#exaggerated expressions and all. maybe hes not how i imagined him to be (again talking about personality) but idk need more backstory i gue

[mooooonnnzz]

okay,,,, hear me out,,,, how being ford's and stan's younger sibling and maybe like- remember when ford asked stanley to take the book and sail away? maybe what if ford asked reader to do that instead? and what if instead of ford being pushed into the portal it was reader? idk man i justn want some sibling angst >:]

World/Insured

Stanford Pines x Sibling!Reader/Stanley Pines x Sibling!Reader

᧔o᧓ i told myself it was gonna be a short lil fic

᧔o᧓ its 3k words guh

᧔o᧓ i had a lil too much fun writing this

᧔o᧓ if i made a taglist, would anyone be interested in being in it? if so, dm me or comment :p

᧔o᧓ angst!!

᧔o᧓ gnreader!

᧔o᧓ thats really all, enjoy!

᧔o᧓ request r open!!

𝜗℘ “[Name]! There’s some mail, can you be a doll and get it for me?” Stan shouts from the living room, a loud cheer following right after. His favorite football team of his was currently playing out of state and by the obnoxiously loud whistling and joyful cries, they seem to be doing good. Moodily stomping your foot on the ground, you yell; “Why don’t you get you slob!” while furiously scrubbing the dirty dishes clean. “But it’s sooo farr.” He whines. You could perfectly imagine his hand lazily reaching towards the door, exaggerated groans leaving his lips. Letting out an annoyed groan, you drop the plate down in the sink and shut off the sink. Walking out of the kitchen and into the living room, you point an angry finger at him. “You’re washing the dishes since you’re being a lazy bum right now.” You walk away, ignoring his protests against washing the dishes. Opening the door, you pop your head out and see a single postcard placed on the floor matt. You picked it up, curious about the unfamiliar postcard. “Gravity Falls?” You read out, closing the door with your foot. You’ve never heard of a place called that before? Flipping it on its back, in bold big letters read ‘Please come! - Ford’ Your heart catches in your throat. You had to reread the message again to make sure you weren’t imagining things.

𝜗℘ “Stan!” You need to show Stan this. He’d be the one to make sense of this all. Maybe you were imagining things, so delirious on the sadness of your distant brother your brain chose to cheer itself up by hallucinating postcards by Ford. That sounds plausible, right? “What’s up? Did you change your mind?” You don’t bother responding and shoved the postcard in his face. His face scrunches in confusion as he plucks the postcard from your hand. “Gravity Falls?” The same lost expression was pulled on his face. “Now, flip it on its back!” You said, tapping the card eagerly. Stan clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, slapping your hand away. “I will! If you’d let me.” He grumbled, turning it around. He reads the text, his eyes slowly widening. “FORD?!” He screams, abruptly standing up from the sofa. “He wants to talk to us now?” He glares at the postcard, anger swirling in his body. “What could he possibly want!”

𝜗℘ “I dunno but it sounds urgent.” You said, uncertainty in your tone. “You’re seriously considering seeing him?” He throws the postcard on the coffee table in front of him. “Is this something you really want to do?” Stan asks you, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s eyeing you carefully as if you have no idea what you’re talking about. “Yes, Stan! This is our brother. We need to go see him.” Stan pinched his nose, grumbling under his breath. “Fine,” He rolls his shoulders. “If we want to leave now, we better start packing.”

𝜗℘ While packing you wondered what Ford would have wanted. Did he want to reunite? Is this a sort of wedding invitation? Has he gone mad? So many scenarios filled your head and yet none of them felt right. Stuffing your clothes in your bag, you zip it close. “I’m done packing!” You announce, walking down the stairs. “Hurry, Stan! Or I’m going to leave without you!”

𝜗℘ “You better not!” Stan came rushing down the stairs, a bag strung across his body. “You ready?” You ask him, turning off the lights in the hallway. “I guess,” Stan shrugs, twisting the knob to the door, pulling it open. “After you.” He bows down to the floor. You kneed his shoulder, rolling your eyes. “You look ridiculous, get up.” You laugh.

𝜗℘ The car ride over to Gravity Falls was full of bostrious conversation from you and Stan. “Do you think he has a beard now?” Stan gasps, a grin pulling to his face at the thought of Ford with a beard. “Or a buzz?” You add, moving your head to the beats of the song that faintly played on the radio. “Nah, he would never.” Stan shakes his head. “The chances are never zero!”

𝜗℘ Checking the weather for probable storms was something you should’ve done beforehand. Stan was the first to notice how much snow had been falling and how roughly the wind slammed against the car. Thinking nothing of it, you continued onwards, telling Stan that he was probably making a big deal. He wasn’t. Nearing Gravity Falls, a snowstorm plowed through the small town and unknown to you and Stan, you got caught in it. That led you to pull over onto the side of the road that was practically just a white forest wonderland. “And who’s fault is this?” Stan asked sarcastically, motioning towards the car that was stuck in the snow. Fortunately for you and Stan, you were right where you needed to be. “Whatever, we’re close anyway.” You scowl, treading through the thick snow. “I think I might get blown away!” Stan’s loud voice pierced through the loud wind. “Stop being so dramatic!” You latched your hands around Stan’s wrist. “Oh, you’re so sweet.” Stan said, covering his face from the snow with his forearm. “Sure,”

𝜗℘ Approaching the shack, you knock on the door. “Ten bucks he doesn’t—“ The door whips open and a crossbow gets shoved to your face. “Woah, woah!” Stan swiftly stood in front of you, his body shielding you. “Who are you? Have you come to steal my eyes!”

𝜗℘ “Well, I can always count on you for a warm welcome.” Stan said, unbothered with Ford’s unusual greeting. Standing on your toes, you peered your head over Stan’s shoulder. You warmly smiled at Ford. He saw you and Stan, his eyes softened and his shoulders untensed. And for a split moment, Ford had a comforting feeling settle on him. He thought everything was going to be alright, but a slight shadow moving behind the trees triggered his paranoia back tenfold.

𝜗℘ “Guys! Did anyone follow you at all?” He looks warily side to side. “Eh, hello to you too, pal.” Said Stan, annoyance evident on his face. With one final look outside, Ford grabs you and Stan by the collar and pulls you in the shack. He shines a flashlight in Stan’s eyes then yours. “Why did you do that?” You pushed Ford away from you. “Sorry, I just had to make sure you weren't... uh, it's nothing. Come in, come in.” He urges you in, darting away further into the house. You closed the door and surveyed his house. Skeletons of certain animals were hung around, various books were stacked on top of each other and thrown around the house, and loads of crumpled up balls were scattered across the hallway. “What a mess this is.” You whisper to Stan who chuckles softly. “I’m telling him you said that.” Stan cheekily smiled. Removing his hand from his jacket pockets, he held his hand palm up in front of you. “You owe me ten bucks from earlier.” You sighed, grabbing your wallet out of your pocket and grabbing a crisp ten dollar bill. “Thank you!” He grabs it, sniffs it and shoves it in his pocket. “You’re weird.”

𝜗℘ “Uh, you’re gonna explain what’s going on here?” Stan asks, as you walk into another room, your mouth going slack in shock at how messy the room is. “You’re acting like mom on her tenth cup of coffee!” An amused puff of air left your nostrils. “He’s acting way worse than her.” You say, your eyes locking on a large animal skull that laid on top of an empty tank. “Don’t touch that!” He already knew that look in your eyes, a look where it told everyone who knew you that you were going to touch whatever caught your attention. “Thought I could get away with that.” You mumbled.

𝜗℘ Ford fills his arms with stacks of paper and a thick journal with the number one drawn on it. “Listen, there isn’t much time.” Ford starts, looking back to see if he missed any papers. “I’ve made huge mistakes and I don’t know who I could trust anymore.” He glances over to the skeleton who was positioned to where it's empty eye sockets stared directly at Ford’s side. Uncomfortable with the skeleton, he turns the head around. Stan’s immediately off put with how Ford’s talking. “Hey, uh, easy there. Let’s talk this through, okay?” He says, placing a hand on Ford’s shoulder. A glimpse of conflict flickers on Ford’s face. “I have something to show you two. Something you won’t believe.” Stan claims he’d understand, you heavily doubted that, this is Ford we’re talking about. Whatever he has to show, it is nothing within the lines of normal.

𝜗℘ He instructs you to follow him down to his lab. “Is this what you’ve been doing for 10 years?” You pondered out loud, your eyes taking in every machine that covered the place. What you weren’t expecting was the big triangular portal that stood in front of you and Stan. “Do you understand any of this?” You harmlessly jested. Stan dumbly stared at the portal in front of him. “Nope!”

𝜗℘ Taking steps towards the machine, Ford began to explain why such a thing was built and why it should never be turned on. He opened the side of his trench coat, his hand grabbing the book that was tucked in a pocket. “There’s only one journal left.” The journal was in front of you. “This is why I’m entrusting [Name] to hold onto the book.” You grabbed the book and you instantly felt queasy. “I have something to ask of you both,” His hands lay on you and Stan’s shoulders. “Remember our plans to sail around the world on a boat?” Your eyes glimmer with excitement. Was this the moment you and Stan have been waiting for? Are the Pines finally reuniting once and for all? “Take this book, get on a boat and sail away as far as ya can! To the edges of the earth!” He emphasizes this with a raise of his hands. “Bury it where no one can find it!”

𝜗℘ “You want us to get away from you?” You restated, voice slightly clipped with anger. “We just got here, Ford! And now you’re saying to get away from you?” You repeated, hoping your words held some kind of weight that would’ve shattered the ridiculous idea Ford had conjuring in his mind. “[Name], you don’t understand what I’m up against!” Ford says. “What I’ve been through!”

𝜗℘ Stan must’ve took what Ford said personally with how he was huffing out through his nose. “No, no!” Stan points at Ford. “I’ve been ban from three different countries! [Name] was outcasted by Dad because he didn’t bother taking care of them after you left! You think you’ve got problems? Me and [Name] have been struggling to stay afloat, Stanford.” He directs a finger to Ford’s chest. “Meanwhile, where have you been? Living it up in your fancy house in the woods! Selfishly hoarding your college money, because you only care about yourself!”

𝜗℘ “I’m selfish? I’m selfish, Stanley?” His eyebrows furrow inwards. Ford opened his mouth, ready to blow a few holes into Stan when you interjected. “I did not come here to hear you guys fight!” You stood in front of Ford, shoving his book in his hands. “Ford, I love you so much but we did not come all the way here just to do your dirty work.” Ford jerked his head back in disbelief. “My dirty work? Really?” He chuckles dryly. “And to think I could trust you with something valuable like this!”

𝜗℘ “Forget it,” Ford looks down at his book. “Forget all of this.” He waves his arm around his surroundings. “Why did I bother to ask you guys to come here? It’s pointless, everything is!” Ford babbles to himself, his hand that wasn’t holding the books was deeply entangled in his hair. You grew concerned over your brother, taking a step toward him, you reached a hand out. “Ford, are you o—“ A hand slams straight into your chest, pushing you back and stumbling over your feet. Stan grabs a hold of you, steadying you before yanking the book away from Ford. “You want to get rid of this book?” With his other hand, he digs it in his pocket. “Fine, I’ll do it then!” He pulls out a lighter. Flicking the lighter on, he holds the fire below the book. “My research!” Ford tackles Stan to the ground, the book flying out of Stan’s hold. You hurriedly rush over to where the book is and grab it. Ford removes himself off Stan and steadily approaches you like a wild animal. “Give me the book back, [Name].” He swipes his hand towards you, but you quickly back away into his lab.

𝜗℘ “Don’t let him get the book, [Name]!” Stan groans out, standing back up from the floor. “No!” Ford snarls. “Don’t listen to him, listen to me!” Ford took two steps forward while you took two steps back. “I’m sorry, Ford!” The back of your shoe slams against metal. Whipping your head behind you, you see yourself backed into a control panel of some sort. “Why must you do this to me? To your own brother!” His voice cracks with each word. “Whatever you’re doing here is slowly killing you, Ford. This isn’t right.” You shake the book in your hand. Whatever that’s in this journal must have something to do with Ford’s declining sanity. “Your brain can’t comprehend the sheer amount of important information that is in that book! You can’t destroy it!” Ford lunges towards you but you were faster than his fatigued body, you duck below and roll out of the way. His fingers brush against some controls, powering on the portal.

𝜗℘ Running back to where the portal stood, you threw the journal to Stan. “Catch!” You yell. Stan perfectly catches the book. “What do we do with it?” He questions, his eyes speedily darting to the book and Ford who was running up to him. “Destroy it!” You watch Stan stepsids Ford. “No!” Ford desperately yells out. Stan ran back into the lab but was pulled down by Ford delivering a well calculated kick to his ankle. “Give me back my book!” Ford cried out, kicking Stan to the back of the control panel. A guttural howl of agony left Stan, his hand flying to his back. He fell forward and you could see the upper right shoulder of his jacket was burnt off, a sizzling marking was blistering on his skin. “Stanley, oh my gosh! I’m so sorry, are you alr—“ Stan punches Ford in the face, causing him to stumble back into the lever, fully activating the portal. “Some brother you turned out to be!” Stan threw his book to the floor. Ford raised himself to his feet and was about to run to the book when you grabbed the back of his shoulder.

𝜗℘ “Stanford, do you really care more about stupid mysteries than your own family?” You spoke quietly, your sorrowful eyes locking with Ford’s erratic ones. “I—“ He gulps, his eyes shooting to the discarded book on the floor. “Don’t reach for the book, Stanford, please,” You beg, your voice shaky. “I can’t watch you guys fight anymore.” A look of sadness covers his face as he pushes you back, your feet overstepping the yellow and black caution tape. “I can’t let you take this away from me too!” Ford snatches the book from the ground, a relief sigh leaving him. The book was finally—

𝜗℘ “[Name]!” Stan screeched. “Stanford, what did you do!” He screamed, his hands grabbing his shoulder, fingers digging into Ford’s skin. Ford turns over to see you being pulled in by the portal. “[Name]!” Ford runs to you and he attempts to grab you, but you’re too far up. “Stan, Ford!” You call for them, your hand reaching to them. Stan fruitlessly tried snagging a finger, your sleeve, absolutely anything! But nothing. “What’s happening?!” You cry out in fear, seeing half of your body disappear within the portal. “Stanford, fucking do something!” Stan shoves Ford back. “I-I don’t know what to do!” He stammers. Stan grips the lever and with all his strength, pulls back, trying to switch it off but it wouldn’t budge. “Stanle—“ Your voice gets lost to the whirling wind of the portal and with a quick blink, you were sucked in, lost to time and space. The portal blasted Ford and Stan back.

𝜗℘ Stan groggily gets up, clutching his head in his hands. “Y-You!” Stan stumbles over his words, ears ringing loudly. “If it wasn’t for your obsession with this book, [N-Name] would’ve still been here!” His eyes water with tears. “Stanley, I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean for this to happen!” Ford glanced at the portal, it was still intact, there was some hope! “We can power the portal on!” Ford scrambles to his feet and runs over to the portal. “It’s not going to work, Stanford.” Stan says, clenching his teeth so tightly he would’ve chipped a tooth. Stan watches with blurry eyes as Ford pathetically puts all his nonexistent strength into pulling the lever. “Stanley, help me!” He pitifully pleads. “It’s not going to work!” Stan yells. “All you do is bring bad luck wherever you go! You-You don’t do—“ His voice dies in his throat, a shuddered sob leaving in its stead. “Forget it, Stanford.” If you were here, you knew you wouldn’t want them to fight anymore. He held back his words in favor of you. “Stanley, we can fix this! We just need to find the other books.”

𝜗℘ As Ford shouted out different ways they could boot the portal back up, Stan left the lab and stared at the bag you left near the door. Grabbing it, he pulled it to his chest and sobbed onto it. You were gone and he wasn’t sure he was going to get you back.

Part 2

[peachywritess]

workout agenda ー jjk

☁️ genre: M(18+), smut, best friends to lovers kinda? fluff at the end

☁️ pairings: personal trainer!best friend!jungkook x fem!reader; also jimin and hobi are mentioned.

☁️ warnings: explicit smut, unprotected sex, oral sex (female receiving), kind of dom!jungkook, praise kink, loads of cursing, creampie. i don't know what else to add lmao help

☁️ word count: 2,7k

☁️ author's note: hi, wow. first time ever writing smut, so enjoy i guess? this is the definition of "that escalated quickly" and i'm aware of that. also this jungkook has me weak bye. lemme know if you would like a part two hehe.

Having a personal trainer as a best friend definitely had its perks - like the fact that, this said best friend, would constantly beg you to let him coach you for just one workout. But knowing him, giving in would mean working out every day and you enjoyed your life as it was.

"Please, please Y/N, just this time! I won't ask you anymore, I promise."

Jungkook, Hoseok, Jimin and you were sitting in a café for a "study date" - which resulted in more talking than studying, and Hoseok bursting out in laughter when you started putting real effort into your assignments.

You took a sip of your chai latte and glared at the dark-haired man sitting right in front of you.

"He's at it again, such a child." Jimin shook his head, eyes focused on the screen of his laptop, and an amused smile on his lips.

"Kookie, we talked about this." You sighed, already knowing his response. "I am not working out with you."

"Dang it!" He sat back on his chair - its wooden material screeching as he put all of his weight on it - and this gained a giggle from Hoseok who was watching some dancing videos on YouTube.

"Y/N, you know that he won't give up until you say yes to him." He said diverting his attention from the phone screen to you.

"Come on, Hobi, you should be on my side." You responded, acting exhausted although you were mostly exaggerating your reactions.

He shrugged and looked back at his phone - that's when you felt Jungkook's gaze on you and, when you finally looked at him, his expression had entirely altered. He was pouting, his chin rested on both his hands, and he was fluttering his eyes trying to persuade you.

"Once again, I am not working out with you, Kookie!"

So there you were, walking on the treadmill in Jungkook's personal gym to warm your body up. After weeks of pestering, Jungkook had finally succeeded in convincing you.

However, your eyes weren’t particularly attentive to the small digits showing your heartbeat, or the minutes you had passed on the equipment, but were interested in something more appealing.

Jeon Jungkook was a literal god. He was wearing a tank top - that fit his body too perfectly - exposing his beefy arms covered with tattoos, which you had counted numerous times. His wavy jet-black hair was held in a low ponytail and some strands of his locks flawlessly fell on his forehead.

Everything about him was perfect in a way you could not comprehend - you almost felt dumb, crushing over your best friend. However, you had been doing that for years.

Sometimes - or maybe too many times - you imagined how his biceps would feel, and how his fit body would look standing atop of you, wavy hair framing his pretty face.

Was it okay for you to be thinking these dirty things? Was it okay to be feeling this heat between your legs whenever you watched him do pull-ups?

“So have you warmed up enough?” His voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you immediately locked eyes with him, nodding in response before stopping the treadmill. He always had this gentle and calm manner of talking to you while looking so fucking good, and this nearly upset you - like, he had no reasoning being this hot. 

"What? Should I do a thirty-minute warm-up like you?" You raised an eyebrow, teasing him.

Jungkook laughed and decided to tease you back. "You wish."

You gasped, faking disbelief as you poked his side - a spot you knew was very ticklish - making him giggle even more. You gazed in awe as he laughed, his eyes squinting.

“Alright, alright, let’s start with a simple sumo squat. Let me grab the resistance bands.”

You watched him retrieve the equipment and admired his back muscles tense as he reached for a box in an upper shelf, where he kept all the additional gear needed for certain exercises. You were staring - and he knew. In fact, you were both pretty aware of the thing going on between the two of you since freshman year.

You tried to act innocent, prettily smiling at him and nodding in agreement to everything he said, giving him thumbs up when he corrected your posture, indeed trying hard not to show what you truly felt. The truth was that you had no idea how to tell him and - “Jungkook, please fuck me” probably wasn’t the best way to confess to your long-term best friend.

“There you go.” He handed you the resistance bands, and you quickly wore them just above your knees.

“Man, what took you so long?" You scoffed, yet again acting annoyed. It was an inside joke between the two of you, you didn't get offended when the other acted like this: it was strange but unique.

You started the exercise, by squatting down and up with slow and steady movements. He was right beside you, arms crossed enhancing his biceps and head slightly tilted to the right. You glimpsed at the large mirror on your left, making sure he didn’t notice you gazing at him from time to time.

