#i actually want to commit a felony

[cry-ptidd]

(with rizz) Have you seen the play "Lady Windermere's fan"

Details

Flower meanings + my post

[maskedbyghost]

Part 2 of fuck buddies with Simon (now with extra emotional damage)

You didn’t text him, you didn’t call, you didn’t chase.

But you did send one final message.

“This is the last time, Simon. I can’t keep doing this. I don’t want to be someone you only need when you’re lonely or angry or tired. I wanted you, not just your time or your hands or your body. You don’t have to say anything—I’m just letting you know I’m done. Please don’t come back. I won’t open the door.”

Then you blocked him.

Phone, socials, everything. And not in some dramatic, screaming, flinging-plates kind of way.

And for the first few days, nothing happened. No messages, no banging on the door, and no surprise visits in the middle of the night. Just silence.

But on Simon’s end?

Hell broke loose.

He didn’t even notice the message right away. He was halfway through watching a game when he opened his phone and saw it sitting there, timestamped four hours ago. He read it once, then again, and then stared at it like maybe if he glared hard enough, the words would disappear.

But they didn’t.

He tried to reply, of course. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard for longer than he’d admit. But when he hit send, the message didn’t go through.

His jaw clicked tight. Something cold and ugly twisted low in his chest. He tossed his phone onto the couch and paced. He thought about showing up at your place but didn’t. Not yet. Not when he didn’t even know what he was going to say.

It hit him, slowly. That you weren’t bluffing. That you meant it this time.

That he fucked it. Bad...

A month later

You’re sitting across from a guy who actually listens when you talk. He laughs at your jokes, asks you questions. He looks at you like he’s interested—not just in your body, but in your thoughts, opinions, and favorite takeout order.

It’s... weird. Not bad weird. Just different. Good, even.

You're at a quiet restaurant, corner booth, tucked into a little space with candlelight and soft jazz playing overhead. You’re just reaching for your drink when you hear it.

The click of a safety being flipped off, before your date goes still.

“Don’t move,” a voice says, low and dark behind him.

You know that voice.

Your blood runs cold before you even look at him.

Simon stands there, one hand is braced on the back of your date’s chair. The other? Holding a gun pointed directly at the side of the poor guy’s head.

“Simon—what the fuck are you doing?” you hiss, scrambling out of the booth.

“I just wanna talk,” he says, voice way too calm for someone with a loaded weapon in hand.

Your date is sweating, hands raised. “Hey, man, I don’t want any trouble—”

“Did I ask you what you wanted?” Simon snaps. Then he smiles. Smiles. “You’re gonna get up and leave. Right now. No questions. Go.”

The guy doesn’t argue. He bolts so fast he almost trips over a chair.

You stand there, staring at Simon like you’re seeing him for the first time. And in a way, you are.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you ask, shoving him back. “Are you insane?”

“I said I just wanted to talk,” he mutters, sliding into the booth like he didn’t just commit a felony in front of three tables.

“Jesus, Simon. You scared the hell out of him. You scared me. You don’t just pull a gun on someone because you’re feeling jealous!”

“I’m not jealous,” he says, lying through his teeth.

“Get out.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“You don’t get to show up here like this. You don’t get to throw a tantrum just because I moved on. You made it clear how you felt—or didn’t feel. Remember that?”

Simon’s hands are curled into fists on the table. He looks like he’s about to explode. But instead of yelling, he just leans forward, jaw clenched so hard.

“I fucked up,” he says. “I know I did.”

“Yeah,” you say coldly. “You really did.”

-

Aftar that, he doesn’t text you. After all, he is still blocked, so he can't.

So he writes notes. Slips them under your door, even though you never respond.

"I miss you." "I keep thinking about what you said. You're right. I treated you like shit. I don’t know how to fix it, but I want to try." "Still can’t sleep. I keep rolling over expecting you to be there. You're not."

You don’t write back.

Then the gifts start showing up. A bouquet of roses, your favorite. A playlist on a USB drive. A book you mentioned once, two years ago, that he somehow remembered.

He shows up to your building sometimes. Just sits on the steps, waiting, but not in a creepy way—he knows to keep his distance. But he’s there. Rain, cold, whatever. He waits.

One night, you come home late, and he stands when he sees you. “I’ll go if you want,” he says quietly. “Just... let me know you’re okay.”

You don’t say anything. Just unlock the door and go inside.

He doesn’t leave for another hour.

Two months in.

He catches you on your way to work.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he says, walking beside you like he belongs there. “Just... give me a chance to make it right. Let me earn it.”

You stop walking. Look at him.

He looks rough. The beard’s thicker, the eyes are darker, and the weight of regret sits heavy on his shoulders.

“You can’t fix this with flowers and sad eyes,” you say. “I needed you. And you made me feel like a mistake.”

“I know,” he says, voice cracking. “I know I don’t deserve another shot. But I’m still gonna try. Every day. Until you tell me to stop.”

“And what if I never change my mind?”

“Then I’ll still keep showing up.”

He means it.

You can see it in the way he looks at you now—not hungry, not possessive. Just wrecked. Like he lost something irreplaceable and knows it.

You don’t let him follow you to work.

But for the first time in weeks, you don’t feel as angry. Not because he’s forgiven. Not even close. But because he finally looks like he’s suffering the way you did.

Three months.

You’re out with friends when he shows up again. This time, unarmed thankfully.

You’re tipsy, laughing, leaning into someone else’s shoulder—some other guy’s—and Simon sees it before you do. You turn and there he is, standing just far enough to not make a scene, but close enough to make your heart drop.

You think he’s going to come over. Ruin the night. Scare the guy off again.

He doesn’t.

He just nods at you. One short, respectful tilt of his head. Then he walks away.

No words, nor begging, trying to guilt you into anything.

And that gets to you more than the thousand apologies he could’ve offered.

Four months.

It’s your birthday.

You don’t tell anyone. You keep it lowkey on purpose, like if no one says anything, you can just pretend it’s any other day. You don’t want the reminders. You don’t want the well-meaning texts from people who don’t know what you’ve been dealing with. You definitely don’t want to wonder whether or not Simon remembers.

But he does.

You find out when you get home and there’s a small package sitting at your door. No note. No name. Just your initials written on the wrapping in the handwriting you know better than your own.

You think about throwing it away. You almost do, but curiosity wins, and inside the plain brown paper is a little black box.

You open it and your breath catches.

It’s that necklace you once pointed at in a store window downtown—months ago, maybe even a year. A tiny silver ghost on a chain. You made some stupid joke about how it looked like him: “emotionally unavailable, disappears without warning, weirdly endearing.”

He didn’t laugh at the time. Just rolled his eyes and muttered something like “you’re annoying” under his breath.

You never mentioned it again, but he remembered.

You stare at it for a long time. You don’t cry, don’t smile either. You just sit there on your hallway floor, turning the necklace over in your hands until your legs go numb.

Then you put it back in the box and tuck it in the drawer by your bed.

You don’t wear it, but you decided to keep it.

And the next day, for the first time in months, you catch yourself wondering how he’s doing. Like maybe he’s not just doing this to win, maybe he means it.

Still, you don’t reach out.

Not yet...

Five months.

He finally knocks.

It’s late. Not obscenely so, but enough that you’re in sweats and no bra, and part of you is tempted to pretend you’re not home.

But something in you says open the door.

So you do.

Simon looks like hell. Wet from rain, hair flat to his skull, hands shoved into his jacket like he’s trying to keep himself from reaching for you.

“I wrote it down,” he says, holding out a thick envelope. “Everything I wanted to say. Everything I should’ve said before.”

You stare at it like it might burn you. “Why now?”

His throat bobs. “Because I thought giving you space would be enough. But space doesn’t mean silence. It doesn’t mean I stop showing you I care. I just... I didn’t know how to love you the way you deserved.”

“And now you do?” you ask, arching a brow.

“No,” he says. “But I’m learning. And I’ll keep learning, with or without a second chance.”

You take the envelope. You don’t invite him in. But you do say, “Good night, Simon,” soft and tired.

And he smiles, just barely.

You read the letter that night. You weren’t going to, but you do.

It’s messy. Honest. Full of crossed-out lines and little notes scribbled in the margins. He writes like he talks—short sentences, straight to the point—but you can feel how badly he wants you to understand.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel disposable. That’s not what you are. That’s not what you ever were.”

“I never knew how to show you I gave a fuck. That’s on me.”

“I kept thinking if I didn’t say anything, you wouldn’t expect anything. But you did. And I should’ve met you there.”

“I think about your laugh. I hear it sometimes when I’m dead tired. It makes me hate myself.”

“I’m not asking you to come back. But if you ever do, I swear I’ll never leave you wondering again.”

You fall asleep with the letter in your hands, crumpled a little at the edges.

You don’t message him the next day.

But the next week?

You text one word.

“Coffee?”

PART 3

-----------------------------------------------

do we still hate him guys??

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay

[ashenquill]

Tim seems like the type to have a Snapchat story dedicated to his crashouts

He frequently posts videos of himself yelling about the idiots he encounters in his daily life, and people live for it.

Tim, in his car: I AM SO FUCKING SICK OF BAD DRIVERS! IF YOU WANT TO DRIVE LIKE A PRE-SCHOOLER, THEN PULL UP IN THE LITTLE TYKES COZY COUPE, MOTHERFUCKER. I AM TWO SECONDS AWAY FROM REAR-ENDING YOU! AT LEAST THEN YOU MIGHT BE ABLE TO GO THE FUCKING SPEED LIMIT

Tim, barely visible and whisper-shouting in a dark closet: If I have to deal with Lex Motherfucking Luthor one more time I might just have to commit a felony about it. Because what do you mean you "aren't familiar" with our DEI policy outline???? We've been doing business for years????? We've had this EXACT CONVERSATION, like, TEN TIMES--

Tim, not even bothering to find an empty room: I should have stayed an only child.

Dick’s voice offscreen: Huh?

Tim, deadpan: The only good outcome of having siblings is that if they threaten to kill me, I might actually get a fucking break —— assuming they can grow a spine long enough to actually make good on their threats, that is.

Dick, in the background: C’mon, Tim you guys just quit fighting— Damian, stop- DAMIAN

Damian, now in frame, making a spirited attempt to free himself from the upside-down hold he has been wrangled into by attacking Dick’s ankles: I only wish to give him what he wants, Richard!

Dick: No, Dami, what did we say about- STOP BITING ME

Tim, staring deadpan at the camera while the others fight behind him: I have never envied Jason Todd more in my life

[be4chywritez]

matchmaker | oscar piastri

oscar piastri x fem!reader

You needed a date for a wedding, and somehow, Oscar Piastri ended up in the role. It was supposed to be pretend—just for the weekend…

"Please," you’re quite literally gripping Lando’s arm, borderline begging. He shrugs you off like you’re a minor inconvenience. “No.”

You groan, throwing yourself back against the couch in his driver’s room, where you’ve been holed up, waiting for his PR manager to call him. "Lando, do you want me to die?"

His eyes flicker up from his phone, unimpressed. “Hmm.”

You straighten up, determined. “So let me get this straight,” Lando says, finally putting his phone down to actually look at you. There’s a flicker of amusement in his expression, which gives you hope. “Your bum of a boyfriend dumped you last week, but your cousin still expects you to bring a plus one.”

You tuck your hair behind your ear and nod.

“So you decided to recruit me as your fake boyfriend for…” He holds his hand out, and you quickly place your phone in his palm, the virtual wedding invitation already open. His brows lift as he scans it. “Three days in the Maldives?”

You nod again, putting on your best “Please do this, or I’ll die” face.

Lando gives you a flat look. “Absolutely not.” He shoves your phone back at you like you just asked him to commit a felony.

You let out a strangled groan, throwing your head back. “Why not?”

“Because, one, I have better things to do than play house with you in a five-star resort.”

“Rude.”

“Two,” he continues, ignoring you, “I’m not an asshole like all the muppets you’ve dated. Which means I have self-respect.”

You narrow your eyes. “That feels like a personal attack.”

He grins. “That’s because it is.”

You groan, flopping against the couch dramatically. “Come on, Lando! You know my family—they’ll rip me to shreds if I show up alone. And my ex is going to be there.”

That gets his attention. His lips curl like he just smelled something bad. “That dickhead? Why?”

“Because he’s the groom’s best friend,” you mutter, rubbing your temples. “So not only will I be subjected to my cousin’s judgmental stares, but I’ll also have to watch my ex parade around, acting like breaking up with me was the best decision of his life.”

Lando leans back, arms crossed. “Yeah… still not seeing how that’s my problem.”

You glare. “Wow. Remind me why we’re best friends?”

He grins. “Because I’m incredibly charming and bring joy to your life.”

You grab a pillow and chuck it at his face. He dodges it effortlessly, still smirking.

“Fine,” he says, stretching out his legs. “I won’t go. But I have a better idea.”

You blink, wary. “…I’m listening.”

Lando’s grin turns absolutely devious. “Entice Oscar.”

Your brain short-circuits. “I—excuse me?”

He shrugs. “You’re hot. Oscar’s a guy. Use your powers.”

You gape at him. “Lando—”

“He’s got the personality of a brick, but he’s a good guy. And more importantly, he’s free.” Lando pauses, then grins. “Probably.”

You groan. “You think I can just bat my lashes at Oscar, and he’ll agree to drop everything and play my fake boyfriend?”

Lando looks at you like it’s obvious. “Yes.”

You stare at Lando like he’s grown a second head. “You want me to seduce Oscar into coming to my cousin’s wedding?”

“No, no,” he says, waving a hand. “I want you to persuade him. The seduction is just a bonus.”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “Lando, be serious.”

“I am! You’re underestimating the power you have. Oscar is a man—he’s not immune to a gorgeous woman asking for a favor.” Lando leans in like he’s telling you the secret to life. “You just have to be a little… convincing.”

You roll your eyes so hard you almost see your brain. “Oscar doesn’t even like me like that.”

Lando snorts. “He doesn’t have to like you like that. He just has to like you enough to say yes.”

You open your mouth to argue but stop because, annoyingly, Lando has a point. You and Oscar have always been friendly—he’s quiet, polite, and unbothered by your chaotic energy. You wouldn’t say you’re close, but there’s mutual respect.

…Would he say yes?

Lando must see the wheels turning in your head because he grins. “So, you’ll ask him?”

You sigh dramatically. “Do I even have a choice?”

“Nope.” Lando pops the ‘p.’

You glare, but he just stretches lazily, reaching for his phone again, looking very pleased with himself. “You better pray he agrees, Norris. If he says no, I’m coming back and making your life hell.”

Lando doesn’t even look up. “Yeah, yeah. Go work your magic, bombshell.” he chuckles to himself, “Use your assets,” his finger wiggles towards your chest you give him a shove before getting up.

You flip him off as you grab your bag and storm out.

—

You’re not sure why you ever listen to your idiot best friend.

Sitting at some semi-fancy restaurant, you adjust the hem of your dress, cursing Lando under your breath. He had insisted you wear something “enticing,” which meant your neckline was just a little lower than usual, and the dress hugged your figure in a way that was definitely deliberate. You had rolled your eyes at him, but you still wore it. Because, unfortunately, he had a point—if you were going to convince Oscar Piastri to drop everything and play pretend with you in the Maldives, you needed to come prepared.

Oscar sits across from you, looking painfully neutral as he stirs his drink. He’s dressed casually, his posture relaxed but his expression unreadable. You can’t tell if he’s amused, confused, or simply waiting for you to get to the point. Probably all three.

You clear your throat. "So, Oscar."

His eyes flick up from his glass. "So, you."

You flash your most charming smile. "How do you feel about tropical destinations? Luxurious resorts? The opportunity to make me eternally grateful?"

Oscar blinks, then exhales through his nose like he already regrets being here. "Lando put you up to this, didn’t he?"

You scoff, feigning offense. "Excuse me? I am a grown woman fully capable of making my own questionable decisions."

Oscar’s lips twitch. "Uh-huh. And this questionable decision is... what exactly?"

You lean forward slightly, resting your elbows on the table. "My cousin’s wedding. Three days in the Maldives. I need a date."

Oscar stares at you like you just told him you need a kidney. "...And you’re asking me?"

"Lando said no," you admit. "But! He also said—and I quote—'Oscar’s a good guy, probably free, and susceptible to a pretty face.'"

Oscar shakes his head, muttering, "I’m going to kill him."

"Join the club." You sigh, shifting in your seat. "Look, I know this is random, but I’m in a bit of a situation. My ex is going to be there, my family is impossible, and showing up alone is basically social suicide. You’re my best shot at making it through the weekend with my sanity intact."

Oscar tilts his head slightly. "I feel like I should be offended that I'm your second choice."

"Think of it this way—you’re my best choice now."

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. "And what exactly do I get out of this?"

You smile. "A free vacation. Fancy food. The satisfaction of knowing you single-handedly saved a poor, defenseless woman from familial humiliation."

Oscar arches a brow. "Defenseless?"

"Okay, maybe not defenseless," you concede. "But I am in distress."

He considers you for a long moment, eyes scanning your face like he's trying to decide just how much trouble you're about to be. Then he sighs, leaning back in his chair. "Fine. I'll do it."

Your eyes widen. "Wait, really?"

"Yes, really. Before I change my mind."

You break into a grin. "Oscar, you are officially my favorite person."

"Don't make me regret it," he mutters, but there’s the smallest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

—

The reality of what just happened doesn’t fully sink in until you’re back in Lando’s apartment, flopping onto his couch with an exaggerated sigh. Lando, who’s mid-game, barely glances up from his controller.

“Mission accomplished?” he asks, lips twitching.

You groan, rubbing your temples. “Yes, but at what cost?”

Lando barks out a laugh. “What, he agreed? Just like that?”

“Not just like that,” you huff. “I had to work for it.”

Lando smirks. “Did you bat your lashes?”

“I—shut up.”

He grins. “See? Told you he wouldn’t say no.”

You groan, throwing a pillow at him, which he expertly dodges. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Lando just laughs. “Oh, you’re definitely gonna fall for him.”

You roll your eyes so hard they nearly get stuck. “I am not.”

“Uh-huh.”

You ignore him, crossing your arms. “This is just a business arrangement.”

“Sure.”

A pause. Then, “...Do you think he likes me?”

Lando cackles. “Oh, this is going to be interesting.”

—

The next morning, you arrive at the private airport, where your cousin has so generously arranged a jet for you. Because, of course, she has—she wouldn't be caught dead flying commercial.

Oscar is already there when you arrive, leaning against the sleek black car that brought him. He’s in a plain white tee and jeans, looking effortlessly put together, while you, in your carefully curated “I woke up like this” airport outfit, feel like you’re trying way too hard.

You clear your throat as you approach. "Ready to be my fake boyfriend?"

He pushes off the car, giving you a once-over. "Not sure I’m prepared for the mental toll, but sure."

You flash a grin. "Too late to back out now."

Minutes later, you’re settled inside the jet, the flight crew making final preparations. Oscar takes the seat across from you, stretching out like this is just another day at the office.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence, “we should probably set some ground rules.”

Oscar raises a brow. “Ground rules?”

“Yeah, you know. Boundaries. Expectations. What we need to do to sell this.”

He nods, intrigued. “Alright. Lay it on me.”

You tap a manicured finger against your chin. “Obviously, we have to be affectionate. Hold hands, sit close, the occasional casual touch.”

Oscar hums. “Got it.”

You hesitate for a split second before adding, “Kissing might be necessary.”

His expression doesn’t change, but you swear you see his fingers twitch against his knee. “Necessary, huh?”

You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand. “Can’t half-ass it, Piastri. If we’re going to be convincing, we have to be all in.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he nods, a little slower this time. “All in.”

You smirk. “Good. Now, pet names. Do you have a preference?”

For the first time, Oscar looks mildly flustered. “A preference?”

“Yeah. Babe, honey, love—what feels natural to you?”

His ears turn pink. “I—uh—does it matter?”

You grin, victorious. “Of course, it matters. We have to sell this.”

Oscar clears his throat. “I’ll—uh—defer to you on that.”

You tilt your head playfully. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

His jaw tenses as he looks away. “This is going to be a long trip.”

You smile to yourself. Oh, this is going to be fun.

—

Oscar shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden deep dive into fake relationship logistics. He scratches the back of his neck. "I don't know... whatever you usually use?"

You hum, tapping your chin. "I feel like 'babe' is a safe bet. It’s cute, casual, and doesn’t sound forced. Thoughts?"

He shrugs. "Babe works."

You squint at him. "That was suspiciously easy."

Oscar raises a brow. "Would you rather I argue?"

You consider it for a second, then shake your head. "No, actually. Let’s keep this cooperation going."

The flight attendant swings by to offer drinks, and you order champagne—because if you're going to be fake engaged in the Maldives, you might as well start indulging now. Oscar, ever the responsible one, sticks with water.

As you sip your drink, you eye him over the rim. "We should probably come up with a backstory."

Oscar exhales. "A backstory?"

"Yeah, like, how did we meet? How did you fall madly in love with me? What’s our adorable, rom-com-worthy relationship story?"

He gives you a look. "Can’t we just tell the truth?"

You scoff. "Oscar, the truth is that we vaguely tolerate each other, and Lando bribed you into this."

His lips twitch. "He didn’t bribe me."

"He used me as bait," you correct, waving a hand. "Which, frankly, makes me feel like a sacrificial lamb."

Oscar finally cracks a small grin. "Fine. What’s our story?"

