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earlysunshines · 8 months ago

Text

watch me take my time

park jihyo x fem!reader ; fluff, smut ; read tutor perks first! this is pt. 2

synopsis: surprising the woman you're dating with tea and pastries turns into a steamy evening, and a more sentimental morning after

warnings: mommy kink ; jihyo receving, reader giving ; jihyo in control for the most part ; smut! ; smut :3 ; and smut ; cursing ; fucking on the couch!!! ; face riding ; yeaahh anything else i didn’t mention ; not proofread, as always lol

a/n: hey! i wasn't sure what to do for a part two, i never know. i didn't really expect tutor perks to get THAT much attention. anyway, I just went with whatever I felt like, i hope you guys like it. lmk what you think!

the parking garage was quite mesmerizing, adorned with lush greenery and meticulously planned layouts. it was a stark contrast to the parking spot on campus that was a fifteen-minute walk from the main campus. compared to the $225 spot at your university, this was undeniably better.

“is this the right place?” sarah, your roommate, asks. “because if it is... you coined a whole sugar mommy.”

“oh shut up.” you say, blushing. sarah laughs at you, then gives you a little hug.

“whatever, get out my car. i have to go see my girlfriend.” sarah says jokingly, to which you respond with a roll of your eyes.

“yeah yeah, see you, love you, bye.” you mutter before getting out the car and shutting the door, watching sarah wave at you teasingly.

walking towards the actual building — littered with plants and the beauty of the exterior catching you off guard — just the sight of it was enough to make you nervous. still, you manage to open the door and step in, feeling intimidated almost immediately just from seeing everyone inside the lobby.

the corporate image time ten was right in front of you: men in suits tailored to perfection exuded an air of confidence as they made way through the bustling lobby, their attention divided between important phone calls and firm handshakes with other mirror images of themselves. meanwhile, women clad in sleek blazers formed clusters, their conversations punctuated by polite laughter and the occasional sip of coffee.

it was safe to assume that you didn’t really fit in, you couldn’t help but feel like a fish out of water in the moment. so, while clutching a bag of pastries and a cup of iced tea from your shift at work, you made a conscious effort to blend into the background as you walked up to the lady behind the desk up front. thankfully, that wasn’t too hard given everyone had been occupied with their own things.

the lady, a shorter looking woman with hair tied up professionally, looked at you unamusingly. she raised a brow as you looked at her, putting a finger up to pause you in place since she looked like she was preoccupied with a phone call.

you balanced the small brown bag of pastries and iced tea in one hand, then moved over to fix the tote bag on your shoulder. the lady finished her call, then turned to you and spoke in a monotoned, uninterested tone.

“hi, how can i help you?”

“hi, um, is jihyo here? she’s still working, right?”

“and who are you?” she asks, looking offended that you even asked that question.

taken aback, you grow a little bashful and respond, “y/n l/n, i'm a...” you clear your throat, “friend of hers. she said if i wanted to stop by, now would be a good time.”

“yeah, alright. you expect me to believe you that miss park said you could stop by?”

“excuse me?” you say, immediately feeling belittled by her tone and look at you. “what do you mean by me? is there something wrong?”

the lady lets out a noise thats a mix of a laugh and a scoff. she sighs, looking down at her desk and pointing down at a paper before responding.

“miss park is a very busy woman, you know that, right? i have to make sure that this is an urgent thing, otherwise, you can see yourself out the door.”

the condescending tone in the desk lady's voice grates on your nerves, sparking irritation within you. you resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead fixing her with a steely gaze as you suppress the retort bubbling up inside you.

"i get that jihyo is busy, seriously," you reply evenly, your frustration simmering beneath the surface. "i'll call her right now if you need confirmation. i have her number and everything. she even texted me—"

"she what?" the desk lady interrupts, her expression shifting from dismissive to incredulous. "you-- you have her personal number?"

"of course i do, it's jihyo we're talking about," you respond matter-of-factly, feeling a twinge of satisfaction at the surprise evident in the woman's reaction.

"i didn't think—wow," the desk lady stammers, clearly caught off guard. she clears her throat, attempting to regain her composure. "miss park doesn’t give anyone here her personal number. s-sorry, i'm a bit taken aback. i'll have someone escort you. i'm sorry for the inconvenience, miss—"

"it's y/n," you interject, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the sudden shift in demeanor from the desk lady. it's almost amusing how quickly she seems to have changed her tune, now treating you with an unexpected level of deference.

the desk lady nods and begins making arrangements for your escort, you can't help but feel a sense of validation at the realization of just how highly regarded jihyo must be. the fact that you have her personal number suddenly feels like some sort of badge of honor, you must be lucky to just know her or interact with her casually—especially in bed, that must be better than any trophy or award. maybe even better than a grammy or something.

a tall, frail older man is by your side in the next minute. before you leave, the lady smiles at you – maybe a little forced given the unnatrual expression – then picks up the phone again, seemingly dialing a number.

the man leads you to an elevator and presses the second to last button, indicating the 11th floor. as the elevator ascends, you stand beside him, taking note of his impeccable posture and the condition of his suit. not a single crease in the fabric, he had to be some kind of perfectionist.

when the elevator doors slide open on the 11th floor, the man steps aside and gestures for you to exit first. his actions are formal, almost ceremonial, and you can't help but feel a sense of significance in the gesture. despite being just a girl who's clocked off work, you find yourself appreciating the unexpected treatment. you’re not against any of this treatment, however.

once you step out of the elevator, the man gestures for you to follow him down the corridor. as you walk, you can't help but be captivated by your surroundings. the corridor is lined with large windows that offer expansive views of the city, bathing the space in natural light and providing a breathtaking backdrop as you continue through the building.

the floor itself is decorated with tasteful elegance, oozing an air of professionalism and refinement. everything is thoroughly arranged, from the sleek furniture to the artful accents that adorn the walls. it's a space that balances functionality and cliche professionalism with an aesthetic appeal, creating an atmosphere that feels both welcoming and authoritative. if this is just one of the floors, you can’t even imagine how wonderful the rest of the building is. maybe jihyo will get to show it to you sometime.

passing by the employees that type away or take calls, he leads you to a room that has large windows, displaying the blinds that block whatever – or whoever – is inside. a sign is plastered on it that says park jihyo, indicating that this is right where you wanted to be.

he knocks on the door three times – somehow sophisticated and professional – then says in his deep voice,

“miss park, i'm sorry to interrupt. you have a visitor.”

silence takes over for a bit before the door is opened, revealing a tired looking jihyo in her blazer and slacks. she doesn’t see you at first, sending daggers at the man covering you before saying in a stern tone,

"chang, you know i'm busy with emails—" jihyo begins, her voice trailing off as she catches sight of you standing in the doorway. immediately, her demeanor softens, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips.

clearing her throat, she regains her composure and gestures for you to enter her office. "ah, y/n, come in," she says, her voice warm and welcoming. turning to the man, chang, she nods in appreciation. "chang, you're dismissed. thank you for escorting her."

chang nods respectfully and takes his leave, leaving you alone with jihyo in her office. as the door closes behind him. jihyo wastes no time in closing the distance between you as soon as the coast is clear.

her hand finds its way to the nape of your neck, pulling you close with a gentle yet firm touch. you feel a rush of warmth as her lips meet yours in a soft, tender kiss. her smile is evident even in the midst of the kiss, and you can't help but mirror her expression, returning the affection with the curve of your own lips.

you pull away, lips inches apart. jihyo smiles at you sweetly.

“what are you doing here?”

“you said you would be relatively free, i just got off work. i got you something to eat, figured you’d be hungry and... i wanted to see you.”

it's been almost three months since your first – very intimate – night with jihyo. the two of you continue to see each other, both intimately and regularly. dating jihyo has been pretty nice, though both of you have times where you don’t have time to see each other, so it’s nice to have moments like these.

as the weeks turn into almost three months, your relationship with jihyo continues to evolve. jihyo asked you out on proper dates, rather than her eating you out, she wanted to eat something else and get to know you better.

despite the demands of your respective schedules, the two of you make a concerted effort to see each other as often as possible. whether it's her inviting you over when her nephew isn’t around to evenings spent curled up together on the couch or having wine and a conversation. every moment shared with jihyo was precious

dating jihyo has brought a sense of joy into your life, a feeling of being understood and cherished in a way that you've never experienced before, none of your high school relationships made you feel this way. and while there are times when conflicting schedules and obligations pulled you apart, those moments only serve to make the time you spend together even more precious.

“you’re so sweet honey, come, sit.” jihyo says thankfully, guiding you to the large couch that gives you an even better view of the city.

you sit next to her and place the goods on the table, then immediately. she rests her head against your shoulder. a smile plays across your lips, and slight worry seeps into your skin. jihyo must be tired, judging from how limp she is against you, so you grab her hands and hold them gently, rubbing her knuckles and letting her relax a bit.

as you sit down next to jihyo and place the goods on the table, you can't help but notice the fatigue etched into her features. she leans her head against your shoulder, a smile plays across your lips as you feel her weight against you, but a slight twinge of worry creeps into your heart. jihyo must be exhausted, judging from how limp she is against you. without a word, you reach out and gently take her hands in yours, intertwining your fingers with hers.

you begin to rub her knuckles soothingly, hoping to ease some of the tension that seems to have taken hold of her. her fingers are a little bonier, hands noticeably more mature given the slight age gap between the two of you. a ring is around the base of her middle finger, something expensive looking with a small apricot-colored gem in it. in the warmth of your touch seems to relax her, and you can feel the tension slowly melting away as she leans into your embrace.

“you seem drained, was work exhausting?” you ask, turning to face her.

“just some really incompetent men and everything has been getting on my nerves. lots of deadlines that need to be met and some of my employees have been slacking.” jihyo sighs, “things are getting better, though. i made some... arrangements that should have things back in order.”

“i see.” you say, playing with her fingers. you press a kiss to the top of her head and reach for the iced tea, moving the straw to her mouth. “this should give you some energy, it’s the house tea, something peachy and sweet.”

“aw, you’re too kind, doll.” she says, pouting her lower lip before taking a sip. she takes a few more sips before grabbing the drink from your hand and setting it down on the table, then pecks your lips. “you’re seriously a gift, darling.”

almost three months and her little petnames still make your heart race, you don’t know if you’ll ever get used to them.

“sweetheart, if it’s not too much, could you massage my upper back? there's a lot of tension, god, it’s killing me.”

“of course.”

jihyo turns away from you so that her back faces you, and you place your hands on her tense shoulders. squeezing lightly to get her accustomed, she immediately relaxes into your touch, sighing as you massage her. she moves her head down so you can reach more of the stiff areas, and once your thumbs add more pressure, she lets out a louder sigh, more of a groan that makes you giggle, and leaving some room for imagination to other ways that can make her sound like that.

as jihyo turns away, her back facing you, you instinctively place your hands on her tense shoulders. with gentle pressure, you begin to massage her muscles, hoping to provide some relief from the tension that has accumulated there from whatever she’s been up to all day.

at first, jihyo tenses slightly at your touch, but as you continue to knead her shoulders, she gradually relaxes into your hands. a soft sigh escapes her lips as she leans into your touch, allowing you better access to the stiff areas of her muscles.

you adjust your position slightly, moving your hands to target the areas of greatest tension. with firm yet gentle pressure, you work your thumbs into the knots, eliciting a deeper sigh from jihyo's lips. the sound is more of a groan, and it sends a shiver down your spine, igniting a playful giggle.

“good?”

“ah- great.” she says through gritted teeth. she moves her hair over to once side, then asks, “can you get this side for me?” to which you respond with a hum.

as you continue to massage her shoulders, you can't help but let your mind wander, imagining other ways to draw out this genre of sounds from her. but for now, you're content to focus on the task at hand, providing jihyo with the comfort and relaxation she so desperately needs. and as you feel her muscles begin to loosen beneath your touch, you can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction knowing that you're able to provide her with some relief.

however, this doesn’t necessarily mean that your mind is completely free of other intimate scenarios.

jihyo gets a little louder, failing to suppress the groans that slip past her lips. your hands slow down, instead, you start to slide your hands down her back and around her waist, gently placing them on the sides. leaning closer, you place a chaste kiss on the skin that isn’t covered by her hair, smirking into her.

“what are you doing honey?” she asks softly, turning her head just barely to catch you in her peripheral.

instead of responding verbally, you press longer, lingering kisses along jihyo's neck. with each gentle caress of your lips, she begins to relax further, her body responding to the intimacy of your affection.

sensing her movement, you feel her hand come to rest lightly on your head, her fingers tangling softly in your hair. the sensation sends a shiver down your spine, a warmth spreads throughout your body as you continue to place kisses along her neck.

slowly, almost imperceptibly, jihyo begins to turn toward you, her movements guided by the gentle coaxing of your lips against her skin. as she shifts, her hand remains on your head, the gentle pressure of her touch grounding you in the moment. with each kiss, you feel the tension melting away from jihyo's body.

finally, when she’s turned towards you, you catch her lips with your own. jihyo hums into the kiss, her hand moving from your head to the base of your neck, then to your shoulder.

you pull away briefly to mutter, “feeling better?” to which jihyo responds by pulling you in by the hem of your jacket, closing the distance again.

as the kisses between you and jihyo grow soft and slow, a familiar heat begins to build between you. your tongues meet again, this wouldn’t be the first time for sure.

feeling a surge of need coursing through you, you subtly shift your position, guiding jihyo down until she's reclining on the couch. with a smooth, fluid motion, you position yourself on top of her, your body pressing against hers, heat radiating off the two of you.

in this moment, you find yourself taking control – in contrast to how it usually goes. as you deepen the kiss, your hands roam freely over jihyo's body, tracing the curves of her figure before sliding your hands under the edge of her shirt. she gasps at the feeling of your fingers on her skin, leaving you to kiss the corner of her mouth and trail down.

with jihyo beneath you, her body yielding to your touch as you trail kisses down to her neck, you feel a sense of power and satisfaction wash over. you nip gently at her neck – careful not to make any noticeable marks – while she claws at your clothing.

“baby-- darling, god,” she groans as you nip at the right spot with your teeth. she lets you indulge for a few minutes more, clearly enjoying it as much as you do before halting your actions as you slide your hands up closer to her chest under her shirt.

you pause, pulling away and looking at her with confusion, “sorry, too much?”

“never too much,” jihyo assures, placing a hand on your cheek while she catches her breath. “my employees are outside.”

your eyes widen, then you get the message and mutter, “oh.”

jihyo giggles at your response before lifting her head up to kiss you deeply again, pulling away with a noticeable sound made from your lips parting. “you’re adorable.” she says before grabbing your phone out your pocket and checking the time briefly. “my nephew isn’t home, so how about we get situated at my place? i should’ve left the office thirty minutes ago.”

“anything you’d like.”

with jihyo’s purse in your hand, you follow her into the house. the lights are off and it’s clear that no one’s home, leaving many possible opportunities for the two of you and even more scenarios to run through your head.

“have you had dinner? and don’t say you’ve had those pastries, that’s not enough darling.” jihyo says lightheartedly, though stern enough to let you know she’s serious. she places her purse on the counter and takes off her blazer, which reveals the shirt hugging her figure neatly. she's looking through the purse now, back faced you and you can’t help but check her out briefly. “if not, i'll order takeout.”

“that’s perfect.” you respond. jihyo turns towards you and grins, walking over and pecking your lips.

“yeah, i'll grab us some wine. order anything you’d like, love.”

“i’ve been craving bento bowls, is something japanese fine?”

“anything is fine, i'm starving even after that scone.” jihyo giggles, “also, it’s almost six. i have a little work call to answer, but after that we have the rest of tonight and the weekend if you’re not occupied with classes.”

“perfect, i'll just order for pick up then and then i'll be back in time for us to eat and whatnot. sound okay?” “that’s lovely, then i'll have to find my favorite wine for us. the best for the best.”

you giggle before pressing your lips against hers again, pulling away just barely before she closes the distance again. her arms rest on her shoulders as she pushes you closer, then she deepens the kiss.

without thinking, you move yourselves over so that jihyo’s against the counter, your hands sliding under her shirt yet again and lips sliding down to the soft skin on her neck. she groans at the feeling, tilting her head back to give you more access to her as she tightens her hold on your shoulder.

“later tonight,” you mutter in between kisses, rubbing circles on her skin under her shirt. “let me help you relax, yeah?” you nip at her skin lightly and she lets out a sharp breath, hand moving to the side of your neck. “let me do the work this time, you deserve to sit back for once.”

“y/n--” jihyo begins, but is cut off by the sound of a phone ringing against the counter. she groans in frustration; this is the angriest you’ve seen her. her brows furrow and she tenses her jaw as she picks up the phone, then looks at you apologetically.

“you should take that.”

jihyo sighs, then kisses your nose. “you should order dinner.”

“mhm.” you mumble before kissing her jawline, removing your hands from under her shirt and jihyo whines just barely. her skin seems colder now that your hands aren’t on them, tracing patterns and rubbing up and down the landmarks.

jihyo gave you the keys before you had left, so you didn’t have to ring the doorbell or anything – you assumed she’d still be on that work call.

as you enter the room, you find jihyo standing against the counter, her posture tense and her expression drawn with frustration. she's wearing something different: a cropped t-shirt and comfy sweatpants instead of her work attire. with one hand, she pinches the bridge of her nose, while the other holds a phone to her ear. she listens intently, her brow furrowed in concentration, as she navigates the seemingly irritating conversation on the other end of the line.

one arm crosses defensively while her gaze remains fixed on some distant point on the wood floor. to her left, on the smooth marble countertop, you notice two glasses and an unopened bottle of white wine.

“yes, i already have my employees on it.” you hear her say, tone stern yet level. “look, according to the results and feedback we’re doing fine, so i don’t understand why this meeting is still in session. i know you want to be secure, but doubting me won’t secure what’s already set. everything is fine, so go talk to samuel if you really want to bicker with someone who can’t do their job. he's been slacking with his unit; i've seen the data. goodbye.”

a small “ugh” is muttered under her breath before she places the phone down, then looks over to see you standing in the entrance of the hallway. a smile tugs at her lips immediately upon seeing you.

“two teriyaki salmon bentos for the struggling college student and her beautiful, older, hardworking, hot older woman.”

jihyo snickers, laughing at your stupid little titles. “calling me old?”

“well maybe... i’m into that though, so stay old.”

jihyo rolls her eyes at you, then watches you pull out the to go bowls out onto the table nearby. she walks over herself and brings the glasses and the wine bottle over. before she takes out the cork with her tool, she places a kiss on your cheek and mumbles against you a soft, “thank you.”

you grin and kiss her back before going back to the kitchen to grab utensils, and then back to the table to sit down next to your lover.

grabbing the boxes and handing jihyo a spoon, you ask, “how was your day? work seemed rough.”

a sigh leaves her lips, her aura radiating exhaustion and irriation, yet she stays calm and content before your eyes.

“just a lot of deadlines and dreadful people to deal with today, but it’s over and you made me feel better.”

“i’m glad.” you say, putting a hand on her thigh. “let’s eat, maybe you’ll be less exhausted.” to which jihyo responds with a nod and a kiss to your knuckles.

the sliding door in front of you two gave a great view of the setting sun, which made dinner quite romantic. jihyo shared more about her day, though it was mostly complaints mixed with frustrated grunts and groans when bringing up the men she had to face. you on the other hand, shared some small anecdotes from your shift and your roommate's own drama to jihyo, which she enjoyed listening to. before you knew it, dinner was finished – bowls clean and all, barely any remnants of the food left – which urged you two to throw away the plastic containers and head to the couch to sit and sip on wine.

jihyo sat beside you and swirled her wine around before sniffing, then took a small sip. you did the same, eyes lighting up from how good it was, which made jihyo laugh. and then the two of you went on to talk about more small things, ranging from what annoyed each of you during the day and things you both looked forward to.

the next thing you knew, your head was against jihyo’s shoulder, and your now empty glass was set on the table with hers.

“at least the day is over, hyo.”

she snickers upon hearing the name, then turns to you with a smile.

“hyo?”

“sorry, don’t like that name?”

“no, i love it. it's cute.” she assures, “adorable.”

“yeah?” you say, grinning. shifting yourself up to sit up right, you brush a strand of hair behind jihyo’s ear. “any plans tomorrow?” you ask, staring at her lips blatantly.

“no, what are you up to darling?”

you giggle and run your hand down to her jaw, placing your thumb on her lip and applying subtle pressure.

“let me help you relax tonight.” you simply answer, smirking devilishly. “seems like you need it.”

in no time, your lips make their way over to hers, you kiss her slowly and savor her. she places her hand on your shoulder, gripping slightly as you deepen the kiss.

your hands find their way under jihyo’s shirt again in no time, though at first, your fingers simply brush against her skin before doing anything big. you're taking your time exploring her, finding out which area on her rib makes her kiss sloppier or her breath shorter. you feel her responding to your touch, her movements becoming more urgent, more fervent.

jihyo's hands roam over your body in tandem with your own explorations, one hand in your hair and the other on the base of your wrist. you're both consumed by the heat of the moment, kisses with more tongue, breaths heavier, and jihyo’s groans getting louder. it's perfect.

you create a gap between the two of you after pulling away, your own breath heavy. jihyo looks at you: red, puffy lips and peach colored cheeks from the intimacy.

looking down at the edge of jihyo’s shirt, you silently ask to take it off by playing with the edge of the fabric.

“take it off.” she says lowly, almost an order.

nodding, you slip the shirt off, gazing at her clad chest.

you've seen her naked before – more than you can count on one hand – yet, she still manages to leave you in awe.

“fuck, you’re beautiful.” you sigh, immediately making your way over to her neck. “i could have you like this all day.” you groan against her skin, right before sucking near her pulse point so harshly to the point where she moans your name out, subconsciously gripping your hair and tugging so roughly it hurts your scalp.

blindly, you start to unclasp her bra, discarding it somewhere in the room – you could care less where it landed – and tending to the new area exposed.

a brush of your finger on her nipple already has it perked up, making her groan loudly. saying it’s music to your ears would be an understatement, it’s better than any symphony.

“y/n, baby,” jihyo moans, feeling a wetness pooling down in between her legs. “ah-”

your mouth lands on her chest, then down to her tits. you press a chaste kiss to her tits, making her look down at you with furrowed brows and parted lips. with full eye contact, you travel to the swell of her breast, finding your way to her nipple and swirling your tongue around. the way you suck on her sensitivity is enough to make her groan right in front of your face. the way her mouth gapes and oh, how lovely she sounds; you could get used to this for sure.

and later you pay attention to her other breast, treating it with the same care and evoking more lewd sounds from the older woman. the way she folds under your touch, twitching and slowly losing herself while she’s weak to you; jihyo could use more rest days, especially ones that have hours dedicated to you indulging in her.

moments later, after earning at least a song’s duration of jihyo’s indescribable pleasure seeping from her lips, you decide to look at the mess you’ve made.

marks of pink ranging to a darker red – even a near purple – are littered all over her skin, from her neck to all over her chest area. you bite your lip at the sight, rubbing your finger along a few of the hickeys.

“y/n, baby,” jihyo starts, looking at you intensely. “shirt off, down on the couch now. don't make me ask twice.” she orders breathlessly, narrowing her eyes and expecting immediate obedience – which she receives without question.

despite how much you’ve riled up and left her, she still has that natural authority. there's absolutely no way you could disobey her, at the end of the day, no matter what you’ve done to her; you belong to jihyo now, no doubt.

“yes ma’am.”

as you slip the shirt off in one motion, jihyo uses that short duration of time to slip off her comfortable pants, discarding them and slipping her panties off. she watches you – who's watching her in return – you're propped up by your elbows as you watch her sit on your lap, feeling your pussy throb just from the feeling of her bare cunt on the denim covering your heat.

“good girl, always. you know how to listen to me, glad you know your place.”

“of course.” you say, looking at her with desperate eyes.

“you know how i've told you about today, yeah? it was so difficult, so many incompetent people. you’re going to listen to me, okay? you're gonna let mommy use you just like the good girl you are, got it?”

taken aback by the new title, you hesitate to respond, too entranced by the sight in front of you: jihyo completely naked, on your nap, with her hands resting on your abdomen to hold herself up. when she doesn’t get a response from you, she grinds harshly against your lap, earning a pathetic whine from you.

she presses her hand down on your abdomen harder, earning a sharp breath from your lips.

“you answer me when i talk to you, i won’t say this again.”

“y-yes, sorry.”

she leans closer, her face above yours and gaze sharp. “yes who?”

with no hesitation, you correct yourself. “yes mommy, i'm sorry, i'll be a good girl from now on.”

jihyo smiles, pleased to say the least.

“down on the couch then honey, on your back.” she says gently, though there’s still that stern tone.

you gulp, then nod. jihyo smiles as you set your head down, putting your arms off to the side so your hands can gently caress her thighs. she gets up on her knees, repositioning herself so that her cunt is hovering above your chin, then stroking your cheek lightly. you look at her with puppy eyes, silently begging for her to let you get a taste; she gets the message almost immediately, then sets her cunt right above your mouth.

your hands reach for the sides of her waist, moving her down just an inch so you can get a taste of her arousal.

she groans again, throwing her head back before looking back at you with creased brows: your cheeks are red, your eyes are closed, and you’re humming against her while you eat her out ravenously. the last time you had eaten someone out had been a while ago, and jihyo’s been the one fucking you to oblivion since the first night with her. you're following her body, sliding your tongue up her folds and sucking on her clit once you reach. she gasps and grips your hair the way you like it, rough and demanding. her nails dig into your scalp, and you let out a little moan yourself, turned on just as much as you are when she’s doing everything to you.

attentive to the sounds she’s making, you keep doing what earns the more pleasing reactions. she's griding against the flat of your tongue, forcibly pushing your mouth into her wetness the more you indulge. she's moaning louder, her deep, mature voice growing breathy and higher pitched the more you please her.

and then she shifts your lips over to the left side of her clit, so you suck and lick and groan until the living room is filled with the sound of squelches of her pussy and your mouth coming into contact mixed with moans that fade into nothing as they’re caught in throats. jihyo's cursing more and more, holding you in one spot with that one hand gripping onto your hair like there’s no tomorrow whilst she grinds herself on your tongue and completely uses you.

“y/n, y/n darling, honey, fuck, ah-!” she cries out, shaking until she isn’t, propping herself up with one hand on your hip bone and the other loosening her grip on your now disheveled hair. she grinds slowly now, still stimulating the aching between her legs whilst you clean up all her climax with your tongue.

slowly, you take your time licking up her folds, savoring her. a press to her clit later and you're pressing more on her inner thigh until she shifts herself off your face and back to your lap.

she runs a hand through her hair – some strands sticking to her forehead.

you catch your breath, then sit up a little bit, jihyo still in your lap.

“feeling better?” you ask, your hand settling on her explosed ribcage before moving up to cup the bottom of her tit.

“much better.” she grins, fixing the hair she’s ruined. strands fall over your face, she runs a few fingers through to fix it up again.

laughing, you lean closer to press a kiss to her lips, smirking once you part away.

“y/n,” jihyo begins, twirling a piece of hair with her fingers. “you’ll be a good girl, right?”

you nod.

“good, because the night isn’t over.” she says menacingly, looking at you with darkened pupils. “on the ground, on your knees. you're gonna eat mommy out until she’s satisfied, got it?”

“yes ma’am, yes mommy.” you say, immediately switching positions.

jihyo watches you move over to the ground, the visible patch of arousal apparent on your denim as you kneel. she traces down the grooves of your torso, indulging in the sight before sitting back and spreading her legs.

seeing her like this, you lick your lips. you're like an obedient puppy, eager to receive her approval and eager to serve her in any way she sees fit.

jihyo raises her brows at the sight and smiles devilishly at how pathetic you look. she gives you the green light after relishing your submission.

“eat.”

just like every other morning, you’re stuck in jihyo’s bed half naked. some sports bra covers the upper half of your body, and boy shorts hug the skin just below your waist. the older woman’s hands are wrapped around your waist, one hand sitting on the exposed hip bone that pops out, and she’s warm against you, her chest rising and falling against your back.

shifting subtly in your place, you turn over to face her.

her face is bare, no makeup on and it’s just jihyo before you. she's rubbing her hands on the exposed skin on your hip, mumbling something groggily under her breath. it's been a while since you’ve seen her like this – it's been a bit since you’ve been alone with her, really alone, just the two of you and no one else or worry of interruption.

“mm, honey,” jihyo mumbles, and you can’t tell if she’s awake or asleep while saying this. “closer.”

“okay.”

you find your nose in the crook of her neck, smelling faint hints of lavender while you press closing. she rubs your shoulder with her thumb, tracing patterns and shapes you can’t really put a name on. the sun hits her eyes, you hear a little groan, and then a little yawn that gives you the hint that she’s fully awake.

a hand finds itself tangled in your hair, then massages your scalp. “did you sleep alright?” jihyo asks, voice gentle and caring as she holds you.

“i slept great, you?”

“wonderfully.”

a kiss is pressed to your forehead and fingers play with the rim of your boy shorts. a soft smile plays across your face, you close your eyes and breathe out.

“sweetheart.” jihyo hums, tapping your shoulder.

“hm?”

“i realized i've never really, fully expressed how thankful i am for you.”

upon hearing jihyo’s sentimental words, you pull away from where your face had been nestled, face to face with jihyo now.

“what?”

“i haven’t been that, well--” jihyo’s face flushes – to oyur surprise – she looks down at your clad chest, then back at your eyes. “relaxed. you helped me unwind, thank you.”

you can’t help but giggle, finidng all of this so cute. jihyo had been ordering you around last night, moaning so loud the neighbors probably heard. you can still feel a little ache in your scalp from how roughly she was pulling at your hair; everything about the night before was so lewd. it's funny how vulnerable and cute jihyo’s being right now, letting her heart do the talking.

“you’re adorable, hyo.” you sigh, looking at her with admiration. “i’m glad i was there to help, and i'm looking forward to helping out whenever you want.”

“y/n.” jihyo begins, placing her hand on your cheek and looking at you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. “will you be my girlfriend?”

giggling again upon hearing the seriousness in her voice and the adorable look on her face, you nod.

“of course.”

at the end of the weekend – a beautiful sunday evening, the sky painted hues of pink and purple – you’re in your desginated spot: the passenger’s side of jihyo’s car.

both of you sit in silence as jihyo exits the freeway, some pop song playing on the radio. her hand is intertwined with yours, elbows sitting on the little compartment that seperates the two seats. she's humming along and it’s music to your ears, you’re smiling ear to ear as you watch her.

sunglasses sit on the crown of her head, her side profile staying in its place while the scenery behind her flashes by as the car moves forward. she's beautiful.

once you reach your apartment complex, jihyo parks somewhere close.

“don’t move, just stay there.” you warn her, sounding all serious and looking at her with raised brows.

“darling, what?” she asks, a little smile tugging at the corner of her lips. she giggles once you leave the car hurriedly, rushing towards the other side to open her door.

“miss park.” you say, putting your hand out. jihyo laughs, amused at your little gesture. she takes your hand and steps out, rolling her eyes at you.

“you’re unbelieveable.”

“well, after seeing how scared everyone was at your work place the other day, i feel like i should treat you better.”

“you’re my girlfriend, not my employee y/n.” jihyo scoffs, then kisses the back of your hand.

once you make it to your apartment, you knock on the door, waiting for the familiar face to open the door for you.

sarah opens the door a few seconds later, eyes widnening upon seeing you and jihyo right in front of her – hands holding and all.