His dark-chocolate eyes observed you, analyzing each one of your movements and biting his lower lip. He always did that when he was focused, but it truly drove you crazy.

“Try widening your knees more, and keep that back arched or you will definitely kill your lower back.” 

His tone was calm and focused and you liked how professional he was. He was really passionate about his job, in fact, Jungkook was one of the best personal trainers in Seoul and had made a name for himself.

Clients loved him because, instead of shouting at them as many others did, he made everyone feel comfortable and enforced their confidence never once doubting them.

His duality baffled you - one minute he was smiling and being adorable, acting like a cute puppy, and the other his whole expression would completely shift and you would notice a different light in his eyes.

“Like this?” You innocently questioned, although you very well knew what you were doing. You then arched your back more - way more, exposing the roundness of your butt.

You heard him nervously chuckle. "Y/N, you will break your back."

Jungkook was fairly amused, in fact, he thought you were the cutest thing. You acted all annoyed and bothered - but now there you were trying to show off to him.

“Here, let me just…” He got closer to you - close enough that you could feel his warm breath on your shoulder. He was taller than you, so he had to somehow bend down a little and it made you feel trapped. One hand rested on your right hip, while the other was cautiously placed on your abdomen: his hands were rough - due to the multiple calluses, he had - yet his touch felt extremely soft. 

Your throat had dried up, and you had helplessly tried to seem unaffected by his closeness. But in spite of that, you couldn’t deny to yourself how fast your heart was beating, and how the spots he was touching had started to heat up.

"Did you buy this set just for today?" He was referring to your outfit: you were wearing a light blue sports bra and matching leggings that complimented your curves - and yes, you had obviously bought it for him.

"No, I bought this like a year ago."

"You? Owning gym wear?" He slightly chuckled, knowing you weren't the type to hit the gym daily.

"There are some things you don't know about me, Jeon Jungkook." You stated trying to sound as playful as before, but he had noticed a change in your tone.

"Oh, really?"

You nodded and started moving again as he guided you, holding you firmly. You unsuccessfully attempted to focus on the movements, and not on the scent of his cologne nor the fact that his chest was now pressed against your back.

"Like the fact that you are begging me to fuck you right now?" He whispered into your ear, lips brushing against your earlobe as his breath sent tingles down your spine.

"Probably." You managed to answer - almost completely out of breath - not knowing if it was from the workout or from the way he was tightening his grip on you.

"Fuck, can I kiss you?" He sounded almost desperate. "Because I will fucking do it now if you are okay with it."

You wasted no time, turning on your heels to finally face him and, locking your arms around his shoulders, pulled him toward you. Your lips crashed in a mixed kiss - there was neediness, tenderness, and excitement, all combined as you finally got to know how he tasted.

"Shit, I've wanted this for so long." He managed to affirm as he briefly detached from you, before kissing you again. "For so fucking long."

He proceeded to effortlessly lift you up, hands squeezing your butt as he walked across the room, not even knowing where to go himself. Jungkook then spotted the desk he used to create his own workouts, and carefully placed you on it, lips never leaving yours.

"W-Wait, Kookie." You extended your arms forward, gently pulling him away from you. You finally caught your breath, your lungs relaxing.

His expression shifted - he seemed worried.

"Fuck, Y/N, I'm- I'm so sorry." He mumbled, running his hands through his perfectly combed hair, ruining it. "I got carried away, and didn't think that- that maybe this wasn't okay for you."

Typical Jungkook. He was so selfless, always putting other people's benefits in front of his own, worrying that what he did might upset someone. A smile depicted on your face - he was adorable.

"Kookie, I want this more than you think." You intertwined your legs around his torso, pushing him towards you so that he was now on top of you, biceps tensed to keep himself from crushing you.

His eyes widened in surprise, and you reached for his cheek gently stroking it. "You're so cute when you get flustered, you know?"

"And you look ravishing right now, you know?" He mimicked you, embarrassment having completely left him as he literally devoured you with his eyes. "So pretty, all dressed up for me."

Then, yet again, his lips were on yours but now his hands were exploring your body: a hand cupped one of your breasts as the other buried in your hair. There was something different about his touch: it was like he was yearning for you like he was craving for more with every passing second.

You hurriedly reached for his tank top, unsuccessfully trying to pull it up - so Jungkook helped you by taking it off, exposing his chest. You couldn't help but trace every perfect line on his abdomen, wanting to kiss him all over. You had seen him shirtless, but it didn't feel the same.

His attention shifted from your lips to your neck, where he started leaving a trail of wet kisses before stopping just above your breasts. He gave you a questioning look, and you nodded. At this point, you would have agreed to everything he wanted to do to you.

He lifted your sports bra up, exposing your hardened nipples and you promptly blushed, feeling overwhelmed. Reality hit you like a high-speed train: you were about to have sex with Jeon Jungkook, and he had just seen your boobs.

"Getting all flustered, aren't you?"

You blushed, covering your eyes with your palms - you felt so exposed and yet you totally liked it. You peeked through your fingers, watching as Jungkook took a nipple into his mouth, sucking on it.

You moaned - mouth agape and body completely on fire - and you instinctively yanked his hair, pulling away the hairband that held them together. His locks tickled your skin as he played with your breasts for a little longer, crotch rubbing against your thigh.

"Fuck, Kookie, I want you now." You whined, the heat between your legs now unbearable, pussy begging for some friction.

"So eager. If you ask me nicely, maybe I'll give you what you want."

He laid a few kisses on your ribs, then on your stomach, and then stopped as he was looming over the lower abdomen. A smirk appeared on his lips, seeing you squirming under him was driving him crazy, so he playfully blew on your belly - just to tease you.

"Kookie- fuck, please I want your cock. Please, Jungkook, fuck me."

"Such a good girl." He breathed out, before pulling down both your leggings and your panties. He groaned as he admired your exposed cunt. "You are so wet for me already, princess."

The name he had just called you made your heart lose a beat, and you swiftly closed your legs, feeling your pussy pulsate. Jungkook smirked at your reaction, having never seen you so vulnerable, and grabbed both your knees to open your legs yet again.

"Shit, you are so pretty, Y/N."

If that was what Heavens felt, then you wanted to die every day. Jungkook's mouth was on your pussy, eating you out: he licked the length of your cunt, gently sucking on your clitoris, gaining lovable moans from you. You yanked your head back, as you grasped his hair, pleasuring tears blurring your vision.

His lips were soft, and he made sure to do everything to make you feel good. You were absolutely stunning - and he craved more.

"F-fuck, fuck me, please."

You groaned when you felt his lips detach from your pussy, fresh air tingling your bare skin. You were trying to catch your breath when you felt him thrust into you - without any warning. He stretched your walls and although it initially stung a bit, his cock felt too good.

"Shit- I couldn't wait any longer." He murmured in your ear, strong arms embracing you, holding you tight. You hugged him back, feeling him closer than ever. It all felt... warm.

He started pounding into you, keeping the same rhythm as he moaned into your ear. You felt light-headed as he fucked you harder, starting to lose all sense. You were now moaning uncontrollably, and Jungkook enjoyed every bit of it.

"You love it, huh? How I am fucking you dumb?"

He pulled away from the embrace, using his core muscles to raise himself slightly. He then grabbed you by the ankle, bringing your leg over his shoulder.

"Oh- Fuck, Jungkook!"

It was so deep, waves of pure pleasure had started running all over your body. You were now probably drooling, too.

"So good- it feels so good, Kookie."

Jungkook was now hugging your leg, brows furrowed, and head lowered down. His hair was completely hiding his expression, but you could hear his groans as he thrust harder and harder.

"You're so good- Y/N, so fucking good for me." He bit the skin of your inner thigh, leaving a big purple mark before looking directly at you. "Look at me, I want you to look at me. Can I cum- Can I cum inside of you?"

You nodded in agreement, as you were reaching your high, feeling your muscles tense.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." You cursed in a high-pitched voice as you cummed on his cock, spasms of pure bliss pulsating through you. After a few more thrusts, Jungkook let out a loud moan, cock twitching inside of you.

"God - Oh my fucking God." He deeply exhaled, body relaxing onto yours as he kept his cock where it belonged, while you were still sobbing from the fireworks of pleasure. Jungkook made sure not to crush you, putting his weight on the elbows.

He looked at you, a tender smile on his lips and dark eyes full of love. You wished you could have taken a picture of this moment to keep it forever: drops of sweat streaming down his arms, plump lips, some strands of hair attached to his forehead - he was beautiful.

"I love you." He tapped the tip of your nose, placing a soft kiss on your lips.

You smiled, cupping his cheeks with your hands, before squeezing them a little.

"I love you too, but you know, next time you want to fuck me, just tell me."

©️ peachywritess 2023. All rights reserved.

Please consider reblogging my works if you like them! <3

[judeable-brainrot]

art and patrick helping eachother get off when their hormones r going crazy because of testosterone.. yk like bestfriends do!!🤗

YUM.

imagine they start at Mark Rebellato, both horny teens but now it’s exaggerated ten fold! Patrick comes home to Art whimpering and humping his pillow on his bed, desperately trying to get off but nothing has been able to satiate him.

Patrick can feel himself get wet INSTANTLY at the sight and he quickly shuts the door to announce himself (he locks it also…) Art jumps up, pulling his covers over his lower body to shield himself, cheeks turning an even deeper shade of pink. “um! hey!” he squeaks out, obviously embarrassed. Patrick sets his stuff down. “hey…sorry. are you okay?”

Art nods furiously. “yup! yup, all good here!!” Patrick sits on his bed across from Art. “are you sure? you can talk to me Artie..” Art blushes again and pulls his knees away from his chest. “it’s just…T man..it’s making me like, crazy horny. and…nothing is working..” Art’s voice is defeated and shaky from embarrassment, his eyes never meeting Patrick’s as he speaks. Patrick watches him, pity and lust swirling in his stomach as he shifts on the bed. “yeah..yeah, i understand that. it’s crazy..” they sit in silence for a moment before Patrick speaks again. “would you..maybe like some help?”

it’s a whisper, so quiet it could barely be heard. but Art hears it. “you…what?” he stutters. Patrick shifts on the bed. “well like…maybe you need help from another person to really..satisfy yourself..” he swallows deeply because he knows what he’s proposing is going to change things but he wants it. needs it, even. Art is blushing and lost in thought, quietly squeezing his thighs together even at the thought. after a few moments he speaks, “o-okay..”

Patrick looks up, a little shocked. “yeah?” Art nods, not trusting his own voice right now. Patrick shifts. “alright um….cool. can i…can i touch you?” Art nods again. “yeah just..don’t laugh at me, please..” Patrick moves over to Art’s bed, sitting on the edge and placing a hand out on his knee. “never.” he reassures. Art nods, cheeks and ears still pink. “cool. okay um..how do we…?” Patrick chuckles. “well..first you have to remove the covers..”

Art takes a shaky breath before pulling down the covers to expose his bare lower body. he keeps his knees pulled up to this chest, effectively shielding his lower half. Patrick gently squeezes his knee. “can i see you?” Art fidgets and nods, squeezing his eyes shut and slowly parting his legs. Patrick’s mouth waters at the sight of Art’s wet slit and his elongated clit. “wow…” Art whimpers softly.

slowly Patrick reaches out a hand and runs a finger up his folds. Art gasps and grips the sheets, legs instinctively closing over his wrist. “is that okay?” Art nods. “y-yes..” Patrick gently coaxes his legs back open and does the same motion, stopping at his clit to take it in two fingers and begin to jerk it slowly.

Art’s whole body shudders and he falls back against the sheets. “hooooolly fuuuuuuuck..” Patrick smiles, shifting so he can rub himself against his heel tucked under him. “yeah..? you like that?” Art nods. “god yes..oh my god..”

Patrick continues like this for a while, rubbing Art while also getting himself off on his heel but eventually he needs more. “i’m gonna lay down next to you, okay?” Art just nods, eyes shut and expression blissed. Patrick removed his hand for a moment to shift down and lay on the bed next to Art’s lithe body. he shifts his hand back between Art’s legs, continuing his motions while slipping his free hand down his jeans to help himself. he sighs at the contact, moving his hands in tandem.

Art watches him, moaning at the sight. “jesus…” Patrick chuckles. “what? i’m horny too..” After a minute Art’s hand slides over to Patrick’s, taking his wrist. “let me..” Patrick’s brows rise but he doesn’t fight the request. he removes his hand, unbuttoning his jeans a bit and watches as Art slips his hand under the waistband. as his fingers make contact with his clit, Patrick whines. “shit..”

Art smiles before his face contorts in pleasure once again, working his hand up to speed with Patrick’s. they carry on like this for a while until Art whimpers grow louder. “Pat…oh fuck…” Patrick nods, working his fingers faster. “me too, me too..don’t stop.” the bed starts to shake with the speed at which they work on each other. Art continues to whimper and moan, louder and louder until he reaches out and grabs a hold of Patrick’s bicep. his hips buck, his legs shake, and he silently cries out in pleasure. “ohhhhh FUCK.”

Patrick moans, face scrunching, trying to follow him. “yeah, yeah, don’t stop..” Art continues to work his fingers as he rides out his own orgasm. “please, please, please..!” Patrick nods, feeling the knot build and build until it snaps. he clamps his legs around Art’s hand and he groans gutturally. “shhhhiiiiiiit…” they both lie panting together, hands resting on each others hips, fingers and bodies sticky. eventually, Patrick speaks, voice shaky and broken.

“better?”

[fabricated-misslieness]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: miles morales x hispanic male reader (featuring my accent)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: you're speaking spanish and he can hardly understand.

ʀᴇ𝐐: no ~ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 635 ~ established relationship

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: swearing, kissing, miles sitting on your lap

ᴍᴀʏʙ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: if i miss any tildes just know im not a man who paid attention to his tilde classes and also the difference between por que and porque and when they have tildes (dont think too hard about the wingdings)

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Was it wrong to admire him? Maybe it was, you didn't know; staring at strangers was wrong, but this was your boyfriend.

Miles had an effect on you. You couldn't quite name it, especially not when he asked. You just knew it had you staring, staring at his wide smiles or his expressive eyebrows or how he looks like when he's focused on drawing. You often stared when he wasn't looking, but when he was, when he returned your gaze, offered you an automatic smile, raised a teasing brow, you couldn't help but to kiss him.

But, for now, you were just looking, admiring. You could only imagine how dopey you looked right now. It's probably hilarious.

"E'te man me tiene loco." (This man drives me crazy.)

"What?"

You shake yourself out of your stupor, "Nothin'. Keep drawin'."

"No, no, dijistes algo." ((you) said something.)

"Ahahaa, no." You try to laugh it off, but Miles can see in the way that you tense up that he's right.

"Mira yo se que me mientes." He lifts himself off his seat, pointing a finger at you. (Look, I know you're lying to me.)

You cringe internally at the fact he didn't pronounce his r correctly but continue on. You raise your hands in feigned surrender, "No sé de que me 'tas hablando." (I don't know what you're talking to me about.)

"Me 'tas? Metas?" The confusion was visible on his face, which was frankly adorable, "Like goals?"

"No, mi amor," Miles sits himself down on your lap–so casually–and you take the opportunity to wrap your arms around him. The normality of it makes you relax again. "I mean to say, "me estas", but because of my accent, I cut out the "es"."

"So just say "me estas"." He replied, like it was that simple.

You roll your eyes, "I don't think about the way I say things all the time, you know. Just like how you forgot to roll your r's."

"I did not!" He shouts, pretending like he's offended.

"Oh, but you did."

"Ok, mira, carrro," He exaggerates it for you, "carrrrrro." (Ok, look, carrr. carrrrrr.)

"Okay, okay, now remember it."

"Whatever." He scoffs, "You've been deflecting."

"Have I?" You bring a hand up to fiddle with the unshaven hair at the back of his neck in the hope of distracting him.

"Yes." He digs his accusatory finger into your chest, turning the tables on you and your criticism of his shit Spanish. "Ey, stop trying to distract me."

You don't drop the hand but you stop playing with his hair, "Lo siento." (I'm sorry.)

"Dime lo que dijistes." (Tell me what you said.)

"Dijiste." You correct.

With a groan, he says it correctly. "Dijiste."

"Dijequemetienesloco." You say fast. It was a bit embarrassing to admit it, even with the many times that he's caught you staring.

Combined with his bad Spanish and how fast you said it, Miles did not understand a single word. "Dijek met ien lowcou." (👎︎♓︎🙰♏︎❑︎◆︎♏︎❍︎♏︎⧫︎♓︎♏︎■︎♏︎⬧︎●︎□︎♍︎□︎)

"What language are you speaking?"

"That's what you said." He laughs. "But seriously the curiosity is killing me!"

"Fine..."

He fiddles in your lap excitedly as he anticipates your words.

"Me tienes loco." (You drive me crazy.)

They were simple words but he didn't understand them. "I have you crazy? Do I drive you mad? Do you think I'm that annoying?"

Stuck in your own embarrassment, you ignore his rambling and begin your own, "I mean I actually said "Este man me tiene loco" but you know it's practically the same thing and you'd complain about me calling you man porque it's so impersonal and–" (This man drives me crazy.)

Meanwhile he's over here still trying to figure it out, until, "Wait it's "You make me crazy!". Ohhh."

You prepare yourself for teasing but are instead met with a soft little kiss.

"I drive you crazy, huh?" Miles smiles one of those smiles you always adore.

"Yes." There would be teasing later, you were sure of it, but for now you relished in kissing him. You couldn't have enough of him.

[undyinglantern]

end of s1+jjk0 thoughts

-todo still annoying every time he speaks

-im not as wild about mahito as i was in 2021 or whenever s1 first came out now that ive calmed down on my juna/nobu hype but he is still really fun to watch in a fight

-apparently nobara's speech in her fight at the school event was a hashtag feminism moment people were talking about when it happened or something? idk fell a little flat for me and was more interested in mai vs maki tbh

-the last 3-4 episodes of the season were far better than all 20ish episodes prior to it. like, the first 20 episodes were just decent nothing special not bad but wouldnt go out of my way to praise either but then the last 4 episodes i was actually invested and having fun

-i always liked toge even from the first time i gave the series a go simply bc he reminded me of another character from donten ni warai (mutsuki ashiya) but hes good. hes cool even on his own without backpacking on a design i already liked

-idk how much i buy some teenager holding on to this idea of pure love especially toward someone they promised to marry as a 10 year old, but i also wouldnt know what its like to carry the sort of trauma he does either so eh whatever

-yuta's fast speed of learning things is kinda ridiculous ngl like how are they gonna handle his growth going forward without him just being broken, which is a thing ive already heard gege doesnt like gojo for already so why introduce another guy who could potentially be just as powerful. i am interested though

-speaking of gojo literally at the end of the movie i caught myself thinking "oh no" because i can already tell once i do know what his deal/backstory is im going to have to admit hes a good character actually

todo stfu about people’s “type”

[okkalo]

Hiiii do you do scenarios for multiple characters? i'd like to request jealousy scenarios for isagi, chigiri, kaiser, nagi, reo. thank u sm ^^

hi anon! yes i do :) i hope u enjoy these and have a good day/night 🫶

characters: isagi, chigiri, kaiser, nagi, reo

isagi

- it’s the way the beast mode song came in my head just thinking about this 💀

- he would be a calm type of jealous though

- the only situation i can see him getting mad in is if kaiser was the one interacting with you and he was obviously flirting.

- even then he would try to control it around you, just making sure to send a little glare kaiser’s way before taking your hand to lead you someplace else. oh, you were mid-conversation? it’s okay because your boyfriend is much better company!

- he rarely gets jealous though

- and when he does he usually just touches you in someway, whether it be taking your hand or throwing an arm around you. he definitely gets pouty.

