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simpjaes · 9 months ago

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HARD CASH, EASY MONEY (p.js)

Jay is rich-rich and likes to frequent the strip club you dance at. You know regulars tend to have their favorite dancers, but to become his favorite? Oh, well….you knew he’d rent out a private room sooner or later.

Or the one where you tell jay that if breaks the rules, he’s going to have to fork up a very large sum of money and, well, he seems entirely ready to pay up.

minors dni! | if you read it, reblog it.

WORDCOUNT― 5.4k

PAIRING― jay x afab reader

CONTENT― pussy drunk and rich as hell jay, stripper reader, jay is taller than reader.

NOTE: if u read this before no u didn’t bc i reworked a lot of it!!! just to cover my bases, hi i am ncteez and if you feel like this fic sounds too close to another one, its because i wrote them both!!! thank you!!!

nsfw tags under cut:

nsfw tags: lap dancing, shy-ish jay, unprotected sex, cream pie, doggy style on a couch, thick cock jay, reader doesn’t cum lmfaooooo

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Having sex with a client is a big no-no in the industry you’ve grown to love. You are to be desired, eye-fucked, and paid to look sexy. The fact that you don’t have to give them any part of you outside of a show? What’s not to love about it?

There are men who try to get touchy, men who are too shy to make eye contact, and men who refuse to break eye contact. All three of these types of clients bring in the big bucks and tend to become regulars to either yourself or one of the other girls who make the men believe they are also an object of desire.

It’s easy, really. After all, why not use the goods you were born with to make the big bucks?

Then you have those clients. The men with big-shot jobs, walking in and ordering the most expensive drink, quietly observing the women as if they aren’t even interested at all. The ones who have wives, children, and stresses that will weigh on them the moment they walk out of their homes for work.

To them, you are their secret little stress relief and you often find yourself acting out towards them, letting them break a rule or two, perhaps. Dancing a little longer for them sometimes just to really rake in the dollars. Mostly because they’re the ones who pay your expensive rent. They’re the reason you can live on the high-end of the city and buy new, sexy, lingerie to wear each night you dance and bounce around on the stage.

Jay was one of those men, so you assumed. A little young looking if you’re being honest, but who are you to pry when he’s throwing hundreds at you and the other dancers?

You remember the first time he walked through those doors. You thought he was going to be one of the shy men, avoiding eye contact and shuffling uncomfortably on his seat to hide the boner, presumably ashamed to know he could never have the women up on stage that are intentionally making him hard.

He isn’t though, and you swear just last weekend he bought out the entire fucking club because he was the only one watching on a late saturday night, silently judging each dancer. You also remember when he made eye contact with you on that night. His eyes were sharp under the dimmed lighting and you swear he could hear the way your heart skipped a beat with the intimidation, mostly because the motherfucker smirked before throwing out five crisp hundred dollar bills.

Even on the first night he ever attended, the girls talked. You remember when your best friend ran back in her six inch pumps, jumping with glee and explaining that the new guy threw two hundred at her only a minute into her dance.

Naturally, all the girls wanted to put on a show for him after that.

He appeared to be rich. And everyone was shocked, really, because even the richest of clients typically don’t give a bill over fifty to the dancers unless he pays for privacy. This man though? He was tipping with bills that showed his status.

It was really only natural from that moment forward for each girl plus yourself to try and win him over. You’d stay near his side of the stage, directing the gyrating and pussy shots right at him just to see those bills flutter to the floor of the stage.

In all honesty though, these types of clients never stay long. Usually they’re in the city on business and visit once, only to never come back. This one though? Oh, he keeps coming back. Every. Single. Saturday.

Having no ring on his fingers only made it better because many of the married men do not feel the guilt of ogling women while married. Huge turn off. Like, hey, if they don’t touch, it’s not cheating right? Either way, eating fancy and living in your nice flat paid for by the lust of men is a perfect lifestyle for you. Even if you have to pretend to like the pigs pretending to love their wives.

You called dibs on this new man as quickly as you could, to the dismay of the other dancers. Calling dibs was never truly honored though, because who the man chooses is usually who ends up dancing for him and getting the most money.

This guy never seemed to choose a girl though. He never pays for dances, never speaks, never so much as shivers in his seat at the image of a pussy sticking to panties in front of his face for his money. All he does is watch and throw bills.

You should be pleased. After all, he’s kind of a perfect client.

Weeks and months go by at this point and Jay keeps his regular Saturday night appearances. After what you and all the other dancers believe regarding him buying out the club last weekend, he’s a very welcome face to see.

Tonight though, several dancers have come back into the lounge crying because this guy didn’t tip them a fucking dime. Given, a bouncer shows up not ten minutes after each crying face with a nice tray of drinks and an envelope with their stage names on it.

It’s gotten to the point now that with how long he’s been visiting the club, some girls even roll their eyes at him. Wondering how desperate he must be, how privileged he must be to flaunt his money the way he does.

Still, that doesn’t stop every single one of you from working your bodies for him in hopes of more, more, more money.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Same old, same old at the club half a year later. Saturday night, several regulars, several new faces, and of course, that young rich guy sitting front and center.

You walked into work just as the sun began to set and there he was. At this point you can tell by the back of his head with that nice hair cut. So many other men show up disheveled, and half of them are already wasted by the time later shows even start. Still, you smile in knowing you’ll make rent again this month. After all, you just spent a bit too much money on some new shoes and outfits.

Still, but this point regarding this rich ass guy, even you’re getting annoyed. Every saturday he tips you anywhere between five hundred to a thousand dollars. Given, you’re very aware that it’s much more than the other dancers get, and you kind of have been lying about the amount he tips you so they don’t feel bad. It’s the fact that he isn’t giving anyone a chance to really show him a good time.

Private rooms and VIP services are highly sought after in this club and he can definitely afford it. It just appears that he doesn’t want to get personal with anyone.

Given, there’s no sex involved, of course. It’s just intimate lap dances, music of their choosing, sharing drinks, and occasionally just becoming a therapist for loser old men. Still, you wish he’d give you a chance to really get into your moves.

And, well, would you look at that.

You’re in the back room settling into your seat to lace up your new shoes when one of the owners walks up to you.

“You’ve got a dance.” He says to you, smiling. “You’ll never guess who it is.”

You look at yourself in the mirror, popping your lips with the pretty lipgloss before wiping some off that overlined your lips, and then shift your eyes to the owner through the glass.

“Jake, again?”

The owner shakes his head with a laugh. Surely Jake would be here soon to try and get you to dance for him again though.

“Who, then?” You laugh, leaning back down to fix a strap on your shoe.

“His name is Park Jongseong, goes by the name of Jay.”

“Okay?” You laugh, turning in your chair to face the man. “Is this his first time buying a dance?”

“Oh yeah.” The owner says brightly. “He bought you out for the entire night, head to room 11 when you’re dressed, he’s already made himself at home.”

Nothing else is said by the owner as he turns and walks out.

“The whole night?” One of the girls laughs at your situation. “You’d better hope he tips well.”

“Well, buying out the entire night sounds expensive, he must be one of the rich ones.” You laugh with a shrug, a little frustrated that your new shoes won’t be seen by the foot-fetish men. They’re always out and feral on Saturdays.

“Maybe–” The other dancer laughs, looking at you with kind of a pitiful look. “Hope he’s not ugly.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You’ve done so many private dances before, but none that had ever taken the entire shift. To be fair, you didn’t even know they could do that. You assume that the owner took the offer because he decided the money was worth it. Wondering how much was offered to pay for your presence, you feel kind of good.

This isn’t exactly a cheap club, surely this is a great opportunity.

Whoever Jay is though, he’d better make this wasted shift worth your time.

“Hi,” You whisper without looking up, sauntering into room 11 with a small voice. They always like when you’d act smaller in terms of personality, submissive even.

The lights are dimmer than usual when you walk in and you’ve only used this room once or twice during your entire career at this club. It was the most expensive room, one with its own pole, a large velvet couch, and more space to move around compared to the others.

The man doesn’t respond to you as your eyes adjust to him, but then–Oh.

Oh.

Jackpot.

“Jay?” You look at the man who had spent thousands on you and the other dancers since he’d become a regular. “That’s the name of the man who spoils us?”

He just nods at you, staring you up and down with the same sharp eyes he had the night you’d first seen him.

“Not a man of many words?” You question, walking over to him slowly, swinging your hips like the way you always do when you’re on the clock. “So, I take it you won’t tell me why you picked me, huh?” You laugh playfully, looking over to the pole but parking yourself in front of him.

“Why wouldn’t I have picked you?” He lets out, taking a sip of his drink. “You’re my favorite to watch.”

Hearing his voice felt surreal, somehow setting him apart from any other client you’ve had seated in front of you. His voice is smooth, but you can’t tell if you think that because he’d held your curiosity for the longest time, or because he just said you’re his favorite to watch.

“Oh yeah?” You smile at him with a tilt of your head. “Lucky me.”

With that, you see how he relaxes against the couch to watch you. Business as usual. You don’t even ask how much he shelled out for this, because you know it had to be a lot. His first offer was probably much more than what the owner would have accepted to begin with.

You do your job for him though, twirling and sliding yourself against and on the pole. The music is a lovely choice, one that is chill enough to move slowly, but upbeat enough to bounce and wiggle for him.

The pole is cold as usual, allowing your nipples to perk enough to where, now, because he is closer to you than he had ever been, he can see them. You definitely see him watching too, still with that same bored expression despite the money he lends out just to experience it. You continue your routine, spreading your cheeks, pressing your tits together, making eye contact with him, smirking, and licking your lips.

Jay mouths the lyrics to the songs sometimes, but his eyes never leave you even when he dips his head for a drink. His eyes are less sharp now compared to before, being replaced with a hazy kind of look as he drags his gaze up and down your mostly-exposed body.

Noting that you’ve never seen his face shift before out in the main area, you believe that you are experiencing Jay actually reacting to a woman now. No longer looking uninterested but tipping as if he had cum in his pants during each dance. You feel entirely desired by him, and you kind of like it.

“I think you’re the most handsome client I’ve ever danced for.” You say in a soft voice, slowly backing away from the pole as the song changes. After all, you always sweet talk clients when it’s a one on one like this, though usually you’re lying. You actually mean it this time. “Do you know the rules?”

Jay nods as his legs spread a bit when you walk towards him. He knows you’re taking your time because he did pay for the entire night.

“No touching.” You whisper as the bass picks up on the speakers. It’s lap-dance time at the moment, and like always, you recite the most important rule.

He nods again, eyes glued to you as you turn around in front of him and begin to ghost your ass over his lap.

Watching you, he is well aware of the rules and perfectly comfortable with them. He would never violate a woman regardless of how sexy he finds her. He can buy her time, but he knows he can’t buy her intimacy on any level higher than he already has.

You dance against him for what feels like an hour, but only three songs come and go. Jay is stoic beneath you but you can see his facade break every now and then. He will shake his head to himself sometimes, or flutter his eyes closed when your tits are less than an inch from his face.

Usually, he is great at composing himself in this kind of situation. He knew when he became a regular here that having you would be impossible but that didn’t stop him from showing up. He knows it’s your job, and you act this way with everyone, so he can’t just break composure and show you just how fucking badly he wants you. Truly, he can’t embarrass himself by being so obvious.

“I imagine you’re struggling, Jay–” You break him out of his thoughts by calling him out instantly, turning and now spreading your legs across his lap to sit on him. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, mostly because you know he’s going to tip you big time. “Don’t you want to touch?”

He stutters out a laugh, and maybe believing he was one of the shy clients isn’t entirely untrue.

“It’s against the rules.” He deadpans, keeping his hands at his sides and glancing away from you, trying not to imagine the fact that he’s got the prettiest stripper in the club grinding against his cock right now. Though you’re not entirely grinding against it, he can feel a soft sort of friction every few seconds as you dance on top of him.

“Do you want to break the rules?” You tilt your head, knowing that you’re already touching him by wrapping your arms around him and kind of like, being incredibly attracted to him. You’d probably let him break more than a few rules if he wants it, not just for the tips either.

When he looks up to make eye contact with you, you nod at him and he follows, nodding himself.

“If you break a rule and touch me, you will have to pay me a hefty fine not to tell on you.” You laugh cheekily, batting your lashes and bouting your lips at him.

He could pay your rent for the next several months if he wanted to just for fucking fun? Like hell you’d report him for touching you when you’re struggling yourself not to touch him more.

“How much?” He instantly says, smirking as if you could name any price. For him though, hearing you suddenly offer some sort of deal in order to let him touch you has his mind doing flips.

Rules, rules, fucking rules.

Fuck the rules, he can afford to break them.

You’re a little taken aback by his playing along. You were mostly joking, but the suggestion is still there if he’s the type to... y’know, wanna fool around with a stripper.

“Half a mil.” You joke again, pulling back from his lap to slap against his arm, knowing the price is too high but flirting anyway. “Touch me and you lose”

You didn’t expect him to nod back at you.

“Five hundred thousand.” He confirms, keeping his hands at his sides. “Go on then, try and win your money.”

You’re fucking floored. Half a million is really on the line right now? There’s no fucking way he thinks he can lose. No way would a man really put that much on the line just to see if you can seduce them into breaking a rule that you’d allow him to break for free.

The game is on now though, it seems, as you do everything in your power to tease the ever-loving fuck out of the rich man in front of you. You ruffle his hair, you ghost your lips over his and everywhere else, you dance against him, on him, around him. You spread your legs out for him, slapping your own clothed pussy, you tease your nipples at him as if you’d pull your breasts out.

You can see him start to falter about two hours into the game. You had whispered into his ear and noted how he leaned into it. When you walked around the couch so that you could stand in front of him again, you saw how painfully hard he had become. Lowering yourself to your knees in front of him as if you would be in a position to swallow his cock whole, you look up at him innocently. “Is that for me?”

Jay groans, nodding shortly. He’s definitely breaking, and he’s starting to not care.

“I’ve never wanted to fuck you more than I do now–” He admits when he drops his hand from his hair and looks at you with a crooked smile.

You smile at him, that half a mil is yours.

“Oh yeah?” You run your hands up and down his thighs. “You’ve wanted to fuck me before?”

Jay nods, watching how dangerously close your hands get to his cock, lending a twitch and hoping you notice it.

“You’ll lose if you touch me though–” You’re cut off by him, seething out words in a deeper voice.

“You act like I didn’t intend to lose.” He says, leaning forward and pinching your chin between his fingers, lifting your head to look at him.

When he lifts your chin, he pulls your face a bit closer, shifting your body in a way that allows him to slot a leg between yours from the floor. He stares at you, almost like he knows that even after giving you the prize money, he’d still be the one to win.

“D-did you?” You say, a bit intimidated by him and his rough hand holding your face, he forces you to look at him.

“I did.” He says in a matter-of-fact tone. “You’ve never moved your body like this on stage, was I wrong to think you’d let me fuck you?”

You shake your head, sticking your tongue out a bit to lick the tip of his thumb, unintentionally rubbing your pussy against his shin.

“But I don’t fuck clients.” You try to argue for the sake of it, despite Jay definitely being a client you want to fuck.

“Oh yeah?” He says, turning your face to the side and skewing his neck to see your ass. “Is that why you’re practically fucking my leg right now?”

You bashfully shake your head out of his grip, halting your hips and pulling back from how close his face is to yours. “No?” He laughs, leaning back and crossing his arms as he looks down at you.

“I mean…“ You go back on your own word. “You already touched me and–” You shrug. ”I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t wet right now.”

Jay’s cock instantly twitches against his pants as he smirks at you with a confident nod.

“Stand up then.” He says, nodding his head more as if to motion you to do as he says. His legs spread as you rise to your feet and he instantly adjusts himself when he goes to stand up in front of you too.

Fuck, he’s taller than you and the way he looks down at you feels so much more intimating than before. You are entirely silent when he towers over you and you flinch a bit when his arm wraps around your waist.

You’re a little shocked by how rough he is when he moves you around, twisting you to where you’re facing the couch and being shoved down against it. “This is what you wanted, right?” He seethes out as you hear his belt being unbuckled.

Almost in a whine, you whisper out a ‘yes’. He’s floored by the sound of it, because it almost sounds like a fucking plead. Lucky me, he thinks.

After all, he’s watched you for months moving your body like you need a cock to fill it. Not just dancing like the other girls, you would fuck the stage for him and his money. And now? Oh, you’re gonna get fucked.

Jay doesn’t hesitate after hearing you, the money he’s lost in the bet is so far in the back of his mind because to be fair, he would have paid far more just to look at you. The only reason he’s pulling his cock out right now is because you fucking want it.

The bet was to not touch you. It appears you’d be pleased with both his cock and his money.

Not because it’s your job either, quite frankly, he knows it isn’t your job to fuck clients. He feels special, and he knows he damn well should be special.

You were seeing stars from the moment he touched your face, but this? God, this is more than you could have imagined. Such a fit, attractive man throwing his money at you and slipping your panties to the side just to see what no one else in this club sees. You wonder if his mouth is watering, if his hands are trembling, if his cock is twitching.

Jay slips a finger into you with ease and without warning, just to test and see if you really do want him to fuck you into the next dimension, and thankfully, you’re more wet than he could have imagined.

“Goddamn, baby, you want it?” He asks, confirming for himself that this is all for him.

You nod your face against the couch, arching in a way that props your ass up a little higher for him.

“Good good.” He says, fucking his finger into you a bit more before taking another step forward and resting his cock between your cheeks for a moment.

“Letting your clients fuck you?” His hand wraps around your middle and pulls you up and against, grunting into your ear. “You always do this?”

You couldn’t even answer when you feel him press his cock down and between your legs. So fucking thick.

“Go on, look.” He demands against your ear, holding you still against him with his arm as he slides between your folds. You look down to see the head of his cock peeking from between your legs and the image alone had you feeling gagged.

When you moan out at the image, you hear him chuckle against your ear and then you feel him pull his hips back, angling himself perfectly so that he can slide his cock into you.

In one long, languid thrust, you feel the entirety of him. You can hear his sigh against you, and feel his hand tighten around your middle when he bottoms out.

His cock is so thick, pulsing inside of you and weeping out thick pre-cum, only offering more to the wet you drench him in.

“Ah, listen to that–” He says, releasing your middle and slamming his hips back and forward just a few times to let the sound of how wet you are echo under the music. “So wet for the money, hm?” He continues, now pressing you into the cushions of the couch, knowing you’ll soon be biting against the fabric.

You hum against the cushions, rolling your eyes back at the delicious feeling of him paired with his voice.

“Or is it for me?” He asks now, voice coming out in a low rumble as he slams his hips into you repeatedly with deep pushes and sharp drags.

You nod again, almost frantically as you lift yourself to grip onto the back of the couch, and when you turn your head to look behind you, Jay is almost glaring at you with that same devilish smirk on his face.

Almost as if, even if he’s losing all that money, he’s fucking winning right now.

You watch his neck tense when he throws his head back with a drawn-out moan shortly after, and he doesn’t stop. He snaps his hips so quickly, and fucks into you so hard that all you can do is let out small whimpers each time the head of his cock hits a soft spot inside of you.

And when he doubles over you, using his other hand to stretch your panties impossibly far to the side, lying his head against your shoulder, you can tell he’s losing his composure too.

He’s so cocky, but goddamn is it nice to feel a man like this lose composure because of your pussy.

His hips stutter in and out of you and his breathing is heavy, fingers gripping both of your ass cheeks and spreading them every few seconds only to release them and watch them bounce together before slapping hard against the flesh.

“Can’t believe you’re spread out for me right now,” He moans out as he reaches his hand up and swipes his hair out of his face, and then his hips snap back into you sharply. Almost pointed.

“Knew you would be too, I saw the way you looked at me baby– you wanted it too.” He breathes out with each thrust, as if he knew he would have you under him someday, you don’t argue. If you had met Jay on the street and he hit on you, you’d be far too easy for him to capture.

“Don’t ever let another man do this for you–” He moans out now, amazed by how tight your cunt is around him.

Truly, and not even trying to be rude, he genuinely didn’t think you’d feel this fucking strangled against his cock. It’s perfect. He wants to lay claim so fucking bad, and so, he fucks harder, quicker.

“Don’t ever let another man pay for this pussy.”

You nod with a strangled moan, struggling to keep your grip on the couch with his weight on you when he leans forward, pressing his chest to your back.

“I’ll stop showing up.” He threatens. “Wouldn’t want that now, would we?” He continues to talk, hunched over you, fucking you just right while gripping both of your tips in that slutty bra you’re wearing.

And before you can even answer in a whimper, a cry, or a moan, you feel his cock pulse inside of you. Seemingly fucking you until he’s empty only because you feel it happen. He releases himself inside of you, cumming spurts of thick white ropes against your quivering walls.

Right then, he grabs you by the hair, pulling you back and against him and holding you so tightly in place. All you can do is sit still for him, cockwarming him through his orgasm as you try to speak.

“You wouldn’t be able to stay away anyway–” You try to be snide through the pleasure of feeling his cum bubble out of you. “Look at how fast you came.”

He snarls first at your comment, only to chuckle as he orgasm comes to an end. Truly the sounds he made to your comment were so fucking erotic, you almost can’t imagine ever letting another man do this anyway. For some reason, having Jay act all possessive over you is much less offensive anyway, compared to the other men who would probably try this with you.

You don’t see it as him assuming you’re a woman who would allow just any man to have sex with her for money, anyway. You think he knew he’d be able to pull it off. Though, if that weren’t the case, it wouldn’t be any of his fucking business anyway.

If anything, you decide that he gets possessive when his cock is fucking, and you feel kinda glad that you were the one he picked.

Not kinda. Actually, you’re fucking over the moon over it.

The fact that the man cumming inside of you is the man all of the girls want to dance for makes you feel like you’re the prettiest woman in the world. His money is attractive, but god, the way he fucks is somehow more enticing. You wouldn’t mind doing it again, and again, and again.

And when he finishes and pulls out of you, all he does is slide your panties back to their rightful place and gives your pussy a little tap, as if to comfort you into keeping his cum inside of you for safe keeping.

And yeah, he knows you didn't cum but to be fair, as much as he would have loved giving you an orgasm, your pussy felt too good for him to stop. Perhaps you’ll call for him to return the favor? Who knows? (God, he hopes you do.)

By the time he’s sat back on the couch, allowing you to lounge against him as you catch your breath, he’s already pulling out his wallet.

“I don’t carry cash.” He says, pulling out a card. “At least not half a million worth, so, just take this.”

He hopes you take note of what he’s doing. After all, the club has an ATM, he could always just make a couple of transactions for this.

You look at him wide-eyed, seeing the black card he holds out to you. He's actually paying you? You didn’t think he’d really give you half a million, seeing as how much you enjoyed that? Being paid for sex isn’t actually something you do.

Then again, he’s paying for breaking the rules, not for fucking you.