“oh my god you really did manage to get with her.” sarah says in disbelief, making you roll oyur eyes and the little comment making jihyo snicker. “you’re jihyo? wow, oh my god, you look so young – i mean, you are, like--”

“i get what you mean, thank you.” jihyo responds lightheartedly, smiling at the woman in front of her.

the two of you step in and sarah is still examining jihyo, baffled by how unreal she looks – and wow, your descriptions and rambles about this woman did not prepare her for this meeting. jihyo sets herself down on the couch and sarah pulls you to the side quickly before the two of you join her.

“oh my god when you said older woman i didn’t expect godly cheekbones, jawline sharper than a knife, and fucking luxury to show up holding your hand.”

“she’s amazing.”

“ugh, you’re drooling.” sarah sighs.

you smile at your roommate like a proud little kid, pushing her lightly before joining your now girlfriend on the couch.

maybe majoring in education was worth it, you think to yourself as you watch sarah grin at the two of you from across where you’re sitting. despite your dreadful research papers, essays, and mock lectures – all of it was worth it if it meant meeting jihyo.

sarah puts a leg over the other, leaning back against the smaller seat in your living room.

“you know, y/n has been gushing over you since like, the first time she tutored your nephew. she's kept me up at night just talking about--”

“sarah!”

#miinatozakiii #twice x reader #kpop x reader #twice imagines #park jihyo #twice jihyo #jihyo imagines #jihyo x reader #park jihyo x reader

752 notes · View notes

leclsrc · 2 years ago

Text

has yet to pass ✴︎ cs55

centre image by tony belobrajdic

genre: exes to lovers, slow burn, fluff, humor, slight angst, yearning, some sexual tension

word count: 12.5k

Four years after an angry breakup, the universe is bored enough to nominate Carlos Sainz for GQ Sports’ Man of the Year and assign you to be the writer of his profile.

notes... internet translated spanish lol

auds here... requested, this fic is long! i hope you all like it apologies for the inactivity </3 exes to lovers we have a very love/hate relationship but this was a pleasure to write

You’re half sure your head is about to pop out from how annoyed you are.

At the office, mornings move slowly in the very corporate-desk-job kind of way, but today is notably slower. Your boss had called you in an hour earlier to discuss important matters, and this is your third hour waiting already. Either your boss is a dumbass, or you got the wrong email, which both essentially mean the same thing anyway.

The time on your Panthère tells you you’re curving into the three-and-a-half hour territory, and right as you’re about to get up to get a glass of water, the large wooden door swings open and your name is called through the crack in it. Suddenly the irritation dissipates into nerves, and because Jonathan didn’t specify anything in the email, you realize you could be wading into anything right now. Termination. Promotion. A brick to the head.

“Morning,” you offer once the door’s been shut behind you.

“Sorry for the wait,” he says politely. “We’ve been in discussions with GQ Sports all day. All night last night, too. It’s all proper boring.”

You nod, remaining fairly quiet and waiting for him to break the news to you. He clears his throat, places his hands on his hips and exhales.

“Right, so this is all related to GQ, actually. They’re doing a Men of Sports segment and they asked us to assign one of our writers to an athlete. You’re our best right now, really—your article turnout last year was absolutely stellar. So, there’s, ah… there’s tennis, yeah, there’s footie, obviously, and—under usual circumstances, you’d get to choose one of either. But we actually really wanted to cover racing this year.”

The cloud above your head carrying the dreams of interviewing Leo Messi or Roger Federer pops dismally.

“Racing.” You repeat curtly.

“It’s gotten proper viral this year!” He smiles, gestures to nothing to prove his point. “Every teenage girl’s got a crush or other on a driver. Anyway, we set you up with the racing category, and the segment comes out in around six months.”

“I’ve got a tiny bit of a qualm about th—”

“So it’s decided. GQ’s going to pick out the driver for you, and you’ll be introduced at a gala next week.”

“Wait—” you laugh uncomfortably. “I’m thankful for the opportunity, and wow, thank you for choosing me, really, but do I not get to pick my own driver?” You clear your throat. “I mean, I’m spinning the story.”

“I know,” he sighs. “But this deal moved pretty quick, so a majority of the leverage goes to them. Don’t worry, though—a lot of the drivers will have great stories, I’m sure. You’ve got Lewis, you’ve got the Verstappen guy, you’ve got the Rosberg fellow…”

“Rosberg retired in 2016.”

“Oh, fuck, seriously? Well. Hit me with a brick then.”

—

The gala is a fundraiser to celebrate the season kicking off, you realize when you step outside the car and read the navy blue banner across the entrance to the carpet. It’s all fancy fonts and table placements, but One look at the watches and earrings in this place will tell you there’s more than enough funds already. You digress, anyway, walking inside to find the only one person you’re familiar with in the world of racing.

“Lewis,” you mutter when you locate him, voice dry with dread (and lack of alcohol), “kill me now.”

“On the off chance you’re serious—I’m actually willing to do so.” You slap his arm and he scowls.

“I’m supposed to meet the driver I’m writing about tonight, but the GQ guy hasn’t texted me. Christ, I hope it’s you. At least I have years’ worth of blackmail on you to really sell the profile.”

He only laughs, guiding the both of you to a champagne tower and offering you one. You down it in seconds, suffocated by nerves and the curiosity blooming inside you. “You don’t think it’s…?”

“I think they keep track of those things,” he replies, but his voice is only half-sure. “Conflict of interest and that. But Jonathan did say it was a quick deal?” You nod. “So it’s not impossible, I suppose.”

Big help, you chirp sarcastically, eyes perusing the large room. There are tables populated by celebrities, by politicians, and of course, by drivers. You keep scanning, squinting to chisel your search further, but it’s cut off by a tap of two fingers on your shoulder.

“Hi. I’m Nick, the GQ rep, and I believe you and I have a meeting,” says the man behind you with an excited smile. “Why don’t we…?”

He gestures to the expanse of the room and you nod, falling into step beside him. He introduces the article, the concept of shadowing the athlete to achieve a more immersive piece of work as a result, something novel and innovative.

He’s right in the middle of talking about Jonathan when he stops at one of the cocktail tables and stations the two of you there. “Okay. You’re one of the biggest names in sports journalism right now, so it means a lot for you to want to represent racing. Especially because both Neymar Jr. and Nadal expressed bids to get you to write their segments!”

“They wh—”

“Right, here we are. Meet your shadow—or, subject—for the next six-ish months.” He places two hands atop your shoulders and wheels you around, so your eyes meet those of, “…Carlos Sainz Jr.!”

Yeah. This is fucking rich.

Nick is talking but none of it falls right on your ears. Everywhere in your mind, alarm bells ring at full volume, alerting you to the danger present, almost. You plaster on a fake smile to acknowledge his presence, but his outstretched hand goes unnoticed. Clearly picking up on the tension, Nick gives a sheepish giggle and ducks out of the exchange, leaving the two of you woefully alone.

“Carlos,” you say politely. “What a nice surprise.”

There is a limited amount of phrases that are considered acceptable to say to an estranged ex of four years. There’s oh, what a surprise!, didn’t expect to see you here, you look well. It’s limited because nobody ever thinks to run into their estranged ex of four years, and even then, any sane person would do well to avoid interaction at all costs. So you’re really the luckiest son of a bitch in the world to be situated with a stuffy public interaction, under the guise of professionalism, with your ex-boyfriend.

Your history is heavy in the air. The last time you saw each other, things had been a lot different, but now you’re two professionals. Really. You really are professional.

“I refuse to be within ten metres of the guy,” you say, on your third martini. Lewis faces you with poorly hidden concern, and beside him, roped into your lovelorn matters, so does Sebastian Vettel. “Ten metres. Actually, no. Make it twenty. How can I be arsed to write an all-over-him feature about a guy I absolutely hate and haven’t seen in four years?! I had it all sussed—get assigned to Lewis, write the best feature, then restore his eighth world title.”

“—She’s joking,” coughs Lewis.

“Oh, but now? Now, it’s get assigned to my ex, write like shit, never get recognized for a good piece, and die hungry and alone on the streets of London. You know, I should just call Jonathan and tell him I don’t want this. I’d rather go back to writing normal articles.” You pry your clutch open but a hand stops you before you can.

“Don’t.” Sebastian’s voice is gentle, but firm. “This is a test of character, don’t you think? More than that—it’s a test of how good you are as a writer.”

“True,” interjects Lewis, chewing on a quiche. “If you can write a stellar profile about an ex, I mean—you’re just proper talented. But it’s also about how strong you are now, morally. Emotionally.”

“I’m perfectly fine emotions-wise, thanks,” you retort. Both men shrug, backing off, and you feel like you should be smug about it—but your mind is stuck on the topic even as the night passes.

You end up deciding when you’re kicking your heels off in your flat a few hours later, giving Jonathan a ring despite the late hour. It takes a while for the man to pick up, but he does eventually, with an excited tone colouring his voice—“How’s my star writer? Sainz, huh? Real eye candy.”

“About that…” you start, walking over to your bookshelf and chewing your lip, trying to think of the right way to decline the offer. Your eyes land on one of the several awards you’ve garnered in your profession—in fact, the very first one. Most Promising Journalist, it reads, embedded into the front’s frosty surface.

Four years ago. And you’ve proven it since, if the crowd of glass around it is anything to go by. Why let a petty ex destroy what could potentially be one of your biggest gigs yet? Your segue outside of sports journalism?

“Earth to—yeah, hello? About what?” Jonathan’s voice breaks you out of your thought train.

“… I just, uh,” you say, nodding, “I wanted to say I’m really excited.”

—

Carlos Sainz Jr., 27, is on the rise as one of Formula One’s most talented drivers… (add more info…) His smooth driving style and charm has led him to become one of the most popular figures in the sport, both on and off the paddock. He is also a huge, absolutely irritating, cannot for the life of him be humble!!!, SON OF A BITCH, PRICK, ASSHOLE—AND THE BIGGEST WANKER ON PLANET EAR

“The team will be here in just a minute,” says the lady who’d ushered you into this meeting room in Maranello. You half-shut your laptop in fear she’ll catch sight of your brief Word document meltdown, but she doesn’t seem to notice, setting a glass of water beside you and you stare idly at it while waiting for the rest of the room to enter. You’re expecting Nick, Carlos, Mattia—the boss—and Charles, his teammate. Jonathan’s already beside you playing Candy Crush on his phone, as per boomer law.

This meeting is pointless. You’ve already exchanged the bare minimum pleasantries with Carlos, anyway, and you cannot for the life of you decipher why there needs to be a whole new corporate clash just for this. But here you are anyway, awaiting your ex-boyfriend’s arrival into the room and back into your sweet life.

He enters with everybody else, his hair half-damp and his eyes meeting yours almost immediately. You clear your throat and turn away, standing to shake hands with Mattia. He’s pleasant about it, expressing excitement for the final output and commending your earlier work as a writer. You offer the polite small talk back, discussing plans for the article and the release date.

“Over at GQ Sports, we’re really trying to make this concept as immersive as possible. That requires the writer to shadow the athlete at almost all times, maybe taking a couple days off if needed. That might mean she gets a paddock pass, and things like that.”

“That’s no problem,” Mattia says. “Anything for the article.”

You end up being introduced to Charles, too—Charles Leclerc, who wears a contagious smile and won’t stop letting his eyes frolic in between you and Carlos, like he can sense the history. You suspect Carlos brought him up to speed, anyway, but it’s still a bit amusing. While the meeting carries on, Charles chips in with a joke. “Hey, if you find this guy irritating, you and I are going to get along.”

You laugh a bit, but remain mostly quiet for the sake of being professional. You miss the way Carlos’ eyes linger on you a second too long, focusing on the tail-end of the meeting so you can, for lack of better word, get the fuck out of here.

Of course, though, you’re stopped in the middle of the parking lot by Carlos himself, whose apologetic face is the first thing you see when you turn around with a huff. You’d already known it was him—he was calling your name loudly as he jogged over to you—but it’s still a sour surprise.

“What?”

“Let’s”—he pauses to take a breath—“talk. Listen, I know it must be an imposition for you to write about this, about me. Let me make it clear that I’m 100% okay if you choose to switch athletes. And if you needed any background information, I’ll be willing to give you that.”

“I don’t care what you’re okay with,” you say blankly. “And I’ve got Google.”

“Right.” He stares. “Um. Okay, well, let’s—can we agree, then? To be civil, for the period of time this article will be written?”

You consider the truce. As much as you’d like to be snarky with him and make your disdain all the more clear, you’re also not interested in making a scene or causing any type of fuss around his—and your—colleagues. The glass awards on your shelf flash through your mind, and you inhale softly. “Okay.”

He smiles. This seems a bit more difficult than you thought, for reasons you didn’t even consider.

“Forget anything ever happened,” he says when your hands meet. Something jolts through you.

Yeah, you’re fucked.

—

Your introduction to the actual sports part of the profile goes well, with a flurry of chaos in Bahrain.

Despite Jonathan’s texted reminder from Friday morning (Stick to Sainz the whole time), you find yourself staying in your comfort zone, ergo following Lewis around nearly the entire weekend. Granted, you are itnroduced to a few more drivers—Mick, Esteban, Alex—but also Lando, one of Carlos’ closest friends on the paddock, who makes dirty jokes from the get go.

Still, even Lewis has to remind you you have another driver to actually cover, so you reluctantly detach from him on the race day and begin your search for—

“Carlos,” you utter, breathless from exhaustion when you finally locate him inside his room at the motorhome, which you swear you checked twenty minutes ago. Either he’s avoiding you or he’s truly impossible to find. He adjusts his suit and looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“Yes?”

“I need a couple of words from you.” You smile politely, taking a seat on the couch armrest. “Like, pre-race nerves, jitters, routine. Anything?”

“I have a playlist,” he says, humming. “I like to call family, have a talk with the engineers.” He says it like en-yi-neers, but you already anticipated it. You’ve known en-yi-neers for years. You know how he talks, pronounces everything. “And I say a prayer, trust the car.”

“Trust the car?” You type the last few words onto your laptop, which you’d been toting around all day. It balances on your lap. “Any follow-ups to that, considering there’s been some chatter around the car this year and its supposed faultiness?”

“I just do what I do best,” he replies, steadfast. “The rest is a gamble I’m willing to take.”

“Perfect.” You finish. “That was a great line. Thanks so much, really.” It’s your reporter voice, the one you use for just about everyone else on the paddock. He nods in response, and the room ebbs into silence again. It’s awkward, when you excuse yourself and exit, already planning exactly how you’re going to tell this to Lewis. Halfway out the door, you purse your lips, turn, and then:

“Good luck, by the way.” Your voice falls soft.

He looks up, momentarily surprised. “Thank you.”

You nod a little, smiling as you shut the door.

Carlos ends up getting second place—you’re beside a zealous Ferrari engineer when it happens, walking along the pit lane. Compared to your stoic smile, their reaction looks like the pinnacle of human emotion. Your turmoil is all inward, a melting pot of emotion for the driver. Would it be weird, you think, to feel proud? To feel happy? When things have ended?

Much later, when you’re wrestling for comfort in the throng of cheering Ferrari engineers, you squint to find Carlos on the podium.

You’re aware there are photographers everywhere, with high-def cameras that rival your natural eyesight, even, but still you tug your phone out and snap a few shitty zoomed-in pictures of him in second place, smiling and sprayed with champagne. You think of the profile, of the words you’ll use to capture this moment, the season kickoff. But most of all you think of the way his eyes seem to search for something specific in the mass of people, or the way you wished for them to meet yours.

—

Sainz, a self-proclaimed music lover, loads a pre-race playlist that changes every few locations. He names some of his favorite artists and songs as sources of motivation.

You climb into the passenger seat of his Golf when you finally find him, after a half hour of asking around everywhere. First, it was “in the motorhome,” then it was “in a meeting,” then it was “hanging out with Charles”—none of which ended up being true, anyway. He doesn’t question your presence (he hasn’t much, lately), just lets his eyes wander over to you briefly before you begin asking questions.

“Favorite song?” You get straight to it, stressed over the article. Jonathan has been on your ass about missing a deadline and causing the third world war in the process, or something or other. You sigh when you settle into the seat.

“Not even a hello or a buenas noches,” he says as he pulls out of the parking lot to drive the both of you to your hotel. “What’s this for?”

“You already know,” you say, humming as you sift through notes. “Listen. You did an interview before with Toro Rosso, right? Where you said your favorite artists were Muse, Kings of Leon, and The Killers. Right?”

“What the—you are a serious stalker.” He laughs out loud, eyes still on the road ahead.

“It’s kind of my job, Carlos,” you say, smiling and gritting your teeth. “Just answer.”

“Sí, sí. Yeah, I like that genre. I like rock, I guess… rock, indie, 80’s. You’d be surprised how little of an effect music has on my pre-race routine, though, even if I have a playlist.”

“Tell me more,” you muse. Your laziness to retrieve your laptop results in you scribbling soundbites onto your notebook instead.

“Music is an escape for me, you know? I like it a lot. So as long as something gets me going, I’m good with it. It doesn’t have to be by a favorite artist, or a famous one, or a Spanish one. Though I have been listening to Shakira a lot lately.” Obsessively listens to Shakira, you write. “It’s just release. Lately, I’ve been listening to the same few ones on loop.”

“Care to share?” Music = release. Same songs looped.

He presses something onto the centre console, and music flows throughout the car right after. “This.”

Baby I’m Yours by Arctic Monkeys, you write, and then, all at once, you slowly realize exactly what you’re writing. You stare at the scrawled-on words, the song bleeding into your ears and saturating your brain. You’ve always thought of this song with a weird feeling, one in between nostalgia and hurt, and now it’s on full blast. In Carlos’ Golf, no less, which happened to be the venue for many of your listening parties back then.

Back then—when nobody knew much of this song and it hadn’t yet become an indie anthem. It was just another cover by your favorite band in 2015. It became your song, the song for kitchen dances, the song for long car rides, the song for the red lights, the song for the morning routine.

But now it’s just a song.

“Carlos,” you say. It’s supposed to sound strict, firm, even a little angry. But you’re so affected, it leaves you quietly instead, weakly almost. “Come on.”

“Do you remember when you first showed me this song?” He responds instead, the volume still loud. You allow yourself to smile a little, leaning your head back and watching the cityscape of Bahrain whir past. In a foreign city, you think, you feel more at home than ever.

“Yeah,” you profess. “On my iPhone—what was it then? iPhone 5, or something.” You both laugh a little. The dam has broken, it seems, and topics of your past relationship seem to now be open to discussion. But it doesn’t feel alien, or weird, or uncomfortable. Carlos laughs, makes fun of your old lockscreen, and all is well.

A lot of memories have unwittingly attached themselves to this song. It’s the kind of song where, even in the opening notes, you’re already stunned with the myriad of them. There are the obvious ones: first finding the song, first dancing to it. But it trickles down into the smaller, more niche ones.

The time you got a busker in London to perform it for you both, and danced like idiots at ten-thirty in the evening, while some onlooking geriatric couple watched with mild entertainment. The time you got him a vinyl record of this EP, and left it in the cab before you were supposed to give it to him, leading to you crying on his sofa while he cuddled you and fed reassurance into your ear. The time he attempted to learn the chords to it and broke the string of your decorative guitar.

Like always, Carlos drives one-handed. He’s usually responsible, but if he’s cruising, or driving at a relatively slow pace, he likes to lean back and use his left. His right lays, unmanned, on the centre console of the Golf. You don’t notice it’s there until you finish writing a sample line on your notebook and you lower your left hand absentmindedly, brushing a finger against his in the process.

Your instinct is to jerk away, but Carlos is calm, humming to the song and reading road signs. So you let it rest there, in part to show yourself you’re capable of relaxing, but—and it feels like a heavy thing to admit—also because you like the feeling.

So your hands are there, just shy of each other, barely touching. His pointer finger twitches, almost like he’s trying to hold it back from inviting yours to wrap around it. You let yours brush over them a little bit, pulling away. Then he coughs, and lifts his hand to make a right turn, so you resume writing, eyes downcast.

—

You’d spent the Saudi weekend less with Lewis (in a bid to follow his advice) and socialized a bit more with Lando and Charles, who both proved to be pleasant company. They played table tennis with you and even shared a good chunk of grid gossip.

“Pierre and Yuki have soooo done it,” whispers Charles, scandalized, sipping a G&T from a decorative polka dot straw.

“Shut up!” You clap a hand over your mouth. “I mean, I had my suspicions. But really? They’ve shagged?”

“Oh.” He pauses dumbly, scratching his head. “I meant they’ve done marijuana.”

“Damn it, Charles,” bemoans Lando. “You’re a sodding buzzkill. We’ve all done weed, this is not news. The gay sex would’ve been.”

The afternoon progresses into night, and you seem to be on a roll with the sports component—Carlos gets to P3 in Saudi Arabia. You travel to his motorhome room after the debrief, where you hope he’ll be, and find him packing shit up inside.

“Good work out there,” you say, and when he looks up he finds himself meeting your eyes in the mirror. He fumbles with the zip of his suit and you walk a little closer.

He huffs out a polite thanks, tugging on the zipper harder. The cloth’s eaten it, a problem that’s been plaguing his race suits as of late—a problem, according to his engineer, easily solvable if he’d just be more patient with tugging it downward to loosen. A problem you’re familiar with as well, from his Toro Rosso days of ranting to you about zippers and sewing.

You lean against the wall and maintain safe distance. “I’m going to ask you about the race later.”

“Alright. What specifically?” He begins the mental Spanish-English translation in advance.

“Whatever you can give,” you reply, nonchalant. “Maybe more on the feeling while racing. The different perspectives of P3? Sort of like—yeah, you’re on the podium, but it’s not P1.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” he laughs a little, a bit embarrassed he hasn’t fully undone the zipper yet. “Um, sure. I’ll meet you outside afterward.”

“Thanks. And—” You stop yourself in your tracks, still facing him in the mirror. His eyes find yours again, eyebrows raised from the unfinished sentence. “—Be patient with the zip.”

He chuckles, memories surfacing like bubbling lava. “Right. Bueno.” He turns and throws his hands up, looks like he’s surrendering almost. “Help me out?”

You’re incredulous—it’s a highly compromising position.

But he’s not really smiling, and he seems to be seriously asking you to please help zip him up, so you nod. Nod once then twice, walking slowly over to him and placing two fingers on the zipper. You don’t notice how shaky your grip is until you see the way your hand trembles.

Slowly, you tug. Upward, then downward, then upward again, to loosen the stubborn thing. Your eyes move until they meet his, and you realize how close together you are. From here you can see the faint pink indents on his face from the balaclava, and you wonder almost how it’d feel to stroke over it with your thumb. It twitches on the zip and you remember to yank it again.

“Just give me a second,” you say, but you’re not even paying attention to the zipper.

Just him. Just the proximity. The thoughts of what if—what if you leaned closer, right now? Closed the gap, shut your eyes, let your finger trace over the shape left behind by his balaclava, zip forgotten?

“Take your time.” His voice is deep, gentle.

His eyes pierce yours, the tension growing in between you until you can barely breathe.

You pull and finally, it gives, unzipping the whole way. You blink, breaking eye contact and stepping backwards so fast you almost trip. “I’ll be outside.” The door is shut, the noise damning behind you as you finish an entire cup of water in what you genuinely think to be record time.

—

“Fine. Fifty euros.”

“Fifty?! Cheap trick. Make it two hundred.”

“If you’re in the hundred territory, might as well make it five hundred. Turn this into a serious thing.”

“Deal.” The Brit and the Monegasque clap their hands together in a firm handshake. “Let’s talk terms.”

Charles recites his end of the bet, as clearly as he did when this was first wagered just ten minutes ago. “She and Carlos will start dating before the article is even published.”

“They’re exes, innit?” Lando laughs. “You’re wrong, Charl-ito. They will never date, ever again. Exes don’t date.”

“Unless they’re soulmates,” he reasons.

“Psh, what do you know about soulmates?” The younger raises a condescending brow. “You dated a girl and then her best friend.”

“Back off,” insists Charles petulantly, watching Lando messily write down the evidence of their wager on a small slip of paper. For proof, he’d said, before slipping it into the back of his opaque phone case. He waves it around. “We shall see.”

“You will definitely be paying me up,” Charles says proudly. “Just you wait.”

—

“Care to listen to me?” You hoist yourself onto the stool of this hotel bar, ordering yourself a martini.

“Always,” says Lewis, immediately facing you. He’s always been one of the kindest, most genuine people in your life. He’s known you forever, and he’s the only person here who really knows the extent of your history with Carlos, all the layers, all the fights, all of it.

You sigh and lean against the backrest, deflated. “Carlos and I… I don’t know if this is going to work.”

“The article?”

“Being with him.” You pause to reword it. “Around him.”

“I see. Hasn’t it been, what—four years now, though?”

“Yeah, but…” But why does it feel like you both want those four years gone? The car ride with the song, the eye contact, zip situation after Saudi. You lick over your lips and sit a little straighter.

“Lew, it’s just—and you should know this—when you break up with someone, you’re forced to unlearn all the things you knew about them.” You sigh. “All the… just all of it. The habits, the quirks, the favorite words, the way they like their toast and eggs. And if you can’t, then fine, it’s still okay, because why would you ever need it again? But I haven’t forgotten anything, and now he’s back in my life.”

Lewis stares, with eyes that convey solemnity and a little sadness. He seems to understand, watching you intently, the way your eyes are glassy with unshed tears.

“So now I see him, and it feels like he’s like”—you inhale—“this sounds… bad, but like… I’m… like he’s a lover, kind of. In disguise, a little bit. I don’t know. Like, I have to pretend I know nothing about him, like every little fun fact is a new thing for the profile… but I know everything.” And what a heavy burden it is.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“No, don’t be. I’m pretty sure this is all one-sided.” You take a long sip. “That’s the price to pay for ending on bad terms, I suppose.”

“Just think,” he muses out loud. “When this is all over and you’re accepting your Pulitzer, you won’t even be thinking of him one bit.”

“Right,” you say. Carlos, Carlos, Carlos. He’s the only thing on your mind. “Right.”

You find a working title for the article later. Carlos Sainz, it reads on your Word document. On racing, gracious defeat, and life’s driving forces.

—

Like every other sport, Formula One drivers have their share of bad competition days. Sainz recalls a time his car failed and caused him to DNF—racing vernacular for “Did Not Finish,” a damning phrase for any driver on the grid.

A double kill vibrates through Carlos.

It’s a consecutive hit that’s both professional and personal, and greatly affects the momentum of the profile you’re busy writing. In Australia he’d been reserved, eyes stormy, walking alone but not angry. He’d congratulated Charles and everything, even offered a few words for the article. The last you saw of him was with a beer, brows knitted together.

Tonight you’re in Imola. He’d been okay after the race, the usual silence that comes with a bad result.

No hard feelings, he’d said. This is the business. Hugged Danny, excused himself; nobody said anything. It’s a normal response to a shit day. You spend the post-race buzz with Lewis and Sebastian this time, but you manage to congratulate Lando on the podium finish when you catch sight of him.

“Maaate!” He cries gleefully when he sees you. “Where’s the muppet?”

“Mourning,” you drone. “Reasonably so, I guess.”

“Tough crowd,” he says, kissing his teeth. “But, yeah. Hey—shots on me!”

“Tempting offer.” You eye the bunch of tequila on the table. “But I think I’ll retire early. I need to send a draft pretty early tonight.”

“All good. Have fun being a loser,” he says, watching you leave.

The hotel, it turns out, is not nearly as fun as the party. Which is common sense.

You spend time writing and rewriting a few paragraphs of the article, stuck on the title of it and honestly wishing you were with Cuervo and vodka right now. You suppose you don’t need one just yet—they usually come to you late, anyways. Jonathan sends you three follow-up emails regarding a draft, so you send him the latest version and read over the file, reciting favorite lines under your breath.

In the middle of reading on the Bahrain P2 and a little segment on Sainz’s favorite Ferrari moments, somebody knocks on your door.

It’s a surprise—you don’t spend much time with people on the paddock, and only few of them know your room number, which leads you to narrow down the person on the other side to a select group. There’s Lewis, most likely of them all. Charles, who you’d grown much closer to as of late. Level with him is Lando. Then maybe, just maybe, Sebastian, to offer late night advice.

It could’ve been any of them, but it’s not. It’s somebody else.

“I’m sorry.” His voice threatens to break. “I didn’t know who else I could talk to.”

“Carlos?” You blink.

You usher him in after, and you hope his mind is anxious enough that it doesn’t pay much attention to your hideous pajama situation (old hoodie, souvenir L.A. pajama pants). You end up on your balcony, both of you facing the frigid nighttime air. It freezes your cheeks, casts your hair backwards. Your eyes slide to his stoic figure, the way even his hair is blown back by the wind.

He’s quiet, but more relaxed, less stiff. “Sorry, again.”

“S’okay.”

You duck back inside and return with two cigarettes and a lighter. “Wanna?”

“Awful habit.” But he accepts it anyway, sticking it in between his lips. It bobs as he speaks, still unlit. “I need this, though.”

“I don’t do it regularly,” you defend, pressing the flame to the cig. He exhales. “Some situations call for them.”

“This definitely does. Bit of a slap to the face, you know?” You nod. “I’m sorry.” The apology carries more weight than it should, and you know why.

Like it’s the most difficult thing in the world, you breathe a few times before you respond in a hushed tone. With your words comes a huff of smoke. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. You gave it your all, took a risk, it went to shit. But you gave it your all is what matters in the end. You put heart into it, which is something not everyone does in sports these days.”

“I feel… complimented.” You both laugh at the lack of good phrasing, so he rewords it. “I meant, I feel, how you say? Touched. It means a lot to be praised by you.”

“Does it?” Smoke again, another whiff of it.

“They only ever want to praise the podium finish, the P1, the title holder.” He lets the words fizzle. “But here you are praising a driver who finished like shit twice in a row. More people should be like you, paying thanks to the underdogs.”

It’s not the underdogs, you think. It’s just because of you.

“More like the shit drivers,” you say instead, in a low rumbling voice. He laughs, calls you stupid in Spanish, and it’s a dead issue.

Later, before he leaves, when the room’s much darker and less bathed in moonlight, you whisper goodbye to him through a small crack in the door. He smiles a bit, and you catch it even with the lack of lighting.

“Thank you.” He says. He means it. You catch his perfume when the door swings closed. It smells like wood.

—

Sainz has off-grid hobbies, one of the most notable of which is cooking. He claims to have a good hold over the kitchen, and cooks several of his favorite dishes on the rare weekend off. Blah blaaahhhh, cooks well. Usually wears funky apron. WRITE THIS PROFILE ALREADY STOP EATING PASTA YOU DIPSHIT

Lando had invited you all to an Airbnb owned by a friend in Umbria, a two-ish hour drive from Imola.

With two free days, you’d followed a small group of drivers—Carlos included—to soak in the rest of Tuscany. Charles and Lando, however, left as soon as you arrived, to check out the last few hours of the farmer’s market. Alex had met Lily at the Eurostar station and they’d gone biking together.

This effectively left you and Carlos alone, which was not an unusual occurrence, but still proved to be a bit tense. With the kitchen free and the fridge stocked, Carlos suggested he cook for you both. Despite your best efforts, you ended up at the island writing and taste testing sauce, chicken, anything he slid over to you on a saucer with a tiny fork beside it.