- i can imagine him getting jealous because you were talking to someone for too long

- you guys had gone out for a date, strolling around town until you suddenly bumped into an old friend

- at first isagi didn’t mind but you guys just kept talking

isagi let another rough sigh, borderline huff, slip from his lips as he watched you pay no mind to him. he had been standing there for god only knows how long, letting you interact with your old friend when really it should’ve just been the two of you. it was your guys’ date after all. he let out another sigh, hoping you guys had at least been getting close to ending the conversation. he wouldn’t know since he stopped listening ten minutes in. okay..maybe that’s an exaggeration. but it felt like an hour went by to isagi.

he switches his balance to his other foot, impatiently, before deciding to at least try to enjoy the time. he places a hand on your back, starting to rub it up and down while he continued to fake smile at the guy. his heart fluttered once you sent him a worried look, finally giving him some sort of attention. even better, you even took his hand as a sign that you should be wrapping up the conversation, to which you did with ease.

once done with waving goodbye, isagi immediately let out a dramatic sigh, lips going into a slight pout before pulling you closer to him. he didn’t need to say words for you to understand he was upset, because frankly his sighs said it all. you could only let out a small giggle before pulling isagi into a hug, resting your chin on his chest as you looked up. “thank you for waiting so patiently, yoichi.” okay, maybe he could do something like that again if this is what he got in return.

chigiri

- he’s definitely the hardest one to make jealous out of these characters

- but that’s mostly because he trusts you

- i can imagine you being brought up like his sister to the blue lock team

- you happened to be at one of the games, next to his sister, when she did her loud callout

- and of course the men heard and turned towards the direction, this time someone else had caught their eye.

- chigiri had to put up with their questions back then and he thought that was it

- until he had saw otoya try talking to you after the game

a huff left chigiri’s lips at the sight. he should’ve known to not trust otoya, i mean he saw it all that day they went bowling. what annoyed him even more is that he could tell otoya was using the same pickup tactic as if you were an ordinary girl. and to top it all off? you had been indulging him. he was lucky he came when otoya asked for your number.

“she’s not for grabs.” chigiri immediately slid his way into the conversation, arm finding it’s way around your waist as he gave a deadpan expression to his teammate. chigiri’s heart swelled once you gave him an excited greeting, forgetting the jealousy that pricked him before. “let’s go home.” he stated, sliding his hand down to connect your fingers, giving a light squeeze to your hand before dragging you off. he ignored otoya’s giggle in the background.

“next time just ignore him if he comes up to you.” chigiri broke the calm silence between you both on the ride back to your shared home. you were about to reason yourself when he spoke up again, not giving you a chance to, “he’s got a lot of other girls to talk to, trust me.”

kaiser

- LMAO

- gets jealous only when he sees people he doesn’t know or like interact with you

- but that’s also a lot of people so

- and god forbid isagi ever come close to you

- or if the person you’re with is throwing in light touches

- remember that cocky yet pissed face he showed in one of the chapters? that’s the face he uses.

- does not care if the person you’re talking to is important

- will absolutely use pda. if you aren’t comfortable you either have to immediately drop the conversation or punish kaiser with no kisses or smth for a period of time

- will use insults as well

- just so so obnoxious.

it was after one of kaiser’s football games when he saw this random idiot trying to talk you up. after a shit game of having to deal with isagi and noel’s suckup relationship. after a game that consisted of thoughts about you, just wanting to go home with you. and this is what he sees? he scoffs at the sight before his legs carry him to you two.

“hey babe,” kaiser makes sure to greet you with a pet name, sliding his arm around your shoulders before his hand moves your head to meet him in for a kiss. he peeks one eye open during the kiss, sending a glare to the guy while his lips formed into a smirk at the guy’s shocked face. he departs from the kiss shortly after, his eyes now only on you. “let’s go home and celebrate, yeah?”

he ignores you trying to introduce the guy, pulling you along with him while his other hand flies off in a lazy wave. “don’t care, i’m better.” you could only give him a light push while giving a rushed apology to the guy you were in mid-conversation with before kaiser dragged you away.

nagi

- the pouty type of jealous

- argue with the wall

- hard to get jealous though because frankly he doesn’t care most of the time

- but this situation had been ongoing

- he started picking up on your play flirts with your friends

- at first he thought it was weird but as time went on he couldn’t help but be jealous of your friends

nagi’s lips formed into a frown at the now red screen in front of him. he had been distracted by your coos over the phone with your friend and ended up losing his game. he let out a huff as he looked over at you smiling dumbly while holding a phone to your ear. he was thankful you were saying your goodbyes, quickly tossing his own phone to the side as he crawled over to plop himself on your stomach. he ignored your groan at his weight, head laying down on your chest as he stared off to the side. “why can’t you talk to me like that?”

the blunt question had caught you off guard, eyes narrowing in confusion until you started to think. “you mean flirt? you want me to flirt with you nagi?” he gave a huff at your confused tone before giving a small nod. you couldn’t help the laughter that escaped your lips at his answer. “nagi, you’re my boyfriend why would i need to tell you ‘i’m kissing you through the phone’?”

his head immediately perked up, eyes now meeting yours. “it’s not just that! why don’t you tell me ‘i’m going to marry you’? i should be the one you say that to, not them anyways.” he declared, his frown sinking deeper as you let out another laugh. you pushed your fingers into his hair, scratching his scalp as you gave him a goofy smile. he let out a sigh, his heart easing at your smile before setting his chin back down on your chest. “i’ll marry you better than them anyways.”

reo

- definitely gets jealous easily

- he’s a mix of the pouty jealous and the cold jealous

- definitely pouty with you but when there’s someone else he has to put on a cool look yk

- he happened to walk in at the wrong time once he heard you call someone hot while looking at your phone

- he went smug immediately, thinking it was him you were looking at

- you can only imagine the betrayal he felt once he saw you looking at a picture of one of his teammates

- calls you out on it and he became pouty that whole night, even giving you silent treatment up until bed time

you sighed, crawling into the bed just to notice you weren’t welcome to open arms like usual. now it was your turn to pout, eyes falling over to reo who sat with his body against the headboard, his arms crossed and his head turned to avoid you even more. “reo…you know, i still think you’re the hottest guy on the team.”

you let out another sigh as you were met with silence. you were still determined, nonetheless. you couldn’t go to sleep without reo pulling you close. you decided to crawl up to him, lightly setting yourself down on his lap as your hand moved his head to look at you. “not only that but you’re the best guy on your team. i mean, you can pull off so many cool moves it’s incredible.” you start whispering compliments to him, your thumb stroking his cheek while he finally moved his eyes to meet yours. you still hadn’t won him over, his arms staying crossed. “and you’re nice and did i mention handsome?”

he let out a soft sigh before giving in and wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you close to him. his head falls to rest on your shoulder, inhaling your scent while one of his hands went down to caress your thigh. you let out an excited giggle as your arms threw themselves around his neck, your head nuzzling into his own neck. “i’m also your hot boyfriend who should be the only one you’re gushing over.” you decide to stay silent at his claim, not wanting to take his bait and ruin the moment.

unedited thanks for reading!

[queenshelby]

An Illicit Affair

Part 23: Stalker

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (46) x Reader (23)

Warning: Age-Gap, Taboo Relationship, Infidelity

One week on...

Several days had passed since your affair with Cillian came to light and it came much to your surprise when, on Friday morning you saw something strange by the side of your block.

For the past four days now, there had been a black Mercedes lurking in the shadows of wherever you went and, if it wasn't for one part of your mind telling you not to be delusional, you thought that you were being followed. 

Thinking about how absurd being followed sounded though you almost shook it off as a figment of your imagination or perhaps your guilty conscience exaggerating, but something about all this felt rather odd and even your best friend Enna agreed. 

"The car is there again," you pointed out to Lucy as the two of you walked to the hospital together for your shift. " And I swear, it's been there the entire time. I could see it from the window upstairs."

Lucy raised an eyebrow at you, her curiosity piqued. "Are you sure it's the same car?" she asked, skepticism clear in her voice.

"Yes, I'm sure," you replied firmly. "Look, it's right there," you said, gesturing towards the parking lot. "It was parked outside the hospital yesterday too when I finished up my shift and I have seen it before in front of Cillian's unit," 

Lucy glanced over in the direction you were pointing and noticed the black Mercedes parked a few rows over. "Okay, fine. It does seem strange," Lucy conceded reluctantly. "But maybe it's just a coincidence?" she suggested, the doubt evident in her voice.

You shook your head adamantly. "No way, Em. It even parkes in the same spot every day. I'm telling you, someone is watching me."

Lucy gave you a concerned look, her normally bright and cheerful expression replaced with a more somber one. "Have you reported this to the police?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You sighed heavily, your shoulders slumping in defeat. "I can't really go to the police with this, Em. I mean, what am I going to tell them?" you asked, sighing deeply. "That I have been having an affair with my ex-boyfriend's father and now I suspect that his crazy ass wife might be stalking me?" you said, feeling utterly ridiculous at the mere prospect of uttering such ridiculous and scandalous words out loud. "Oh, and by the way, he is a famous actor too and she almost leaked a sex-tape of us after hiding a camera in his bedroom," you added sarcastically, rolling your eyes.

Lucy nodded understandingly. "Yeah, maybe not the best approach," she admitted. "But have you tried talking to Cillian about it?"

"No, because he already has enough shit to worry about," you told her, thinking about the turmoil that your affair had caused in his life. From the moment that Max had walked in on the two of you, nearly everything had spiraled out of control. Max had was refusing to speak to his father, and Danielle had threatened to ruin his career by leaking the sex-tapes if he didn't end things with you immediately. In the end, Cillian's attorney filed for an emergency injunction to prevent her from leaking the tape whilst, at the same time, serving her with divorce papers. 

"I get that Y/N, but his wife is a nutcase. I read the medical files and whilst I do think that you are a little paranoid right now, you should at least talk to him about your concerns, just to err on the side of caution I mean," Lucy implored, her eyes fixed on yours, searching for understanding.

"I know, Em, but I don't even know where we will go from here," you confided, feeling the tight knot in your throat as you spoke. "We aren't in a relationship or anything and I feel like I need to give him some space right now. I don't want to burden him with my paranoia," you added, the words heavy with resignation.

Lucy nodded sympathetically, her heart going out to you in this moment. She knew how much you cared for Cillian, but she also knew the impact of the situation and the weight of the decisions that now lay before you both.

"I know Y/N, but you are still sleeping with him, are you not?" Lucy asked, concern clouding her features as she looked over at you.  "Because his ex could have gotten wind of it and do something stupid now," Lucy worried. 

"Yes, we slept with each other once since the incident at his house. He's been in Ireland mostly," you admitted, your voice barely audible. Emotion clogged your throat as you recalled the tenderness in Cillian's touch, the gentle brush of his lips on yours that had made you feel wanted and desired despite the turmoil in your lives. But that one time together had only added fuel to the wildfire of passion that could not be contained anymore. In spite of the chaos, you couldn't resist the temptation, and neither could he.

"And what did his lawyer say? Didn't he make it clear that you should keep your distance from each other at least until the separation hearing was over?" Lucy asked, another wave of concern sweeping over her.

"He did, I know. But we were careful. We met at a hotel, not his apartment," you explained, sighing deeply as you reflected on the intense, passionate encounter. "Cillian was upset and asked if he could see me. I could hear it in his voice that he was struggling so I said yes," you admitted with a shrug, your tone nonchalant and yet, cracking with emotion, evidence that you were still reeling from the gravity of the situation.

Lucy shifted her weight towards you. She hadn't seen you this distraught since your father's death and witnessing your heartbreak now made her feel helpless and frustrated.

"Okay, let me ask you something, Y/N," Lucy stated, searching deep into your eyes as she chose her words carefully. "Do you truly love him? I mean, enough to deal with all this drama and keep seeing him despite the potential backlash to your career if this comes out?" Lucy's voice was soft and sincere, her gaze steady on yours.

You let out a pained sigh, your shoulders slumping with the weight of the question. "I don't know, Em. All I know is that I've never felt this way before, and I can't seem to shake him off. Not that I even want to. I just wish things were different, you know? That we had met under other circumstances, which wouldn't make it so bad," you sighed, your voice trembling as you spoke the words.

"I will always have your back Y/N, but just think about it for a minute," she began, her tone gentle yet firm. "Cillian is over twenty years older than you. His family dynamics are a mess, and he is your ex-boyfriend's father nonetheless which means that, if it was to come out - and it will come out eventually - then the press will have a field day with it. Your life and career will be covered in headlines that will ruin everything you've worked for thus far," Lucy warned, and she was right.

But you struggled to push Cillian out of your mind. He was charming, experienced, passionate, and so unlike Max. The attraction was instant and undeniable.

"I know that, Lucy. I know that it is reckless, but he makes me feel things I can't even describe. He is not just a fling, not just a temporary high, but someone who understands me, someone who fills in the spaces that no one else ever could," you confessed while walking side by side with Lucy, the hospital already in sight.

Lucy nodded, letting out a deep breath. "Then you need to protect yourself and be prepared for whatever comes next," she advised, as she touched your arm comfortingly. "That includes talking with Cillian about your potential stalker," she told you and, just as you approached the hospital entrance, the black Mercedes pulled up as well. 

"This is ridiculous. I am going to confront this woman," you declared, breaking away from Lucy to stride towards the parked car but Lucy stopped you. 

"No, you won't! It could make things worse," Lucy warned, grabbing your arm to stop you. 

You paused, considering her words. "You have a point," you said, taking a deep breath. 

"Talk to Cillian about it and let him deal with his crazy ass wife," Lucy told you. She knew how dangerous Danielle could be as well after having read her medical files and knowing about the threats she had made against you and Cillian.

"I will talk to him tonight," you assured Lucy, making up your mind but, just as you walked into the hospital's reception area, you were met with yet another surprise as Max was standing there, seemingly waiting for you.

"Max!" you exclaimed, your heart sinking to the bottom of your stomach as you saw the cold, hard look in his eyes. "What are you doing here?" you wanted to know, hoping that he wouldn't make a scene as, seemingly, he appeared somewhat intoxicated. 

Max simply stared at you for a moment, his blue eyes full of anger and hurt before he blurted out something rather inappropriate to upset you. 

"You are such a fucking home wrecker, you know that?" Max spat bitterly, with a drunken slur, causing you to wince at his unforgivable choice of words. "My father is divorcing my mother because of you!" Max snapped, jabbing a finger at you as his anger started to boil over. 

"Max, please! Not here!" you told him sternly, looking around at the people in the hospital lobby who were casting curious glances your way. "Let's go somewhere private and talk."

"Oh, of course," he chuckled drunkenly. "You don't want anyone else to hear that you fucked my fucking father," he snarled, the hurt and anger in his voice palpable.

People around you had started to stare as Max's voice had risen. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, the discomfort and shame building up in the pit of your stomach.

"Come with me. Now," you hissed firmly under your breath, gripping tight onto Max's forearm as you dragged him away from the prying eyes in the hospital lobby, his words stinging your heart with an unbearable pain.

You had never intended for such chaos to unfurl when you became entangled with Cillian, knowing fully that your actions carried the potential for significant collateral damage. But yet, here you were—plunged into murky waters, powerless to stem the tide of destruction.

In a small consultancy room, a few corners away from the main lobby, you closed the door behind you and spun around to face Max, whom you hadn't seen since the disastrous confrontation in Cillian's apartment.

"Max, listen to me," you began, your voice low and soothing as you tried to reason with him. "I never meant for any of this to happen. Your father and I—we never planned for any of this. We just connected and one thing led to another," you continued before Max interrupted you.

"You slept with my father! Do you know how fucked up that is?" Max said, his words slurring together. "Is that like a thing you are into? Some kind of fetish?" Max sneered, his dark eyes flashing angrily at your words. "Or did you sleep with him because he is famous? Is that it?" Max went on, unable to contain his disgust. " What the hell is wrong with you, Y/N?" Max demanded, his voice shaking with emotion.

You swallowed hard, the lump forming in your throat as you struggled to find the right words to defend yourself but nothing came out.

"This is so disgusting," Max muttered, his anger slowly giving way to sadness as he slumped down into one of the faded leather consulting chairs, staring blankly ahead as he tried to process the turn of events. "God, we used to date and now you are sleeping with my dad. How low can you get?"

You took in a sharp breath at his words, trying to find purchase in the face of his bitterness yet being unable to deny the devastating truth behind it. You couldn't explain to him the intimacy and the connection you shared with Cillian—things that went beyond sex. Things that Max was not privy to. Things that you had never experienced in your previous relationships either.

So, you decided not to divulge too much at that moment.

Instead, you opted to stand there, silent for a while, allowing Max to gather his thoughts. The atmosphere in the room had grown thick and heavy.

Finally, you took a deep breath. "You have every right to feel angry, betrayed, and confused," you began to explain. "I can assure you that what happened between your father and me was never intended. It just... well, it happened and I, uhm, I am in love with him," you admitted softly. You buried your gaze into the carpeted floor, the weight of your guilt and embarrassment making it difficult for you to face him. You could feel the temperature in the room drop significantly, as if it shares the same discomfort he felt.

"Are you fucking serious?" Max suddenly exploded, jumping up from his chair in disbelief and shock.  "He's nearly twenty years older than you, for Christ's sake!" he was almost shouting now, his words reverberating off the walls of the small room, causing you to jump in your seat. "Fuck, I know," he then said, chuckling. "You have daddy issues," he asserted before explaining himself. "Your father died and now you are fucking mine. It's like a sick fucking fantasy coming to life, isn't it?" Max said, a mixture of bitterness and disgust in his voice.

You couldn't help but feel as though he had slapped you across the face. The words he had just spoken to you were beyond cruel, and they cut you like a knife. Your whole body trembled with shock and anger, your hands shaking like a leaf.

Standing up to confront you some more, Max approached you. "So, tell me Y/N, seriously, how does it feel to have someone old enough to be your father between your legs? Does it give you a twisted sense of pleasure or fulfillment? Because, Jesus, that is some seriously twisted stuff you have going on there in your head," Max went on. "It's a shame your own father couldn't fulfill those fantasies for you before he died and you had to go after mine instead," he then added with a sarcastic snicker, the cruelty in his voice visibly increasing and, by this point, you couldn't take it anymore and lashed out and slapped him right across the cheek.

​"Enough!" you said with great emotion in your voice at the mentioning of your father. 

Max had struck a nerve with his insensitive and derogatory words ad you stared at him in disbelief. His cheek was now flushed red from the force of your slap and, for a moment, neither of you spoke, caught up in the stunned silence that hung in the air.

"I never intended to hurt you or your family, Max. I deeply regret what has happened and I am truly sorry for the pain I have caused," you told him, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill down your cheeks.

"Save it Y/N! Just know that you ruined not only mine, but also my mother's life," Max spat bitterly, his words cutting you deeply as he turned around and stormed out the room.

Hot, angry tears trailed down your cheeks as you watched him leave, your heart heavy with guilt, regret, and sadness and when Lucy came to check on you, she found you slumped over the cold steel of the examination table in the consultancy room, your body trembling with sobs, your heart shattered into a million pieces.

You didn't need to tell her what happened, Lucy could read you like an open book. She took you into her arms and held you close as you cried for the hurt you had inflicted and the relationship that could never be salvaged.

Tags:

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[nightunite]

Yes I know I’m literally talking to you via our DMs about this, but what do you think Konig’s first first impressions of Maid Reader is? Does he fully register the new personnel at the manor, or is it more of a “yes new people to be a good employer too”

Hello my little secret agent, thank you for sending in an ask. This is how I imagine their first interaction to go.

Konig can feel a headache brewing, his grip tight on his pen while he massages at his temple with his free hand. It's barely past noon, and already he has had more social interaction than he cares for. If it weren't for these damn papers, he would be free from this stuffy office to roam the chilly woods. He glares with disdain at his filing shelves, the only piece of furniture not built with him in mind, the muscles in his back between his shoulders protesting at the thought of being hunched inwards, squinting at the documents while bent lest he smack the back of his skull into the hanging cabinets again. He glances down at his feet, a sturdy bag resting under his desk. Inside are rations packed by the cooks, a bedroll, some matches and a flint, a canteen, and the various hunting gear he requires. Enough to last him several days, free from the burdens and expectations of the nobility and their incessant need to gossip. A gentle rap on his door forces his gaze from the bag, a grunt signaling for his footman, Felix to come in. When he sees him enter with a young woman whose face he did not recognize he represses the urge to groan, headache kicking in fully. It doesn't help that Felix has an amused expression on his face, mustache hiding his smug grin at escorting yet another young lady into his presence. Once again, those pesky rumors plague him. He had recently had several of his staff retire, having been with him for over a decade, following him from his homeland to this new place. Close companions over those years, an understanding between them regarding how he would like the estate run and the boundaries concerning privacy. Yet they were already into their years when they followed him, and he could not bear to keep them here when they desired to return to their true home and be with family.