“You’re just going to give me your card?” You laugh, raising a brow in confusion. “I could go way over the limit?”

“You wouldn’t.” He shrugs first, and laughs second. “You won’t.”

Taking the card into your hand, it feels much heavier than any credit card you’ve ever held.

“No, really. You can’t just give me your card.” You laugh, tossing it back at him.

“Says who?” He looks at you seriously this time. “If I don’t see you again, I’ll just report you for fraud.”

He’s being fucking serious? Genuinely?

“Jay–” You try to scold him, but he doesn't let you.

“Just take the damn card.” He demands, standing to his feet and ruffling his hair with a breath. “Don’t embarrass me more by not taking it.”

“Embarrass you?” You ask, looking at the card and the way he just leaves it lying against the couch.

Almost as if, if you don’t take it, someone else will.

“Listen, I don’t normally do this.” He trails off, feeling the post-nut guilt. “The least I can do is hold up my end of the deal.”

“This is your credit card.” You still try to argue with him, turning to watch him walk towards the door.

“Don’t use it then. Just give it back to me when I see you again.”

You watch him reach for the doorknob.

“Saturday?” You ask.

“Saturday.”

And then he’s gone, and you’re five hundred thousand dollars richer, somehow.

#enhypen smut #park jongseong smut #jongseong smut #jay smut #park jay smut #jay park smut #enha smut

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dannyricsmirrorball · 19 days ago

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miscommunications • aa23 ੈ✩‧₊˚

ੈ✩‧₊˚ pairings || alex albon x model!reader

ੈ✩‧₊˚ genre || social media au

ੈ✩‧₊˚ summary || supermodel y/n y/l/n suddenly steps into the buzzing world of the formula 1 paddock, as she gets closer with the drivers, fans are quick to speculate and ship her with a certain driver: who is certainly not quick to deny and even fuels these rumours… confusing fans even more and aggravating the secret new couple!

alt. when the paddock rumours begin to stir but everyone is just a bit off

ੈ✩‧₊˚ warning || uhhh nothing really

ੈ✩‧₊˚ a/n || i know you guys are probably sick of me saying it… but im back! but like for real, at least for some time. i’ll try and pump as many fics out as i can b4 i most likely go ghost mode again hahha ☺️

✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚

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jastookes my girlllll

jacquemus 🥰

username7 first pic eatsssss

lirislaw on top of the world 🥰✨🧚‍♀️

devonleecarlson can’t believe u didn’t go out w us bc u wanted to watch the race smh 🤦‍♀️

⤷ yourusername a girl has priorities 🤷‍♀️

⤷ username12 she’s one of us fr 😭

username98 it girl 💚

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, scuderiaferrari, and 627,019 others

yourusername NYC-MIA just in time for fp1 🤍

username17 SHE��S AT THE GP?!

username5 she’s a ferrari fan i wonnnn

username3 yeah she’s at the gp but why is she not in the paddock?!

⤷ username72 she probably wasn’t invited and just wanted to go as a fan?

⤷ username61 yeah but she’s a supermodel… and i’m pretty sure she’s friends w charles leclerc’s girlfriend

alexandrasaintmleux YOU’RE IN MIAMI?! 😠😠

⤷ yourusername uh oh

⤷ alexandrasaintmleux why didn’t you tell me!!! u+me ferrari garage tmrw.

⤷ yourusername i don’t wanna impose haha im fine in the grandstands

scuderiaferrari Please join us in the garage tomorrow y/n ❤️

⤷ alexandrasaintmleux see @yourusername 🙃 not imposing

⤷ yourusername and this isn’t your doing…?

⤷ alexandrasaintmleux actually no surprisingly,, turns out ferrari want the number 1 model in the world to join their garage… funny how that works huh who’d’ve thought 😐❤️

landonorris noooo take of that hat and come to mclaren!

⤷ yourusername sorry tifosi 4 life ❤️

⤷ landonorris papaya is better 🧡

⤷ username81 little lando norris shooting his shot

logansargeant how bout some williams blue for the home boy 💙

⤷ alex_albon god you are both such losers @ landonorris

⤷ yourusername hm i do love me some blue x

⤷ logansargeant i think you meant to reply to my comment but thank you y/n 😊

⤷ yourusername uh yeah hahahahah sorry mb

⤷ landonorris i detest that albono ☝️

liked by mclaren, landonorris, and 350,828 others

yourusername lights out on film ❤️

tagged landonorris, alex_albon, charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, logansargeant, oscarpiastri

username1 on friday she was in the grandstands and now she’s best friends w half the grid ICON

landonorris you must be a good luck charm 🧡

⤷ username51 mans tryna shoot his shot

alexandrasaintmleux please come to every single race now 🥹

⤷ yourusername any excuse to see u!!!

username4 love y/n x f1!!!

scuderiaferrari pleasure having you 🥰

⤷ yourusername ❤️

username28 wow y/n feeding us w the dumppp

mclaren we’d love to have you in the papaya garage next time 😉🧡

⤷ username45 wonder who’s responsible for this 🤣

⤷ username7 i ship it

williamsracing better at our job than us!

⤷ yourusername could never beat williams admin photos!

⤷ logansargeant idk i much prefer this photographer 😊

⤷ alex_albon it’s painful to watch,, also couldn’t beat aa23 film photos!

⤷ yourusername ouch but you’re right hahah 💙

⤷ aa23 they come close ✌️

liked by francisca.cgomes, oscarpiastri, and 323,920 others

yourusername bits and pieces

tagged albon_pets, landonorris, jastookes

username16 eee lando feature 🧡

username14 so happy she’s been going to races, i love seeing her w alexandra in the paddock

⤷ username7 best wags 💕

username63 🤐

username11 are those alex’s cats?!

⤷ username92 love their friendship,, they’ve probably become closer since her and lando have been talking 😊

albon_pets come see us again soon y/n 🐹

⤷ yourusername i will xx 💋

⤷ username55 she has her own albon pets emoji!!!!

jastookes ��💞

alex_albon why do my cats like you more than me?!

⤷ yourusername i have developed a codependent relationship with otto 🫂

⤷ georgerussell63 stay in line 😒

username11 the fourth photo soft launch?!

⤷ username09 don’t know why she’s trying to soft launch when we all know it’s lando 😭

⤷ username6 let her have it haha

⤷ username23 idk that guy doesn’t rlly look like lando he looks taller

⤷ username09 well it’s probably the angle and even if it isn’t maybe that’s just her friend 😐

liked by yourusername, alex_albon, and 567,093 others

georgerussell63 weekend away before we head into the last double header before summer break 🛥️

tagged alex_albon, carmenmmundt

username62 galex strikes again

carmenmmundt 🥰❤️

usernams72 albono the ultimate third wheel

⤷ yourusername @alex_albon 🤣🫵

⤷ username72 uhhhhh hello y/n?!!?

alex_albon ✌️

username71 first pict kinda looks like y/n’s recent 🙃

⤷ username16 AHHHH landoy/n confirmed then bc if she was with them surely lando was there too!!!

⤷ landonorris yes!

⤷ yourusername gtfo mate

⤷ username11 confused again…

username23 carmen, her boyfriend, and her boyfriends boyfriend!

liked by charles_leclerc, mclaren, and 760,800 others

yourusername double-header dump

tagged alexandrasaintmleux, alex_albon, landonorris, adam_norris_pure_electric, francisca.cgomes, charles_leclerc, carlossainz55

username51 need alex and y/n’s hair care routines!

username17 norris family pic…. hard launch is imminent

username4 THE PAPAYA FLOWERS AHHHH i love them smmm

landonorris alex is an ipad kid

⤷ yourusername he’s my ipad kid 🩵

⤷ yourusername it’s a problem

⤷ alex_albon 🙈

iamrebeccad i don’t think u even look at me like that @ carlossainz55

⤷ carlossainz55 i could post a picture of you and alexandra…

⤷ alexandrasaintmleux 😳

adam_norris_pure_electric nice meeting you y/n 😊🧡

liked by creator

⤷ username17 she met the parents!

williamsracing is that a williams cap we spy…? 🕵️

⤷ georgerussell63 an aa23 cap if im correct

⤷ yourusername “an aa23 cap if im correct 🤓☝️”

⤷ landonorris nah

francisca.cgomes 🩷

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, heidiberger_, and 340,003 others

yourusername the glitz and glam

username11 y/n with daniel??

⤷ usernams91 i think this is the annual bbq thing at christian horner’s farm but im not sure why shes there

username4 who’s shoes?!? 🧡😉

⤷ username81 definitely not lando’s lol he wouldn’t be at a red bull affiliated event

⤷ username6 pretty sure alex was there soooo maybe lando could be

⤷ username23 alex still has ties w redbull thai land so

heidi_berger boots make the fit 💘

danielricciardo that good ol’ english weather 😄

username73 😍😍

gerihalliwellhorner beautiful girl

liked by danielricciardo, yourusername, and 569,039 others

alex_albon bri’ish dump innit 🇬🇧🫖

tagged danielricciardo

username71 awww y/n standing w alex meeting his family i love their friendship

⤷ username23 ahhh she probably went to the bbq with alex,, my fave bffs

⤷ username4 if i was lando id feel kinda weird about that

⤷ username17 yeah taking your mate’s gf as your plus one to an event is weird

⤷ username55 i can’t why are people acting like lando and y/n have ever confirmed they’re dating 😭😭

username72 love it albono ✌️

williamsracing home race done and dusted ✅💙🇬🇧

danielricciardo albonoooo

username23 maybe those were alex’s shoes in y/n’s dump…

⤷ username12 yeah right in his dreams

albon_pets we spy y/n 🐹!

⤷ yourusername the albon family loves me more than alex confirmed

⤷ alex_albon what’s new

liked by yourusername, max.homa, and 679,668 others

alex_albon never ask a man his handy cap 🏌️

username23 we love a man committed to his hobbies (even if he’s horrible at them)

pierregasly 😂😂

yourusername cute

⤷ username37 🤨

username61 two golf bags…?

⤷ username71 y’all acting like he’s a loser and has no friends

⤷ yourusername no need to act 🥰

⤷ username42 gagged em

⤷ alex_albon get outta my comments weirdo

williamsracing racing is his side hobby guys

liked by georgerussell63, lirislaw, and 1,093,772 others

yourusername weekend away ⛳️

username4 wait a minute…

username72 um that’s not-

username91 what in the plot twist

alexandrasaintmleux i’ve see enough. put her on the lpga

⤷ yourusername thankyou!

bellahadid sports star 🌟

username74 weekend away with… alex?

username62 soft launch is soft launching

username18 omf nvm guyssss check lando’s recent

liked by maxfewtrell, carlossainz55, and 897,928 others

landonorris golf getaway 😄

username72 awww couples retreatttt

username16 ahhahaha alex was just third wheeling lmfao

yourusername you golf?

⤷ landonorris do u even swing bro

⤷ username4 i love their couples banter

alex_albon huh funny

username61 that tank top is doing wonders

⤷ username3 gf effect goes crazy

maxfewtrell pandas on the green is crazy

liked by iamrebeccad, alex_albon, and 780,000 others

yourusername summer never looked so good

landonorris you’re right 😍

⤷ oscarpiastri 🤢

alexandrasaintmleux trop belleeeee

wolfiecindy ma girrllllll

francisca.cgomes jealous 😍

username18 boddddd

kaiagerber mermaid princess 🧜‍♀️👸💞

username62 she’s so gorgeous

username37 not a coincident she’s on holiday during f1 summer break

⤷ username6 it’s also just like yk… summer

liked by alex_albon, landonorris, and 2,009,838 others

yourusername happier than ever

alexandrasaintmleux wonder whyyyy

⤷ username16 what do you know?!?

iamrebeccad lover girl 💕💕

⤷ username4 i just need them to hard launch already 😭

logansargeant nice photographer u got there

⤷ yourusername the besttt

⤷ username27 does this count as a ls2xln4 interaction? 🤨

⤷ username1 who says he’s talking abt ln

⤷ username27 bro

username818 ugh so gorgggg

pietra.pilao lindaaa

⤷ username71 🤨🤨

⤷ username62 lando’s best friend’s girlfriend hmmmmmm

liked by yourusername, georgerussell63, and 1,009,737 others

alex_albon found my new profession

username12 if i speak…

landonorris lotta bags for 1️⃣

⤷ yourusername muppet

⤷ username16 they’re sooo cute 🥰

⤷ alex_albon aren’t they just 😍

username16 everyone sleeping on alex 😫😩

⤷ username81 more for me! 🙂‍↕️

georgerussell63 big guns albono 💪

williamsracing alex albon jpg when?

username18 oooh does alex have a new gf?

charles_leclerc cool guy 😎

liked by georgerussell63, mclaren, and 1,922,837 others

landonorris photography is my passion 🌊

username16 awww he’s the one taking all of y/n’s ig pics

username72 he has a very pretty muse!

alex_albon having fun?

⤷ landonorris heaps 😘

username4 gahhhh can they just confirm it already

username1 soft launch is driving me crazy

maxfewtrell idiot😐

mclaren we hope driving is still up there!!!

liked by bellahadid, carmenmmundt, and 970,822 others

yourusername siri play pyramids by frank ocean 🌅

alex_albon FLIP THAT SHOE OVER

⤷ yourusername mb grandpa

devonleecarlson my girllll

username31 around the world fr

alexandrasaintmleux ah i hope ur having the best time gorg

⤷ yourusername miss you my girl 🥹

alexconsani MAMAAAA 🙂‍↕️

blonded 🎧

username7 aesthetic queen

lirisaw 😘🥰🙈💋💞

username4 can’t wait to sees lando’s matching post

liked by williamsracing, logansargeant, and 560,929 others

alex_albon 🇪🇬&🇪🇸

username71 second pic 🙃

username82 wait guys maybe…

username11 omf are y/n and alex on holiday together?!

yourusername you’re loving that camera aren’t ya

⤷ alex_albon so are you…

⤷ username23 wait… what 😮

williamsracing getting that summer break tan 💙

username72 um so maybe we were wrong? but this can’t be right 😨

username3 they could just be on holiday w their friends as well lol i doubt it’s anything else

username4 waiting for lando to drop that he was also there

liked by mclaren, oscarpiastri, and 1,099,473 others

landonorris working at the pyramids tonight ⏳

username22 HE WAS WITH Y/N

username9 the pyramids lyrics…

yourusername LANDO NORRIS

⤷ username40 someone’s in trouble w the mrsssss

⤷ username5 he’s making the soft launch to obvious 😭😅

username18 MY IT COUPLES PREVAILS 🧡

oscarpiastri 😀

alex_albon mateeee 😐

liked by alex_albon, lilamoss, and 2,096,821 others

yourusername my beautiful boy

📸: alex_albon

username18 OMG SO IT IS ALEX?!

username72 albono pulled her???

gracieabrams stunnnn 🥰🥰

carmenmmundt linda ❤️

username8 gawd she’s beautiful

username44 guys i think alex just took the pictures so like including the one of her and her mans

⤷ username32 this makes so much more sense

⤷ alex_albon how.

alexandrasaintmleux unreal

landonorris 🧡

⤷ username51 AH CONFIRMATION

liked by pierregasly, maxfewtrell, and 1,929,844 years others

landonorris well guess the soft launch is over now right? @yourusername 🌅

thanks @alex_albon photography 🥰

username17 omg confirmation ahhh finally

username4 finally lando can now freely post her🥰 need a jpg post

stat!

oscarpiastri really outdid urself mate 🤦‍♂️

username55 alex has been so sweet taking all these cute pics for them 💞

⤷ username19 bro probably had the worst time third wheeling

alex_albon congrats guys!!!! 🥰😘

⤷ username71 awww so sweet

⤷ yourusername what. is. happening.

georgerussell63 congrats to the cutest happiest couple 🩵

⤷ yourusername GEORGEEEEE 👹

alexandrasaintmleux treat her right 🥰

⤷ username16 awww bestie approved

⤷ yourusername alex.

⤷ alex_albon yes 😇

⤷ yourusername NOT YOU OBVIOUSLY… OR WAIT YES YOU

charles_leclerc so happy you found eachother ❤️

pierregasly congrats @.yourusername & @.landonorris!!! ❤️‍🔥

francisca.cgomes glad you guys are finally public ☺️

carmenmmundt ❤️

mclaren our favourites 🧡

⤷ williamsracing we’re jealous! 😉💙

⤷ username65 randommm?

adam_norris_pure_electric nice one son!

maxverstappen1 👏👏

carlossainz55 ¡vamos! ❤️

yourusername that’s it.

yourusername I’M DONE YOU FUCKING IDIOT

⤷ landonorris oh no

⤷ username51 wait what

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, bellahadid, and 3,929,824 others

yourusername fuck it we ball

tagged alex_albon

username17 AHHH WHAT?!?

username18 this can’t be true

⤷ username91 accept it oh my god

alexconsani ❤️‍🔥

rachelzegler okayyyy WAG 😍

rhode 💞��

username4 idk how to say it but alex just doesn’t feel right for y/n like they’re friendship is cute but not romantically. he’s just like the best friend type not boyfriend,, y/n needs someone hotter and more up to her standards like lando

⤷ yourusername OMG SHUT UPPPPPP

⤷ username23 y/n does NOT play about her mannn

bellahadid love you guys 💞✨☄️

britishvogue 👑👑

ayoedebiri ❣️

alex_albon omg she hard launched me i must be the one 😍

⤷ yourusername ugh ur so annoying 🙄

⤷ alex_albon i love you too

alex_albon im sorry 😞

⤷ yourusername your little prank pushed me to the precipice

⤷ username3 ??

⤷ username19 i think alex made all their friends comment on lando’s post pretending it was real hahaha

⤷ username7 ahhh omg poor y/n

liked by creator

kaiagerber cutest

graciebrns 🪐💫😘

username11 why do so many people feel entitled to her relationship and now saying that there’s no way she’s w her actual bf?

⤷ username76 people need to touch grass and stop shipping her with her boyfriends colleague and FRIEND

landonorris how could you do this to me 😳😱😨

⤷ yourusername dont even SPEAK

gabbriette 🖤

charli_xcx 👸💚

lilamoss love this 💝

jordandaniels yay💜

username23 lowkey feel bad for alex bc imagine the whole internet shipping your super model gf with your coworker and friend and then not believing it could be you

⤷ alex_albon it was fine bc i knew who’s sheets she was in 🙃

⤷ yourusername BABY

⤷ williamsracing damage control

⤷ jv.f1 Alex, it’s james.

donatella_versace 💜

yasminwijnaldum Omggg

alexandrasaintmleux aw so cute my crazy girl 🤍

⤷ yourusername i can’t believe you went along with it

georgerussell63 why did you photoshop yourself onto my body?

⤷ yourusername thanks for letting me borrow your bf georgie 💙

williamsracing things we like to see 💙

username18 still finding this hard to believe

username23 gonna be the paddock it couple

username19 alex really did his big one with pulling literal super model y/n y/l/n

albon_pets we love you y/n 🐹❤️

⤷ yourusername 🥰

logansargeant 💙

username11 my gawdddd that last photo 👹😩😫

jastookes lovelies

emrata 💋💋

username5 dying at all these major celebs and models commenting like y/n y/l/n you are so loved, alex you are there 🤣

liked by williamsracing, georgerussell63, and 2,028,732 others

alex_albon my girlfriend is a supermodel ✌️

sorry for all the comments under @.landonorris post gorgeous 😅

tagged yourusername

yourusername my boyfriend drives fast cars 🏎️

⤷ landonorris fast is debatable

⤷ williamsracing @mclaren keep him in check

yourusername yeah wtv i forgive you but you’ll be paying the price for the headache you gave me

⤷ alex_albon whatever you want baby

⤷ yourusername whatever i want? 😏

⤷ landonorris aghhh get outta here 🤢

alexandrasaintmleux she may be ur gf but she’s my wife

⤷ yourusername my girl 🤞

username44 ah i love them

username72 idk still think her and norris would be cuter

⤷ username6 righttt lowkey think they are actually into eachother and will probably end up going out 🫣

⤷ landonorris okay this isn’t funny anymore lol alex and y/n are the best people i know and are very much in love

⤷ alex_albon good man 🤝

yourusername eeeeek he called me his girlfriend ☺️😚😙🥰💞

⤷ georgerussell63 you’ve been dating for months.

⤷ yourusername someone sounds jellyyyy

⤷ alex_albon dw you’ll always have space in my heart georgie boy

username12 aww they’re literally the sweetest 😍

username8 he’s so obsessed it’s adorable

⤷ username41 as he should be!

williamsracing 💙

landonorris congrats guys 🫣🥰

liked by creator and alex_albon

✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚

hope you guys liked this!!!! i’ll try and be a bit more active right now x

#formula 1 #alex albon #f1 x reader #alex albon x reader #alex albon imagine #williams racing #williams f1 #lando norris #lando norris x reader #charles leclerc #social media au #f1 social media au #aa23 x reader #aa23 #formula 1 x reader #formula one #george russell #alexander albon #alexandra saint mleux

962 notes · View notes

pretty-little-mind33 · 4 months ago

Note

Hey so weird question! But if you know any other pages that write anything ATJ related could you tag them I have a hard time finding pages that write about Aaron and his characters and I just wanted to know if you had any 🥰

omg yes i'd love to do this!!! all these writers are amazing so go show them some love!

(i am including James Potter as an atj character mainly bc i write and read for him but ignore him in this list if that isn't your thing 🫶 i know he's not everyone's fancast which is completely fair and respectable!)

@little-miss-dilf-lover - love of my life, my wife, my everything!! go read her Tangerine and Pietro Maximoff works RIGHT NOW or you'll be missing out!

@kravensgirl - writes some really good Tangerine, Pietro Maximoff, Tom Ryder, and Sergei Kravinoff fics!

@mischievousmoony - my lovely lovie who write amazing James Potter fics!

@moonlightspencie - if you want some good Dave Lizewski, Tangerine, and James Potter content (and some fun atj thirsting)! contact Luna 💖

@j23r23 - my darling who writes some amazing Tangerine fics!

@msmk11 - oh my god i am in love with her James Potter and Tangerine fics! they are some of my favorites!

@sun-kissy - her James Potter fics are always jaw droppingly amazing! and she's a sweetie-pie!

@astonishment - gonna plug one specific series rn because the James Potter and Pietro Maximoff crossover 💋is chefs kiss! (check out her other James Potter works too!! you won't be disappointed!)

@lost-pen-name - has the best Tom Ryder fics i've ever read!

@tangerinesgf - has some really really amazing Tangerine and Tom Ryder works!!

@aestheeredie - if you're looking for some good Count Vronsky fics!! look here!!

@gh0stsp1d3r - some really awesome Count Vronsky, Tangerine and Sergei Kravinoff works!!!

@nocturnest - her Tangerine works are SO good!

@queers-gambit - writes some of my fav Tangerine fics!

@murdrdocs - Dave Lizewski smut muahauah!!