“You’re going to give me cholesterol problems,” you quip. “This pasta is too good.”

“Cacio e pepe.” He twirls some onto a fork, straight off the pan, and shoves it into his mouth, a low mmmm leaving him once he gets to chewing. You laugh, a stifled sound through the noodles in your mouth at the exaggerated show of delicious food.

“Any favourite food you think is notable enough for the profile?” You type again, backspacing your harsh reminder. Makes a mean cacio e pepe (look up translation later). “Like, food you cook yourself, or even other recipes.”

“This,” he says, pointing to the pan. “This is fuel.”

“Amen.” Loves cacio e pepe.

“And it’s good with chicken.” He points to the oven, where he’s been baking chicken for a bit now. The kitchen smells of it, of the rosemary and oregano and pepper. “Oh, and put that I cook with music on. Let me connect my phone.”

Cooks w/ music. “Why do you need to mention that?”

“Ladies love a chef,” he says simply, letting a familiar song thrum into the woody kitchen. “And I love ladies.”

“Okay, slag.”

“Fuck off!” He begins shimmying all across the kitchen island, cranking open the oven mid-dance to check on the chicken, then continuing to clean the counter. Still he dances, and not very well, either—he always claimed singing was a stronger suit of his, so you allow the fool to be a fool.

Back when you two were still together, Carlos already had a preference for 70’s disco in the kitchen, saying it brought out the dancer in him. Nothing seems to have changed in that department, and you smile with mild embarrassment and amusement watching him dance across the kitchen, using the kitchen towel as a prop and swinging it around.

Loves dancing to The Communards while baking rosemary chicken. “Let me taste the chicken, by the way,” you ask when you finish typing, hopping off the stool and walking to the oven. He continues dancing, hips cocking poorly from side to side to the old song. He retrieves a fork and cuts a piece of chicken, reviewing its doneness briefly before turning with a piece of it stabbed into the utensil.

“Open,” he says. “It’s hot.”

It’s too natural, the way he slowly feeds you the piece. You don’t even realize it until you’re chewing, and by then he’s back to dancing to the song that’s now reaching its end. “It, uh,” you stutter, a bit nervous, “it’s really good.”

“Of course, I cooked it,” he says smugly. You grab a lime from the fruit bowl and throw it, hitting him in the back of the head in retaliation. He turns slowly, still dancing, lips stretched into a challenging smile.

Lando and Charles walk in ten minutes later to Carlos and you, yelping and chasing each other around the wide counter, chicken left atop it and forgotten in favor of the tag game. Charles, toting bags of fruit, faces Lando with a victorious expression. Pay up, he mouths, cocky.

—

It’s much too hot in Miami, but you appreciate the heavy beach culture and the even heavier nightlife.

You work on the profile until your fingers hurt from typing, sending Jonathan another draft for approval. Charles joins you on a cocktail taste test at the open bar until your tongue tastes like gin and your head is a bit spinny. Both Ferrari drivers end up having a shitload of pictures of you sleeping on the leather couch, enough that Lewis ends up getting ahold of them, too.

It’s a 2-3, in the end, with P1 going to Max. The latter throws a party at some place along the beach strip, invites you in one of the only conversations you’ve ever shared with the guy so far. He seems a bit unfriendly, but when you walk into the exclusive club later that night, you find him doing a handstand in front of a beer keg, so that’s that.

FUCK YEAH! Max hollers, following it with a howl so happy it reverbrates in your ears. It’s crowded everywhere, and you’re pretty sure Lewis isn’t here, so you spend a few minutes roaming around, getting a good grip on the vibe of the place.

It’s Carlos who finds you in the middle of the dance floor, nursing yet another drink to aid your lack of social skills. His voice is rough in your ear and it smells like a Jägerbomb, a low laugh escaping it right after. “All alone?”

“Unfortunately,” you tease, turning to face him. “Man, I thought guys were confident in Florida.”

“Cuidado,” he warns, smiling. “This dress is pretty difficult to resist.” His tongue’s definitely been loosened by shots, his eyes half-lidded and looking you up and down. You laugh, raising one eyebrow at the sudden flirty tone, but welcoming it nonetheless, depositing your now empty glass on whatever cocktail table is nearest. Who said you were sober?

“Nobody’s inviting me, so why don’t you and I dance instead?”

He licks over his lips—he never seems to keep his tongue in his mouth—and winks, nodding.

And here in Miami, through the strobing purple lights of this ridiculously expensive club, you wrap your arms around his neck and dance to whatever Calvin Harris song is blaring through the bass.

His hands are all over you, loosening your stiff stature; they wring into the fabric of your obejctively too-short dress, raking it up a bit. You lean back and he leans forward, following you, drawn into you, your noses pressed together and your eyes meeting. Your breath heightens, holds, your fingers moving to his long hair and holding him close to you.

His hand moves over your ass, pulling you in. He smiles, pokes his tongue into his cheek, and you giggle, almost causing your lips to touch. Your mind is haywire from the alcohol, but you can’t really bring yourself to care. The warmth grows between you, closer and closer, the dynamic easy—

And then someone spills their drink on both your feet, causing you two to break apart and laugh off the tension instead. You’d almost fucking kissed. However you’re going to tell this to Lewis, you don’t even know.

And you’re not entirely sure, you think as you rinse whiskey and bile off the tip of your heel in the bathroom, how it sounds like to write Sainz and I almost made out in public on the GQ profile.

—

Nick emails you directly to ask if Carlos can do some test shoots in Miami for the profile cover.

You convince him to agree, even if he thinks he’s no good in front of a camera, and you two show up to a mostly empty warehouse studio. There’s a white backdrop situated toward the back and a tiny-sized crew of people working.

“Hi. Is this for GQ?” You ask the photographer. “Test shots?”

“Oh, hi.” He stands and shakes your hand. “I’m Luke. Big fan of your work, by the way. So the concept today is just plain shirt, long hair, gorgeous face, white background. Good?”

“Bueno,” Carlos says behind you with a smile.

You sit on a chair a few metres behind Luke while he works, watching the shots pop up on his screen every time the shutter clicks. As it turns out, Carlos is a brilliant liar, because every single shot—even one where he was fixing a wrinkle in his tee—looks perfectly usable anyway. Sainz is a natural stunner, you jot down.

It’s a bit awkward to admit you can’t help but stare, but his face is undeniably handsome, especially when he’s in front of the camera. Thankfully for you, and heavily owed to Carlos’ natural skill for modeling, the ordeal’s over in less than thirty minutes, and you begin preparing your stuff to leave.

“Oh, crap. I forgot I had to do a test bridal shoot for R&B’s wedding anniversary in September.” Luke sighs, clicking through the photos rapidly.

“R&B. The… music genre?” You ask, confused and toting your bag on your shoulder.

“Silly! Ryan and Blake. As in, Reynolds and Lively? They plan their photoshoots way in advance, and they always need sample poses to choose from.”

“Oh, I get it.” You smile. “Well, we’re sorry for keeping you.”

“You”—he stops both you and Carlos, pacing in front—“you two wouldn’t… mind, would you?”

“Mind… mind what, now?” Your eyes flit toward Carlos’ and you both laugh nervously.

“Being my mannequins for the bridal shoot!”

Both of you balk, making up all kinds of excuses, but as fate would have it, Luke is very convincing and you’re against the backdrop after five minutes of persuasion. He directs you into different silly, quirky poses—a piggyback ride both ways, smiling goofily, the like. Carlos can’t stop laughing every time the shutter clicks, at how silly the two of you must look.

Luke plays some music to get you both looser, and directs you into a few mocking dance poses. Then he directs you in a partners-in-crime pose, which you love the outcome of. Okay, last one, newlyweds, he says. Carlos, why don’t you get behind her and wrap your arms around her waist?

You clear your throat, letting him do so anyway, his hands big around your frame. “Careful,” you whisper when he’s right behind you. Luke raises an inquisitive brow behind the camera, watches your chemistry unfold through the viewfinder. Your breath hitches a little, but you swallow the nerves.

Look into his eyes, Luke says. So you do, meet them, force yourself not to look away for once and just stare. It’d been easy to do this, because you could just as easily break the stare, but now it’s different. Your eyes flutter, and his stay unblinking.

It’s like that for a minute, just staring, like all the things you want to say can communicate themselves through eye contact alone. Another twenty seconds pass before Luke coughs, breaking the moment.

“I said we were good like a minute ago, guys,” he says knowingly, packing up with a smirk.

—

Lewis advises you to avert your pent up “romantic” tension to another boy. It’s difficult, but you challenge yourself to find somebody anyway, maybe outside of racing, to use your extra paddock pass (courtesy of Mattia) on. The guys in your DMs are all skeevy, or you’ve unfortunately ghosted them, so they’re all out.

After some searching, you end up using your extra pass in Spain, and for James, a Sky Sports sound editor for streamed football games. He’s British and a huge Tottenham fan who you met during drinks with a few reporters the month prior. Not bad, but not necessarily your type; at this point, though, you’ll take anybody above the bare minimum. And James is above it—a gentleman, kind, funny in the quaint English way. He could be taller, but you find him charming enough.

Noise flows through the paddock, chatter and cheering and interviews. “This is so cool,” says James animatedly. “I feel like a regular Schumacher.”

You give a phony, flirty laugh and enter the Ferrari hospitality, raking your hair backwards. “I’m going to get something real quick, okay? Stay put…” You point at a lone chair. “Over there.”

“Alright,” he says with a smile. “I can’t roam arou—?”

“No!” You say, a tad too quickly. “I mean, sorry. Don’t. Just. I’ll be back really quickly.” Before you can even retrieve your phone charger from Carlos’ room, the owner himself walks into the area, squirting water into his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows together when he sees you standing beside a stranger.

“Hi,” Carlos says, a bit bluntly. His eyes are darting everywhere but at you, lingering a bit too distastefully on James’ timid figure. “You are?”

“Her date,” James says with a nervous laugh, pointing a thumb towards you. “James. Huge fan of you. Of the team.”

“Sure.” He offers a tight-lipped smile, hand meeting James’ outstretched one to form a polite handshake.

It’s awkward, is what it is—awkward and stuffy and Carlos won’t look at you. He clenches his jaw a little, smiles, looks up and down. “You, uh… how long have you guys been…?” He waves a finger in between the both of you, almost fearfully, like the answer will cast him into ashes.

“Not—not long, really.” James laughs again to relieve the tension that seeps across the room. “A month?”

“A month?” Carlos repeats, arms crossed.

“We haven’t even, like, had se—”

“That’s—” you cut in, sharp and apologetic, “wow, that’s plenty. Thanks, James. Could you get us some drinks? I’ll have a beer.”

“It’s one-thirty,” he says.

“Yeah,” you respond. “A beer.”

He leaves you both alone sheepishly, and you turn to face Carlos’ intense expression.

His arms are crossed and he rakes a hand through his hair—but he doesn’t say anything. Why should he, anyway, he thinks to himself, staring at you. You wore your hair in a ponytail today, so he sees more of your pretty face. Oh and so does James. Pendejo.

“Are you okay?” You ask, even if he knows you know what’s up.

“Totally. Muy bien.” He shrugs, drinking water again. “Should I not be?”

“Never said that,” you say, raising both eyebrows.

“Okay. Well enjoy the beer.”

So he’s jealous. Fine, sue him. He’s jealous of the British gangly guy you thought was good enough to invite onto the paddock. Barely even made a lasting impression. He gives a small, phony smile and walks back, meeting Charles along the way.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, mate,” says the younger, slinging an arm over his shoulder. “Maybe the ghost of James?” He flicks the guy’s forehead, laughing.

P4, it ends up being. Not nearly good enough. But James is the first to say, “Congratulations, hombre!” in a God awful accent, so it becomes ten times worse, really.

—

“Alright guys, Carlos and I here today with some members of our team, and we’re going to play some fun trivia games.” Charles’ eyes read from the signboard behind the camera, his amusement wholly unscripted as he looks from you to Andrea and back to Carlos.

You honestly don’t know why you agreed to this. It might have been Lewis’ gentle persuasion or your boss’ overenthusiastic persistent voice, or the sleepiness that’s been wearing you down and boggling your mind lately, or—and it’s probably this—the fact that James ghosted you after Spain, because you “clearly have a thing with Sainz, and I don’t wanna be a homewrecker.” Whatever it is, you’re apparently a guest on the C² Challenge segment.

Today is a trivia game against Charles and Andrea, and you’ve all been given a general guide to what the questions entail—math, music, general knowledge, and one scripted Ferrari question at the end. The structure is fairly basic; each team member gets to answer one at a time, both contributing to overall points—and no coaching allowed, for some odd reason.

Charles is a little shit, so he’s made an off-camera bet: loser should treat winner to a round of shots at the next afterparty/get-together. And—who are you kidding, really—Carlos is also a little shit, so he’s game for the bet and has fired you both up to win, spouting Ferrari trivia in your ear should it come up.

“I got it,” you say snappily when he hasn’t stopped pestering you for five straight minutes. “I got it.”

“Oh, did you got it?” He asks sassily. “Okay. When did Ferra—”

“We’re starting in three,” says the cameraman in Spanish, Italian, then finally English.

He holds three fingers up and you hug your tiny dry erase board closer to your torso, readying your camera smile. The video—and the game—start off well enough, a quickfire competition developing between the two teams that infects you and Andrea quickly.

“Stay calm and collected,” Carlos proclaims, lips stretched into a proud smile. “Our team motto.” He elbows your side and you roll your eyes with a smile, teasing.

“I think it’s, ah, always—always cheat, mate,” Charles protests, pointing an accusatory finger.

“You are soooo—tch, I propose we kick Charles for poor sportsmanship,” retorts your teammate, laughing. The force of his laughter shakes the stool he sits on and you bite back a smile, remaining relatively quiet like you’ve been since the start of the video.

The remainder of the game passes with Carlos and Charles neck and neck, you and Andrea working overtime to make sure your teams don’t lose the bet. Eventually it boils down to one question, which Carlos is in charge of answering. Behind the camera, the producer raises a signboard and reads it out: We all know C². What is eight squared?

What a relief, you think. They’ve basically handed the win to you and Carlos on a silver platter. You wait, bumbling in your seat and raising an L sign toward Charles, who sticks his tongue out in response. Excitedly, you watch Carlos cheer for himself and finish writing, turning the board inch by inch until you all see the answer he has written on it.

Everyone stares. Then: “Team Charles wins!”

“Que?!” Carlos blinks, scandalized and a bit amused. He stares at the question then at his answer then, as if dreading the laser eyes, at you. Your eyes narrow, disappointed.

“Carlos. What is eight squared?”

“Eight squared. Eight, and you take another eight, and—it’s right here.” A tan finger points firmly at the number written messily, square in the middle of the whiteboard.

“Eres un tonto,” you quip, remembering bits of teasing you’d used on him years before. “Carlos, it’s 64. Eight times eight, not eight times two.”

“Ay, puta—” He shuts his eyes and laughs. “Lo siento! Sorry, sorry. Sorry! I cost us the win.”

Across you, Charles is coaxing a much more begrudged Andrea into a childish victory dance, pulling his arms up and down to convey the joy of winning. You sigh exasperatedly, but smile . For what it was worth, you had a great game anyway. The noise grows, and you watch the producers pack up, the cameraman parting from the camera for a moment to converse with one of them.

Left alone with you for a bit, Carlos lets his voice slip into a quieter one. “Sorry again. I forgot.”

“Forgot?” Your brows furrow, confused. “What?”

“That, you know”—he points at the lonely 16 on the whiteboard he holds—“it’s supposed to be 64.”

“Oh.” You laugh, a light sound. “Whaaat?! It’s not that deep, Carlos. Seriously, don’t worry about it. It was all fun.”

“Well, I’m glad you had fun,” he says softly, smiling.

“Yeah, me too,” you say, unable to hide your smile. You stay like that for a bit, something blooming in the pit of your stomach you can’t—and refuse to—name.

—

You get two days off, and Charles had suggested you all go to Paris before you go to Cannes, where the Ferrari team is apparently expected for a meeting before Monaco. You’re the one who’d said yes first, even if Carlos seemed to hesitate; he had asked why, to which you responded you’d never been before.

You’d read about it, watched about it, and like every other human on Earth, seen pictures of it. But you’d never been to Paris; work placed you mostly in London, sometimes South America, other times Italy. But Paris was never a destination. So Carlos allowed the greenlight and you flew, with Lando, Pierre, and Esteban tagging along for shits and giggles.

“I’ve waited my whole life for my Eiffel Tower moment,” you say, not even trying to hide your wonder. Carlos got the best room for himself, but invited you in, for the view. He doesn’t tell you he went through hell and back to get precisely this room, so you could peek inside and see the tower.

“Well, you’re here now.” He wedges the hotel balcony door open and walks toward the railing. You follow suit, arms crossed over your torso, eyes stuck on the view. “How is it?”

“It’s as beautiful as I imagined it to be,” you confess honestly, eyes still stuck on the tower, the way it stands alone and glittering against the black of night. Cliché as it is, you feel like you’ve checked one huge box off your bucket list, staring at the landmark like it’s going to evaporate into thin air.

Beside you, Carlos hums in agreement, but his gaze is stuck on something else. “I know.”

“Oh, do you?” You laugh. “Are you in the business of admiring beautiful things?” You tease, looking up at the stars.

Sensing his eyes on you, you slowly avert your gaze until your eyes meet. The light reflects in his eyes, and they meet yours blindingly, beautiful, luring you closer. The joking tone of your words is caught in your throat, desert dry, your lips parted to spout words you’ve now forgotten, lost track of.

Your silhouettes dance against the lights of the city below, two figures admiring the other. His eyes flicker down to your lips, linger there a second too long. You stumble closer, your foot touching his. “…Paris.” The words struggle to leave but they do, quietly, an admission of guilt. “It’s always reminded me of you.”

“Not Spain?” He asks, leveling your volume. You’re closer, so close you feel his breath fan soft against your own face. His voice is deep, accented so thickly, the way it is when he talks with you because he falls into a familiar rhythm of knowing you’ll decipher whatever he has to say.

You giggle, a low, breathy sound. A barely there shake of your head. “I… love it so much, is why. Always have.”

Had there been a pedestrian across the street who looked just a few floors upward, they would’ve found the both of you there, smiling foolishly, blanketed by the night sparkles of the Eiffel Tower and the rest of the city. They would’ve seen the way Carlos leaned in, his eyes on yours and then on your lips, the way you nodded in silent, warm invitation. Come closer, you seem to say. Don’t stray any further.

A lock of your hair touches his jaw, from how close you two are. So close. Everything smells like him, like the musky woody perfume he wears, the detergent he uses. All of that, and everything underneath. The scent of him. Just him.

You hold your breath when you both lean in, eyes fluttering shut and waiting, waiting for his lips to meet yours.

The door shakes with several knocks, Lando’s voice seeping from the other side of it. “Mate, we’re gonna be late for dinner!” He says boredly, letting his fist collide with it a few more times for good measure.

Instantly, you and Carlos separate, both of you clearing your throats, rushed flimsy excuses escaping your mouths at the same time. You’re warm all over, the excitement, the nerves, tapering off into nothing as you walk back inside the room, busying yourselves with anything. Oh, I need to check if Jonathan’s emailed me. Oh, let me go answer the door.

Lando is waiting, expectant, on the other side when Carlos pries the door open. “Mate! Dinner! I texted you like twenty minutes ago and y—oh.” He spots you sitting at one of the lounge chairs in the room, and immediately his brows raise. “Hey, dude. You’re here?”

“Yeah, to, uh—to get Carlos to OK some edits,” you say with a smile, hoping your nonchalance isn’t too shaky. “I needed to get a draft in by three hours ago, so.”

“Oh. Right, obviously.” His eyes narrow a little, but he doesn’t relax much, gaze suspicious and a bit beguiled. “Well, if you’re not busy, we’re having dinner?”

“I’m good,” you decline, a touch too quickly. “It’s getting late.”

“Alright, well it was a courtesy invite, you dipshit,” Lando teases, and everything feels a bit more normal. You just flip him off, and Carlos retrieves his coat, eyes still not meeting yours when you all exit at the same time. Lando makes up for the hole in the conversation, droning on and on about the restaurant they’re going to, and how good it seems to be.

The elevator ride is equally charged, and you spend it humming and interjecting Lando’s words to come across as unfazed, even if you’re so totally not. Once you’re alone you finally let big exhales leave you. You don’t know if it’s from the anxiety of almost being caught, or the anxiety from the kiss unfinished.

—

LOVE the latest draft, Nick & I both. Could we get a deeper angle? Something re: regrets? Would really tie it together! Best, J

“Huh. Do you have any regrets?” You ask, tearing your eyes away from the short email. Next to you, Carlos nods his head slowly. You’re on the beach in Cannes, taking time off before the meeting and people-watching. Charles had joined you for a good half hour before leaving to sleep in the hotel instead, leaving you two to bask in the now setting sun.

“Everyone does, no?” He stretches a bit. The topic is tense. “But yes, I have some specific ones.”

“Like?” You ask weakly.

“I was stupid when I was younger. More immature, more forgetful. You grow older and you think of all the things you could’ve done right, years too late. There’s a proverb I heard once that goes—camarón que se duerme se lo lleva la corriente. It means to—to stay alert. Don’t let things pass you by.”

“And do you think you followed that advice?”

His eyes meet yours. “Do you?”

—

It’s quiet when Carlos walks inside your flat, and already his heart begins to drain, filling with guilt.

He steps over the creaky floorboard, notices your car keys on the table, your jacket haphazardly slung over the rack, your Chanel bag half-open on the dinner table beside an empty wine glass and a sweaty bottle of Cheval Blanc. The bedroom door’s half-open, light bleeding into the dark rest-of-the-place, and when he gently pushes the door to get in, the sight he faces is crushing.

“…Estás bien?”

You face the window, your back to him, in a beautiful, beautiful black dress. Your hair had been up, but it’s unpinned now, falling in loose, messy waves. You hiccup, and then tense. Feigning nonchalance, you croak out, “Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” he says honestly. “I didn’t know the thing was earlier.” His eyes hover to the glass award on the bed, one you’d hoped he would watch you receive tonight.

“I said I’m fine,” you say. “Just”—you sniffle—“it’s fine, Carlos, just get out.”

You’re standoffish, and cold, but Carlos knows you’re incredibly hurt. In an attempt to try and coerce a conversation, he stays. “Let’s have dinner tomorrow,” he suggests in a low voice. “On me. Right? To celebrate.”

“Leave me alone, Carlos.”

“I wanted to go,” he insists. “I had a meeting that ended late, and—”

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” you assert, turning. You’ve clearly been crying hard, your face flushed and shiny, a few rogue tears still on your chin. “Just go.”

“I know how much this mattered to you.”

“And yet you didn’t go.” You sniff, wiping fruitlessly at your face. “Carlos, just…” Your voice sounds thin, heartbroken, worn with pain and real tiredness.

“Cut me some slack.” Carlos argues softly.

“No, I just… I don’t even know how things got to this point, Carlos. We used to be so much happier. But now, it’s like I have to demand for your time like everyone else does. Now, I—I cook, I plan dinner, I put my own career on the back burner so I can spend more time with you even if I’ve gotten calls, promotions that you don’t even ever… ever ask about, just everything. I don’t think… I don’t feel you love me that way. Care for me, that way. You’ve never shown it, not lately especially.”

“You should’ve told me,” he says, hurt.

“This kind of thing, it…” you shake your head, wiping your clammy hands on the black silk. “It doesn’t need to be said.”

“Let me make it up to you.” He steps closer but you’re quicker, almost stumbling in your rush to avoid him.

“No,” you protest, “just go, Carlos, just go. Get out and close the door.”

“Cariño—”

“Go,” you say, voice hard with contempt. You refuse to meet his pleading eyes. “Go, Carlos.”

So he does.

He passes by, again, your handbag, with the sleek travel-sized bottle of Santal 33 you keep with you always peeking out, and the Cheval Blanc he’d bought you a few months prior, and the jacket you’d bought with his approval almost a year ago. He lingers in his car for a minute, the rain pelting the Golf noisily.

He drives off, wiping tears from his own face.

And maybe, had he stayed a little longer, he would’ve seen you tearfully emerge from the elevator, into the lobby, then out into the rain, still in your black dress, and let yourself get soaked waiting for him to come back, refusing to believe he’d even let himself leave you so broken.

—

You play Uno to pass the time, your last night in Cannes.

He’s won two games in a row at this point, and you’re almost 100% sure he has a plus four card in his hand, so you play a bit more deliberately, eyeing him with a challenging glint in your eyes. You’re a bit watered down by your earlier conversation, but you feign nonchalance anyway.

Blue 2. Blue 5. Green 5. Then finally, he slaps it onto the deck—a plus four card. “Oh, come on, Carlos,” you say, almost actually irritated.

“I’ll kiss it better,” he says. Suddenly overwhelmed, you push yourself off the counter and storm out.

He follows you, stumbling into the empty balcony and softly shutting the door, voice still colored with laughter. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know you’d be so upset about the—”

You barely hear the rest of his clearly half-hearted, humorous apology. It doesn’t matter to you.

What does matter is everything from the years past crashing on your shoulders like debris, like rain, finally giving under the weight of being so close to him again. Everything. The tangled fog of your relationship, the start, the middle, the terrible end neither of you wanted. You pulsed with want, with yearning, with sadness.

So you ask yourself why? Why? Why? Why couldn’t he have come back? More importantly—why did he let you go so easily?

The truth is, you’ve drowned yourself in work so long you’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel, to be felt. And if Carlos is doing this, all this, all the touching and the tension and the debris and the rain that crash on you like a bruising, torrential storm, for his own pleasure, like this is all a game, then you’ve yearned for nothing.

“This isn’t about the game, Carlos!” It heaves itself out of you in a half-sob, carried by the wind.

He stops—stops walking, stops smiling. Just stops and stares, brows knitted with concern. You refuse to look at him, staring instead at the skyline, arms crossed. The view blurs with tears, lights meshing together prettily.

He stutters your name out in a feeble response. It’s mortifying, the way you start to cry when it leaves his mouth.

You turn then, willing your lips to stop quivering. “Good for you,” you say shakily, “you can—you can fool around, kiss me like it’s nothing, pretend like we never even mattered so you can make jokes about how we’ve ended up here again, back, together.” You inhale, but it’s no use; you’re crying even as you speak. “And I’ll laugh, because it can be funny, you know, fuck it. But… I’m so—”

The wanting shows, in moments like this. Wanting love, wanting comfort, wanting warmth, an escape from work and stress and life. You know how it feels, to be loved. You’d been familiar with it, at some point. You want it again, the ache, the kiss, the pain of it all. More than that, you want him. For just a moment. But all this wanting is so exhausting.

You want this profile to be over. You want to pull him close and tell him how proud you are, but also how hurt you are. You want Spain. You miss Paris. Everything, everything, every memory, every single painful loving thing bursts inside you.

“—tired.” You nod your head, licking tears that have perched on your lip, smiling humorlessly, shrugging. “I’m—I’m tired, and lonely, and being around you makes it worse. Being around you hurts me. It hurts you. This profile was a bad idea, and I should’ve trashed this the moment I learned I’d be covering you. Because I knew then it would’ve turned to shit, and I was right.”

He stares, unmoving. He remembers, too. He’d tell you everything if the words clicked just right. But they never do; they tangle like cotton balls in his throat before he can kneel and name everything he remembers, everything he loved about the two of you. Cariño. Just be mine, tell me everything, tell me you love me.

You wipe a hand over your face. “Let’s just let this go already. You know, we really were good for a while. This… this is maybe just one of those things where we made it in another life, but not this one.”

At his returned silence, you nod, then walk quietly past him and back into the room.

It’s just as empty as you’d left it, dim and lit only by the warm light above the kitchen counter. Your forgotten Uno game lies on the same spot, beside the two empty wine glasses. You stare for a second. Life had been different when he’d lay down his cards just minutes ago.

A coat is tugged from in between couch cushions, your heels from by the door hastily pulled on. Every movement feels heavy, like sandbags are tied to your limbs, your tongue, your eyelids. You turn, one last time, to see the moment suspended in time—and you meet his eyes. Even across the room you feel like you’re drowning in them, dark and solemn.

“Wait,” he says, and even with just one syllable he’s managed to stop your world from turning again. “You’re right. Everything you said. When I’m around you, I hurt. I’m reminded of how awful I was then. It’s painful to be together.”

Eyes meet, eyes blink, eyes close.

“But you didn’t trash the feature. And I still enjoy your company. You could be covering Rafael Nadal or whoever right now. I could be in a jet to Japan. But you and I are here, are we not?”

Only you. It’s only you.

“I’ve missed you.” It rips through him. “I want to be here with you. I want to make the pain go away, so let me.”

“It’s useless,” you protest, tearily. “This won’t work. I’ll get mad, you’ll get fed up, I’ll get bored, you’ll put work before us.”

“Okay.” He paces toward you, nearer and nearer, closing the distance between you both. “I’ll make it work.”

“Carlos,” you weep, “I don’t know why you don’t get it. Life sucks. And all we get are little moments where things are… are good. So don’t waste the moments like this. Let’s not waste the moments on this.”

“You’re not a waste,” he says—and you crumple into his arms, worn, exhausted.

A knot in your heart is slowly unraveling itself. You’ve waited, yearned for so long, and finally you’re in his arms again, with the kind of quiet resolution only he would understand. You left the lights on for him. You’d do it again, but you don’t have to.

You bury your head in his chest, a chorus of apologies leaving him. I’m sorry, he says. I’m sorry, I love you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Everything.

I love you, you say weakly. I love you, that’s enough. I waited for this to leave, but all it did was hide. The love has yet to pass. It never will.

—

“Yours really is the best selling one!” Nick pulls you in for a hug. “We have Nadal and CR7 on the roster, but Sainz’s is selling like crazy. Your writing is just—” He kisses his fingers. “You are amazing.”

“You flatter me,” you reply gracefully, letting him pull you into another embrace but prying him off a bit faster. You don’t need another Jonathan-esque freakout in the middle of the room.

The GQ party, six months later, almost a mirror of the fundraiser just a few months ago. Only this time, you’re not tacked onto Lewis, and you’re not buzzing with nerves (as much). You had run into Lewis when you entered, and Charles too, and Lando when he spotted you, but none of them are your plus ones to this event.

Your profile is the talk of the journalism scene. Nobody can shut up about it, and it thrills you, excites you, to be witnessing your work be recognized beside Carlos himself. He brings you a glass of champagne and presses a kiss to your cheekbone, smiling against it.

Neither of you notice Lando and Charles behind you, watching like hawks. The elder cackles, presents his hand like a sacrifice and turns to the Brit. “Aha.What did I tell you, chat?”

“Five hundred euros,” moans Lando, slapping a bunch of bills onto it. “You’re an intuitive prick.”

“Those two are soulmates.” They stare at your foolish figures, smiling like idiots, high-fiving even. “The kind that’ll always, always find their way back to each other. Always.”

Lando shrugs. “Hey, honestly, for once, I’m glad I lost a bet.”

“I look great on the cover,” Carlos says, both of you staring at the screen’s display of it.

“Shut up,” you smile, interlocking your fingers. “Well, my writing looks great inside.”

“Really does,” he says. “I’m so, so proud of you, cariño.”

“Proud of me?” You tease, staring up at him. “You made the last minute title change that caused fans to go crazy.” You both turn to stare at it displayed on the screen, smiling fondly.