You think for a moment, then snap your fingers. "We met at a race. Lando introduced us. You were immediately obsessed with me."

Oscar’s brows lift. "Obsessed?"

"Enamored," you say dramatically. "Hopelessly in love. Couldn’t take your eyes off me."

He leans back, arms crossed. "Right. And you?"

You smirk. "Oh, I thought you were hot, obviously."

Oscar blinks, and you swear you see the ghost of a smirk. "Obviously."

You wave a dismissive hand. "But I made you work for it. You had to woo me. Beg me to go on a date with you. You sent flowers, love letters—"

"Now it’s just getting unrealistic," he interjects, shaking his head.

"Excuse you," you gasp. "I am 100 percent love-letter worthy."

"I don’t doubt it," Oscar says, amused. "But I’m not a love-letter guy."

You narrow your eyes. "What kind of guy are you then, Piastri?"

He thinks for a second, then shrugs. "I just say what I mean."

Something about that answer makes your stomach flip, but you shove the feeling down, refusing to analyze it.

"Fine," you say, shifting in your seat. "No love letters. But you were still the one who chased me. That’s non-negotiable."

Oscar hums. "We’ll see."

You squint at him. "What does that mean?"

But he just reaches for his water, eyes twinkling with something unreadable. "Guess we’ll find out."

The flight settles into a comfortable lull. You lean back in your seat, stretching your legs out as the cabin lights dim to a soft glow. The hum of the engine, the occasional clink of glasses from the flight attendants—everything feels oddly serene.

You glance at Oscar, who’s scrolling through his phone, his fingers moving idly over the screen.

"Okay," you say, breaking the silence. "We’ve got the basics down, but we need details. What’s my favorite thing about you?"

Oscar looks up, clearly unimpressed. "You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be."

"This is called preparation," you counter. "What if someone asks me? I can’t just sit there and say, ‘Uhh… he drives really fast for a living?’ That’s boring."

He sighs, setting his phone down. "Fine. What is your favorite thing about me?"

You purse your lips, pretending to think. "Your freckles."

Oscar blinks. "My freckles?"

You nod, fully committing now. "Yeah. It’s cute. Gives you that whole boy-next-door thing. Makes you seem less… stoic."

His expression remains neutral, but you don’t miss the way his fingers twitch slightly against the armrest.

"Alright," he concedes. "Your laugh."

Your brows lift in surprise. "What about it?"

Oscar shrugs. "It’s loud."

You huff. "That’s not exactly a compliment, Piastri."

"It is," he insists, a small smirk playing on his lips. "It’s loud in a way that makes people turn their heads. Infectious, I guess."

You stare at him for a second, thrown off by the sincerity of it. He doesn’t look away, just meets your gaze like it’s no big deal. Like he didn’t just say something that made your stomach do an actual somersault.

You clear your throat. "Not bad. We’ll go with that."

Oscar simply nods and goes back to his phone, as if the moment didn’t just knock you slightly off balance.

You shake it off, taking another sip of your champagne. You need to keep this light. Playful.

"Okay, next question," you say, regaining composure. "Do we have pet names for each other, or do we stick to babe?"

Oscar sighs like you’re exhausting him, but you catch the flicker of amusement in his eyes. "You can call me whatever you want. Just not ‘Oskie.’"

Your grin is immediate. "Oskie, huh?"

"I said not ‘Oskie,’" he warns.

"Which means I absolutely have to call you that now," you tease. "Oskie, my love, my darling, my sweet baby angel—"

Oscar groans, tilting his head back against the seat. "I regret everything."

You giggle, nudging him with your knee. "Relax, Oskie. It’s just for show."

He levels you with a look, but there’s a reluctant twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Yeah. This might actually be fun.

The moment you and Oscar step into the grand hotel lobby, the air shifts—opulent chandeliers, the distant hum of chatter, and a lingering scent of fresh lilies. You barely have time to admire the luxury before a voice cuts through.

“There you are!"

You turn to find your cousin, Jaime, impeccably dressed, exuding the kind of politeness that borders on distant. You force a smile, the kind reserved for family obligations rather than genuine excitement.

"Hey!" You feign warmth as she pulls you into a quick, stiff hug. "Long flight, but we made it."

Her eyes flicker to Oscar, assessing. "And this must be...?"

"Oscar," you introduce smoothly, feeling his presence steady beside you. "My date." The word feels foreign, like you’re testing it out.

Your cousin nods approvingly but doesn't press. "Well, everyone's eager to see you. Welcome dinner’s in an hour. Dress formal."

With a parting nod, they’re gone, leaving you to exhale sharply.

Oscar leans in slightly. "That was... efficient."

You snort. "That was warm, for them."

—

The dining hall is grand, but the atmosphere is stiff. Soft clinking of silverware, murmured conversations, and a painfully polite undercurrent. You navigate it with the ease of someone used to playing a part. Oscar, ever composed, fits right in—but you notice his occasional side-glances, quietly observing the interactions around him.

Dinner is a blur of introductions, pleasantries, and forced smiles. Your cousin’s polite but detached, and other family members either fawn over Oscar’s "charm" or barely acknowledge him. You catch yourself watching him too much—how effortlessly he handles conversation, how his fingers drum lightly against his wine glass, how his eyes flick to you in between bites like he's making sure you're okay.

And then, mid-conversation, your stomach twists.

Across the table—your ex.

Oscar follows your gaze, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t ask, but something in his posture shifts, a subtle straightening of his shoulders. You force yourself to look away, laughing at something someone else said, even if you didn’t quite hear it.

Oscar leans in slightly. "You alright?" His voice is low, just for you.

You nod quickly. "Yeah. Just—family stuff."

He doesn’t push, but his presence alone steadies you.

—

By the time you make it to your shared room, exhaustion settles in. The suite is beautiful—large windows, a sprawling view of the ocean, and... one bed.

Of course.

You stare at it for a second too long. Oscar, setting his bag down, follows your gaze and huffs a soft laugh. "Guess we’re really committing to this."

You roll your eyes, flopping onto the edge of the mattress. "I’ll build a pillow wall."

"You do that," he says, smirking as he pulls out clothes from his bag.

—

After the long day, a hot shower sounds like heaven. You grab your toiletries and slip into the bathroom, closing the door behind you—at least, you think you did.

Steam fills the space as you let the water wash away the tension. You take your time, fingers combing through your hair, mind drifting—until a sharp intake of breath jolts you.

You whip around.

Oscar stands frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth slightly open—because, oh god, the door wasn’t shut.

For a split second, neither of you move. Then—

"Jesus—!"

"Oh my god—!"

Oscar spins on his heel so fast he nearly crashes into the doorframe. "I didn’t— You didn’t— The door—"

"OUT!"

"Yep, leaving—" He slams the door shut behind him, making the walls rattle.

You stand there, naked and fuming, heart pounding.

He saw you.

Oscar Piastri just saw you in all your glory.

And somehow, that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is the fact that you are still fuming about it while he’s probably out there pacing in distress.

So naturally—because you are you—you decide to make it his problem.

You grab your towel, wrap it around yourself with maximum dramatic aggression, and storm out of the bathroom, still damp and seething.

Oscar, who is currently standing in the middle of the room looking like he’s processing war flashbacks, snaps his head toward you.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!” You throw your arms out, the towel barely hanging on.

Oscar rubs a hand down his face, still looking vaguely traumatized. “I DIDN’T KNOW THE DOOR WAS OPEN! Why are you yelling at me?”

“Because you just got a full view of me! And you—you stood there!”

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO!” Oscar yells, exasperated. “Do you think I wanted to walk in and just—just—” He gestures wildly, face bright red.

“Oh, so now you’re disgusted by me?” You slap a hand on your chest, gasping dramatically. “Wow. Wow, Oscar. First, you see me naked against my will, and now I’m offensive to look at?”

“That is not what I said!”

“Fine,” you huff. “You’ve seen mine—show me yours.”

A beat.

Oscar just stares at you.

The room goes dead silent.

Then—

“WHAT?!” His voice cracks so hard it’s almost impressive.

You cross your arms. “I’m just saying—it’s only fair.”

“NO, IT IS NOT.” He takes a full step back, looking at you like you’ve lost your mind. “Are you—are you actually insane?”

“You’re not even a little bit sorry,” you accuse.

“I AM EXTREMELY SORRY,” Oscar says, voice still too high-pitched. “But that does not mean I’m about to just—just whip it out for fairness' sake!”

You narrow your eyes. “Coward.”

Oscar looks like he’s going to pass away on the spot. “You need to calm down.”

“I am calm.”

“You are not calm.”

You huff, throwing yourself onto the bed in frustration. “Fine. Do whatever you want.”

“I will,” he says, still clearly panicked. “And what I want is to go on a walk before I lose my mind.”

You wave a dismissive hand. “Enjoy your guilt walk.”

He lets out the most exasperated sigh and grabs his jacket, throwing the door open. “Unbelievable,” he mutters as he steps out, slamming it shut behind him.

You flop onto your pillow.

Oscar Piastri has seen you naked.

This weekend just keeps getting better

.You’re already in bed when the door creaks open again. You don’t move, pretending to be asleep, but you feel him hesitating near the doorway.

A beat.

Then—

“…Are you still mad?”

You peek one eye open. Oscar is standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, looking a little less mortified but still deeply uncomfortable.

“I mean,” you say flatly. “I did offer you the chance to make things even.”

Oscar groans, dragging a hand over his face. “Can we never speak of that again?”

You roll onto your side, watching him. “You gonna apologize properly?”

Oscar exhales through his nose, looking pained. “I’m sorry for walking in on you.”

You raise an eyebrow.

His jaw clenches. “And for… standing there… like a stunned idiot.”

You nod, satisfied. “Good. Now, was it at least a nice view?”

Oscar makes a strangled sound, turning bright red. “I hate you.”

You grin. “Goodnight, Oscar.”

“Unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath, flipping off the light before climbing into bed.

There’s a very obvious space between you both.

But you swear, in the silence, you hear him exhale a quiet, amused chuckle

The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the gentle waves lapping against the side of the yacht. The rest of the wedding party was scattered across the deck—some lounging, others chatting, a few already a little tipsy off midday champagne. It was the kind of scene that should have felt easy, carefree. And yet, you found yourself standing near the railing, swirling a mimosa in your hand, more caught up in your own thoughts than the view.

Oscar stood beside you, arms folded as he stared out at the horizon. He wasn’t much of a talker in group settings, but you could tell he was at least trying. Making the occasional polite comment, responding when spoken to. But right now, with just the two of you tucked away in your own little corner, the silence stretched comfortably between you.

You turned slightly, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. The sun had deepened the color of his skin, freckles even more pronounced, and a few strands of his hair stuck out from the salty wind. He looked good—too good.

God, this was bad.

"You okay?" Oscar’s voice broke through your spiraling thoughts, eyes flicking toward you.

You forced a small smile. "Yeah, just… taking it all in."

He hummed, nodding toward the water. "It’s nice out."

You exhaled, your grip tightening on your glass. You weren’t sure what it was—the warmth, the soft lull of the boat, the way he stood just a little too close—but something in the air shifted. You should have backed away. Should have made some sarcastic comment, broken whatever was lingering between you. But instead, you found yourself tilting your head, eyes tracing the sharp edge of his jaw, the way the sun kissed his cheekbones.

He turned toward you slightly, and for a second—just a second—you thought he might say something. But instead, his gaze dropped to your lips, lingering there, before quickly darting away.

Your heart did something stupid in response.

Stop it. He’s pretending.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to look away, to focus on the horizon instead of the way your skin burned under his proximity. This was a game. A favor. Oscar wasn’t yours.

But God, in moments like this, he sure felt like it.

Slipping out onto the balcony of your hotel room, you pulled your phone out and hit Lando’s contact, bringing it up to your ear. It barely rang twice before he picked up.

"Well, well, well," Lando greeted, amusement dripping from his voice. "If it isn’t my favorite wedding guest. Tell me, how’s fake married life treating you?"

You groaned, leaning against the railing. "Lando, I’m freaking out."

"Freaking out how?" he asked, clearly entertained.

You hesitated, running a hand through your hair. "I think—I think I might actually like him."

There was a pause. And then, Lando burst out laughing.

You scowled. "I’m serious!"

"Oh, I know you are," he wheezed. "Which is why this is even better."

"It’s not funny!"

"It’s hilarious," Lando corrected. "You—Miss ‘I Only Fall for Walking Red Flags’—are catching feelings for Oscar Piastri. Do you know how ironic that is?"

You groaned again, slumping against the railing. "It’s not ironic, it’s a crisis. I need to shut this down."

"Uh-huh. And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"

"I don’t know! Ignore him? Avoid eye contact? Wear a chastity belt?"

Lando snorted. "Or, and hear me out, you could just bone him and get it over with."

You gasped. "Lando!"

"What?" he said, feigning innocence. "I’m just saying, you’re obviously into him. And unless I’m reading this wrong, he’s clearly into you, too."

Your stomach flipped at that. "He’s not."

Lando scoffed. "Please. The man looks at you like he’s one second away from writing poetry about your existence."

You went silent, chewing on your lip.

Lando sighed dramatically. "Look, I love you, but I also know you. And you overthink everything. Just—don’t let your brain ruin this, okay?"

You exhaled slowly, closing your eyes.

It was easier said than done.

If your family wanted to see you madly in love, you were going to give them madly in love.

Oscar played along seamlessly. His arm stayed wrapped around your waist, his lips brushed your temple whenever someone was watching, and he let you intertwine your fingers with his under the table. The whole thing was a production, and your family ate it up.

Your cousin grinned at you over the table. "I’ve never seen you like this."

"Like what?" you asked, taking a sip of wine.

"In love," she said, nudging your arm. "I mean, I always knew it’d take someone special to tie you down, but I have to say—Oscar’s a good one."

You nearly choked. Across from you, Oscar raised a brow, clearly amused.

"She’s right, you know," Oscar said, his voice just smooth enough to be believable. "I am a catch."

You gave him a look. "Don’t push it."

He smirked, and God help you, you almost smiled back.

The wine had made you bold. Which is why, when you and Oscar got back to the room, you turned to him with a wicked grin.

"I wanna go swimming."

Oscar frowned. "Right now?"

"Yes, now," you said, already reaching for the zipper of your dress.

Oscar’s eyes widened. "Okay—hold on—"

Too late. The dress hit the floor, and you were already reaching behind your back, unclasping your bra.

"Jesus Christ," Oscar muttered, immediately looking away.

"You’re so dramatic," you giggled, stepping out of your underwear.

"I cannot believe this is happening," Oscar groaned.

You shot him a grin over your shoulder before sprinting toward the water.

"Oh, for fuck’s sake," he muttered before stripping off his shoes and following you in.

The water is warmer than expected, but the chill of the night air still prickles over your bare skin. You drift further out, arms moving lazily through the gentle waves, laughter spilling from your lips as you spin in the water. The world feels hazy, edges blurred by the wine humming in your bloodstream.

Oscar stands at the shoreline, arms crossed, shoes abandoned somewhere in the sand. His tie is loosened, top buttons undone, and he looks… worried.

"You've had your fun," he calls out, voice edged with both amusement and exasperation. "Come back before you float off to sea."

You giggle, flicking water in his direction even though he’s too far for it to reach. "I’m a great swimmer, thank you very much."

He sighs, running a hand down his face. "That’s not the point."

"Then what is the point, Piastri?" you tease, bobbing in the water, eyes glinting under the moonlight.

"The point is you’re naked, in the ocean, while very, very drunk," he deadpans. "And I’d rather not be responsible for fishing you out when you inevitably start shivering and regretting all your life choices."

"Such a fun-sucker," you pout, but as you kick your legs, you realize he’s right—your body is starting to feel the cold. You open your mouth to say something snarky but, before you can, a wave rolls under you, pushing you forward. You yelp, momentarily losing your balance, and in an instant, Oscar is in the water.

The splash is sudden, and you blink as he surfaces, suit pants soaked, dress shirt clinging to his frame. "Oh my God," you laugh, "you didn’t have to—"

"Let’s go," he interrupts, tone firm but gentle. He reaches for you, steady hands finding your waist, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. His grip is warm, solid, and when your eyes meet his, something flickers there—something unspoken.

"You’re always saving me," you murmur.

"Yeah," he says, voice quieter now. "And you’re always making me."

His hands skim your arms, guiding you closer, and before you can stop yourself, before you can think—

You kiss him.

It’s clumsy, tasting of wine and saltwater, but it’s real. For a second, just a second, he doesn’t pull away. But then—

"Not now."

His words break through the haze, his hands steadying you as he gently leans back. His breathing is uneven, eyes darker than usual, and his grip lingers longer than it should.

"Not now?" you repeat, heart hammering.

He exhales, thumb brushing over your wrist before he shakes his head. "You’re drunk."

"So?"

"So, no."

You stare at him, something aching in your chest, but before you can argue, he’s already peeling off his soaked dress shirt, draping it over your shoulders. "Come on," he says, softer this time. "Let’s get you back."

—

The walk to the hotel room is quieter than expected. Your head is buzzing, but not from the alcohol anymore. Oscar’s hand is on your back, steady but cautious, and you swear he’s holding his breath the entire time.

Inside the room, he sighs, running a towel through his damp hair. "You should change before you freeze."

You glance down at yourself—shirt clinging to your skin, legs still damp. "Right," you mumble, fingers fumbling with the buttons.

He clears his throat. "I’ll turn around."

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. As you reach for your pajamas, the moment lingers—charged, unspoken. He stays at the door, hand gripping the handle like he’s holding himself back.

Before you climb into bed, you glance at him. "Are we gonna talk about it?"

His jaw tenses. "Go to sleep."

You scoff, flopping onto the mattress with a huff. "You’re annoying."

"And you’re drunk," he mutters.

Silence settles. The air between you feels heavier now, something shifting in the space that wasn’t there before.

As you close your eyes, you hear him exhale sharply. Then, softer—almost hesitant—

"Goodnight."

—

Oscar is already up, standing near the window, arms crossed over his chest. His posture is stiff, tense in a way that makes your stomach twist.

"Morning," you mumble, voice hoarse from sleep.

"How are you feeling?" His voice is controlled—too controlled.

You stretch, groaning. "Like I got hit by a truck. A truck full of wine." A dry chuckle escapes him, but it’s short-lived. The weight in the air hasn’t lifted. He’s not looking at you, and it’s driving you insane.

You sit up, rubbing your face. "Okay, what’s with the whole brooding thing? You’ve barely looked at me."

His jaw tightens. "We should probably just… move past last night." You blink, caught off guard.

"Move past it?”

"It was a mistake." The words sting.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, suddenly much more awake. "A mistake?" you echo, trying to keep your voice even.

"You were drunk."

"And?"

"And I don’t want it to mean something to you when you weren’t thinking clearly."

A bitter laugh bubbles up.

"Right. Because I obviously wouldn’t want you sober.

He finally looks at you then, and for a split second, you see it—hesitation, conflict. But it’s gone as quickly as it appears.

"Let’s just get ready," he says. "It’s your cousin’s wedding day."

You watch as he disappears into the bathroom, the door shutting with a little too much finality. Your chest feels tight.

So, that’s how it’s going to be.

Fine. If Oscar Piastri wants to pretend like last night didn’t happen, then you can play that game too.

—

The ceremony is beautiful, but you barely register it. You go through the motions—smiling, clapping, taking pictures—but your mind is elsewhere.

Or rather, on someone else.

Oscar is right beside you, ever the perfect fake date, but there’s a difference now. Last night changed something. His touches are still there—his hand resting on your lower back, the way he leans in when someone asks about your “relationship”—but they’re measured.

Restrained.

It drives you insane. Dinner stretches long, speeches are made, and the wine is poured generously.

You lose track of how many times someone toasts to love. Somewhere between courses, you lean into Oscar, letting your hand linger on his thigh, just to see if he’ll react. He does. His muscles tense under your touch, but his expression remains neutral.

You tilt your head, voice saccharine. "You’re acting weird."

"I’m acting normal," he replies, sipping his drink.

"No, you’re acting like I’m going to pounce on you at any second." His lips press into a thin line.

"You’re drunk again." You scoff, swirling the wine in your glass.

"Not drunk, just… enjoying myself."

"Yeah, well," he exhales, setting his drink down. "Try not to enjoy yourself into another late-night swim."

You smirk. "Would you come save me again?" His gaze flickers to yours, and for a moment, you swear you see something crack in his resolve. But then he shakes his head, amusement ghosting over his lips.

"You’re insufferable."

"And you love it," you counter, grinning.

But he doesn’t answer. Instead, he looks away, fingers curling against his knee. Something in your stomach flips.

—

The flight home is silent. Not awkward, but not easy either.

You sit beside Oscar, arms crossed, staring out the window as the plane hums beneath you.

Last night, after too much wine, you had curled into bed, still in your dress, and barely registered Oscar pulling the blanket over you before he turned off the lights.

Now, in the harsh light of day, everything feels… off. You glance at him.

He’s focused on something in his hands, jaw tight, lost in thought.

You shift. "So… are we gonna talk about it?" He doesn’t look up. "There’s nothing to talk about."

A sharp laugh escapes you.

"Right. Of course. Because nothing happened."

His fingers twitch. You lean in slightly. "You kissed me back." His eyes snap to yours, sharp and unreadable.

"You were drunk," he repeats, but there’s something strained in his voice now.

You shake your head. "I know what I felt."

"Look, we had fun," he says, voice measured, like he’s carefully constructing each word before it leaves his mouth. "Let’s not make it something it wasn’t."