~ I KNOW THERE MUST BE MORE AND IF ANYONE KNOWS ANY OTHER AMAZING WRITERS PLS TELL ME AND I'LL ADD THEM!! ~

327 notes · View notes

sexlapis · 1 year ago

Note

Ho! I loooooooveeee your actor toji fics! Is it possible to get added to the taglist? Thank you ~

Also an idea: a bts scene of reader getting sick on set(perhaps even collapsing) due to fatigue and toji taking care of them- I feel like that'd be such a hit ship moment irl :D

thank you for liking my fics <3 you can be added to the tag list 🩵.

and omg yeah i love that idea of reader overworking themselves and toji looking after them :’). and yeah i didn’t make it a behind the scenes clip i made a short fic abt it bc i do not know when to stop.. like give me an idea and i will fly away w it like a bird liek..i don’t even think this is what you asked for srsly…i hope you don’t mind (but i’ll add it to my tojiyn headcanons hehe)

cw: actor toji x actress reader, hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, swearing, petnames (‘kid’, ik people don’t like this one but i think it’s so sweet & so toji :)), collapsing, mentions of skipping meals/not eating, poor sleeping habits, feelings of loneliness & inadequacy, crying, toji taking care of reader, i made this way more angsty than you asked sorry :(

wc: 2k+

you dragged yourself through the doors of the studio, immediately bombarded by directors, stylists, scrip writers and other cast members on your way to the dressing room, only fuelling your fatigue and stress.

sleep was a foreign concept at this point. five hours at most. so were healthy, filling meals - the last time you ate was yesterday at noon, and for breakfast today all you had was a cup of coffee, not helping your nervous, exhausted state.

admittedly, you were not doing very well. you felt that your acting was subpar and you felt lonely and isolated on set. while everyone went with their friends for a break or lunch, you sat by yourself in your dressing room, your only company being the silence.

sure, toji was also on set too, but he played a very minor role, so he wasn’t always there. and even when he was sometimes, he would hang out with the other crew members, which wasn’t a problem of course, but it did sting a little when he chose them over you.

you just felt so lonely, anxious and quite frankly upset at yourself and the circumstances you find yourself in.

there are a few knocks at your dressing room door and you weakly tell them to come in.

toji peeks is head in. “hey, kid. we start in five..” he takes a look at your weary face, dark eye bags prominent even through the makeup the stylists caked on and the frown on your lips and just knows something is wrong.

“are you ‘right?” he asks quietly, like you’re a deer who’s about to run away at the slightest of sounds.

“yes, i’m fine.” you lie, a voice in the back of your mind wishing he’d just ignore you like everyone else on this damn set does.

“‘you sure? ‘cause you don’t look-”

“i said im fine! just get out.” you snap, heart beating and breathing heavily at your own outburst.

fuck. you didn’t mean to say that.

but toji doesn’t look offended. he just nods and walks away footsteps fading as you put your head in your hands and sob.

so there you are, acting in front of the camera with your colleague in a scene where toji appears in too and you just seem off. everyone assumes it’s just not your day today and they’re not exactly wrong. you lines were slightly forced, tired and you were jittery and clearly apprehensive, like you didn’t even want to be here.

“cut!” the director calls out, more than annoyed with your behaviour. it was the sixth take and you’re really trying to make it believable, but it’s futile.

“this is the sixth take _____. this is ridiculous. get your act together. let’s take five.”

you look down at your shoes, face hot and chest thudding with embarrassment due to the director calling you out in front of everybody. tears well up in your eyes and you sigh, blinking them away as everyone starts talking again, walking away leaving you standing there like an idiot.

it all becomes too much for you. your empty stomach, oncoming headache, exhausted body, dry mouth, furrowed eyebrows, sweaty palms-

you let your script fall out of your hand as you stumble off the green screen, trying to get to your room before a hand is grabbing your arm. you turn around and it’s toji again.

“hey..” he leans down slightly to your height, scanning you over once. “you don’t look so good, _____-”

you shrug him off, vision becoming blurred with black static and limbs heavy and shaky. “i-i jus’ need to go. to my..uhm-” you stop, rubbing a hand down your face harshly. “i just-”

and then there is black.

౨ৎ

you come to and realise that you are laying on your dressing room couch, staring up at the ceiling. reaching up, you feel a wet, cool cloth on your head. you take it off. still fuzzy and body essentially lethargic, you try to sit up.

“hey, hey, hey.” toji whispers.

oh, toji’s here.

“take it easy.” he helps you sit up on the arm of the couch. he hands you a bottle of water and you drink it like a god.

“wait, what happened?” you ask, still confused and disoriented.

“you fuckin’ fainted that’s what,” he states bluntly. “scared the fuckin’ dogshit outta me.”

“oh.”

toji sits beside you on a chair, looking at you closely. you look down.

“the med team checked you out.” he tells you. “said you fainted, collapsed-whatever the fuck. ‘cos of stress and exhaustion. they even checked your blood sugar and said it was low as fuck.” he pauses. “not dangerously low,” he adds at the sight of your worried expression, “but.. low enough.”

you sigh, falling back on the couch. you think back to how the director shouted at you, how annoyed he was, and how humiliated you felt. tears start to form again and you cover your face with your hands, not wanting to cry in front of toji. you felt like you’ve had enough embarrassment for today.

toji leans forward. “what’s happening with you?”

the way he said it, so soft and concerned, makes the tears fall down and cause sobs to escape your mouth, hiccuped breaths falling from your mouth.

“hey, hey, hey..” toji coos. he reaches to you and makes you sit up again so he can take you into his arms. you let him, sobbing into his shoulder and sucking up all the comfort he gives you. toji’s big hand strokes your hair and the other caresses your back softly.

“shh, sh, sh…” he calms you down a little, you sobs turning into sniffles. he leans back and gives you space but his hands stay planted on your back. “tell toji what’s wrong.”

you hum sadly, looking down and gulping. “i’m..i’m tired. i wanna sleep..”

toji waits for you to continue. he can see you want to say more so he doesn’t hurry you along, he just rubs your back and nods to let you know you’re listening.

“i..” you take a breath, “i dunno what to do..i can’t do this fucking role.. i’m fucking tired half the fucking day and my so called colleagues don’t even like me!” you try to calm yourself down, taking another shaky breath. “and i just feel..lonely all the time..” you cry out the last few words, feeling another sob session coming up and toji pulls you close, letting you ruin his shirt with your tears as he rocks you back and forth in his arms.

“it’s okay, it’s okay..” he coos, resting his face in your hair.

you both stay like that for a few moments, you weeps dying down before toji talks.

“you can play this part, _____. ‘you have any idea how good your are, huh? you can act circles around half ‘these guys.”

you scoff, pulling your lips together. “i dunno about that..”

“‘m serious. _____, you can act, okay? ‘wouldn’t have made it this far if you couldn’t.”

“yeah but..this one’s hard..” you sigh, voice cracking but toji doesn’t let you start again.

“yeah, acting’s hard. but i can help you,” toji cups your wet face with his hands, wiping the tear streaks that paint you face, “we can all help you. the crew, your friends, that bitchass director. i’ll put a gun to everyone’s head to make them fuckin’ help you with this.”

you giggle at his seriousness and he huffs, relieved that you’re relaxing a little.

“they don’t hate you, y’know. everybody on set. the cast. they just think you’re a little shy and quiet. they don’t hate you, okay?” toji reassures you. you nod absentmindedly and he shakes your head from side to side to make you pay attention, making you smile, eyes crinkling even though they’re still tear stricken. “there she is..who the fuck could hate you, huh?”

“ugh, toji.” you roll your eyes, sniffling and rubbing your face. you pull away from him. “ugh..i just want my bed right now.”

“yeah..i know it ain’t my place but told the director that you’re taking a few days off. you need a break, kid.”

you didn’t even argue with him. you couldn’t.

“yeah, i do.” you agree.

suddenly, a loud rumble from your stomach erupts, it was like an earthquake.

toji laughs. “someone’s hungry.”

you groan. “‘m starving. haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

“we’re getting you something to eat.” he states, leaving no room for objections.

toji stands, holding his hand out for you to take. you do, his large, calloused hand dwarfing yours as he helps you stand up. “can you walk?”

“i will if there’s food involved.”

“that’s good.” toji chuckles, “how’s takeout sound?”

a/n: had to write a whole fic abt this i apologise 🥸 will add the tag list later i just keep forgetting the users </3

#📫.toji #📫.answered #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji x self insert #toji fluff #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x y/n #toji fushiguro x self insert #toji fushiguro fluff #toji fushiguro fanfic #actor!toji #actress!reader #toji zenin x reader #toji zenin x you

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winwintea · 4 months ago

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perfect strangers - l.dh

PAIRING ↬ doctor!lee donghyuck x fem! reader

GENRES ↬ smut (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), romance, fluff, ballroom dancing, masquerade, strangers to lovers, forbidden love, arranged marriages, eloping lol…

TAGS ↬ the punch has alcohol in it (oh no!), one-night stand turned into something bigger, housekeeper is such a cockblock, they are both so DOWN bad for each other, doctor haechan!!!! also pink hair haechan i love him, idk how to tag smut this is my first smut guys i wanna kms, they just fuck how do i explain that

SUMMARY ↬ one night, you fell in love with a man who would come to you the next morning as your doctor. unfortunately, you were betrothed to someone else, but you wanted to feel what love really was. "whatever choices we make, just know that my heart is yours."

WORD COUNT ↬ 4.0k

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ baby’s first smut (kinda not really) fic ever! this is a gift for @lyvhie bc i usually don’t write such suggestive works, so pls don’t request me to write some 😭😭 took me a while to finish this bc i was so uncomfortable writing this, but i tried my best and now i wanna die… thank you so much to @galacticnct and @h-aechanie for helping me get through this i lowkey would’ve never finished if it wasn’t for the support from you two. <33

It all happened like a dream. You woke up comfortable, wrapped in your own soft bed sheets, and slowly sat up.

“Will you be getting up, Miss, or would you like to rest a bit longer?”

“No, I’ve slept enough. It’s about time I got up.” Your housekeeper nodded and pulled open the curtains. To judge from the sunlight streaming in the large balcony windows, it was close to noon already.

“It was quite the shock last night when I heard you’d collapsed after the ball and couldn’t come home until morning. You have to take care of your health, Miss Y/N, especially so close to your wedding. I knew that masquerade was a bad idea. How are you feeling now?”

“I’m alright… sorry for worrying you.” You started to get out of bed, before suddenly stopping.

“What’s the matter Miss?”

“Oh, nothing. I’m just a little thirsty. Could you get me a glass of water?”

The housekeeper smiled and shook her head, then left the room, closing your bedroom door behind her. You sat back against the pillows and hugged yourself tightly.

It wasn’t a dream. You could still feel that scorching heat inside you. His heat. The man with the dusty pink hair and pale brown eyes that burned through his mask…

The rising heat beneath your skin brought memories of the previous night rushing back.

The night before

So this was a masquerade ball…? It was an even more lavish affair than you were expecting. When the invitation came, everyone advised you not to attend so close to your wedding. But you had insisted, wanting to have the experience at least once in your life. You thought it would be interesting in sort of an academic way, but-

“May I have this dance, miss?” A masked man approached you silently.

��Oh, um, I… No, I’m sorry.” Unused to such occasions, you weren’t sure how to respond when people approached you. You retired to a quieter corner of the ballroom and sipped the punch handed to you by one of the servants circulating with trays. You sighed. I’m the picture of an overly sheltered child, aren’t I?

The ballroom seemed like a different world, guests dancing in their bright finery, their faces hidden, laughter ringing out. You’ve heard that all sorts of passionate affairs begin at masque balls. Perhaps you were even wondering if any fateful meetings had happened tonight.

Your family loved you, and the man they had arranged for you to marry had sworn to make you happy. But even as peaceful and loving as your home life was, in your heart of hearts, you felt something was missing. You wanted to experience a passion that burned like the sun. It seemed so wonderful to love someone with your whole heart and soul. To walk on air just at the thought of that person. To feel like the whole world is dancing around you.

You drained your punch absently as you daydreamed. Wait… this is pretty powerful stuff. Is this why people call alcohol liquid courage? Yeah… you felt all giddy and like you could take on the whole world.

Perhaps it was your sudden agitation that spread the alcohol so quickly through your system. At any rate, you were very much tipsy. You leaned against a wall, giggling. Someone tapped your shoulder.

“Hey there… Are you all right? Can I help? Just say the word.” You’d gotten carried away with thoughts of experiencing a hot passionate romance, and drinking the night away when someone came up to check on you. “Can I get you some water? Or would you like to take a rest somewhere?”

There was only one thing you wanted. “I want… to fall in love. I want to love someone… with my whole heart and soul.” Beware the truth at the bottom of the wineglass, indeed. No one was meant to hear that little secret.

The helpful stranger blinked at you in surprise, then chuckled, “I can help with that too, if you’d like. Why don’t you try loving me?”

“Huh? But we don’t even know eac-”

Something soft sealed your lips before you could finish. His kiss was sudden and heady, like the effects of liquor masked by the sweetness of fruit, and every bit as disorienting. “You’re not supposed to reveal your face at a masquerade, but nothing’s stopping us from getting to know each other’s bodies. You can have all of me, as long as you love me in return. Deal?”

He pulled you close, and you quickly agreed– It was exactly what you wanted.

After that you spent the night with him. The memory alone sent a thrill through you unlike anything you had felt before. His voice had been as sweet as sugar cubes. You could hear it even now. Pale brown eyes seen through his mask. His dusty pink hair that tickled your skin. The gleam of his piercings on his ears. He wasn’t wrong… You had gotten to know his body quite well. Even though you never learned his name…

Your chest tightened at the memory of that one sweet night with your masked stranger. He’s the only one who’s ever made you feel that way… and you don’t even know his name? You wished you could see him again, but how would you find him?

A knock interrupted your thoughts. “I’ve brought your water, Miss! And the doctor’s just arrived to see you.”

“But I feel fine now. There wasn’t any need to call a doctor…”

“No need to be brave, Miss Y/N. Besides, you still look all flushed.” Ugh. You couldn’t say that you just got drunk at the ball, or that your staying out all night had nothing to do with feeling ill, so… “Right this way, Doctor.” Oblivious to your conundrum, the housekeeper ushered the doctor in. Your breath caught at the sight of him.

“Lee Donghyuck, at your service, Miss Y/N.” Oh my god. The pale brown eyes and dusty, pale, pink hair. He was, without a doubt, the man with whom you had spent the previous night with. Were you actually dreaming now? “I’ll begin the examination right away. Madam, if you would step outside?”

“Of course, thank you Doctor.” Once she had left, the doctor seated himself in the chair beside your bed.

“Well then, if you’ll unbutton your nightgown, we can begin.”

“I…um…?” What did he just say? As you floundered for words, he snorted and began to chuckle.

“If you’re too tired to undress yourself, I could help you with the buttons like I did last night.”

Oh damn. Okay. You needed to hold yourself together. “I knew it was you! Did you know who I was all along? Is that why you’re here?”

“Not at all. I had no idea we would meet again until I stepped inside just now. I’ve made house calls here before, but I had no idea you were a member of this family.” As he spoke, Donghyuck got on with the exam in an efficient manner. “Your housekeeper was worried that you might have suddenly taken ill, but there’s no cause for alarm.”

“Thank you…”

Donghyuck looked at you as he closed his doctor’s bag. “You’re very well loved.” Indeed this was the case. So why had you said what you had said the night before? His direct gaze seemed to be asking yourself that same question.

You felt you owed him an answer to his unspoken question. “My family loves me… to the point of being overprotective. They’ve picked the perfect fiance for me. Everyone around me cares for me a great deal. But…” But you’ve only experienced love on the receiving end. At least… until last night. Your eyes were drawn to his; You couldn’t look away. Moving as one, we leaned closer, until our faces were almost touching. “Dongh– Mmf!?”

He wrapped you in his arms just as he had done the night before, and you felt the heat of his lips over yours. The flames he’d kindled in your roared back to life, and you threw your arms around him in return. “What’s wrong with me…?” Donghyuck’s voice was faint and breathless. “I’ve met so many people, but no one who’s captivated me the way you do…”

“I feel the same way…” You always wanted to experience a fiery passionate love. It was something you had only ever read about in books. What you’d imagined was nothing like the scorching feeling in your chest. This isn’t the sweet longing they write about in stories. Now that you know what love feels like from the other side, you might never be the same.

Donghyuck let out a tremulous sigh as your lips parted once again. He rested his forehead against yours. “Y/N, I want you to show me love the way I did for you. I’ve been searching for someone to love me. You’ve been wanting someone to love. We’re perfect for each other.”

“Hyuck…” Every fiber of your being was irresistibly drawn toward him. It was enough to make you believe in destiny. You hardly recognize yourself like this. It’s a little scary. It felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff. One more step, and you wouldn’t be able to take it back. Even knowing that, the fall still called out to you.

“Y/N… one more…” His pleading tone had you leaning in before you could think better of it. His breath puffed across your lips and–

There was a knock at your door. It opened and your housekeeper came in. “How is Miss Y/N, Doctor?”

“Just a little overtired, that’s all. With some rest, she’ll be as good as new.” Donghyuck’s innocent act was flawless. You breathed a sigh of relief. That was really close. She nearly saw us too. “I’ll let you get your rest, Miss Y/N, and come back later to check on you. More stealthily this time.” He said the last part quietly enough that the housekeeper didn’t seem to hear, but your heart leapt into your throat all the same.

“Please do, Doctor. With her wedding coming up so soon, Miss Y/N needs to take special care of her health.” Those words hit you like a splash of cold water.

“Of course.” Donghyuck left immediately, so you didn’t get to see his expression. The housekeeper saw him out, and you watched from your window as he left through the front door. As you watched him walk away, he suddenly turned around. He was already quite far off, but he looked straight at you and gave you a small wave. Without thinking you ducked behind the curtain. Your pulse had just begun to slow, and now it was thundering in your ears again. We’ve only met last night, and we’ve barely spoken to one another… Can anyone really fall in love that quickly?

Last night’s events still remained on your mind. The blaze showed no signs of abating; in fact, it was growing so hot, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You feel like you’re being burned up from within, but even if you were consumed entirely, this flame wouldn’t go out… Is this what it feels like to love someone?

The love you had experienced was warm and comforting. This feeling was a roaring blaze; something dangerous– even maddening. You were restless. All you wanted to do was run after Donghyuck.

You couldn’t do that. You’re engaged. To be married, and soon. The thought of your wedding seemed to pour cold water over the passion burning in your chest. This feeling you’ve just discovered has to die before your wedding. You remembered his pale brown eyes, and your ribs started to creak, your chest too narrow to contain the emotion within.

—

Later that evening, you heard a tap on your balcony window.

“Good evening, I’m here to check on my patient.” As he’d promised that afternoon, Donghyuck had returned. It’s only been a few hours, but it feels like you’d been apart much longer.

“Hyuck…?” You ran to him and threw yourself into his arms. We fit perfectly together, and the feeling of contentment it gave you defied description. “Hyuck, I know we only met yesterday, but the thought that I’d never see you again was awful. Today, just the few hours we’ve been apart felt too long. That’s strange, isn’t it? Maybe there really is something wrong with me.”

“If there is, my symptoms are even worse than yours.” You looked up as he cupped your face in his hands. There was desperation in his eyes as he gazed into yours. “The thought of you makes my heart so full it feels like my chest might burst. I don’t know what to do with myself. I can’t forget the way you loved me last night. One night will never be enough. I need more. I need you to love me. I need to feel your lips on my skin, breathe in the scent of your hair, explore every line and curve of your body… or I’ll lose my mind.”

Those sugar sweet words might have sounded like idle flirtation if it hadn’t been for the fire in his eyes. You had no doubt he desperately wanted you every bit as desperately as he claimed. Your reflection in his eyes looked just as hungry as he did.

As we struggled to convey by looks what words could not express, his arms tightened around you. “I wish I could spirit you away and keep you all to myself. At first, I just thought you were sweet. A girl with naive ideas of romance. But when you touched me, I could tell you were different from everyone I’d ever met. Your desire to love someone was real and pure. You had so much affection to give, a man could drown in it. I wanted to. You’re the missing piece I’ve been searching for, all my life. Last night, I knew. Say the word and I’ll take you away from here. I’ll give up everything to be with you.”

“Hyuck…” His clinging arms, his pleading voice, his entire being seemed to cry out for you.

“Please, Y/N. Keep wanting me. Make me yours and only yours.”

All you have to do is agree and the man you love–Donghyuck–will take you wherever you want to go. But that would hurt your family and everyone who’s loved and nurtured you? If you refuse, you can continue your peaceful life, surrounded by people who care for you. But you might never be able to see Donghyuck like this again.

“I don’t need anything but you. Do you want me, Y/N? Or…”

“Of course I do… Donghyuck… I want your body and soul. And I want to give you all of me in return. I feel the same way you do. I don’t need anything but you.” You can’t lie to yourself about what you feel.

Donghyuck’s wide, surprised eyes narrowed into a smile. “I’m so glad to hear that… Can I kiss you?” You nodded, and Donghyuck leaned in hesitantly to brush his lips against yours. If possible, the hint of awkwardness in his kiss only intensified the affection you felt for him. "Thank you, Y/N. Thank you for loving me. This is the happiest I've been in my entire life."

"I know... I've never been this happy, either.” You never imagined loving someone would bring you such utter happiness. We fit into each other's arms like puzzle pieces. Our heartbeats synchronized as if we were a single being. "It's so strange. Until I met you, I had no idea what love was, and yet.. I feel like this is how we were always meant to end up.” Maybe this is how destiny works.

"I think you're right. We were fated for each other." It was almost as if he had heard your thoughts.

"Haha, I was just thinking that.”

"You were? We really are two peas in a pod." We shared a look and burst into giggles.We shared a look and burst into giggles.

Our sweet reunion was interrupted by a sudden knock at your bedroom door. Without waiting for a reply, your housekeeper opened the door. “Miss Y/N? I heard some odd sounds, are you– Oh, my heavens!” There wasn’t time for Donghyuck to hide, we were well and truly caught. “Oh, you’re the doctor who visited this afternoon. What on earth are you doing here at this house? Don’t tell me you broke into Miss Y/N’s room for some nefarious–”

“No, no! Nothing nefarious!” You waved your hands not liking the suspicious look on your housekeeper’s face. “I’m sorry we startled you, I never intended for this to happen, but.. I’ve fallen in love with this man.” Your heart pounded in your chest, and your voice wobbled as you explained. Donghyuck pressed your hands between his which kept them from trembling. Bolstered by his support, you felt the courage to press on. “I know how awful this seems, but I have to be true to my heart. So I’ve decided I’m going to elope with him…”

“Oh, Miss Y/N, you can’t! I… Help! Someone, come quickly!” Looking like she had seen a ghost, your housekeeper turned and shouted down the hallway for help. As she raised the alarm, lights came on all the mansion. This was just going from bad to worse.