Carlos Sainz—on racing, gracious defeat, and refinding love.

#f1 #carlos sainz #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz imagines #carlos sainz fanfic #f1 x reader #carlos sainz x reader

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ladykailitha · 8 months ago

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Icarus Part 4

Oops! I didn't realize this one had so many chapters done. I had been using it as my "I'm stuck on the other two stories so I work on this one to clear my head" story and I currently have five chapters backlogged. So instead of Batshit Soulmates today, you're getting two of this one. One now and one tonight.

In this chapter we have Eddie doing his research and we find out how he recognized Steve. Also Jeff&Eddie besties for life!

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

****

The last few days in Hawkins went by in a blur. Eddie couldn’t do the research he wanted to, not without alerting everyone else what he was up to, so he focused on buying both their albums and listening to them nonstop.

“This that band you went to go see?” Wayne asked after three days of him having both albums on constant repeat. “The one you were whining about have to go to?”

Eddie sat up from where he laying on the floor with headphones on and took them off, resting them around his neck. He pulled one knee up and draped his arms around it casually.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Dustin has been gloating about it, so I would rather you didn’t add to the pile.”

Wayne crouched down so that they were eye level. “This about that secret you found out?”

Eddie opened his mouth to lie but Wayne just raised an eyebrow and he snapped his mouth shut with a click. He let out a low shuddering breath and then nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, “it’s about that.”

Wayne picked up the vinyl sleeve and looked at the cover. He studied the image a moment or two before he said, “You think that someone you know is in the band, don’t you?”

Eddie bit his lower lip and then sighed heavily. He knew he couldn’t keep it from Wayne, but he had hoped he would have been back in Cali before he realized it.

“I’m not one hundred percent sure,” he said tilting his head back, “but yeah. I think I know someone in the band.”

“You jumping to conclusions?” Wayne asked in that gruff but gentle way that was a staple of Eddie’s childhood.

Eddie looked up at Wayne and then shook his head. “I don’t know enough. Not yet.”

Wayne got to his feet with a grunt. “Good. You keep it that way. There’s probably a good reason for all that.” He waved at the vinyl sleeve. “So don’t you go pushing your friend’s buttons until you know that reason.”

Eddie nodded. “I read you loud and clear.”

Wayne ruffled Eddie’s hair and walked away, leaving Eddie with plenty of time to think.

****

Dustin was staying in Hawkins for the whole summer, so when Eddie left, he was finally on his own.

Finally able to get out of his head and do some real research. He also knew better than to do anything than listen to his own music mid-flight. Too many wandering eyes.

Any one of his fellow passengers could be some blogger, Youtuber, Tiktoker, influencer or actual fucking press.

Thankfully the flight was most empty and short.

He was met at the airport by his manager Chrissy Cunningham.

She grabbed his bag, leaving Eddie to juggle his guitar better.

“Record management has all four of you in a hotel nearby,” she told him as she stowed the bag in her trunk. “They want you sequestered this time.”

Eddie winced. It wasn’t for any music related reason, though he didn’t doubt the sequestering would help with the process.

Nope.

It was because last time Gareth and Brian went on a three day drinking bender and were too sloshed to function for at least two days after that. Almost a whole week of recording down the drain because half the band went off the rails.

“Roger that!” Eddie said with a jaunty two fingered salute.

“You can have alcohol sent to your room,” she continued as they got into the car. “But Gareth and Brian aren’t allowed. So if you share your stash, that’s on you.”

“You can count on me and Jeff not contribute to the delinquency of our bandmates,” Eddie bit out. “We were just as pissed as the label when we couldn’t get a hold of them for those five days.”

Chrissy nodded. “Fame can really do some fucked up shit to people.”

Eddie hummed his acknowledgment. “Just please tell me I’m not sharing with anyone. You know they all hate sleeping in the same room as me.”

Chrissy snorted. “Only because you stay up all hours of the night perfecting song, while they actually want to, oh I don’t know...sleep?”

Eddie cackled. He was the world’s worst insomniac when they were working on an album. The rest of the time he was a sound sleeper.

“But no,” Chrissy hummed, “you all have your own suites. With Brian and Gareth on opposite sides of the hotel so they don’t fuel each other’s vices.”

Eddie let out a deep sigh. “That’s great news.”

They went up to Eddie’s suite and he immediately got to unpacking. He couldn’t stand living out of his suitcase and didn’t know how anyone else could.

He ordered a couple of six packs of beer, his favorite vodka, and a couple of whiskys that should last him at least a couple of weeks. He stashed the beer in the suite provided mini-fridge and settled down to watch Youtube on the big screen TV.

He was just devouring everything he could on The Fallen. He started with their music videos. The one for “Kiss the Boys/Kiss the Girls” was especially sweet. He found out that the lead singer was bisexual and that the song was about finding love in whatever form that took. With a full verse on non-binary peeps despite the title.

But the videos weren’t helpful. The band themselves were rarely in them. So Eddie turned to interviews. Impromptu ones on red carpets and podcasts, as well as sit down interviews for talk shows and entertainment press.

Again the lead singer was charismatic and charming. And it was looking more and more like his theory was correct.

Then he came across the interview.

“How does Azrael see out of his mask?” the Vanity Fair interviewer asked.

The drummer pulled out another mask and handed it to Abbadon. It seemed like it was part of the shtick that the drummer never spoke.

Abbadon held up the mask to the light. “You can see that the eyes are a mesh-like material. It works like a one way mirror. You with the strong light, can’t see in, but Azrael with darkness of the mask can see out.”

Eddie hummed his interest. That was a cool trick. It meant that the drummer wouldn’t get hurt while still maintaining that anonymity.

And it appeared that the interview thought the same as they nodded along, impressed.

“What is the reason for the masks?”

Astraeus leaned forward into the mic. “Because when we first got started no one would take us seriously as ourselves?”

Just then the hotel door swung open and Eddie quickly pressed pause. He sighed with relief when he saw it was Jeff.

Jeff stopped in his tracks to stare at the screen. “Oh hey, The Fallen. They’re pretty cool.”

Eddie whipped his head around and glared at him.

“How do you know about them and I didn’t?”

Jeff laughed. “Dude, the radio embargo was you thing, not an everyone thing. They’re really good. I love their new single ‘You’. It’s really sweet.”

Eddie nodded, it was really good. It was one was of his favorites, too.

Jeff got closer to the TV. “Wait. Is this the ‘metal fans would hate us if they saw who we really are’ interview?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah.”

“That’s such bullshit,” Jeff scoffed. “Metal fans are the most welcoming group of fans out there.”

Eddie chewed on his bottom lip and thought about Steve. And how preppy he still dressed even this far outside of high school.

“Not if they were preps,” he said softly.

That brought Jeff up short. “What now?”

“I think Abbadon is Steve.”

Jeff started laughing and laughing like he couldn’t stop. Eddie rolled his eyes and pulled up the picture he had taken of The Fallen’s lead singer. Once Jeff had gotten control of himself, Eddie showed him the picture.

“Okay...” Jeff said. “I’m not sure what this shows other than your obsession with necks.”

“Zoom in.”

Jeff rolled his eyes but did as he was told. “Okay, so what am I looking at?”

Eddie licked his lips nervously. “You see those two moles, just under his chin?”

Jeff half shrugged. “I mean, I guess.”

“Steve has moles in the exact same place,” Eddie explained. He took the phone back from Jeff and went through his IG feed. He pulled up a picture of Steve. The angle wasn’t exact, but it was close enough.

He handed it back to Jeff. “Now zoom in on the neck.”

Jeff did as he was told.

“Holy fucking shit!”

Eddie pursed his lips and chewed on the bottom one. He played with his rings and was just fidgeting.

“Dude!” Jeff cried. “We should tell someone!”

Just then Eddie’s fidgeting hit the remote and the video began playing again.

“Is there any chance of a future reveal?” the interviewer asked.

Asmodeus leaned into the mic and said, “Ask us again in ten years when we’re world famous.”

Eddie managed to get a hold of the remote to pause it again and in the resulting silence Jeff and him shared a glance.

“Fuck, dude,” Jeff said. “We can’t say shit, can we?”

Eddie shook his head. “It would be like outing a queer person before they were ready.”

Jeff came around the sofa and flopped down next to him.

“Wow,” he said with more than a little awe. “So Steve Harrington is in a metal band...” He let out a shuddering sigh. “And is good. Not just good, but damn good.”

Eddie nodded. “Is it bad that I kinda feel like I’ve been tricked?”

Jeff let out a slow breath. “Look, I’m not going to tell you how to feel, but if no one knows, that it’s not personal.”

“You mean to tell me that no one knows?” Eddie hissed, getting to feet. “Not Robin, not Dustin? Or any of the kids? Because I call bullshit!”

Jeff looked up at him. “Robin, maybe. Those two are attached at the hip. Hell, Robin could even be their slinky and sexy manager, Celeste. But Dustin, man? I wouldn’t tell that kid shit. Not if I wanted it to still be secret ten minutes later.”

Eddie fought to calm his breathing. Yeah okay. That tracked. Robin with makeup and a black wig would completely disguise her to the point that not even her own mother would recognize her if they passed on the street.

“Dustin wouldn’t–” he began but Jeff cut him off.

“This is the kid that spoiled Will’s surprise party that he was planning,” Jeff said, counting off on his fingers. “The kid that would go searching through his mom’s closets and under her bed looking for birthday and Christmas presents. The same one that announced our second album six hours before it was set to drop. I wouldn’t tell Dustin Henderson the time of day if I didn’t want everyone to know about it.”

Eddie huffed. He wanted to argue that all that was little shit. Not really that important. But then he remembered all the times where Dustin would say something out of context, something that all his friends would jump on him for, only for it to be revealed later that Dustin had spoiled some surprise. It was just that no one had realized it at the time.

This time he let out a long sigh.

“Yeah, okay,” Eddie said, sitting back down next to Jeff on the sofa. “And I know that if Steve had come to me and said he wanted to form a metal band, I would have laughed in his face.”

Jeff gave his knee a squeeze. “We all would have. So let’s do what we do best. We change the culture. We make the metal scene open to people of all walks of life, not just the freaks and outcasts. We make it safe for them to come out.”

Eddie let out a shuddering sigh. “Yeah. I could do that. We could do that.”

“Good,” Jeff said, patting Eddie’s knee. “It’s not going to be easy, but we’ve never liked easy.”

Eddie laughed as Jeff got up. “So what are you doing in my room anyway? Don’t you have your own?”

Jeff opened the mini fridge and took out a can of beer. “I forgot to order beer and I hate it warm, so I thought I’d steal one of yours.”

Eddie threw a throw pillow at him, which Jeff deftly caught and lobbed back at him.

Jeff came over and kissed his cheek. “Get out of your head and do something with all that restless energy you’ve built up with this eating away at you.”

Eddie let out a deep sigh. “Yeah, man. Thanks.”

Just as Jeff reached the door, he called out. “What would you and the boys think about inviting them to open for us on our next tour?”

Jeff grinned. “They would probably kiss you on the mouth.”

Eddie threw back his head and laughed. “Duly noted.”

****

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25

Tag List: @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars @papergrenade @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @danili666 @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @goodolefashionedloverboi @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @yikes-a-bee @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @y4r3luv @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @eyehartart @dawners @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95 @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #rockstar steve harrington #rockstar eddie munson #rockstar au

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yandere-wishes · 1 year ago

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𝕆𝕦𝕣 ℙ𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝔾𝕚𝕣𝕝

Summary: You try to escape from two fearsome Sith Lords. Surprisingly they take it rather well.

Author's note: This is totally getting a part 2. Or maybe a series we'll see.

Warnings: dark, absolutely no regard for the rule of two, sorta a vent fic (venting that these two are so fine and I can't get them out of my mind), slightly fluffy.

The empire's warships have a tendency to blur reality. The interiors of their large hulking exoskeletons house endless corridors and makeshift chambers. Vast, endless arrays of space. They've been optimized for housing droids, clones, and artillery. Not for escape, not for an endless search of a freedom that has long since eroded.

Calling yourself anything but desperate would be a lie. Your feet run to the chorus of your broken heartbeat. The need for freedom, the need to escape spreads through your body like a poison. You know it'll end up killing you, either from exhaustion or by their sabars. But you have to try, you have to run. Even if you've left fragments of yourself in the warm bed the three of you sleep on. Even if you forgot your heart under Anakin's pillow and your soul still lingers in Maul's warm embrace. Maybe freedom is worth cutting off pieces of yourself, if only in the hope that someday they might grow back.

There's something wrong with the corridors you're sure of it. You've never been one for directions, instead relying on the holo screens and navigation systems to lead the way. Mirror images as far as the eye can see. Identical, plain. Nothing substantial to store in your memory. There's something ironic about this situation, a punchline that doesn't quite land. You half haphazardly tug on the skirt of your nightgown, desperate for anything familiar. You're not sure why.

You remember how Anakin called you pretty this morning, still hazy, still clinging to the sensation of slumber. Perfect blue eyes too dazed to look at you. Really look at you. The chosen one gazes at your ghost, your ethos. the perfect doll he and Maul had morphed you into. Behind you

Maul pulls you to his chest. Hand running up and down her side, trying to resurrect you into his dreams. It's only when Anakin's eyes close, seeling the shimmering blue orbs, that you crawl out of bed and into the unknown.

You're lost, abandoned in absolute desolation. The marble tiles bleed frost into the soles of your feet. Somewhere in the distance, you feel a disturbance in the force. Too far away to matter, yet leaking with a potent rage that burns. It's hope you think, albeit pathetically, maybe it's better to capitulate this pointless crusade and wait for the Sith lords to find you. The crash comes just as you're about to stop. You bump into him, falling in the process. All armor and steel. The Stormtrooper's mask is off giving you a clear view of his scarred face. His eyes flash, some dreary emotion too obscure to read, he offers you a gloved hand, something human something casual.

You stare frozen.

When exactly did you stop comprehending human idiosyncrasies?

When exactly did you start reading every interaction as a threat?

He's a monster, you think, just like the ones you've been warned about. Lectured time and time again by both Anakine and Maul. Monsters pry on little girls, especially ones who wander off on their own. Monsters lurk behind unsuspecting walls, ready to pounce when their prey approaches. You wonder if, the definitive definition of "monster" could be passed on to the two Siths who call themselves your lovers.

There's blood, too crimson to be real. Metallic aromas wafted through the air. You've only now noticed how close the disturbance in the force really is. Close enough to distinguish itself. To reveal that, in actuality, it's not a disturbance at all.

It's two...

Something cold yanks at your forearm. Pulling you to your feet. for a split second, your nerves calm. The familiarity of the cybernetic arm grants you a heavy ease. Anakin pushes you over to where Maul is standing. Golden eyes burning holes through the stormtrooper's armor. 'He didn't do anything' you long to say. But the words wisely die on your tongue as Maul grips your shoulders. Anakine's saber is lit, stabbing through the soldier's armor as if it were flesh. As if killing him where as easy as killing a rogue thought. "You're quite a foolish soldier for daring to touch that which belongs to your commanders. Even more imbecilic for so much as looking at emperor Palpatine's disciple."

Maul's grip on your shoulders tightens, eyes never once leaving the bloodshed. One of his hands instinctively roams to your belly, then slides down to your thigh. Rubbing it ever so gently as his claws pierce your soft skin. You close your eyes trying to make yourself smaller. You hate how his touch grounds you. How the familiarity plucks at your heartstrings. When he touches you like this you wish you would forever rot in his arms.

"'I'm sorry" You don't know why the words come so easily. As if they've been itching to spill from your tongue. Maybe it's easier to say 'I'm sorry' rather than 'You've broken my perception of love, of reality and now I can only find comfort in your darkness.' "Hush" Maul's anger spills with every syllable. His claws dig deeper, earning him a pained hiss from his doll.

"You're not sorry, in fact, you rather enjoyed this didn't you? Running away making us chase you down, I never thought your species would enjoy being the prey so much, little one." Anakin walks over, saber seethed at his side. His every step promised pain, retribution. He's angry, furious. They both are, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, they'll end it all today.

Maul's chambers have always been a testament to Dathomir, bathed in deep scarlets and endless ebony. You wonder if he's homesick for a place he's only visited in his worst ephialtes. After the incident in the corridors, they drag you back to the Zabrak's room. Neither bothering to say a word. Merely permitting their rage to engulf you, subduing you into submission. It's an unwelcome surprise when they begin to prep for the day. Throwing on their black cloaks, prior to choosing your outfit. An abnormal affinity settles across the room. Too unnerving to go unchecked.

They dress you each morning, a ritual you think, some attestation of love that's never been quite right. Maul drapes you in velvet dresses. Each one harbors a sui generis softness that sits erroneously across your skin. Their opulent sensation only brings forth feelings of aversion and despair. Their softness an ode to your imprisonment.

the dresses come in shades of crimson, detailed sometimes in black, sometimes in gold, and sometimes in a frigid blue that sends shivers running up your spine.

Anakin fusses over your accessories, why they feel the need to dress you so extravagantly daily is beyond you -as you've come to realize many things are- On days when Anakin's hubris reaches its apex, he bathes you in gold. Astonishing glittering collars across your neck and Kuat bangles hanging from your wrists. When he's sober from his pride he chooses black diamonds. Simple and exotic. scintillate and opaque.

Allusions to the dark side.

A hidden reference that crawls inside you.

Once, back when you'd been sure defiance was still an option. Back when callow hope still dared to flow through your veins. Back when you'd been a jejune, stubborn thing. You had refused to wear one of the dresses they'd bought. Adimant in your refusal until Maul had stuck out his hand. Summoning the Force to remind you just who held the supreme authority here.

The Force had strangled you, clawing hungrily at your neck. You felt your bones caving in on themselves, watched with exacerbating hysteria as your feet abandoned the floor. He'd only released you when he was sure you were near death's adorned door. Permitting you to molder on the floor akin to a ragdoll.

Anakin had chastised you after you'd conjured enough strength to sit up, gasping greedily for air. He'd broken two fingers that day. One still harbors a small scar.

A Promise ring.

An augury.

There are days, few and far between. When they've deemed you've been behaving adequately for long enough. That they permit you the choice of which dress you'd fancy wearing for the day. It's a rare event, reserved as a special treat. You think it's their way of proposing variety, giving you the illusion of choice. Making you feel a little less smothered.

Today is not one of those days. Today, you feel them pick you apart, only to reassemble you in their image. Drowning you in extravagance. A reminder, one whose deprecating nature weaves itself within your muscles. You, little girl, are nothing more than a doll. And dolls should know their place.

No sooner do you feel the final lace fasten across your back, that Anakin is tugging you outside the door. Metal arm clasped around your forearm.

Maul follows behind molten gaze locked on your face. The hallways bend to their will as if the walls themselves quiver with their presence. You recognize this corridor, recognize the frigid forlorn.

There's something wrong with Emperor Palpatine's throne room. It's surreal, makeshift. His real throne lays somewhere cold, somewhere even his apprentices don't dare wander off to. The ironclad throne has never felt right. Never felt like it held any real power. Just terror, just dread, just hatred. But here it is in all its glory. Left to two apprentices who'd rather treat it as a toy than a sacred place.

Anakin dramatically throws himself onto the throne. One leg thrown over the armrest as he leans against the other. His other leg planted firmly on the ground. He keeps you steady on his thigh. Torturing you with his distant, disappointed look. Maul stands in front of you. His eyes liquid gold melting into you. You see the galaxy in them. Hear it whispearing secrets meant to be forgotten. It's Anakin's voice that rattles you from your disjointed thoughts.

"You caused us so much worry angel" he's being nice. You don't trust that. There's something sinister plaguing his words.

"You know Ani, she may cease escaping if you'd cease to spoil her." Maul leans down, gripping your chin and squeezing. " The brat forgets her place, merely cause you'd rather coddle her than discipline her."

Anakin glares, a shift in his eyes, blue bleeding into gold. "Hmm, Maul, you're starting to sound an awful lot like Kenobi right now."

"Why's that? Did the old fool tend to also point out your shortcomings?"

You wonder who this Kenobi is, as you watch the Siths' exchange crude childish vitriols. Maybe he'd make a better lover than the two men you have the misfortune of being adhered to.

They never could truly see just how similar they were.

Two sides of the same coin.

One born of copper, the other, black rose petals.

Subconsciously you reach out. Grasping Anakin's robotic hand, fiddling with the panel, peeling it away to gain access to the wires and circuits. You have a bad habit of ripping things open. Anakin learned this the first time he kissed you and you tried to gnaw at his chest with your nails. Not in malice, but rather to satisfy a ravenous curiosity. A raging need to open him and see just how he ticked. You'd wished to perform an autopsy on his soul. Rip him open and devour all his secrets. Back then you'd wondered if you could kiss sunrises into Anakin's eternal night. Strip him of bleak blackened skies and introduce him to stars and a moon that shines. He'd only vaguely permitted it. Opting to pluck the stars lying within you. Swiping them for steel and lava and other mundane things that fueled his incessant rage.

Anakin's head dips, lips pressing on your jugular vein. "You're ethereal" Anakin mubbles against your skin, like the dying prayer of a collapsing star. He's so pretty when he kisses your neck. Biting away pieces of you. Stealing your light for himself.

"Princess" Maul seethes venom pelting from his words. You realize you'd been ignoring him. Something he's not too fond of. "What in the stars was going through your pretty little head?"

he looks like he'd love nothing more than to wring your pretty little neck right now. "I just..." your words feel heavy. Tiny bullets polluting your tongue. It feels so cruel to say when you know just how much they love you. "I just wanted some freedom. Just a bit of space."

"Dumb little angel" Anakin chastes. You lower your head in embarrassment watching Maul kneel in front of you. He cups your cheeks, placing a soft kiss on your head. "You can never escape us beloved".

"I love you," says Anakin. All you hear is, I'll haunt you, I'll break your ribs one by one so that I may possess your heart. Maybe they mean the same thing.

"And I'm pretty sure if Maul could feel normal emotions like everyone else, then he'd love you too." You can't help but let out a giggle as Anakin throws his head back laughing. A rare melodious sound, that causes your heart to skip a beat. Maul merely rolls his eyes before pecking you on the lips.

You trace your fingers across Maul's chest, feeling the pummelling of two hearts. A double heartbeat. Two melodies entwined, You wonder who he harbors in those hearts. One for love and one for family. You nip at his bottom lip. Ushering the blood into your mouth. He tastes of Ichor and smoke. Of sadness and rage. From behind you feel Akanin bite into the hollow of your flesh. Leaving traces of himself upon your skin.

"Our pretty little problem" Anakin mumbles.

You're a problem, a vexation draped in velvet, an unsolvable equation. Trapped between a love that seethes through your body like a toxin. Engulfing you until your mind relents. Maybe it's easier this way. Easier to say 'I love you' without the double entendre.

You do love them.

A rather arduous conclusion to reach.

Maul and Anakin.

Palpatine's apprentices.

Your lovers

Yeah, that sounds about right...

💜💜: @athanasia-day @hotpinkboots @jenn-patterson-69 @nickiiiixoxo-blog @the-chains-are-the-easy-part

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heck-theo · 5 months ago

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ROTTMNT Pride Flag Icons

The response to my last post about these was very encouraging so I finished them! Here are some examples using popular headcanons and/or headcanons that I like (so hard to pick cause there are so many great ones).

Below these examples are some rules for use and then below that are the blanks with the green flags for you!

Rules: First I wanna acknowledge that there's nothing I can really do to stop people using these however they want, and while I would disapprove, I'm not going to get mad and fight you about it. I won't give you the attention.

If you have any good faith/genuine questions or criticisms about these rules please let me know.

TLDR:Keep it respectful and PG.

Who can use these? I don't mind anyone using these if it follows the rules. Please credit me in some way if you use (even if it's just a text post), and don't claim that they are your own. If you would like to use it in a way that isn't specified here or with a flag not mentioned, feel free to ask.

Editing? I don't mind if you want to add small details, adjust colours etc, but I'd rather you didn't make large adjustments that could really change the overall picture.

How do I use these? I actually have no clue how to mask over a colour in a flat image, these are all clipped over the flag colour layer. If you do know please feel free to leave a comment. If you would like to request a specific flag go ahead and ask. If I only get a few requests I probably won't mind doing them for you. This is not a guarantee though, and it just depends on what I have going on and how I feel at the time.

What flags can I use? This is intended for flags that represent or support LGBTQIA identities. To be clear this does NOT include anything like TERF, MAP or Zoo flags. Also please don't use any flags representing kink and stuff.

Country flags? That is not the intended use and I'd really rather you didn't, however in the end as long as the flag isn't being used in a way that supports war, genocide or bigotry I'm not toooo fussed.

I really hope I'm being paranoid and this won't be an issue but I feel the need to say it cause I've been on the internet long enough to know it's full of trolls, grifters and creeps. If you see anyone being problematic, bigoted or disrespectful with these feel free to let me know. Free block list.

One last thing: There is a more "fem" leaning/alt version and a more "masc" presenting version. I tried not to get too carried away with changing their designs in the alt version. Also I'm still trying to figure out this style so it's not perfect but I was flattered that you guys were interested so I wanted to finish them off. Also they were designed to read well on a small scale so a lot of choices were made specifically to try and increase readability when they're itty bitty and some things might look slightly odd on full scale? Anyway.

Ok without further ado here are the blanks (I hope you can get some use out of them and enjoy ^^):

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joels-shitty-puns · 1 year ago

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Could I make a request please?

Either a Joel or Pedro x Reader, where he is head over heels for the reader who is really bubbly and sweet and happy and a mom friend for everyone but who is oblivious to any romantic overtures whatsoever? And where Joel or Pedro catch them crying for the first time ever and they try and hide it and go back to cooking for the friend group or whatever and Joel/Pedro get the reader to open up about what made them cry and essentially it's that someone turned them down on a dating app and it's just further confirmation that the reader will never find love or actually be a mom? Plus-sized reader preferred but definitely not required? And your choice on if it's smutty or not.

I've been reading your plus sized reader x Pedro series and loving it!!! So much emotion and genuine positivity that I couldn't help but ask for more when I felt a bit down about this today.

All my best!

Dear @jenniferpendragon,

Hi!!! I've never had a request before, I didn't know what to do with myself. Thank you. And thank you so much for your kind words about my musician fic! I'm so glad people like it.

I'm sorry you were feeling down today. If by "this" you mean you experienced the dating app situation, I'm so sorry. Love is out there for you. I know how hard it is to wait, feeling like nobody wants you, but I know it'll happen. Hang in there. ❤️

I hope you like this fic! I liked your prompt and my mind ran wild. It's way longer than I thought it would be and also I'm unsure about it, but hopefully it makes you feel a little better.

___________

Cookies 'n Scream

Pairing: No-Outbreak!Joel Miller x Plus-sized!Reader

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY!! MDNI. Poor body image, fat shaming, food guilt, food mentions, unprotected P in V, oral, kissing, fingering, pregnancy mention, baby making sex (?), I think that's all of it but if I missed something let me know.

Other stuff: Reader is AFAB. In case it isn't clear, italics almost always are the reader's inner thoughts!

This is the first smut I've ever written and published, yikes. Hope it's decent.

__________

"Look what I bought today," you chimed in a sing-song voice while waving the DVD in front of Joel.

"No way. Zombie Slayer 6?!" Joel and Tommy yelled in unison.

"Yep! You know it!" you beamed. "I say tonight we pop this bad boy in. Tomorrow's Halloween, it's perfect."

"YES!" chimed in Sarah and Ellie, Joel's daughter and adopted daughter, roughly the same ages in their early teens.

"Absolutely not! You two are too young for this gore, you'll be up for weeks." Maria pointedly gave an eyebrow to her husband Tommy. "You guys watch the movie, I'll take the kids and we have a girl's night. We can watch Practical Magic and make cookies. Then tomorrow we'll all go trick-or-treating." The girls were pleased with this compromise and began running up to their bedrooms, chatting frantically about their costumes and which houses were allegedly going to have full-size candy bars this year.

"Really? Zombie movies? They're just kids. They aren't old enough to deal with that kind of thing," Maria said to you, judging your lack of parenting skills.

"Sorry…" you said sheepishly.

Truthfully, Halloween was your favorite holiday and always has been. You loved the spooky aspect of it, but you also loved that you could be anyone you wanted, if only for a night. For once you weren't just "the fat girl" or whatever other mean things people thought about you. You could be Wonder-Woman, or Ariel, the Grim Reaper, or a ghost. You could even eat all the sugary snacks you wanted and nobody questioned it, because Halloween was a time to indulge in candy.

If there's one thing you're sad you didn't get to enjoy on Halloween, it was the thought of being with someone you love. You'd always wanted someone to dress up in a couples costume together. Or go to a pumpkin patch for a cute little date and pick pumpkins together. You'd even dreamed about someday having a little pumpkin of your own. Picking out a little baby costume, taking them out door to door while they tried to say "trick or treat" but didn't quite know how to say such big words yet. The thought of them getting spooked by a scary decoration and running back to their daddy's arms. Your handsome brave husband, holding them close and shushing them, rubbing their little back to make it all okay. Finally the three of you would go home, tuck the little one in, sort through the candy and maybe take some for the parent tax. Then you'd flop down on the bed together before sharing a different kind of treat.

Knocking you out of your daydream, the girls ran down the stairs, backpacks on their backs, still loudly chatting about Halloween. You sighed, Maria taking the kids out towards her house.

Tommy clapped his hands together excitedly and grabbed his phone and keys. "I'm picking us up a pizza. You two better not start this damn movie without me," he warned, gesturing with his fingers from his eyes to yours and then across to his brother's before ducking out the door. You laughed and headed towards the kitchen, starting to make a quick batch of cookies before Tommy returned. Joel stood awkwardly trying to help, but mainly was just sneaking bites of dough. "Knock it off Joel! There won't be any cookies left with you around." You elbowed him while he popped another glob into his mouth with a laugh.

You rolled your eyes while he argued with you. "Whatever. My brother doesn't need these cookies anyway. He doesn't deserve your bakin', darlin'." He ate more dough.

You couldn't help but feel your chest flutter with butterflies at his nickname, but you tried to ignore them. "Oh yeah, and what about me?" You pouted up at him. "Don't I deserve any cookies?"

He put his finger on his lip as if deep in thought. "Hmmm… I dunno darlin'. Not sure if I could handle you if you get much sweeter." He winked.

"But I guess you deserve some too.." he plopped a wad of dough into your mouth, running his finger on your lip as he pulled his hand away.

You smiled, cheeks feeling warm, and chewing the soft, sugary dough.

"Oh, Joel. You're too much.." you avoided his eyes, looking down at the mixer and pretending to be busy with the cookies.

Why can't I get a man like Joel? You thought to yourself.

Two years ago, you had moved into your new house and met your neighbors, Tommy and Maria, Maria still very pregnant at the time. The three of you became fast friends and it wasn't long before you met Tommy's brother Joel. You were instantly enamored with him. His curly brown hair, mixed with silvery gray streaks, and those deep, gorgeous chocolate brown eyes. Although he could be a grump at times, it was mainly with his brother or his job, and he never showed it towards you. To you he was as sweet as the cookies you were eating.

You instantly developed a little crush on him and it seemed like he was over at his brother's house, or yours, more often than not. The two of you spent time together alone as well, watching movies, talking, doing whatever. Things felt so simple with him, and you knew he would always be there if you needed help with anything. With him, you never felt fat. You never felt ugly. You didn't feel self-conscious. You were just you. He was just him.

