start to shake your head, "No, no. No reason to apologize." You chuckle and start shifting on your feet. You feel the skirt of your nightie swaying with you. It opened the slit wider, and Chan immediately looked down at your exposed thigh. He inhaled quietly, sucking in air through his nose.
Any other day, you'd be scrambling to cover yourself. Feeling insecure and too bare. You don't know if it was the liquor in you, but tonight? Being on display? It turned you on.
You clenched your thighs together, almost involuntarily, and Chan didn't miss that.
Time seemed to be moving too slow. He stepped towards you, nearly closing the gap between you. He's only inches away, and looking down on you. His eyes have that dark, smoldery look again. He raised his hand and brushed the curls off your face and behind your ear. When he rests his palm against your cheek, your eyes flutter shut and you lean into his touch. It's so warm, and comforting. As if it was always meant for you.
When you open your eyes, you can clearly see the lust in his is only growing. He's not holding it back anymore, biting his lip as he stares at you. You almost whimper in anticipation.
"This is your opportunity to walk away if you're not okay with me kissing you." He says lowly.
You closed your eyes, and his lips met yours. The first few seconds were sweet and soft. Almost too innocent for the heat of the moment, but then he deepened it. He was pulling you by the waist into him, running his hands down and resting them on your ass. You could easily feel how hard he was for you, even through the thin fabrics. This time you let the whimper out, and he swiped his tongue along your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth. When you tried to do the same, he didn't give you the chance. Instead he slipped his tongue in. It was like he was lost in desire, and greedy for more. You couldn't help it when your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer.
He groaned and started backing you into the wall, his lips never leaving yours. He grabbed your thighs in each hand, and hoisted you up, slotting himself between them. Your legs naturally wrapped around him, and he started rocking his length against you. His pace was achingly slow, but still delicious.
You moaned and slipped a hand up to the nape of his neck, grabbing a fistful of hair. He breaks the kiss and throws his head back with his eyes closed. He half hisses, half groans, and you can't help but rock your hips against him harder, hoping to hear more. He grips your thigh tighter, and leans down to press a quick kiss to your neck, before licking and sucking on it. He's meeting each roll of your hips with rough thrusts. And even clothed, you feel how perfectly he's rubbing your clit.
Your head is so clouded with need. Need to be touched. Need to touch him. Need to feel him inside of you. You don't even think twice when he glides his hand up your stomach, and over your breasts. He gives one a light squeeze before moving up to wrap his fingers around your neck, and your brain loses all sense for a moment.
He's just resting his hand there, but you wish he'd do more. You're not sure if this man knows just how pliant you are for him right now.
Then he brings his lips to your ear and whispers, "Can I touch you?"
His warm breath gives you chills, and you nod your head as best as you can. But that doesn't suffice him, he stops his movements against you and his grip around your throat tightens. You think you could probably get off on it if he tightens his fingers just a bit more, but he doesn't, instead he says, "I'm going to need words, babygirl."
Your hips buck into him, and you breathe out a quiet "Yes. Please..."
With that, he yanks your face closer to his by your neck. He's squeezing ever so slightly tighter around your throat. He bites your lip and you groan. But he's quick to silence you with his tongue.
Letting go, he trailed his hand back down your body and to your core. Slowly he started to rub you through the thin lace. You were so sensitive, that when he found your clit and pressed a circle into it. You couldn't help but breathe out his name. He pushed your panties to the side, and when he felt you for the first time you felt him smile against your lips.
"Babygirl... fuck, you're so wet for me."
And as he whispered that, he slipped a finger in you. He set a steady pace, dragging against your walls with a curl. Each pump hitting your sweet spot, and the heel of his hand creating delightful friction against your swollen bud. His breathing was heavy in your ear, breaking through all your helpless whimpering. When he added a second finger, you couldn't hold back anymore.
"Chan..." You moaned louder this time, while simultaneously letting your head drop against the wall with a thud.
He pulled his lips off of you, eyes wide when he met yours. He started blinking as if he was coming back to reality. When he looked into your eyes again, he looked startled.
"What's wrong?" You pant, feeling hot and dizzy, wishing he would keep moving his hands.
Instead, he quickly slips his fingers out of you, and sets your feet on the floor. Then he backs away.
"I'm sorry, y/n... I don't know what came over me, that was incredibly inappropriate and out of character." Chan mumbled.
Your heart sinks, as you feel the sting of rejection. Tears threatened to well in your eyes, and you immediately felt the oncoming headache from holding them back. You shouldn't feel so emotional and upset. This was all spur of the moment. But you do, you feel devastated.
Regardless, you clear your throat, "I understand." You force an unsettling chuckle out, when a sob threatens to escape instead.
He puts on a blank face that feels so cold, and responds with "Don't forget to drink some water, stay hydrated... I'll be heading to bed now, you should too."
All you really want to say is don't leave, because you want to finish what was started. Because you've wanted this for so long. Because the box you kept away in the depths of your heart had ripped open once again. And all the languished emotions were here, front and center, aching to bear it all to him. To let him see. Confess. But that would be selfish, he's clearly uncomfortable with it all. He probably regrets it. An alcohol induced affair. In his eyes, a complete mistake.
So instead you say, "Okay."
Because that's all you can muster before the tears start to fall. You turn away, going back to facing Ji's door.
"Goodnight y/n... Sleep well." He says, and puts a tentative hand on your shoulder.
You shrug it off, and escape to Ji's bedroom. To your surprise he's sitting up in bed, and ushering you come to him with his arms open and bottom lip pouted out.
You run to him, a bit dramatically and fall a part in his arms. But you can't help it, you sealed these emotions away for too long. You were too hurt at the moment to even try pushing them back down.
Jisung is your life saver, he's comforting you, rubbing his fingers on your scalp and rocking you back and forth to try and calm you. He gives you time before you have to explain why exactly you're having a melt down.
"Chan's an idiot." He finally says.
And you lean back to look at him, confused on how quickly he's put two and two together.
"Well you weren't exactly quiet. Between your exaggerated moans and his animalistic grunting right outside my door, of course I heard it." He rolled his eyes jokingly and that earned a laugh from you.
You smacked him lightly, "I was lost in the moment... don't judge me."
"Jagi..." He says, and wipes the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs, "You've liked him for so much longer than a moment."
Your heart starts pounding faster again. How could he know that. It's the one thing you've kept from him, from everyone, hell you even denied it to yourself for as long as possible. Was it that obvious? Who else knows? You go to speak, fear written across your face.
"No. You were not obvious, in fact you're an amazing actor. I'm sure none of the other members noticed, and definitely no one else at work knew." He answers before you can even get words out.
You nod slowly, "So then, how'd you know?"
He smiled proudly, "I'm a people watcher, I see all."
You smack him again, a little harder this time.
"Alright, alright, but I really did see all the looks you'd give him when no one else was watching... I know what longing looks like, and..." he trailed off.
You knew that wasn't all, "And?"
"Aaaaand... maybe that night you had that wet dream. You were moaning his name while humping the pillow..."
"You never told me that!" You shoved your head into your hands, distraught.
"Well I didn't want to embarrass you! I honestly didn't think you looked at any of us that way until then. Like I said, a good actor. I figured you'd tell me when you were ready to."
You sighed, "I'm sorry. It's just a stupid crush, it'll pass."
"You're grown, you don't have to apologize to anyone for liking someone. But y/n," He cupped your cheek forcing you to look at him again, "this isn't just a simple crush, is it?"
With that question, you felt the tears spilling all over again. He pulled you to lay down with him, holding you tight against him and letting you cry it all out. Somewhere between his low humming, and your quiet weeping, you fell asleep.
When you blink the sleep away from your eyes the next morning, you're still entangled with Ji. He's literally wrapped around you like a koala.
You snort out a laugh and go to check the time on your phone. 7:30 am, entirely too early. You decide to try and fall back asleep, but last night's events rush back to you. Dread fills your chest, and your fight or flight kicks in. You're trying to gently escape Ji's hold, and not hyperventilate. The latter is more difficult but, since that man can sleep through anything, you were able to succeed.
You get changed back into your clothes, and leave a note for him saying that you're leaving and you'll text him when you get home. You can't bear to face Chan, let alone anyone else who might've heard you two last night. So you decide to skip out on the usual coffee and breakfast routine. You all have that tradition after a drunken night, but you know Ji will cover for you with everyone anyways.
You're rushing down the hall, wanting to grab your things and head for the door. Panic is starting to bubble over, and you're haphazardly covering yourself up to be unnoticeable. As you're slipping the mask over your face, a voice stops you.
"Morning... don't you want to stay for breakfast?"
You can't bring yourself to look at Chan, those words only setting the box of emotions in your heart on fire. You know he only means it in the way that it is an unbroken tradition. No matter how sick one of you gets, group breakfast is a must for recuperation. No one has skipped it in the months you've been doing it. We all take care of each other. But the idea makes your mouth bitter, because you wish it was just you two. Alone. Making breakfast the morning after earth shattering sex. And the fact he doesn't mean it in that way in the slightest makes tears prick back into your eyes.
Yes, you know you're being petty. You should stick it through for your friends. Take a page from Chan and act like nothing ever happened. You just can't find it inside you to care, you need to go home and lick your wounds before facing anyone here again. Call it childish, but you didn't care.
You're struggling to find words and just blurt out, "No thanks." And rush out the door, heading to the safety of your car.
You left Chan standing there. Unbeknownst to you, hurting just as much.
Special thank you to @jeonginsleftcheek who encouraged me through finishing this! I had finished it, and then accidentally deleted the entire ending. But in turn, that was a good thing I think... because now there'll be a part 2! If you'd like to be added to a taglist, let me know and I'll start one! Feedback is always cherished, but be gentle pleeeeeeeease ♡
#bangchan x reader#bangchan x you#bangchan x y/n#bangchan x female reader#bangchan smut#bangchan angst#bang chan x reader#bang chan x you#bang chan x y/n#bang chan x female reader#bangchan fanfic#bang chan fanfic#bang chan smut#bang chan angst#skz x reader#skz fanfic#skz smut#skz angst#stray kids fanfic#stray kids smut#stray kids angst#smut#angst#fanfic#fan fiction#choking#hand fixation#bang chans hands#best friend!jisung#kaysungshine fics
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My Lover
//Kang Haerin x 6thMember!Reader//Short Oneshot//
SYPNOSIS ♡︎ Haerin isn’t the jealous type. At least, that’s what she tells herself—until she starts seeing clips of you and Minji all over the internet.
WARNINGS ♡︎ Jealousy, Possessiveness (soft and non-toxic), Brief Miscommunication, Shipping culture, Hidden Relationship(the members know lol)
WORDCOUNT ♡︎ 1.7k
TAGS ♡︎ Jealous!Haerin, Established Relationship, fluff, FLUFF(was literally kicking my feet while writing this), Light Angst??
A/N:This is a little 1am brain fart so If I cringe at it tomorrow, I’ll probably end up deleting it lol
"MINY/N SUPREMACY!!"
"Their chemistry is insane, are we SURE they’re just best friends??"
"Minji and Y/N have been inseparable lately."
Haerin scrolls through the comments under the latest clip of you and Minji’s interactions. The video itself is nothing special, just you laughing at one of Minji’s jokes, leaning into her like it’s second nature. But the fans eat it up.
The video loops again.
Your eyes crinkle when you smile at Minji. She reaches out instinctively when you stumble, her hand lingering just a second too long. And it’s not just one clip, there are dozens of them now. Edits spliced together, set to soft love songs, moments slowed down to exaggerate the way you two look at each other.
You aren’t Minji’s girlfriend.
You’re Haerin’s. Only hers.
But no one ever ships Haerin and Y/N. No one ever slows down the moments where she is the one next to you.
The thought settles in her chest, foreign and unfamiliar.
Jealousy.
But Haerin doesn’t get jealous.
…Right?
"They’re reaching." Haerin mutters under her breath.
She locks her phone and tosses it onto the bed. It’s just fan edits. Just harmless shipping. She’s known for a long time that people see what they want to see.
"Don’t let them get in your head.”
But then why does her chest feel so tight?
Because one comment keeps repeating in her mind.
"Minji and Y/N have been inseparable lately."
And it’s true.
Lately, you’ve been stuck to Minji like glue. On stage. In the waiting room. During interviews. Even in practice.
And Haerin remembers—earlier, while filming behind-the-scenes content, you had shoved your phone in Minji’s face, barely able to contain your laughter.
"Min, look! "Minji looking at Y/N like she's the love of her life" oh my god, the heart eyes emoji is killing me! They're reaching so muchhh."
You wheezed, whispering the last part, playfully smacking Minji’s shoulder over and over as she groaned in embarrassment.
The members had laughed. Even the staff chuckled.
Haerin hadn’t.
She had been standing by the water station, fingers curling a little too tightly around a flimsy paper cup, watching as you laughed with Minji like it was the easiest thing in the world.
‘You’re not Minji’s girlfriend.’
She let the water run down her throat, but it did nothing to wash away the strange, unsettled feeling gnawing at her chest.
‘You’re mine.’
Before she even realized it, she was walking back toward the group.
She didn’t say anything, but you noticed immediately.
"Hey, baby, you okay?" You stepped in front of her, voice soft, concern evident in your eyes.
Haerin barely nodded.
You frowned, about to press further—
"Alright, break’s over!" the choreographer called.
You hesitated, eyes scanning her face, but eventually sighed and gave her hand a light squeeze before stepping back into position.
Haerin watched you go.
She told herself it didn’t bother her.
But that was a lie.
And now, before she even realizes it, she’s standing in front of your door.
Her jealousy isn’t loud. It never is.
But when she pushes the door open, stepping into the dim glow of your room, you feel it instantly—heavy in the air, simmering just beneath the surface.
The kind of jealousy that doesn’t need words to be known.
You barely register the sound of the door creaking open before a familiar presence fills the room.
“Rinnie?” Your voice is soft, questioning, as you sit up in bed. There’s only one person who wouldn’t bother knocking.
Your girlfriend.
Sure enough, Haerin steps inside, her small frame swallowed by an oversized pink hoodie, the hood pulled up with little bear ears perched on top. On any other night, you’d tease her about how ridiculously cute she looks.
But something feels off.
Despite the cozy hoodie, her posture is rigid, her expression unreadable. Haerin has always been hard to read, but this, this is different.
You frown slightly, setting your phone aside. “Rinnie?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she takes a slow step forward, then another, her gaze locked onto yours. And for some reason, the air between you shifts, thicker, heavier.
You swallow.
Something is definitely wrong.
You frown slightly. “Is something wrong, love?”
The second the word love leaves your lips, Haerin stiffens. Then, as if short-circuiting, she speed-walks toward you, her ears turning the faintest shade of pink.
Before you can react, she climbs onto the bed, quietly straddling your lap. Her arms snake around your waist as she buries her face into your neck, pressing impossibly close.
Warmth instantly floods your chest.
You chuckle, wrapping your arms around her in return. "You’re clingy tonight" you tease lightly, rubbing slow circles against her back.
Haerin hums in response, but doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, she tightens her grip, nuzzling further into you, her soft hair tickling your skin.
Gently, you murmur, “Seriously Though, what’s wrong?”
She doesn’t answer immediately. A few beats pass, filled only by the quiet sound of your breathing. Then, finally, she mumbles against your skin, her voice barely above a whisper—
“Do you like seeing those videos?”
Your fingers still against her back.
Oh.
So that’s what this is about.
Smiling softly, you shift slightly, pressing a gentle kiss against the top of her hood. “Rinnie…”
She doesn’t lift her head, but you feel the way she tenses ever so slightly, waiting for your answer.
You sigh, pulling back just enough to cup her cheeks to meet your eyes. She resists at first, gaze flickering away, but you don’t let up. Your thumbs brush over the warmth of her skin, and slowly, reluctantly, her eyes find yours.
Her lips are pressed into a pout, her usual neutral expression betraying just the faintest hint of something vulnerable. It’s almost too cute to handle.
“The edits are kind of funny,” you admit, brushing your thumb along her cheek. “But they don’t mean anything.”
Haerin’s lips twitch, but she doesn’t respond.
A small pause.
“You’re always with Minji when we film,” she mutters.
You blink, momentarily taken aback by the shift in her tone.
“Minji isn’t your girlfriend,” she says, quieter this time. “I am.”
Your chest tightens at how small her voice sounds.
A soft laugh escapes you before you can stop it—not out of mockery, but out of sheer disbelief that this is what’s been eating at her. That your Haerin, quiet and composed, is sulking over some fan edits.
“Wait, are you jealous?” you tease, poking her cheek playfully.
Haerin doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she gently takes your wrist, her fingers curling around it, thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles against your skin.
“…You don’t act like that with me.”
Your teasing smile fades.
“On camera, no,” you clarify, voice softer now. “You know how careful we have to be, Rinnie. I didn’t want to make things harder for you, so I thought keeping some distance was the best thing.”
Haerin stays quiet, her gaze locked onto where her fingers are still brushing against yours.
You tilt your head slightly, watching her. “I’m sorry, baby. I thought it was what you wanted.”
“I don’t like it,” she murmurs.
You exhale, squeezing her hand. “Then tell me what you do want.”
“I don’t want you getting shipped with Minji.”
“I don’t want you to distance yourself from me on camera.”
You hold her gaze for a moment before nodding.
“Okay.”
You don’t break your promise.
The next time the cameras are rolling, you make sure Haerin feels it.
During a phoning live, when Minji passes you a snack, you thank her without much thought—but instead of eating it right away, you turn to Haerin, holding it up to her lips first. She blinks, startled, but opens her mouth after a small hesitation. The chat explodes instantly.
📌@stayrkieeiiw
"Did I miss an update?? Since when were they like THIS???"
💬 @ynhaerinupdate
"WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN? WHY WAS I NOT INFORMED???"
🔁 @haerinno111
"Haerin’s little hesitation before eating lmao she was definitely malfunctioning."
During a music show, while the members are waiting backstage, you casually walk up behind Haerin and rest your chin on her shoulder. The cameras catch the moment as she flinches slightly in surprise before relaxing against you. You don’t move, just standing there with your arms loosely draped around her. The staff members barely react, too used to your antics, but the fans? They lose their minds.
📌 @gay4haerin
"WAIT, Y/N AND HAERIN?? HELLO???"
💬 @haerinsoftie
"They act like a married couple and expect us to be normal about it"
🔁@kpopfangirl24
“Y/N and Haerin have been so touchy lately???”
During a variety show game, you and Haerin end up on the same team. Every time she gets an answer right, you don’t just cheer, you grab her hands and shake them excitedly, or wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close in celebration. At one point, you’re so excited that you practically tackle her into a hug. She stumbles slightly, laughing, and the members tease you, but you don’t let go.
📌 @ynhaerin4life
“The way Y/N is all over her I CAN’T.”
💬 @njzrawr
“golden retriever x black cat energy”
🔁 @idkwhotostan
“Y/N and Haerin are so clingy In here, I need them to explain themselves IMMEDIATELY.”
On a phoning live, you’re seated next to Haerin, and for some reason, you can’t stop messing with her hoodie strings. You keep tugging them playfully, leaning in close whenever she tries to bat your hands away. Eventually, you give up on the strings and just rest your head on her shoulder instead. She freezes for a second, then lets out the softest sigh before tilting her head slightly so your temple rests against hers. The moment is short, but fans catch it instantly.
📌 @ynhaerin4life
"Haerin’s little smile when Y/N leans on her 😭.”
🔁 @multistan010
"Omg...do they know we can see them..?"
💬 @fuckhybeomg
"ARE WE ALL SEEING THIS?? IS THIS REAL??"
After a long day of promotions, the group films a short vlog in their practice room. You’re exhausted, so you naturally gravitate toward Haerin, flopping down beside her and resting your head against her lap. She stiffens at first, her hands hovering awkwardly over you before she hesitantly starts running her fingers through your hair. The fans don’t miss the way she tries to hide her smile, but the cameras catch it anyway.
📌 @haerinupdates
"SHE TRIED TO HIDE IT BUT WE SAW IT. WE ALL SAW IT."
💬 @idkiwannasleepsb
"DID YOU SEE THAT. DID YOU GUYS SEE HER SMILE!?"
🔁 @Y/nupdates
“Theyre not even trying to hide it atp. #YNsold”
🔁 @haerinwinning
"Y/N used to keep her distance from Haerin, now she’s acting like a lovesick puppy… what CHANGED???? 🤨"
📌 @ynhaerin_cult
"THEM. THAT’S IT. THAT’S THE TWEET. #YNSold #Theyremarriedsir"
💬 @minjynomg
"Miny/n shippers are in shambles rn"
Later that night, you scroll through the comments with a smug smile. Next to you, Haerin peeks at your phone screen, then flicks your forehead.
“Stop looking at those,” she mutters, trying to act indifferent.
You just grin, nudging her gently. “You like it, don’t lie.”
She huffs but doesn’t deny it. Instead, she shifts closer, intertwining her fingers with yours under the covers.
————
OG MY GODO I CANNOT WRITE PET NAMES WITHOUT CRINGING OFMG KILL ME NOW😭🙏
Taglist: haha I'm lazy
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𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲



dear lord, when i get to heaven, please let me bring my man (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ fr omg
★ pairing: idol!lee felix x fem!reader
✦summary: You got your dream job on one of the most important day for fashion industry, everything seems like a fairy tale, until you meet one of the people you are working for, which complicates your thoughts, a guy with an angelic face, however he is for you the devil wearing custom couture Tommy Hilfiger.
✭ content - tags - warnings: smut / one night stand / use of “y/n”/ handjob / oral sex / soft degrading / dom felix / semi public sex / unprotected sex / etc lol
word count: 5.1k
(masterlist)
♡ notes: 2024 felix at the met gala ♡
a/n: had to write smth ab my man looking this good on a big day, oopsies / all fiction, don't really know how's behind scenes lol / i'm watching the series so i'm romanticizing the carrie type of writing, enjoy!
There’s an old saying… “what happens in Vegas, stay in Vegas”, and for the New Yorkers with enough amount of luck, the equivalent of that would be: “what happens in the Met Gala, stays in the Met gala.”
You either had to be a celebrity with high status, or a very wealthy person… or sometimes, just part of the staff; yes you were in last link, but you were still happy.
There you were, on the first Monday of May, standing outside of the iconic decorated stairs of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, on the also iconic, 5th avenue of East side of Manhattan. Living your dream, because this year, you were inside, and not anymore as a viewer.
Life was going great for you, you’ll graduate from college exactly in nine days, and you were booked as a tour guide in the Met Gala a month ago. It was your dream job, even though you majored in journalism, working for Vogue was always your dream to be, you’ve been applying for the Met ever since you turned eighteen, and finally there you were wearing a vintage YSL black dress, from a vintage store in Soho, whose rent costs more than you apartment’s, with some Manolo shoes, living your little Carrie Bradshaw fantasy. But that didn’t matter, yeah, she was a woman with a steady job and you only a freshly graduated who expected to get hired as soon as you get your diploma.
They prepared you the whole past month, and you picked up your ID last week; this was going to look wonderful in your resume. You loved fashion, arts, writing, you didn’t care there was another 500 people doing exactly the same as you, you were there, living inside your bubble of the gossip girl and devil wears Prada vibes.
A lot of people hated New York; but you never could, you had a nice apartment on west side of Manhattan and an incredible fashion taste. You had to work as a staff for one the most emerging kpop groups, Stray Kids, or at least that’s what you read about online, you did your research: eight male members, only two of them fluent in English and the rest of them just shy to speak it out loud… you weren’t that unfamiliar at all, you recognized kpop is one of the greatest genres these days, but you were twenty one and going through your finals as the provided you that information, so you followed their social medias, caught up a little in their updates, learned their names and faces —which was very important—, but couldn’t fully concentrate in how handsome they were or at least get yourself a little of fangirlism. Once again, you were sinking in the lasts and very important moments of college.