You looked up at Donghyuck. His expression was impossibly calm. ”Like I said before, as long as I have you, I don’t need anything else.”

“Nothing’s changed. All I need is you, Donghyuck.”

He flashed you a smile, then tugged on your hands. “Then, let’s go.”

“All right, Let’s run away, Donghyuck.” We could hear footsteps pounding down the hallway outside. Without a backward glance, Donghyuck lifted you into his arms and sprang out the window.

Our wild flight through the sleeping city led us, at last, to a small inn. “The staff are friends of mine. No one will find us here. It’s been a while since I’ve run that far. You must be exhausted.”

“No, I’m fine.” You were still riding high on the excitement of our escape. You caught a similarly wild look in his eyes.

“Glad to hear it. You don’t mind if I perform a physical exam on you, do you? I need to make certain your body isn’t at the point of exhaustion and can perform more vigorous exercises. It’s extremely scientific.” Donghyuck leaned in with a smile and kissed you.

“Mm… Well, I’d hate to be a difficult patient…”

Suddenly in a modest city, the two of us shed our clothes and fell into each other’s arms. It made no difference to us that he was a doctor and you were the daughter of a noble family. The two of you were simply two lovers brought together by fate.

“Do you know? I think we were born to love each other.” Donghyuck whispered as he brushed his lips over your flushed skin.

“I think so too. I was born to meet you, Hyuck.”

Donghyuck smiled with guileless joy. “I’m so happy. I’ve been waiting my whole life for you. Thank you for finding me, Y/N. And for loving me.” He enfolded you in a tight embrace and kissed you softly. “I vow to live for this love, now and for all time.”

Your heart soared. Loving someone can bring pain and confusion. But it’s also the source of the greatest possible happiness. Just being in Donghyuck’s arms filled you with the greatest pleasure you had ever known. You know this flame inside you will never go out.

—

Some time later, you and Donghyuck had acquired a small house for yourselves. He continued his work as a doctor and you became his assistant. Your lives were busy and happy. One day, a letter arrived.

“It’s from your parents, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I thought my father would never answer…” Once you were feeling somewhat settled, you had written to your parents. You thanked them for how lovingly they had raised you, and apologized for running away. You told them that you two were working hard to bring happiness to as many people as you could. You had done your best to explain your feelings and make amends for the people you had hurt.

It took some time, but your father seemed to understand how you felt. “It says here that the man you were betrothed to has gotten married and seems happy. Father says that Mother, the housekeeper, and everyone at home wants to see me… so I should come visit. Can I?”

“Of course.” Donghyuck leaned over the back of your chair to hug you. “I was hoping to keep you all to myself forever, but I suppose I’ll have to share.”

“Oh, Hyuck… my body and soul already belong to you. What more do you need?”

“I’m a bottomless pit of need when it comes to you. Indulge me?” With an impish smile, he leaned down for a kiss. Our one night of forbidden passion had grown into a deeper love. You thought of all the ways he made you shiver with pleasure, and reached out to touch him the same way. “Mm… Haha, Y/N, you’re being a terrible tease…”

You smiled, continuing with light movements with your fingers.

Donghyuck continued his lecture as he arched his back to press his already bared skin against your lips. “Be gentle with me… Ah That’s just the right amount of pressure… Yes, like that.” His bright eyes and quickening breaths made his pleasure obvious. “I’ll have to spoil you even more than usual as a reward.”

His clever fingers found their mark as they always did, and you felt yourself begin to come apart… As his kisses rained down over you, you realized just how parched you had been without his love.

“Let me hear your voice. Let me feel you.” His fingers played over your skin, making you moan and shudder under him, breathless. Donghyuck’s breath almost seemed to steam with the heat of his stored up desire. The flush on his cheeks lent an added wantonness to his expression. Seeing him like that kindled an answering fire in you. He had shown you the true depth of his desire, and it shook you, even as your body thrilled to his every touch.

“Hyuck… if you keep doing that, I’ll…”

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll lose my mind. It feels too good.”

“Might be a nice change of pace, after the last few days. Show me what frenzy looks on you, Y/N…” Your back arched, hips jerking, as his fingers sought out your sensitive spots. You could hardly keep up with him; your head spun with nonstop stimulation. You were on fire, you were melting, you were overwhelmed with his touch, and starved for it at the same time.

“Ahaha, sorry… I love your reactions so much, it’s easy to get carried away.” You were a bit overwhelmed by Donghyuck’s enthusiasm, but you certainly didn’t want him to stop. The desire in his eyes and his hands, the heat building between us… his love throbbed like a frenzied heartbeat through it all. Urgent yet tender, each caress made your heart beat faster.

"Mm..." He pulled off your shirt and tossed it away, impatient to get at your skin. Lips and tongue mapped your throat, your chest. It was more than physical, after the fear of losing him and the relief of his miraculous cure. Every sensation was heightened-- you couldn't restrain your voice. "Ahh... Hyuck..." You couldn't get enough of him; your need only grew with each touch. You clung to his shoulders and called out the name you loved over and over.

"Rather than take everything from you, I want to give you everything that I am."

"Haah.. Aahh!” Donghyuck lowered himself over you, and pushed inside you. Finally you were together, as close as two people could be. Happiness bloomed inside you like a garden where spring had come early. Tears pricked your eyes.

"I love you, Y/N. Let me show you just how much."

Every touch, every word fanned the flames of your passion hotter and higher, till nothing existed in your world but him. You gave him your heart, fully and without reservation. Of course, there had never been any doubt.

And although you two had only met as strangers, you knew for certain that this was simply destiny.

PERM TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @h-aechanie

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thewritingrowlet · 8 months ago

Text

The Outing Trip pt. 1, ft. tripleS Xinyu

tags: daddy kink, anal teasing, creampie, praise kink (just a bit), rough

tw: violence (OC takes a punch in the face, nothing crazy I promise)

word count: 12k+

author's note: this is the first part of a small series (4 parts max.) inspired by an anon's idea of a university outing trip (minus the "stranded in an island due to a storm with a bunch of girls" part) featuring a handful of tripleS members. This part also mentions Yooyeon, Nakyoung, Dahyun, and Chaeyeon as I consider them to be candidates to be featured in future parts.

p.s. after I finish writing part 2 of this series, I'm gonna stop writing about tripleS members for one or two fics. Let me know if you think there's anyone (who is over the age of 18 in May 2024) that needs attention (be it bcs they're from a less-popular group, or bcs they only debuted recently and you're a fan, etc).

It is now September. The hot summer days are starting to go and be replaced by the chiller and refreshing days of shorter daylight that autumn usually has in its bag. September is also the month where every single student organization in the university goes on outings to welcome their new members. That includes the student council that you’re the president of. You’re having a meeting with a bunch of council staffs and governors—the term your university uses to refer to council leaders on the faculty level because the university wants to replicate real-world governmental structure—in about 10 minutes to talk about details about the outing itself. Everyone will be wearing their uniform, which is a sight you find to be cute.

“President-oppa!”, you hear a girl’s voice behind you as you’re walking to the meeting place, so you turn around to see who it is. You see Xinyu, the council’s vice president who also happens to be your lovely girlfriend, walking like a supermodel towards you. “Hey, princess”, you greet her before taking her hand and pecking it. Xinyu loves it when you do those two things (call her “princess” and kiss her hand), blushing every time she sees you do it. You, on the other hand, don’t really care if her fondness of praises is a sign of narcissism because no one can tell you she doesn't deserve such treatment. You also don’t really care about displaying affection in public—why wouldn’t you want to show affection to your perfect-in-every-aspect girlfriend all the time? It also serves as an announcement that both you and Xinyu are off-limits since the relationship is not a secret.

“O-oppa”, she looks down at her shoes to hide the red hue on her cheeks, “you always do these sweet things to me”. You wrap an arm around her waist, “because you deserve it, sweetie”. She twiddles her index fingers in shyness, “but my heart can only take so much of it in a day, oppa”. “Skill issue, baby”, you chuckle—how adorable is it that you’ve been dating her for over a year and living together in an apartment for almost as long and she still gets overwhelmed with your sweet gestures and words?

“Xinyu-yah”, you throw a lifebuoy to save her from drowning in her own thoughts, “we need to get to get there fast, baby; there’s only a few minutes left and we’re the last people who get to be late”. You take her hand and start running, making Xinyu yell in surprise and possibly turn some people’s heads. You stop running when you’re in front of the elevator and press the button to go up. It’s nice that the elevator doesn’t have a CCTV in it, because you can share a bit of intimacy with Xinyu by pecking her on the lips and forcing a blush once again—her poor heart is guaranteed to give out by the end of the day. “Oppa, I really can’t take much of this anymore”, Xinyu complains. “Of course you can, what are you talking about?”, you laugh. You and Xinyu need to put on a serious face soon, though, as the elevator doors are opening, and you’ll be met with people outside.

“I thought you two were going to be late, not gonna lie”, Nakyoung, Xinyu’s best friend and fellow council member, greets you at the doors of the auditorium. “Do you really think that low of us, Nakyoung-ah?”, Xinyu protests. Nakyoung laughs, “not really, no—just thought maybe you ran off on a date or something”. Xinyu pinches Nakyoung’s cheeks in annoyance, making a small scene in front of a bunch of council members. You shake your head in amusement, “alright, that’s enough, kids. Is everyone here, Nakyoung-ah?”. “Almost; the Faculty of Medicine’s governor will be late. She’s still assisting in a lab and said you can start without her”, Nakyoung explains before taking you and Xinyu’s hands and pulling the both of you into the auditorium. You look at the clock hanging on the wall and see that you’re perfectly on time—perfectly calculated, if you say so yourself.

“Good afternoon, governors. Thank you for taking the time for today’s little meeting”, you take the center spot on the stage. You sometimes wonder why you talk and act like this in front of fellow students but since the university wants this to be as authentic of an experience as possible, you can’t help but play along. “This is September, and you guys know what it means: we need to welcome the new members of our councils on both the university and faculty level. Would someone kindly kick us off and report their preparation progress?”, you see the Faculty of Science’s governor, Kim Yooyeon, raise her hand so you step to the side and let her take your spot on the stage.

She starts presenting the things she and her members have done to prepare, such as consulting with the dean, surveying the area she wants to go to, and calculating the cost of the entire thing. You admire her thoroughness and ability to think ahead—the girl students call the goddess isn’t just known for her looks, but also sharpness of mind. Just one thing, though: she doesn’t like attention, as shown by the way she jogs back to her seat while partially covering her face after she’s done talking. “Thank you, Yooyeon-ah—oh, hello, Jiwoo-yah!”, you greet Son Jiwoo, the aforementioned governor from the Faculty of Medicine who just entered the room. “Hi, hello”, she rushes to her seat, “sorry for being late, I was needed in the lab”. “No, you’re fine, sweetie. Let’s continue, though”, your over-friendliness spills out and Xinyu glares at you from her seat, but you miss it since you don’t have eyes on the back of your head.

One governor after the other takes turns to present their plans; some have come up with elaborate plans, while others have simpler ideas as to how to welcome their new members. Once everyone is done presenting their plans, you wrap up the meeting (not without expressing appreciation to everyone) and let them go so that they can go about the rest of their day. Yooyeon stays behind, probably because she has some things to discuss with the three of you. “Hey, guys”, she approaches slowly, “I want to talk about something, but can we get out of here first? This auditorium keeps reminding me of some of my hardest days”. “Yeah, sure. Lead the way, unnie”, Nakyoung says before suggesting another idea, “are you guys free, by the way? We can talk over some food if you are—oppa will pay since he’s the richest among us”.

Nakyoung and Yooyeon walk side-by-side while holding hands, while you and Xinyu walk behind them with your hands intertwined. Xinyu then slows down her steps, creating a decent gap between Nakyoung and Yooyeon. “Oppa”, she tugs your hand, a hint of sadness in her voice, “you.. you’re not interested in Jiwoo-unnie, are you?”. Her question catches you off guard, “Jiwoo-unnie? Son Jiwoo? No, of course not. Why?”. “You, um, were a little too friendly with her earlier—I mean, she is pretty, so I understand”, she sulks. You try to recount what happened during the meeting, and you realize that you called her “sweetie”—that pet name is supposed to be reserved for Xinyu only. You instantly feel a huge wave of guilt at the realization, “I’m so sorry, baby. I promise you it was nothing but a slip up”. She lets go of your hand and hugs the clipboard she’s holding with both arms, “please don’t do that again. I-I didn’t like it”, she says.

She refuses to hold your hand for the rest of the walk, and that’s a hint the size of a mountain that you’ve fucked up and you’ll need to make it up to your princess. You finally arrive at the student-favorite noodle spot after a few minutes of walking. It’s not too packed since most students are in class, considering what time it is. Nakyoung joins your group after ordering for everyone. Yooyeon sits across Nakyoung, so that leaves Xinyu no option but to sit across you. Only when she sits down can you see her teary eyes, “you fucked up and now you’re in trouble, son”, your heart says. “Okay, unnie, we’re here. So, what was it you wanted to talk about?”, Nakyoung says. Yooyeon scratches the back of her head, “oh, um, I actually just wanted to hang out with you guys. You seem to be a fun trio to be around”. You chuckle, “yeah, that’s fine, we were getting food regardless. Welcome to the fold, I guess”. You arrange your words more carefully this time because you don’t want to fuck things up even further.

You’re now standing at the bus stop after the meal, still surrounded by your friends. “So, what now?”, you ask. Nakyoung, oblivious to your situation with Xinyu, throws her idea into the ring, “let’s go to your place, oppa. I really wanna lay down on that gloriously soft and fluffy sofa of yours”. You glance at Xinyu, who doesn’t seem to hate the idea, and nod in agreement to the idea, “yeah, we can do that. What about you, Yooyeon-ah? You have other classes after this?”. “N-no, ca-can I join you again? I-I don’t have many friends, you see”, Yooyeon hides her face behind her hands after saying that—you never knew a goddess could be so shy around people and have so few friends, but here you are. “Alright, let’s get on that bus so that we don’t have to walk to the parking lot”, you point to the approaching yellow campus bus—the off-site parking lot is not too far but you just can’t be assed to walk at the moment.

Doesn’t take long for the bus to arrive and take the four of you to the parking lot. You lead them to your car and Yooyeon makes a comment when she sees it, “nice car, Jisung-ah”. “I’m telling you, Jisung-oppa is rich, unnie. Daddy and mommy’s money, right, oppa?”, Nakyoung chimes in to tease you—this mischievous cat never runs out of ideas to tease her friends. “Well, when you put it like that”, you say. You’re never one to brag about your wealth, so you simply thank Yooyeon for the compliment and unlock the car so that your friends can get in. Xinyu gets in the front passenger seat like usual while the other two sit in the middle row.

You’re now out of the parking lot and on the way back to your apartment. “I need to stop at a convenience store, sorry. I need to buy something”, you say to your friends. “I bet he’s buying condoms”, Nakyoung chirps. Xinyu is probably not too entertained with what Nakyoung is suggesting, but they tease each other like that all the time. “I promise you I’m not”, you say as you pull into the driveway of the convenience store. “You guys do it raw, Xinyu-yah?”, Nakyoung lets out a fake surprise gasp at the end. “Kim Nakyoung, I promise I will throw you out the window of our apartment if you keep teasing me”, Xinyu says. “Look at them, unnie; they live together and have unprotected sex all the time”, Nakyoung turns to Yooyeon, who hides her face behind her palms again. You roll your eyes and get out of the car—you just want to get Xinyu’s favorite chocolate and snacks, it is not supposed to be this difficult, ever.

You finally arrive at your building after a short drive from the university. You hop off the car and walk in front, and would you look at that: Xinyu is wrapping a hand around your arm and leaning her head against your shoulder; “glad you’re feeling better, baby. I’m so sorry for being an ass”, you whisper to her. “I can’t stay mad at you for long, oppa, you know this”, Xinyu whispers back. Nakyoung is used to seeing your public display of affection, but Yooyeon, who is hanging out with your bunch for the first time, is not; she’s probably looking away so that she doesn't have to see this. You walk to the elevator and continue to your unit followed by the three girls, until you finally arrive at the door. Xinyu does the honors and unlocks the door before running into the bedroom. “Welcome to our little apartment, girls. Please make yourself at home”, you stand to the side and let them in. Nakyoung, as she has promised earlier, runs straight to your sofa and lies down on it, “Little apartment, my ass—oh my God, it’s so comfortable; this thing must be mad expensive. Unnie, come here, what are you doing?”, she invites Yooyeon who’s standing awkwardly in the doorway. “You can go with her, Yooyeon-ah. Please, make yourself comfortable”, you encourage her.

You then make your way to the bedroom to follow Xinyu and close the door behind you, you see that she has ditched her shirt for a white sleeveless tee that fits her perfect body like a bespoke glove. “I know you bought me snacks. Show me where they are or I will, I will—what’s a good one—not kiss you for the rest of the day”, she knows she can’t threaten you to save her life, so she must improvise to make herself sound scary. You chuckle and fish a bar of chocolate and a bunch of chips out of the bag, “for you, princess”. “Oh my God, chocolate too?! Thank you, oppa, you’re the best!”, she happily accepts your tribute and rips open a bag of chips. You peck the girl who’s munching so enthusiastically on the forehead, “anything for you, love. My world is dark without you”. Xinyu blushes at your words, “I can say the same about you, oppa. You know that right?”. You open your mouth to answer her, but that’s when you hear a knock on the door. “Oppa, Xinyu-yah, are you guys done having sex? Yooyeon-unnie wants to talk”, Nakyoung says from the other side of the door.

Xinyu rushes out of the bedroom and flicks Nakyoung’s forehead, “we were not having sex, God damn it!”. You follow Xinyu out of the bedroom and head to the dining table, “play nice, girls. Come, we can talk here”, you call out to your friends. Yooyeon joins you on the table, followed by Xinyu and Nakyoung who have broken their little scuffle. “Before we start”, you poke Xinyu on the shoulder, “order some pizza for us, sweetie. We can get your favorite”. Xinyu runs back to the bedroom to get her phone and order her favorite pizza—food is truly the bullet train to her heart (and pants but we’ll save that for later). She high-steps her way to the table to join you, seemingly excited at the prospect of having her favorite pizza. She stops next to you and pecks you on the cheek, “I love you”, she says. “I love you more, sweetie. Sit, please”, you pull a chair for her. Nakyoung sighs, “I know you just joined us, unnie, but I guarantee that you’ll get tired of seeing these two act like this very soon”. “Oh, uh, I personally find it cute, actually. I’m happy for them; I hope I can experience that myself one day”, Yooyeon confesses before looking away.

“It’s nothing crazy, really”, Yooyeon starts, “I was just curious about your council’s plans to welcome the new members of your own. I-I was thinking maybe I discuss it if that’s okay with you guys”. Xinyu gets excited hearing those words, “of course, unnie. We would love that”. “Can you tell me a summary first?”, Yooyeon says. You tell her how you and Xinyu plan to do a 3-day trip to the nearby island that also happens to be a famous tourism destination. Nakyoung helps explain the schedule and agendas that she and another council member have come up with. Lastly, Xinyu explains other details such as logistics, methods of transportation, and accommodation; “we are prohibiting alcohol for this trip, by the way. The last thing we need is some drunk freshmen fucking things up”, she adds. “How do you plan to do that, exactly?”, Yooyeon inquires. “Well, I called the manager of the accomodation and specifically and precisely asked them to not sell anyone from our group alcohol and to notify ask should someone try”, Xinyu explains.

Yooyeon gets up from her seat and asks for your permission to get water, so you tell her to get some from the dispenser in the kitchen. She then gets back in her seat and starts talking again. “So, president, vice president, and—what are you again?”, Yooyeon turns to Nakyoung, who lets out a frustrated grunt, “Oh, God damn it—I’m the secretary and the third wheel to the president and vice president. Remember that, please”. “Right, sorry”, Yooyeon clears her throat, “The reason I wanted to talk to you guys is because I have some potential candidates that might be able to join you guys in the council at the university level”. “Okay, go on”, you encourage her to keep talking. “They initially wanted to join us at the faculty, but we couldn’t accept them simply because we were full. I was thinking that maybe these two can thrive under your flag instead”. “Names, unnie?”, Nakyoung asks as she pulls out her phone to write their names. “Seo Dahyun, born in ‘03, and Kim Chaeyeon, born in ‘04”, Yooyeon says, “Dahyun had to retake the SAT for the second time; that’s why it took her a bit longer to get here, but that fact doesn’t take anything away from her, I assure you”.

Yooyeon obviously knows these people better than anyone in the room, since she knows them and has interviewed them personally, so the three of you decide to trust her perception of them. Xinyu arranges an interview for each of them tomorrow at noon—no precise time yet since you’ll need to confirm their schedules with each of them. Yooyeon gives Nakyoung their numbers and she starts hitting them up on CocoaSpeak. “One more thing, Jisung-ah”, she looks at you, “I want to be in the room where it happens”. “Sure, you can be there with us for the interview”, you say to her. “Won’t that be too intimidating?”, Xinyu utters her concern. Yooyeon shakes her head in disagreement, “these two don’t get intimidated easily, they’ll be fine”.

You hear a buzz from the door, so you ask Xinyu to get the pizza from the delivery guy. You make sure to pay attention to the exchange because Xinyu has had a bad experience with a degenerate delivery guy who thought that she was attractive and decided to take his 1-in-a-billion chance. You understand that you can take the pizza yourself but letting her do it helps Xinyu overcome her trauma as she knows that you have her back. Xinyu slams the door a bit too roughly and runs back towards the dining table. “I present to you, the Zhou Xinyu Special!”, she opens the box and puts it down on the table. Yooyeon keeps staring at the large pizza on the table in confusion, until Nakyoung notices and pokes her in the arm to get her attention, “it’s a pizza with ground beef, pepperoni, mushroom, and extra cheese, unnie—they use a lot of cheese, hence the pie-like visual”. “Ah, I see”, Yooyeon nods after hearing the explanation.

You take a slice from the box and start eating, followed by the three girls. “I’ve eaten this pizza so often, but it still amazes me every time. You really know your way around food, don’t you, Xinyu-yah?”, Nakyoung remarks. “Of course, food is the second thing I love the most in this world after oppa”, Xinyu says before exclaiming at the taste of her favorite pizza. “I love you too”, you wipe your mouth with a napkin before pecking Xinyu on the cheek. Xinyu blushes after hearing your words and receiving a peck, as she tries to hide her face behind the slice of pizza in her hand. “You two are so cute”, Yooyeon comments, not helping Xinyu overcome the heat on her cheeks.

