#i LOVE IT when he does this it's the BEST

[ayzaart]

yoshiki, hikaru, and hikaru

[rawjutsu]

jjk men with an easily overstimulated reader <3

gojo satoru 

oh, he lives for it. you whimper once, and his pupils dilate like he just hit the jackpot. you twitch, squirm, try to close your legs—and he just laughs.

“aww, what’s wrong, babe? thought you said you could handle me.”

he pretends to slow down, to "be nice," but five seconds later his fingers are back, curved just right, tongue lapping at your clit like he’s starving, your thighs clamped around his head—and he's thriving.

and when you're overstimulated to the point of tears? he coos at you like it's the sweetest thing in the world.

“c’mon, one more. you can give me one more, right? be a good girl for me.”

literally feeds on the way your voice breaks mid-moan. will overstim you on purpose just to watch your hips jerk and your body betray you.

fushiguro toji 

toji. you poor thing. the overstimulation with him is so nasty in the best way because he is ruthless. doesn’t matter if you’re shaking, babbling, trying to crawl away—he’ll just pull you right back by the waist with one arm like:

“what’s the matter, baby? you were beggin’ for it five minutes ago.”

he gets this low growl in his throat when you clench around him from overstimulation, like you’re just too much. he's obsessed with your limit and loves finding ways to push past it. that smug smirk only grows when your eyes roll back and your legs are trembling too hard to keep you upright.

“you’re twitchin’ like a fuckin’ mess. that mean you’re close again? thought you were done cryin’.”

his favorite thing is when you go limp in his arms after like the fifth orgasm and he has to hold you up just to keep going. 

nanami kento 

oh, nanami is such a soft dom at first, like—he tries to take it slow. he’s respectful. he asks you what feels good, kisses your neck, lets you ride the high of your first orgasm and praises you so gently...

but then he sees how sensitive you are and it awakens something feral in him. that neat composure starts to crack.

“you’re shaking already, sweetheart? just from my fingers?”

the glasses are off. his tie is undone. he’s got your legs over his shoulders and he’s watching you fall apart, murmuring praise through gritted teeth.

“you can take another. you’re doing so well. so sensitive for me.”

if you’re crying or begging, his tone turns into that firm voice:

“no, don’t shy away now. i want to see all of you.”

bonus: he’ll eat you out through the overstimulation while holding your thighs apart with a death grip.

geto suguru

suguru is the sweet sadist. he’ll talk you through it like he’s teaching a class. you say you’re sensitive? oh baby, you just unlocked his favorite game.

“already? you’re overstimulated already? hm… maybe i need to train that sweet body of yours.”

he's calm, in the most terrifying way. he holds you down gently but firmly, with that honey-smooth voice whispering how pretty you look trembling under him. he's always testing you.

“does this feel too good? or is it just enough to break you?”

overstimulation via toys + his fingers = his favorite combo. he loves seeing your body betray you, even when you’re sobbing and shaking, and his lips are at your ear murmuring,

“there it is. that’s it. just let go, baby. cum again for me.”

will overstim you until you pass out with a smile on his face.

ryomen sukuna 

overstimulating you isn’t even about your pleasure to him at first. it’s about dominance. it's about owning every twitch, every hiccupped gasp, every soaked inch of your overstimmed, ruined body.

he loves when you beg for a break because that’s when he knows he’s winning.

“begging? you think i care if you’re tired, little thing? you’ll take what i give you.”

imagine four hands keeping you pinned. two gripping your wrists above your head. the other two… one on your throat, one between your legs, rubbing your clit even while his cock is still buried inside you, relentless.

you’re squirming, crying, mind blank from cumming too many times and he just laughs.

“look at you. can’t even speak. just a drooling mess and i’ve barely started.”

he feeds on overstimulation. you arch away from him? he pulls you closer. your legs try to close? he forces them open.

“your body’s so honest, pet. you say ‘stop’ but your cunt’s begging for more.”

he’s the type to dare you to pass out— and when you do? he’ll wake you back up with another orgasm.

[boyfhee]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ENTANGLEMENT ﹑ jaeyun

爱,⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀───⠀⠀⠀𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝖾𝗋𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝖺 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝖺𝗇’𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

𝟭𝟲𝟱𝟲─────nerd! jake x fem! reader ， est relationship fluff ✶ kissing, petnames, skinship ꕀ 𝑉𝑂𝐺𝑈𝐸 ｡

it starts normally— fingers tangled in his hair, breath tangled in his lungs. jake’s hands are everywhere—tentative but hungry, like he’s both terrified and thrilled to be here.

and as if anything about kissing jake can be normal, because he pulls away just as your fingers fumbled over the buttons of his shirt.

“no but, it’s so cool,” he says breathlessly, licking his lips like he didn’t just ruin the moment. “they don’t cast shadows at all,”

he sounds so amused, like he has discovered a secret. his eyes are bright, flushed cheeks glowing like he’s more excited about this than your mouth.

you can’t let that happen.

hell, you’ve waited an entire semester for this. even though your boyfriend looks like a perfect mess while rambling about physics, you refuse to lose him to surgical lights.

your legs wrap around his torso and he backs you further onto the mattress, his lips have turned into a beautiful mess of your lipstick and gloss— not like your boyfriend really minds.

he whines when you trail your lips over his jaw, down to his neck, loosening the tie you gifted him three days ago for his interview earlier today.

you can feel his trembling hands on you with care and caution. you kiss him deeper, hoping it would shut him up but jake still pulls away, lips swollen from the kiss.

“baby. they’re made with multiple beams. overlapping—shit—” a nip on his skin and jake lets out the prettiest moan, “—optics,”

“jake,” you warn, or perhaps you are begging him to not use his damn mouth for anything except kissing you.

“they’re so cool. even when a surgeon blocks one, the others cancel the shadows,” he continues either way, losing his mind over lights and also the fact that you’re so close to him.

you’re so pretty, he can’t look at you without crashing out, wondering if he should be even allowed to look at you. you’re so amazing, a goddess actually, you let him ramble about his stupid facts— he is so going to marry you.

you turn over swiftly, easily caging him under you and he yelps in surprise. “shut up. please,”

even when you’re looking at him with annoyance, jake thinks this is the best moment of his life.

“i’m sorry, baby. it’s just so cool— so is kissing you, but i have to tell you— don’t get me wrong, i love kissing you—” and he’s rambling again.

actually, jake himself doesn’t understand how he managed to have someone like you as his girlfriend. there’s no way on earth you chose him when you have people pinning after you every day.

you dive right back in, crashing your lips against his and he freaks out, gripping the sheets as if holding you would be a sin.

and it is annoying, really, not because he can’t shut up even when you are on top of him— you’re finding this hot.

he flaunts a stupid grin and bright eyes that brim with excitement every time he wants to tell you another fact, even if it’s in the middle of him ruining you in bed.

he tells you about the quantum entanglement while your limbs are entangled under the blankets. and he does it so hypnotically— thorough with his concepts and gentle with his lips, going over your skin and laws of thermodynamics— you wonder if he knows he has you hooked.

last week, it was laser guided laparoscopy. right now, surgical lights, next— who knows?

he pulls back, almost impatient, speaking in an airy whisper. “also, there’s one more—”

you cut him off with a sigh, half admiration and half annoyance. “are you going to tell me about the principle of superposition next?”

“you know what it is?” he’s excited, hopeful. he is afraid his heart would rip out of his chest with how fast it is beating.

you know about physics, he’s going to tell your kids about this.

“no, but i saw it in one of your books,” you peck him again, his pouty lips looking way too inviting not to.

his heart skips a beat, several, actually. your words sound like wedding bells to him. jake could explode simply because you are aware of a stupid law in physics.

i love yous are overrated— this is true love.

and he stares at you like he’s seconds away from proposing.

you’re still slightly annoyed.

but you do let him talk about the principle of superposition after another kiss, with his shirt off.

◞ ⩊ ◟ — his live had me spiraling and i needed to write this .. i hope the jakeists enjoy this ><

[verstappenverse]

Always Almost Yours

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: He was your best friend. The boy you grew up with. The boy you loved in silence. Now that his relationship is over and he finally sees you, really sees you, you’re already halfway out the door. (Requested)

2.7k words / Masterlist

He never looked at you the way you looked at him.

That was the cruelest part.

Max was your best friend.

Not just in the way people say that when they mean we talk often and like the same music. Max was the scraped-knees-and-late-night-phone-calls kind of best friend. The first person to teach you how to throw a punch and the first to teach you how to lie to your parents without getting caught. The boy who once held your hand under the covers during a thunderstorm when you were both eleven and too proud to admit you were scared.

He was the one who always came back to you, even after the worst races. The one who let you see the parts of him no one else ever would, sharp and soft, boy and man, storm and shelter all at once.

And still, somehow, never yours.

You were the one in the passenger seat. The one who knew when to leave him alone after a bad quali, when to pull him close and whisper “you’ll get ’em tomorrow.” The one who stood in his corner for so long you stopped realising you were still hoping he’d turn around and see you.

You were always there. Until suddenly he didn’t need you anymore. Not when she came along.

Beautiful, confident, glossy-haired and golden-skinned, and you told yourself it was fine. Of course you did. You smiled when he brought her to your birthday party, even when he forgot to tell you he was bringing someone. Even when she kissed his cheek in the middle of your kitchen like it was nothing.

You laughed with everyone else, poured drinks, unwrapped gifts, made small talk with drivers and engineers. But you spent half the night locked in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub, blinking up at the ceiling as your reflection blurred behind tears you refused to let fall.

You didn’t want to hate her. She hadn’t done anything wrong except exist in all the ways you weren’t allowed to, with your hand in his, your head on his shoulder, your future mapped beside his.

Still some part of you couldn’t help but ask: What does she have that I don’t?

What did she say that made him lean in a little closer? What laugh of hers replaced the space you used to fill?

And most of all: What would it feel like to be looked at by him the way he looks at her?

Because he never looked at you like that. Not in all the years you’d known him. Not when you were seventeen and he called you at three in the morning because he couldn't sleep in Bahrain and you talked until sunrise. Not when you showed up at the track the day he won his first Grand Prix, teary-eyed and breathless, and he ran into your arms like he hadn’t seen you in years.

Close enough to know every version of him. Every scar, every secret, every softness he never let the world see.

But never close enough to keep.

Still you loved him, because loving Max wasn’t something you decided.

It had always been that way.

Always almost his.

Never quite.

You didn’t mean to fall out of love with him. And truthfully, you aren’t sure you actually have, not entirely, not in the way people mean when they say they’ve moved on. The feelings are still there, somewhere beneath the surface, lingering in the hollow parts of your chest that still expect him to show up, but the edges of it have dulled. Worn down not by time, but by the slow, painful realisation that loving him wasn’t going to be enough to make him love you back.

Somewhere between the unanswered texts, the forgotten plans, the way he spoke about her, something inside you began to quietly fracture. Not all at once, and not with any grand moment of clarity. A hundred little moments where you chose not to say what you were thinking, not to reach for him the way you used to. Because what was the point?

You started packing your things about two months ago. Not in any physical sense, your life still looked the same on the outside, still orbiting his in all the ways it always had, but emotionally you’d begun the process of leaving, like someone backing out of a room without turning on the lights.

You removed his contact from the pinned position at the top of your phone, so the ache wouldn’t hit so hard when he didn’t reply how you had hoped. You stopped buying his favourite ice cream at the store, the kind he used to steal from your freezer late at night, grinning like a teenager. You stopped screenshotting tweets or saving videos you thought he’d laugh at. And eventually you stopped wondering whether he’d noticed any of it.

You weren’t angry… just tired, in that deep, soul-heavy way that comes from wanting something for so long and slowly realising it was never meant to be yours.

Max knew you were in Barcelona this weekend, still he hadn’t expected to see you tonight.

The party was an afterthought. He hadn’t planned to stay long. He’d barely touched his drink when he walked in, just enough to be polite, to show face.

It had been a couple of weeks since the breakup.

It hadn’t been sudden, not really. The end had been coming for a while slow and quiet, a withering sort of feeling that didn’t crack so much as fade. She’d grown distant and he’d let her. He’d grown restless, and she hadn’t tried to stop him. They’d gone through the motions, races, events, photo ops, dinners where the silence spoke louder than anything either of them said.

The fights when they came were never loud, just flat, low-voiced disagreements that ended with someone walking out and no one following.

She’d asked him, finally, if there was someone else.

And he’d hesitated.

Not because there was. Not in the way she meant. He hadn’t cheated, not physically. But there was a pause in his answer, long enough that they both felt it settle into the space between them like a bruise.

She knew before he did. She knew the name he didn’t say.

He hadn’t spoken to you since. Hadn’t known how to… maybe he still doesn’t.

It isn’t until tonight, standing across the room with a drink in his hand and a weight in his chest, that he feels the full weight of what he’s done. What he’s missed.

You’re laughing, your head tipped back, hand resting on the arm of a chair, body turned toward someone else in a way that makes Max feel like he’s watching a different life you stepped into without him.

You look good. Effortlessly beautiful in that way you never tried to be, eyes warm, smile wide, you just are, and somehow that’s more magnetic than anything he’s ever known.

And fuck, he feels it now. All of it.

The way his eyes search for you in every room. The way his day feels off when he hasn’t heard your voice. The dull ache he carries when he sees something funny and instinctively reaches for his phone, only to stop, unsure if you’d even want to hear from him anymore.

It hits him with a clarity that makes his breath stop, and he misses you in every way a person can be missed.

You glance up. Spot him.

For a second your smile falters. A flicker of something in your eyes before you school your expression into something smooth and indifferent. It’s a tiny crack, so small no one else would notice, but it splits him open.

He starts to move before he can think better of it. Cuts across the floor, his hand tightening around the glass in his palm, trying to figure out what the hell he’s supposed to say after months of silence. After choosing someone else. After pretending like he hadn’t known what he was doing when he left you in the shadows.

But you’re already turning. Already slipping out the side door with your phone pressed to your ear, and your smile stitched back into place.

He stops and stands there, stupidly, watching the door swing closed behind you, knowing that for the first time in all the years he’s known you, he’s the one who missed his moment.

You didn’t expect him to follow you out of the party.

So you went back to your hotel alone, slipped out of your dress, washed off your makeup, and packed the last of your things.

Now you’re sitting on the edge of your hotel bed, suitcase zipped, passport tucked into your carry-on, and your ride to the airport fifteen minutes away when there's a knock at the door.

You don’t have to ask to know it’s him, and despite everything telling you not to you let him in.

“You’re leaving?”

It used to be so easy with him.

Movie nights sprawled on his couch, bickering over snack choices like an old married couple. Late drives with the windows down and music turned up too loud, him tapping the steering wheel and glancing at you when he thought you weren’t looking. The way he’d toss his arm around your shoulder without thinking twice, not noticing how your breath always caught for a second too long. Or how he’d call you liefje by accident sometimes and then pretend it didn’t mean anything.

You let it slide.

You always let it slide.

Because you were scared of the answer if you ever asked what you were to him.

And now he’s the one asking you why you’re leaving?

You don’t look up. Not at first. You focus on the zipper, on the way your hands tremble slightly as you fix the handle of your suitcase into place.

“Yeah,” you say after a moment, voice flat, too carefully even.

He shifts, like the floor’s been pulled slightly off balance beneath him. “Tonight? You didn’t tell me.”

You let out a soft, humourless breath. “We haven’t exactly been updating each other lately have we?”

He flinches, just barely. “Still… I thought I’d see you before you left.”

“I was at the party,” you say. “You saw me

“No, I thought—” He cuts himself off, brows pulling together. “You didn’t say goodbye.”

You finally lift your head to look him properly in the eyes.

He’s standing just inside the doorway, his eyes are tired, his expression cracked open in a way that makes your stomach twist.

“I didn’t think it mattered,” you say quietly.

Maybe that’s the cruelest thing you’ve ever said to him, because it does matter. Of course it does. It shows in the way his shoulders tense and his hands curl into fists at his sides like he’s trying to stop himself from shaking.

“That’s not fair.”

You pick up your bag, ignoring the weight of the silence between you, and step toward the door.

“I didn’t know,” he says, voice low, like he’s ashamed of it now.

You don’t look at him. “Didn’t know what?”

He hesitates, and when you finally glance up, he’s looking at you like the truth is a sharp thing he’s only just worked up the courage to hold.

“That you loved me.”

Your fingers slip slightly from the handle of your bag. “What…?”

“I never said that,” you manage, your voice catching on the edges.

“You didn’t have to.” His eyes are steady now, searching. “It was always there I should’ve seen it,” he says. “Should’ve seen you.”

You shake your head, “I guess you were too busy loving someone else.”

He looks gutted.

You wish, God, you wish that it didn’t still matter. That it didn’t still sting.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he says.

“You didn’t even know you were Max. That’s the whole point.”

The room feels too quiet. Too small. Your heartbeat too loud.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” you continue, voice shaking now, “to love someone for years and never be seen. To be right there always and still not be enough.”

Max stares at you like you’ve told him the world is ending.

“I see you now,” he says, and it’s not slick or smooth, it’s wrecked and raw.

You swallow. “You’re only saying that because I’m walking away.”

“No.” He steps forward, desperate now. “No, I’m saying it because you’re the only thing that’s ever felt like home and I’m an idiot for not realising it sooner.”

Your throat tightens, and you hate how much it still hurts. How much of you still wants to believe him. Still wants to stay.

“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ve never said them before.”

“Because I didn’t know,” he says, the words sharp and uneven. “I didn’t know what it meant, all those times I looked for you first. Or why I couldn’t sleep unless I heard your voice. I didn’t get it until now, and I know that’s my fault, but please—”

You shake your head, eyes stinging. “You did know. Somewhere in there, you did. You just didn’t want it. Not back then.”

He exhales, broken. “I thought you’d always be there.”

“I was,” you whisper.

You don’t stop him when he reaches for you this time. When his hand brushes yours, and for the first time in what feels like years, you let yourself feel the gravity of him.

He’s looking at you now like the sun has just split through storm clouds. Like he’s seeing you clearly for the very first time.

But it’s not enough anymore.

You step back, voice soft but steady. “I spent years being almost yours Max. I can’t do that again.”

“I broke up with her.”

“I know,” you say, and your heart shatters a little more for it. “But it doesn’t change what it felt like to stand beside you all that time and never be chosen.”

“It changes everything.”

“Not for me.”

He opens his mouth, searching, maybe, for some last piece of you to hold onto, but nothing comes. Just the rise and fall of his chest and the silence that says too much.

So you keep going. You have to.

“You don’t want me. You just don’t want to lose me.”

“That’s not true,” he says quickly.

“Isn’t it?”

He looks at you like you’ve just gutted him with a lie.

“Please,” he says, voice hoarse and breaking.

If he’d said this even just a few months ago…

But now?

Now it just splits you open.

He walks you down to the lobby anyway.

The car pulls up. You reach for the handle, and of course he stops you. Fingers curl around your wrist, and it’s the first time in your entire friendship he looks terrified to let go.

“Stay,” he says, rough and low and entirely unlike him. “Just… stay. Let me prove I mean it.”

You look down at his hand and you want to. More than anything, you want to, but you shake your head.

“So that’s it?” he asks. “You’re just going to walk away?”

“I have to,” you whisper, voice already trembling. “Because if I don’t, I’ll spend the rest of my life being the girl who waited around for you to love her back.”

Max looks at you like his entire world is falling apart.

You lean in, press the softest kiss to his cheek, and then you step into the car and close the door before you can change your mind.

He texts you later that night.

Just one message.

I’m not letting us end like that.

You see it the moment it comes through. The screen lights up on the nightstand beside your bed, a soft glow in the dim room. The kind of light that feels too hopeful. Too late.

You lock the screen and place the phone face-down on the nightstand. The room falls quiet again, heavy with all the words you don’t say.

You read the words again, and again, because it’s not a grand gesture. It’s not an apology wrapped in flowers or fireworks.

It’s simple... but for once he didn’t wait too long.

You place the phone gently back on the nightstand, but something in your chest has started to shift. To warm. To hope

You don’t reply, not right away, because maybe if he really means it…

He’ll come find you.

And he’ll show you you were never just almost.

Taglist: @shigarika @bunnisplayground @thecoolpotatohologram @ymrereads @alexxavicry @gigglepre @esw1012 @satorinnie @percysaidnever @osclerc @sainzluvrr @autumn242 @shadowreader07 @joyfulpandamiracle @inmynotes63 @athanasia-day @embonbon @waterdeeply @shadowsoundeffects13 @fastandcurious16 @odegaardlia @skzvibes-blog @iambored24601 @e10owmaks @painfromblues @leto-twins-3107 @rxx-eegh @lewishamiltonismybf @mara1999 @armystay89 @ramonaflwsr @zazima @mischiefmxnxgedhp @yoonessa @wordskeeper @freyathehuntress @brumstappen @irenkaproszepana @butterkaput @blueskies4everxo @teamnovalak @taylordaughter @taetae-armyyyyy @kitty-m30w

[sillyswriting]

: ̗̀➛ he does like me, i guess

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ  ₊✩ˎˊ˗ clark kent x reader

synopsis : Monday morning was a bit awkward at the Daily Planet. Especially with coworkers like yours. small blurb following but he doesn't like me, does he?, based on this ask.

cw : none, chubby reader. (david!clark kent) words : 2.4k

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ  masterlist ⋆ ao3

Monday was a bit weird, to say the least.

Clark had spent the weekend at your place, mostly lingering in your bed or curled up on the couch. It had been one of the best weekends of your life. You hadn’t wanted it to end, you could’ve stayed in his arms forever. But alas, Monday morning meant work.

Of course, being the nervous wreck you were, you had brought up the conversation. Where was this going? You didn’t want to rush things, and neither did he, so you agreed to keep things low-key : act normal at work, keep it quiet around friends and coworkers for now, and continue your little dinner dates. Because that’s what they were now, right? Dates?

You still remembered how flustered you'd been when Clark casually mentioned they had always been dates, for him, at least. Since the very first night. He just hadn’t wanted to overwhelm you by putting labels on anything. This man was, somehow, both the most thoughtful and the most clueless person you'd ever met. But you liked him for that.

Another thing that made you realize Clark was serious about you? How easily he let you in on his little secret. Well, technically, he’d been the one to blurt out too much in the first place. But could you really blame him? He’d been more than a little pussy-drunk on the girl he’d been in love with for months, of course he’d slipped up.

It had made so much sense in your head. The familiar feeling you always got around Superman, the same warm presence, the same knowing smirk that mirrored Clark’s perfectly, the gentle, steady aura both men seemed to radiate. It had been a shock at first, sure, but looking back now, you felt a little ridiculous for not figuring it out sooner.

Clark had laughed when you told him that, reassuring you with that soft, dorky grin of his. He explained that Mr. Terrific had made him special glasses, something that subtly interfered with how people perceived him, making the connection harder to recognize. It wasn’t that you were oblivious. Clark just had... very talented friends.

After the shock, you had gone on for almost an hour about the N line being destroyed, still feeling very petty about having to walk to work every day. Clark had been endlessly apologetic, insisting he didn’t know you took that line. But then, of course, he had to go and ruin the moment by pointing out how grateful you should be. According to him, if the N line hadn’t been destroyed, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have ended up in your bed.

Annoyingly, he had a point.

And anyway... he’d made very good apologies, for hours.

It was so easy with Clark, everything just came naturally. Almost like you were meant to be. Walking to work beside him, his hand wrapped gently around yours, made your heart race all over again. And now, knowing he could hear it? That made it skip yet another beat. The way Clark laughed at the sound let you know he was always listening.

As you approached the Daily Planet, you let go of his hand with a small kiss to his cheek. You’d agreed to keep things discreet—just like always, you would arrive a few minutes before him, while he strolled in fashionably late with everyone’s coffee. Just another normal Monday morning at the Planet.

But before you could step away, he caught your arm, pulling you back into him, just long enough to press his warm, soft lips to yours.

Biting your lip, you let out a small giggle as you walked away from him, casting a glance over your shoulder, just in time to catch the flush creeping up his ears. It was good to know you weren’t the only one feeling all giddy.

In the elevator on your way up to the office, you forced your smitten smile away, shaking your head in an attempt to clear all the sweet and passionate flashbacks from the weekend. Thank God you were alone, you were not ready to face your coworkers with that look still on your face.

When the doors slid open, you slipped back into your usual routine. You greeted everyone already in, chatted briefly with Lois and Cat, then made your way to your desk. Just another Monday.

Or at least, it was supposed to be.

As you started working, you felt Jimmy’s eyes burning into you, silent, insistent, demanding your attention.

“What, Jimmy?” you said bluntly, not even looking up from your screen.

“Had a good weekend?” he asked casually. You couldn’t see it, but you could hear the smirk in his voice, and that was somehow worse.

Turning in your chair, you looked at him. He was wearing his signature eat shit grin, a pencil lodged between his teeth, eyes locked on yours with far too much amusement. Sometimes, you actually hated him.

“Yeah, nothing much happened,” you said casually, turning back to your screen as you focused on prepping for the morning meeting. “What about you? How was the headache?”

Jimmy leaned forward, resting his elbows dramatically on the edge of your desk, the pencil now tucked behind his ear. “Headache’s gone. Thanks for asking. Amazing what a little rest, hydration, and not staying up all night doing the nasty can do.”

You blinked at him slowly. “Wow. Subtle.”

“I try,” he said, grinning wider. “It’s a gift.”

You shot him a flat look. “You’re fishing, I'm not a future article Jimmy.”

“I’m observing,” he corrected, holding up a finger. “There’s a difference. You came in this morning looking like you had just had the best night of your life. Straight out of a Nancy Meyers movie.”

“That’s your professional opinion?” you said, biting your cheek to keep from smiling. He was right, of course, but you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction. “Surprised you even know Nancy Meyers,” you added, arching a brow. “Maybe I did have the best nights of my life. Or maybe,” you smirked, “it was just a very restful weekend. Drop it.”

