#grinding media market

[genericpuff]

at this point with all of the IRL art markets i've done where i've made genuine connections and the fact that this tumblr is probably the most successful thing i've run almost ENTIRELY in secret, i'm ready to just tell people to put in the effort to find my art on their own damn time because i'm done with the self-promo social media bullshit ╰（‵□′）╯

[trapangeles]

The Missing Ingredient: Why Marketing Is Essential for Every Artist's Success

"Great music doesn’t sell itself... No marketing, no career. Let that sink in."

In today’s competitive music industry, talent alone won’t get you where you need to be. You could have the hottest track in your city, but if no one knows about it, does it even matter? It’s a cold truth that many up-and-coming artists ignore—they're sitting on fire tracks, waiting for someone to come and "discover" them, when the real key to success is making sure everyone knows who you are.

Gone are the days of waiting for a label to come knocking on your door. Nowadays, independent artists have more control than ever, but that power comes with responsibility. Marketing is the difference between staying local and breaking through to a wider audience. If you aren’t promoting yourself, who will? You can’t afford to sleep on the importance of marketing in 2024.

Why Marketing Matters

The biggest mistake most artists make is assuming that great music alone will carry them to the top. That’s like baking the perfect cake but never serving it. Without an audience, without reach, your music will go unheard. Marketing builds the bridge between your art and the people who need to hear it. From engaging on social media to running targeted ads, putting your music out there strategically will make all the difference.

If you’re serious about your career, you need a solid marketing strategy. Marketing gives you visibility. It’s how people will find your music, connect with your message, and become loyal fans. It’s how you take control of your narrative and build your brand, instead of leaving it up to chance.

5 Actionable Steps to Boost Your Marketing Game

If you're ready to level up, here’s how to get started with your marketing journey:

Create a Content Calendar Consistency is key. Plan out your social media posts, music releases, and visual drops. Whether it’s Instagram, TikTok, or YouTube, make sure you’re putting out content regularly to stay in the conversation. If you drop a single today, plan on promoting it for weeks, not just days.

Run Targeted Ads on Instagram and YouTube Ads are an investment, not an expense. Target the right audience—people who will vibe with your sound. Whether it’s Instagram story ads or YouTube pre-rolls, get your music in front of the right eyes and ears. Start small, track your results, and scale up.

Engage with Your Fans Reply to every comment. Answer your DMs. Build relationships with your listeners. Engagement drives loyalty, and loyal fans spread your music like wildfire. Don’t underestimate the power of direct fan engagement—it’s your best form of organic promotion.

Collaborate with Influencers Partner with influencers who match your energy and brand. Let them spread your music to their audience. Whether it’s a TikTok dance challenge or a simple shoutout, influencers can help amplify your reach to places you haven’t even touched yet.

Track Your Metrics What’s working? What’s not? Use tools like Instagram Insights or YouTube Analytics to track how your content is performing. Adjust your strategy based on these metrics and continue to grow. Data doesn’t lie, and when used correctly, it’s your roadmap to success.

The Grind Starts with Marketing

The grind doesn’t stop with creating good music—it starts with how you promote it. A lot of artists miss this critical step and wonder why they aren’t getting traction. It’s not enough to just drop music and hope it catches on. The successful artists are the ones who treat their music like a business—promoting it, marketing it, and making sure it’s seen.

So, what's your next move? Are you going to keep sitting on a hot track hoping it goes viral, or are you going to take control of your own career and start marketing yourself like the artist you deserve to be?

For more insider tips on how to elevate your music career through marketing, branding, and business strategy, make sure to visit us at trap.LA. Don’t miss out on the latest game—we’ve got you covered.

Sign up for our trapLA email blast to get even more insights, exclusive content, and strategies delivered straight to your inbox. Don’t wait for success to find you—go out and grab it!

Have you been spending all your money and time on making music and shooting videos, but still not getting any exposure? Tired of just spinning your wheels? You know to get exposure you need to get featured on blogs, radio stations, playlist, and get your music e-mail blasted out to the masses. Need help getting all that done? Then check out the Package we’ve made available for you below!

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[wagconts]

F1 Alert | Formula 1

➤ summary :: Where you create an interactive game for Formula 1 fans, and become the new star of the pits.

➤ warnings :: a quick imagine, with prior development.

➤ word count :: 0.839 words

➤ masterlist | sportify

➤ Notes :: I had this idea because Swifitie fans know about "Swift Alert", which was a game where we bet on the clothes from The Eras Tour. So I wanted to bring this into the context of Formula 1.

Working on F1's social media was a daily grind, but you loved every second of it. Between creating posts, planning content, and keeping up with trends, your mind was always spinning, thinking of ways to make fans feel more connected to the drivers. Then, one brainstorming night, the idea hit: an interactive game where fans could bet on little details of the race weekends.

— What if we created something like a more elaborate 'Fantasy F1,' but focusing on the small stuff? Helmets, suits, celebrations... — you suggested, drawing curious looks from the team. — We could call it 'F1 Alert'.

After a few weeks of planning, meetings, and tweaks, the app was ready. It was simple: fans could make predictions about visual and behavioral items about the drivers before the GPs. Each correct guess earned points, which could be redeemed for virtual prizes or discounts on official products.

On launch day, you were nervous. Would it be a hit or a flop? It only took a few hours to get the answer: it was a phenomenon.

The app had questions that kept fans hooked, especially with the fact that those points were worth something.

— Leclerc’s helmet in Monaco: same as always or something special?

— Which driver will complain the most on the radio?

— How many drivers will retire from the race? And who?

The numbers didn’t lie. In the first weekend, a little over 70 thousand people signed up. And the drivers quickly took notice.

At the pre-GP press conference, Russell was the first to mention it:

— Did you guys see that app? F1 Alert? Are you betting on my training suit now? That’s a lot of pressure! — he joked, drawing laughs.

Next to him was Charles, who also smiled.

— I saw it too. Someone bet my helmet will have gold on it. — he made a confused face. — Gold? I don’t know if I’m that fancy.

You didn’t realize the impact would be so big until that moment. Seeing the drivers talk about something you created was surreal. But things got even more intense in the paddock.

At the Italian GP, while you were tweaking a post backstage, Pierre showed up out of nowhere behind you.

— So, you’re the one behind the app? — he asked, crossing his arms with a big grin.

You laughed, a little startled.

— It depends. If you like it, then yes. If not, marketing came up with it.

— Oh, I like it. But now I have to think of new helmets every week, because I don’t want the fans to get bored. — He winked before walking off, leaving you laughing alone.

The F1 Alert craze grew with each race. Fans’ discussions on social media were massive, and even journalists started mentioning the game in their reports. Some drivers, like Norris, began directly engaging with the fans.

— Do you think I’ll use a special helmet in Singapore? Place your bets on the app. — he smiled at the line of fans in the stands.

Meanwhile, you started getting recognized in the paddock. It wasn’t something you expected, but the drivers and teams now knew who you were. At the Las Vegas GP, Max Verstappen stopped you during a technical meeting with a rare smile.

— Just wanna know... Who was the creative genius that put “Max will smile on the podium” in the game?

You tried to keep your composure but ended up laughing.

— My bad. Sorry, but it was irresistible.

— Well, I hope no one bets on that. It’ll be money down the drain. — he joked.

The interactions with the drivers became more frequent, but the peak came at the last GP of the year, when the season had ended and some fans were satisfied with their scores on the game. And the burning question was whether the game would continue the next year.

During the final press conference, Daniel Ricciardo — who was making a special appearance as a third driver — decided to mention you.

— I wanna thank the person behind F1 Alert. Thanks to them, I’m already thinking about how to celebrate before I even know if I’ll be on the podium.

The cameras zoomed in on you in the corner of the room, as everyone laughed. It was the moment you realized how much your idea had impacted the world of Formula 1.

After that GP, you got nicknames in the paddock: “the pit star,” “the mind behind the game,” among others. And while you tried to stay grounded, you couldn’t deny that the app’s success had put you in the spotlight.

Now, you were more than just another face in the paddock. You’d built an incredible bond with the fans who always asked you questions like, “What’s the next update for the game?” and you’d made amazing friendships with some of the drivers. It was all like a dream. F1 Alert was just the beginning.

[rvp32]

The Games We Play: A Tale of Lust

TW: Litle BDSM, edging, overstimulation, spanking, Fingering

The morning didn't kick off on the best foot; your coffee maker chose today to call it quits, depriving you of that one blessed potion that tethers your sanity and prevents you from going all rogue. But hey, the day took a turn into interesting territory when you found yourself trapped in the corner store.

Picture this: a young woman wrapped up like a mystery package from head to toe, was in full-blown panic mode, tearing her surroundings apart in search of her elusive wallet. And what's the big deal, you might ask? She was in a race against the clock, not wanting to miss a date with destiny, also known as a crucial meeting.

No need for Shakespearean monologues here. You stroll over to the cashier, cool as a cucumber, and flash your card. The cashier does her beep-boop thing, wrapping up the transaction with a flourish. Meanwhile, your attention shifts to the enigmatic woman in distress. Your lips don't even need to flex those vocal cords to convey your message, "Miss, let me cover this tab."

With a nod that could put a ballerina to shame, you collect your goods and graciously extend the bag with her belongings. It's like an unspoken understanding, a scene right out of a modern fairy tale.

Exiting the store, you're just about to slide into your trusty vehicle when a voice, as sweet as honey and warm as a summer breeze, pierces the air, "Thank you!!" It's her, the masked damsel in this retail distress. In response, your lips curl up in a smile that’s more contagious than a chuckle.

A courteous nod on your part, a grateful chirp on hers, and you’re on your way, ready to chase down whatever adventure the day's got planned for you. Just as you’re about to speed off to your meeting.

*****

The office had that early morning hush, a quiet anticipation hanging in the air as folks trickled in, not quite ready to dive into the grind just yet. You found your way to your designated corner room, plopped your stuff down, and decided to indulge in a quick social media scroll.

Just as you were lost in their world, a voice, as familiar as your heartbeat, cut through the calm. It was none other than Roh Jisun, not just a colleague, but one of your closest pals and your trusty secretary.

She raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. "Who got you smiling like an idiot, don't tell me you finally got yourself a girlfriend."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Good morning to you too, Ji. You know me, I don't do the girlfriend thing. Just enjoying some highlights from the football games," you replied, setting your phone aside. "So what's on the agenda today?"

"Well, lucky for you, there isn't much on the schedule today," Jisun replied, wisely steering clear of your notoriously dry love life. "Just a meeting with an idol for a brand endorsement and some documents to review."

Your eyes lit up with excitement. "Yes! That means I can head home early today. Let me know when they arrive; I'll dive into some reference material so I don't sound like a complete idiot."

Jisun chuckled at your candidness and made her exit.

With files spread across your desk, you delved into the world of this idol selected by the marketing wizards. She was no ordinary star; she was the crème de la crème, one of the hottest idols of the current generation. Since your knowledge about idols was about as deep as a puddle, the files laid it all out for you - background info, detailed analysis, the works.

As you neared the end of the file, the section with photos, you were hit with a punch of awe. To say she was pretty was like calling a sunset 'nice.' She looked like an angel who had graced Earth, but there was an undeniable fragility about her. The images had you entranced, lost in admiration.

A polite knock at your door brought you back to reality. "Sir, the folks from Starship Entertainment are here to discuss the brand endorsement deal," Jisun reported in her professional tone. "Should I let them in?"

"Please, do," you nodded.

One by one, three individuals entered the room. And then, as if fate had a wicked sense of humor, she walked in. The same woman you'd crossed paths with at the convenience store, only now she was without her mask and hat.

"Oh, what a coincidence," you remarked, extending your hand. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss Wonyoung."

Her eyes sparkled with surprise and gratitude. "It truly is! I can't believe the chances. Again, thank you so much for helping me out." Her smile could light up a city.

"Please, have a seat."

The negotiations flowed seamlessly, and everything fell into place. The deal was set, and a date was locked in for the commercial shoot. "I'm looking forward to working with you. Thanks for your cooperation. Here's to this reaching the heights we're hoping for."

As they left, you settled back in your chair. But a mere moment later, there was a knock on your door, followed by Wonyoung's head peeping in.

"Is there anything I can help you with, Miss Wonyoung?" you inquired, curious about her return.

"I want to thank you for helping me out today, so please let me treat you to dinner," Wonyoung offered.

"Alright, just let me know when and where to pick you up," you replied, raising an eyebrow at the surprise on Wonyoung's face. "That was easier than I expected. Can I get your phone number? You know, to text you the details."

A sly smirk played on your lips as you motioned for her to come closer. She hesitated for a moment before approaching, maintaining eye contact without saying a word.

"You know, Miss Wonyoung, I need your phone to input my number, unless you've got a photographic memory," you teased, causing a blush to creep up on her cheeks. She fumbled for her phone in her handbag, and you deftly entered your number. Handing her phone back to her, you remarked, "It's a bad habit to stare at someone, Miss Wonyoung."

"I'm really sorry, I didn't realize I was staring. I'll text you the details. See you then," Wonyoung practically bolted out of your office.

Shortly after, Jisun walked in, her voice carrying a hint of sternness. "What was all that about? What did you say to make that angel run away?"

"Calm down, Ji. I just teased her a little. She wanted to thank me for helping her," you replied casually, not missing a beat as you continued to read the documents.

"You'll never change. Why does she want to thank you?" Jisun inquired, curious about the situation.

So you recounted the whole story about your chance encounter with Wonyoung. Jisun burst into laughter and commented, "Wow, it truly is an incredible coincidence."

You returned to your documents, but something else was occupying your thoughts, or rather, someone. Regardless of what the papers said, your mind kept drifting back to the interaction with Wonyoung. Her subtle nervous movements, the way she blushed at your teasing, and the pure excitement in her eyes when you agreed to her proposition—it all danced in your thoughts, like an enchanting melody that refused to fade.

After a few painstaking hours of wading through and approving a mountain of documents, you'd finally conquered the pile Jisun had left on your desk. Packing up your laptop, you decided it was high time to replace that dearly departed coffee machine. Strolling through the store, your gaze was momentarily captivated by a Pepsi ad featuring none other than Wonyoung's larger-than-life cut-out. You couldn't help but admire her beauty for a few seconds before shaking off the distraction and making your way to the appliances section.

With a new coffee machine in tow, you headed back home. It only took a couple of minutes to set up the shiny new addition to your kitchen. Eager to wash away the day's toil and dust, you headed for the shower. There, amidst the soothing cascade of water, your thoughts inevitably drifted back to Wonyoung and the unexpected events of the day.

The cold shower did wonders to invigorate both your mind and body. Afterward, you settled onto the couch and noticed a message from an unknown number. It was Wonyoung, inquiring if you would be free tomorrow evening. You quickly replied, confirming your availability.

Within moments, another message popped up, this time with a reservation at a well-established restaurant. You didn't argue with her choice and appreciated her initiative. With the dinner plans set, you wandered into the kitchen to prepare your meal for the day. Tonight, it was a simple yet delicious dish: rose pasta with grilled chicken thighs on the side.

Having savored your homemade dinner, you retreated to your cozy corner, book in hand. The words on the pages wove a soothing lullaby, and before you knew it, you had surrendered to the embrace of sleep, calling it a day.

********

The day seemed to fly by, yet the thought of Wonyoung lingered in your mind like an intoxicating poison. Numerous scenarios involving her had taken root in your thoughts, and it was fair to say that most of them were far from what people might expect. What you realized was that your attraction to Wonyoung wasn't of the romantic variety. It was something deeper, something about the way she seemed fragile and innocent that piqued your interest and stirred a side of you that rarely saw the light of day. 

 As the day drew to a close, it was finally time to pick up Wonyoung. Arriving at her house, you sent her a quick text to let her know you'd arrived. Moments later, the door swung open, revealing Wonyoung in a stunning black off-the-shoulder dress.

"Good evening, Miss Wonyoung," you greeted with a warm smile, holding the car door open for her. "You look absolutely beautiful."

"Good evening," she replied with a soft smile. "You're quite dashing yourself, Mr. CEO." With a final exchange of smiles, you closed the door and headed to the driver's seat. 

"How was your day? I hope it wasn't too tiring," you asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you as you drove.

"It was relaxing, honestly," Wonyoung replied with a smile that lit up the car. "It was my first day off in a while, so I finally got some good rest."

"That sounds wonderful. I apologize for monopolizing your precious free time then. I hope I can keep you entertained," you quipped, trying to tease her a bit.

Wonyoung's blush deepened, but she met your gaze with sincerity. "No, not at all. You seem like a very interesting person, and I would love to spend time with you."

Her direct response caught you off guard, and you found yourself momentarily at a loss for words. "That's very kind of you," you finally managed to reply, a genuine smile gracing your lips. "I look forward to getting to know you better as well. Maybe we can be friends."

You noticed a subtle change in Wonyoung's demeanor, her smile fading ever so slightly after your last comment, but you decided not to dwell on it. "What do you like to do during your free time, Miss Wonyoung?" you inquired, attempting to steer the conversation in a different direction.

"Please call me Wonyoung, you don't need to be so formal with me," she replied with a warm smile. "I love to read, hike, and watch shows," she added, her gaze wandering around the interior of the car.

"Alright, Wonyoung," you said with a playful twinkle in your eye. "Reading, hiking, and shows, huh? Sounds like you've got a nice mix of hobbies. Any recent favorites?"

She leaned back in her seat, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "Well, I just finished a gripping mystery novel that had me up all night. And as for hiking, there's this trail I love near my place. It's so serene and peaceful."

You nodded, genuinely intrigued. "A mystery lover, huh? Any recommendations? I might need some new reads."

Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "Oh, definitely! I'll text you a list. And speaking of recommendations, any favorite shows or movies on your end?"

You chuckled, realizing you might be in for some teasing. "Well, lately I've been into documentaries a lot more than shows.."

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly smile. "I guess I was wrong about you being interesting."

You both shared a laugh, and the car seemed to hum with a newfound camaraderie. As the evening unfolded, you discovered more about each other's quirks, interests, and shared laughter. The chemistry between you was undeniable, with a hint of flirting and teasing that only added to the intrigue of your blossoming relationship.

The drive seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, even though it had been nearly half an hour. The conversation flowed effortlessly, and you found yourself thoroughly enjoying Wonyoung's company. Arriving at the restaurant, you helped her out of the car. However, as you made your way toward the entrance, she stumbled, and instinctively, you reached out to prevent her from falling.

In that brief, heart-stopping moment, your eyes locked, and the air between you thickened with an undeniable tension. It was as if an electric current passed between you, and before you knew it, she leaned in, and your lips met in a kiss that felt heavenly, charged with a depth of feeling that took you both by surprise.

Her lips tasted divine, and as you pulled her closer, your mind wandered to places that were vastly different from the sweetness of the moment. Desires and tastes that diverged from the mainstream public swirled in your thoughts, and it shook you to your core. You pushed her away, breaking the kiss abruptly.

Wonyoung's shock was evident in her doe-like eyes, now brimming with tears. "Wonyoung, we shouldn't do this," you stammered, your voice strained with difficulty. "I'm not the right person for you. You deserve someone better. I'm not the person you think I am."

Deep down, you yearned for more, to ravish those heavenly lips and her enchanting body. But you knew, for both your sakes, this path was fraught with complications you didn’t want to put her through because it would destroy her innocence.

"Wait, are you gay? I'm so sorry; I should have been more careful. Please forget this ha—" Wonyoung began, but you cut her off before she could finish her sentence. "No, I'm not gay," you replied. "It's just that I have certain... something else. Let's just get dinner, and I'll show you what I mean afterward," you said, hoping to evade the topic.

Walking towards the restaurant, with Wonyoung following closely, her curiosity got the better of her, and she pestered you with questions. "Tell me what it is. It can't be that bad, I'm pretty open-minded. Please tell me; I'm so curious!"

You shot her a stern glare that left her looking shocked, but she quickly pushed back. "That glare isn't going to shut me up. So tell me what it is, and I'll shut up."

Before you could respond, the waitress arrived to take your order. You ordered for both of you without giving Wonyoung a chance to continue her line of questioning. As she filled the water glasses, you placed one in front of Wonyoung and instructed, "Drink it." She did so without protest.

"If you aren't going to tell me, at least let me guess, and you just say yes or no," Wonyoung suggested, her curiosity undiminished.

Wonyoung's questions came one after another, each one prying into the mysterious aspect of your life. You responded with straightforward "yes" or "no" answers, hoping to keep the conversation from delving too deep.

"Are you a criminal?" she inquired.

"No."

"Does it have something to do with your sexuality?"

"No."

"Do you have any medical issues?" Her gaze traveled in an unexpected direction.

"What? No, I'm perfectly healthy!" you retorted, feeling a bit flustered.

"Is it something related to your preferences in bed?" she ventured.

This time, you simply nodded.

Her response was unexpected, a mix of surprise and curiosity. "Oh, spicy. Are you perhaps into BDSM and power dynamics?"

Although you didn't verbalize a confirmation, your expression said it all. You were taken aback by how quickly she pieced it together.

"Oh my god, I can't believe I got it so fast," she exclaimed. However, her lack of further comment left you in an awkward silence, uncertain about how she truly felt about your revelation. It seemed she either felt uncomfortable discussing it or maybe had her own reasons for not pursuing the topic further.

Before you could say anything more, the food arrived, and you decided not to probe any further, not wanting to spoil the mood any further.

As the meal continued, you couldn't help but notice that Wonyoung wasn't eating properly. Her playful approach to her food caught your attention. "Wonyoung, eat properly. Don't play with your food," you advised, trying to maintain some semblance of decorum in the restaurant.

Wonyoung responded with a mischievous smirk. "What if I don't want to?" she teased, her words carrying a hint of suggestion. "Are you going to punish me for being a bad girl, Daddy?"

Her remark left you momentarily flustered and choking on the food, a rush of thoughts and desires flooding your mind. You quickly regained your composure, though, and tried to steer the conversation back to safer territory. "Let's just enjoy our meal," you suggested, hoping to quell the tension that had unexpectedly arisen.

The rest of the dinner passed in silence, the earlier tension still lingering in the air. Wonyoung had insisted on paying the bill as a gesture of thanks, but you had already settled it before she could reach for her wallet.

"I was supposed to treat you as a thank you!" she protested.

You brushed off her protests with a gentle smile. "Consider it my way of saying thank you for entertaining me."

The two of you left the restaurant, and Wonyoung followed closely as you made your way back to the car. The silence continued, hanging heavily between you. Then, out of the blue, Wonyoung broke it with words you never expected to hear from her pretty lips.

"I want to experience how you control others. How you will fuck me and make me beg"

The shock of her words hit you like a jolt of electricity, causing you to slam on the brakes and bring the car to a sudden stop at the side of the empty road.

Locking eyes with Wonyoung, you delivered your words with a firm and almost grave tone. "No, you don't," you asserted. "The things I do aren't like what you watch in movies. And even if you were serious about this, I don't believe your fragile body could handle it. Pretty things can be easily broken if not taken care of. What I do doesn't show much care for you; it would push both your mind and body to the limit."

Your words were a serious cautionary note, aimed at changing her thoughts and preventing her from a path that held potential danger and discomfort.

Wonyoung's smirk persisted, and a playful tone danced in her voice. "'I'm not as fragile as you think I am. Moreover, I don't believe you have what it takes to break me, Daddy,'" she quipped, her words filled with a hint of teasing. "On a more serious note, I honestly think you're all talk. There's no way you can actually make someone beg."

Wonyoung's taunting and challenging tone persisted as you continued the drive. She seemed entirely unshaken by the gravity of the topic, and her curiosity was piqued.

"So, Mr. CEO," she continued, her voice laced with playful skepticism, "are you saying you can make someone beg for your control? You must have some secret weapon or technique, right?"

Your eyes remained fixed on the road, and you responded, your tone still cautious. "It's not about a secret weapon or technique, Wonyoung. It's about understanding boundaries, trust, and consent. It's not something to be taken lightly."

Wonyoung, however, seemed determined to push your buttons further. "Boundaries, trust, and consent? Those sound so boring and safe. Where's the excitement in that?"

You let out a sigh, recognizing that she was testing your resolve. "There's a difference between excitement and recklessness. What I do, or rather, what I've explored in the past, is not a game. It's a realm that requires responsibility and understanding, especially when it comes to the well-being of all parties involved."

Wonyoung leaned back in her seat, a challenging glint in her eye. "I still don't buy it, Mr. CEO. You'll have to prove it to me."

Wonyoung's taunting continued unabated, and it was clear that she was enjoying pushing your boundaries. She leaned closer, her tone dripping with mischief. "Come on, Mr. CEO, don't be so serious. Show me what you've got. Make me beg or are you going to be a coward and run away?"

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened as you felt the tension in the car reach a boiling point. You had tried to warn her, to convey the gravity of what she was asking, but she seemed intent on testing you.

Finally, unable to contain your frustration any longer, you slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a sudden halt by the side of the road. Without thinking, your hands found their way to Wonyoung's throat, fingers pressing firmly against her delicate skin. The shock in her eyes mirrored your own as you choked out the words, "You have no idea what you're asking for, Wonyoung." She releases a small moan.

The moment hung in the air, charged with a dangerous energy, and you realized that you had crossed a line you couldn't uncross. Wonyoung's playful taunts had ignited something within you, a darkness you had long kept in check. 

Your responsibilities, your reputation, and everything else faded into insignificance as you drove to your house, your mind consumed by a primal desire. Once you stepped inside, there was no turning back. You pulled Wonyoung with you, and in the dimly lit hallway, you pinned her forcefully against the wall.

Your hand gripped her throat, and the other held her wrists firmly above her head. The room seemed to close in around you both as you whispered into her ears, your voice laced with a warning and a final chance for her to bail out. "Is this what you wanted, Wonyoung? This is your last chance. After this, there's no turning back."

The intensity in your eyes burned as you awaited her response, the gravity of the moment weighing heavily on both of you.  

“Yes, This is what I wanted, for you to restrain me and have your way with me,” Wonyoung says, her eyes filled with determination, to experience what it feels like to let someone have complete control over what happens to your body.

You immediately kiss her, the kiss unlike last time was harsh, filled with lust. Both your tongues exploring each other's mouths. Sliding a knee in between her legs causes her to moan into the kiss. 

Wonyoung grinds on your thighs, enjoying the friction. You let go of her throat and hands, now exploring her body but ending up on her ass, squeezing it and feeling her stiffen up with the contact. 

Breaking away from the kiss you pull Wonyoung toward the room that you kept locked away from everyone. Wonyoung followed obediently. Once the door is open you push Wonyoung into the room and she falls onto the bed. 

“Take off your clothes,” It wasn’t a request but a command that Wonyoung obeyed. Watching her remove her dress was like watching a movie unfold, it slowly got better. Now she was in her bra and panties. 

“Kneel,” After Wonyoung's obedient response, you left the room momentarily to get changed. The air was heavy with anticipation, and every moment seemed to stretch. 

You returned to the room, your presence felt as you stood behind Wonyoung. Your fingers began to braid her long and silky hair, a soothing and intimate gesture that contrasted with the intensity of the situation.

As you worked on her hair, you explained the dynamics of what was to come. "This is how it's going to go," you began, your voice firm yet reassuring. "You do everything I tell you to. If you do well, then I will reward you, and if you don't, you get punished. It's simple, isn't it?"