Word spread of his estate needing workers to step in, and it's true he did need new individuals to help, but not the way the rumors had exaggerated; mostly it was errand runners and cooks that he needed, with space for maybe a single maid or two to step in. For all that he was a large man, he wasn't fond of mess and clutter, and beyond the habitual cleaning the estate didn't require much upkeep. Yet in came what seemed to be half of the workforce's maids, each claiming to want to work for him yet looking at him as though he were going to force them to sign their names in a black book. He has no desire to keep staff that are terrified of him, and even less desire to feel uncomfortable in his own house. He looks towards this hopeful woman and pauses, taking her in. He is used to people being frightened by him, but this is something else. Her body is thinner than he suspects it should be, like a tree choked by mistletoe, something leeching the life from her bones. Skin pallid as though she's fighting off something and being left empty as a result. Eyes that are focused yet tired, not yet able to rest...

"Name?" He asks, watching her jump slightly before she responds. "Business?" He keeps his questions short; if she has a problem with it she says nothing, which is good. He hates having to try and string together long sentences around people who do not know his native tongue. "I'm a maid, sir" Ah, he was right. This should be over quickly then. "Employer?" "Duke-Duke MacTavish, sir." He watches her bite her lip, strained smile falling while rubbing her fingertips on her skirt. Ah, MacTavish. His lips purse under his shroud. He'd had the...pleasure of seeing the man for the first time at a gala the previous summer. The man had been quite boisterous, making his rounds to chat with most everyone before settling amongst his friends. Throughout the night Konig had watched everyone, and found himself tired of Duke MacTavish's need to fawn and fool with the ladies that evening, both courtly and common alike. He glances back at the maid in the chair in front of him, observing how she fidgets, before the idea comes to him.

She bears resemblance to a deer. Like a doe, stark against the white snow, eyes taking in everything as though readying for an escape at any moment. A prey animal spooked from its den by something, running from a greater threat than he. Something close to home perhaps, that left her under duress in such a way that she could not help but show signs of wearing down. An endurance predator, running her into the ground, a feeling he has caused hunting both man and beast. The concealed look of panic in her eyes is not something he caused, given the startling way she looks him in the eye as she waits for his next question, and he finds himself less put-upon than before. "Skills?" It does no good to take in someone if they cannot earn their keep. "Sweeping, dusting, washing of both laundry and dishes, polishing, folding, and mending to name a few" Good. Very good. He stands, letting out a sigh as he feels his back pop slightly. He makes his way around the desk, extending a hand to her to help her up. She takes it gently, not with hesitation but with care to be soft with him. It's enough to make his lips quirk a little, someone so small and fragile compared to him worrying about causing him harm. She keeps her head down as he gently ushers her out of the office and towards the front door, her head down. Once she reaches the door though, he speaks. "Next Monday" "Sir?" She asks, staring up at him, brows pinched in confusion. "Start next Monday. Come at 9. Bring all things, Annika will show you everything." He watches as she realizes that she will in fact be employed, escaping whatever he's sure haunts her at the duchy. The relieved smile she gives him makes something in his chest twitch, her face lighting up and shoulders relaxing slightly. "Thank you, my Lord! I will be sure to be on time!" She gives him a curtsy which he inclines his head at, and then she's off down the cobblestone path towards a waiting carriage. Once the door shuts, he groans and rolls his neck, hearing several of the bones pop. He marches back into the office and hooks the bag with his fingers, marching towards the mudroom and the sprawling expanse of woods beyond. The papers can wait, he's earned some time to himself.

[sc4rrc]

Heyy pookie <3

could you maybe write a 2012 Mikey x artist reader headcanons 🫣🩷

"A little bit of colour here."

════════════════════

════════════════════ - 2012!Mikey x artist!reader - Head cannons - "A little bit of colour here." - Fluff - Warnings: None

A/N: I think I may be ticking off two things with this one, idk. The results of the pole had Mikey as most rated and then this came up, which was such a nice coincidence. I might do a second Mikey one shot/head cannon to match the pole again if I feel like it, but for now I will be marking both this and the pole as complete so I can focus on a more special request an anon had for me. ════════════════════

Mikey has always been full of energy and imagination, so it’s no surprise that art became such a big part of his life. At first, it was just something he loved doing for fun, but now it feels more like a part of who he is—how he expresses himself and even how he deals with things. Still, he never treats it like work. For Mikey, art is all about fun and freedom.

Give him anything to draw or paint with—a pencil, spray can, or even chalk—and he’ll turn it into something incredible. His ideas are out-of-the-box and unique, and it’s easy to see how much joy he gets from creating. If he finds out that you also see the world in a different way, even just a little like him, he’ll be thrilled. It’s not just about having fun together; it’s about sharing something really special.

He’d definitely ask you to pose for one of his pieces at some point. But let’s be honest—he definitely probably finished the artwork early and just wanted an excuse to sit and watch you. He’d happily admit it too, flashing you that proud grin like he’s just done the smartest thing ever.

When it comes to modern art, Mikey can be a little baffled. He tries, but some pieces leave him scratching his head. “Wait, so I’m supposed to feel shy because this pink triangle exists? Dude, it’s just a triangle.” He’s got plenty of jokes about it, but he secretly enjoys the challenge of trying to figure out what it all means—especially if it’s something you can talk about together.

Movie nights are a guaranteed source of inspiration for him. As soon as you mention a favourite character, he’s planning to draw them for you. It’s his little way of making you smile, and he’ll keep it up like clockwork—handing you a new drawing every week to remind you he’s thinking of you.

One of his favourite ways to hang out with you is working on art projects together. Whether it’s painting, doodling, or crafting paper flowers, he loves being right there beside you, cracking jokes and guiding your hand if you’re feeling stuck. For Mikey, it’s not just about making something cool—it’s about sharing those little moments and having fun while you do it.

What he loves most is that you share his passion for art. You don’t have to be experts or love every style, but the fact that you get it—at least the kinds of art you enjoy together—means the world to him. Those shared favourites? They’re what he treasures the most.

Mikey is the type to find inspiration anywhere. Whether you’re waiting for pizza, sitting in a park, or just hanging out, he’ll grab whatever’s nearby (a napkin, a notebook, anything!) and start sketching. He loves showing you his spur-of-the-moment creations and getting your thoughts on them.

He’d totally challenge you to silly art contests, like “Who can make the funniest doodle” or “Who can draw a pizza slice faster.” He almost always declares himself the winner, even if your drawing is better. “What? I had to handicap myself because I’m too good!” Cue the exaggerated victory pose.

Mikey is obsessed with graffiti and street art, always pointing out cool designs when you’re out together. He might even suggest you two try making a mural someday, just for fun—something colourful and meaningful that shows off your combined creativity.

Mikey is all about turning his art into little surprises for you. Whether it’s a mini painting, a personalized card, or a keychain he decorated himself, his gifts always feel thoughtful and one-of-a-kind.

════════════════════ A/N: I hope this makes up for the lack of activity I had this week. On the brighter side though, I only have 3 more days of exams next week and then I am pretty much free to write as I please! So, if there are any other requests people would like, I would be more than happy to have them in my inbox for when I can write freely again. - I do NOT give permission for any of my work to be republished on any other sites, or even here. Not Ao3, not Wattpad, nowhere. This is simply for entertainment purposes and I would appreciate respecting this.

[shatcey]

A supportive person

I'll talk about Liam once more. This is the last thing I wanted to say about him after reading his epilogues.

These will be very long and rather theoretical reflections based on my rather confused knowledge of psychology. If you are not interested in such things, you can easily skip the post entirely.

I spent some time looking for a theory that I could refer to, but I didn't find it. So… I will try to express my own thoughts on this, and they may not be completely canonical (or even totally wrong).

Liam is an exaggerated example of an extremely incorrect personality formation. Psychologically speaking.

As I said at the beginning, I haven't found where I've heard about this. So maybe I'm not quite right. Not to mention the physiological needs for the normal development of the child's psyche, several aspects are necessary.

Love. The most important is parental love. If a child didn't have one or even two parents, there will always be a figure in his mind that will replace their absence. Liam's parents didn't love him at all. His mother completely ignored him. His father figure was very strict with him. He told him that it was for his own good and because he loved him, but there were no special feelings behind his actions. And little Liam, being a very sensitive child, obviously felt it. The only person who cared about him was the butler, but he was more of a friend. I can't say that it's not important, but it's not that important for personality formation. Perhaps if he replaced the image of a parent in Liam's mind… but he didn't.

Stability. Life is constantly changing, and there should be something that will never change. It can be relationships (friends, family, etc.) or physical objects (home, school, etc.), it can be emotional connections (not only positive ones)… Something that gives you a sense of stability. Liam doesn't feel connected to anything. And at a very young age, he lost his home and all the connections he had with it. So… no stability.

Socialization. People, as social beings, have a strong desire to be a part of society. We need communication. Each person needs a different level of communication depending on their temperament (melancholic, phlegmatic, sanguine or choleric). But the fact remains… we need it, at least some. And Liam, as a child who grew up too early (at least that's how I perceive him), was not accepted in society at all. So he had no communication outside the house, and after the incident he lost even that.

And finally, support. Do not underestimate the power of praise and encouragement. They cause a positive reaction and accumulate positive associations. Positive stimulation helps you grow and develop in the right direction. And Liam didn't have that at all. If his father was not only strict, but also supported him in other situations, it would be a huge incentive for the development of his personality. But… he only punished him. And as far as I understand, Liam didn't have anyone to support him at all. He had a butler again, but as he said himself, he had no idea how to communicate with children… so I doubt he tried to praise the kid.

And as a result, the formed Liam's personality has too many gaps, a lot of anxiety and absolutely no motivation. As I said, this is an exaggerated example. I can hardly imagine such a complete lack of any attention to the child. But this world is huge, so the probability is still not zero.

All the boys from IkeVil lacked at least something in their childhood. Wait a minute… not all… Harry and Roger had everything, and they grow up to be absolutely normal, psychologically healthy people.

But others…

William had neither love nor support (I wonder where his mother is)… and, let's be honest, his obsession with loving and supporting others is the absolute logical result of this.

Elbert… there was no love, no support, stability is very negative, but it was, and communication began only after Alfons appeared in his life. Maybe later I will do an analysis of Elbert. He is another interesting case.

Alfons only had communication until Elbert took him in. And suddenly he had everything. So I consider him is more or less healthy psychologically. More or less, because I'm not sure about love. His perverted mind could not manifest itself without a reason.

And Ellis had it all… but at the most crucial moment, he didn't have any support, and that probably broke him.

Back to Liam...

At the moment he meet Kate his personality has already been formed, and it has been formed completely incorrectly. Every aspect of his actions has the wrong motivation. He pretends or plays a role for others, making them feel better, healing their mental wounds, making them happy… not because it's his wish, but because he thinks (or has been told) what they expect that from him. He has been depressed for a long time and has no personal desires. He seems to combine all possible complexes and neuroses. It's a walking nightmare.

It is extremely difficult to change a person. But it's not impossible. It takes a long time, and it really needs a person who will be there for them.

The support person

As someone who firmly believes that we all have self-doubts, which may have been suppressed or hidden somewhere deep, but still exist. And they can manifest itself at the most inconvenient moments. And at such moments, the support of this person is extremely necessary. To stabilize the mental state, reduce the level of anxiety and find the strength to move on. At some point, I used the image of some person for this, and I didn't even need to talk to them to feel better, the very fact of their existence gave me strength. No more, now I find support in fictional boys. Times are changing indeed.

Liam feels very grateful that Kate is with him and continues to please her like he used to do. Giving something in return is a normal reaction. Kindness is not something that is given often or easily, so responding to it with appreciation is the right reaction. But Liam still doesn't feel like he can give enough. His low self-esteem is truly boundless.

He feels that he is changing, and he is afraid that this change may go wrong again. He keeps asking if everything is okay, if she will still be with him even if he changes. And it's not just an obsession.

She is, literally, his only hope, the last thread. And without her, he will simply disappear. I would feel crushed by the burden of such responsibility. Fortunately, Kate is stronger than me. And, as I mentioned earlier, she has an undoubted talent for treating very difficult cases of psychological trauma.

But Liam's last line from the two endings epilogue is a very good sign. He hopes that he will get better, and this is already a sign that he has gotten better. He looks to the future and sees himself in it.

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🔝 Start page 🔝

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[oh-nostalgiaa]

hi, @flyfreeskylark, it's me, your secret santa! you asked for an undercover mission after scarif where everybody lives and nobody dies (with a handful of smut sprinkled in for flavor). sadly, i was sick during both november AND December (and the less we talk about how much i hate my job, the better), but i managed to pull myself together long enough to get this written for you. i do hope it's to your liking! merry christmas and happy belated new year! please enjoy.

(you can also find this fic on ao3.)

in this world (it's just us)

The event is not exactly to Jyn’s tastes. 

The crowd is the easiest for her to navigate - she’s undeniably skilled at moving through them stealthily. Unfortunately, that is the opposite of what she’s meant to do here, so she makes a concentrated effort to take her time, to blend in so that she doesn’t bring any undue attention to herself.

She doesn’t miss a single detail as she lets her eyes drift over the room and its inhabitants, only silently reminding herself to keep an interested expression rather than her normal impassive default. 

She knows that she’s meant to be titillated by the sights and sounds surrounding her. She’s gone through the debriefs, been informed of exactly what will be expected of her - and Cassian has even - nonchalantly - tried to give her an out if she had even the slightest inkling that she could not do what’s expected of her. 

Luckily, he’s got the hardest task. She is, for all intents and purposes, just an observer.

(Besides that, she’s no quitter. He should know that just about better than anyone.)

Behind the scenes, she’s got a more detailed job to do. Monitoring communications, for one. Helping Cassian prepare, for another. 

Obviously, he’s showered by himself - he doesn’t require her help with everything, no matter how many times she may or may not have caught herself daydreaming about such things. He’d dried off, dressed in flimsy, flowy trousers that leave just about nothing to the imagination … 

Not that she’d peeked. 

Jyn hopes that her nervousness isn’t easily discernible, but she also knows that Cassian is probably the most observant person she’s ever met, and while he might not ever bring it up, the obviousness of the pause she takes while slowly exhaling and inhaling, steeling her nerves, the gentle brush of fingers against skin as she placed and smoothed out bacta patches designed to cover scars and other identifying marks is more than enough clue that she’s feeling … something.

Maybe it shouldn’t take as much concentration as she gives in order to ensure the edges of the patches aren’t easily visible through his semi-sheer tunic, but this is an important recon mission - they can’t return to base without information in hand. With another Death Star lurking somewhere out there, it’s not an exaggeration to say that this may be a matter of life and death. 

It’s always a matter of life and death. 

And it’s not fair for her to burden Cassian with her feelings, especially when she’s not sure that he feels the same - if he could ever feel the same. It’s selfish of her to think about love when the fate of the entire galaxy is at stake. So they inhabit this nebulous space where they’re not quite just colleagues and not quite just friends and oh, how she aches to pull him aside and let go of all her wants and fears in a torrent of words she hasn’t found enough courage to set free into the universe and it’s - 

It hurts.

But Jyn tucks that pain away and hides it where she keeps all of her others - in a dark place deep inside that’s carefully locked down, never to see the light of day again. 

It’s better that way. 

Through the mass of writhing bodies, she catches sight of Cassian and his contact, disappearing into one of the few tents set up to offer some semblance of privacy, hand in hand. Jealousy stokes the fire in her belly and momentarily, at least, her expression reflects exactly how she feels inside, darkly desperate, devastated that it’s not her that gets to touch him or see him so unguarded and free - even if it is just a facade, another skill Cassian’s perfected in his years gathering information for the Rebellion. 

Even if it was fake … at least she could pretend for a little while that he actually wants her like she wants him. And that’s got to be better than nothing. 

She breathes a quick sigh of relief when Cassian pokes his head from the tent and quickly slips back into the crowd, not looking any worse for wear than when he’d entered. Seamlessly and sinuously, he weaves his way toward her, and she doesn’t have to be a lipreader to know what he’s promising some of the partygoers he passes on the way. 

That sly little smile and those teasing winks are more than enough clue to know that he’s being propositioned and far from agreeing to take a detour from his current trajectory, he’s non-comittally suggesting that maybe they’ll find time to steal away later for a little fun. 

Because that’s what this whole thing is all about, isn’t it? The decadence and debauchery of a free use ball, where the male guests especially are little more than party favors. And while Cassian isn’t hers to keep all to herself, the thought of all of those eager hands trying to get a piece of him makes her stomach roil.

He dodges the minefield that is interested partygoers and finally reaches Jyn’s side, leaning in for what looks like a peck on the cheek in greeting, but what really is the whispered assurance that he’s got what they’re here for. She knows, though. He hadn’t entered the tent with the same chain around his neck that he’d left with. And tucked safely underneath what passes for a shirt is a pendant with a data stick hidden within for safekeeping. 

Jyn’s lips part as she gears up to ask if they’ve made enough of an appearance yet, if they can slip away without being noticed, but the words die on the tip of her tongue as, out of seemingly nowhere, they are joined by the party’s hostess, tall and handsomely severe, her keen eyes drifting over the pair as though to study them, to determine what they’ve been up to while the other guests are all wrapped up in each other. 

“My dear Imri, you’ve not partaken in the feast. Is there nothing to your liking - ?”, she purrs, her sultry tone enough to set Jyn’s nerves on edge. “Or are you too wrapped up in your lovely pet to pay attention to anyone else?”

Cassian ducks his head demurely then, exactly the behavior of a man that is more toy than anything else, a man that’s been taught exclusively that his only use in life is to please another. 

And Jyn is grateful for the chance to gather her words.

“My superiors would be quite disappointed if I were so rude”, she replies, her voice a teasing lilt. “On the contrary, I like what I see, Lady Eline. It’s choosing what I want to sample that is proving difficult.”

The tall older woman suddenly erupts into laughter and Jyn’s smile slowly widens (as though she’s actually pleased to have amused the monster standing next to her, like it doesn’t make her physically ill to see firsthand how easy it is for her - and for people like her - to use people for their own pleasure). 

“Please, darling, take your fill of what you want. And come back for more later”, Lady Eline offers, her gaze flitting to settle on Cassian, her eyes grazing him from head to foot and back again. “You absolutely can’t leave until I’ve had a taste of your lovely Amel.”

Jyn curls her hand into a fist, her fingernails biting into her own palm as she fights to maintain composure. So disgusting, the way Lady Eline can look at Cassian as though he isn’t a person with his own agency. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Their host takes that as her cue to dramatically turn and focus her attention elsewhere, allowing Jyn to catch Cassian’s eye and wordlessly gesturing toward the double doors of the grand ballroom, their only way out. 

He doesn’t have to say anything, the very slight furrowing of his brow speaks volumes. Now that they know they’ve got eyes on them, they can’t just walk right out. The already delicate operation has just become all the more fragile. 

This isn’t something that they’ve practiced - although the possibility has been discussed. If they don’t want to raise suspicion … they’ll need to act. So Cassian rocks back on his heel and Jyn pushes forward, directly into his personal space, crowding him against the wall, like he’s a prey animal and she’s the predator, finally cornering him right where she wants him. 

There is no room for hesitation here. 

They must keep cover by any means necessary.

Imri is supposed to be offering Amel to any and all interested parties. Jyn wants to do anything but. 

Outside of these walls, Cassian isn’t hers. But right here, right now, she has every intention of staking her claim, for however long it will last. 

‘Mine’, she thinks, tipping her chin up to catch Cassian’s lips in a haphazard kiss, surprised by the startled noise he makes in response, a gift for her ears only. And if it’s not the sweetest sound in the entire universe, Jyn doesn’t know what would be. 

It’s a little instinct, a little like a dance, and a little planning on the fly, which is obviously what they’re best at. It’s the clash of teeth and tongues and the thrill of hands slipping inside clothes to touch each other’s skin and - 

Oh. 

Oh.

Jyn takes a moment to press her face in the space between Cassian’s shoulder and neck, savoring the feel of his pulse hammering against his skin, beating out the same staccato rhythm as hers, pounding against her ribs, filling her ears. 

It’s not real, but it feels like the culmination of months spent pining after the man she’s got pinned to the wall, craving a glance, a touch, accidental or not, anything that hints that he might feel the same. 