Jimmy gave an exaggerated gasp. “Did you just throw shade at my cinematic literacy? Ma’am, I’ll have you know I cried during The Holiday.”

You snorted, unable to hold back the laugh this time.

Behind you, a chorus of giggles broke out. You glanced over your shoulder to see Lois and Cat watching the exchange like it was prime-time TV, whispering to each other with far too much interest.

Great.

You shot them a warning look. Lois just raised her brows innocently. Cat winked. You turned back to your screen, sighing. “I need better coworkers.”

Jimmy was already walking away, victorious. “You love us. Especially the tall, gentle suit-wearing ones.” You shook your head, but the smile lingered.

That was, of course, the exact moment Clark chose to walk into the office, offering his usual warm greetings to everyone. Behind you, Jimmy scoffed, trying, and failing, not to laugh.

“He has perfect timing,” he muttered, raising his eyebrows and letting out another little chuckle.

What was it with him?

It wasn’t like you were acting any differently than usual. No one even knew Clark had walked you home on Friday night. Well, Steve did. But you doubted he’d told anyone. Why would he? Steve didn’t know about your little crush on Clark. Admittedly, Jimmy didn’t either.

But… Jimmy was Jimmy. He loved to tease you, and once he picked up on something that got a reaction, he clung to it like a dog with a chew toy. Still, this felt different. Not just teasing. Almost... knowing. Which was impossible.

Right?

For the next hour, focusing on your presentation for the morning meeting was a losing battle. It was nearly finished, but a few sections still needed editing, and you couldn’t afford to mess this up. The piece was about the ongoing Lex Luthor drama, Perry had handed you the next feature on him, and he wanted a clear update on your research.

You sipped your iced latte, hoping the caffeine would help.

Unfortunately, it only reminded you of the man who’d brought it to you this morning. The warmth of his hands on your skin, his lips trailing down your neck, his length in—

“Meeting room. Now,” Perry barked as he swept through the bullpen.

You nearly choked. Feeling heat rushing to your cheeks, ears and neck. 

Right. Lex Luthor. Journalism. Focus.

As you got up, Clark gave you a curious look. Oh. Right. Your heart was pounding like a drum.

You passed by him, brushing it off with a quiet, breathless, “Stress of the meeting.”

It was barely a whisper, but you knew he heard it. His lips curled just slightly at the corners. Not quite a smile. Not quite a smirk. Just enough to let you know he wasn’t buying it, but he wasn’t calling you out either.

Classic Clark.

The presentation went smoothly. You made sure to take in all of Perry’s notes, as well as your colleagues’ input. Brainstorming with them was always surprisingly stimulating. In moments like this, all the laughter and teasing disappeared, everyone was focused, sharp, completely professional.

Even Jimmy.

He mentioned he had a contact who might be able to get information straight from LuthorCorp. Weird. Unexpected. But you weren’t about to question it, or turn it down. It was complicated enough to get information of Lex Luthor, you'd take all the help you could get. 

Back at your desk, your brain kicked into high gear.

Phone calls were made. Emails were sent. Your article grew stronger with each passing hour, sharper, more precise, more damning. You were in the zone.

You didn’t hear anyone talking. Jimmy’s passing jokes barely registered. You didn’t notice Lois and Cat exchanging glances in your direction. You didn’t even flinch when another coffee appeared on your desk—this time with lunch beside it.

You just kept working. Totally locked in. Totally unaware.

Eventually, the smell of food broke through your concentration. You glanced down and spotted a familiar takeout bag, from the little restaurant you and Clark went to every week. You smiled without meaning to.

Without missing a beat, you dug in, still typing away, fingers flying across the keyboard. You didn’t forget to shoot him a quick text: Thank you :)

His reply came seconds later: a single red heart emoji. Simple. Direct. Cute. 

You felt your cheeks flush, and unfortunately, that was all the invitation Jimmy needed. He glanced over, narrowed his eyes, and pushed his chair closer with a loud scrape, planting himself squarely in your peripheral vision.

You tried to ignore him. It worked for about three seconds.

“What?” you sighed, fingers never pausing on the keys.

“For someone trying to be discreet, you’re doing a pretty shitty job,” Jimmy said, nodding toward the untouched latte and lunch on your desk.

You frowned, trying to play innocent, confused, even. You knew exactly what he meant, but maybe he didn’t? That was the moment you realized how stupid it was to try and hide things from the best reporters in the city.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, sounding dumb.

Jimmy scoffed, shaking his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. He was gently mocking you. “Well, I don’t know...” He paused for effect. “You came in this morning all happy and bright-eyed, when we all know you hate Mondays. So yeah, you had a damn good weekend. Steve told us you and Clark left together after our little pub adventure—”

“He walked me home, that’s all,” you cut in.

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “Then Clark strolls in this morning looking like he just won a million bucks—”

“He’s always happy,” you shot back quickly.

Jimmy grinned wider. “And you just happened to get lunch from the same place Clark’s eating from right now.”

“You said it yourself, Jimmy, he’s thoughtful.”

Jimmy laughed, then leaned in close, dropping his voice to a whisper in your ear: “And you’re full of shit.” Before you could respond, he stood up and strolled away, leaving you smirking in his wake.

Just then, Jimmy stopped in the middle of the bullpen, a spark lighting up behind his eyes. Oh no. This couldn’t be good.

“You know,” he started, his grin growing wider by the second, “you should really try paying more attention to what’s going on around you if you’re going to hide something.”

You frowned, looking around, your brain racing through everything that had happened today. You’d barely interacted with Clark, not even looked his way like you usually did. You’d been so focused on your work. What was he talking about?

“Cat saw you kiss this morning,” he finally said, voice dripping with amusement, “just a block away from the Daily.” Lois and Cat were trying so hard not to laugh.

Oh no. 

You could tell Jimmy wasn’t done yet. How much worse could this get?

“And maybe…” he added, his smirk bigger than ever. “Next time you have a huge presentation to deliver, don’t do it with a hickey peeking out from your top. Or just… keep your hair down.”

The color drained from your face as the room seemed to close in. Your hand shot up to your neck.

You’d noticed the hickey earlier that morning, but your top was supposed to cover it. So was your hair. It had slipped your mind, as it was bothering you so you had simply put it up. 

You were livid, blushing, wide-eyed, caught off guard, as the three of them burst into gentle laughter.

“What are you all laughing at?” Clark asked, genuinely curious as he walked back into the bullpen, holding a fresh stack of papers.

The timing was too perfect. Laughter erupted instantly, Lois, Cat, and Jimmy all doubling over, and you?

You sat frozen at your desk, slowly sliding down in your chair, face buried in your hands.

Clark looked between everyone, then at you, clearly confused, but that soft smile was creeping in. He didn’t know what was going on yet, but he definitely knew you were involved. And he was probably already putting it together, with the knowing looks the trio was sending his way. 

So much for keeping it lowkey. 

©sillyswriting 2025

i physically can't let this team go? i love them so much...

[writing-munchies]

NSFW HC'S— The Hanks, Amir & Abel x GN!Reader (MDNI)

A/N: This took…so much out of me, but I think this is one of my best works up to date, so I'm kind of okay with that. I'll probably go into hibernation after this lmao, enjoy! Sorry for any mistakes as English isn't my first language:]

WC: 5.3K

The Hanks

Hank #3 and Hank #1 are most likely to initiate sex, they are more open about things like that however Hank #5 is close to them, he might be a sweetheart, but he is a freak under all of that sweet demeanor.

They prefer to have sex with you as a group, they do everything together and that includes you. They all agree that filling up every single hole you have as they ruin you for any other object in the house as they stuff you full of their cum is pretty hot.

There’s going to be two of their cocks in one hole whether you’re AFAB or AMAB, one Hank will always be by your hole; his tongue licking and prodding at your hole as the sensations reach the Hank’s dicks that are pounding you so good you’ve never felt so full in your life. Whenever his tongue brushes against their cocks, a cacophony of moans will fill the room, mixing with your own. 

The foreplay consists of them encircling you like hungry hyenas, you’re on Hank #1’s lap as Hank #4 can’t keep his mouth off of yours, his tongue dipping into your mouth as he moans with every kiss makes your head spin. Hank #1 grinding onto you, Hank #3 messing with the hem of your pajamas as his other hand teases your sex through the fabric, biting his lower lip with a quiet whimper when he feels your arousal. Hank #2 and Hank #5’s mouths are usually on each of your nipples, or Hank #5 is sucking marks on your neck. When you close your eyes, it feels like the mouths and hands of only one person, like you’re being handled by something beyond you as their hands play with you just right to make you all obedient and ready for them. 

Your mouth, ass and/or cunt will be filled with cum, so much of it that it’s been dripping as they fuck into you, mixing with their own. It gets so messy that none of them can tell who’s cum that’s dripping out of your puffy lips. Sometimes, one Hank, typically Hank #2 gets you on his lap, forces your legs to spread —their strength will always make your brain short circuit— by gripping your thighs as Hank #4 fucks into you while whining and moaning breathlessly about how fucking good you take it, even as he’s so deep that he can feel every vein of his dick dragging in and out as he moves his hips. Hank #4 dirty talks without even meaning to, he’ll cum down your throat, “Fuck— you take it like your throat was made to take my dick, baby,” he’ll pin you down on the mattress, his hand keeping your head down as he arches your back with another so to have your ass flush against his pelvis, “Look at you, your hole’s practically begging for me to fill it ‘till it gushes out cum every,” thrust, “time”, thrust, “I fuck into you, so fucking gorgeous.” He can really lose himself in all the action sometimes, gets red in the face if you mention it to him after sex.

Sex with them, especially if you’re the one being penetrated, can get pretty intense with all of them except Hank #2. Hank #1 loves taking you from behind, he’ll make you arch into him by pulling you towards him with a grip on your elbows, his thrusts don’t really have a set rhythm; he fucks like he’s using you to get off. Hank #2 is more gentle, but he gets deep. He wants you to feel every drag, every drop of pre-cum, every vein as he thrusts slow but deep; hitting that sweet spot every time without fail as he watches you come undone under him with a flushed face. Hank #3 is more of a bottom, but he does like it when you ride him, he likes it fast and rough though— he wants you to make his cock hurt with how tight you’re squeezing him, how hard you’re slamming down on his pelvis as he cries out your name and claws the sheets in pure ecstasy. Hank #4 fucks fast but deep as well, he usually holds you down with one hand, he especially likes to hold you down as he puts a pillow under your hips; so you can feel everything even more as he’s holding you down with his hand on your stomach while fucking you. Hank #5 tries to be gentle and slow at first, but he really can’t help himself with how cute you’re moaning for him to go faster; so, he does. He holds you with a hug to ground himself as his hips piston his dick into your hole so deep you feel breathless with every single thrust, your nails dragging down his back as he hisses at the sensation, and you feel his hips stutter. They all cum inside you no matter what, just want to see how good they fucked you, how much of their cum you took, Hank #4 especially likes to press down on your stomach or finger your hole ‘till you cum again to see how good he filled you up.

Hank #3 and, #4 love giving you head. 

AMAB:  Hank #3 gets so turned on when you just put your dick on his face and watch how pretty he looks like that. He tries his best to take it in one go, but his gag reflexes still need a bit of work, so he just lets you set the pace and fuck his mouth instead. He moans so many times around your cock as you’re fucking into his mouth, his hands are either gripping your thighs or jerking himself off, he gets so turned on by being used by you, he can cum hands free just by the feeling of your cum going down his throat. He loves sucking on the tip the most, watching you with half lidded eyes as your hips buck up while you moan helplessly for him to just, “stop—fuck—teasing!” He just wants to watch you cum just from your tip being sucked, and your balls fondled, is that too much to ask?

Hank #4 just loves how easy you’re to ruin when he’s got your dick in his mouth. He licks along a vein as he moans about how good your cock feels on his tongue, makes a ring with his thumb and index finger around your tip as he sucks on your balls and fondles them with his other hand. He can take you in his mouth in one go, no problem. He will always make sure you cum in his mouth by having a grip on your ass with both hands and pushing you further down his throat. Moaning like a whore as you cum inside his mouth, his eyes roll back a little before he closes them and shivers, your sounds and the sensation of your cock throbbing and twitching against his cock has him so close to the edge he wants to touch himself as soon as he can— make you open your mouth as he cums on your face and makes you catch any stray droplets of cum.

AFAB: Hank #3 is an amazing pussy eater. He’s a little sloppy, but his eagerness makes up for it big time. Shockingly, or maybe not so shockingly, he has no trouble finding your clit. In fact, his mouth never leaves it. He’ll suck on it non-stop, moaning into it as it throbs against his tongue as his fingers are busy fucking your hole. When he does eat you out properly, his tongue inside you, pushing his face as close as he can, grinding his tongue down inside you; his hold on your thighs tight as he eats you out loudly. The sounds your cunt makes as you get wetter and wetter because of him is fucking heaven to his ears, poor thing can’t help but rut his hips down on the floor or the bed as you’re moaning and grinding your cunt down on his face; you taste so fucking good his nerves feel fried.

Hank #4 prefers to use his fingers more. Not that he doesn’t enjoy how good you moan as he buries his head in your cunt, fucking you with his tongue or using his tongue to taste every single drop of slick coming out of your hole, no— he just simply enjoys how you melt around his fingers. The way you arch off of the bed as he curls his fingers inside you just right, the way your toes curl as a wanton moan slips out from your gorgeous lips; it makes his dick so hard he can feel the blood rushing to it. He’ll make you cum around his fingers, “You look so cute like that, makes me wanna ruin you even more…”, he speeds the pace of his fingers as the thumb on his other hand keeps circling and rubbing your clit at the same time, watches you cum with pure want painted across his expression. Yes, he sucks your cum off his fingers and makes you watch.

Hank #1, #5 and, #2 love getting sucked off.

Hank #1 usually prefers to fuck your mouth. How you look mouth stuffed with his cock is the one he has wet dreams about damn near every night. His cock twitches and pumps out even more cum down your throat when he notices his cum is dripping from your chin. Very loud moaner, proud of it too. He does lose himself in it sometimes but if he feels you tapping his thighs he immediately stops, he cares a lot, your mouth just feels like heaven taking his dick. Taps your mouth if you don’t open up to show how good he ruined your tongue, he wants to see how good his cum looks on you, duh.

Hank #5 is so shy about it at the start. Will hide his face with his arm, moaning softly as he can’t help the way his hips buck when you suck on his tip, his moans are so breathless. If you want him to take that arm off of his face and look at you with a flushed face, take him in one go and give his balls a squeeze, he’ll whine your name in surprise and look down at you— his dick throbbing against your tongue when he does so. Will snap his hips up just to hear you choke a little, act innocent when you throw him a look, and whine out when you slap his thigh.

Hank #2 will be very worried about it at first, what if you don’t like how it feels in your mouth? What if he’s not the size you want? What if he cums so fast he embarrasses himself and never shows his face to you again? You reassure him that all you want to do is make him cum down your throat, from then he’s easier to convince. He can’t look away, the way you use your tongue has him flushed all over, biting his lips as he wills his hips to stay in place as you stroke his base and suck on his tip; will let out a moan so whorish you’ll look up at him in surprise. From then, he’ll have a hand over his mouth, but he can’t help the way he moans out your name when he’s so close, and you don’t stop the way your hands are fondling his balls and your head bobbing up and down on his cock— it’s too much, and it’s everything he wants.

Sometimes they’ll take turns watching as one of them fucks into you, all four of them so flustered yet too horny to look away as the other Hank is pounding into you, the way you groan and grind down even harder on his cock as you look over to them just— it’s so hard to not pounce on you. They all shout excitedly for him to cum inside you, they’re freaks in the way that when only one of them is fucking you their mouths will not stop:

“Look how good they’re taking you”,

“Fuck, they look so good all fucked out like that”,

“I can't wait 'till it’s gushing out of them”, etc.

Hank #1 thrusting into Hank #5 as he’ fucking into you, both you and #5 whining out when #1 pulls #5’s hair and starts pounding him, #5’s dick going even deeper inside of you as you wrap your arms around him, moaning into his neck as you feel his dick twitch inside you; already dripping pre-cum. Hank #1 bites his bottom lip as he groans, “You both look fucking gorgeous down there.”

Two or even three of them latching their mouths on your sex, just vying for a single lick as the rest of them are either making out with you or overstimulating your nipples. They love playing with you when you’re all helpless and pliant.

They blindfold you, take turns on either inside your mouth or inside your hole and make you guess which Hank it is, guess correctly, and you’re getting fucked with an inch of your life. If you fail…well, they’ve got ample time to make you memorize each vein, each tip and taste of them properly.

They love using the blindfold on you, it leaves you so adorably helpless against their antics. The way you shiver and twitch off of their touch when one of them joins in after another, it feels like one person's hands with how quiet they’re being just to soak up every little sound and reaction out of you. When one of their hands is cold, and they shove it down your pajamas, you moan quite loud, they found out.

Hank #1 holding you up by linking his arms under your knees as your back is pressed against his chest, hovering as he carries you like you weigh nothing at all. Hank #4 grips your ass, both of their cocks in one hole as a cacophony of moans fills the room, both of them going deep and hard, fucking you dumb as they use you like a rag doll.

When they inevitably get cum all over their thighs, their dicks soaked with it, usually you and Hank#3 are the ones that suck them off and lick them clean.

They fuck each other while fantasizing about all the times they’ve ruined you before, they’ll be deep in each other's asses or mouths whinging your name. Hank #4 and Hank #3 often get so worked up just thinking about you, the way they played with you last night or even last week and jerk each other off, telling each other how gorgeous you look as you took 2 dicks inside you, as ground down on their dicks like you were desperate for them to fill you up.

Aftercare is the best you’ll ever receive. Hank #1 and Hank #5 are typically the more ‘sober’ ones so, they either tell the others what to do as they clean you up and give you water, or they just take care of everyone themselves. Cuddles are so comforting and welcome with them, that many bodies against each other gets so soft you just melt. Two on the either side of your body, two hugging each leg and one of them with their head on your pelvis, it’s very comforting, but if you get overwhelmed they’ll always arrange a cuddle pile the way you want them to! 10000000000/10.

Amir

Only initiates if he thinks you want it too, his libido isn’t that high so you’ll be initiating most of the time and almost always he’s down for it. He’ll never pressure you into it, he isn’t a sore loser and doesn’t take a no as a personal attack, he just smoothly proposes another activity you’d be more willing to do. Absolute gentleman.

The best body worshipper, he leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses starting from your neck to your sex in a slow but tantalizing pace as he never breaks eye contact with you. His lips are so soft, they kiss you so gently; as if he’s memorizing every curve and crevice of your body. Every arch, every shiver, every shake, every breath and every sound you make is sacred to him, he memorizes them like it’s the last time he’ll ever see, hear and feel you.

He has… sometimes masturbated in the rare occasion that you look at yourself in the mirror while being fully naked. He really couldn’t help himself, the way the sun was hitting your body and making your skin glow so ethereally had his dick standing up to attention in no time. His fingers trembling as you turn around to get a good look at your ass, his dick throbbing in his grip as he watches you just standing there and striking a few poses to see if you look good and oh, gods— of course, of course you do.

When he’s giving you head, tangle your fingers in his hair and pull on it, he’s so into it.

AMAB: Pull his hair and shove your cock down his throat in one go, make him choke on it a little and watch him melt under you with a moan around your cock. Have his hair in a grip with your fist as you fuck his mouth, the pain on his scalp makes him throb inside the fabric of his underwear.

AFAB: Pull his hair to grind your cunt down on his face, he’ll whine into your folds and his tongue will get even more desperate to taste every inch of you. Sit on his face and use his head as an anchor, dig your nails in his scalp as you cum around his tongue, his hips bucking up in desperation.

He’s actually into wax play, the way you shiver as the wax drips down onto your chest, the way your back arches as he coos at how gorgeous you look, he can never get enough of those moans and whine of his names. He loves the way your skin glistens, the way it shifts under the wax as you let out a shaky breath, the way it shivers under his fingers; ah, you’re a masterpiece. 

Another object that loves to see you melt on his fingers. He usually lays you down sideways and fucks you with his fingers so he can get deeper, watches your face and body with rapt attention as he curls his fingers inside you just right; it has your back arching onto his chest as he bites down on your neck, “Come on azizam, let me see you cum around my fingers, show me how good I make you feel, yeah?”

Makes you look in a mirror literally as he’s fucking you from behind, he’ll have your chin in a grip as his hips are pounding his dick into you, “Look at you, so incredible azizam, so sexy— you’re a sight to behold…” as he starts to snap his hips into you to watch your expressions as his cock gets deeper and deeper. 

Amir cannot shut up during sex. Will coo about how good your hole is sucking him in, how stunning you look as you’re crying out his name when he’s pumping his cum inside you. Will look into your eyes as you’re riding him, tell you how breathtaking you are as you bounce on his cock, every time you moan or whine at his compliments his dick throbs inside of you— he loves the effect his words have on you.

He has to see your face, whether you’re sucking him off, he’s giving you head, he’s fucking you or you’re fucking him; he has to see your exquisite face expressions as he’s ruining you on his cock the most, or he won’t be able to cum. 

Loves to cum on your face, he’ll be a little red as he’s doing this, but the way his cock is twitching against your lips tells you how much he likes it. How vulnerable and open you look as your face is painted with his cum gets him so high, he loves doing it to your sex too. Whether AMAB or AFAB, he wants to see your sex dripping with his cum; he’ll smear it and rub his cum all over your sex if he has to.

He's fucking into you from behind as one of his hands is using your waist to ground himself, his fingers will wrap around your dick/rub your clit like he’s trying to make you cum in 40 seconds as he changes his pace to a faster and deeper one; his cock hitting all the right places as he breathlessly moans for you to cum so he can feel you shake and shiver under him when he’s burying his cum inside you as deep as he can.

If you’re wearing some sort of jewelry, especially a necklace or bracelets, he loves the sound of them clinking against each other as he’s fucking you. If he could, he would adorn you in gold and silvers as much as it took for him to be satisfied and watch you hiss as they dig into your skin with every thrust from him; your reactions are everything to him.

A loud moaner when he’s bottoming, his legs will always wrap around your waist as you’re fucking into him, you are allowed to pull his hair but be a little careful won’t you? He gets so sensitive when he’s moaning. He wants to compliment you, but all that comes out of his pretty lips is just incoherent babbling as you hit his prostate over and over again.

He loves cock warming, wants to have you on his lap, cock all the way inside you; as deep as he can go. He’ll massage your thighs, kiss along your back and nape while whispering about how breathtaking you look on his dick, how gorgeous you look when you shiver against his chest as he’s cock’s throbbing inside you.

Sometimes he gets so caught up in watching you, how good you look, that he forgets to let out any sounds other than heavy breaths; he doesn’t even blink as much as he needs to, his attention focused solely on you. He is enraptured by anything that is you, it’s like watching a sculpting that was made so lovingly that one's heart aches with the same love the creator must have had. Whatever created you must have taken extra time, just foe you.

When you stop for a few seconds to catch your breath as you’re riding him, fucks up into you just to watch you moan in surprise and look at him with those wide, surprised eyes. He honestly loves watching you bounce on his cock as he’s thrusting up again and again, you just look so helplessly adorable as your thighs shake and your hips twitch.

He cleans any cum on you with his tongue, traces your sex with teasing strokes of his tongue, moaning and biting down on your thighs as he’s licking them clean; it’s honestly his favorite part. The way you shiver and moan for him so needily, so full and spent but still wanting more; so greedy for him, it has him so entranced by you. How shamelessly you want him, how much you want him.

He bites and sucks on your skin a lot, just to see some gorgeous marks on your skin the next time you’re looking in your mirror the next day. The way his marks look like art on your skin, the way it looks like his claim on you, has him shivering on the spot in the best way possible.

He is exceptional at aftercare, has water wet and dry towels, your favorite snacks everything at the ready. He’ll shower you in compliments that are so sincere it brings tears to your eyes as you listen to him, he’ll pull you towards his chest and kiss your forehead as he tells you how much he loves you, all of you, without a doubt. He’ll actually ready a bath ready for you, with the permission of Bathsheba, of course. Rose petals, bath bombs in the smell you always have on you, the temperature of the water just right to have you melt into it when you get in. He’ll never leave your side, will never get up and leave when you fall asleep, he wants to watch and see how you look when you’re asleep in the afterglow of the passion you both shared, “As expected, you’re absolutely gorgeous, azizam…”

Abel

He’s a gentleman, as much as he can be when you’re grinding down on him like you’re starving for him, the way his fingers twitch when you whine for him to hurry up tells you how hard he’s holding back. Initiates, but goes through 5 stages of grief in his head in 3 minutes before he does so, he gets so worried about saying the right thing.

He loves taking you in a full nelson, you’re so helpless and all dependent on him as his dick reaches impossibly deep into you, somehow hitting the sweet spot every time with every thrust, making you cry out his name breathlessly as you feel him twitch inside you. He wants to feel every drag of his cock against your walls, has to soak up every twitch and cry of his name that comes out of your gorgeous lips.

His favorite position is the mating press. He loves having this power over you in a way that he can use that power to make you reach stars in your mind every time you cum, in the way you moan and whine his name every time he buries his cock deep as he can go to fill you up just the way you want. Every ounce of physical power he has over you is always, always used for your own pleasure, he wants to see you feel good, lose your mind on his dick, he can never feel pleasure if you can’t. 

Going off of the mating press, whether you can get pregnant or not, this man has a breeding kink. Will put a pillow under your hips, makes sure to have you fold as much as he can, makes sure to drive his cock as deep as he can, until he feels you tighten around him and he feels your body shake. He will not stop until his cum is gushing out of your hole with every thrust. 

Of course, if you want him to be gentler, if you want him to take you on his lap, thrust in you deep but slow; he can do that too. He’s just been starved for a connection like the one you gave him, he gets so excited that he forgets to hold back sometimes.