The four of you start talking about a bunch of topics, from how Yooyeon initially wanted to join the university’s council but got rejected, how Nakyoung met Yooyeon for the first time and thought that she was a cold and scary person, and, at Yooyeon’s request, how you and Xinyu started dating. You explain that you had known Xinyu for a while as a fellow member of the council during freshman year but only admired her from afar. The two of you were then placed in the same group for a community service project the president at the time had come up with. “Xinyu was crying alone after the first day because of how exhausting and hard it was, so I mustered up the courage to approach her and offered to take her to dinner because I always hate seeing a girl cry, no matter what reason she might have. I actually was so scared that she would push me away instead of taking my offer”, you explain to the small crowd in front of you. It’s now Xinyu’s time to tell her side of the story; “I saw how kind oppa really is behind his rich guy façade; he was super helpful and attentive to everyone that day and there was no way I would’ve pushed him away—I wanted him for myself”. Xinyu leans against your shoulder before continuing her speech, “After our first time having sex, he revealed that I was his first and all I could think about was how I hoped he had been my first as well—I’m so sorry, oppa”. You squeeze her hand, “there’s nothing to be sorry for, love. You’re here with me now”.

Everyone has dispersed from the dining table and is now in their own worlds. Yooyeon is looking at notes on her tablet, Nakyoung is lying on the sofa with her eyes closed, Xinyu is chilling in the bedroom, and you’re sitting on the toilet with your phone in hand. You’re mindlessly scrolling through social media until you see a notification from Xinyu. It’s a picture of her lying in bed in her pajamas with one of the dolls you bought for her. “How cute”, you think to yourself. She sees that you’re not replying to her, so she expresses her unhappiness, “>: say something already”. “I’m busy, bby”, you reply to her before flushing the toilet and cleaning your ass. You’re on your way to the bathroom door as it swings open seemingly on its own. Xinyu barges into the bathroom and locks the door behind her. She puts her hands on your chest and pushes you to the wall, “if you won’t give me the attention I want, I’ll get it myself”. She pulls your shorts and boxers down together as she kneels in front of you, making your cock spring out of its restraints instantly.

“We could’ve done so much more had you given me the attention I wanted”, she’s doing her best to instill regret and guilt in your heart. Her hand is wrapped around your cock tightly and you don’t want to make her mad even more because you don’t want her to break your cock. “P-princess, they’re still here. We can do this later”, you persuade her. “I don’t care, they can go suck cock if they want”, she says before taking you in her mouth. The wetness and warmth of Xinyu’s mouth sends shivers down your spine. You dare hold her hair in your hand as she bobs her head up and down your shaft while gagging every now and then. “P-princess”, you mutter before moaning, “you’re so good, baby”. She instantly removes you from her mouth and squeezes your cock, “stay quiet if you want to make it out of this alive”. “Oh, fuck—I’m-I’m sorry, please don’t break my penis”, you say to the angry-but-horny girl kneeling in front of you.

She accepts your apology for now and gets back to stuffing her face with your cock. You don’t want to upset her considering how vulnerable you are at the moment, so you do nothing but moan. She removes your cock from her mouth once again when she feels it twitch in her mouth, “I’ll let you cum if you ask nicely”. You take a deep breath before ‘asking nicely’, “please let me cum, princess”. “Not good enough, but I’ll take it for now”, she says before letting you in her mouth once again. It doesn’t take long until your cum is accumulated on the tip of your cock. Xinyu knows this, so she goes deeper until she reaches the base of your cock. “I’m cum-ming”, you say with heavy breaths, “princess, please”. Your cock blows a load as soon as you say that, and Xinyu tries her best to not let a drop leak out of her mouth.

You lean back against the wall to catch your breath, feeling drained—quite literally—by Xinyu’s little stunt. You look down at Xinyu who is still on her knees, and you see her gulp down your load into her stomach. “Xinyu, baby”, you say with heavy pants, “thank you, that was really good”. “Of course, oppa. I love you—I’ll drain your soul the next time you ignore me, though”, she rises to her feet and wipes her mouth before pecking your cheek. “Now how do we get out of this place?”, you ask her for ideas. “Just walk out, we’re adults”, she shrugs. You do as she suggested and walk out of the bathroom as casually as possible. Yooyeon sees the two of you walking out together and covers her face with some papers. You see Xinyu give her a wink and gesture to her to stay quiet.

Xinyu then walks to the sofa and poke Nakyoung in the arm, “Naky-yah, are you staying the night or what?”. Nakyoung wakes up slowly from her peaceful nap on your sofa, “hngh, what time is it?”. You look at the clock above the TV, “about 7.30 pm”, you tell the sleepy cat. Nakyoung rises and walks to the fridge like a zombie, “I’m tempted to stay but I imagine you two want some private time”, she says. You can tell that her playfulness hasn’t returned to her entirely, as shown by how she hasn’t bantered or teased anyone yet. She takes a few gulps of fridge-cold water out of her bottle—she visits your apartment a lot so a few months ago she decided to leave a bottle in your fridge so that she wouldn’t drink from one of yours—and turns to you, “did you guys have fun when I was asleep?”. Xinyu answers her right away with confidence, “I did—I don’t know about oppa, though”, she says, hinting at sex. Nakyoung smirks as she walks back to the sofa, “if you had fun, then so did oppa, most likely”.

Nakyoung spends another 30 minutes lying on your sofa while on her phone, while Yooyeon is still busy with studying. “Unnie, I think we should leave soon”, she says to the studying goddess as she gets up. “Hm? Oh, yeah, sure”, Yooyeon says as she starts tidying up her papers and tablet. Nakyoung takes Yooyeon’s hand and walks to the door with her. “Thank you for the hospitality, you two”, Yooyeon bows slightly and waves at you and Xinyu. “You should hang out with us more, Yooyeon-ah. See you at the interview— byeee”, you say as they exit the door and close it behind them.

Seeing that the coast is now clear, Xinyu runs to you and jumps at you, so you catch her with both arms. “I’m tired, oppa. Take me to bed, please”, she says with a cute whiny voice. You peck her temple and carry her to the bed as requested. You set Xinyu on the bed with you on top of her body, and she immediately wraps her long limbs around your body. “Stay, please”, she says, acting cute to convince you to do what she wants, “I can feel you poking me down there, by the way”. It’s not that you’re horny, it’s just that you’re long—almost too long, “I’m sorry, sweetie”. “I’m horny and tired at the same time, which one do I choose, oppa?”, she pinches your cheek playfully. “I suggest sleeping, love. I don’t know if I have another load for you and I would hate to disappoint”, you kiss her forehead apologetically. “Hmph you’re no fun, oppa, but I love you so I’ll listen to you”, Xinyu pouts and lets you go from her strangling limbs.

It is now Friday. You and the usual suspects will be interviewing the candidates that Yooyeon told you about a few days ago. Nakyoung gave each candidate freedom to choose the place of the interview, and they both chose the multipurpose meeting room in the library building, so now you and Xinyu make your way to the appointed place—one problem, though: there’s quite a commotion in front of the meeting room. “You’re holding an interview, aren’t you? I know you are. Why aren’t you letting me in?”, the guy is shouting at Nakyoung who’s holding the line at the door. You see that Nakyoung is in deep distress, but you want to observe the situation a little bit more before jumping in. That is when you see the guy lay his hands on Nakyoung, which you’re not a fan of—Xinyu’s friends are your friends, and you’re not letting harm come their way. “Listen to her and just leave, man. We’ll pretend this never happened”, you say with a serious voice and grab him by the shoulder.

Surprisingly, the guy thinks that it’s a good idea to get violent and punches you in the face as he turns around, “SHUT THE FUCK UP”, he yells out. Nothing could’ve prepared you for a punch in the face, so you took a few steps back in surprise. Xinyu rushes to your aid in panic while screaming, “oh my God, oppa! Oppa, are you okay? Somebody, get security!”. “Holy shit, you’re so fucked”, Nakyoung says to the guy, who only now figured out who he just punched, “out of all the people present, you chose to punch the president—absolutely incredible. You still expect us to accept you after seeing you act like this? We will make your life miserable for this, by the way; we don’t forget”. The guy approaches you slowly in fear, “I-I’m so sorry, sunbaenim, I don’t know what got into me. Are you okay?”. You sigh in disappointment, not because you just took a punch in the face, but because someone thought it was okay to be violent, especially on campus grounds. “I suggest finding a lawyer”, you say, angriness obvious in your voice. He kneels and bows in front of you to beg for forgiveness, “no, no, please. I’m so sorry. I’ve learned my lesson, sunbaenim, please”. You hear the boots of the security guards approaching, so you say your last piece to the brat, “you have not, but you will soon”.

Once you see that the security guards have control of the situation, you leave the scene and forcefully drag Xinyu and Nakyoung by their wrists into the room. “Op-oppa, you’re hurting me; please let go”, Nakyoung tries to pry your fingers off her wrist. You didn’t realize that you were holding their hands so tightly, so you let them go and apologize. “Thank you for saving me, guys”, Nakyoung sobs as she hugs Xinyu for comfort, “he-he was so adamant, and I got so scared”. “I’m glad he decided to punch me and not one of you”, you sigh, “where is Yooyeon, by the way?”. “I’m here”, Yooyeon says as she closes the door behind her, “what just happened? Why are there security guards?”. “Someone thought it was a good idea to punch Jisung-oppa”, Xinyu explains to the confused girl. Yooyeon shakes her head and sighs, “are you okay, Jisung-ah?”. You rub the spot where the punch landed and reply to her, “I’ll be fine—it hurts, though”.

You take a few minutes to catch your breath and process everything that just happened while Xinyu, Yooyeon, and Nakyoung brief each other about the upcoming interview. You soon hear some knocks on the door and a girl peeks into the room, “excuse me, we’re here for the interview”. “Oh, hello, you guys must be Dahyun and Chaeyeon”, Nakyoung greets them and lets them in. Dahyun gasps in surprise when she sees your face, “oh God, what happened to you, sunbaenim? Why is there a bruise on your face?”. “We can talk about that as we go. Please, have a seat and stop calling me and everyone else in this room ‘sunbaenim’. We’ll interview you guys at the same time, I hope that’s okay”, you gesture to the empty chairs on the round table, and they take a seat in them. “So, there’s something I need to explain before we start”, you start the conversation, “you guys are here because Governor Kim over here recommended that you be considered to be recruited into the university council because her faculty council is full”. They turn to Yooyeon and express their appreciation to her, which makes Yooyeon smile in shyness.

You take the first turn to ask them a bunch of questions, from what makes them interested in joining the council, what they think the council should be for students and the surrounding community, and if they’ll interested in becoming the president in the future. They answer each question with some of the best answers you’ve ever heard in your term as president, and you can tell that everyone in the room is impressed and is starting to like them. Xinyu and Nakyoung then take turns asking them questions of their own while Yooyeon opts to observe and listen in silence.

Once they’re done asking questions and getting answers, it’s the recruits’ turn to ask questions. Dahyun kicks off the session by asking you about your wound, “can I ask what happened to your face, oppa?”. “You can, Dahyun-ah”, you sigh, “someone punched me in the face after screaming at Nakyoung-ie because she didn’t let him join the interview—disappointing behavior, if you ask me”. Xinyu moves to you in her chair and grabs your hand, “are you actually pressing charges, oppa? I would love it if you did—no one gets to punch my boyfriend like that”. “He’s your boyfriend, unnie?”, Chaeyeon asks the vice president. Xinyu brings a palm to her forehead, “oh, right, I forgot that you’re not in our circle yet—yes, he is, and I love him and I hate seeing him get hurt. We’ll go get some ointment after this, oppa, okay?”. “The president and vice president are dating, unnie. Are we in a drama right now?”, Chaeyeon turns to Dahyun, who lets out a giggle.

The six of you spend more time getting to know each other better as individuals, and you can tell again that everyone is really interested in having them join the council and this small circle of yours. Nakyoung explicitly tells them about it; “I know we only met today but I know that everyone here likes the two of you, so I sincerely ask you to consider joining our little friend group once you’re formally accepted as members of the council. Your cute little governor here is also with us, by the way”, she says—the way she’s saying it makes it sound like it’s a circle of nepotism with leading figures of the council and a bunch of new recruits. Dahyun shyly accepts the invitation, “we would love that, unnie. Thank you for being so kind to juniors like us”.

The interview is now done, and you find yourself surrounded by 5 girls outside the library. “Oppa, I’m hungry. Can we get lunch?”, Xinyu tugs your hand. “We can, sweetie. Wanna invite the others as well?”, you reply to her. Xinyu turns to the others, “guys, we’re gonna go get lunch, wanna join us?”. Nakyoung and Yooyeon obviously nod in agreement, but Dahyun and Chaeyeon are hesitant. “You two can join us as well, no need to be shy. We’re your friends, just a bit older in age”, you say to them. Chaeyeon answers for herself and Dahyun, “we would love that, oppa, if that’s okay with you”. Nakyoung pinches Chaeyeon’s cheeks playfully, “we’re friends, God damn it. Start acting accordingly, will you?”. You lead them to your car that’s parked in the campus’ parking lot—the parking lot is not as packed on Fridays since the professors are usually doing other stuff off campus, and you managed to find one because you arrived early. Chaeyeon makes a comment when she sees your car, “OF COURSE HE’S RICH—oh my God, I’m so sorry, oppa”. You chuckle at her comment, “it’s okay, I’ve heard that a lot before. Come on, let’s get in”.

You find yourself sailing the slow sea of Friday afternoon traffic, thankfully it’s not as bad as usual. “Does anyone have any idea where we should go?”, you ask the crowd in your car. Dahyun raises her hands after mustering up as much confidence as she can, “can we go get burgers, oppa? There’s a good burger shop nearby—if-if everyone else agrees, that is”. Xinyu is the most excited one at the prospect, “we sure can, I looove burgers. Drive faster, oppa!”. You laugh at her words, “just admit that you love everything, sweetie”.

Dahyun wasn’t lying when she said it was near, as you are now parked in front of an alleyway where the burger shop is. “We’ve been students for so long, but we’ve never heard about this shop once”, you remark. Dahyun shyly confesses to the group, “Th-this place is my parents’, oppa. I-I wanted to promote my parents’ business since they only opened recently, I’m sorry”. Xinyu rushes to hug Dahyun from the side, “awww, how cute. You’re such a good daughter, Dahyun-ah”. Dahyun hides her face behind her palms before replying to Xinyu, “you’re so kind, unnie”. “Now you know why people fall for her, Dahyun-ah”, you say, bragging about your lovely girlfriend to your new friend.

Dahyun leads you into the shop and runs towards the cashier to hug the lady attending it. “Everyone, this is my mom, you can call her Mrs. Seo—duh. Mom, this the council’s president, vice president, secretary, and governor—obviously you know Chaeyeon already. We just became friends today”, she introduces everyone to her mom by pointing at you one by one. “Aigoo, you brought your friends, Dahyun-ah? Welcome, kids—oh my God, what happened to your face? Also, you don’t need to pay today since you’re Dahyun’s friends”, Dahyun’s mom says to your group. You don’t want to not pay, considering how much your friends eat and the fact that your friend’s parents own the place; “It’s a bit of a long story, madam. We would hate to not pay; we eat a lot, you see”, you try to convince her mom. “Okay but promise us you’ll come back. Now what can I get for you?”, Mrs. Seo asks you. You turn to Dahyun, who most likely knows what’s best here, “you have any recommendations, Dahyun-ah?”. “I mean, I think everything is good but I’m very biased”, she giggles.

Since this is your first time here, you decide to choose whatever catches your fancy, which happens to be a double cheeseburger with portobella mushroom and beef bacon. Everyone else then takes turns to order before leaving to find a place to sit together. Mrs. Seo tells you to join two tables together since they only have 4 chairs each, so you do as she says. While you wait, you decide to talk with your friends—you know, like friends do.

It takes about 20 minutes for the food to come out, not bad at all considering how big of an order it was. Mrs. Seo calls out to Dahyun to help carry the food to your table, so she stands up and heads to the kitchen to help. You see the visuals of each thing on the trays, and you can’t help but drool at the sight. “Holy sh—excuse my language—that looks so good!”, Nakyoung shows her enthusiasm to the food. You see that Yooyeon, who usually shows little emotions, has an excited face as well, and it brings joy to Mrs. Seo. “You are such sweet kids. I’m glad Dahyun can be friends with you”, she says. “The pleasure is ours, madam. Dahyun is such a sweet girl as well”, Xinyu says.

Dahyun and her mom set the trays on the table, and everyone jumps to get their stuff right away. Nakyoung is the first to take a bite, and she exclaims in excitement immediately, “oh my God, this is incredible—Mrs. Seo, this is amazing!”. “Omo, I’m so glad you like it”, she says before putting a big squeeze bottle on the table, “try this with the fries, will you? We’ve been developing a sauce recipe and would love to hear some feedback—Chaeyeon-ie has tried this before so she knows already”. Xinyu squeezes the sauce on a piece of fry and shoves it in her mouth, “oh my, that is glorious. What sauce is this, Mrs. Seo? Oppa, try this, quick!”. You take the bottle from Xinyu’s hands and do the same thing she did, and you instantly let out a satisfied groan thanks to the taste. “it’s minced garlic, chives, and white pepper mixed with mayonnaise and a little bit of my husband’s hot sauce—you know, you two look so cute together; have you considered dating?”, she explains. “They are indeed dating, madam”, Nakyoung answers for you with a laugh like the spokesperson that she often is. Mrs. Seo gasps, “oh, that’s so cute. Alright, I’m gonna stop bothering you guys—enjoy!”.

No one says anything for the rest of the meal as they savor every glorious bite of their food, letting out excited yelps and satisfied groans at the incredible taste. “Dahyun-ah”, you say after swallowing a bite, “would your parents be interested in getting some investment?”. “Look at him, flexing his wealth in front of his junior”, Nakyoung says. Dahyun’s eyes widen at your unexpected question, “I-I’ll need to ask my parents”, she says. “Can you please ask now? I’m curious what they’d say”, you push further. Dahyun sips her drink before running to the cashier and dragging his mom back to the table. “Mom, mom, president-oppa wants to invest in us!”, Dahyun excitedly says to her mom. Mrs. Seo’s turns her head to you in surprise, “do you actually?”. “I do, madam”, you say, as humble sounding as possible, “I think you can do great things with this business, hence my interest”. “I, I”, you see tears gathering in Mrs. Seo’s eyes, “thank you for the kind words, son. Yes, we would love to get an investment—what are the terms, though?”. “My family’s treasurer will reach out to your family in less than 7 business days, madam. You can discuss the terms with her—I’ll make sure it’s more favorable to you than me”, you say to her. “Please stand up, son”, Mrs. Seo says to you, so you do as she says. She hugs you warmly as she’s shedding (you hope) happy tears, “thank you so much, son; it means a lot to our family. How rich are you that your family has a treasurer, though?”. You answer her question with the answer your parents have taught you since you were a kid, “we are comfortable, madam”. She lets go of the hug and wipes her eyes, “I gotta call my husband; this is crazy! Dahyun-ah, isn’t this crazy?”. Dahyun bows to you, “thank you so much, oppa. We won’t forget your kindness”. You’re surprised to see her bow to you, so you grab her shoulders and make her straighten her back, “oh, c’mon, there’s no need to act like that”.

You excuse yourself and head to the back alley behind the shop to call your family’s treasurer, Mrs. Kwon Yuri. She picks up immediately after one ring, “Good afternoon, Mr. Jung. Can I help you?”. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Kwon”, you greet her, “I’m planning to make an investment in a burger shop owned by my friend’s family. Can you please handle it for me? I’ll send you their number after this”. Mrs. Kwon stays silent for a few seconds, but you hear her keyboard clacking over the phone, “I can, Mr. Jung; I will reach out to them in two days”. You feel a wave of relief in your heart, “sounds great, Mrs. Kwon. Be sure to make it favorable for them, please—5 or 10 percent is fine. Thanks for the help”. You send her their number after hanging up and with it, your investment will soon be confirmed, and they’ll get a small boost to grow their business.

Unbeknownst to you, Xinyu has been hiding around the corner waiting for you to end the call. She runs to you when she hears you hang up the phone and hugs you tightly. “My God, that is so sexy, oppa”, she says. “What is, baby?”, you say, unsure about what she’s referring to. “The fact that you’re willing to use your money to help someone else. I know it’s probably spare change for you but it’s still meaningful”, she looks at you straight in the eyes as her hands are on each side of your head. ”I was just trying to help, it’s not like they don’t deserve it—I mean, you know how good their stuff is”, you tell her. “Oh, I know, but you know what else is good?”, she smiles at you. “No?”, you say, oblivious. “My boyfriend’s lips on mine”, she says before pressing her lips against yours. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like kissing Xinyu but kissing her in broad daylight in a back alley feels scandalous. You let your lips stay pressed against Xinyu’s for what feels like a few seconds before you push her away. “Baby, we can’t afford to get caught”, you bargain. “You’re right”, she sighs, “we’ll continue this later”.

You take her hand and enter the shop again. You see Dahyun and her mom crying while a man, who you assume is Mr. Seo, tries to calm them down. Dahyun then points a finger to you and the man walks up to you and reaches his hand out to shake yours. “You must be Jung Jisung”, the man says, “I’m Dahyun’s dad. Thank you so much for your help, son. It means a lot to us”. You’re surprised by how Dahyun’s family is reacting to your little feat, “I-I just wanted to help, sir. My friends and I really like the products your family is selling here”. Mr. Seo pulls you into a hug and you see that Nakyoung and Chaeyeon are leaning against Yooyeon’s shoulders on each side while sobbing. “What is happening, man?”, you think to yourself. Mr. Seo lets you go after a few seconds and shakes your hand one more time; “I need to go; I have two ladies to attend to”, he says, referring to his wife and daughter who are still weeping.

You sit down at the table again and ask your friends about what happened when you were away for that short a time. “They-they told us how hard it was to start this business, oppa”, Nakyoung holds back a sob before continuing, “they-they had to take a bunch of loans and barely had customers at the start—our tab today is one of the biggest ones they’ve had so far. Dahyun even had to do several part-time jobs to help her family’s economy”. Chaeyeon is making it obvious that she’s the most sensitive person in the friend group, as she cries even more after hearing Nakyoung’s summary of what has just happened. “They were over the moon when you said you were going to invest, and now the emotions have finally caught up to them”, Yooyeon says before wiping her eyes with a napkin. You realize that this is what your parents have been preaching for your whole life: to be able to help someone with what you have—especially money—no matter how big or small it is. You silently praise your parents and pray to whatever celestial being is up there for their health and safety.