So the thing was simple, they usually bring their own people around but for this event was the exception, once they stepped on the radar of these popular stairs, they were under the Met Gala staff, that’s when you get in.
You were waiting for them standing among the group of people who would be working the same as you, all with their dress code in black-only etiquette, to go unnoticed. It was your first Met Gala, although you didn't want to flatter yourself either in such a big way, but you had chosen a sexy dress with your back uncovered, you wanted simplicity, but not too much. The heels were starting to bother you a bit until, as fate would have it, a stout black man in charge of monitoring, with headphones on his bald head and clipboard in his hand shouted in a strong New York accent to the group of people you were in.
“The following celebrities are Stray Kids, I repeat so you can listen in the back, Stray Kids is coming! Their team step up to lead them in.”
Nerves got the better of you, it was your turn; you had seen your other ‘colleagues’ guide their respective assigned celebrities, so now it was your time. You hurried to the entrance, along with another girl and two other men. The large black van pulled up to sidewalk and finally, just as you had researched, eight pretty East Asian looking men exited one by one.
You tried to identify the one you had previously studied as their leader and one of the English speakers, until he finally emerged just to one side of you.
“It's this way, boys” your coworker, who was a little ahead of you, led the way.
The eight of them walked a bit and met their designer, the legitimate Tommy Hilfiger, while among the chaos of noise and nerves you tried to identify each one you were working for; they were all wearing long coats but you could distinguish that it was just to hide their real attire.
But apparently you were not the only one nervous, it was also their first Met Gala, an incredibly big event, a bit out of what they knew, in one of the countries where the music market was of utmost importance to consider and succeed, each one of them recognized that this was an important day and simply one more step in their artistic career. They were all nervous and excited; but even so you noticed a somewhat monotonous expression on each of them, you thought it was just nerves. You got a good look at them all as they talked to their designer in charge and noticed how each one had their own charm, they were attractive and smelled quite nice. You thought about how much fun this job is for you, being around celebrities.
“And y/n, right?” he came up to you, the man who had previously been giving directions to your boys.
You nodded, confused, he went on to say:
“I’m informed that you will be going into the museum with them, you can take the lead” he said in a strangely kind tone.
You smiled at him, you had forgotten the last time you met a nice New Yorker. It was when you realized it was time, you took a breath with your cheeks and released them, once you saw they finished their little talk, you took a step so everyone could see you and introduced yourself; it was part of your job and you had been trained for it. You started with a “hi, guys”, told them your name and added that you would accompany them to the exhibit. You looked forward to going in there.
You got the attention of all eight of them, after all they were still men, foreign men excited for a new experience. Once you turned around as you led the way you questioned if wearing that open back dress was the best choice, you hadn't really intended it that way; you also didn't expect them all to be 100 times more attractive in person, the pictures you saw on the internet didn't do them justice.
All the members of Stray Kids were with their respective emotions on edge, but especially one of them didn't know how to control himself. Felix, who at all times kept a serious countenance was more than excited and his body was reacting to it, betraying him, he was aroused. He wasn't exactly in the mood for sex, but somehow he felt uncomfortably hard. He was simply an excited little Asian boy with a not-so-little problem. An erection in his pants.
Felix had the experience at these kinds of fashion events, but simply something about this city drove him incredibly crazy. Somehow he was thirsty for sex… but he didn't feel like he was at this very moment. He had to put on his best show and control his body, he slyly checked his pants and it was a relief that the design was perfectly loose so it couldn't be noticed. But it all got worse when he saw his pretty young guide and staff for tonight, with her pretty makeup and perfect hair done, with her back uncovered.
Felix read her name on her ID hanging on her body and checked slyly if anyone else of his friends and colleagues thought the same as him… he could notice it in the look of his friend Bang Chan, however Felix noticed the little importance that Chan himself gave her and continued treating her with kindness and courtesy, who from time to time gave her a certain look was his other friend Seungmin, who was the master of disguise, but not for Felix, not after knowing him so long and living with him.
But that was just the thrill of the moment, as Felix took full control of his body as he approached his final stretch, an interview and then the longed-for Met Gala stairs. Like a pro idol, he knew how to handle it, and everyone had a spectacular and memorable entrance.
You saw them from afar, Bang Chan had introduced you to each one of them and thanked you for accompanying them even though you hadn’t start yet, you thought he was an unreal man, in fact all eight of them were, their perfectly manicured faces and the subtlety of their make-up were to you so…. You were speechless; but if you had to choose one, putting yourself in the shoes of millions of girls around the world even of your age discovering an attractive boy band, maybe among them all… it would be the only blond guy with long hair. You thought between sighs how cute he was, you were down bad when it came to cute boys, also the long-haired ones.
You remembered his name, Felix; a little strange, it sounded like an old name but somehow it fit him so well, you thought; now you were not only fulfilling your dream job, you would be together with eight handsome men, you almost wanted to let out a little giggle, but it was time to monitor how well they took the pictures of your “bosses” as they posed on the carpet.
You waited a moment more before finally entering, it seemed like hours, until finally the doors opened for you and there suddenly you felt your heart burst, not even Felix's pretty face could have impacted you so much, the exhibition of unique pieces in the haute couture of fashion history.
“You can start to separate and see freely” you mentioned to them.
You saw them, they looked totally lost.
“Mm, I don't think so, we like to stay together” Chan answered with a nervous smile.
“Well, if you like, we can start here…” you spoke.
You didn't want to keep them tied up nor did you want to feel like a big deal, you were only going to accompany them and follow their instructions, however they seemed to follow yours; you gave yourself the task of showing them every corner and giving them a little summary of what each exhibit meant, however you couldn't help hiding your excitement, your eyes shone with care and all eight noticed your adorable expression, even those who couldn't fully understand you because of the language barrier, your expressions spoke for themselves. And Felix couldn't take his eyes off you the whole tour.
Felix didn't understand what was wrong with him, whether it was the excitement of the foreigner, the significant change of time zone, his pretty part of the assigned staff, or the incredible urge to have sex. He wasn't normally like that… well, at least not in places like these. He left the dirty thoughts for later when he was in the quiet of solitude. But just now he had those thoughts of how hot it must be to be fucking someone while wearing that perfectly tailored suit, making a mess among all the tidiness that went with it all.
He wasn't like that… but the more he thought about it, the more he was tempted, he thought it would be the only time he would see you, that you had to be professional and not at all indiscreet, that it would only be one night. He was becoming more and more convinced, what was wrong with him? He was handsome, young, successful and very well endowed, he only needed to show his gifts to someone. Felix thought if that someone could be you; this was not Felix who thinks dating and love were important, suddenly something came over him, like a haughty alter ego blinded by his dazzling fame, ready to just have sex.
The main event started, the dinner and the show, you had gotten a table, only confirmed by the exclusively selected staff in perhaps, one of the worst areas, still you were in, from going to see the Met outside on the street, to being seated next to a bunch of celebrities in the same room; you were so happy you could die the next day thinking you made it.
But once the show was over, little by little so was your spark, it was time to go back to your reality and take a cab home; the folks at that table were mentioning something about an after party, among them and a bunch more… but you didn't want the smell of celebrities and fame to leave your pores and get lost in some stranger's apartment.
You were about to check out when a short woman rushes up to you asking if there was any Stray Kids staff at the table.
“Here, me!” you showed her your ID quizzically. “What's going on?”
“What are you doing here? They're escorting you to the after party.”
Puzzled, you mumbled a “what?” and followed her hurried pace as she was leaving.
“After party, with who?”
The woman stopped in her tracks and turned to look at you.
“Well, who are you working for.”
Impossible, you thought. You were supposed to check out and you weren't allowed to go outside the museum, they couldn't just invite you like that, could they? Why would they? Besides you were working for the museum, not for them. Sadly, you had to make it clear to them.
You walked towards them who were already at the main exit leaving with other celebrities, you got up the courage and approached them.
“Nice to meet you guys, but I think it was a misunderstanding, I can't accompany you, I work for the museum… they didn't give me directions to follow you.”
“And what time do you leave?” Chan asked you with a hoarse voice and eyes fixed on you.
“Just now…” you added awkwardly, not knowing what to say as the eight men stared at you.
“Perfect” Chan said in a thick accent with a smile.
“Now you work for us, let's go to the after party” spoke in a cold, distant and arrogant tone the pretty blond boy who had caught your attention.
You had not heard him speak, not until now. You were too surprised by the contrast of his angelic face and his incredibly thick voice.
You were able to register your exit and hurriedly kept up with the boys.
“We liked the way you explained the exhibition, we will have you as translator now” Chan told you as he quickened his pace leaving you behind.
It didn't make the slightest sense what he just said. You don't even speak Korean.
You sighed and could not deny the excitement of living another adventure, it was not like they were forcing you, you were now going to go to the legendary Met Gala after party.
You got into a dark van along with more of their staff and in the minutes of traffic you were finally there. You couldn't believe it, for a moment you stopped thinking that things made sense.
Luckily you were not alone, but accompanied by another girl in the staff, all looked great but it was evident that no one wanted to socialize with you and it was difficult for you to do so; so you felt uncomfortable and out of place, questioning if you should really be there.
After a few minutes you noticed that Felix stood up from his seat, taking the button of his suit and slyly approached you.
“Can you come with me?” he whispered in your ear with his deep voice.
You froze, and followed him without thinking too much, something wasn't right when it came to him…. besides, you thought you had to follow his instructions.
Felix went to a private bathroom, you wanted to think that maybe he wanted you to take care of his coat… if not, why else would he ask you to accompany him; he entered quickly, in a suspicious way and then came out quickly looking around frantically, until he pulled you by the arm and took you with him to that small elegant bathroom, locking the door. You couldn't process the speed of the actions and suddenly, you saw his piercing gaze in front of yours.
What was going on?
Felix had enough, watching you flirtatiously talking to Chan, sweet talking all his friends, there was nothing else to explain but that he was horny and wanted to have you right now. You weren't stupid, you noticed his looks but wanted to ignore them, but it turns out that wasn't what he wanted.
So there you were, inwardly struggling whether to play along with whatever he intended to do or put your ethics above… you analyzed him, he looked so good with his long hair and white suit, you'd probably never see him again, you wanted to bite your lip just thinking about how dangerous and fast-paced some kind of sex like that would be, on the sly. But you couldn't make up your mind, this was about Conde Nast, your dream, not easy access to fuck.
Felix noticed too the early darkness in your gaze, reflecting lust, he was already hard from just thinking about your ass slapping his pelvis as he thrust his cock in and out your pussy mercilessly. You so wet, making a mess, the two of you indulging in passion while a bunch of people decide to party outside.
“I don't normally do this but… I may only see you once in my life…”
Felix said in a voice thicker than what you had heard and came dangerously close to you, who were glued to the door, perplexed.
“Felix…” you wanted to think clearly but his full lips in a perfect heart shape were distracting you.
“If you want to fuck me… you have to promise me to never tell anyone.”
Felix whispered plaintiff in your left ear, losing himself in the scent of you hair. You couldn't take it anymore, if he kept talking, you might cum at any moment.
You understood the situation of things and the importance of his comment, after all he was still a global superstar. But not telling would not only be a beautiful secret to take to your grave and something fun to remember, but it would also be beneficial for you, because under no circumstances should a female employee have sex with her assigned celebrity. You would be banned from all of Manhattan or the city if possible, public enemy number one.
He moved closer to your ear, thinly brushing his lips on it and making you lose control little by little by his approach. You closed your eyes, completely lost, fuck it, you would fuck him and never see him again, at least not this intimacy.
“Why would I fuck and tell...?” you whispered completely lost in desire.
He chuckled, and finally grabbed you by the waist. Felix sought your lips and you kissed slowly, deeply and passionately, the kiss was so strong that you felt the pressure of his upturned nose on your face. You knew it was so wrong at any angle analyzed… but it felt so right, his lips were soft and he moved them with agility, your hands were still glued to the wall in surprise, but gradually you relaxed and managed to hold on to the ends of his jacket.
Felix also relaxed and his right hand moved down to your naked back and slowly and nimbly he moved his hand in until he squeezed and caressed your ass, his actions surprised you that you almost moaned at the touch, separating you a little from the kiss.
He pulled a few inches away from your lips and, as he ran his hand all around your ass, he looked you over with a look of superiority.
“You're such a slut, only wearing a fucking thong, almost like you were ready for me” he said with a husky voice.
This time you felt his noticeable bulge brush against your belly and his soft touch made you wetter and wetter.
“Get on your knees, beautiful.”
He ordered and you obeyed. Felix was sick of feeling horny, he wanted a quick fix, to strip the tight garments off his cock and be attended to urgently, once he had enough of his own, he was going to take over pleasuring you fully.
Your breath was getting shorter and shorter and you felt his member on the fabric, you thought about how good he looked from below and in all possible angles, then you pulled down his pants, ready to give him the best blowjob ever —or at least you hoped so—, you couldn't resist, you simply pulled down his underwear too, finding his throbbing and delicious cock so needy, its tip was bright pink and poor Felix was already showing signs of small droplets of pre-seminal fluid, and to think he had a fine and angelic face…. You had never felt so hungry and desirous, you were totally possessed; you wanted it in your hands, in your mouth, pounding your face, pounding your cervix… so you felt it, that firm hard manly hunk, at the mercy of your hands, feeling every texture of his skin.
Felix gasped, lifting his buttoned shirt a little, revealing a bit of his smooth but working abdomen. You took some of his fluid and spread it all over his length, lubricating it, it felt so good, but you were also so needy and desperate, and the thin fabric covering your intimate area didn't help at all, you felt the garment getting smaller and smaller, you felt your wet pussy growing and throbbing causing a delicious friction; but you thought you had to be more careful, your whole outfit was black, one stain of semen or fluids and you had to pay for the dress.
You moved a little away from him, hoping that no droplets of him fell on your attire, still you held his erection tightly with your left hand, making frantic movements, back and forth.
He was ecstatic, it was all he needed, to be sexually attended to; the New York air suited Felix Lee wonderfully, and the New York girl… he thought… she was out of this world, her hands felt fantastic on his hard manhood. He wanted to cum roughly, but he wanted to do it dirty in his employee's mouth and pretty face… he would never act like the beastly thing he was doing in Seoul, but new place, try new things.
So between sighs and gasps, he lowered his gaze and tried to communicate with her.
“Use your pretty mouth.”
You never thought he was going to ask, you didn't hesitate for a second, and the grotesque sound of your saliva dripping on his cock were heavenly; his sex was hot and smooth, the texture felt so good inside your cheeks but once again, you are desperate for him to take you and start moving your guts.
Within minutes, Felix cum in your mouth amid moans and groans, and the softest but most effective hair pulls, to make you go exquisitely deeper. You never thought he was so vocal, with a voice like that, you were in heaven; and it took you only a few seconds to drink his cum, as a reward.
“I think we need to get rid of that dress” he said trying to catch his breath. “I'll buy you 3 more, no worries.”
He took you by the chin, inviting you to stand up and helped you take off the dress, you were so excited that your vision was blurred and you couldn't think clearly… what was his next move….
You were amazed at how incredibly hard and standing still he was even after he had just cum, you thought, after all kpop idols did have it all, great stage presence, big penis, music talent, and for sex too.
He sat you on the small counter, him facing the mirror, the stone was cold and you were finally, almost, completely naked in front of him, wearing only your thin thong. Felix wasted no time and positioned himself between your legs, kissing you deeply and desperately as you carefully felt the tip of his penis brush your wet center each time they came closer, he moved his kisses down, to your neck, massaged your breasts and kissed and sucked them mercilessly, you wanted to scream with excitement but you were acutely aware that there were people outside, never mind the noise of the party. Once on your chest, he turned his angelic face up, with a dark mischievous look and that's when you felt his thumb caress your clit.
You moaned in relief, finally your exhausted pussy was going to be given attention. His movements were slow until each time he increased the acceleration, you couldn't help but writhe in pleasure and when your body contracted ready to climax, Felix introduced his fingers inside you, he felt the softness of your insides so lubricated and ready to feel his erection beating you frantically.
“Look at me” he asked once he saw that your attention was focused for a few seconds on his right hand playing with your pussy.
“Uh-mm” you murmured, nodding softly, almost in moans.
You weren't thinking clearly but decided to hold back the urge to cum just to feel his fingers inside you for a few more moments. You looked into his big dark eyes; you felt that he looked more calm and serious with that gaze locked on you and his innocent freckled look, unlike you that your eyes was totally submissive and you were almost about to cry with pleasure, oh and Felix loved that, all that mess because of him.
“I'm going to cum, Fe…” you moaned.
But you couldn't even speak, he accelerated his movements and your belly contracted so pleasantly bringing you to your first orgasm.
“I'm not done yet; let me clean up that mess you made.”
And without warning, Felix leaned down, gripping your thighs tightly, two of his fingers still freshly wet from my fluids, marked on your thigh; Felix ran his hot tongue across your cunt, licking all your cum.
He began to eat your pussy carefully, almost accomplishing step by step and you loved the delicacy of what he was doing, you were seeing stars, you didn't want this to ever end, you wanted him on you all the time. You took advantage and also took hold of his tightly tied hair. He did it so well that you had to cum a second time.
And finally, the act you both had been waiting for since he locked the door; Felix had saved the urge and was once again swollen and throbbing, screaming for attention and action. He cleaned the edges of his mouth in a attractive manner.
“Shit, I don't have a condom” he said in annoyance.
“It's okay, I'd never have your baby anyway.”
Felix smiled and you watched his erection in front of your pussy, until he gently pushed it in, until you closed your eyes once again in pleasure.
“I'm going to cum inside you and make sure your pussy misses every part of me.”
Felix whispered hotly in your right ear as you pressed your bodies closer and closer together, until you ended up with your legs wrapped around his waist, crushing bit of his outfit, and your hands on his shoulders. And then, he rammed you fast and as delicious as no one else had ever done, you moaned softly to avoid any strange noises from outside. It was incredible, you thought, his rhythm was strong and constant and when you began to lubricate his penis more indicating your soon orgasm, Felix separated from you and in quick movements he changed your position, lowered you from the counter, turned your body and introduced his penis making you stand still and making you both see yourselves in the mirror.
You couldn't be happier, you loved the fiction of his shirts stuck to your body of the clothes he still had on, and he began to pound more frantically and wildly, giving way to the sound of your skins colliding and your fluids combining. Felix held you tightly by the waist as he pulled your body away and closer, controlling it in his own way, you wanted to help him, moving your ass a little but his grip was too strong. You were with your back arched, holding tightly to the sink, giving choked moans as you felt his strong thrusts. Watching him fuck you in the mirror was fucking hot, he looked so attractive with his half-open mouth letting out soft moans and his concentrated countenance, frowning and his eyes locked on your ass, then on you.
Felix grabbed your hair in his fist and pulled it to pull you closer to him and glued you to his body, just when you thought it couldn't get any better, his thrusts were deeper that way and you were touching the edge.
“Do you like the way I fuck you, little slut, huh?”
You tried to nod between gripping your hair.
“Say it.”
“Yes-yes, Felix, ahh it feels good.”
“You feel good too, sweetheart, you're doing a great job.”
His dirty talk close to your ear were just more elements to make you cum faster and faster and each time you were more and more surprised, as his pace increased, finally making you climax, for the third time.
Felix smiled in victory as he felt your pussy muscles first tighten and then relax releasing more of your luscious fluids, wetting and hugging his hard cock, Felix continued another small moment, until he cum gloriously inside you and a little more above your ass.
You were perplexed. The sexual connection had been real. You both tried to catch your breath, he helped you put your dress back on and as you changed, Felix felt a little bad about just using you for his carnal desires, for you honestly it had been just a good fuck and you had your feet on the ground being aware that someone like him and you could never be together.
“So… Are you officially working on something related for Vogue?”
You smiled, as you tried to touch up your makeup, it was a bit badly retouched.
“No, it's my dream, they just hired me as a one-off for this year.”
“Maybe you should learn Korean and move there, Vogue Korea is still Vogue, isn't it?” he mentioned flirtatiously.
You chuckled again, that implied many things and at the same time none for you.
“Go out first, y/n, then I'll go out. I'll transfer you for the dresses outside, I don't even have my phone here” he said, finally in his deep voice calmer, almost looking tender, in his thick accent.
You smiled and looked at him one last time, before finally leaving for the party. Leaving you wanting more, but also with nothing more than just sex in the city.
#lee felix smut#skz smut#felix smut#stray kids smut#felix x reader#felix x you#lee felix x reader#kpop smut#skz imagines#stray kids imagines#stray kids scenarios#stray kids#skz#skz felix#felix hard thoughts#𐙚wen writes♡₊˚⊹
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CIRQUE DE DANDY~!! (What started out as a few circus themed skin ideas turned into an entire AU XDD)
Here's the list of the roles and general stuff!
-Dandy is of course the ringmaster, having started up the circus some years ago with Astro, Vee, Sprout and Shelly, to which it slowly grew into a very popular circus! -Scraps, Goob, and Shrimpo work as clowns, and are inspired by the three primary clown roles! Shrimpo was inspired by the Whiteface, typically more serious and leading the act. Goob was inspired by the Auguste, he is focused on more physical comedy and is typically rather clumsy. And Scraps is inspired by the Tramp, much more mischievous and typically mimics the others (mostly Shrimpo) during her part of the act! -Finn plays the role of the strongman, showing off to crowds his "impressive strength" (the weights he uses are pretty much always just made of foam, he tried to use real weights once out of curiosity and cracked his bowl...) -Astro and Glisten play the role of trapeze artists, and also do the tightrope. Astro's much more focused on aerial hoops, meanwhile Glisten focuses on aerial silk! They do many acts together yet also have their own solo acts. -Rodger works the concessions, Toodles tagging along to help out when she can! Rodger typically lets her give the people their things once they have paid or let her collect the money. -Poppy works as a bubble artist! She also incorporates dance in her act and is as bubbly as ever! She also has a special act of being an escape artist, having pulled off the water tank trick many times! -Boxten, Brightney, and Tisha are a part of the staff! Boxten works the music and sound effect side of the performance (though he does one day wish he can also join the performances, rather than work behind the scenes...as...nervous as he gets). Brightney works the spotlights, and Tisha helps clean up after the performances! -Flutter works the "human (or I suppose toon) cannonball act! She also does tricks and general things in the air to show off! -Sprout and Cosmo work as magicians (Cosmo being his assistant most of the time!) They also do general partner tricks together, such as throwing knives! They always match their costumes, whether it be practically the same outfit, or matching accessories. -Shelly and Pebble do animal tricks! Shelly helps lead pebble through the tricks and also helps him learn them as well! Pebble is glad to be a part of the fun! -Teagan does vaulting, horse tricks, ect! She's just as elegant as ever, along with her horse Chamomile! -Razzle and Dazzle do comedy acts and general performances, along with helping some others with their acts as well! Razzle absolutely adores the spotlight and has lots of fun! And as much as Dazzle likes to perform, he still has trouble getting past being watched by such a large audience... -Gigi works with the finances and games! What did you expect? It's Gigi. -And lastly, Vee works on the advertising side of things! And as good at it as she is, she's still trying to convince Dandy to let her get an act in...