As your friendship progressed, your crush developed quickly into love. But you knew deep down there was no way he could ever feel the same. He was too handsome and charming to ever go for a woman like you, so you pushed down your feelings as best as you could, and even tried some dating apps to try and find someone else to fill the empty space in your heart.

What you didn't know was that Joel was absolutely head-over-heels, smitten with you, from the moment he laid eyes on you at his brother's backyard barbecue. Sure he loved his brother, but nobody wants to spend that much time at their sibling's house. He came over constantly, hoping to see you, until eventually you became close enough that he didn't have to make a scene at his brother's house to get your attention. He could just go to yours.

Tommy constantly teased him about it, and Maria couldn't help but notice the way you looked at Joel either. Even the kids could tell. The girls loved you like a mother, though you'd never see it. It seemed that it was obvious to everyone but you and him. Joel would flirt, try to gently touch you, be sweet, but you never picked up on it. Although you never pushed away his attempts, you never seemed to reciprocate either, so Joel just figured you didn't like him that way. But he couldn't help flirting, touching, staring at you. And if you didn't protest, he didn't plan to stop. He couldn't if he tried.

While the two of you talked, the cookies, what was left of them, baked in the oven. Finally Tommy came in, two large pizzas in hand. "Now I better not see that movie playing! I warned you two."

He noticed the black television screen and wandered to the kitchen. "Good. You waited for me- oh man! You made cookies? My favorite," he said with grabby hands towards the first pan, still cooling on the stove.

"Now, don't spoil your dinner. You just brought pizza home, let's eat." You shot a knowing look with Joel after the two of you were practically full already with cookie dough.

"Fine. Whatever, mom." Tommy took a plate from you, sliding a piece of pizza onto his plate and heading towards the couch.

_____

An hour into the movie, you were all full with pizza and dessert, Tommy in the sofa chair on the side, you and Joel settled into the love seat. You leaned towards his right side, his right arm over the back of your seat. A blanket covered the two of you, and his left hand was crossed over his lap on top of the blanket, hoping you would hold it if you got scared. Whenever a jump scare did happen, you didn't grab for him, but at the slightest flinch, he would palm your knee, rubbing his thumb over you to calm you down. Such a nice guy. I'm so lucky to have him as my friend.

Once when Joel did this, Tommy caught the sight out of the corner of his vision. He rolled his eyes and gave a gagging face. Joel gave him a quick angry brother stare that made Tommy turn back toward the film.

At some point, you felt your pocket buzz. Peering under the blanket at your screen, you saw the little heart notification, letting you know it was one of the dating apps you downloaded. Heart beating faster, you excused yourself saying you wanted to get a drink. Upon entering the kitchen, you quickly opened the notification with shaky hands. You had sent out at least a half dozen matches to people, all turned down the second they saw your profile. The most recent had sent a message as well. "Seriously? Ur gross. Good luck finding anyone to date you lmao." Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked down at your body and pinched the fat of your stomach. You had four apps and had sent countless requests, matches, and swipes. Even guys who were big themselves had turned you down. You looked in the kitchen at the pile of cookies, the mostly empty pizza boxes, the bowl of Halloween candy. If the boys weren't here, you'd toss it all in the trash. You suddenly felt self-conscious. Your clothes were tight, your body was heavy and flabby, and you almost felt nauseous. The first sting of tears welled at your eyes, and you dashed off to your bedroom, hoping to quell these emotions before anyone would notice. You weren't ready to go back to the living room.

After a couple minutes, Joel had paused the TV to wait for your return. "She probably had to pee or something. Said she was gettin' a drink." Tommy nodded and the two of them talked. After about ten minutes had passed, Joel began to worry. Even Tommy began to wonder and finally said "where'd your girlfriend end up? It's been a while."

Joel shook his head at Tommy's name for you, but got up off the couch. "I'll go see what's up." He walked into the kitchen and didn't see you, so he kept walking through the house before finally starting upstairs. "Darlin'? You okay?" He still didn't see you, but upon approaching your bedroom door, he heard a soft sniffle.

He gently tapped on the door with his index finger's knuckle. "Sweetheart?" Your sniffling stopped and you quickly wiped your eyes, trying to hide your tears as he slowly opened the door.

"Hey, sorry, I didn't mean to make you guys wait, I was just changing into some comfier clothes." He noticed you had switched from your favorite dress to some sweats and a baggy hoodie. You still looked beautiful to him, though he was a bit confused at the change. "I'll be right down, why don't you go start the movie again." He crossed the room to sit next to you on the bed. "I'm not going to start the movie. What's wrong, darlin'?"

You pouted, trying to choke back more tears, but his gentle brown eyes made it hard to keep your emotions inside. Joel cupped your cheek, running his thumb gently under your eyes and catching a tear that made it past your walls. You'd never cried in front of Joel before. You made it a goal of yours to try and hide any sad emotions from people, especially him.

"I don't want to ruin the night, Joel. It's nothing. Let's just go back downstairs. I'll be right behind you."

Joel stood up and nodded his head, walking out the door and closing it gently behind him.

You didn't think he'd actually leave. But it shouldn't surprise you. Who wouldn't leave you?

An aggressive sob ripped through your chest.

_____

Joel walked downstairs, joining his brother.

"You find her?" Tommy asked.

"Yeah I did. Look, she's not feeling too good right now. I think it's best we call it a night."

"Ah, man. She sick or somethin'?" Tommy asked.

"Yeah somethin' like that. I'll stay and take care of her. Can you maybe keep the kids tonight?" Joel answered, ushering Tommy out the door. Tommy gave him a look, but nodded and walked out the door towards his own house.

Joel closed the door behind him and walked back upstairs, stopping to grab a glass of water for you on the way. He knocked gently again before entering your bedroom, and you turned around, surprised to see him. "Joel? I thought you were watching the movie?"

"Nah, darlin' I could never leave you when you're upset. I sent Tommy home and he's gonna watch the girls tonight. Here, I brought you some water." He sat the water on the nightstand. "Now, you wanna tell me why you're cryin'?" He sat next to you, rubbing your back gently.

You took a sip of the water, set it back down on the nightstand, and sighed, looking down at your hands in your lap which held your cell phone.

"Well, I uh…" you cleared your throat gently. "I recently joined some dating apps..."

Joel's heart took a slight stab, but he pushed it down. You're the one needing comfort, not him.

"I guess, I dunno… I know it's kinda silly, but I've been feeling kinda lonely and y'know... I'm getting older. I'm running out of time to have babies. But, I really just want someone to call mine. Someone to laugh with and go on dates with and…" you tapered off, not wanting to admit your desire for cuddles, kisses, and love-making.

"Oh, sweet girl," he held you in his arms. "That's nothing to feel shy or silly about. It's natural to want those things. But why are you cryin'? Did somethin' happen?"

"I just… I haven't gotten any matches. Everyone I've sent anything to has denied me, and-" you sniffled and Joel pulled you tighter. "Shh, shh, sweet girl, it's okay. Those people on those apps, they don't know what they're missin' out on. They don't see how beautiful and sweet y'are. They wouldn't know how to treat you right anyway. If they can't see how wonderful you are, they don't deserve to be with ya anyway."

"Thank you Joel…" you muttered. "But… it's not just that. I got a message when we were watching the movie and I went into the kitchen to read it, and-" you handed him your phone with a sniffle. Joel pulled away from you, holding the phone back a bit to read it with his bad vision. As he read it, his jaw and fists clenched. It may have been the first time Joel saw you cry, but it was also the first time Joel got angry when it was just the two of you.

"If I knew where this asshole little boy lived, I'd go over there right now and kick his ass for saying something like that to you" he seethed. "I can't believe anyone would say something like that to you."

You picked at a hangnail on your finger, still staring at your lap. Finally Joel took a breath and looked at you again. "Darlin'. You don't - you don't believe that guy do you?" He asked while rubbing your back again.

"Maybe…" you felt tears run down your cheeks. "I mean, he's right, isn't he? I'm not attractive or skinny. Nobody wants me, not even any of these guys on this app. Even the guys who aren't skinny don't want me either."

"Sweetheart. That's just not true. Look at me-" he lifted your chin with his left hand, right arm still holding you close. You hesitantly met his gaze, your wet eyes looking into his gentle browns. "Those men, if you even wanna call them that, they wouldn't know what beautiful was if it slapped them across the face. You're the most beautiful, sweet, funny woman I've ever met. Any man would be lucky to have you." He took a deep breath before admitting, "I'd be lucky to have you."

"What-?" You interrupted him.

"Darlin'... I never want to push your boundaries, but you don't see how often I flirt with you, tease you, and touch you? You don't see how smitten I am with you?" You frowned, brows furrowing as you picked through your memory. "I thought you were just a nice guy. Just a friend. I didn't… I didn't think you could ever like me as more than a friend, so I just ignored the butterflies I got around you."

You searched his eyes, waiting for a joke, or your alarm to go off and wake you up from this dream.

"Sweetheart, I've been in love with you since just about the time I saw you walk across my brother's lawn towards me. I just figured y'wasn't interested in me that way."

"Joel," you laughed. "I've felt the same way."

He smiled, once again tilting your chin, yet this time pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was gentle, but held so much love and meaning, that the two of you couldn't help but smile in the middle of it. He pulled away, "and by the way, y'aren't old either. If anyone's old here, it's me. But if you want babies, I'll give you all the babies you want. But you already got two girls who love you. Sometimes I think they even love y'more than me," he laughed.

You smiled at him and nodded "I do love those girls like they're my own. But I would still like a little baby someday too."

He kissed you again, more passionately this time, licking your lip until you opened up and let your tongues dance together. He pulled away, running his nose across your jaw before stopping at your ear. "Only one way to give you that, darlin'." He gently bit your earlobe before kissing down your neck.

You sighed. "Joel… please."

"Please, what darlin'?" He purred, kissing your clavicle through your baggy shirt.

"Please, make love to me" you answered breathlessly, tipping your head back so he could better access your neck.

"Take these baggy clothes off then, baby. Lemme see you," he gave you one last kiss on the lips before the two of you began undressing, stopping every few seconds to share grabby kisses. Once undressed, he pulled you into him and kissed you deeply, your hands on his chest. With a swift move, he tumbled the two of you sideways so that you were now on the bed, him on his back and you straddling his hips. You leaned down, kissing his lips, while the slight movement against his waist caused you both to moan at the feeling. "Baby I've wanted this for so long. Let me take care of you," Joel whispered, thumb stroking your cheek. He flipped the two of you over, slithering down towards your waist, where you spread your legs for him. He groaned, looking at how evident it was you wanted him, pumping his already hard cock a few times. Flattening himself on his stomach, he gently touched your thighs and began to kiss your legs. "Y'sure you still want this, baby?"

"Yes Joel, please" you answered, tense with anticipation. Without a beat, he tipped his head down, licking a stripe up your slit. You let out a sigh, hips bucking toward his face. "I know baby, I know." His low timbre vibrated through your core. He gave a quick peck to your clit before swirling his tongue around it and heading downwards, licking between your folds while his nose continued to put pressure on your clit.

His fingers slid through, touching your entrance in a questioning way. "Yes, Joel, please" you cried, wiggling closer, your hands tugging at his hair.

With your pleas, he inserted his finger, curling upwards before adding a second and finally hitting that spot inside you that made your breathing catch in your chest. He stroked, while still licking gently, occasionally sucking on your clit. Before long you were gripping the sheets with one hand, his hair in your other, as you finally tumbled into your orgasm. "So beautiful, baby" he coaxed, licking you through the waves of pleasure.

"Think you're ready for me?" He looked up at you over your plush tummy. "Yes, Joel, please I'm so ready."

He stalked over your body, kissing his way up. He kissed your vulva, "I love this," he purred. He kissed your stomach, running his hands across your sides. "I love this," he licked. "I love these," he massaged your breasts, kissing each nipple. "I love you" he finally looked you in the eyes, kissing you on the lips deeply.

"I love you too." You kissed him back, running your hands through his messy hair, down his broad shoulders and back. His hand snaked around, grabbing his cock and giving a few strokes through your folds until he was wet enough. Finally he pushed against your entrance, slowly entering you, giving you enough time to adjust to his size. Your fingers clawed at his back as he finally pushed all the way in, the two of you sighing in relief.

Your body adjusted, and with a kiss to his nose, you prompted him to move. "Okay Joel, I'm ready."

Slowly, he began to thrust, pulling slowly out and gently pushing back in, eventually picking up to a pleasurable pace. He kissed you like his lips couldn't be away for longer than a few seconds, and it didn't take much before you were barreling towards your second release of the evening. "I'm almost there, Joel" you kissed, grabbing him around his back. "Me too, baby. Come for me." His thrusts were getting sloppy, but you could tell he was holding himself back for you. His fingers drifted over your clit, giving a few circular strokes and causing you to shudder around him, your eyes slamming shut with a moan. He followed right behind you, a couple messy strokes before pumping into you, filling you up and working you both through it. As the two of you came down from your high, he kissed you passionately, holding you like you were the only thing in the world.

The two of you lay on your sides, you snuggled into his chest, his chin resting on your head before eventually he became soft and slipped out of you. You both sighed at the loss, but held each other until you rolled out to use the restroom and clean up. When you returned from the bathroom, you asked if he wanted to stay and he said yes.

You lent him an extra toothbrush and the two of you stood side by side, brushing your teeth and stealing glances at each other in the mirror with matching lovesick smiles. Things felt domestic and comfortable as the two of you walked back to bed, sharing soft kisses snuggled to each other. Having completely forgotten why you were upset earlier, you fell asleep curled into his arms, full of love and hope for the future with a man you loved.

_____

The next morning, you woke up to the smell of coffee brewing and breakfast cooking. You strolled down the stairs and saw Joel, wearing just his boxers and tee shirt, grabbing a slice of toast from the toaster.

At the sound of your steps, he turned and smiled softly. "Morning, baby."

"Good morning, handsome," you replied, pressing a kiss to his lips.

"I could get used to that," Joel replied, squeezing your ass and pulling his face away to look in your eyes.

"Joel! You devil," you giggled, gently smacking his arm. "You ain't seen nothing yet, baby" he nibbled your jaw.

After the two of you ate breakfast, you shared a shower, and he threw on a pair of extra clothes he keeps in his car. It would be hard to keep his visit a secret from his brother with his car still in your driveway, but as far as Tommy was concerned, you were sick and Joel was taking care of you.

The two of you made the walk over to Tommy's house to get the girls and participate in Halloween activities for the day. Walking in the door, Tommy pulled you into a hug. "Hey, we were worried about you! Are you feeling better? Were you sick?"

You looked up at Joel, sharing a knowing look. "I was just a little upset about something, but I'm feeling much better now," you smiled.

Tommy gasped. "FINALLY!!!!" He threw his hands in the air while Maria grinned.

"Cough it up Tommy!" Sarah held out her hand to her uncle. "You know I had October." He handed her a five dollar bill.

"You bet money on us?" Joel asked in disbelief, rubbing your back.

"Obviously. You guys have both been pining since you first met," Ellie answered, rolling her eyes. "It was too entertaining for us to interfere though," Sarah added with a smirk.

You stared down at your shoes, feeling embarrassed, but Joel grabbed your hand. You smiled up at him and it felt like everything was aligned. "Yep, we finally took the step. And now I get to do this whenever I want," Joel pulled you into his arms for a deep kiss.

"UGH. GROSS, DAD." Ellie and Sarah groaned, walking out of the room.

You both laughed, sharing a smile and heading towards the group to get ready for Halloween with your family.

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factual-fantasy · 3 months ago

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25 asks! Thank you! :}} 👹

I have it in the back of my mind, but I haven't actually made any steps in making more master posts.. 😔

ReBLOGGING is good! Its a feature of Tumblr and helps more people find my artwork! Very nice :))

RePOSTING is stealing my art and posting it on your own account. Giving you and only you all the credit. That's theft and no good!

I think I remember wanting my sona to be an object head of some kind. I think I doodled probably a dozen different ideas before I got frustrated and just scribbled my most recent attempt out.

But then it hit me. I doodled two little white eyes on the scribble and I knew I had found my sona XDD

@xxthedragonrebornxx

XD Thank you for remembering my boundaries and respecting them! :)) And THANK YOU FOR THE CUPCAKE!! :DDD

I haven't read it, but I've seen it blowing up all over tumblr. It must be pretty cool! :00

@milk-powrit

<XD I won't lie, Bill is a fantastic villain. I just "hate" him because Stanley is my favorite character and Bill put his family through hell 💀

Most of the team: "Aww 🥰💞💞"

Gloria: "WHO ARE YOU AND HOW ARE YOU HOLDING ALL OF US UP AT ONCE"

@pink088

<XD These past 2-3 days have just hammered me health wise, but I can at least say that I've been sleeping enough!

And thanks for the check in! I wish you the best :))

(Pokemon violet comic(?))

:DD Thank you!! I'm glad you liked it!! :)))

If I ever really go into those series I would :00 But I cant remember the Godziilla movies- plus that would be really hard to draw <XDD

There's so many sonic medias that i wouldn't know which one to go by- and I've seen playthroughs of Poppy playtime but it never really grabbed my interest.. <XD

I'll do my best to keep up with all that <XDD Thank you!

(Frank butterfly post)

Oh there's no need to worry about Frank! It might be hard to tell- but that was actually a moth! Frank had bags under his eyes because he was out late studying moths :))

<XD Well considering Homes intentions are intended to be unknown- you're free to imagine that! :D

@skywillow28022

ohmygosh the third movie is so good I actually cant watch it anymore lest I burst into tears 😭😭😭💞💞💞 10/10 WOULD recommend cars 3--

Anyways- I ADORE the cars franchise and absolutely would have drawn them more.. if cars weren't so hard to draw <XD Plus my favorite thing to draw is angsty cuddles and hugs and big droopy eyes and tears- that's kiiiind'a hard to pull off if your characters are cars-

Of course I could always draw them as humans like many other artists have.. but idk, it just doesn't feel the same you know? <XD

Also thank you! I hope you day goes well too! :))

@neo-metalscottic (Welcome home post(?)) (Octonauts eye study) (Oxem and Pepemijo comic)

AAAAA Thank you sop much! :DD I'm glad you've been liking my recent posts!

As for Oxem and Pepemijo, I cant show images because of the stupid 30 images limit-- But Pepemigo is based on/inspired by the Year of the dragon mask, and Oxem is based on the current season of Duets seasonal guide mask! :00

I imagine there are other dragons out there, like that other sky dragon that I made one time-- <XDD I don't really have any ideas for their powers or their story, but I had intended that Pepemijo at least knocked the krill out in self defense. Thankfully they wont be hunted by krill following that event- Oxem got them to a safe place and he knows that he should steer clear of krill territory in the future <XD

And of course! I'd love to see any critters that you've made! :DDD

@sussyhahag

uhg, always disappointing to see.. thank you for letting me know though 😔

*VERY LOUD CARTOON BROKEN HEART SOUND* (I LOVE THISSS)

<XD yup.

Also even though that disclaimer is there for FNAF and Octonauts, I still get people harassing me anyways!.... :')

@vesselofmanythings

AAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! :DDD And I wish you luck on your slime rancher creative adventure!! :}}}

AAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :DDDD That means a lot!!! :))

@starsbee

This shouldn't have made me laugh as much as it did XDD

@wolfie-777

Oh no.... THAT MUST BE ME WELCOME HOME AU COMING BACK--

@anikakitty11

Somethin ain't right with that dog <XDD

@edelgeist (Referencing this post)

oooh :00 I wasn't aware of that- thank you for the info! Perhaps I should invest in a cooling pad <XD

I have not <:( But after googling it- I love the artstyle! :DD

#my response #welcome home #factual fam

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bleed-more · 2 months ago

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My Updated Headcanons for Seth Wilson

Since a lot of my attention is on Seth right now, I'm writing some updated headcanons for him with things I've learned over the past 4 years! I'm starting with my HCs with evidence and will write my HCs without evidence later >:3c

HEADCANONS WITH EVIDENCE:

- Seth's dog name is Link (Joseph mentioned in a livestream that's Seth the actor's dog's name so in typical MH fashion I imagine dog actor Link also plays dog character Link)

- Seth is about as tall as Brian (this isn't even really a hc but I used to draw him short so I wanted to clear that up)

- Seth did all the TTA entries that include fried images and red motifs (based off of Night Mind's theory that Tim-themed entries are black and white, Brian-themed entries are stereoscopic, and Seth-themed entries are deep-fried/red. They used these colors to both communicate who's speaking AND to let the recipient know who the message is for.)

- Seth used to be Christian but fell out of it by Season 2 (I think Seth is responsible for all the Christian iconography in the first season i.e. stigmata, ark, deluge, etc. considering neither Brian nor Tim were part of TTA yet, and he slowly abandons that faith because.......)

- ...Seth thinks he is a messiah of some kind (from TTA's "Forecast" where he says "AMIAPROPHET." [TW DEAD ANIMALS & ANIMAL CRUELTY FR PLS READ WITH CAUTION] Forecast uses footage from the USSR's "Experiments in the Revival of Organisms: 1940" in which you see a disembodied dog's lung being inflated and deflated by a machine in an effort to keep a dismembered dog's head alive. I don't think it's a coincidence TTA used a dismembered dog to refer to Seth ((or what Seth has become)) and that Seth is both alive(-ish) and has saved others from death, but only in the same fucked up corrupted way you see in the USSR's footage. Which leads me to...)

[END TW]

- ...Seth is trapped somewhere between the line of life and death and is sticking around for the unfinished business of revenge killing Alex (in the TTA entries, while many things are convoluted and unclear, one thing that is very consistent is TTA's hatred of Alex. Seth is vengeful for the death of himself, the attempted and successful murders of his friends. From TTA's "Decay" where Seth is clearly addressing Alex, he says "HE[Jay] WILL LEAD ME[Seth] TO YOU[Alex], LEAD ME TO DEATH[because his job will be done then], LEAD ME TO THE ARK[salvation and an end to his and Alex's suffering])

- Seth is the one responsible for Brian, Tim, and Jay surviving during Alex's first murder attempt (Alex couldn't bring himself to *actually* kill his friends back in 2006, so he lured them to the park and used blunt force trauma to knock them unconscious hoping leaving them for dead out in the park would be enough. Seth, however, had already caught on that something was wrong after Sarah's disappearance (I am going to write a whole thing about this eventually hehehe) and so he knew to be at the park, and after Alex left them, Seth made sure they were safe (there is also info I have here about a lake but that's worth a whole other post, send an ask if you're curious <3)

- And finally, Seth had been well ahead of everyone else in figuring out what was going on (Seth was the camera and tech guy, so it would make sense he would be the first to see what's happening on these cameras, and investigating what might be causing all of this. Seth was the one who coined the term OPERATOR. He understood Alex's actions were being influenced by this creature Seth was seeing while editing Marble Hornets. And I also think Alex knew Seth was catching onto his murder attempts, and that's why Alex took no chances and shot Seth (the first instance of Alex using a gun in the series) instead of hitting him over the head with a pipe and leaving him for the Operator like the others.)

I WOULD LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK AND IF YOU GUYS HAVE ANY OF YOUR OWN THEORIES THIS WAS REALLY FUN TO WRITE AND I CANT WAIT TO MAKE PART 2 <3

#headcanons #Seth Wilson #Seth headcanons #marble hornets #mh #slenderverse #theories #fan theories #mh seth #totheark #text #writing #my writing #queue

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mysterious-moonstruck-musings · 6 months ago

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Closed Position: Week 3 (Cha Cha Part 1)

Closed Position Masterlist ||| Main Masterlist Dieter Bravo x OFC (Katarina)

Series Summary: Dieter Bravo, now sober, was looking to change his bad boy image after hitting rock bottom. His team hoped that having him join the nationally televised family friendly dance competition, Dancing with the Stars, would be a good first step, if they can keep him out of trouble.

Katarina Stamos expected her last season as a professional dancer on the show to go the same as it had for the past thirteen seasons. That all changed when she was partnered with the infamous Dieter Bravo.

Dieter and Katarina are reluctantly thrown into their partnership and must learn to work together to succeed in the competition. In the process they form a deeper connection beyond the dance floor that neither anticipated.

Chapter Word Count: 9.9k

👉 Warnings: Themes dealing with intimate partner violence, past alcohol abuse, and past drug abuse. There will be fluff, tears, spicy language, and smut. This will be a slow burn. Read at your own risk. Dieter Bravo comes with his own warnings. 👉 Chapter Warnings: Intimate partner violence, mentions of blood and injury.

Chapter Quote: “Bravo…that’s almost obscene.”

Katarina's POV

The last few days had been a lot. Alec seemed to be getting more possessive over me when Dieter was around. It was causing an uneasiness to creep in, and I didn’t really know how to handle it. I was beginning to get a sense that it was eventually going to build up to something bad if he didn’t tone it down. I hated it. It made me feel like I had to filter things or behave in a certain way when it came to Dieter.

I found myself wanting to protect Dieter from any negativity that might be thrust upon him. That urge became clearer to me while we were waiting for our spray tans. One of the PAs had made a nasty comment to him about his past that was completely unnecessary. Dieter took it all in stride and was nice about it even though he had every right not to be. I nearly said something to the girl, but Alec stopped me, grabbing my wrist and squeezing tightly as a warning to stay out of it. He had to make matters worse by laughing at the interaction. I actually felt ashamed to be associated with him at that moment. It was clear that the comment had upset Dieter. I could see the hurt etched on his face. I wanted to check in with him and make sure he was ok, but Alec stepped between us, blocking me from going to him. He did it casually, but I knew he was doing it on purpose.

Luckily, we were soon interrupted by staff calling us in for our spray tans, giving me an opportunity to think through the incident without Alec being in my face. The only thought I could focus on was finding Dieter to check on him. As soon as I was finished, I hurried back to my dressing room to change, then went to Dieter’s. I felt relief washing over me when I heard his voice through the door telling me to come in. I took a quick look around to make sure Alec wasn’t lurking before I entered and closed the door behind me.

I wasn’t expecting the sight that greeted me. Dieter was sitting in the chair in front of the vanity, wearing only his robe and black boxer briefs. The robe was hanging open at his sides as he sat slouched against the backrest of the seat with his legs spread wide. The way he was slouching had the robe hanging open completely. I could see all of him. As if his toned chest and soft tummy wasn’t already haunting my thoughts, I could now add his thick thighs and generously sized bulge to the visuals. I found myself having the sudden urge to stand between his open legs and straddle his hips.

I was snapped out of my thoughts by Dieter apologizing and tying the robe shut. I could feel my face heating, realizing he probably noticed that I was basically salivating over him. I managed to pull my thoughts together enough to remember why I was there and asked him if he was ok. He seemed unphased by it now, but I knew it bothered him. I knew he didn’t like to show when he was upset. It wasn’t the first time I had witnessed him brushing things off like they were not that big of a deal. I ended up letting it go, not wanting to pry. He knew I was there for him if he wanted to talk about it.

I changed the subject by asking him about his feelings regarding our upcoming performance. Something shifted between us then. As his brown eyes stared into mine, an odd tension formed, tugging me toward him. I wanted to feel his warm skin, to run my fingers through his messy curls while taking his pillowy bottom lip between mine. I needed to get out of the room. I soon said my goodbyes, then he stunned me by asking if I was going with Alec. Butterflies formed in my stomach over the question. He seemed pleased when I said I was going home, alone. The thought that he cared excited me more than it should have.

I chastised myself the whole drive home. I needed to get these thoughts out of my head. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair to Alec, especially since I was still punishing him over his past behaviors. What I was doing wasn’t much better. Then again, they were just thoughts. I hadn’t actually acted on them like he had. I could control myself and be loyal to him, even if he didn’t do the same for me.

When I received the ‘thank you’ text from Dieter later that evening, my heart broke for him a little. I knew it probably took a lot for him to send me that message and I hated that he felt like he didn’t have many people in his corner. I had to reword my reply several times, suddenly feeling the need to establish a boundary. It was more for me than anything. It was necessary, but I would be lying if I said it didn’t break me a little. That one word, friend, said so many things without saying anything at all, and they all felt like lies.

Monday morning, I managed to get myself together and focus on the performance. I was in competition mode, arriving early to speak with the band and lighting teams before any of the other couples. Dieter arrived soon after I did. I could tell he was nervous, and I did what I could to help alleviate his anxiety. I made sure to talk him through everything that was happening and let him know what to expect. During our first run through, I was quick to throw out some verbal cues, realizing that the band’s version of the song was messing him up a little. However, once he picked it up, he was good to go.

The rest of the morning might as well have been an out of body experience. It went by so fast it almost didn’t seem real. Dieter and I did have a moment during our final fittings. I ended up telling him about my arthritis issues, reasoning that he probably needed to know anyway. I knew it would inevitably become a problem the longer we stayed in the competition. It would be an obstacle that we would have to overcome together if we wanted to make it to the end. I felt the need to thank him for trusting my abilities and for trusting me with his sobriety. His confidence in me really did mean a lot, probably more than he realized.

At some point in the day, I noticed Anika eyeing Dieter. She was becoming more obvious about it as the day went on. Anika was known for doing the bidding of the producers, so I was always wary of her intentions. I didn’t trust the girl. The fact that she was infamous for partying gave me all sorts of red flags. I was worried she would try to pull Dieter into something that would result in a tabloid frenzy and ultimately threaten his sobriety. I felt the need to warn Dieter about her, but he seemed to already be aware of her partying ways. It made my stomach flutter a little to know that he wasn’t interested, even though she was completely gorgeous.

I was surprised when Dieter went into details about his dating life and how forthcoming he was about his history. I could feel my heart clenching in my chest as he told me that he never had a real relationship - always feeling like he was being used for gains which made it hard for him to trust anyone. Yet, he trusted me. I could feel the weight of his trust bearing down on me at that moment. I never wanted to let him down - whether it be as a friend or otherwise.

Once showtime finally rolled around, I could tell that Dieter was still nervous when I left him for the group performance. So, I made a point to grab my phone before I went to meet back up with him in the staging area. I had a feeling he would appreciate some hype music. I wanted to help him loosen up so he could enjoy the experience. It seemed to work like a charm as he joined in with me, moving to the beat of the song.

We were all smiles as we took our places on the dance floor, buzzing from excitement and the energy in the room. I’m not sure what happened once the music started. The chemistry between us sparked and was unlike anything I had ever felt. It had never been like that with Alec, and at one time, I didn’t think anything could beat the high I used to get with him. However, Dieter was somehow exceeding it. His eyes had turned into dark pools of emotion that I could have gotten lost in if given the chance. Feeling his hands on the bare skin of my back had me burning for more. I didn’t want him to ever stop touching me. It was a craving that couldn’t be satiated in its current form. I could have done this with him all night, but it came to an end all too quickly.

I could still feel the ghost of his fingertips on my back as we waited for our scores. It took everything in me to put that feeling out of my consciousness. I don’t think I heard half of what he said during the interview. All I could focus on was the heat of his hand in mind - wondering what those hands would feel like roaming other parts of my body. I finally snapped back to reality once they got ready to announce our scores.

I knew we had done well, but I was shocked over the numbers. I had never scored that high since joining the cast. It was a testament to how amazing Dieter was and the strong connection we were already forming. I knew the connection would only get stronger from here, which was concerning. I knew I needed to get my attraction to him under control before it got out of hand.