Something tightens in your chest.

"Something it wasn’t," you repeat, more to yourself than to him.

Oscar sighs, shifting in his seat. He’s trying to be logical. Practical. But all it does is make you want to shake him.

You lean in closer, lowering your voice. "You can lie to yourself all you want, Oscar, but don’t sit here and lie to me."

His eyes flicker to yours, something unreadable in his expression. "I’m not lying."

You huff out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "Right. Sure."

Silence.

The cabin hums around you, the quiet murmur of other passengers filling the space between you both. You grip your armrest, fingers drumming against the plastic.

Then, barely above a whisper, he mutters, "I don’t want to be just another guy you move on from."

The words hit you like a slap.

Your breath catches in your throat. "What?"

Oscar’s jaw is clenched, his knuckles white where they grip his knee. He won’t look at you.

You stare at him, feeling the weight of what he just admitted settle deep in your bones.

He thinks you’ll move on. That he’s just another name to add to your list of failed romances.

Your lips part, but no words come out. Because if you say it—if you tell him he’s wrong, that he’s different—then you’ll have to admit what you already know deep down.

That this isn’t just fun for you. That he’s not just a placeholder in your life.

And that terrifies you.

So instead, you turn away, staring out the window, swallowing the words that sit heavy on your tongue.

And Oscar doesn’t push.

Because maybe he’s just as scared as you are.

—

The apartment is eerily quiet when you get back.

You toss your suitcase into the corner, kicking off your shoes with more force than necessary. You don’t even bother unpacking.

The second you flop onto your bed, your phone buzzes.

Lando.

You stare at the screen before sighing and answering.

"You sound like shit," he greets.

"Good to hear your voice too," you deadpan.

"Okay, spill. What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Liar."

You close your eyes, pressing the heel of your palm to your forehead. "Oscar’s just—"

"A dumbass?"

A small, exhausted laugh escapes you. "Something like that."

Lando hums. "Yeah, well. He’s probably overthinking everything, as usual."

You groan. "Why do I even like him?"

"Oh, so you do like him?"

You freeze.

Shit.

Lando cackles. "Wow, that was too easy. You’re down bad, huh?"

"Goodbye, Lando."

"Wait, wait—"

You hang up, throwing your phone onto the bed.

You don’t want to talk about it. Not with Lando, not with yourself.

But that doesn’t stop you from replaying every moment in your head. The way Oscar had looked at you. The way he had pulled away. The way he had felt—warm, solid, real—before he decided to shove it all aside.

You groan, rolling onto your stomach, willing yourself to stop thinking about it.

Then—

A knock at the door.

Your heart jumps.

You already know who it is before you even open it.

And when you do, Oscar is standing there, looking like he’s been battling himself the entire way over. His hair is damp from a run, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

Neither of you speak for a moment.

Then, finally, he exhales. "Can we talk?"

You stare at him, pulse hammering in your ears. His face is flushed—whether from the run or something else, you’re not sure—but his eyes are fixed on you, searching, hesitant.

A thousand responses run through your mind. You could tell him to leave. You could pretend like you don’t care. You could close the door and shut him out the way he’s been shutting you out since the wedding.

Instead, you step aside.

He takes the silent invitation, brushing past you into the apartment. You close the door behind him, arms crossed over your chest as you turn to face him.

Oscar runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I shouldn’t have said that on the plane.”

Your jaw tightens. “Which part? The part where you called last night a mistake, or the part where you assumed I’d just move on like none of it mattered?”

He flinches.

“Yeah,” you say bitterly. “Thought so.”

He looks away, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

You scoff. “Then what did you mean, Oscar? Because from where I’m standing, it sounds a lot like you’re trying to push me away before I can do it first.”

His silence is answer enough.

You let out a humorless laugh, throwing your hands up. “Jesus, do you even hear yourself? You act like I just bounce from guy to guy, like I don’t—” You stop yourself, shaking your head.

His eyes snap to yours. “Like you don’t what?”

Your breath catches.

This is it.

The moment you either tell him the truth or let him walk away.

You swallow hard. “Like I don’t feel anything for you.”

The air between you shifts, thick with unspoken words. Oscar’s expression falters—just slightly—but enough for you to see it. The cracks. The hesitation. The part of him that wants this just as much as you do but is terrified of it.

Then, quietly, he murmurs, “Do you?”

Your chest tightens. “Do you?”

Oscar exhales sharply, his shoulders slumping. He takes a step closer, eyes flickering between yours. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

The confession is barely above a whisper, but it’s enough to send your heart into overdrive.

You search his face, trying to find any trace of doubt, but all you see is exhaustion. Hope. Something deeper than either of you are willing to name just yet.

Slowly, you take a step forward, closing the distance. “Then why are you running from it?”

He swallows hard. “Because if I start… I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”

Your breath catches.

And then, before you can overthink it, you reach for him.

Oscar doesn’t hesitate.

His hands find your waist as your lips crash into his, months of pent-up tension unraveling between you. It’s not soft, not tentative—it’s messy and desperate and real. His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you tangle your hands in his hair, grounding yourself in the way he feels, the way he moves against you like he’s been waiting for this just as much as you have.

He backs you up until you hit the wall, his body pressing into yours. His lips move from your mouth to your jaw, down to the curve of your neck, and you tilt your head to give him more room, exhaling a shaky breath.

“Oscar,” you murmur.

He stills, his forehead resting against yours, breath heavy.

You don’t realize how hard your heart is pounding until there’s a beat of silence, both of you just standing there, catching your breath.

Then, softly, he says, “Not a mistake?”

You shake your head, fingers tightening in his shirt. “Not even close.”

His lips brush against yours again, slower this time, as if committing this moment to memory.

And for the first time in days, everything finally makes sense.

—

The paddock is a blur of movement—mechanics rushing between garages, team personnel checking final details, and the distant hum of engines roaring to life. It’s race day, and the energy in the air is electric.

You’re standing outside McLaren’s hospitality, wearing Oscar’s team shirt—his number printed on the back, the fabric slightly oversized but comfortable. Sunglasses perch on your nose, shielding your eyes from the midday sun as you scroll through your phone, waiting.

Then, an arm slings around your shoulders.

“Ah, there she is.”

You don’t even need to look up to know who it is.

“Lando.”

“Missed me?” he asks, squeezing your shoulder before dramatically sighing. “Probably not, considering you’ve been suspiciously unavailable for the past month.”

You roll your eyes, prying his arm off you. “Sorry for not prioritizing you over my boyfriend.”

Lando fake gags. “Ugh, don’t say it like that. Makes me feel like I’ve lost you forever.”

You smirk. “You have.”

“Pain,” he mutters, clutching his chest like he’s physically wounded.

Before you can retaliate, another familiar presence appears beside you.

“Are you harassing her already?”

You turn, smiling as Oscar steps up, looking effortlessly cool in his race suit, sunglasses on, and a drink bottle in hand. His free arm loops around your waist instinctively, pulling you against him.

Lando makes a disgusted noise. “Oh, this is repulsive.”

You tilt your head. “What is?”

“That,” he gestures vaguely at you and Oscar. “The… the couple-y standing. The arm thing. The way he’s looking at you like you hung the damn stars in the sky.”

Oscar raises a brow. “Would you rather I not look at my girlfriend?”

“Correct.”

You laugh, leaning into Oscar slightly, just to be extra. “I think someone’s just mad he’s the third wheel now.”

Lando scoffs. “I am not—”

“You absolutely are,” Oscar cuts in, smirking.

Lando glares between the two of you. “I hate this. I hate whatever is happening here.”

Oscar just shrugs, looking smug as hell. “You’ll get used to it.”

Lando grumbles something under his breath, kicking at the ground like a child. You swear you hear him mutter disgusting as he dramatically turns away.

Oscar chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “I think he’s struggling.”

You grin, watching Lando dramatically flop onto a nearby bench. “Oh, he definitely is.”

But hey, you were enjoying every second of it.

[writingouthere]

singlemom!reader x neighbor!sukuna. you miss having a baby and Sukuna is dying from a combination of your sexual tension, his lowkey(highkey) baby fever and the drudgery of attending a child's birthday party

cw: Sukuna's breeding kink, red flags are present and accounted for, no one gets laid tho so sad face. this actually ended up being way more sincere and heartfelt than I intended but honestly very typical of me

"Oh we're not together, Sukuna's just been letting me and Bug crash while we look for an apartment."

"Oh he's not my boyfriend, we're just friends!"

"He's actually not Bug's dad. No, no. But, they get along really well. She enjoys having someone else to hang out with aside from me, I think."

Your laughter after the last one plays on repeat as he goes to grab the two of you some refreshments. Sukuna feels like he's living the world's worst version of groundhog day, except instead of being some sad loser who relives the same day over and over, he's apparently a sad loser who is going to live the same conversation over and over again.

"Fuck this shit."

"Um, excuse me but could you watch your language. This is a kid's birthday party." Sukuna wants to ask the bitch who is correcting a grown man's language if he would mind watching his own fucking business but you seem to care about what these losers think and he won't make life difficult for you.

If he happens to step on the guy's foot as he leaves with two cups and a juice box caught in his elbow, well, his steel toed boots need the exercise.

Sukuna knew that if any of his acquaintances, he didn't have friends after all, could see him now, they would die laughing. Die ,because he would kill them for laughing, but fuck he couldn't even really blame them, even in his hypothetical.

Once upon a time, Sukuna was a feared criminal. People pissed themselves when he cornered them in a dark alley. Other bad guys would look at him and say, "wow that guy's a real piece of shit" and now look at him. Stuck at some three year old's birthday party. One more kidzpop butchering of an already shitty song away from committing another felony.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he knew he was at least getting some pussy out of it, but he had just spent the past two hours hearing you deny him to anyone who asked and it was really starting to get to him.

He knew he was being a little bitch about it, and he wasn't upset just because you weren't fucking him. He was upset that all the things you were telling people, they were technically true. He was just letting you and your daughter crash. He was just your friend, not your boyfriend. Even the comments about him not being Bug's dad, but him being positioned as some kind of really invested babysitter, those might have stung more than the ones about your relationship but you thought that was true too.

Thinking about the kid made him look for her, not that Sukuna ever wasn't aware of where you and your daughter were. It had become instinct before he was even aware of it.

Bug was laughing with some kids he recognized from daycare and others from their regular trips to the park. Her happiness was contagious and Sukuna found his lips twitching up at the ends despite his shitty mood.

Your daughter's eyes found him from across the playground. "kuna!" she called, waving her little hand at him. He waved back with his available hand and made his way towards her. She met him halfway, her little legs unsteady on the wood chips but she didn't seem to notice. She was always like that when she saw him, she ran fearlessly. Maybe she just trusted he'd catch her.

Was it so wrong of him that he didn't like the reminders she wasn't his. That it stung, not just because of his feelings but because it just couldn't be true. He might not have fathered her, but fuck anyone who said this little girl wasn't his.

"I got you a juice, you've been running around so much you gotta be thirsty."

"Not thirsty," Bug argued leaning into him. He held up his hands that were holding the grown up drinks for the two of you, and moved the package still lodged in the crease of his elbow towards the petulant toddler. "Take it, or I'll drink it."

Bug stuck her tongue out at him and grabbed it. She struggled to get the wrapping off the straw and Sukuna didn't even notice what he was doing until she had the straw stretched out towards him and he was pulling the wrapper off with his teeth. He spit it out on the ground as your daughter gave him a polite thank-you and then walked away, sipping her juice as she went to catch up with her friends.

What had become of him?

"Need a hand?" You smile at him and Sukuna hands over your cup before taking a sip of his own. There was unfortunately no alcohol in it but drinking it occupied his mouth before he acted like a pussy and asked you, "what are we?" or "should we get married?" or something equally as pathetic.

"God, I want a baby."

Sukuna almost spit out his drink but he manages to tone it down to just a little cough before turning to look at you. You don't even seem a little embarrassed which is just infuriating. Sukuna's about to make a suggestion on how he can help with that when you sigh and point to where some loser is holding their ugly baby.

"Aren't babies just the cutest, I miss when Bug was that age."

Oh, so this was just you looking at other people's red-faced brats and feeling nostalgic and was not in fact a call to action. Sukuna rolled his eyes and leaned back on the hand closest to you so he didn't touch you as he was so tempted to do these days.

"That baby, like all babies, is hideous. All they do is cry, shit themselves and vomit and I'm not even sure Bug is the exception to that and she's the best kid there is."

You look touched at his affection for your daughter but also fired up on behalf of babies everywhere.

"You can't just say a baby is hideous, Sukuna. Those are the Zenin's. Bug is friends with some of them."

"Well are the older ones cuter, because that baby looks like someone fucked one of those hairless cats."

"Sukuna!" you hiss but he sees you smile, despite yourself. "Okay, maybe that baby isn't like the cutest baby-"

"Hideous."

You continue after smacking his arm. "But Bug was cute, okay. And I'm not just saying that because I'm her mom." You take out your phone and quickly swipe until you get to what you're looking for. "See, cute baby."

Sukuna grabs your phone and looks. It's not the first picture he's seen of a young Bug and he's taken his share of photos of her himself, but he finds himself taken in by it anyway.

It has to be a picture from when Bug was really young, she still had the scrunched up, red face that he associates with newborns. But he thinks you're right, she's still cute. He doesn't know if it's because he knows that baby will grow up to be your daughter, but he finds his thumb caressing her little baby cheeks, the wisps of hair he can see peaking out from where she's wrapped in a baby blanket. It's then he sees she's not alone in the picture and there's a different version of you holding her.

The thing that stands out to him is how tired you look. He thinks this couldn't have been too long after you gave birth but still, he wondered if you'd gotten any rest those first few months. You still didn't like talking about your ex, or the circumstances that had led you to his apartment, but Sukuna knew that chances are you were taking care of Bug single handedly and that couldn't have been easy, cutest kid or not.

"She was beautiful, she still is." He reluctantly hands the phone back to you and you look at the picture again, tears building up in your eyes.

"She is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I-I wish that the circumstances were different in how I got her. Sometimes, I wonder how I'll explain everything to her when she's older. She just deserves so much better than him, you know?"

"You both do." Sukuna reaches over and brushes away one of the tears that had managed to fall down your cheek. He leaves his hand there a moment, holding your cheek in his palm, just appreciating the warmth.

"Do you want any?"

"What?" Sukuna isn't sure what you're talking about anymore. He can only see your lips right in front of him, the way that your eyelashes brush against your cheek as you blink faster and faster.

"Babies, do you want any?"

Something short circuits in Sukuna's brain and he wants to say, fuck yes.

He wants to tell you that he thinks about it every day. Every time you put Bug on your hip or send him youtube videos of hairstyles you want to try on her. Whenever it's late at night, and little feet pad out of your room and Bug asks him in the loudest whisper he's ever heard, if he can get her some water because she's so thirsty.

He thinks about it when the sun streams through the curtains of his apartment in the morning and it lights up your hair as you move throughout the kitchen, a force of nature, a creature from somewhere far too good to have ended up here with him.

He thinks about it when the three of you go out and people just assume you're a family, because of course you're a family. When you and Bug play some made up game, or Bug gets tired even though she denies it and he carries her sleeping form against his chest. When he holds her in his lap on the subway and you lean to rest your head on his shoulder and he feels like this, this is what he's always wanted.

He's not all pure and good though, because he thinks about it late at night in his bedroom too. After a day of your smiles, of seeing your thighs stretch out of those sleep shorts you started wearing when the weather warmed up, whenever he remembers the feel and smell of your panties when he's lucky enough to find a pair in the laundry basket, he thinks about how the two of you would make some really cute fucking babies.

He's imagined it a million ways. He's imagined you telling him you've gone off your birth control and you need him now after he takes you out on an anniversary dinner. Or him crowding you up against the kitchen counter and you begging him to put a baby in you.

His favorite fantasy is currently one where you get so carried away when you finally finally fuck that you don't ask him to wear a condom and he spends the whole night making sure you're nice and good and full of him and when you tell him a few weeks later you missed your period, he'll let you freak out. But then he'll tell you that he'll take good care of you, and Bug, and your soon to be little one and he'll finally have you, all of you and once you have your second, he'll knock you up again, as many times as he can because there could never be too many mini-you's running around.

At this point, Sukuna remembers he's talking to you, the real you and he swallows a few times before he speaks.

"I do," he says simply but something must show on his face because you're looking at him in a way you never have before. He hears your breath hitch and he leans in to kiss you, and you smell so good and his thoughts are consumed by the little family he just knows you're going to have when suddenly he's pelted by a variety of sharp, little objects.

Sukuna immediately holds up his arm to shield you from what he now sees is a barrage of wood chips which are being thrown at you by an army of toddlers, including your daughter.

You immediately get up and start talking to the kids about the danger of throwing what are basically large future splinters at people's faces and Sukuna is contemplating the murder of every child that isn't his own when you turn to look at him.

You're not just looking at him, you're seeing him and oh. Maybe he would be getting laid tonight, after all.

The slow burn is almost done folks.

thank you to the amazing reception to this series and the one-shot I posted(which there will be a prequel of soon!). it's literally so insane. Masterlist will be up tomorrow which I hope helps with accessibility!

edit: masterlist is up!

[kashverse]

based off of this request ☆ kunafamily masterlist

ah, marriage. truly a blessing, a union of souls, a sacred bond forged through love and commitment.

or whatever.

because there is nothing beautiful about it when your twelve-year-old daughter stomps into the house, still in her dusty-ass middle school uniform, drops her backpack by the door with the weight of a woman who has seen the horrors of war, and announces—

“mama. papa. i am getting married.”

...

there is a silence. a deafening, suffocating, air-sucked-out-of-the-room silence. the only sound is the low hum of the AC and the softest shuffle of mr. pickles, your ancient maine coon, who, for the first time in what seems like eons, flops in front of babykuna’s feet. a humble offering. a plea for mercy. baby the tabby? he lets out a single, horrified, “YEEEOOOWWWWWL—” like he has just witnessed a first-degree felony right before his very eyes.

you? you’re laughing. not because it’s funny, but because your brain is short-circuiting. “babe,” you choke, eyes darting to sukuna, who has gone uncharacteristically still. you swear you can hear the windows error sound effect echoing inside his head. but he blinks, snaps out of it, and suddenly—

“THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN MARRIED?”

you jolt, clutching your chest. “sukuna, for the love of god, inside voice.” but he is hyperventilating. actually hyperventilating.

he stumbles forward like a man on his last legs, dropping to his knees so that he is face-to-face with babykuna. “baby,” he starts, voice tight, shaking, the desperation of a father who has just been emotionally gutted. “marriage is a big deal. are you sure about this?” 

babykuna, bless her obnoxiously stubborn heart, crosses her arms.

“yes.”

sukuna visibly deflates. “but—but why?” he croaks, rubbing his face as if this is causing him physical pain. “what happened to all the other snot-nosed brats?”

babykuna huffs. “they were gross, papa.”

“EXACTLY.” he seethes. “they’re all gross! including this one!”

“nuh-uh. he’s different.”

sukuna looks like he’s about to throw up. he grips her little shoulders, voice dropping to a low, grave whisper.

“listen, babygirl. i will give you anything. anything you want. you want another cat? i’ll get you another cat. you want half of my company shares? done. a custom labubu line with your name on it? consider it already in production.”

babykuna’s brows knit, lips pursed in deep thought. there’s hope. hope that maybe, the dreaded king of the corporate world will win this negotiation. but then—

“no.”

babykuna stomps off to her room.

and as she marches away, victorious, baby the tabby lets out a final, gut-wrenching shriek, a soulful cry that echoes down the halls like the mourning of a thousand fallen soldiers. mr. pickles lets out a deep, ancient sigh, the kind only a being who has lived through generations of turmoil can muster.

and sukuna? he just slumps to the floor, lifeless, broken, defeated.

“i’ve lost her,” he whispers, staring blankly ahead. “i’ve fucking lost her.”

you pat his head. “there, there. at least she didn’t pick a finance bro.”

the next day, there is a shift in the air. you sense it first, the way the walls seem to breathe easier, the way the atmosphere in the sukuna household isn’t shrouded in impending doom. and then you see it.

babykuna walks in, her steps just a bit heavier, like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her tiny shoulders. mr. pickles, who has been mourning nonstop since yesterday, immediately flops next to her feet, a slow, dramatic descent that speaks volumes.

please, his weary, ancient eyes seem to say. do not get rid of me when you are married.

baby the tabby, however, is far less sentimental. he doesn’t even look at her. doesn’t even acknowledge her presence. babykuna notices.

“baby,” she calls. baby the tabby flicks his tail and turns away. the ultimate betrayal. she frowns, drops her backpack on the floor, and then—

“i’m not getting married anymore.”

silence.

mr. pickles exhales a long, tired sigh, as if the very gods have heard his prayers. baby the tabby, however? ecstatic.

he springs onto babykuna like he’s just won the lottery, tackling her to the sofa and kneading her chest with such fiery, unbridled passion you fear he might actually give himself a heart attack. but the real show? sukuna.

because the moment those words leave babykuna’s mouth, he goes dead still. and then, slowly, so slowly, he turns to you with the wide, gleeful, demented grin of a man who has just cheated death. “babe,” he breathes. “call a baker.”

“...a baker?”

he nods, eyes gleaming.

“i’m getting a cake.”

you blink. “for...?”

“us.”

he grips your shoulders, voice thick with emotion.