#Cirque De Dandy#Cirque De Dandy AU#dandy's world#dandy's world au#au#dw dandy#dw scraps#dw goob#dw shrimpo#dw finn#dw astro#dw rodger#dw toodles#dw glisten#dw poppy#dw boxten#dw brightney#dw tisha#dw flutter#dw sprout#dw cosmo#dw shelly#dw pebbles#dw teagan#dw razzle and dazzle#dw vee
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preface [ trois ] | sylus

summary: he still can’t make out any telling features, a doily-patterned veil draped over her head. she’s not you. the body type and stature don’t match. still, she’s another girl he can spare a terrible fate in his journey to find you.
warnings: human trafficking, graphic depictions of violence, minor character deaths, reader has hair, reader implied to be femme, mild language, allusions to reader’s past as a kidnappee, sylus is still murderous
tagging: @world-of-hearts @athanasia-day @falon-fen @queen-serena88 @karespocketboyfriends @mrswanel @readerxyourfave @sunsets-and-crows @antonneva @libriomancer, @queenofstresss, @aeanya @socutesotall @babyx91 @syyyy4ever @karolamurdock
notes: limerence | part 1 | part 2
now playing: o fortuna - carl orff
He recalls it like it was yesterday.
You, clad in black, bearing enough skin to tease. Your back was to him as you fiddled with something, none the wiser to his molten stare.
He’d watched you from the rail of his club’s second-floor balcony. Thoughts consuming him as guests trickled out, drunk, merry, and sure to return. He waited until the last of them left—until his staff scuttled about, clearing off tables and reorganizing expensive bottles at the bar—to make his move.
You were a guest headliner—someone he occasionally invited to perform on stage. Lux was known for more than just its atmosphere.
The entertainment was unmatched, and the women were attractive. Sylus couldn’t deny how the scene became more…interesting with you around. You even managed to draw out a few of his enemies for him to snuff out, the bastards greedy and wanton in the face of fresh meat.
With a smirk, Sylus descended the stairs. Stopped behind you, watching you struggle to unlatch your heels from your ankles.
You glanced up when he poured himself onto the red leather ottoman across. So close, his knees bracketed either side of yours, and he’d caught a whiff of that warm scent you carried.
Wordlessly, he drew your foot into his lap. Your expression warped into one of brief astonishment before it was replaced by something sultry. A mask you often donned when putting on a show, though he was curious to see what truly lay beneath it.
You leaned back on your palms whilst he undid the buckle. He glanced up, a chuckle dredged from his chest as you dragged your toes down his quad in thanks. It was flattering. Felt nice, little tingles ricocheting up his spine.
He hadn’t pursued the touch of a woman for some time, too busy solidifying his position in the underworld to entertain temptations of the flesh.
He was here on business. His personal reservations could wait.
Sylus patted his thigh, signaling you to give him your other foot. You had been dancing all night. Smiled pretty, made him money. The least he could do was reward you for your generous contributions. Show a little empathy.
You obliged, an appreciative hum in your throat when he freed you of your shackle. Reluctantly, gently, he let your feet slide to the floor. Contemplated massaging them–they were soft and agitated. But he was here to preposition you, not seduce you.
Not yet.
Sylus leaned forward in an easy slouch with his elbows resting on his quads. Tapped his fingers together, studying you.
You were quite a sight beneath the red throb of the lights overhead. The imperfections lining your features made you all the more appealing, hiding beneath the glamor you posted up with your Evol. He could easily see through it, thanks to his Aether Core.
He knew about that, too. The power you housed. Part of why you were such a showstopper, your Evol allowing you to make these elaborate costume changes and transitions in the midst of performing.
He didn’t know the full extent of your abilities just yet. Figured they were more than cheap parlor tricks. But having the power of illusion on his side was something he couldn’t get on without.
Clearing his throat, Sylus spoke low and even, voice slightly above the dull pulse of the music turned down in the background.
“How would you like to be a permanent employee here?”
You quirked a brow. Pitched forward with a hand propped under your chin, your eyes glittering with mischief. “I’m surprised it took you this long to ask.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “That easy, huh?”
“What? You thought I just came here out of the goodness of my heart?” Your eyes flickered downward, and you leaned in, toying with the first button of his shirt.
He was surprised by how simple you’d made this for him. No coercion, no ultimatums. It’s as if you were waiting for him to preposition you, coiled like a spring itching to be released. He couldn’t help wondering if you knew the full extent of what he’d ask of you. The people he’d employed were more than just pretty faces. But that conversation would come later once he’d earned your trust, your loyalty.
Nonetheless, he put back up the businessman front as he stood. Twirled the strap of your heel on a slender finger, and he peered down at you with a lazy smirk, offering you his hand to help you up and to seal the deal.
“Then it’s settled. You work for me now,” he replied coolly. Matter of factly, no room for you to back out.
You stood with his help, your hand in his electrifying. You bore a look of amusement as you shook it, sensing there was more to this ‘job’ than what was shown at the surface. You were signing a contract with the Devil and didn’t even know it.
“Cool. Do I get a welcome basket or something?”
Sylus snorted. Beautiful and cheeky. He could tell this would be the beginning of an interesting partnership. “I could arrange that.”
The mirth around you dwindled, and you studied him for a beat before you grew antsy. Held out your hand as the moment subsided, tapping your foot expectantly.
“Can I have my shoe back now? I should probably get goin’ before you try to coerce me into being your secretary, too.”
He canted his head, feigning ignorance. Woundedness. “I thought I’d hold onto it as a memento.”
You huffed out a laugh. “A memento for what?”
“For our new friendship.”
You snorted. “That’s real creepy, Mister.” Made a grab for your heel, yet Sylus held it just out of reach. You tried for the shoe again, your fragrance overhauling his senses as your warm chest brushed against him.
He suddenly found himself wanting to smell you all the time, wanting to feel the heat wafting off your skin more often. And that pretty smile you wore—he had to have it for himself.
You looked at him with a devastating curl to your lips, hands on hips. “Do you tease all your new recruits like this, or am I a special case?”
He chuckled, something tugging in his chest. “Consider it a part of the onboarding process.”
As you stood there, silently scrutinizing each other beneath the strobing lights, he found his interest in you sinking deeper than surface level. And he suddenly wanted to know about everything that made you tick.
He felt a magnetic pull towards you, like the moon drawn to Earth. Something he couldn’t quite place. He’d be remiss to say he wasn’t curious to see where this partnership could lead.
The deal was sealed that fateful night, even if it hadn’t been in black and white. He owned you.
And over time, you would learn that you owned him, too.
—
The present comes sliding back in, banishing his memories to the furthest reaches of his mind. He’s caught reminiscing like you’re already dead. Catastrophizing, assuming the worst.
He knows better. You’re tough. Stubborn. Still, he doesn’t err in his steps to find you. There’s always that just in case. Just in case your Evol failed you. Just in case they incapacitated you long enough to sell you off.
He’s panting.
Not from the exertion of fighting and killing. Rending flesh from bone, turning men to ash as he saps their energy to use as his own. Not from painting the ship’s walls with the soot of burned bodies, leaving a statement for anyone who dares to steal from him again.
No.
He pants with an effort to restrain himself.
He could sink this ship if he so chooses. But there are still innocents onboard, trickling out in onesies and twosies. Still goons charging at him from the exits with weapons poised at his chest as if they know who he is and what he’s after—laid out the red carpet, pulling out all the stops.
And he still has yet to locate your whereabouts.
He ducked in and out of vacant rooms after reaching the cruise ship's lowest cabins. He funneled henchmen into the hallways one by one, snuffing them out like coals. Followed their source, gritting his teeth as the trail came up cold.
He eases into another area once the fray dies down. An inky darkness greets him. He crouches when he hears a lifeless, robotic voice speaking. Rattling off descriptions like it’s reading a menu.
Sylus’ blood turns to icicles in his veins. Could this be the auction he’s been seeking all this time?
He peers over the partition, blocking him from sight. Spots a gentleman clad in a suit, his back facing Sylus as he sits in a leather armchair.
Two more men similarly sit on opposite sides of the room, forming a triangle. Various animal masks conceal their faces.
Fixed in the center is a ceiling-high, glass display case with three figures clad in black standing in its center.
Two bodyguards flank the smaller being shrouded in an onyx cloak. One guard reaches up to peel back the robe’s hood, and Sylus’ breath catches.
The figure is inherently feminine, clad in a lingerie set. Gaunt, like she’s been deprived of a proper meal for days. If not for the henchman with their hands manacling her forearms, Sylus is sure she would collapse.
They’d dressed her up all pretty like a doll. Tried to make her look more appealing, though Sylus was sure these men would buy her regardless of how emaciated she looked.
He still can’t make out any telling features, a doily-patterned veil draped over her head. She’s not you. The body type and stature don’t match. But still, she’s another girl he can spare a terrible fate.
The metallic voice chimes in overhead again. The bidding starts at one million. The gentleman before Sylus raises a white paddle, soundlessly placing his bid. Sylus’ stomach churns. He’ll kill everyone here, he swears it.
He observes passively for another moment. Bristles when the girl in the case weakly attempts to free herself from her captors. They shake her in warning, and the veil slips off.
Sylus swallows thickly, his power prickling on his fingertips. He waits until the bid reaches five million before he makes his move. Soundless as the tendrils of his Evol snake around five necks. Before they know what’s amiss, five sources of life are siphoned, sinking into Sylus’ body.
The woman gasps. Throws herself against the glass, pounding on it with weakened fists. Begs Sylus with quivering, blood-crusted lips to save her.
He’s detached as he snaps his wrist, the entry of the display case easing open. She studies him a moment longer in her quiet panic. Looks between him and the open door, unsure of what to do.
Sure, he’s disappointed that she isn’t the woman he seeks. She isn’t you. But he wouldn’t hurt her. That would go against all the effort he put forth tonight to bring this human trafficking ring to its knees.
He signals for the girl to leave with a cant of his head. She snatches up the cloak, hurriedly draping it about her shoulders before skittering out of sight.
Sylus’ mouth pulls into a rigid line. Nostrils flare. He burns with malice, breathing deep to quell the urge to burn this ship to the bowels of the ocean. Still, he has faith that you’re still on board somewhere. He just has to look harder.
Dipping out of the room, he enters another. Goons no longer pursue him, either thoroughly snuffed out or they fled in the wake of Sylus’ ire.
He’s startled when he hears an enmeshment of grunts. One high and light, and the other gurgled and strained as if being choked. He darts from behind the partition in this new room, and the sight that welcomes him makes his body flood with something glacial.
He pants again, but this time for an entirely different reason.
A wave of relief crashes into him. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
In the center of a case similar to the one he’d seen just moments before is you. And you’re in the midst of choking out a guard with the links of your cuffs. He’s red-faced and fighting for his life, clawing at the links until bloody, jagged lines marr his neck. It’s to no avail.
With one final jerk, bone snaps, and the sigh of a life fleeting signals his demise. Your breaths are labored as you sit amid your carnage—four guards taken out similarly, haloing you—fixing Sylus’ with a reposed look.
“Took you long enough,” you puff with an inkling of a smile. And he doesn’t think he’s ever found you more beautiful, even beneath the sweat and grime and blood—thankfully not yours—that you’d accumulated throughout your capture.
Sylus moves on autopilot when his wits return. With a waggle of his fingers, your cuffs fall free from your wrists, accompanied by the shackles around your ankles. You must’ve put up quite the fight. He swells with pride despite the moment, and if you knew the doubts he housed about your safety, you would surely fight him.
He pries the display’s door open with his Evol and conquers the space between you in three long strides. Kneeling on the floor beside you, Sylus ingests your features. Smooths your sweat-slicked hair away from your face. Turns your head this way and that, scrutinizing you for injuries.
“I’m fine,” you assure on an exhale. Wrap your lithe fingers around his wrist as if to soothe, and it’s like he’s been shocked by static. He studies you a moment longer, painting a frantic triangle between your eyes and mouth before taking your hand in his, trying to haul you up.
“Let’s get you out—”
“Ow!” you hiss, flinching back. Sylus’ eyes glaze over you before taking in your ankle's swollen, purpling state. His eyes narrow, and he resists an urge to growl.
If he hadn’t already killed all of them, he’d make them pay for hurting you.
“Might’ve sprained it,” you laugh, wincing at the stickiness of your voice.
He peers at you fondly before scooping you into his arms, mindful of your injury. You instinctively curl into him, your arms loosely winding about his neck, and you nuzzle into the hollow of his shoulder.
With his adrenaline slowly draining, Sylus cautiously moves you back into the hallway. Steps over the viscera and carnage he had caused, severed hands and errant teeth littering the once clean, blue, carpeted floors.
He has you back. You’re safe. A little bruised, but you’re safe. And he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so grateful.
Slowly, the pair of you are consumed by the shadows of his Evol before morphing out of existence.
—
“Where will they go?” you ask with a wistful, faraway look in your eyes as Sylus’ coat blankets you, flapping in the breeze.
Luke and Kieran were herding the girls from the semi from the docks into awaiting vehicles, accompanied by a slew of Sylus’ staff members from Lux. They were patient and understanding as they gave the girls blankets and water, ushering them into Jeeps and SUVs to be transported to safety.
You watch them from Sylus’ arms, and he catches a glimpse of the girl you were all those years back. Hopeful and optimistic despite being in captivity yourself, knowing that no one would come for you.
With his eyes transfixed on you, he speaks low and even. “Back to their families.”
You gaze at him, your eyes glazing over with a swell of tears. A moment of rarity between you, where you drop your defenses and grace him with a peak of the woman that resides beneath that callused exterior you outwardly project to the world—a means of protecting yourself.
“What if they don’t have families?”
He shifts you in his arms, a smirk touching his lips. “Then we’ll do everything we can to help them find their place in this world again.”
You look at him with a reverent gleam to your irises. Shyly nuzzle into his chest, your voice so small, he has to strain to hear it.
“Thank you,” you murmur. “Seriously.”
Something tugs at his heartstrings. He merely nods, walking you through the line of vehicles. The click of his loafers on the pavement echoes whilst he takes you towards the moonlight, nestled against the horizon.
—
“You’re not supposed to sleep with a concussion, sweetie,” Sylus husks, and it surprises even him how soft he sounds.
You must feel so smug, having the big, bad Boogeyman fretting over your well-being like this. He could crush you with his bare hands, yet he’s cautious as he strokes some of your baby hairs away from your forehead, your temple cool to the touch.
“Not sleeping,” you rasp, your lips pulling into a disarming smile. You don’t sound convincing, your voice heavy with sleep. But could he argue with you? “Just resting my eyes a bit.”
He snorts, your smile infectious. He lapses into silence when your smile fades and your breaths even out. Reluctantly withdraws his hand, watching you slumber atop his bed, and you just look so natural between silken, red sheets with the firelight waltzing over your visage.
It’s been an eventful night. You deserve some rest. He feels better, having you safely tucked away in the penthouse, far from the arms of men with impure intentions, far from your memories. Should anything else come up, he knows you’ll be alright with the twins and his employees downstairs keeping tabs on you.
Regardless, his brows furrow with worry. Unlike him, you haven’t this miraculous ability to heal as quickly as he does.
As if summoned from his thoughts, Mephisto appears through a flurry of inky smoke on his wrist. Sylus scratches the crow’s chin affectionately before fixing him with a serious, crimson stare. “Keep an eye on her,” he implores.
Said crow hops from his wrist onto the side of the bed near your face, and in his way, he signals to Sylus that you’ll be left in good hands. Or wings.
With a final sigh, Sylus peels himself from the bedside chair. Stuffs his hands in his pockets, sparing one final look at your snoozing figure from over his shoulder. He can’t help how his lips twitch, something like affection warming his veins as he stands in the doorframe.
He exits the penthouse, down the elevator shaft, and through the stilled halls of Lux. Dumps himself into the balmy arms of the summery night.
There’s still unfinished business to attend to, and now that he knows where Fate’s stronghold is, he figures he’ll pay an old friend a much-needed visit.
And maybe teach him a thing or two about stealing from The Devil.
#limerence series#sylus x reader#sylus x you#love and deepspace#love and deepspace sylus#lnds sylus#sylus qin#sylus#sylus angst#lads x reader#lads sylus#l&ds sylus#lnds x reader#lnds x you#l&ds x reader#lnds fanfic#lads fanfic#qin che
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✩ Take Care .
✩ logan ‘wolverine’ howlett x mutant!femreader
hate is a strong word, but not stronger than the feelings you have for him.
✩ tags: sexual tension, enemies to lovers (?), mentions of blood, you and Logan both get hurt, passionate sex, creampies, logan has nightmares, rough sex, etc…
note: nightmare scene heavily inspired by the first x-men movie with rogue and logan. cr: plutism for divider <3!
“Did you hear? Ms. Y/N slapped Mr. Logan in front of her whole class!”
“I heard that he called her a bitch. I don’t know, that seems deserved.”
“Those two are definitely in love with each other. I don’t even have to use my powers to know.” Professor Xavier shook his head as he wheeled by a group of students, talking about his two hard headed staff members; who can’t seem to get along. At least that’s what they’ve been trying to claim.
Being a telepath has its perks, but it also has its disadvantages, and right now the professor wished he couldn’t read people’s minds. As he rolled into the science class, he wasn’t surprise3: to see the two of you there—keeping distance from one another.
“I’ve been hearing a lot about you two.” Charles announced, causing the two of you to look at each other, an eye roll from you while Logan groaned. Using his telepathy, the professor closed the classroom door; rolling closer to you both.
“Why are we here, Charles.” Logan spoke, getting ready to light his cigar—however you swiped it out of his mouth, using your powers. He shot you and look and the two of you began to bicker, but that immediately ended as the Professor got into your heads; silencing you both.
“Sorry professor..” You mumbled and the old man nodded his head.
“This is the third time the two of you had got into a fight, not counting the ones off school grounds. You two are teachers, adults better yet, and you two are setting a bad example for the kids.” Even though he didn’t look angry as he spoke, it was evident that the Professor was. It was hard for you both to look him in the eyes, he was disappointed with you two.
“If the two of you don’t clean up your acts and realize the truth behind your feelings for each other, then I’m going to put you both on leave; until I deem fit.” The Professor turned and wheeled himself out, not bothering to hear an explanation from either of you—since he made himself clear.
You turned to look at Logan, his hazel eyes on yours before he turned away—following after the professor’s steps, leaving you alone. You sighed and began to clean up your classroom, Xavier’s words replaying in your head; especially what he meant about your feelings. ‘Did you actually hate Logan?’
That question played in your mind for the next couple of weeks, wondering what were your true feelings for him. The two of you stayed out of each other’s way, taking the Professor’s words seriously; you two couldn’t afford to get into another fight.
The only time you two saw each other is during x-men meetings or as you passed each other in the hall way. It was for the best and everyone could see the change, especially Charles.
However, things took a turn during one night in the mansion…
It was real late in the night, almost everyone was asleep; except for you. You had just got out of the shower, a silver colored towel wrapped around your nude body—excess water dripping off of you as you rummaged through your closet for something to sleep in. Settling for an oversized t shirt, you slipped it over your head, tossing your towel on your vanity’s chair—before climbing into your bed, getting comfortable.
And as you reached over to turn off your lamp, your ears perked up to this low groaning, followed by some yelling. You rose an eyebrow and climbed out of bed, slipping on your slippers before coming out of your room, checking to see where that noise was coming from.
And as you followed the sounds, with it becoming louder as you approached, you found yourself outside of Logan’s room. With a soft knock, you entered and tip toed inside—the room covered in darkness, yet you could see the man writhing in his sleep. You frowned at the sight, it wasn’t uncommon for mutants to have nightmares about their pasts. However, seeing him like this hurt you and you walked over to the bed, lightly tapping him to wake him up from this terrible dream.
He continued to shake and mumble, his hands clenching the sheets below him and when you reached over once more—tapping him, he shot up from his bed; yelling—claws unsheathing and piercing your skin. You were stunned, mouth agape like you were going to scream, however nothing came out—you couldn’t.
And as Logan slowly came to, he had realized what he had done, his hazel eyes still wide like saucers—claws retracting back into his knuckles.
“Mr. Logan? Oh my—im going to get Ms. Grey!” A student who happened to hear everything, appeared in the room—shocked by the horrifying sight. You gasped and kept your eyes on Logan, before responding to the student, “No need, just go back to bed. I’m fine.”
Your healing factor had now kicked in and your wounds slowly started to close, the pain fading away as well. You turned your head and gave the student a smile, reassuring them once more. “I’m okay, really! You can go back to bed.” The kid looked over at you once more before nodding, retreating back to their room and leaving you two alone.
Turning back to Logan, his eyes had softened and he had grabbed your waist—staring at you.
“I’m sorry….I didn’t mean—“
“I know. You were just having a nightmare.” You cut him off and gave him a smile small before he pulled away, getting up from his bed and grabbing a t-shirt from his dresser—tossing it over to you. “Since i ruined yours…”
You smiled once more and turned in your heels, headed for the door before you felt his hand on your wrist, pulling you back.
“Stay with me….if that’s alright with you?” His voice was soft, just like his eyes. There was something about this that made your heart swell, so you nodded your head and dipped into his adjoining bathroom—changing out of your bloody t-shirt, into the clean one that he had given you—which smelled like him. Warm and musky, with hints of spice. It was comfortable.
Reappearing from the bathroom, you saw Logan lying on his bed, looking up at the ceiling until his eyes fell onto you. You gave him as soft smile, before climbing into bed with him, creating a distance between you two as you stayed on one side of the bed.
It was quiet as you laid there, trying your hardest to sleep, however it was just too cold. You shivered and tucked yourself further under the blanket, yet it still wasn’t enough. You looked over at Logan, his hazel eyes closed, and scooted over towards him—his body heat radiating off of him and warming you up. He felt you next to him and he didn’t protest or push you off—instead he pulled you closer and wrapped his arm around you, relaxing into his spot.
And after a few minutes, you could hear him snoring, sound asleep once again. You sighed and closed your eyes, drifting off to sleep in the comfort of his arms.
From that day on, everything changed for you.
You had found yourself in his room almost every night, sleeping in the bed with him, arms around each other; having the best sleep of your lives. He didn’t mind it either. You would find him awake every time, almost like he was waiting to fall asleep with you.
And in the afternoon, during your breaks, he would treat you to lunch. Sometimes you guys would eat at the academy, other times he would take you for a ride into the city, buying you something to eat out there.
Almost like your perception of each had changed and you weren’t going to question it. You liked it and deep down you knew he did too. But, there was something about this that had your heart thumping and skipping a beat. Is this what the Professor meant? Was the truth behind the hatred really something else?
Those questions scrambled in your mind and as you entered Logan’s bedroom, your heart caught in your throat. The sight that was plagued upon you was shocking, Logan and another woman in his bed—kissing each other. “Oh.” You let out, startling the two.
The woman parted from him and excused herself out of his room, brushing past you as you stood near his doorway. You kept your eyes on him, a million emotions running through your body as his demeanor changed, standing up and coming close to you.
“Look, I don’t need a fucking babysitter and im damn sure not your boyfriend. You’re fucking suffocating me!” His words were harsh and eat one felt like a personal slap to the face. You could feel your eyes watering and you bit the inside of your cheek to stop your tears from falling. After all the things the two of you said to one another, this was one of the worst.
“You’re a dick. Go to fucking hell!” You stormed out of his room, tears falling down your face—head tense from thoughts of him; and you soon realized what Charles meant. Without using your powers to connect with the Professor, you knew he was listening to your thoughts anyway—shaking his head as he listened to your heartbroken mind. He was disappointed, especially in Logan.
Days turned into nights and nights turned into days as time went on, the two of you never interacting with each other. You passed by each other like two stranger’s on the street and evens thought the two of you worked together—that didn’t mean you needed to interact with one another.