You wait until everyone has calmed down before walking to the cashier to pick up the tab. “Ji-Jisung-ah”, Mrs. Seo’s emotions are still high as she keeps sobbing after all this time, “are you 100% sure you’re going to invest in us?”. “I am sure, madam. I’ve called the treasurer; she’ll reach out in two days. It’s the least I can do to help, madam”. Mrs. Seo opens her arms and hugs you, “thank you, son; thank you so much”. You close your eyes and savor the genuine emotions she’s showing you, “the pleasure is mine, madam; believe me”. She lets go and fiddles with the computer in front of her, “since you insisted on paying, everything will be ₩50.000 and I’m giving you a 10% discount—so what is that, then?”. Your eyes widen in surprise when you hear her words, “wait, no, no, no. Please, there’s no need for that”. You argue back and forth with Mrs. Seo until she agrees not to give you a discount. You hand her two ₩50.000 banknotes and tell her to keep the rest, which makes her bawl her eyes out again. You’re starting to feel terrible for making these people cry so much today, so you awkwardly walk back to the table so that you can get your friends to leave with you.

Everyone stands up when they’re finally ready to leave and file out of the door one by one except for Dahyun. Before it’s your turn to leave, Mr. Seo pulls you to the side and hugs you one more time. “Thank you for everything, Jisung-ah”, Mr. Seo says to your ear, “I would offer you my Dahyun but I was told that you have a girlfriend already”. Your eyes widen in shock, “That won’t be necessary ever, Mr. Seo. I don’t even know if Dahyun likes me like that—also she’s not anyone’s property, respectfully”, you whisper in his ear. He lets go of you and shakes your hand softly, so you reciprocate his gesture and do the same. “Oppa”, Dahyun calls out to you, “thank you so much for everything, seriously. I promise I’ll do my best in the council; I’ll do whatever you guys ask me to”. You smile at her, “I know you will, Dahyun-ah. I can tell that you’re a hardworking person as well”. Dahyun looks at the door and makes sure that the coast is clear before hugging you. “I know you have Xinyu-unnie but please let me have this for now”, she then gets on her tippy toes and pecks your cheek, which makes the two of you blush at the same time. “Thank you, Dahyun-ah. I wish you and everyone health and safety. See you soon, okay?”, you make to leave the restaurant and catch up with your friends.

You get back in the car and start driving again; everyone except Xinyu (obviously) asks you to take them back to campus, so you do as they ask and take them back there. They get off at the campus gate and wave at you as you leave, and now you’re left alone with Xinyu. “Let’s go home, oppa”, she says before reaching over and palming your cock, “I’m so fucking horny, oppa—if you hadn’t stopped me back in the alley, I would’ve got on my knees and sucked your cock”. You can feel your cock getting hard and your patience running thin, so you take a deep breath before replying to Xinyu, “patience, princess; we’ll get home before you know it”. You hope that your words were good enough to convince her to be patient, but they apparently weren’t, as she keeps palming your cock the rest of the way home.

You make it back to the parking lot of your building again. You stand next to the car and wait for Xinyu to get off. Instead of taking her hand and walk side by side, you lift her by her thighs and carry her to your destination. “You’re not getting away with being such a brat—you wanna palm my cock because you’re horny? Fine, I’ll show you horny”, you whisper aggressively in her ear. “You’re gonna make me pay, daddy?”, she whispers back, her voice laced with lust. You rush to your apartment and enter the bedroom straight away. Your lust-controlled brain doesn’t want to play nice, as it makes you drop Xinyu on the bed not-too-softly. Xinyu bites her bottom lip; “I like it when you’re rough”, she says, trying to rile you up more. You want to talk dirty with her, but you’re given another idea instead; “let’s make a deal: if you can make it through this session without cumming, I’ll buy you whatever you want—including Dahyun’s restaurant. Now pick a fucking safe word”. You take off everything you have on your body in front of her, and she bites her lip again, “Oh please, just who exactly do you think I am? Just come and punish me, daddy; use me, stretch me, choke me, cum in me—do whatever pleases you and I’ll take it like a good girl, because I am one”.

You pull her off the bed and onto her feet; “strip”, you command. “Yes, daddy” is her reply; short, but laden with obedience. She takes her sweet time to take off each thing and tries putting on a show for you, but since you’re now thinking with your cock and not your brain, you’re getting impatient; “I told you to strip, princess, not to take off your clothes”, you say as you palm her neck and squeeze it slightly while glaring right into her eyes—she’s taller than most people but you still tower over her (shoutout to dad for his genes). You see that she’s starting to get intimidated but still has her strong girl façade on, “hngh—patience, daddy, plea-please”. You let her neck go and she takes the rest of her clothes seemingly nervously, as seen by how her hands shake as she’s doing it. Xinyu gets back in bed when nothing is on her body, now ready to start the session. As much as you’re horny and rough, you’re never one to act without consent, so you ask the seemingly scared girl in your bed, “are you okay? Was I too mean? Do you want to keep going?”. “N-no, you’re okay—I’m okay”, she takes a deep breath and welcomes you to bed.

You get on top of her and start sucking and nibbling her neck, marking it with your lips as she moans and sighs at the contact. “You love marking me, right, daddy?”, she eggs you on, “you like showing people who I belong to, don’t you?”. You leave her neck when you see that it has a red spot on the side, knowing that it will turn into a decently sized hickey tomorrow, “Uh-huh; they’ll know if they haven’t already”, you say to her, “if you cover it with makeup, I will make you sleep on the sofa for a month”. She pleas her case, “but what if my professors see it?”. You shrug, “we’re adults—your words, not mine. Now stay still, I have things to do”.

You move to her breasts, putting one in your mouth while fondling the other. Xinyu has always been sensitive there, so you know it’ll be plenty of stimulation for her. “Daddy”, she sighs, “why do you like my breasts so much?”. You lift your mouth off so you can reply to her; “because they fit in my hands so well”, you palm a breast; a perfect handful in your hand, “can you feel how perfect it is in my hand?”. Xinyu nods to your question, “ye-yes, daddy; they’re perfect for you, just like the rest of my body”. “Good answer, princess—you should be able to feel this as well”, you pinch a nipple and tug, making Xinyu scream instantly, “oh, fuck, fuck—the-they’re sensitive, daddy”. You chuckle, “I know they are, but you’re mine to play with”.

You play with her tits a bit more before moving on. You opt to skip her tummy (no matter how firm and soft it looks) and go straight to her pussy. “Open your legs, princess”, you command her, and she instantly spread her long legs enough for you to fit your head between them. “I-I hope you like what you see”, she says with a blush on her cheeks. Honestly, how can you not like the sight despite having seen it a lot—her perfectly pink and glistening pussy is making you drool, literally. You dive into her pussy right away; your tongue is pressed against her entrance, threatening to invade it while your index finger is on her nub. Xinyu starts moaning and squirming around as you start licking her pussy, so you hold down her thighs so that you don’t miss your target. “Remember to hold your cum”, you remind the moaning girl. Her heavy breathing makes it hard for her to verbally answer you, so she just nods to your say.

“Op-oppa”, she calls out with heavy pants, “you-you’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that”. You lift your face off her crotch and look at her in disbelief, “is that supposed to be a threat? You dare threat me, you slut? That’s the wrong name too, by the way”. Xinyu panics, “no-no, daddy; I would never—oh, fuck—I would never threaten you, I swear”. You plunge two fingers into her pussy, “that’s what I thought”. “Oh, fuck—daddy, please”, she lets out whiny moans. You know that she’s doing her best to hold off her orgasm, and you praise her for her efforts; even good girls have their limits, and hers is very close. You keep fucking her with your fingers until you feel her pussy squeeze them, indicating that she’s having her orgasm soon. True enough, she screams from the top of her lungs after a few seconds, “I’M-I’M CUMMING, FUCK!”. You pull your fingers out as she squirts her juices out and stroke her thighs to help her calm down. It takes a few minutes of moaning and whining until her mind is cleared and her high is dissipated. “You came”, you say with a fake disappointed voice. Realization of what just happened slaps her in the face, “I’m so sorry, daddy; please don’t punish me, I beg you. I-I’ll give you my mouth, I’ll give you my asshole—anything you want. Just don’t punish me, please”. “There’s no way she’s offering you her ass”, your brain says, “she’s never trained for it, has she? She’ll never be able to take your cock there—don’t take it, son”.

You decide to keep her in the dark and not tell her that you’re not getting in her ass because you’re naughty like that. “On your stomach, princess”, you command her, and you see that she’s nervous because she’s clueless as to what you have in mind. “I’m so dead; we’ve never trained my ass before and he’s getting in there—this is why you don’t run your mouth, Zhou Xinyu”, Xinyu thinks to herself. She gets even more scared when you lift her ass but not the rest of her body. You make her think that you’re going in her ass by asking her to spread her cheeks. Xinyu’s fear peaks when you put your thumb on her asshole and slather spit on it—she even sheds a tear because she’s that scared. “Look at it”, you say, “that must be so tight and snug”. “I guess this is how I die”, she thinks as more tears are released from her eyes, “he’s going in there dry, too—fuck, this will hurt like a bitch”. You remove your thumb and announce to her that you’re going in, so she closes her eyes and braces for the pain. To her surprise, you decide to plunge into her pussy instead, so Xinyu lets out a loud moan immediately; “oh, God, daddy, yes, yes—I’m your good girl, daddy”. A wave of relief washes over Xinyu; “he’s not getting in my ass!”, she thinks to herself.

You lean forward and whisper in Xinyu’s ear, “you thought I was gonna take your ass, didn’t you, princess?”. She moans before answering you, “ye-yes, daddy. I-I was so scared”. You laugh at her; you’d think she would know by now that you’d never do anything without her explicit and clear consent, but here she is, scared shitless at the prospect of losing her anal virginity to you. “I might not be taking your ass today, but I’m taking your pussy”, you say before pulling her gloriously thick jet-black hair. “It’s yours, daddy—I’m yours; take me anytime you want—oh, fuck, that’s so fucking deep”, she replies. You press Xinyu’s head into the pillow, “I’m cumming in your pussy and I want you to keep it in”. You feel her nod against your hand, and you pick up the pace of your thrusts.

You keep pumping her pussy deep and fast, just like how you like it. Xinyu is holding the pillow under her head with all her might, her knuckles turning white thanks to how hard she’s gripping it. You feel your lust peaking, so you give her rougher thrusts as your crotch makes clapping sounds when it hits Xinyu’s cheeks. Xinyu is moaning and screaming your name away, as she feels the rough thrusts you’re giving her; “I’m gonna feel this tomorrow”, she says in her head. You can feel your orgasm approaching, so you get in a squatting position without pulling out and keep thrusting into her pussy with all your strength. Xinyu knows this as well, so she eggs you on, “keep stretching me like that, daddy—oh, fuck, you’re in my belly”.

You start feeling tired from fucking her in such position. Thankfully for you, you’re so close to cumming as well. “Princess”, you say with heavy breathing, “I’m so close”. She turns her head to see you over her shoulder, “yes, daddy; I’m so close as well—oh, fuck—please let me cum with you”. You’re reminded of her words a few days ago when you said you were close, and you decide to use it against her, “I’ll let you cum if you ask nicely”. She takes a deep breath so that she can ‘ask nicely’, “daddy, please, let me cum with you—I’m-I’m begging you, daddy”. Satisfied with her answer, you pet her head; “good job, princess”. To make sure that she indeed cums with you, you reach around her waist and rub her clit as you’re fucking her.

Your orgasm finally hits after some more thrusts. You plug your cock deep into her and start shooting your cum deep into Xinyu’s pussy; at the same time, Xinyu’s legs quiver thanks to her second orgasm—no squirting this time, unfortunately. You stand up on the bed after all your cum is released into her; “if you let it leak out, I’m taking your ass”, you threaten her falsely. You know that Xinyu lacks training, so unless she trains her ass, you’re not getting in there—unless she decides to act like a brat again. Xinyu doesn’t know that it was a fake threat, so she keeps her ass up to prevent your cum from leaking out while she tries her best to catch her breath.

You jump off the bed and leave to get water and towel, “be right back, princess”. When you return, she still has her ass up because at heart, she is very obedient and just wants to please her boyfriend as much as she can. “Daddy”, she calls out with teary eyes, “can-can I put my ass down now? I’m s-starting to get tired”. You feel a rush of guilt in your heart because she actually fell for the false threat; “you can, princess. Just relax, okay?”, you say as you guide her waist down by pressing down on the small of her back until she’s flat on the bed. “I’m gonna wipe your body with this towel, okay, princess?”. You see her nod, so you start wiping her body from her nape down to her legs, making sure not to miss a spot as you go. You roll her over onto her back to clean the other side of her body and that’s when you see the messy makeup on her face—solid proof that tears were running down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, princess”, you stroke her cheeks softly with your thumb, “I was so rough on you, wasn’t I?”. She sniffles before answering you, “you-you were, but it’s okay; nothing I’m not used to”. “Can I clean that makeup for you, or do you want to do it yourself?”, you ask her. She reaches out to grab the towel from your hands and wipe her face with it, “this should be enough”. She then returns the towel to you so you can clean the rest of her body.

“Honey”, you call out to her, “wanna shower or no?”. She sighs in exhaustion, “no, too tired—you can shower if you want”. You jump back in bed and lie next to her; “no, too tired”, you return her words. She gathers all her might and scoots over so that she can cuddle you; “I hope that was satisfactory”, she says. You peck her head, “of course it was. Thank you very much, love”. “I was so scared that you were going to fuck me in the ass, daddy”, she hasn’t dropped the name yet, “you know I’ve never trained my ass so I thought you were gonna take my anal virginity raw and dry—I mean sure, it’s only right that I give you that but I was super scared”. You stroke the back of her head softly, “we can talk about that later, sweetie—just know this: I would never do anything to you without your clear and explicit consent, so until I hear that you’re ready to take me in your ass, I’m not fucking you in the ass. I promise you that”.

She hums in understanding—you can tell that she’s grateful too—but is then reminded about the deal from earlier, “so I guess you’re not buying me whatever I want since I came?”. You let out a chuckle, “what do you want to get, sweetie?”. She blushes when she realizes that she didn’t lose the deal because of how sweet and kind you really are behind all those façades, “oh-oh, um, I-I wa-want burgers and fries from Dahyun’s place again, oppa”. You nod to her, “sure, love. We can go after this if you want”.

You and Xinyu get back in the car after regaining energy and showering, as you two are now on your way to Dahyun’s restaurant for the second time today. When you arrive, you see that Dahyun’s attending the cashier this time. She sees you two in front of the door and rushes to open it for you, “oppa, unnie, welcome back!”. “Hey, baby. Nice to see you again”, Xinyu hugs the girl in front of her. “We promised we would return so here we are”, you say to her. “Where are the others, though?”, Dahyun asks. “No idea; we just had sex at home and came here after cuddling and showering”, Xinyu utters oh-so-brazenly. “OH MY GOD! UNNIE!”, Dahyun covers her ears and runs away from the two of you. You palm your face, “I’m so sorry, Dahyun-ah; you didn’t need to hear all that”. Dahyun fans her cheeks with her hands to fight her blush, “oh my, how could you say that so casually—wh-what can I get for you guys this time?”. You pinch Xinyu’s cheek for her little shenanigan before turning to Dahyun and repeat your order from this afternoon; “oh, can we get 2 more fries and that sauce again? So 4 fries in total and the sauce”, you ask her. “Of course you can, oppa. Please wait at the table for your food”.

Dahyun brings a tray of food to you after about 15 minutes. She thinks that she can waltz away after that, so you call out to her, “where on God’s green earth do you think you’re going, Dahyun-ah?”. Surprised to hear you call her that way, she walks back to you your table awkwardly, “I-I’m sorry?”. “Why do you think we ordered 4 burgers?”, you point at the empty seat next to Xinyu, “have a seat with us. We can have a little chit-chat—you can get back to work if there’s another customer coming”. “Uwuwu, my baby”, Xinyu peppers Dahyun’s face with pecks. “I’m sorry, oppa, but is unnie always like this?”, Dahyun asks you. “No, only to people she likes”, you say with a smile, indicating to her that she’s one of those people.

No other customer ends up coming, so you have the entire restaurant to yourselves. “Dahyun-ah, would you be able to cater for the entire council? I would love to introduce your products to our staffs”, you say before shoving another piece of fry coated in sauce, “holy shit, that is glorious—you know what, we’ll pay for this bottle of sauce since we’re probably finishing this”. “Oppa”, she says with a soft voice, “you.. are you serious?”. You’re not sure what she’s talking about, “pardon?”. “Are you serious about asking us to cater for the council? That’d be, like, our biggest sales so far”, she says, tears threatening to burst out of her eyes for the second time today. “Let’s ask Xinyu what she thinks”, you point to the girl sitting next to Dahyun. “I agwee wif offa”, she says with a full mouth before swallowing her food, “ehm, excuse me—yes, I agree with oppa’s idea; we should introduce this to everyone. We’ll need the sauce as well, by the way”.

Dahyun sits in silence before covering her face to hide her tears; “oppa, unnie, why are you guys so kind to us? First it was the investment and now this?”, she says with trembling voice. Xinyu hugs the crying girl, “because we love you and we love your food, baby”. If Xinyu was calling another guy “baby”, you would flip out, but you don’t mind since it’s Dahyun. “I know that we sound like a broken record, but we genuinely love the food here. Can you give me an estimation as to when you think you’ll be able to do it?”, the way you say it makes you sound like your dad right now. Dahyun sniffles and gathers her mind to think of an answer, “um, probably in a few weeks; I need to talk with my parents, though”. “Very cool”, you clap your hands once, “we’ll be having a meeting with everyone in the council at the end of September. We’ll tell them to come with an empty stomach”.

You’re now ready to leave the restaurant after finishing your burgers, fries, and a whole bottle of sauce. “We’re gonna need to hit the gym this weekend”, you think to yourself. You’re standing in front of the cashier with Dahyun and Xinyu, and that’s when Xinyu excuses herself and runs to the toilet. Dahyun keeps her eyes on Xinyu until she disappears behind the toilet door and walks up to you slowly. You’re not too sure what she’s trying to do, so you opt to let things run their course for now. She wraps her arms around your nape and pulls you down for a kiss. As she’s kissing you, you can’t help but notice how soft her lips are. Dahyun then pulls away from the kiss after a few seconds; “I swear I’ll find a way to repay you, just wait—also, don’t think that I didn’t see your mark on unnie’s neck; sex with you must be amazing, oppa”, she says before taking a few steps back to avoid Xinyu’s suspicion. “You’re saying a lot of nonsense right now, darling”, you say in a quiet voice—that’s another pet name spilling out of your lips and Dahyun catches it right away. “Darling, hm? I like the sound of that, darling”, she winks at you and walks away. Perfect timing, really, because you see that Xinyu is opening the toilet door and about to walk out.

You close your eyes and put a palm on your forehead; “what is happening right now, man?”. Life is throwing another girl at you, and you’re not sure why because you already have a girlfriend—a lovely one at that. You take a deep breath before holding your girlfriend’s hand and leading her out of the door. You take a glance at Dahyun over your shoulder, and you see her wink at you once again. “I’m so fucking cooked”, you think to yourself.

#girl group smut #triples smut #kpop smut #smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #male reader smut #male reader

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bratbarzal · 7 days ago

Text

Let It Happen (LH43) 2/3

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

WC: 17k

>PART ONE<

Turn me into something tragic, just for you I let it happen.

General Warnings: after the first part you're probably thinking how could there possibly be more snark? you're about to find out. same with idiotic shenanigans, they're not quite finished with those!! fluff, cursing, sexual references, and fade to black type smut!!

A/N: DON'T HATE ME FOR MAKING IT 3 PARTS I'M JUST AN ADHD GIRLY WHO CAN'T READ 30K IN ONE GO BUT APPARENTLY CAN WRITE IT??? part three will be tomorrow I pinky promise!! I was nervous about splitting this whole thing up bc I really did write a whole romcom lmao!! I know long fics aren't to everyone's taste but I know no way of life other than the art of yapping!! Sorry that this took a little longer than expected there were a couple of scenes I couldn't get right but I hope you guys like this half as much as you did the first part!! and again I'd love to hear any thoughts!! reading your messages and your reblogs and your tags made my month and ily a lot!! like I said, I promise part 3 will be tomorrow, I didn't want to force so much at you in comparison to the first part!!

“I’m bored.”

Luke hadn’t thought he would regret staying at home when he had told Jack he wasn’t feeling well enough to drive out to Detroit for the Zach Bryan concert - if anything, it was an effort to push him and Ellie a little closer. She took Luke’s place, roomed with Jack in their hotel and everything, and they seemed to be having the time of their lives in all the videos dispersed into the group chat. But that was all before he came downstairs, eyes on the pictures of the all-you-can-eat breakfast the group were partaking in before coming back, and opening the kitchen cupboards to see them bare, with a few protein bars and boxes of granola tossed in like they’d been ransacked for the apocalypse.

He’d had fun last night, though.

Even after the movie had ended, when the two of you had stayed up on the couch, talking about life - about hockey, about school, about his brothers, about your mom - if he’s honest, it had been the closest he had felt to another person that wasn’t one of his brothers in a really long time.

He really felt like you were connecting.

So much so that he’d retired to his bed for the first time all summer with a big, dopey grin on his face. Had laid awake scrolling through astrological compatibility after the two of you had drifted onto that topic after the movie finished, talking for maybe two hours before you had yawned so big he thought you might swallow him whole.

He had thought he knew you, before.

Had thought that those brief observations made from back in college, about your coffee preferences, your perfume collection, your taste in music, had painted a somewhat blurry picture of who you were - of all the things that blended together to formulate you - but he had been so wrong.

And he had laid in bed last night thinking much deeper about the girl who was laying only a couple rooms down the hall - a few walls away.

The girl who had come downstairs, bare feet padding softly into the kitchen, and had poured out two glasses of juice and handed one over to him without even asking.

“Hi Bored, I’m Luke,” he smiles as he accepts the drink from your hand, the expression deepening as you roll your eyes back at him, this time with a glimmer of fondness slipping through the surface of your facade.

You reach past him into the cupboard for the box of granola, and he grabs one of the protein bars before closing it, your bodies moving around each other in tandem like a well choreographed routine - easy and effortless in a way that calms whatever nerves he might have had around this new development in your relationship being one-sided.

You had never seemed uncomfortable in the house, or around the rest of the guys, but you had never been like this.

“I was thinking,” you drag out, voice sweet and alluring, like you even have to put it on to convince Luke of anything, “we could go out on the boat,” you glance back at him as you pour out your cereal, lashes fluttering to complete the act, “You have your license right?”

“Yeah,” he replies, settling himself down to lean at the kitchen island as you cross to the other side, taking one of the stools, “But I’m not really supposed to take it out on my own.”

You hum as if you’re thinking, crunching your food before asking, “Is that brotherly advice or is that the law?”

“Advice, I guess,” he shrugs, pushing forward ever so slightly onto his forearms, where he can feel the tense of his muscles, and can see the diversion of your attention.

“And you always do what your brothers tell you?”

When you tilt your head, the sun shining through the kitchen window reflects on your irises, making them sparkle, and he can see all the different hues in there, as if you’re using the elements to try hypnotise him into compliance.