And now his fingers are teasing her nipples and she’s barely gotten her fingers around his cock but she’s absolutely feeling him come to life and it’s everything she’s ever wanted and more, but stars, does her heart ache at the underlying knowledge that it’s all she’ll ever get. 

As if he hears her thoughts - and maybe he does, how is Jyn to know if he’s got some sort of latent telepathy - he breathlessly speaks, just low enough for her to hear through all the ambient noise. 

“Don’t think, just do.”

And she does. 

She feeds off of the groans and whimpers he gifts her with and she lets the stuttering rocking of his hips guide her hand, faster, tighter, not yet, oh, wait, wait, wait and she ignores everything around them - including their voyeuristic audience and just works to slowly move them closer to the exit. 

From the wall to a nearby couch, where she pushes Cassian down and relishes his flushed cheeks and dark eyes as she straddles his lap and relentlessly grinds against his shameless erection, his hands clutching her hips and helping her move, until the world seems to explode in a shower of blinding light, and if this is how they’re going to die, at least it’s together in a blaze of glory. 

There’s not much time to rest, though, and none at all to feel embarrassed about making such a mess of themselves, and once their shaky legs can hold their weight, Jyn takes Cassian’s hand and forcefully drags him the rest of the way through the doors and toward (relative) freedom.

There’s no reason to return to their suite now that Cassian’s got the precious datastick in hand and it’s easy enough to scramble the cameras monitoring their movements as they enter the lift that will bring them closer to the hangar and their nondescript ship. The chunky bracelet Jyn’s wearing hides the technology that will take care of that. All she needs to do is press a button and trust that it’ll take care of the rest. 

There is a bit of a prolonged, awkward silence between them as the lift descends, but suddenly Jyn finds the air being knocked from her lungs as Cassian’s fingers tighten around hers and pull her flush to his chest, all the more caught off guard when he leans down to nip sharply at her bottom lip before pulling away, his lips twisting up into a smile. 

“We’ll finish this later.”

To say it’s odd to feel so exhilarated in so many different ways is an understatement, but for Jyn, it’s not unpleasant, and for once, the thought doesn’t terrify her.

It just is.

But for the first time, she doesn’t feel like anything will be coming to an end anytime soon. 

Rather, it feels like a brand new beginning.

[viaviv124]

Wolf in Sheep's Clothing - Set It Off I can't animate for shit so i basically wrote a "Script" how i would imagine each scene. This is in the context of my Evil Luigi AU thingy

"Beware beware, be skeptical"

Zoom into the castle

"The smiles, the smiles, the painted gold"

Peach and Mario talking while smiling

"Deceit so natural"

It turns dark, Mario and Peach look around confused and startled

"But a wolf in sheep′s clothing is more than a warning"

Luigi appears with his ghosts, giving Mario and Peach wide eyes

2 Ghosts crudely disguised as Mario and Peach, almost in an insulting manner actually

"Bla bla black sheep, have you any soul?"

Mario ghost seems overly oblivious, delivering the line with an over exaggerated innocence

"No sir, by the way what the hell are mortals?"

Peach ghost with the same played innocence while moving and posing dramatically

"Jack be nimble, Jack be quick"

Luigi behind Mario

"Jill's a little whore and her alibies are turning tricks"

Luigi taking Marios head and makes him look at Peach, his mouth at Mario's ear

"So could you..."

Luigi moving away from them

"Tell me how you′re sleeping easy"

Luigi looking incredibly spiteful

"How you're only thinking of yourself"

Cut to Mario & Peach as they shrink away slightly, having some sort of fear and disbelief in their eyes

"Show me, how you justify"

Luigi crosses his arms

"Telling all your lies like second nature"

Cut to a pic of basically black Peach and Mario silhouettes with only a big white grin visible seemingly whispering something to Luigi (pre villain arc drip obv)

"Listen, mark my words one day"

Shot of Luigi towering menacingly

"You will pay,"

Luigi holding electricity in one hand

"you will pay"

Mario and Peach looking scared

"Karma's gonna come collect your debt"

Some boos get around Mario and Peach, telling them that

The short instrumental shows Mario & Peach running away, the last Note before the lyrics showing a close up of Luigi smirking (you cant see the eyes and the upper part of the face you can see slightly has this typical anime shadow)

"Oh well, oh well you stalk your prey"

Luigi walking through the halls with his Ghosts

"With criminal mentality"

Just a creepy shot of the inside of a dark closet Luigi opens (and basically jumpscares) with a smirk, before frowning bc no one was in there

"You sink your teeth into the people you depend on"

Luigi dismissively looking at a portait of peach before zapping it to ashes

"Infecting everyone, you′re quite the problem"

Peach in her hiding space with Mario, holding her hands over her mouth and screwing her eyes shut, tears in the corners

Cut back to boo's in the hallway

"Fee fi fo fum,"

One boo swaying from side to side

"better run and hide"

Same boo with a nasty grin

"I smell the blood"

Another boo grinning

"of a petty little coward"

Another inside of a closet but this time you can make out Mario's head on the bottom of the screen as the boo slams the closet open

"Jack be lethal,"

Luigi suddenly appears behind them, shoving Mario out

"Jack be slick"

The boo drags Peach out

"Jill will leave you lonely dying in a filthy ditch"

A shot of peach alone looking up terrified as boos surround her

"So could you...

Tell me how you′re sleeping easy

How you're only thinking of yourself

Show me, how you justify

Telling all your lies like second nature

Listen, mark my words one day"

This scene is effectively the same as before with just a few tiny changes to fit the new background basically and that Mario and Peach arent in frames together anymore.

"You will pay,"

Just Luigi with a spiteful expression

"you will pay"

Expression hardens

"Karma′s gonna"

Mario looking terrified, a small text next to him saying 'Luigi...'

"come collect your debt"

Luigis gaze gradually softens as he looks at Mario

"Maybe you'll change"

Luigi kneels down to Mario

"Abandon all your wicked ways"

Luigi helps him up

"Make amend and start anew again"

Luigi smiles sadly as Mario tears up, also smiling slightly

"Maybe you′ll see,"

Hold earlier frame

"all the wrongs you did to me"

Luigi closes his eyes (bit like it's the ^ closed instead of the v closed if that makes sense), also has slight tears in the corners of his eyes now

"And start all over,"

They hug, Mario holds onto him tightly

"start all over"

Luigi opens his eyes with a cold expression

"Ha ha,"

Close up to Luigis face with an insane expression

"who am I kidding?"

Close up to Mario, he opens his eyes, shocked

"Now let's not get overzealous here"

Luigi pushes Mario off, he falls to the ground. He holds his head for a second before looking up

"You′ve always been"

Luigi looking down at Mario resentfully

"a huge piece"

Luigi's face gets gradually more angry

"of shit"

Luigi steps hard on Marios hand

"If I could kill you"

Luigi has an uninterested face, uses electro hand to hold some lightnings

"I would"

Luigi gets on Mario's Level, holding his hand dangerously close to his face, he has a slight grin

"But it's frowned upon in all 50 states"

Luigi sighs, desummons the electricity and gets back up

"Having said that,"

Luigi smiles kindly with his eyes closed

"burn in hell"

Luigi holds his hands up, electricity fills the room, the crystals on his brooch and crown glow as more and more Ghosts appear

"So tell me how you're sleeping easy

How you′re only thinking of yourself

Show me, how you justify

Telling all your lies like second nature

Listen, mark my words one day

You will pay, you will pay

Karma′s gonna come collect your debt

Karma's gonna come collect your debt

(Oh, oh, oh)

Karma′s gonna come collect your debt"

No idea for that but just a bunch of ghosts (and Luigi) bullying Mario and Peach as the two of them are horrified

[jinkieswouldyoulookatthis]

Rolling - Chapter 6

[gif by 67chevy-imagine]

Just a hunt fic with lots of weirdly close brother moments. Dean’s got issues, y'all.

Words: 716

Relationship:  Just the brothers being weirdly close, no smut but this is pushing right up against wincest and implies they've had incestuous thoughts about each other.

Warnings: Angst.

Read it on AO3

Read from the beginning here

Dean looked at the menu Sam had handed to him. “Dude, it’s almost dawn, I don’t think the pizza place opens for, like, twelve hours.” 

Sam sat back down on his bed. “Yeah, I kinda forgot about the time. But it’s the thought that counts?” 

Dean gave a little laugh. It wasn’t much of a smile, but Sam still considered it a win. 

“You wanna keep talking, or should we watch a movie or something?”  

“Movie.” Dean said quickly.

Sam tossed him the remote and sat back against the headboard, stretching his legs out. Dean mirrored him on the other bed. 

Pre-dawn was not a high ratings time slot, clearly, and they’d finally settled on Breakin’ 2 - Electric Boogaloo because neither of them were in the mood for QVC and Dean nixed the documentary about SETI. He said that the narrator’s voice made him want to punch things. 

It was maybe an hour later and without looking away from the screen, Dean said without preamble, “We’re really both that screwed up, huh?” 

Sam glanced at him for a second before looking down at his hands and then back at the tv. He didn’t know what to say so he just nodded his head. 

“Man, if Dad knew how bad he messed us up, he’d kick his own ass.” 

“Yeah,” Sam smiled ruefully at that. “But I don’t know how much of it’s his fault. I mean, we had an insane childhood but he did the best he could, which, yeah, could have been a lot better, you know? But, there’s the whole soulmate thing which is… weird? Is it weird?” He turned and looked at Dean.

“Doesn’t seem normal.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s what I thought too.” They were both quiet for a while before Sam said, “But it doesn’t feel wrong.”

Neither of them said anything for an entire commercial break. Finally, Sam continued. “I just, I don’t think it needs to be this big thing, you know, doesn’t really change anything, but I, I think it’s important.” 

Dean looked at him. 

Sam pressed on, “It goes back to what I keep saying, I’m not going anywhere. I know that now because, well, because there isn’t anywhere else I would rather be. This…” he waved his hand between them in a way that took in the whole room, “... fits.”

Dean looked down, Sam couldn’t quite make out his expression.

“You know all those times I said that I don’t swing that way?” 

“Yeeeeeaaaaah?” Where the hell was he going with this, Sam thought. 

“I was serious, man. You’re not my type.” 

Sam laughed and nodded. “Bullshit.” 

“Hey, I’m not the one who almost married a girl who looked a lot like…” 

“What about Lisa?” 

“... and who had the same birthday as my brother!” 

“Okay, yeah, that was a strange coincidence.” 

“And please don’t tell me any more details about Ruby.” Dean gave an exaggerated shudder. 

Sam laughed. “Fair enough. So? Are we good?” 

“I think we’re colossally fucked up. But, we’re fucked up in the same way, so that’s okay. Right?”

“Right.” After a long pause, Sam added, “I’m still sleeping in your bed tonight.”

Dean nodded and then sighed. “You’re like an octopus when you sleep, always have been. But now you’re a big, sweaty, hot octopus.”

“You think I’m hot?” Sam deadpanned.

Dean stared at him, Sam could see the big brother urge to murder in his eyes. He didn’t see Dean's arm move, the pillow came at him too fast. Sam barely managed to bat it away as his face cracked into a wide grin. 

They didn’t know what finally did it, figured it was just getting it all out into the open between them, but something had changed for the better. They shared a bed for almost another month before they realized that Dean’s nightmares had stopped. And though neither of them ever admitted it, they both felt a little weird in separate beds again, at least for a few nights. But then it was just like it always had been. They had their ups and downs, they fought and got over it, they made an ongoing series of stupid decisions that almost ended the world several times, but through it all, they had each other, whether they wanted it or not.

[chezzywezzy]

Yandere Steven & Marc (2/4)

Word count ; 4.1k

Steven hunched over the sink, the communal museum bathroom completely deserted, all except for him and his other half. The water was running and he’d just splashed his face. He felt ridiculous; embarrassed; disappointed. He knew it would be a bad idea to ask her out. But he also knew it was better than wasting his time later. 

“You should stop moping now.” Steven looked into the mirror, to which Marc was staring back with an unsure expression.

“How can I?” Steven quickly replied. “I mean, I should’ve known better, but…” His heart fluttered with a foreign emotion. “Even though you made a complete fool of me, she was still absolutely stunning. Bloody hell, what a woman.”

Marc snickered, rather amused by how head over heels he was for the woman. “Stunning or not, you’ll get over her. It’s just one girl.”

“I suppose you’re right, but… That ‘one girl’ - absolutely perfect in every way, I’m sure of it. Hell, I wish that fiancé of her’s would just disappear from existence. Clearly, he’s the only reason she didn’t agree, you know.”

Marc sighed, placing his hand against the glass. “Honestly, man. Just let me have the body. You can go mourn in the abyss while I ensure that we’re being a productive, normal human being. How about it?”

Steven’s mouth went dry, and he leaned over to splash his face again before twisting the knob permanently. Even now, after being rejected, she was all he could think about. He wished there was a way to make it convenient for her to accept his feelings. Hell, he was vegan - although a bad one - and he’d take her to the fanciest steak restaurant in London if it meant even a single date with her.

Marc was still trying to get his attention, ranting loudly in the abandoned bathroom. But Steven paid him no heed. Marc was stubborn, but so was Steven. After all, they were torn from the exact same cloth, if you counted Steven technically being a former figment of Marc’s imagination. 

Steven finally raised his head again, making eye contact with Marc. Marc fell silent, realizing everything he’d just said had gone out one ear and out the other. Steven bit his lip before stating,” I’m sorry, Marc, but I don’t think I want to give the bird up just yet.”

Marc let out an exaggerated cry. “Oh, come on! What are you going to do, type up an essay about why she should throw away her serious relationship and cancel her wedding and elope with you instead? I hate to break it to you, man, but the movies lie. The girl doesn’t always choose the underdog.”

Steven shook his head. “No, I don’t mean that. Clearly the straightforward tactic didn’t work, Marc. Of course she wouldn’t go on a date with me, she barely knows me! She has to get to know me first. Then, slowly, I can convince her to leave her partner. I have to be her friend first! After all, she already said we could be.”

“It’s a little late for that, lover boy,” Marc argued, waving his hands dismissively. 

“Maybe. Or maybe not,” he said thoughtfully. “There was something that rubbed me the wrong way. About how she talked about her fiancé. Usually when you’re in love with someone, you wouldn’t be so reluctant to talk about him, yeah? She’s probably been sucked into a loveless marriage with some rich arsehole —“

“O-o-or she’s in a loving relationship and was just awkward. I did speak over her a bit.”

Steven sighed, rubbing his forehead. He sent Marc a determined glare. “Please, Marc. Let me do this one thing. But what I have in mind, though… It’s a little mad.”

“Oh no,” Marc muttered. 

“Oh, yes.” A coy smile arose to Steven’s face. “This fiancé of her’s is suspicious, see. I just know it. Bloody hell, if we can find some dirt on him and prove he’s not a good guy, I can swoop in and be her hero and friend and eventually, boyfriend.”

Marc rolled his eyes. “Oh, boy. You’re serious, aren’t you? Steven, you don’t even know her last name. You don’t even know who her fiancé is! You barely know anything about her. How the hell are you going to find dirt on a guy who’s name you don’t even know?”

Steven, with one balled fist, hit his open palm as a ‘Eureka’ moment. He continued,” Well, I’ll tell you my idea. But you definitely aren’t going to like it.”

“Do go on. Enlighten me, pal.”

“I mean, you have to promise not to call me mad first.”

“Sure, but I might call you crazy.”

“Okay, okay, so hush. Significant others usually hang at each other’s flats, right? What I’m thinking is that we could follow Y/n until she meets the beloved fiancé —“

“Steven that’s called stalking —“

“Hush, hush. Listen, Marc. From there, we follow the fiancé home and find out his identity. Then we can look online and possibly inside his house —“

“No. No, no no! Steven, we are not committing crimes. That is breaking and entering!”

“Technically just entering.I don’t plan on breaking anything —“

“Steven! Steven. We aren’t doing that. We legally cannot do that. That is stalking and breaking and entering. I wish I could tell you to do whatever you want, but if you get thrown in jail, I’ll have to be there with you,” Marc angrily argued.

Steven’s mouth twitched and eventually formed a frown. He banged his fist on the marble counter, sufficiently shutting up Marc. Steven knew this would work. That fiancé was no good and he had to prove it. Just because he didn’t know the guy didn’t mean he wasn’t a villain. And, no, Steven definitely wasn’t falling onto the depths of despair over his crush.

Steven sighed filling the silence that had fallen over the bathroom. He finally replied,” …Listen. It’s for a good reason. And I promise that if you help me do this and the fiancé’s perfectly alright, I’ll let it go. But I just have this feeling! Isn’t it better to be safe just in case?”

Marc also sighed, leaning against the void behind him. He didn’t reply.

Steven was glad he was getting through to him. They were one of the same; that meant he’d eventually cave because Steven felt strongly about this. They’d been on opposite sides of the coin before, but Steven was known for being the more persuasive side.

“I swear it. If we don’t learn anything, we can pretend it never happened,” he coaxed. “Marc, I don’t want to fight you on this, but I will if I have to. I know with a strong conviction that something’s wrong about her fiancé and I need to find out what. For closure.”

Marc rubbed his temple, grumbling underneath his breath. Steven watched him expectantly, a grin growing on his knowing expression.

“…Fine. But if we end up in the slammer, I’m punching you in the face. Got it?”

~~~

“This is definitely stalking,” Marc muttered into his pocketed mirror. He had just transformed to normal, having gotten onto the roof of the fiancé. As conspicuous as a bright white cape and suit was, no such attention was drawn to them due to it being about three a.m. 

After a ruthless night of trailing after Y/n from the shadows - and locating her apartment, although it’s not like Marc was the one who wanted to know where it was -, they located the fiancé. Steen certainly thought that he wasn’t anything special. If anything, he looked rather uptight. The fiancé eventually left after several hours, and from there, they followed him back. They waited a few hours, and voila, it was time to strike.

They had already scouted the area, and Marc reluctantly agreed that the chimney was the best way to go. So, here they were.

“Consider it as an unsanctioned police search,” Steven chirped in response.

“You’re definitely crazy. You owe me big time.”

“Yes, yes. Let’s get on with it. We don’t have all night.”

Marc sighed, tucking the mirror into his jean’ back pocket. He trudged carefully over to the stone chimney. No smoke was coming out of it, so he could presume it wasn’t lit. He hated that he had to do this, but even if they were in the same body, Marc was naturally more athletic than his other half.

Marc was glad that Khonshu hadn’t spoken to them in a while. That meant they weren’t fucking everything up, even if they were breaking and entering. As terrifying as prison would be, it was preferable to Khonshu’s threats. He was a god, after all.

Marc lowered his body into the soot cavern. His legs dangled in the air, and the only thing preventing him from falling was his strong forearms. He grunted and turned until his feet were on one wall and he felt safe enough to lower his arms in. He almost screaming when he slid a bit, the wall tearing at his jacket, but he gulped it down.

Slowly but surely, he slid down the chimney. He had never been more relieved than when his behind made contact with a pile of wood and his legs dropped onto solid ground. Even with a twig up his ass, he was glad to have made it safely. 

He pulled the black face mask and hood on. His clothing was dark and gave him full coverage, just in case there were cameras.

His eyes flitted around the living room. The coast… seemed to be clear. He phased out, letting Steven take over.

When Steven came to, he immediately examined his surroundings. It was a quaint living room, but it was obvious that the man had funds due to the elegant nature of the furniture. He dusted off his pants as he silently rose to his feet. His limbs ached and his muscles flexed.

He decided that, while he was here he might as well raid the fridge. He weaved through the living room. Across the hall was the entrance to the kitchen, to the left the front door, and to the right a hallway that lead deeper into the house and the stairway. He checked for any cameras before scampering into the kitchen. He carefully opened it.

Bingo.

There was a bag of potato chips. Who in their right mind refrigerated potato chips?

He paid it a lot of mind, but took it anyways. He shut the fridge again before setting the snack on the counter. He’d come back for it later.

He rounded the corner and proceeded up the stairs. The trip was slow, because a few of the stairs creaked, and then he’d have to wait and listen. Still, the house was silent.

When he arrived on the second floor, He peered to his left and right. Each section was riddled with closed doors, so it was impossible to decipher where an office would be. He sighed silently, deciding to check the door at the end of the left hallway.

He pressed his ear to the doorway. He heard no snores and no movement. Slowly, he turned the knob and lacked open the door. 

He cringed when it squeaked loudly. He paused halfway, listening for any stirs, hoping that didn’t wake the sleeping man. He head nothing, and peered inside.

His heart dropped when he realized that he was inside, coddled up in his sheets. He hadn’t heard any snoring because the man was sleeping on his side; the one staring directly at the door. 

Steven froze, removing his hand from the door knob. He went through a bought of mental gymnastics, weighing the odds of wether to close the door again or leave it be as to not make more noise. Close the door or leave it be…

He decided to leave it be. He slunk away from it, pressing his body against the wall behind him. His heart was thudding loudly in his chest, so. Such so that he wondered if it was audible to the sleeping stranger. He gulped down his terror. 

He already knew that Marc would not be happy with how things were going. A part of him wanted to scram, but he knew he was already in too deep. 

He veered his body back down the hallway and stopped in front of the opposite door. He was a little less careless this time, knowing that the fiancé wouldn’t be behind the door. This time, though, it didn’t release an croaks and opened with ease.

Jackpot. Inside was a tidy office that was more modern than the rest of the house. It had a clear desk and comfy spinning chair in the center. Lining the walls were bookcases, Beside the desks were some file cases. And in the middle of the desk was a sleek, expensive laptop.

Steven hissed out air through his nose, some of his anxiety washing away. He wished Marc could’ve done the dirty work for him instead, but he would’ve never agreed. He immediately surveyed the bookshelves, trying to find something incriminating. He even pulled some out of place in hopes a secret villain chamber opened up.

But it was in vain. Instead, he began opening the file cases. Each time he slid a drawer open, he cringed, as a loud, metallic squeak rolled across the room. 

He should’ve closed the office door behind him just to be safe.

He began searching through various papers. Contracts, reports, financial scans… nothing that didn’t seem legit. Damn it.

He plumped into the chair and opened the laptop.

Of course it was password protected. Why wouldn’t it be?

He suddenly heard a creak from down the hall. Instinctually, he slammed the laptop shut, immediately regretting his actions. He pushed the chair away and rose to his feet, heart pounding in his chest. His hands were trembling.

He was awake.

Footsteps thudded down the hallway. In fear of an unsolicited weapon, he made a mad dash to shut the door. Instead, though, he came face to face with a sleepy and equally terrified man.

“Who —“

Steven didn’t even have to think. He raised his fist and pummeled it into the man’s jaw. The man let out a shout of pain, tripping and falling onto the ground behind him. The man immediately tried to recuperate, but it was in vain, as Steven hopped to the side and kicked him in the stomach several times.

As fretful and as anti-violent as he was, in his head, the guy definitely deserved it.

The man kept grunting and rolled into the wall. Before Steven found himself in a complete frenzy, he pulled away.

“I’m so sorry,” he exclaimed. “Some ice will help with that.”

And with that, he made a mad dash for the stairs. He gripped the wall and swerved. Clumsily and thoughtlessly, he slipped the wood surface and fell down the flight of stairs on his rear end. He let out an ‘ouch’ for each step descended until he arrived at the bottom.

Hearing the man cry loudly for help, he knew he had to get the fuck out of dodge. Marc would be furious. 

So, Steven rushed out the front door, abandoning the refrigerated potato chips.