The feeling of him on top is absolute heaven, there’s so much to grab and hold onto as he’s fucking into you with everything he’s got. His stamina is unmatched, he can go for hours if you want him to, he loves the feeling of you wrapped around him, especially when you tighten around him, he groans out your name and so much pre-cum leaks out inside you, you’d think he just came. He is in control, but he’s also extremely sensitive to every little thing you do.

Loves a blowjob. The sight of you on your knees, looking up at him as his thick cock is stuffed inside your mouth? Heaven on earth. The way your throat tightens, and you choke a little when he buries his dick down your throat as he cums has his toes curling, whining your name as loud as he can.

He needs reassurance sometimes, he’ll give it right back, though. Like when he got naked around you the first time, he just needed to be coaxed out of his shell a little, and he’ll compliment your own body lovingly as he’s feeling you up. He’s a sucker for sweet little moments between sex, when you plant a kiss on the tip of his nose after he’s just come inside of you has his heart thumping like its never done before.

Tease him without the glasses on, grind on him. Fuck yourself on the table as you use your fingers to make yourself cum all over him, when you put them on; naked humping will be the only way he’ll let you cum.

Loves the sensation of your tongue on his body, especially his neck and earlobe. He’ll shiver and moan your name so sweetly if you nip at his inner thigh before going down on him. Every single sensation or feeling you can give him, he’ll eat it up right away.

If you wear his clothes and tease him about it, he’s not letting you take them off until they’re soaked with cum. Oh, you think you look cute with his shirt on you? You’re about to look adorable as every button pops when he’s pounding into you so hard your body can’t stay in one place, he’s not letting you go ‘till that shirt is wet with your cum.

As said before, he loves every and any sensation you can give him so, when you scratch his back as he’s fucking into you so deep you can feel every vein and drag of his cock so vividly inside you, he’ll whine like a whore and beg for you to do it harder as his hips stutter and his dick throbs inside you. 

Loves fucking your thighs. Has a death grip on your thighs as his cock head keeps getting trapped between your thighs because of how hard you’re squeezing his cock. His hands will always find your nipples when he’s close to cumming though, his dick twitching and throbbing like he’s fucking you for the first time as you moan so sweetly with every flick of his finger on your nipples. Curses under his breath as he shoves two fingers inside your mouth and fucks between your thighs harder, his cum already spread all over your inner thighs; so much pre-cum drips from his tip you’d think he’s already come.

Tie him up, make sure they’re tight and keep him in place properly. Take his dick in your mouth, have one of your hands play with his balls as you bob your head up and down on his dick like you’re trying to milk him for all he’s worth, and watch as he becomes a whining, broken mess under you in minutes. Riding him in this state is also guaranteed to make him start moaning and begging to cum inside you like an insatiable whore, he won’t stop blabbering and pleading as his cock twitches and throbs inside you, trying so hard not to cum until you tell him to do so. Will start crying if you keep going right after he just came inside of you, he gets so sensitive when you’re the one on top, every touch, every kiss and every bounce of your hips on his dick feels scalding hot and fries his nerves in the best way possible.

His aftercare is amazing. He’ll be a little shy and let out small, quiet giggles as you kiss all over his face after it. He does get carried away, but this man never, ever forgets your needs. Water, snacks, or even a blanket, whatever you require, he’s made a mental note, and they’re always at the ready. Along with the best damn cuddles you’ll have with one object in the house, he’s so soft and safe, whenever you’re in his arms he makes it feel like home, so easy to fall asleep when he’s hugging you so tight and whispering sweet nothing's as he kisses your forehead, temple, and neck.

[dotpointping]

mdni, 18+, not proof-read

—

Your husband wakes you before dawn, his touch featherlight against your skin, coaxing you from your slumber. He murmurs low beside your ear, something about a mission and needing to leave soon. His voice is warm, like the first gentle rays of sunshine, threading itself through the haze of your dreams. You only groan in protest, wrapping your arms closer around him, as though somehow you had the strength to make him stay.

“It is too early… stay a little longer…”

“I would if I could, my sweet wife… say, shouldn’t you give me something sweet? A little farewell token before I embark on risking my life?”

You hum, still half asleep, slowly processing his words as warm hands slide over your waist, slipping underneath the sheets with practiced ease. You blink at him with heavy lashes, catching the mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Mm… token, is it? You ask as though you are not already spoiled.”

He wastes no time pushing the sheets aside, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you atop. “Spoil me again. Give me something to remember on the battlefield.”

You sigh, feigning reluctance. Though, your hands were already gliding down the divots of muscle, teasing the hem of his pants. “Greedy, aren’t you?”

After your little tussle—which to your surprise was dealt with a great deal of restraint and then a promise for more— your husband returned home earlier than you had expected. He had kissed you farewell on both cheeks at the first-entry hour, declaring he shall return tomorrow at the first ascent-hour. But, much to your surprise he’s standing right at your front door half-way through parting-hour. Huh, you didn’t hear the return party at all. You’re about to ask how he returned so quickly, but then he finally lifts his head and meets your gaze and— oh goodness, the smile he wears is so worn and he looks about ready to topple over.

“Oh, my love,” you say, pulling him inside and ushering him into your shared bedroom. “You must be so tired. Rest, you deserve it. I’ll go make you something to eat.”

You’re so busy getting a start on dinner, you don’t even hear him entering the kitchen. Normally you do, because your husband carries the presence of an enthused dog eager to play catch (and also because he literally can’t keep quiet when it comes to you). You yelp in surprise when you feel two strong arms wrap around your waist from behind and you almost drop the knife on your hand.

“You scared me!” You’re about to chastise him, tell him to let you know before he does such things because what if you had accidentally hurt him or yourself? But he drops his head into the small crevice of your neck and pulls you close to him and you forget what you were even going to say.

You gasp in surprise when he slips his hands underneath your dress. His touch was warm— so, so warm, tracing the delicate skin across your belly, down your curves, gently, firmly squeezing your hips before finally trailing back up and cupping your breasts. Searing heat envelops you, every nerve alive with a desperate aching need. He pulses with a familiar intensity, and your instincts scream at you to recoil, yet you are helplessly drawn to his blaze. His touch was so tender, hands gliding over your skin with a deliberate slowness, as though trying to map the parts of you that longed for his presence.

You expect him to take you then and there, against the counter. Your husband doesn’t have the best record of being patient and honestly, you’re surprised he didn’t try to jump you earlier, when you first opened the door for him. But instead, he busies himself by kissing and suckling small bruises down your neck and across your shoulder. Slowly, gently, as though savoring you for every moment and breath he took.

He calls your name, slow like it pained him to say it, as though it took him everything in his heart to utter. Like prayer to a god, begging for their attention.

You softly giggle, turning your head and placing a quick kiss against his the curve of his jaw. He hums, low and deep, the vibrations echoing across his chest and against your skin, sending a jolt down your spine. Normally, during times like these, your husband would simply bundle your dress and push it aside, hold it in place while he knelt down and feasted on you. Most of the time, it remained bunched by your waist, until you tried to escape from his onslaught of pleasure, and he tore the rest of the way off, his grip dragging you back into him.

Yet, tonight, he does none of that. His hands do not move to tangle your dress, but rather the tightly bound sash and clasps, his fingers fiddling with the knots until they all slowly collapsed, cascading down your figure and pooling by your feet. You whimper, beg him to hurry along, that you need him to take you and give you warmth, yet he hushes you. He tells you to be patient, that he will give you all you desire and more, but you need only wait.

How strange. Today must have been a hard day— something must have happened while he was gone. You wrap an arm around his neck, pulling him close, until you could finally kiss him. Warmth envelopes you, but it is not the warmth your husband has always gifted you with. Instead, it felt as though you had been scorched, your lips scalding as you parted them for his tongue. It almost hurts, but you cannot bear to pull away. You kiss him anyways, kiss him deeper and hold him in place, till your lungs beg for breath and even still you did not wish to part.

At last, he pulls away and you whine at the loss of his ardor. But, it is short lived. He scoops you into his arms at last, dinner completely abandoned, taken through the kitchen, the hall, and then to your shared bed. He lays you down gently, kneeling by your legs and nuzzling his head against your thighs. Instinctively, you part them wider. It was customary for your husband to nip your inner skin, tease the flesh till you felt overwhelmed with embarrassment, before finally diving in. But alas, tonight he seemed more content to just lay there, his hands instead massaging the skin, rubbing comforting small circles.

“Phainon…?”

“I have missed you, my wife…” he murmurs, and his voice is so weak and sorrowful. You almost think he will cry then and there.

“I am right here, my love.” You grab his hand, kissing it softly before guiding him to cradle your face. “I am right here.”

He is silent for a long moment, his gaze cast aside and peering off into the darkness of your room. For a moment, you grow worried. Your husband has never behaved in such a way. Sure, he’s cried in your embrace, bore his true self to you and only you, but… he has never been so deathly silent. Somehow, even when he sought your comfort, he always strived to tend to you, as though you were the one in need of hope when he was the one bearing the world's burdens.

“If all you knew were to be a lie,” your husband finally says, breaking the woeful silence, yet refusing still to look at you. “If the world did not exist as you know true, and was instead a trial written by gods who saw our lives as insignificant, mere playthings for their own amusement,” he moves at last, standing from his knelt position and slowly crawling over you, “if the only way I could save this world was by plunging it to ruin, tell me… would you still love me?”

Underneath him, you can finally see his face. His eyes that you have always adored, that shined reverently like Kephale’s eternal dawn and bore dreams beyond your reach, clouds with a hazy band of untouched darkness never before seen. Despair and misery etched into every crevice of his face, pale with pain you can’t even bring to imagine, fraught with anguish as though he wished to cry but could not do so.

“Oh my love…” you murmur, wrapping your arms around him. “If the world is a lie, then let it be our lie. If the Gods mock us, then we shall defy them together. If ruin is the price of salvation— if you carry that burden for all of us— then I will carry you. My love is not tied to the shape of the world nor the laws written by higher beings. It is bound to you, even when that path turns dark. No matter the choices you make, I will always love you, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.”

Veneration is what you feel when he kisses you, his lips blazing against yours as though they were meant to forge devotion into your skin. Passion is what you feel when his hands trace over your body, teasing your entrance with two fingers before he leans down to suckle your weeping pearl, gently working you open. Mania is what you feel when he continuously denies your desires to feel him fully, when he hushes your cries and makes you fall over the edge again and again on his tongue. Euphoria is what you feel when he finally, finally, plunges inside you, your walls burning from the stretch.

You cry out, dig your nails into his back, following the sound of his voice as he guides you through it all, as though you were taking him for the first time again. Somehow, he feels bigger, deeper, the stretch practically becoming unbearable, like your body was being reshaped around him all over again. The heat of him is dizzying, radiating through you in waves that make your thighs tremble and your breath stutter. You cling to him— it is all you can do when every roll of his hips knocks your thoughts loose, leaving you messily mewling his name and begging for release, for mercy, for anything that might ground you in the heat of him.

Your husband is oddly silent during the whole ordeal, whispering words you hardly catch, with only the utterance of your name being all you comprehend. Yet, every time you reach out to him, try to cradle his face and beckon him, he takes your hands and pins them above your head. There is a tension to him you have never felt before, as though holding you was not enough and only by pressing himself into you, by chasing the trembling edge of your voice, could quiet whatever storm was tearing through him.

“My love, my dear, my world…”

Everything around you blurs, melting under the weight of his fire, until there is nothing left but the burn of him inside and the ache of wanting more.

—

It is mid-day when your husband wakes you, featherlight in his touch, lips brushing over your shoulders as he coaxes you awake. You groan, turning towards him, body sore and pleasantly aching. Truly, his appetite for you was endless.

“Phainon… didn’t we already…?”

“That was yesterday, my sweet wife.”

“No, it wasn’t. You were all over me before Dawn.”

Your husband gives you a puzzled look, before laughing as though he knew more than you did. “I see in my absence you had pleasant dreams to keep you company. Worry not, sweetheart, I’ll make up for our lost time.”

You open your mouth to protest, to insist that it wasn’t a dream, that you still feel the echo of him inside you— but then his hand is already trailing down your thigh, slow and possessive, and your words catch in your throat. He kisses the corner of your mouth, then lower, as though to claim what was always his to begin with, and you exhale a content sigh. There is no doubt in your mind that he was with you before dawn, just as he is with you now. The same heat, same hands, same pull that left you aching. You don’t argue with him, for there was no point in doing as such. All that mattered was the way his body fit against yours like a promise, the way your legs parted for him without hesitation, and the way you both moved as if time had never split in two.

—

Author’s Note: funny how I can whip shit like this for Phainon but need 20k of emotional anguish before you even hold hands with Mydei.

[ainsworthluv]

Daughter of a Legend | Lando Norris

Lando meets the daughter of Formula One's greatest legend

Sorry everyone, but there was no way I could let you choose the name on this one.

Everything about Ayrton is true, Disney, the car, what Adriane thought.

Viviane Galisteu Senna da Silva — Vivi, to the lucky few—entered the world only a handful of months after that fateful first of May. Her hair, the color of sun-kissed sand, was Adriane’s through and through, as were the generous smile and warm, bronzed skin. But the eyes—those deep, espresso-dark eyes — were pure Ayrton. They reflected everything around her and, more importantly, everything within: kindness, determination, a stubborn refusal to look away when someone needed help.

Vivi had grown up well outside the camera flashes. She nursed a quiet, slow-brewing resentment for Formula One, the sport that hoisted her father onto a pedestal and then snatched him away. Strangers still approached her with reverence shining in their faces. “Your dad was the greatest driver who ever lived.” Vivi would smile—small, practiced, polite—and swallow the rest of the sentence she wanted to say.

She knew the legend, of course. Everyone did. Brazil’s unbeatable hero, Ayrton Senna. But Vivi also knew the backstage version—soft-spoken stories her mother shared in the half-light of their living room. Their apartment was a museum of love: a McLaren helmet in the hallway, the little Fiat Uno with the lovingly Brazilian vanity plate DR I (for “Dri”) tucked in the garage, ticket stubs and photographs everywhere. Yet the same memories carried warnings in their margins.

“No one loved racing like your father,” Adriane would murmur, tracing the outline of his grin in a photograph. “He gave his whole life to those cars. He wouldn’t even take a day to visit Disney—said it would steal training time.” The words landed like gravel in Vivi’s heart. Her father had lived for speed, and speed had taken him apart in a race that should never have happened.

That story defined her childhood. Adriane had just learned she was pregnant and told Ayrton—his joy nearly burst through the telephone lines. Hours later, the phone rang again. Brazil fell silent. Ayrton Senna was gone.

Six months afterward, Vivi arrived—no father, but a name he’d chosen himself: Viviane, in honor of his eldest sister, founder of the Ayrton Senna Institute and creator of Senninha, the cartoon boy who taught Brazilian kids to dream.

Engines made Vivi’s skin prickle for years; she’d change channels the instant she heard them. Yet today—thirty years since Imola—she stood in the paddock at Interlagos. This wasn’t about her hurt feelings. It was about him. And if Ayrton had taught the world anything, it was to keep driving forward.

•••

“Mate,” Lando whispered, jabbing Charles in the ribs while Charles chatted with Alexandra. “Tell me I’m hallucinating, or is that Senna’s daughter?”

Charles tilted his head, sunglasses glinting. “Looks like her.”

“She’s stunning—exactly like her mum,” Alexandra said, all effortless cool.

“Remind me who her mum is?” Lando asked, eyes still glued to Vivi.

“Adriane Galisteu. Super-model status, Brazilian icon.”

“I cannot believe she’s actually here,” Lando breathed. “She’s practically mythological—never shows up, never does interviews.”

“Probably here for the tribute,” Charles reminded him. “Hamilton’s taking the MP4/8 out for a lap. Big anniversary.”

“Right.” Lando nodded, brain clearly screaming focus, heart equally clearly ignoring the directive.

Alexandra snorted. “You’re practically drooling, Norris. Go talk to her.”

“Are you kidding? She’s Senna’s daughter. If Ayrton was the god of Formula One, that makes her, what, a demigoddess? I’m mortal at best.”

“Bring offerings,” Charles deadpanned. “Maybe a double espresso and a smile.”

Lando swallowed. He could handle 300 kilometers per hour and wheel-to-wheel combat, but apparently not a single conversation-speed approach to a girl with legendary eyes.

Still, every great race started on the grid. And Vivi—demigoddess or not—had just wandered into his pit lane.

•••

Vivi hadn't meant to sit down. Not really.

She had arrived at the paddock out of obligation—at least, that’s what she told herself. She wasn’t here for nostalgia. She wasn’t here for closure. She was here because someone had to remember her father as more than a highlight reel and a pitlane ghost. Someone who loved him had to be present.

So she sat, almost defiantly, in the corner of McLaren’s garage. Not drawing attention, but not exactly hiding either. The helmet—his helmet—rested in her lap, the colors still bold despite the passing of decades. Red, yellow, green. A symbol, a relic. A memory.

She stared out toward the track, half-lost in thought, half-holding herself together. Until a familiar voice cut through the buzz of the paddock.

“…and we’ll tweak the rear suspension, but otherwise it felt good,” Lando was saying, casually, like it was any other day. His engineer nodded, distracted. But Lando’s words trailed off when his eyes landed on her.

He froze.

There was no mistaking her. She wasn’t surrounded by cameras, she wasn’t giving interviews—but she didn’t need to be. Her presence said enough. The cheekbones, the sun-kissed skin, the unmistakable quiet pride in the way she held that helmet.

She caught him staring.

Instead of pretending not to notice, she tilted her head slightly and gave him a half-smile. It wasn't shy. It was amused.

“You’re Lando Norris, right?” she said, her voice low, steady. The kind of voice that made people pause.

“Yeah,” he replied, mouth already dry. “That’s me.”

“I’m Vivi.”

“I know,” he blurted, too quickly. “I mean—yeah. Everyone knows. You’re—” He stopped, because how exactly do you tell someone they’re famous for being the daughter of a legend?

“The daughter of Ayrton Senna,” she said for him, with a tired, soft smile. “It’s okay. You can say it.”

“I didn’t want to be weird.”

“You’re already weird,” she said, teasing. “But I don’t mind.”

He laughed, awkwardly brushing his hair back. “I’m a huge fan of your father. I mean, who isn’t? I think it’s basically mandatory if you love F1.”

“I always joke about that,” she said, eyes twinkling. “But you might be right. It’s probably a legal requirement.”

“I’m serious. They should put it on our FIA licenses: ‘Must worship Senna.’”

Vivi let out a real laugh—short, surprised, warm. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Oh? What did you expect?”

“Something colder. More serious. Maybe a little arrogant.”

“Well, ouch,” he said, clutching his chest in mock pain. “But fair.”

She glanced sideways at him, then back at the helmet in her lap. “You drive for McLaren, right?”

“Yeah. Feels surreal most days.”

“Are you happy?”

He nodded, a little more seriously. “I’m living my dream.”

Something in the way he said it made her shift slightly on the bench, creating a small space beside her.

She didn’t say anything.

But he understood.

Lando sat beside her, close but not too close, his eyes never leaving the helmet.

“Is that really his?” he asked, voice lowered like they were in a cathedral.

Vivi nodded. “Yeah.”

“Can I…?” He trailed off, unsure.

She handed it to him without a word.

Lando took it like she was passing him something sacred. And maybe she was. His fingers traced the edge of the visor, the curve of the shell. “This is incredible,” he whispered. “I never thought I’d even see it up close, let alone hold it. I think I might faint.”

Vivi laughed again, and Lando’s stomach flipped. That sound was magic.

“I’m giving it to Hamilton,” she added, gently.

“Careful,” Lando grinned. “He’s old. That much emotion might kill him.”

She laughed louder this time.

“He deserves it,” she said. “The tribute he’s doing for my dad… it’s beautiful. My father would’ve liked him.”

There was a pause. Not awkward—just heavy enough.

“Can I ask you something?” Lando said quietly.

“You just did,” she replied, lips tugging upward. But then she nodded. “Go ahead.”

“You’re the daughter of the Ayrton Senna. But you’ve kept your distance from all this. Why?”

She inhaled, then exhaled slowly. “Anger, mostly. Grief too, I guess. Formula One didn’t just make him—it took him from me.”

Lando didn’t speak. He didn’t rush in with reassurances or cliches. He just listened.

“My father gave everything to this sport,” she continued. “And in the end, they repaid him with a mechanical failure. A stupid, pointless error. A race that should never have happened. And now… all I have are stories. A name he chose for me before he died. A helmet. A country that mourned louder than my mother ever could.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and Lando glanced down at the helmet in his hands.

He wanted to hug her. Every part of him itched to move closer. But instead, he just said,

“Your dad changed Brazil. He changed all of us.”

Vivi nodded, blinking tears from her lashes. “I know. And I’m proud. It’s just... complicated. In Brazil, people live and breathe football. We cancel school for World Cup games. We cry over it. But no one expected the country to stop for a race car driver. And yet—my father made that happen. He made a nation care about something no one noticed before.”

She paused again. Then smiled—wistful, broken at the edges.

“My mom told me once that his dream was to go to Disney.”

“Disney?” Lando echoed, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah,” Vivi nodded. “Silly, right? But he never went. Said it would steal time from training. That’s how much he gave to this. His life. His time. His joy. And it killed him.”

Silence fell. Except it wasn’t empty. It was full—of love, of loss, of a million unspoken things.

Lando handed the helmet back to her gently. “He would be proud of you, you know.”

“I hope so,” she said, brushing her thumb over the visor. “I really do.”

•••

Later, when the tribute finished and the engines fell silent, Hamilton completed his final lap in Ayrton’s McLaren, waving the Brazilian flag just as Ayrton once had. The crowd was louder than thunder.

Vivi stood near the pit wall, eyes wet, heart full. She watched Hamilton remove his helmet and break into tears. She had already given him the old one—the one—and he’d held it to his chest like it was made of his hero’s spirit.

Lando found her hours later, long after the crowd had left and the champagne had lost its fizz.

“Think he did okay?” he asked, voice softer now.

Vivi turned, smiling gently. “He did more than okay. I think my father would’ve been proud.”

“You heading out?”

“Yeah. I came, I remembered, I cried. Mission complete.”

“No after-party for you?”

She shook her head. “Not really in a party mood, to be honest.”

Lando hesitated. And then—well, bravery had won him a few races before.

“What about dinner?” he asked. “Just us. I mean… you’re Brazilian, I’m not. Maybe you can show me something new.”

Vivi blinked, surprised—but amused. “Dinner?”

“Strictly educational,” he said, grinning. “Cultural exchange.”

She looked at him for a beat longer than necessary. Then, finally—finally—smiled.

“Okay, British boy,” she said. “But only if there’s dessert.”

“Deal,” he said, holding out a hand like he was sealing a contract.

And just like that, Vivi stood, tucking the helmet beneath her arm. Grief would always live with her—but maybe, just maybe, joy had room too.

They walked off together—not as legend and fan, not as symbol and driver, but as two people learning what it meant to be seen.

[mishappeningss]

I’ve got 2 requests I’m curious about driver y/n and what she does on her down time on and off the track? When in a new country, does she explore the city with other drivers like finding new places to eat, go on scenic hikes, or does she stay inside enjoying the view?

And are there any awkward/funny moments with other drivers that went viral? Like maybe they get caught gossiping or they’re seen setting up an elaborate prank??

“Where in the world is YN?” — here’s what she does in her downtime, and the side quests she does with drivers from grid :)

more about driver!yn

Some days, she’ll wake up early, put a lazy outfit on, and convince Lando or Pierre to go find the best bakery in the city with her (she has lists, she’s researched before she flew in the country).

She’ll wander local markets with Yuki, asking for spice recommendations she’ll never actually use. She loves walking instead of getting an uber, even if it means getting lost. She once found a hidden café in Vienna and swore it changed her life.

She’s only here for a week, maybe even less — she has to see something!

In some days, she just wants quiet. If the weekend’s been intense, she’s the type to stay in, order room service, and watch a local show on the hotel TV.

She’ll sit on the hotel balcony with tea and headphones, writing in her notebook or doing nothing at all. She also loves a solo walk at sunset, hoodie up, face hidden — no makeup, no pressure, just silence.

Sometimes, she turns her phone off completely and lets the city go on without her for a while. There’d be a blurry picture a fan shot of her sitting alone in Prague, legs dangling over the edge, holding a book and a bag of pastries.

“she looked so peaceful. just her and the breeze.”

She also has her main person whenever she travels! Carlos for structured city walks, and good food recommendations, Pierre when she wants quiet company and good coffee.

Lando and Oscar when she’s feeling chaotic and wants to laugh until she cries. Lewis for the occasional serene, a secret adventure no one else gets invited to.

Yuki when she wants to eat everything. George for scenic hikes that turn into accidental therapy sessions halfway up.

She’s not just there to race — she’s collecting memories in every timezone. Whether she’s sitting by a window with tea or running through the streets with three other people and a camera, she always makes space to feel the city.

And yes, the amount of chaos this girl gets caught in with other drivers? They’ve got their serious moments for sure — but their off track moments are absolutely what fans live for.

a hot mic disaster

During a post qualifying press conference, YN turns to Oscar and whispers loudly, “If Charles sighs one more time, I’m throwing my bottle at him.”

She thought her mic was off. It was very much not.

Charles, who was sitting two seats away, blinked directly to the camera. “How can she even hear me sighing?”

gossip cam

A fan filmed her, Liam, and Alex sitting on a wall post-race, whispering very intensely. Alex clearly mouths “He’s a weasel” and YN chokes on her water.

Fan exploded thinking they were dragging Lando. He later posted: “i am NOT a weasel. but also. who was it about i need to know”

“these three gossiping on live camera like mean girls with paddock passes 😭”

Oh, and I forgot. Sticker wars. It lasted for about two seasons and fans still talk about it.

It started when YN slapped a tiny, ugly frog sticker on Oscar’s water bottle as a joke after he left it unattended during media day.

He didn’t notice for three days. Once he did, he accused half the paddock. And from that moment… it escalated. Fast.