You did your best to avoid him, during team missions you made sure to be paired with someone else and if you were paired with him; you would handle the mission practically on your own. When it was real late at night and you went into the mansion’s kitchen for a snack, and saw him there, you would quickly grab whatever you were looking for and headed to your room—never acknowledging him.
You even went as far as getting a set of ear plugs so you wouldn’t hear him at night. You were done with him. You focused on yourself, your teaching and trainings—riding him of your mind.
As you sat in your class after the last one, grading papers, Charles entered, catching your attention. You smiled at him, but from the look on his face you knew something was wrong. Using your telepathy powers, you listened to his thoughts, your facial expression changing by the second.
You shook your head and stacked your papers together, “He can go to hell and back, Professor. I don’t wanna hear about him.” The older man wheeled closer to you, and placed his soft hand onto yours, a half smile on his face.
“I’ve read his mind, he thinks about you a lot. He’s been miserable with out you, ever since that night.”
“Yeah? Well that his problem, im not the one pushing people away. Im not the one who’s scared of letting people in! Im not the one who’s not scared to admit how they feel!” You yelled, heart thumping out of your chest; overwhelmed with emotions.
“And how do you feel?” Charles inquired and your eyes widened, but before you were able to respond a cloud of blue smoke appeared in the room; allowing Kurt to pass through—a frantic look on his face.
“Professor! Come quick, Logan’s been hurt! He isn’t regenerating and he’s not waking up!” The sound of his voice along with the news, made your heart drop to your stomach. You quickly grabbed onto Xavier’s chair and teleported with both him and Kurt, appearing in the academy’s infirmary. Your eyes widened once you laid sight on him, his half naked body hooked up to wires and machinery, while Jean and Hank worked on him—trying to find anything to get the male up.
Your eyes were filled with tears as you ran over to the table, looking at every wound he had, heart breaking by the second. You cupped his face and sobbed, at that very moment you weren’t afraid to admit how you felt. You were in love with him. Deeply in love with, Logan.
“Fix him! Please!” You begged Jean and Hank, watching them trying to repair his body; but the wounds were deep and without his regenerative factor—nothing would heal.
“We’re trying, but he doesn’t seem to be there either. Like his mind isn’t conscious—I can’t connect with him telepathically,” Jean spoke, patching his bloody body with gauze, hoping to soak up everything.
By now, tears poured out of your eyes as you looked at his lifeless body, “How did this happen?” You asked, eyes never leaving Logan’s body.
“He was on a mission. His car flipped multiple times—totaling everything, injuring him gravely.” Charles explain and you blinked out tears, cupping his face, before you turned back over to the Professor. “Have you tried to tap into his mind?”
“I have, but it’s like he’s not letting me in…I think you should give it a go.” Charles suggested and you took a look at Logan, leaning down to kiss his temple—taking in his musky scent before placing your hand onto his forehead and closing your eyes.
‘Let me in Logan’ You whispered, before you heard his voice in your mind.
‘Princess, is that you?’ His deep voice asked, the nickname making you melt, before you continued.
‘It’s me. I need you to wake up for me okay?’
‘I fucked up, Y/N. I hurt you….fuck im such a dick’ The hurt in his voice made your heart pang, while more tears left your closed eyes:
‘I know baby, but you have to wake up for me. Okay?’ You didn’t hear a reply back, however you were quickly shot out of mind, hearing him groan out in pain as he finally returned back to his body. His wounds started to close up, stopping his crimson red blood from pouring out. Logan’s hazel eyes connected with yours and he started to pull out the wires in his body.
“Wait Logan! You shouldn’t—“ Hank was cut off when he seen the wolf like male reach over and pull you into a kiss—a deep and passionate one.
“I think we should give these two some privacy.” Charles suggested, with everyone agreeing and following him out of the infirmary. The two of you stayed just like that, kissing each other, lips melting onto one another’s—making your heart swell. And as he pulled away from your addictive, plump lips, a spit trail followed; which you happily slurped up.
Logan pulled you close, ignoring the soreness in his body, arms wrapping around your waist—while his head lied on your shoulder, “I fucked up, I ended up hurting you twice…all because I couldn’t say I Love You.”
You were quick to pull back from him, scanning his face for any misconceptions, however his face remained the same; and you kissed him once more—hand reaching up to tug on his hair, eliciting a growl from him. His huge hand traveled from your hips to your ass, giving the fat a nice squeeze through your skirt, making you whine.
“Could smell you the moment I kissed you. I should’ve known how needy you’d be~” You whimpered as his hand trailed under your skirt, ghosting your soaked panties—eyeing you like you were his prey. “Please…Logan~”
“Please what, princess?” He began to rub you through your panties, your slick seeping through and onto his digits. You moaned softly, looking at him with low lidded eyes, “Please, fuck me.” A smirk etched on his face, pulling you into a kiss before he pulled your panties to the side and started to toy on your clit.
His fingers worked numbers on your swollen bud, pinching it and rubbing it in circular motions, making you whine in the sloppy kiss he was giving you. He pulled away from your lips, thick fingers now inside of your aching hole—pumping in and out of it; stretching your walls.
You were in pure bliss, you had yearned for this for some time and now you were getting your wish fulfilled. “Don’t tease me, Lo’~”
“Gotta prep you. Need you to take all of me, princess.” He pulled his fingers from your pussy, a whimper escaping, before he tore your button’s off your top and pulled your skirt off—eyes glued to your navy blue matching set; his favorite color.
You watched him, hunger in your eyes while he undid your bra; your plump breasts falling—nipples standing at attention just for him. The more you watched him take his time with your body, undressing you, the more needy and impatient you became; causing you to take matters in your own hands.
Using your powers, you pushed his back onto the infirmary’s bed, catching him by surprise; eyes locked on your body as you climbed onto of him; hovering right over his crotch. You moved the white blanket, mouth watering at the sight of his heavy cock—cunt becoming more slick with arousal when you grabbed it at the base and eased it into your entrance.
He was just as big as he looked, fatter too, as he stretched your pussy to fit around him—clinging to him like a glove. “Fuck, would’ve been an idiot to give this up,” Logan cursed, big hands clinging to your hips—pushing you all the way down on his length; filling you to the brim. You didn’t bother to try and get used to his size, instead you began to grind and bounce on his dick—tension building in your core; a whine slipping from your lips.
“Slow down, princess. Don’t want you hurting yourself.” You shook your head and continued your movements, tip rubbing against your sensitive spot.
“Need to cum on your cock right now.~” your lewd words, along with the squelching from your cunt, had Logan bucking his hips up to match your movements—allowing a louder, sexier moan to escape from your mouth. “Right there, bub. Sit there and take it.” He pushed your back down, closing the gap between you two and proceeded to drill your pussy.
You were a moaning mess, face on his hairy chest, drool spilling out the sides of your mouth and the coolness form his dog tags stabilizing your body temperature—while he proceeded to make it rise with each stroke.
You were taking it like a good girl, the bubble im your stomach at its peak, seconds away from bursting—you craved the pending orgasm. “G’na cum! Please please please—I love you!” Lips crashing onto one another, his cock twitching; craving a release as well.
“Cum for me….” His tone had came off like a beg and you couldn’t hold it anymore, your walls clung onto him—spasming like crazy, creaming all over his fat dick. Logan watched as you came undone, the pretty mewls and moans were a perfect melody to his ears, perfect enough to help him cum—buckets—into your womb.
He let out grunts, thick ropes of cum pouring inside of you—filling you up while you rode out your high. Your legs shook while he continued to thrust underneath you, bottoming out into your cunt.
And just like earlier, as Charles sat outside the infirmary’s doors, he shook his head—wondering why out of all the mutant powers in the world, he was stuck with telepathy. He unfortunately heard everything, including the two of you going for round two.
However, he was happy the two of you finally got together—his two favorite mutants.
#wolverine x mutant reader#wolverine x you#wolverine x reader#wolverine smut#xmen wolverine#logan howlett x you#logan howlett xmen#logan howlett smut#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett#Logan howlett x mutant reader#wolverine x female reader#xmen logan#xmen
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Like a Villain: KWON JI-YONG x READER
summary: you get invited for a cameo in infinity challenge's muhan company segment, playing a rival character to your boyfriends' and the on-screen chemistry is undeniable.
word count: 3284
tags: fluff; flirting, teasing, tension (in a good way)
ao3 link

The set of Muhan Company is as lively as ever—staff members adjusting the lighting, cameras rolling in place, and the cast running through their lines with a mix of focus and playful chaos. Ji-yong, dressed in his iconic grey suit, leans against the director’s chair, his usual calm and collected demeanor in place. He’s used to this by now. Variety shows, scripted comedy, rolling with the unexpected—it’s all second nature. Even playing a company worker caught up in absurd business scandals feels almost normal. Today should be no different. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.
“Your rival’s coming in soon,” one of the writers tells him, flipping through the script. “Should be a good scene—intense, dramatic, real high stakes.”
Ji-yong just hums in response, nodding absentmindedly. He knows you’ll be playing his on-screen rival today, but it’s nothing he’s not prepared for. He’s watched you act before, seen the way you fully embody a role. It’ll be fun—maybe even a little challenging, but nothing that could shake him.
Then, you walk onto the set, and everything changes.
You’re dressed in a sleek, perfectly tailored suit, exuding confidence with every step in your matching designer heels that click against the floor. The kind of presence that turns heads and demands attention. The kind of presence that makes it hard to remember this is all scripted.
Ji-yong swallows, watching as you adjust your cuffs, completely unfazed by the way all eyes subtly shift toward you. His jaw tightens when you finally look up, meeting his gaze with that same sharp glint you always get when you know you have the upper hand.
“Ready, Mr. Kwon?” You ask smoothly, voice dripping with challenge.
He shifts in his seat, his fingers pressing into his palm before he exhales through his nose, forcing himself to stay composed. “Always,” he replies, keeping his tone cool, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression—something the cameras aren’t rolling for yet.
“Look at him. He’s already breaking character.” Someone chuckles to themself behind you, and you can’t help but smile at the comment.
“No, I’m not.” Ji-yong says immediately, clearing his throat. He turns his focus back to the script in his hands, but the words blur for a moment.
You smirk, knowing exactly what you’re doing to him. “I can’t wait to see how this plays out… try to keep up, sir.”
He exhales a small laugh, shaking his head. “You just worry about yourself.”
Ji-yong sits at his desk, a picture of composed authority. His fitted suit is crisp, his tie impeccably knotted, every inch of him exuding the effortless charisma that made him the perfect choice for this role. One hand rests idly on the desk, fingers drumming a slow, thoughtful rhythm. The other holds a pen he isn’t using, simply twirling it between his fingers as he surveys the room with an expression of calculated disinterest. It’s all part of the act, of course. His character, the ruthless department head, doesn’t flinch—doesn’t need to. No matter the crisis, he remains in control.
But then, the door opens. The click of your shoes against the tile is the only sound that follows, sharp and deliberate, cutting through the quiet like a blade. The weight of your presence is immediate, an unspoken authority settling over the room.
Ji-yong’s fingers still against the desk.
You don’t just walk in—you command the space, the subtle tailored lines of your suit precise, every movement purposeful. There’s no hesitation in the way you carry yourself, no uncertainty. You take your time, surveying the room, gaze dragging over every inch of the office before finally landing on him.
He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. But beneath the surface, his pulse flickers—just for a second, just enough that you would notice. Your lips curve into the faintest smirk.
There’s no real question in your tone—only amusement, edged with something sharper. “I expected something… bigger.”
The silence that follows is thick, suffocating. The rest of the office remains unnervingly still. No one moves, no one reacts. If anyone so much as breathes too loudly, it isn’t heard. Ji-yong watches you carefully, his expression unreadable. Then, with excruciating slowness, he leans forward, resting his forearms against the desk. His gaze is steady, unwavering.
“And you are?”
You tilt your head slightly, considering him.
“Oh? Didn’t they tell you?” A pause. Then, a slow, deliberate step forward. “I’m your new competition.”
Another beat of silence.
Ji-yong’s jaw tightens, almost imperceptibly. The weight of your words settles over the room like a storm rolling in—slow, inevitable. But he exhales steadily, barely a flicker of emotion on his face as he tilts his head slightly. “Competition?” His lips curve into something between a smirk and a scoff. “That’s funny.”
With practiced ease, he leans back, regaining every ounce of the power you dared to shift in your favor. “I don’t remember asking for one.”
“Good thing for you, I’m already here.”
The space between you is minimal now.
Ji-yong’s fingers flex against the desk, his grip tightening for the briefest second before he smooths it over. The air between you crackles—charged, almost unbearable in its weight.
A pause.
Then, your voice drops, just for him.
“What’s wrong?” You murmur, tilting your head ever so slightly. A smirk plays at your lips, your next words a dangerous whisper. “You look nervous.”
Something sharp flickers behind Ji-yong’s gaze.
A challenge.
The silence stretches, suffocating in its intensity. No one moves. No one speaks. The weight of the moment presses down on the room, thick with something unspoken yet entirely unmistakable. Then—
Ji-yong exhales sharply through his nose, something between amusement and frustration ghosting over his expression. But he doesn’t break. Instead, he matches your smirk, slow and deliberate.
“Me? Nervous?” A soft chuckle, low and dangerous. He shakes his head. “You must not know me very well.”
“I guess I’ll just have to fix that.”
The moment lingers for a fraction longer—an unbearable stretch of tension before the director finally calls, “Cut.”
Only then does the office seem to breathe again. Ji-yong exhales, leaning back into his chair fully, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of the scene. His gaze flickers to you, unreadable. You? You simply smile. Unbothered. Unshaken. And Ji-yong knows, without a doubt—this is going to be very interesting.
You stand across from Ji-yong, the tension from the previous scene still lingering like a spark in the air, waiting to ignite. The office setting around you—the stark desks, the bland overhead lighting—feels almost suffocating in its normalcy, unable to contain the electricity humming between you.
Ji-yong plays his role flawlessly. Seated at his desk, he exudes effortless dominance, one leg crossed over the other, fingers resting loosely against the polished wood. His suit remains pristine, but there’s something different now—a tautness in his shoulders, a glint in his eyes that betrays the otherwise cool exterior.
The lines between fiction and reality blur as you step closer. Your character—his rival, his equal—moves with the same unwavering confidence as before, but this time, there's an unmistakable shift in your approach. The challenge remains, but now, it simmers with something more dangerous, something almost indulgent.
You place both hands on the desk, leaning in just enough to invade his space. He doesn’t flinch. But you see the way his fingers tighten against the surface, the minuscule shift in his expression. A slow inhale, controlled but deliberate.
“You seem tense,” you murmur, your voice smooth, edged with amusement. “Having trouble keeping up?”
His gaze flickers to your lips for a fraction of a second. Almost imperceptible—almost. The room is silent, but the weight of a dozen unseen eyes presses down, watching, waiting.
Ji-yong tilts his head, his smirk lazy, his amusement practiced. “You think very highly of yourself.”
You let out a quiet chuckle, shaking your head as if to say you have no idea. Then, ever so slightly, you push forward—close enough that if either of you moved an inch, the lines between character and reality would blur beyond recognition. Ji-yong doesn’t move back. You swear you hear a chair creak somewhere in the background. The air between you tightens, stretches—until—
“Uh… am I interrupting something?”
The moment is shattered by the next scripted interruption. A nervous employee clears his throat from the doorway, shifting awkwardly as if he’s walked into something he shouldn’t have. The tension breaks, but not entirely.
Ji-yong exhales slowly, a faint chuckle escaping him as he finally leans back, reclaiming his space. He doesn’t break eye contact, though. If anything, he holds it longer than necessary, as if memorizing every detail of the expression you wear now—your smirk, the unspoken dare in your eyes.
“Not at all,” he finally says, voice smooth but laced with something unreadable. “We were just finishing up.”
But something about the way he says it feels far from finished.
The director calls cut again, and for a moment, no one moves. The weight of the scene lingers in the air like static before the set finally exhales, the background noise rushing back in all at once—crew members adjusting cameras, staff murmuring as they prepare for the next shot. Ji-yong exhales, running a hand over his jaw before finally looking at you again.
There’s a flicker of something behind his eyes—something unspoken but unmistakable.
“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” He murmurs low enough that only you can hear.
Your lips curve into an infuriatingly slow smile. “A little,” you admit, tilting your head. “Why? Are you?”
Ji-yong doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he simply shakes his head, amusement flickering across his features before he exhales through his nose. And then, just before the next take begins, he smirks to himself and steps off to the side. He’s no longer in frame, but he can’t take his eyes off you.
The scene unfolding in front of him is a power play—one designed with precision, meant to shift the balance in your character’s favor. And you? You step into it like you were born for this role. The office space has transformed. No longer a dull, fluorescent-lit wasteland of mundane bureaucracy, it now bends around you, molding itself to accommodate your presence. The weight of your authority is unmistakable as you stroll toward the center of the room, shoulders relaxed, chin tilted just enough to exude effortless control.
Then, without looking, you reach into the pocket of your tailored coat and pull out a cigarette.
He watches as the room reacts. There’s no hesitation. The moment you bring the cigarette to your lips, workers scramble. Someone nearly trips over a desk in their rush to grab a lighter. Another fumbles with a matchbox, hands shaking slightly as they strike it against the strip. You don’t acknowledge them, don’t even spare them a glance—just stand there, perfectly composed, waiting.
The first flame flickers to life, but before it can reach you, another worker shoves a sleek silver lighter forward, the polished metal catching the artificial light. The first one withdraws immediately, wordless in their defeat.
Your eyes flicker downward—just slightly—before you lean in, allowing the flame to kiss the end of the cigarette. You take your time, inhaling slowly, the ember glowing brighter, smoke curling at the edges of your lips before you exhale in a slow, unbothered stream.
The entire set is holding its breath.
Ji-yong’s jaw tightens. He swallows, watching the way you angle your head, the way your fingers rest lightly against the cigarette as you shift your weight, draping yourself against the edge of a desk like you own the place. And maybe, in this moment, you do.
You glance across the room, surveying the office workers with the detached amusement of someone who knows they’re untouchable. Then, with practiced ease, you remove the cigarette from your lips, tapping the ash into an abandoned coffee mug on someone’s desk—utterly indifferent to the stunned silence that follows.
Ji-yong lets out a slow breath. It’s annoying, really. The way you slip so effortlessly into this role, the way you command attention without a single wasted movement. The way the tension builds around you like a slow-burning fuse, pulling everyone into your orbit. It’s annoying. But it’s also—
“Cut!”
The director’s voice shatters the moment, and the crew finally exhales, the tension dispersing as staff members move in to reset the scene. Laughter bubbles up somewhere in the background—staff murmuring about how intense the moment was, how natural you made it look.
Ji-yong doesn’t laugh.
He just watches as you step out of character, rolling your shoulders before stretching your arms overhead, the cigarette now discarded. You say something to one of the stylists, something lighthearted, and they laugh as they adjust your coat.
And then—
As if sensing the weight of his stare, you turn. Your gaze meets his across the room, and for a split second, something passes between you. Something heavy. Something unspoken. Then, your lips curve into a slow, knowing smirk.
Ji-yong exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head before dropping his gaze. Annoying. Absolutely annoying. But damn if it doesn’t make his pulse quicken.
The shoot stretches on, scene after scene unfolding like an intricate game of chess, each move calculated but never predictable. Ji-yong finds himself locked in an unspoken battle—not just between the characters but something deeper, something that lingers even when the cameras cut. The rivalry dynamic is perfect. Too perfect. With every take, you slip further into character, wielding power and confidence like second nature. Your presence commands every scene, your movements sharp and deliberate, your words laced with something just sharp enough to sting but smooth enough to feel dangerous. The cameras adore it, capturing every flicker of intensity between you and Ji-yong, every slow glance, every near-imperceptible smirk exchanged between battles of wit.
And Ji-yong? He gives as good as he gets. His character is arrogant, slick with confidence, but there’s a tension beneath the surface, a tight coil that threatens to snap every time you step closer. Every time you invade his space, tilt your head, let a slow, knowing smile curl your lips just enough to challenge him.
The others play their roles well, reacting to the dynamic without overstepping, their silence amplifying the tension between you both. There are no remarks from the other cast members, no teasing from the production team—just the quiet, collective awareness that something is happening. Something charged. Something addictive.
The pacing of the shoot is relentless, jumping from power plays to verbal sparring, from stolen glances to high-stakes confrontations. You throw accusations like knives; Ji-yong dodges them with a smirk but never unscathed. The push and pull is intoxicating, an unbreakable rhythm that builds with each take.
“That’s a wrap!”
The room exhales all at once. Crew members shuffle to power down equipment, stylists and managers step in to check on their talents, and the once-cloaked tension finally lifts—at least, for everyone else.
Ji-yong, however, stays where he is. He watches as you shake hands with the director, exchanging words of gratitude before slipping seamlessly back into yourself—your character melting away with an easy stretch of your shoulders, a relaxed sigh of relief. It’s such a stark contrast to the commanding presence you carried mere minutes ago that it’s almost disorienting. Almost. But not quite.
You turn, scanning the room, and your gaze locks onto his instantly yet again. And there it is again—that unspoken thing, that electric current that hasn’t fully let go.
He tilts his head slightly, arms still crossed as he leans back against one of the desks, watching, waiting.
You, on the other hand, have the audacity to smile. Not the slow, knowing smirks from earlier. Not the sharp, calculated ones you wielded like a weapon throughout the shoot. No—this one is softer, more playful, almost as if you’re amused by the way he’s still lingering, still watching. As if you expected it. Slowly, you make your way over, casual, unhurried—like you have all the time in the world.
“You survived,” you remark, voice light but tinged with something teasing as you come to a stop in front of him.
Ji-yong huffs a quiet laugh through his nose, finally uncrossing his arms. “Barely.”
Your smile widens. “You looked like you were having fun.”
He exhales, running a hand over his jaw as he lets his eyes flicker over you—still dressed in your tailored outfit, still carrying the remnants of that razor-sharp confidence.
And then, after a beat, he shakes his head, lips curling just slightly. “You’re dangerous.”
It’s not an accusation. It’s not even a complaint. It’s a fact. One you both know all too well.
Your laughter is quiet but unmistakable as you lean in just a fraction—close enough that only he can hear when you murmur, “You seem to like it.”
He doesn’t answer right away. He just watches you for a second longer, lets the weight of the day settle between you before finally—finally—he exhales, shaking his head as he lets a slow, exasperated smile break through.
“Annoyingly so.”
And with that, the spell is broken.
The set continues to wind down, the world slowly pulling you both back into reality. But even as stylists and staff begin ushering you away, even as managers call for Ji-yong’s attention elsewhere, that lingering energy between you remains.
By the time you and Ji-yong leave the set, the internet is already on fire. It starts with a single clip—just a short, seemingly harmless teaser from one of the camera operators who uploads a behind-the-scenes moment to social media. Just a glimpse of the intense back-and-forth between you and Ji-yong, the smirks, the near-touch, the weight of every unscripted glance.
And that’s all it takes.
Within an hour, it’s trending. Fans are losing their minds. The fan edits start rolling in at an alarming speed. Dramatic black-and-white gifs, slowed-down clips with sultry background music, captioned screenshots dissecting every microexpression between you and Ji-yong. Someone even edits a fake movie trailer, cutting your scenes together as if the two of you are the leads in a high-stakes corporate thriller with a dangerously romantic subplot.
Ji-yong sees all of it. Judging by the way his phone has been vibrating non-stop, so has everyone else.
The moment you both step into the back of the car, leaving the studio behind, he exhales dramatically, tossing his phone onto the seat beside him before turning to you.
“Do you see what you’ve done?” His voice is somewhere between exasperation and amusement.