~~~

I tapped my fingers against the napkin, my gaze cast away from the man sitting across from me. Charles had taken a day off due to a break in last night, and too me to also take a day off so he could spend the morning with me planning. So far, I was relieved he was too busy with calls and messages from his phone, because it meant I didn’t have to bombarded with stupid decisions about what color the roses should be and what texture of table cloth worked best for the occasion.

My friends told her those sorts of things were necessary, and Charles said they were, too. But it was probably because I was brought up in a poor household and saw such things as trivial. Charles mistook it as cold feet, and when he thought something, it always took a lot of convincing to change his mind.

The outdoor cafe was nice, at least. There was an umbrella protecting us from the sun and the streets were crowded - but not too crowded - with window-shoppers. It was a beautiful day. 

I smiled gratefully to the waitress as she set our pastries down on the quaint table. Charles didn’t move a beat, eyes glued to his phone. Even with how purple and bandaged his face was, his movements were still robotic.

I took a bite into the pastry. It was sweet, and temporarily distracted me from my sour mood. Wasn’t a bride-to-be supposed to be happy to spend time with her fiancé? He took a day off, after all. It wasn’t for me because he was a busy man, so I felt guilty for not appreciating his presence. I couldn’t help but feel that if he warns’t here, I’d be quite happy and would enjoy the pastries without a care in the world.

But, then again, she would’ve been at work. Because today she had work. And he told her to take it off.

I jumped in my seat, surprised when he finally set the phone down. Its vibrations ceased, and his stony eyes moved to me. My fiancé, as much as I… loved him, was a cold man.

He clasped his hands together. “Is the bread up to your standards?”

I couldn’t help but feel like that was some sort of jab. I smiled anyways and nodded. 

He quirked a brow. “Good. So, have you reviewed the questionnaire document I sent about the wedding? I’d rather get married sooner rather than later. I can only take so many days off of work, after all.”

I nodded again. “Yeah… I sent it to my friends since they ca - er, they know more about fengshui than I do.”

“Are you kidding? It’s our wedding. I don’t give a shit about what your friends think,” he snipped, irritatedly grabbing a pastry and shoving it in his mouth. In between bites, he instructed,” just go over it now with me, since clearly you aren’t responsible to do it yourself.”

I bit my lip and did as asked. As annoyed as I was - although, I was usually annoyed with him to some degree. That was normal, right? -, I listened anyways, searching through my phone until I found the file. Even just glazing over the questionnaire, anxiety rumbled in my chest.

“Um…” I trailed off, not sure what to do.

He snatched the phone out of my hands. He quickly asked,” What color should the balcony lights be?”

“White, I guess?”

“How are you going to see them in broad daylight if they’re white? Are you planning to blind everyone?”

“Then… f/c.”

“…Okay. That works. But the rest of the decorations have to follow that color scheme as well… You know color theory, right — ?”

Suddenly, from down the street, a man I black with a suspiciously large bag came barreling down the street. Charles, noticing my shifted attention, peered over his shoulder. The man was about to pass us by, zipping by the plastic decorative fence, but he was suddenly tackled from above. I covered my eyes, a flash of white having descended into my peripheral.

Charles was quick to jump into action, rushing to my side and grabbing my arm. He pulled my away from the scene, but the crowd of people was still watching.