You’re so pretty, you don’t even need the special effects.

“I’m a good boy,” he smiles teasingly, with a tilt of his own head, driven by infatuation and admiration, keeping your gaze and trying not to shudder visibly when your eyes drop to his lips.

“You wouldn’t be on your own, though,” you pout, “I’d be there. I was a lifeguard for the past three summers, you know.” Of course he knows. “I promise I’ll save you if you get thrown overboard.”

You don’t have to say the following sentiment that the two of you share - that if he were to be thrown overboard, it would undoubtedly be by your own hand.

“Yeah, you’d give me mouth to mouth?”

You scoff, leaning down onto your forearms and mirroring his position, careful not to knock your bowl. “Unfortunately for you, Hughes, they don’t advise the use of that method, anymore.”

“And you always do what people tell you?”

It’s one of his favourite things to do with you, he’s noticed - turn the tables, use your own wit against you. It gets him a reaction, every time. A rush of something real that washes over you, has you fixing your shoulders and biting back a smile.

Although you don’t bite this one back. Luke doesn’t think that you could, even if you tried. Your eyes even crinkle a little in the corners, and Luke doesn’t see the danger in it - too lost in the way they reflect the glorious sunshine back at him in dazzling sparkles - until one drops in a wink as you retort, “I’m a good girl.”

Touché.

He thinks his heart might have skipped a beat. He can all of a sudden feel every last crumb of the previous bite he took from his protein bar lodged in his throat, and he needs a drink, so he pushes himself up from the counter to try at least gain a height advantage over you, and forces down some gulps of his juice.

The look you’re giving him isn’t doing him any favours - the height difference working against him as your eyes look up to meet his, round and pleading despite the cunning genius he knows is buried within them.

“Fine,” he huffs, rolling his eyes as your smile grows wider, “But we need to be back before my brothers so I don’t get a lecture.”

“Yes!” You squeal, pushing up from the stool, “I knew you weren’t as boring as you seem!”

He frowns, despite knowing you’re just teasing him for this exact reaction, and watches as you clean up your bowl, discarding of the mushy granola and rinsing it out.

“I just need ten minutes to get ready and then we can go!”

“You have five.” He grumbles, watching as you rush out the room and listening for the stomp of your feet up the stairs.

He’s probably going to regret this.

—

The bikini had been your first strike - baby blue, the type that ties with strings around your neck and back - when you had come down the stairs, the slap of your slides echoing against the wood and diverting his attention from his phone to your emerging figure. Your t-shirt was clutched in your hand, your tote bag in the other, and he had just stood there, mouth agape, until you rolled your eyes and stormed straight past him, calling, “Thought we were on a time crunch, come on,” behind you.

Your second strike had been the way you had waited until you were on the boat to apply your sunscreen, sat next to Luke, who was trying to keep a steady hand on the wheel as he drove his way down to a clear spot further out on the lake. Luke who was biting his tongue from offering to help you, and could smell the sweet melon scent of the lotion as it sank into your skin.

And the third had been the way you had been smiling down at your phone, distracting him with the pretty curve of your lips as he steered over the water.

Three such minor infractions already had him regretting the decision to bring you out here alone.

“Who’s got you smiling like that?” He asks, trying not to sound as jealous as he feels at the thought of it being another guy.

“It’s Cole,” you tell him, eyes still on your phone.

“You and Cole text?” The boat jolts slightly as his hands tremble, and he diverts his attention to you.

“No, he’s got Ellie’s phone.” You type something back before turning the device to show him a selfie Cole had taken in the hotel lobby, Jack asleep on one of the benches in the background and Ellie posing in front of his sleeping figure.

“Why’s Cole texting from Ellie’s phone?” Luke asks, eyes back on the water as he steers the boat, long fingers curled around the wheel and muscles flexing.

“They’ve been hanging out,” you tell him, “They were together when we got back from the club the other night, he was in our room.”

“And you’re only just telling me this now, because?”

“Oh, my bad, control freak, didn’t realise you needed the whereabouts of everybody in the house,”

“Jack’s been off all week,” Luke mutters, remembering his brother’s reaction when he had told him he was staying at home instead of going to the concert. He had called him out on staying home just to be around you, saying he’d regret missing out on such a huge experience, like there won’t be a hundred other concerts in his lifetime, and that you wouldn’t even appreciate him doing it. “Making all these passive aggressive comments,”

“No way! Jack Hughes? Passive aggressive?” You gasp, shuffling in your seat to give him more of your attention, “What next, is he gonna start acting like the world revolves around him too?”

“Don’t get cute,” Luke rolls his eyes. It’s starting to make sense, him chewing his ear off like that - even though the two of you had literally caught him out on a date, if he feels like Ellie is moving on with his best friend, he’s bound to feel some sort of way about it. “If they were together when he came home from that date, maybe he saw them,”

“They were hardly getting it on with the door wide open, Luke, they were playing cards.” You scoff, “Plus, he has no right to be upset, he was literally on a date he told nobody about.”

“He gets in his head about stuff like this,” Luke reasons as he slows the boat, bringing it to a stop in the middle of the water so he can focus, “Talks himself in circles until it makes him so dizzy he does something stupid.”

“You think that’s what he’s doing?”

“I don’t know, I don’t like assuming the worst of my brother, though.”

“Alright, let’s say Jack is only being a dick because he thinks Ellie and Cole are hitting it off,” you stand up now that the boat is steady, kicking your slides off and ambling over to the benches at the back, out from under the cover of the roof. “What are we supposed to do about it, we can hardly keep them apart, keeping track of Jack and Ellie is hard enough without throwing Caufield into the mix. He's sneaky.”

“We’d only technically have to follow Ellie, still,” Luke says as he follows you to the back of the boat, thankful your back is to him when you start to push your skirt down your legs, and you can’t see the way his eyes go three times their usual size, he’s almost anticipating a swat to his chest for when you turn and notice. “They can still hang out, just not one-on-one, one of us could keep an eye on them, take it in turns.”

“That sounds an awful lot like hard work, Hughes,” you huff, taking a seat on the leather bench and stretching your legs out before lounging back, “Can’t your brother just grow a backbone and ask her out? It would save us both a lot of hassle.”

“I’m working on it,” he throws himself onto the bench opposite yours, thinking of all the times he’s tried to cut the conversation with his brother short by just telling him to grow a pair. “I guess you’re right, we can’t stop them being friends, it would be hypocritical.”

“Hypocritical?”

“Yeah, ‘cause we’re friends.”

“You think we’re friends?”

“You don’t?”

“We watch one movie together and now all of a sudden you think we’re besties?”

“I think we’re friends ‘cause you like my company, you wouldn’t have asked me to bring you out here if you didn’t like being around me.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re deluded.” You smile, pushing your sunglasses down from the top of your head to the bridge of your nose and relaxing back. “I like tanning and being on the water. You’re a glorified chauffeur at this point. Not a good one, either.”

“I got us out here no problems, didn’t I?”

“I had to hold on the whole way, you were throwing me around like a loose can in the trunk of your car.”

“Yeah, well the water was choppy,”

“A good workman never blames his tools, Hughes.” You smile over at him, and the innuendo makes his cheeks go hot. Definitely regretting bringing you out on the water with no escape about now.

“Did you really ask me to bring you out here just to lay out in the sun?” He leans forward with his elbows on his knees, watching as you angle your neck to face him.

“Is that a problem?”

“It is if you’re gonna be a grouch about me being here.”

“I thought you’d be all quiet and brooding like you usually are.”

“Me?” He laughs, “Quiet and brooding?” He doesn’t think anyone has ever used the word quiet to describe him in his life. He knows you can’t be serious - all you’ve done for weeks is blast him for getting on your nerves.

“I’ve literally seen you talk once before this summer.”

What the hell do you mean by that? You barely knew who he was that day he approached you in the club.

“That’s ‘cause you’d have to notice me to see me talk.”

“You’ve never talked to me.”

He did talk to you. Several times, in fact. That day outside your dorm with Ellie’s gift basket, a couple times in class - but they’re all insignificant, minor exchanges of words he would quite like to forget, if he’s honest. Mumbling and stuttering and, quite frankly, embarrassing, to say the least. A far cry from the confident man he’d like to think he has become. “Why would I talk to you?”

“That’s rude,” you pout, and he straightens up immediately.

“No, I just mean, like,” he waves his arms out in between the two of you, gesturing over and shaking his head. “You’re you. We were never really on the same level for me to be talking to you.”

You bring your glasses back onto the top of your head, pushing your hair out of your face and squinting against the sun to level him with a glare. “Aren’t you a big time athlete?”

“I am now. You wouldn’t have given me the time of day back then.”

“You never gave me a chance to.”

“You could have approached me.” He thinks you’re just biting back for argument’s sake, if he’s honest - there isn’t a chance in hell you ever spared a thought for talking to him or giving him the time of day. You barely even looked his way - and he definitely would have noticed.

“So could you.” You frown.

“I tried once.” He distinctly remembers the one time he did approach you, away from class and apart from the first time he met you, dialled up with liquid courage and driven by the way you were dressed as a sexy Patrick Bateman, and he finally felt like having the right conversation starter around his love for American Psycho might have helped him kick something off with you, or at least got you to acknowledge his existence. He would have even taken you calling him Lu again. “At a Halloween party in Freshman year. You blew me off. I barely got a word out before you were storming off.”

“When you were dressed as Scooby Doo?”

His lips part and close repeatedly like a fish bobbing it’s mouth, blinking slowly at you as he realised just what you even having that memory meant. “That’s a weird thing to remember for someone not interested.”

“A giant dork in a dog costume is a pretty hard thing to forget.” You grin satirically, “I never said I wasn’t interested, you just caught me at a bad time and never tried again,”

“You wanted me to try again?”

“I want you to be quiet. Aren’t you due a nap or something?”

“You can’t seriously tell me you asked me to bring you all the way out here just to lie out in the sun and do nothing,” he groans, watching you return back to your previous position, body bathing in the sunlight and sunglasses pushed back down onto your nose.

“What, did you think we were gonna play mermaids?” He can’t see the roll of your eyes anymore, but he knows when it happens by now, just from your tone of voice.

“You can do that back at the house, we have loungers out by the pool,”

“It’s not as peaceful as this.” You sigh, “Plus, the trees around the back block the sun this time of day. I’m getting pale cooped up in the club all week, I have catching up to do.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Lay back and relax,” you advise, nodding toward the bench he’s perched on the edge of, reaching your hand down into your tote and blindly tossing the bottle of sunscreen in his general direction, “You could use some sun, too. And if you’re a good boy, I’ll let you do my back later.”

Luke, surprisingly, folds - doing as he’s told and lounging back into the leather, and he begrudgingly thinks a little too much about how right you are. This is peaceful. The soft whoosh of water against the boat, clear blue skies, no yelling or arguing or people competing around him. Just you, and the sunshine, and the smell of melon-scented sun lotion seeping into his skin.

It isn’t long before he drifts off, his head resting on his folded arm, the heat of the sun warming him like a blanket, and the last thing he sees before his eyes close is your head turned his way, lips parted slightly as you sleep, yourself, skin glistening and your chest rising and falling in deep, steady breaths.

When his eyes open again, you’re sat up, holding your hair up with one hand and fanning yourself with the other.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, voice thick with sleep as he sits up, his skin peeling uncomfortably off the leather.

“I’m hot.” You whine, turning to him with a pout.

He scoffs, resisting the urge to say something corny like, I know you are, before he points out over the side of the boat. “If you look to your right, there’s a large body of water you can cool down in.”

“I’m not getting in there!”

“Why not?”

“Lake monsters, for one,” you scoff, releasing your hair and he watches it fan out over your shoulders in soft waves.

“They’re only native to Scotland, I heard.” Luke stands, looking over the side and into the steady waters to gauge how safe it would be to go in without a vest. The water is still, he’s never had any problems in this part of the lake, and he’s confident the two of you could at least take a dip without there being any concerns - you were a lifeguard, after all, and he’s always been a strong swimmer.

“Aren’t there fish in here?” You ask, beside him now as you peer over the edge yourself.

“There’s actually a cool hack to check, do you want me to show you?”

You eye him sceptically but nod, anyway, and he holds his hand out to help you walk to the back of the boat, stepping down onto the stern where it’s easier to reach into the water.

You’re careful not to let him fall behind you, clearly cautious of the fact that he could push you in. Instead, he stands beside you, squats to reach down over the edge and run his fingers through the ripples that form. He stands back to full height and you squint to look up at him, the sun blaring from over his shoulder and reflecting off his sweat-slicked skin.

It makes your eyes sparkle again, and it’s almost enough to make him change his mind from what he’s about to do - only, before your powers of hypnosis can work on him for the second time in a matter of hours, he quickly grasps onto your hips and launches the two of you into the water.

He has the same misguided confidence he had when he squirted you with that hose - a burst of energy that he immediately succumbed to before he could think rationally about it, and it’s the same energy that forces deep and hearty laughter to rumble from his chest as you squeal on your way into the lake.

The two of you land with a big splash, and emerge simultaneously, you running your hands through your wet hair to push it back out of your face.

“What the hell did you do that for?”

“You said you were hot, I was trying to help!”

“You are so dead!” You exclaim, splashing him with a swat of your hand against the water.

“Oh, look, a fish!”

“Ew, no!” You yell, squirming forward to try and dodge it, unintentionally leaping right into Luke, the heat of his firm chest under your flattened palm, an arm curling over his shoulder to steady yourself.

His arms curl around your body by instinct, wrapping around your waist and holding you against him until you realise his trick, and your hands press on the top of his head until you’re pushing him under the surface with a yell of, “So dead!”

Laughter ripples out of him, from the pits of his stomach to the parting of his lips, and comes out in bubbles against your skin as you hold him down, your body thrashing to get away from his until you break free from his hold, and he rises back from under the water.

“Get back here, you’re not getting away with that!” He calls after you, launching himself forward to catch you.

“No,” you squeal, trying to gain momentum as you leap away, only for his arm to curl around your waist, pulling your squirming body back against him with a splash. “Let me go, you brute!”

“Tell me you’re having fun or you’re getting dunked,” he commands, lips beside your ear as your back is held flush to his chest, your skin still warm from the sun and smooth against his.

“You dunk me and I’ll leave your ass to the lake monsters,” you warn him, still squirming in his hold.

“Like you could drive the boat, you need me,” your body seems to still the lower his tone gets, succumbing to his hypnotising powers, and he can feel you square your shoulders against him.

“Yeah right,” even Luke can tell how much your denial is forced from the shiver down your spine, “Jack can do it, how hard could it be?”

“You’d really hijack the boat just to avoid admitting you like my company?” He asks as he lets you go, and you turn immediately in the water to face him. He tilts his head when your gazes meet across the water, and your eyes flicker between his as if trying to read him like a book.

“Today’s been nice,” you admit, with a dramatic roll of your eyes, “Last night, too. Not specific to your company. Just being away from everybody else."

“So that’s the key?” He dares to swim a little closer, just enough that you won’t notice him reducing the proximity between the two of you. “You wanna get me on my own?”

“You-,”

“Wish,” he finishes, your eyes meeting in a steady gaze despite the bobbing of your heads to stay afloat. He’d like to think it’s more than the water that has brought you back this close to him, legs kicking beneath the surface, his hands itching to hold back on your waist to help, “Yeah, I do.”

If he has managed to stay more or less in place while treading water, then it can’t be the current drifting you toward him, and you’re so close now that he could hold you, if his brain could just link to his hands to give them the courage to do so.

You like being alone with him - you’ve pretty much just admitted so - feel comfortable enough that you change your plans to fit him into them - just like you had last night - you wanted him to talk to you in college, you noticed him, even, enough to remember the fact that he never did.

There has to be some base level of interest there for you to be this close, in the first place. To move into his house, to agree to spend your summer in his company, to spending more time with him than he’s noticed you spending with your supposed best friend.

And just as he convinces himself of it, and his thoughts link to the movement of his hands underwater, inching closer to grip at your hips and pull you all the way toward him, a shrill ringing carries all the way from the boat to Luke’s ears, turning both of your attention back to the vehicle.

“Shit, that’s Jack’s ringtone.” He groans, “They’re probably back by now.”

The two of you swim back toward the boat, and he pulls himself up onto the stern before lending you a hand to get up, yourself.

There are a bunch of texts from his brother.

Where are you at?

Did the demon get you in your sleep?

Where’s the boat?

Please tell me you’re dumping her body and she’s not dumping yours.

You’re dead either way when you get back!

“Shit, we better get back,” he grumbles, rushing to the front of the boat to get it started again. Before you sit beside him, he feels the draping of a towel across his shoulders, and his heart thuds at the small smile you give him when his eyes meet yours.

“Sorry if I got you in trouble.”

“It’s fine,” he shrugs, nonchalant despite the rampant beating in his chest, and the thought of his brother chewing his ear off when the two of you get back. “You’re worth the headache.”

He winks, teasingly, and his eyes go back to the water before he gets the chance to see your cheeks flush. You’d probably just blame it on sunburn, anyway.

You don’t speak much on the drive back, but Luke can feel your eyes on him, can practically hear your mind whirring with a million thoughts - only because his is doing the same.

Why does he has to have a brother with the world’s worst timing?

He would have kissed you.

At least, he thinks he would have.

His hands were reaching out. He would have pulled you in by the hips, held you against him, raised so that your faces were finally level, and he would have made a move. He can feel it in his bones, still thrumming with almost-arrogance. A knowing, sure feeling that he can’t shake - one that tells him you would have kissed him back.

But he’ll never know, now.

When the two of you get back, Jack is waiting on the dock, and you gather your things before Luke helps you off the boat. He ushers you past his brother, knowing you’d be down to argue all afternoon, if necessary, but he can take this one on his own. He doesn’t want you hearing the sort of venom he knows his brother can spew out when he’s mad like this.

You brush past Jack on the edge of the dock, who thankfully waits until you’re back at the gate and out of earshot to start on Luke.

“What the hell are you doing? Have you lost your mind?”

“What, I’m not allowed to have fun when you’re not here?” Luke scoffs, rolling his eyes at his brother’s theatrics.

So he took the boat out, it’s really not that deep, he thinks. He’s an adult, he has his license, there really shouldn’t be a problem.

“I know you’ve seen Jennifer’s Body, you shouldn’t be out on the lake on your own with her,”

“Implying she’s a demonic serial killer might be a little over-dramatic, even for you,” Luke huffs as he starts to make his own way back.

“Trust me, it’s not.” Jack stops him with a hand gripping at his elbow. “Whatever trick she’s pulling on you, Luke, you need to wise up,”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“She isn’t interested,” Jack tells him, “She’s using you to pass the time until someone better falls into her lap, and you’re falling straight for it. Letting her convince you to stay behind and miss hanging with the rest of us, taking the boat out on your own, don’t you think it’s weird how she never had any interest in talking to you before it started benefitting her? Before you made it to the big leagues?”

Luke narrows his eyes at his brother, shoulders slumping as the words seem to weigh on them, like a heavy towel draped across to dry him and rub away all the affections you had blessed him with over the past 24 hours.

But it isn’t Jack’s words that are ringing around his head, this time. It’s yours.

You never talked to me.

You never gave me a chance.

You never tried again.

Maybe you did have some level of interest before. Maybe his intuitions earlier had been right. Maybe it’s still there.

“It’s none of your business, Jack,” he grumbles, not allowing him a second to rain on this parade. “You don’t even know her.”

“Don’t come crying to me when she breaks your heart, then.”

“Trust me, I won’t.”

If you’re thankful for any rule at the house, it’s the rule for knocking before you come into any bedroom. Quinn knocks most mornings to let you know breakfast is being prepared, or before he goes on a store run to ask if there’s anything you or Ellie need. Jack knocks for Ellie, and now Cole does too.

You can always tell when it’s Luke though.

Repeated and incessant, a constant rapping of knuckles against the wood until you answer, instead of any sort of pattern or rhythm.

“Can I come in?” He asks as soon as you open.

“No.” You tell him every time, but to no avail.

“Thanks,” He swerves into the space beside you, careful not to shove past as he makes his way into the bedroom. “We have a problem.”

“Yeah, they’re called boundaries, Hughes.” You scoff, slamming the door and following him. “You can’t just waltz in here like you own the place.”

“I do.” He frowns, “Own the place. This is my house."

“Your brothers own it, actually.”

“What are you, Michigan Census Bureau?” You mimic the words back to him, your face scrunched tight and your voice as whiney and annoying as it can go, and he pushes his hand in your face, just light enough to cover it and not actually smack you because he doesn’t have a death wish. “The problem. You have to focus,” he clicks his fingers in front of you, and you swat his hand away with a frown.

“Click at me like a dog again and I’ll bite your fingers off.” The look on your face is one he should probably fear, but there’s a nagging instinct he can’t fight to keep pushing your buttons. He doesn’t know where it comes from, but it feels wrong to ignore.

“Is that supposed to turn me on?”

“The problem, Luke, get on with it.”

“Right.” He sighs, throwing himself down on the bed, “I can’t find Cole and Ellie anywhere. I think he took her out.”

“What?” You reach forward and push at his shoulder, “You had one job, Hughes!”

It had been his turn to take watch, as the two of you had agreed the other day out on the water, but it was really starting to get tiring, having to play third wheel to a situation he really didn’t understand, and he needed a recess. Five minutes just to recuperate, he didn’t expect them to make a break for it so quick.

“I left to make a sandwich! I’m allowed to eat, you can’t expect me to starve it goes against my rights!”

“You’re such an idiot,” You scoff as you rush toward the closet to find something to wear, your plans of a self-care day now flushed down the toilet thanks to Luke’s insatiable appetite. “You couldn’t watch them for an hour without succumbing to malnutrition?”

“Why can’t you be on watch for once?”

“I was doing my nails,” You retort, wiggling your freshly painted fingernails in his face, crimson red to match your toes, and the colour Luke feels his cheeks turning at the sight of them. “Because thanks to someone the gel started lifting after spending my entire afternoon the other day with my hands in a soapy bucket.”

“You’re the one who took the detour to beat Jack home and got my car all dirty.”

“Whatever, turn around.” You’re already lifting your tank over your head before Luke gets the chance to comply, his mouth falling agape before he can control it at the sight of you stood in just your bra and pyjama shorts in front of him. The instruction only registers when your tank top hits him in the face, dropping into his lap so he can look up at your scowl and swivel in his place on the bed. “They’re probably at the mall, she was saying she wanted to go to the art supply store there.”

“So what, we’re gonna just bump into them? Won’t they think it’s weird we’re showing up there after we both said we were staying in today?” He tries not to look into the corner of the room, where he knows the mirror placed there will show him the reflection of you changing - although what’s the use in hiding anything, now? He’s already seen it.

He’s also seen you in your many different bikinis over the past few of weeks. Has been up close and personal, even, holding your body against his out in the lake.