You glance at your own phone, scrolling through the chaos with a barely concealed smile. “Me? I did this?”
“You know what you did.”
“The people have spoken. They liked it.”
“Liked it? They’re acting like we’re starring in a whole new drama piece.”
You laugh, scrolling through the comments. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
He side-eyes you, lips twitching. “You enjoyed this way too much.”
“Maybe.” You shrug, turning to him with a knowing smile. “You did too.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he watches you, the city lights flashing past the window, reflecting off your skin in golden streaks. After a beat, he exhales, shaking his head as he leans back against the seat, voice low and teasing.
“Dangerous.”
“Annoyingly so?”
Ji-yong sighs, throws his arm over your shoulder to pull you closer, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple before murmuring against your skin, “…Definitely.”

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @mattsturniolosbabymama @redhoodedtoad @bettelaboure @cinnamonbear22 @xxxicddbr88 @infinetlyforgotten @babygirlewis @loveesiren @tulentiy @babyrvis @ldydeath @wcnderlands @eru-vande @breakmeoff @petersasteria @aizshallnotbefound @allthoughtsmindfull
#bigbang#bigbang x reader#kwon jiyong#kwon jiyong x reader#gdragon#gdragon x reader#ao3 writer#fic writer#ao3 link#muhan company#infinity challenge
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two-part something (shouto x reader)
wc: 1.3k
contains: christmas, holiday parties, santa, mid-20's pro-hero!shouto x assistant!reader
full fic sequel: three-part honesty
a/n: just a lil writing exercise on shouto! first time writing him hehe

shouto’s late to his agency’s holiday party tonight.
he breathes out, warmth floating as white puffs from his lips. the heating system on his office floor has been turned off, subtext directed solely to him: whoever’s here today, at this time, shouldn’t be.
his fingers move deftly around his waist, routinary—utility belt unbuckling as he reaches his desk.
the venue for tonight is on one of the lower floors—a function room where briefings and press conferences are normally held. the number of attendees has grown compared to last year’s, sidekicks doubling and staff tripling; expected, given the agency’s projected growth next quarter.
this is the agency’s third move since humble days in a rented studio unit (one shouto stubbornly and adamantly paid for fully, on his own), but one thing’s invariably stayed the same—
shouto’s office has always existed in its own space, whether tucked in a corner or spread out over an entire floor.
and wherever that space is, so are you.
he settles in his seat, leather creaking as he twists to stretch his back. it’s been a long night, being dispatched earlier for an emergency downtown. his hand reaches for the folder on his desk, fingers swiping to release the yellow paper clip on the far left corner—evidence of your presence.
since being hired as his assistant five years ago, you’ve devised a system for shouto that he now deems essential to keeping his entire agency afloat. his own urgency for paperwork hinges on the color of your paper clips (blue for next month, green for next week, yellow for tomorrow, and red for now).
he should listen to you; the details of this evening’s take-down can be set aside for tomorrow—tomorrow, when everyone’s allowed to clock-in midday for the sake of tonight’s festivities. knowing you though, you’ll still show up early, if only to go over his desk, ensuring to swap that yellow paper clip for red.
if he finishes this now, you won’t need to ensure anything; in all the years you’ve been his first and only assistant–a perfect match for how much of a workaholic he is–you might actually opt to sleep in for once.
besides, it’s more productive if he gets it over with; crimes and mishaps never take breaks to party, after all—even during the holidays.
that’s what he’ll tell you, at least.
the party’s more for everyone else than him, anyway.
he clicks his pen, letting out another puff of warm air as he spreads the document in front of him:
page 1: basic information. identification details, time markers, a summary of the take-down.
page 2: breakdown of events. scene-by-scene, additional comments, a two-beat knock on his door.
then comes your voice, soft, unsure—
“sir?”
—before you step inside, heels clicking against the natural stone finish of his office floor.
he looks up, wide-eyed, piercing gray and blue.
your gaze flits to the papers in front of him, eyebrows scrunching before you sigh. there’s an all-too-familiar smile on your face, a quiet chuckle brought about by how characteristic it is of him to be in this situation right now.
“sir, that report is tagged yellow.”
he shifts, looking at your paper clip; without a word, the leather of his seat crinkles again. it’s like this with shouto sometimes, you’ve come to learn: a non-response is a response on its own.
when his eyes meet yours, you shiver.
goosebumps litter the sides of your arms, the decision to forego your blazer leaving yourself exposed to the chill of tonight’s office air. you try to hide it, but some things are impossible to keep from shouto.
of course he notices your jaw quivering.
“are you cold?” he stands up immediately, already moving halfway out from behind his desk.
“i’m okay, sir,” you stop him just as quickly, hands motioning for him to stay where he is.
two beats of silence find him tilting his head, gaze as intense as it’s always been pointed towards you.
“shouto.”
“pardon, sir?” you step closer, leaning forward.
“call me shouto.”
the red fabric in your hand almost slips from your hold.
this isn’t the first time shouto’s insisted on you using his name—he offered it up the moment he hired you, and the day you searched store after store for his thrifted leather chair during the agency’s second move; he’s suggested it plenty over the years, a casual reminder that it’s no big deal—if the world can call him shouto, so should you.
pro-hero shouto, top three in the charts.
pro-hero shouto, late to his agency’s holiday party because of paperwork—his tendency to be a workaholic.
pro-hero shouto, asking you to call him shouto, but not in the way the world does.
his eyes don’t leave yours as you blink, swallowing down your feelings (inappropriate, you tell yourself).
“shouto.” you repeat.
he nods slightly, a small, imperceptible lift to the corners of his lips. there’s an awkward pause as he looks down to the papers on his desk then up at you again.
“the party,” you clear your throat, smoothing out the fabric between your fingers, “you’re running late to your own party, si–shouto.”
he tilts his head again, confused, “is this party not for everyone else?”
you blink—he’s got you there.
“i guess that’s true,” you sigh, chuckling. a pause, “that report is still yellow, though.”
blue and gray land on white, bond papers spread out on his desk. he could argue with you, but where has that ever gotten him? you’ve kept him in check for years—it’s how he’s managed to stay on top of things.
he looks down at his jumpsuit, the same shade of blue since he was 15. not much has changed with the design of his hero suit, just an overall sleeker design fit to match his age. the utility belt still exists, albeit more compact and less clunky; a similar modification was done to the straps that run down the sides of his chest.
if anything, the biggest change is how the suit has molded around him—shoulders more defined, arms large enough for the fabric to cling onto it. shouto’s build has always been lean, but the areas of defined muscle stick out more evidently now that he’s older, much taller and wider.
“i don’t have a costume.” he pouts.
you grin, stepping closer to his desk, hips digging into the edge. the red santa hat unfurls from your hands as you wave it in front of him—a perfect match to the shades of his hair.
he blinks before you catch it, the slight curve of his lips as he leans forward, dipping his head low enough for you to reach the top of it. you tiptoe just a bit when you open up the hat to place it over his head.
you’re gentle with your touch, fingers running through the strands of his hair lightly; you tuck them neatly underneath the fluffy white rim of the santa hat.
(it’s warmer near him, you notice—his quirk regulating a circumference of heat around himself that extends to you right now, you know. but you’re confident you’d still feel your own version of it–on your cheeks, down your neck–even if he weren’t).
the hat sits perfectly atop his head, much like anything else that’s on him. when you lean back, moving away to take a better look, you notice it—
midnight blue, the backdrop on shouto’s floor-to-ceiling windows, littered with speckles of white—the first snowfall, and one you stand in awe of.
—gasping at the sight.
you’re still so near when your eyes light up, zeroing in on the view behind him. you can’t help it, that smile on your face, bright and pretty, he thinks; it’s a short moment, but he feels it, a two-part ‘ba-dump’ that resounds in his heartbeat.

a/n: they thrift the chair bc it's real leather so buying a new one is just no-no + he texts natsuo otw home after the party that he feels a bit funny! (it's just his feelings 😭)

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡
#shouto x reader#bnha x reader#todoroki x reader#shoto x reader#todoroki shouto x reader#mha x reader#todoroki shoto x reader#shoto todoroki x reader#shouto todoroki x reader#bnha#shotorus.workbook#sho
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Blinding Lights
Pairing: Dean x Reader
Summary: The annual trip to vegas, the city of all things sin and matrimony 👀
Word Count: 5.7k
Warnings/tags: Swearing, drinking, implied spicy times, friends to lovers, FLUFF.
Prompt: Accidental Marriage
AN: Yup, we're going there again 😅 the good ol' "friends to lovers". But hey sue me, it's an enjoyable trope 😜. This is another submission for my @jacklesversebingo card.
Main Masterlist
Bingo Masterlist

"Aha! Vegas, baby!"
"Hell yeah!"
Sam shook his head, an amused smile tugging at his lips as he watched the two of you practically vibrate with excitement as you stepped out of the car. It was the same every year—like clockwork. The second you and Dean set foot in Sin City; it was as if nothing else in the world existed.
Your eyes sparkled under the neon glow of the Vegas strip, reflecting the flashing lights of massive billboards advertising everything from world-class shows to all-you-can-eat buffets. The scent of warm asphalt mixed with the smoky, slightly stale air of the casinos. It was loud, chaotic, alive—and judging by the way you and Dean grinned at each other like kids on Christmas morning, it was exactly what you had been waiting for.
It had started years ago; a tradition Dean had set in stone after one particularly gruelling hunt. What was meant to be a one-time trip to blow off steam had somehow turned into an annual pilgrimage. A few days of indulgence, no monsters, no case files—just booze, gambling, and in Dean’s case, the occasional fling.
Sam wasn’t as wild about the whole scene as his brother, but he could appreciate the break. Maybe play a few hands of poker, enjoy the high-roller perks that occasionally came with hustling a few unsuspecting tourists. But what always caught him off guard was you.
If anything, you were just as bad as Dean—if not worse.
At first, it had been surprising. You’d always been a hell of a hunter, sharp as a knife, level-headed when it counted. But Vegas flipped a switch in you, and suddenly, you were throwing back shots like a seasoned pro, calling Dean’s bluff at the poker table, and somehow managing to charm casino staff into handing out free drinks like they were candy. The influence between the two of you was dangerous—borderline reckless—but damn if it wasn’t entertaining to watch.
Sam had seen you two fuel each other’s competitive streak before, but here? It was a whole new level. Whether it was betting on who could win the most at blackjack, seeing who could sweet-talk their way into VIP sections, or even just a ridiculous contest over who could score the best hotel suite upgrade—neither of you knew the meaning of ‘taking it easy.’
"Alright," Sam sighed, adjusting the strap of his duffel as he trailed behind you both. "Just… try not to get arrested this time, okay?"
Dean smirked, slinging an arm around your shoulders. "No promises, Sammy."
You shot Sam a wink. "Yeah, where’s the fun in that?"
Sam exhaled through his nose, already resigning himself to whatever chaos was about to unfold.
Vegas, man.
As soon as you stepped into your upgraded suite, you stretched your arms overhead, sighing in pure satisfaction. The room was gorgeous—high ceilings, sleek modern furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the Vegas Strip, glowing like a sea of neon under the night sky. The plush king-sized bed looked like something out of a five-star fantasy, and the sheer space alone made it feel like pure luxury compared to the standard motel rooms you were used to.
Dean, meanwhile, was still grumbling as he dropped his duffel onto the couch.
"Unbelievable," he muttered, looking around the room in awe and then shooting you a narrowed look. He was just pissy because you won the little competitive game of — ‘who could get the free upgrade’.
“Hey, I won this fair and square" you shrugged with a smug smile before plopping onto the bed with a dramatic sigh.
Dean scoffed, crossing his arms shooting Sam a look who just held up his hands like he wanted no part in it. “Fair my ass.”
You grinned, sitting up and tilting your head in mock innocence. “What? It’s not my fault the guy couldn’t stop staring at my tits."
"Yeah, because pulling down your top and leaning over the counter totally wasn’t planned." Dean shot back, rolling his eyes. You had to bite your lip from bursting out in laughter. Petty Dean was something else.
"Meanwhile, I actually had to use skill to negotiate. But nooo, all you had to do was flash some cleavage, bat your lashes, and boom—you’re living like royalty while Sammy and I are stuck in a standard-ass room.”
“Hey, don’t hate the player, hate the game,” you teased, then arched a brow. “Besides, you do realise you just confirmed the corruption and irony of the male hierarchy, right?”
Dean opened his mouth, then closed it. Blinked. Looked at Sam, who was failing miserably at hiding his laughter.
“Whatever,” Dean grumbled in defeat, muttering to himself, “still bullshit,” as he continued to nose around the room, clearly still sulking.
Once the boys left to go check out their ‘standard’ room, Dean lingered in the doorway, casting one last longing glance at the spacious background before you smirked and slowly closed the door in his face.
With the place officially all to yourself, you decided to finish exploring, and that’s when you saw it.
Oh, sweet heaven on earth.
The bathtub.
Not just any bathtub—a deep, oversized whirlpool tub, complete with jets and a selection of fancy bath salts sitting neatly on the edge. Your eyes widened in absolute delight as you all but floated toward it, running a hand along the cool marble.
It felt like it had been a lifetime since you’d had the chance to soak in a bath. Even when you had the option, motel tubs were…Questionable at best. You weren’t about to risk whatever horrors lurked in those drains, so showers had become your norm—mildly warm, rushed, and never truly satisfying.
But this?
This was your chance.
No hunts, no monsters, no worrying about saving lives. No last-minute research, no stitches to sew, no near-death experiences.
Just you, a massive tub, and all the time in the world to finally pamper yourself.
Hell. Yes.
After soaking in the tub until your fingers pruned and the tension in your muscles melted away, you finally dragged yourself out, wrapping up in a plush robe as you wandered over to your suitcase.
For once, you had the chance to ditch the usual hunter’s uniform—no jeans, no flannel, no scuffed-up boots. Just something that made you feel good. Normal.
Your fingers skimmed over the fabric as you pulled it out—a little black dress, classic and timeless, but with just the right touch of allure. The delicate lace trim along the hem and neckline added a hint of elegance, while the way the fabric hugged your curves made you feel undeniably confident. It was the kind of dress that demanded attention without even trying.
You stepped into it, letting the silky material glide over your skin, adjusting the thin straps before smoothing your hands down your sides. It was a far cry from the rugged, practical outfits you usually wore on the road, and damn, it felt nice.
Next, you slid on a pair of black heels—just high enough to give you that extra sway in your hips but still comfortable enough for a night out.
Turning to the mirror, you took a moment to focus on your makeup—something bolder than your usual go-to. A sultry smoky eye, dark lashes framing your gaze, paired with a soft nude lip. Just enough to make a statement without being overdone.
Your hair followed suit—soft waves cascading over your shoulders, effortless but polished, framing your face just right.
With one final glance in the mirror, you smirked. Yeah. You looked good. And you were damn well going to enjoy tonight.
And judging by the way both Dean and Sam reacted when you stepped into the hotel bar, you’d made the right choice.
Dean was nursing a whiskey while Sam sipped a beer, both dressed shaper than usual—Sam in a crisp, white button-up with the sleeves rolled up, Dean in a black dress shirt with the top few buttons undone, exposing just enough skin to make you roll your eyes at his predictable charm.
At first, they were talking, relaxed, until they both caught sight of you approaching. Sam's brows lifted slightly in pleasant surprise, but Dean?
Dean leaned back in his chair, giving a slow, appreciative once-over, his lips curling into that signature smirk of his.
“Well, damn,” he said, his voice smooth as honey. “Didn’t know we were gettin’ all fancy tonight.”
You smirked, stepping up to their table. “Figured it’d be nice to dress up for once.”
Sam nodded, offering you a genuine smile. “You look great.”
Dean, however, had a different kind of gleam in his eye. He leaned in, his smirk deepening, an eyebrow arching suggestively.
“In your dreams, baby,” you cooed, patting his cheek mockingly.
Sam snickered as Dean huffed out a humourless chuckle, leaning back in his chair. But the thing was… he didn’t have to dream.
You and Dean had been down that road before. More than once.
Late nights after hunts, when the adrenaline was still pumping and neither of you felt like wasting time picking up strangers, you’d found comfort in each other. It was an unspoken deal—blowing off steam, nothing more. No feelings, no complications. Because at the end of the day, hunters didn’t get happy endings.
You weren’t naïve. You knew better than to hope for something more. And so did Dean.
Still, as you slid into the seat across from him, you caught the way his gaze lingered just a second longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering behind those green eyes before he knocked back another sip of whiskey.
Clearing your throat, you reached for the bottle on the table, pouring yourself a drink. “Alright, boys,” you said, lifting your glass. “Here’s to a great night.”
Dean clinked his glass against yours, that smirk never faltering.
“To a damn good night,” he echoed.
Sam chuckled, shaking his head as he joined in. “As long as neither of you end up in a cell, I’ll count it as a win.”
You and Dean exchanged a grin, mischief dancing in your eyes. Yeah, tonight was going to be interesting.
The pounding in your skull was the first thing you registered. The second was the taste of regret on your tongue, bitter and stale like the whiskey you clearly had too much of. A low groan slipped from your lips as you forced your eyes open, squinting against the intrusive morning light.
The room was a disaster. Pillows scattered across the floor, empty bottles knocked over on the nightstand, and—oh, fantastic—your bra was hanging off the damn wall light fixture like some sort of drunken trophy. Your dress, meanwhile, lay crumpled in a heap by the bathroom door, and not far from it, Dean’s shirt.
Shit.
A slow, sinking realisation settled in, and with a heavy sigh, you finally turned your head.
Dean was right there, sprawled out on his back. His chest rose and fell in deep, steady breaths, his mouth slightly open, a soft snore escaping as he slept like he had no damn cares in the world.
You squeezed your eyes shut and groaned.
You had promised yourself you’d stop indulging in the oldest Winchester. The last time, things had started feeling… complicated. Unwanted feelings creeping in, making you second-guess the whole thing.
Guess drunk you had a serious inability to deny him.
With another groan, you forced yourself to sit up—immediately regretting it as your head swam and your stomach lurched. Ugh. You needed something greasy and coffee stat. And some damn privacy so you could at least wash last nights shame off you.
So you grabbed the nearest pillow and smacked it into Dean’s face.
"Get up, Winchester."
He let out a grunt, his brow furrowing as he shifted slightly but not quite waking.
You grabbed another one.
WHUMP.
Dean groaned, lazily swiping at his face before cracking one eye open. His brow furrowed as he blinked at you, bleary and clearly just as hungover as you. "What the hell…?" His voice was rough with sleep, and he grimaced, scrubbing a hand over his face.
Then, realisation dawned as he shifted under the sheets and noticed he wasn’t wearing a damn thing.
A slow, cocky smirk spread across his lips.
"Knew you couldn’t resist me, sweetheart," he drawled, voice still hoarse but undeniably smug.
You scoffed, reaching for the closest thing you could throw at him—an empty bottle this time. Dean yelped, flinching as you took aim, but lowered it back down, satisfied with your threat instead.
You slid out of bed with a grumbled “ass” and immediately regret the movement as your hangover protested.
"Damn, sweetheart. If that’s how you treat ‘em the morning after, no wonder you’re still single.” Dean chuckled, running a hand through his messy hair as he stretched.
You flipped him off over your shoulder as you headed toward the bathroom. “Bite me, Dean.”
His smirk widened as his gaze drifted over your retreating form—lingering on the deep, reddish-purple bruise in the perfect shape of his mouth on your bare ass.
Leaning back against the pillows, he let out a low, satisfied hum.
“Pretty sure I already did.”
The scent of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon did little to soothe the pounding in your skull as you and Dean trudged into the diner like two barely functioning zombies. You were practically clinging to your massive sunglasses, shielding your eyes from the fluorescent lights that felt like tiny daggers stabbing into your brain.
Meanwhile, there was Sam—already seated in a booth, nursing a coffee, not a hangover in sight. The fucker had even been on a run.
He looked up as you both slumped into the seats across from him, his dimples appearing as he let out a low chuckle. “Well, look who finally decided to join the land of the living.”
Dean groaned, dropping his head against the table. “Why are you so loud?”
Sam just shook his head, amused, as the waitress approached with her notepad.
You wasted no time reeling off your order. “Bacon, eggs, sausage, toast, hash browns—extra crispy. And coffee. Black. In the biggest cup you’ve got.”
When the waitress turned to Dean, he simply muttered, “Yeah, I’ll have what she’s having.”
You smirked, nudging him under the table. When Harry Met Sally references weren’t lost on you, and Dean’s slow realisation of it only made it funnier.
Sam just shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee before setting it down and giving you both a once-over. “You two look like shit.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” you grumbled, shoving your sunglasses up into your hair. “We don’t even remember what happened last night.”
Sam’s brows lifted, something flickering in his gaze—something knowing. He hummed, lips twitching in amusement, but before you could question it, the waitress returned with your plates, effectively derailing the conversation.
For a few minutes, all that mattered was shovelling greasy food into your mouths, trying to absorb the alcohol still wreaking havoc in your systems.
And then—
“Oh my God, there you are!”
A stranger—a man probably in his early thirties—grinned down at you, looking entirely too chipper for you.
Dean blinked up at him. “Uh… do we know you?”
The guy laughed. “Dude last night was insane. Seriously, that wedding? One for the books. You two are hilarious.”
Your chewing slowed. You glanced at Dean, then back at the guy. “...What wedding?”
The man’s smile faltered, confusion knitting his brows. “Uh… yours?”
Your stomach dropped.
Dean coughed on his coffee. “Sorry, what now?”
“Oh, man, you guys really don’t remember, do you?” The guy pulled out his phone, tapping away before turning the screen to face you.
And there it was.
A video—clear as day—of you in the middle of a crowded club, a veil perched crookedly on your head, clearly wasted as you stood on a table, arms thrown wide, screaming at the top of your lungs:
"I’M MARRIED, BITCHES!!!"
The video cut to Dean—also wasted—grinning like an idiot before grabbing you and dipping you back dramatically, kissing you deep like something straight out of a goddamn romance movie. The entire club cheered.
The next clip? The two of you wreaking absolute havoc, leading a conga line, starting a round of body shots, and hyping up the entire place like the unhinged duo you apparently had become.
The video ended, and you and Dean sat in stunned silence, staring at the phone in abject horror.
Fuck.
Back at the hotel, you paced the room like a caged animal, running your hands through your hair, trying to make sense of the absolute shitstorm your life had apparently become. Sam sat in one of the chairs, sipping a bottle of water like this wasn’t the worst day of your existence, while Dean was still in shock, slumped on the bed, staring blankly at the wall.
“Like, how did this even happen?” you fumed, throwing your hands up. “How is this even legal?!”
“Well, when two people—”
You shot Sam a look of death before he could finish his snarky remark, and for once, he had the sense to shut up.
Then, as the realisation hit you like a truck, you turned on him, narrowing your eyes. “Wait a damn minute. Where the hell were you?”
Sam shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. “…I was the witness.”
Silence.
You and Dean slowly turned your heads toward him in unfiltered shock and disbelief.
“You what?!” you screeched.
Dean shot up from the bed, throwing his hands in the air. “How could you let this happen?!”
Sam held up his hands, clearly not appreciating the hostility being thrown at him. “Look, I tried to stop you both, okay? But then you," he pointed at Dean, "went on this whole rant about how in love with Y/N you are, something about how she was the girl you’d always wanted to marry.”
Your breath caught, and Dean’s head snapped toward Sam, eyes widening in horror. “Dude, what the hell?!”
Sam ignored him, continuing with a shrug. “And then you threatened to break my iPod if I got in the way.”