I identified the caped hero as Moon Knight. Also known as Steven slash Marc, my former coworker. I didn’t think I’d see him again so soon, especially in this context. I watched in awe as the man beat the everlasting crap out of the supposed thief.

~~~

Steven confidently huddled over the man, feigning violence. The actor, who he’d paid to pretend to be a robber, was letting out grunts of pain. He spotted some people taking videos. The actor and him made eye contact and winked. It was a signal to move onto the ‘scene.’

He grabbed him and tossed him into the outdoor cafe zone. The ‘money’ bag was left on the ground. The actor let out an authentic yelp of pain as he collided with the uncomfortable faux grass carpet. More of the onlookers gasped.

Steven jumped the fence with ease, crouching over the man, who had fake-passed out. Steven wiped his hands off on his suit, rising back to his feet. He’d always felt more confident; regardless, though, when he inevitably unsuited, he knew it would drain in her presence.

Steven had roped Marc into another shenanigan. This time, though, his other half had no choice. Steven would go through with this regardless. He hired the actor in advance, so no refunds were possible. And after Steven had spoken last night, Marc would be damned if he got caught because Steven had a crush on a girl.

Steven stepped away from the criminal. His suit extinguished, and as it did so, he let Marc take over. Marc blinked, still aggravated from how much Steven screwed him over. However, he forced a smile and raised his hands. 

“Crisis averted! Everyone can go back to what they were doing now!” he called.

Some people grabbed their stuff and left, while others sat back down. Marc made eye contact with Y/n, who’s fiancé was fed up with the cafe already and pulled her over to collect her things. Y/n looked away, though.

Marc mentally steeled himself for what he had to do. If this would get Steven off his back about wooing the girl, he had to do it. He put on as charming as a grin as he could and sauntered over to the couple. He could tell Y/n was shitting herself.

“Y/n! Didn’t think we’d run into each other so soon.” The blonde-hair, blue-eyed fiancé paled immediately, and it inflated the man’s ego. “So, is this the lucky man you were telling me about?”

Y/n meekly raised her hand and waved, grabbing her former seat tightly with the other. “Uh, hey, Marc. Yeah, this is Charles. Charles, this is Marc. We… used to work together.”

So, his name was Charles. Marc made a mental note of that - for Steven’s sake, obviously. 

The man nodded stoically, suspiciously eyeing his girlfriend. “Right… nice to meet you, Marc.” He held out hiss hand for him to shake.

Marc took it, taking note of how stiff and cold Charles was. He supposed that opposites really did attract if such a sweet, shy girl was interested in this buffoon. Sure, he was rich, but what else to his was there? He quickly shook himself out of his thoughts, realizing the high grip he had on her fiancé’s hand.

“We were just going,” Charles remarked, grabbing Y/n’s wrist tightly. But before they could shove past, Marc slyly replied,” Oh, wait, Y/n. I’m really sorry about yesterday.”

Charles halted, and Y/n seemed like she was shaking in her boots. Why? She’d done nothing wrong, so why was she so terrified? Suspicion coursed through his veins.

“And what happened yesterday?” Charles questioned, turning back to the man as his gaze flitted between Marc and Y/n.

Y/n shook both her head and hands dismissively. "I - it’s nothing, really. And it’s fine, Marc.” Charles visibly squeezed Y/n’s shoulder tightly, and Marc glared at his hold. “Marc accidentally ran into me while I was leaving work yesterday and spilled his coffee on my blouse. That’s all.”

“Your shirt seemed fine when I came over for dinner. Why didn’t you mention it?” Charles grilled further, glare boring into the poor woman.

“Because it was nothing. I just hand-washed and hung it up to dry before you arrived.”

Charles paused, but released his grip. “Oh. Okay.”

Y/n was caught off guard as he thanked her hand and they were off. Y/n could do nothing but wave to the man from over her shoulder as they disappeared into the cafe to pay.

Marc couldn’t help but feel like Steven was right. After seeing how Charles was, something was definitely off about the guy. And, even though Marc wanted nothing more than to leave it, he couldn’t help but feel a dedication to the woman. Steven was obsessed with her, so naturally, a part of him was, too.

He hopped over the face and began walking down the street. He pulled out his small mirror. Steven looked back at him with anticipation. “I guess you were right about him.”

“See? I told you,” Steven chirped excitedly, placing his hand against the glass.

“Yeah, yeah, you were right, I was wrong. Whatever. What matters now is we have to figure out what that guy’s up to.”

@slutalexis46

[hyuckilstan]

Look bestie, idk if hard hours are open but whatever, you'll read it when you read it.

I am frothing how seonghwa/hongjoong/yunho...actually I'll include San & jongho as well, how they would all love it when their partners are shy & embarrassed. It has me thinking thoughts!

I'll have thoughts come up about the others but right now I'm just imaging how Yunho would make the perfect 'first bf' because I think he would just be excited to be your first & he would just make you feel so special about yourself. I think he would tease the absolutely loving heck out of you whilst doing it, 'aww you look so cute when you blush for me'.

Imagine when you start getting intimate with him and you're like undressing & you're covering yourself because it's all new for you, he would just look at you with those puppy dog eyes and rub shoulders & say in a soothing manner, 'you have a beautiful body bunny, let me see all of it'.

Plus, when you've grown more confident with him, he would definitely use it as a way to humiliate you, just imagine you're pinned underneath him & you're all red in the face because even though you've been together a long time, you're still self-conscious. He would look down at you and coo at you in a mocking tone, 'aww is my sweet bunny still shy after all this time? Maybe I need to f*ck the embarrassment out of you mmh?'

Hard thoughts are always open bestie<3

And yes to elaborate on this more cause yk what as I am reading this I’m feeling something and I’ll talk about Yunho cause this ask just screams Yunho, I mean it kinda does but yes

Also I enjoyed this sm omg I just wrote whatever came to mind as I saw it

Yunho is def the type to enjoy how you blush for him or how you get all flustered even when he leans closer, and this little shit would make you even more flustered by holding your face by the jaw, leaning in closer, but then he’ll be like “You got sauce here,” you would be so embarrassed in a way he enjoys so much, when he sees your expression he’ll just giggle and prob lick the sauce leaving you even more flustered 😳

He’s the type of boyfriend who takes you to an amusement park and winning all kind of gifts for you even if you say its enough, cooking for you even though he doesn’t do it often, spoiling you with all his attention, love and affection and oh my those puppy eyes as he watches you try on the outfits he bought you are to die for.

He is just really good to you, makes you feel so loved and precious(although he loves to be a little shit), it makes you fall in love all over again, its just that he’s good at everything he does it surprises you, that also means that he is also really REALLY good in bed there’s no way to exaggerate it enough

If some things are a first for you, he will absolutely make sure to take his time with you so that you can enjoy it, he would be so patient, like you getting shy at the first time undressing for him, he will make it his top priority to make sure you are perfect to him, by saying things like “Oh love you don’t have to hide what a piece of art you are, so beautiful,” as his hands travel around your body.

I feel like the more you get comfortable in the relationship, the more Yunho gets less vanilla, sure he has his moments but he cannot count how much he just wishes to ruin you, but he will always consider how you could feel first, so he would just size train you so that you can take him properly because come on, this guy knows he is big the least he would want is to hurt you.

Once he sees you are ready for more than just his fingers or tongue, (also prob because I believe this man has a corruption kink), he would be so rough with you, yet always thinking of your own pleasure even if he doesn’t go easy on you.

You would probably have even discovered some kinks on the course of your relationship, and he would love to use them on you, he would also love to degrade you, making you feel even more smaller than him than usual

Like imagine him pinning you down on the bed, staring you with such lust in his eyes, just wanting to ruin you, smirking as whimper leaves your mouth, he would coo at you with fake sympathy, “Aww baby, sorry about that, but bad girls get punishment if they did something wrong, so you can’t blame me for what you get tonight, because what do good girls do?”

“Take their punishments obediently” you would reply with a small whimper and he would just smile innocently

“And what did you do to get punishment my pretty little slut?” he would tease further to make sure you get flustered.

“Play with myself without your permission...” you would respond as your cheeks would be tinted pink.

“Good girl, you’re already learning, now, I’m gonna fuck that brat out of you got it?”

With that sentence you already know

Its gonna be a long ass night

[junghelioseok]

heart-on.

↳ your one-night stand definitely isn’t relationship material, but maybe—just maybe—your manager’s son is.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | strangers to lovers!au ◇ 10.1k [1/1]

❛❛ my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick ❜❜

notes: welcome to the first installment of the serendipity series! we’re starting with hoseok, because, well, have you met me? 🤣 be warned, however, that this isn’t anywhere near as edited as i’d like so i’ll probably give it another read/edit tomorrow but for now!!! here it is!!!

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dirty talk bc hoseok’s got a bit of a mouth on him, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!), sexting. dick pics, obvi. brief mention of a dead pet goldfish :(

You’re refilling your mug when you hear it. Voices filter out from the kitchen, floating past the coffee station where you’re pouring yourself another drink and hanging in the open air of the hallway that leads back to the rest of the office. They’re familiar voices, too—voices that belong to the resident gossips of your workplace. Lottie’s pitchy, nasal tone melds with Hyejin’s higher one, their conversation interrupted every so often by an exaggerated exclamation or gasp from Sandra, the third and final member of their trio.

“Haven’t you heard? Carolyn’s divorce was finalized over the weekend, the poor thing.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how she’s feeling. I mean, getting back into dating at her age? Goodness!”

“And now she’ll be all alone at the holiday party, too. How sad is that?”

“It’s tragic. Poor thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab a packet of sugar and tear it open, upending it over your mug and watching the crystalline granules fall into the dark liquid within. You know for a fact that Sandra and her husband can’t even stand to be in the same room for an extended period of time, considering how they’d spent most of last year’s holiday party talking to entirely different groups of people. You’d sat two tables away from them during dinner, and they hadn’t even made eye contact once. And as for Lottie and Hyejin, well, you’re certain that their relationships aren’t much better. All three of them are miserable people as far as you’re concerned, and you make a mental note to check in on Carolyn—a sweet woman in her thirties who always keeps chocolate bars in her purse—on your way back to your desk.

“Sheesh. Vultures, the lot of them. Don’t you think?”

You whirl at the sound of your manager’s voice. Kyunghee Jung is a dark-haired woman in her late fifties, and she laughs when she sees your startled expression, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Easy! You’ll spill your coffee if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll probably have a heart attack first,” you reply, pressing a hand to your chest. “What was your job before this? Some kind of intelligence operative? Are you a super spy?”

Kyunghee laughs again and joins you at the counter. “Nothing even remotely as exciting as that,” she answers, plopping her mug down beside yours. It’s decorated with what looks like every color of the rainbow, a massive smiling sunflower taking up the majority of the surface, and the only remnant of the ceramic’s original color is on the very edge of the handle where there’s a lopsided little patch of white. The piece is clearly handmade, and a stark contrast to the simple mint green cup that houses your coffee. Looking at it, it’s impossible not to smile.

“I love that,” you remark, inclining your head at her mug. “Was it a present from one of your kids?”

“Hoseok,” she confirms, running a fingertip along the imperfect handle fondly. “I’ve told you about him before—he’s right around your age.”

You chuckle. “Right, I remember. That’s why he’s the perfect match for me, right?”

“Come now, there’s more to it than that,” Kyunghee defends, waving a hand. “But yes, to answer your question. He gave it to me as a birthday present when he was eight.”

“Well, you never told me he was an artist,” you tease. “Does he have an Etsy? Can I buy one of these off him? Does he do custom orders, maybe?”

Normally, your manager is more than happy to play along with your jokes, but today Kyunghee fixes you with an uncharacteristically serious look. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she asks. “He’s coming to the holiday party, after all. I figured you could finally meet.”

You blink. Kyunghee has been making offhand remarks about how well you would get on with her son, Hoseok, for over a year now, but you’ve never even come close to broaching the topic of meeting him. You don’t even know anything about the man beyond the fact that his name is Hoseok and that he works somewhere downtown. He also favors tall socks and yellow suspenders if the framed photograph on Kyunghee’s desk is any indication—or at least, he certainly did when he was still in diapers. Whether he still does, is anyone’s guess.

“Wow, I had no idea he was even interested in coming,” you manage when you’ve recovered from your surprise. “Did you bribe him?”

If Kyunghee notices that your voice is a few pitches higher than usual, she doesn’t remark on it. “Oh, you know. I just told him that this would be his last chance to score free booze on the company’s dime.” She laughs. “Three more months and it’s going to be all beaches and sunshine for me. I might even become a cruise person in my retirement.”

You gasp and slap a hand to your heart. “Kyunghee! Think of the environmental impact!”

“I said I might!” she retorts immediately. “Sheesh. Even in my old age, it’s hard to conveniently forget how shitty and unsustainable those damn boats are.”

You pick up your mug and raise it in a salute. “Well, the oceans thank you.”

“My husband doesn’t,” she answers with a sigh. “He’s been dying to book one of those trips that stop all along the Mediterrannean coastline, and I can’t exactly blame him.”

“That is tempting,” you admit. “You’ll have to send photos, if you do end up going.”

“You’ll be sick of me and my photos before the first day is even up,” she promises. Then she pauses, her eyes darting toward the kitchen where silence has fallen in the last few minutes. “Speaking of being sick—you think the vultures are still hovering around in there? I haven’t had lunch yet, and I need the microwave.”

Obligingly, you edge a little closer to the kitchen doorway and poke your head around the frame, scanning for Lottie and her sidekicks. “Coast is clear. Enjoy your lunch, Kyunghee.”

She nods and raises her mug at you, returning your salute. “I always do.”

///

As soon as the work day ends, you fall into your usual routine. Your commute home is easily walkable on nicer days, and though the winter weather is brisker than you’d like, you decide to walk for the sake of stopping at the convenience store on the corner of the block.

Once you arrive back at your apartment, you change into your comfiest sweats and a loose tee. You turn on some music while you throw together some dinner, and settle onto the couch half an hour later with a full plate and Netflix. Television is a welcome distraction from the events of the workday, and you manage to get through three full episodes of your current show before your pesky brain decides to revisit the events of today, replaying the conversations that you’d both had and overheard.

There’s no denying that you’ve been single for quite some time now, and for the most part, it’s been by choice. Ever since graduating from university, you’ve chosen to focus more on your career, and it’s paid off both in terms of the important position you hold in your company and your above average salary. And yet, you can’t help but think back to the gossip you’d overheard earlier—about the supposed tragedy of being single and attending the upcoming holiday party alone. Your mind wanders to Kyunghee’s son, Hoseok, and how he’ll be in attendance this year. You wonder what he’s like, and whether he really is perfect for you, as Kyunghee seems to be so fond of mentioning.

And then your mind goes to Jay.

You met Jay two months ago, on a well-deserved night out after a hellish workweek. The bar was crowded, and the music coming from the neon dancefloor in the back was just loud enough to drown out your inhibitions. That, combined with the alcohol swimming through your system, made you bold. You sashayed your way across the dancefloor, dodging inebriated bodies and swaying limbs as you fixed your attention on the head of pale lavender hair and deliciously broad shoulders that awaits you just behind the bar counter. The bartender is nothing short of gorgeous, and you’ve thrown all caution to the wind. Sure, several other women are eyeing him like he’s their next meal—several men are, too—but you need another drink. And while he prepares it, you plan to flirt.

A lot.

The bar counter is sticky with spilled liquor, but you don’t pay that any mind as you lean across it, the wood digging into the narrow strip of exposed skin left by your cropped top. “Hi!” you call, and the bartender looks up from where he’s just finished pouring a round of shots for a group of raucous young men.

“Hi yourself,” he says, his pillowy lips stretching into an easy smile. “What can I get you?”

You pretend not to notice the way his eyes flicker down to the dip of your cleavage and instead put on the sultriest smile you are capable of mustering. “Vodka soda,” you tell him, injecting a bit of purr into your voice. “A bit of lemon too, if you have it.”

“Trust me, I have it,” he assures, his smile growing as he reaches for a clean glass and a clear bottle. “Name’s Jin, by the way. I’m here all night, if you need anything e—”

A loud clatter and the sound of breaking glass interrupts the rest of his sentence, and all eyes at the bar go to the source of the disturbance. Conversations stutter to a halt, and even the thumping bass of the music seems to dull. Jin darts to the other end of the bar, where you can see that one of several barstools has fallen to the ground. There’s a man on the ground as well, surrounded by shattered glass and spilled dark liquor, and your eyes widen when you realize that you know him.

And arguably, a little too well.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. People are starting to lose interest in the spectacle, turning back to their own conversations and continuing on as if nothing had happened at all. The man is beginning to clamber to his feet, and a few people lend a helping hand as Jin begins barking out orders for everyone to step back so he can sweep up the broken glass. You seize upon the opportunity, latching on to the nearest arm and pulling them close so you can hide behind them. Vaguely, you’re aware of them sputtering in surprise, but you only have eyes for the man who had fallen off his stool, watching him carefully as he brushes himself off and tries to play it cool despite the sizable patch of whiskey soaking his white shirt.

“Hey, uh…” Your human shield is speaking. “Are you okay? You’re squeezing me pretty tight.”

That draws you out of your daze. Abashed, you loosen your grip on his arm and look up into his face, your throat going dry when you realize how handsome he is. His black hair is parted over his forehead, a stray strand falling into warm brown eyes set above a straight nose and an inviting mouth. There’s a freckle above his top lip, just shy of the center, and your inebriated brain wonders just what it would be like to kiss it.

“I, um—” You clear your throat and try again. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t want him to see me.”

Your newfound companion raises an eyebrow and glances over his shoulder at the drunk man, who is now being ushered out of the bar by his buddies. “You know that guy?”

You nod, cringing. “Yeah, his name’s Trent. I… may or may not have dated him for a few months last year.”

The man laughs out loud. “You dated a Trent?”

“What, like you’ve never made a questionable life choice?” you challenge. “Besides, you shouldn’t judge someone based on the sins of their parents. It’s not his fault they gave him a terrible name.”

“Sure, but it is on him for going along with it,” he replies with a shrug. “I would’ve changed my name as soon as I could if my parents had named me Trent. But hey, that’s just one man’s opinion.”

You laugh. “Okay then, Not-Trent.” Relinquishing your grip on his arm, you let your fingers graze his hand before pulling away entirely. “What do you say we continue this conversation over a drink?”

The man, whose name is decidedly not Trent, catches your fingers in his and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Happily.”

One drink turns into two, and then three. By the end of the hour, you are feeling pleasantly warm, the alcohol spreading through your veins like molasses and turning your surroundings into a hazy blur. The music has grown even louder, pounding against your eardrums, and you grab onto Not-Trent’s wrist as he sets his now-empty glass back down onto the counter.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the thumping bassline. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

“The parking lot’s out back,” he suggests. “Why don’t we get some air?”

You nod and stand up on wobbly legs, cursing your decision to wear heels when you stumble into your companion. He steadies you with a gentle but firm hand, and you don’t miss the way his touch lingers on your lower back, his palm warm through the material of your blouse.

Together, the two of you pick your way through the throng of swaying bodies on the dancefloor. The bassline thuds in your ears, dark and hypnotic, and you can feel the reverberations thrumming across the slats of your ribs and echoing in the cavern of your chest like a second heartbeat.

It’s almost a relief, then, when you step out into the cool night air. Your ears continue to ring for a few seconds, but it soon fades and leaves behind only the muted hum of traffic from the street and the faint sound of music from inside. At your side, Not-Trent releases a long breath and leans against the brick wall of the building, and you turn to take in the steep slopes of his side profile as he tilts his head up toward the velvety night sky.

He’s handsome. Dressed in ripped jeans and black leather, he’s a sight to behold, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been craving a bit of intimacy for quite some time now. The alcohol swimming through your system makes you bolder than you normally would be, and you reach out to lay a hand on his arm. He turns toward you with a silent question glimmering in his irises, but you simply step closer, until you’re pinning him against the wall with your body and you’re breathing the same air.

“Hey,” you say, your voice an airy whisper. His eyes are near obsidian in the dimness of the parking lot, illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlamps on either end, and your gaze flickers down to his mouth before roving to the freckle that sits upon his top lip. “Kiss me?”

Your companion’s eyes widen. His lips part, but no words come out, and you’re about to repeat your question when he finally finds his voice again.

“That’s really… that’s not a good idea.” Awkwardly, he clears his throat, but the hoarseness of his voice and the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple give away his true desires. “Look, you’ve been drinking. We both have, and—”

You cut him off, pushing up to your tiptoes and planting a messy kiss to the soft dip just beneath his bottom lip. “Don’t care,” you mumble against his skin. “I want you.”

Your companion laughs weakly. His hands find their way to your waist and pause there, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. “You don’t even know me,” he murmurs.

“I don’t have to know you,” you reply. Your fingers drag down his chest, trailing along the delicate silver necklace that rests against the black of his shirt. From the chain hangs a round pendant, the surface engraved with the letter J. Slowly, you trace it with a fingertip, the metal shining even in the dim light, and satisfaction blooms in your heart when your companion’s throat bobs again. “I want you,” you breathe, soft but insistent. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I—” He clears his throat and tries again, and you wonder if he realizes that his hands have slid down to your hips, or that there’s a growing hardness against your lower stomach that’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore. “Look, I’m flattered—really, I am. And you’re… I mean, fuck, you’re gorgeous. But I don’t think we should do anything when you’re clearly not in the right frame of mind to be making this kind of decision, and—”

“And, nothing.” You wind your arms around his neck, pressing close and grinding subtly against the bulge in his pants. You smirk when he releases a low hiss from between his teeth, and hide it by laying a trail of kisses along the stretch of bare skin exposed by the dip of his collar. “Stop being such a gentleman,” you whisper. Your fingers trail down his chest, past the silver of his pendant and down to the faded denim of his jeans, teasing at the cool metal of his belt buckle. “I want this. But if you’re not interested, I can always go back in there and—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat. Your companion has tugged you flush against him in one smooth motion, and your gasp is cut off by the firm press of his mouth against yours. Immediately, you melt into the kiss, and a moan tears from your lips when he spins you around and pins you against the brick wall of the building.

“You’re a spoiled little thing, huh?” His breath fans hot against your cheeks, and you shiver when you meet his eyes and see the dark promise reflected there. “Used to getting what you want, huh, princess?”

Your breath hitches at the endearment—something your companion doesn’t miss. “Oh, you like that?” He chuckles hoarsely, and when he speaks again it’s in a rasp that sends heat straight to your core. “What else do you like, hmm? You want me to be rough with you, princess? Or should I be gentle and treat you like a queen?”

You reach up, raking your fingers through his hair and skimming across the soft strands of his undercut before finding purchase at his nape. “You talk too much,” you whisper.

And then you’re crushing your mouth back against his, whining when he immediately takes back control of the kiss. His grip slides downward, his fingertips digging into the skin just above the curve of your ass, and you squeak when he grabs the back of your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, nipping at the delicate shell and chortling when you keen. Your skirt has ridden up dangerously high on your spread thighs, and you let out a soft whimper when he grinds harshly against your center. The lace of your panties and the denim of his jeans are the last barricades between you, and you wonder, vaguely, whether your companion has a bit of an exhibitionist streak when he slides one of your sleeves down your shoulder and begins kissing a trail down to the swell of your cleavage. “You feel how hard you’ve gotten me?”

You lean down, kissing the soft spot where his jaw meets his ear before letting your teeth graze against his skin. “Why don’t you do something about it then?”

He hisses out a sharp breath, his hands tightening their hold on your hips. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, huh? I can’t wait to make you eat your words.”

Any retort you may have had is interrupted by a sudden swell of music and the sound of a slamming door. Whirling to face the source of the noise, you immediately spot a familiar head of lavender hair atop broad shoulders encapsulated in the black uniform of the bar. Jin hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, his attention fixated on his cell phone screen, but he looks up when you let out a little squeak of surprise and shove your companion’s chest in an attempt to create some distance between you.

“Hey.” Jin raises a hand in greeting, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “This phone call shouldn’t be too long, so please. Don’t stop the party on my behalf.”

Heat floods to your cheeks. There isn’t much use protesting against his insinuation, considering the rather compromising position you’re in. Much to your relief, though, your companion simply huffs out a chuckle and waves Jin off. “Thanks, man, but we’ll get out of your hair.” Lowering his voice, he turns back to you. “Coming, princess?”

You nod. He offers you his hand, and you take it gratefully, adjusting your skirt so that it drapes properly over your hips and thighs again.

“Have a good night!” Jin calls after you, amusement lacing every word. You can’t work up the nerve to respond, and luckily, you don’t have to. Your companion leads you around the corner of the building, where several rows of cars are parked beneath an orange streetlamp. On this side, the exterior brick wall is painted with a mural, and you admire the colorful galaxies and nebulae swirling amidst silvery white stars and the word serendipity spray-painted in pale blue.

The last car in the row is parked just beneath the letter Y, and it’s here that your companion stops. The sleek black vehicle has an almost vintage feel to it, and you glance up when you hear the jingle of metal.

“I’m guessing this is yours?”

He nods, pulling a set of keys from the pocket of his leather jacket and inserting one into the lock. “Yeah. You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, tracing the edge of the passenger window “Makes my car look like a total piece of shit by comparison.”

Your companion chuckles, pulling open the driver’s side door, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window as he presses a button to unlock the rest of the doors. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your mascara has smudged beneath your right eye, and you hurriedly swipe at it as your companion turns his attention back to you.

“So,” he says. “Now what? I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

Deliberately, you let your gaze drop down to his crotch, where his bulge—albeit waning—is still visible. “Seriously? I thought you were going to… what was it again? Make me eat my words?”

And just like that, it’s as if a switch has flipped. His eyes darken to obsidian, his lips settling into a stern line, and you barely have time to draw in a breath before he’s caging you against the side of his car and molding his mouth to yours. Your lips part beneath the onslaught, and he wastes no time in dipping inside to explore, licking into you until you’re both breathless.

“Inside,” he breathes once you’ve broken apart, and you instantly obey. You wrench the door open and all but tumble into the backseat, and he isn’t far behind as he slots himself between your spread thighs. Your hands fly to his shoulders where you help him shuck off his leather jacket, tossing it carelessly to the front where it lands in a heap on the dashboard before focusing your attention on the hem of his black t-shirt. Your companion obliges you as you push it upward to expose his toned abdomen, grabbing it by the collar and pulling it off the rest of the way when your reach falls a little short in the cramped interior of the backseat.

“Your turn,” he whispers when you try to reach for his belt, his hands settling around your wrists. “It’s only fair, princess.”

Pouting, you let your hands fall limp in his grasp, and he chuckles as he leans down to pacify you with a kiss. Deft fingers find the hem of your blouse, pushing it up until you can twist out of the material. You throw it aside with no regard for where it lands on the ground, and lay back as your companion drinks you in, his dark gaze raking across the lacy black lingerie that decorates your curves and skims you like a second skin. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse with a combination of amazement and disbelief. “You’re stunning.”

You smile, trailing a fingertip from the dip of his collarbone down to the silver necklace that sits prettily against his bare chest. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you tell him, tracing the letter engraved into his pendant. “Jay.”

Your companion—newly dubbed Jay—smiles back. “You’re something else, princess,” he murmurs, before leaning down to kiss you again. He explores your mouth thoroughly—languidly—before moving down to nip at your neck, and already, you can feel the beginnings of marks beginning to form, blossoming across your skin as irrefutable proof of your tryst.