Carlos found a sticker of a potato with a mustache on his notebook before FP1. Lando got hit with a middle finger sticker on the back of his phone. He left it on for three weeks because he liked it.

YN walked into the Mercedes garage to find her seat completely covered in Hello Kitty stickers. Turns out? George is a menace with a printer and a grudge.

At one point, the drivers made a “Sticker Bounty Board” and taped it on the wall of the drivers’ room:

$10 to whoever sneaks a sticker on Roscoe

Double points if you can sneak a sticker on Kimi’s forehead without him noticing

No one touch Max. Please.

Many say it’s over, that the stickers are lessening. But they still see frog stickers lingering every weekend on front rears and helmets. 🐸👀

[vxnillabxn]

Hiii, MOOTIE,

It's me again back with another request. It's a bit of a silly one but how would the main 5 react to a reader who's always sleepy no matter what like they can sleep anywhere, and their thirst for sleep is never quenched and they're always clingy when sleepy. (This request is brought to you by eepy Rumi who is always sleepy but can never sleep ON time) 😪

Luv you!! Please take care of yourself!!

𐙚˙⋆.˚ mainfive! x gn!reader ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ fluffy, just a tiny bit suggestive! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sfw! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ do not translate/copy/repost! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚HI, HI, HI! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ loved this request. ALSO, i'm sorry in advance. i'm in that time of the month when i feel ultra lovey-dovey and affectionate, and i just... i love the idea of a very clingy, affectionate —and sleepy— reader/MC! hope you enjoy! ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა

𐙚˙⋆.˚ caleb! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚he is used to it. in fact, he makes sure every corner in both your place and his has a blanket or, at least, a few pillows for when you feel like taking a nap.

﹙♡﹚he'll relocate you to his arms if you fall asleep, though. when you wake up and notice his strong chest pressed against your back, don't ask questions. don't ask yourself how you got there. just embrace it.

﹙♡﹚he won't admit what he did, because you should already know where —and with whom— you should sleep, pips. he was only reminding you.

﹙♡﹚he lets you snooze everywhere. if you feel like sleeping during a date, he'll lend his shoulder without ever getting mad. if you feel like dozing off when you two are taking a shower, he'll carry you and take care of everything else.

﹙♡﹚and he always does it so easily, as if it were second nature to him. his gaze is full of love and devotion, and he takes care of every single detail so you can sleep soundly without anything bothering you at all.

﹙♡﹚he'll also carry you around if he has things to do, trailing your cheeks with sneaky, soft pecks so you know he's with you, even in your sleep.

﹙♡﹚he can tell exactly how many minutes you have left before falling asleep. he notices the number of yawns, your slow blinks, the way your body sways softly… and he just counts down, always guessing exactly when you drift off.

﹙♡﹚he makes you sleepy on purpose, too. soft whispers, tender caresses on those spots he knows you love, sweet talking… because you get oh so clingy.

﹙♡﹚and he loves when you rub your cheek against his arm, mumbling incoherently when he asks you questions.

﹙♡﹚”is my sweet baby too sleepy to think, hm?” —jesus christ— you only manage to nod, barely registering his words as he keeps spoiling you with light, feathered touches.

﹙♡﹚and he doesn't stop until you fall asleep again, and you return to his safe, warm embrace.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ rafayel! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚he was a bit sad at first, because you were always yawning when being with him, or when he was talking to you.

﹙♡﹚he thought you were bored of him, and after confronting you about it, he finally realized… you're just very sleepy. always.

﹙♡﹚with that established, he actually carries you in his arms like a longtime lover, gazing at you dramatically whenever you start falling asleep in his presence.

﹙♡﹚”oh, my love… must you abandon me so soon?” —and yeah, you do. you drift off in his arms, because they are so comfortable, and he smells so good.

﹙♡﹚he makes you straddle his lap as he paints. after all, he doesn't make much noise when he paints by himself, and having your heartbeat beating close to his is one of the best feelings ever.

﹙♡﹚also, he loves being the first thing you see when you wake up, or the last thing you see before sleeping. why? simple.

﹙♡﹚it's because you get extra clingy. you hug him, rub your noses together, whisper sweet things you don't even remember because you're just so… sleepy.

﹙♡﹚you also ask him to take a nap with you, and no matter how busy he is, he always takes you to your shared bed and holds you close.

﹙♡﹚during your free days, he's truly impressed by how many hours you can sleep…

﹙♡﹚and when you wake up and need some more naps during the day? my, he might as well stay all day in bed with you if that means having your attention somehow.

﹙♡﹚so try to give him the attention he needs before going on your sleeping marathons, please. he'll beg if he has to, but don't make him… no matter how tempting that is.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sylus! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚there shall be no noise to disturb his beloved's slumber, nor their sleepy state.

﹙♡﹚…poor kieran and luke have to flee every room you enter, because you're likely to fall asleep everywhere, and sylus requests silence for you to rest.

﹙♡﹚he is so fond of you, truly. he doesn't even mind when you start yawning in the middle of a conversation. the fact that you feel so comfortable and safe around him that you get sleepy makes him feel warm inside.

﹙♡﹚when your eyelids feel heavy, and he notices you're about to fall asleep, he'll softly pat his lap.

﹙♡﹚and he loves when you actually climb on top of him, hug him loosely, and smile with your eyes closed.

﹙♡﹚and if you kiss him and fall asleep with your lips pressed softly against his? heaven. he stays there just to savor the moment before pulling you against his chest and letting you rest.

﹙♡﹚he also takes care of everything for you while you sleep. you had work to do? he'll handle it. you had to run some errands? absolutely not, forget about it, kitten.

﹙♡﹚he wants your pretty mind to have the best dreams and a good rest —so maybe you won't feel that sleepy when you wake up.

﹙♡﹚because he'll also want you awake. he wants to hear your voice, your laughter, he wants to playfully tease you, and he can't do so when you're asleep.

﹙♡﹚if you sleep for too many hours, he'll wake you up so you can eat, and also to ask if he can change you into more comfy clothes.

﹙♡﹚after all, he wants to see your eyes when he asks for permission, because you get flustered every single time… and he can't see that lovely reaction when you sleep.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ xavier! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚uh… this isn't good, at all. two chronic sleepers? who will wake up the other when it gets late? who will wake the other with warm, fresh breakfast?

﹙♡﹚oh well, xavier doesn't mind. he loves it. he adores sharing something he loves so much with you, so he'll encourage your sleeping habits! —he is worse.

﹙♡﹚he gets excited when you yawn; the same way a pup gets excited when hearing the words “walk” or “treat.”

﹙♡﹚because that means you're sleepy, and you'll soon come looking for him.

﹙♡﹚and he waits… and waits… until you approach him, squeeze his cheeks, and kiss his puckered lips lazily, over and over again.

﹙♡﹚”xav… nap?” you'd simply ask. ah, he loves that magic word. he'd smile and guide you down on the couch with him, lying you on top of him and covering your bodies with a warm blanket.

﹙♡﹚and you two drift off to sleep for one, two… seven, eight… ten, eleven— infinite hours. the first to wake up has to lovingly wake up the other. that's the rule.

﹙♡﹚if he does first, he'll kiss you awake, caressing your hair, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your jawline, whispering for you to abandon the dream realm's warmth and embrace his instead.

﹙♡﹚and if you wake up first… you hold him even closer and smooch his lips before napping again.

﹙♡﹚because the rule never states you two have to stay awake as well. you did your part, and you deserve to rest more.

﹙♡﹚and he is more than happy to stay all day like this with you, because he's certain you two share dreams now with how often and how close you sleep together.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ zayne! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚concerned. he's concerned. is there an underlying condition? maybe the external heat is too much for your body to bear? or, on the contrary, is it too cold for you?

﹙♡﹚he kindly asks you to take tests, and after his gentle pleas and genuine concern, you do. nothing weird comes back, fortunately.

﹙♡﹚with that out of the way, he'll be visibly amused whenever he sees you dozing off in the weirdest places; at the arcade, while waiting for him to get plushies for you… or in the bathroom, after brushing your teeth.

﹙♡﹚he will carry you to a proper place for you to rest, and if you're at his office, he'll install a bigger couch for you to sleep comfortably.

﹙♡﹚he usually is too busy to sleep as much as you do, but those days when he's finally free, he has many options in store for the both of you.

﹙♡﹚if you feel energized enough, he'll take you out on dates. if you feel like sleeping, he'll bring two orthopedic pillows for the both of you. posture is important.

﹙♡﹚though, the pillows lay forgotten on the floor a couple of minutes later, because you shift so much, and you get so needy before going to sleep.

﹙♡﹚you kiss him, nuzzle against him, rub your cheeks together as if you were two cats, asking him to nap with you.

﹙♡﹚sure, you could definitely nap by yourself, because you're about to drift off any minute now… but even in your sleepy state, you ask for him. you want him close.

﹙♡﹚and he obviously gives in, pulling you to his chest, and shifting around with you until you two rest peacefully under the messy covers.

﹙♡﹚and deep down, he really needs this. you unconsciously force him to rest with you, and the weight from the work overload makes him sleep just as much as you do. you're definitely his angel, without even trying to be.

[ilikeblueberryz]

⸺ james potter

(none of these works are mine !) Disclaimer : all fanfics listed here belong to their respective authors. please check out their profiles for more amazing work!

[ f ] fluff [ s ] smut [ a ] angst [ sm! ] social media!au

୨୧ love potion ୨୧ sick of their lovesick friend crushing on you, remus and sirius take it upon themselves to give james the boost he needs to talk to you. it doesn’t quite work out the way they planned. (by @theemporium)

[ f ] ୨୧ "super cocky and loud guy" ୨୧ (by @/theemporium)

୨୧ a𝗅𝗅 o𝖿 t𝗁𝖾 b𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖿𝗂𝗍𝗌 ୨୧ y𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 j𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗁𝗌. r𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗓𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄 𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝖿𝖿, 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖩𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀. (by @astonishment)

୨୧ only like you can ୨୧ ex boyfriend!james and reader just can’t seem to stay away from each other. (by @moonlightspencie)

[ f ] ୨୧ my girl ୨୧ no one makes james potter feel the way that his girlfriend does and he definitely knows it. (by @alwaysmoncheri)

[ s ] ୨୧ totally just friends pt1 ୨୧ what's weird? we are just friends. (by @singmyaubade)

୨୧ “i will if you kiss me?” ୨୧ james needs a tutor in herbology and you’re the best at it. (by @slut4prongs)

[ f ] ୨୧ obsessed ୨୧ it’s no secret that james potter is absolutely obsessed with his girlfriend and he couldn’t be more in love. (by @lucyrose191)

[ s ] ୨୧ no title ୨୧ public s*x with james and how he’d just be so amazing you don’t care that Remus is right there in the room not even focused on his book anymore. (by @ohwowimlonley)

[ f ] ୨୧ stay beautiful ୨୧ when you overhear some of James's friends comment on your weight, james comforts you. (by @pretty-little-mind33)

[ s ] ୨୧ dry hump pt1 ୨୧ james potter was your best friend, and he was unequivocally in love with lily evans. however, he has one secret he trusts only with you: he’s never kissed anyone. (by @myfictionaldreams)

[ f ] ୨୧ and i love her ୨୧ the 3 times James tries to get the girl and the 1 time he finally does. or In which james potter is hopelessly in love with his best friend. (by @dilf-lover99)

[ f ] ୨୧ an idea was born ୨୧ where james needed your attention and chose the fun way- for him. (by @shiftermia)

୨୧ no title ୨୧ whimsical!reader x james (not together yet) where anytime she says something he just has the most lovesick look on his face and sirius is like “we’ve lost him, boys” but then reader quips back with something about looking at those you’re comfortable and friendly with boosts your seratonin and you’re glad to have James look at you if it makes him happy. (by @moonstruckme)

୨୧ no title ୨୧ best friend james where hes won a quidditch game and everything but hes very tired and just wants to cuddle in bed with you. and hes asking for a kiss on every bruise he has all over his arms and neck. which sirius and remus watches with confusion. (by @/ddejavvu)

୨୧ behind them all ୨୧ it’s no secret that Hogwarts likes gossip and that it spreads quickly through the hallways but this time when james potter’s new secret girlfriend is the subject of said rumors everyone is scandalized, specially you. (by @in-between-thighs

୨୧ no title ୨୧ best friend james with no boundaries, sirius and remus definitely side eye the two of you but they don’t ever make it noticeable they’re just waiting for the two of you to finally get together, like james definitely rests his hands in between your thighs when he’s cold and remus is always muttering to sirius how that is definitely not best friend behaviour. (by @/ddejavvu)

୨୧ i thought you'd be different pt1 ୨୧ a cinderella story (maybe a little romeo and juliet while we're at it) but hogwarts - enemies-ish to lovers. you find an enchanted parchment through wich you anonymously talk to a stranger (james). when you meet him at the Yule ball, he is not who you expected, but you give him a chance. when you realise that was clearly a mistake, you flee cinderella style. (by @livinginshambles)

୨୧ guilty as sin? ୨୧ you 'loved' your boyfriend sirius. or at least, you loved him as a friend. but his best friend james. . . he was the one that made your heart skip a beat, he was the one in your wildest dreams. (by @andillneverbethesame)

[ f ] ୨୧ heart chaser ୨୧ James tries to woo you over many times before, with what he does best- being a showoff and with a promise of a hogsmeade date if they win the quidditch tournament. (by @empress-simps)

୨୧ something he'd overhead ୨୧ James finds himself head over heels when he sees you defending a first year student. (by @sleepiexx)

୨୧ little lupin ୨୧ (by @unconventional-lawnchair)

[ s ] ୨୧ the greatest heist ୨୧ when james's girlfriend decides to fuck with you, your only other choice is to fuck with her. (by @singmyaubade)

[ f ] ୨୧ bug eyed ୨୧ james fleamont potter’s less-than-normal attempts to get his other-worldly divination partner on a date. (by @floweringrott)

୨୧ genuine ୨୧ your boyfriend finally takes a role who has a romantic interest but his expression is hardly convincing; only you can get a genuine reaction from him. (by @kquil)

୨୧ cindy lou who ୨୧ you and lily have been polar opposites from birth, disconnected in everything. but when the one thing she has crosses the bounds, you can't avoid it even if it destroys you. (by @singmyaubade)

[ f ] ୨୧ darling boys ୨୧ you’re shocked when your son wants to spend time with you. (by @msmk11)

[ f ] ୨୧ endearing ୨୧ james potter teases you ALOT. (by @deatheaterv)

୨୧ coach!j x single mum!r pt1 ୨୧ (by @loverangels)

[ a, f ] ୨୧ she ignored my letter! ୨୧ In which, James writes you a love letter and hides it into your luggage carrying your clothes, not knowing he put it in a pocket you never open. (by @fear-less)

୨୧ two of a kind ୨୧ Who would have thought that sending your son to a summer camp would lead to an unexpected reunion with someone you had sworn you don’t want to see anymore? (by @wintrsoul)

୨୧ in this life and the next pt1 ୨୧ You were Harry Potter’s best friend, but loss drove you to steal a Time-Turner which accidentally trapped you in the past — before Harry, before the war. You swore to keep your distance, but James Potter makes that impossible. The past wasn’t meant to hold you, and falling for him was never part of the plan. And yet you did anyway. (by @jacquitries)

୨୧ blue ୨୧ While previously being close friends, after your fourth year you distance yourself from James and he doesn't understand why. (by @pretty-little-mind33)

୨୧ twelve hours ୨୧ sometimes having observant friends is unfortunate, but now when they've been blind for so long... (by @yasministration)

୨୧ the prophecy ୨୧ (by @moonyswolfie)

[ f ] ୨୧ lovie ୨୧ in which you have never used any terms of endearment to call James— but your boyfriend, menace as ever, might have found a way to make it happen. (by @wintrsoul)

[ s ] ୨୧ streamer!jp ୨୧ (by @prettydaisygirl)

[ s ] ୨୧ james doesn't know ୨୧ (by @berrieluv)

[wintrbears]

Irreconcilable Differences | JJK & KNJ (1/2)

Summary: You broke up with Jungkook almost a year ago, but have to see him again for the first time at a mutual friend's wedding. He's sharing a hotel room with his best friend, and just when you happen to step inside it, the hotel goes on lockdown, leaving you no choice but to stay with the two of them for the next twenty-four hours.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader x Namjoon

Genre: Exes to Lovers?, Threesome, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Crack (kinda?)

Word Count: 16.3k+

Warnings: crying, wedding, beach/ocean, drinking, thunderstorm, fighting, the subway, a breakup, mention of police, involuntary confinement, gas leak, hotel, ex-boyfriend, heartbreak. SMUT: threesome, kissing, penetrative sex, double penetration, anal sex, oral sex (both receiving), unprotected sex (references to bc), cream pie, cum eating, facial, titty sucking, hand job (m receiving), brief rim job, cum swallowing, face riding/fucking dick riding, spit roasting/eiffel tower, aftercare, neck kisses, choking, hair pulling, alrighty I think that's everything hehe.

Author's Note: say it with me now everyone: two bad bitches AT. THE. SAME. DAMN. TIME. guys I am so excited for this one omg! I hope y’all love this namkook filth as much as I do lol. it’s my first time writing a threesome and I wanted to do a good job for my two best boys!! this fic is like 60% smut and 40% plot 🥵 and also surprise! I decided to give them a part 2 bc I felt like I needed to tell more of this couple’s story, so that will be coming soon!! ilysm and enjoyyy :)

You claim it’s irreconcilable differences. Jungkook calls it you being unreasonable. You end things. Five beautiful years spent learning about one another, falling in love, and eventually finding an apartment to share, all for the castle to come crumbling down on one terrible, godforsaken, stormy evening. 

Jungkook runs after you into the rain upon your theatrical exit from the apartment, because of course he does, and following a ten minute screaming match practically louder than the thunderstorm itself, he manages to drag you back inside. Like the weak woman you are, you assist him in stripping the drenched clothes from your bodies before letting him make love to you one last time on the very couch you chose together years prior. 

By sunrise, you and your essentials are gone and a handwritten note is left on the coffee table stating you’ll come back for the rest of your belongings another time. 

Strangers look at you sympathetically because of your loud weeping on the subway ride to your best friend’s place. You suppose it’s better than them judging you, given that you must look insane with the multiple haphazardly packed bags strewn across your body and evident hickies dusting your neck and shoulders. 

Jungkook calls at least a hundred times, leaving voicemail after voicemail until your phone no longer allows him to leave any more. Before the clock strikes noon, you hear a jarring, repetitive banging on Yuna’s door followed by his agonized voice begging to see you. 

Per her instructions, you sequester yourself in her room and sob into her pillow while she pounds her fist right back and tells him to get lost before she calls the cops. 

That’s the last time you heard his voice.

Until now, that is, because while standing at the reception desk of a Taiwanese hotel which will be your accommodation for the next four days, you hear the familiar, gentle timbre coming from behind you.

“Joon, please tell me you have your passport,” he sighs.

“It was one time, Kook,” Namjoon groans in response.

The phrase is so mundane and yet it completely paralyzes your mind and stops you dead in your tracks. You wish you could lie to yourself and say it isn’t him, but the illustrious nickname prevents you from doing so.

Thankfully, the receptionist finishes checking you in and you’re able to scurry away with your bags before he notices you. You don’t dare to peek over your shoulder and confirm the sighting because seeing him would be far more debilitating than merely hearing him. 

The first anniversary of that horrific night is only a couple days away, but the passage of time isn’t as helpful as people say it is.

You should’ve expected him to be here since you know he’s friends with Hoseok, too. Why didn’t you consider the possibility before sending in your RSVP? Maybe you can still prevent a confrontation by leaving this very instant. You know Hoseok would understand given the circumstances. 

But no, that’s not fair to you or your friend and realistically, you'll only be in the same location during the rehearsal dinner and wedding, so avoiding him elsewhere shouldn’t be too difficult.

Those become your famous last words, because when you exit your room to grab ice a couple hours later, you see Namjoon keying into their room no more than ten doors away. Yelping as you unceremoniously swan dive into a hidden cove, you hold your breath while waiting for his footsteps to retreat before peeling yourself off the wall and sprinting back to your room. 

You naively thought you may never have to see him again, which was honestly your only hope because you know the second you do, you'll fold. It's undeniable that he's the one who got away and you know your self control is far too flimsy to resist him both physically and mentally.

There are no wedding festivities tonight, so you can take this time to prepare your head and heart for the inevitable battle which will take place once you come face to face with him. Although, any preparation you do will be useless because your head will simply command you to run as far away as humanly possible while your heart pleads with you to jump straight into his arms. There’s another area of your body which will beg for something else entirely, but you refuse to give it a dog in the fight.

Hoseok immediately foils those plans by posting on the wedding Facebook page about a welcome party down at the beach later tonight.

If you could look into the camera like you're a character on The Office, you would. Sighing in exasperation, you overdramatically flop on your bed and flail your limbs around like a petulant child. 

Once you're done throwing a temper tantrum, you get ready in the spacious hotel bathroom while repeating encouraging mantras to yourself in the mirror, but you already know mere words won’t save you.

Your dress is definitely too skimpy to be seen by your ex-boyfriend, but there's no choice when everything else in your suitcase is reserved for the following days. It’s a thigh length, deep purple, satin slip that would honestly be perfect for any other occasion, but purple is Jungkook’s favorite color, and the last thing you want is for him to think you dressed up for his sake. In fact, you were almost desperate enough to drop a couple hundred bucks at the gift shop downstairs to avoid wearing it altogether. 

As you descend the egregious amount of steps leading to the beach, you see Hoseok and his beautiful bride, Lia, standing at the bottom. Your friend smiles using his signature heart-shaped lips and enthusiastically waves with both hands while Lia does an adorable princess wave with her left hand.

“I’m so fucking happy you’re here!” He shouts before you even reach the final step.

Hoseok pulls you in for a crushing bear hug and you laugh while returning the embrace. 

“Thanks for having me,” you say once he releases you. 

Lia hugs you afterwards and you compliment her on how beautiful she looks in her white midi dress. 

The pair met in college just like you and Jungkook, which makes the whole affair just slightly soul crushing for you. It doesn't take away from the happiness you feel for them, but it's hard not to compare their relationship flourishing with yours which crashed and burned.

“I could never get married without you,” Hoseok says. 

“Or someone else, for that matter?”

Your friend frowns and a look of guilt sweeps over his features.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve warned you.”

“It’s alright, Hobi,” you tell him. “It was a long time ago now.” Lie. Big fat fucking lie. It still feels like yesterday. “I’ll let you guys greet your other guests.”

The bar is your first stop while you mingle with old college friends also in attendance. Unlike most weddings, the guests pool isn’t entirely made up of couples which eases your mind just a smidge. Even better, Jungkook is here with Namjoon rather than a real date, unless he and his best friend finally turned their bromance into something more. 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, just as you’re tipping the bartender for your margarita, you turn to see two familiar silhouettes strolling down the steps side by side. 

As if the universe itself is trying to spite you, Jungkook looks even more handsome than you when you last saw him, which shouldn't be possible when he was already a 10/10. He’s wearing a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his tattooed right arm in all its glory and black slacks that grip his thick thighs for dear life with every step he takes. His hair is shorter and pushed away from his forehead, but the few pieces framing his face delicately curl down over his eyebrow. Even though his physique is outstanding, it’s the big brown eyes you adore that leave you breathless, although there’s a somberness to them which wasn’t present before.

You don't know whether you want to cry into your sugary drink or throw yourself in the nearby sea and let the current carry you far away from here. 

To make matters worse, Namjoon looks equally amazing. He’s always been good looking, and you still remember being flabbergasted when you met him and realized both your boyfriend and his best friend are insanely attractive. His attire is similar to Jungkook’s, although he’s wearing a navy blazer over his blue dress shirt and matching slacks. He’s grown out his black hair to the point it falls into his eyes, but it only makes him look more allusive. 

Every woman on the beach, single or not, is downright gawking at the two of them as they greet Hoseok and Lia with warm hugs and stand beside the couple to chat. It takes everything in you to avert your gaze before Jungkook can see you doing the same.

You thought it might take a couple hours for Jungkook to finally find you, but it’s less than ten minutes after his arrival that you hear his voice again.

“Jagiya?”

There’s no reason to turn around since that moniker no longer applies to you. Instead, you languidly sip your drink with your elbows resting on one of the high-tops facing the vast ocean.

“Babe.”

Rolling your eyes until they nearly get stuck in your skull, you glare at him over your shoulder.

“I’m sorry, are you talking to me?”

“Who else would I be talking to?”

Seeing Jungkook up close is so much worse. There better be a defibrillator somewhere on this beach because you’re going to need one very soon. 

“Well, that’s not my name, so I wasn’t sure.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes with a half-hearted scoff.

“I’ve never called you by your name.”

“Because you were my boyfriend,” you argue. “Which you no longer are, so my name should do just fine, thank you very much.”

He makes a second agitated noise before joining you at the table and mirroring your stance so your elbows touch. As if the skin on skin contact burns, you automatically jolt away from him, bringing a frown to his face as his eyes glisten with rejection.

“Can’t we at least catch up?” 

“No.”

Your attempt to escape in the opposite direction is cut short when you barrel into Namjoon’s firm chest. He clutches your arm to keep you from falling and a brilliant smile appears as you lock eyes. 

“Hey, Y/N,” he cheerfully greets you.

“Hi, Joonie,” you sigh. “How have you been?”

“Good.” He looks at Jungkook before releasing your limb and slipping his hands into his pockets. “What about you?”

“Never better."

You make a break for it a millisecond later, running away as fast as the sand will allow to refill your drink and disappear from their sight, possibly even from earth. Fishing your phone from your purse, you find a secluded area and dial the number of your personal SOS.

The phone rings twice before Yuna’s voice comes through the receiver. 

“Everything alright?”

“No,” you whimper.

“Honey, what’s wrong?”

“He’s here."

“Who?”

“Googie!”