“a congratulations cake. for us. we fucking did it.”

[iamumbra195]

School Bus Graveyard incorrect quotes because I'm bored

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Taylor: Look how creepy it is looking down this hallway.

Ashlyn: I'm gonna get vertigo.

Aiden: I'm a Virgo!

Tyler, deadpan: No, you're a virgin.

...

Aiden: You lying, cheating, piece of shit!

Tyler: Oh yeah? You’re the idiot who thinks you can get away with everything you do. WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD

Aiden: I’m leaving you, and I’M TAKING ASHLYN WITH ME

Logan, picking up the monopoly board: I think we’re gonna stop playing now.

...

Taylor: Why is Tyler so upset?

Logan: He took one of those “Which Character Are You?” quizzes

Taylor: And...?

Logan: He got Aiden.

...

Ashlyn: What did you do with the phantom's body?

Aiden: What didn’t I do with the body?

Everyone:

Aiden: Okay, that sounded more sexual than I intended. I disposed of the phantom respectfully.

...

Aiden: Here’s a fun Christmas idea. We hang mistletoe, but instead of kissing, you have to FIGHT whoever else is under it.

Logan: Aiden, no.

Ben, with text to speech: Mistlefoe.

Logan: Please stop encouraging him.

...

Taylor: Who thinks I can fit 15 marshmallows in my mouth?

Tyler: You’re a hazard to society

Aiden: And a coward. DO TWENTY.

...

Emma, trying to be nice to Ashlyn's new friends: Would you like to stay for dinner?

Mike, excited for his daughter: WOULD YOU LIKE TO STAY FOREVER?

...

Logan: What's a word thats a mix between 'sad' and 'mad'?

Ben: Disgruntled, miserable, desolated-

Aiden: Smad.

...

Ashlyn: Why are you on the floor?

Aiden: I'm depressed.

Aiden: Also I was stabbed, can you get Ben, please.

...

Taylor: Aiden and I were crossing the street, and this dude drove by and honked at us

Ashlyn, sighing: What did he do?

Taylor: he chased him to the next red light, then reached into his window and...

Aiden: Who wants a steering wheel?

...

Aiden: If I accidentally sat on a voodoo doll of myself, would I be trapped forever in that position, doomed to starve to death?

Logan: How am I supposed to know?

Tyler: You say that as if we don’t use you as a source of knowledge of the occult.

Logan: ...You wouldn't be trapped.

...

Ashlyn: Tyler, keep an eye on Aiden today. He's going to say something to the wrong person and get punched.

Tyler: Sure, I’d love to see him get punched.

Ashlyn: Try again.

Tyler, sighing: I will stop Aiden from getting punched.

...

Aiden, holding a python: Guys I impulsively bought a snake, what do I name him

Tyler: You did WHAT–

Ben: William Snakespeare

...

Ashlyn: Dandelions symbolize everything I want to be in life

Taylor: Fluffy and dead with a gust of wind?

Ashlyn: Unapologetic. Hard to kill. Feral, filled with sunlight, bright, beautiful in a way that the conventional and controlling hate but cannot ever fully destroy. Stubborn. Happy. Bastardous. Friends with bees. Highly disapproving of lawns. Full of wishes that will be carried far after I die.

Aiden: edible

...

Taylor, whispering to Aiden, who’s on the phone with Ashlyn: Ask her something!

Aiden: How are you feeling?

Ashlyn: Fine.

Taylor: Something personal!

Aiden: At what age did you start hearing voices?

...

Aiden: If I die, my funeral is going to be the biggest party ever and you’re all invited

Logan: If?

Tyler: Great, the only party I’d actually go to and he might not even die.

...

Logan: We need a distraction.

Ashlyn: Is anyone here good at jumping up and down and making weird noises?

Aiden, whispering: My time has come

...

Tyler: Where are you going?

Taylor: To get ice cream or commit a felony, I’ll decide on the way there

Tyler: I'll come with

...

Mike, buying a whole bag of knives, guns and other weapons like he's going to war on a random Tuesday: I can explain

Jacob (shop owner): Can you?

Mike: If you give me thirty seconds to think of a lie.

...

Taylor: Heads up, if you try to make a candle with food colouring, it will just sink to the bottom of the glass, and when the flame eventually reaches the bottom all the food colouring will catch fire and become one giant tall flame that you cannot possibly blow out and the glass will start to crack and then you'll throw your tea on it in a panic and then the extremely hot food colouring will boil and sizzle horribly and then the glass will shatter.

Tyler, sighing: What did you do?

Taylor, wailing: A MISTAKE

...

Mr. Thomas: What are your goals?

Ashlyn: To pet all the dogs.

Mr. Thomas: No, I meant your goals for this trip.

Ashlyn: To pet all the dogs in Savannah.

...

Logan: Is letting someone win at chess sapiosexual bottoming?

Ashlyn: Does anyone in this godforsaken group ever think before they speak?

...

Taylor: Aiden isn’t answering his phone

Ashlyn: I’ll call

Taylor: Ben and I have both tried six times each, what makes you thi-

Aiden: Hello?

...

Aiden: I was arrested for being too cool.

Tyler: The charges were dropped due to a lack of supporting evidence.

...

Aiden: Jail is no fun. I’ll tell you that much

Taylor: You’ve been to jail?

Aiden: Once. In Monopoly.

...

Mike: You love me, right?

Emma: Normally, I’d say yes without hesitation, but I feel like this is going somewhere and I don’t like it.

...

Aiden: Let’s watch Sharkboy and Lavagirl.

Ashlyn: Okay

Aiden: And make out during the scary parts.

Ashlyn: The-

Ashlyn: The scary parts?

Ashlyn: Of Sharkboy and Lavagirl.

...

Ashlyn: How petty can you get?

Tyler: I once edited a Wikipedia article to win an argument I was wrong about.

Taylor: I KNEW IT-

...

Aiden: I've already sent good vibes your way… they’re coming. There’s nothing you can do to stop them.

Logan: This is the most threatening way I’ve ever been cheered up.

...

Mike: So what’s for dinner?

Emma, staring at the food she just burnt: Regret.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

That's all for today!

[leriexoxo]

RIVALRY REDEFINED 2

PART TWO

Pairing: Jisung x Reader

Tags: enemies to lovers, fwb, filthy smut, praise kink, spanking, mouth spitting, soft aftercare, jisung is obsessed

“It was supposed to be just hate and hookups—until a late-night call ends with soft touches, praise, and Jisung finally admitting he’s obsessed. Enemies to something more… in the filthiest, sweetest way.”

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

Prev

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You weren’t even trying to get under his skin.

All you did was laugh—a genuine, throw-your-head-back laugh—at something Professor Lee said as you left his class. And yeah, maybe you tapped his arm. Maybe you leaned in a little. But it wasn’t that serious.

Jisung, however, looked like he was ready to commit a felony.

You caught his eyes across the hallway—burning, sharp, unblinking—and immediately clocked the storm brewing behind them. He didn’t look away when you stared back. Just shoved his phone in his pocket and followed.

By the time you hit the steps outside, he was already on you.

“Oh, so now you’re flirting with professors?” he muttered, too close behind you.

You rolled your eyes. “Jesus, are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” he snapped, stalking beside you across the pavement. “You were laughing like he was the funniest thing on earth.”

“Maybe he is. He’s hot, smart, and not a dickhead.”

“Oh yeah?” He cut in front of you, forcing you to stop just before reaching your car. “Is that your type now? Washed-up academics in tweed jackets?”

“I’d take that over insecure assholes who can’t handle seeing a girl smile at someone else.”

He stepped in—way too close, breath brushing your cheek. “You weren’t just smiling.”

You smirked. “You sound jealous.”

His jaw ticked. “I am.”

You blinked, lips parting.

“That a problem?” he asked darkly, gaze dropping to your mouth. “You need me to remind you who the fuck you actually belong to?”

“You wish,” you hissed.

He didn’t flinch. Just looked you dead in the eye and said, low and rough:

“Get in the car.”

Your breath caught.

“Jisung—”

“Now. Before I fuck you against the hood.”

“You’re getting real comfortable talking to me like that” you spat, more than annoyed that you didn’t hate it.

“You looked real cozy with Professor Kim.”

Jisung’s voice hit the back of your neck like a slap as you approached your car.

You didn’t turn around, just clicked your key fob and shot back, “It’s called laughing, Han. You should try it sometime instead of breathing down my neck.”

“Oh, I was laughing,” he scoffed, hot on your heels now. “When you batted your lashes like some brainless little star student. Real fucking funny.”

You spun on him. “I’m allowed to laugh without being accused of whoring myself out.”

His jaw clenched, that little twitch in his cheek giving him away. Jealous. Fuming. And still following you to your car like a dog with a bone he refuses to let go of.

“You’re not allowed to act like mine one day and someone else’s the next.”

You opened the back door of your car, stared at the leather seat for a moment like you were contemplating.

Then: “You’re the one who said there were six weeks left. I’m just playing the game.”

“Get in.”

You stared at him, pulse thudding between your legs before you even obeyed. The twist in your gut had nothing to do with nerves. Just lust. Just the wrong kind of right. You didn’t even argue—because deep down, you wanted to be punished for it.

So you slid into the backseat without another word.

Jisung was in right after you, door slamming shut behind him before his hands were on your thighs, yanking them apart with zero patience.

“Lucky you’ve got tinted windows,” he muttered, dragging your skirt up and bunching it around your waist. “Or the whole damn school would see how easy you fold for me.”

You opened your mouth to say something smart—didn’t get the chance. He leaned in and spat directly into it, thumb on your chin to make sure you swallowed.

“That’s what I thought,” he hissed, pushing you back until your shoulders hit the seat and your knees were up by your chest. “Keep acting like you’ve got a choice.”

He had your panties pushed to the side in one hand, unzipping his jeans with the other, and you barely had time to suck in a breath before he was inside you—deep—bottoming out with a groan that sounded more like a threat.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, head tipping back against the window.

He grabbed your jaw. “Not God, baby. Just me.”

And then he started moving. Long, deep strokes that knocked the air out of your lungs with every thrust, fucking you slow and mean, dragging his cock along your walls like he was carving his name inside you.

“Bet he can’t fuck you like this,” Jisung gritted out. “Bet Professor Kim couldn’t even make you drip like this.”

Your moan was a confession.

He grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

His hand snaked under your thigh, folded you deeper, bent you damn near in half as he pounded into you like you were built to take it. Skin slapping. Breath catching. That little leather squeak of the seat under your slick thighs.

You were ruined—fucked out in the middle of the university parking lot like you weren’t the same girl who aced two exams last week.

And then the first smack hit. Right on your ass. Loud and hot, the sting echoing.

You cried out, and he did it again.

“Keep your voice down,” he growled, spanking you again, “before someone finds out what a desperate little cumdump you are.”

You whined, eyes rolling.

“Yeah, you like that.”

His hand wrapped around your throat next, squeezing just enough to make your legs shake, and when you tried to speak—he spat in your mouth again.

“Swallow it,” he ordered. “Good fucking girl.”

Your orgasm hit like a car crash—violent, sudden, overwhelming. You were shaking, babbling, gripping the seat like your life depended on it.

But Jisung didn’t stop.

He fucked you through it.

His grip bruised your thighs, and you could already feel the marks he was leaving on your neck, your hips, your soul.

When he finally came, it was with a low hiss, burying himself deep and staying there, breathing heavy against your mouth.

“Six weeks,” he muttered again, voice wrecked and mean. “You’re not gonna make it, baby.”

—-

The silence in your room felt louder than ever.

You’d spent the entire week pretending nothing happened. Smiling at classmates. Answering questions in lectures. Keeping your head down when Jisung passed you in the hallway, like your body didn’t remember the press of his fingers around your throat or the sting on your ass from his palm.

But it did. It remembered everything.

You hadn’t looked at him once. Not really. Not since he dragged you into the backseat of your own car and fucked you like he hated you for existing.

But your brain kept playing it back in loops. The way he growled behind your ear, “Told you we had six weeks of this, didn’t I?” as he folded you into a pretzel and filled you like he owned the right to.

The bruises he left between your thighs were still healing.

You’d washed your sheets twice that week—he wasn’t even in your room, and you could still smell him.

You were going insane.

Your hand moved before you could stop it. Just to take the edge off. Just to shut your brain up. You slid down beneath the blanket, breath already shaky. You weren’t even trying to fight it anymore. He’d ruined you and he knew it.

Fingers slid between your thighs and you bit your bottom lip. You didn’t bother being quiet.

You thought about the way he looked down at you in the car, sweaty and furious and possessive. How he spat into your mouth when you dared to say his name too sweet. How he told you that you liked being used like this. How his voice dipped when he said “fucking whore” like it was a prayer.

Your eyes fluttered shut. One hand between your legs, the other pressed against your chest. Everything was hot. Dizzy. Wrong.

You circled your clit harder, chasing it. Breathing ragged. “Fuck, Jisung—”

And then it happened.

Your thumb slipped.

Your phone, still unlocked beside you, rang once.

Your eyes flew open. Your screen lit up.

Call in Progress… Han Jisung.

Your whole body froze.

But not your hand.

And the worst part? You didn’t hang up.

You couldn’t. You were too close.

“…Hello?” His voice cracked through the speaker, groggy, low.

You gasped, still moving. Still throbbing. “Don’t—don’t hang up.”

There was silence on the other end.

Then the sound of shifting sheets. A soft, dark chuckle.

“…Are you touching yourself right now?”

You moaned his name. Whimpered it.

You could hear him breathe, hear how fast it changed.

“No fucking way.”

He groaned low. “Say it again. Let me hear you.”

You didn’t even think.

“Jisung.”

“Fuck—don’t stop. Stay right there.”

Click. He hung up.

But your heart slammed against your ribs because you knew what that meant.

He was coming over.

You barely had time to breathe before the knock echoed off your front door.

Your body tensed.

It was 1:23 a.m.

You already knew who it was.

You scrambled for your hoodie—still no panties—pulling it down over your bare thighs as you padded toward the door, pulse skipping.

You opened it.

And there he was.

Han Jisung. In sweats. Hood up. Eyes glazed with something darker than lust.

“You called me,” he said softly, chest rising and falling like he’d run here.

You nodded, lips parted. “Didn’t mean to—”

He stepped inside without another word.

“You said my name,” he murmured. “When you touched yourself.”

You swallowed thickly. “You weren’t supposed to hear—”

“But I did.”

His hand slid up your side.

“And I liked it.”

Your legs trembled. You weren’t sure if it was shame or arousal—but it didn’t matter.

Because he was already kissing you.

Slow. Deep. Messy. The kind of kiss that took its time. That licked into your mouth like it wanted to stay there. Like he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since the closet. Since the car.

Since you.

“Take me to your room,” he whispered.

And you did.

⸻

He didn’t rip your clothes off. He peeled them away like he was unwrapping a secret he’d been dying to touch.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered, kissing your shoulder, down to your chest, trailing lower. “So fucking pretty like this.”

He kissed the inside of your thighs like he was grateful to be between them.

You moaned when his lips finally reached your pussy, already soaked, twitching from the teasing. He groaned at the taste.

“God, you’ve been thinking about me too much,” he breathed, tongue dragging over your clit like a man starved. “This is all for me, huh?”

You nodded helplessly. “Yes—fuck, Jisung…”

“That’s it,” he praised, voice low and hot against your skin. “Say my name like that again.”

Your legs shook. He gripped your thighs, held them open, and devoured you like he needed it—like you were the only thing that could fix whatever he’d been suffering from.

When your hips bucked, he moaned against your cunt, messy and desperate, like he couldn’t get enough.

You were already spiraling before he even got inside you.

He kissed his way back up, breathing heavy as he hovered over you.

And when he pushed in?

Fuck.

He cursed, long and low. His head dropped to your neck. His hands cradled your thighs as he sunk all the way in, groaning like he’d finally found home.

“Shit… you’re perfect.”

You clung to him.

His strokes were deep. Slow. Steady. Like he didn’t want to rush it this time. Like he wanted to make you feel every inch of him.

“You take me so well,” he whispered. “So warm. So fucking tight—feels like your pussy was made for me.”

You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

He kissed your cheek. Your jaw. Your lips.

He didn’t degrade. He praised.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this.”

“Look at you—making me lose my goddamn mind.”

His hand slipped between your bodies and found your clit. He rubbed slow, tight circles, watching your face as you fell apart.

“You gonna come for me, baby?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes—yes, please, Jisung, I’m so close—”

“Good girl,” he whispered. “Come for me. Just like that.”

You broke.

Your thighs clamped around him. Your back arched. Your pussy pulsed around his cock so tight he groaned into your neck, burying himself deep as he chased his own high.

When he came, it was with a choked moan and your name falling from his lips.

He collapsed over you, chest pressed to yours, both of you gasping like you’d just run a marathon.

Neither of you said anything for a while.

He pulled out slowly. And when you expected him to get up and leave, he did something shocking.

He stayed.

Tugged the blanket up. Pulled you against his chest. Pressed a kiss to your forehead like it was nothing.

You laid there in the dark, tangled up in his warmth, his scent, his everything. The room was quiet—only the soft hum of your fan and the slow, synced rhythm of your breaths.

Jisung’s fingers were brushing lazily up and down your spine. You felt… safe.

And then he spoke.

Soft. Honest. Real.

“I don’t think I ever hated you.”

You blinked, breath catching.

He exhaled like the words had been carved from his lungs.

“I pretended I did. Because it made it easier to deal with all of this. With you.”

You turned your face to his chest, the quiet thud of his heartbeat suddenly louder than anything in the room.

“You’re in my fucking head all the time. Every time we argued, I wasn’t even mad. I was addicted.”

His voice was rough now. Raw.

“I’ve never met someone who pisses me off and turns me on like you do. You challenge me, you outsmart me, and then you look at me like I’m nothing. That smug little smirk, the way you walk past me like you don’t feel it too—it drove me insane.”

You swallowed, body frozen.

“But the worst part?” he murmured, tilting your chin up so you had to meet his eyes. “You’re fucking brilliant. And sexy. And way too good at pretending none of this matters. But I see through you.”

He kissed your nose. Gentle. Soft. So unlike the man who wrecked you earlier.

“I know you feel it.”

You stayed silent, your breath shaky.

He leaned in close again, voice low like a secret.

“I’ve memorized the way you sound when you come. I think about it when I’m alone. I think about your thighs wrapped around me, your nails in my back, your voice cracking when you say my name like I own you.”

Your hips pressed together subconsciously, warmth spreading all over again.

“But it’s not just sex anymore, is it?” he whispered, thumb brushing your cheek. “Because now I can’t stop wondering what it’d feel like to wake up to you without having to sneak out. I want to take you to coffee without pretending I hate you. I want to kiss you in public and not have to pretend it’s a fucking mistake.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, eyes locked on yours.

“I’m not asking for anything you don’t want. But I’m done pretending. You drive me crazy. And I like it. I want it. I want you.”

You could barely speak.

Because no one had ever said something so filthy and beautiful in the same breath.

And Jisung?

He just pulled you closer and whispered, “Don’t overthink it tonight. Just stay. Right here. With me.”

And for the first time, you did.

No arguing. No fighting. No pretending.

Just you. Him.

And all the tension between you finally making sense.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: awwwww so sweet 🥹 so y’all asked for a part two and i delivered!! I hope you liked it???? Dont forget to like and reblog ❤️

Taglist: @hjsui @iknow-uknow-leeknow @pochacco-baby

[mediumgayitalian]

"Don't worry about me."

"I'm allowed to worry for people when they are doing stupid, foolish things."

"You worry about everyone."

"False. I've never worried about Cecil Markowitz a day in my life."

Nico snorts, tugging on his boot and yanking on the laces. "Right," he drawls, "and the insistence on walking him fourteen entire fucking miles to the bus stop at the end of camp was because..."

Will flushes. "Because he's stupid, okay. He's actually unwell. I checked his brain and everything. If I leave him alone too long he'll get kidnapped, and then what?" He cocks a hip to one side, crossing his arms and tapping his foot and generally just looking like a carbon copy of his mother. Nico mourns his lack of camera. He needs to send Naomi another snapshot for the Wall of You Do Act Like Me, You Little Shit. "What am I gonna do if he dies, huh? Resort to off-brand Twizzlers? I'd rather kill myself."

The frayed ends of his laces cooperate, finally. He desperately needs new combats but the thought of having to break in a new pair makes him want to strangle the nearest karpoi. Any one of them would do.

Nico pushes himself to his feet, cupping both sides of his boyfriend's scowling face and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, holding there until he feels them soften. He smiles, snickering at Will's huffy pout.

"I am doing one errand," he says, exasperated. "Just one."

Will throws his hands up. "You know who else did one errand?! Orpheus! That's right, dumbass, and he died! So!"

He waves his hands again, because obviously he cannot simply make his point with his words alone. Oh, no. His whole body needs to get involved, or else there is Not Enough Emphasis.

Gods, Nico loves him to death.

To death, and then some.

"You are more dramatic than your father," Nico says, kissing him again before pulling away. "You know that?"

"I thought you loved me," Will grumbles. "I thought you loved me, and then you go around saying such insulting things. Don't you love me? People who love me would never say that to me."

"I have actually heard that exact speech come from Apollo's mouth. Twice, at least."

"I'm about to commit a felony. It rhymes with shmassault and battery."

"Shut the fuck up," Nico says, but he's grinning. Will is scowling hard but doing a very bad job of it, and Nico can actually see the don't you dare fucking laugh you're mad at him you have to stay mad at him flashing around in his eyes.