Wonyoung nodded, her trust in you evident. But you had one more important thing to convey. "One more thing," you added, your voice softening with genuine concern. "If at any point you think you can't handle something, say the color red. Everything that we're doing will stop immediately, and I will make sure you are fine. Your safety and well-being are my top priority."

With these words, you set the boundaries and the rules, ensuring that this journey would be a consensual and mutually satisfying experience for both of you. 

With a gentle kiss on Wonyoung's neck, you left her in a state of heightened anticipation, a mix of confusion and excitement swirling within her. She could hear your movements but couldn't predict what would come next.

When you returned, it was with a blindfold in your hand. Placing it delicately over her eyes, you obscured her vision, taking away her ability to see. The loss of sight heightened her other senses, making her acutely aware of every sound, touch, and sensation. It also added an element of unpredictability, deepening the intrigue and excitement of what was to come in this shared exploration.

In the dimly lit room, a tremor of excitement ran through you. Here, within these four walls, everything was under your control. It was an opportunity to satisfy a desire that had remained hidden from the world, a longing that had been kept secret. The urge to witness vulnerability, to see tears, and to have someone willingly surrender themselves to your complete mercy had always been there, lurking beneath the surface.

With every breath, every whispered command, and every touch, you were stepping into the territory you had long kept locked away. 

With a firm but controlled grip on the newly braided hair, you pulled Wonyoung up and whispered into her ear, your voice dripping with stern intent. "I'm going to make you regret every single word you said during the car ride, Princess."

Wonyoung shivered in response, the weight of your words sinking in, a mixture of anticipation and fear coursing through her.  

Wonyoung yelped in surprise as you pushed her onto the bed, and her heart raced with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. She had entered a realm of unknown sensations and desires, and the anticipation of what would happen next was palpable.

The sound of your footsteps drew her attention, and she turned her head in your direction. As you joined her on the silk, a hard slap landed on her cute butt.*Yelp* It was a sharp, stinging sensation that sent a jolt of electricity through her, awakening new sensations and desires that she had only begun to explore. 

Slowly unclasping her bra, you squeeze her ass and give it a couple of spanks. Wonyoung is now whimpering. “Spank yourself, Princess, it better be hard, I want to see your handprint on that cute ass of yours,” Leaving Wonyoung by herself, you grab a pair of leather handcuffs. 

Your tone shifted from stern to gentle as you cooed comforting words to Wonyoung. "That's enough," you murmured soothingly. "You did such a good job, princess, such a good girl."

With a reassuring touch, you grabbed both of her hands and cuffed them, ensuring they were secured firmly, making it clear that she wouldn't be able to escape from your grasp. 

You introduced a new element to the unfolding scene, a game that would both challenge and please. With a commanding tone, you explained the rules to Wonyoung. "Now let's play a game," you began, your voice unwavering. "For every slap, you will count and apologize for being a brat."

Wonyoung nodded in compliance, but you demanded more. "Use your words, princess. You are a human, after all, aren't you?"

With a submissive "Yes, sir," she complied.

The first slap landed firmly, and Wonyoung counted, "1, I'm sorry for being a brat." You repeated the action, the impact slightly harder, and she continued, "2, I'm sorry for being a brat." The third strike came down, causing her to gasp with a mix of pain and arousal. "Ah!! 3, I'm sorry for being a brat."

Satisfied that she had apologized sufficiently, you reached for a glass of ice on the bedside table. Taking an ice cube, you placed it on the sensitive area where she had been struck. The sudden coldness against her heated skin made her gasp and squirm, but you held her firmly in place, introducing a thrilling contrast of sensations to the experience.

With a practiced ease, you flipped Wonyoung's petite body around, exposing her erect nipples and toned midriff. The anticipation in the room was palpable as you continued to explore the depths of desire between you.

Grabbing another ice cube, you placed it delicately on her left nipple, the sudden coldness on the sensitive spot causing Wonyoung to instinctively bring her hands down from above her head. But you were swift, catching her hands and placing them back where they belonged.

Taking the ice cube into your mouth, you traced a tantalizing path around her left mound, ensuring no part of her was left without attention. You moved to her right nipple, repeating the same maddeningly slow and sensual exploration while simultaneously pinching and playing with the other one.

Wonyoung's voice filled the room, a chorus of pleasure and desire escaping her lips as her body squirmed uncontrollably. Her legs rubbed together in a desperate attempt to find some relief from the various sensations that were overwhelming her senses, aching for release and satisfaction.

You continued your teasing exploration, trailing the ice cube slowly toward Wonyoung's belly button, relishing in the way her back curved from the heightened sensitivity. The room was filled with an electrifying tension, desire mounting with every passing moment.

Finally, you removed the one piece of clothing that was drenched, a clear indication of how excited Wonyoung had become. The ice cube hovered just above the spot that begged for the most attention. A simple act of blowing air on her very wet core caused Wonyoung to moan in desperation.

"Please," she managed to say, her mind clouded to the point where forming a coherent sentence was a challenge.

But you weren't ready to make it easy for her. "Please what, Princess?" you teased, relishing in her vulnerability.

Her face flushed with embarrassment, and she brought her hands down to cover it as she stammered, "Please touch me there."

You continued to push her boundaries, enjoying the game of control and surrender that had enveloped you both, as you whispered, "You have to be more specific, Princess. I've been touching you the entire time."

Wonyoung's initial response was mumbled and unclear, but when you demanded she speak louder, she screamed, "I want you to touch my pussy, please. I need it!"

Granting her request, you gently played with the swollen nub, eliciting a sharp reaction as her toes curled with the newfound sensation. After some tender foreplay, you decided to take it further, inserting one finger into her. Wonyoung's moans grew louder, her arousal undeniable.

Using your free hand to continue playing with her sensitive nub, you slowly pumped your finger in and out, savoring every sound and reaction she made.

But Wonyoung's desire burned fiercely, and she begged for more. "More, please. I need more," she pleaded, her voice dripping with need. "Please put one more finger or eat me out, please!"

You couldn't resist teasing her a bit more. "Such a needy slut," you taunted, delivering a slap to her pussy that made her scream. "Only good girls get to make demands."

Desperate and on the edge, Wonyoung responded fervently, "I'm your good girl, Daddy. Please give me more. I need it so badly."

With a sense of control that heightened the intensity of the moment, you decided to edge Wonyoung, not once, but four times. Each time, you brought her right to the precipice of release and then denied her the ultimate satisfaction. It was an exquisite torture that pushed her desire to its limits.

The first time you edged her, her moans filled the room as you skillfully brought her to the brink, only to stop just when she thought she couldn't take it any longer. "Please," she begged, her voice filled with desperation. "Please, Daddy, let me come. I need it so much."

But you were relentless, and the second time you edged her was even more intense. Wonyoung's body quivered as she teetered on the edge of release, her pleas growing more urgent. "Please, please, I can't take it anymore. Please, let me come. I'll do anything."

The third time you edged her, her cries of frustration and longing filled the room. "Daddy, please," she whimpered, her body trembling with need. "I'll be a good girl, I promise. Just let me come."

But you denied her once again, pushing her to the limits of desire. The fourth time you edged her, Wonyoung was a writhing, desperate mess. "Please, Daddy," she sobbed, her voice cracking with need. "I need it so badly. Please, please, let me come. I'll do anything you want."

With your words of encouragement, you leaned down and moved closer to Wonyoung's ear, your breath hot against her skin. "Go ahead," you whispered sensually, "show me how much you needed it, show me what a slut you are!"

Nibbling on her ear, you continued your passionate ministrations, pushing her closer to the edge. Wonyoung finally let go, surrendering to the pleasure she had begged for and needed so desperately. Her back arched, her body trembled, and a stream of liquid gushed out, staining the perfect silk sheets beneath her. 

Without giving her much time to recover, you immediately take out your cock and position yourself in front of her freshly used pussy. As you slowly move in, wonyoung’s body reacts to your cock by screaming and tightening around it. She was very tight, almost like this was her first time. 

“Wait, slow down, please. I am so sensitive, Daddy, please! Wait!” Wonyoung pleads and you agree. Once she nods signaling that she is ready you continue till you bottom out. 

“Oh God, you are filling me up so well” Wonyoung manages to say in between moans.

“Princess, can I start moving now?” You ask because you can no longer hold back. Wonyoung makes eye contact with you through the mirror across from the bed and says “Yes, Daddy”

With her permission you begin pounding like there is no tomorrow, Wonyoung responds with nothing but moans and occasional screams when you hit her sweet spot. Her moans are like melodies you will never get tired of hearing. Playing with her clit as you pound her push her over the edge as she orgasms again, “Fuck! Daddy!” Wonyoung screams. 

Even though Wonyoung had reached her orgasm you continued to pound her tight pussy. “Please, please, too much, Daddy!” The overstimulation frying up nerves in her brain and sending her to a mental state she never knew she could possibly achieve. 

Wonyoung brings her hands to stop you from moving but you grab them, her eyes rolled back and back arched as you continue pounding. “DADDY NOOO!” 

“This is your punishment, baby, who said you could cum? This is your punishment!” You grunt as you put more force into the thrusts Every thrust sends waves of pleasure through Wonyoung’s body. 

“AGH, GOD!!” Wonyoung screams she starts to mumble things that you can no longer understand, you continue to chase after your orgasm. 

“Where do you want me to cum, Princess?” You ask as you reach closer to your peak. 

“I-inside, Daddy” Wonyoung manages to say in between her loud moans. 

“Fuck baby, Daddy is going to cum in your tight pussy,” You grunt,

“Yes, Daddy fill me up, I need to feel that warm cum in my pussy please!” finally Wonyoung manages to form a coherent sentence. With her explicit consent, you unload the biggest load of your life in Wonyoung’s pussy. 

“Fuck, Princess that felt so good, You were such a good girl, my lovely princess,” you say after you envelop her in a hug and place a kiss on her forehead. 

“Yes it was, I never knew pleasure could be so intense!” Wonyoung said as you pet her hair. Silence fell in the room but Wonyoung said “This is just the beginning right?”

Realizing how insatiable Wonyoung is and how good the sex is, you reply “ Yes, Princess. From today onwards you belong to me, you understand?”

“Yes, Daddy, I love the way you touched me. I need your touch, it's intoxicating and addicting” Wonyoung says as she nuzzles her face into the crook of your neck. 

[lee-laurent]

Crushin' - Quinn Hughes

Summary: Quinn's crush on Brock's sister starts to cause some issues

wc: 7.8k

content: fluff, angst, kissing, grinding, mentions of sex but no smut, friends with benefits

notes: hi! i'm like working through writers' block rn. so... here is this i guess

Emma Boeser, known to those close to her as Emmy, had always been fiercely independent. Growing up as Brock's younger sister meant that she was no stranger to the world of professional hockey, but she had long ago sworn off any romantic involvement with hockey players. The glitz and glamour that others saw were just distractions to her--hockey players were trouble, and she had learned that the hard way. Now, she focused on her career, determined to make a name for herself that wasn't tied to her brother and his achievements.

Emma had secured a role in the Canucks' PR and marketing department, a job that she actually enjoyed going to. She was good at it too--organizing press events, managing the team's public image, and navigating the chaos of media day with ease. Her colleagues respected her, and the players knew she was off-limits, a professional boundary she had enforced since day one (one that her brother was glad to back up).

Quinn Hughes, on the other hand, was everything a star defenceman could be--talented, dedicated, and just the right amount of cocky. He had quickly made himself a name in the NHL, and his focus had always been on the game. Off the ice, Quinn was reserved, not one to seek out the spotlight unless it was absolutely necessary. But there was one person who managed to catch his eye every time, no matter how hard he tried to stay focused on his career--Emma.

Quinn had noticed Emma from the moment she started working with the team. She was striking, not just because of her looks, but because of the way she carried herself. There was something about her confidence and no-nonsense attitude that drew him in, even if he couldn't quite figure out why. They'd had only a few friendly interactions, but Emma always kept things strictly professional.

~~

It was after a team gala that their relationship shifted. Emma had been working late, ensuring everything ran smoothly. Quinn had stayed behind, nursing a drink as the event wound down. He noticed Emma, finally off the clock and enjoying a rare moment to herself. She looked relaxed, maybe a little tired, but still as composed as ever.

"Long night?" Quinn asked, leaning against the bar beside her.

Emma glanced at him, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "You could say that. But it's part of the job."

He nodded, studying her face. She was always so put together, always in control. "You did a great job tonight. Everything went off without a hitch."

"Thanks," Emma replied, raising her glass slightly. "But I'm sure you're not hanging around just to compliment the event planning."

Quinn chuckled, appreciating her directness. "Maybe not. I guess I was hoping to get to know you a bit more... off the clock."

Emma arched an eyebrow. "Off the clock?"

"Yeah," he said, meeting her gaze with a confidence he wasn't sure he really felt. "No work. Just us."

She considered him for a moment before downing the rest of her drink. "Alright, Hughes. But let's keep this simple. No strings, no drama. Just... fun."

He agreed without hesitation, not realizing at the time how much more complicated things would become.

~~

Emma wasn't one to complicate things, especially when it came to her personal life. Her rule was simple: no dating hockey players. The lifestyle, the endless travel, the pressure--they were all things she wanted no part of. But when it came to Quinn, that line had blurred.

What started as a one-time thing after a team event quickly turned into a series of late-night encounters. It was easy, convenient, and, most importantly, private. Emma liked the control it gave her--she could have what she wanted without risking her independence or her brother's wrath. And Quinn? He played along, meeting her in the middle of the night, leaving before dawn, and never asking for more.

Their relationship was built on stolen moments. Sometimes it was at his apartment, other times hers, but always with the same unspoken agreement: no one could know. Emma was strict about that, even more so than Quinn. The idea of Brock finding out was enough to make her heart race--not from excitement, but from pure dread. She knew her brother would lose it if he found out she was hooking up with one his teammates, especially Quinn, who was practically family to him.

For Quinn, those nights with Emma were a mix of heaven and hell. Being with her, touching her, was everything he wanted. But every time she slipped out of his bed, leaving him alone in the dark, it tore at him. He wanted more--he wanted her in his life in a way that went beyond just the physical. But he also knew that pushing for more could mean losing her altogether, and that was a risk he wasn't sure he could take.

At work, Emma was the epitome of professionalism. She was efficient, focused, and kept a cool distance from the players, especially Quinn. In meetings, she barely looked his way, addressing him with the same detached tone she used with everyone else. It was as if the Quinn who whispered her name in the dark didn't exist during daylight hours.

Quinn noticed, of course. He noticed everything about Emma. The way she would set her jaw when she was stressed, the little lines that formed between her brows when she was deep in thought. He noticed how she avoided his gaze during team meetings, how she never lingered when passing by him in the halls. It was like she had put up a wall between them, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't break through.

It was frustrating, especially when Quinn would catch a glimpse of the Emma he knew--the one who laughed at his jokes and leaned into his touch when they were alone. But at work, she was distant, almost cold, and it gnawed at him. He found himself wanting to bridge the gap, to make her see that they didn't have to keep pretending.

One afternoon, after a long practice session, Quinn saw his chance. Emma was standing by the rink, talking to one of the other staff members. She was dressed in her usual work attire, her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, and her expression serious as she discussed logistics for an upcoming event.

Quinn approached her, waiting until the other person had walked away before speaking. "Emmy, do you have a minute?"

Emma glanced at him, her eyes narrowing slightly as if to warn him to keep things professional. "What is it, Hughes?" she asked, her tone brisk.

He resisted the urge to sigh. "I just wanted to go over some of the plans for the charity event next week. Thought we could grab a coffee and talk it through."

She hesitated, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. "I'm pretty swamped right now," she said, already turning to look at the iPad in her hands. "But I'll email you the details later."

"Come on, Emmy," Quinn pressed, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "It's just coffee."

Emma shot him a look that was both annoyed and pleading. "We can't, Quinn. Not here."

The way she said his name sent a shiver down his spine, but it also made his chest tighten with frustration. "It doesn't have to be like this," he said quietly. "We don't have to pretend."

She shook her head, tucking the iPad under her arm. "Yes, we do. I told you, this is how it has to be. We agreed."

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm not okay with that anymore."

Emma froze, her eyes searching his face for a moment before she looked away. "Quinn, please. Not here."

The vulnerability in her voice was new, something she rarely let slip. It softened Quinn's resolve, but only just. He nodded, stepping back to give her space. "Alright," he forced a smile. "I'll see you later, then."

Emma didn't reply, turning back to her work as if the conversation had never happened. But the tension lingered, heavy in the air between them.

~~

As the weeks passed, Quinn found it harder to ignore the growing feelings inside him. He was falling for Emma, and he knew it. It wasn't just about the physical connection anymore, though that was still a big part of it. It was about the way she challenged him, the way she made him laugh, and the way she kept him on his toes. She was different from anyone he'd ever been with, and he couldn't shake the feeling that she was exactly what he'd been looking for.

But the more he tried to let her in, the more she pulled away. Emma was stubborn, and Quinn was beginning to realize just how deep her fears ran. She had been hurt before--by a hockey player, no less--and she wasn't about to let that happen again. No matter how much she cared for Quinn, she couldn't bring herself to break her rule.

Quinn found himself torn between respecting her boundaries and wanting to push past them. Every time they were together, he tried to show her how much he cared, how much he wanted more than just sex. He'd hold her a little longer, kiss her a little softer, hoping she'd see that he wasn't like the others. But Emma was like a fortress, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find a way in.

One night, after a particularly grueling game, Quinn found himself lying awake in his bed, his mind racing. Emma had been distant lately, more so than usual, and it was driving him fucking crazy. He missed her, missed the way things used to be before his feelings got in the way. He knew he should be grateful for what they had, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was slowly losing her.

He picked up his phone, scrolling through their old messages. Most of them were short, simple texts about when and where to meet. But buried between the lines was a connection that went beyond just physical need. Quinn could see it, even if Emma refused to admit it.

Without thinking, he typed out a message: Can we talk?

He hesitated before hitting send, his thumb hovering over the screen. Part of him was terrified of what she might say, of hearing the words he didn't want to hear. But he couldn't keep going this like, stuck in a limbo with no idea where they stood.

Finally, he pressed send and waited. The minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. He stared at the screen, willing it to light up with her reply. When it finally did, his heart skipped a beat.

I'm busy right now. Maybe later?

Quinn's shoulders sagged, the tension in his chest only growing. It wasn't a no, but it wasn't the answer he wanted either. He knew Emma well enough to know that "maybe later" was her way of putting him off, of avoiding a conversation she didn't want to have.

But Quinn wasn't willing to let it slide this time. He needed to know where they stood, needed to know if there was any hope of something more.

I'll wait. he replied.

Emma didn't respond, and Quinn didn't expect her to. He set his phone down and stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out what he'd say when they finally did talk. Part of him knew he should be careful, that pushing too hard might drive her away for good. But another part of him--the part that was tired of pretending--was ready to take the risk.

As the hours passed by, Quinn's thoughts continued to circle back to Emma. He thought about the way she smiled when she let her guard down, the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn't paying attention. There was something there, somthing real, and Quinn was determined to make her see it.

When his phone finally buzzed with her reply, his heart raced. But when he read her message, his hope deflated.

Can we just keep things the way they are? I'm not ready for more, Quinn.

He stared at the words, feeling the weight of them settle in his chest. It was exactly what he feared, but hearing it--reading it--still hurt more than he expected.

Despite the sting, Quinn couldn't bring himself to walk away. To put his phone down. Not yet. He knew that if he wanted to be with Emma, he'd have to be patient, to wait for her to come to terms with her feelings. And as much as it pained him to do so, he respected her wishes.

Okay, he typed back. But I'm not giving up on us, Emmy

There was no response, but he didn't need one. He knew it was going to be a long road, but he was willing to wait as long as it took. Because for Emma, it was worth it.

~~

It was another late night in Vancouver, and the city was quiet outside Quinn's window. The game had been tough, a hard-fought win that left him physically drained but mentally wired. Emma had come over, as she often did after games, slipping into his place with the practiced ease of someone who had done it a hundred times before. They hadn't said much--there wasn't a need for words when they both knew what they were there for.

But tonight felt different to Quinn. There was a tension in the air that he couldn't shake, a weight pressing down on his chest as they lay in bed afterward. Emma was curled up next to him, a dull ache in her thighs, her breathing slow and steady as she started to drift off to sleep. Normally, Quinn would have let her, content to hold her in his arms until she inevitably slipped away before dawn. But not tonight.

"Emma," he whispered, his voice low and hesitant.

"Mmm?" she murmured.

There would be no going back. The words were there, waiting to be said, and he couldn't keep them bottled up any longer. "Can we talk?"

Emma's eyes opened, and she shifted slightly to look up at him. "About what?" she asked, her voice thick with sleep.

"About us."

She frowned, already sensing where this was going. "Quinn, we've talked about this. You know how I feel."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "We haven't really talked about it. Not like we need to." He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Emma, this isn't just... physical for me anymore. It isn't just about the sex. I care about you. A lot."

Emma's frown deepened, and she pulled away slightly, sitting up in bed. "Quinn, don't--"

"Just listen to me, please," he interrupted, sitting up as well. He could see the walls going up, the defences she always put in place when things got too close. But he was determined to push through them this time. "I'm falling for you, Emma. I think I've been falling for you for a while now, and I can't keep pretending that I'm okay with this being just... whatever it is."

She stared at him, her expression filled with surprise and something else--something that looked a lot like fear. "Quinn, you know I can't--"

"Why not?" his voice raising with frustration. "Why can't we be something more? We're good together, Emma. I know you feel it to."

She shook her head, wrapping the sheet around herself as if it could protect her from the conversation. "It's not that simple, Quinn. You know it's not."

"It is that simple," he insisted, reaching out to take her hand. "We care about each other. We have fun together. The sex is incredible. We could have something real if you'd just let yourself believe it."

Emma's hand tightened around the sheet, and she looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "Quinn, I have rules for a reason."

"Rules?" Quinn scoffed, feeling his frustration boil over. "Emma, you're not living your life. You're hiding behind these 'rules' because you're scared."

She flinched at his words, but her expression hardened. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" Quinn pressed, his voice softening as he saw the hurt in her eyes. "Emma, I'm not trying to hurt you. I just... I want more. I want us to be more. But I can't do that alone."

There was a long silence, the air between them heavy with even more tension. Emma finally looked at him, her eyes filled with fear, doubt, and maybe longing. But then she shook her head, her walls returning.

"I can't, Quinn," she said quietly. "I'm not going to break my rules. Not for anyone."

Quinn's heart sank, but he forced himself to nod. He had known this was a possibility, that she might not be ready to take that leap with him. But hearing her say it still hurt more than he could've ever imagined. "Okay," he whispered. "I understand."

But the truth was, he didn't understand. Not really. Because he couldn't see why she was so determined to keep them apart when it was clear they could be so much more.

~~

Emma could feel Quinn's words threatening to crack the carfeully constructed walls she had built around herself. She had always been so sure of her rules, so certain that she needed them to protect herself. But hearing Quinn say that he was falling for her, that he wanted more, made her question everything.

It wasn't that she didn't care about Quinn--she did. More than she had ever intended to when they first started sleeping together. But that was exactly the problem. Caring about Quinn meant opening herself up to the possibility of getting hurt, and that was something she couldn't afford.

"Quinn," she began, choosing her words very carefully. "I made those rules for a reason. I've seen what happens when you get involved with hockey players. The lifestyle, the pressure--it's not something I want stacked on top of my own work."

He frowned, clearly not satsified with her explanation. "But I'm not like that, Emma. I'm not just some random guy looking for a fling. I want to be with you, for real. Why can't you see that?"

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I do see it, Quinn. But that doesn't change the fact that it's a bad idea. We're too close to Brock, too close to the team. If things go wrong--"

"They won't," his tone was firm. "I know it's scary, but we can make it work. We can take it slow, keep it private if you want, but I can't keep pretending this is just about sex."

Emma bit her lip, her mind running a mile a minute. She knew he was right, that what they had was more than just physical. But admitting that, giving in to it, felt like stepping off a cliff with no idea if there was anything there to catch her. She had promised herself she wouldn't get involved with a hockey player again, and yet here she was, teetering on the edge.

"I can't," she said again, shaking her head. "Quinn, I can't risk it. I'm sorry."

The words felt hollow, even to her, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything else. She looked at him, hoping he would understand, but the hurt in his eyes told her that he didn't. Or maybe he did, but he wasn't willing to accept it.

"Fine," Quinn said, his voice flat. "If that's how you really feel, then fine."

He moved to get out of bed, grabbing his clothes from the floor. Emma watched him, her heart aching at the sight of him pulling away. She wanted to reach out, to tell him she was sorry, that she didn't mean it. But the words stuck in her throat, choked by fear and doubt.

Quinn dressed quickly, avoiding her gaze as he headed for the door. Emma felt a surge of panic as she realized he was really leaving, that his might be the end of whatever they had. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but the door was already closing behind him before she could find the words.

And just like that, he was gone.

Emma sat in the empty room, the silence keeping her stuck in her spot. The bed still smelled like him, a painful reminder of what she had just pushed away. She curled up into a ball, pulling the sheets around her as if they could somehow shield her from the reality of what had just happened.

She had been so certain she was doing the right thing, sticking to her rules and protecting herself. But now, with Quinn gone, all she felt was an overwhelming sense of loss. She had never let herself get this close to anyone before, not since the last time she had been burned by a hockey player. But Quinn... he was different. And that was what made this so much harder.

The tears came before she could stop them, spilling down her cheeks as she buried her face in the pillow. She had told herself that she didn't need anyone, that she was better off alone. But now, she wasn't so sure.

Meanwhile, Quinn was walking the streets of Vancouver, the cold night doing little to cool the fire of frustration and hurt burning in his chest. He had laid his heart on the line, told Emma how he really felt, and she had shut him down. He knew she was scared, that her rules were her way of protecting herself, but it didn't make it any easier to swallow.

He kicked at a loose piece of gravel on the sidewalk, watching as it skittered across the pavement. He wanted to be angry, to blame her for being so stubborn, so unwilling to let him in. But deep down, he knew that wasn't fair. Emma had been through a lot, and her fears were valid. But that didn't change the fact that he was hurting, that he wanted more from her than she was willing to give.

Quinn found himself at a small park, the trees bare and the benches empty in the late hour. He sat down, his head in his hands as he tried to sort through all the feelings in his head. He had never felt like this before--so out of control, so vulnerable. And it scared the hell out of him.

But what scared him even more was the thought of losing Emma. He knew she cared about him. There was something between them. Something worth fighting for.

As he sat there in the dark, he made a decision. He wasn't going to give up on Emma, no matter how hard she pushed him away. He knew it was risky, that he might get hurt in the process, but he also knew that it would be worth it. Emma was worth it.

He stood up, heading back to his apartment. He wasn't going to let her fear dictate their future. He would give her space if she needed it, but he wasn't going to walk away. Not yet.

Because sometimes, the best things in life were worth fighting for. And Quinn was ready to fight.

~~

The Canucks were on the road again, heading into a critical stretch of the season. This time, they were in a small city with a reputation for rowdy fans and intense games. The hotel was nice enough, but the schedule was grueling, leaving the players and staff little time to do anything but eat, sleep, and prepare for the next match.