“Jungkook?” You fall backwards into the sand with a thump as you pull your knees to your chest. “Oh, honey.”

“He fucking called me jagiya like it was nothing. I mean, who does that?”

“Do you need me to hop on a flight? Or send a hitman?”

Her tone reveals she’s fifty percent trying to cheer you up and fifty percent serious. 

“No. If anyone’s killing him, it’s gonna be me.” Staring up at the night sky, you imagine having similar encounters with him over the upcoming days. “I have to tell Hoseok I can’t stay. I won’t last four days here!”

“No, no,” Yuna chants. “He doesn’t get to win, okay? You’re there for your friend and you deserve to have a good time!”

“How am I supposed to have a good time like this?”

She sighs and clicks her tongue in defeat.

“I don’t know, but if I know that dumbass ex of yours, he’ll just come after you if you hop on a flight right now.”

“Fuck, I hate that you’re right,” you groan.

“Listen, this is what you’re going to do,” she starts. “After the welcome party, go to his room and lay everything on the table. Tell him you’re not here to play catch up or rekindle anything and to leave you the hell alone for the rest of the weekend and you’ll do the same.”

“I’m sorry, you want me to go to his room?” You ask incredulously. “A secluded location with a bed? Something he has a stupidly amazing track record of getting me into!”

“You’re not going to sleep with him, you’re stronger than that,” she states.

“I think you vastly overestimate me, Yunes.”

“Is he there alone?”

“No, he’s here with Namjoon.”

“Well, there you go!” She cheers. “He’s not going to fuck you in front of Namjoon.”

“I think you vastly underestimate Jungkook.”

She leaves you with a few more words of encouragement, but you decide to forgo thinking about him altogether so you can actually enjoy the party. 

The remainder of the evening is spent nursing margaritas and listening to Lia and her bridesmaids energetically discuss the wedding. By the time you leave the beach, Jungkook and Namjoon are long gone, but the notion only brings momentary relief. You know a conversation needs to happen, but you aren’t sure if you have the strength to confront Jungkook. Just being around him hurts like hell and you can only imagine how difficult being alone with him will be.

You mindlessly traverse the hotel while gathering courage and also partially sobering up. Speaking with Jungkook with alcohol still in your veins is maybe the worst idea of all. When you finally knock on their door, it takes less than a minute for Namjoon to greet you with evident surprise on his face. 

He’s clearly gotten comfortable since leaving the beach, standing before you with his shirt unbuttoned to reveal the white t-shirt beneath and his belt undone but still strung through the loops of his slacks.

“Hey,” he says as if it’s a question. 

“Is he here?”

“Who… Kook?” You nod instead of answering because your lip is caught between your teeth as you anxiously bite the skin raw. “Yeah, yeah, hold on.”

Namjoon calls for his friend before opening the door so you can see more of the hotel room. Jungkook comes stumbling out from the bathroom still zipping his pants up and when his eyes land on you, they joyfully light up.

“Baby?” His voice goes up an octave out of pure excitement. “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t call me that,” you blankly state.

His expression falters with utter despair, but you can tell from his flush cheeks that he’s been drinking and is clearly overreacting due to the alcohol swimming in his veins. 

“What am I supposed to call you, then?”

“I told you, Jungkook. My name!” You groan and tip your head back to refrain from throttling him. “Can I come in, please?”

He nods until getting dizzy from the repetitive motion and stumbles back a couple inches. Namjoon gestures with his arm and you thank him before crossing the threshold as he closes the door behind you. He excuses himself to the bathroom while you walk towards the center of the suite and pretend to admire the architecture.

“Why are you here?” Jungkook immediately regrets his word choice and starts shaking his head like a wet dog. “Sorry, that came out wrong. I want you here, I just didn’t think you did, so I’m surprised.”

“I don’t want to be here,” you concur. “But we need to talk.”

“About what?”

“What do you think?” Your tone is too harsh, but you can’t help the emotions crawling up your throat and choking the kindness from your voice. “I’m here to support my friend, same as you, and I would appreciate it if we could steer clear of each other for the weekend.”

“Are you serious?” Jungkook sounds stone cold sober when he replies. “I don’t see you for a year and you come here to tell me to fuck off?”

“Yes, Jungkook, because that’s what exes do,” you explain.

“Nah, fuck that, babe,” he snaps. “I don’t give a damn what other exes do.” There’s a poignant step taken in your direction, but you match his gate to hold the distance between you. Jungkook frowns, his brow creasing in discontent. “You really don’t want to see or talk to me? At all?”

“No! Why would I?” You exasperatedly ask. “Seeing you is fucking hard, Jungkook. Is it not hard for you?”

“No,” Jungkook replies without missing a beat. “Seeing you is as easy as breathing. Being away from you is what’s hard. It’s goddamn torture, jagi.”

“Stop calling me that, Jungkook!”

“Stop calling me Jungkook. You never fucking call me that!”

“Because we were dating! What do you expect me to call you?”

“Anything but my fucking name, please,” he begs as his voice strains with emotion. “It doesn’t even sound right coming out of your mouth.”

“Does asshole sound better?”

Jungkook chuckles humorlessly while running his hand through the front of his hair. He opens his mouth to respond, but is stopped by a chime blaring overhead.

“Please excuse the disruption, loyal guests, but we have an urgent announcement to make. As of this moment, the entire hotel is on lockdown due to a gas leak on one of the lower floors. For the safety of all guests, your rooms will remain locked from the outside and key card access will be entirely revoked. Please stay where you are until we safely clear the gas and allow you to roam the hotel freely again. We estimate it will take no longer than twenty four hours. Thank you and please call the front desk with any questions or concerns.”

As soon as the message ends with another annoying chime, the room goes eerily silent and your blood runs cold. Namjoon exits the bathroom with wide, worrisome eyes, matching the expression on both your faces. 

“No. No, no, no,” you shout while running towards the exit. “No, this isn’t happening!” 

You violently yank on the doorknob even though it doesn’t budge an inch, grunting with effort as if that will somehow help. A tattooed hand gently removes your fingers from the handle to stop your incessant attempts.

“Stop, jagiya, it isn’t going to work,” Jungkook calmly says. 

It's unfair how much comfort his touch alone brings, but you ignore the feeling to helplessly pound your fist on the wood despite already knowing it’s useless. 

“It’ll be okay, I’m sure it won’t actually take them that long,” Namjoon comments. 

“Another second in here is one too long, Joonie.”

You hear Jungkook tsk in annoyance. 

“So, he gets Joonie and I’m still just Jungkook, huh?”

Your dread quickly becomes unadulterated anger as you turn on your heel to face him. 

“How many fucking times —”

“Hey, cut it out!” Namjoon interrupts by standing between you. “If we’re really stuck here you two need to stop acting like fucking children.”

“Me?”

“I’m not —”

“Yes, you fucking are,” Namjoon argues, his voice stern. “Y/N, there’s a pull out bed beneath the couch and I can give you some extra clothes to change into.”

“She’s not wearing your clothes, Joon.” 

Jungkook’s gaze is undeniably intense when he makes eye contact with his friend. 

“Well, I’m sure as hell not wearing yours,” you retort.

Namjoon sighs in defeat and runs his hands down his face. 

“This is what I mean!”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you avoid their eyes and sulk towards the couch on the opposite side of the room. If Namjoon thinks you’re behaving like a child, then you just won’t speak anymore. Simple. Great minds must think alike because Jungkook stomps over to the bed and sits with an overdramatic huff. Namjoon rolls his eyes, but ignores your shared antics by surveying the mini fridge. He’s clearly choosing the sensible route given that it’s your only source of food until the hotel reopens. 

The first hour of imprisonment happens in stark silence, besides the sound of Namjoon moseying about as he passes you both a water bottle before taking a seat in the armchair beside the bed. You all absentmindedly scroll on your phones and pretend you aren’t suffocating from the thick tension permeating the space. 

You immediately text Yuna about the situation, anxiously awaiting her reply with your thumbnail between your teeth as you parse through your many thoughts. When she does respond, her text contains an immeasurable amount of expletives and various emojis. She leaves you with a single instruction at the end of her message: “do not fucking sleep with him, Y/N!”

It’s easier said than done.

Namjoon is the first to slice through the awkward silence via an obviously fake cough. You and Jungkook both look at him expectantly and he responds with a dashing smile while leaning forward in his chair.

“Y/N, you said you came here to talk, so I think you guys should do just that,” he kindly suggests. “I can chill in the bathroom for a while, if you want.”

A sweet smile frames your face as you shake your head.

“That’s alright, Joonie. I don’t have anything to talk about with him,” you respond.

“You don’t? After a whole year you don’t have any questions or things you want to get off your chest?”

“Jungkook made it very clear when we broke up that he doesn’t want to marry me. That’s the only answer I need.”

Jungkook scoffs in response, cracking his neck as though it could release all his pent-up frustration. 

“That’s not true,” he states.

“No? Did I misunderstand something that night?”

“Yes. I never said I don’t want to marry you. I said I wasn’t ready, there’s a big difference."

Now it’s your turn to scoff with an accompanying eye roll.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think there’s that much of a difference when after five fucking years together you still aren’t ready. Sounds like just a cowardly excuse to me,” you retort.

“Cowardly? Is that what you think I am?”

“Yes, actually —”

“Hold on, that's not what I meant by talk,” Namjoon interrupts.

“What do you expect, Joon?” Jungkook asks angrily. “She’s unreasonable!”

“Don’t you dare call me that again,” you sneer, the night in question appearing like a vision in your mind. 

Jungkook’s eyes completely soften when he realizes his mistake, not ever wanting to hurt you despite the predicament you find yourselves in. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but you end any and all conversation by strutting across the carpet and barricading yourself in the bathroom. Once you’re alone, you quietly whimper and slide down the frosted glass until your butt meets the cold tile. 

This will just be your solution for the remaining hours; to stay locked away from the piercing gaze of your ex and the well intentioned efforts of his best friend. You simply lack the wherewithal to look at his handsome face or listen to his calming voice any longer. The cold persona you’ve been maintaining all night is cracking with every word and you refuse to let him see how utterly broken you are underneath. 

Although, it's no use once you start sobbing into your hands because of all the overwhelming emotions. You’re certain he hears your brutal cries even as you muffle the sound in your palms, eventually crying yourself to sleep on the bathroom floor. 

A loud banging on the glass door startles you awake. 

“Y/N,” Namjoon calls for you.

“Use the sink,” you groan while sitting up.

“I’m not knocking for that.” There’s a heavy sigh from outside. “Can I come in?”

A weighted moment passes as your mind deciphers possible reasons not to let him inside, but when there aren’t any obvious choices, you twist the doorknob while scooting away so he can enter. 

When he does, he effortlessly slips in and turns the lock before sitting across from you and pulling his knees to his chest. 

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you murmur.

“I’m not trying to play matchmaker, I hope you know that. It’s just that we’re stuck here for possibly twenty more hours, and I don’t think you’re very comfortable lying on the bathroom floor in a cocktail dress,” he explains.

You nod in agreement as a small grin forms on your lips.

“Yeah, my ass is killing me.”

Namjoon laughs, deep dimples appearing on his cheeks as the lighthearted sound fills the air.

“He fell asleep, too, but maybe you can go bug him and actually sort some shit out?” There's hope present in his brown eyes. “Just because getting back together isn’t on the table, doesn’t mean you can’t at least be on good terms. You two have a lot of mutual friends so this definitely isn’t going to be the last time you see each other.”

“He makes it pretty hard, Joonie,” you argue.

“I know he does. It’s only because he…” Namjoon sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “It’s only because he’s still so in love with you.”

You appreciate him saying it out loud even though it's painfully obvious that's the case.

“I know,” you quietly admit. “I don’t know if it’s even possible for either of us to ever stop loving the other one.”

Namjoon reaches out to rest his hand on your knee, empathetically running his thumb across the fabric of your dress. He doesn't seem surprised by your inferred confession, which you suppose makes sense given how observant he is.

“If there is that much love still between you, that’s all the more reason to mend things as best you can.”

He leaves you alone again so you can decide for yourself what your next move will be.  

It takes you a couple hours to come to the proper conclusion and return to the suite so you can speak with your ex-boyfriend. When you do, you find him and Namjoon haphazardly sprawled across the mattress still half-dressed in their evening wear.

Jungkook's facial features are serene as quiet snores pass through his lips. This must be the millionth time you’ve witnessed him in this state, but your heart still flutters all the same. You resist the urge to wake him as you once did, by combing his hair back and pressing featherlight kisses to his face. Instead, you nudge his leg where it’s hanging off the mattress and wait for his eyes to blink open.

“Jagiya?” He groggily asks. “Is everything alright, my love?”

Oh, he must still be half asleep. It’s one thing to throw a pet name around, but the infamous epithet exclusively used for you is a step too far.

“Wake up, Jungkook,” you order him.

“I am.”

You ignore the possibility of him purposefully calling you that so you can focus on your mission. 

“We need to talk.”

Jungkook sits up and methodically runs his hands through his hair a couple times before patting the space beside him.

Following his wordless request, you occupy the spot to his right, albeit a bit farther away from where his hand hit the mattress. When he notices the sizeable distance, his disappointment sets a crease in his brow. 

“You wanna talk like we did earlier or the way we used to?”

His question makes you replay your various conversations from today in your head.

“I’m sorry for being such a bitch tonight. I’m just trying to… protect myself,” you explain. 

Jungkook shakes his head. 

“You’re not being a bitch,” he assures you. “I’m sorry, too. I promise I’m not trying to make this any harder on you, I just missed you so fucking much, jagi.”

It's too dangerous to repeat the phrase back to him, despite it being true, so you ignore the comment altogether.

“I know that we need to have a conversation, but I’m not sure where to even start. It feels like we’re beating a dead horse at this point,” you admit.

“I’m not exactly sure, either, but I’ll answer any questions you have or re-explain whatever you need me to.”

There's been one single question occupying your mind for the last year, but you never expected being able to ask it.

“Why wasn’t I enough for you, Jungkook?”

His doe eyes widen and his hands naturally move to caress your face so he can comfort you, assure you of how wrong you are, but he seemingly changes his mind and lets them fall. 

“Not enough for me?” He shakes his head in complete disbelief at the idea. “Oh, baby, me not proposing has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. We spent half a decade together, if you’re not ready for marriage after that then it’s obviously me,” you argue. 

“No, it isn’t,” he states. “Growing up, I watched my parents go from lovesick to arch enemies in a matter of years. So, in my mind, marriage can make even the most perfect couple hate each other. Which means it could do that to us, too.”

“We’re not your parents, Jungkook.”

His parent’s broken relationship has always deeply affected him and it’s something you tried helping him heal from during your time together.

“I know, but from my perspective getting married could easily turn us into them. I thought staying boyfriend and girlfriend would make losing you impossible, but it did the exact opposite.”

“I told you that,” you groan. “The night we broke up, I said you only have one option to keep me with you, and sure, there’s always a risk of things going south, but if you didn’t propose it would happen a helluva lot sooner than if marriage tears us apart.” Without thinking of the consequences, your hands encompass his. “Jungkook, it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”

His hands squeeze yours as if he’s double checking that you’re real. 

“I know that now,” he whispers.

“What… what do you mean?”

“I was wrong, jagiya. That night, letting my parents' relationship dictate our own, I made the biggest mistake of my life,” he tells you. “If I could turn back time, I would get down on one knee right there in our living room.”

You feel a familiar pressure from tears collecting in your waterline. It would be wonderful to reverse the hands of time and prevent your breakup from ever happening, but it’s impossible, and no amount of time travel can fix your broken heart.

Jungkook tries brushing the stray tears away once they finally fall, but you turn your head when his fingertips graze your cheekbone.

“Please tell me how to fix this, baby,” he begs.

“You can’t –”

“I don’t mean us. Well, I do, but I know you don’t want that.” He couldn’t be more wrong. “So how do we leave here as friends, at least.” 

Being friends is a terrible decision given how much your heart still absolutely belongs to him, but you also can’t resist having him in your life. So, you extend your hand across the space between you. 

“Friends?”

Jungkook smiles affectionately and shakes your outstretched hand. 

“That was easy,” he comments.

The tension in the room gradually dissipates as you chuckle and drop his hand.

Although, your truce allows for a different, more potent aura to surround you instead. It seems pretending to despise each other was your only protection from the inherent desire you feel, because in the otherwise silent room, the crackling heat between you is palpable. 

The first time you ever laid eyes on each other, Jungkook promptly shoved you into a dive bar bathroom and fucked you against the sink. In fact, you’re positive the two of you have never been near a fuckable surface without partaking in the act. If Namjoon wasn’t lying smack dab in the middle of the bed, you’d probably already be rolling around in the sheets together. 

Namjoon wakes up with a confused grunt before either of you can make such a mistake. He examines the unfamiliar surroundings while cracking his neck and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Hey, lovebirds,” he mumbles.

“Hey, Joon.”

“Ew.”

Jungkook chuckles at your expense and you retaliate by playfully shoving his shoulder. Per his usual antics, he grunts while falling backwards, his upper body hitting the mattress with a soft thump. The melodramatic action makes you giggle without realizing, and you can see Jungkook smiling from his position on the bed. 

Namjoon notices the positive shift in atmospheric pressure and smiles to himself as he stands to stretch his long limbs. 

“So, what are we using this ample amount of time together to do?” He asks while grabbing a snack from the kitchen. 

It’s a logical question given the circumstances, since there isn't much in the room to keep you entertained besides the TV, and who knows what selection of shows and movies the hotel offers. 

While you contemplate an answer, Jungkook sits up and gestures for Namjoon to toss him a treat, which he catches with ease once his best friend complies. Rather than opening the package, he hands it to you before repeating the motion for himself. You avert your eyes so he doesn’t see the pink blush forming on your cheeks. 

“Well, what’s your year been like, Joonie?”

Namjoon smiles at your question even as he’s chewing the granola bar he just took a bite of. He answers after swallowing his food.

“It’s been good, I got promoted to head curator at the museum,” he announces.

“No way, that’s amazing!” You cheer. “I’ll have to swing by sometime.”

“You should, we’ve got some amazing new pieces from this French historian I found,” he explains. 

“Any women in your life?”

You pop some trail mix into your mouth.

“Nah, I’m shit outta luck in that department.” He briefly glances at Jungkook before continuing. “How about you?”

“Nope. No luck with the ladies for me, either.”

Jungkook giggles beside you. 

“Seriously, though, how have you been?” Namjoon asks.

You wish you could answer truthfully, but despite the recent agreement between you and Jungkook, you still want to hold your real feelings close to your chest. For instance, you don’t want him to know the feeling of someone else’s lips makes your stomach twist in disgust. Something you’re only aware of because you attempted to kiss a stranger at the bar some months ago. The encounter only lasted approximately three seconds before you stopped the man’s advances and spent the remainder of the night sobbing in the bathroom.

“I’ve been good, too,” you say, keeping it simple. “What about you?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen when you point your attention to him. 

“Oh, fine, I guess,” he answers solemnly. “No promotions or… you know.”

You hum in acknowledgement and finish the rest of your trail mix to avoid answering any further questions.

“So, that took up approximately five minutes of the next nineteen hours,” Namjoon states matter-of-factly.

“Hm, let’s play kid games like never have I ever or some shit,” Jungkook excitedly suggests.

“Kook,” Namjoon laughs. “Be for real.”

“Hyung, we have hours to kill here.” Jungkook points to you. “Tiebreaker vote.”

“Uh.” Your head tilts as your mind contemplates the possible consequences. “I mean, why the hell not? It’s not like I don’t know everything about you anyway, Jungkook.”

“You don't know what I got up to in the last year,” he retorts. 

“Fine, but we need drinks,” Namjoon says as he hands out beers before taking a seat on the nearby couch. “I’ll go first?” You and Jungkook both nod and the older man giggles when he decides on his first prompt. “Never have I ever slept with someone in this room.”

Twin indignant glares are sent his way as you and Jungkook sip your drinks.

“That’s fucked up,” Jungkook comments. 

“Your turn, Y/N.”

Similar to Namjoon, you look between the two boys and chuckle to yourself.

“Never have I ever had a penis.” Jungkook stares you down while Namjoon merely shakes his head and sips his beer. “Your turn.” You tap Jungkook’s chest with the bottle.

“Hmm, never have I ever not been named Jungkook.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“You’re a bozo.”

You and Namjoon drink simultaneously. 

“Alright, no more fucking around, we die like men,” Namjoon states while placing his elbows on his knees. “Never have I ever had sex in a public place.” There’s an incredibly awkward silence before you and Jungkook slowly bring the bottles to your lips. “No shit? I didn’t think I’d actually get you guys with that one.”

“Multiple times, in fact,” Jungkook says after drinking. 

“In very public places,” you add.

“Freaks,” Namjoon jokes. 

“Okay, never have I ever gone skinny dipping,” you say.

Only Namjoon drinks and it scratches an itch in your brain knowing Jungkook hasn't completed one of your bucket list items without you. 

“There’s an ocean right outside, ya know,” Jungkook comments with a smirk. You respond by elbowing his ribs. “Ow, understood.” He thinks for a minute before a more sinister smile appears. “Never have I ever had a threesome.”

No one drinks, which only causes Jungkook’s expression to morph into one of satisfaction.

“I’m sorry, did you only ask because you want to know if I’ve had one since we broke up?”

“Yes,” Jungkook shamelessly admits. “You’ve always wanted one and it’s the only opportunity I’ll have to ask.” 

“You wanna try a threesome, Y/N?” Namjoon asks with an eyebrow quirked. 

“Mmhm, but my boyfriend was always too jealous to indulge me,” you state while side-eyeing Jungkook. 

Your ex scoffs with a shake of his head. 

“Why don’t you tell Namjoon why I said no, babe.” You suddenly look like a deer in headlights. “That’s what I thought.”

“Wait, wait." Namjoon scoots to the edge of his chair. “Spill.”

“Oh, no,” you reply.

“C’mon, jagi, tell him,” Jungkook goads. A threatening glance is sent his way, but he ignores your agitation and menacingly tilts his head as if to taunt you. All hope is lost when he turns to face his best friend. “She wanted us to have a threesome with you.”

Namjoon chokes on air.

“Huh?”

“Oh yeah, she begged me on multiple occasions.”

“Jungkook!” 

His poor friend’s face is glowing with a bright red blush as he processes the confession.

“What… why me?”

“I mean, it’s not everyday your handsome and buff boyfriend has an equally handsome and buff best friend,” you explain. “What’s a girl to do?”

“It’s not everyday you’re stuck in a hotel room with them, either,” Jungkook notes while calmly drinking his beer. 

You and Namjoon whip your heads in his direction with equally large eyes. Jungkook merely chuckles at the joint reaction and leans back on his hands like he didn’t just plant a ticking time bomb in the center of the room. 

“Sorry, are you —”

“Suggesting we all sleep together?” He turns to you with a gleam in his eye. “Yes, jagiya, I am.”

“But why now when you always said no before?”

“Because as you made it very clear earlier this evening, I’m no longer your boyfriend. I have no problem sharing what isn’t mine to begin with,” he explains. 

Something about his statement shatters your heart in a way you refuse to admit.

Namjoon clears his throat to garner everyone’s attention.

“Uh, is this something we’re genuinely considering? Because I’m totally down.”

“Babe?”

Jungkook has nothing but hope brimming in his eyes while you maim your lower lip with your teeth. There are multiple contrasting emotions battling in your head, but the overall winner is excitement as the feeling flows through your veins and becomes your answer. 

“As long as you stop calling me that.” There’s a brief pause before you remember to cover all your bases. “In either language, Jungkook.” 

The man in question’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead as a charming smile grows. 

“Deal.”

Your heart skips a couple beats when he shuts his eyes and leans in with pursed lips. As if it’s second nature, Jungkook’s hand rises to hold the back of your head, but you keep him in place with a gentle touch to his chest. 

“Give me a minute.”

The mattress bounces when you stand to run away into the safety of the bathroom again. Oxygen fills your lungs for the first time in minutes upon entering the secluded space. Moving towards the counter, your hands grip the marble as you turn the faucet and splash cold water on your face. 

Your best friend appears like an apparition in your mind, reminding you of your sworn duty not to sleep with your ex-boyfriend. Technically, you're only half sleeping with him, since someone else will be there. Yeah, you’re certain Yuna will accept that bullshit explanation without biting your head off. 

She’ll just have to forgive you, because you’ve imagined this threesome countless times over the years and nothing is going to prevent it from becoming a reality now. Sure, you never pictured it happening because you got trapped in hotel with your gorgeous ex and his equally attractive best friend, but here you are.

After spending some time calming your racing heartbeat, you stare yourself down in the mirror and share an affirming glance with your reflection before exiting. 

When you do, Jungkook is standing just beyond the door with desire in his dark irises. Namjoon isn’t far away, sitting on the corner of the bed with his legs spread while he intently watches the two of you.

“You ready?” Jungkook asks in a low tone.

Heaven help you.

“Do your worst.”

Jungkook doesn’t waste a single second and slams his lips on yours while his large hands encapsulate your head. The sudden movement causes an involuntary moan, his warm lips already turning your mind to mush as you clutch his shirt to keep your knees from giving out.

Heaven can’t help you now, because the feeling of Jungkook kissing you again is far above its paygrade. 

His mouth coaxes yours open and you grant him unlimited access without another thought, allowing him to slip his tongue inside so it can tangle with your own. The familiar motions transport you to a world where your breakup never occured and Namjoon isn’t a couple feet away. It honestly feels as though you’re the only two people in existence when he molds his mouth to yours and grips your hair between his fingers like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. 

“Fuck,” Jungkook whispers against your lips. 

He gives you a final peck before kissing across the lower half of your face and down your neck. You indiscriminately moan as his soft, wet lips repeatedly meet the most sensitive areas of your skin. Your hand rakes through his styled hair when he licks across your jugular and takes a delicate bite. He gives your collarbone, sternum, stomach, and abdomen chaste kisses while rapidly descending to his knees. The sight of his lustful eyes peering up at you from the vulnerable position makes your core clench. 