My thoughts shifted again after Alec’s performance. He and Lana clearly had a strong connection too. It was hard for me to not imagine the worst, but I really had no reason to. Yet, anyway. I was a little concerned that they seemed to be our biggest rivals and silently hoped it wasn’t going to cause more tension between Alec and me. We weren’t usually competitive. Then again, I had never been placed with a partner that was able to be. It would create a new dynamic for sure and probably only fuel his dislike of Dieter to another level.

Dieter seemed to be in good spirits when he arrived for our Tuesday morning production meeting with Stacia and Joe. He entered the lobby with a glowing smile on his face and a coffee in each hand, passing one to me as he sat in the seat beside me. I couldn’t help smiling back at him as I took in how his deep purple v-neck t-shirt hugged his arms and chest. His hair was messy, but somehow looked like it was styled that way. The soft looking texture of it was making my fingers twitch, begging to touch the silky waves. After realizing I had been staring without actually saying anything to him, I finally managed to squeak out, “How are you feeling after the first performance?”

He laughed, “I was so amped up last night after I got home…I had trouble falling asleep. I still can’t believe our scores. This whole experience is just insane. I was really expecting to make a fool of myself”

His eyes were bright as he spoke, a childlike excitement clear on his face. He’s too fucking adorable. I chuckled, “I admit, I was pretty amped up too. I’ve never had scores that good the first round…or ever, actually. I’m just afraid of what that means for us going forward in these meetings. You know they’re definitely gonna have an agenda now.”

Dieter raised his brows, inhaling deeply before he responded, “Yeah…well, let them. Doesn’t mean we have to play into it. As long as we stay on the same page, I don’t think it’ll be that big of an issue.”

I pursed my lips and nodded as one of the PA’s came out to say they were ready for us. Dieter followed behind me into the conference room. I felt his hand on my lower back as I nearly bumped into him in my attempt to get the chair to scoot out from under the table so I could sit. I glanced up at him with a small smile and apologized. He reached down and gave the chair a yank to get it to scoot out for me. Stacia and Joe watched us as we got settled, silently exchanging glances with each other. Once we were finally situated across the table from them, Stacia gave us a bright smile before she spoke, “Well, it looks like you two are the stars of the show this season. The fans are buzzing on social media.” Her eyes focused on Dieter, “It seems you're a favorite with the ladies…for several reasons. We might have to play that up a little.”

Dieter’s brows furrowed, “Do I even wanna know what that means?”

Joe chuckled as Stacia leaned forward with an amused look, “You know…turn up the sex appeal. More open buttons, maybe some sheer tops.”

Dieter rolled his eyes and huffed out a sarcastic, “Yeah…ok.”

Joe was looking at me now, “Kat, it seems you were a stand out in the group performances too. Everyone was talking about how you stole the show. We may have to put a little more focus on you since that’s what the people want.”

I could feel my eyebrows raise up to my hairline. What the fuck is this? I didn’t even bother to respond. I glanced over at Dieter, who was staring across the table with a smug look on his face, which I found to be odd. I turned back to Stacia and Joe just in time to catch them eyeing each other for a moment before either of them spoke again. I could feel Dieter’s leg bumping against mine under the table. He cut his eyes toward me briefly, pursing his lips. I gave him a look that said, “Yeah, I caught it too” before my focus shifted back to them. They looked like they were trying to decide who should breach the next subject. It was finally Stacia who broke the silence, “So, another hot topic was the chemistry between you two. Honestly, it surprised the hell out of us…I most definitely didn’t see it coming, buuut you two are amazing together.”

I glanced over at Dieter, his eyes were narrowed as he glared at Stacia. Geez he looks pissed. It was my turn to bump his leg. It gave him a start, but he got the hint and diverted his gaze, suddenly interested in his fingernails. I stared at Stacia with a neutral expression, waiting for her to get to the point. When we didn’t say anything, her confidence seemed to falter.

“Given that…perhaps you two could play it up for the cameras a bit. Especially during rehearsal filming. You’ve both been pretty tame so far.” She added.

I furrowed my brows, “Tame? What, you want us to be dancing monkeys? You know good and well I’m not doing that. We answer your questions, and we practice dancing. I don’t know what more you could possibly want.”

Joe leaned forward on his elbow, “Less focus and more passion…maybe a little flirting.”

I let out a sarcastic laugh, “That’s not gonna happen and you know why. Besides, it’s not like that with us. We’ve become close, yes…but as friends. Why can’t you just portray it as it is?”

Joe sighed, “Ok, maybe flirty was the wrong word…we can work with a buddy thing. Maybe have more fun while you do it? Just stop being so damn serious.”

Dieter smacked his hand down on the table, startling all of us. “You’ll get what you get. We’re taking this competition seriously. We don’t have rehearsal time to waste on your foolishness…I’m not gonna fake shit for your ratings and I'm not putting Kat in that position.”

Ok, so this is new, and I didn’t need to witness it because angry Dieter is fucking hot. My thighs involuntarily clenched together. I just stared at him, my mouth hanging open slightly. Based on the silent room, I had a feeling the other two were just as shocked as I was.

Dieter suddenly looked unsure of himself as he glanced over at my stunned face. We need to stick together on this. I peeled my eyes away from him to look at Stacia and Joe. I cleared my throat, “I agree with him. You’ll get what you get…but I will try to relax some while we’re filming. I do want them to stop asking us stupid questions though. You know the ones I’m referring to. It puts me in a bad mood.” Dieter pointed at me, nodding in agreement.

Stacia glared at me as Joe nodded. She knew she was going to have to let the whirlwind romance story go because we were not falling for it. She finally sighed and relented, “Fine, I’ll tell them to change their line of questioning…let things play out however they play out.” She rolled her eyes, opening her binder to sift through it, pulling out the mock ups for this week's costumes and sliding them over to us. “Anyway, here’s your costume sketches. We have you scheduled for the Cha Cha to She Bangs. You’ll be filming on Thursday again this week.” Great…getting into the Latin dances already. I glanced down at our costumes. Mine was a standard Latin style dress - short, low back, red, and lots of fringe. Dieter would have a fitted matching red suit with a dark zebra print shirt underneath. It gave off sort of a 70’s vibe.

Dieter glanced at me with questioning eyes. I shrugged, “I’m good with it.” Dieter nodded, “Me too.”

We sat in silence for a moment. It seemed like they didn’t have anything else to say. Dieter glanced between the three of us, “Are we done here?”

Stacia smirked, “Yeah, unless there’s anything else we need to discuss.” Why do I feel like she’s waiting for something? Dieter and I both shook our heads. He looked just as perplexed by her question as I was.

We shuffled out of the conference room in silence, neither of us saying anything until we were in the parking lot. He suddenly stopped and turned toward me, “The audacity of those people. I can’t believe they just asked us to do that. That’s putting you in a terrible situation. I don’t like it.”

I snorted, “Doesn’t surprise me in the least. There’s no telling what else they’re up to. I don’t think they’ll let it go that easily.”

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, nodding at my words, “I agree. I feel like there are shenanigans afoot with those two.”

I laughed loudly, “Shenanigans? Did you really just say shenanigans?”

He feigned offense, “Yes, ma’am I did. What of it?”

I chuckled, “That’s just a word I never thought I would hear out of Dieter Bravo’s mouth.”

A cheesy smile spread across his face. He seemed pleased with himself. We stared at each other for a beat, which caused the heat to pool at my center. I cleared my throat, “Well…you ready for some lunch?” My voice sounded off, lower. I felt like he noticed. His eyebrow twitched slightly as he stared at my face with a smoldering look in his eye, then nodded. I felt like I wanted to combust. Get your shit together Kat. “You wanna try that Mexican place on Spring Street?” He asked.

My lip turned upward on one side, “Sure…I’ll follow you.”

Lunch was interesting. Spending time with Dieter outside of rehearsals was definitely allowing things to evolve between us. I was getting to know him on another level. He spent at least fifteen minutes telling me about the different personalities of his plants. He talked about them like they were people, smiling shyly as he told me about his favorites. There was something incredibly endearing about it. I kept asking him questions just to keep him talking. My questions seemed to ignite an excitement in him, thrilled that I was showing interest in his hobby. The care and attention that he seemed to lavish on his plants was surprising to me. I was quickly finding that Dieter Bravo was nothing like I expected. He was sweet and attentive. There was a tenderness to him that sort of melted my heart.

Before we knew it, it was time to leave for rehearsals. I was almost sad that our free time had to end. I felt an overwhelming need to know more about his personal life. To know him - his likes, his dislikes. Everything. He was my new favorite puzzle, and I was dying to fit all the pieces together. I found myself already longing for our next lunch outing.

Once we got to the studio, we both got changed before settling in to listen to our track and talk through our plans for the performance. Dieter sat quietly, listening to the lyrics a few times, finally speaking up to voice his thoughts.

“I think we should play up the lyrics a bit…not the surface level sex appeal of it. I think it’s a little deeper than that. The guy is clearly in love with this woman, she’s become his whole universe. He wants to be with her, but she’s blowing him off. So, there’s kind of a pining there. He’s gonna do everything he can to win her over. You know what I mean?”

He rubbed at his lips and chin as he spoke, it was distracting, but his words still held my attention. Damn. Who knew Dieter Bravo could get deep with a Ricky Martin song? My brows arched, surprised by his analysis. My mouth also went a little dry realizing what it meant.

“I think that’s a good evaluation. So…yeah…let’s play into that. You lavish me with love and affection, and I’ll be dismissive about it.” I wanted to disappear as soon as the words left my mouth. I cringed. Dieter stared at me with that cocky smirk of his as his left brow twitched upward slightly, “I think that’s exactly how we should do it.”

I nodded slowly, “Ok…so, let’s go over the Cha Cha basics before we get too far into things. There are certain moves that we’ll want to incorporate that the judges will be looking for.”

Dieter followed me to the center of the dance floor. I could tell from his reflection in the mirrored wall that his eyes were on me the entire time. He had an intense look on his face as I turned to face him. His eyebrows arched as his gaze settled on my face.

“So, the Cha Cha is a Latin style dance that originated from Cuba. The characteristics of the dance are fast, sharp, and crisp movements with a heel to toe lead. The heel to toe allows you to follow through with straight legs. Straightening and bending the knees is gonna give the Cuban movement the dance is known for. We’ve gotta be expressive with our full body and arms to pull it off correctly.”

As I was explaining the movements, I went through the motions slowly, so that he could see what I was saying as I said it. I paused briefly to make sure he was following because he was starting to look a little overwhelmed, but he insisted he was good. I then went into showing him different types of hip movements and added the steps for cuban breaks, compact chassis, and New Yorkers. I had him go through the steps slowly afterward. He seemed to pick them up quickly, but his movements were a little rigid and still needed work. I figured it would come easier to him the more we got into it, especially when he was more relaxed and less fixated on how he was moving.

We threw ourselves into building the routine after that. Dieter seemed more unsure of himself as the morning went on. This wasn’t the Foxtrot. Latin dances by default had a sexual undertone and sensuality to them that I don’t think he was prepared for.

“Ya know, you’re gonna have to touch me to do this correctly, right? I need to trust that you’re not gonna drop me. Stop hesitating”

“I guess I didn’t realize how intimate this was gonna be. I feel like I need to at least buy you dinner first or something.” He let out a low chuckle at himself, avoiding my gaze. I rolled my eyes and smirked at his flustered and embarrassed expression. He continued to surprise me. He really was nothing like the tabloids made him out to be. He’s much more of a gentleman than I would have guessed.

I stared at him for a beat, momentarily distracted by the idea of a dinner date with him and the sweaty curls that were hanging down over his forehead before I could formulate my response. I briefly wondered how gentlemanly he was in bed…I shook my head slightly to clear it. Don’t go there Kat. I puffed air out of my cheeks before finally speaking.

“You didn’t realize? Surely you realized…you’re gonna be touching my thighs, hips, ass, waist, and on occasion, there may be an accidental boob graze. You need to get over that fast or this isn’t gonna work. I promise, it’s not a problem unless you’re intentionally copping a feel.”

Who am I kidding? I’d probably let him. Dieter appeared to be more embarrassed by my words as his face turned pink. He nodded in understanding. His big brown eyes were rounded as we moved back to our starting position. He placed his hands lightly on my hips, clearly not taking my advice. I moved my hands to rest atop his and added pressure, indicating how tight his grip should be. Without letting go, I moved backwards, closer to his front because he was still standing too far away. I could feel his entire body stiffen slightly as his searing heat pressed into me from head to toe. My hands tingled where they were connected with his. It was at that moment that I realized being paired with this man was potentially going to be a problem. I couldn’t deny it anymore. Something was brewing just under the surface, threatening to spill over at any moment.

When we got into the steps that involved hip movements, Dieter was having a hard time. He watched me with a furrowed brow as I again explained and demonstrated the proper way he needed to pop his hips. He looked a little overwhelmed as he watched me, his mouth hanging open slightly.

“You’re too stiff. You need to relax some and let those loose hips do their thing.” I had to mentally berate myself because my mind went spiraling after those words left my mouth.

Dieter chuckled, “This is ridiculous. Here I was thinking I was gonna be like Johnny and have all the moves, but instead I feel like Baby carrying the fucking watermelons.”

I snorted, “I’ll withhold my crude watermelon joke because it’d be inappropriate…”

It was Dieter’s turn to snort, “I can’t believe you just went there.”

I shrugged, still laughing, “Look, nobody puts Baby in the corner…right? I’m not gonna let anyone put Bravo in the corner either. We’re gonna get this. Just relax some. I don’t understand why you're so tense today. I know you move better than this.”

He grimaced, “I know…I think I’m just getting in my head about it. I’m not focused on the right things…”

I arched a brow at him, “What are you focused on then?”

His eyes widened. He had sort of an odd expression on his face, “Umm…just…you know…”

I shook my head, “No, I don’t. Please enlighten me.”

Dieter sighed heavily, searching for his words. “Well…I don’t wanna make an ass of myself…”

I grabbed his arm and peered up at him, “Hey, I told you. I’ve got you.”

He gave me a small smile. I pulled my hand away, “Let’s take a break…give you a minute to clear your head.”

He nodded, then moved over toward his gym bag and collapsed rather dramatically on the floor next to it, “I can see why you say the Latin dances do a number on you. My hips and lower back are not happy.”

I smiled, moving to grab my water bottle, “I told you. That’s why I’ve been on you about stretching.”

He rolled his eyes and groaned as he shifted to get something out of the bag.

“You want a snack?” He asked.

I chuckled, “Whatcha got?”

He gasped dramatically, “Well damn, why didn’t I think of this sooner!”

I gave him an amused look, “What?”

His eyes lit up, “I promised you a nickname. I finally have it!”

He turned the plastic wrapper around to show it to me with a big ass grin on his face. It was a king sized Kit Kat bar.

I sighed, my lips set into a tight line. I was not amused. “You wanna name me after something you like to eat?”

He chuckled before plopping a piece of the chocolate into his mouth and wagged his brows at me, “My favorite thing to eat…”

Fucking hell. I felt my whole core clench. I pursed my lips, “Bravo…that’s almost obscene.”

He snorted out a laugh, “Geez, your mind is in the gutter today. That’s not what I meant.”

I shook my head, “That’s gonna be a no for me. Be more creative.” I wasn’t going to be able to hear that name without thinking of him saying it was his favorite thing to eat. It would wreck me.

Dieter sighed, “Nope. Not gonna do it. I’m sticking with it and you're gonna love it.”

I huffed out a laugh, “This might be what gets you throat punched. Consider this your warning.”

He snickered, shoving another big piece in his mouth before sucking chocolate off his fingers. I suddenly had that down-low tingly feeling from watching the way his lips wrapped around and latched onto his large digits. My mind immediately took that visual and ran with it. Fuck, I can’t take much more of this. He held up the rest of the bar that was still in the wrapper and offered it to me. I gave him a polite “no thanks” before turning away, attempting to get that image of him out of my head. This is beyond ridiculous. I was going to need a cold shower tonight.

We got back to it after that. Dieter was doing better, but still seemed restrained. We surprisingly managed to plan out most of the routine. He was very involved with that process this time, seeming to feel more comfortable with expressing his ideas. It was some progress at least.

By the time I got home that evening, my whole body was beginning to ache. I could already tell the coming weeks were going to be rough on me. I just really hoped I could keep it together to make it to the end if we didn’t get voted out. I had a quick dinner, took some anti-inflammatories, then ran myself a steaming Epsom salt bath.

Soon after I got settled into the tub, I got a text from Alec asking if he could come over and spend some time with me. I sighed. I wasn’t sure if I had it in me to deal with him. I knew he would end up wanting to have sex and I didn’t have the energy for it. Suddenly, curious to how he would respond, I started typing.

Me: I’m aching and not feeling great after rehearsals. We got stuck with a Latin routine this week. I’m just going to relax for a bit then go to bed. I wouldn’t mind if you came over to cuddle and watch Netflix or something though.

The status changed to read immediately, but it took him a few minutes to reply.

Alec: No, that’s ok baby. You rest. Get to bed early. I know that wears you down. I’ll see you tomorrow.

Part of me was happy Alec wasn’t coming over. The other half was disappointed that he didn’t want to make a fuss over it and pamper me. Then again, he had never really been the type to do that. So, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Being hyper aware of my growing attraction to Dieter was causing me to realize some things. The qualities that I was discovering about him made me realize where Alec was lacking. I wasn’t really sure what that meant. Did I want something else now? Or was this just the product of the situation we found ourselves in?

My thoughts shifted to how Dieter had been so unsure of himself today. He had been so nervous with me. He was going to have to learn how to relax and get over his physical contact phobia. It wasn’t the first time I had been faced with this problem. I needed to get him in a less formal setting so he could chill and have a little fun. Somewhere that had a lot of energy to feed off of.

I grabbed my phone and pulled up Dieter’s number.

Me: We’re going on a field trip tomorrow, so don’t show up in your gym clothes. Just bring them with you, we can change later.

Dieter: Interesting…I’m not gonna go missing over the Kit Kat thing, right? I’m telling my assistant that I’ll be with you, just so you know. We have a buddy system.

I snorted. That wasn’t the reply I was expecting. I loved his sense of humor.

Me: If I wanted to make you disappear, I’d be stealthier about it. 😉 Actually, there is this Latin dance club that I want to take you to. Let’s call it an immersive learning experience.

I smiled to myself as I hit send. The bubbles immediately began bouncing, indicating that he was typing out a reply.

Dieter: Sooo, what I’m getting from that is I get to experience a new form of torture. Got it. 👍

Dieter: I’ll be sure to pregame with some pain relievers and a liter of water. 😂

I laughed, the smile stayed plastered across my face as I typed.

Me: Good. That means you’ll have no excuses for your whining then. I’ll meet you at the dance studio after group rehearsals.

Dieter: I’ll be there with my dancing shoes on. 🕺

Me: LOL. I’ll see you then. Goodnight.

Dieter: Goodnight, Kit Kat.

Me: 🖕

Dieter: I’ll pretend that’s a waving hand and not be offended.

Me: Whatever helps you sleep better. Goodnight. 😉

I was still smiling when I set my phone down. Now we were texting. I shook my head, realizing the lines were blurring. I sighed, hoping this didn’t turn into something that it shouldn’t.

The next morning seemed like it was dragging. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but I was excited about taking Dieter to the Latin club. It was a new experience with him, and I craved it. Which probably explains why each minute felt like an hour in group rehearsals. Stacia and Joe were true to their word, because I found myself front and center this week with Alec as my partner. He was in a grouchy mood, seeming to be hungover again and he was doing a terrible job. Dealing with him like this almost made the experience unbearable. I was tempted to ask for a different partner but didn’t want to get any rumors started. I half hoped the choreographer, Emily, would get sick of his shit and swap him out with someone, but she hadn’t yet. I could see the frustration on her face though. I wouldn’t have blamed her if she decided to make that change. Honestly, I probably would have welcomed it.

As I was gathering my things to leave, Alec was at my side, asking if he could stay with me tonight. He hadn’t even bothered to ask how I was feeling, which kind of rubbed me the wrong way. I relented, deciding that I did need to put in more of an effort if he was willing to. Though I wasn’t sure how much he was actually putting into things.

Luckily, we got out a little early so that I had time to run home to shower and make myself look a little more human. I threw on a simple knee length black cotton dress with flats, grabbed my bag, then headed out the door to meet Dieter. He was at the dance studio already, waiting in his car. As I approached, I noticed he had his head back on the headrest with his eyes closed. I startled him by pulling the passenger side door open and laughed loudly over his reaction.

“You know, you shouldn’t sit around with your doors unlocked. That’s how people go missing.”

He chuckled, “Noted.”

He gave me a timid smile as he ran his hands up and down his thighs, “You want me to drive?”

I shrugged and mumbled “sure” as I plopped down in the passenger seat.

I glanced over at him as he backed out of the parking spot, he had on black pants and a baby blue button up shirt that had a silky sheen to it. The sleeves were rolled up, of course. The color really made his golden skin tone stand out more than usual. He was also wearing a couple of rings that he typically didn’t have on. I don’t know why, but I found the rings to be kind of hot. They were causing my eyes to linger on his hands and how they made everything look so fucking small.

I noticed that he seemed more relaxed than he had been the previous day as he glanced over at me with a smile before pulling out onto the road, “Where are we going?” He asked.

“It’s that place on South Hill Street. You know it?”

He nodded, “I know enough to get us in the vicinity of it.”

I chuckled, glancing over at him again, “You look nice. Are those dress pants?”

He pursed his lips as he glanced down, “I’m not sure…I think they may actually be gym pants…but, they're cool and comfortable. That’s all I was worried about.”

He smiled my way as I laughed and shook my head at him. “Hey, it works. I get it. It’s the same reason I wore this,” I finally said.

Dieter stopped at a red light, then looked my way. “You look nice too. Even if you did dress for comfort.”

I rolled my eyes at him, “Thanks, I think.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes. The tension between us seemed to be growing. The lines felt like they were blurring again, but I didn’t really understand why. This wasn’t the first time I had taken a dance partner to this club for the same reasons, but they were not Dieter Bravo.

I cleared my throat, “I should probably mention, there is a bar here. It’s a big place though and it’s not really near the dance floor. I hope that isn’t an issue. I just now thought about it…”

He glanced over at me, a soft smile on his face. “Na, it’s fine. Not a big deal. I’ll be distracted.”

I turned, giving him a questioning look. His cheeks reddened slightly, “I just mean…I know we’re gonna be dancing. I’ll be focused on not falling on my face.”

I could feel my heart racing. Something told me he wasn’t being completely honest about that.

When we got to the club, Dieter moved to get in line. I shook my head and hooked my arm with his, “We don’t wait in line here. I know the owner.”

He smiled, seeming happy to not have to wait. We walked past the rather long line where I was certain I heard Dieter’s name whispered amongst the crowd. I silently hoped there wouldn’t be an issue as the person working the door allowed us to enter.

It was still early, but the dance floor was already full. The bass of the music was pounding so loud you could feel it. Strobe lights of all colors flashed over the dark dance floor. It was a whole vibe. A vibe that I hoped would allow Dieter to relax and have fun with me. Allow him to feel the music and become one with it and with me. I glanced up at him, he seemed anxious as he surveyed the space. My hand dropped from his arm down to his hand and squeezed it, prompting him to shift his gaze to me.

“You ready?” I asked.

I watched as he inhaled a deep breath and nodded. I pulled him along by the hand behind me as I walked toward the dance floor, letting the crowd swallow us. I started the shuffle steps of the Cha Cha and Dieter quickly fell into rhythm with me. He seemed almost timid as he moved and eyed the crowd around us. I reached up to cup his chin and pull his gaze back to mine, forcing him to look at me rather than everyone else. I gave him an encouraging smile as I stepped a little closer and leaned in toward his ear, “You need to loosen up. Focus on me and our connection…feel the music with me. Share the rhythm with me. Trust me…like I trust you.”

When I pulled away, I felt like he was staring into my soul with his rounded brown eyes as he nodded. We continued moving, and after several minutes he seemed to relax and get into it. Soon, we found ourselves laughing and having a good time. His hands no longer hesitated to rest on my hips or slide up my waist. He no longer pulled away when I turned, pressing my back to his front. He even went so far as to wrap his arms around me, hugging me against his chest. My head fell backward onto his shoulder as I laughed loudly over something he said. His rumbling laugh next to my ear momentarily distracted me, drawing my thoughts back to where they shouldn’t be. The lines felt fuzzy again. I needed a break.

After the song ended, I asked if he wanted some water. I had to put some distance between us for a few minutes before I did something stupid. I offered to get it because I didn’t want him going near the bar if he didn’t have to. As I made my way back to where I had left him on the edge of the dance floor, I realized he was taking pictures with a few fans. I guess it was inevitable that this would happen.

When I approached, the group surrounding him seemed to get excited once they realized it was me, asking for pictures with me as well. I, of course, agreed. Dieter and I also took a few group selfies with them. We chatted with them for a while. They were a good time, full of jokes and laughter. We even got into some dancing tips and showed them how to do a couple of moves. It was exactly the distraction I needed.

Dieter and I eventually made our way back out onto the dance floor, picking up where we left off. I took a minute to show him how to Salsa. He picked it up immediately. It almost seemed effortless now. We were moving together, communicating without words as he led us through various improvised moves. His hips were moving as I knew they could now that he was completely at ease. He was good at this, as good as some professionals I had seen. He just needed to let go and trust that I wouldn’t let him fail.

The energy in the room was definitely feeding the electricity between us. I could feel it ramping up the longer we went. After pulling me in against his body, then dipping me, something shifted. When he pulled me upward, a heated look passed between us before my forehead pressed against his. My right hand briefly cupped his cheek before sliding down to rest on his chest. I had to stop myself from leaning in further, turning away abruptly, feeling his hands trail down the sides of my body as I moved away from him toward the edge of the dance floor.

He had a boyish smile on his face when I turned to him. I couldn’t help smiling back as I asked, “You ready to head back to the studio to rehearse a little now? We’ll have a good two hours left.”

He nodded, grabbing my hand and following behind me as I walked toward the exit. Once outside, I looped my arm with his. There were several fans waiting in line that waved and called out to us as we walked by. We stopped for some quick selfies, then made our way back to his car, arm in arm.

The ride back to the studio wasn’t as awkward as I expected it to be. We laughed about some of the over the top outfits we had seen the other patrons wearing. Then our conversation shifted to the shock of how many fans there were that approached us. That had certainly never happened to me in the past. Sure, I might get one or two, but this was something else. I assumed it was because of Dieter. Everyone knew who he was.

We pulled into the parking lot at the rehearsal studio several minutes later. Dieter grabbed his bag out of the back seat as I moved to get mine out of my car. As we approached the entrance, I realized Alec was standing there, his back leaning against the wall as he eyed us. When I got closer, he pushed off the wall to come stand in front of me. He looked pissed.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked in a low voice.

My brow furrowed, “What do you mean?”

Dieter paused, a concerned look on his face as his eyes flicked between Alec and me. I glanced over at him, “I’ll meet you inside.” I gave a slight nod as I spoke, letting him know that it was ok to go in without me. He hesitated, but eventually moved toward the entrance.

Once Dieter was inside, Alec stepped in closer. “Why the hell are you going out with him when you should be rehearsing?” he asked with an accusatory tone.

What the fuck is his problem? I didn’t back away this time, “I took him to the Latin dance club. We have the Cha Cha this week. You know I do this with my partners sometimes to help them learn the dances. Why is it suddenly an issue?”

He was in my face now. I could smell alcohol on his breath, “I don’t want you going anywhere with him. You were supposed to be here. Why didn’t you tell me? I had to find out from social media.”

I scoffed, “What are you, my keeper now? I don’t question you about what you're doing with Lana. In fact, you don’t mention her at all, which is unusual. Maybe I should be asking you what you’re up to.”

His nostrils flared, “Why are you being such a defiant bitch lately? I feel like you're trying to provoke me. You always do this.”

I felt my jaw clench, “Don’t you fucking gaslight me. I’m not gonna keep doing this with you. This possessive and controlling behavior that you suddenly have, is only pushing me away. It’s not a good look for you.”

His hands suddenly gripped tightly at my upper arms. Before I realized what was happening, he turned us and shoved me, hard, against the brick wall. Hard enough that it knocked the air out of my lungs.

“I fucking told you to stop talking to me like that. I’ve been good for you. I’ve done everything you asked. Did you already forget how bad I can make things for you? Do I need to remind you, just so you’ll behave? I’m only gonna behave if you do, baby.”

I looked him in the eyes, pushing off the wall toward him as I finally spoke in a low voice, “I’m not afraid of you anymore. If you have a problem with me standing up for myself, then fuck you. Hit me. Do your worst. You do it, and I’m gone this time.”

“What the hell has gotten into you? Is it Bravo? You fucking him now?”

I snorted, “Are you kidding me? I’m not the one who has a cheating problem, Alec.”

He shoved me harder into the wall this time. Hard enough that my head smacked against the brick. Just as he got in my face again, he was pushed away. Nearly falling into the bushes next to the building. Suddenly Dieter was in front of me, one hand cupping my cheek with the other on the back of my head as he looked me over, asking if I was ok. All I could manage was a nod, still winded from hitting the wall so hard.

Alec came stumbling over toward us, “Fuck off Bravo, this is none of your business.”

Dieter scoffed, one hand still resting on the back of my head as he situated his body between Alec and me, “I’m not gonna stand by and watch someone get abused.”

Alec let out a sarcastic laugh, “Abused? Oh, did she tell you that’s what’s happening? It sounds like something she would say. She lies, you know. You can’t believe anything she says.”

Dieter let out a controlled breath as he turned to face the other man fully, “Alec, I think you’ve maybe had a little too much to drink, man. How about I get you an Uber or something? You can go home and sleep it off.”

Clearly Dieter wanted to diffuse the situation, which only seemed to piss Alec off further. Alec stood there in silence for a moment, an almost murderous look in his eyes as he stared at Dieter. Without warning, his fist swung toward Dieter’s face. I stood in shock, unable to move or react. Dieter’s reflexes were actually pretty impressive. He had somehow managed to dodge the punch and simultaneously jab Alec in the nose with what seemed like very little effort on his part. Dieter looked just as surprised by it as I was as Alec stumbled backward, grabbing at his face causing blood to run down between his fingers.

Dieter and I looked at each other, mouths agape as we looked back toward Alec. He spat out an angry, “What the fuck, Bravo!”

Dieter’s eyes widened, “Dude, you swung at me first. Don’t what the fuck me...”

Alec stumbled toward me, but Dieter stuck his arm out in front of me, pushing me behind him.

“Come on Kat, let’s get outta here.” Alec said as he motioned with his hand for me to come to him. I shook my head.

It was Dieter who spoke up, “She’s not going with you like this. Go home. Sleep it off.”

Alec’s brow furrowed as he wiped his face with one hand. Without another word, he walked off toward the parking lot. Once he was out of sight, Dieter turned and pulled me into a tight hug, “Are you sure you’re ok? It looked like you hit your head.” I nodded against his chest, trying to fight back the tears that were threatening to spill out. I pulled away, grabbing his wrist. His knuckles looked a little busted up and bruised. He squeezed his hand into a fist and tried to pull away, mumbling, “I’m fine.”

My grip tightened on his wrist, “No. Lemme see.” I inspected his hand under the dim lighting. He had definitely busted his knuckles. “Come on, there’s a first aid kit in here.”