Emma was there, of course, coordinating PR events and managing the team's image as she always did. She was good at her job--meticulous, organized, and (usually) calm under pressure. But this trip felt different. Ever since the conversation with Quinn a few weeks ago, she'd been on edge, constantly looking over her shoulder, half-expecting him to show up and push her again.

She'd managed to avoid him for the most part, keeping their interactions strictly professional. But then tension between them was palpable, simmering just beneath the surface. Emma threw herself into her work, hoping to distract herself from the nagging thoughts that kept creeeping in whenever she allowed herself a moment to breathe.

That night, after a long day, Emma retreated to her hotel room, exhausted. The PR duties had been endless, and she was looking forward to nothing more than a hot shower and collapsing into bed. She had just slipped into her pajamas, an XL Canucks t-shirt, when there was a knock at her door.

It was late--too late for any of the players or staff to be knocking at her door for work-related matters. For a brief moment, she considered not answering, pretending she was already asleep. But something compelled her to go to the door, her hand hovering over the handle as she took a deep breath.

When she opened the door, her heart sank and fluttered at the same time. Quinn stood there, dressed in a hoodie and sweats, his hands shoved in his pockets. His expression determined and vulnerable, and for a moment, she was at a loss of words.

"Quinn, what are you doing here?" she whispered.

"I had to see you," he replied, his voice steady. "Can I come in?"

Emma hesitated, glancing down the hallway to make sure no one was around. The last thing she needed was for someone to see them together like this. "Q, it's late. We can't do this here."

"I know it's late, but I don't care," he said, taking a step closer. "Emma, please. Just... let me in. We need to talk."

There was something in his eyes that made it impossible to say no. With a resigned sigh, she stepped aside, allowing him to slip into the room. The door clicked shut behind them, the sound loud in the quiet night.

Quinn didn't waste any time. As soon as they were alone, he turned to face her, his face serious. "I can't keep doing this, Emma. I can't keep pretending I'm okay with the way thing are."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "We've talked about this, Quinn. You know where I stand."

"No, we haven't really talked about it," he countered. "You've told me how you feel, but you haven't listened to how I feel."

Emma looked away, unable to meet his gaze. She knew what was coming next, "Quinn, please. Don't do this."

"I have to," he said. "Emma, I'm in love with you. And I can't keep pretending that I'm okay with this just being sex. Because it's not, at least not to me."

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, winding her and leaving her breathless. She had known this was coming, had seen it in the way he looked at her, the way he touched her. But hearing him say it out loud made it real in a way she wasn't prepared for.

"Quinn..." she began, but he shook his head, cutting her off.

"No, just listen to me," he pleaded. "I know you're scared. I know you've been hurt before, and I know you've made these rules to protect yourself. But Emma, you can't shut yourself off from the world forever. You can't yourself off from me."

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she blinked them back, determined not to let them fall. "It's not that simple."

"Yes, it is," he insisted, stepping even closer until he was right in front of her, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek. "It is that simple. We care about each other. We have something real. Don't you want to see where this could go?"

Emma closed her eyes, leaning into his touch despite herself. "I'm scared, Quinn. I'm scared that if I let you in, I'll get hurt again."

"You won't," he whispered, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had slipped down her cheek. "I'm not going to hurt you, Emma. I promise you."

The dam broke. All the emotions Emma had been bottling up for months came flooding out in a rush. She let out a choked sob, her hands gripping the front of Quinn's hoodie as she buried her face in his chest. "I don't know how to do this," she admitted, her voice muffled by the fabric.

Quinn wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as she cried. "You don't have to know. We'll figure it out together."

For a long time, they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms as Emma let herself be vulnerable for the first time in years. It felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders, but at the same time, she was terrified of what was to come next.

Finally, she pulled back just enough to look up at him, her eyes red and puffy from crying. "I don't want to lose you, Q. But I don't know if I can do this."

"You can," he assured her, his hand gently carressing her hair. "We'll take it one step at a time. I'm not going anywhere, Emmy. Not unless you tell me to."

She shook her head, her grip on his hoodie tightening. "I don't want you to go."

"Then I'm staying," he said, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead.

The kiss was tender, a promise of what was to come if she could just let go of her fears. Emma felt something shift inside her, a crack in the armour she'd built around her heart. She looked up at Quinn, her heart pounding in her chest as she realized how much she wanted this--wanted him.

Without another word, she closed the distance between them, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was different from all the ones that had come before. This one was slow, deliberate, filled with all the emotions they'd been holding back. It wasn't about lust or need--it was about something deeper, something that scared her just as much as it thrilled her.

Quinn responded immediately, his arms tightening around her as he kissed her back with the same intensity. The world outside ceased to exist; all that mattered was the two of them, alone in the quiet of the hotel room.

They moved together in perfect sync, their movements slower, more meaningful than before. It was as if they were discovering each other all over again, but this time with their hearts fully in it. Quinn laid her back on the bed, his hands reaching under her shirt. She shivered, his skin cold against hers. She gripped his hair, bringing his body closer to hers so that their hips were pressed together. There was no rush, everything felt slow and loving.

As they lay together afterward, their breaths heavy in the air, Emma felt a peace she hadn't felt in years. For the first time, she felt hope that a relationship could work for her. As she drifted off to sleep in his arms, her mind still buzzing with the emotions of the night, there was a small part of her that couldn't shake the fear of what was to happen next.

~~

The soft light of the morning filtered through the thin curtains of the hotel room. Emma stirred in her sleep, the events of the night before replaying in her mind as she hovered between dreams and waking. She could feel the steady rise and fall of Quinn's chest, his arm draped protectively around her waist.

For a moment, everything felt perfect. Peaceful. But then she remembered that it wasn't just another night together. This time it was more intense, more meaningful. Emma knew she couldn't pretend it was just a casual hookup anymore.

Quinn was awake, too, his fingers gently tracing patterns on her back. He didn't want to move, didn't want to ruin the moment they were sharing. But he knew they couldn't stay like that forever. Sooner or later, they'd have to face the consequences of what they had become, and that thought terrified him.

"Morning," he whispered.

Emma tilted her head up to look at him, her eyes still heavy with sleep. "Morning," she replied, her voice barely audible.

They stayed like that for a while, just looking at each other, neither one wanting to be the first to speak about how things had changed between them.

"What happens now?" Emma finally asked, her voice wavering slightly.

Quinn hesitated, searching her eyes for any sign of doubt. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I do know that I don't want this to be the last time we wake up like this."

"I don't know if I'm ready for that," she confessed, her fingers absently tracing the outline of his collarbone.

"I know," Quinn said, his voice gentle. "But I'm not asking for you to be ready right now. I'm just asking you to think about it. To think about us."

Emma didn't respond right away. She wanted to believe they could make it work, that they could be more than just a secret. But the reality of their situation--of Brock, the team, and her own fears--loomed over her like a storm cloud.

Before she could find the words to respond, a sharp knock echoed through the room, shattering the moment of quiet intimacy. They both froze, their eyes locking as the sound registered in their tired brains.

"Emma?" Brock's voice called from the other side of the door. "You up?"

Panic surged through Emma's veins as she scrambled to sit up. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not like this.

Quinn's eyes widened in alarm, his hand gripping the sheets as if to make sure he wasn't dreaming. "What do we do?" his whispered urgently.

"Shit," she cursed under her breath, her heart pounding in her chest. "You need to hide."

"Where?" he hissed, his eyes darting around the small hotel room. There was nowhere to go, nowhere that wouldn't immediately give him away.

"Just--" Emma was cut off by another knock, this one more insistent.

"Emma, you in there?" Brock's voice was more concerned now.

Her mind was racing, trying to come up with a plan. But before she could do anything, the door handle began to turn. Brock was coming in. Emma always gave him an extra key to use in case of emergencies. And her not answering him was an emergency in his mind?

Quinn barely had time to leap out of the bed, grabbing his clothes and diving into the bathroom just as the door opened. Emma could feel her heart in her throat as she watched him disappear, her pulse pounding in her ears.

Brock stepped into the room, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Em, what's going on? Why didn't you answer?"

Emma forced a smile, suddenly feeling like she was going to be sick. "Sorry, Brock. I was just getting up," she lied, pulling the covers a little tighter to her chest.

Brock's eyes narrowed, his gaze sweeping over the room before landing back on his sister. "Are you okay? You look... I don't know, off."

"I'm fine," she replied quickly, hoping her voice didn't betray the panic she felt. "Just tired, that's all."

Brock didn't look convinced, but before he could press any further, a loud clatter came from the bathroom. The sound of something falling, followed by a muffled curse.

Emma's blood ran cold as Brock's head snapped toward the bathroom door so fast he could've gotten whiplash. "What was that?" his voice was twinged with suspicion.

Her wind went blank, all possible excuses failing her. She couldn't come up with a single plausible explanation for the noise. All she could do was watch in horror as Brock took a step towards the bathroom door.

"Brock, wait--"

But it was too late. He was already pushing the bathroom door open, his eyes widening in shock as he took in the sight before him. Quinn stood there, half-dressed, his face covered in guilt and resignation. He had clearly tried to get dressed quickly, but it obvious what had happened. There was no hiding it now.

"Quinn?" Brock's voice was low, dangerous, as he turned to look at his sister, his eyes blazing with anger. "What the hell is going on here?"

This was exactly what Emma had been trying to avoid, the confrontation she dreaded from the moment she and Quinn had started whatever it was they were doing.

"Brock, I--" she began, but Brock cut her off, his voice rising with anger.

"How long has this been going on?" he demanded, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "How long have you been sneaking around behind my back? Sleeping with my teammate?"

"Brock, it's not what you think," Quinn interjected, stepping forward, his hands raised as if he was approaching a wild beast.

"Not what I think?" Brock's eyes darted between the two of them. "What am I supposed to think, Quinn? You're in my sister's hotel room, half-naked, and you expect me to believe this is just a misunderstanding?"

Emma couldn't help the sense of guilt that was creeping in when she saw the hurt in her brother's eyes. This wasn't how she wanted him to find out, not like this. But there was no taking it back now, no undoing the mess they had created.

"Brock, listen to me," she started. "I didn't want to tell you because I knew you'd react like this. But it's not Quinn's fault. It's mine. I... I care about him a lot."

Brock's anger faltered, replaced by confusion. "You care about him? Emma, you've always said you'd never date a hockey player again. You've always told me--"

"I know what I've always said," Emma interrupted. "But things change. People change. I didn't expect this to happen, but it did. And I didn't tell you because I was scared of how you'd react."

Brock stared at her, "You should have told me, Em. You're my sister. I deserve to know what's going on in your life.

"I know," she mumbled, tears welling in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Brock. I never wanted to hurt you."

The room was silent for a long moment, then tension in the air thick. Quinn stood by the bathroom door, his heart heavy as he watched the siblings. He knew this wasn't giong to be an easy conversation, but it was necessary if he and Emma were going to have a chance of being together. They had to face this head-on.

"I just... I can't believe you didn't tell me," Brock said quietly, his voice tinged with sadness.

"I'm telling you now," Emma said softly. "And I'm telling you that I care about Quinn. This isn't just us hooking up. It's something more."

"You really care about him?"

"I do, Brock. I really do."

Brock glanced at Quinn, who stood there with a look of determination on his face. It was clear that he wasn't going to back down, that he was ready to fight for Emma if that's what it took. And as much as it pained him, Brock knew he couldn't stand in the way of that.

"Alright. But if he hurts you, Emma... if he breaks your heart, I swear--"

"He won't," she interrupted, "He won't."

Brock nodded, "Okay. But you two owe me an explanation. The whole story."

"We will," Quinn promised. "You deserve that."

Brock turned to leave, to give them some space. They had made it through the worst of it, but there was still so much unsaid, so many obstacles they would have to overcome.

~~

The morning after Brock's discovery, there was still a tension in the air. The team was scheduled to leave the hotel soon, and Emma could feel the unease radiating from Brock as they packed up their things.

Brock waited until they were in the parking lot, away from the rest of the team, before he turned to Quinn. "We need to talk."

Quinn nodded, "Yeah, we do."

They walked a few steps away from the bus, finding a quiet corner where they wouldn't be overheard. Emma watched from a distance, she could see the stiffness in Brock's shoulders.

"What the hell, Quinn? You're supposed to be my friend. How could you go behind my back like this?"

Quinn swallowed hard, knowing that Brock had every right to be angry. "I didn't mean for it to happen this way. I never wanted to keep it from you, but Emma... we weren't really sure where we stood. I was trying to respect her wishes."

Brock let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head. "Respect her wishes? You're supposed to respect me, too. I trusted you, Quinn."

"I know. And I'm sorry. I hate that I hurt you, Brock. But I care about Emma. I care about her more than I've ever cared about anyone."

"This isn't just some fling to you, is it?"

"No. It's not. I know how it looks, and I know why you're pissed. But Emma means everything to me. I'm not going to hurt her, Brock. I swear."

Quinn could see the conflict in his friend's eyes, the way he was struggling to reconcile the betrayal he felt with the truth of Quinn's words. Finally, Brock let out a long sigh, ruunning a hand through his hair.

"I'm still mad as hell at you. But if you're serious about her... if you really care about her, then I guess I don't have a choice but to deal with it."

"I am serious, Brock. And I get why you're angry. But I promise you, I'm going to do everything I can to make this work."

"You better. Because if you screw this up, Hughes... if you hurt her, I'm coming for you. And nothing will stop me."

Quinn didn't flinch at the warning, understanding the protective instincts behind it. "I won't hurt her. You have my word."

Brock didn't say anything for a few seconds, then finally extended his hand. "Alright. We'll see how this goes."

Quinn shook his hand. It wasn't a full reconciliation, but it was a start.

~~

Emma sat by the window on the back of the bus. The conversation between Brock and Quinn had gone better than she'd expected. Now, more than ever, she needed to decide what she really wanted.

As the bus rumbled down the highway, Emma continued to stare out the window, her mind drifting back to all the events that had led her there. She thought about the walls she had built around herself, the rules she had clung onto so tightly. They had been her armour, her way of protecting herself from getting hurt again. But now, she was starting to realize that those same walls were keeping her from something she truly wanted--something real with Quinn.

But could she really risk everything for him? Could she trust him not to break her heart, not to shatter her into pieces like she'd been before?

She thought about the way he had held her in the hotel room, the way he had looked at her with such sincerity, such unwavering care. He had been patient with her, understanding her fears even when she hadn't fully explained them. He had been willing to wait, to take things at her pace, and that meant more to her than she could express.

Emma knew that she couldn't keep running from her feelings, couldn't keep hiding behind her rules. If she wanted to be happy, really happy, she needed to take a leap of faith. She needed to let Quinn in, to trust that he would catch her if she fell.

She made her decision. She was going to give Quinn Hughes a real chance. It wouldn't be easy, but she was tired of being afraid, tired of letting the past dictate her future.

~~

After they arrived at the next hotel, Emma waited until most of the team had gone up to their rooms before she approached Quinn. He was standing by the luggage cart, talking to one of the staff members, but when he saw her coming, he broke off the conversation, his eyes locking onto hers.

"Emma? Everything okay?"

She nodded, "Can we talk?"

"Of course. What's on your mind?"

Emma led him away from the group, finding a quiet spot near the hotel's entrance. "I've been doing a lot of thinking. And I've realized something."

Quinn nodded, urging her to continue.

"I've been scared. Scared of getting hurt again, scared of what might happen if I let someone in. But... I don't want to be scared anymore."

His eyes softened, and he took a step closer, reaching out to gently untangle her hands, holding them in his. "Emma..."

"I want to give us a chance, Quinn. A real chance. No more hiding, no more pretending it's just physical. I want to see where this can go."

Quinn's face lit up with a smile. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to hear you say that." He squeezed her hands, his thumbs brushing over her knuckles. "I promise you, Emma, I'm all in. Whatever it takes, we'll make this work."

Quinn leaned down to kiss her, a soft, tender kiss that held all the promises of the future they could create together. Emma knew she had made the right choice. She was taking a risk, but it was a risk worth taking.

Later that evening, as the team gathered for dinner, Brock found himself watching Emma and Quinn across the room. They were sitting together, not hiding their connection but not flaunting it either. He could see the way Quinn's hand rested protectively on Emma's knee, the way Emma leaned into him, a soft smile on her face.

He could see how much Quinn cared about his sister, how much Emma softened around him. It was becoming glaringly clear to him that this wasn't just some fling, that they were both very serious about making it work.

Brock let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. He wasn't sure he was ready to fully forgive them, but he knew that he couldn't stand in the way of their happiness. If this is what Emma wanted, if this was what made her happy, then he would find a way to be okay with it.

He caught Quinn's eye from across the room, and for a moment, they just looked at each other. Then, slowly, Brock gave him a slight nod, a silent acknowledgment of the understanding they had reached earlier.

Quinn returned the nod. And as Brock watched Emma laugh at something Quinn said, her face lighting up in a way he hadn't seen in years, he realized that maybe, just maybe, this was exactly what she needed.

[back2bluesidex]

Imposter In The Club [A To Be Popular Drabble]

Pairing: Social Media Influencer! Jungkook X Marketing Manager! Reader ft. Yoongi

Summary: The Club was almost boring, until you came to pay him a visit.

Word count: 1k+

Theme: Strangers to lovers au, fake dating au, kind of enemies to lover au, angst, smut, fluff.

Warnings: sexual tension, alcohol consumption, JK being JK

A/N: This is the club scene written from Jungkook's POV.

Masterlist | Patreon (For access to the complete series)

Taglist requests are open.

Minors, I am not responsible for what you consume online. So, act more rationally and stay away.

Chapter index: -

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 |

Or read the full series right away on Patreon!!

Jungkook’s phone almost slips from his fingers and hits the floor when he feels the red-head girl sliding her hand on the path of his thigh towards his crotch. 

He stops her midway. 

Giving her a polite but bored smile, Jungkook confirms, “Sorry, not in the mood.” 

He has been texting Doona for the past hour. In between the lines of ‘what’s the plan for tonight’ and ‘oh I am at a club’, he has been inviting her to join him. 

If Jeon Jungkook is honest with himself then he must admit that he has been infatuated with Doona for a couple of weeks, after their video’s success, now. 

Why wouldn’t he be, though? 

She is pretty, fun to be with, very hot, has a good humor, in the same profession and oh lord…. So damn good in bed!

She also seemed to be pretty interested in Jungkook. 

So.. if something brews… something like what people are assuming, spreading rumors about, where is the harm? 

If Doona takes the hint and joins him tonight, he will ask her out. 

“Then what about a dance?” the red-head girl whispers seductively in his ear. She smells awfully sweet and Jungkook doesn’t like it. He starts getting dizzy. 

He also doesn’t like how persistent the woman is. But if a dance helps him in getting rid of her then he would do it. 

“Kay. cool.” he whispers back, not caring whether she heard him through the thunder of music or not. 

As soon as he stands on his feet, the girl drags him towards the middle of the dance floor. 

She plants both of his hands on either side of her waist and starts grinding on him. 

Even though Jungkook doesn’t like almost anything about her, the alcohol in his system and the groovy music blasting through the speakers make it tough for him to resist the urge of swaying his hips to the rhythm. 

So he lets go. 

Starts responding to the girl's advances and forgets everything for a moment. 

However, soon enough, he feels the presence of another body behind him. Maybe it’s another of his admirers? 

Whoever they might be, they slam themselves on his back. 

And oh… are those boobs? 

Okay then it’s a girl. 

He reaches for the stranger and holds her by her side. Just when he is about to grind on her, she removes his hand and says something in his ear. 

“Jeon Jungkook, can I please talk to you for a moment?” 

Now who is this? Jungkook questions himself as he takes his sweet time to move on his feet and face the imposter. 

It’s someone who seems to be vaguely familiar but he can’t quite recall where he has seen her. 

Nevertheless, he would admit that she’s very attractive. Big eyes, full lips and cheeks and that peeking cleavage? Umm… nice. 

“What?” he screams over the music. 

“Not here. Can we go somewhere quiet?” the woman says and now he is amused. 

It hasn’t even been a minute since the meeting and she’s already seeking a quiet corner? 

“Oh? Already?” he muses but then as he takes you more under the gleaming light, realization hits him hard, “Wait- have I seen you before?” 

You visibly tense under his scrutiny, “no. I mean yeah. Actually-”

“You- that obnoxious employee from Techtonic? Right?” he, now, recognizes you fully. 

“Obnoxious? I am obnoxious? Then what are y-” you flare in anger but then seem to control yourself, “Yes. I am Y/N. You are right. I am from Techtonic. Can I please have a word with you?” 

“No? Why would I spare my precious time on you? So that you can insult me again?” he frowns at your figure. His mood is now completely ruined and he needs to go home. 

You grab onto his hand, “Please. I am here to apologize. I promise.” 

Okay. if you are going to apologize for your shitty behavior then he might actually hear what you have to say. 

So, he looks back, eyes the spot you are touching him and then looks at you, “if I give you a chance… What will you give me in return?” He challenges. 

Jungkook wouldn’t lie. 

You are the perfect excuse to brush off that red-head girl who has been clinging on to him since the moment he entered the club. 

On the top of that - you are amusing. 

You accepted his challenge and told him that you would give him anything he would ask for if you can afford that. 

And Jungkook plans for revenge. 

Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth and insult for an insult. 

“You really came here only to convince me? You had no other intention, huh?” he tries to rile you up. 

But you are one head-strong stubborn woman, “No. What intention would I even have? I fucked things up at the meeting so my superiors are making me clean the mess.”

“Oh? Really? But I think there is something else to it.” Jungkook doesn’t resist the urge of coming closer to your body. 

You smell nice. You smell clean and faintly of coffee. He likes it. 

When his chest touches yours, he loses his sanity only a little. 

Dipping his eyes down on your chest again, he voices, “you want what you watched in that video, don’t you?”

Are you going to say yes? 

If you do.. Then would he take you home? 

He doesn’t think he would think twice. 

“what the fuck? What makes you think I want you?” you scream like the stubborn brat that you are. 

Only if he gets to have you, he would spank the brat out of your system. 

Jungkook invades whatever was left off of your personal space and whispers right into your ear, “If you accept it nicely, tell me the truth whether you got turned on or not, I will give your company a chance.”  

You visibly gulp at his offer. Something changes in your eyes as you reply, “And what if I tell you the truth?”

So… There is a truth to be told. 

He was only taking chances but seems like he hit the jackpot.

“I will schedule another meeting with your company. But I will be declining you all again.” he pushes your button. 

You push him away harshly. So you are not that easy to play with? 

With a flush of anger you question, “so you are just going to use my confession and insult me in my workplace?” 

“Oooohhhh… You are not dumb, I see?” Jungkook is even more amused now. 

“Wh-what? Dumb? You thought I am dumb? Mind you, Jeon Jungkook, I get paid for doing actual work and not because I keep hollering at a dumb computer screen in front of camera.” There you go, again with that attitude.

“And yet you came here to beg me?” he shrugs smugly, pushing you towards the edge even more. 

“You know what? Fuck you and your stupid followers who feed your stupid ego!” you throw your last sentence at him before storming away. 

God! Jungkook can’t remember the last time he had this much fun interacting with a human being. 

He laughs, looking at your amused figure. 

It would be great if he could keep seeing you and pushing your buttons in the worst possible way. 

Well… 

Seems like the Universe granted his wishes in a very twisted turn of events.

read the full series right away on Patreon!! (Start from part 4)

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[taffywabbit]

idk if i'm way off the mark on this, but the way some people are responding to that Guillermo del Toro interview about the decline of studio animation is a bit frustrating to me. specifically the bit where he talks about "emoji animation" and how everything is over-animated and pushed too far and things are rarely allowed to not be ultra-cartoony (y'know, because animation always needs to be marketable to children who are never trusted to have attention spans, right?). like, i think he's generally correct about it! but some folks are taking the wrong message away from that.

i've seen people going off about how "soulless" and "corporate" various recent examples are, and talking about these pieces of media as though they're the result of some kind of personal failing or lack of skill/range on the part of the animators, and it's just like. do people realize that's the only animation you're usually allowed to DO in the industry, unless you get incredibly lucky and land yourself on a project/studio that's unusually cool?

when i was in college for animation it was literally drilled into us nonstop that everything had to be pushed more, that exaggeration was not a guideline or a sometimes-treat but a hard rule that always had to be applied regardless of what was going on, because the viewer couldn't be trusted to pick up on subtlety and we sure as hell couldn't be trusted to convey it. you ever wonder why there's such a specific vibe to a lot of self-directed student films, particularly ones that are focused on character acting/interaction or deep emotions and introspection (especially when there's minimal/no dialogue)? it's because for a lot of young animators, they haven't had the freedom to experiment with realism and subtlety up to that point and they're likely not going to have it again for a while (or at all, unless their career path leads to higher positions where they might have more creative direction over the things they work on. which also becomes a lot less likely if they're anything other than a cishet white dude, for what it's worth).

i would LOVE to see more nuanced, realistic, understated motion and acting in animation. i WANT more characters to be able to express what they're feeling through natural body language and facial cues and for scenes to allow me to breathe instead of spelling everything out in giant bold flashing text all the time. what del Toro wants to see changed in the animation industry sounds great, and i hope others join him in seeking to revamp what modern animation is allowed to be.

but as things currently stand, and as they've stood for a long while now, most artists doing the grunt work on the shows and movies you see are completely at the mercy of corporations and networks who have a vested interest in producing a very specific kind of marketable and cost-efficient media all the time. (and by extension that style is ALSO what's taught in most animation schools, because their job more than anything is to grind you down into a perfect little sweatshop worker who will bend over backwards to meet quotas and get your work approved and not question the higher-ups, even if you have little to no personal investment in the projects you're working on, so that the studios who employ you can maintain their good reputations or whatever)

anyways idk what my point was here, this really just sorta became a rant and my views have undoubtedly been coloured by my own personal experiences (this kinda shit is largely why i dropped out before my last year of animation school, for the record).

i guess just be kind to folks in the animation industry? they've had it fucking rough nonstop for well over a century (the majority of them are still not unionized and there's HUGE pushback against doing so in many places). i assure you they are doing their best to infuse the latest uninspired illumination flick or weird spinoff kids' show with literally any amount of soul they can. you don't have to like the stuff that gets produced by any means! be a hater! i'm certainly not gonna stop you. just remember where these creative decisions come from and why these conditions exist, and consider that when YOU watched something and thought "hmm that could've been done better", you can bet your ass someone actually working on it probably thought the same thing but couldn't do anything about it. these things WILL change as the industry itself improves, but in the meantime folks have to pay their rent, and that usually means doing what they're told and working in a way that will minimize revisions and meet quotas so they can keep their jobs. it sucks, but it is what it is.