You weren’t listening anymore, though. You were still stuck on that part. The part where Dean apparently called you the girl he’d always wanted to marry.
Dean was panicking. His ears turned pink, his mouth opening and closing as he scrambled for damage control. “No—it was nothing, is nothing.” He shook his head, flailing his arms.
“I was drunk! Blackout drunk, apparently! No one listens to drunk me—that’s just crazy!” He let out a forced laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, but he wasn’t looking at you. Because the truth was, if he ever did allow himself to dream of a normal, white-picket-fence kind of life, you were the face that had filled the once faceless woman in that dream. Always had been.
You swallowed, trying to keep your voice even, like your heart wasn’t racing out of control. “Right. Obviously.”
An awkward silence settled over the room before you groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “What are we gonna do?”
“We could get a lawyer?” Dean gestured to Sam, who frowned.
“I didn’t even finish law school,” Sam huffed humourlessly, and Dean sighed like that was ever going to be an option, “but I might know some old contacts…”
You narrowed your eyes at the two of them. “And then what, huh? What lawyer in their right mind is gonna help a supposed deceased serial killer and a fraudulent criminal?”
Sam winced. “Okay, fair point.”
You took a deep breath, then grabbed your jacket.
“Hey, where are you going?” Dean asked, his voice laced with worry.
You ran a frustrated hand through your hair. “I’m going to every damn chapel in town to figure out how the hell we get out of this mess.”
Before either of them could stop you, you stormed out, slamming the door behind you.
The room was left in tense silence.
Dean deflated, rubbing a hand down his face before turning to glare at Sam. “Man, why did you have to go and say that?”
Sam frowned. “Because it’s the truth?”
Dean scoffed. “Yeah, well, she didn’t need to know that.” He let out a heavy breath, running both hands through his hair. “You probably just freaked her the fuck out. Y/N doesn’t do love, and neither do I. That’s why it works.”
Sam gave him a look—one of pity. “Dean… you shouldn’t have to go through life alone.”
Dean clenched his jaw. “I’m not alone. I have you. I have Bobby.” His voice softened, almost bitter. “I had her.”
The weight of that realisation hit him like a truck.
Sam sighed. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah,” Dean muttered, voice hollow. “And it’s a stupid fairytale.” His jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to the floor. “People like us? We don’t get the husband and wife, the kids, the house. It all ends the same for us.”
A quiet beat stretched between them.
Sam wanted to argue, wanted to tell him he deserved more, but looking at his brother—shoulders hunched, hands curled into fists, bracing himself for heartbreak—Sam wasn’t sure Dean would ever believe it.
The sun was beginning to slip behind the horizon, the sky a swirl of deep blues and purples as you sat on the stone wall outside the Bellagio, watching the fountain show dance in the glow of the Las Vegas lights, your thoughts swirling as fast as the water before you.
The cool breeze did little to calm the fire of frustration in your chest. You’d been to every chapel in town, and every single one confirmed what you already knew—it was a legal marriage. The papers were real. The priest had done his job. You were bound to Dean in a way you never expected.
The thing was, deep down, you didn’t even know what you were running from anymore. Though one thing run true.
Hunters didn’t get married. They didn’t have families. They didn’t get to live out some idyllic, picture-perfect life because—well, they weren’t supposed to. They fought, they survived, and most of the time, that meant watching those they loved die.
So, the ones who did have families… the ones who thought they could have that normal, happy ending? You couldn’t think of a single one who didn’t lose it all in the end. Their families were gone. Their homes destroyed. There were no happy endings for people like you.
Still, in the quiet moments—when the rush of a hunt faded away, when the liquor finally took the edge off, when you could almost imagine what it would be like to just let yourself breathe—you had thought about it. Maybe Dean was the guy in your Vision. Maybe he was the one waiting for you at the altar. But that was just a pipe dream. A fantasy you couldn’t allow yourself to get lost in.
As you sat there, your fingers gripping the rough edge of the stone, the sound of footsteps broke through your thoughts. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Sam. You’d known he’d come looking for you.
Without a word, Sam settled down next to you, his legs dangling off the side of the wall as he gazed out at the fountain too. He didn’t push for you to talk, but you could feel the concern radiating from him.
“Why’s being married to Dean such a bad thing?” Sam asked bluntly, getting straight to the point. Although his tone was light, teasing, but there was an edge of seriousness there, too.
You couldn’t help the slight twitch of your lips, and shook your head. “It’s not bad, Sam,” you muttered, voice low. “It’s... complicated.”
Sam raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Complicated, huh? You two practically are a married couple already.”
You let out a small laugh at that, more out of disbelief than amusement. Yeah, you and Dean did have that vibe, didn’t you? Always arguing, always looking out for each other, always circling each other in that maddening dance of will-they-won’t-they. Everyone could see it but you two.
You could feel Sam’s knowing smile before he even spoke again. “You know you love him, right?” he asked softly, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.
You let out a long breath, staring out at the water again. “I don’t know how to do love, Sam,” you admitted, the words coming out heavier than you intended. “Everyone I’ve ever loved is gone. All that I’ve known is loss. There’s no happy ending for people like me. There’s no happily-ever-after for us.”
Sam’s gaze softened, and for a moment, you almost felt bad for saying it. It wasn’t his fault, after all. But it was the truth, in your opinion.
Sam was quiet for a moment before he spoke again, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable. “I get it. Believe me, I do.” He shifted, his eyes downcast as he relived something only he truly understood.
“Loving Jessica,” he began and your gaze snapped over to him, surprised he was bringing her up, “having her love me back... that was one of the best feelings in the world. And then... I was lying to her. I was lying about who I was, about what I was involved in. And look how that ended.”
Your heart squeezed at the way Sam spoke about her—how much she meant to him. You knew her story. You knew what that loss did to him. You’d seen it all too many times: love, then bloodshed. It always ended the same way.
“But” Sam continued, his voice steadying, “you and Dean, you both know the risks. You already know what comes with this life. The danger. The blood. The loss. But you’re still here. Still fighting. Still breathing.” He turned to look at you, his gaze more direct now. “So why not just take the chance? Why not go for it?”
You turned your head to meet his eyes, studying his expression. He was sincere. And for a second, you almost wanted to believe him. Maybe it was worth taking the chance. Maybe you didn’t have to keep running. After all, life was short, right?
You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head as you watched the water dance in the glow of the neon lights. “You make it sound so easy.”
Sam shrugged. “Maybe it is.”
You glanced at him, arching a brow. “You really believe that?”
He was quiet for a moment, his gaze still fixed on the fountain. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “But I do know that letting fear make the choice for you? That’s not living.”
Your fingers gripped the rough edge of the stone wall beneath you. Fear. That’s what this was, wasn’t it? Not just the absurdity of being legally bound to Dean Winchester, but the weight of what it could mean. The possibility of something real. And the possibility of losing it.
“You sound like a damn fortune cookie.”
Sam laughed, nudging your shoulder. “Yeah, well, if I start talking about how life is a journey, feel free to punch me.”
You chuckled despite yourself, shaking your head before letting out a reserved sigh, like you still couldn’t quite let go of the fear and Sam turned to you more determined.
“Look, from where I’m sitting, you two have been doing this dance for years. You rile each other up like no one i’ve ever met,” You chuckle at that because it’s the truth, “you look out for each other more than anyone else, and Dean—” Sam let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Man, you should see him when you’re not around. He’s miserable.”
Your heart clenched, and you hated that it did. Hated that it mattered.
Sam leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “You love him and he loves you.” It wasn’t a question, he was stating a fact.
Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard. “It doesn’t matter.”
Sam scoffed, and it irked you, because you stubborn, in denial brain just wanted him to get it.
You tore your gaze from the fountain, looking him dead in the eye. “Look, I don’t get to keep the people I love, Sam. Us hunters… we are just cursed with that burden.” Your voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of everything you’d already lost.
Sam’s expression softened, was no less determined as he look at you; his teasing gone. “That’s crap,” he said. “You’re not cursed, Y/N. And neither is Dean, or any of us for that matter. You’re not alone. Not unless you choose to be.”
You exhaled shakily, pressing your fingers against your temple. “It’s not that simple.”
“Yeah, it is.” Sam turned to you fully, sincerity in every word. “Dean loves you. You love him. The world is already a goddamn mess—why not hold on to something good?”
The way he said it, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, made your chest ache.
You sat in silence for a long moment, watching the water rise and fall in a choreographed dance. The truth was, you’d thought about it before. Let yourself imagine it in the quiet moments, in the spaces between hunts, between drinks at some rundown bar, between stolen moments of passion in the sheets, where it always felt more than just a need to blow off some steam.
Maybe Sam was right. Maybe you’d been running from something that was already yours.
“He’s not the best at this whole ‘feelings’ thing, but trust me, he’s all in. He’s just... scared, I think. Scared you’ll walk away.”
You looked away, eyes stinging for reasons you didn’t fully understand. You loved him, too. You always had.
“Why can things never be simple?” you asked softly, more to the universe than to Sam.
“Because what is life without a little challenge,” Sam teases and you shoot him a look. “Dean’s worth it. And so are you.”
For a second, everything felt still. The fountain’s music was just background noise to the buzzing in your head, the pounding in your chest. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe you didn’t have to be afraid of something good.
You took a deep breath. “Maybe it’s time I stopped running.”
Sam clapped you on the back with a grin. “I think you’re starting to get it.”
“Hey.”
You watched Dean’s head snap up from where he was leaning over the bar, his focus pulling from the slow drag of his finger tracing the rim of his glass. His eyes, tired and unreadable, softened the moment they met yours.
"Hey." He returned, voice just as soft, just as uncertain. He sat up straighter as you approached, slipping onto the stool beside him.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched, thick with all the words left unsaid, tension crackling between you like a live wire.
Dean broke first. “You want a drink?”
You huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "God, no." You grimaced. "I don’t even know how you're drinking that." You gestured toward his whiskey, still untouched except for the way he’d been absentmindedly spinning it in his grasp.
Dean smirked, lifting the glass slightly. "Never heard of hair of the dog?"
You chuckled despite yourself, shaking your head. And for just a moment, it felt normal again. Easy.
Until it wasn’t.
Until the weight of everything you’d been avoiding pressed back down.
You exhaled, staring at the gleaming oak surface of the bar. "I’m sorry I walked out earlier." Your voice was quieter now, careful. "I wasn’t mad at you."
"I know," Dean murmured. "I get it. I do."
But you shook your head, fingers tightening slightly against the wood. "I don’t think you do."
Dean frowned, his head tilting in that way he always did when he was trying to figure you out. You turned toward him, finally facing him, and the vulnerability in your eyes made his breath catch.
"Dean…" You swallowed, trying to steady yourself. "I don’t get to keep the people I love."
Dean’s brows knit together, his grip tightening around his glass. "Y/N—"
"I don’t." You let out a shaky laugh, but there was no real humour in it. "Every time I let myself believe in something, it gets ripped away. And I thought… if I could undo this, if we could erase it like it never happened, then maybe I wouldn’t have to face what it really means.”
Dean’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his jaw locking. "And what does it really mean?"
You met his gaze then, your walls crumbling, your heart in your throat. "That I'm scared. That this—" You motioned between the two of you, voice almost breaking. "—this is everything I ever wanted. And if I lose it? If I lose you?"
Dean’s face softened, something breaking open in his eyes. "Sweetheart…"
"I’m tired of running, Dean." The words came out on an exhale, years of hesitation slipping away. "I don’t want to waste another second pretending I don’t want this. That I don’t want you."
Dean’s lips parted slightly, his expression unreadable, but you could see it—the way his whole body reacted to your words, the way he leaned in just the slightest bit, like he was being pulled toward you.
And then, his hand found yours, fingers threading together like they belonged there.
"You got no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that" he admitted, voice rough, edged with something that made your heart pound.
His thumb brushed over your knuckles, and before you could say anything else, before you could second-guess, Dean closed the distance.
The kiss was slow, unhurried, as if he was savouring it—savouring you. His lips were warm, whiskey-smooth, his touch gentle but grounding. He kissed you like you were something precious, something his.
And when you finally pulled away, breathless, your forehead resting against his, a slow smile tugged at your lips.
"Okay," you murmured, your heart still racing. "But if we're gonna do this, really do this…I want a ring on this finger." You wiggled your left hand for emphasis.
Dean let out a startled laugh, his head tilting back slightly before he grinned at you, his eyes twinkling.
“And not something subtle,” you added, your tone teasing with a raised brow as you leaned in closer.
“Oh yeah?” Dean leaned in too, his grin never faltering as he played along.
"I want something big and flashy, like I’m some damn Kardashian or whatever." You tried to hold back your laughter, but his amused expression only made it harder.
Before you could speak again, Dean captured your lips once more, silencing your laughter. You melted into him, the warmth of his kiss overwhelming.
"Anything for you, Mrs. Winchester." His voice was a soft murmur against your lips, the words feeling more natural than either of you expected.
You laughed, shaking your head, but the ache in your chest was the best kind of pain. Because, for the first time in a long while, you weren't running.

AN: I don't know about you guys, but I'd love to see that video 👀😂, I hope you all enjoyed this one. Let me know what you think 💕
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Jungkook
𝐇𝐨𝐭 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 🔞 | Oneshot
"Does he even pay you?"
Tags/Warnings: Idol!Jungkook, fuckboy!Jungkook, friends with benefits situation, major angst, mentions of sex work, smoking, smut, god so much filth, Dom!Jungkook, big dick JK but what's new, did I mention angst?, protected sex, multiple rounds, multiple positions, a brief thighjob, so many feelings
Length: 7k+ words
There is no taglist for this fic. This is a Oneshot.
♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥
"How does it feel to be a celebrity and ending up with me?" You wonder at him over the music, making him frown before he shakes his head, pulling you in by your hands he's holding.
"What're you talking about babe?" He argues softly, letting go of your hands to hold your waist now. "I've got the prettiest girl at my side, in my opinion. Can't complain whatsoever." He tells you into your ear, voice raised a bit and slightly raspy from his last smoking break.
You just shrug, enjoying the music when some people approach you, talking to Jungkook about something you don't listen in on, even though he's still holding you close. It's none of your business, you really don't want to get too involved with his work and everything around it, but it's clear that he likes to do exactly that.
Jungkook wants you around all the time. Doesn't matter if it fits the scene and situation, if he can invite you or bring you along, he will.
Fans don't know your connection to him. They constantly battle it out in comment sections that you're just a translator, nothing else, that you're staff so of course you have to travel alongside him. And just how they can seem to connect everything to dating if it fits their 'ship' they've got inside their minds, they're also talented in finding thousands of (sometimes frankly ridiculous) reasons as to why it cannot possibly be true either.
While before, someone wearing the same jewelry as Jungkook was a confirmation of a relationship, with you its just pure coincidence. You're an adult woman, you can choose whatever necklace or ring you want, that doesn't mean you're dating him. You're wearing the same t-shirt he wore just a day ago? Maybe you just own the same, or he was nice enough to lend it to you for one reason or the other. Seen near his hotel room? Well of course, you're staff!
The truth is, that you're not even staff at all- but you're also not dating him.
Jungkook has become awfully… comfortable in his trust that fans will brush off every rumor floating around. It's why he's shamelessly grabbing your tits from behind right now just for the fun of it, lips kissing your neck as you slap them off to hold your waist instead. "They'll call it AI-generated or something." He laughs, but you can't shake off the feeling of doubt about that. "And there's no one here filming anyways. It's a private VIP zone, so relax baby." He chuckles, swaying you with him to the beat.
He's right that this is a secluded zone- but that's never stopped anything ever before, did it. One random Instagram live where you're both seen in the background and it's over. For both of you.
"Let's go back to the hotel though. I'm horny as fuck." He laughs, making you roll your eyes with red cheeks to go with.
Jungkook is a shameless person- he doesn't see anything wrong with the things he says or does if they're not hurting anybody. He's got his own opinions and he stands by them, only ever shifting his stance if there's undeniable evidence of him being wrong shown to him. And he also enjoys the more physical aspects of love.
Jungkook enjoys sex to its fullest.
He used to sleep around quite often, his charm and also wealth and status enough to make the act of finding someone willing fairly easy. Most wouldn't be believed anyways if they openly said he'd slept with them- he made sure they never took pictures or god forbid videos, and he also never stayed the night, most of the time preferred the security of his own home where he could politely tell them to leave after the deed was done, his reasoning always having to do something with his work.
'I'm sorry, I got called up to the studio.'
'Fuck I forgot I had a flight early morning tomorrow.'
'I'm really sorry, ah this is awkward, but my manager just told me to a live now, and I can't have you being seen.'
You knew he did this. You were staff at some point, after all, even if not hired by his company but rather outsourced during a particularly demanding schedule and many other employees sick due to a viral infection going around in the office building.
You'd been just another victim of his. But somehow, he ended up biting down too hard- making him taste blood, Primal hunger awakened at the mind-blowing experience he'd had, an odd need to keep you just for himself having blossomed from it all. You were a keeper, you still are- and while it's not really love, it's good enough for him. Close enough.
He reminds you, regularly, that it's not love, with how he never claims to love you, avoids the topic altogether, always tells others you're just very close even when it's obvious just like tonight that you're a little too close to just be something casual. But he enjoys your presence nonetheless. Like a dear friend, just with some deeper layers to it.
Some staff call you his personal prostitute. And in a way, you do sometimes feel like that.
Jungkook is that kind of man who could have sex first thing in the morning. Doesn't even have to wake up fully- if you touch him just a bit, he'll come to life in an instant, if he's not sporting a boner already. He enjoys the exhaustion he feels afterwards, always pushes you past your first and second O, keeps his own saved up for the very last stretch all the time. He draws it out to high heavens, has trouble calling it quits.
Shower sex he's mastered, knows exactly where to step and what position to get into to make it as safe as possible. He loves having you on his large sofa, leather easy to clean after you're both done. Sixty-nine is his favorite dinner for two, though he has to admit that lately, he's been enjoying the more closer positions a lot more. Spooning from behind, lotus, you name it- you've become more than just an outlet for him.
He doesn't know what they call you behind his back. What your unofficial status is. They'd never admit that to him, because why would they? No one wants to get on his bad side if they don't have to.
He's on his phone, free hand on your thigh as you both sit in the back of the car that's driving him back to his hotel. He's gonna get out first, make his way inside, while you'll get in later from the back entrance to not raise any suspicion. It's normal. Routine. You've mastered it by now.
"I'll see you in ten." He winks before he makes his way out the car, rushing past some fans who've found out his location, bodyguards already there to guide him inside the lobby.
"Does he pay you?" The driver chuckles, and you shake your head. "Damn." The elderly man clicks his tongue. "Go find yourself an actual man, dear." He tells you as he parks behind the hotel, watching you move, your phone vibrating in your pocket, before it stops suddenly. "You know what they call you, right?"
"I know." You admit quietly.
"And you're okay with that? You're too sweet to let yourself be used like that. Have some self-worth." The man tells you with a kind tone. "I've seen you around long enough to know that you're kind, and a nice person. Trust me, you can and will find a proper man to love you right. But this?" He shakes his head. "You know he just wants you because you've become routine."
"I know." You repeat again, sighing a little.
"You're not what they say you are. You're just a little soft at heart, hm?" The old guy smiles over his shoulder, watching you unbundled your seatbelt. "Trust me, he won't be sad if you call it quits. I've worked for guys like this for more than thirty years- they'll just jump to the next." He explains, and you smile to yourself, before you nod towards the man. "Never mess with entertainers, sweetheart. They'll always break your heart." he offers.
"I know." You say once more, before you exit the car, and get on your way to Jungkook's hotel room.
You don't officially share one, but he still keeps you around for most of the night. You leave whenever he has to do a livestream or if he wants to go to bed, and you come back if he wants you to- but most nights you sleep alone, because he deems it too intimate for you to stay.
Apparently, sleeping in the same bed is more intimate than spitting on your cunt. Interesting.
When you knock on the door, Jungkook opens. Something's off, you notice it right away, but you don't dwell on it, don't answer. It's none of your business, and he won't tell you anyways, so what's the point in just further inducing his bad mood.
It's quiet as he moves around, since he doesn't talk to you, and you don't know what to say. You wait for him to make his move, and when he doesn't, you get up to grab your sweater you forgot in his room earlier, just to have him stand behind you, hands on your hips. "I didn't forget about you." He chuckles, and you let the fabric slip out of your fingers and back onto the floor as he kisses the crook of your neck.
Maybe jungkook is indeed using you. But you've started to use him just as much, if only to even out the odds, and make yourself feel more than just cheap company.
He slips out of his shirt. You raise your arms to help him take off yours, your naked skin at this point almost a requirement for him every time he takes you. He used to be satisfied with just fucking you somewhere quiet quick and simple to quench his thirst, but over the course of time now nearing an entire year, he's become more and more hungry. Like he wants to crawl underneath your skin at some point, the Idol constantly pushes himself more and more inside your body, not just in a sexual sense. He buys you clothes he thinks will look good on you, has a playlist just for when you're at his place filled with somber lovesongs more about heartbreak than anything else. He claims he didn't look up the lyrics, but you know he's lying. He knows a lot more english than he admits, just so he can pull the 'I don't understand' card whenever he's asked a question he doesn't want to answer.
He lets you wear his clothes without much comment by now, has gifted you jewelry he's worn and liked, laughs any mention of that being 'such a sweet gesture' off if anyone around him mentions it. He's not your boyfriend, but he surely is starting to act like it- maybe the lines are blurring for him just as much as they do for you?
People around you have started betting. On when he's gonna have another one, when you'll be 'swapped out' for something else, or at what point he's gonna make it official that you're indeed more than just nightly company. You don't await that day. It's never gonna come anyways.
"Turn around." He commands, and you do, because that's the easiest way to get where you want to be down the line. Head empty, no thoughts left, fucked stupid by a man who keeps you around for just your body and the familiarity you provide. You don't really mind any longer, long having stopped caring about emotions that are fruitless, bound to rot and die because Jungkook won't ever nurture anything you'd try and plant in his heart. He doesn't want it, and doesn't need it either- if he wants to feel loved, he just has to show his face to his millions of fans always on edge for more content. That's where he gets his love from. Maybe you're just there to feed other desires he can't have fulfilled like that.
He licks his lips as he gazes over your naked upper body, bra long undone by his hands on your back, fingers trained in the routine by now. You remember the surprise he'd shown you when you'd worn one with the clasp up front, face so soft and round for just a second that it felt like you'd just slipped into a dream- but his hunger had quickly returned, because Jungkook is a beast never satisfied. He craves more and more, constantly aims for absolute euphoria, never soft, never gentle.
Jungkook bites. He claims, grips, holds and pushes- he's aware over the physical strength he holds over you, and plays around with the fact almost every night. From tugging on your leg to pushing your head down whenever you decide to please him with your mouth instead for once. Something about the way you swallow around him and swirl your tongue always makes him feral, thighs trembling as the muscles spasm beneath the skin from the force of his orgasm. Maybe that's why he keeps you around. Because you can keep up.
His own shirt is shed, and his hands make quick work of his belt before he helps you out of your pants as well. He'd told you he didn't want to use the bed tonight, because asking for new sheets is always awkward, but he does it anyways- picks you up just to let you fall onto the bed, crawling over you. "What do you want?" You ask out of breath, but he just tilts his head in familiar habit, until it shakes no.
"Don't know yet." He answers. This is new.
Usually he always has a fixed scene set out, knows how he wants to take you right away, but this time he visibly seems unsure where to start. Almost like the first time.
He spits in his hand, doesn't bother taking off the rings, fingers working you up like it's second nature. He knows where to place them, how to move and what patterns to choose- and you don't bother thinking about the possible reason for it. Probably to get you wet and ready quick so he can get to the actual act itself, or maybe he just finds some sort of personal satisfaction from it. You're not sure- and neither do you really want to ask.