Your eyes are silently pleading him to touch you and it brings a devilish smirk to Jungkook’s face. His hands sneak beneath the hem of your dress to touch your bare skin while kissing the fabric resting on your thighs. When you whine for more, he pacifies you by bunching the dress up to reveal the lace underwear covering your cunt. He groans in satisfaction and starts kissing your mound through the material, causing you to hold onto his black strands for dear life. 

“Jungkook, please,” you breathlessly beg. 

“Use your words,” he orders while making out with your panties. 

Jungkook’s always demanded you spell your wants and needs out for him in bed, so you should’ve expected his response. 

“Need your mouth on me,” you pant.

He hums affirmatively and tugs your underwear to the floor before languidly licking your pussy from bottom to top. A combination between a broken gasp and pleasurable cry comes from you in response. The sensation of his tongue moving through your folds is earth shattering even if you’ve experienced it a million times and the feeling must be mutual because Jungkook is enthusiastically moaning into your cunt while lapping up the leaking essence from your hole with precise flicks of his tongue. 

“Goddamn, you taste so fucking good,” he grunts before diving back in. 

His fingers hold you in place by the meat of your thighs as he eats you out like you’re his final meal on earth. Jungkook’s always been an expert at eating pussy, and his innate skill is only highlighted by the fact that you haven’t been touched by another human in a year. Between his hands gripping your flesh and his mouth slurping your juices, your mental fortitude doesn’t stand a chance.

Jungkook continues kissing and licking your pussy for a torturous amount of time before finally granting you solace and moving upwards to pleasure your clit. When you jump from the sensation of him kitten licking you, he growls and his fingertips bite into your supple thighs.

“Don’t fucking move.” He flattens his tongue on your pearl and moves his face side to side to create friction. Your head falls against the glass as you helplessly moan. “You have no fucking idea how much I missed this pussy.”

The deep timbre of his voice sends vibrations through you as he maintains the mind blowing tempo. He halts the efforts of his tongue to suck your swollen clit into his mouth, causing your eyes to roll deep into your skull. In the same breath, he purposely allows drool to drip from his lips onto your pussy, as if you aren’t gushing cum already. The extra wetness creates a seamless glide of his mouth on your skin and you can barely keep your body upright from how amazing it feels.

“Goo — Jungkook,” you whine. 

He ignores your call of his name, although you think he caught the near slip up because his low chuckle tickles your wet skin and sends shivers down your spine. 

“Fuck, Joon, you gotta taste her.” He moves away from your cunt and you automatically whimper, your hand clutching his hair to keep him close. “Best pussy in the entire fucking world.”

When you glance at the man in question after taking multiple deep breaths, you notice him sporting a cheshire grin while his dragon eyes dangerously call to you.

“Is that so?” Namjoon tilts his head as he holds the seductive eye contact. “May I?”

The only action you can muster is a weak nod, your head barely holding itself up from how high up in the clouds you are. 

Jungkook catches your attention by placing a final kiss to your clit before rising and tucking a piece of stray hair behind your ear.

“Be good,” he instructs. 

There’s an urge within you to fight back and tell him it’s no longer his place to command anything from you, but the lustful haze veiling your consciousness prevents you from speaking altogether.

Before you realize, you’re nose to nose with Namjoon and the miniscule distance between you makes your heart stop.

“We’re gonna have so much fun with you, Y/N,” he taunts.

He drops to his knees the very next moment, firmly gripping one of your thighs as he maneuvers it to rest on his shoulder. 

It’s been more than six years since anyone beside Jungkook touched you, and although you want this, the feeling of someone else holding you inadvertently causes a negative reaction. Your hands begin to shake and your eyes snap shut as unease washes over you and settles in your stomach. 

Jungkook must notice the energy shift, because you feel his lips caressing your shoulder as he gently kisses your skin. 

“It’s alright,” he whispers between smooches. “Just enjoy it, beautiful.”

Namjoon’s plush lips are kissing and sucking on your inner thighs as his face ascends towards your center. It’s easier said than done, but you eventually acclimate to the foreign touch and manage to calm your body and mind. 

When his mouth reaches your cunt, he tastes you for the first time with a tentative, featherlight lick, but after slowly swiping his wet muscle through your folds a couple times, he amorously hums while gripping your thighs tighter. He forces your pussy down onto his face and you yelp, a desperate hand grasping his spare shoulder for support. 

“Fuck, Joonie” you whine.

The younger man is still painting your neck with sloppy kisses as Namjoon does the same to your cunt. 

His mouth feels completely different in comparison to Jungkook, but still just as pleasurable. While your ex eats you out as if he simply can’t get enough, Namjoon seems to be savoring every single bite. 

Despite the delicate pressure of his tongue gliding along your slit, you feel pure greed behind his actions. He’s holding you firmly in place while bobbing his head to lick every inch of your cunt and his wanton noises sound like he just wants more, more, and more. Then his tongue pushes into your hole and licks long your inner walls as his buttery lips absolutely devour you and the feeling is jaw dropping. 

“Jesus, you weren’t kidding,” he comments under his breath. Namjoon looks up to ensure you’re watching his tongue take a single, long lick of your pussy before curling your juices into his mouth. “You’re fucking delicious, baby.”

You pathetically moan over his praises.

“Make her come, Joon,” Jungkook says. “She looks so pretty when she finishes.”

Namjoon hears your ex loud and clear, keeping his eyes on you when he switches gears and starts mouthing at your clit. 

Gone is the gentle giant as he religiously flicks his tongue over your nerve endings before teasing you by moving the muscle in slow circles instead. He seems to enjoy your response to his actions, an airy chuckle meeting your core where his lips have begun sucking on your nub. Of course your eyes are rolling as you pant and sink your fingertips into his shoulder muscles, he’s pleasuring your most sensitive spot as if he’s done it countless times. 

He reclaims your pussy to drink the weeping essence collecting there, but his nose nuzzles your clit so you’re still being stimulated in both areas. The perfect combination makes your mind blank and your senses malfunction until all they recognize are him. 

You don’t just fall over the edge, you’re forcefully pushed off the precipice by his extraordinary movements.

“Oh, holy shit,” you cry.

The gorgeous man on his knees for you groans in delight as you come on his face, swallowing every ounce of cum you give him. If he wasn’t still balancing your leg on his shoulder, the convulsing your body does in reaction to the climax would send you toppling. 

Jungkook ardently watches you as the high simmers, observing your every twitch and noise with heat in his eyes. Meanwhile, Namjoon is still slurping away beneath you like he could continue for hours without complaint.

You shove at his shoulder when the oversensitivity becomes too great, needing to focus on your trembling breaths so your body can return to baseline. 

“How was that?” Namjoon asks as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

A dry chuckle leaves your lips.

“What a stupid fucking question.”

Both men laugh as Namjoon stands and Jungkook sits on the bed. 

“So, who are you sucking off first, beautiful?” 

Jungkook’s lopsided smirk is too attractive for his own good, and you know it’s only present because he found a clever loophole to your sole condition for this entanglement. 

“Well, since you let Namjoon do your dirty work, I think you should finish what you started while I thank him for doing such a wonderful job,” you explain. “Whaddaya think?”

He doesn’t respond other than by pulling you into his lap by your thighs while simultaneously lying back so you’re straddling him. 

“Hop on your favorite seat, then.”

Your eyebrows lift for a silent confirmation of his request and he winks as an answer. The anticipation of having him again creates childlike giddiness within you as you maneuver yourself above his head. At the same time, Namjoon strolls to the opposite side and pulls his belt through the loops to remove it. Once his slacks are kicked into a pile on the carpet, he stands directly in front of you where you’re kneeling over Jungkook’s face. 

“You know, Kook’s bragged about your mouth on multiple occasions, so your reputation precedes you,” Namjoon states.

“Oh, I assure you, I’ll exceed your expectations, Joonie,” you confidently reply.

Before you can continue the conversation, Jungkook is tugging your thighs down until your bare pussy is smothering his mouth. You moan as your head falls back upon feeling his searing hot tongue on you again. He parrots the noise into your folds, accompanied by the erotic sound of him repeatedly bringing your cum into his mouth.

When your attention returns to Namjoon as Jungkook continues his diligence on your cunt, you see his eyes reverently staring at the scene while he palms his covered cock. You reach for him, dipping your fingers beneath the fabric resting on his hips to pull him closer. He stumbles forward with a deep laugh and aides you in pushing the garment down his thick thighs to reveal his cock. 

To state it plainly, the man is well fucking endowed. He’s slightly longer than Jungkook, although if memory serves correctly, not as thick as him. Comparisons aside, his dick is genuinely mouth watering and all of your emotions are instantly superseded by the innate desire to taste him. 

“Like what you see?”

“Mmhm,” you say with a slow nod.

His cock is achingly hard and twitches in his hand as he strokes himself without breaking eye contact with you. Your tongue slowly traces your lips as you imagine how he’ll taste, the bead of precum forming on his head practically calling your name. Seeing him in all his glory is the perfect reminder of why you begged Jungkook for this so many times. There’s no doubt you’re about to have the time of your life being sandwiched between them all night.

Your warm hand replaces his own as you begin languidly stroking him and running your thumb across his slit to gather the precum and work it down his shaft. He groans as his head lulls, giving you the sexiest view of his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. 

“You’re so big,” you tell him aimlessly. 

He doesn’t respond, clearly too preoccupied with relishing the feeling of your small hand wrapping around his thick cock. 

Meanwhile, Jungkook is still fervently licking your pussy like rent is due tomorrow. His hands remain on your hips after creeping upwards from your thighs and he uses the leverage to move your cunt back and forth across his face, causing his big nose to catch on your clit and effectively nullify your senses. 

Despite the debilitating pleasure you're receiving, you focus on the man before you and bend over to lick his cockhead, making Namjoon instinctively clutch your hair. You dutifully swipe your tongue across his velvet skin to get acquired with his masculine taste. When you tease him by circling the sensitive ridge of his head with just the tip of your tongue before flattening the muscle once you reach his tip, Namjoon forcefully groans. 

“Fuck, baby,” he curses under his breath. 

His reaction encourages you to finally take him between your wet lips, suckling on his head as your hand continues working him in smooth strokes. 

“You’re so sexy, Joonie,” you mewl after leaving the pretty tip of his cock covered in drool. 

“Keep putting your mouth on me then,” he chuckles. 

Namjoon’s always been peaceful and practical, but you can hear the sharp edge in his tone born from your teasing. 

Following his orders, you fully wrap your lips around him and bob your head with your tongue out to soak the remaining length of his cock. Your hand falls away and joins your other on the mattress to keep yourself steady. You swallow his dick inch by inch as you bring him deeper into your mouth with each glide. Your actions turn him noisy above you, endlessly whining and groaning as his fingers tug on the hair caught between them.

Jungkook’s just as loud as he lazily drinks your essence and moans into your cunt. He’s going slower than normal so he can prolong your pleasure while you take care of his friend, but the andante rhythm of his mouth doesn’t make his movements any less punishing. His tongue is constantly alternating between long sweeps of your pussy from bottom to top and tauntingly circling your clit. 

“Holy fuck,” Namjoon breathes. “So fucking good, baby.”

His nonsensical praises are totally understandable, since you’re using all the tricks in the book to energetically suck him off. Your tongue makes loops around his cock every time you move your head closer to his pubic bone. When you pull back, you press the muscle firmly along the underside of his shaft and flick it against his tip before doing it all over again. It takes a decent amount of time to fully sheath him in your throat due to his size, but once your nose is buried in his pubic hair, you hold the position so he can savor the feeling. He certainly seems appreciative, given that he practically growls like a wild animal and yanks on your hair. 

The next time you descend and his tip sinks deep into your throat, you swallow so he can feel the way your muscles constrict around his dick. That nearly makes him lose his marbles, his nails harshly scratching at your scalp as you blow his mind along with his cock. 

“Mother of God, Y/N.”

A giggle escapes as you take a momentary reprieve and flatten your tongue on his head, lapping up the precum pooling over his slit. 

“Told you,” Jungkook proudly states from beneath you. “She got you close yet, Joon?”

His voice is partially muffled by your thighs around his head, but his friend still hears the question. 

“Fuck yes, about to blow any second,” Namjoon breathlessly replies. 

It’s quite obvious he’s telling the truth by the way his cock deliciously throbs inside your mouth. Upon hearing his answer, you suction your lips around him and vigorously bob your head to finish him off. Your fingers even join the fray to fondle his heavy sack that’s full of all the cum you’re about to swallow. 

Jungkook kicks his own motions into high gear so you two come simultaneously, forcing your cunt down on his mouth and spitting into your folds so he can wreak havoc on your hole. 

His unexpected ministrations make you yelp and Namjoon gasps in response to the vibrations around his cock. You continuously moan as you work upon realizing the effect on him, and within seconds his balls tighten in your hand and you sink down completely so his cum shoots straight down your throat. 

“Oh shit,” he grunts.

Tasting his warm seed before it paints your esophagus white is downright sinful, but feels oh so good. It’s been far too long since you’ve had the pleasure of breaking a man off and letting him empty his balls in your mouth. 

The movements of your mouth never cease while swallowing every drop he provides, allowing your tongue to collect the essence that spreads along his shaft. Although you’re focusing on Namjoon, Jungkook is dangerously close to bringing you an orgasm by rapidly fucking his tongue into your pussy. 

When you do come, your sharp cries force Namjoon’s cock from your mouth as your body shakes with the unbelievable strength of your second orgasm. 

“Ah, Jungkook!”

Namjoon’s hand is still in your hair and he attentively combs through the strands as pleasurable tears prick your eyes. Jungkook is groaning underneath you as he eats the cum spilling from your pussy and soaking his face. He doesn’t stop tormenting your sensitive folds until you finally roll off him and collapse on the bed. 

All three of you are erratically panting from the intense pleasure and effort. 

You clock the massive tent in Jungkook’s slacks and immediately feel the urge to satiate him before you’ve even caught your breath. 

“Jungkook, strip.” He subconsciously nods and starts unbuttoning his shirt to remove it from his torso. His slacks and boxers come off in one go, revealing the familiar sight of his gorgeous cock to you. It takes every ounce of your strength to resist moaning out loud. “Namjoon, have you ever been to Paris?” 

Your other companion is still delirious from his overwhelming climax and your doe-eyed, curious expression doesn’t aid him in the slightest, but he shakes his head as an answer nonetheless. 

Upon seeing his response, you maneuver to all fours with your ass facing him and your head towards Jungkook. Your ex is standing beside the bed and watching you like a hawk as you get into position. 

“You sure about this, doesn’t your jaw hurt?” Jungkook questions. 

“C’mon, Jungkook, you know how much I love the pain,” you respond. 

His only reaction is an irritatingly sexy, smug grin as he comes to stand right in front of you, his hard cock standing at attention only an inch away from your awaiting lips. 

“I get to fuck you?” Namjoon asks from behind you. 

His hands are traversing your waist, hips, and thighs and when he flips your dress up to reveal your bare ass and soaking pussy, he hums delightfully. 

“Of course you do,” you respond, seductively looking over your shoulder at him. “You better do it right, Joonie, or we’re gonna have a problem.”

He clicks his tongue. 

“You don’t need to worry about that, baby.”

Returning your attention to Jungkook, your eyes travel from his v-line up his sculpted torso, but before they reach his face, an unfamiliar artwork catches your attention. 

“Did you… did you get a new tattoo?” 

Jungkook glances towards his right shoulder where the new, colorful ink is etched into his skin. The shoulder piece partially covers his old tattoo and stretches across his collarbone. You can’t help but gawk at the pretty art on his honey skin, honestly shocked that he finally added to his sleeve.

“You like it?” 

He looks far too cocky about your reaction for your taste, but you do in fact like it. You’ve told him many times just how hot a tattoo in that location would look, and it seems he took your advice long after you were gone.

“Ye — yeah,” you answer. 

The confident expression only grows when you unfortunately fail at responding like a normal human, far too distracted by the ink to think properly. 

Rather than teasing you as usual, Jungkook gently pets your hair before resting his hand on your jaw. He uses the controlling grip to pull your face closer to his cock and you automatically push your tongue out to lick the precum off the tip. Jungkook smiles at your instinctual reaction, as if pleasuring him is something written in your DNA.

“Why don’t you show me just how much you like it?” 

His tone is dripping with desire to the point his voice shakes, his eagerness to have your lips around him evident in his phrasing. 

You obediently press your tongue to his skin again, this time leisurely dragging the muscle along his head. The hand on your jaw rescinds to your hair and pulls the strands away from your face so he can see you kitten licking his cock.

“Good girl,” he praises, his eyes never once leaving your face.

Meanwhile, Namjoon begins running his dick through your folds, lubricating himself with your cum so he can slide into your pussy with ease. 

“Go on, Joon,” Jungkook instructs. “Let’s fuck her dumb on both ends, shall we?”

When Namjoon pushes in without another word, the feeling of his tip pressing into your hole makes you keen and desperately grip the sheets beneath your fingers. 

“Would you like that, baby?” Namjoon asks to patronize you. “Do you want us to stretch your holes with our big cocks?’

When you only nod in response, Jungkook tugs on your hair in retaliation. 

“Yes,” you whimper. “Please, ruin me.”

Namjoon enters you one inch at a time so you feel every ridge and curve as he descends into your pussy. You’re still licking Jungkook’s head and shaft, sufficiently coating his cock in saliva before taking him between your lips, but it’s nearly impossible to focus on the man in front when the one behind you is using his dick to spear you. An enthusiastic moan breaches the air once he’s fully inside you, and the men share a demeaning laugh at your current predicament. 

It’s honestly nasty how much you crave the feeling of them stuffing you. 

As soon as Namjoon pulls back for the first time, you suck Jungkook’s cock into your mouth. They both pornagraphically moan because of the pleasure your cunt and mouth simultaneously provide them. 

“Shit, you’re so fucking tight,” Namjoon grits through his teeth. 

“Oh, fuck,” Jungkook whines.

Namjoon takes control via a fierce grasp on your hips, giving him the ideal leverage to thrust into you. Similarly, Jungkook clutches your hair like reins between his fingers in preparation for you deepthroating his cock.

The initial stroke into your pussy sends you forward until you’re swallowing about half of Jungkook’s cock, forcing an erotic gasp from him. Namjoon’s movements create the perfect bobbing motion for your head, making this eiffel tower position somewhat easier than merely sucking dick. The strength of his thrusts allows you to take more of Jungkook into your mouth with each one, so your only job becomes keeping your tongue out and tightening your lips around him, occasionally moaning, gagging, or swallowing when he tickles your throat.

“She’s a fucking dream, isn’t she?” Jungkook says with strained vocal chords.

“That’s a fucking understatement,” Namjoon instantly replies.

The feeling of Namjoon fucking you is obviously foreign, but earth shattering nonetheless. He magically knows the perfect angle for his cock to consistently hit your g-spot, driving himself deep inside you while maintaining a steady pace to prevent from hindering your work. The push and pull of his hips creates mind blowing friction and stimulation as the thick veins running along his shaft rub against your inner walls.

He’s certainly fulfilling his promise as he effortlessly rearranges your guts, his dick reaching parts of you long forgotten prior to this.

You’re clearly excelling, too, because Jungkook is incoherently cursing and panting like a dog above you. Namjoon’s diligence from behind means your sole focus can remain on the actions of your mouth, lips, and tongue. Despite your familiarity with sucking Jungkook’s cock, there’s still an adjustment period due to his size, but once his tip meets your esophagus, you purposely gag around him, allowing your drool to coat his skin. 

Jungkook’s got quite the ego, which you’ve always found unbelievably sexy, and seeing your lips stretched to the limit while you willingly choke on his cock is hands down his favorite sight in the world. 

“Fuck, no one sucks my cock like you do,” he claims. “God fucking damn.”

Although he’s complimenting you, his statement makes your eyebrows pinch together. You’re unsure if he means it rhetorically or if he’s actually comparing your skills to someone else, namely someone he may have been with in the last year. The thought makes your heart sink into your stomach, but you shove the anguish away so you can continue focusing on this moment.

“God, your pussy is fucking insane, baby,” Namjoon states.

You’d thank him if it wasn’t for the large cock in your mouth.

Alas, you’re slightly preoccupied with being penetrated on both ends like a pig on a spit, not that you mind, since the incredible sensation is driving you hog wild, anyway. 

Namjoon’s length fills you up entirely and your pussy reacts by tightening around him everytime he pistons into you. Meanwhile, Jungkook is positively abusing your throat, the saliva pooling in the corners of your mouth dripping down his balls and turning them shiny. If you could lift a hand without falling over, you’d massage them so he’ll spill his seed faster. 

Although, that ends up being unnecessary, because Jungkook nearly chokes when you suction your lips around him while he’s stuffed in your mouth.

“Can I paint your face, beautiful?” He desperately asks.

Nodding as you peer up with siren eyes, you maneuver your tongue in circles around his shaft to send him reeling. 

Jungkook removes himself from your warmth and fists his cock until spurts of hot cum begin shooting from his tip. You open your mouth wide and close your eyes, giving him full control over the picture of sin he’s going to draw on your face with his semen. His cum mostly lands in your mouth, which you joyfully swallow, while the rest covers your cheeks and chin in a creamy, white liquid. 

“Ah fuck, that’s right. Take it all, gorgeous,” Jungkook gasps.

After he firmly squeezes the head of his cock to ensure he’s given you every last drop, he bends over to kiss you, holding your face with both hands as his cum smears across his own face. 

Namjoon doesn’t stop his deep strokes into your cunt, causing you and Jungkook to moan into one another’s mouths as his actions force your faces closer to the beat of his dick entering you. 

“Jungkook,” you whisper once he pulls away. 

“So good… always so good for me.”

He licks a glob of warm seed from your cheek, giving you multiple chaste kisses afterwards as his friend begins to slow his assault on your pussy. You whine when Namjoon’s cock leaves you empty, but he placates you by spanking your ass and then massaging over the reddened skin. 

“You could’ve come in me, Joonie,” you tell him.

Jungkook continues kissing and licking your skin to wash away the remnants of his pleasure. 

“Shit, no I couldn’t. I wanted to, believe me, but I’m still empty from you sucking my fucking soul outta me earlier.” You chuckle proudly at the same time Jungkook stands to his full height. “Kook, why don’t you fuck her while I watch? Let me ramp back up.”

“That alright with you or do you need a break?” Jungkook asks as he tucks your sweaty hair behind your ear.

“Have I ever needed a break, Jungkook?”

Your reply makes him smirk in satisfaction.

“C’mere, then,” he whispers while leaning down to kiss you again, sending you both tumbling backwards as he hovers above you.

His hands rake across your thighs until they catch your dress so he can pull it over your head, forcing your lips apart for a mere second before they collide again. With you now naked beneath him, Jungkook touches you everywhere he possibly can, letting his fingers map your outline as if he doesn’t already have you memorized ten times over.

“No bra?”

He eagerly kisses across your jaw and down your neck, one hand stopping the excursion to hold your head still so he can suck on your sensitive skin before licking over the mark he leaves. 

“You know me,” you breathe.

“Yeah, I do,” he whispers into your skin and then takes a possessive bite with his canines. 

In one smooth motion, you wrap your thighs around his hips and flip him so you can rest your bare cunt over his length. He makes a surprised noise at the momentary act of dominance, an adorable laugh coming from his lungs as he affectionately holds your hips. Scraping his toned pecs with your nails, you admire the vision of him beneath you and absentmindedly trace his new tattoo with your pointer finger. 

“You wanna ride me, beautiful?” He asks with a squeeze of his digits into your sides. When you nod, he smiles graciously and leans up to kiss your collarbones. “Say it.”

“I wanna ride you, Jungkook.” Your nails create thin, red marks in his skin so you can hear him moan. “I need to feel your big cock filling me up.”

“Fucking hell,” he groans.

Jungkook brings you to your knees while your hand slithers between your bodies to stroke him until he’s fully erect and twitching in your palm. When you sit on his thighs and he penetrates you again after what feels like an eternity, your head falls back in irrevocable ecstasy. He takes on a similar pose, his head pressing into the pillows surrounding him as his fingers leave brutal indents on your hips.

“Oh, God,” you whimper.

The recognizable sensation is otherworldly and every nerve ending in your body seems to come alive at the feeling of Jungkook coming home. His dick is white-hot and pulsing within you and it’s impossible for your senses to comprehend anything but him and his cock. You’re not certain you even want to move from this position, perhaps you’ll just remain still and cockwarm him while appreciating everything you lost. 

Jungkook clearly has other ideas, because he uses his leverage to start bouncing you up and down, letting everything but his tip leave your walls before forcing his entire cock into you again at the perfect pace.

“Shit, you feel s’fucking good,” he tells you. 

You only manage a broken whine in response because his engorged head is consistently kissing your g-spot while your clit grinds against his pelvis. 

Namjoon is staring at the erotic scene from the chair beside the bed, obviously mesmerized by your tits bouncing in time with your hips. You momentarily catch his eye, winking at him as he licks his lips and slowly strokes himself, but your attention is stolen when Jungkook pulls you down for a breathtaking kiss.

Twin moans tangle in the air around your faces as Jungkook seamlessly slips his tongue into your mouth and you grab his face so you can continue messily devouring each other without restraint. 

“I imagined this so many fucking times,” Jungkook confesses.

In an act of complete betrayal to your consciousness, you reply without missing a beat.

“Me, too.”

He forces your lips apart to fill your mouth with his tongue, allowing the muscle to sloppily explore and dance with your own. His teeth sink into your swollen lower lip and you whimper, causing Jungkook to possessively swallow the noise as he returns to kissing you. 

Meanwhile, you steal control and force Jungkook into the backseat, fucking yourself on his big cock and riding him like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. Jungkook growls in response and his hands crawl up your spine until he’s able to grasp your hair between his fingers. As you speed up and force your thighs down harder, his dick expands your hole and creates harsh friction along your gummy walls. Each time your pubic bones meet, the fullness he provides steals your breath away. Although you’re honestly too busy kissing him to bring oxygen into your lungs, anyway. 