[dailyfigures]

Unpopular opinion: I hate hate HATE loli figures. idc if people collect them because they’re ‘cute’ it’s still weird asf imo, there are so many other and much cuter figures. It disgusts me how popular and normalized they are among the anime community.

strongly agree | agree | neutral | disagree | strongly disagree

oh god anon allow me to specifically rant about one of my worst pet peeves. i used to see this mostly on tiktok when i still had the app, but i've seen it happen on most social media.

it really grinds my gears when people own a suggestive/nsfw figure of a minor, and then accuse anyone who dares to say something about it of sexualising children. if you want to own figures of a child/teenager in lingerie, i'm really not a fan of that but at least own up to it. don't act like everyone else is weird when you own a figure made with a certain intention and refuse to admit it.

maybe it helps to give an example; i saw someone on tiktok own a figure of ram from re:zero in lingerie, on hands and knees with an arched back. i think ram is 17 and later in the series an adult, arguebly not the worst figure ever but i can imagine people finding it a little weird. op started accusing everyone who made a comment about the figure by pulling an uno reverse and going "wow....how deeply SICK of YOU to see a child and make it sexual....i would NEVER see her like that.....". ok good for you but i can assure you that was the intention the figure was made with, the target audience is adult men and it's strange to deny this. they even claimed that it was fine because "everyone who collects ram is sapphic anyway" i can assure you that is not true 😭😭 this is very much a case of being in your little online gay bubble and thinking the whole world is the same as you. the target audience of all (female) suggestive/nsfw figures is simply straight men. i'm not saying it's the only people who can own them, but it is who the companies have in mind when producing the figures and it is the largest part of the market. it reminds me a bit of when kpop stans think only gay 17 year olds stan their favourite girl group and then you watch a perfomance where the crowd cheering isn't filtered out and it's all 40 year old men. i'm not stoked about it either, but it is simply the truth.

ofcourse i've seen people reaching, it does happen on tiktok that people get overly sensitive/woke/whatever and blindly hate anyone who collects normal nsfw figures or anyone else who didn't do anything wrong. not every tiktok comment section is filled with the brightest minds of our generation (shocker, i know). i do however think it's a common thing, even with real life children, where people try to question something inappropriate and somehow get the blame. i saw this happen when mothers thought it was strange that target sells swimsuits for babies/toddlers with hip cut outs, and then people accusing said moms of being the weird ones for "thinking a children's swim suit is sexual". guys am i losing my mind. am i going crazy. the concerned mothers are not the problem here for pointing out a weird thing. why in god's name were the swim suits designed like that. can we get an ounce of critical thinking in the chat.

AND ANOTHER THING! sorry guys this is like 5 years of built up irritation you have to let me go for a moment. anyway LOOK at this same shit i saw yesterday. i will not share the video but it was a video of very young middle school girls wearing heavy (gyaru?) makeup, fashion, wigs and nails which was honestly already a bit baffling because it was so much on such young kids. they were all wearing that fashion trend where you wear low rise pants/skirt and then pull up your thong strings to the high heavens so they're on your hips and sticking out off your pants/skirt. not a trend i usually mind but these were very young girls and the whole look, the visible underwear especially, was very inappropriate for their age so people in the comments were uncomfortable. i took one single peak at the comments and had to leave for my own sanity. you guys cannot be serious.

and let me get this very clear: i have also seen people sexualise children doing normal things many times. both extremes are a problem. i think it's fucking weird to sexualise a child giving their parents a kiss or telling a child they shouldn't wear their bathing suit around their male family members, etc. however it is ALSO fucking weird for children to do/wear things that were specifically made for adults doing adult things (like wearing visible lacy thongs when you're in middle school) and no adult stepping in for the child's own safety. both things are weird and i hope everyone dies. anyway what were you saying anon? ah right, no i don't like loli figures either. not a fan.

send me your unpopular figure opinions

[fxrmuladaydreams]

drunken bets (cs55)

carlos x mclaren social media!reader

summary: carlos makes a bet with a few other drivers, claiming that he can get you, a new (introverted) mclaren employee, to fall for him

notes: what can i say? i love writing driver x mclaren worker apparently 😂 i think it’s because she can be bffs with lando and oscar and that makes me soft. someone had to be the villian/bad influence so i’m sorry drunk pierre/lance. i hope you guys like the “she fell first, he fell harder” trope

next part

The music in the club blasts through the speakers. Drinks are thrown back as warm bodies dance, or more so grind, against each other to the beat.

Carlos feels the buzz from the alcohol coursing through him. He takes drink after drink. He deserves to relax after this race weekend, hangover be damned. He’s approached countless times by girls looking to spend some time with him, all to which he brushes off, choosing to go home alone at the end of the night.

“C’mon man, what’s up?” Lance asks as Carlos sends another breathtaking girl away. “You’re just not in the mood?”

“I don’t think he can do it. I think he needs his “smooth operator” title revoked.” Pierre drunkenly laughs.

Carlos scoffs, pushing Pierre away by his shoulder. “I could get any girl I wanted. Try me.”

Pierre grins and nods. “Alright,” he looks around the club and nods to a blonde at the bar. “How about her?”

Lance shakes his head. “No, that’s too easy. She’s been staring at him all night.”

Pierre points out a few more girls, all of whom have already expressed some kind of interest in the Spanish driver, until an idea pops into his head.

“What about that new McLaren girl?”

Carlos knew who he was talking about almost instantly. You were a newer part of McLaren’s marketing team. While most others from the team could be found creating content with the boys, you tended to keep yourself behind a computer. Lando said you were hired to do things like edit videos or photos, more behind the scenes stuff.

Others had taken an interest in you when you had shown up. A few engineers or pit crew from other teams attempted to get closer with you, all while you turned them down with a quick no. Hell, even Pierre tried to shoot his shot, but you very quickly shut him down.

You tended to stick closer to Lando and Oscar, both boys somehow able to get you to open up to them.

“You mean Y/n? She won’t date anyone.” Lance shrugs.

“Yeah, so I don’t think Mr. Smooth Operator could get her to date him.” Pierre smirks.

“I could.” Carlos is quick to defend. “Easy.”

“Alright then, let’s make this interesting. You get Y/n to have actual romantic feelings for you, and I’ll give you one hundred euros.”

Carlos reaches his hand out for Pierre to shake. “Deal.”

Carlos wakes up with a pounding headache the next morning, the sun streaming in way too bright through his hotel window. He drags himself out of bed and into the shower, attempting to feel a little more like a human before he actually has to go outside and face the world.

He eats a simple breakfast, something that doesn’t make him feel like he’s about to puke his guts all over his plate. Then he finally starts to pack his suitcase for his trip back home.

He checks his phone before pushing it into his pocket. He sees a few message notifications from Pierre and Lance.

From Lance

Insane night last night. I never want to drink again.

From Pierre

I honestly don’t remember much from last night, but I do remember a bet, and I can’t wait to be 100 euros richer

Carlos groans as he remembers the bet he made the previous night. There’s no way they’re going to let this go, they’ll make sure it hangs over his head until the end of time.

A selfish part of him wants to go on with the bet, to prove that even though he’s had some time being single for a while, he’s still a hot ticket item in the dating world. It wouldn’t hurt his image either, he thinks. If he’s seen pursuing and dating someone who isn’t a model it could make him look like he’s matured, like he’s ready to settle down instead of spending his nights in different beds wherever they travel.

From Carlos

I think you mean 100 euros poorer

The next race weekend he makes it a point to hang around the McLaren garage. No one’s surprised to see him there, given his close friendship with Lando, so the striking Ferrari red practically goes unnoticed in the sea of papaya.

He keeps an eye out for you as he sits with Lando, excusing himself when he spots you making your way towards them. You’ve got a set of headphones on over your ears, clearly enthralled by whatever you’ve got playing on the tablet you’re holding.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts walking in your direction, scrolling through whatever social media app he happened to quickly open. He walks until his shoulder bumps into yours, a little too rough, nearly knocking the tablet out of your hands.

Carlos wraps an arm around your waist, keeping you upright, and manages to catch the tablet with his other hand.

“Are you alright?” He asks, flashing you a smile.

You nod and take a step back from him. “I’m okay, are you?”

He swipes a hand through his hair, then holds your tablet out for you to take. “I’m good. It’s Y/n, right?”

“Yeah, I’m at McLaren.” You tilt your head towards the McLaren garage.

“Yeah, I can see that.” He laughs, glancing down at your papaya team kit.

“Right, sorry.” You laugh. “I should probably go, filming and editing to do and what not.”

Carlos gives you a smile and a nod followed by a quick goodbye. He brushes his arm against yours as he walks away. He has to keep himself from looking back at you to see your reaction, but gets a text from Lando later in the day that gives him the satisfaction he was looking for.

From Lando

What did you do to my editor?

The next time Carlos sees you, he recreates your first meeting, bumping into you just so he can wrap his arms around you again.

“We have to stop meeting like this.” He laughs, holding you.

You laugh with him and shake your head. Your hands rest against his chest from attempting to catch yourself. “We really do.”

He smiles as he lets go of you, but keeps himself planted where he’s standing, giving you his undivided attention.

“I saw the recent McLaren video, it was really good. It kind of makes me wish you worked here when I was with McLaren.” He says tilting his head up teasingly.

“It’s mostly my coworkers, I pretty much just make it look good after it’s filmed.” You tell him, you duck your head down to avoid his gaze.

“Still.” He shrugs.

He’s pulled away by Charles after that, who gives you a quick hello before dragging Carlos back to Ferrari’s garage.

You see Carlos a lot more now around McLaren. You chalk it up to his friendship with Lando, but you begin to notice his seeking you out. He shares meals with you now, even if he ends up sitting with you while you’re focus is locked on your laptop.

Carlos is surprised to find that he’s started to genuinely enjoy your company, that he actually looks forward to seeing you every race weekend. He shakes away the feeling that blossoms in his chest whenever he sees you, afraid of becoming too attached.

That all flies out the window when he’s headed back to his hotel one day though. Dark clouds covered the sky, turning it almost black as rain poured down. You could hear thunder rumbling in the distance, likely headed towards the track.

Carlos sees you standing under the awning of McLaren hospitality, looking up at the sky. You’ve got your phone in your hand and a disgruntled look on your face.

He lifts his bright red umbrella up over his head and dashes over to the McLaren building. He puts his umbrella back down once he’s standing next to you, shaking the drops of water off.

“Did you forget an umbrella?” He asks.

You turn away from your phone to look up at him. He’s got a teasing smile on his face. The humidity in the air has made his hair impossibly fluffier, but somehow still picture perfect. He’s bundled up in a Ferrari windbreaker, his backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Yeah. And I walked here from the hotel today, so I can either try to get a taxi or I can wait until the weather clears up.” Just as you finish explaining your problem thunder booms above you.

Carlos shakes his head. “Yeah, no. I’m not letting you walk out in this.” He gestures to the sky.

“Well the other option is find a taxi.”

“I’ll drive you.” He says it as if it’s an obvious solution. Before you can respond he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him so that you’re both under his umbrella, then starts walking towards the parking lot.

You try to keep up with his pace, occasionally bumping into him, but he makes sure to hold the umbrella over the both of you. He leads you to his car, and holds the umbrella over you as you climb into the passenger side.

You notice how water clings to his hair, drops falling down his coat on his right side, evidence of him prioritizing keeping you dry over himself.

“Carlos, you could get sick, and it’d be my fault.” You scold him.

He shrugs and gives you a smile. “Then you’ll just have to nurse me back to health.”

He parks at the entrance to the hotel McLaren had booked, and walks you into the building. When you expect him to leave, he places a hand on your lower back guiding you to the elevator. He walks you all the way to your door, and leaves you with a “goodnight” and a soft squeeze of your hand.

You get a text from him later that night.

From Carlos

Lando gave me your number. What time should I pick you up tomorrow?

From Y/n

You don’t have to, that’s okay

From Carlos

That’s not an answer cariño

You feel yourself start to smile at the message on your screen and text him what time you usually leave.

He picks you up the next morning, driving you to the track with him. You make conversation about little things like how you slept and what you had for breakfast. He’s quick to run over to your side of the car to open the door for you, and keeps himself close to you as you enter the paddock.

He meets you at the end of the day as well to drive you back to the hotel. He keeps up this new routine each race weekend following. He enjoys your company, and you seem to enjoy his. After a few weekends you could say you have a new chauffeur in the form of a Ferrari driver.

With this new closeness to Carlos comes a wave of media attention you should have expected. Photos are posted over social media of the two of you walking together, you looking up at Carlos with bright eyes, or him looking down at you with his doe eyes.

It’s easy to tell that all of the new attention makes you uncomfortable, but you don’t want to lose your friendship with Carlos so you stick it out. You’re grateful when you see a clip of an interview with Carlos where he’s asked about you, and he sets the record straight.

“There’s nothing going on, we just like to hang out together. We’re just friends.” He smiles.

Although you’re glad he’s put an end to the speculation, you can’t help but feel like your recent hangouts have been only barely platonic. After the nights you’ve claimed are “movie nights” that have turned into falling asleep in each other’s arms, it’s hard to put a platonic label on your relationship.

The first time it happens, it’s you who wakes up first. His chest is warm beneath your head, and his arms lock you against his body. You tilt your head up to look at him. His hair is unkempt, yet still looks effortlessly good. You reach up and brush a few strands away from his face. You watch him for a few minutes, wondering how you were so lucky to be spending your time with someone so beautiful. You rest your head back on his chest and let sleep wash over you again, listening to the soft beats of his heart.

Carlos wakes up not long after you’ve gone back to sleep, lifting an arm to run a hand through his hair. He can feel the little puffs of air from your breathing against his chest, his heart melts when you subconsciously nuzzle your face deeper into him to get more comfortable. You look so sweet, so soft, and a part of him hates himself for it. He let himself accept that stupid bet, and he let himself fall for you. He wishes he’d never let his friends talk him into making that bet, but he also decides he’d never trade the time he’s spent with you for anything.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts when you slowly lift yourself up off of him. He misses your warmth as soon as he can’t feel it anymore.

The two of you continue spending your evenings together, wanting nothing more than to keep falling asleep wrapped up in one another.

He finds himself searching for you in the crowd at parties and events, even those he knows you won’t be at, just so he can spend more time with you. He texts you everyday you’re apart to make sure that you’ve eaten and gotten enough sleep.

Carlos can’t bear the thought of being away from you for more than a week between races. He casually mentions that he’s going back to Spain for the small break, and asks if you want to join him.

You laugh and scoff shaking your head. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious, it could be fun. You could relax a little bit. I could take you on my boat. C’mon.” He persuades you.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude on your time off.”

“You’re not. I want you there, I promise. Please?” He takes your hands in his, swinging them back and forth. He gives you his best puppy dog eyes and bats his eyelashes at you.

“Alright, I’ll go with you.” You sigh, but can’t stop the smile from spreading over your face.

It’s different, sharing a space with Carlos outside of the four-walled hotel rooms you’ve stayed in for work. It feels intimate being with him in his home country. He books a private villa to stay in on the beach.

The trip quickly feels more romantic than friendly, what with him cooking your dinner for you, and your evenings in either the hot tub or curled up together on the couch.

You spend your days with Carlos on his boat. You reading a book you brought with you, and Carlos laying out in the sun to tan.

It’s hard not to stare at him, his tanned toned chest on display, while his swim trunks hang low on his hips. He has just as much trouble keeping his eyes away from you as well, he can’t help but watch you as you scamper around the boat in a different little bikini everyday.

Occasionally he convinces you to hop in the water with him, to which you reluctantly agree. You keep your arms locked around him when you feel something brush against your leg in the water. Carlos keeps a firm hold on your waist as he can’t stop laughing at your distress.

Eventually you get back on his boat and sit side by side on the edge, with your feet dangling in the water. You stare down at the crystal blue sea, looking for any creatures swimming around.

Carlos looks back out to the shore. The smile that’s been plastered on his face for the last few days falls when he sees a figure on the beach. They’re far enough away that he can’t really tell who it is, but close enough that he can see the camera in their hands.

He leans back and grabs a towel, laying it over your shoulders, covering up the skin you had on display. He wraps a protective arm around you and pulls you closer to his chest, in hopes that the photos he knows will be everywhere in a few days won’t be clear enough to reveal you in them.

That night he decides to cook on the boat, which turns out to be a little more chaotic than he’d originally planned. He struggles to keep everything straight, but finds it all worth it in the end when he gets to see you surrounded by the sunset. You look breathtaking, looking out into the sea. The soft breezes wisps your hair away from your face. The sinking sun casts a gold light to wash over you.

He wants to tell you how he feels, but he knows he needs to come clean. Maybe you’ll forgive him, he hopes you will. He needs to put this in the past so that he can love you publicly and wholeheartedly.

You quietly share your meal, then break the silence simultaneously.

“I have something I need to tell you.”

“Carlos-”

“You first.” He nods.

You take a deep breath. “Carlos, I want to thank you for bringing me here, and really for spending all this time with me. I’m glad you bumped into me at the paddock because I’ve gained a new friend from it. You’re one of the best men I know, and I really appreciate you taking care of me.”

“Thank you.” He feels his chest tighten at your words.

“The truth is, I’ve come to care about you a lot more than I thought I would. A few of the other drivers tried to ask me out when I was first hired, but I told them no. I was happy when you didn’t try to make a move on me, and instead wanted to pursue a friendship with me.” You look down at your hands, and fiddle with your fingers. “But if you did try to make a move on me now… I don’t think I’d mind it…” Your last sentence comes out quieter than the others.

“Really?” Carlos asks, a soft smile growing on his face.

You clear your throat. “What were you going to say?”

He can’t tell you now. He can’t poison this perfect moment, after you’ve confessed your feelings to him.

“I was going to say that I feel the same way.”

[hannieween]

pillow talk | city lights series | h.js

Deep down, you knew you were growing an attachment to... whatever this was. Joshua was not intoxicating, you were wrong about that, he was addictive.

✮ pairings: joshua hong x female reader ✮ genre: angst, smut (18+) ✮ aus: rock singer joshua, neighbours with benefits ✮ word count: 11.7k

→ part i – part ii – other fics

₊🎧: closer to you - jung kook ♡︎ | bad sad and mad - bibi | not sorry - i.m ♡︎

₊ nsfw warnings under the cut

✮ warnings: smut with plot, low-key instant love, slight corruption kink, foul language, dirty talk, dom Joshua, sub reader, big dick Joshua, a bit of praise/degradation kink, oral sex (f), a bit of grinding, pussy stretching, brat taming: spanking and bondage (f. receiver), protected sex, doggy, dumbification, multiple orgasms (f, m) pet names: bunny, baby, pretty, sweetheart, princess (hers)

part iii

It was about one in the morning when your brain decided it had its fill from your bed and it was time to get to work. You let out a frustrated groan and threw your bedcovers away, stretching your arms as you made your way to the bathroom to wash your face.

The last two weeks have been a nightmare, in both the literal and figurative way. Not sleeping for a few nights straight does more damage to your body each time you go on a streak like this. It affects appetite, causes mood swings and those two symptoms together make your life living a nightmare.

But in fact you were in the final stages of finishing your manuscript. So not sleeping meant you had more time to work on it and, perfectionist that you are, you devoted every waking hour to finishing it.

That is to say, you haven't seen Joshua for the past fourteen days. 

The last time you had seen him, you realized the feelings that were beginning to grow in you were not just lust and desire. You felt a certain kind of affection, endearment to him that was dangerous given the nature of your relationship with him.

So, you did what you knew best: bury yourself in writing and reading. And to really sink yourself in work, you'd either go to a library or a café to write.

Sometimes you gave yourself breaks, you went to the gym, to the market, went out with Yena, it was all good. It kept your mind off the thought of your neighbor turned fuckbuddy turned crush.

Is he a crush? Who knows. The waters are muddy after sleeping with him. Was he still a crush if you felt something unspeakable for him?

Who knows.

Though you haven't had any interactions with him, your brain couldn't stop reminding you of him. Even your social media appeared to be knowing that you had something to do with his band, since your feed was plagued with Midnight Haze photos.

One day you decided to venture a little into his personal page. His page was kept up to date with posts that were mostly of him on stage. The shots ranged from him playing guitar, his eyes set on the chords, brow furrowed in concentration, tongue in between his lips.

The most recent photos were of him in a professional recording studio. Apparently Midnight Haze was recording something. So at least, he was busy as well.

It didn't come as a surprise to you when you had dreams of him—or nightmares, you called them.

Brutal, cruel nightmares of him in which he'd be with you: he'd called you his, whispered sweet nothings in your ear. More painful to you was knowing that he was off limits.

Because he told you that himself, after your inquisitive mouth pried on his thoughts on relationships. He's been single for years and he's not actively looking for someone.

It seemed easier to you to best leave it alone. And most painful for you to know that he wasn't looking for you either.

Or so you thought.

It was Friday night. The city was not particularly busy at one in the morning but the few cars on transit had music playing loud on speakers as they passed by.

You made it to the rooftop of your building, feeling so drowsy and frustrated from the lack of sleep that you rested your head on the top of the ledge, using your forearms as a pillow.

The restlessness caused by the inability to sleep made your chest and head tired.

You've tried many things to combat insomnia. Ranging from getting sleeping pills or gummies (which worked, but didn't like the co-dependence they created), calming teas (didn't work), exercise (at what cost, really), special gummies (fun but don't really work after a while), etcetera.

So, like the dramatic you were, you decided to suffer through it.

The rattling noise caused by the exit door of the rooftops startled you, making you snap your head back to see Joshua stepping out into the chill air of the night. 

You wanted to say that Joshua was a sight for sore eyes. Yes. But deep down, you only knew that seeing him, being around him would only end up bad for you.

"Hi, Joshua," you mumbled nonetheless when he crossed the space between you and him.

Dressed all in black, hoodie, sweatpants, sneakers, he looked irresistible. And on top of that he looked disappointed too, or upset.

A question rose in the back of your mind: did he hear you use the fire exit to come to the rooftop and that's how he found you were here?

You had to tilt your head back to look up at him. His tired eyes studied your face, almost as if he had forgotten the features from it. Even in the cold air, you felt blood creep on your cheeks, so hot you thought it'd cause frostbite.

"You've been avoiding me."

Oh, he was upset.

"I haven't," you lied and you even put up the act of it and shook your head innocently.

"Why?" he asked, ignoring your obvious lie.

"I'm not avoiding you, Joshua. I've been busy, that's all," you replied.

That last part was true. But you made sure that you stayed busy to have little time for him.

"Did I do something wrong? The other night. I understand if you don't want to see me but I just want to know," he asked slowly, his curious eyes gathering every single movement and expression you made.

Your whole body shook with the memory of the last night you saw him—of him taking care of you after fucking you hard, making you feel things like no one ever had made you feel.

"Everything's fine, Joshua. You did no-nothing wrong," you stammered nervously.

He didn't look satisfied with your answer. Probably because it was pretty evident that you were holding back the truth.

It was crazy how well he read you, he didn't even know you for long.

"I uh-'m about to finish the manuscript," you blurted, not knowing if starting small talk was the smartest thing, but in your anxiousness from seeing him again, that's the first thing you went for.

Joshua blinked. "That means you won't need me anymore," he said in a hollow tone as a corner of his lips rose slightly in a faint but bitter smile.

"That was the deal," you frowned, bewildered at his reaction. "I'm submitting the final version on monday."

He nodded silently, pushing his black bangs from his forehead with one hand.

Something inside you fluttered again. God, he's so beautiful. His plump lips and big dark eyes, his large pretty hands, his soft voice. Intoxicating.

"So I have three nights left," he frowned slightly.

You nodded, the fluttering inside you intensified, stealing your breath away.

"If you'd still have me, obviously," his pierced eyebrow arched. "Unless that's why you're avoiding me."

He couldn't be farther from the truth.

A frustrated sigh broke in your chest. "Shut up, Joshua," you whispered into his lips, using a hand on his nape to pull him to you, which he kissed back instantly, and almost fervently.

Joshua's chest vibrated with a groan when your other hand crept up to reach the crook of his neck. Kissing him again this deeply and passionately almost broke you, it did something to your brain, like taking a breath for the first time in days.

"You drive me crazy," he groaned, pressing your body with his own against the hard wall of the ledge.

You gasped and looked at his eyes before his mouth was on yours again. Your hands grabbed his face as his mouth kissed you heatedly, almost angrily.

"Do you remember your safeword?" he breathed against you, pushing his forehead to your own.

The safeword immediately was uttered by you, no second thought paid to what this would cost you, what this would mean to you.

"That's my girl," he whispered as his fingers gingerly grabbed your cheek, to kiss your lips softly over and over again.

It killed you how much some simple words would have your knees wobbling. You weren't his girl. But god, you ached for it to be true.

"Joshua," you whispered back in between kisses.

"Mm?" he hummed, moving his lips to your jaw and below your ear.

"Please, just..." you moaned when you felt his lips reach the crook of your neck, where he breathed softly as he placed open mouthed kisses on your skin.

"What is it, princess?" he asked, still torturing you with tender kisses on your neck, your body pressed against the wall of the ledge on the rooftop.

"Let's go to mine," you managed to get out, your fingers reaching the side of his head, feeling his soft dark hair.

"What if I want you right here?" he groaned gruffly, his mouth coming back to yours to kiss you, muffling a weak moan from you. "Would you like that, sweetheart?"

A rush of adrenaline at the thought of Joshua fucking you against the wall burned in your bones. "Yes, oh god, yes," you whimpered pathetically.

He hummed in approval, his hands grabbing your waist to give you a gentle squeeze. "You'd let me fuck you anywhere?" he nudged his nose with yours.

You nodded slightly, the tip of your nose brushing his. "I would. Anywhere, Shua."

"Even if someone sees?" he asked, darting a look down to your lips then your eyes.

You considered it for a second. "Yeah, I think so," you nodded. 

His dark eyes glinted in fascination, a mischievous smile showing his teeth. "Lean against the wall, bunny. I wanna lift you up."

You did as he told, leaning your shoulder blades against the brick wall of the ledge the same time he hoisted your legs around his hips, pressing your body between his own and the wall.

"Why are you in your pjs?" he asked with a small smile when he appeared to be seeing you clearly once you were in his arms.

"I can't sleep," you explained, trying to kiss him again but he pulled his head back a bit, stopping you.

"Why?" he frowned.

Because of you.

"I just can't sleep," you insisted flatly. "You know this."

"I know but–," he pointed with his nose at your bunny pyjamas. "You're shivering."

"It's cold," you replied with a meek smile.

He rolled his eyes with a sweet smile. "Right. Seems like we're taking this to your place, then."

"Nooo," you cried out, cupping the side of his head to try and kiss him again, you grazed his lips as you added: "I wan' you here. Right now."

A low moan coiled in his throat when your tongue swiped past his lower lip and brushed against his. "Brat," he whispered, adjusting your body in his arms to pull away from the wall, carrying you altogether and toward the door that led back inside the building.

You instinctively wrapped your legs and arms around him to hold onto his strong body until he put you back to the floor to lead you down the stairs.

"Is your lock still the same?" he asked when you got to your door.

You nodded, your body had stopped shivering now that you were in the hallway of the heated building.

He entered the number combination of your door to open it for you and you were quick to hold onto his hand to take him directly to your bedroom, earning a soft chuckle from him.

Something broke inside you, something desperate, eager and hungry. You were growing addicted to him and been deprived from his touch for two weeks.

You turned to him and grabbed his head as he dipped for a reciprocated needy kiss. Your hands slid down to his chest to push him against your bed, he stumbled backwards.

Though his body barely touched the foot of the bed, he understood what you wanted. 

"Impatient little thing," he sighed, revealing an amused smile.

"I missed you," you admitted despite yourself pushing him again so that he climbed to the bed backwards before kicking his shoes. You followed his movements, climbing the bed after him.

Impatience is a funny thing, it manifests in you in the most unexpected ways. It made you confident enough to get him under your body, his hands reaching out to knead your thighs through your bunny pyjamas as you straddled him, feeling his already hardened length as you pressed against him.

You repeated the movement, anchoring your hands on his hard chest to press on him again and again, thus grinding on him, making yourself moan and salivate upon feeling how big he felt, how hard for you he was already. 