He followed behind me, silently. I found the first aid kit in the hallway supply closet, then pulled him into the private bathroom of our assigned studio space. As I was digging through the kit, I felt his hand brush my hair at the back of my head to the side, looking me over under the brighter lights. I paused for a moment and let out a stuttered breath. He came to stand beside me, meeting my gaze for the first time since we were alone. His lips were set into a tight line as his eyes roamed over my face. My attention turned back to the first aid kit, pulling out everything that I needed. I could feel his eyes on my face the entire time, like he was waiting for me to break.

I inhaled deeply before meeting his gaze again, “Sit down…gimme your hand.”

He complied. I pulled his hand over the sink to pour some Isopropyl Alcohol over the abrasions. He hissed through his teeth at the burn but didn’t pull away. Once I was done, I let it sit for a minute to air dry. I could still feel Dieter’s eyes on me, but I couldn’t look at him. I actually felt embarrassed over what he had just witnessed.

“Why do you put up with him treating you like that?” he finally asked in a somewhat gruff voice.

I shrugged, rubbing at the crease between my brows. “He had been doing better. I don’t know what’s gotten into him. I think it’s because he’s been drinking more.”

He sighed, “That doesn’t answer my question.”

I finally looked at him, “I guess, I just didn’t wanna give up on the last six years of my life. It wasn’t always bad, you know. I really thought he could get it together. He’s been trying…for the most part…but it’s been one problem after another the last few years.”

I turned my attention back to his hand, spraying antiseptic pain relief on it.

Dieter leaned forward against the sink, “I know you believe in second chances and all that, but not everyone can change ya know. You can’t fix him if he doesn’t wanna fix himself.”

It hurt, but I needed to hear it. He was right, Alec didn’t want to change. Not really. He had been putting in just enough work to keep me satisfied.

“He’s got more going on than just a drinking problem, too. I know you wanna give him a chance, but I don’t think you should put yourself at risk for him. He’s a ticking bomb, waiting to go off. I’ve had a feeling about it since day one, and this just confirmed it.”

A tear slid down my face at his words. Deep down I knew this. I think it was part of the reason I stayed with Alec. I was worried about what would happen if I broke things off with him. I really didn’t know how bad things could get, and I was afraid to find out.

Dieter watched as I wrapped a bandage around his knuckles, then turned to toss the wrappings in the trash can. He stood, pulling me in for another hug. I could feel his lips move against the top of my hair as he spoke, “If you need somewhere to go, or…anything…don’t be afraid to ask me for help. Please.” His tone nearly broke me. It was almost pleading.

I pulled away, wiped my face and nodded, “Thank you. I’m sorry you ended up in the middle of this…” I sighed, “Why did you come back outside, anyway?”

He gave me a sad smile and shrugged, “I forgot my sneakers in the car.”

I chuckled, then pointed at his hand, “Well, I don’t think you broke anything, but that’s probably gonna be bruised and sore.”

He pursed his lips, “It’s worth it.”

I laughed. There was something a little satisfying about Dieter putting Alec in his place. Dieter blew air out through his cheeks, “Well, I guess everyone is gonna know that I punched Alec…assuming his face is fucked up.”

He was right, this was going to be some drama for the show. I thought for a moment, “Maybe not. Just try to keep your hand out of sight. I can probably cover it with makeup before filming tomorrow. Hopefully no one will notice…unless he runs his mouth…but something tells me he won’t.”

We decided to call it a night soon after that. Neither of us were in the mood to rehearse. The adrenaline rush from the club and the interaction with Alec had worn off, leaving me feeling exhausted. It had been a long day and I just wanted to go to bed. Dieter walked me to my car. Instead of just telling me goodbye, he reminded me to reach out if I needed anything and asked me to text him when I got home. His eyes stayed on me until I pulled out of the parking lot. His need to make sure I was ok made my chest ache. Dieter had a caring and nurturing side to him that I truly did not expect. It certainly had me reevaluating my relationship with Alec, realizing that perhaps his behavior wasn’t typical and that something better was out there.

After I got home, I locked myself inside, making sure the slide lock and chain were in place on all the doors. Alec had a key, so I wanted to be sure he wasn’t going to show up in my room unexpectedly in the middle of the night. I dug my phone out of my bag to text Dieter. He again reminded me to call if I needed anything.

I then turned my attention to the barrage of missed calls and texts from Alec. Surprisingly, they were not angry. Instead, they were full of apology and begging for forgiveness. He knew he had fucked up, but that didn’t change the fact that it had happened, and it wasn’t the first time. I took a deep breath, typed out my response, and hit send before I could change my mind.

Me: I need space from you right now. What you did wasn’t ok and it’s not something an apology can fix. I’m not saying it’s over, but I do need a few days to think.

Alec: Whatever you need, baby. I’ll do whatever you need me to do to fix it.

I sighed, shaking my head. I wasn’t sure if it could be fixed or if I even wanted it to be.

Next: Week 3 (Part 2)

✨Intimate partner violence is never ok. If you or someone you know needs assistance, please see the resources at the bottom of this post or feel free to reach out to me if you need to talk through it.

A/N: Hello my lovelies! Whew! A lot has already happened in Week 3 and this is only the first half of it! We got our first Dirty Dancing reference. This is going to come up again. 😂 It's clear that Dieter and Kat are becoming more comfortable around each other. As that happens, we're going to start seeing a lot more of the menace side of Dieter, which I know you'll enjoy. We're going to get a lot more of that from him in Part 2...among other things. The boy is turning into a mess, honestly. But look at them texting, maybe sort of flirting, and making dirty jokes! Doesn't get much better than that. Who do we think is gonna cave in and go for it first? I'll ask this question again after you read Dieter's part. 😏 So, what do you think Stacia and Joe are up to? I will say there is some very complex meddling going on behind the scenes and I'm curious to see what y'all pick up on. How much are we hating Alec right now? And yay that he finally got punched! There is a fun interaction between him and Dieter in Part 2 I'm sure y'all will love. It made me snort a little to write it. Can we talk about how protective Dieter and Kat already are of each other though? Swoon. Let's also talk about how Dieter is struggling with this week's dance. The boy is going through it. Just to give you an idea of what he's working with, I have included a fun and flirty Cha Cha video below. It may give you a hint on what his problem is.😂 Also, I think we need Dieter dancing with his shirt open. Just sayin...

youtube

Intimate Partner Violence Resources

CP Taglist: @secretelephanttattoo @titlee78 @maggiemayhemnj @legendary-pink-dot @morallyinept

@survivingandenduring @wannab-urs @harriedandharassed @hisandsnakes @misstokyo7love

@readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @sin-djarin @cakipy-blog @missladym1981

@guelyury @weho2kcmo @alokaerza @girlofchaos @trulybetty

@rhoorl @bitchwitch1981 @madnessofadaydreamer @darkheartgatita @jazzloveslatte

@timpletance @musings-of-a-rose @samiamproductions @myloveistoolittle @for-a-longlongtime

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@bunniboo0015 @quicax3 jackie923 @sherala007 @pastelnap @pedrostories

@angelofsmalldeath-codeine @jessthebaker @rebel-held @gwendibleywrites @senorabond

👉 If your name is marked out, it wouldn’t let me tag you. ☹️

If you would like to be added to the tag list, let me know in the comments or shoot me a DM.

Credits: Support/MDNI Dividers: @cafekitsune Disco Divider: @deadbranch

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #dancing dieter #cat dad dieter #plant dad dieter #closed position series #Youtube

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daenysx · 2 years ago

Text

my first daryl shot and i really wanna know what you think, please share your opinions with me!! this takes place in the CDC. hope you like it, requests are open!!

my masterlist

blame the alcohol

daryl dixon tries not to fall for you but you are there to wreck his plans with an empty wine glass in your hand.

he wants to save the image in front of him and stare at it for hours.

you are standing there, unaware of his presence. you are only wearing a shirt which is extra big for you and a pair of socks reaching your knees. your slightly wet hair frames your pretty face and you are holding a book in your hand, there is a wine glass on the table next to you.

daryl dixon loves watching you.

he is standing by the doorframe with a bottle in his hand. he is supposed to be resting but it feels impossible. there are things that keep his mind alive and the alcohol he consumes is not enough to shut it off.

here you are, looking clean and relaxed. you use the same shampoo and soaps with everyone, your little survival team that finally makes it to CDC, but he thinks you smell different. your scent is different and he is not dreaming about it, right? he wants to take a deep breath to fill his senses with you and it's perfectly real.

you are reading a book, he doesn't know if you like it. he is sure even if you don't like the context you like the act of reading. you told him that in his tent, the days feel like ages now but truly it wasn't that long ago. you have a passion for reading. you'd read anything you find, that he's sure about.

your wine glass is empty. he should approach you and offer you more wine, right? that's what he wants but he isn't sure if you want his company. actually there isn't a reason for him to think otherwise, he knows you enjoy spending time with him but he can't help his thoughts. this life isn't made for love stories and a man like daryl dixon can't afford to let himself fall for you.

then you turn to his side, finally noticing him as if you've felt his desperation. there is that smile again. your eyes sparkle and he can see it perfectly clear on your clean face. he doesn't even want to admit it to himself but he loves seeing you smile. it's like watching the sunrise, shiny and mesmerising.

"why are you standing there, dixon? come closer."

why does his last name sound so beautiful when it comes out of your lips? he comes closer to you with slow steps.

"are you drunk already? unbelievable, you surprise me."

he smiles. "nah, i ain't drunk."

you leave the book back to its place, take your empty glass and go to the couch across the wall. you point the bottle in his hand, "can i have some of that?"

he nods quickly, fills your glass, and sits next to you on the couch. you two share a few minutes of silence, sipping your drinks and staring at the wall. he wants to hear your voice, anything you tell him even if you think they are stupid, he wants to hear it. there are little moments between you and him. when it gets too much in his head, he finds a release with them.

"c'mon, tell me somethin'."

you raise an eyebrow. "like what?"

he shrugs, takes a sip of wine. "anythin'."

you curve your lips slightly, think of an answer. it feels like the right time for a deep conversation with the opportunity to blame it on alcohol if you say something you regret later. not to deep but you feel like you need to be the brave one.

"this apocalypse...sometimes i feel like-like i'm happy it happened you know? not happy, happy is not the right word to say but- just glad. for one reason."

he has a look on his face, questioning and curious. you have to explain what you mean. you have to start somewhere.

"we'd never know each other if it weren't for the apocalypse."

he doesn't know what to say. after he lost merle, he planned to be alone and alive in this new life and now you are here, wrecking all his plans with your sweet confessions and smiles. he shouldn't get attached for his own sake but then you look at him with big, teary eyes and he is gone.

"you ain't gonna cry for this sunshine."

you try to smile. "i'm not crying but- the possibility of never knowing you is terrible and- i feel like an awful person for saying that i'm grateful for the zombies somehow."

he chuckles softly. then he puts the bottle on the ground and brings his hand to your face. his movements aren't the most confident ones, he is hesitant but that doesn't stop him from brushing that one teardrop away from your face.

"ya can't ever be an awful person. i know what ya mean, okay? you're right. ya shouldn't ever cry for- fucks sake ya shouldn't cry for anythin'. you're too pretty for that."

he never fails to put a smile on your face. he smiles too, when he sees the little wrinkles on the corners of your mouth. he doesn't regret saying too much, if it's necessary to talk too much to make you smile for him, daryl dixon would turn into a fucking chatterbox.

"thank you, daryl. for everything. i know i'm not really suited for this kind of life but i'm trying...i really do."

his eyes are about to turn into little hearts with sparkles. fuck it. you can't possibly be that sweet, he thinks. he can't even believe himself for using the word sweet for someone but there you are, his sweet girl.

"you're a fast learner. you're fine and 'm with you."

you press a soft kiss to his cheek and put your head on his shoulder. he wishes to keep that promise until the end of everything. he doesn't even know if he'll be alive tomorrow but he can blame the alcohol for the bravery and your beautiful face for the romantic feelings, right? right.

#daryl dixon #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead #daryl dixon x you #twd daryl #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine

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hypnoneghoul · 5 months ago

Text

Sundown: Chapter 8

WC: 800

Relationship: SwissAlps

Tags: AU; Cowboy!Swiss x Barmaid!Mountain, Transfeminine Mountain, Angst, Crying, Nightmares, Comfort

There had always been something sitting in the back of his mind and waiting for the boy to fall asleep so it could strike.

Notes: Just a short little thing because exams are killing me but I don't want y'all to feel abandoned ahfhagsf

Playlist here. / Chapter 1 here or on AO3.

Read chapter 8 under the cut or on AO3.

Swiss has always had nightmares.

There had always been something sitting in the back of his mind and waiting for the boy to fall asleep so it could strike. The themes have changed over the years; from monsters under the bed to gruesome images of things he himself has done to people.

Sunshine, too.

Those were the worst.

They didn’t go away when he started sleeping with Mounty—albeit they became less frequent with her presence—but he never actually mentioned them and the girl didn’t pry. Every time he had shot up with a gasp and sweat slick skin in the middle of the night he had mumbled something about having to take a piss, tumbled out of bed and ran out of the room. Mounty wasn’t ever awake enough to will herself to follow him, but that’s not what the man wanted anyway, so—wanting to respect his space—she had always let him. She would go back to sleep and would not even know how long Swiss spends outside every single time, breathing heavily and holding back tears against Monty’s neck. The mare saw nearly as much as him and he wonders sometimes, if her mind is as plagued as his.

Still, every time he had come back—he’d never let Mounty wake up without him by her side again, if she’d let him.

Now that she knows everything, though, she doesn’t let him run.

He’s been in there so many times he knows that barn better than the back of his hand; he could count the wooden boards that make it with his eyes closed.

He’d rather not.

He knows what he’ll see, he knows he shouldn’t take the next step, and the next, but he can’t stop. He’s been told she’s there, waiting for him, so he must go.

He knows now it wasn’t true, but he can’t stop. His legs are moving on their own and he’s crying—he’s always crying—but he can not stop.

The pool of blood on the sand reflects the light breaking through a crack by the roof, just as her reddened skin. Her usual tan is barely visible; everything but her face is covered in red.

All Swiss sees is red, red, RED…

All Swiss sees is…just dark ember. Pretty dark ember, reflecting the moonlight filtering in from the carelessly shut curtains

“Swiss, breathe,” he hears, albeit muffled, as if coming from far, far away. “Breathe, darling, it’s alright. You’re here with me, it’s alright.”

Mounty.

His eyes focus on her face, but they don’t clear; the girl looks blurry through his tears. Swiss’ breath hitches and he tries to cough to cover up a sob. Pathetic attempt, really, but he still tries to act as if nothing is wrong.

“Oh, s–sorry,” he chokes out, his voice wobbly, “I–I gotta–”

“No, you don’t,” Mounty interrupts him; sternly, but calmly. It’s all it takes for the cowboy to give up all fight. He slumps over with his eyes squeezed shut, his face falling into his hands as he tries to breathe. It’s not working very well, it’s shaky and he’s getting dizzy. “Oh, darling…”

The girl puts a gentle hand on the back of Swiss’ neck and he wheezes painfully. “Okay, that’s enough. C’mere, darling. And breathe. That’s it.”

The man is all but a ragdoll when Mounty grabs and maneuvers him to lay against her bare chest. He’s tense and limp at the same time, with his mind so, so far away. The barmaid hopes he’s not registering the pained look of worry on her own face; she truly hates seeing him like this.

The dam breaks the moment the strong beat of Mounty’s heart sounds against Swiss’ ear. He curls in on himself, tightens his arms around the barmaid and begins to fully sob, his tears spilling down his face and onto Mounty’s skin, making it glisten in the moonlight, too.

It’s beautiful, actually.

“I know, darling, I know,” she mumbles, stroking his sweaty back. He’s getting cold, starting to shiver. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Swiss knows she does, for some reason since the very moment they met. He will never understand why, but he knows. He can’t stop crying for long enough to tell her that, though.

Another sob rips itself out of his chest and he nuzzles his face closer, scratching Mounty’s skin with his stubble. She sighs, feeling as useless as ever in the face of Swiss’ awful memories.

All she can do is bring a blanket up and wrap it right under the cowboy’s chin, holding him close and whispering how—even if it doesn’t feel like it right now—everything will be just fine.

#divider by @ghuleh-recs #hypnone writes #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #swiss ghoul #mountain ghoul #swissalps #swissalps' sundown

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starpros-sunshine · 3 months ago

Note

Eichi gives away the mask so easily because it was never meant to be an "engagement ring" like you delulu wataeis imagined it to be lmao. It was wataru saying that he will continue playing tsumugi clown role in fine and won't leave it for hokuto's mother troupe after graduation. Do you dumb fucks even read the stories? Eichi didn't even understand tf that mask meant when wataru gave it to him and wataru referenced fucking tsumugi in his "proporsal". I dunno why the f you think it's ok to lie about "! EnDiNG wItH wAtAeI EnGaGeMEnT" when the chapter it happened wasn't even close to the end of ep:link. Cope

PS: how do you live with the fact that Eichi clearly admitted to never being in love in his life and Wataru said that even though Eichi likes him, he still can easily discard him for the sake of his objectives?

I love you anon thank you for giving me a nice reason to ramble again beautiful ask 10/10 I'm sorry this is probably not how you hoped this would go but this is such a funny block of text delightful really thank you for the enrichment please marry me

But okay yes now to get down to the actual ask just to disclaim I am solely relying on translations seeing as I do not speak japanese well enough to understant the original text so if anyone has anything to add to this or to correct me on please feel free to do so.

Now to get started I'm not sure if one could say Eichi gave away the mask "So easily" seeing as he claimed that it was "a hard choice to make"? Which, as one might know, implies unease with an idea and pondering and debating and a general amount of thinking behind a decision so? I know this isn't really the main focus of this ask but I'm just a tad miffed with the semantics of it is all. And in either case giving the mask back to Wataru while expecting it back still shows a certain degree of trust in their relationship it wouldn't have been such a big deal for him (as it apparently was) if the mask didn't have a lot of sentimental value to him (the both of them really if we look at the whole exchange).

Now to the claim that the mask was "only" Watarus promise to stay with fine and "continue playing Tsumugis clown role". This is not entirely incorrect. Regarding the acting troupe and staying with fine bit at least.

I'm assuming this bit in EP:Link Deadend/7 is what you are referencing, and I see where you're coming from. But the bluebird line

from literally three dialogue lines further down, which references this line of dialogue (notorious Eichi line everyone should be familiar with)

kind of somewhat really recontextualises that? Because you see this is a reference to a fairytale about a pair of siblings and they get sent out by a nice fairy to find the bluebird of happiness for her sad daughter to make her happy again so they both go on an adventure and travel far and search and search but they can not find the bluebird of happiness and then when they return home again, disappointed because they couldn't find the blue bird, they realise only one night has actually passed and the journey was probably just a dream. But then their eyes fall upon their pet dove in it's cage which appears blue all of a sudden and so they gift it to the fairies sad daughter which becomes happy again and sets the bird free. The real bluebird of happiness is a dove. At least in the version of the story I'm familiar with but I mean everyone sees the symbolism right? It's. very hard to miss.

And then dropping this?

I'm not sure how to say this properly but in the overall context this makes it pretty clear that Tsumugi has nothing to do with this anymore this is Fully between Wataru and Eichi. And I am the last person to dismiss Tsumugis significance in the course of Wataeis relationship as characters I will be among the first to protest when someone dismisses the importance of Tsumugis and Eichis relationship in favour of some image they have of Wataei but he has nothing to do with this one.

Yes Tsumugi gets namedropped but - again - I don't really see how that would lessen the sentiment Wataru is triying to convey here? Because. Yes. Why wouldn't he mention Tsumugi?

The entire conversation pretty much boils down to "Yes I was initially only in this because I thought I could replace Tsumugis role in your life and then I wanted to leave but we have spent so much time together that I realised that that is definitely not working out because I really do love you. I love you as a teammate; I love you as a friend; I love you as a person and I am very angry at myself for not managing to get that into your head. So please allow me to stay with you for as long as you'll have me." And then also Eichi not understanding because he has the emotional self awareness of a very emotionally unaware loaf of bread and also because he hates himself that is a very big thing about his character huge part of his character arc actually that he. you know? Hates himself? And feels guitly for his actions during the war? And doesn't think he deserves love and companionship? Which is why Wataru wanting to stay with him for him and not for some twisted form of revenge is such an alien concept to him? Because he is projecting his insecurities onto Wataru? As one is wont to do when they hate themself? "EiChi Didn'T eVen UnDErStanD WhAt tf ThAT Mask MEAnt" Yeah. That's. That's the point? So he can think about it and come to that conclusion himself which works as a keymoment in his characters journey from hating life and himself to enjoying being alive and wanting to live on because of the people he's surrounded with? He literally explains why he didn't immediately understand the mask during the EP:Link Epilogue/4

And to get back to the "I dunno why the f you think it's ok to lie about "! EnDiNG wItH wAtAeI EnGaGeMEnT" about which I have two things to say:

"Lying" implies further intent and an effort. Neither of which exist in this case.

He literally went down on one knee while making a big proclamation of offering himself to Eichi with a very personal item that works as a symbol for their commitment to each other on a starlit rooftop. The comparison writes itself.

3. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joke

And then I expected there to be a proper reason given and instead you proceed to follow that up with "when the chapter it happened wasn't even close to the end of ep:link". I know the shame is on me for expecting something sensical from an ask which has been near constant in it's lack of correct statements but such is human nature I suppose. And you are not wrong. Deadend/7 isn't very close to the end of EP:Link. That is true.

But do you know what Is very close to the end of EP:Link? The Epilogue Chapters 3-5.

Do you know what the content of those chapters is? I do. Very well actually :)

(Eichi literally explains why he didn't get it)

So if this answers your "Do you dumb fucks even read the stories?" questions, Yes. And I think I'm a lot better at it than you. So I'd say I'm coping quite well over here :p

PS: Regarding your PS, I take the "I've never been in love before so I wouldn't know" comment with a lot of humour actually as an aroace person who's emotional self awareness also ends at "good" and "Not good" I think it's very funny all things considered especially because he mentioned the loving Wataru thing several times before that and I'm generally of the belief that actions speak louder than words and also am in a happy long term relationship with the concept of "Reading Subtext". So please excuse me for not breaking down in tears everytime someone reminds me of that one singuar line of text in one of my favourite all time enstars stories that came out three years ago which also brought us the single best card set in the entire game

as well as absolute banger dialogue such as

Among others <33

And there are soooooo many other examples of wataei dialogue that simply make me swoon but I have already had to take out so many of the one's I wish I could put here so this wouldn't get "Do you love the colour of the sky" long

And also, regarding your "Wataru said that even though Eichi likes him, he still can easily discard him for the sake of his objectives" I'll just say that no he absolutely could not. I mean he'd say that and if pull comes to shove and he has no other option then he might seriously consider it but may I mention that Wataru was gone for a few days at most but really not that long of a time during Sanctuary and Eichi stopped considering being a normal rational person that doesn't leave helpless 17 year olds in the midst of a construction site. Very different situation but I feel like it's worth mentioninh here. Another example is Eichis almost not being able to go through with the war because of Wataru. Wataru had to actively come and tell Eichi to go through with it. Wataru isn't the reason Eichi started the war, that is wrong, but he is the reason Eichi almost didn't finish it. and during the war era that was his Main objective. Again I'm part of the fraction "actions speak louder than words" Show don't tell and all that, but even the words are pushing it.

And that concludes my essay :)

#I so won this #there were so many pictures and quotes I wanted to include but the limit..... :'(#if any of you were wondering I am still as insane about them as I ever was #thank you anon really genuinely and fully this has been a blast #if anyone reads the whole thing....mwah let's run off into the ocean together #or something like that idk but it is appreciated #they are my everything they really are #I'm very enamoured with the ''Cope''#Cope with what? I have nothing to cope with? well nothing wataei related at least #or the ''How do you live with the fact'' yadda yadda #How am I supposed to live with it it's funny i think it's very funny #You really trust what enstars characters say and take it at face value without examining the subtext further? amateur mistake #it's so passionate too anon i admire you #imagine disliking something so intensely you sent a very wordy ask to someone because of a silly post they made #I wish I had that much vigor in me #I mean i'd be too polite to even if I did but still it has somehting admireable to it #thanks to you i got to reread some of my favourite wataei interactions so now I think the last three hours were three hours well spent :)#genuinely thank you for the enrichment #I hope youll have a nice day we might not see eye to eye on this and I'm also objectively better at reading these stories and understanding #the characters but I still hope you'll have a nice day #as good karma or something #I'm currently still on that dopamine high from writing this i think it's obvious #best mood I've been in in ages I love talking about wataei #okay good I'll conclude the tags I've already stretched this post out so far i might as well spare the poor tag reader #but then again if you have read the post this far what's a few more tags to you #I really like the fact that the real bluebird is a dove it's soooooooo #it's good it's really good in the overall context #wataei #eichi tenshouin #hibiki wataru

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moremaybank · 1 year ago

Text

THIS LOVE — j.m

pairing actor!jj maybank x actress!reader

chapter summary jj faces the possibility of his scandal going public. then, he ends up reconnecting with you after five years. what happens when the two of you end up as costars for your upcoming romantic comedy?

warnings mentions of a sex tape, mentions of domestic abuse (jj and luke), language, violence, sexual content/eventual smut, anxiety. ex best friends to lovers, fake dating. this will be updated as the story develops. [2.2k]

author's note just a little post of the first chapter to build the hype! hope you enjoy and decide to continue reading ♡︎ also special s/o to @mvybanks and @jjsbank444 for beta reading and quelling my nerves <3

recommended listening second chances by kiana ledé ft. 6lack

this love — the complete playlist ;; the masterlist ;; the tag list

❝ CHAPTER ONE ❞

Threesomes are fun. Foursomes, however, are a blast.

At least, JJ Maybank seems to think so.

“You have three different women threatening to release your sex tape. It’s not a good look for you, JJ.”

Well, he does when they don’t include a secretly-filmed sex tape and three fame-thirsty girls trying to ruin his career for a quick cash grab.

“It’s not like they’re three separate tapes. We were all together when it was made,” JJ smirks.

Josh, his manager, lets out an exasperated sigh. “That doesn’t make things any better, and it does nothing to help our circumstances. You need to clean up your act and you need to start doing it now, Maybank, or you’re going to lose everything.”

JJ rolls his eyes for what feels like the millionth time in the fifteen minutes that this meeting has been going on. It’s bullshit, really. He’s one of the hottest actors in Hollywood right now. He’s youthful, dashingly handsome, and loaded. The world is his freakin’ oyster, and he deserves to have some fun.

“You’re supposed to keep up your whole approachable, goofy, boy-next-door image intact, and having a ménage à…quatre, is not the way to do it.” my publicist, Andrea, chimes in. “If you aren’t careful, you’re going to lose your entire fanbase. You’re one of the most universally-liked celebrities in the business, right now. If this gets out, you’re going to have to kiss your crystal clear reputation goodbye.”

“So, let’s just pay ‘em the hush money. What do I care?” JJ says, taking his cap off and running a hand through his unruly strands.

“And you’re fine with forking over ten million dollars? Just like that?” Andrea scowls. “What if they take the money and still decide to release the tape? Or demand more?”

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, Andrea. Now, are we done here? I’m supposed to meet my co-star for my new movie in an hour and I’d really like to get in another — how did you put it? Ah, yes. Ménage á quatre — before I go.”

Josh runs a hand over his face, “Do you care about anything anymore?”

JJ ignores his statement, putting his hat back on and sitting up in his chair. “Can I leave?”

He can tell that Josh wants to scold him or make some witty remark in return, but he bites his tongue.

“Go. And, please, for the love of all things holy, do not screw this up.”

If JJ had a penny for every time he’s heard that, he’d be richer than Jeff fucking Bezos.

Y/N

“And last but not least, this is your dressing room. You’ll have your own trailer, but this is more for when we’re actually on set and in between takes.”

You grin as you look around the luxurious room. There’s a huge vanity in front of you, as well as some plush couches, and you don’t fail to notice the large mini-fridge in the corner of the room or the flat-screen TV plastered onto the wall. There’s a window as well, letting in the California sunshine you’ve come to love and appreciate beyond your beliefs.

“Wow, this is…amazing. I can’t thank you guys enough for this opportunity. I’m so grateful, I hope you know that.”

“Don’t be silly, Y/N. You’re the very reason we wanted to do this project in the first place. If anything, we’re the lucky ones,” Derek, the director states with a grin. “So, you ready to meet your co-star, or what?”

“Yeah! I mean, I’m nervous, but, beyond excited.”

Derek leads you back into the hallway, and you make your way to one of the offices.

“I think you’ll love him. Word is, he comes from the Outer Banks just like you. Who knows, you’ve probably met him in passing.”

Wait…what? He’s from OBX? No. No way. He couldn’t possibly mean—

“Y/N Y/L/N, meet the esteemed JJ Maybank,” Derek states, his proud smile growing sizeably larger than you thought possible.

It doesn’t matter how excited he is, though. All you can focus on is your heart beating out of your chest and the ringing in your ears. You see Derek’s lips moving but you can’t hear a thing. Your eyes are caught on the blonde in front of you, and all you can think about is how painful it is to look into those oceanic eyes after five years.

It’s equally as painful as it was the last time you saw him. If not, more.

“Uh— Y/N, I…it’s— it’s been a while,” JJ stutters out.

It’s all too much. Seeing him here, in front of you. His eyes locked on yours, his hand reaching out to touch you but retracting once he notices the fear in your gaze. Your eyes flit over to Derek, whose face has a more than confused look painted over his features.

“Excuse me, Derek, I— I need to get out of here.”

You speed into the restroom, locking the door behind you and setting your hands on the counter. Your chest tightens, and your breathing speeds up. She shudders, trying to shake it out as the room starts to feel like it’s closing in on you.

“You’re okay. You’re okay. You can do this. Don’t let him get to you,” you say, staring at yourself in the mirror. “It’s just…it’s just JJ.”

You feel the tears start to well in your eyes and you watch as they overtake their boundaries and roll down your flushed cheeks. You’re quick to wipe them away, though, refusing to admit defeat.

“Stop,” you tell yourself. “It’s been five years. You’re better than this.”

You aren’t sure if the words are true to your heart, because all you can think about is how the boy you loved from the ages seven to eighteen — the one who betrayed you and shattered you into a million pieces — is now your co-star for the romantic comedy you’ve just been cast in.

What could possibly go wrong?

A lot, you think. A lot could go wrong.

JJ watches as you make your way back into Derek’s office, shooting him a convincing smile.

“My apologies, Derek. Girl troubles,” you say.

JJ still knows you well enough to see that you’re hoping Derek will believe your bullshit excuse.

“Oh, uh, no worries at all, Y/N. I completely understand. I’ve got three daughters at home,” he speaks, trying to assure you that everything is fine. He places this hand on JJ’s shoulder, squeezing slightly. “JJ, here, was just telling me how the two of you have known each other since you were in elementary school. It must be quite the hell of a reunion, huh?”

You plaster a fake grin onto your lips, “One hell of a reunion, indeed.”

JJ refuses to look at you, his ex-best friend, and vice-versa. Truthfully, he’s terrified to catch your eye again. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to form a coherent sentence if he does.

“Well, I’ve got some stuff to take care of, so I’ll leave you two to catch up.”