When you finally do inhale, purely for your own survival, Jungkook seizes the opportunity to greedily kiss across your tits, coating your flesh in his shiny saliva. 

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he mumbles into your skin before taking a nipple into his mouth.

His teeth scratch the pebbled skin to make you whimper before flicking his tongue a couple times, giving the same treatment to your other boob, only with his fingers. He suckles the nub with a satisfied groan while you attempt to maintain your rhythm, which isn’t easy when your brain is short circuiting. 

“Jun – Jungkook, holy shit, you’re so fucking big.” you nonsensically praise him.  

You feel the vibrations from his happy chuckle against your other breast now that he’s switched sides to smear more spit on you.  

The energetic cadence is making your legs go numb, but you can’t imagine stopping even with the ache in your thighs. This moment is far too heavenly, and you’ll willingly lose all feeling in your limbs before letting it go. Thankfully, Jungkook can tell by your faltering hips that you need assistance, so he plants his feet and fucks up into your cunt like a madman.

“Oh, my God!” You screech.

Holding onto his chest in desperation, you involuntarily give him full control because there’s no way you can match his monstrous pace. He’s sending his cock so deep inside you that you worry about the survival of your guts. He fills you up and fucks you so good it feels like you’re choking on him despite his length being far from your throat. 

“Come for me, gorgeous,” he begs. “Please, I’ve been dreaming about feeling you squeeze my cock again.”

“I’m so close.”

Jungkook uses your confirmation as fuel to shift into overdrive on your already battered pussy, utilizing all his energy to bring you the most euphoric high. Your third orgasm of the night takes the fucking cake, a shrill scream coming from you as you soak his dick with cum. He animalistically growls at the feeling of your cunt tightening around him like a vice, the pulsing of your walls sending his eyes into his skull.

You collapse on his chest, panting and whining as the aftershocks course through you. He slows the thrusting of his hips, but doesn’t stop completely so he can still gently fuck you through the high. 

“Feel good?”

All you can do is nod against his sweaty skin, far too deep into subspace to verbally reply. 

“Want you to come, too,” you whisper while looking up at him.

He smiles down at you and plays with your hair where it rests on his collarbone.

“I will, beautiful, just not yet,” he softly replies.

The two of you separate your sticky bodies and turn to Namjoon, who looks supremely satisfied with your passionate display. 

Once your eyes are on him, he removes his shirt to join his pants on the floor, revealing his chiseled torso. It’s borderline unfair that these two absolute specimens wound up as best friends. Although, you suppose that’s true for everyone other than you, since you’re currently reaping the benefits of their friendship.  

“What’s next?” He questions while standing and moving towards the bed.

“I believe that’s up to the lady.”

“Well, I have two holes for a reason,” you respond automatically.

The sensual gleam in their eyes when they smirk at each other lights a fire in your belly. 

“Who do you want where?” Jungkook asks.

You stand to examine the large mattress while pondering his question, looking between the two men as you imagine the different possibilities. Without another word, you grab Namjoon by the arm and guide him to lay on his back in the center of the bed. Jungkook stands without being told, curiously watching you complete the mental puzzle. You catch his gaze over your shoulder with a smirk of your own when you come to your final conclusion.

“I’ll ride Joonie while you fuck my ass,” you nonchalantly answer like it isn’t the filthiest thing to ever leave your mouth. 

You and Jungkook have had anal sex a couple dozen times over the years, so it seems reasonable for him to take that position rather than introduce someone new to your tight hole.

Namjoon laughs cheerfully from his place on the bed, tucking his hands behind his head with a content smile.

“That sounds fucking perfect to me.” He nods towards Jungkook. “You good with that?”

Jungkook clicks his tongue while tilting his head.

“What was it you said earlier?” He points to you. “What a stupid fucking question?” 

Namjoon rolls his eyes at the sarcastic response, but they share a laugh, anyway.

The air is still with heavy anticipation before the three of you begin maneuvering into the right positions. Jungkook steadies you by holding your waist as you straddle Namjoon’s hips, following closely behind and planting his knees on either side of his friend’s thighs. His hand massages your shoulders and spine as you spit on Namjoon’s cock and stroke him into the perfect seat for you. The older man groans when he feels your hand working him again, but the sound becomes a gasp as you slowly sink down and bring his thick length into your pussy.

“Ah, shit,” he curses. 

His hands find your hips as his eyes focus on the spot where your bodies connect. 

“That feel good, Joonie?” 

You bat your eyelashes at him in total faux innocence.

“Oh, baby, you’ve got no fucking clue. You’re so fucking wet and tight that you could drive a man crazy with this cunt,” he answers. 

“She has,” Jungkook notes.

A deep blush paints across your chest, neck, and cheeks at their compliments. 

When your hips instinctively rise, Jungkook squeezes your shoulder in protest.

“Don’t move yet,” he instructs behind you. 

He bends your upper body towards Namjoon with a hand between your shoulder blades, giving him access to your asshole. You hear him spit before his wet thumb meets your rim as he works your puckered hole open. The feeling of him playing with you while Namjoon’s cock throbs inside your pussy is catastrophic, and Jungkook only furthers your torment by opening his palm in front of your mouth.

“Spit.”

When you immediately comply, his chest rumbles with laughter against your back before you hear the sound of him lubricating his cock with your saliva. After he fucks his fist a couple times, his soaked tip replaces his digit and gently nudges your hole.

“I’m alright,” you assure him when he doesn’t push in. 

There’s a tender kiss placed on your shoulder as Jungkook moves his hips forward and you feel the unmistakable stretch of him entering your ass. The penetration feels significantly tighter than times prior, partially because it’s been a while, but mostly because your pussy is already full from Namjoon. Their dicks are buried inside your holes with only a thin wall of muscles between them, creating an immense pressure in your core that is inexplicably greater than any sensation you’ve felt in the past. 

You feel outrageously stuffed by the two large cocks and there’s been no movement yet, so you can only imagine how tantalizing it will feel when they tandemly fuck you open. 

“Goddamn.” Jungkook’s forehead meets your shoulder as he takes deep breaths. If the feeling is this tight for you, it must be unbelievable for them. “This is fucking incredible.”

“You’re telling me,” Namjoon replies from beneath you. 

Jungkook’s sweaty chest is pressing on your back while you’re leaning over Namjoon and vehemently gripping his pecs. In fact, you’re in the perfect position for him to have ideal access to your breasts as they swing just above his chin. 

“Everyone ready?” Namjoon nods assuredly as you maintain eye contact with him. You check with Jungkook over your shoulder and he gives you the same response. “Well, please don’t break me, I guess.”

The mischievous laughter surrounding you leads you to believe they will not be heeding said warning. 

“On three?” Jungkook asks.

“One… two… three,” Namjoon counts as your nervous system drowns in anticipation. 

They move seamlessly and simultaneously; Namjoon lifts your hips while Jungkook rears away from your ass, leaving only the head of their cocks inside you before they push in together. You scream so loud you worry the entire floor will hear, and Jungkook must agree because his hand clasps over your mouth to muffle the bloodcurdling noise. 

Hot tears of pleasure are already rolling down your cheeks as they harmoniously leave you empty only to return again at a devilish pace. The two of them have impeccable teamwork, their cocks nearly working as one to fuck you stupid. It’s incomparable to anything you’ve ever experienced before, the double penetration sending your entire being into an abyss of ecstasy. 

Jungkook’s free hand wraps around your waist to hold you against him as he watches your asshole stretch around his length. Namjoon continues moving your hips for you to bring him deep inside your pussy with each bounce. It seems your sole responsibility is to merely take the sensual abuse of your holes while screaming and crying into Jungkook’s palm. 

“Jesus, this feels fucking phenominal,” Namjoon moans.

Jungkook doesn’t verbally concur, but you feel him nod in agreement behind you. His grunts of pleasure are happening right against your ear and the sound is pure, sinful music to your ears. 

You think your muted screams do a sufficient job at capturing the sensation of their cocks pistoning into you together, but if you attempt to use words, the only comparison would be drowning and burning at the same time. Jungkook’s presence in your ass lights your entire system ablaze, each pulse sending ripple upon ripple of fire through you. While Namjoon continuously hitting your cervix with his cock brings tsunami size waves crashing over you. Their bodies feel like two halves of a whole, the jaw dropping motions complimenting each other as though they were meant to be experienced as one. 

Namjoon begins kissing your breasts and even relinquishes his hold on your hips to play with the fatty flesh, bringing stimulation to every erogenous zone at once. 

“Joon, can you feel me the way I can feel you?”

“Mmhm.” 

His reply is quiet due to his face being stuffed between your tits. 

“Fuck, I’m losing my mind,” Jungkook notes.

You certainly understand the sentiment. It feels as though their cocks are right up against each other inside you, so you imagine the sensation is mutual even though they’re in separate spaces. Their minds seem to sync up as well, because they amp up their speed and force at the same moment, causing you to accidentally bite down on Jungkook’s hand due to the sheer intensity of the change. 

He hisses in response, his hand venturing down to wrap around your throat instead. His fingers apply light pressure to the sides of your neck and he eventually starts kissing the skin just above his hand. The gentle affection of his lips in comparison to his dick splitting you apart makes your head spin. You reach back to hold his head in place, lacing your fingers into his soft hair and pulling on the strands until he groans into your skin, meaning the hand still resting on Namjoon is the only thing keeping you upright.

Namjoon is kissing and sucking on your boobs while Jungkook continues caressing your neck with his mouth. Couple that with the large hand choking you and the two cocks inside you and you’re heading straight for the milky way.

“You two… oh… holy fuck…” 

It would be inconceivable to produce a full sentence at the moment, and the weak, stuttering curses you manage are practically incoherent. 

Jungkook laughs into your skin, leaving you with a final peck. 

“Yeah? It feels that good, beautiful?”

You have no clue how he can speak clearly when all his energy is being utilized by his hips ramming into your ass. 

“Yes,” you meekly answer.

His lips come to your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine as his tongue licks along your earlobe.

“This tight little hole is still mine, isn’t it? Your pussy, too. Bet no one’s touched you like I have,” he whispers. A mindless nod is all you grant him, but his grip around your throat tightens when you don’t answer him. “I want you to tell me yourself.”

“No one,” you gasp. The hand in his hair returns to Namjoon’s chest so you can steady yourself. “I haven’t let anyone touch me since you, Jungkook.”

A satisfied growl vibrates against your ear.

“More.”

“My pussy, my ass, my whole body is yours,” you state, despite your best interest. “It has always been.”

“And always will be?”

At the same time he speaks, he demonically thrusts into your ass and you cry out as your head falls to his shoulder. 

“Yes, yes, yes, always!”

“There’s my girl,” he affirms with a sharp bite to your cartilage. 

Namjoon is still tweaking your nipples either with his hands or mouth, alternating every couple minutes to give them equal attention. He laps at them with his moist tongue before going in slow circles and scraping his teeth over the skin, effectively making your nipples oversensitive, which only heightens the pleasure you feel as he plays with them. His mouth is comfortingly warm and you adore the feeling of him licking across your tits as he fucks you. 

The twitching cocks you feel in both your pussy and ass is evidence enough that the two men are close to finishing, their heavy balls slapping against your skin in time with their thrusts providing further proof. Your own climax is peering just around the corner and you start fucking yourself on their shafts at the same cadance as them to bring your end closer.

All three of your voices fill the space with nonsensical moans as your orgasms race towards the finish line together. 

“Can I come inside you, baby?” Namjoon asks. 

His dick feels so perfect within your cunt that you can’t imagine telling him no and not allowing him to paint your insides white.

“Please,” you answer.

You want Jungkook to blow his load inside you, too, hoping he’ll fill your ass up so much it drips out and soaks your thighs in his seed. 

“Shit, you ready to make a fucking mess of her, Joon?” Jungkook asks across staccato grunts.

“Never been more ready in my goddamn life.”

Jungkook reaches around to play with your clit after Namjoon’s confirmation so you all come at once and it only takes another minute of your bodies working in tandem for the three of you to reach an unexplainable high together. 

“Jesus, fuck –” Namjoon chokes.

“Holy fucking shit,” Jungkook gasps. 

It’s astonishing to think you could feel any more full, but once the seed spills from their cocks into your respective holes, you truly believe they’ll rip you apart right down the middle. 

Namjoon is fucking his cum into your pussy with deep, deliberate strokes and sending his semen so far into your womb you feel thankful for birth control. Similarly, Jungkook continues forcing his hot seed into your ass even once it begins leaking out and drenching his dick. 

“Oh, oh fuck,” you whine as your own orgasm makes your cunt pulse around them. 

It’s easily the messiest thing you’ve ever experienced, with the fusion of all three essences endlessly spilling out and pooling in your conjoined laps. 

“Damn,” Jungkook curses while falling limp against your back.

You’re all breathless by the time their movements cease. Your body is keeping their softening cocks warm during the come down and you wonder what being empty will feel like after being stretched so wide.

“Fucking insane,” Namjoon comments, making you and Jungkook chuckle weakly.

Jungkook is the first to move and even though he carefully pulls out, more of his cum drips from your ass and soils the sheets. Once he’s free from the dogpile, you gradually move to a kneeling position before flopping onto the mattress beside Namjoon while Jungkook occupies his opposite side. 

“I gotta thank whoever leaked gas in this fucking hotel,” Jungkook states. 

“I’ll be right there with you,” Namjoon adds. 

You're positive you would laugh at their comments if you weren't the most tired you've ever been in your life.

“C’mon, let’s get you into something comfortable,” Jungkook announces.

After four orgasms and both your holes being jackhammered open, you don’t know if anything but a nice, warm bath will bring you comfort. Although, Jungkook bringing a large shirt over your head and pulling your hair out from where it’s trapped beneath the hem is definitely close. 

“Thank you,” you murmur as your head falls forward until it meets his abdomen. 

His fingers gently comb through your hair and your eyes shut with a content hum, the familiar, soothing motions nearly putting you to sleep. You feel the bed dip when Namjoon stands and the sudden movement makes you pull back and survey your surroundings.

“Are you okay?” 

You meet his concerned gaze and nod.

“I’m fine, Jungkook, just still coming back to earth,” you explain. 

“Let me clean you up,” he says.

You don't reject his assistance even though you absolutely should. Instead, you lay back again and appreciate the feeling of Jungkook delicately cleaning up between your legs and down your thighs.

There's movement going on behind your eyelids, and you figure it's because Namjoon is setting up the pull out bed, which you hear him lay down on with a groan afterwards.

“As long as you’re okay with it, we can share the bed,” Jungkook offers.

You’re too tired to worry about the implications of sleeping in the same bed together. So, you nod and reach your arms up, letting him pull you up bridal style so he can tuck you in before joining you a fair amount away, which you appreciate given the circumstances.

Sleep welcomes you into her embrace before you even have the chance to overthink anything.

Their voices pull you from slumber some hours later and your eyes struggle to open as light shines in through the large windows.

If the original prediction of twenty four hours is still correct, you must have at least another twelve to go based on the sun’s position in the sky. 

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Namjoon says when he notices you’re awake. 

“Hi,” you croak. All your screaming and moaning from the night prior clearly took a toll on you. “How are you guys doing?”

“Us?” Jungkook laughs.

You involuntarily smile at the sound of his happiness. 

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to walk, to be honest,” you respond. 

To prove your point, you attempt to stand and the ache between your legs nearly sends you toppling backwards into the mattress. Both men giggle at your baby deer stance and you shoot them a menacing glare.

“Need help?” Jungkook asks with a sly grin. 

It would be far too embarrassing to accept, so you just take small, measured steps to the bathroom to freshen up. Jungkook lets you borrow a pair of sweatpants and the three of you eat from the mini fridge as a pseudo breakfast before chatting about current events and pop culture as the hours steadily tick by. 

As it turns out, the lockdown does end early, with the total time being about eighteen hours. It leaves you with plenty of time to get ready for the rehearsal dinner tonight, which Hoseok confirms is still happening via a Facebook post.

Jungkook offers to walk you back and even though your room is only ten doors down, you say yes without much deliberation. He also refuses to accept his clothes and orders you only return them once they've been washed, his obvious attempt at ensuring you see each other again after the wedding.

You thank Namjoon for his services and he reciprocates the gratitude before you and Jungkook leave side by side. The short walk happens in comfortable silence and when your hands accidentally brush, you don’t question Jungkook’s actions as he catches your hand and laces his fingers with yours. 

Once you reach the hotel room, you drop his hand and turn to say goodbye, but Jungkook beats you to the punch.

“Are you gonna save a dance for me tomorrow?” He asks with a saccharine grin.

The eye roll is instantaneous.

“I’ll think about it,” you respond. 

Before you’re able to key inside, Jungkook grabs your face and kisses you with enough force to push you into the wooden door. Your surprised screech turns into a soft moan as you allow his tongue to dance with yours in your mouth. Your hands subconsciously rise to hold his jaw as you shamelessly makeout in the hallway, neither of you caring about the possibility of other guests seeing you.

Jungkook is chasing your mouth like he could do it forever and you have zero complaints, feeling nothing but content as your lips move in lackadaisical circles together. His thumbs caress your cheekbones as you kiss and with your eyes closed, you can almost imagine you’re back home in your shared apartment. 

When your mind finally catches up to reality, you pull back and push at his shoulder to create some space between your heads.

“What was that?”

Your ex looks the happiest you've seen him all weekend.

“Just wanted to give you something to think about,” he replies. 

Your eyes roll again, but this time there’s affection for the man before you written all over your face. You tap your keycard to open the door and slip inside without another word, but turn around at the last minute with a smile.

“See you later, Googie.”

“Bye,” Jungkook waves. 

It’s only once the lock clicks that Jungkook realizes what you called him, and as soon as he does, he pumps his fist in a silent victory cheer. He starts laughing to himself like a total maniac outside your door and he even does a heel-click jump out of pure excitement while walking back to his room.

You don’t witness any of his celebrations, but the sentiment is shared between you nonetheless. 

taglist: @lovingkoalaface @joonlover1207 @goldenko-97

Part 2, titled Harmonious Agreement, coming soon...

[backinmyphase]

You thought Satoru would have seen the divorce coming.

Your marriage was arranged, the two of you didn't share much and by all means you didn't see him at all because of his work. You slept in different rooms and didn't give in to the pressure of your clans for an heir.

Satoru wasn't a bad husband. He was just a stranger.

But you didn't blame him for freezing up at the sight of the divorce papers.

Because honestly? For you, divorce was social suicide. Your clan would never forgive you. If it was that easy, you wouldn't have had to marry him in the first place.

"What does this mean?" he just came back from work, earlier than usual, still in his sorcerer uniform. He took of his blindfold, his blue eyes inspecting the paper. His white hair fell in his face making you want to brush it behind his ear.

God, you hated yourself for this.

Satoru looked at you with these eyes and for the first time you saw actual hurt in them. There was none when you stopped him on your wedding night, telling him you weren't ready for sex, none when you slept in a different room.

Because he knew what this divorce meant for you. Dishonor to your family. Most likely getting disowned.

"I want a divorce, Satoru."

He went quiet again. His eyes going back to the paper.

To be honest, you never thought of divorcing him when you were newly wed. Not just because of the consequences but also because Satoru was never bad to you. He was even really kind for someone forced into this.

But then you saw her.

It was a usual Clan meeting with several little and big sorcerer clans. She stood close to him, he seemed more comfortable than he was ever with you. You didn't even know her name. Didn't know anything about how he felt towards her. But you saw the way they looked at each other. How she giggled at his words.

You didn't think Satoru was cheating on you. And that was the thing. With you in the picture he would never be able to get with who he really wants.

You couldn't stand a life with a man who would slowly start to despise you because you ruined his life.

"Why?" his voice was small, hoarse. He didn't look at you, his eyes onnly focused on the papers, on the word 'divorce'.

"It's for the best." you stood up to make yourself a cup of tea.

"For the best?!" a strained laugh left his lips. "What do you mean?"

"Please, Satoru." you tried to calm him but you saw him shaking his head.

"Stop it, I can demand an explanation when you are practically saying you would rather be disowned than be married to me. Just tell me what I did!" his voice got louder, making your frame flinch.

"Why does it matter?" the picture of her was in your head. You didn't know why.

"Why does it matter? Are you serious?"

"Yes, why?" you paused, scoffing. "It's not like we married because of love."

He went quiet after that.

No, you did know why you thought of her. Because you were jealous. Jealous, that another girl got to talk to Satoru Gojo more than his wife. Jealous and insecure because you did want to know him.

"Why are you saying that?" his voice hoarse and suddenly much closer to you.

"It's true. You don't love me so why stay married?" you muttered as you stirred the hot water.

"Stop saying that." his head dropped on your shoulder. "Please."

You froze. The feeling of his head overwhelming you.

"I know it's hard for you, I've met your family b-but-" a sniffle. "But I really am trying to make it work. I thought it was okay for you. I thought you were okay."

Satoru was crying.

Satoru was crying.

You kept silent, overwhelmed by his reaction, by everything right know.

"Please just tell me."

Silence.

"Is it because of my work?"

"No, it's not." your voice was muffled.

"Is it..." he paused. "Because you found someone else?"

Your eyes widened at his words, suddenly speechless.

"Is it? Is that why you are saying all that stuff? I understand, but please just be honest-"

You couldn't help it you started laughing. And you knew it was cruel, Satoru was crying on your shoulder, but the situation of him thinking you loved someone else was just so absurd to you.

"Me?" You shook your head softly your laughter suddenly dying. "No."

"Then what-?" he stepped back collapsing into a chair. "Please just tell me." he repeated his voice breaking at the end.

"It's just-" you sighed, trying to relax your suddenly stiff body. "I don't want to keep you away from your happiness."

"What?!" his voice was loud again, making you focus on your cup of tea again. After he saw you flinching again, he lowered his voice trying to stay calm. "What do you mean by that?"

"You know."

"I don't."

"That meeting a couple months ago, I saw."

"What did you see?"

"Saw how you looked at her."

God, you wanted to die. It was so hard to speak right now. Every word felt like torture.

"And I don't want to stand between the two of you, just because you were forced into this."

Satoru kept silent after that. You felt his gaze burning into your head as you looked down at your tea.

"So please, just get it over with." you sniffed. Shit, when did the tears come?

Satoru stood up again, making his way over to you. And as he stood there, looking too into your tea, his arms slowly wrapped around you.

"I don't even like her."

"What?" you looked up, his face was suddenly only a couple of breaths away.

"I don't. And if that's the reason why you want to divorce me, could you please talk to me before falling into a overthinking spiral? You're torturing me here."

You blinked at him, stunned by the realization.

"If you really are unhappy with me I would understand, I would prefer to fix things, but I would understand. But I won't divorce you because of your self sacrificing tendencies."

You blinked at him again, starting to blush out of embarrassment. Shit, was this a big misunderstanding?

"You sure you really don't like her?"

"Yeah. I've got another crush you know." he sighed, his voice still strained from the crying. "She is really pretty but really hard to figure out even though I'm married to her."

Now you really blushed, your eyes widening more than you thought was possible. "What?"

"Yeah, it's kind of embarrassing really." he took your cup of tea and placed it on the counter next to you, to pull you really into him. "I have this big crush on my wife, how do I tell her?"

You were malfunctioning as he layed his head on your shoulder again, this time not out of frustration but because of the desire to be as close as possible. His whole frame hugging you.

"She has this soothing voice and pretty smile, but I hardly get to see her and I don't want to make her uncomfortable."

"Satoru, what-"

"And she keeps this distance, I don't know what to do because I want to get to know her for real, you know? Want her to like me and you know."

You felt a soft smile.

"Want her to ask for cuddles when I get back from a long mission. Or even better a ki-"

"Satoru are you drunk?" you were red and hot, you felt it.

He was grinning as he looked up, but there was something so vulnerable in it. "No, I'm not. I just-"

He sighed. "I don't want a divorce. And maybe it's selfish of me, but I want to know you. And I want you to know me."

You held you breath after that. And after a bit of hesitation you did wrap your arms around him too.

"Me too."

His arms held you tighter after that. "You don't want a divorce?"

"You aren't divorcing me?"

"No."

Guess that divorce wasn't happening.

[omgshiftercat]

Gods Behaving Badly by Marie Phillips. Buckle up, this is gonna get long.

The premise is that the gods of Classical Greece have lost most of their powers for reasons unknown, and are living in England as mortals. As a mythology geek, of course I wanted to check this out.

I started to spot some problems right away, like Apollo being called Aphrodite's* nephew. Okay, it's one of those fluffy British books whose intended audience might not care, but I still felt like an editor should have caught that.

Athena's always been one of my favourite deities, and Phillips does her dirty by having her give incomprehensible sesquipedalian lectures, with a projector and charts and shit, while the other gods yawn and gossip. First off, this is a nasty little dollop of anti-intellectualism. But more importantly, even if you lay aside that there's a difference between intelligence and wisdom... Athena is the goddess of military strategy. If you're commanding armies, clear communication is an essential skill.

It gets worse after the Big Reveal, when we find out what she was trying to talk about.

And then there's a scene where Eros mutters a prayer to the Christian god, and Aphrodite asks him why he's praying to someone who doesn't exist. This had me blinking at the page for several seconds in irritated disbelief. Why would any of the Greek gods make even a half-hearted conversion to Christianity, and ESPECIALLY why would the god of sexual love want anything to do with a religion that's generally anti-sex? Phillips never answers these questions, preferring to treat this as a one-off joke.

This one is particularly egregious in light of the Big Reveal.

I wasn't exactly enjoying the book, but I thought, "Well, clearly she isn't going with the common 'gods are powered by mortal belief' cosmology, so I'm curious to see what she is doing."

...Except that, as it turns out, that's exactly what Marie Phillips was doing. She was just utterly incompetent at it.