"Fuck," he whispered softly, grabbing your hips to follow your movements, his face contorted slightly. 

"Did you miss me?" you asked meekly, your heart thumping violently against your chest.

"Is that what you wanted?" he retorted bitterly.

Then his hands tightened on your hips, and deciding it wasn't enough, he slipped them under your pyjama bottoms and undies to grab and knead your ass along with a groan.

"That's not an answer, Joshua," you pointed matter-of-factly.

A low chuckle escaped his mouth. "You're bossy tonight, princess," he muttered.

You pressed your hips down a bit harder and more demanding against his hard cock. You knew you wouldn't last long like this, since you were already feeling breathless and tired.

Joshua's eyes were trained on you, shining with a glint of fascination. His hands grabbed your ass firmly, following the movements of your hips against his cock. He even blinked slowly, as if not wanting to miss a fraction of a second of this.

His hands moved up from your ass, following the line of your back, gathering your top along to remove it completely with a bit of your help.

Joshua knew you were growing tired, he could see it as his awe-struck eyes were looking at you fixedly. "You're good at riding, baby," he mumbled with a small smile. "But you're a bit tired, aren't you?"

You nodded embarrassedly.

His knuckles grazed your nipples and started teasing them with his fingers, pinching at them softly, making you moan and buckle your hips against him.

"I need you, Joshua," you admitted and half pleaded.

Joshua chuckled softly, an amused look on his face. He kept watching you lose control on top of him, grinding on top of him desperately, your panties were so wet already that the fabric was sticking to your throbbing core.

You were beginning to feel desperate for release just from rubbing your fully clothed cunt against his hard (and also clothed) cock, moaning as his fingers teased your nipples.

"Please, please, Shua. I need you so bad," you whimpered as you swayed your hips desperately on him, beginning to feel that if you continued you would cum without him even touching you properly.

"What do you need from me, baby? You seem to be getting off like this," he muttered with his honeyed voice, looking at you with smiling eyes.

"Shua, please, I need you to—god-" you were cut short when Joshua lifted his hips from the bed slightly, pressing his hard cock against your core.

Your hands slid up his chest and held onto his shoulders to angle your clit on top of his hard cock, rubbing it desperately through your clothes and his.

"Take control, Joshua," you swallowed hard, panting from the exercise. "I need you to take control."

With all of the ease in the world, his hands grabbed you before he pushed your body on the bed and swiftly moved his body on top of yours.

"See that wasn't so hard," he muttered with a grin.

"You're enjoying this," you pointed, narrowing your eyes.

"It was fun watching you almost come with half your clothes on," his pierced brow arched slightly.

You blushed and tried to roll your eyes, feeling certain that although he said he was having fun, he was aching to take control as much as you were.

"You're being mean," you pouted, pretending to be offended.

A large hand cupped the side of your head, pushing away your hair with his fingers.

"That's what you get for shutting me out, sweetheart," he grunted before clashing his hot mouth on yours.

The kiss was greedy and dominating, almost as if he wanted to kiss your very soul. Joshua had never kissed you like that before, and you thought that maybe in past kisses he might have been holding back.

You moaned in his mouth, your hand sliding on his nape as the other held onto his shoulder.

"I looked for you, I knocked on your door but you never answered," he muttered in a dangerously low tone, sending chills down your spine.

He moved back and yanked your pyjama bottoms down, bringing your ruined panties along, leaving you wholly naked on the sheets of your messy bed.

"'m sorry," you muttered, looking down at your bare body left at the mercy of his scrutiny.

"Mmm, yeah. I've heard you say that before," he smiled playfully, making your insides jolt again.

He slowly placed his two hands on each side of your head, his arms towering on your sides as he dipped his head to place a feathery kiss on your lips, so slow and barely kissing that you felt his breath on your tongue.

"I think you like it," he said faintly into your lips, his voice below a murmur. "You disappeared on me to make me want you, is that it?"

"No, Joshua, I–"

"Because it worked," he cut in, lowering down his body so that his elbows pressed on the bed, you felt his weight on you. "I missed you."

"You did?" you asked, searching his eyes.

"I shouldn't—I know," he said as he clasped his mouth against yours, as if not wanting to hear what you'd say.

You moaned in protest on his lips.

Joshua broke the kiss with a soft smacking sound from his lips. "I'm your fuckbuddy, your toy to use."

"Joshua, you're not–" you tried to protest.

"I give you everything you want," he continued, pressing his forehead against yours, avoiding your gaze. "I make you feel good. I fuck you and leave the next day," he ran the tip of his finger down your cheek. "All for you to write about it."

The words started to sink in, and you got the full view of you in his perspective. And you understood why he was upset.

The transaction between you and him might not be as fair as you initially thought—he gets your body, however he wants it, whenever he wants it, or so it was the deal before you chickened out.

And in turn, you get pleasure, you feel wanted because of him and on top of it you get to use those experiences with him to finish your book.

"Joshua," you tried to protest, but he quickly brought a thumb to brush over your wet lips.

"I don't want to hear it," he whispered softly. "You owe me no explanations."

"But I feel like I do," you replied shamefully.

Joshua shook his head slightly. "We'll talk when I'm done with you," he pushed his forehead against yours again. "I need you right now."

At that, you were quickly subdued under his feathery kisses that progressed to more demanding, heated kisses. His tongue brushing yours, his lips firmly clasped on yours as his hands roamed freely on your bare skin, caressing your hips, to bring your legs around him so he could be between them.

In the back of your mind something protested: you didn't want Joshua to go on one more night thinking that you were using him. Even if you were.

But a louder voice told you that it probably seemed better to give him what he wanted now and then you could talk.

You pinched at the sides of his oversized hoodie, bringing it up and you slid your hands under the bundles of fabric to feel his bare back, eliciting a groan from him when your hands made their way to his lats.

Joshua pulled away to get rid of his hoodie, revealing his bare torso. His hair got ruffled in the way, so you reached out with your hands pushing his black hair away from his eyes.

"You're not going to tie me up this time?" you asked, remembering the last time you were in this position, except you were firmly tied to the rails of your bed.

"I have something else planned for tonight, sweetheart," he replied shortly, kissing under your jaw and using two fingers on your chin to angle your head for him.

You gave him no answer, and resorted to whining when you felt his lips on the crook of your neck, sucking slightly in the spots he knew well that would earn lewd sounds from your mouth.

Last time he did this, he marked your neck and chest with love bites, so visible and so enticing that you noticed a few curious glances from people you met on the street. You liked it, though. Liked that whenever you looked in the mirror you had a little reminder of him.

You sighed softly when his mouth made its way to your tits, where he landed more wet kisses around your areolas, biting at the soft flesh, making you cry out when his mouth captured your nipples, playing with them with his tongue and fingers each.

While you squirmed under his body, the only thing you could do was hold onto his shoulders, stroke his hair and tug at it whenever his bites would get harsher, making you moan desperately for more.

"Shua, please," you whimpered when his tongue flickered on one of your nipples, teasing with bites and more kisses.

He hummed in response, moving his hand from your waist and between your bodies, to then slip his middle and ring fingers inside you with no warning.

You gasped loudly and tugged his hair harder, making him stop teasing your tits to give you a glance as he pushed his fingers in and out of your slippery walls, massaging them with every thrust.

Soft whimpers were muffled by his mouth when he hovered on top of you to look at your face as he worked you cunt open for him, making you feel the drag of his fingers against your walls.

"What happened, baby? You were so bossy five minutes ago," he cooed, the corners of his red lips lifting slightly.

You swallowed hard. "I need you to-ahm fuck, Shua," his fingers started scissoring in your gummy walls as you tried to speak.

"I love it when you start cursing," he muttered, looking at you with a glint of amusement.

His hand started pumping on you harder and he crooked his fingers against your walls to reach for your g-spot, making you cry out and grab at his shoulders, digging your fingers on his skin.

"I need you inside me, Shua. Please," you whimpered pathetically, feeling your cheeks blaze under his devious gaze.

He pulled his fingers out of your throbbing core and thrusted them inside your mouth for you to lick them clean.

"Where did you put the condoms, sweetheart?" he asked, watching you suck his fingers obediently, only to drag them out of your mouth with a faint smack from your lips.

"In my drawer," you replied a second before Joshua's mouth was already on yours, lapping his tongue on your own to get a taste of you. 

Joshua knew you meant the drawer where you kept all your toys and underwear. He went to your first drawer and opened it to fish out the strip of condoms, get rid of the rest of his clothes, and come back to your bed.

He crawled back to you where you waited for him patiently, enjoying the sight of him naked once again.

"I want you on your knees," he muttered as he softly placed tender kisses on your lips and chin.

"M'kay," you nodded and Joshua pulled back so you could turn and follow his instruction.

A second later you felt his hand on your lower back press gently. "Bend for me, bunny."

You placed your hands on the bed as you angled your ass for him without a word, your breath coiling in your throat, making you bite your lips.

His hand slid from your lower back down to your ass, making you whimper when he caressed your skin carnally.

"You have the prettiest ass," he muttered, his other hand joining in and grabbing you firmly, adjusting you for him.

One hand left your ass and soon you felt his cockhead nudging at your entrance before pushing his length in your tight and wet walls, drawing out a long whine from you from a mixture of pleasure and pain of having him almost splitting you open with his cock.

You heard him release a heavy breath. "Fuck," he whispered when he bottomed out, grabbing you firmly before dragging out and pushing in again. "You're okay?"

You nodded. "Move, please, move, Joshua," you whimpered, feeling your pussy throb around his cock, adjusting to his size again after days of not having him inside you.

He chuckled faintly. "There's my bossy girl," he muttered before complying, rocking his hips against your ass.

Then the room was filled with the sound of sex as his hips picked up pace, slamming against your ass repeatedly, making your body bounce against him and the headboard creak and bang against the wall.  

You let out a strangled moan as you lowered yourself down to your elbows, arching your back for him. "God, Joshua," you groaned, feeling him hit deeply inside you.

Moans and whimpers spilled from your lips, which were partially muffled by pressing half of your face on your pillows.

"Fuck. You look so good like this, princess," you heard him whisper again in that awe-struck tone and you wished to have a way to see his face as he fucked you like this.

Maybe you could ask him to fuck you in front of a mirror next time, you thought. But then that would have to happen very soon, since like he said, your deal will be off in three nights.

His hands clenched on your ass and you felt him lift a hand from one of your glutes, only to bring it down in a harsh slap that reverberated across your room.

You yelped in pain, your skin sizzling on the area, and prickling when he used the same hand to rub gently. Arousal grew on your body when you felt him caress the recently tingling area.

"Harder," you muttered against your pillows. "Fuck me harder, Joshua."

You heard him chuckle softly. "Ask nicely, baby," he groaned before bringing a hand up and spanking you again harshly.

"Please, please, Joshua. I need you to fuck me harder. I need it, I need it so fucking bad, please," you cried and whimpered as your fists clenched your bedsheets, holding on as if your life depended on it.

His fingers dug on your skin before ramming his cock so deep and hard inside you that the very air escaped your lungs. The very act of having him fuck you so hard made you lose all control, your mind completely blank, all focus on his cock fucking you open.

You pressed your forehead on your pillows to muffle your cries, savoring your sweet release.

"I want to hear you, princess," he reminded you, his hand lifting again and landing in a harsher slap this time.

"Fuck!" you yelled, your head snapping back.

Your walls throbbed and clenched around his cock, feeling the sizzling on your skin be softened by his hand rubbing gently in your ass.

"Joshua," you gasped before he slapped your ass again, his hips pummeled against your ass incessantly, just how you wanted. "Fuck, I'm so close, 'm so close. Can I come? Please, please, 'm almost there."

"There's my good girl," he muttered, his hands clenching on your skin, fingers sinking on the sides of your hips as he continued to ram into you. "You can come, baby. Come on my cock."

A couple of thrusts later your orgasm washed over your body, burning so deep inside that it had you wailing loudly, your screams of pleasure reverberating against the walls.

Your fists clenched on your bedsheets in an attempt to stop your body from trembling, the pressure from the last waves of your long orgasm had you stirring your back as your whimpers flooded the room.

Your orgasm was long—the longest you've had yet. You whimpered his name as he rode your orgasm, hearing his soft groans under your moans of pleasure.

"God, Joshua," you sighed, starting to feel lightheaded.

The walls of your cunt ceased clenching erratically around him, but the wild need for more sizzled under your skin.

Joshua stopped ramming his hips against you some seconds later, the buzz on your ears started to die down, you heard his loud panting and raw groans.

His hands kept you in place, stopping you from simply collapsing into the bed until he slowly pulled out of your very sensitive walls, losing his grip on your body. 

With trembling limbs, you languidly let your body slump down on your bedsheets. Meekly turning around to find him on his knees before you, his head thrown back showing his sweaty neck, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard.

Your eyes trailed down to his chest, that was also covered in a sheen layer of sweat, to his happy trail that led to his still hardened cock. The condom was full of his cum and it was so much of it, the sight of it made you shudder in a fascination that was very new to you.

You didn't even realize when he came.

The aftermath of being fucked so hard left you beyond tired, your mind was still blank, the only thing on your mind was how good it felt to be fucked open. Your skin had goosebumps all over, and your legs and legs trembled ever so slightly and it wasn't from being cold.

Joshua came down to his senses before you did, leaning his head down to look at you. "Are you okay?"

You blinked at him slowly and nodded. "'m okay."

He patted your leg softly. "C'mon, bunny. Let's get in the shower."

Your heart fluttered frantically. "No," you mumbled, turning your face onto the pillows.

"Do you want me to carry you?" you heard him ask.

You shook your head. "I'll meet you there," you told him, turning your face for him to hear you properly.

He rolled his eyes, but showed you a small smile. "If you don't, I'll come back for you."

You smiled back. "I expect nothing less."

He climbed down your bed and disappeared from your bedroom. Minutes later, you heard the faint noise from the shower in the distance as you gathered yourself.

You felt dirty, sticky. Not because of the fact that you just had sex. And not in the way that would be solved by taking a shower.

With a sigh, you collected yourself and stumbled from your bed. Dragging your body to the shower, where you found Joshua standing under the stream of water, his hands pushing his hair back.

The urge to ask him to take you again invaded you when you saw him like this. He looked incredibly hot, his soaked black hair pushed back, his eyes closed to let the water wash his face, his mouth parted a little. The water running between his toned pecs, to his bellybutton, to-

"Hi," you smiled sheepishly when he caught you staring at him.

He offered you a smile before cupping your face with his wet hands. "Sure you're okay?" he asked, looking at your eyes.

"Yeah," you breathed, holding his wrists weakly. "'m just a bit tired."

His smile grew and his eyebrow lifted. "Well, yeah. I almost break you."

You felt your cheeks grow hotter.

Joshua moved so that you had space to stand under the showerhead. "Let me," he muttered and you understood that he wanted to help you wash up.

God, why is he like this? He made it harder for you, being so caring and affectionate with you only fucked with your head.

He washed your hair in silence, the warm water and his gentle fingers rubbing your scalp almost drew you to snooze right there and then.

"Why do you do this, Joshua?" you asked, breaking the silence between you.

"Do what?" he replied, his voice low.

"Taking care of me after sex. I know you call it aftercare, but I want to know why you'd bother to do this," you mumbled, not caring that you were being a bit blunt with your words. 

"Mmm, I think it's important to treat you right. You're good to me, I'll be good to you," he hummed. "How did you feel after having sex with your former partners?"

"I didn't care enough to stay," you darted a look back to him as he washed your back.

You actually thought that it was way too intimate when Joshua held you after sex. But you found out that you liked it. In fact you liked it so much that it was one of the things you looked forward to the most then you slept with him.

His eyes searched your face for a moment. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No. I like this," you frowned. "I'm not asking you to stop. I just wanted to know what you're thinking."

There was a brief pause, but his hands kept busy washing your hair. "I think that you're thinking too much about it."

Maybe you were. Maybe you had found that you liked it when he showed you so much care and attention after sex. And maybe that was the reason why you were falling fast for him.

"Are you falling asleep, bunny?" he asked with his sweet voice when you leaned your head back on his shoulder, letting him rub soap all over your body.

You nodded weakly. "Seems like the best cure for insomnia is to have really hard sex," you mumbled.

A soft laugh came from him and you imagined his beautiful smile. Then his lips pressed on the side of your head, making your heart flutter frantically.

"We're almost done," he muttered.

He also helped you towel dry your body and hair before returning to your bedroom. You saw him gathering your pyjamas from the floor, and before he could do or say anything about them, you grabbed him by the arm and dragged him with you toward the bed.

You snuggled him under your bed sheets, avoiding his curious eyes by hiding your face on the crook of his neck despite how affectionate the act felt.

Instantly, your stomach fluttered with all the dreaded emotions you've been trying to avoid for the past few days.

You shuddered when his arms encircled your body, tugging you as close as humanly possible to his own.

"Do you still want to talk?" you heard him ask.

"I..." you craned your neck to look at his face. "I'm sorry for distancing myself, I... was busy," you whispered, feeling the need to explain more.

But he shook his head slightly. "I get it if you need space," he muttered, looking at you with sincere eyes. "Just, tell me next time, okay?"

"There won't be a next time, Joshua," you whispered. "Deal's off on monday."

He tucked his arm under his head to look at you intently. "That doesn't mean you won't disappear on me tomorrow," he smiled softly.

"Don't worry, I won't disappear," you rolled your eyes at the last word.

The corner of his mouth twitched. "I'll hold you to that statement."

"Okay, sir," you smiled. "How are you going to do that?"

"If I tell you you'll ruin the fun of it," his teeth showed as his smile broadened.

You chuckled, your chest swelling with emotions you didn't want to acknowledge.

He appeared to be knowing that you still had something to say but couldn't. "Get some rest, bunny. You deserve it," he muttered before kissing your forehead repeatedly.

"G'night, Shua," you whispered before sleeping peacefully for the first time in nights.

Joshua woke up before you did.

Before you opened your eyes, you reached out with your arms beneath the covers on the side he had slept in, only to find it empty. That made you open your eyes, reaffirming that you were alone in your bed.

"Joshua?" you called, sitting up and rubbing your eyes.

The clock on your phone read eleven o'clock. You usually didn't oversleep, since your sleeping habits were so bad.

"Oh, god," you sighed, dropping your phone on the bedcovers.

You buried your face in your hands for a few seconds before you noticed that there was no other noise in your apartment indicating that Joshua heard you call for him.

Something clenched hard in your chest, as if the bitter reality had punched you in your heart. You jumped out of your bed, inspecting your bedroom to find no trace of Joshua's belongings. You then dressed in your pyjamas before going to the living room.

A part of you tried to tell you that he probably had plans to tend to, and that was fair. Your relationship was purely sexual, so there was no need to wake up together like an actual couple.

But the other part of you was aching to know why he had left like that.

You grabbed your phone that you abandoned on your bed. It was fruitless, though, since you hadn't even exchanged phone numbers.

Teary eyed, you tried not to let it get into you.

However, the onslaught of anxieties invaded your mind quickly. How were you supposed to react? Would you feel indifferent if you weren't infatuated with him? Nothing could rub off the fact that Joshua came in last night, fucked you and then left while you slept.

Even if you tried to distract yourself, you couldn't shrug off the feeling that if you had listened to yourself last night before kissing him again, you wouldn't be feeling this dumb.

Would pretending that what happened last night help? Probably not. But did you have the need to distance yourself from the fact that you were hurt he left without saying bye? Yes.

So you pretended he didn't exist at all and you took yourself out for a stroll to the mall, and the bookstore, buy something cute for yourself.

It was childish, you knew that much. Buying yourself cute stuff in the attempt to rid your mind off the thought of him was only a reaffirmation that he was very much present in your mind. And was costing you money, if you dared to pay more attention to it.

No, you're doing this for you. You told yourself over and over again.

You bought yourself a new outfit, a novel that had been on your feed the past month, a lavender candle for your studio, and you even indulged in buying a new lingerie set. Only for you, obviously.

You came back to your building hands full: shopping bags on both hands, and you managed to carry milk tea in the midst. So when you got into your elevator, you found yourself in a bit of a tussle.

"Do you need help with that?" you heard someone ask, making you tear your eyes from the buttons of the elevator to find a young man, of sharp nose and sweet brown eyes.

"Thank you," you smiled shyly and stepped back. "I'm on the third floor."

The stranger's lithe fingers only pressed the button on the third floor.

"Ah, look at that. Me too," he smiled politely.

"We're neighbors, then," you pointed out the obvious with the intention of being friendly. "I'm 317."

"Aaahh," he sighed while nodding his head, the tips of his ears growing red. "Nice. 318," he pointed one finger to his frame.

Your stomach dropped. So this was Joshua's roommate.

"Nice meeting you," you smiled, feeling your cheeks grow hot. But you told him your name nonetheless.

"Nice meeting you too, I'm Seokmin," he nodded politely, but you just couldn't ignore how red his ears had turned.

You knew why you were feeling hot in your face. Unfortunately, you've heard him and his girlfriend having sex a couple of times. But why was he blushed too?

Oh, crap. Has he heard you and Joshua?

"Well, see you around," he nodded again when the doors of the elevator parted and he hurried toward his apartment door.

"See you," you muttered, but he was already opening his door and closing it immediately.

You got in your apartment, kicking your shoes and dropping your bags on the floor of your living room before sitting down on your comfy couch to chew absentmindedly on the straw.

Mind reeling, you thought of the times when you screamed Joshua's name as you came. Did his roommate hear that? The walls were thin, so it was all too likely that he'd heard your lewd noises.

A soft knock on your door startled you, stopping your train of thought. And suddenly, you were running to your door, opening it to find Joshua standing outside.

Not a word came out from your mouth—you didn't say hi, or cuss him out, as you thought you would while you were busy trying to shrug him off your thoughts.

You just grabbed him by the collar of his t-shirt and dragged him inside your apartment as your lips met his.

"Hi there yourself," Joshua muttered, an amused smile on his lips once you broke away to let him in.

"No talking," you shushed, your hand slipping on his nape to pull him for another kiss.

He muffled a chuckle in your mouth, using a hand on your waist to pull you closer to his frame.

"''m sorry for leaving this morning, I-" he stammered quickly in between needy kisses from you.

"I said no talking," you insisted with a whine.

He looked amused for a moment. Then he bit his lower lip before bending down, his hands that were on your waist quickly lifted you up just like the night before, so you quickly caught on to what he was trying to do.

You wrapped your legs around him as he carried you and threw you on your bed, making you yelp in excitement and prop yourself on your elbows to take a look at him.

Joshua kicked his boots off before pressing a knee on the mattress. He was wearing something stylish, in line with his general style, but he also looked flawless, almost as if camera ready.

"Where were you?" you inquired, seeing his denim blue jacket, equally blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt.

Unlike the night before, his hair was arranged carefully, a few stray strands of hair hanging neatly on his forehead.

"I thought you didn't want to talk," he replied as he took his blue denim jacket off and dropped to the floor.

Joshua appeared to be in a haste. He grabbed the hem of the blouse you wore and you automatically raised your arms for him to drag your pretty top off you.

"I'm curious now," you sighed, trying to look unbothered.

You lowered your head on your pillows to watch him undo the button of his blue jeans with one free hand and then step out of them and his half naked body climbed on top of yours.

"I was busy," he told you indifferently, reading your expression with the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Oh, I see," your eyebrows arched. "That's how it is. Okay."

He cocked the pierced eyebrow at you, almost mimicking your expression. "Are you mad at me?"

"No," you replied quickly. "Why would I be?"

Joshua sighed a small chuckle when your hands went to the hem of his shirt, trying to take it off his body. He helped you through it, moving his body back to pull his body from the pristine white fabric.

He tossed his t-shirt to the floor. "You tell me, baby. You're the one with the attitude," he pointed, his tone was not condescending, he sounded amused at your tantrum.

"I don't have an attitude," you bit back as you unclasped your bra. "It was just a question."

He helped you move your bra out of the way. "I had a showcase to some producers," he explained as the smile broadened on his face.

"And earlier this morning?" you blurted, your cheeks growing blazing hot.

When you saw his eyes bore into your again, there was a glint of intrigue in them. As if he'd just put two and two.

"Are you asking me why I left when you were sleeping?" he didn't wait for your answer, but you could tell that his gaze softened. "I had to leave early and I just didn't wake you cause I knew that you needed sleep."

You felt embarrassed but eased into the bed. "Oh, okay. I'm sorry," you darted a look in his amused face.

"I didn't think it would upset you," he said as his eyes captured every movement. "I'm sorry if it did."

"Oh, no, nonono," you blurted hurriedly. "I didn't—when did I say I was upset?"

"Did you think I left to make you feel bad in any way?" he ventured with a small confused frown.

"No—of course not. I just thought," you stammered, but stopped once you found yourself at a loss for reasons.

His eyes locked on yours. "Why did you think I'd do that?"

"Because I avoided you for weeks," you mumbled with a small roll of your eyes, feeling annoyed at yourself from earlier.

"Mmm, so you do admit to that, baby?" the corners of his lips rose slightly.

You bit your tongue so hard your eyes watered.

Joshua's gaze hardened, with a sigh he pushed the tip of his nose on the apple of your cheek almost lovingly before muttering: "I thought you trusted me, sweetheart."

You swallowed thickly. "Joshua, I'm sorry," you tried to explain but he cut you off.  

"You need to stop saying that," he whispered against your cheek before pressing his lips on your cheekbone. "Especially when you don't mean it."

Your brow furrowed. "I mean it," you replied innocently. "I'm sorry."

"Prove it," he muttered darkly in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

"I'll do anything," you replied all too quickly.

"No talking, baby," he growled in your ear. 

You watched him climb down the bed and open the top drawer to get the fuzzy handcuffs he had gotten for you.

"Joshua, I-"

"I said no talking," he repeated, and unlike you, he made his command firm. "If you want to stop, use your safeword."

Half naked, he climbed back to the bed, and sat on his knees on top of you, straddling you, without lowering his full weight on you.

"Give me your hand," he locked one wrist first and placed your arm above your head, to then wrap the handcuffs around one of the rails of your bed.

"Give me the other," he instructed and you offered him your free wrist for him to place it above your head on the pillows, safely cuffing it with your other hand.

Two fingers grabbed your chin, forcing your eyes to lock on his. "Good girl," he whispered, placing a feathery kiss on your lips. "You only behave when you're about to get my cock. Right, pretty?"

You looked at him expectantly, feeling your face grow hotter.

The corners of his lips rose slightly when you didn't utter a word. "You could've been perfect for me," he whispered, his fingers moving from your chin, to graze your cheek fondly. "If only you weren't such a liar."

There was no answer from you. But he could see in your eyes that his words stung.

"How do you expect me to believe every word you say if your actions tell the opposite?" he inquired softly.

Even if you could talk, you knew you had nothing to say.

He tutted softly, with an air of disappointment. "Telling me you trust me, only to disappear right after."

Joshua moved from your body to undo the button of your jeans. You lifted your hips from the bed to help him get your jeans from your body and he smiled at your compliance.

Though you were also eager to see where this was going.

"You're so beautiful," he muttered, sounding fascinated as he looked at your bare body and his eyes landed on your face.

Your heart stuttered but when your eyes locked with his, you could've broke right then and there. But you bit back your words.