You're a little cold, but he'll warm you up soon. Hopefully you won't get sick like last time. Will he find someone else to fuck if you're unavailable?
Who knows. He surely has a lot to choose from, if he so much as asked.
He's got a question on his mind, but visibly contemplates on asking it. His teeth clamp down on his bottom lip, tongue playing with the twin piercings placed there for a second, before he leans in, kisses you. This is one of those things he does that are just outright cruel to you. His kisses full of fever and want feel so burning hot that you're sure you're marked by them for life. Like a signature he's inked underneath your skin almost he claims you again and again like this, with his tongue teasing yours, mouths open and ready to steal each other's breath.
He surely takes yours hostage, every time- and that's probably the smallest crime he commits.
"Have you eaten today?" He asks, and it catches you off guard, eyes opening again, painfully tugged back into reality where he lets his sticky hand run over your abdomen, just to settle on your hipbone. "Your stomach keeps growling." He teases, and you come crashing down. Of course. He'd never actually remember to ask that out of the blue if it wasn't for something reminding him about it.
"Not really." You respond, adjusting your position a little bit, legs trying to pull him closer. "Doesn't matter." You say, and he hums, leaning down again to mouth at your neck- probably marking his territory again, a joke made on a constant whenever you turn up with the blooming bruises on your skin, their origin more than obvious.
"Hm." He hums, almost dissatisfied, but you don't bother to think about it. He moves to lean off the side of the bed, pulling his suitcase closer to get himself a condom, opening the package easily before he rolls it over his length. He seems oddly soft tonight, in more ways than one. Is he still exhausted from the shooting? Could be. He never wants to admit himself that he has to take breaks, thinks that his body can just magically manifest strength from nothing but pure thought, and it used to irritate you, because you felt responsible, in a way. But that was when you still saw more in this than there actually was- nowadays, it's his business, not yours. He's got nutritionists and personal trainers who get paid for taking care of him. It's not your job.
What is your job, really?
Well, you're most certainly not working under his company any longer, and neither have you returned to your original agency either- simply because Jungkook's management deemed you too much of a danger in your position, after the idol had let it slip that you two were having sex on a regular basis. So you just signed an NDA, got paid for your silence, now earning a living by writing books. Modern fantasy novels, where the daydreams you once had can actually become reality, and your hopes and wishes can be dreamed of by other people who have the same.
It's good money. A hobby you cherish.
Jungkook has never asked you what you work as nowadays. He doesn't even visit your apartment, has never seen it before, and he doesn't know if you have family either. He just takes you as his, lets you live alongside him and entertains you whenever he's in the mood for it. And you let him, because these days, he's all you've got. There's not much else you can do than write all day at home or accompany him on his overseas schedules.
You're not sure why he always drags you along, when back home, he won't even call you for days. Maybe he doesn't have to? Maybe his bed at home is always warm. But if that's the case, why not take them on a trip once in a while? Does he have designated women for specific occasions?
Then who will the woman be he chooses to show to the public one day? Number three in his harem?
You can't even truly blame him. As someone he grew up in this industry, his view on the world is warped, shifted, not the same colors as yours. He doesn't feel the same worth in a simple banknote that you do, he can't understand the struggle of missing the bus or having to face an empty fridge.
"Sit up, baby." He tells you, chuckles when you struggle a little to do so- compared to him, flying around all the time actually does take a toll on you. And the petname doesn't make it any better in this moment, as his hands reach out to hold you steady, helping your legs over his thighs, before he guides the head of his cock into you. He wants you close tonight it seems like. Hopefully he keeps holding you, because you're not very energetic this time. "I've got you." He says, and you nod, resting your arms around his neck, hands faintly touching the skin of his back. "Are you cold?" He wonders.
"A bit." You respond. He's probably noticed your icy fingertips.
"I'll warm you up." He purrs, and you nod. You know he will. He always does- always hot hearted in everything he does, even in this. He holds you close, hands on your behind helping you move, your hips rolling a bit too slow for his liking, but he overlooks it for once. You're not sure what's up with him tonight. This isn't him. "You tired, baby?" He wonders, and you nod.
"Sorry." You tell him, but he shakes his head, moves to lay you down, knees pressed into the soft hotel bed mattress as he thrusts his hips forwards.
"It's alright." He brushes it off. "Flight was long as hell." He muses, lazily moving himself. You're enjoying this, even if it's odd for him to behave this way. "Wanna come over for breakfast tomorrow morning?" He asks, and you shake your head.
"Can't." You sigh, arms now moving to lay above your head, eyes closed in bliss. "I fly out back home at 8 tomorrow." You remind him, and you can't see the way his brows lower, face darkening as he realizes he didn't know that. You usually fly back after him. Why are you going home sooner this time?
"Why?" He huffs out, hands grabbing your legs as he pulls your thighs over his, pushing himself deeper now. "You always fly after me." He almost growls.
"I dunno.." You slur. "Management said." You just respond. Why does he seem so irritated by this? It's not a huge deal at all if you fly back sooner or later. He's not gonna call you up back home anyways, so why does it bother him so much.
"Management can go fuck themselves." He argues. "You fly after me. I'll book the flight myself if I have to." he demands practically, slight irritation causing him to have his energy boil up, position adjusted as he becomes more restless, balls smacking loudly against you cunt, pace a lot more ruthless now.
You're finally reaching it. Your head becomes fuzzy.
You don't notice Jungkook becoming almost.. satisfied from that sight of your tension finally leaving. You're nothing but whimpers of pleasure as he slips out of you, hands tugging and pushing your legs and body to have you on your side, the taller Idol now laying down on his side behind you to spoon you, dragging the head of his length through your soaked and slicked up folds. one hand holds up your thigh, helps in opening you up, though you're pretty much gaping from his girth stretching you out moments prior. His lips find your shoulder, your neck, as he pushes himself back inside with the help of your hands-
who suddenly do something new as well, tugging the condom from his cock, making him gasp out in sensitivity. "What're you doing?" He grows.
"IUD." You tell him. "Please-" You beg, and yet again he moves as if awakened from slumber, pushing you halfway on your stomach as he pushes the now bare head of his cock back inside you. This is most certainly new, and he knows for a fact, that he's never going back again.
"Fuck.." He almost laughs, leaning over you now, body covering yours as he just pushes himself in for a good moment, humming a sound of pleasure into your neck as he lets himself relish in the new sensation. "Ah-" He sighs out, before he clenches his jaw, thrusting hard as if to make sure your body will remember him for days to come.
It will. Sadly.
"God, fuck-!" He groans out, holding onto your body now, having turned you onto your side, hand reaching out adjust your arm so he can see your face. Your lips are parted, eyes closed in bliss, and he can't help but have his hand smack down onto your behind that's moving in a way that's way too inviting. He does it a second time, slap clearly heard as he smirks at the way you clench around his cock currently rearranging your insides. He moves your leg to rest over his shoulder, reaching even deeper, hand underneath your belly button pressing where he can faintly feel himself move.
No one can blame him for being absolutely obsessed with your body.
He can feel the way you begin to tighten, thighs shaking a little as you come undone, his hands moving your legs again to close them once more, holding them up, slipping out of your clenching cunt to push his cock right between your soft and wet thighs. it's enough for a moment, though you reach out to touch the tip poking through almost teasingly, making him laugh as he suddenly sighs out, groaning as he spills over your stomach and up your chest. You're breathing heavily, and don't notice you start to shiver, as he parts from you to turn on the light in the bathroom to clean up.
Aftercare is not really his thing- and you've come to accept that.
When you sit up, you stretch your arms in front of you, muscles slowly regaining strength as you wait for Jungkook to finish up, toilet flushing before he emerges again, shamelessly walking without underwear, gaze following you as you walk past him to use the bathroom yourself.
The moment you re-emerge to grab your clothes, he's sitting on the edge of the bed with his boxers back on, phone in his hand. "I booked the flight for you. Tomorrow at 12:30." He tells you as you slip back into your underwear, not bothering with the bra as you search for where he'd thrown your shirt. "Here." He offers- and you slip the garment on with a thanks, only noticing afterwards that that's not yours at all, oversized fabric reaching almost to your knees. "Cute." He comments way too quiet to be meant to be heard, so you don't mention it at all.
"Why is the flight-thing so important?" You wonder, slipping into your socks as he moves around to find the hotel room service menu.
"Because you always fly back after me." He repeats again, clearing his throat.
"…you already said that." You mumble to yourself, but he clearly hears you.
"Fuck alright, god damnit!" He whines in complaint, rolling his eyes. "If you were to fly back earlier, you'll run right into all the paparazzi and shit waiting for me. That's why you're meant to fly back later- so they're gone by the time you arrive." He explains, and you're stunned in the spot you're standing, watching him a bit confused.
So that's the reason?
"It's not like they know." You say, unsure why he's so adamant about it.
"Doesn't matter." He shakes his head. "I'm not having them jump you for whatever reason they might have." He denies, before he sits down in the seat near the window which blinds are shut. "Now what do you wanna eat?" He asks, and you shake your head.
"I'll eat something tomorrow morning." You deny, and he slumps back in his seat, eyes closed and tongue pushed against his cheek.
"What do you want to fucking eat, babe." He repeats, making sure to pronounce the petname before he looks at you with frustration.
"Nothing." You respond. "Are we done?" You ask him, and he shakes his head, setting the menu down before he crosses his arms.
"No." He denies. "What to they call you?" He asks, and you're not sure what he's getting at, shaking your head with brows furrowed in confusion.
"What're you talking about?" You ask, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
"What do they call you?" He repeats. "I heard what you talked about in the car when I left."
"How?" You ask baffled.
"Telepathy." He jokes without humor, before he scoffs to himself. "I called you to actually ask you if you wanted to eat something- but you must've accidentally accepted the call without looking, because I clearly listened in on a convo I wasn't supposed to hear." He explains. "Either way, I want an answer. What. Do. They. Call. You." He demands, and you sigh.
"Why does it matter?" You argue, searching for your leggings in the room- finding them over the armrest of the chair he's currently sitting in. "I'm your personal prostitute, just without the pay." You tell him, and it takes him a second to realize that that's your answer.
Suddenly, he wants you out the room.
Not because he doesn't want you here any longer, but because the guilt is eating him alive with ever second he has to look at you. Because the more he think about it, the more it becomes obvious to him that this really must look like just that to everyone. After all, he's just taking you with him apparently for sex, and he's become so comfortable in it that he didn't think about it any longer. It's what you want too, right?
Jungkook has never really learned how to convey his emotions properly. He doesn't know what it's like to fall in love, has no idea what to look out for. He likes spending time with you, and enjoys the sex to the point that he's been monogamous with only you for the past year or so. It's nice to be in a relationship, even though he knows this one isn't normal. It's still okay, because down the line, you understand each other. He likes you, he just doesn't want people to use that against him or you at some point- so he keeps your status to himself. No one needs to know you're a couple. Only you and him. Because.. you know that, right?
"You know that's not what you are to me, right?" He asks, and you shrug.
"Does it matter?" You ask. "It's none of my business who I am to you, or whoever you screw apart from me." You say.
"What?" He asks, crossed arms unraveling. "I'm not fucking anyone but you." He says.
"Cool." You say.
"Cool? That's it?" He argues. "How can you be so calm about everyone else telling you I'm apparently cheating on you?" He worries, and you're yet again confused.
"What're you talking about?" You ask. "That's got nothing to do with cheating." You say.
"No no no no whoa there. Stop for a second." He holds his hands out as if to soothe a raging crowd of people, looking at the carpet. "You- you do know we're in a relationship, right?" He asks you, and your face tells him everything he needs to know. "Oh my fucking god are you kidding me…" He complains into his hands, covering his face in frustration.
"How the hell was I supposed to know?" You say, now with your own arms crossed. "Jungkook, you rarely even talk to me when we're back home. You only take me with you when you've got something up overseas, you constantly tell people we're just friends, you've never even asked me out in the first place!" You argue.
"We've been fucking each other for almost a year, I thought it was obvious I liked you?!" He whines, looking at you with what you realize are tears brimming on his waterline. Why is he so emotional now? "Have you- did you see anyone other than me?" He asks quietly, and you shake your head.
"No." You deny.
"Okay. Fuck- okay." He takes a deep breath, swallows down his panic. "I like you. I don't- I've got no clue if it's love or not because I don't know, alright? But I like you, a lot, to the point where I want us to be something permanent." He tries to explain. "Just us. You and me." He underlines, and you shrug.
"Jungkook, it's not that easy." You sigh. "If this has been what you think a relationship is like, then we won't work out."
"Alright, then what do you need me to do?" He argues, not letting go. "God- fuck, tell me what do I have to do to make you stay?" He asks, voice cracking.
"Jungkook, calm down-" You start, but he shakes his head, swallows thickly, bottom lip quivering for just a second before he licks over it, pulls it in between his teeth.
"I can't-! Not when it sounds like you're gonna leave me-" He worries.
"I'm not, don't worry. I'll stay. Just.. breathe for a second, alright?" You ask, getting up to walk closer, pushing his shoulders back to force him out of his slumped over position. "Hey- okay?" You ask, and he instead pulls you closer, sits you onto his lap, before he clings onto you, resting his forehead in your shoulder. "Why do you never reach out to me when we're home? You're confusing me." You gently tell him, and he shrugs.
"I'm scared they'll see you." He sniffles. "If they do- they'll tear you apart." He sighs. "When we're out here, like this- I can just.. claim you're staff, whatever. But at home- I can't.. I don't know how to protect you." He shakes his head.
"You should've told me." You sigh, leaning into him. "I was hurt, you know?" You tell him.
"I'm sorry. Fuck, I'm so sorry." He apologizes, pulls you just a bit closer. "I don't know what to do." He whines.
"What if you just visit me instead?" You offer. "They don't know where I live. And my windows are all mirrored so no one can look inside." You tell him.
"…since when?" he asks, leaning away from you a little so that you can finally see his face again, eyes red, a stray tear escaping him that you wipe off.
"Since a few months ago? Jungkook you don't even know my apartment in the first place. You've never visited me at all, ever!" You laugh, and he sighs.
"I know, and I.. always wanted to, you know, visit you.. spend time with you but.." He runs a hand over his face.
"You're okay. We talked about it now." You nod, an action he copies. "I'll come back tomorrow morning and we can have breakfast together, okay?" You ask, but he shakes his head.
"No, you gotta stay." He denies. "I don't care if you don't like that, but I need you close tonight." He says.
"Never said I don't." You say. "You just seemed uncomfortable with it." You wonder.
"Because I snore!" He whines, throwing his head back. "I snore, I move a lot, I might cling to you at night or I sweat, or whatever the fuck- I'm not as perfect as I'm made out to be." He complains.
"Jungkook sorry, but what the fuck." You laugh, and he can't help but smile at the sight and sound of you happy. "You can fart and burp like whatever, and I'd still stay. You're human, I'm not perfect either!" You explain, but he shakes his head, leaning forwards to kiss your already blossoming bruises on your neck.
"No, you are." He says. "You're absolutely perfect." He argues.
"Not really." You deny.
"Stop arguing." He complains, squeezes your waist a bit.
"What're you gonna do about it?" You tease, and he looks up at you with a heated gaze.
"Get me nice n' hard and I'll show you." He responds, making you giggle with eyes rolling, as you lean back to tug him out of his underwear, a hiss leaving him. "Fuck, baby your hands are icy!" He laughs, leaning back to hold your legs so you don't slip off of his thighs.
"That's cause it's cold in here!" You joke back, warming your hands up on his already heated length, skin already flushed and swelling as the blood rushes back. His hands travel beneath the shirt you wear, softly grabbing at the flesh of your chest, making you get up to shed your underwear and get back onto his lap.
"Think you can ride me on this thing?" He asks, talking about the seat he's sitting in. "Kinda tired right now, won't lie."
"Huh, making me do all the work now?" You raise your brows. "And here I thought you wanted to take us seriously.." You sigh, attempting to joke- but he clearly doesn't take it as such, face becoming serious again.
"Lift your hips a little." He demands, and you do so- unsure what he's trying to do, before he spits into his hand once more, feeling you up between your legs to check if you're ready. You are- quickly slicking up at the thought of him, and he guides his length inside of you again, stretching you out once more, but this time, it's not just sex.
He refuses to move. He just helps you settle on his lap, but holds onto your hips, keeping you from moving. "Jungkook-" You whine, but he shakes his head, and pulls your face closer to kiss you.
"No, I wanna stay like this for a bit." He denies.
"But I thought we wanted to eat something later?" You ask, making him roll his eyes.
"I'm trying to be romantic here." He complains.
"By putting your dick inside me?" You ask.
"Well I don't know what else to do!" He whines. "I.. I don't really know how else to properly express.." He falls deep into thought for a second or two, before he finally says it. "I don't know how else to make sure you can.."
"..feel how much I love you."
You're quiet for a good while, watching how he rather looks at your neck than at you in particular, avoiding eye contact as he continues to move his hands back to your sides underneath your shirt. "Jungkook…" You mumble, and he cringes.
"Don't-" He sighs, clicks his tongue in irritation. "-don't pity me or something-" He begins.
"No no no I'm not pitying you I just-" You cut him off, now your hands holding his cheeks to force him to look at you. Because you just realized something in the things he's said earlier. "Remember how you said.. you want me to fly back after you?" You ask, and he nods.
"Yeah." He answers, his way warmer palms now taking yours from his face, holding them in his. "Of course."
"That's.. something that also shows that you care about me." You say. "Because, you didn't say that you were worried about someone spotting me and putting your career on the line- but that you were worried about me being in danger." You remind him, and he nods. "Or how you noticed my stomach growling, and wondered if I ate today." You giggle.
"I already wondered if you didn't- cause I didn't see you eat anything." He shrugs.
"See?" You hum towards him, running your hand through his hair. "That shows you care, too." You say.
"But I want you to feel it." He complains stubbornly. "I want you to.. feel the same as I do when I'm around you." He offers.
"Horny?" You ask, and he rolls his eyes, throwing his head back.
"That too-" He laughs. "But mostly.. just, I don't know." He takes a deep breath. "It's hard to explain. It's like chest constricts when I'm not around you. Whenever I'm home, I miss you so bad that I sometimes go to sleep early just to avoid giving in and calling you. I have to distract myself just to not think about you- and yet I still do, almost all the time." He sighs, tucking your hair behind your ears. "When I wake up.." He hums, hands moving to your shoulders. "When I do my morning routine.." He explains, letting his fingers travel over the length of your arms. "When I work out.." He continues. "When I go to bed. It doesn't matter at all." He shakes his head.
"You know you don't have to make up something just to make me stay, right?" You ask him, and at that, his eyes immediately snap back up to you, panic returning.
"I'm not." He denies instantly. "I'm really not-" he urges. "-how can I prove it?" He worries.
"You.. listen, it's not something that you can just clear up in a moment." You sigh. "It's gonna take time. We're basically starting from scratch here." You explain, and he nods.
"Do you.. should we stop then?" He asks, glancing between your bodies for a second. "Until you believe me?" He wonders, and you shrug, before you shake your head.
"No." You deny. "I'd miss you too much-" You tell him, before you adjust your legs, arms around his neck. "-And you'd probably go insane without sex." You tease.
"Not without sex." He denies, watching how you begin to move your hips, letting him slip out until just the very tip remains inside you. "But without you." He clarifies. "It's not sex I want- that's a… I don't know. It's the closeness I feel, you know?" He sighs when you sink back down. "I just like touching you.. being inside you.." He hums, eyes fluttering closed as he leans back into the seat while your hands settle on his shoulders to keep you balanced, pace slow but fast enough to intensify the pleasure you both feel. "Just like that.." He sighs out in bliss.
"I have a really nice couch, you know?" You hum towards him, making him smile while his hands find your waist. "My bed is really big too.." You tell him, and he opens his eyes a little at that.
"Big enough for two?" He wonders, and you shrug.
"Guess we have to find out." You tease, and he nods, hands moving from your waist to your hips before one of them finds your heat between your legs where he can see his cock disappearing inside you.
"Is the couch sturdy?" He wonders, fingers playing with your clit now, making the muscles in your thighs twitch.
"Ah- yes!" You whine, picking up your pace.
"Hm, gonna fuck you on it then." He chuckles. "Stress-test it." He jokes, and you whimper as you come undone, your slick now coating his own legs, strings of the sticky fluid keeping you both connected, wet sounds echoing off the walls of the hotel room. "Break it." He growls, heels on the ground helping him in shifting his hips upwards into you, catching you off guard, your orgasm washing over you in a wave threatening to drown you.
You're shaking, but you still move, needing to feel him reach his high as well, and he does find his own release, spilling whatever he's got left to give, holding you close, kissing whatever skin he can reach from how you're hugging him now, breathing slowly easing again.
And he keeps you like this, uncaring of the food since it's by now too late to order any roomservice anyways.
And for the first time, he actually sleeps next to you, in the same bed-
promising himself to do everything he can to keep you this close, for now and as long as you'll have him.
#bts imagine#bts fanfic#bts fic#jungkook imagine#jeon jungkook x reader#jeon jungkook imagine#bts smut#bts jungkook imagine#jungkook x reader#jungkook smut#bts jungkook fanfic#jeon jungkook fanfic#bts jungkook x reader#jeon jungkook imagines#jungkook imagines
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── .✦ Half words
Pairing : ¡idol!Lee know x ¡idol!Reader
Word : 684
Genre : fluff
Warning : none
For nine months, Minho and YN had been living the perfect love story... in silence.
No public meetings, no inappropriate gestures behind the scenes, and even less visible interaction online. They were sworn to secrecy. Their agencies were strict, the contracts clear: zero rumors. So they loved each other through the gaps, the stolen glances backstage, the coded messages at 3 a.m., and the little objects they left each other by way of presence.
That evening, Minho was live on Instagram with his fans. He was talking about his day, the last rehearsal with his band, while nibbling snacks on his sofa. Nothing out of the ordinary, until his wrist spent a little too long in front of the camera.
A black, braided bracelet, decorated with small golden pearls. And on one of them... the initials Y.L.
The comments exploded:
"What kind of bracelet is that? YN as in... YN?"
"Has he ever worn it?"
"I swear she had one just like it..."
The next day, unsuspecting of the online uproar, YN logged on in turn for a live stream on Weverse. She was laughing, her hair tied back in a fuzzy bun, a black scrunchie holding back her rebellious locks. A fan zooms in. Her bracelet slips off her sleeve. Same model. Same pearls. M.L.
Within hours, the most attentive fans were diving into the archives.
An oversized gray sweater that Minho had worn to a vlog a few weeks earlier? YN had it on his shoulders backstage three days later.
A blurry story of Minho from behind, in a discreet café? Same chair, same cup, same green plant behind YN two days later.
A black velvet scrunchie Minho wore around his wrist during a concert... then around YN's ponytail during an interview.
A Twitter thread was born:
"Minho x YN: coincidences or confirmation?"
With dozens of pieces of evidence lined up like a puzzle that the two idols thought they were hiding.
And in the middle of it all, a comment that perfectly summed up the gist of the story:
"If they've managed to hide this from us for so long, it's because they really care about each other."
The rumors didn't die down. On the contrary, every public appearance by Minho or YN was scrutinized. Yet instead of frightening them... something changed between them.
They stopped hiding.
Not abruptly, not obviously either. But their messages became more direct. Less coded. And when they got together, even for a few hours between two crazy schedules, they didn't waste a minute.