Nico swipes his thumb gently over his freckled cheeks.

It does not take very long for him to cave.

"I'm just worried," he admits, sagging into Nico's hold. His head, as it always has, fits perfectly in the crook of Nico's neck. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to his temple.

"Knew it."

"Shut up." The quick curve of his exasperated smile twitches against Nico's collarbones. "I just mean. Gods above, Nico. It's all the way across the country."

"I shadow travelled all the way across the world, once," Nico reminds him. He runs a hand through fraying curls. "I was fourteen at the time."

"Yeah, and you almost fuckin' died."

Will pulls away, agitated, and Nico lets him. The fraying curls get worse with every tug of his twitching hands, and the sound of his own echoing pacing makes him jump. The bags are deep and black under his eyes.

Nico sighs.

"Will," he says, and words hard to keep the frustration out of his tone, "Will, sweetheart, you cleared me."

But Will isn't listening. The mumbling has started, and so has the fidgeting; the bandages around his arms twist, and twist, and tug, leaving red marks on his bruised wrists.

"Monitoring hymn," Nico hears him mutter. "Or a lifeline..."

Nico checks his watch. He's -- well, he's late, technically, but he's never been punctual even one time, so it's fine. He's got time. He flops to the marble floors, leaning against his bedpost. He watches his boyfriend, notes the flicker and flash of his glowing freckles, of his spattered burn scars.

You and I both know you will be fine, Chiron had said. He had sighed, long and aged and hard, and stared at his buzzing, fritzy student. It will be good for him. Exposure.

"Will," he calls, eventually. "Tesoro."

Will stops. He blinks, coming back to himself, to the cabin. He searches around, eyes settling on Nico's comfy spot on the floor.

He sighs, shoulders sagging. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. He stands there a long while, still except his breathing, tense.

"Everything is -- green," he says eventually, voice small. "I don't know how to stop it."

"You know how to make it worse," Nico points out, as gently as he can manage. "You've been spiraling for weeks."

"Not -- weeks."

"Since the start of the month."

"Yeah, only a few days."

"It's the thirtieth, Will."

He looks up, eyes wide. "No." He blinks. "Actually?"

Nico's smile is small and sad. "Yes."

"I thought -- I thought --"

"I know."

He doesn't really. He's watched it for years, but he doesn't -- understand, not in the way he understands the depression, the anger, the grief. He and Will have more things in common than they don't, but he doesn't spiral. Not like Will does. His pain has always bubbled and burst its way out of him, tingeing the edge of his vision red and igniting the curl of his fists. His pain has made him quick. His pain has made him quick, it has made him bitter, it has made him miserable, but it has always pushed him forward.

Will's pain gets curled up endlessly inside him, twisting his insides to knots.

It robs him, sometimes.

"Come here."

Will does. The fight has drained out of him, and there are tears in his eyes, even as he tries desperately to blink them away. His bandages lay limp at his sides, fluttering in the breeze from the still-open door.

"It's not that I don't trust you," he says, somewhat desperately. He turns so they're facing each other, criss-crossed knees knocking. "I do."

"I know," Nico says. He manages a small smile. "I always know that, Will."

"Good." His bright eyes soften in relief, fingers rubbing at his sternum. "You -- you're powerful, Death Boy. More than anyone I've ever known."

Nico raises his eyebrows. "Careful with that, Sunshine. You're going to get smited."

"Smote."

"Don't correct me when we're having a vulnerable moment."

"Don't need correcting, then."

Nico's smile widens. Will's, this time, matches, dimple flashing on his left cheek. Nico presses his thumb there, relishing in the sudden heat of Will's face and accompanying rolled, flustered eyes. He lingers, and stares, and stares, even as Will squirms, as the glow turns into something hotter than blood heat.

"I'm going to be okay, my love."

"I know."

"It's one jump. Hazel is waiting, unicorn draught at the ready in case I start swooning like a damsel."

"I know."

"Even my dad knows."

"I know."

"I would actually have to try to die, Will. Like there would have to be real effort on my part."

"Just --" he scrunches up his nose -- "I don't know what you could say that would make me less scared of it. Of losing you."

"I mean it would kind of suck if you did." He tilts their foreheads together, because it looks stupid as shit at this angle, and he knows Will'll laugh. He's right. "Since you love me and everything."

"I suppose it's one of those conditions," Will allows. "The whole caring if you up and die thing."

"Yep."

"S'a real pain in the ass."

"You're telling me. I was just fine being an emo loner, not giving a fuck about anything, and then you had to go ruin it. Now I gotta stress about your wellbeing and shit."

"Must be exhausting."

"Miserable." He reaches for Will's hands and squeezes, hard, until Will squeezes back. "It is the most important thing to me, though. Ever."

Will swallows. "Okay."

"I love you, Will Solace. Even when you are annoying about grammar and when you are prodding me about my iron levels and when you are so far in your head you're losing time." He pulls back slightly, just enough to press a kiss to Will's knuckles. "Especially then."

"I love you, too." Will swallows. "You'll be okay."

"I will."

"And you'll IM me when you get there."

"I will."

"And I'll be okay. Waiting."

Nico smiles softly. "You will be."

Will takes a deep breath. He nods. He stands, pulling them both up, and walks to the darkest corner of the Hades cabin, shoulders tense but face brave. He turns, exhaling slowly, and brushes invisible lint of Nico's shoulders, hands lingering.

"I will see you when you get back," he says.

"When I get back," Nico echoes. He kisses him again. "Worrier."

Will huffs, and Nico laughs, and he lets go, and Will lets him, and he steps into the familiar darkness, and the last thing he sees before the shadows envelope him is the trust in Will's light eyes.

[maskedbyghost]

You ask, I deliver:

The possessive reader AU, I know neither of them can stand the thought of their partner going to the dentist. Laying back, letting someone else know the interior of that mouth, fingers sliding over soft tissue and mapping out the points of those teeth? Possibly drawing blood that should rightfully be theirs? Someone sedate these two like they’re aggressive cats coming in for a cleaning at the vet.

shoutout to this absolute legend who sent me the idea because you unlocked something unholy in me. READ PART 1 HERE cw: smut, possessive/obsessive behavior, semi-public sex (in a car), unprotected sex..

You drive him to the appointment because he hates doing it alone. Still, honestly, the entire time you’re behind the wheel, you’re gripping it hard enough that you’re surprised it doesn’t just snap in half, because the only thing going through your head is the mental image of some stranger putting their hands in Simon’s mouth, tilting his head back, touching him in places that should be yours, places only you should ever be allowed to know, and the tiny noises he makes when he’s uncomfortable.

You swear to god if you think about it one second longer, you might actually commit a felony.

Simon looks over at you once when you stop at a red light, raises an eyebrow under his cap, and says, “You gonna calm down, sweetheart, or am I gonna have to sedate you this time?”

And you smile at him, all bright and sunny like the most normal girlfriend ever, except you know it’s not right, you can feel it pulling at your mouth wrong, too many teeth showing, a smile you have to force out of yourself before you start growling or crying or both.

Simon just shakes his head a little and mutters, “Terrifying,” under his breath like he thinks you can’t hear him.

At the office, you sit together in those shitty chairs, pretending you’re normal people, and you’re almost holding it together until the door opens and of course it’s a young woman, pretty, smiling, fresh little uniform and shiny name tag and all, and your stomach twists itself into a thousand angry knots because now you’re not just imagining some faceless stranger, you’re staring at the exact woman who’s about to put her hands in Simon’s mouth, who’s about to know the little sounds he makes when he flinches, who's gonna touch him, smell him, see him with his mask off, and you grip the chair so hard you think it might crack.

“Simon Riley?” she calls, all sweet and professional, and Simon stands up, but before he can even move, you grab his wrist like you’re going to drag him back down into the chair and refuse to let him go, and he just gives you this look, this calm, amused, patient look that makes you want to bite him right there in the waiting room.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, like he knows you’re two seconds from throwing yourself at the poor woman and clawing her eyes out, and he squeezes your hand once before he goes, and that’s the only thing that keeps you in your seat.

You sit there staring at the closed door, thinking about all the ways you could ruin this woman’s life if she smiles too much or laughs at one of his stupid little jokes or leans too close or touches him too long, because no one should get to touch him but you, no one should get to see how good he is when he’s soft and quiet and letting someone take care of him, and it’s yours, it’s all supposed to be yours, and god, you’re so far gone you don’t even want to be normal about it anymore.

By the time he comes back out, you’re already halfway to throwing a fit, but he just looks tired and a little dazed from the fluoride, and he’s rubbing his jaw like it’s sore, and that’s all it takes for the switch to flip in your brain, from violent to protective in half a second.

You drag him out into the parking lot without a word, shoving him into the passenger seat and climbing over him before he can even say anything, straddling his lap with your knees pressed into the seat on either side of his hips, grabbing his face in both hands like you’re checking him over for damage even though what you really want is to mark him, make him messy, make him smell like you so no one else ever gets any stupid ideas again.

“She touched you,” you whisper, half accusation, half devastation, pressing your forehead to his while breathing him in so hard it feels like you’re trying to pull the air out of his lungs.

“She wore gloves,” he says, voice low and careful like he’s talking to a crazy person, which, fair, because you are, and it’s not even enough, it’s not even close to enough, because he still let her, still let someone else close, still trusted someone else to take care of him when that’s your job.

You kiss him messy and hard, sliding your hands into his hair, tugging at it just to feel him grunt against your mouth, and then you’re rocking your hips against him, grinding down until you feel him start to stiffen underneath you, until you know he can’t even think straight anymore, and you pull back just enough to pant into his mouth, “Mine. All mine. No one else touches you. No one else gets to even look at you like that.”

Simon’s hands dig into your waist, trying to slow you down, trying to catch his breath, but you’re not having it.

You’re already unbuttoning his jeans with shaky hands, already sinking down onto him with a broken little gasp because you need it, need him inside you, need to erase the memory of someone else touching him, need to make him so messy and ruined that no one else would ever dare think he belonged to anyone but you.

You ride him fast and desperate, muttering broken things against his skin, promises and threats and prayers all tangled together — "you're mine, mine, only mine, gonna mark you up so bad no one'll even think about touching you again, gonna make you come so hard you forget everyone else’s name but mine"

And Simon’s already so wrecked, clinging to you, groaning into your neck, hips stuttering helplessly, and when you bite down on his shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise through his hoodie, he spills inside you with a sound so rough and desperate it’s almost a sob.

You don't let up, grinding on him slow and filthy, kissing his throat, his jaw, whispering, "mine, mine, always mine," over and over again until you feel him throb inside you one more time, a second, broken little aftershock you didn’t even know was possible.

And when you finally pull back and look at him, red-faced, breathing hard, pupils blown wide, he just smiles that stupid, wrecked little smile he only ever gives you, and you know you don’t have to say anything else.

Because the way he looks at you — like he belongs to you, like he wants to belong to you — is all the proof you’ll ever need.

-------------------------------------------

fuck me i love them

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate

[daxisyzz]

⁺‧˚ ⋆ 𝐁𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥 | 𝒃𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔 ⋆ ˚‧⁺

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 3: 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒆𝒐'𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅

Pairings: ceo!boss!bucky barnes × fem!reader

Other characters: bestfriend!Natasha romanoff, platonic!coworker! Wanda Maximoff, Sam Wilson and Peter Parker.

Contents: fake dating, chaotic relationship dynamic, workplace romance, contract relationship.

Summary: News of your relationship spreads like wildfire, and suddenly, you’re the most talked-about person in the company. Between nosy coworkers, jealous stares, and Bucky mysteriously showing up wherever you go, you start to wonder—who exactly is pretending here?

Word count: 2.3k+

Warnings and tags: Bucky’s mean for a split second, he's a cute menace, hyper bestie Nat, judgemental office people, Reader keeps spiralling, many scene switches.

Series masterlist Episode 2 Episode 4

Inspired by the kdrama Business Proposal

Previously on Business Proposal...

You stare at him, fully aware you're about to sign away your entire life. And yet—your landlord just raised the rent, your boss (who's sitting in front of you) is on the verge of layoffs, and your bank account is actively crying.

You had no choice.

With utter resignation, you grab the pen, sign the contract, and glare at him.

“If I go to jail for this, I’m haunting you.”

Bucky smirks, completely unbothered. "Oh, sweetheart, this is just the beginning."

_____________________●

It has been two days since you held that contract and signed it to become your boss's girlfriend. Nothing much has happened except for you learning info about Bucky from a file he provided, about his likes and dislikes—to make it more realistic.

You walked into the office exhausted. No one knew about your relationship yet, and you didn’t know when he was going to reveal it to the public, but you weren’t exactly thrilled. For the past few days, Bucky had been his typical self: ice-cold with a petty streak the size of the Empire State Building.

You were beginning to think you had signed a contract with the devil himself. Ever since you agreed to be Bucky Barnes' girlfriend, he had done nothing but make your life miserable in the most cliché way possible.

Your inbox was flooded.

Your calendar was triple-booked.

And worst of all?

He was making you present at the 8 a.m. executive meeting without any warning.

You were dying.

He walked past your desk, perfectly polished in his charcoal suit with a smug aura, and tossed a file down—barely glancing at you.

"Need this by four."

You blinked at him, jaw slack.

"You said five—"

He cut you off smoothly: "I changed my mind." You stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. He smirked. Smirked.

"Oh, and don’t forget the new compliance reports. I want your summary on my desk first thing tomorrow."

"Are you serious?" you asked, already spiraling.

"Every time."

He turned and walked off like a villain in a spy movie while you genuinely contemplated sending your resignation via passive-aggressive memes.

Later that evening, you sat at your desk after work hours, rubbing your eyes among empty coffee cups and a document that refused to format itself.

Bucky emerged from his office with a silent air which, in your state, you might have missed if he hadn’t cleared his throat.

You didn’t look at him.

He came closer, leaning against your office doorframe and clearing his throat again to catch your attention.

"I might’ve overdone it," he said eventually.

You still didn’t look.

"I didn’t mean to actually... break you."

That finally got your attention. You turned to face him with a deadpan glare. "You gave me seven different tasks with three conflicting deadlines."

He winced. "In my defense, you lied to my face—twice."

"And in my defense, I’m one paper jam away from committing a felony."

He chuckled, then softened.

"Go home," he said quietly.

"I'll send the rest to someone else."

You stared. "What's the catch?"

"No catch." He hesitated, then added with a small smile, "I'll make it up to you. Fake boyfriend's honor."

You grabbed your bag and muttered, "Whatever weird revenge arc this is, I hope it ends soon."

He watched you gather your things in silence, too tired to argue.

Your eyes were rimmed red from hours of screen-staring, and your shoulders slumped under the weight of the day he’d dumped on you. Even now, you didn’t say anything snarky or bite back.

You simply walked past him with a quiet “Thanks.”

And that was somehow worse.

Bucky leaned against the glass wall of your office, jaw clenched. Damn it.

"She tricked you first," his brain reminded him, smug and cruel. "She pretended to be someone else, played me like a fool."

But…

"She looked like she was about to cry," he muttered under his breath, running a hand down his face. "I’m not a monster."

It wasn’t that he meant to overwork you—not really. He just got carried away. You made him feel off-kilter, and he didn’t like that. So he punished you with tasks, meetings, and impossible deadlines.

Petty.

Childish.

Effective.

But now? Now he felt like crap.

"Why do I feel guilty? She lied first."

He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. "This isn't in the contract."

After a well-deserved sleep, you woke up feeling somewhat refreshed. You got ready, dreading the day ahead. Something was not right—you could feel it. Your gut never lies.

The word was out.

You were halfway through your iced coffee when Peter Parker, the new social media manager you befriended, ran into the office as if he had personally discovered the second coming of Christ.

"Are you dating the CEO?!"

You blinked, barely registering his words.

"What—no—what?!"

"Peter, inside voice," Wanda muttered behind him as she slid into her chair.

Sam raised an eyebrow from behind his computer. "So it's true."

You glanced around. The entire floor buzzed with whispers. You could feel their stares poking at you. Someone was even scrolling through a Reddit thread titled "The Employee Who Tamed the CEO."

You didn’t know how it leaked—maybe HR—but by lunch, the entire office knew.

You were dating Bucky Barnes.

You didn’t even have time to breathe before he appeared. There he was, in one of his many ridiculously tailored suits, slow strides and perfectly styled hair, his smirk as infuriating as ever. And—was that a second cup of coffee in his hand?

"Morning, babe," he said, placing your favorite order right next to your elbow.

"You looked tired yesterday. Thought I'd help." You stared at the drink like it might explode. Everyone’s jaw dropped.

You opened your mouth to respond but— "Oh, babe," Bucky interjected smoothly, crouching next to your desk like it was an everyday routine, "I've canceled all your meetings so you can rest. Just attend the brainstorming session, alright?"

Babe?

You made a strangled noise in your throat. "Alright," you said with a smile that suggested your soul wasn’t screaming.

Later, alone in the break room, you cornered him by the fridge, voice low and frantic. "What is happening?! Yesterday you tried to kill me via Google Calendar, and now you're acting like we’ve been married for five years."

Bucky leaned against the counter, calm as ever. "Things changed."

"Oh, really?"

"The office knows. Gotta sell it."

You stared. "So your solution is to completely change your personality?!"

He smiled—soft, this time. "No. I’m just being the boyfriend you tricked me into becoming." You opened your mouth.

Then closed it.

"...I need stronger coffee," you muttered, turning on your heel.

Behind you, Bucky’s grin widened as if he were enjoying it way too much.

You sat at your usual table in the cafeteria with Wanda, Sam, and Peter, eating lunch and pretending not to notice the sideways glances from other tables.

"They’re staring again," Peter whispered, leaning over his tray of fries.

Wanda didn’t even look up from her salad. "Let them. I’d stare too if my friend suddenly started dating our CEO."

"It’s wild, though," Sam grinned. "One day you’re quietly working like the rest of us, and the next day—boom. CEO’s smiling like someone handed him the keys to his dream car."

You covered your face with your hands. "Can we not talk about this?"

Too late.

The cafeteria door swung open with an audible creak.

In walked Natasha Romanoff—hair perfect, sunglasses still on indoors, lips pressed as if she meant business.

She stopped in the middle of the room, scanned the crowd, and headed straight for you.

"Oh no," you whispered. "She found me." Wanda blinked. "You didn’t tell her?"

"I was going to. Eventually. Maybe. In a controlled environment."

Nat reached your table, hands on her hips. "You! We’re talking. Now."

You barely had time to set your drink down before she grabbed your wrist and pulled you up from the chair.

Sam let out a low whistle. "Uh-oh."

Peter muttered, "Good luck," as if sending you off to war.

Natasha didn’t say a word as she marched you through the halls, then stopped at an empty meeting room and shut the door behind you. Only once she let go of your arm did she speak. She simply stared before saying,

"I’m sorry."

You blinked. "What?"

"I’m serious," she said softly. "I should’ve never made you take that date for me. I was being selfish, and I didn’t think it’d spiral into... this." She gestured vaguely, as if “this” were too ridiculous to name.

You folded your arms. "Nat, it’s fine. Really."

She stared harder. "You almost got fired. That’s on me."

You shifted uneasily. "I didn’t. So don’t worry about it."

She shook her head. "No. You went to that restaurant dressed like a lunatic to scare a stranger off—and that stranger turned out to be your boss. The boss. This is peak corporate drama. I should’ve never put you in that situation."

You hesitated cause Nat seemed tohave no clue. "You didn’t force me. I said yes."

"You always say yes when I ask for stuff. That doesn’t mean I should’ve asked."

Your expression softened. "Well, joke’s on you, 'cause I bagged my CEO."

Nat stared. "You what now?"

You grinned exaggeratedly. "Yep. Dating him now. Whole-ass relationship."

Her mouth opened slightly. "Wait. Are you serious?"

You nodded, still beaming(gotta sell the act). "It’s... new. And weird. But yeah."

She squinted at you. "Since when are you into CEO types?"

"Since they started showing up at my desk with cappuccinos and weirdly good cologne."

Nat stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Okay, but—are you okay? Is he pushing you into anything? I swear, if he’s threatening you behind all that rich guy charm—"

"No," you interrupted quickly. "Nothing like that. He’s... surprisingly nice."

She narrowed her eyes. "You’re being really vague. Suspiciously vague..."

"...I can tell when you're lying."

"I’m happy, Nat."

She paused, then said, "Fine. I’ll pretend I believe you. But just know I’ll gut him if he hurts you."

You laughed. "Duly noted."

Nat sighed, stepping back and brushing imaginary dust off your blazer. "Alright. If you’re gonna keep seeing him, we’re leveling up your date-night looks. I’m pulling up to your door with all my new collections."

You blinked. "For what?"

"For your next date. You think you’re gonna keep dating the city’s most eligible CEO and wear those sad office blouses? No offense, but—no."

You groaned. "Nat—"

"Nope. Already picking dresses in my head. You’ll thank me later when you look like a million bucks and he’s short-circuiting."

You squinted. "You’re enjoying this too much."

"I need this win," she said seriously. "You deserve to look like a goddess after what I dragged you into."

You softened. "You’re forgiven. Really."

She smiled, finally relaxing. "Good. I'll leave you to it. I need the details soon. Gotta go, love—bye." She sent a kiss as you gave a tiny wave back.