"I think I'm going to miss this, baby. I'm going to miss you so much," he mumbled.

It was then that you understood he was taunting you by saying sweet nothings to prompt you to speak, and it hurt you to realize it this late. Whether or not the things he was saying were true, he knew you would want to respond to him.

You glared at him as he moved on top of your body again. He caught your eye immediately, leaning his head to kiss the bridge of your nose sweetly.

"Remember when you told me you liked me?" he asked and waited for your answer, teasing you by nibbling your lower lip with his teeth. "Were you lying about that too?"

Though mildly hurt from his words, you tried holding his gaze, hoping Joshua would see the sincerity in them.

If he did, he didn't let it show.

He dipped his head on the crook of your neck, placing open mouthed kisses on your skin, holding nothing back. He licked and kissed on your sensitive spots, which he had apparently already learned by heart.

Joshua said nothing about not moaning so you moaned loudly as he sucked lovebites below your earlobe, and in the curve between your shoulder and neck, trailing down to your chest and tits. He hummed sweetly as he marked you mercilessly, as if trying to leave his mark in your skin so deeply that nothing could erase him from your memory.

You cried out when he bit the tender flesh around your areolas, only to soothe over it by running his tongue on the sore area softly. You wanted to call out his name—to tell him how good it felt. But you knew it was futile.

"God, baby. You're doing so well right now," he muttered faintly, almost as if he were impressed. "I wonder how well you'll behave with my cock inside you."

You whimpered at the crude language, feeling your body burn in excitement. The cuffs restraining your arms made a rattling noise when you squirmed under his body, making him smile.

"I was thinking of getting you a gag for your lies, but that won't be necessary. Right, bunny? Because you're such a good girl" he cocked an eyebrow at you.

Something inside you stirred, awakening every nerve in your body. You liked it when he spoke to you, he knew that. But feeling pleased after being called good for being compliant came almost as a surprise to you.

Your reaction must have been really evident in your eyes, because Joshua's smile grew broader, with an air of cheekiness.

Joshua sat back into his knees, hooking his fingers on the last piece of clothing, sliding your panties down your legs and throwing them to the side.

"Spread your legs for me, princess," he slotted himself between your thighs when you did what he asked not a second later. "That's it, baby," he whispered before dipping his tongue between your folds, without much warning.

You screwed your eyes shut, biting your lip as hard as you could to avoid running your mouth about how good it felt to have his tongue giving broad strokes against your core.

Joshua ate you out hungrily, almost as if he were trying to rip an orgasm out of you to get you to break his no talking rule. You got a sense that he was testing how far you could go without uttering a word.

You heard him humming in approval when he rendered you utterly languid, moaning and whimpering out in pure bliss. His tongue ran all over your pussy lips, placing soft kisses before laving at your core, drinking your sweet arousal avidly.

The squelching sounds caused by his mouth pressed against your core, plus the moans and cries that it elicited from you flooded the room—until the noise from squeaking bed under your trembling body joined in, and the handcuffs rattling against your bed posts as you came on his mouth.

Gasping embarrassingly for air, you blinked and found his head buried between your thighs. You felt his lips press soft kisses on your mound.

"Did you just cum?" he asked when you were left utterly breathless, and your body went limp on your bed covers.

You nodded weakly, your chest heaving.

"Fuck, baby. You're being so good," he gasped, his smile broadening. "I don't think I'll be able to stay away from you."

Your heart lurched, hurting so bad that you closed your eyes to his beautiful face.

When you opened your eyes, you caught a sight of him moving back from your body, and your eyes unavoidably fell off his hard length pressed against the tight fabric of his black underwear. A shiver ran down your spine when he got rid of the last piece of his clothing and you saw his hard cock practically spring out of his briefs and slap his tummy softly, the reddened tip glistening wet in precum.

Then you followed his hand that reached for the strip of condoms that were on your nightstand. He grabbed one and opened it carefully, and slid the material down his thick cock, a hand making sure the latex was down to his hilt.

Your walls fluttered at the sight of him and you almost wanted to have one hand free to slap yourself. Not even your heart could be at ease with his beauty, but your pussy went crazy about him too.

Joshua caught sight of you biting your lower lip aloofly, reveling at the sight of him completely naked before you. He showed you an amused smile, but for once he didn't tease you about your very evident attraction to him.

"Ready, princess?" he asked, when he placed his body between your thighs.

Missionary? You wanted to tease. But you just nodded at him.

He grabbed his cock with one hand, guiding it to your core to ease himself inside your tight walls. Your legs twitched at his sides at the stinging sensation of having his length pushing your walls open with little to no prep.

"You're so fucking tight, baby," he moaned once he bottomed out and started pulling out slowly. "Almost as if I didn't fuck you last night."

You moaned and squirmed when Joshua pushed his cock on you again, pulling out and then sinking in again.

"You're okay there?" he asked, bumping the tip of your nose with his.

You nodded silently.

His face was so close to yours that you felt his breath landing on your skin—it was then when you realized that he's never kissed you while having sex with you.

Your eyes were lost on his plump lips, so absentmindedly that you didn't notice that he was looking at you.

"Do you want to kiss me, sweetheart?" he asked softly, his hips thrusting against yours tortuously slow.

You nodded.

One corner of his mouth twitched slightly before pressing his lips on yours a couple of times before sinking into a slow, passionate kiss that made him moan into your mouth.

You could've melted into his lips. A sweet moan in pure delight was muffled by Joshua's mouth when you dragged your tongue over his lower lip and met his tongue with your own, that seemingly made him lose control, his hips buckling wildly.

Then he broke away from your lips with a strangled groan, retracting his chest from yours completely. In one sudden movement, he hoisted your legs up, leaning his body towards you so that your thighs were pressed against your chest—trapped between you and him.

If he seemed collected a minute before, Joshua was the total opposite when his hips started to slam against you again, dragging his cock in and out your walls aimlessly. He screwed his eyes shut for a moment.

"Fuck," he muttered in between his teeth.

The almost brutal ache to touch him robbed the air from you, you ached to feel his face in your hands, to caress his skin. You wanted to make him feel good in the same way he did for you, you wanted to please him.

"Are you there, baby?" he asked, noticing you deep in wonder, looking at him with mesmerized eyes.

You only nodded with your head, committed to his rule.

The second orgasm drew near, sizzling under your skin, his cock buried so deep in your walls that after a few thrusts, you were mewling desperately, uttering wordless pleas for release.

You thought you sounded pathetic, dumb. Desperately pleading for your sweet release without being allowed to speak a single word.

Deep down, you knew you were growing an attachment to... whatever this was: the way your body responded to him, the pleasure you got from complying with his games, you knew you wanted more. Joshua was not intoxicating, you were wrong about that, he was addictive.

Tears brimmed in your eyes when Joshua practically rammed his hips against you, fucking you so hard into your bed that your eyes rolled back, the last thing you saw was the pair of handcuffs rattling around the rails of your bed.   

You moaned loudly, back stirring on your bed, your fingers curling into fists so hard your fingernails dug into your palms. The tears ran down your temples as your second orgasm hit you just as hard as the one before it.

"That's it baby," he cooed, sounding pleased. "You're taking it so well," his voice was a mere whisper, you almost didn't catch his words over your loud whimpers and the sound of his skin slapping against yours.

When you opened your eyes again, his brow was furrowed, his eyelids fluttering close. He bit his lower lip, muffling a raspy groan as his thrusts became sloppy, ramming his cock to the hilt inside your walls a few times as he came.

Joshua eased your shaking legs back to your bed, then he retracted his hips from yours, slowly pulling out of your oversensitive core. In a matter of seconds, he was grabbing the key to release your wrists from the fuzzy cuffs.

"Are you okay?" he asked carefully.

As he worked to get your hands free, his head was hovering above yours. You looked at his dark eyes, his chapped lips, the furrowed brow in weariness when you wouldn't come up with a verbal response.

"'m good," you replied with a hoarse voice.

Though the handcuffs were padded with fuzzy fabric, your wrists were sore from the struggle. With a sigh of relief you let your arms rest at your sides, feeling the tiredness from being stuck in the same position for minutes.

"Hold on, let me clean up and I'll be right back, okay?" he muttered, planting one kiss on your forehead before leaving the room.

When he returned some minutes later, he had grabbed a glass of water for you. "Drink up."

You sat up weakly, your arms and legs felt shaky and weak from the demanding position you were for minutes that you could barely support yourself.

Joshua examined you with his curious eyes as you drank the glass of water.

"Thank you, Shua," you smiled at him.

He sat beside you on the bed. "Sure you're okay?"

You nodded, leaving the empty glass on your nightstand before slumping down on your pillows.

"Cuddle with me," you mumbled shyly.

Joshua complied silently, crawling on your bed to lie down by your side. He propped his head on his elbow, as his other arm circled you by your waist.

Trying to savor your last night with him, you closed your eyes as soon as you felt his warmth against your back. You almost let yourself pretend that this wasn't your second to last night with him. 

"Talk to me, bunny," he whispered after a brief moment of silence.

"What do you want me to say?" you mumbled, bewildered at the sudden command.

"Just tell me what you're thinking, please," you looked at him, his curious eyes scrutinizing your face. "You're not here."

You frowned. "I'm here, Joshua," you replied slowly.

He shook his head. "I know you're overthinking again."

You scoffed loudly. "Oh, yeah? And you know that how exactly?"

"Don't do that," his hand tapped your tummy gently.

"Do what?"

He paused for a brief moment, as if searching for the right words to say. "Deflect. You're deflecting," he muttered.

"So what if I am?" you replied bitterly, turning on your bed so you were fully facing him.

What were you supposed to say? You weren't even sure how you felt exactly, because you knew you were falling for the idea of him like this, holding you close to him. How could you translate that into words? He didn't believe you anyway.

"You know I'm not really angry with you, right?" he asked, maybe thinking that was the reason you were quiet.

"I know," you reassured him. "I really am sorry, Joshua."

You gave him a sincere look, Joshua sighed softly under a smile. "Don't worry, princess. I know," he pressed his hand flatly on your back. "I just wish you could tell me what's bothering you."

"Nothing's bothering me," you laughed at his sincere worry. "I'm okay, Joshua."

"Mmkay," he muttered, setting the matter aside reluctantly.

You scooted closer to him on the bed, nuzzling to the warmth of his body.

"Are you cold?" he asked, noticing when you exhaled, pleased to have his warmth on your skin. "We can get under the covers if you want."

"This is okay," you replied.

Joshua locked eyes with you for a second and you averted your gaze, looking down at your bodies on your bed.

"We never got to do your list," he smiled slightly.

You returned the smile meekly. "I think you surpassed whatever idea I had in mind," you confessed.

"Oh, really?" he cocked an eyebrow. "Will I get to see what you wrote?"

You frowned, realizing that you never got around to that part of the subject with him. "Of course, if you want," you blinked.

He giggled. "Am I allowed to read your unedited manuscript?"

"I mean, the sex scenes are only possible because of you. It would be rude of me to gatekeep it from you," you pointed with a flush.

Joshua let out a breathy laugh. "Did I make it to the acknowledgements part?"

"Stop it," you laughed.

"'Special thanks to my neighbor Joshua,'" he muttered in an imitation of your voice, which sounded really far off.

"It's not an acceptance speech," you said with a scoff.

"I better see my name when I get to that part of the book," he warned with a feigned seriousness that was replaced by a small smile.

"Or what?" you quipped. "When the book is out you won't be able to punish me," you smiled confidently.

"I can do that now," he shrugged. "And tomorrow."

You rolled your eyes, unsatisfied with his answer. You half expected him to tell you that he wanted to keep going with whatever this was.

"I haven't gotten to write the acknowledgements part," you told him, trying to move the conversation. "First the manu needs to go under revision again, then if there's anything that needs to get sorted in editing and then..."

Joshua had his eyes fixated on your face, he was looking at you but his mind seemed entirely elsewhere.

"What?" you blurted.

"Nothing I was just..." he shook his head. "Sorry, you were saying?"

"You weren't paying attention," you scolded with a whine.

He easily captured the hand you used to try and slap his shoulder. "Sorry, sorry," he chuckled.

"Am I boring you, Joshua?" you asked, trying to sound offended but when his high pitched giggle wasn't helping.

"No, you're not—stop it," he captured your hand again.

You ceased your futile attacks. "What were you thinking about?"

He was still lying on his side, head propped up in his hand by the help of his elbow. You saw his face relax and lose his smile.

"Last night, when we were in the shower, you said that you didn't care enough about your exes to stay for aftercare," his eyes studied your face for any reaction. "Can I ask why?"

You were taken aback by his question, why was he thinking of that moment precisely? But you saw why he would be intrigued by your comment.

"It wasn't that serious," you shrugged. "I never saw it as something I needed from my ex partners, nor something I even wanted."

He smiled with a small cough. "And what makes me different? Why do you want me to stay every time?"

Your heart clenched tightly. "Why do you ask?"

"You got angry at me because I left this morning," he explained. "What you're telling me now doesn't add up with your hissy fit from earlier."

"I did not have a hissy fit!" you sulked with a pout.

He smiled sweetly at you. "Yes you did, princess."

You rolled your eyes but decided not to argue any further, although you knew that he partly was right, though he didn't know what took you to react to such extremes. 

"Answer me," he urged, his voice low but not commanding. Almost as though he was more impatient to know.

"I like being with you, Joshua," you replied with an obvious tone. "You're not entirely unbearable to be around."

Joshua laughed, his smile pushing his eyes into two crescent moons. "Ditto," he replied.

The jab in your heart was like nothing you had ever felt before. It pushed you to suspect that maybe you were going crazy, that maybe you had a disease that you didn't know about and that only presented itself every time you saw him. It robbed you of the air in your lungs, made you crave something that only you could get from him.

How can you ever tell him that? That was never part of your original deal with him. It wasn't fair—he said it himself, he felt used by you. Although he wasn't complaining, how can you tell him that you were falling in love? It just didn't feel fair.

"What happened here?" you asked, tracing a line along his hip bones, where he had two faint brown bruises.

"You have them too," he muttered, placing his hand on your glute lightly. "They're from last night."

"Oh," you flushed, twisting to see where his hand was pointing to, where you could notice a small bruise on your glute. "I didn't notice that. Sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for," he sighed with a smile.

"I kind of like it," you confessed sheepishly.

"I know," he nodded to your chest covered in hickeys, he used his pointer finger and caressed ever so slightly over your marked skin connecting lines between each hickey.

You let out a weak laugh that slowly grew louder when the tip of his finger reached close to the side of one of your breasts, closing in toward your armpit and your instinct threw you back from his touch, cringing away with laughter.

Joshua responded to your laugh with his own, but instead of leaving it to rest he reached out toward you with his hand, threatening with more tickles.

"Stop," you pleaded, laughing only from seeing his hand closing in toward you.

"I'm not even touching you," he replied with an adorable chuckle.

You slapped his hand away but that only made him laugh harder.

"Please," you whispered, gasping for air as his finger made it to your collarbones again.

"Okay, okay," he replied and sighed heavily with a smile still on his face.

The brief exchange had left your body tingling, and rapidly growing hot. Joshua was looking at you expectantly, almost as if he could hear your thoughts.

Your hand slid to his nape at the same moment he leaned closer in the bed to kiss you fervently. His tongue sliding on your mouth to find yours with a low groan.

The kiss was ardent in passion, almost as if his lips were locking yours with the need to melt into them. It almost hurt you to wonder that he probably meant what he said before: he would miss this.

He placed a hand flatly on your hip, your body responded by tingling in excitement when his thumb caressed your skin lightly as he kissed you hungrily.

"Joshua?" you mumbled when you broke the kiss suddenly.

"Mm?" he hummed with a gentle nuzzle of the tip of his nose on yours.

"I don't want this to stop," you blurted, pulling back on your pillows to search his eyes.

You held your breath. All your anxieties from the days of avoiding Joshua lied in that question. Even though you knew you weren't helping your bad case of infatuation with him, you were willing—but probably shouldn't—take what you could from what he gave you.

"We don't have to stop," he replied, locking his lips with yours briefly. "I don't want to either."

You kissed him fervently, trying to express all your emotions into one kiss, which he responded with a low moan in your mouth. So infatuated that you didn't stop and think what this would mean to you—if Joshua didn't reciprocate your feelings you'd be in a messy, ugly situation. All products of your own making.

This is, obviously, only possible if you let him know the way you really feel about him.

Oh well, you might as well make sure he doesn't know it yet.

✮ a/n: heyyoooo. thank you to everyone that interacted with part 1 and 2! tysm i really appreciate ya'll. i apologise if there's any dumb mistakes, i've tried to proofread this but i'm just so excited for you to read it

if you liked this part pls pls pls let me know i'd appreciate a like, a comment, rb it ◕⩊◕

part 4!!

also join my taglist!

[theblackfemininesociety]

The Realities of Leading a Soft Girl Lifestyle.

(no luxury materials, riches, or social status needed)

The concept of leading a "soft life" has gained immense popularity on social media. From the emergence of the "soft life" to the adoption of "soft girl era," individuals are striving to embrace and protray this lifestyle.

The merging of the "Soft Life" and "Black Women in Luxury" trends promotes an indulgent and opulent way of living. However, the problem arises when the boundaries between these two trends become blurred, as the Soft Life has become inundated with extravagant and unattainable daily routines and lifestyles, especially during times of economic decline and the widespread influence of social media.

A Life of Ease 🌹

The term "soft life" originated from Nigerian influencers, and it means rejecting the idea of constantly working hard and instead choosing to live without struggle and stress. This concept has gained popularity among individuals who believe in prioritizing self-care, relaxation, and enjoying the pleasures of life. Embracing the soft life means acknowledging that life is not solely about hustling and grinding, but also about finding balance and taking time to recharge.

In a society that often glorifies busyness and equates success with non-stop productivity, the soft life offers a refreshing perspective. It encourages individuals to slow down and appreciate the little joys in life, such as spending quality time with loved ones, indulging in hobbies, or simply taking a leisurely walk in nature. It emphasizes the importance of self-care practices, such as getting enough sleep, engaging in regular exercise, and nourishing oneself with healthy, delicious meals.

Living the soft life does not mean completely shirking responsibilities or neglecting one's ambitions. It is about finding a healthy equilibrium between work and leisure, and recognizing that constant stress and burnout are not sustainable in the long run. By prioritizing self-care and setting boundaries, individuals can maintain their well-being and find fulfillment in both their personal and professional lives.

The Marketing Scheme 📈

Due to the widespread fascination with living a comfortable and luxurious lifestyle, as well as the growing trend of promoting businesses highlighting affluent Black women, companies have cleverly targeted their audience and capitalized on this interest.

Their approach has transformed the concept of a relaxed and efficient lifestyle into a profitable strategy, enticing consumers to indulge in products endorsed by their beloved social media influencers or ones that are beyond the reach of the average individual's income.

📌 What We Want You To Focus On:

Strive for a balanced and stress-free lifestyle that fits your budget! We want to make it clear that you don't have to give up on things like a $300 facial or $100 yoga pants. We encourage everyone to pursue the life they want. What we're saying is, don't feel pressured or inferior if you choose to do an at-home manicure, light your favorite Target candles, and enjoy a glass of wine in your bathtub at home. The true essence of a fulfilling life is finding a balance between increasing your savings and reducing stress throughout the day. It doesn't require a specific price tag on the items used to do so.

Yes, Two Things Can Be True At Once.

Indeed, the well-known concept of "black women in luxury" is a way of leading a comfortable life, but the context of this aesthetic is solely dependent on financial means.

However, Living a stress-free life is primarily determined by an individual's behaviors and mindset rather than their financial status.

Life Tip: Having the right mindset leads to a luxurious lifestyle, but a luxurious lifestyle without a well-balanced mindset can lead to destruction.

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[silentscrying]

🎸 out of my mind ! 💿 track four: a conflict of interest

guitarist!ino x drummer!reader

summary: it's the annual battle of the bands at the fix, your college campus's iconic live music bar, and this year you're taking the stage as the drummer for indie rock group cursed technique. you know the competition is strong, but no part of you is ready for lead singer and guitarist takuma ino. you lock eyes at the edge of the stage, and something starts—something that might make you feel alive even more than the beat of the drums.

warnings: language, MIDTERMS, alcohol, PTSD/trauma, panic attack, naoya, discussion of car crash (not directly described), mention of deceased parent, literal wholesome sleeping together. || sfw. 8.4k words.

YOU’VE ALWAYS LOVED fall—the sharp, cool note that tacks itself onto the breeze, the crunch of leaves beneath the wheels of your longboard, the early sunsets over the shapes of the campus skyline. Usually, a week this beautiful would find you outside enjoying it. But for the same reason that you haven’t gotten Takuma alone since Saturday, you’ve been cooped up indoors, frying your brain.

The problem is midterms.

The week is a blur of class and homework and reporting and rehearsals, and you hardly ever see Takuma, or really anyone outside of your classes and rehearsals, save for the brief comings and goings of your housemates at strange hours of the day. You’re all drowning in work, and any wish you have of talking to Takuma without the rest of his band present washes itself away in an avalanche of assignments and emails and post-it note to-do lists all over your desk.

When you see him with Megumi and Yuji and Kirara, the both of you dance around all the things you want to say. Because you have to. You don’t have time to flesh this out, put a label on it.

You and Toge spend hours wrapping up your project story. Your comp midterm is eight to nine double-spaced pages of hell, excluding citations, and on top of it you’re balancing media law case studies and your elective comparative lit class.

And this is one of your lighter semesters.

Your housemates don’t have it any easier, Yuta and Maki wrapped up in senior capstone proposals, Nobara grinding her way through the rest of her gen. eds and practicing marketing presentations in the mirror, even Toge scrambling to get work done.

Between cramming and writing and squeezing naps in wherever you can, you and Takuma orbit around the unspoken truth of your kiss on the roof, borderline flirty but never crossing that line. Not over the phone.

you: how goes the algorithming you: or whatever the fuck takuma: I’M DYING takuma: KM GOING CROSSEYED takuma: havent touched grass in days. eons even you: :( same you: we’ll touch grass when this is over takuma: if it snows i will literally dig it up for you istg

You laugh despite yourself, sighing as you lean back in your desk chair, looking out the window. God, you want to kiss this boy again. Fuck school, fuck your busy schedules. Christ, you can’t believe it’s only Wednesday.

you: aw for me takuma: anything for you🫡

It shouldn’t make you blush so furiously in the privacy of your own room, but it does.

A soft knock on the doorframe draws your attention, and you spin in your chair to find Yuta leaning there. His dark hair is a mess, like he’s just taken off a hat, and his cheeks are red with the bite of cold air. He must’ve just gotten home.

“Yuta!”

“Hey.” He grins, holds up his phone so you can see the time. “You eaten yet?” It’s a rhetorical question. You shake your head, recognizing the call to action for what it is, and close your laptop, joining him at the doorway. You need a break, anyway—you just wrapped up a draft of a paper, and you need to do something else before you look it over with fresh eyes.

“Wanna make stir fry?” you ask, and Yuta lights up.

“Read my mind.”

The kitchen is cast in gold as the sun sinks over the rooftops, and you smile at the little hello, my name is stickers on Yuta’s plants in the windowsill. As the two of you grab bowls and pans and ingredients from the fridge, you realize you haven’t really spent one-on-one time with him in a while. You’ve missed it.

“We haven’t done this in forever,” you say, tossing a green pepper over your shoulder. He catches it with one hand and puts it on the cutting board.

“I know,” he laughs, gentle in the same way that everything Yuta does is gentle, and you’re suddenly struck with the horrible thought of how much you’re going to miss him next year. “I feel like we haven’t had any one-on-one time recently. But I’ve been meaning to, uh… well, I should thank you, for giving me that time with Maki. I don’t know that I’d have made a move if not for you.”

“So you’re the one who made the move?” You grin, elbowing him fondly. “Maki wasn’t very forthcoming with the details.”

“I wouldn’t say I made the first move,” he admits. “I started making dinner, and then she started scribbling on something over by the plants. And I was so confused, and then I realized she’d bought these.” He gestures to the plant name tags, a fond smile on his face. Half the handwriting is Yuta’s loopy scrawl, and the other half is Maki’s more jagged counterpart. “She knew all their names. Which is crazy. Sometimes I barely remember.”

You move to the cutting board and start on the peppers while Yuta fires up the stovetop. “That’s sweet,” you say. “You guys are good together. I’ve only been waiting for like, an entire year.”

Yuta chuckles and looks over his shoulder at you. “I asked how she remembered all the names and she said something along the lines of did you know people actually listen when you talk, and I’ve never been particularly good at hiding my facial expressions.” You snort, because you know that better than anyone. “And then I said Toge definitely doesn’t, and she rolled her eyes and said I kept missing the point.”

“Oh, smooth.” You move over so Yuta can reach into the cabinet above you for the seasoning. “And then you asked what the point is?”

“Mhm.” Yuta hip-checks you lightly as he moves back to his place by the stove, and you relish the familiarity of it. He’s one of your best friends, and you’ve missed doing this with him, cooking with him, talking to him. “She said the point is I’m an oblivious dumbass who should just shut up and kiss her already. So I did.”

You have to put the knife down as your laugh bursts out, shaking your shoulders, because that’s the most Maki thing you’ve ever heard. “And you’re together now?”

“Mhm.” Yuta flushes a little. “She’s great. I wasn’t really gonna say anything… ever? She’s out of my league, Skip.”

It should maybe feel like a bigger deal that Maki and Yuta are finally a thing, but in a way, it’s like nothing has changed. They’ve always been close, and you’ve always known they’re perfect for each other. It felt inevitable, and now it’s happened, and it feels right.

“You’re both out of everyone’s league,” you correct, turning to lean against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest. “And neither of you think you deserve each other, which is exactly why you do.” He smiles, shy and small, and your heart warms in your chest. “I’m happy for you, Yuta.”

“Thanks.” He ducks his head a little, his tell-tale sign of embarrassment, like when Takuma scratches the back of his neck. God, why does everything remind you of Takuma?

Like he can read your mind, Yuta says, “Your turn. You and Ino? I know everyone’s in the loop except me.”

The next half hour or so passes with you explaining the details of your night with Takuma yet again, the smell of stir fry eventually drawing Toge out from the cave (his and Yuta’s bedroom) around the same time Nobara sweeps through the door with Maki in tow. It’s the first time the five of you have been in the same room outside of rehearsals all week.

“Ooh, my god,” Nobara sighs, smelling the stir fry. “That’s the good shit. I owe you my life.”

“You can do the dishes,” you suggest, and she deflates as she unwinds the scarf around her neck and tosses it on a hook with her coat.

“I’ve made a fatal mistake,” she says.

“How’re midterms?” Maki asks as she brushes past you, tossing her jacket onto a chair, and you shrug. In response, Toge puts his head face-down on the counter, and Maki looks to Yuta, waiting for his answer. It’s like they don’t know how they’re supposed to interact in front of you all, now that the whole band knows.

“You don’t have to dance around each other anymore,” Nobara points out, blunt as ever. “We’ve watched you do that for years. I honestly think I’d rather watch you be gross.”

Toge raises a brow. “Careful what you wish for.”

“Let’s break the ice! Let’s talk about it!” Nobara crows, grabbing you by the elbow. “Reenactment, Skip. You be Yuta.” She leans dramatically over the plants, pretending to write on the name tag stickers. “This one is Pikachu.” Yuta definitely does not have a plant named Pikachu. “You’re an obtuse asshole, Yuta Okkotsu,” Nobara says in a truly horrendous impression of Maki, turning around and grabbing you by the shoulders. “Now kiss me.”