The trope of gods requiring belief to fuel their powers, indeed their very existence, is extremely common in literature of the fantastic. It feels intuitive, and it generally works. It's also been around for a long time -- many audiences got introduced to it through the Star Trek TOS episode "Who Mourns for Adonais?", but Robert Graves touches on the idea in I, Claudius, which dates it back to at least the 1930s. There's no excuse for anyone with even a passing interest in speculative fiction to be unaware of this.

Let me be clear: there are examples of non-SFF fans trying their hand at writing SFF and succeeding brilliantly, giving us some unique and fascinating new ideas. But a lot of the time, people who try to write SFF without having a solid background in it end up trying to reinvent the wheel, and the results are mediocre at best.

In Gods Behaving Badly, Marie Phillips dramatically sweeps the cover off her "wheel" and stands there looking triumphant, while somehow failing to notice that the fucking thing is triangular.

Even if we assume that Phillips' deities somehow didn't automatically sense the power of worship, along with the absence of said power... they had centuries to notice the lack of new temples and make a connection. And we're supposed to believe that Athena, the goddess of wisdom, weaving, and military tactics, couldn't be arsed to discuss this LITERAL EXISTENTIAL THREAT in plain language at any point in those hundreds of years?

Speaking of existential threats, Eros' apparent decision to worship a god from a diametrically opposed faith should be seen as high treason, not a joking matter. And that's even assuming that it's true about other deities not existing, which does not make a lick of sense. There are billions more Christians worldwide than there are Hellenistic pagans, and the number expands even more if you widen that to include Judaism and Islam, so why the FUCK would the Abrahamic god not exist?

I was working one of my bookstore jobs when this one came out, and borrowed it from the store rather than paying money for it. My manager was just like, "Yeah, it went downhill when they started doing The Day The Earth Stood Still-but-with-gods" and I just. Well. Couldn't explain that this book is SO MUCH WORSE than that without going off on a long rant.

*If you pick up a standard mythology book, it'll say that Aphrodite wasn't exactly related to anyone, having been spontaneously generated from divine blood and sea foam. If you want to get into the weeds, Plato thought that there were two Aphrodites, one of whom had the sea foam origin, while the other was a daughter of Zeus. But most people only know the first one, and anyway neither is Apollo's auntie.

Enough about favorite books. What’s a book you read and absolutely hated? The book you’ve got a bone to pick with.

[emskryptonite]

Favorite Reporter

a/n: i've had this idea for a few days now and figured i might as well just go ahead and put it out there! in my head this is david's clark, but the profile pic is tom's clark bc he's my fav, and either way it can be whichever version of him you want hahaha happy reading!! (also i swear I'll get my masterlists up soon!! I've just been busy) - Emmy ❤️

Summary: Clark Kent gets to interview a world-famous singer, but his questions reveal a bit more than fans thought they'd ever get.

Pairing(s): Clark Kent x famous!singer!fem!reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Content/Warnings: not much that i can think of, not proofread (who's surprised), fluffy, reader is described as feminine but only once or twice, people jumping to conclusions??, idk if i missed something lmk!!

Masterlist | Clark Kent/Superman Masterlist

“There’s the superstar,” the man says as he’s given the cue that the cameras are rolling. “Thank you for agreeing to do this interview. I know it’s a bit different from how the Planet usually does things.”

“Well, I think it’s a fun change. Besides, I’d do anything for my favorite journalist, Mr. Kent,” you reply.

“It’s hardly fair to pick favorites.” He gives you a schoolboy grin, one that’s all too irresistible.

“When other reporters start treating me as kindly as you, maybe then I’ll play fair.” You match his tone, giving him a sickly sweet smile in return. He really is your favorite, and you don’t see a point in lying about that.

“I’m gonna get right into things if that’s alright with you,” he changes the topic, raising a brow and trying his best to hide the blush creeping up his neck.

“Go right ahead, Mr. Kent.”

“I’d like to start with your latest album. If I recall correctly, there was quite the uproar as you were releasing the track titles. Was there not?”

“There was! I’ve been known for writing breakup songs for quite a while now, so when the track titles sounded like love songs, I think it weirded out the fans a bit. Some of them were freaking out, thinking I’d been tied down. Others were theorizing, swearing it was some kind of deep fake, plot twist situation.”

“So, what inspired the genre change, a new muse perhaps?” He leaned forward the slightest bit, narrowing his eyes. Saying he was interested to hear your answer would be an understatement, even if it is more for personal interest than reporting sake.

Failing to stifle a smile, you cross your legs, getting more comfortable in your seat. “Something like that. I guess I just wanted to prove I could do more than angsty breakups. I can do all of the sweet, mushy stuff, too, and I suppose there was a part of me that wanted to show the world that I’m capable of more.”

“Well, I think you’ve done just that. You accomplished a lot with the writing, but also with the feel of the album. Speaking of the writing, it feels different compared to past albums, aside from just the topic. Was there a change in technique or maybe some new inspiration, style-wise?” He takes a moment to push his glasses up his nose, and you can’t help but take notice of just how unfairly attractive it is.

“Yeah! I’ve always been inspired by the artists I grew up listening to, but I wanted this album to really stand out. So, I also took some inspiration from newer or younger artists. I mean, I’ve always admired Taylor Swift for her way with words, so I took the time and worked on my wording, tried to be more descriptive. Sabrina Carpenter is a newer artist that I’ve loved to watch grow, and it’s difficult not to admire how adorably scandalous she can be. I think that’s definitely prominent in one or two of the songs from the new album. So, yeah, in short, I’ve expanded my style in multiple ways, and there are plenty of artists I was inspired by!”

“Speaking of scandalous, I think you surprised a lot of fans with Track Seven. Was there something, or someone, in particular that inspired the mood shift?” His face is beet red, and it makes you grin like the Cheshire Cat.

“Yeah, I mean, honestly, with certain lines from some of my previous songs, I think people have kinda been waiting for a song like that from me for a while now. It’s probably not exactly what they expected either, but you know, everyone deserves to feel sexy every once in a while. At the end of the day, that’s what Track Seven is really about, innuendos aside.”

“Clearing his throat, he moves the interview along, “Well said. Now, I know you’re focus is most likely on this album, but I have to ask about any future plans you might have. Maybe a tour? Or, if we’re lucky enough, a sister album?”

“Well, unfortunately, there’s no sister album,” you both share a laugh, “but the idea of a tour has been tossed around. There are no official plans yet, but we’re certainly not against it.”

“Also concerning future projects, sort of, you have a music video premiering just a few hours after this interview will be posted. What can fans expect?”

“Ooh! I like this question! For starters, the video is the first single of the album, Track Eleven, and I really just wanted to make viewers feel how I felt while writing that song. So, I guess you could expect the whimsy, love-struck feel of the song to shine through.”

“I can’t wait to watch it, then,” he gives you another one of those boyish grins, and you can’t help but flush.

“I certainly hope you enjoy it, Mr. Kent.”

“I have no doubt that I will. Now, I’m sure you know I have more, uh, gossipy questions for you.”

“Hit me with your best shot.” You already know exactly what’s coming.

“With the topic of your album, people have been speculating about your love life even more than usual. On top of the album, I believe in a recent Instagram post of yours, there was a shiny ring on a pretty important finger. Is there any truth to these rumors, or are they nothing more than speculation?”

Again, you can’t fight the grin on your face, and subconsciously, your right hand moves to play with the ring that should be on your left ring finger. “No, their detective skills are quite on par with this one. Just about a month and a half ago, I got married.”

The reporter’s cheeks blaze once more. “Is there anything you’d like to share about him? He sounds pretty lucky to have landed someone like you.”

“I think I’m the lucky one, Mr. Kent,” you can’t hide the twinkle in your eyes. “He’s the most selfless and generous man I’ve ever met. I don’t know what I’d do without him.” You’re beaming, glowing even, and Clark wants to commit the sight to memory.

“Was the outing of your marriage pre-discussed, or is he getting thrown under the bus here?” He takes a teasing tone once more, his confidence returning a bit.

“Oh, I’m totally throwing him under the bus. Honestly, I didn’t think you’d ask about it. You’re usually one to stay away from tabloid gossip and fan rumors, Mr. Kent.”

“Color me curious,” he shrugs. The producer signals that your time is almost up from off-screen, so Clark begins to wrap things up, “Alright, well, our time is coming to an end, so I’ll go ahead with the last question if that’s alright with you.”

“Ask away.”

“With these on-camera interviews, the Daily Planet likes to give the interviewee a chance to become the interviewer. So, is there anything you’d like to ask me?”

You don’t hesitate. “Just once thing, Mr. Kent,” you start with a wicked grin, “How long is the Planet gonna let my husband interview me?”

“Well, I’d say until you stop giving him exclusive answers, Mrs. Kent, or until that camera stops rolling.”

“Like I said before, anything for my favorite reporter.”

Taglist: @heartsforjh @nic0-hischier @alexxavicry @cosmixstar

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~ Emmy

[dakusan]

K e e p y o u r e y e o n t h e b a l l — n o , n o t m e .

Kim Seungmin x Reader | summer tension, casual bullying, accidental kiss, no one talks about it

⚾Synopsis: You’ve been best friends with Kim Seungmin long enough to survive his dry sarcasm, brutal honesty, and aggressively passionate love for the Giants. But when a summer afternoon spirals into an impromptu baseball lesson, things start to feel... different. You can’t swing to save your life. He can’t seem to stop smiling at you. Between missed pitches, bad jokes, and one very accidental kiss, something shifts. Neither of you says anything about it. But maybe it’s time to stop pretending you’re just playing around.

💌a/n: THIS WAS REQUESTED BY 🐈 ANON. i really hope you like itttttt !!!!! 😭😭 this was supposed to be light fluff and then it became “he catches you mid-fall and almost confesses with his eyes” and honestly?? worth it. summer baseball bestie chaos supremacy. thank you for reading ily <3 p.s. reblogs feed my delulu and your support keeps this bat-swinging loser going p.p.s. if you want a part 2 where someone finally cracks and kisses for real, you know what to do 👀

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the dividers

🎧 » Love me or Leave Me — DAY6 « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:43 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

You and Seungmin have been best friends since the first year of university—bonded over a shared love of sarcastic comebacks, matching dark academia pens, and the mutual hatred of your professor's existence.

Somewhere between project deadlines and late-night ramen runs, the friendship just... stuck. He became the person who knew your order before you said it, who memorized your fake laugh vs your real one. You became the person who knew when he needed space and when he needed someone to sit in that space, quietly, next to him.

And yes, you’ve had fights. He still won’t forgive you for liking the wrong baseball team.

“Wrong” being... anyone but the Giants.

You wore a cap from their rival team once to school—on purpose—and he refused to look at you the entire day. Wouldn’t even speak to you in third period.

Now, it’s summer. Classes and exams are over. You’re sprawled across the sunlit steps of a neighbourhood café, sipping iced coffee when you say it.

“Okay, don’t laugh, but... I’ve never actually played baseball.”

You meant it casually. Offhand. But his head turns so fast you wonder if he gave himself whiplash.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Not even in PE? Not even wiffle ball?”

“Not even tee-ball,” you say, grinning. “Are you judging me right now?”

“Absolutely.”

A pause. Then, almost too quickly to seem normal, he says, “Wanna learn?”

You blink at him. “Right now?”

He shrugs. “I’ve got a glove and a bat at home. The field’s, like, two blocks from here. Unless you’re scared.”

“Oh, please. I’m gonna smoke you.”

That gets a scoff. “You don’t even know how to hold a bat.”

“Teach me, then, Coach Kim.”

His mouth quirks. You pretend not to see the way he fights a smile. You always pretend.

Twenty minutes later, the sun’s hanging just low enough to stretch gold across the field. The grass is uneven in places, broken up by dirt patches and lazy summer bugs. A warm breeze skims your skin.

Seungmin stands by the first base line, glove slung over one shoulder, bat in the other. He’s in a sleeveless tee, hair swept up by the wind, and when you walk up wearing his least favourite team’s logo across your chest, he stops mid-step.

“You did not.”

You grin. “What? I figured I’d dress for war.”

“That’s not war,” he mutters. “That’s betrayal.”

“Bold of you to assume I was ever on your side.”

“Oh, you’ll be begging to switch sides once you see how bad you are.”

He tosses you the glove. You catch it with a bit too much flair, which only makes his eyes narrow. “Don’t embarrass me out here, rookie.”

“Who said I’m here for you, Giants boy?”

He rolls his eyes, spins the bat once in his palm, and says it without thinking: “You’re lucky I like you.”

You freeze. He does, too. But then he’s already walking away, toward the pitcher’s mound, calling over his shoulder: “Let’s go, traitor.”

“You really weren’t kidding,” Seungmin says, watching you hold the bat like it personally offended you.

You blink at him. “I am holding it right.”

“No, you’re holding it like it’s a lightsaber.”

“Oh come on, like you wouldn’t join the rebellion.”

He groans. “Okay. That’s it. Give me your hands.”

You expect him to just point. Maybe mimic the movement. What you don’t expect is for him to step in behind you, one arm reaching around your waist, the other curling gently over your hand on the bat.

He’s right there. Not just close—there. You can feel the heat of his chest at your back, the steady rhythm of his breath brushing your temple. One of his hands lightly adjusts your fingers, the other—hesitating for just a second—guides your shoulder into place.

“This is… okay,” he mutters, voice lower now. “Hands stacked. Elbows up. And, um, feet—hold on—”

He shifts one of your feet with his, nudging the side of your sneaker. Your brain has officially stopped functioning. So has his. Because the second he realizes how small your hand is in his, how soft your skin is, how your hair smells like you, he’s absolutely panicking. On the inside. Outside, he’s keeping it together with a perfectly blank expression, but inside?

💥🔥🚨 INTERNAL MELTDOWN 🚨🔥💥

“Okay…” he murmurs, swallowing. “Now just… swing smooth. Like—wait, I’ll show you.”

He moves with you, hips ghosting behind yours, arms guiding your follow-through. His breath stutters just slightly when your back presses against his chest.

You say nothing, just glance over your shoulder—right into his face.

He’s already looking at you. Eyes soft. A little wide.

You’re both suddenly, violently aware of how close your mouths are. You shift a little. So does he.

“Seungmin,” you whisper.

He blinks, like snapping out of a spell. Steps back so fast he nearly stumbles. “You’ve—uh. Got the form now. You’re good.” He clears his throat. “Like. Fine. Whatever.”

You lower the bat, heart thudding. “Did I pass basic training?”

He won’t look at you. “Barely.”

But you catch the flush on his ears and narrow your eyes watching him as you twirl the bat lazily in your hands, pretending not to feel the way your pulse is still echoing in your throat.

Seungmin, meanwhile, looks like he’s trying to reformat his brain in real-time. His voice is flat when he says, “Alright. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

You square up again, wiggling your fingers dramatically. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

He snorts. “You look like you’re about to summon a Pokémon.”

“Don’t mock me, Coach Kim.”

“Then stop acting like I dragged you here against your will. You volunteered for this.”

“I volunteered to learn,” you shoot back. “Not to be emotionally violated in the form of public athletic humiliation.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Big words for someone who’s about to miss five pitches in a row.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

He jogs to the mound and lines up. You catch him biting the inside of his cheek as he stares you down like he’s trying really hard not to smile. Or combust.

He throws an underhand toss. You swing.

Miss.

“Okay, that one was a practice round—”

“Sure it was.”

“Again!”

Second toss. Swing.

Air.

He blinks. “You might be the worst person I’ve ever seen hold a bat.”

“Say that again and I’ll throw it at you.”

“You’d miss.”

You glare. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

The words fly out before you can stop them. His entire face glitches. “Sorry—what?” he calls, hand cupped to his ear, pure evil in his grin. “Didn’t hear that.”

“I said you’re rude!”

“Not what it sounded like—”

“Just pitch, Giants boy!!”

He throws another. You hit the ball this time, barely. It rolls weakly toward the pitcher’s mound. Seungmin watches it. Then looks back at you, utterly unimpressed. “That was so sad I think the bat cried.”

“Shut up—”

You charge him. You don’t mean to. But the embarrassment burns so bad, you sprint forward to hit him with the glove—just once—just enough to wipe the smug look off his stupid beautiful face.

He dodges. Barely. Grabs your wrist before you can swing again. And you both freeze. Your chest heaves. His fingers are around your wrist light but firm. You’re closer than you thought you’d get.

Again.

“You’re kind of a menace,” he murmurs.

You raise an eyebrow. “You like it.”

He doesn’t let go. “Maybe I do.”

And suddenly it’s not a joke anymore. It’s that moment again. Too close. Too quiet. Too something. But this time, you’re the one who pulls back first. “Still hate the Giants,” you say, tossing your glove up and catching it again, acting cool. “And your pitch sucks.”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re gonna regret saying that.”

“Oh, I already do.”

“Alright, traitor. Bat up. Let’s go again.”

You plant your feet. Raise the bat. Narrow your eyes like you’re staring down a final boss.

Seungmin is unimpressed. “You look like a gremlin trying to lift Thor’s hammer.”

You flip him off with one hand. “Shut it.”

“Not even in the ballpark of intimidating.”

“That’s funny, coming from someone who looks like he skipped leg day for the past four years.”

“Excuse me?” he gasps, hand to chest like you mortally wounded him. “You take that back.”

“Make me.”

He blinks. Then smirks. “Okay.”

He pitches. You swing. You spin in a full 360 and almost fall over.

“OH MY GOD,” Seungmin shouts from the mound, cackling. “YOU SPUN LIKE A BEYBLADE—”

“I slipped!!”

“You whiffed the air like it owed you money!!”

You glare at him as you steady yourself. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Correction: I’m the only reason you haven’t knocked yourself unconscious with that bat.”

“I could knock you unconscious.”

He shrugs. “Try it. I’ll add it to your record of great achievements in failure.”

You make a face. “Wow. You really flirt like this, huh?”

That shuts him up. Only for a second.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he deadpans, walking toward you with a smirk he absolutely did not earn. “This is how I treat all my hopeless causes.”

“Excuse me!?”

“I mean—at this point, we’re not even training. We’re surviving.”

You toss the bat at him. He catches it one-handed, casually. “Unbelievable,” he mutters. “You’ve got the coordination of a baby deer.”

“Do not bring Bambi into this.”

He points the bat at you. “Bambi could out-swing you.”

“Seungmin.”

“I’m just saying—”

You run at him. He yelps, full squeaky scream, and takes off around the bases. You chase him halfway to third before giving up, winded, doubled over from laughing too hard.

He walks back, smug and victorious. “That’s the most cardio you’ve done all year.”

“Shut up, I’m gonna puke.”

“Should I write that on your jersey?”

You flip him off again. He just grins. And—god help you—so do you. But then, even as you are panting, you reach over and snatch the bat out of his hands, staring him down. “I wanna try again.”

Seungmin raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Even after what just happened?”

You glare. “That doesn’t count.”

He walks a slow circle around you, chin in hand like a judgmental game show host. “Mm. I don’t know. Pretty sure we all witnessed it.”

You point the bat at him. “Seungmin.”

He smirks. “Fine. Try again. For the fans.”

You scowl. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” he sings.

You roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t launch into orbit. He lobs the ball underhand. You swing. Miss. Again.

You turn to him slowly. “Okay. That was—warm up.”

He looks absolutely pained. “I thought you had your warm up.”

You stomp your foot. “Let me go again!!”

Another toss. Another miss.

“You’re… honestly…” he squints, lips twitching, “...kind of iconic for how bad this is.”

You drop the bat to your side, shoulders slumping. “I swear I’m trying,” you say dramatically, pouting. “This is humiliating. I feel like a clown.”

“You’re not a clown,” he says gently.

You blink.

“You’re the whole circus.”

“SEUNGMIN!”

He laughs, hands on his knees, nearly doubled over. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry—I just—your face!!”

You try to tackle him again but your limbs are too weak from giggling, and he easily sidesteps you.

“You’re evil,” you mutter.

“I’m honest.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I’m your best friend.”

And that, somehow, is the worst part. Because it’s true. Because he is. And you’re still standing there, clutching the bat like it might protect you from how warm he makes you feel.

He steps closer.

You raise your chin. “Fine. One more try. And if I miss again, I’m going home.”

He squints. “Swear?”

You nod solemnly. “Swear.”

He holds out a pinky. You stare. “Dead serious,” he says. “Baseball oath.”

You roll your eyes but loop your pinky around his anyway. “Baseball oath.”

He lets go of your pinky slowly, like it’s something delicate before speaking again. “Alright,” Seungmin says, backing up to the mound. “One more.”

You take a breath. Square your shoulders. Raise the bat.

He watches you with this half-soft, half-smug look on his face—like he’s proud and exasperated at the same time. “Don’t close your eyes this time,” he calls.

“I didn’t—”

“You did, like, two swings ago. Fully flinched like I threw a grenade.”

You grip the bat tighter. “Swear to god, if I hit this, I’m aiming for your face.”

He grins. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried.”

He throws the ball. You swing.

CRACK.

The ball flies. Not far, not pretty—but far enough to count.

You gasp. “OH MY GOD—”

Your body spins with the motion—off-balance, dizzy with adrenaline—and suddenly your foot catches on the dirt. You're stumbling. Tilting sideways. Falling. But Seungmin’s already running. He catches you around the waist just before you hit the ground, arms wrapped tight, pulling you up into him with a soft thud.

Chest to chest. Breathless. Too close.

You blink up at him. He’s already looking at you. His hands still on your waist. Yours braced against his chest. You can feel his heart hammering.

“I—” you start, but the words get tangled in the heat between you.

His gaze drops to your lips. Yours do the same. And without thinking—without meaning to—you lean in. Just a little. Just enough. And so does he. Your lips brush. Barely. A whisper of a kiss. A blink, a breath—then gone.

You both freeze. Wide-eyed. Neither of you moves. The sun dips a little lower. The air goes still.

You open your mouth. He lets go like he’s been burned. “Uh—y-you… you hit the ball,” he says, stumbling a step back. His voice cracks. “That was—good. I mean—you almost died, but still.”

Your cheeks burn. “Thanks, I think?”

He’s staring anywhere but at you. The bleachers, the sky, the base behind you.

You rub the back of your neck, trying not to combust. “So. Um. Did that count as first base, or—?”

Seungmin chokes on nothing. “WHAT—”

You burst into laughter, face hot, adrenaline still buzzing.

He glares. “You’re so annoying.”

“Let’s—uh,” Seungmin suddenly says, way too quickly, clearing his throat like he’s resetting his entire internal system. “One more round. For the road.”

You blink. “Training’s not over?”

“Oh, it should be,” he mutters, turning toward the mound again. “But you’ve still got the hand-eye coordination of a brick.”

“Excuse me—”

He doesn’t respond. Just throws you the ball. You catch it with a little too much force. “You better run,” you warn, winding up.

“I dare you.”

You throw it high and off-center—he still catches it, of course, just to rub it in.

You play for a few more minutes, not really focused on skill anymore. Just tossing the ball, swinging half-heartedly, talking smack. But every time your hands brush as he passes the bat back to you… you both feel it.

The static. The shift.

At one point, you lean forward to scoop a ball from the grass, and when you stand up, he’s right behind you. Not close-close, but… enough. You glance at him. He looks at you.

And nothing happens. And everything does.

Eventually, he claps his hands. “Alright. That’s enough public humiliation for you.”

You sigh dramatically. “Thank god. My dignity was hanging by a thread.”

He hums. “You had dignity?”

You throw the glove at him. He catches it one-handed again like he’s showing off on purpose. You both walk over to the bleachers. The air is cooler now, the sky smeared in amber and pink. You sit a step above him, knees drawn up, chin resting on them.

He tosses you a water bottle without looking.

You catch it. “Thanks.”

A beat of silence.

Then he says, voice low, “You hit the ball. That counts as a win.”

You glance at him. He’s not facing you, just staring out at the field, tapping his knuckles lightly on the step between his knees.

You smile. “Even if I almost ate dirt?”

He huffs. “Especially then.”

Another beat.

You sip your water. He rakes a hand through his hair. The silence is comfortable, almost. Almost. Your leg bumps against his lightly. He doesn’t move.

“I still hate the Giants,” you murmur.

“Good,” he says, glancing sideways at you. “I need something to insult you for.”

You smirk. “Oh, just say you love me and go.”

He looks at you for real this time. And for a second, just a second it almost sounds like he will. But instead he says, “Nah. I’m keeping it in my back pocket for when you strike out in front of actual people.”

You shove his shoulder. He shoves back.

A breeze drifts by, lifting the edge of your shirt sleeve, brushing your forearms. The kind of breeze that says summer’s not over yet, but something else might be starting.

You lean back on your hands, stretch your legs out. “So what now?” you ask, half-lazy, half-curious.

Seungmin shrugs. “Dinner?”

“Are you buying?”

He scoffs. “You’re the one who demanded private lessons and then delivered the most tragic baseball performance in recorded history.”

You shoot him a look. “I hit the ball.”

“Barely. I’m not even sure it moved.”

You kick his shoe lightly. He kicks back, just enough to make you wobble a little on the bench. You nudge his knee with yours again—this time slower, intentional. It lingers. He doesn’t move away. Instead, he glances at you sideways. His tone is easy, almost amused when he says, “If we do dinner, you’re not wearing that cursed team shirt.”

You grin. “Make me.”

A small silence before Seungmin blinks once, then tilts his head. “Alright.”

And finally, he stands. Just like that. Casual. Unbothered. You stay seated, watching him dust dirt from his palms.

“You coming, rookie?” he calls over his shoulder. He’s already walking, the sun catching the edge of his hair, painting him in amber. “Or do I have to carry you?”

You roll your eyes, gather your things, and jog to catch up. You don’t bring it up—the near-kiss, the way he caught you, the way his fingers stayed a little too long. He doesn’t either. But when you fall into step beside him and your hands brush again and he doesn't pull away?

You know. He knows.

It’s not nothing anymore. It just isn’t everything yet. Not yet. But maybe soon.

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