The door to the meeting room clicked shut behind Natasha as she continued her day, leaving you alone with that drink still in your hand. You were still processing the chaotic whirlwind of her advice—especially about the date. You had thought she’d be more subtle, but that was clearly too much to ask.

You stared at your phone, shaking your head in disbelief as you scrolled through Natasha's texts. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, trying to focus on a reply, but the flood of messages kept coming in.

Natasha: “This red dress screams ‘CEO arm candy.’”

Natasha: “Do you own heels that don’t look like they’ve been to war?”

Natasha: “Lipstick shade: ‘I will ruin you.’ Thoughts?”

Natasha: “Wait, should I book a glam team? I know people.”

You could practically hear her voice in every text, each one more ridiculous than the last. Rolling your eyes, you typed back, trying to keep the sarcasm to a minimum:

You: “Nat, please—I work in marketing. This isn’t Bridgerton.”

Almost immediately, a new text arrived, and your eyes widened at the sight of the attached picture—a sparkly, backless dress that was way too much for a fake date. You sighed dramatically and shook your head. Just as you were about to craft a snarky reply, the sudden sensation of being watched made the hairs on your neck stand up.

You froze, your stomach twisting with a mix of nerves and something else. Before you could even turn, you felt a familiar presence in the doorway, and your heart skipped a beat.

There stood Bucky Barnes—silent, tall, his frame filling the entrance as he cast a shadow over your phone while he watched you.

You gasped, nearly dropping your phone. "God—!"

Bucky blinked, unfazed, as he stepped into the room, casually sipping from his travel mug. "Coffee machine’s slow today."

"No. You’re a creep," you hissed, clutching your chest. "Were you standing there the whole time?"

He sipped his mug, glancing at your phone as you tried to hide the screen in panic. "Planning something without me?"

You scrambled for words. "It’s just Nat. She’s... enthusiastic."

Bucky leaned on the conference table beside you, his eyes locked on your phone. His expression was unreadable, but the corners of his mouth twitched—as if he were holding back a smile. "Red dress or the sparkly one?"

Your jaw practically hit the floor. "You—!"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "You type loud."

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. "Why are you like this?"

He brushed past you, heading toward the counter as if he hadn’t just startled you.

"Just making sure my girlfriend’s not cheating on me with Valentino," he murmured casually. Then, with a wink, he added, "I have to keep up the act, don’t I?"

Your heart raced, and your mind scrambled to catch up with his sudden shift in demeanor. The flirtatious, teasing tone sent your stomach flipping.

Before you could say another word, he was already out of the room—as if he had places to be, the ever-dedicated workaholic.

Still staring at the door, you took a deep breath, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Your fingers flew to your phone, sending a quick text to Natasha in search of clarity amidst the chaos.

You: “He’s possessed. He’s like boyfriend of the year now. I need answers.”

You waited, and it didn’t take long before Natasha’s reply lit up your screen.

Natasha: “So what I’m hearing is: red dress.”

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but laugh. Shaking off the unease Bucky left behind, one thing was clear: things were getting way more complicated than they should be.

A/n: sorry for uploading this a bit late but here's the next episode. Lemme know your thoughts. Love you guys. Have a great day!!

Taglist: @calwitch, @scott-loki-barnes, @baw1066, @awesompawsum, @bucky-baby-barnes, @marianastudiesart, @pattiemac1, @maryevm, @borkybawnes, @mcira

[fluentmoviequoter]

Wrong Start

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader (with a twin)

Summary: You're arrested for a crime you didn't commit. After you point Officers Bradford and Chen in the right direction, Tim decides you got off on the wrong start and wants to make it up to you.

Warnings: fluff, brief angst, discussion of mass murder, estranged family

Word Count: 1.1k+ words

A knock on your door at midnight wakes you long before you hoped to, making you reach for your phone. Los Angeles is dangerous enough with a mass murderer still on the loose. Your neighbor has watched the story closely, and though you’re not overly interested in the reporters’ version of the crime, you know it pays to be vigilant. When you see two police officers standing at your front door, you grip the phone tighter and pull the door open.

“Good evening, officers,” you greet.

The male officer says your name, and you nod. You spare a glance at the woman beside him, and she grimaces nearly imperceptibly. It’s fast, but something in her eyes tells you this night will worsen.

“That’s me,” you tell him. “Is something wrong?”

“You’re under arrest,” he states. “Please step forward and turn to face the door. Slowly.”

Your brows furrow even as you step forward and begin to turn. “For what?”

“Murder,” the woman supplies. “Fourteen counts of felony murder, assault with a deadly weapon, and domestic terrorism.”

“Whoa, what?!” you exclaim, pulling away from the half-secured handcuffs.

“Don’t,” the man warns lowly, gripping your wrist and pulling you toward him. “Trust me, you don’t want to make this any worse than it already is.”

“But I didn’t kill anybody!” you argue. “You have the wrong person!”

“That’s not up to us to decide. You’ll get your day in court, but the warrant says you are the person we need to arrest, so stop resisting.”

You fall silent as the man reads you your Miranda rights, and for a brief moment, you’re struck with an unwelcome sense of attraction. The officer is undoubtedly handsome, but this is not the time to develop a crush. You haven’t killed anyone, and there is absolutely no reason they should be looking for anyone even remotely like you!

At that thought, you stop on the sidewalk less than three feet from the police car. The handsome officer nudges you forward, but you feel like your shoes have been filled with cement.

“You are under arrest; do you understand that?” he asks.

“Why me?” you question.

“What do you mean?” the other officer – whose name tag you now see says Chen – inquires.

“Did you find fingerprints at the scene?” Neither of them answers, so you say, “DNA then.”

“It’s on the warrant, might as well tell her,” Officer Handsome but Grumpy rumbles.

“Yes, we found DNA at the scene of the murder,” she explains. “Yours.”

You exhale slowly. “I… I have a twin. Estranged, but we have the same DNA. How did you even connect it to me?”

“Short answer, trash is public property once it’s on the curb,” Officer Bradford explains.

“Okay, okay,” you mumble. Speaking up, you say, “I’ll go with you. But please look for my twin, I-I know I didn’t do it, so if you found my DNA…”

“Blaming a twin,” Bradford muses. “That’s a new one.”

“Tim,” Officer Chen whispers, cutting her eyes toward yours.

He hesitates, watching your eyes as you fight tears and stare at a crack in the sidewalk. Then he places you in the back of his cruiser and drives you to booking.

“She claims she has an estranged twin who had to have done it,” Tim tells Angela. “I don’t buy it.”

“That kind of devastation is hard to fake,” Lucy argues. “She seemed genuinely distressed that her sibling could have done this.”

“Or she was distressed that you didn’t seem to believe her,” Nyla offers. “I’ll look into her family, see what I can find. If she actually has a twin…”

“Let us know,” Lucy requests.

“Timothy Bradford,” Angela greets as he and Lucy return to the station. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“Pass,” Tim says.

“You can’t pass.”

“Pass.”

“Uh, Tim?” Lucy interrupts. “Who is that?”

“Looks like your murder suspect,” he tells Angela. “What changed?”

Lucy flinches as the handcuffed woman jerks back before attempting to kick a passing officer as she less-than-politely asks for his handcuff key.

“That,” Angela begins slowly, “is the twin.”

“I told you.”

Tim turns quickly, and his shoulders drop when he sees you standing behind him. You send him a small smile and wave with the folder in your hand.

“You did,” he concedes. “Sorry.”

You smile as Angela pulls Lucy away from Tim. “No hard feelings, you were just doing your job.”

Your twin begins yelling your name, and you pull your lower lip between your teeth as you look down. Tim lays his hand on your arm and directs you away from the bullpen. Out of your twin's sight, you laugh wetly and thank him.

“I guess this is better than being wrongly convicted, but it’s…” you begin before shrugging.

“It doesn’t make this part any easier,” Tim adds. “Finding out someone you love is responsible for something like this isn't easy. I’m sorry you had to get pulled into it.”

“You’re much nicer when you feel guilty,” you muse with a smile.

“You’re just as annoying,” he counters with a matching smile that lets you know he’s joking. Mostly.

“And to think, I was going to tell the jury that you were nice to me!”

“You don’t have to testify,” Tim reminds you. “You were estranged, you didn’t know.”

“No, but I’ve seen enough to believe it. It sucks, but it’s the least I can do. Family or not, justice needs to be served. Dozens of families have been changed forever because of one decision.”

“Well…” Tim looks around before he decides, “Never mind.”

“Well, what?” you press. “You already arrested me for fourteen murders, this isn’t the time to get nervous to talk to me.”

Tim’s eyes widen in surprise, and he says, “You don’t have to say yes.”

“I don’t know what I’m answering, though.”

“Will you go out with me?” he asks quickly.

You hesitate to answer, and Tim immediately begins backpedaling. You place your hand on his arm and shut him up immediately.

“I wasn’t going to say no, I just wasn’t expecting you to ask that. I thought I’d have to do it, and then get rejected,” you explain. “Are you serious?”

“As serious as I was when I arrested you.”

“That is not funny!” you exclaim with a laugh.

“Look, we got off to a really bad start-“

“The worst.”

“Sure, the worst start, but… you’re kind of great.”

“Kind of? I am amazing, and yes, I would love to go out with you.”

Tim nods, smiling as he offers his phone to give him your number.

“Promise not to arrest me again?” you request.

“Or?”

“I’m not going to threaten you, a few hours in a smelly cell was more than enough.”

“I’ll try to make it up to you.”

You smile and take several backward steps, then call, “First I’m arrested, then I’m annoying, and you’re expecting to make that up with one singular date night?”

“It’s a start.”

[valiwrites]

reincarnation ✧.* formula 1

part 2 part 3

: ̗̀➛ pairing: formula 1 x senna!reincarnation!male!oc (nico santos) : ̗̀➛ warnings: strong language, people shipping drivers but nothing serious, bromance, hate comments : ̗̀➛ author’s note: i wrote this before and got a lot of hate for it. if it’s not your thing, just scroll past—no need to spread negativity. i didn’t write this just to read mean comments.

: ̗̀➛ smau

masterlist

danielricciardo ✔︎

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, nicosantos and 1.3m others

danielricciardo the funniest part was... i had to held him back so he didn't murder anyone yesterday

view all 345k comments

user1 reason 727390 why daniel and nico are my fav duo

user2 showed my dad a picture of nico and he said he hasn't seen anything of senna in years i had to explain to him that this is not senna 😭

user3 my mom said that too!! but nico hates being called senna

charles_leclerc i haven't seen nico that mad ever

user4 why is the first picture so wholesome tho omg

user5 because danny is wholesome

user6 nico was ready to commit a whole crime and daniel said ✨no✨

maxverstappen1 i was lowkey scared for my life not gonna lie

user7 danny out here being the emotional support human for a guy who could probably fight god

user8 nah but the way nico looks at daniel in the vid… y’all seeing this or am i delulu

user3 the way his eyes soften when he looks at daniel is so cute

user5 y'all are so delusional he didn't even look at daniel 😭

lando nico was pacing like a dad whose kid just crashed his car 💀

user9 why does every chaotic duo have one guy who keeps the other from getting arrested

user10 danny being the only thing between nico and a felony is so on brand

nicosantos ✔︎

liked by danielricciardo, mickschumacher, lando and 3.2m others

nicosantos mood after yesterday

view all 743k comments

user1 help nico really wanted to throw hands 😭😭

nicosantos you know it

user2 nico has a cat???

user3 it's max's cat lmaoo

user4 he kinda fine

user5 i have been saying that but no one listens to me

user6 the way he just crouched by daniel’s car like it’s some kind of secret mission 💀

user7 lowkey nico should’ve been in the movie ‘mad man on the edge'

user8 no way you can look at them and not see the chemistry. it's so obvious

user9 nah, the way nico looks at daniel in that video is giving ‘you’re mine’ vibes

user10 no wtf don't say that...

user11 why do i feel like nico is totally in love with daniel and he just doesn’t know it yet?

user12 why is everyone suddently shipping them hello

user13 bc daniel hugged nico at the press conference 😭

nicosantos ✔︎

liked by lando, danielricciardo, maxverstappen1 and 2.5m others

nicosantos ok, so we look alike. i get it. but let’s be real, i’m not him. just because we share a lot similarities doesn’t mean we’re the same person. i’ve been getting a lot of hate in my DMs, and honestly, it’s getting old. so, can we all just chill and let me live my own life? respect is all i’m asking for

view all 954k comments

user1 literally, it’s just a resemblance, relax people

user2 the hate is so uncalled for. nico deserves respect not this mess

user3 people acting like he’s actually senna’s clone, chill out

user4 he's trying really hard to be 🙄

user5 the fact that nico has to explain this is crazy. let him breathe

user6 you can’t just deny the resemblance though, it’s a little weird you’re acting like it’s nothing

nicosantos i’m not denying it, but i’m also not claiming to be someone i’m not. it’s not that complicated

user7 he’s just salty because people keep bringing up senna. get over it

user8 he doesn’t owe anyone an apology for looking like someone. leave him alone

niconews ✔︎

liked by 47k users

niconews eyes never lie... this was nico just a day after all the hate he’s been facing recently. in a raw moment during an interview, when asked, "you seem pretty pissed at the situation," he didn’t hold back. nico responded, "well, people stick their noses in everyone’s business without thinking about feelings. i didn’t ask to be born the way i am, i’m just trying to live my life." his voice cracked, and despite trying to hold it together, tears started to form. it was a moment that showed just how much this constant pressure has been affecting him. in a world where we all expect people to be perfect or fit into certain molds, nico's vulnerability spoke volumes.

view all 9k comments

user1 it's heartbreaking to see someone so kind and real get treated like this

user2 the pressure he must be under is insane. we forget these are real people

user3 this is so unfair, just let the guy breathe for once

user4 he’s literally milking the whole senna comparison for attention. stop pretending like it’s all ‘the haters’

niconews if you think that’s what this is about, you clearly missed the point

user4 he’s literally crying over people pointing out how much he looks like senna? get over it niconews it’s not about looks, it’s about respect. maybe try understanding that

nicosantos ✔︎

liked by lando, carlossainz55, danielricciardo and 4.1m others

nicosantos bromance is real

tagged: lando

view all 1.4m comments

user1 aww the senna cap

user2 i love nico he's adorable

user3 lando 😭😭

user4 lando is always the funniest person in the group

user5 nico with the senna cap is a whole vibe. love the respect for the legend

user6 this is the kind of bromance we all need in our lives

user7 nico wearing the senna cap but being his own person? love that for him

nicosantos see now i can't tell if you're being sarcastic or fr 💀

user7 i was being fr 😭😭

user8 someone tell lando to stop being this extra, i can’t keep up

[tsukimefuku]

the event (1) ❖ nanami kento

this part → part 2 (soon) | mdni! | the nile is a river in egypt 👍

summary: after struggling for so long with the feelings you had for nanami, your colleague and closest friend, you finally decide to put an end to your misery and confess to him. little did you know there was no misery left for you to wallow in that night — none at all. alternatively: nanami was a gentleman, but holy hell, given the context, there weren't many ways he could misunderstand the phrase "I want you".

tags: jujutsu kaisen, sorcerer!f!reader, colleagues in the field, 18+, alcohol, explicit! smut (oral f!receiving, piv, squirting), 1/3 plot 2/3 filth ratio, it’s romance guys, nanami x reader, reader is emotionally stunted, they're clearly in love, angst, fluff, hurt and comfort, basically a book chapter, no beta my inner demons proofread this.

wc: 8k

notes, etc.: if i have to rewrite this one more time i will commit a felony. inspo → just like you do (carly simon) and sonnet (the verve). saved by smooth operator (sade). the bit "love is something brave people do" is inspired by fleabag's last episode. appetizers for this fic are the shorties “would you let me die?” and “where does your mind drift”.

❖ collection of stories: "jujutsu partners au" → masterlist

this is big but very worth it, i promise.

Today, you were determined to finally utter those three words and put an end to your own personal brand of misery. 

Ever since you and Nanami kind of discussed if getting involved would be a bad idea — he said it would, but you had your doubts — you just couldn't stop thinking about it. He knew you had feelings for him. Maybe. He mentioned that he believed you thought about him. 

But the thing was… nothing was actually said. It was all implied. Implied into oblivion.

You two had been working together for a good while now, and you didn't fail to notice that, in the most recent encounters you've had, be it on missions or just having a drink at your favorite bar, your heart would involuntarily throb whenever you gazed at him for too long. 

Not only that, but you were finally able to admit to yourself that your gratitude towards the sorcerer, who saved your life years ago, had become love. You were, without a shred of a doubt, in love with him, and the fact that he clearly stated that getting involved would be ill-advised — his words, not yours — was a special type of torture.

So be it — you were confessing your feelings for him today, at least to have a definitive answer. It would be better to get shot down than keep doing this little tip-toe dance around the unsaid. You just couldn't do this anymore.

Thing was… You were terrible with feelings. And words. And putting feelings into words. And also just feeling your feelings, in general.

So you decided to invite him to a bar — like you always did —, and chat the night away — again, like you always did — to try easing yourself into this conversation in a comfortable, known setting. Your drinks were downed until the middle of the night like you were filling up a Jeep tank, trying to fuel yourself with liquor-bought courage. 

Eventually you slowed down, because certainly throwing up would be less than ideal. Better to be sober and chicken out than drunk and vomiting.

You were so in your own head, though, that you failed to realize Nanami was accompanying you in the "getting completely hammered" department until about a few hours prior, partially regaining his sobriety, with a lot of things swirling around in his own mind.

Mostly, he still thought about the non-conversation you both had about thinking of each other. More specifically, the fact that you inquired, right at the end, if it would really be such a bad idea.

Would it? 

Could he dare to dream of a life beyond killing curses and hoping not to die every time he stepped his foot into a mission?

He wasn't sure about it anymore, and could feel his usual negative stance about getting romantically involved with someone while still being a jujutsu sorcerer wavering — an absolute first for him. He was hardly someone to be swayed on his stances in life.

But this time, just maybe, you were able to do that without even realizing.

He caught himself gazing at you more frequently than usual, and wondering what would be the texture of your flower-scented hair tangled in between his fingers.

Today, your hair smelled like jasmine flowers.

Unlike you, however, Nanami was unsure if he'd touch upon the subject that night, specifically, in case he ever decided to do so. He’d prefer to talk about it in an appropriate setting — dinner at a restaurant, maybe? No, you weren't someone who'd like that. Perhaps at a picnic, she does enjoy nature...

He tried shaking those thoughts away along with his feelings, but it didn’t work.

The conversation was very pleasant, and you two were reminiscing about his mission at your hometown where you both met years ago. 

”Do you remember when I tried cooking breakfast? Oh, that was a good one,” you jested, chuckling. 

Nanami nodded, resting the edge of his whiskey cup on his bottom lip. 

“I’d say that was a terrible one. You nearly set your entire kitchen on fire trying to fry eggs,” he noted, letting a smile take over his lips.

You laughed in response.

”Yeah, you’re probably right. But at least you rescued me and made one of the best tamagoyaki I’ve ever eaten.”

He put his glass down on the counter, looking at you with those adoring, beautiful, brown honeyed eyes.

"One of?"

You chuckled, trying not to stare too much.

Good God, he's looking gorgeous tonight.

“Oh, come on. According to you, I can barely taste my food the way I eat, mixing everything up in my plate,” you joked, “I don’t have the same particular taste buds of yours.”

Nanami sighed, rolling his eyes at your teasing, taking a sip of his whiskey.

The ice had melted a little, and he felt the watery coat on the drink with displeasure, grimacing a little.

Somehow, Nanami failed to see the irony in that.

You noticed, and laughed a little before continuing.

"The other amazing tamagoyaki I had was when you rescued me from starving during my first week here. But I don't think I'd really regret burning Jujutsu High down, even if it was an accident."

Nanami shook his head lightly, the smile still on his face betraying his half-hearted chide.

Then, after the banter evaporated in the air, that moment finally came.

The absolute silence.

Arguably the perfect opportunity to say these types of things… So you began.

"Nanami, I…" words gagged. "I wanted to tell you something."

His body visibly tensed up a little, but he probably didn't realize it.

He knew, of course.

Nanami noticed all the recent instances you'd stare at him, and ever since pulling you in for a not-so innocent hug when you were both stranded on the road after a mission together, he felt dangerously close to crossing this boundary. 

Nanami's words were easily controlled, always so neatly put together with mathematical precision to express his thoughts. However, ever since he crossed the line of physical contact beyond pure platonic affection, it had been difficult keeping his hands to himself. 

Right now, he wanted to cup your face with his palms and brush his thumbs against your cheeks.

Perhaps even press his lips against you- stop that, you’re not a teenager anymore.

This comfort zone of avoiding the discussion about the feelings you both had for each other was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. 

"What?"

You gulped, and took a few more sips of beer.

"I…"

Your voice got stuck in your throat.

Your syllable had stretched long enough for this to have become a little awkward.

"I wanted to thank you," you blurted out, more for your benefit than his.

Nanami was equal parts relieved, disappointed, and surprised.

Did he actually want you to tell him you had feelings for him?

"Thanks for welcoming me to Jujutsu High, for shepherding me all this time, and for being a reliable, good friend. I was ready to face hell here, but it was… much better than I had anticipated. So, thank you, Nanami."

He looked at you, and both held each other's gaze for a moment. His hazel brown eyes were always something that lured you in, and you surely enjoyed how he'd always remove his green shades to talk to you.

Seeing them felt strangely — and endearingly — intimate.

"You're welcome," he offered in a kind note.