“Oh my god,” Maki says flatly. “I hate you.”

“She didn’t call me an asshole!” Yuta says indignantly.

Maki nudges him with a shoulder, which is probably the closest thing to PDA you’ll get out of them for weeks. Nobara’s teasing will only make them less willing to show affection in front of the rest of you. Maybe it’s reverse psychology and that is what she wants.

“Table,” Yuta says, pointing to Toge. “Nobara, go sit in the corner and think about your actions. Maki, could you grab the plates?”

“Girlfriend privilege!” Nobara cries, not making any move to listen to Yuta. She grins at you and you can’t help but smile back. She’s being obnoxious about it, but she also held in her teasing about their relationship for ages until they figured it out on their own. You know she’s just as happy for them as you are.

“You better keep Ino away from this one,” Maki says as she dishes up the stir fry and slides the plates across the counter to Toge, who ferries them over to the table without complaint. Nobara wiggles her brows at you in a way that very obviously says you can try, but you will fail.

When the five of you crowd the little table in the makeshift dining room, it’s honestly the most relaxed you’ve felt all week. For an hour it’s just you and your best friends, talking and ranting and joking and eating some damn good stir fry, and you can forget about all the work piling up on your desk and the boy down the street you desperately need to talk to and the performance in two days that’ll decide your band’s fate. It’s good.

You grin at Nobara as she gestures with her hands while telling a story about this girl in her marketing class, at Toge trying and failing to steal the snap peas from Yuta’s plate, at Maki fondly watching it all unfold.

Despite her earlier complaints, Nobara doesn’t hesitate to get started on the dishes, and Toge dries while you sit at the stool by the counter and chat with them. Nobara shoves a plate at Toge to try and he nearly drops it onto one of the plants, earning him a look from Yuta very reminiscent of a parent scolding their child.

"Sorry, Snorlax," Toge says to the plant he nearly attacked. "Hey, these are helpful, actually. Good job, Maki."

You stare at the name tags, something starting to grow in the back of your mind. Hello! My name is...

"Yes," you breathe. And then you launch out of your seat and grab your notebook from the other room.

You have an idea.

—

You’re bouncing on the balls of your feet, spinning a drumstick in your right hand as The Cull wraps up their ten-decibels-too-loud set onstage. Waiting in the wings, Hakari and another stage tech linger by your kit, waiting to swap it out, and the rest of your band goes through their usual pre-performance rituals.

Maki leans against the wall, eyes closed, moving her fingers along her bass without making any sound. Yuta’s quietly checking his tuning for the thousandth time tonight. Nobara does laps around the backstage area, humming and mouthing words to herself, her guitar carefully leaning against the wall beside you.

Toge is straight up just dancing to the other band’s music in the corner.

And you’re here, spinning your sticks between your thumb and index finger, index and middle, middle and ring, ring and pinky, back again. Back and forth, back and forth, the worn wood dancing across your knuckles.

Midterms are over. Projects and papers are turned in, exams are taken, laptops are strewn forgotten across the living room for the weekend. All your attention is here and now, Friday at The Fix, Battle of the Bands. Lifeblood might be a good word for it, you think, whatever this kind of rush is to you. It’s electric.

The Cull finishes with a screeching of guitars and a held-out note that could very possibly be classified as a scream, and then Panda takes the stage, the techs start moving, and the other band files past you in the backstage area.

You nod as they slip by and they return the gesture, not seeming all that interested, but you don’t care. It’s time.

Sliding onto the throne, you adjust the hi-hat and pound the kick a few times. Nobara winks at you from center stage, and you make eye contact with each of your bandmates in turn, confirming they’re tuned and plugged in and ready to go.

And then you launch into your new song, unable to help the smile spreading across your face.

It begins with a drum solo, a mild rhythm on the floor tom. You add the kick, then move to hat, and Maki comes in, then Toge, then the guitars. And then Nobara leans forward and starts to sing.

“You’re in the corner watchin’, at the party, Solo cup in hand. I’m on the dance floor, one more wild girl who needs a place to land.” You glance out over the crowd, stage light blinding you from your position toward the back of the stage. You can’t see shit, but it’s like you can feel his eyes on you.

“Been goin’ solo, flying so low, meet your eyes and draw you close.” Nobara yanks the mic off the stand and belts,“You ask my name, I tap your chest, and I say you already know!”

Power chord, two big beats, one, two, three, crash—

“Hello, my name is everything you ever asked your gods about. Hello, my name is somebody who needs a guy to take me out…”

The music washes over you, thrums from the soles of your sneakers to the tips of your fingers, gets you high on spotlights and amp feedback. You wrote this song about a lot of things. On a surface level, it’s Maki and Yuta’s song, drawn from the name tags on the kitchen plants. But on another level, it’s about Takuma, and you know your whole band knows it.

“Hello, hello, my name is yours if you want it,” Nobara finishes, and you finish with two cymbal hits and a kick, grabbing the cymbals between thumb and index finger immediately after to mute them. It’s a sharper finish than a lot of your songs, punchier, and it feels good.

“We’re Cursed Technique!” Nobara shouts, and Yuta plucks a few strings as he retunes for one of your older tracks. The set goes by all too fast, and then you’re finishing with Next Fix, the beat under your hands familiar and automatic. You’re on my mind at two a.m., you help me find deliverance, I think it’s time I get my fix.

You’d stay here forever if you could, just making music with your favorite people, but your set ends and you have to retreat backstage, Black Flash passing you in the wing as they prepare to round out the night.

“That was awesome,” Kasumi Miwa whispers as she passes you, and you grin.

“You’ll be awesome.”

When Mai appears around the corner, she stops short. You glance at Maki and realize Yuta’s hand is on the small of her back, and Mai has zeroed in on it. Yuta looks like he’s about to pass out, his hand frozen a half-inch away from Maki’s back like he doesn’t know if it’s better or worse to let go, but Maki seems entirely unfazed.

Instead of addressing Maki, though, Mai looks right at Yuta, a slender brow raised in an expression you aren’t quite sure how to interpret. On Maki, it would be teasing, but on Mai it could be a challenge or a threat or a judgment just as easily.

But she only says, “Thought you were gonna take that to your grave, Okkotsu. Been long enough.” She breezes past all of you without another word, and Yuta stares at the place where she stood only moments before, slack-jawed.

Maki shrugs. “Well, that’s that.” The sound of tuning instruments floats back from the stage and Maki starts moving, looking confused when Yuta doesn’t immediately follow. “What?”

“She—what?” Yuta gapes, and Nobara and Toge catch up to you, herding you backstage.

“I can never tell how mad you two are at each other,” you tell Maki.

“We’re bonded by mutual hatred of our own family. We have an understanding,” she shrugs. “She approves of Yuta. I don’t give a shit. If she didn’t, I still wouldn’t give a shit.”

Sometimes you’re very, very glad you have no relatives at this school.

Maki elbows Yuta lightly and he seems to relax, shrugging off the interaction with Mai.

“On another note!” Nobara chirps. “That was fucking awesome.”

And then you hear, of all things, a trumpet coming from the direction of the stage. It’s a very recognizable riff.

Black Flash is covering September.

“What the fuck?” Toge asks. He holds up a hand and darts back to the wing, peeking out on stage. When he returns, his brows have shot up, mouth open like a fish. “Muta has a trumpet. Muta’s playing a trumpet. Since when does he know trumpet? What the fuck?”

“Miwa. Guaranteed,” Nobara says. “Momo’s been trying to get him to learn for years, but he wouldn’t even be in that band if Miwa wasn’t there.” She grins. “I bet Momo was so mad when he finally did it only ‘cause Miwa asked.”

“They sound straight out of a damn recording,” you murmur, craning your neck as if that’ll help you hear better. “They’re fucking good, guys.” Part of you wants to slip out into the crowd just to see them perform. These guys really have their art down to a science, as little sense as that might make, and you can’t help appreciating it.

They segue into a new song with a wild sax solo that you know to be Momo’s, and Nobara grabs you by the hand and twirls you around backstage, some jazzy movement with no real choreography. We’re going to lose, you think idly, but you understand why. There’s something infectious in this music.

Even Maki and Yuta can’t stand still once they’ve put their instruments away, and eventually the five of you are jumping around like a bunch of idiots as Black Flash closes out their set with an explosive series of riffs and chords, and the crowd’s cheering floods the place, all the way to backstage.

You hear Panda’s voice, or more so the bass-heavy sound of him speaking into a microphone, and you only really catch voting.

“Sweet democracy,” Toge says. “I pledge allegiance—”

“How about don’t?” Maki drawls.

Toge nods. “My bad. I’m supposed to be loyal to the queen now, anyway.” Maki’s brows furrow, but she must decide it’s not worth questioning, because she turns away and starts talking to Nobara.

Has anyone actually told Toge the queen is dead?

This time around, ten minutes feels all too short, and suddenly you’re on the stage again, Black Flash at your left and The Cull on their other side. Panda is in front of you all, mic in hand, the results on his phone.

“We have literally never had a vote this close,” he says, and the crowd draws in a collective breath. “The difference between first and second place was two votes.”

“Shit,” Nobara breathes out beside you, so soft nobody else could possibly hear. Two votes. That’s fucking insane.

“But we do have a winner,” Panda says, “and the band moving on to the finals next week is…”

This time, there’s too much attention on your band for Maki to make a comment about Panda’s dramatic pause. In the quiet, somebody shouts, “Woo, girl drummer!” and it sounds an awful lot like Kirara. You smile sheepishly.

Maybe you made it. This was definitely your best performance yet, and the crowd seemed to love the new song—

“Black Flash!” Panda shouts, and your stomach twists a little even as you smile and whoop for the winners. The stage explodes in movement as your band and The Cull converge on the members of the reigning Battle of the Bands champions, congratulating them.

“Amazing set,” you tell Kasumi earnestly. Deep down, you knew you didn’t have much of a chance against them. Still, you’d hoped.

You think you catch Maki muttering, “Y’know, not bad,” to Mai, but you could be wrong.

After you slip backstage, Panda catches up to you. “Y’all were second,” he tells Nobara. “Just thought you should know. That was real close.”

Part of you is immensely gratified that you beat The Cull. That you came that close to kicking Black Flash out of their championship spot. You’re bummed, but honestly? It’s enough for you.

And now Shibuya Incident and Black Flash will compete in the finals, just like last year. Takuma’s got a chance to dethrone them.

After locking up the drum kit in the back storage room (which Shoko blessedly lets you use free of charge), you head out to the floor. Toge splits off to talk to someone from a comm class, Nobara beelines for Yuji and Megumi, and you figure Maki and Yuta are being antisocial in a corner somewhere. It doesn’t take long for Takuma to find you.

“Skipper!” You turn to find him grinning at you, and you can’t help but mirror the expression. “That was amazing. That song was amazing, you were amazing. I mean, are. You are amazing.” His hand drifts up to the back of his neck, and part of you wants to reach out an intercept it, tangle your fingers in his. But you hold yourself back.

“Thanks,” you beam.

“Man. You should’ve won,” Takuma says earnestly, squeezing your shoulder. You took off your bomber jacket before the show—drumming is already a lot of movement, but the stage lights make you sweat—so his fingers skim the place where your T-shirt sleeves end and your bare skin begins, sending a spike of electricity down your spine. “You kicked their asses in my book.”

There’s that warmth again, flowering in your chest cavity. Even when his hand falls from your arm, the impression of his touch stays there.

“They were good,” you say, conceding defeat. He shrugs, like whatever you say, and you’re about to finally ask him if you can talk in private when Yuji materializes out of nowhere, nearly making you jump out of your skin.

“Dude!” he crows, slinging an arm around your shoulder so aggressively that you nearly stumble, laughing. This kid does not know his own strength. “That was so good. So good. You should’ve won. That was insane. The new song?”

“That’s what I said,” Takuma says, raising a brow at you, and you’re flushing again.

“Ino, we’re getting Taco Bell,” Yuji says. You plaster on a smile when he turns to look at you, like you haven’t been going out of your mind the entire week needing to be alone with Takuma. “You want anything?”

Yuji’s not trying to interrupt anything. Poor guy just wants Taco Bell. You stifle a sigh. “Nah, I’m good.” You catch Maki’s eye from the other side of the room, and she waves you over. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Hey, you should come over later,” Takuma says before you can turn away. “Gotta catch me up on your midterms. I feel like I haven’t seen you all week.”

Yes. There it is. Exactly what you need.

“That sounds great,” you say honestly. “Call me when you guys get back?”

He gives you a two-fingered salute with a grin that makes your heart stutter a little. “Yes, ma’am.”

—

Nobara mourns the loss the whole way home, but by the time Maki pulls into the driveway she seems to have gotten all her feelings out and is back to her determined we’ll-get-it-next-year self. The guys drove separately with all the guitars piled in the backseat, and they beat you home.

You’ve just sat down on the couch and kicked off your shoes when your phone buzzes, a familiar but unexpected name floating across the screen.

INCOMING CALL: TSUMIKI FUSHIGURO

You slide to accept the call, waving at the boys to quiet down. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” Tsumiki says, in that tone of voice that means she’s running on multitasking business mode. A low, static humming in the background tells you she’s calling from the car. “So, there was some kind of accident on 34th a couple blocks down from the science complex. I know you’re on features, but Yuki’s out of town and most of the freelancers are younger and haven’t done breaking yet. Are you busy? I can try the sophomores if you can’t, or I can go, but I’m just coming from work and I might take too long—”

You’re already grabbing your bag and your board, mouthing newspaper to Yuta and Toge, who are giving you curious looks as they dig through the movie collection under the TV. The intersection’s not far from your place at all, or from The Fix, for that matter. Yuki’s the news editor, and if she’s out, it makes more sense for someone who’s already done breaking to go. Time is of the essence with these sorts of briefs. “On it, don’t worry,” you say, pushing out the front door and waving to Maki and Nobara on the way. “Photog?”

“Yeah, I’m calling around after this. I’ll get someone there. God, thank you, you’re a lifesaver.”

“No problem. Call you when I’m done.” You hang up and shove your phone into your back pocket as you careen down the street, headed toward the spot Tsumiki mentioned. Now that midterms are over and you’re free of your academic obligations, you can actually take the time to savor the cool night air and crunch of freshly fallen leaves under your wheels. Hopefully the crash isn’t too bad—Tsumiki didn’t seem incredibly worried, but it’s likely she was operating on very little information.

It doesn’t take long for you to hear the commotion, and you round the corner to see a few cop cars blocking off the crash site on the side of the road.

The second you’re close enough to see past the officers and their cars, your heart plummets.

It’s a red Hyundai.

Smoke billows out from beneath the hood, but the other car’s got it worse, the passenger side smashed in. The way it’s positioned—it shouldn’t have even been possible, unless the other car was genuinely driving in the wrong lane.

“No,” you breathe, kicking your board up and running, and then you’re flashing your press card at a campus policeman—he tries to get you to stop anyway, but there’s no way he’s catching you now—and you’re sprinting to the wrecked car, heart shouting in your chest. You see Yuji first, trying to brush off a concerned-looking Megumi, and then a pair of cops approaching them, and another cop arresting someone—shit, you know him, what’s his name? Naoya, that’s Maki’s dickwad cousin—probably the driver of the other vehicle, but where’s Takuma, where—

When you skid around the far side of the car, Kirara giving you a surprised look, you see him leaning up against the tree. He’s sitting on the grass, one leg pulled up to his chest and the other stretched out in front of him, his forehead resting on his knee. His shoulders are shaking, his hat’s on the ground, Kirara is beside him talking lowly and glaring at anyone who tries to get near him—

Until she sees you.

“Thank god,” she breathes. She doesn’t ask why you’re here. She just guides you to sit down in front of Takuma. “Can you—”

“Is he hurt?”

“No, I don’t think so, he’s just—”

“Got it.”

She backs off to give you space, and then you’re on the ground, knees in the grass in front of Takuma. Panic attack, PTSD episode, whatever it is, you’ve dealt with these before. You remember the roof, his quiet voice, explaining what happened to his dad, how he was in the car, how he hates driving because of it. You’d bet anything Takuma thinks he’s back there.

“Kuma,” the nickname slips out before you even realize it. He jerks and looks up at you, shock and confusion written all over his face. He’s full-on trembling, and your heart shatters in your chest. “Hey. Hey, I need you to breathe.” You hesitantly reach out and take his hands in yours, watching him carefully to see if he tries to pull away. He doesn’t. “You’re okay. Everyone’s okay. You’re safe. Can you take a breath for me?”

He’s not fully here, you can tell, his eyes glassed over and his breath catching in his throat. You scoot closer to him, put your hands on either side of his face, blocking out the sirens and the chatter and the crowd. “Takuma,” you say. “Look at me.”

His frantic, moving stare settles on you after a long moment, and he seems to realize abruptly that he is having a panic attack. You can see the moment it clicks in his mind, that if he was twelve years old in a car crash with his father, you couldn’t be here in front of him, and now it’s up to his body to get the message across.

“Breathe,” you say again, drawing in an exaggerated breath and blowing it out slowly. “C’mon, with me. You got this.”

Takuma gasps, trying to follow your instructions as you talk him through it, counting inhales and exhales and starting over every time his breath hitches. “Doing great,” you promise. The rest of the world—the cops, a very angry Megumi pacing back and forth, Kirara speaking rapidly on the phone—might as well not exist. It’s you and Takuma and your breaths in the air between you. Nothing else matters, not right now.

All of the struggles you’ve had this week, papers and feelings and not enough sleep, feel suddenly unbelievably small.

There are things that matter in a much louder way, and this is one of them.

“Christ,” Takuma breathes out eventually, burying his head in his hands. One of the cop cars erupts with the blare of sirens momentarily before stopping again, and the sound has his shoulders tense with worry all over again.

You don’t even think about it. You just pull Takuma into you, wrapping your arms around him, like you can put the both of you in a little bubble away from everything else. “Hey, hey—”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and you furiously shake your head. “Just—the sirens—“

“No,” you say firmly. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Takuma.”

He shudders and you rub your hand up and down his spine. “Is the other driver…?”

“A stupid fucking drunk driving in the wrong lane?” Kirara practically spits as she rejoins you near the tree. “Yes.” The cop just took her statement and has moved on to Megumi and Yuji.

You’ve never seen Megumi this livid. He’s gesturing wildly at the other car, and you remember idly that Naoya’s his cousin too, that this is a little personal for him.

“Yeah, but is he…?” Takuma trails off.

“He’s fine,” you murmur, your heart clenching for this boy, who’s been through so much and just relived the worst day of his life and still wanted to know if the other driver was okay. Jesus. He’s too good. “Everyone’s okay.”

You pull back to hold him at arm’s length, scanning him up and down for injury, and he’s staring at you like you just fell from the sky. “Skip—I’m really glad you’re here but—why? What are you…?” His voice is a little hoarse. His gaze trails down to the press pass hanging from your neck, and he cracks a wry smile. “Y’know, when I told you write a story on me, this isn’t really what I had in mind.”

So much relief floods you at once that you think you might actually start crying. “Jesus,” you croak out, and the smile drops from his face.

“I’m okay,” he says quickly. “Just—got the wind knocked out of me, but it’s fine. Skipper—”

You lurch forward and wrap your arms around him before he can finish, needing to feel him breathing, his heart beating. You also hear his breath hitch as he winces, and you pull back in alarm. “Shit, I’m sorry, what—”

“It’s okay,” he says. “Just sore. I’m fine. Really.” He leans back against the tree. “Airbags.”

You slump back against the tree too, deflated as the limp airbags in the ruined car. “You guys okay?” you ask as the others, done with their statements, turn toward you.

“Yeah,” Kirara says, but Megumi shakes his head and points to Yuji, who’s nodding even while cradling his wrist to his chest.

“It’s fine,” Yuji insists, and Megumi looks at him, incredibly unimpressed. “Well, it’s not broken, I can move it.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s okay,” Megumi says flatly. And you look at him, his expression so familiar, and abruptly realize you’re supposed to be writing a brief.

“Shit,” you mutter, pulling out your phone. “I’m working for your sister right now. I gotta…” You point to the phone. Megumi winces but nods, and Tsumiki picks up on the first ring.

“Hey! Done already? You find Yoshino okay? He said he—”

“Uh, no,” you say sheepishly. “Actually, I—uh, okay, everyone’s fine, but Megumi’s here. If I—”

“Slow down!” Tsumiki blurts. “What? Shit. Frick. Where’s Gumi? Can you put him on the phone?”

You wordlessly hand your phone to Megumi, who’s looking more pained at the concept of talking to his sister about this than the accident itself.

A few cars pull up—a white one screeching to a stop that really should not have been going so fast in front of a bunch of police officers, and then a darker gray one that arrives smoothly after, neatly pulling up against the curb. Gojo practically launches himself out of the first car, looking around until his gaze locks on Megumi, who hangs up the phone with a quiet okay, thanks and then immediately groans upon seeing Gojo there. Nanami and Shoko get out of the second car much less dramatically and trail after Gojo to the cluster of you by the tree.

“Megumi!” Gojo calls as he jogs over. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Megumi grumbles, trying and failing to brush Gojo off. “Where’d you come from? Don’t you have work?”

“Geto and Utahime are closing down,” Gojo says with a shrug. “We heard and came as fast as we could. Figured I’d bring our resident doc. Or Nanami would, since she wouldn’t ride with me,” he says loudly so Shoko can hear. She just rolls her eyes.

Megumi tosses you your phone and says, “Forget the brief, you’re good.” You nod, pushing to your feet and offering a hand to Takuma.

“We,” Gojo says, placing one hand on Megumi’s head and the other on Yuji’s, “are going to the ER.” You expect Megumi to object, but it’s Yuji who tries to wave Gojo off. Except he tries to physically wave him off with his bad wrist and immediately grimaces. Megumi swats him on the shoulder and gives him a serious look that says we’re going, don’t argue. You figure Tsumiki will probably meet them there.

Shoko stops to talk to Kirara a short distance away, and Nanami keeps walking, making a beeline for Takuma—and by extension, you. It doesn’t escape your notice that the second he’s within range, some of the tension in Takuma’s body seems to vanish, seeping out of him and into the grass, like the tree’s roots are taking it on for him.

Nanami’s usually immaculate hair is a little disheveled, like he ran his fingers through it. Without his usual glasses on, he looks a lot less daunting, a lot more personable. The worry in his expression is well concealed but very much present.

“Ino,” he says. “What happened? Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Takuma says unconvincingly. “Fine. Just—yeah. Drunk driver, you know…” He scratches at the back of his neck, and this time you don’t check yourself. You reach up and grab his hand, slotting your fingers between his. He shoots you a grateful look before turning back to Nanami. “I’m okay. Really. Thanks for… um…”

“Of course,” Nanami says before Takuma can say anything more. You release his hand so he can step forward. You’ve never seen Nanami hug anyone before, but apparently there’s a first time for everything.

“You’re not going with Gojo?” he asks when he pulls back, hands planted on Takuma’s shoulders. It feels very paternal. You’re not sure you should be listening in.

“Nah, I’m okay.”

“I’d feel a lot better if you got checked over,” he says, his voice firm but not unkind. “Would you let Shoko look at you, at least?” You’re relieved when Takuma nods, letting Shoko pull him away.

Gojo leads Yuji and Megumi past you, back to his car, and Yuji stops to whisper, “Never fear, Skip, the drum set was not in the car.”

“Oh my god,” you say. “Yuji. I’m more worried about you than the drums.”

“Aw, Skip!” he says happily. “That’s nice.” You roll your eyes but can’t keep the fond smile off your face, and you know Megumi’s probably doing the same thing, though you can only see the back of his head as he follows Gojo. Yuji bounds off after them, still cradling his wrist to his chest but seeming very unconcerned about the whole ordeal.

Yet another screech of tires alerts you to a truck appearing from the other end of the street. Hakari doesn’t even bother to shut it off, jumping out and leaving the door hanging open.

“Kira!” he shouts, pushing past the remaining officers. “Kirara!”

“Over here!” Kirara calls, thanking Shoko and weaving around the slowly diminishing crowd. Someone’s already showed up to tow Naoya’s car, and another truck probably isn’t far behind. Kirara gets swept up in Hakari’s arms, her trying to reassure him she’s fine, and you find yourself left alone with Nanami. He studies you openly, keen eyes and a calm, very slight smile on his face.

“I don’t think we’ve met, officially,” you say sheepishly. “I’m Skipper.”

“Kento,” he says, holding out a hand. You shake it and feel abruptly like you’re talking to a business executive. As Shoko looks Takuma over on the other side of the big tree, Nanami—Kento—lowers his voice a bit and says, “Ino’s told me all about you.”

The heat rises unbidden to your cheeks, and you hope the evening dimness hides it. He talks about you? To Nanami? You aren’t really sure how to respond to that, but luckily, Kento spares you the trouble. “Look out for him tonight, will you?” You can tell from the tone that he’s testing the waters, trying to determine how much you know about his dad.

Hopefully the message gets across when your gaze drifts back to Takuma over Kento’s shoulder and you say, “I plan on it.”

“He’s alright,” Shoko announces, and Takuma appears at your side again. “Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.” Something loosens in your chest at the words, something that tied itself into knots the second you saw Yuji’s car and hasn’t let up since.

“Hey,” Hakari calls, he and Kirara approaching hand in hand. “You guys good?”

Takuma nods, and you shrug. “Wasn’t in the car.”

“We’re gonna head back to Kirara’s. You want a lift?”

Takuma glances at Kento, and you feel the truth of his words that day on the roof, about Nanami being the closest thing he has to a father.

“Go home, kid,” he says. “Sleep it off. Call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” Takuma says, like a breath of relief. He looks exhausted. But he’s here in one piece, and that’s what matters. Your fingers brush his as you walk back to Hakari’s truck. It’s a quiet ride, a short one, your board on your lap and your press pass still dangling from your neck.

“Oh, Skipper,” Hakari says when he turns onto your street. “Your house over here? Or are you coming to theirs?”

You glance at Takuma, but before either of you can say anything, Kirara says, “She’s comin’ over.” She catches your gaze in the rearview mirror with a knowing look and you manage a weak smile. You can’t imagine letting Takuma out of your sight right now, honestly.

The dogs are there the second Kirara opens the door, and Takuma practically falls into them, burying his face in their fur as they nuzzle up against him. Shiro turns to you after saying hi to the others and noses at your palm until you scratch her behind the ears.

“Hi, sweetie,” you murmur. “Good girl.”

Kirara nudges you with her shoulder as she brushes by, glancing down at Takuma and then back at you. You nod. I got him. She offers you a small smile before she and Hakari disappear around the corner.

“C’mon,” you murmur, tapping Takuma on the shoulder. He nods, pushing to his feet and patting each dog on the head one more time. You follow him upstairs, feeling a little out of your depth. After all, he’s not the one who decided you were staying.

When you’re both standing in his room, you shift on your feet a little, wondering how to word it. “If you want some space—”

“No,” he blurts, unexpectedly loud, and then his cheeks go a little red, sheepish. “I mean—uh. I could… use the company. If you don’t mind. You don’t have to stay, obviously, just—”

“Kuma.” You laugh a little, watching him freeze, glance up at you mid-ramble. “I would love to stay.”