It isn’t long before Jay frees you from your bra, watching with carnal fascination as your breasts spill out of the lacy material. You whine when he reaches out to cup one, his palm hot against your bare skin, and he smirks crookedly when a pinch to your nipple makes your back arch off the leather of the seat. “So pretty,” he rasps. “I can’t wait to see how you look stretched around my cock.”

“Stop waiting, then,” you tell him, trying again for his belt buckle. This time, he lets you fumble it open, leaning back to watch you work with hooded eyes and a lazy little smile. Emboldened, you push aside the denim of his jeans and free his cock from the confines of his underwear. He’s hard and hot and heavy in your palm, and your tongue darts out instinctively at the sight of the pearlescent precum beading the tip.

“Jay,” you murmur, thumbing across the head of his erection and smirking when he hisses in pleasure. “Fuck me.”

Jay seems to consider your demand, mischief flitting across his features before he manages to school his expression into something more neutral. “Where are your manners, princess?” he asks, pushing your hand away and giving himself a few long, slow strokes. “Say please, if you want it so bad.”

For a moment, you consider refusing. Jay seems to be the type of man who enjoys a good game, but between the state of his cock and the earlier interruption, you’re pretty sure he’s nearing his limit. And even if he isn’t, you are. And so, you shelve your pride for the time being, and trail a hand down the length of your bared body as you bat your lashes up at him. “Fuck me, Jay,” you repeat. “Please. Want your cock so bad.”

His answering smile is equal parts amusement and satisfaction, and altogether sinful. “That’s my girl,” he rasps, before shoving your panties aside. Lining the head of his cock up, he enters you in one smooth thrust, and you moan as your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. You’re more than wet enough to take him in his entirety, your eyes fluttering shut when he bottoms out, and he groans hoarsely as he takes a second to relish the feeling of your walls gripping him so tightly.

“Fuck. You’re so wet, princess.” Jay dips a thumb into your slick, spreading it across your clit and rubbing a few experimental circles around the sensitive nub. He groans when you clench around him, his hips stuttering, and you squeeze around him again just to hear him grit out another curse. “Shit. I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Don’t care,” you murmur, rocking against him and sighing when the motion sends him a little deeper into your core. “Just fuck me, Jay. Please.”

Jay leans in, a dark lock of hair falling across his forehead as he plants an indulgent kiss on your waiting mouth. “Anything for you, princess,” he breathes. Slowly, he pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you. Then he’s slamming forward, and you can’t even find it in yourself to care about the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin or the way the car rocks. Jay’s thumbing across your clit in tight circles that he times perfectly with the rock of his hips, and you wonder whether the rapidly building pleasure in your belly is due to your dry spell or if he’s just that good. You can feel every inch of him as he fills you up repeatedly, his brows furrowed in concentration and his dark hair flopping as he drives deeper in search of the spot that will have you seeing stars.

You know he’s found it when the pleasure in your belly spikes, your back arching off the backseat. Your skin is sticky against the dark leather and you’re certain the sweat gathering at your temples has destroyed the last of your makeup, but Jay alleviates your concerns with a particularly well-timed thrust and a harsh nip to the soft spot at your clavicle. You keen out something unintelligible, and his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Cum for me, princess.”

That’s all it takes for the mounting pressure to snap. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, the pleasure flaring out like a supernova and spreading through your veins like wildfire. “F-fuck, Jay—” you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at his back for purchase and no doubt leaving scratches in their wake. “Fuck, you feel so—”

The remainder of your words trail off into garbled nonsense, and Jay huffs out a strained chuckle as he begins chasing after his own orgasm, rutting against you in a way that both prolongs your pleasure and sustains his own. “Shit,” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, that’s it. Look at you—taking my cock so well. So pretty and perfect and—”

Whatever he was going to say dissolves into a groan as he gives a few more erratic thrusts before his release overwhelms him. Creamy warmth floods through you, and you rub his back tiredly as his head drops onto your shoulder, his breath flaring hot against your skin as he rides out his orgasm.

It takes several long seconds for the pleasure to recede. Your legs are still shaky when Jay pulls away, straightening up and tucking himself back into his jeans. There’s an empty ache in your core now that you are no longer stuffed full of his cock, and already, you are missing the feeling. Still, you push that aside as you sit up, adjusting your panties and wincing at the wetness that soaks the material and sticks to your skin.

“So,” Jay says after a moment’s silence, and you glance over at him when he huffs out a short chuckle. “That was fun.”

“Not bad at all,” you agree weakly, an irrepressible smile tugging at your lips.

Jay grins. It’s a bright, infectious grin—and it’s one that you’ve already grown rather fond of in the short period of time you’ve known him. It’s a grin that showcases his perfect teeth and crinkles his eyes into crescents, and one that all but forces you to grin back.

“Here, give me your phone,” he says, and you watch as he punches in his number once you hand it over. “Just in case you ever wanna do this again,” he tells you, handing it back. “Don’t be a stranger, princess.”

You glance down at his contact information, saved under the moniker you’d given him and affixed with a short string of emojis. “I won’t,” you tell him, chuckling. “In fact, I just might take you up on the offer.”

-

The screen of your laptop has long since gone dark, and you stretch your arms overhead before waking it again. Rolling your shoulders, you navigate back to the main Netflix menu, hovering over the resume button and watching the trailer loop in the background.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about Jay often. You’ve texted each other quite often since that night in his car—usually when you’re bored and alone and have had a few too many glasses of wine in the evenings. You’ve found yourself tapping on his name instinctively during those odd, ambiguous hours—when late night and early morning meld together and you’re aching for a bit of relief.

And as if he knows you’re thinking about him, your phone buzzes against the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

[11:22pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinkin about u, pretty girl 😘

It’s followed by an image, and your heart rate picks up, thudding loudly against your ribs as you open it.

Fuck.

Your memories of Jay’s face—made all the more hazy by the alcohol and the amount of time elapsed since your first and only meeting—truly don’t do him justice. Though the photograph cuts off just above his nose, you can still admire the sharp angle of his jaw and the fullness of his puckered lips. His skin is golden against the white of his t-shirt, and you lick your lips before thumbing across your screen to respond.

[11:23pm] You: yeah? what else are you thinking about, hmm?

His response is instantaneous.

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinking about that pretty little pussy of yours

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: how good it looked in that pic u sent me tuesday 👅

You barely even notice the way your hand begins trailing down your body, pushing aside the elastic waistband of your sweats. It’s as if you’re on autopilot, as your fingers find their way to the damp spot growing on your panties.

Yeah? you write back with your free hand, already teasing at your clothed folds with the other. Tell me more.

///

It’s an uncharacteristically warm Friday morning when you find yourself in the elevator with Jimin, a good friend of yours who works on one of the lower levels of your office building. “Morning,” he says as he steps in, a large iced coffee in hand despite the fact that it’s still very much the middle of winter. Then he squints, leaning a little closer. “Oh my god. You got laid!”

“Oh my god, not so loud!” you hiss, whacking him on the shoulder and jabbing the button to close the elevator doors. “And no, not exactly. I’ve just been texting Jay.”

“Texting, sure.” Jimin mimes air quotes around the word and rolls his eyes. “You’re sexting him, and we all know it. How many pictures of his dick do you have saved on your phone now?”

“Oh my—” You sigh, trailing off. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Right, of course.” Jimin takes a sip of his coffee and pretends to check his watch. “When would you like to talk about it then? Do you need to check your calendar? Can I book an appointment for later this afternoon?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up.”

Jimin just grins, his lips puckered around his straw. “So, how’s Jay? Have you asked for his real name yet?”

You shrug. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. We’ve literally only met the one time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just because you’re a coward,” Jimin points out. “What’s stopping you from meeting up with him again? You have his number. You have at least one photo of his dick. Ask him out already!”

“It’s not that easy, though,” you sigh. The elevator doors open to let a few more people in, and you move to the side and lower your voice so that only Jimin can hear. “Jay—he’s not exactly boyfriend material. I mean, we fucked in his car the first night we met.”

“So?” Jimin frowns and takes another sip of his iced coffee. “You talk about things besides sex, don’t you? You definitely told him about your goldfish dying, at least. I mean, you told him before you even told me!”

“Yes I did, and he was appropriately sympathetic about Mustache’s passing, unlike some people,” you sniff. “Get over it already, won’t you?”

“Never,” Jimin replies, ignoring your pointed jab. “I’m sure you only told him because you knew you could get a sympathy sext out of it. How many dick pics did you get out of that night, anyway?”

“You’re gross,” you tell him, punching him in the arm. “Not to mention that’s exactly why Jay’s not boyfriend material. He’s perfectly happy with—whatever it is we’re doing. I can’t just ruin that by asking him to get dinner.” You frown, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I don’t want to make this into something that it’s not.”

Jimin hesitates. “Fine, okay. I guess I can understand that.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, as the elevator makes a few more stops. You watch the numbers crawl higher, and know that you’ll soon have to part ways with your friend..

“Hey.” You nudge Jimin with your shoulder, just as the elevator doors close and you begin the ascent to his floor. “Wanna know something interesting?”

Jimin looks up from his phone, where he’s scrolling through Twitter. “Always.”

“My boss’ son is coming to the party tomorrow.”

Jimin’s eyebrows disappear into his ashy blond hair at your revelation. “Kyunghee’s son? Hoseok, or whatever?”

You chuckle. “The one and only. She’s found about a million ways to bring him up in conversation this past week. She thinks we’re a match made in heaven.”

“Wow.” Jimin releases a long breath. “I wonder what he’s like, then.”

You shrug, adjusting the strap of your work tote over your shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

///

The morning of the party, you wake up to an empty refrigerator. Half stale cereal and the last dregs of milk from the carton become your breakfast, and you munch on that as you mull over the contents of your closet. You’re still in your pajamas, but you pull out your comfiest jeans and a sweater to change into after you finish eating. Then you turn to your collection of dresses, rifling through them and mentally debating the merits of each material and color.

You could go in one of two directions tonight. On the one hand, this is still a work party, and as such your attire should probably maintain a certain level of decorum. But on the other, you’re meeting Hoseok Jung for the first time tonight. You aren’t necessarily looking to start anything with the man, of course, but you do want to look good. With that in mind, you eventually settle on a deep red number that you pull out of the very back of your closet, made of a silky material that skims your curves and accentuates your best assets. Laying it on the bed, you begin your hunt for a pair of matching shoes. Twenty minutes of searching and another five of agonizing later, you step into the bathroom, intent on showering and getting on with the rest of your day.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you decide that tackling the state of your refrigerator takes top priority over your other weekend errands. Sitting down at the dining table, you take stock of what you have in your pantry, planning out your meals for the upcoming week and making a list of what you need to purchase in order to make them a reality. It’s just after one in the afternoon when you exit your apartment with a completed grocery list and your purse stuffed full of reusable canvas bags. The store is a short walk from where you live, and you decide to put in your earbuds as your feet navigate the familiar route. The temperature is surprisingly mild for winter, and the sun shines bright from its perch in the cloudless blue sky. It’s perfect weather for a walk, and the fresh air clears your mind and eases your heart.

At the grocery store, you forego the stack of baskets and instead grab a shopping cart. Weaving your way up and down the aisles, you check items off the list on your phone one by one. Eventually, you find yourself in the cereal section, grabbing a box of granola before turning to where your favorite cereal normally sits. It isn’t there, and you turn in a full circle, confused, until your gaze finally lands on the familiar box on the top shelf.

Great.

Sighing, you push up to your tiptoes, stretching your arm as far as it can reach. Your fingertips graze the shelf, but you can’t quite get a grip on the box itself. Glancing down, you scan the bottommost shelf and wonder if you can step on it to give yourself a boost.

“Need a hand?”

The voice comes from behind you, and a vague sense of familiarity sparks in your brain. Slowly, you turn around, and your entire body freezes when your gaze slides up to the speaker’s face.

“Jay.” The syllable escapes you in a near whisper. “H-hi.”

“Hey.”

Jay stands before you, looking like sin incarnate in a faded denim jacket, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, and not much else. At his throat, his silver necklace sparkles, the silver J pendant glinting beneath the fluorescent lights of the store, and you’re suddenly beyond grateful that you decided to put on a decent sweater before leaving.

“Here,” he says, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne—sandalwood tinged with sweet citrus. “Let me help you with that.”

The sudden proximity has your breath hitching in your throat. Your heart thuds erratically against your ribs as he reaches around you, the denim flaps of his jacket gaping in a way that exposes even more of his bare chest. By the time he pulls back with your cereal box in hand, you feel almost faint, belatedly realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

“You wanted this, right?” Jay asks, and you aren’t sure if you’re imagining the innuendo underlying his words or the teasing inflection of the syllables.

“Y-yeah, that’s the one,” you manage, fighting to quell the uneven tempo of your heartbeat as you accept the box. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” he replies. Then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek as he murmurs his next sentence into your ear. “Anything for you, princess. You know that.”

Heat floods across your cheeks. Your heart skips two full beats before taking off into a sprint, and it’s impossible to ignore the way your core begins to thrum, as if anticipating a repeat of that night you first met all those weeks ago. Almost instinctively, your eyes dart up to the ceiling where the security cameras are, and Jay follows the trajectory of your gaze with a low chuckle and a soft brush of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, princess. As much as I’d love to get my hands on you, I’m kind of on a time crunch today.”

You can’t stop the wave of disappointment that washes over you, even if you’re in the exact same boat. “Rain check, then?”

“Rain check,” he agrees. Slowly, you reach up to touch the engraved silver pendant resting against his chest, rubbing it between your fingertips before tracing the curve of the J, and he catches your wandering fingers between his and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You know how to reach me,” he murmurs with a mischievous wink. His gaze lingers even after he’s released your hand, and you clear your throat awkwardly before turning to deposit your cereal box into your shopping cart.

The two of you go your separate ways then, exchanging goodbyes. You finish the rest of your grocery shopping in a daze, idly going through the motions at checkout and letting muscle memory guide you back home. Your arms are aching by the time you step past the threshold of your apartment, and you heave your shopping bags up onto the kitchen counter with a relieved sigh before returning to the entryway to toe off your shoes. You throw together a sandwich as you unpack your groceries, taking a big bite as you walk back to your bedroom to look at the dress you’ve picked out. Pacing over to the closet, you double-check your shoe choice. Briefly, you debate whether or not to wear flats instead of heels.

There are still a few hours left before you have to start getting ready, so you take the last of your sandwich back to the kitchen and whip up a smoothie to go with it. You scroll through your phone as you eat, browsing through the latest news headlines and scrolling through your social media accounts. Just before six o’clock, as the sun starts setting beyond the horizon and casting long shadows across your living room, you start getting changed. You snap a photo in the mirror once you’re dressed, pulling up Jimin’s name in your phone and sending it to him.

[6:13pm] You: last chance to come tonight

Your phone buzzes with a response almost immediately.

[6:14pm] Jimin: nah. i’d hate to step on hoseok’s toes.

You laugh. Not so fast, you text back. We don’t even know anything about the guy yet. What if he’s boring? Or sexist?

[6:15pm] Jimin: if u think kyunghee raised a sexist you’re seriously deranged

[6:16pm] Jimin: now stop taking selfies and get your ass out the door! you’re gonna be late!!!!

///

Each year, the holiday party tends to be a little over the top, and this year is no exception. The company has bought out the entirety of a restaurant for the evening, and you glance around in amazement at the twinkling lights and lush evergreen boughs decorating the walls and strung up along the ceiling. An assortment of sparkling ornaments hangs from the massive tree in the far corner, interspersed between silver tinsel and more lights. Grabbing a champagne flute off a passing server’s tray, you head farther into the restaurant, skirting around tables draped in creamy linen and greeting your colleagues and friends.

“Is she alone?”

“Figures.”

The voices come from the direction of the open bar, and somehow, you just know that they’re talking about you. Lottie, Hyejin, and Sandra are clustered in the corner with glasses of wine in hand, casting glances around the restaurant and gossiping about anything and everything with a pulse. You’re sorely tempted to grab the nearest pitcher of water off a table and pour it over their heads, but you suppress the urge and instead head over with a saccharine smile. “So lovely to see you, {Name},” Lottie says as you approach.

“I love your dress,” Sandra adds. “Very slimming.”

“Thanks,” you reply, putting on your brightest, fakest smile. “Yours is great too. How are you and your husband enjoying the party so far?”

Sandra’s face sours, and you hide your smirk in your champagne flute. Maybe it’s petty to bring up her rocky relationship, but you’ve been subject to snide comments from Sandra and her friends for years now and it’s become increasingly hard for you to bite your tongue. A few tables away, you spot Sandra’s husband, Rodney, take an enormous gulp of his whiskey and wince as it burns down his throat.

“We’re all having a wonderful time, aren’t we, ladies?” Lottie cuts in when Sandra takes too long to answer. “Hyejin’s date is over there with Rodney, and my boyfriend is fetching himself a drink. You remember Dev, don’t you?”

You nod, even though it’s a lie. “Sure. Say hi to him for me.”

Lottie’s lips curve up into a smile, her head tilting to the side, and you’re suddenly reminded of a snake rearing its head back for the kill. “So, what about you? Have you brought someone tonight, or—?”

“Hi ladies!” Kyunghee materializes at your side, her lips painted a festive red shade to match her dress. She’s wearing the disingenuous smile that she reserves for the resident gossips of your office, and you try not to let your relief show on your face when Lottie’s attention refocuses on your manager.

“So good to see you, Kyunghee,” she simpers. “Have you been here long?”

“Not as long as you,” your manager replies, nodding at the near-empty wineglass in her hand. “I see we’re already making a dent in the wine supply, and you’re falling behind, {Name}. Why don’t we go remedy that, hmm?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, grabbing your arm and leading you away. Kyunghee is surprisingly spry for a woman her age, and you follow after her with some difficulty as she marches through the throngs of conversing people, all the way to the line at the open bar.

“I’d like you to meet someone,” she says, gesturing at the man standing at the end of the line with his back to you. “{Name}, this is my son, Hoseok.”

The man turns around at the sound of his name, a warm, affable smile stretched across his face. “Hi, I’m H—” he begins, but he’s cut off by your sharp intake of breath. His eyes go wide, his smile fading as his mouth falls open, and you’re certain you’re wearing an even more dumbfounded expression. “It’s you,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Wh-what… how…” You trail off, speechless. The words flounder and die in your throat as your brain struggles to process this development, and you practically feel the way the gears in your head churn to a stuttering halt.

Because this man standing before you, the one that Kyunghee has just introduced as her son, is none other than Jay. He looks completely and utterly devastating in a navy waistcoat and matching slacks, a green tie shaped like a Christmas tree knotted loosely around the white collar of his shirt. His dark hair is parted, his undercut exposed, and you can’t tear your gaze away from the loose strand that has fallen across his forehead.

“H-hi.”

Jay—Hoseok—swallows. “Hi.”

Kyunghee glances between the two of you, her brows furrowing. “I take it you two already know each other?”

Hoseok’s ears begin taking on a scarlet tinge, the color spreading to his cheeks as he struggles to find his vocabulary again. “I—yeah. Yeah, we’ve met.”

“Right. Do I even want to know how?” she asks dubiously, before shaking her head and huffing out a sigh. “No, forget I asked. I don’t want to know. I’ll just leave you two to… catch up.”

Waving goodbye, Kyunghee disappears back into the crowd of partygoers milling around. Hoseok turns back to you, sucking in a deep breath, and you fight the urge to stare down at your toes as his gaze roves across your face.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, breaking the silence that’s fallen between you at last. “My mom’s been talking about you for months, but I never imagined that it’d be you.”

“You’re telling me,” you reply, finally having recovered your voice. “Kyunghee brings you up all the time, but I never thought… I mean, we didn’t even know each other’s names, and now…” You shrug. “Here we both are.”

“It’s a pretty crazy coincidence, huh?”

“Definitely.”

A beat passes, and then two. You’re fully aware that you’re staring, but you don’t dare blink, afraid that he’ll disappear if you close your eyes. Of all the things that you thought might happen tonight, this particular meeting wasn’t even close to making the list. Never would you have thought that the man you only knew as Jay would turn out to be Kyunghee’s son. Never would you have connected Jay to the photographed little boy in yellow suspenders on Kyunghee’s desk, or realized that they were one and the same.

From behind you, someone loudly clears their throat. Another voice calls for you to get a move on, already, and both you and Hoseok belatedly realize that you are still standing in line for the open bar. Hoseok’s eyes go wide again, and you nearly tread on his toes when you both try to move forward. “After you,” he says with a chuckle, gesturing for you to go in front of him, and that’s enough to break the tension. You step ahead of him with a laugh, catching up to the line, and Hoseok doesn’t stray far as he follows your lead.

“So, what are you drinking?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Vodka soda with a twist?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to stick with wine tonight,” you reply, peering at the bottles lined up on the counter. “What about you?”

“Hmm. Jack and coke, I think. Nothing else is really calling my name right now.”

Grabbing your drinks, the two of you begin searching for a place to sit. You spot Kyunghee at a table near the front, and she smiles knowingly and offers you a thumbs-up when she catches your eye. Eventually, you settle on a table near the Christmas tree, the lights glimmering off the glasses and reflecting off your knife as you pick it up to butter a slice of crusty bread from the basket in the center. Hoseok follows your lead, grabbing a piece for himself, and the two of you munch in silence for a few seconds before Hoseok breaks it.

“You know, my mom says you’re the perfect girl for me” he says with a dry little chuckle. “Think she’s right?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “It’s funny, though—Kyunghee’s been telling me the same thing. She sings your praises all the time.”

Hoseok laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, jeez, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m glad she’s saying good things, at least.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you tell him, grinning. “She’s only shown us one photo album from your childhood.”

His face crumples. “Was it the Disneyland one?”

You nod, fighting back laughter, and watch as Hoseok groans and lets his forehead meet the linen-covered tabletop with a dull thunk.

“I don’t like rollercoasters,” he mumbles into the tablecloth, his voice muffled by the material. “They make me queasy.”

“Even now?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yep.”

The clinking of a fork against a wineglass—amplified and broadcast through an array of invisible speakers built into the restaurant’s walls—interrupts any further conversation. You twist in your seat to watch your company’s leadership give their opening remarks, listening as they congratulate everyone for a great year and wish you a happy holiday season. The servers begin going out with plates of food, and you thank them as they set yours down. Hoseok does the same before raising his glass in your direction, clearing his throat and offering you a crooked little smile.

“Here’s to second meetings.”

“Third, if you count the store earlier,” you correct, and he chuckles and nods in agreement before clinking his drink against yours.

You spend the entirety of dinner chatting with Hoseok, getting to know him beyond the few facts Kyunghee has mentioned and what little you’ve gleaned from texting him the last two months. He tells you all about his dance studio, Hope World, where he teaches both contemporary dance and the occasional Pilates class. You find out that in addition to rollercoasters, he also dislikes sour foods and raisins, but he loves mint chocolate and sweet and sour pork. He also has a very low tolerance for alcohol—something he tells you as he tilts the rest of his drink into his mouth. “Should I be worried?” you ask as he sets his glass back down, and he chuckles and shakes his head, sending the loose tendril of hair flopping across his forehead.

Dessert is served, and subsequently eaten. The music is turned up, and people slowly begin finding their way to the open space that serves as an impromptu dancefloor. Hoseok rises to his feet and extends a hand toward you, and you only hesitate for the briefest of seconds before accepting it. He leads you out amongst the other swaying couples, his hand finding its way to the curve of your waist, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he begins guiding you in a slow, simple waltz.

“So?” Hoseok’s voice is a low murmur, soft and gentle against the shell of your ear. “What’s the verdict?”

You blink. “The verdict?”

Even without looking, you can tell that he’s smiling. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice, and imagine it in the curve of his lips. “About me,” he clarifies, carefully pulling back so you can spin in a circle beneath his outstretched arm. “About us. My mom will never let me hear the end of it if she turns out to be right, but I still wanna know. So what are you thinking?”

“Are you asking if I think we’re perfect for each other?” you ask, giggling. “I don’t know if I believe in all that, to be quite honest. Destiny and soulmates—I mean, doesn’t it seem a little too good to be true?”

Hoseok hums. “Maybe. But considering all that’s happened to us in the last couple of months, don’t you think there’s a chance that it's all more than simple coincidence?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “Still, I don’t know if I can give you a verdict just yet. We haven’t even gone on a date.”

“We did do things a little backwards,” Hoseok admits, tugging you close and winding his arm around your waist. “Let me make it up to you, then. Are you free tomorrow?”

“What if I am?” you challenge.

“Then, I’d like to take you out for breakfast,” he replies without missing a beat.

The prospect of a proper meal with Hoseok Jung does something funny to your insides. Still, something makes you hesitate, and you avert your gaze as you search for your next words. “I wasn’t expecting to end tonight with a date,” you admit slowly. “I honestly didn’t even think you were interested in… well, anything beyond sex, to be honest.”

Hoseok’s face creases into a frown, and you look up again when he murmurs your name. “I understand why you would think that,” he says. “Really, I do. But honestly? I had every intention of texting you and asking you out properly. I was going to play it cool and wait a few days, which was stupid in retrospect. And then you texted me first.”

“I texted y—” You trail off. “Oh, god.”

“It seemed like you’d been drinking,” Hoseok says with a shrug, and you press a finger to his lips before he can say anything more. You remember the night in question, and you remember the bottle of wine you’d consumed. And you definitely remember the photographs you’d sent of yourself, and the ones Hoseok had been kind enough to send in return.

“Wait, so you were going to ask me out? And then I… I sexted you?”

Hoseok nods, and you groan and bury your face into his chest.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter, and you feel laughter rumble through his chest before a hand comes up to stroke along your back.

“Believe me, I’m not complaining,” he assures you. “But I’d still really like to take you out, so what do you say?”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a second as he awaits your answer, and your heart skips a beat when you look up to see the earnestness in his eyes and the hesitant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Breakfast sounds wonderful,” you whisper, and the smile that blossoms on your companion’s face is nothing short of radiant.

“Good,” he says. “Great. Breakfast tomorrow, then. Now, can I kiss you?”

You’re already pushing up to your tiptoes, your fingers fisting in the soft hair at his nape. “God, yes.”

///

“Hey, you made it!”

You beam. “Hi.”

You and Hoseok are about to commence your first date, having just sat down at a cozy little café for breakfast. Hoseok has pulled your chair out in true gentlemanly fashion, and you can’t help but smile over your menu at the few lingering snowflakes that have yet to melt into his dark hair.

“So, here we are,” you remark. “Our fourth meeting.”

Hoseok’s lips stretch into his signature grin, breathtakingly bright and infectious. “And hopefully many more.”

You grin at him. “Yeah? Too bad this is breakfast, because I’d drink to that.”

He leans forward, his grin widening. “Next time,” he says as his hand finds its way around yours, his fingers slotting comfortably into the spaces between your own. “We can do dinner, maybe. Or I can cook for you. But for now, I’m just happy that we’re finally doing this.”

You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Me too.”

“Just promise me one thing?”

The sudden seriousness of his tone has your brow furrowing in concern. “Sure, of course,” you reassure. “What is it?”

He winces. “Please don’t tell my mom about all the dick pics.”