"Last call!" the bartender stated loudly, as you and Nanami looked at each other, feeling somewhat disappointed that the night was about to be over.

Stepping outside after paying, you both realized it was raining — something neither had noticed from inside the bar.

With half a mind to do something, definitely inebriated, and still with a declaration stuck in your throat, you absentmindedly made a question to Nanami.

"Can I wait the rain out at your place?"

He did live close by, in any case.

For a second, you realized you were probably butting in his rest hours, and felt a little embarrassed.

"Yes," he replied immediately, also absentmindedly, before you could retreat your request.

***

It was actually the first time you ever visited his apartment, and it was interesting to see his place. To no one's surprise, Nanami's pristine apartment, with his collections of books and CD's — he still had an actual stereo CD player — felt as every bit put together as Nanami himself did.

His kitchen drawers alone were surely more organized than your income tax return.

You sat on the counter and had your drenched hair haphazardly covered with a blue towel as Nanami fixed something to eat for the both of you.

The smell of cooked rice and eggs filled the air, hugging your senses, as you watched, still halfway drunk, how he skillfully walked back and forth, being somewhat inebriated himself, making way more than instant noodles, your first choice after proposing you both ate something to ease the alcohol out.

You stared at his back while he cooked, trying to push the thought of telling him how you felt to the back of your mind, at least for a while, just so you could enjoy the following moments without the sensation of impending doom.

As he finished plating the food, you were nothing short of impressed — the man mustered up the skill to cook omurice while inebriated, a feat you couldn't do sober even in one of your best days. 

"This is incredible, you're such a badass," you remarked as Nanami gave you a plate with a pair of chopsticks.

"It's a simple recipe," he replied, getting his own and taking a bite out of it as he leaned against the sink counter, facing you.

"Oh, it surely is,” you remarked, ironically.

You were getting ready to eat as Nanami interrupted you.

"Don't desecrate it," he chided, referencing the way you'd usually stir up your food on your plate until it became an unidentifiable goo before eating, "try to taste your food at least this once."

You chuckled a little, acquiescing.

"Okay. This is too beautiful to get vandalized, anyway."

Nanami huffed, the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips, before he took another bite.

"I am so going to regret this entire thing tomorrow," you stated, taking the first piece out of your plate, “I drank like a sailor.” 

It was absolutely delicious, of course. It was Nanami's food, after all.

He swallowed before proceeding.

"Me too, most likely. I hadn't drunk this heavily since… ever."

"Hah, me neither."

You both resumed eating peacefully, partaking in a comfortable and cozy silence for the next few minutes. During that time, he looked at you without you noticing, and realized just how much he wanted this small sliver of peace — sharing a good meal with you in his kitchen after a remarkably pleasant night — to keep going for eternity. 

You were looking so adorable with his blue towel over your drenched hair.

As you were finished, he took both plates and put them inside the sink, going back to his original position. Nanami had already removed his tie, his weapon holster and opened the top of his blue buttoned shirt by this point, both of his sleeves rolled up for him to cook.

It was becoming increasingly hard not to stare.

"Thank you, Nanami," you said, smiling at him.

"It's no trouble," he answered, softly smiling back at you.

His smile was much sweeter than usual, and it sent your heart throbbing against your chest.

The urge came again, to finally tell him.

However, when you actually spoke, something entirely unexpected came out of your mouth.

"Why did you come back to Jujutsu High after years of working a regular job?"

Nanami was surprised, to say the least, and pondered for a while before resuming his answer.

He had left the jujutsu world shortly after the mission where he met you and ‘failed you’ — that last part solely according to him — so, needless to say, this was a sensitive topic. 

"Well, I had known the jujutsu world, and after entering the corporate one, I realized both were idiotic. So-"

"No, not that speech," you interjected, "I want to know exactly what happened for you to come back. I mean, when we ran into each other years ago, you seemed pretty resolute in trying your retired-by-40 and moving to Malaysia plan, and from what I gathered, not long after that, you just came back, out of nowhere."

Nanami was silent, because he remembered vividly what had transpired, and that you had something to do with it.

"Well," he began, "a few days after we had that conversation, I went into a bakery to buy breakfast. It was always the same person at the cash register, and she had a small fly head curse on her shoulders for a while. It began affecting her sleep, given her complaints. I had avoided doing something about it, but our conversation kept ringing in my head."

Nanami averted his gaze, as if remembering the moment in its details before proceeding.

"After I exorcised it, her shoulder pain subsided, and she thanked me. That was it."

You remembered well how you chided him, telling Nanami to go back into sorcery because the world of jujutsu needed people who truly cared, such as himself. You just didn’t think it would have such a direct connection to the reasons he came back.

"So... you realized the importance of the job we do?" you inquired, with a half-smile pulled on your cheek.

He sighed. "Something like that."

"Oh, Mr. Nanami 'I'm just doing my job' Kento... you have finally understood that meaning is something relevant to you, it seems," you remarked, light-spirited.

He smiled, looking the other way, somewhat appreciating the fact that he had just been read like a book by you.

"But... don't say I had something to do with you coming back," you stated, "I might feel responsible if something happens to you."

Even as a joke, this snapped at your heart a little. The mere thought of losing him felt terrifying.

Nanami sighed, smile vanishing, looking back at you. 

"You always see things from a perspective of assigning responsibility and guilt... It is a perspective that usually warrants unnecessary suffering."

You scoffed, still wearing your mid-smirk on your face.

"Oh, and looking at everything from a protective perspective is any different? I mean, both boil down to us thinking we're responsible for other people's fates."

He was slightly taken aback, before smiling discreetly and crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

"I guess you're right."

Nanami looked at you, and seemed to be staring at your cheek. Under the dim light from the stove hood, you could make out the contours of his face — his sharp jaw, his chiseled cheekbones, and his now exposed forearms with taut, sculpted muscles, right under the rolled up sleeves of his blue shirt. 

If pupil dilation could be felt, you would have definitely felt it at that moment.

The urge came up again, but by this point, you were already feeling defeated enough at your pathetic inability of confessing your feelings, so you just let your mouth roll with whatever came out of it.

"I really admire you, Nanami."

You surprised even yourself.

His eyes then met yours.

"Do you?"

Pondering on your words, you nodded, thinking a little about it.

"You're such a calm, collected and responsible person. You seem to always know exactly what you're doing, meanwhile I'm usually just guessing around. No wonder Ino and Yuuji look up to you."

Even under the soft lighting, you could swear you saw Nanami's face blush a little.

"Thank you," he stated, bowing his head slightly towards your direction.

You smiled at him and sighed right after.

"Most times, I don't think I'm someone people would call admirable or actually look up to."

This was something you hadn't anticipated you'd say. You had never told that to anyone.

But, well, this was him. This was Nanami.

"Why do you say that?" he inquired in earnest.

"Because... Because I'm often hanging by a thread, just trying to survive. I'm not doing great things. I'm barely existing, sometimes."

He mulled his thoughts over for a second before answering you.

"You have a good capacity for adapting, taking whatever life hands you and doing the best you can with it," he noted, "and you keep going even if you feel like you're guessing. Even when you don't know where you're going. That takes bravery, and I find it to be admirable."

Now you were the one surprised, and you could feel your entire face burning the moment he finished uttering those words. You were never one to take compliments easily, but this was a whole other level.

You stood there, mouth slightly agape, faltering without any words.

His eyes had returned to your cheek, and in a swift movement, you heard him say excuse me as he stepped into your direction, rubbing his thumb on it to take off some food you hadn't realized that was still stuck on your face.

Nanami barely registered that the thoughts looping around his mind the entire night about touching you had finally taken the best of him.

Before he could remove his hand, though, you held it in place, lifting your eyes to meet him.

His palm felt warm against your skin, his digits rough, and perfect. Just like he was.

Nanami's expression was unreadable as he gazed back at you, and you began hearing your heartbeats against your ears, muffling the sound of the tapping rain on the window.

Words failed him too, and he was guided by his body once again.

Nanami lowered his face and softly pressed his lips over yours, still tasting like whiskey and Demi-glace, which sent waves — that you couldn't quite discern if were hot or cold, perhaps both — all throughout your body.

It was a quick kiss, though, because shortly after, Nanami backed out, still with his eyes closed, and had something resembling a frown on his face.

"I apologize, that was inappropriate," he mumbled, beginning to pull his hand out from your cheek. You, however, held it in place, and that got him to open his eyes and look at you.

He seemed taken by trepidation under his usual collected demeanor, and his lower lip had the slightest twitch to it as his eyes flickered quickly between your mouth and your eyes.

For a moment, you felt like you were looking into the eyes of the Nanami you once knew — the bangs, the uniform, the seventeen-year-old version of him.

Little did you know that your corresponding younger version was looking right back at him with the same bated breath, just like the teens-becoming-adults in the most traumatic ways you two once were.

"Stop apologizing and kiss me," you pleaded, edging your face closer to his, pulling his towel off your head.

You could feel his breath exhaling against your skin, as Nanami approached his body to yours, putting himself in between your knees, and cupped your face in his hands. His body was incredibly warm, just like his hand, and his woody, musky scent sent your senses spiraling when he finally descended his lips to yours, determined on taking his time — after all, this was a kiss ten years in the making.

His mouth felt velvety and supple, and you both melted into each other while exploring the way his head tilted against yours, how your nails would eventually find their way up the nape of his neck, how your breath would hitch every time he pressed his mouth against yours more intently. Your lips slid wetly over each other with a newfound ease none of you expected.

You were both dipping your toes in the ocean and testing the temperature before committing to dive into deeper waters, taking all the time into familiarizing with the feeling of each other's bodies.

Nanami's hands descended to your waist, leaving a trail of heat on the way, and you let out a soft moan into his mouth when he pressed them against you. He groaned lowly, a sound reverberating from the depths of his chest, as he parted his lips from yours and put some distance in between your faces with his eyes closed.

You didn't understand, but before you could ask anything, he began speaking.

"I don't mean to assume," he stated, letting his forehead rest on yours.

"Hm... What do you mean?"

"I... What I mean is we can stop, in case you don’t..​. We're both still somewhat under the influence. You are," Nanami replied, opening his eyes to look into yours. The faltering restraint dwelling in them was palpable. 

In the back of your mind, you wondered if there was any way of loving him more than you already did. Even now, he was so mindful and careful with you.

"I want this," you replied, resolute, "I want you. I've wanted it all for a very long time. It's not a drunken decision, I mean it."

His gaze softened in a way you had never seen before, one of his hands ascending to brush his thumb over your cheek. Nanami snuggled his nose against yours and sighed, seemingly fluttering.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm sure. I want you," you repeated, incisively.

He let out a huff of air against your mouth, and you could smell his breath, mingled with the scent emanating from him and his clothes. Intoxicating wasn't a strong enough word — you were completely enthralled, entranced and overwhelmed by him. Every sound got muted, but the sound of his breathing. Every smell disappeared, but his. And there was no other temperature in the room other than the warmth of his body.

You had entered tunnel vision mode, and at the end of it, he was your light.

Closing the remaining inches that separated the both of you, he brushed his lips against yours, whispering, "then have me. Have all of me."

Still cupping the side of your face, Nanami tilted it, finally fitting your lips against his again, like lovely little puzzle pieces getting more and more accustomed to each other by the second. He felt around your contours, pressing the tip of his tongue softly over the seam of your mouth, and you warmly welcomed him in, his true taste lingering just under the drinks and sauces being enough to knock the air out of your lungs.

He was salty, fresh, and a breeze of cool air by the seashore.

There were a few times you wondered what he'd be like, but your fantasies were quick to pale in comparison to the reality of him.

Nanami’s broken restraint was completely done for, and just this once, he wanted to let it come tumbling down like a house of cards, as he parted to gaze at your disheveled hair, your flustered face, your slightly puffy lips.

His chest swelled full and content at that sight.

He met you once again, and the ruffling from the fall was sounding better than he could have ever hoped for, insistent heart beat pushing against his ears, encompassing your breathless kissing like a sonnet.

Nanami's hands, however, didn't dare explore beyond your waist, and all this intense make out session was starting to make your panties feel uncomfortable against your pooling arousal. You were starting to feel antsy, and your body was nearly twitching at the aching desire. You needed some kind of relief, or you'd go insane.

Nanami was a gentleman, but holy hell, given the context, there weren't many ways he could misunderstand the phrase I want you.

You put your hands over his and slip them down to cup your ass, parting from his lips for a moment.

"Stop keeping your hands to yourself. Touch me," you pleaded, with some type of simmering desperation to your voice that you hadn't yet heard — never, actually.

He looked at you, and seemed equally desperate in an unfathomable way. He pulled you in, kneading his fingers fiercely against your skin while moaning into your mouth, and pressed your bodies hard enough for you to feel him pulsating through multiple layers of fabric.

Oh, my.

You knew he was strong, but this was something else. 

Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his hips, and drew the tips of your fingernails down his back, while grinding over his growing erection with your clothed core. Nanami let out a muffled groan on your skin and began kissing your neck intently with messy, open-mouthed kisses.

He put his hands under your thighs and whispered in your ear, "hold on to me."

That caught your attention from your hazy brain.

"I... My hair is still wet. My clothes are a little damp, too. I'm kind of a mess right now," you told him, chuckling sheepishly.

This man's apartment was the most immaculate place you had ever been in your life, and the last thing you wanted to do was to dirty it around with dripping water from the rain. In his bed, of all places.

Nanami immediately pulled himself back and held your face, locking eyes with you.

"You are beautiful right now," he remarked, not giving you enough time for an answer, as he pressed another kiss on your lips — this time, more urgent, a little sloppy, but just as passionate, if not more. You gasped into his mouth, letting your body take control.

In an instant, your arms were draped over his shoulders, your legs tightened firmly around his body, and his strong hands held the back of your thighs, as Nanami lifted you from that counter like you weighed nothing.

You squeaked in surprise, and he uttered a soft, deep chuckle before planting a quick peck on your lips. 

After walking you both into his room, he calmly descended towards the mattress, laying you down delicately and climbing his way on top of you.

When he approached his face to yours, you smiled at him, and he smiled back, sharing a tender moment of silent closeness.

This was probably your favorite shared quietude yet.

“I should get out of these wet clothes,” you stated, giggling softly, before tugging your shirt over your head.

He huffed a soft smiling hum in return, as his palms found their way towards the sides of your hips. Their warmth clashed a stark contrast against your still dampened, cold skin, and his touch was electric, making you involuntarily sigh.

"Help me take these pants off," you cooed, relaxing your legs around his body.

Nanami didn’t need to be told twice, and swiftly slid his hands down to unzip you and pull your damp pants off while you unclasped your bra.

After he was done, his eyes lingered over the drenched patch on your underwear, a realization that definitely riled him up, as his breath got caught midway out his nostrils for a second.

Nanami’s fingers swirled around your bra straps, but before he removed it, you began unbuttoning his shirt, finishing off unclenching his belt and unzipping his pants.

"It would be unfair for me to be the only one exposed here," you remarked, light spirited, while smiling tenderly at him.

He smiled back very much the same way, and pulled his shirt off, downing his pants, letting it all become a wrinkled puddle on the floor. Nanami caged you in between his arms, and pressed a quick kiss on your lips, asking, "do you ever stop?"

"Why don't you try to find out?" you slyly replied.

Nanami wasn't usually one to appreciate being teased. This was especially true when it came to Gojo annoying the hell out of him, and he could — and would — also get annoyed at your snarky teasing from time to time.

But it felt different with you. He wasn't nearly as irritated as he would've been with anybody else.

Perhaps because you teased him with love.

Your hands pulled your bra off and tossed it aside, and for some seconds, he was speechless, contouring his eyes all over your body. With butterflies on his chest, he finally cupped your face in his hands again before kissing you once more, and you couldn’t help but notice he really liked holding you like that when he kissed you — and you'd let him, every time he wanted to.

It was lovely to be held so preciously under such an adoring touch.

Letting go of your lips, Nanami began planting kisses under your jaw, descending towards your neck, and nesting his face in between your breasts, inhaling your scent with his face laid over your skin. With your encouraging hand tangling in his hair, he began kissing and licking his way around, kneading on your breasts with his palms. Your hips instantly bucked up against him, at the same time you let out a needy moan.

He noticed it, very pleased, and gave you the tiny mercy of removing your panties.

Still with his mouth plastered on your skin, Nanami descended one hand towards your folds, and groaned the second his fingers touched over your wetness, cock twitching inside his underwear.

You were drenched.

He sounded so satisfied, you couldn’t help but blush a little in between your moans and mewls, wanting to brat out just a little.

“Hah-- I did say- a-ah… that I wanted you,” you half jested, trying to fend off your fleeting embarrassment, “w-what did you… hah-- expect?” 

He stopped briefly, and lifted his face to look at you, sighing with his classic I could be eye rolling at you right now expression.

You smiled mischievously, fully aware he noticed the teasing.

Nanami brushed his fingers above your clit softly, not breaking eye contact, and you thrust your hips up again, mewling mindlessly. Huffing, you tried saying something, but he pressed his fingers a little more intently, having your words turn into incoherent moaning tumbling down past your lips.

At that moment, you just knew…

You stood defeated.

“Finally, you relentless little devil,” he mumbled, kissing his way down your body, as you huffed a few chuckles in between your pleasured sounds.

If he was so hellbent on shutting down your antics like that, you’d probably try to keep them going all night long. Perhaps you could even break his composure completely.

The idea was enticing.

However, he was the one about to break you apart completely, as you realized when his wet, hot tongue got seared-flat against your clit, and stroked on your glistened folds with the ravenous dedication of a starving man.

Nanami was delighted to have finally shut down your quick-wit tease mouth completely, especially like this.

In the back of his mind, he realized he’d gladly do it every time you got on his nerves. 

Being a pretty tactile person, with heightened senses overall, Nanami was sure that tasting you would feel amazing, but this was otherworldly.

Completely enthralled, he began dipping his tongue inside you to drink you in, having your walls clenching immediately around it.

The sounds you made — your moaning and begging, as your thighs rubbed against his cheeks and fingers tugged on his hair — would be etched in his brain for eternity, he was sure of it.

The moment his hands pressed harder on your thighs, pulling them against his shoulders, and you let out a mixture of a squeal and a moan, something inside him snapped, sending his mouth into a feral quest against your cunt.

Groaning and panting into you, he lapped relentlessly on your folds, nuzzling your clit so intently it nearly sent you crawling over the walls. Your vision was white, starry, black, and then white again, and you wondered for a minute if this was all pleasure or if the light of the room was actually flickering. 

Mouth agape, your moans bounced off the walls, and your back arched desperately, while your entire body tightened with the tell-tale signs of an intense orgasm. Your toes were curling, your ears were ringing, and your face contorted in desperate need for release.

“D-don’t stop- don’t… Hah-- I-m… I-I… Hah---!“

Upon hearing your pleas, Nanami latched his lips on your clit and sucked on it so powerfully you didn’t get tipped over the edge, but was effectively thrown from it with no parachute or lifeline. 

Your entire body tensed and jolted. You came with a desperate cry, tightening your grip on his hair with bruising force. He let out a loud moan, trying to hold himself together as you fell apart on his mouth, and started to lick you softly to wean you off your high.

For a few seconds, your entire body stopped answering any voluntary movement signals from your brain, and you could’ve sworn you forgot your name.

You were sent to heaven and returned unscathed. 

Coming back to Earth, your grip on him loosened, and Nanami brought his mouth up to one of your thighs, pressing gentle kisses over it. 

When your vision wasn’t all abstract colors anymore, you looked down to see Nanami with hooded eyes, resting his chin over your mound, gazing at you like you were the most beautiful creature in existence.

Given what had just transpired, you found it to be incredibly absurd that this — him gazing at you — was what had you blushing violently.

But here you were, hiding your face under the back of your hand, as you chuckled sheepishly solely from the way he looked at you.

This beautiful, adoring man.

The urge to tell him how much you loved him came back, but even like this, so unclad and vulnerable, it was incredibly hard.

Nanami was barely blinking, wondering how he had allowed — or better, forced — himself to live without this, without you, for so long.

“I’m starting to feel embarrassed,” you said, equal parts joking and genuine, as you finally managed to meet his glance again. 

He blinked a few times, being pulled from his thoughts, whispering a half-hearted apology as he crawled his way back to you. 

His hair was a mess, his lips were rosy and puffy, and his eyes…

His eyes.

Trying to keep yourself from becoming a fluttering chaos all over again, you shook your head lightly as you resumed speaking.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” you cooed, sliding your fingers down his face, pressing your lips to his. Nanami pushed his tongue inside your mouth, and you moaned in response, tasting your essence mixed in with his own flavor.

God, you could kiss him and taste this for hours on end.

His mouth and tongue flowed and veered softly, with no rush other than to imprint your flavor in him. Nanami clearly was a kisser — a very good one —, and was delighted to keep exploring you like that for as long as you’d let him. 

Suddenly, you had a little wicked idea creeping up on you, as you made some effort to finally part your lips from his and uttered, “you know what, I’m sorry.”

Nanami was puzzled.

“What do you m-“

With your strength back, you locked your legs on the sides of Nanami’s waist and rolled his body over, landing on top of him. 

His breath was caught for a moment before he smiled at you. Smiling back, you straddled yourself back, diving your fingers on the edges of his boxers to slide them down.

Nanami helped you by raising his body, and the moment you removed the piece of clothing, his cock sprang out, bearing a flushed, bulbous, red tip that mutely slapped against his belly. It was bigger than you anticipated, thicker too, and you wondered if you could fit it all in your mouth.