“Oh.” He grins. “Cool. Okay. Um.” He turns around and grabs a pair of sweats and a tee from his dresser, then holds them out to you. “If you want…? Or I can ask Kirara, I’m sure she’d let you borrow something, or obviously you live right down the street or—”

Something about the idea of wearing his clothes makes you go a little warm all over, and you accept them without hesitating, cutting off his rambling. “Thanks.”

“I’m gonna…” He jerks his thumb toward the door. You don’t know if he’s just giving you the space to change or going to shower or what, but you nod, waiting until the door clicks shut behind him to tug on the sweats and shirt. The shirt is huge on you, one shoulder sliding off, a fading logo of some music festival on the front. You sit on the edge of Takuma’s bed, tucking your knees under you, and then your phone rings. Tsumiki.

“Hey,” you say, pressing it to your ear. “They’re okay?”

“Yeah, Yuji sprained his wrist but nothing else. Pretty minor, all things considered,” she reports. “They’re on their way back to the house.”

“Good,” you breathe, the relief evident in your voice. “Thanks. Do you… are you sure about the brief?”

Tsumiki chuckles. “Hey, not your job to worry about the press tonight.”

“I can still try to… write it,” you say half-heartedly, dreading the thought of it. “I mean, I saw the scene and…”

“Don’t even worry about it. Genuinely,” she says. “You and I both know that’s a conflict of interest.” You huff a weak laugh. What an understatement. “More importantly, you sound exhausted and I’m sure that whole thing stressed you out. Listen, the photog I had on it wanted to break into writing anyway. No time like the present.”

You immediately feel even worse, because your photographer was probably looking for you at the scene and you just left him hanging.

“Stop,” Tsumiki says, like she can read your mind through the phone. “He handled it well. It’s fine, Skipper. Get some rest.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, but she’s already gone. You shoot a quick text to the group chat explaining what happened, that everyone’s fine, and that you probably won’t be home tonight. Takuma doesn’t want to be alone, and honestly, you don’t know if you could leave him if you tried.

It doesn’t take long for the texts to start pouring in.

utah: let us know if any of you need anything!! maki: keep us posted and tell megumi to answer his dumb phone nobara: WHAT nobara: OH MY GOD???? nobara: well i’m glad everyone’s okay nobara: christ freak no. 1: alsjkfq qEQht

You frown at the keysmash, wondering if Toge dropped his phone or actually just doesn’t know how to communicate like a normal person.

you: ??? freak no. 1: sorry SOMEONE TOOK MY PHONE,,,, utah: because SOMEONE DOESN’T KNOW WHEN IT’S AN APPROPRIATE TIME TO SEND MEMES, TOGE maki: nvm he picked up maki: go to sleep, skipper, we can talk tomorrow

Toge texts you privately thirty seconds later. It’s the meme of Gru laying out his evil plan and then realizing it’s a horrible idea. The first frame says answer the phone, the second says get the breaking news like a baddie journalist, and the last frames say realize you know everyone at the scene of the crime. You laugh out loud. Toge knows you. He knows you needed this. He wouldn’t have sent it if he didn’t think it’d cheer you up.

A half-second later, another image comes in, but it’s just a picture of Nobara with her hands clasped together in front of her mouth, speechless and absolutely thrilled. The full image shows her swooning over a little puppy, but you long ago cropped it and started using it as a reaction image in your chats.

freak no. 1: me when ur okay :)

“Aw,” you murmur. Toge can be sweet sometimes. You start texting back, but then another message comes in and you backspace immediately.

freak no. 1: me when ur spending the night with your boyfie :) you: i was gonna say thanks but then you kept going freak no. 1: me when she texts back :) you: goodnIGHT TOGE freak no. 1: me when she goodnight texts :)

Takuma knocks softly on the door before cracking it open, waiting for you to give him the green light before coming in. He’s changed into his own pair of sweats, and his hair is ruffled and wild around his face. “Hey.”

“Hi.” You toss your phone on the bedside table and scoot over to make room. “You okay?”

He sits cross-legged on the bed, and you turn to face him. “Think so,” he says. “Just… felt like I was back there for a minute.” His eyes go distant just for a moment, and your heart twists in your chest. You scoot forward, knees bumping against his.

“Glad you’re okay,” you murmur, and it doesn’t feel like enough, but he gives you that soft, open look that makes you feel like you could say anything at all and he’d treasure it.

“Glad it was you and not some rando reporter.”

You grin, holding a fist out to Takuma like it’s a microphone. “How do you rate Skipper’s hug on a scale of one to ten?”

He leans forward, playing along. “Uh, you know, it was so long ago I might not have a really accurate rating. I would have to probably hug her again—”

You don’t let him finish, surging forward and wrapping your arms around him, tackling him down onto the bed in a fit of laughter. Caught off-guard, he has no defense, and after a startled moment his arms snake around your waist, and you lie there, looking at each other with barely-restrained grins.

“Well, that one was pretty good,” he murmurs. “Nine, I think.”

You gape at him. “Nine?”

Another smile dances across his lips, and you suddenly really want to kiss him.

“Guess you’ll just have to keep trying.” He shrugs innocently, and then tries and fails to stifle a yawn, which makes you yawn in turn. It’s late, night having draped itself over the city hours ago, and the effects of barely snatching hours of sleep all week are finally creeping up on you, weighing you down.

“Go to sleep,” you tell Takuma, grabbing a blanket from where it’s been wedged between the bed and the wall and shoving it toward him.

“You go to sleep.”

“Bossy.”

But he shakes the blanket out and lets it fall over both of you, trapping your warmth beneath it, and sleep feels very, very appealing.

You think about the paralyzing, all-consuming fear that took hold of you when you saw the car. The thought of anything happening to him—you actually can’t even fathom it. And you think about what that means, and that you’ve only known this boy for a month, but you feel like your heart beats on the same channel as his.

Geto’s words play themselves over and over in your head, Maki’s mixing themselves in until you have a chorus of phrases bouncing around like pinballs.

Your heart is not a finite thing.

You already know.

The question isn’t if he likes you, or if you like him. It’s whether you’re gonna let it play out or shut it down before it has a chance to.

If you’ve got something, love it while you have it.

Geto was right. You don’t know how long you’ll have this for, have him for. But you better make the most of it while you do.

But Takuma’s eyes are already closing, his arm slung over your waist, seeking your warmth, your comfort. He looks exhausted, shaken. These aren’t conversations for tonight. Tonight, you just hold him, and feel his breath against your neck, and revel in the fact that he’s okay.

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jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro @bisforbuse @risararelywrites @idkidk32 @gojodickbig @stargazing-with-choso @anonymity-222

a/n: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, TEAM. i've fallen into another anime hyperfixation (blue lock) and it's killing me slowly. one part left of this fic !!

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

If you don’t mind sharing, since you don’t work for a zoo what is your job situation like? Making a living while working at a definitely zoo seems tricky. Is your main income zoology/animal related or is that more of a side thing?

Sincerely,

- a curious zoology student

I have a (mostly) unrelated jobjob - I’ve never actually been affiliated with a single facility, unless you count college internships before I started this blog. I freelance, working as a science media fact-checker and taking paid research contracts occasionally. I do work on a lot of animal / biology related fact-check content, but it’s not my entire scope of work. I also have the privilege of having family assistance, as I have chronic health issues that interfere with the normative 9-5 grind.

Everything I do in terms of blog writing/research, zoo industry research and publication, and photography is unpaid and pretty much a hobby at this point.

Prior to the pandemic I was trying to find funding for the intra-industry research and public-facing outreach I was doing, but there was never any money for it. (The industry is very used to expecting labor from young women for free. There was and is a lot of interest in the work I do, but the number of people/orgs that have ever provided compensation or financial support is in the single digits). The pandemic actually gave me the chance to pivot to focusing on professional fact-checking.

The only funding I get for any of this work is through a somewhat defunct Patreon I set up years ago when I was trying to make this blog / scicomm a full time gig. I’m terrible at updating it, and I’m conflicted enough about that to have been considering deleting it entirely. (For those of you who have stuck it out despite the radio silence, you’re incredible. You’ve facilitated the donation of my time to write a really cool paper with a zoo disaster response org, which will hopefully get through peer review soon).

To make something like this blog and everything else I do in the field actually financially sustainable, I’d need to fundraise and market more. The thing about a fact-checking career, though, is that it’s reinforced the need to make sure everything I write/say publicly is completely and 100% correct - because that level of rigor is what supports my professional reputation! Which means I’m slow to produce research and reticent to talk about it before it’s finished. My work comes out all the better for it, but it doesn’t fit into a content model that produces revenue.

So yeah, all of this is a side thing that I fit in around my paid work and my health. Because sometimes I just need to go see a tiger and smell an elephant, y’know?

[annieqattheperipheral]

At 1hr 21min:

Started typing... Kept typing lol here you go, natemac interview recap:

Nate still has to go train at sid's gym

So nate makes batherson come to his gym

Vail camp: used to have them, paused for covid, better and chill, no one knows them (tried them before in toronto and montreal), not busy. Training at 9000ft. Afterwards do treatment or golf.

Attendees: mcdavid, marner, sid, skinner, hall, tysbarrie, matty tkachuk, bennett, hanifin

McDavid: i don't see him much, I've gotten to know him thru these. I'm like a kid watching him, it's just fun

Matthew Tkachuk: "and he's doing his thing 😂"

Cale's wedding: "i shouldn't say a showman but when he gets into his moods he's a fun guy. likes to dance, have a good time, when his wife's around, definitely loosens up more and it's just the boys around"

Went to Wimbledon this summer. Did not wear a top hat

Lighter recovery training both this and last summer: just trying to take miles off his body is key. Light gym days "is that it, Andy?" But feels good now

Cale: "first nhl game, aggressive and calling for pucks, to do that at 19yo is impressive. The confidence that he has. Quieter off the ice. Super sure of himself on the ice. He's special. He'll be the best defenseman ever"

A bit about why he works with his sports psychologist and will always continue working with her "we're so dialed in on our body, why is no one taking care of their mind" "the minute you think you're good, you're not"

Is offended that "ball hockey players claim nhl players can't play ball hockey. is that true?" ("I've rollerbladed my entire life!!") (I need to see fanart of that btw pls ☺️)

Idiot boys tell him it's on feet not on rollerblades (chiclets cup talk "what is the chiclets cup?")

Nate asks who the best ball hockey player in the world is. Answer: "nose face killah" "who?" "he looks 20x uglier and a big nose" and Nate responds "so he's got like my nose" they all compliment his nose😌

Nate redirects the convo to roller hockey

On sid's $8.7: in July he told him "you're not gonna sign for 8.7 are ya c'mon. and he was like ahh idk I'll see" he's taking less to be team friendly

Sid still grinding in the summers. While Nate had his recovery summer he looks like a joke in comparison to sid

The pressure of being captain for team canada for upcoming 4nations & Olympics must be part of what's driving him

"he doesn't look 37 in any way" Yandle: he doesn't have any kids. Nate: must be it! Must be the key

Landy: feels like 10yrs when he last played and lifted the cup. Misses him

Mikko: "he's shockingly big. Says he's 6'3", seems like he must be 6'5". His head is this fuckin big"

"old school. Stretches for like an hour a day. The most flexible guy"

Avs "get so many national games. Know we're not the biggest hockey market but mikko should get more recognition. Super underrated"

Cal ritchie: he did the whiffing thing at vail camp. Everyone thought he whiffed and then he did it again. Nate tried it to do it today, can't do it. Awed by what the kids can do

Nate can't do the Michigan either

His trainer has trained a lot of downhill skiers, you have to be fearless, so training in the pool relaxes your mind. Keeps mum about what he does in the pool. No he does not wear a speedo😞

Lehky's dad vs. mikko: "mikko had a 4 or 5pt game, was fired up, said that to media, then apologized to lehky like 3min later. They're really good friends"

Went to Europe this summer: no one really knows me in america, especially there. Like being off grid, wake up to no texts bc of time change, super relaxing

Was tempted to go to worlds last season (omg what!!!!) avs were out 2nd round. Sid was bugging him and schenner about it (biz: "if you go I'll go kind of thing?" 'Yea")

They were all going to go but nate pooped out "played 105 games, lost to Dallas, was devastated"

Cogs: met him thru Andy at vail. Lit up when it was brought up about trading for him in '22. He is management now. Around the rink, always in the gym, hands in his pockets, walking around, talking to guys

"isn't he good at impressions?" "Yea he's a great storyteller he's so good"

"the league is evolving really quickly right now so it's good to have a bridge" like cogs who recently played bw team and mgmt

Communication is better in the league. Players aren't terrified to talk to GM like he was as a rookie when seeing sakic. Thinks it's important for players to know where they stand. Old school players think fear can be good, yea sure, but you can't scare ppl into playing well for over 8mos, 82 games. Prefers this new way

Mitts: super comfortable, quieter, came to a team where he knows nobody, he looks great, expecting an awesome year from him

Faceoffs: lmaaooo still saying he needs to practice that. Hurts his wrist when he practices them. Needs to be around 52. Was at 46 last season

No league bonus$ for winning the Hart

MacKinnon Crunch cereal released in 2021. It was frosted flakes + he picked the flavour, he liked it! (I NEED TO TRY THIS)

Tim hortons: sidnate want to do an ad with marchy where he messes up ppls orders and they sit him down to teach him what to do (omg they're coming up with sketches lolll) "Marchy needs to be nicer on the ice to be more marketable" 💀

Bedard: hard worker, on the ice 1.5hr after everyone, ice is so snowy can't even move on it

Preseason games, re: all these preseason injuries: doesn't agree with veteran rule (how many mandatory games they have to play) but important for prospects and rookies, you need to be able to evaluate them, they can look good in practice but different story in games.

For vets, you want to play hard, show a good example "played one last night, lost 6-1" and" you see the doughty laine injuries and it's like i could throw my season away for a glorified practice essentially is all it is"

"You're in your game jersey but it doesn't mean anything"

"it's a fine line, i like playing them, 1 or 2, i don't need 6"

Teams are making $1-3mil per preseason game (probably only leafs habs etc)

Listens to a lot of podcasts, likes learning (about self-help, longevity, recovery, nutrition, etc), always has since he was a kid. Liked going to Popeyes (nutrition supplements chain store, like GNC) with his dad looking at protein powders etc lmao

"idk I'm just into it. Definitely love learning, there's a lot i don't know. I feel like a dummy listening to these guys"

Asked about "policing food". He laughs. Omg the laugh is sooo lmaao. On whit saying rumours of him strangling lehky last season for eating a snickers "nooo. Stop it. Stop it. That's not true. (*laughing! laughing!🙃 *oh we are having fun!*)"

"Trying to mellow out a little bit. Definitely see some shit i get mad, try to keep it to myself. ... Eat what you want but when you're at the rink ... I just think the least you can do as a pro athletes is be in shape."

On how nhl of the past, players would be drinking pepsi in-between periods: "a little sugar during a game isn't too bad, it's all good" (i swear his voice is different at this part bc he is internally combusting😂)

4nations/team Canada: Wants McDavid & Sid 1c/2c. Doesn't think they've played wing, doesn't want them to

Himself 3c or wing. Has played wing at other national events. Doesn't love left wing. Prefers right

"should i tell sid to play wing?" Paraphrased: you're Ted Lindsay & MVP, still at his gym, you gotta get something out of this

"he could be 50yo and I'd still slide over" 😏

"nova scotia line (sid, nate, marchy) would be pretty cool at Olympics or this feb (4nations)"

Marner: "he looks awesome... You hear all this negative stuff and then you get on the ice with him you're like how could anyone be negative about this. Admire how good he is, bc ppl chirp him a lot. Him and McDavid were flying around together in Vail"

[evieelyzabethh]

Hi me again! 👋🏻

I was wondering if you had time maybe to write a small fic (or one shot whatever you’re comfortable with) where the reader is Buffy’s cousin ( also library assistant or whatever you would like ) and the reader and Giles are in a secret relationship ( maybe smut?? ) and they’re navigating that and Buffy finds out and it’s this whole thing. If you’re busy I totally understand or if you just don’t want to, again it’s okay. I really do enjoy your work 🥰.

Not Unavailable, More Unimpressed

pairing(s): Giles x Summers!Reader

summary: what started out as a short term fling has gotten increasingly complicated when the reciprocity and sincerity of feelings is called into questions. pt.1 of ???

warnings: smut, fem!reader, drinking, hand job, a bit of breast worship, clothed grinding, riding, slight choking, age gap (Giles is in his mid to late 40's, reader is in her late 20s/ early 30s), reader has nipple piercings bc I said so and I think they are hot

an: This fic will contain smut so be warned. You are responsible for your own media consumption, read at your own risk.

The man at the bar was a mystery to you. He didn't quite fit into the bar atmosphere. He wasn't one of the barely legals or illegals who snuck in eager to drink, he wasn't one of the old guys who came to hit on the bottle girls, he didn't smell like a smoker or shoot whiskey like a drinker. He was also British, something that left an odd taste in your mouth.

You couldn't call yourself a regular here, more often than not you found yourself at the Bronze, purely per Buffy's request, which had okay enough booze and slightly better music. Here, some place clearly meant for an older crowd called Jack's, is where the older man sat. Alone, he sat at the far corner, sometimes looking longingly at the stage like he was a performer. He didn't look like a performer though.

He was older than you. He was greyed out and looked like he came from when TVs were still in sepia tones. He looked like Gregory Peck in To Kill a Mockingbird, like he was always a moment away from scolding someone. It didn't help that he always looked tired, like a lot of his age came from stress. If that was the case, it still didn't make sense as to why he chose a bar to be his spot to wind down.

It was loud. Not in the way that the Bronze was, a type of loud filled with life. A loud spurred by rowdy souls, people who couldn't let loose at home, so they came to one of the only shitty bars in the small town to drink a shitty beer and watch their favorite sports team lose. Not to mention the countless barely legals who got into fights with the bartenders after they failed to get their underage friends a drink. Jack's wasn't a place to have fun, it was the place to avoid doing something reckless during your midlife crisis. You were only there because of convenience, and after being there for a half hour were already beginning to get a migraine.

Job hunting was rough. When you moved to Sunnydale on behalf of your aunt, she offered to let you stay under her roof, but being a grown woman who got up to grown woman shenanigans, it would be more than distasteful to do it in Joyce's home. You were lucky enough that the housing market was great in the area, with all the supernatural happenings so one chose to move to Sunnydale, but that still didn't mean that a decent looking apartment wouldn't cost you a nice sum of money every month.

I could just work here, was your first thought. You were once a young college student also desperate for money, you had bartended, you could always go back if you lacked self-respect. You had a degree dammit, sure you didn't have a doctorate, but you shouldn't need one to get a nice quiet desk job. Neither option was all that fulfilling, but something told you that bartending in a town when demons just roamed the streets didn't seem like a great idea.

The mystery man looked like he had a nice job. Maybe a nice car. Possibly a nice house. He looked financially stable, and fuck was that hot. What did he do? What was there to do in Sunnydale? You could ask.

You looked at his hands to see if there was a ring or any indication that there was someone waiting for him wherever he came from. Maybe a picture of a kid, maybe a photo of a significant other. Nothing. Nothing.

You slinked over to the seat beside him, not meaning to make your presence immediately known yet he still looked up as he felt the heat of someone else beside him. His glasses perched low on his nose and his grey hair tussled. His eyes were green. He was pretty.

"Hello?" He looked at you confused. He took a moment to drink you in. Younger, gorgeous, clearly bold.

"Hello."

"Are you waiting for someone?" You shook your head.

"No. Are you?" and he'd be lying if he said he was.

☽✯☾

"You know, I don't do this often." He said between the rare breaths that were allowed in between suffocating kisses. Whatever he took up in his free time must've involved a great workout regimen. His hand sat comfortably at your neck, and you basked in the warmth that it provided in his cold apartment. His other held your cheek, his thumb mindless rubbing against it in a way that was hypnotizing. It almost had a numbing affect, your skin not being able to get past the feeling making your brain pause as he kissed your lips.

He tasted like fine wine. He smelled like old books. You half expected him to quote a classic at you, you didn't know him well enough to gauge if he was the type. His tongue contradicted his previous statement. These weren't the kisses of a man out of practice, that or he did it so much in his youth it was impossible to forget. Something like riding a bike.

"For a man who doesn't do this often, you're mighty good at it." He smirked; you could feel it against your lips. You wished you could see it, but he had the lights in his bedroom turned low and you weren't sure you wanted to open your eyes in the fear that you were dreaming. It was warm, he was so warm. So warm it was noticeable when his lips left yours and moved to your neck, hovering under your ears. His breath fanning against your neck was enough to send shivers down your spine.

"You haven't even seen how good I am, darling." The pet name alone made you weak in the knees, but you would be damned if you swooned at someone called you darling. Granted, you couldn't help how your mouth went dry or how your pussy clenched at nothing, but he didn't need to know that. He was going to find out, but he can find out later when your lust ridden brain stopped listening to reason and pride.

"Show me, then."

He dipped his head to kiss you, grabbing a fistful of your hair to tip your head back and you let him, grabbing on to his broad shoulders to stabilize yourself. You were pressed between the wall and him, pressing him even closer as you fisted his shirt to pull him closer, but he was hesitant to oblige. He was teasing, you could tell by the way he smiled into your kisses, pulling away like he needed air while you chased after his lips.

"You having issues breathing, old man?" The hand at your neck squeezed, not enough to choke you but enough to make your head even dizzier. His other hand travelled to any piece of skin he could get his hands on. Feather light, his fingers ran across your arms, then your collarbones, before knocking the straps of your dress off your shoulder. His kisses moved slow, his tongue damn near like languid waves that you were somehow managing to drown in.

Still, you chased after him, and still, he ran. His lips ran to the corner of your mouth, to the skin of your neck his hand didn't engulf, to where your strap lay useless. His kisses scorched your otherwise cold skin, his mouth sucking hickeys and then immediately soothing them.

He was so soft. Soft in how his hands found the back of your dress, soft in how his eyes looked into yours, asking permission without even saying a word, soft like the way the fabric slipped of your body and onto the floor. Soft like the bed he laid you on. Even soft in the way he continued to tease you, his knee meeting the crotch of your panties and him meticulously unsnapping your bra as if you couldn't tell he knew how to do it.

He then paused for a minute, finally coming across something he hadn't experienced before. His fingers took the ball of cool metal between his fingers, and you moaned at how it pulled ever so slightly at your nipple.

"What are these?" You chuckled.

"I got 'em pierced ages ago. Drunk night out with a few friends my senior year." He continued to play with the metal ball, well aware of how you keened and ground yourself into his knee.

"So, I can play with them." Fuck. It was how he said it. Like a nerd you might've messed around with in school because he was a good tutor but also because he had that nerdy charm to him. Like playing with your body was a game of Operations he had been so eager to play and was determined to get good at. It was easy to imagine Giles like that, fogged up glasses, eyes concentrated and focused on figuring out what buttons to press to get a prize. There was the curiosity in his lust-blown eyes, and in your lust addled brain you were fine with being his toy.

"Please do." He didn't need to be told twice. Avid learner he was, he went in, his large hands easily covering your breasts. His fingers pulled at the bars, drawing whimpers out of you the more he prodded. It wasn't too rough, Giles was too soft to ever be truly rough, but the feeling of his gaze, your clothed pussy rubbing against his soft slacks, and his large hands over your chest was getting a bit much. And he hadn't even put his mouth on you yet.

It didn't take long for him to realize the feeling of your pierced tits in his mouth was one of the best things he's felt, and it felt even better for you. A wet patch had long since been growing and he certainly felt it too, it egged him on. He wasn't even in you, he hadn't even tasted you, and you were almost there. You were so close.

You grabbed at anything you could, his shirt, his sheets, his hands that held yours as you rocked yourself onto his knee until you saw stars. Then he grabbed your face and swallowed your moans as he kissed and kissed you until you came down. A moment of clarity hit you, and you pulled on his shirt. "Off." you told him simply, and he obliged. You smashed your lips into his, peeling off button after button until the shirt was thrown to the side and his undershirt beneath was discarded with even less care.

"Issues with patience, darling?" You shook your head.

"Not fair I'm practically naked and you were fully clothed." His retort was cut off by your lips as you sat up to meet him, his hands absent-mindedly finding your breasts and yours finding his belt and making quick work of it before he even realized what was happening. You kissed him through it, anyway, still chasing after him as he pulled away to curse at the feeling of your hand around his dick.

"Gods." he muttered, words tumbling out clumsily as you rubbed the tip of his cock. He never had the control to pull away fast enough for an adequate breather, just a second to get a breath out and pray. You were flattered. His hand seemed like it wanted to swat you away, but it didn't have the strength to betray his brain like that. It felt good. Too good. So good he couldn't even think, and Giles never stopping thinking and now he was drawing blanks. He was sure you had mocked him once or twice, which went through one ear and out the other.

He caught himself thrusting into your hand before he caught himself, grabbing your wrist. "Hang on." He choked out, but you didn't listen. Your hand moved up and down his shaft terribly slow, and it was almost worse. Watching you spit on your hand and collect pre-cum from his tip and spread it like some sick simulation of what it would be like to be in you, and yet he couldn't help but watch his hand completely cover yours as you pumped him. Don't cum yet.

"I said hang on." His breath was ragged and his voice was deep. This time he meant it. "There are condoms in the top left drawer. Take one out for me, love." And you did as such. Did it with so much assurance that you slid it on without him even needing to ask you. Slid your panties off and sank down so fast neither one of you was ready.

You both sat there a moment, feeling your nerve endings tingle and burn, like you were both on fire. But you were on fire together. Like you could feel every atom in your body, like it had all been reduced to nothing but water, you were both feeling everything and anything yet absolutely nothing at the same time. So much feeling any nuance got lost in the moment. Just being there, breaths away, with a complete stranger you were sleeping with because he was pretty and looked financially stable.

You kissed him, a real kiss. Spontaneous. One with a feeling neither one of you could decipher and both assumed meant nothing. You rode it out until you had both exhausted each other, you falling on top of him and him catching you.

"Would you like to use my shower before you go? Did you need a ride home?" You cheesed to yourself. And they say chivalry is dead.

"Yeah, that would be nice." You had already rolled out of his bed in search of your dress and waiting for feeling to return to your legs. "I never got your name."

"Giles. Rupert Giles." You giggled as you shook of your dress after picking it up from the floor. Sounds about right.

"And what do you do for a living, Mr. Giles."

"Do these things typically end in interviews?" He made no effort to get out of his bed, he even had the decency to turn away while you get dressed as if he wasn't just balls deep in you.

"No, but I am new to town and would like to not be broke."

"I'm a librarian." Of course, you are. "Have you any interest in literature?" You did. You were a nerd. You had tried convincing yourself you weren't for years, but you majored in philosophy and minored in classic literature; and no one likes philosophy majors.

"I dabble a bit. Got a degree from all the reading I did if that counts." He looked at you like he knew you were trying to make yourself sound cooler. Nerd calls to nerd.

"Well, plenty of places are always hiring. The turnover rate is quite atrocious here." And even new to town, you believed it.

"I just might."

☽✯☾

You did end applying, you even ended up getting the job. Apparently, your little cousin's high school was in desperate need of a library assistant. You also had the pleasure of freezing when you saw Giles again and watching your little cousin greet her favorite teacher.

It was almost worth it for the look on his face, though.