One evening, in a private studio rented by their trusted staff, they found themselves sheltered from the world, their hearts pounding, their fingers entwined.
- Don't you regret it?" asked YN, his voice a little fragile. I mean... if it all blows up.
Minho took a step closer and pressed his forehead to hers.
- You know what I'd regret? Loving you in silence all my life.
She smiled softly, her eyes shining.
- It's so dramatic.
- It's me," he replied with a wink.
They knew it was no longer just a game of discretion. They were a team, an invisible but solid bond that withstood outside pressure. And even if the agencies were already whispering warnings, they would keep going. Together.
Their fans, meanwhile, seemed... divided. But a good number were beginning to sneak up on them.
One fan-account went viral after posting:
"Look at them. They've never been so bright. Frankly, I want them to be happy. Whether they're together or not. But if they are together... then so much the better."
Then, one evening, without warning, YN posted a story.
No picture of them. Just a photo of their two bracelets, lying side by side on a wooden table, in a golden light. In the background, a soft song. The lyrics read, "if the world finds out, at least we loved without lying."
She didn't tag anyone. Not a word. Not an explanation.
But this time, they stopped trying to calm the storm.
Minho re-shared the story. Just with an emoji: "..."
And that was enough.
Masterlist
#skz#skz stray kids#skz x reader#x yn#stray kids#lee know x y/n#lee know skz#lee know x reader#lee know#skz minho#stray kids minho#minho
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Blooming Hearts ♡ DRABBLE 01
˚✿˖ Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x fem reader
˚✿˖ Synopsis: In which Bakugou not only taught you how to use the public transportation system, but also the wonders of a 7/11 (A continuation from chapter 5 / deleted scene from chapter 6)
˚✿˖ tags/warnings: 18+, smut in the later chapters, reader is spoiled, shy reader, they're all third years at UA, Fluff, strangers? to lovers trope, not really strangers, miscommunication, drama, y/n just wants to make friends, reader is canonically pretty, reader is a hero in training, whipped bakugou, she falls first but he falls harder
˚✿˖ Authors note: This Drabble is a continuation of this chapter!
˚✿˖ Masterlist
⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖
The train ride had been… an experience.
Between Bakugou’s attitude (which you’re learning is incredibly sassy) your near-death encounter with inertia and stiletto boots, and the fact that his hand had been on your waist for far longer than necessary, you were convinced your heart had been put through an endurance test.
Aizawa and his crazy assignments could never get this level of heart pounding anxiety from you.
But somehow, miraculously, you made it to your stop without combusting!
Which led you here.
A 7-Eleven.
The sushi spot you had been craving had been sadly temporarily closed for renovations, and this store had been right around the corner.
“Wow, this is incredible! I’ve never been in one of these before!” you gasp, eyes sparkling as you take in the rows of cheap candies, brightly colored cup ramen, and an ungodly amount of processed snacks.
So many different flavors to choose from!!
Behind you, a deep, unimpressed voice deadpans, “It’s literally just a 7-Eleven.”
You, of course, blatantly ignore him. Instead, you grab a small shopping basket—its handle slightly wobbly, the paint chipping at the edges—and immediately start filling it with snacks like a kid let loose in a candy store.
“This might just be my new favorite store!!” you announce, practically vibrating with excitement as you move toward the freezer section.
You scan the ice cream selection with growing delight, marveling at the sheer variety of brands and flavors—all for a shockingly low price.
This so beats the organic, gluten-free, sugar-free, fun-free supermarkets your mom usually had her staff shop at on your behalf.
Bakugou, who has been trailing behind you like an exhausted babysitter, watches as you pluck a pink tub of strawberry swirl ice cream from the fridge. Your face lights up at the cute graphics on the packaging.
is that a strawberry cow?! Eeek!
“I’ll get this one too,” you hum, hugging the tub to your chest like a prized possession.
Bakugou nearly rolls his eyes into another dimension. “Taught ya how to take the damn train to become a better hero, and now you’re gonna kill it all with this shitty food.”
You gasp, clutching the ice cream closer like it’s your firstborn child.
“Are you joking?!” you exclaim. “This ice cream is gonna make me feel better before I go to sleep! This is incredible!”
Bakugou snorts as you absentmindedly go to adjust your glasses—except, oh, wait.
You’re not wearing them.
Your fingers meet empty air, your contacts having replaced your usual frames for the night.
A slow, knowing smirk stretches across Bakugou’s face.
Your ears heat up. Hastily, you shove your ice cream into the basket he’s—when did that happen?!—holding and mumble, “Shut up. It’s a habit.”
He doesn’t even bother with a comeback.
He doesn’t have to.
The glint of amusement in his sharp, crimson eyes says everything.
In just one day—somehow spent mostly by your side—Bakugou has come to one solid, undeniable conclusion:
You’re just like the rest of his idiot friends.
Just blessed with a far better face than shitty hairs or dunce face.
Honestly, before today, he half-wondered if you were mute. That theory shattered the moment you started rambling in the middle of the station, your excited outbursts completely at odds with the cool, composed image you gave off.
The new you in front of him was almost jarring.
Not that he’d ever really paid much attention to you before.
You were just quiet. Unusually so. You didn’t hover around the usual class friend groups, never really stuck with the girls of 1-A. He would’ve noticed—he’s been dragged to enough forced social outings by Kirishima to be painfully aware of the class dynamics.
Yet somehow, three years into your degree, he was only just now hearing what your voice actually sounded like.
Not that you were forgettable—far from it. Your face was one of the first he recognized when he stepped into class 1-A on his first day of freshman year.
And your last name? Impossible to ignore.
Bakugou never really gave a shit either way.
But one thing had caught his attention—the way people wouldn’t shut up about you when it came to the Big Three. It was no surprise when he, Deku, and Todoroki solidified their spots. That was a given. But you?
He remembers his brows raising when he first heard your name being thrown around in the conversation. He wasn’t necessarily threatened, just... intrigued.
The media adored you. Your social accounts had more followers than any other student at U.A., and magazines were already fighting for the chance to put you on their covers.
All the while, you could barely mutter a full sentence to anyone in class.
Now, watching you stand in the middle of a 7-Eleven, holding two cans of soda in your perfectly manicured hands, he can’t help but snort to himself. You carefully scan the sugar content on the labels like it actually matters—only to immediately toss both cans into the basket without hesitation.
Figures.
“Y’know, if you’re just gonna buy both, why waste time lookin’ at the numbers?” he asks, shifting the basket to one hand as he watches your little decision-making process unfold.
You huff, completely unbothered. “It’s about making an informed choice.”
“Bullshit. You just wanted both.”
You shoot him a look but don’t bother denying it, instead grabbing a pack of Pocky and tossing that into the basket too.
You’re already fixated on the next aisle, eyes practically sparkling at the ridiculous variety of instant noodles. He’s never seen someone get this excited over convenience store food in his life.
And somehow, he finds himself following along, weirdly unbothered by all of your little quirks that would have had him rolling his eyes and snapping at all the other idiots in his life.
Bakugou clicks his tongue, annoyed at his own thoughts.
Comparing you to the extras he’s been stuck with for years? What kind of bullshit was that?
Yet, as he watches you crouch down to examine the instant ramen selection like it’s some kind of treasure hoard, he realizes—against his better judgment—that it doesn’t piss him off the way it should.
You hum thoughtfully, manicured fingers tracing over different flavors, your brows furrowing in deep concentration. “How am I supposed to choose just one?” you mumble, more to yourself than to him.
He snorts. “You’re not. You’re gonna throw at least three in the basket and pretend like you struggled to decide.”
You gasp, turning to glare at him, scandalized. “You think you know me so well, huh?”
“I know an indecisive dumbass when I see one.”
And just as he predicted, you grab three different flavors and plop them into the basket without another word.
Bakugou exhales through his nose, shaking his head. Somehow, despite himself, he follows as you dart to yet another shelf, eyes alight with childlike wonder.
He should be annoyed. Should be telling you to hurry the hell up so you can both get out of here, but instead, he just watches as you get distracted by a random keychain display near the register, fiddling with a tiny All Might figure that probably wouldn’t even fit on your fancy designer bag.
“This is so cute,” you murmur, flipping it over in your hands before glancing at the other characters on the rack. A tiny Bakugou keychain dangles right in front of you, and before he can react, you’re holding it up with a smirk.
“Oooh, look, it’s you,” you tease, shaking it so the little chibi version of him bobs wildly.
Bakugou scowls. “Put that shit back.”
You only laugh, placing it back on the hook (but in a better spot, front and center, because you think it’s actually pretty adorable).
By the time you finally reach the register, your basket is overflowing. Bakugou just stares at it, unimpressed. “Y’gonna eat all this tonight or somethin’?”
You shake your head, grinning. “No, well maybe the icecream, yes.”
He rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue, As the cashier hands you the bag, you beam like you’ve just won the lottery.
And for some reason, as the two of you step back into the cool night air, Bakugou finds himself shaking his head with something that—if he didn’t know better—almost feels like amusement.
What the hell was he getting himself into?
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#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugou x reader#my hero academia#bnha x reader#bnha#bakugo katsuki#x reader#bnha bakugou#bakugou x y/n#bakugou x you#bakugou x fem!reader#blooming hearts#bakugo x y/n#bakugo fluff#bakugo x reader#my hero academia x reader#drabble#blooming hearts drabble
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₊ ⊹꩜ backrow theatre | CHOI BEOMGYU, KANG TAEHYUN



⟢ sub!beomgyu x switch fem!reader x dom!taehyun
⟢ drabble; smut, little fluff
⟢ going on a date with beomgyu in an empty cinema was a plan from the beginning. what you didn't know was that you were being monitored the whole time, and turns out it wasn't just you and beomgyu wanting to have some fun.
⟢ wc: 1.1k (drabbles never drabble)
⟢ a/n: beomgyu and taehyun. the back row of an empty movie theater. smut. @junniieesbby's req for my event! MDNI. I decided I'll slowly release these drabble reqs from my event during the week days too, I feel like it'd be a lot to post during the weekend :') I received more reqs than I thought! but I am extremely thankful nonetheless! feedback would be appreciated as always ᡣ𐭩
warnings under cut
⟢ petnames;(baby, pretty girl, good boy, etc), sir kink, threesome duh, oral (m. receiving), degradation;(slut), deep throating, exhibitionism, dirty talk, somewhat voyeurism, there's some mxm moments (if you don't like that don't send hate, just don't read), unprotected sex, hair pulling, soft choking, pervy taehyun, spit kink and cum eating. lmk if I missed anything!

giving beomgyu head in the back row of an empty cinema was not part of the agenda your a first date, but you weren't mad about it. and neither was the man moaning like nobody's business. you two were the only ones in the cinema room after all.
"ugh, shit, baby. your mouth feels so good." beomgyu sighs, placing both of his hands on either side of your temples, resisting how fast you're sliding his dick down your throat.
the dim lights only made the view of you on your knees even hotter for your date. your fingers fondle his balls while you try and take him in deeper every now and then, and he loved it indicated by his throaty moan.
in the cinema, each room is under surveillance by a member of staff; monitoring any forbidden activities such as filming the screen or in this instance, someone receiving head at the back row of an empty cinema.
the movie wasn't much of an appeal to most but it was also the first day of the viewing—at the latest time too. the member of staff huffs, adjusting his half-hard dick in under his slacks while watching the way your head bobs up and down between the legs of a man slumping in his seat. but he better do his job.
you kneel back on your legs, fisting beomgyu's cock with both hands painfully slow, twisting your fists as he leans forward to kiss you, moaning into your mouth.
light shines on the both of you, along with a stern voice interrupting.
"excuse me, what do you think you're doing? I'm going to have to kick you guys out-"
"please don't kick us out," you squint to read his name tag, "taehyun."
blinded by his torch shining on the lewd scene of your slick hands over beomgyu's pulsing dick, you manage to see the corner of his lips curve upward.
"why shouldn't I? this is unacceptable and it's public indecency." he retorts, but his growing erection feels otherwise.
"if I let you fuck me will you let us finish and not tell anyone, sir?" you look up at him with your doe eyes, almost whining from the title rolling off of your tongue.
your boldness was good enough to keep you going, beomgyu's cock back in the warmth of your mouth and taehyun's pounding you from behind, also kneeling. the grip of two pairs of hands on your body—your head and your hips—essentially had your mind reeling, another thing added that wasn't on your agenda.
taehyun's thrusts didn't falter, fucking you hard enough until your legs are shaking, him having to hold you up.
"fucking cum, slut." taehyun grunts between clenched teeth.
your moans over beomgyu's cock doesn't help him from hold back his noises, whining your name as he feels his length throbbing against your tongue. that is, until taehyun pushes your head down, taking more of beomgyu until his tip was lodged down your throat and gargling, then pulling at your hair, stopping just when beomgyu's tip remains in your mouth.
the male above you starts grabbing on the arms of the seat, throwing his head back and mouth agape while you're moaning around his tip until he unloads his thick cum in your mouth.
"don't swallow yet, pretty girl." taehyun pants behind you, snapping his hips as he pistons into your throbbing cunt. "c'mere."
you shuffle on your knees, knowing they're bruised but the pain is nonexistent in a situation like this. taehyun sits beside beomgyu and fists his shaft, waiting for you to position yourself between his legs.
you open your mouth slowly, careful not to spill beomgyu's cum from the corners of your lips. after a couple more strokes, taehyun hunches forward, letting out his strangled groans after each pump of his white ribbons spurting out his tip and into your full mouth.
"good girl." he sighs, chest heaving while he caresses your cheek once you close your mouth. but you don't swallow. letting the bitter cum of both men mix over and under your tongue.
taehyun turns to beomgyu, a thought brewing in his head and hoping you'd be quick to catch on. he grabs your date's jaw, delicately squeezing his cheeks.
"open." is all he says, and beomgyu was quick to oblige, opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out flat against his bottom lip.
taehyun looks at you, smirking and nodding his head in beomgyu's direction, a subtle smile playing on your lips. you genuinely wouldn't have taken him to be such a freak but he's so hot, and the lust in his eyes while he waits for you to move was enough to realise he was just as freaky.
getting up on your feet, your knees almost buckle as you move to hover over beomgyu, crawling over his lap as your slicked cunt makes contact with his half-hard dick. you look at him below you, whiny and bringing his hands over a loose hold around taehyun's wrist.
leaning over beomgyu's face, you part your lips, slowly letting the mixed substances fall out your mouth and into the male's beneath you. when you felt nothing left in your mouth you press your lips against beomgyu's roughly kissing him and still tasting the cum on against your tongues.
another higher pitched whine rumbles in his chest when he felt the liquids sliding down his tongue and to the back of his throat.
"that's my good boy. now swallow, baby." you coo in his ear and you feel beomgyu's cock jump beneath you, taehyun, too, found that extremely hot.
you didn't take beomgyu to be someone who would eat his own cum, let alone a stranger's, but you'd by lying to yourself if you said that it didn't turn you on.
when beomgyu swallowed the last drop of cum he opened his mouth to show you, tongue sticking out again and taehyun's hand slides down to beomgyu's throat, applying light pressure as he raises off of the seat and spits into the other male's mouth, then nods. beomgyu swallows that too, no hesitancy in sight.
"god, you take anything we give you, don't you?" taehyun chuckles, thumb rubbing beomgyu's bobbing adam's apple.
the movie was coming to an end, the credits just about to appear and the lights gradually brightens up the room while the three of you sort out your clothes and wiping down the collective mess on the seats.
you grab your jacket from your seat, looking around to find taehyun making his way to the exit of the theatre room.
"taehyun!" you call after him, also making your way down the steps to catch up to him.
he turns around, brows cocking up and his hands in his pockets.
"I was wondering," you start sweetly, "could I get your number and we can fuck again?"
he chuckles at your straightforwardness, taking his phone out for you to put your number in his contacts.
"pretty thing, I'd love to. just, not in the theatre again. you're lucky it was just me who saw." he responds firmly, but he has that stupid smirk crawling on his lips again. "and beomgyu?"
you give him a sweet smile.
"you two are hot so.." you trail, "this arrangement good?"
taehyun looks up to where beomgyu was, walking up behind you with his flushed cheeks.
"yeah, this could work." he nods, retrieving his phone from you. "see you around miss."
"see you around, sir."

© BOBA-BEOM ; all rights reserved. do not repost, copy, alter or translate in any way or platform.
taglist: @bb-eilish @ericyjun @luvsoobs @yeonyeonyeonjun @junniieesbby @kyrkitten @day6andetcetera @dainsleif-when-playable @txt-yaomi @soobinsman @ahnneyong @wccycc @lizdevorak @fairybin @laylasbunbunny @acaiasahi @itaehynz @cha0thicpisces @fairybinie @yunkiwii @prodsh00ky @https-yeonjun @lovejoshua @aprilisque @ja4hyvn @smutnoullitheorem @seolis-world @jak-ey @my313 (send an ask to be part of the taglist! here's the spreadsheet for reference!)
#smiles' slumber party#mdni#smiles hard hours#gosh I'm so nervous for this but :')#beomgyu smut#beomgyu hard hours#beomgyu hard thoughts#beomgyu imagines#beomgyu scenarios#taehyun smut#taehyun hard hours#taehyun hard thoughts#taehyun imagines#taehyun scenarios#txt smut#txt hard thoughts#txt hard hours#txt imagines#txt scenarios#sub!beomgyu#switch!reader#dom!taehyun#smiles writes ౨ৎ
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Short Skirt- Homelander x Reader
Summary: Reader wears a short skirt to work and Homelander definitely notices
Work count: 1,365
Warning: degradation and dub con
The Boys tag list: @frank3nfag
✨ Want to be tagged in my next Homelander fic? Click here ✨
Standing in front of The Seven with Ashley, it felt as though as gallery of eyes were on you. Though it was only the seven of them and Ashley was the one talking, no eyes actually on you, it still felt extremely intimidating.
You wanted to keep your head high, to scan over the faces before you with confidence, but it was just too much.
Really it seemed only one pair of eyes hadn’t left you since the moment you walked into the building this morning. Every time you look up, you meet Homelanders eye, and you’re quick to look away.
Your anxiety become worse as you realised your skirt choice might have something to do with his eyes. You wanted to try something new to help feel confident, and a shorter, more fashionable skirt seemed to do the trick.
When you stood in front of your mirror that morning, you felt amazing about how you looked. A little sexy but your stockings weren’t that sheer, right? Playing with your fingers behind your back, you try to just make it through the meeting. Your skirt probably is too short and you’re probably going to get fired, you panicked.
Usually you don’t have to stand in front of the supes like this, usually you’re in your office, making sure all the behind the scenes things can be finished and organised so that when Ashley needs to do things in person they’re all ready. You longed for your small office and moderately comfortable office chair.
Noticing that this slide was the final one, your heart rate began to slow, and your breathing was returning to normal. You watched Ashley intently, internally pleading for her to finish up. It felt like an eternity.
Once she had finally finished, you didn’t bother to stick around, you quickly make your way to the door. Anything Ashley needed you to know she’d email to you.
Your heart continued to race as you make your way to the solitary break room right next to your office. It was meant for more staff but you seemed to be the only one who used it, so it quickly became yours.
Head pushed against the cabinets on the wall, you close your eyes and try to calm your heart rate as you wait for the kettle to boil for your much needed cup of tea. Eyes closed and focusing on your breathing, you didn’t notice Homelander had entered your quiet little sanctuary, not until you heard a low whistle behind you.
Whipping your head around, your eyes went wide as saucers. There he sat, your boss, probably there to fire you. Sitting there with his legs spread, you tried not to think about how sexy he looked. Your heart beat now raced for other reasons.
His roaming eyes pinned you in place, even as the kettle finally boiled.
“New skirt?”
His smirk didn’t feel genuine, but it also didn’t feel malicious.
Raising his eyebrows, you realised he was waiting for a response.
“Ye-yes, sir.”
Your quick and stuttered response seemed to make his grin grow, as he rose from his chair. Confidence filled his every step and movement as he walked toward you, his larger body pushing flush against you, trapping you between him and the bench.
“I like it,” he simply stated, his smirk never leaving his face, “you making tea?”
The question felt so out of place, especially since his hips were now pressed against yours, but you really didn’t want to leave him waiting for an answer again.
“Ye-yes, sir,” those words seeming to be the only thing you’re able to say.
Finally freeing you, he sits back down, his legs now even further spread, and his hand now not so subtly placed on his crotch.
“You wanna make me one?”
“O-okay. H-how do you want it?”
You tried to keep your voice even as his hungry gaze wandering your body seemed to burn your skin and ignite a fire in you.
“However you’re having it.”
With a quick and nervous nod, you turned around to grab another mug.
“Ah, not that mug,” you turned to give him a quizzical look, “the one on the top shelf, I prefer the colour blue.”
He bit his lip as you turned around confused, but when you turned back you realised why he���d asked. The mug he was asking for was on the top shelf, right at the back, even in your heels you would have to reach right up, and Homelander would get a perfect view right where he was sitting.
You’d be lying if you said the idea didn’t excite you. Reaching all the way up, you heard a groan come from the supe followed by a heated ‘fuck’.
Before you could reach the mug, however, Homelander had you forcefully pinned against the bench once again, except this time his breath was on your neck and you could feel every inch of him pressed against your back. You bit your lip to try to stop a moan from escaping.
“Now if you don’t want to lose your job for dressing like such a slut,” the word accentuated with a harsh slap to your upper thigh “you’ll put your forearms on the bench and push your sweet little ass back against my cock. You’re gonna let me fuck you, otherwise I’ll get you fired.”
His words and actions caused you to be a lot more excited than you should be. Finally coming down from your stretched position, you do as he says, your ass now pushed right against his crotch.
Wasting no time, Homelander roughly pushes your skirt past your hips and easily rips your stockings open, along with your panties, both items of clothing already wet. He must have some kind of opening in his suit, because the next thing you feel is the head of his cock pushing against your soaked pussy.
“Fuck, you are a dirty little slut, so fucking wet already. Slut like you probably likes being hurt, you like being threatened. Don’t you, slut?” He growled against your ear, the hand not holding his cock, now wrapped tightly against your throat.
“Ye-yees…” you moan out weakly and desperately.
Your answer and the pathetic way you said it seemed to please him, as he wasted no time pushing his cock fully inside of you.
“Aaah- fuck!” You couldn’t help but scream out at the rough intrusion.
“You naughty little fucking girl!”
Ripping your panties fully off your body, he shoved the destroyed fabric into your mouth. Your eyes water and his strong grip around your throat and hip tightens.
“Maybe that’ll shut you up, you little fucking whore.”
His thrusts were anything but gentle, they were vicious and controlling. It was obvious he didn’t care for your pleasure, simply using you as a way to cum. That thought shouldn’t make you so excited, but it really did.
Even through your panties and the hand around your throat, your pathetically desperate moans could still be heard.
Each powerful thrust seemed to hit you perfectly, the speed and force of his hips felt both brutal and euphoric. It didn’t take long for your brain to turn to pleasure filled mush, his degrading words fuzzing your mind.
It wasn’t until he suddenly pulled out of you and shoved you to the floor that you came back to reality. One strong hand in your hair shoved your head back roughly, your glazed over eyes only just registering the leaking cock he was pumping right in your face.
As ropes and ropes of cum landed on your face, his grip on your hair tightened painfully, and his head threw back with a loud moan.
“There you are, there’s my cum, you desperate little slut,” he degrades as he uses his cock to smear his cum all over your face.
Releasing his hand from your hair, your weak body falls to the break room floor. He does nothing to help you up as he tucks himself back into his costume.
“Guess you will keep your job after all,” he laughs to himself as he leaves the room and leaves you on the floor, quaking and exhausted.
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