Derek exits his office, and you and JJ are left in complete and utter silence.

God, JJ missed you so much. He’d seen you making headlines just as you always said you would, but he was always quick to click away, deciding not to dwell on everything he’d lost. But this, now, seeing you right in front of him as gorgeous as ever…it made the walls he’d worked so hard to put up begin to crack.

Then again, you’d always had that effect on him.

Even after all these years, he was still a complete wreck over you. You held his heart in the palm of your hand and he wasn’t even sure if you knew it.

Your scent was still etched into his mind, still buzzing deep within his senses and his memory. You smelled of the saltwater beaches of the Outer Banks. The notes of coconut from the shampoo he’d recognized still lingering in the tresses of your hair. The sweet hints of vanilla that clutched to your skin are prominent as ever. The combination sounds like a lot, and it was, but not in the overpowering way one would assume. They blended into one heavenly and unique fragrance.

She smelled like her, he thought. She smelled like home.

To be honest, JJ wasn’t sure whether or not this was a reminder he wanted to welcome with open arms, but either way, here it was. Here you were. After the way he’d hurt you and destroyed your relationship forever.

After he lost himself.

Funnily enough, you’d always had a way of popping up whenever he needed and longed for you. He never even had to speak a single word. You just always knew. And you might not have guessed it now, but he needed you more than he ever had before.

JJ scratches his brow with his index finger. “So, um…how have you been?”

“Don’t. Just…don’t.”

“Y/N, please,” he pleads. He almost wants to get down on his knees and beg. You can’t even look at him, and that hurts more than he could ever put into words.

“No. I don’t wanna hear it. I’m fine with being professional while we film this movie, but I’m not getting into this with you. I’m not getting into any of it.”

JJ remains silent, choosing to nod because he’s not totally sure he can find his voice.

As much as he hated to let the thought in, you were a walking reminder of every bad decision he’d made since he left the island and never looked back. He looked at you, and he saw two things. The first being the crinkling of your bright eyes when you smiled. The melodic laugh he could pull from your lips at a moment’s notice. Your hair blowing in the wind as you stuck your head out the window of John B’s Twinkie. And the second being the look of despise and pain on your face as you confronted him. The mascara-stained tears flowing down your heated cheeks. The way you walked away from him and deliberately chose not to look back and steal a second glance at him.

How was he expected to act all suave and cool when you were right there in front of him, actively choosing not to even look in his direction?

Truth is, he doesn’t think he can.

JJ glances at his phone once he leaves the production office still shaken by the day’s events.

2 Missed FaceTime Calls from John B

JJ swipes to the right and watches as his phone rings, awaiting his best friend’s answer while he plops down on the steps in front of the building. The line rings for a few moments before he hears shuffling through the speaker, followed by John B’s face appearing on his screen.

“Hey, man. how was your meeting? Your new costar as hot as we imagined?”

JJ tears his eyes away from the camera, his lip sinking between his teeth. His complexion pales, and John B picks up on it.

“Jeez. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Because I have,” JJ deadpans. He’s still reeling from your presence, and it shows.

“Huh?”

“It’s Y/N…my costar is Y/N.”

“Ooh, yikes,” John B responds. “Did she nut-punch you?”

“It’s not funny.”

JJ tugs his cap off as he always does when he’s stressed, and his fingers card through his hair. He tugs lightly at the strands as he tries to alleviate the tension building up in his head.

“She couldn’t even look at me, John B. Her eyes were on me for all of five seconds before she made an excuse to go to the bathroom. Then, when she came back, she looked at everything but me. She barely even let me speak to her.”

“Well, to be fair, you guys didn’t exactly leave things on the best of terms.”

“Yeah, JB. I know. Thanks for the reminder, as if I didn’t fucking know that already.”

“All right, look. Did you fuck up majorly? Yeah. But the love the two of you had…it ran deep. It doesn’t just disappear without a trace, especially if things are this heated after five years. I think you can get her to forgive you.”

JJ scoffs, “Yeah? And how do you suppose I do that?”

John B gives him a knowing look through the screen.

“You have to tell her the truth, JJ.”

“Funny.”

“J,” John B mildly scolds. “The reason she hates you right now is because you weren’t honest with her. The JJ she knew before that night never would’ve treated her the way you did. Buck up. Tell her.”

The call disconnects, and JJ is left staring at his screen with a tense jaw. He knew John B was right. He was always right. But how on earth was he expected to muster up the courage and tell you the truth about that night? He doubted — no. He knew it’d be impossible to convince you to hear him out.

Then again, he also knew he had to try. Because he couldn’t stand to be around you nearly every single day for the next few months, knowing that you wouldn’t spit on him if he was on fire.

jj tag list: @pankowperfection @oncasette @taintedxkisses @maybankslover @goldenroutledge @penny4yourthoughts @bmo-bri @hemogloban @princessbetsy123-blog @slytherhoes @maybank-archives @whoisdrewstarkey @aliyahsomerhalder @dreamingwithrafe @vigilanteshitposting @poppet05 @adoreyouusugar @f4ll-for-you @slytheringirlthatkillpeople @tell-me-when-ur-ready @bbycowboi @jjmaybankisbae @enhypens-hoe @pankhoeforlife @cecesrings @wildflwrdarlin @loverofdrewstarkey @earth2starkey @angelofcigs @topper-thornton @em0-b0ysworld @koalalafications @aerangi @cantstoptherecs @bloody-mf-bsc @maybanksbabe @sarah5462 @slut4drudy @lvvrgrl @dancinglikeaballerina @somerandos-world @shahanaazsoumah @peachpitlover @pinkpantheris @julesmendoza890 @emmalandry @blueicequeen19 @madelynie

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sungjinhos · 1 year ago

Text

THEN I WILL BLOSSOM FOR YOU

Seokmin can't really explain why, sure you both are attractive, you guys make a cute couple, and you guys have chemistry, but none of that explains why Seokmin feels so fucking curious, it doesn't explain why he feels like he is trained to watch you two from afar.

✦ LEE SEOKMIN, YOON JEONGHAN - f!reader ✦ genre: smut (minors don't interact) ✦ word count: 5.2k ✦ title inspired by Carly Ra Jepsen - No drug like me

✦ Thea note: My mind is a vast place and sometimes conjures images that I think oh nice everybody needs to hear about this! and you guys can argue, and can make a 3 pages letter but in my head seokmin is jeonghan's favorite - and jeonghan knows that love is sharing so 🫶also @userelv hope you enjoy this

✦ Content warning: threesome, slight degradation (?), please everyone be safe and sound use condoms!!!, cum eating, penis in vagina sex, I feel like we need a warning like Jeonghan is crazy kind of thing, also mention of hell (i was raised catholic we see a wrongdoing we think of hell), also there is little seokmin x jeonghan action so there is that, also seokmin is horny for them both so just to make that clear, so yeah homoerotic action and subtext just to make it clear

Seokmin is a nice guy.

Seokmin is known for being a nice guy. And Seokmin likes being a nice guy, he actually thrives at being nice. The nicest.

He likes being well-loved, nicely treated, being told he is the nicest person ever. He loves it, and he works himself to be even nicer.

So when Jeonghan shows up with a girlfriend, Seokmin does what he is best known for: he is nice, the fucking nicest person ever.

But why he feels so fucked up in the head when he is just being nice?

Seokmin feels fucked up in the head every time you go near him, and it is even worse when Jeonghan is right there at your side. Seokmin feels fucked up when you guys go to a nice club, nice enough for idols to go and not have pics all over the internet. And thanks god for that because half of the night Jeonghan's hands are under your skirt, and his lips are on your neck. And Seokmin feels fucked up because somehow he can't take his eyes off you both. Seokmin watches the way Jeonghan's hands are on your hips, or hiding beneath your clothes. Seokmin watches the way you claw onto Jeonghan's arms, and he also watches when you get a little tipsy and it's your lips on Jeonghan's jaw, leaving an open-mouthed kiss on it, tugging Jeonghan's hair and making your boyfriend give you more.

Seokmin feels fucked up in the head because you and Jeonghan are in a two years relationship, and his eyes still are glued to you two when you both are together. Seokmin can't really explain why, sure you both are attractive, you guys make a cute couple, and you guys have chemistry, but none of that explains why Seokmin feels so fucking curious, it doesn't explain why he feels like he is trained to watch you two from afar.

So when Jeonghan calls Seokmin and asks if he wants to come over eat something and watch a movie Seokmin does what he does best; he is a fucking nice guy and he says yes, dreading his answer when Jeonghan hangs up. And when time comes Seokmin does what he also has been doing so diligently, he watches how you both lay on the couch, you between Jeonghan's legs, how Jeonghan hands don't stop caressing you for a minute, and how you whine softly, Seokmin's ears almost not catching the sound.

And Seokmin thinks Jeonghan knows. To Jeonghan, Seokmin has always been an open book, a transparent vase, easy to read, easy to decode. Jeonghan must know, right? But if Jeonghan knows why Seokmin is the only one always invited? Why Jeonghan keeps calling him and asking if he is free? Why the hell Jeonghan calls Seokmin and ask if he wants to go to the beach? Why the hell would Jeonghan ask if Seokmin want to joy in a villa with them? That seems like the nicest trip to a couple - beaches, bikinis, cocktails, and a nice hotel bed, and none of that should include Seokmin.

So when Seokmin says "Sure hyung" he doesn't think he is fucked up in the head, he knows that he is clinically and undoubtedly fucked up in the head. Being a nice guy fucked him up.

When Seokmin sits in the backseat he knows for a fact that he is dumb and he almost opens the door and throws himself in ongoing traffic when he remembers that you guys planned a four days trip.

"It's going to be so fun!" You say excitedly and turning to give Seokmin a big smile, and he can see how Jeonghan's hand rest on your thigh, and he can see how you are already using a bikini because he can see the way it's tied around your neck.

"Sure," Seokmin tries to match your excitement because he can't really say how this is the worst idea ever "I hope it doesn't rain."

"It won't we checked the weather," Jeonghan says looking at Seokmin through the rearview mirror.

Seokmin thinks that trip is exactly what his personal hell looks like. Hell crafted just for him, like a special present handed by Satan. Because he always feels Jeonghan searching for him in the rearview mirror, and Seokmin feels like he can get caught.

He can actually feel Jeonghan's eyes on him every time Seokmin looks at his hand on your leg. And Seokmin doesn't really know why, but he thinks he is obsessed. Every time Jeonghan caresses your skin Seokmin feels a tug in his chest. And in a way, Seokmin can't make himself look out the car window and enjoy the scenery. He can't bring himself to pick up his phone and just find something to keep him entertained.

It's not like he didn't question himself in the begging. He did, but he still didn't know why. He asked if it was jealousy, he asked himself if it was curiosity. He asked himself if it was because of you, or because of Jeonghan. Seokmin was about to check the boxes with the option all of the above.

Seokmin even spent an entire night thinking about if he was jealous of the relationship, of the idea of it. But he ended up jerking off because he replayed every single intricate memory that was stored in his brain. And Seokmin could feel them on the tip of his tongue, every time he replayed a touch, a soft spoken word, a smile or a glance.

He can't pinpoint really. When he realizes he is knee-deep in the water and he continues to enter the sea even tho the waves get stronger and stronger.

The car ride itself is not that awful. In Seokmin's mind, it was worse, like him popping a boner in the backseat every time Jeonghan and you touched, but it's not that bad, and he thinks that's because you sleep 30 minutes in. Seokmin thinks he knows Jeonghan enough, he knows that Jeonghan is mischievous, and he knows Jeonghan likes to banter. But Seokmin also knows Jeonghan enough to know that Jeonghan gives exactly what you can take, not a single drop more of what you can handle. And Seokmin knows that's why Jeonghan just enjoys the music and focuses on the drive, because if you are sleeping that's no fun - Jeonghan needs someone who can actually squirm and put up a fight, even tho everyone knows Jeonghan will win at the end.

And that's why Seokmin is sure that Jeonghan must know.

When Seokmin opens up the door to his room he realizes he can actually breathe and relax. The villa is cozy, with a nice private pool, and houses that look like little bungalows, and is so close to the beach that Seokmin can actually smell the sea.

But Seokmin's peace and quiet don't actually last that much, with Jeonghan knocking on the door and urging him to change clothes and go to the pool. Jeonghan excitedly said to Seokmin that he basically ordered the whole drinks menu.

Seokmin thinks he is in the bad place. Everything is beautiful, and amazing actually, but the only thing he can think of is that he is sure he is going to hell. He is going to spend eternity in the flames. He is going to see the devil face to face because the way he can see your nipples on the fabric of that excuse you call a bikini makes his mouth water and his dick hard really.

If that wasn't enough for him to earn a ticket to hell the fact that your boyfriend is right there seated on Seokmin's side with a drink in his hand seals the deal.

That makes Seokmin feels fucked up in the head, makes Seokmin feels dirty and filthy because even if Jeonghan is right there, Seokmin's eyes are on your body every step you take until you seat right there - arms reach but on Jeonghan's side.

"The water is pretty good you guys should give it a go." You say twisting your hair in the hope the droplets don't get everywhere before picking up a drink, and Seokmin can actually see the water droplets travel on your skin.

"I'm okay enjoy the view really," Jeonghan says voice lewd, and Jesus Seokmin is going to hell for sure.

"Jeonghan-" You scold giving your boyfriend a little shove and the only thing Seokmin can focus on is how Jeonghan's smile opens up and how his hands rest on your waist, pushing your body against his.

"What? Didn't even say anything" Jeonghan replies.

"Anyway, we should ignore him," you say to Seokmin, and he thinks his life would be easier if he could ignore the way that Jeonghan's hand is resting on your hips, against your bikini bottom. "Come on, you should have fun with me and leave him alone, he would probably die in five minutes"

And Seokmin knows that's not what you mean. You are talking about the pool, he is sure of it, but Seokmin's mind is big and vast, and he can think of every possibility of what having fun mean. And the way you say it, the way your voice rings against Seokmin's ear doesn't help Seokmin's states really.

"Don't be mean," Jeonghan says giving your shoulder a kiss but eyes focused on Seokmin, "Seokmin is having a hard time already."

And it's all so fucked up really that Seokmin don't even feel entitled to feel mad, to get angry, to answer Jeonghan and say that playing with his feeling like that Is wrong. Because to be honest, Seokmin is in no position to do so. Seokmin is always there, of course, because they invite him to be there, but again he could've said no. Every time they go out Seokmin is like the third piece of the puzzle. Seokmin is always too close when hands wander, or when lips crash, he lost count of it really.

And when Jeonghan says things like that Seokmin can't really go against it, because yes he is having a hard time, he is always going against his urge to get dick hard when the topic is his friend and his girlfriend. So yeah, Seokmin is having a hard time because every time he sees Jeonghan's hand against your skin he doesn't actually feel the need to break that contact, to tear you two apart, but he feels the urge to put his hand on top - to be in this together.

This is even more fucked up because Seokmin knows that maybe the voyeur experience is allowed, but to take part in it is another whole story.

So when Jeonghan is by his side after taking a shower and fixing himself up for dinner Seokmin feels like he is one step away from having convulsions, two steps of just dying right there.

"What?" He asks as if he didn't hear, or didn't understand, but in reality, he heard Jeonghan just fine, but his mouth is dry and his heart skipped a beat.

"I mean," Jeonghan blocked his phone and gave Seokmin his full attention. "I think I am not wrong right? You are into my girlfriend or am I reading all wrong?"

"Hyung," Seokmin tries to start already feeling like he fucked up everything. Head falling and hand gripping the nearest furniture, grip so strong his digits are white. "It's not really-"

"I mean," Jeonghan cuts him and Seokmin doesn't even feel angry, he feels relieved really because what the fuck he was going to say? "for us it's not a problem really, I am not the jealous type, and if you actually say that you are not into her and I have to delivery that news to her she is probably gonna cry."

"What?" Is the only thing Seokmin can say really. Because the words leaving Jeonghan's mouth are altering Seokmin's brain. And he thinks for a second Jeonghan is trying to mess with him, because that would be something that Jeonghan could do, but when Seokmin thinks and ponders he doesn't see Jeonghan as a mean person. Scratch that, Seokmin doesn't see Jeonghan as downright sadistic.

"Yeah, I'm telling you, why aren't you believing in me? Did I have lied to you?" Jeonghan says, voice still low and taking a step to get closer, and the only thing Seokmin can think is how he wants to just run away. "Oh wait. yeah probably, but like not in a serious setting involving you fucking my girlfriend so-" Jeonghan continues but Seokmin is so on his own head, in a way he feels so aware of everything, the way he finds weird how his eyes are blinking, or how he is aware of his own breathing rhythm - in a way he never actually cared about breathing outside the stage or studio. "what I mean is I heard about how hot you are for what feels like a decade."

"I-" Seokmin tries to answer but even his mouth feels weird, his tongue dry, his brain not forming words in the same way he is used to. His mind is just a blank space, and Seokmin thinks that Jeonghan finally won, Jeonghan broke his brain.

"Look this is weird, I know I am begging you to fuck my girlfriend but you need to step up," Jeonghan says, having the audacity to give Seokmin's back a little tap of encouragement. "Do you want me to join? Do you have any things you won't do? I mean I can totally watch in the side even tho cuckolding is not really my thing but what can I do? I am a man in love I do anything to make my girl happy"

"What the fu-" Seokmin says voice small

"Hey are you guys ready? I think the uber is arriving" You say like Jeonghan was not talking about Seokmin fucking you, you say like the three of you are just having a funny vacation on a villa, a few days to distress, to re-energize. Seokmin tho feels like he just lost a whole year, actually, five years, his longevity will be fucked up after this trip.

"Oh? Already?" Jeonghan answers putting his hand on the small of your back. "I was just having a great chat with Seok here."

And Seokmin is aware of everything.

He did suspect that Jeonghan knew. The thoughts always plagued his mind. But now that he knows that Jeonghan knows about everything just unlock another dimension on Seokmin's brain, and the fact that Jeonghan's words left him hyper-aware of everything doesn't help.

Everything just seems like Jeonghan is trying to break Seokmin's mind.

He suspects when the three of you hop in the backseat of the uber, you in the middle with Jeonghan manspreading, Seokmin thinks it's intentional the way that Jeonghan makes you shift to Seokmins side, the way that Jeonghan arm just rests against the backseat so near Seokmin's nape. Seokmin thinks it's intentional every time the uber does a sharp turn you lean on his leg, hand hot against his thigh and he was insane enough to just wear shorts.

Seokmin thinks it's intentional when Jeonghan chooses a table that is almost hidden, in a dark corner of the restaurant, near the beach. Seokmin thinks it's intentional the way Jeonghan always leans to whisper something in your ear but his eyes not leaving Seokmin, the way that you hold Jeonghan's jaw so delicately makes Seokmin melt against his chair. The way that Seokmin can't make himself look away makes him question his own sanity.

Seokmin knows it's intentional when Jeonghan just keeps reordering wine for you and Seokmin's favorite soju. Seokmin knows it's intentional when every time Jeonghan mouths brush against your ear you look at Seokmin, both your and Seokmin's face red.

Seokmin knows it's intentional when you hold his hand, it's a silly gesture really, just two of your fingers intertwined with Seokmin's when they back to the villa. And Seokmin knows it's intentional when you don't let go of his hand even tho Jeonghan is kissing you, body pressed against the door.

And again Seokmin can't bring himself to look away, can't bring himself to distance himself, so when Jeonghan leaves your mouth and trails kisses to your jaw and neck and you tug Seokmin's hands he just gives in.

Seokmin knows that he never really had a chance or the strength to say no.

Because in the next second you are kissing him, position weird enough because Jeonghan is right there, and Seokmin thinks he is crazy but the way he can feel the whisky and wine mixed together on your tongue, the faint trace of Jeonghan makes his whole world spin.

"Do we-" You finally say when your mouth leaves Seokmin's but hand still holding him, fingers hot against his wrist. "Hannie" You say trying to get Jeonghan's attention and Seokmin realizes how your boyfriend is still on your neck, hands against your hips, almost rutting against you. "don't we need to talk about it?"

And Seokmin again feels his mouth dry, his tongue weird on his mouth. Seokmin knows that everything about this is wrong, he just kissed his friend's girlfriend. He can feel how hot it is, how his clothes cling to his skin, how he can feel the warmth radiating from you and Jeonghan, how your hand doesn't leave his arm. And for the first time in a while, Seokmin just give up on being nice, and he just kiss you again, feeling the urge to just act for once and leave his head.

And your hand finally leaves his arms, but just to grip on Seokmin's nape and he feels like you and him are just hanging for dear life, one step wrong and you both could fall.

Because the way Jeonghan feels against your body, the way his mouth feels against your skin feels amplified when Seokmin's mouth is against yours.

And in a way, it just feels too much already. The feeling of two bodies against yours, the way Seokmin feels against you - totally different of the way Jeonghan does. The way that the unknown feels in Seokmin's touch and the familiar feeling of Jeonghan by your side makes it hard to grasp.

"fuck-" Jeonghan's voice rings against the silence making your mouth and Seokmin's disconnect. "you two are so hot together but really I think the bedroom is a better place."

So that's how Seokmin is pulled to the bedroom by you, hands-on Seokmin's biceps and Seokmin feels grateful he is hitting the gym regularly, but Seokmin also is so aware that he can feel your need to touch him, hand squeezing his muscle and almost leaving an imprint on it.

Seokmin thinks the whole world is enhanced. Like his touch and his vision just increased, like he has a new set of senses and he is just discovering now. Because when you tug on his clothes the sensation of it against his skin feels new to him. Because when his eyes land on Jeonghan's fingers opening up your dress, feels new to him. And when you speak your voice feels foreign, because he never heard you like that, panting and begging.

"Can you take this off?" You ask so prettily that Seokmin almost sinks on his knee but in contrast to that Jeonghan just giggles.

"Since when are you polite during sex?" Jeonghan asks still laughing but not stopping opening your buttons and Seokmin can see your boobs peeking through the fabrics.

"Jeonghan" You complain.

"Just because we have visits she is behaving nicely" Seokmin feels fucked up in the head because it's a level of intimacy he never actually saw, a whole new experience that he never actually taped into. And in a way, Seokmin feels so close to his personal hell he can actually feel the flames burning his skin - the funny thing is he doesn't actually care anymore.

Seokmin actually hears your pained whimper when he takes a step away to take his shirt off, but that's what needs to be done really, and because Seokmin is so fucking eager to please he just get his short off but then he feels your hand splayed against his stomach.

"God you are so hot" You say before giving him a kiss and Seokmin's head starts spinning because one second all his focus is on how you lick his mouth but then your hands are on his boxers, and then he hears Jeoghan.

"Seokmin is pretty right? Go on praise him." And the thought that Seokmin thought he knew Jeonghan flickers in Seokmin's mind because that Jeonghan too is a new version Seokmin never experienced, a Jeonghan he never saw.

"Can I suck you off?" You ask, already palming Seokmin's dick, hand inside his boxes, with Jeonghan glued on your back, kissing your shoulder, and working on your bra strap.

Seokmin is not a difficult guy really when a pretty girl asks to suck his dick he goes haywire, mind fucked up and body limp, so when you give him a little push he just melts, his knee gives away and he just sits on the bed because really that's the only reaction he can do.

Seokmin feels like his brain is almost leaking out of his ears because the image of you on your knees between his leg is almost enough to make him cum. Just the fact that you, his friend's girlfriend is sitting so pretty between his leg is so fucked up Seokmin need to close his hand against the base of his dick trying to not cum right there.

"Fuck" You start to nuźzle his thigh. Hands still on the floor, mouth open, tongue tracing Seokmin's thigh. "God I love your thighs they are so big." You say giving Seokmin's thigh a little kiss.

"Come on baby, you can do better than that," Jeonghan says kneeling behind you, and now Seokmin knows he is going to hell or going crazy. Jeonghan grabs your boobs - the bra still acting like an obstacle in Seokmin's view, and the need to actually see Jeonghan's skin against yours makes Seokmin crazy.

Seokmin feels your teeth graze against his skin he can feel himself leaking, dick so fucking hard it almost hurts, head already gone - he can't even think about what is right and what is wrong anymore.

"You can praise Seok a little better or at least say thanks to him because he is fulfilling your crazy fantasy" Jeonghan says fingers thigh against your stomach, while the other is still grabbing your boob. And oh god Seokmin is jealous, he is jealous of Jeonghan touching you like that, he is jealous of you being so at ease moaning head against Jeonghan's shoulder, he is jealous of you two and the relationship you both build. And Seokmin thinks he is the worst person ever.

"Oh god baby you are already this dumb? You want Seokmin so much you are already in this state? He didn't even fucked you properly." The way Jeonghan speaks makes you and Seokmin whimper in unison, both failing to hide the neediness.

"Come on, open up." And Jeonghan's digits tap against your lips, and his other hand guides your head in Seokmin's direction. And when you lap on his dick Seokmin almost cries. Because you are so fucking beautiful, hair held by Jeonghan, lips swollen, and you look so fucked up. And that should be enough for Seokmin really, but then Jeonghan starts again;

"That's it, baby, take Seokmin's pretty cock in your mouth I know you can do it," He says eyes glued on your mouth enveloping Seokmin. "You talked so much about how he must have a nice cock right? Now that you have the opportunity you need to choke on Seokmin's dick right? So fucking big-"

And Seokmin goes crazy every time Jeonghan says his name, and every time he feels your lips rubbing against his cockhead Seokmin he feels really close to insanity. And when you actually gag a little because Seokmin's hips twitched, Seokmin thinks he has nothing to lose.

"God you are drooling you really wanted that dick in your mouth, right babe?" Jeonghan continues, but now Seokmin can see the way his hand disappears between your legs, your panty hanging between your thighs. "Poor you," Jeonghan coos, and Seokmin can feel the way you just swallow and hums against his dick. "Did Seokmin was too hard for you to get? But now he is here, baby go on, choke on his dick." And Jeonghan's hand leaves your hair to caress your cheek, and the juxtaposition of Seokmin's hard dick against your mouth and Jeonghan's acts make everything so wrong.

When Seokmin hips buckle he knows he is so close to cumming that he can almost taste it, he closes his eyes and waits but his orgasm is ruined it never arrives, and when he looks down Jeonghan's hand is on his shaft, fingers tight against his base. "You can't cum now, she likes when we cum inside her."

"God," Seokmin says, hand tugging his own hair. "this is fucked up"

"How do you want her?" Jeonghan asks like he is talking about furniture or about Seokmin's laundry.

"Shouldn't you be asking her that?" Seokmin asks because really he is taking what he can get, he isn't picky. But you look almost so out of it really Seokmin almost laughs in disbelief because you and Jeonghan are always bickering - but now your body is so pliant against Jeonghan, his hand still going between your legs.

"Not really I know she will enjoy it in any way but-" Jeonghan hands stop and Seokmin can hear you whine, and Seokmin's eyes don't blink when Jeonghan helps you to get on your feet. "She can ride you, I mean this way is better for me to watch."

Jeonghan says patting Seokmin's thigh so Seokmin can lie on the bed, and when Seokmin's back hit the mattress Seokmin feels your mouth against his, and he can actually taste himself on your tongue. And the way you kiss him, almost lazily makes his hand claw at your waist. And when Seokmin feels your legs caging him in, thighs against his hips he just wants to enjoy what he is feeling. And when you whimper against Seokmin's mouth because his dick is finally against your folds Seokmin just gives up.

When you actually sink into his dick Seokmin can almost taste his downfall.

"Fuck-" Jeonghan says tugging at his own dick. When did Jeonghan get naked? Seokmin has no fucking idea. He just grabs your legs and focuses on the way that you feel, your body against him, because if he thinks too much about how your mouth is hanging open at the sight of Jeonghan's dick he may malfunction. "You are so pretty together, gonna keep this going, you guys can fuck anytime if you let me watch it."

"Hanie" you moan and the fact that Seokmin dicks on you but you are moaning another name makes his head spin - he is a nice guy, he has nice guy bones, he is a nice guy down to his core and he has nice guy cells why the fuck he is partaking in this situation?

It just feels so fucking wrong.

It feels wrong the way you call Jeonghan and the way Seokmin can feel your pussy clench when you and Jeonghan kiss. It feels wrong the way your hands grab Seokmin's pecs when Jeonghan kisses your jaw.

"You can cum on her, she likes it messy."

It feels wrong the way every word that leaves Jeonghan's mouth makes you and Seokmin twitch at the same time, hips buckling. And Seokmin feels like he is so close to hell, but when Jeonghan actually uses his body to help you keep your body straight he knows he is lost for eternity really, Seokmin knows he never gonna experience anything close to that. When Jeonghan's hand travels on your body, digits lazily on your clit Seokmin just lets everything goes.

Because everything is so fucked up he can't actually take it, the way you keep chasing even after Seokmin is done, and the way that Jeonghan keeps coaching you until you cum makes Seokmin's mind spin.

The way Jeonghan just laughs when he helps you chase positions, body spent is so fucking crazy to Seokmin he can't wrap his mind around it. And when you chase Seokmin's mouth to give him a kiss when your back hit the mattress doesn't help Seokmin's state of mind.

"Come on princess, my turn now," Jeonghan says, again doing what he wants to your body, and opening your legs so he can put himself in between. Seokmin can't wrap his head around this either, he never actually thought about how Jeonghan could manhandle you. "Gonna fill you up too don't worry."

The way that you touch Seokmin's body when Jeonghan enters you make Seokmin swallow nothing. Seokmin never really saw himself as a voyeur, even tho he was always watching, but the way Jeonghan fucks you so slowly and the way Seokmin can hear you whimper just make him crazy all over again. The way you actually hold Seokmin's hand for dear life, the way that Seokmin can touch you while watching takes everything to a new level. And when Seokmin can actually tell you are close he thinks he can't get even more fucked up.

Seokmin feels like the world just stopped for a second or two after Jeonghan cums, everything gets so silent and so still that Seokmin starts to question what is real.

"Come on baby," Jeonghan says and Seokmin looks even tho he thinks Jeonghan is talking to you, but to his surprise, Jeonghan is talking to him, because Jeonghan's free hands are turned to him.

So Seokmin does what a fucking nice guys does, he complies.

Seokmin gets closer, and Seokmin thinks he can cum again, untouched, because your pussy is so fucking messy, cum dripping out of your hole and dripping on Jeonghan's fingers, and Jeonghan gives Seokmin a little smile and fuck the cum back to you, you squirming because you are so fucking sensitive. "Come on Seok you need to clean up the mess we made."

And Seokmin feels like he is about to collapse and drop dead because he is so spent how is he feeling horny again? But he does what Jeonghan says, he licks your pussy, cleaning and fucking his tongue on your hole trying to put everything back. "please I-" you say but Seokmins ignores it, continuing his job, cleaning up the mess that he and Jeonghan did.

"Oh, baby is sensitive?" Jeonghan coos. "Maybe next time you think about wanting two cocks baby. Or maybe next time Seokmin may stretch your ass to give this pussy a rest." Jeonghan says and Seokmin puts his mouth against your clit, lapping at it, because just to think about a next time is enough to make him actually cry "Fuck, you are such a whore," Jeonghan laughs "Do you want to come in Seokmin's mouth thinking about his dick on your ass?" And Seokmin can see you two kissing when he still eating you out. "God look at him, he keeps going."

"You guys are perverts," Jeonghan says like he was not involved in the whole scheme. Laying on the bed, spent, Seokmin keeps going until you cum against his tongue.

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