Probably not.

You also didn’t fail to notice the very evident damp patch on his underwear from his pre-cum alone.

He must be desperate right now, you thought to yourself, enticingly amused.

However, the moment you were about to wrap your fingers around him and descend, Nanami held your hand and sat up. He seemed slightly… Embarrassed?

“Hm… what is it?” you asked, pressing against his hand.

He cleared his throat.

“I’m… very wound up. Could we…” Nanami mumbled, words dying on their way out. 

Truth was, ever since the moment you were grinding your clothed cunt against him, his mind was boiling to the thought of burying himself inside you to the hilt.

There was no sugar-coating it. 

“Oh…” you let out, “so… you want me too?” you asked, a hint of amusement to your voice.

You weren’t the only one needy tonight.

He sighed from the depths of his soul.

“Stop teasing.”

His voice came out raspy, more of a plea than an actual chide.

The man was crumbling down, and it was delightful to watch The Nanami Kento, always so unflappable, falling apart like this.

You chuckled and planted a quick kiss on his lips.

“I’m sorry,” you offered in earnest.

He exhaled gently, gaze towards you softening as he did.

You blushed a little before proceeding.

“Where is the…”

“First drawer.”

Everything happened quickly. You snatched the condom from his nightstand and opened it. Nanami took it from your hands and slid it down his length. A soft sigh escaped his lips as the rubber snapped at the end.

Softly crawling your way towards him, you put both hands on his shoulders to straddle on his lap. Nanami locked his gaze on you, not breaking eye contact even for a second, right up until you both finally kissed again.

His hands began making their way down your back, and then…

You felt it.

The tip of Nanami’s fingers pressed against the scar you had right over your spine, and you gasped in pain as it hit the bundle of tangled nerves bumping over your skin. You instantly backed your face away with an aching grimace.

Nanami had witnessed how you got that scar in the fateful mission in which you two met years ago.

The sound of the blade piercing through your skin and flesh still lingered on in his nightmares.

His hand retreated so quickly you barely felt it leaving your body.

Following the aftershock, you opened your eyes to see him with his own eyes sealed shut, and Nanami appeared to be crawling his way back into his mind. His expression, usually so calm and collected, was replaced by a pained frown of his brows.

“I apologize, I… I’m…” he muttered, and you realized this wasn’t an apology for what just happened.

He still blamed himself for what had taken place then.

It broke your heart to shambles to see him like that, knowing full well nothing that transpired that night was his fault.

You cupped his jaw in your palms, and pressed your forehead to his.

"Hey, stop it. Stop apologizing, you haven't failed me. You never failed me."

Nanami's eyes were still very much sealed, and he seemed to be pulling even further away from you as the memories swirled around in his mind.

"Please, look at me," you pleaded, nuzzling against his face.

After a sigh, he answered, "I… I can't."

And he truly couldn't, still feeling the shame eating away at his chest like a parasite.

You scrambled your mind after something that might help, and finally realized the only thing you could say to pull him back.

Shit.

You were still terrified, and your entire body tensed up.

This is it. Now. I have to tell him now.

According to Nanami, you were brave.

And love, apparently, is something brave people do.

Still cupping his jaw, you sighed before letting the words come out of your mouth.

"Nanami Kento, I love you."

Your voice didn’t falter or stutter. Your declaration smoothly left your lips as naturally as breathing — the same way loving him came to you.

His breath caught halfway out, and he finally opened his eyes, soft and bare, gazing into yours.

"I love you, I have loved you for so long, I…" you repeated, sighing greatly, "I love you."

Nanami opened his mouth, but for a second, nothing — not even a huff of air — would pass. Knotting away in his throat, the words also struggled to form.

Should he? Could he? How deep in trouble would this launch the both of you?

Surpassing his worries, eventually, the words finally came out.

"I love you too."

The guilt and trauma had taken a backseat in his mind, at least for now.

When you heard Nanami’s words — heard him say that he loved you too —, your heart immediately began fluttering, and you could've sworn there was a ringing sound around the both of you.

There wasn't, though, just as much as the honeyed dewy warm rain that prickled over your entire skin was a manifestation of your love ridden excited imagination.

Smiling, you pulled him in for a kiss, and he intently pressed his lips against yours, no exploration left to be done — your tongues, by this point of the night, had met and familiarized themselves with every inch of each other's mouths, breaths, and moans.

Mindlessly, his hands plastered themselves back into your body, and brushed up from your hips, to your waist, over your back all the way to your shoulder blades.

Nanami brought you even closer, and kept kneading his hands against you, almost as if he was trying to touch your entirety all at once.

His fingertips ghosted softly around your scar accidentally again, and your breath hitched for a second. You pulled your mouth from his, just long enough to say, "lay me down."

Nanami understood it, and acquiesced. Swiftly, he supported you from your shoulders and hips, laying you down like a porcelain treasure, and caged you in with one hand to each side of your head.

You both took a few moments to admire each other.

Nanami was a tall and broad man, but from underneath, he seemed even more mountainous. His angular face, his wide shoulders and muscular arms, everything about him was just grand.

In a second, though, interrupting your gazing, his hand pulled a pillow from the top of the bed, and he gently lifted your head to put it underneath.

That was it.

In the end, you knew that his kindness, just as grand as he was, was what stole your heart.

Nanami slowly descended over you, and supported himself with his forearm to the side of your head, using his free hand to part the slightly sweaty hair on your forehead and press a fleeting, soft kiss in between your brows. Your heart skipped a beat, and his mouth came down pecking at your face in the most delicate fashion, until it rested on one of your cheeks.

You guided your hand down and positioned his tip towards your entrance, noticing Nanami shuddering with the sensation of your fingers clasping around him. His hand got down to the side of your hip, and Nanami let out a soft huff as he began to slowly push his length inside. He could feel himself gliding along your slick folds, and scrunched his eyes shut as the tip got past the resistance of your ring, eyelashes brushing over your skin with a feathery lingerance.

To say he was savoring this down to the last infinitesimal tactile sensation would be a gross understatement.

You dragged the tips of your fingers down the muscles of his abdomen, seeing how he deliciously flexed himself inside you, as you savored this in your own way too.

Sinking inch by inch, you could feel all the muscle stretches while his girth accommodated inside your walls, widening and filling you as he slipped in further. Your mouth opened in a muted moan, and with a hazy mind, you turned your face towards his, having the tip of his nose brushing over until your noses bumped against each other.

You captured his lips haphazardly, and Nanami stroked his tongue over your mouth, groaning the moment he bottomed out inside you.

You felt him almost kissing your cervix with the tip of his cock, and your mind was sent spiraling with the shivers that shot up from your lower abdomen to your entire body. It got you fluttering around his shaft, and Nanami's grip on your hip suddenly tightened, as a strained groan fell from his lips.​

It took you a second to realize exactly what was going on.

"I-I… need… a second,” he mustered up to say in a cracked, coarse voice. His length was throbbing strongly inside you, and his expression looked almost pained. You noticed his fist beside your head was strongly clenched around the bedsheet.

Nanami wasn't lying when he said he was very wound up.

You planted a small, loving peck over his cheek and drew your hands to the back of his head, gently brushing your thumbs against his hair until you felt Nanami’s body relaxing, and his pulse inside you evening out to something calmer. He eventually let go of the bedsheet and drew his hand closer, tangling his fingers in your hair.

In an easy, gradual pace, Nanami began dragging his length out from you, and did so completely, pushing back inside the same way, robbing you of a gasp the moment he bottomed out again. His hips began in a steady, calm rhythm, and from your mouth, came out what he could only say were the best sounds he had ever heard.

“Fuck-- y-you feel… so good…” you purred for him, sending pleasured shivers all over his body. You were both completely covered in sweat right now, and your bodies slapped against each other, sounds only covered by your begging whimpers.

However, as good as it was, you needed more. Greedily, you felt the increasing need of being completely taken apart, and this slow love making was not doing it for you.

“Harder…” you pleaded, and Nanami picked up the pace as soon as he heard you, thrusts becoming more intense. It was better, no doubt about it, but you still wanted more.

Your hungry desire had become something indescribable, and all you could do was mumble softly in between mewls, pleading him to go even harder.

Nanami was also feeling himself grow more and more intent on satisfying your pleas, and realized this might not be the best position to do so. 

He stopped for a second, and you muttered in complaint.

However, your disquiet was short-lived, as he propped himself up, manhandling your hips to accompany him and pulled one of your legs straight, letting your ankle rest on his shoulder, supporting your leg with his arm's length and hand cupping your ass. Your other leg kept hooked around him, and this shift sent his cock even deeper.

“Harder?” Nanami asked, almost as a dare, with his disheveled hair falling over his forehead, a few golden strands tangling with sweat. There was something remotely playful in his eyes, and it sent your heart pounding inside your chest to see him in a way you had never seen before.

Oh, how you coveted to freeze this moment in time.

In answer to his question, you nodded, half-lidded eyes and an anticipation smile, only to be surprised with a thumb making its way to your bottom lip, softly asking its way in.

You obliged, and put your lips around it, sucking on his thumb, basking in the view of this boulder of a man completely shuddering to the sight and sensation of that.

Nanami pulled his hand back, resting his digit over your clit.

“Hold on to something, darling” he warned, having a cheeky smile pulling on his face. 

In sweet anticipation, you pressed your hands against the wall on which the bed rested, and locked eyes with Nanami, just to see him admiring you for a moment before he made a complete mess out of you.

In a sharp motion, he thrust his cock into you so intensely his tip bumped fully against your cervix, trembling the bed on its foundations. Your head launched on the pillow, your mouth falling open to let out the loudest moan — if that sound even be called a moan — you had ever uttered in your entire life.

Not sparing you a moment to recover, he retreated and plunged again and again inside your cunt, sending wet plap sounds bouncing over the walls. Nanami began rutting into you, kissing you deeper and deeper with every thrust, and you were nearly yelling from the pleasurable pain with which he had you finally crumbling down.

“Fuck,” he let out, “is this-- hah- hard enough--?” Nanami asked half in jest, knowing full well he didn’t need an answer. The way your back began arching so deliciously as you yelled and mumbled incoherently was enough of a response.

Every time he’d thrust, your body would tense up, and your walls would suck him in. It was sending his mind into a wild spiral.

Nanami was mesmerized by your face, and had the faintest feeling that he might cum from it alone. You looked and sounded like you were having the most delicious, toe-curling, gut-wrenching, blissful-stupor inducing sex of your life.

And well, up until at that moment, you actually were.

Dear God, he could die right now, and he’d die the happiest man alive.

You were having shock waves of stupor-filled pleasure shooting through your body, and Nanami began circling his thumb over your throbbing, sensitive clit. Oh boy, did he have you seeing the entire Milky Way in a split second behind your eyelids. Your mind distantly registered the noise of dragging wood and your fingers starting to struggle reaching support behind your head.

Is the bed pushing away from the wall? Are we literally rocking the bed? Holy shit.

A heat you rarely felt began to burn like incandescent molten lava in your belly, and you looked at him wide eyed, holding out onto some kind of desperation.

Nanami barely registered that you were looking at him like that when he felt the warm spurts, getting his entire crotch completely greased. You squirted so intensely that for a second you felt like you actually fell unconscious, before coming back to the second wave — the continuum of earth-shattering, convulsing orgasms that always followed it.

He wasn’t ready to have you squirt all over his cock so fervently, letting out the most heavenly, luscious, indecent and pornographic sounds he had ever heard.

He could never be prepared for that.

The sheer scent alone sent shivers throughout his entire body. Your scent was completely smeared over him, slowly dripping down his thighs.

With your walls tightening around his cock, his own peak took him by surprise, as much as he had tried to hold it away. The most animalistic and ferocious groan came out of his mouth as thick strands of white cum filled up the condom. Nanami's entire body jerked, making it incredibly difficult to keep pumping himself into you without risking pulling out too much by mistake, so he just let the convulsing waves finish washing down his body before collapsing on the bed by your side.

You both took a moment to breathe, then two, then three, still panting like you had just run a marathon.

Hell, you were probably panting even harder than that.

"I'm… I’m s-sorry about… the mess," you apologized, huffing and puffing, face blushing as you rolled your eyes back, still recovering from the aftershock.

Nanami instantly turned your face to his, mouth agape and gaze locked onto your lips, as he, without uttering a word, thrust his tongue inside your mouth in an open-mouthed, wet, sloppy kiss. All while still panting heavily.

Pulling back, you smiled, asking, “nothing to apologize for?”

He huffed, smiling back at you, “nothing.” 

You both felt like you'd have the best night of sleep of your lives.

Nanami would not, however, as the thoughts he shoved away to the back of his mind earlier that night were about to take him into unwanted nightmares.

End notes:

I can’t reread this again. I just can’t. Hope I got all the typos out, lol. Old version of this fic is here. When I read it a few weeks ago, I came to the conclusion that I didn’t quite like it, so I decided to give it a go on rewriting it. Three rewrites later, here it is, hope you guys enjoyed it.

-

Tag list (for this fic + current AU tags):

@jadedjane @senseifupa @nikos-a-clown @fairy-corno @ldrcvlt

@magical-girl-b @montyrokz @hexrts-anatomy @g-kleran @otomesass

@redlikerozez @yammy-yammy-yama

[havocdreamer]

Bittersweet

What a perfect way to end the season.

I'm gonna miss Dana so much-but you can tell she's done. She loved her job so much she couldn't even give it a proper goodbye. She just had to walk away.

There was no way Robby was gonna let McKay get arrested-nice to see the police from the shooting stand up for her.

Santos-I think most of us knew there was way more to her than what we were initially shown. I'm so happy they had those moments of vulnerability with her...and I bet her and Whitaker are going to be pretty awesome as roommates.

Mohan-THANK GOD she had that break down in the restroom. Girl, cathartic crying is exactly what you need.

I think Javadi might decide medicine isn't actually for her and that would be ok. It seems more for her mom than for herself.

Mel-I loved seeing her with her sister. I make the same exact face when someone says they want to watch Elf. I hope we get more of her and Mohan and Shen working together in the future.

Langdon-dude is in denial about what he did and should be thankful he's not getting arrested for committing a felony.

Abbot-brilliant reveal with the prosthetic. And his bickering with Walsh is so entertaining but man it was making me nervous for the patient.

Robby-take the therapists number from Abbot. You need it.

And somehow Myrna and the rats ended up exactly where they needed to be.

[loveesiren]

vali!!! congrats on 1.5k, it’s so deserved. you already know you’re one of my fave people and i’m so glad everyone else knows you’re amazing too.

✍️ for seunghyun with this from the sms prompts: [ 📲 sms: ]  you’re single. i'm single. i feel like this is a problem we can solve together.

okay bye queen ilysm 💕

I love you so very much, sissy!!! Thank you for always being amazing and supporting me :') <3

Sorry in advance that this kinda sucks 😭 but it did end up kind of long ;P

Vali's 1500 Celebration

warnings: smut (fingering), edging kinda?

wc: 1.2k+

You sat hunched in the studio chair, fingers aimlessly twisting knobs on the soundboard while Seunghyun hummed into the mic, ad-libbing melodies that probably wouldn’t even make the final cut. His voice echoed through the monitors, smooth and unbothered. Meanwhile, your patience was thinning.

You glanced at the clock, lips pressing into a line. You were supposed to be out by now—getting drinks, maybe laughing, maybe kissing someone who seemed decent enough on paper. But instead, here you were, babysitting the booth and trying not to let your irritation show.

Your phone buzzed beside you. You snatched it up, heart tugging toward hope even though your gut already knew.

Sorry, can’t make it tonight.

Of course not. Third time's the charm, right? You stared at the message for a beat, then replied with a dry thumbs-up before hitting block. Your stomach sank. Not because you liked him all that much, but because you were tired—tired of hoping, tired of trying, tired of being a second thought.

Your mood dipped hard, and it must've shifted your whole vibe, because a second later, Seunghyun stopped mid-note. His voice cut out, and you looked up to see him pulling the headphones off, brow furrowed as he pushed open the booth door.

He studied you with those dark, observant eyes. “Alright, what’s going on?”

You shook your head, leaning back in the chair. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter.”

“You sure? ‘Cause you’ve got that face.”

“What face?”

“The one that says, ‘I’m two seconds from committing a felony.’”

You let out a dry laugh. “My date bailed. Again.”

Seunghyun tilted his head, watching you. “He’s a fucking idiot.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t planning to marry the guy. I just needed to fu—” You stopped yourself, cheeks burning as your mouth snapped shut.

His lips curved into a slow, amused smirk. “You just needed to what, exactly?”

You rolled your eyes, looking anywhere but at him. “Nothing. Forget it. Let’s finish the track.”

He stepped closer, voice lowering with a teasing lilt. “No no… I’d much rather you finish your sentence.”

Your eyes met his, tension humming like static between you. You swallowed thickly, heart pounding with a rhythm far more dangerous than any track you were trying to produce.

“I just…” you paused, eyes flicking downward as heat rushed to your cheeks, “It’s been a while. Okay?”

A soft blush bloomed across your skin, and you hated how easy it was for Seunghyun to notice.

His grin widened, something mischievous dancing behind his eyes. “Hey,” he said gently, “I get it. I know the feeling.”

You gave a weak, embarrassed smile, unsure how to steer the conversation anywhere but here. Your fingers fidgeted with the sleeve of your hoodie, heart thudding way too loudly for how casual you were trying to appear.

And then, just as you were about to awkwardly change the subject, he said it.

“Want me to help you out?”

You blinked. “W-What?”

He leaned in a little, voice low and smooth. His gaze locked with yours and held it. “I said… do you want me to help you out?”

You stared at him, lips parted, trying to wrap your head around what he was actually offering. “Why would you—what do you mean—are you serious?” you stammered, each word more breathless than the last.

Seunghyun’s smirk deepened. “You’re single. I’m single. Seems like a problem we could solve together.” He paused, giving you an out. “But only if you want to.”

You opened your mouth to say something reasonable—rational—but instead, your traitorous heart answered first.

“I do!” you blurted, eyes going wide the second the words left your mouth. “I mean… I want to…I just—shit.”

Seunghyun chuckled under his breath, stepping in close enough that you could smell the faint trace of his cologne. He tilted his head, eyes flicking to your lips before meeting your gaze again.

“You look really fucking cute when you’re nervous,” he murmured.

“Oh my God, shut up,” you said, swatting his chest half-heartedly with a smile. “I’m not nervous.”

He caught your hand easily, holding it gently between his fingers before tugging you just a little closer. His breath was warm against your lips, his voice barely a whisper now.

“No?” he teased. “Then why’s your heart beating so fast?”

You couldn’t speak—your breath hitched, your mind blank, overtaken by the magnetic pull of him. Your gaze dropped to his lips, heavy with longing, suddenly desperate to know what he tasted like.

And as if he could hear the thought echoing through your skull, Seunghyun leaned in and captured your mouth in a kiss that was anything but tentative—hot, hungry, and laced with weeks of unspoken tension.

You let out a soft moan into his mouth, arms winding around his neck as he guided you backward, his hands firm on your waist. You gasped softly as he lifted you onto the edge of the desk, stepping between your legs like he belonged there—like he knew just how long you’d wanted this.

The kiss deepened, his tongue brushing against your lips, asking for entry. You opened for him willingly, greedily, fingers already working at the buttons of his shirt, pushing the fabric off his shoulders to reveal the hard lines beneath.

He broke the kiss only long enough to trail his lips down your neck, kissing and nipping at your throat, your collarbone, making your skin burn with desire. His hands slipped to the waistband of your pants, fingertips teasing the hem.

He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through your skin. “Fuck, you’re so wet already,” he muttered, sliding his hand into your pants, fingers brushing the soaked fabric of your panties.

You tugged him closer, your body already trembling. “Been a while,” you whispered, smirking against his lips.

He chuckled, dark and amused, his fingers grazing your entrance before sliding up to your clit, gathering your slick. “It’s so fucking hard to focus when you walk around looking like that every day.”

You gasped as he pushed a finger inside you, your hips twitching forward. His pace was slow, deliberate, drawing out every ounce of anticipation.

“Fuck…” you breathed, head falling forward against his shoulder.

“That feel good, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you whimpered, barely able to nod.

He stilled his hand. “Use your words.”

“Please… need more,” you begged, your voice needy and trembling.

“That’s my girl,” he praised, adding a second finger and curling them as he pumped deeper, faster. The pleasure came in waves, crashing through you, your moans muffled by his mouth as he kissed you again.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” he whispered, watching the way your body writhed under his touch. “Cum for me, baby. And don’t worry…” His lips brushed your ear. “It won’t be the only time tonight.”

You were so close, the coil tightening in your belly, your nails digging into his shoulders—

*SLAM*

The sound of a door slamming echoed down the hallway.

You both froze.

“What the fuck was that?” you gasped, breathless, heart racing for a very different reason now.

Seunghyun’s eyes narrowed, head tilting toward the studio door. “No one else is supposed to be here…”

You could hear them now—faint voices, footsteps approaching. Panic flared in your chest.

Seunghyun looked back at you, fingers still buried deep inside, his voice low and urgent. “What do you say we take this back to my place?”

You were panting, trembling, desperate.

“Please,” you whispered.

He grinned, kissing your forehead as he carefully withdrew his fingers, brushing one last teasing stroke against your thigh.

“Then let’s get the hell out of here before someone sees how wrecked you already are.”