But your bathing suits aren’t slightly sheer and frilly around the edges, and don’t push up on anything - not that they really need to.

But thinking about that isn’t gonna do him any favours.

Old men playing chess, animals in the shelter, getting slammed into the boards at high speeds - thinking of those should get his mind back on track.

“Nope, we’re gonna follow them.”

“I thought you said that spying on people is childish.”

“It is when you’re talking about lurking in bushes and hiding behind menus, Luke.”

When he sees you come around the front of the bed to grab your sneakers, he decides on his own terms he can turn back around, careful not to let his eyes linger too long on the expanse of your legs beneath the skirt you’ve now changed into.

If it wasn’t for the other afternoon spent working together to wash his car, or the evening spent watching movies, sharing a bottle of wine and indulging in those sticky face masks or the way you had quite literally drifted into his arms in the lake the other day, he would probably feel like a creeper for the way his one track mind has persisted. But, despite your efforts to convince him otherwise, he isn’t deluded.

There’s something brewing between the two of you.

It’s in the twitch of your lips that now follows every time you roll your eyes, and the magnetised force in which your eyes track him whenever he enters the room, where you had been entirely indifferent before - you’re warming up to him, he can sense it.

“So what’s the plan?”

“I wanna see what it is they keep running off together for,” you shrug as you braid your hair into pigtails in the mirror, your gaze flickering back to him, “Every time we interrupt them, they just keep sneaking back off again. Maybe if we find out what it is they’re doing, we’ll be better at keeping them away from doing it.”

“And how are we supposed to stay hidden?”

“Easy, we have to wear something we usually wouldn’t be caught dead in.”

“I’ve seen you in that exact outfit like twelve times.” He gestures with a lazy hand to the outfit you have on - white t-shirt, navy skirt, socks that go just above your ankles and the same pair of sneakers he must have seen you in every day the last year you were both in college together.

Not that he was paying that close attention.

“I know. Can I borrow that quarter zip you wore the other day? You know, the one that’s the colour of baby poop? Super hideous, really gross-,”

“Har har, real funny,” he whips the tank top he’s still, for whatever reason, clutching in his hands at you before throwing it onto the bed, and storming toward the door, calling out a, “Let’s go,” over his shoulder and not bothering to check if you’re coming when he starts to make his way downstairs - the echo of your giggling laughter following him down the hallway tells him as much.

—

“Are you sure she said the art supply store?”

Luke’s neck is starting to hurt from craning it above the shelves in search of Ellie’s curls, this being the second art store the two of you have checked. Somehow he’s the one looking out while you peruse the shop, now cooing at a section of crotchet animal kits and pointing them out until he mutters out some half-hearted cute, or nice.

“There aren’t many things I could have confused it for, Luke, unless you know of anything that rhymes with art supplies?” You pick up one of the kits, turning it to assess the difficulty by the pictures on the back before putting it back on the shelf.

“Maybe she said she had parts to buy?”

“Alright, smartass,” You scoff, shouldering past him to make your way toward the exit, clearly having no luck in finding them here. She definitely wouldn’t have parts to buy for anything, she’s hardly Fix-It Felix. “You can buy me lunch and we’ll see if she’s put anything on her story yet.”

“I’m starting to think they’re not even at the mall and you’ve lured me out of the house under false pretences for free food.” The diffidence he’s giving is entirely forced as he drags his feet behind you, following you out of the store. “If you wanted me to take you on a date, you could have just asked. It was probably the stop for a smoothie that had us missing them in the first place.”

You gasp, and before he has the opportunity to retort with something just as annoying, you grab his hand and tug him with you behind one of the giant plants that are beside the coffee stand, keeping a hold of him as you poke your head around the corner.

“There they are,” you whisper back, your fingers still clutching at his as he crowds into the same space to make sure he too is hidden behind the sprawling leaves.

“Oh so hiding behind bushes is alright if it’s your idea?”

“Shh,” you frown, your hand releasing his and pressing over his mouth, “They’ll hear you, Loud Mouth,” and his eyes follow the pointed finger on your other hand to where Ellie and Cole are walking together toward the store you and Luke just left - side by side, sodas in hand, smiling and laughing and nudging at each other.

In better circumstances, he’d be thinking about how he’s pressed to your back, bending to accommodate for the height difference, your head tilted to make room for his to lean in for a better look, and your hand still resting on his face, not really covering his mouth but more caressing his jaw in an absentminded fashion as you watch the two of them.

But all he can think about, disturbingly enough, is his brother - and how hurt he’d be to see what’s happening between his supposed best friends.

“We’re following them, right?” He asks lowly, his face not too far from yours, and when you turn your head to the side to look at him, he feels like your gaze is softer than usual when it takes in how hardened and dark his is.

“Definitely,” you agree, stepping away from him and turning to face him properly. “If you saw me out of the corner of your eye, you wouldn’t know it was me, right?”

Wrong, Luke thinks, but that’s only because he’d be able to pick you out of a line up in a pitch black room by now - blind folded, spun around a few times for good measure and facing the wrong way.

When he had found a Mets jersey on the rack in the Goodwill you had dragged him to in search of a disguise, and your words from earlier about not being caught dead in something had rang in his head, he had thought it was perfect. And then you had waltzed over with the same jersey, and your eyes had lit up.

“We can’t wear the same thing,” he frowned, unable to hold the weight of the expression for too long when he saw just how excited you were getting. “That’s hardly blending in."

“No, it’s perfect!” You exclaimed, “Ellie would never expect me to match anyone!”

He had thought the shirts were too much before you threw in the identical orange baseball caps you had found, and at that point he was cursing whatever scorned woman it was that dumped all her ex’s shit into the thrift store.

The two of you look cute in your matching gear, he can’t deny that, he just wishes you could have found something that made him feel a little less dirty, maybe Wolverine blue and yellow, if you were gonna dress up as a couple.

Luke doesn’t like how you still make his throat dry in Mets gear.

He reaches out to adjust the cap on your head, pulling the bill down to cast more of a shadow over your face, and combining that with the way your braids, the ones you said you’d never usually wear but seem to suit you anyway, come out the bottom of either side of the cap, he figures anyone else would have a hard time immediately placing you. “Probably not,” he shrugs, making sure to keep an eye on the apparent lovebirds still hovering in the entrance of the art store.

“Great.” You smile victoriously, “Put your arm around me.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” You scoff, “I’m hardly asking you to ravage me outside the Pretzel Peddler, Hughes, make haste,” you shoo him forward, taking control of the situation and forcing yourself under his arm as the two of you stumble back toward the art store.

Remaining incognito isn’t entirely hard when the two of you are moving as one, you stuffed under his arm and him able to hide his face in the top of your head if he thinks either Cole or Ellie are likely to see you.

Following them is easy, able to maintain a short enough distance that you can both eavesdrop on their minimal conversation, and there isn’t really a problem until they break apart.

Ellie goes toward the back of the store, Cole towards the front, and you whisper to Luke that it might be best for you to break apart, too - if you both follow one of them, the other is more likely to catch you - and so you drift after Cole, and he drifts after Ellie, and while the two of you can still see each other, there are a lot of unidentifiable hand gestures in place of where you can no longer talk. That is, until Cole heads further down the other end of the store, and you slip completely out of view.

It’s less fun, spying this way, watching as Ellie browses the shelves, looking over all the sketchbooks until she finds the right one - as if he hasn’t seen a stack of around 5 of them in their room back at the house - swerving so fast on her feet that Luke stumbles on his own to get away, rushing around the bend before she can see him.

When he rounds the corner of the aisle and sees you heading straight for him, eyes wide and step rushed, he rushes, too, tripping forward until the two of you collide, your stance thankfully much sturdier than his. You grab him by his shirt to make sure he’s steady on his feet before you pull him with you as you fall against the shelf behind you, standing on your tip toes and tugging him down to meet your lips with a surprised grunt.

What the fuck?

Your hands move up to cup at either side of his face, holding him in place as you angle to slot the bill of your cap to the side of his so they don’t bump and fall off, and he loses himself in the warmth of your kiss before he even realises that he’s halfway gone. Your hands cover both of your profiles, and Luke thinks that if you are caught, there’s no way for them to identify the two of you unless Ellie has the orange-red colour and long, supposedly almond - or so you had told him - shape of your nails memorised. Because who would pay such close attention to something like that?

A hand falls to your hip, another to your waist, and he’s teasing your back into an arch with his touch, only distantly hearing surprised exclamations of oh fuck, and sorry, from either side of the aisle.

He pays no mind to the sound of rushed, retreating footsteps, trying to press his tongue between your lips for a further taste of very berry smoothie and sugary balm that he can feel the stickiness of, that he wants his lips to be coated in forever.

He savours the seconds after, where you drag out the show just to make sure Ellie and Cole have actually disappeared, and he pushes his luck one more time, deepening the kiss until you pull away, your hands on his chest shoving purposefully.

“What was that for?” He asks, breathless and dazed as he takes in your appearance, lips swollen and wet by his doing, pupils dilated.

“PDA makes people uncomfortable, right?” you shrug, like it’s the most obvious explanation for the way you just kissed the life out of him. Like there was nothing else you possibly could have done to get out of that predicament. And his heart thumps as he remembers that those are his words, uttered in a tease way back in the restaurant at the club. “They were hardly gonna stick around and watch, I don’t have Caufield down as a voyeur.”

Luke watches as your eyes drop briefly to his lips, and he swears he sees the flicker of a smile twitch at the corners of your mouth. His fingers come up by instinct, pressing tentatively at the sticky residue that coats the outline of them.

“You tell anyone I did that and I’ll gut you like a fish, Hughes.”

He nods, still in a daze, if he’s honest, and stays in place while you nudge past him to follow in the direction where Ellie and Cole disappeared.

When he does finally come to, shaking his head to pull himself out of the way his brain is trying to relive the last few minutes, he follows, too - maybe less discreet in his movements, this time, in the hopes that another close call might just gain him another kiss, too.

You’d like to think you have good intuition when it comes to others and their actions. You can see straight through people, a shift in their expression, a twitch in their smile, a glint in their eye - it makes you protective of the people you surround yourself with, keeping only a close-knit group of friends, and keeping everyone else at arms length.

Friends who you know when they’re upset, or down, need someone around, or need space. It’s how you know Luke has been avoiding you all week, and how you know even more just to leave him to it.

Not that you’re friends.

It started with long days at the rink - not that you lament his training, but you know he hadn’t been that deep into his regimen so far this summer. Quinn had been the one to drop you off at the club that last couple of days, and Luke hadn’t joined the group when they had played a round of golf and stopped by the bar for some refreshments after.

You’ve seen him around the house still, usually shooting off to God-knows-where, eyes locking in the hall as he passes you like a ship in the night, until he shifts his gaze with an awkward smile.

If he wants to be childish about one stupid, meaningless kiss, you have no choice but to let him.

You’d hardly forced yourself on him. He could have pushed you off if he didn’t want it. Instead, he’d pulled you even closer, even tried to slip you some tongue! And it had kind of been his suggestion in the first place.

You wouldn’t be so bothered about it if you had something to do with Ellie gone for the next week - her little sister’s birthday taking precedent over your summer plans, and the family taking a trip out of state. You can’t even go out, trapped inside due to the unforeseen storm - and you hate thunder, it reminds you too much of all those tumultuous nights locked in your room, listening to your parents fighting, the wind and rain doing little to drown it all out.

But all you have is the house, and with the house comes the movies - the ones he had promised to watch with you.

You had both written down your top ten, yours in his notes, and his in yours, and the damn page has been haunting you every time you unlock your phone. And that’s how you’ve given in so easily. It has nothing to do with the fact you miss him - it’s just pure boredom and curiosity that has you watching Happy Gilmore on your own on a Friday night.

You don’t miss him.

That would be ridiculous.

Luke Hughes is annoying.

His taste of movies is annoying.

The fact that won’t talk to you is annoying.

“Hey, I thought we were gonna watch this together.”

Or not.

Luke leans against the doorway, possessing the kind of casual indifference that only a man could, frowning and pouting as if he’s not the sole reason you’re cooped up on your own watching a damn movie about golf of all things.

“Thought you were avoiding me,” you bite back, arms crossed over your chest and brows furrowed in frustration.

“Why would I be avoiding you?” He asks as he steps into the room and closes the door behind him, your eyes darting straight to long, slender fingers wrapped around the handle.

“Because you kissed me, and then all of a sudden started acting like I don’t exist to you.” You accuse with a pointed glare, figuring one of you has to have the guts to talk about it.

“Actually, you kissed me,” he smirks, perching himself on the edge of your bed, “And then told me in graphic detail you’d pretty much murder me if I ever spoke about it again, so I,” he frowns, “Didn’t.”

You can’t help but scowl at how stupid that sounds. He can’t seriously think you would murder him. If you were the murdering type in the first place, you’d have done it long ago. You even tell him as much.

“I don’t know, you had this scary look in your eye, kind of didn’t want to test that theory,” he shrugs, reaching in the pocket of his hoodie and throwing a bag over to you.

M&Ms. Your favourite.

“You gonna scoot over?” He asks, raising a brow and widening his eyes as if he’s pleading, as if you’ve been the one giving him the cold shoulder.

You roll your eyes and shuffle across the bed, making room for him beside you that he occupies way too quick, legs stretching out in front of him, all the way down the bed, as he gets comfortable.

You try to focus on the movie, as if you have any clue what’s been happening so far, anyway, but you can see him out of the corner of your eye, an arm tucked behind his head, his chest stretched out, and his jaw tensing as he chews on the candy he’s already stealing from you.

He’s had a haircut. Shorter on the sides, and it makes his face look a little more defined. Still curly - maybe even curlier - and softer than before, in a way that you’d want to run your hands through it, if you were a crazy person, of course.

And he smells good, too.

You’re starting to think this has been his plan all along - for distance to make your wretched heart grow fonder, or whatever - and you find yourself tensing your own jaw as you grind your teeth and try to tune back into whatever Adam Sandler is yapping about.

“I sort of was avoiding you,” he admits, and you can still see him out of the corner of your eye, looking down at you, now, although you don’t look back.

“I know.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologises, shifting a little to face you more, “I thought you might have felt weird about kissing me.”

“I didn’t.”

“Okay then.”

“Alright.”

“We can talk about it, if you want?” He suggests, and that’s finally when you look at him, with his lips twisted nervously and his brow raised, anticipating your response.

What’s there to even talk about? You kissed him as a distraction. He knows that. You know that.

“I’m good.” You tell him, a short, forced smile to ease the tension before he smiles back.

“I know something we can talk about,” he leans in, “Considering how little you care about this movie.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“How you had a big fat crush on me in college,” he smirks, eyes darting between yours, the flash from the tv screen highlighting all the different hues of blues and greens in his irises.

He’s not gonna catch you out, though.

“You’re delusional.” You tell him, your own eyes narrowing, almost like a defence mechanism. He seems to be quite good at reading you, and you’re not letting him in that easy.

“So you keep saying,” he pouts, pensively, “But then it’s you never talked to me, Luke, and I remember small random details about you, Luke!”

“I don’t sound like that,” you frown, taking slight offence to the squeaky voice he puts on, more than likely to distract you from the closing distance. He speaks again before you can realise you really should be putting more effort into denying such ridiculous accusations, before he completely slanders your good name.

“You’ve been avoiding me all week and I missed you, Luke-,”

You don’t know why your mouth is all of a sudden on his, but if you take a second to think about it, you’ll spiral out. His lips are soft, and your noses slot perfectly beside each other - no painful bumps or clumsy collisions. Just a plain, normal kiss between two people who tolerate each other. That’s all.

When you part, his eyes drift open softly, his lashes - infuriatingly long as they are - flutter open, and his irises glaze over as if he’s under a spell.

“That was-,”

“To shut you up,” you mutter, rolling your own eyes and forcing a scowl. “You were starting to give me a headache.”

He nods, that dumb look still in his eyes, and you feel your jaw clenching almost achingly at how it makes you feel.

“And I care very deeply about Gilmore’s happiness, so if you could cut it out with your yapping, I’d really appreciate it.”

“His name is Happy-,”

“I didn’t ask.”

When Luke is on the ice, most of the noise around him usually tunes itself out. Aside from the scrape of his skates, and the thudding of his heart, he can usually dial out the crowd, the chanting, the booing, the chirping, whatever it may be - all distractions to the end goal.

The one noise he never can ignore, though, is that of the goal horn, blearing throughout the arena, bouncing off of every corner until it hits him like a freight train, and he thinks they ring a little louder when it’s him that scores.

And with that horn, he can fine tune himself back into his surroundings. To shouts and cheers and applause, a sea of red and white jerseys jumping up, the Devils logo brandished across their chests, and his work being praised by the masses.

He somehow has the power to zero in on you, too. Arms raised, up a little in the stands, not too far that you’re just a speck, but not too close that you’d be a distraction.

A wide smile on your face, adoration in your eyes, and 43 on your arm.

“Luke!” Your lips read, drowned out by the crowd, but he can still make it out, calling out to him like you’re the only other person in the room. “C’mon, Luke!”

He smiles, as big as he ever has before, and points straight at you, dropping a wink like you could possibly catch it from out in the stands, and taking a bow.

“Hughes, you big lump, wake up!”

He groans as he’s shaken from his sleep, soft hands gripping at his arms and jolting him awake.

“What?” He doesn’t open his eyes, not yet, but he thinks it’s the weight of his furrowed eyebrows keeping them closed.

“I need a favour,” you whisper.

“No.”

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“It’s 2am. I don’t do favours before 9.”

“C’mon, please?” He opens one eye to your pleading face, and then another, when he catches the teary reflection of the moonlight in your eyes.

“What is it?” He straightens up, rubbing the sleep from his eyelids and straining to make the rest of you out in the dark.

“I need you to look at the window in my room, it’s whistling.”

“It’s just the storm, it gets like that when it’s windy,” he sighs, sinking back down a little into his pillows. He had thought you were in danger, or something.

“Can’t you fix it?” You plead, soft fingers still squeezing a little at his bicep, and his chest starts to feel heavy just from the tone of your voice - but it’s 2am. You had him up until midnight watching Wall-E, and he has a morning skate with his dad at 6am.

“Do I look like a handyman?” He huffs, also a little aggrieved at the fact you had disrupted his rather nice dream. “Just go to sleep and ignore it.”

“I can’t.” You whine, “I can’t sleep if there’s a storm, they freak me out. And I can’t ignore it when it’s literally screaming at me through a broken window. And I’m on my own in there, it’s scary.”

Luke presses his palm firm into the socket of his closed eyes, trying to rub away the exhaustion that is urging every fibre of his being to fall straight back asleep.

He can’t fix the window. It’s been like that for as long as him and his brothers have lived here - always the dud room left to whoever rocks up last to the house - and even if he could, he’s comfortable, and warm, and if his bare feet touch the cold, hardwood floor, he won’t be able to get himself to drift back off.

He sighs, shuffling beneath the sheets before grasping them and flipping them over, making room beside him and muttering a grumpy, demanding, “Get in.”

“Luke,” you whine, and he can see your pout even through his closed eyes - lips plump and plush and if he gets even a glimpse he’s going to start thinking about kissing them, again. “You’re really not gonna help me?”

“I don’t offer my super comfy bed up to just anybody,” he reasons, making a little more room, “C’mon, you can barely hear the rain in here, it’s this or the couch downstairs.”

“Can’t you take the couch and I take your comfy bed?”

Luke opens one eye to look at you, eyes glimmering nervously in the crack of moonlight that sneaks through the curtains, lip tugged between your teeth, and relents, immediately. “Do you want me to take the couch?”

He could probably go sleep in your bed, if you’re really that bothered. He doesn’t do too well with noises while he sleeps, but he will if he has to - if that’s what makes you feel better. But you had just said it was scary being alone, and he’s counting on that to make a case for himself to keep his super comfy bed in his whistle-less bedroom.

“No,” you grumble, shoving at his arm, “Move over a little more.”

He relents, making as much room as he can for you to crawl into his bed before he flips the sheets back over on top of you, waiting for you to get comfortable before he melts back into place.

His legs extending into yours is purely accidental, but he doesn’t move them when you don’t flinch away, taking a second to adjust his positioning until he realises something.

“You’re not wearing pants.”

“Neither are you.” You mumble back straight away, turning to face him, the bare skin of your calves brushing his as you move.

“It’s my bed,” he shrugs, his body on its side and his arm beneath his pillow, the space cramped now that you’re both squeezed in, and he’s trying to give you room, but he swears you have space on the other side. “I don’t wear pants to bed.”

“I don’t either.”

“What if there’s a fire?”

“I think I’d rather succumb to the flames than let your brothers see me in my panties.”

He just hums, sleepily, trying not to overthink how you wouldn’t mind him seeing you in them. He closes his eyes and tries to ignore the press of your skin to his.

“Do you want me to go put pants on, Luke, would that make you happy?”

“Don’t ask such a ridiculous question.” He huffs, sinking into his pillows and getting himself back into the right position to drop back off into a deep slumber. “Go to sleep.”

The soft patter of rain against the window lulls him, and he slowly feels you relax beside him, a few minutes of silence settling between the two of you - comforting and still - before you break it.

“Luke?” You whisper, this time barely audible, like you don’t even want to be heard - and it’s that thought that has him ignoring you, sleep clutching his eyes closed anyway, so close to drifting back off.

He feels your body shuffle against the mattress, still not enough to lure him back into full consciousness, but he’s aware enough to know your every move.

And he’d like to think he can predict them, imagining you shuffling to get comfy and hoping he’s too deep in his sleep to care if you nudge him while doing so.

But he could never predict the soft press of your lips to the corner of his mouth, and the gentle, almost non-existent muttering of a thank you against his skin.

He only lets himself smile when he can feel you settle back into the bed, body laid beside him, bare legs brushing against his under the sheets.

You are so welcome, he thinks, that soft smile curving into something much deeper as he succumbs to sleep, body melting into an oozy, gooey, consuming mess beside your own.

Luke should have known you’d get your own back on him for the whole avoiding thing.

The two of you had been sweet for a solid week, movie nights every other night, especially after you had shared his bed, you’d even made him lunch to come back to the day after. And he had started driving you to and from work, again.

And it’s the drive home from work one day that he sees something in you switch.

“It’s just gonna be a couple people, you’ll probably even know some of the girls from college.”

“It’s your house, Luke, you don’t have to explain your parties to me.” You shift your knees back to face the dash, where they had just been angled toward him, and you cross your arms against your chest.

“We can pick back up on movie night tomorrow, I don’t have any training all day so we can do a marathon, if you want.”

“Ellie’s back today, so I don’t know.”

He frowns, tightening his fingers around the wheel as he watches you retreat all of a sudden, like you’re annoyed with him, or something.

And then as soon as he pulls up outside the house, you’re climbing out of the car before he even has a chance to come around and open the door for you, storming up the driveway and disappearing inside.

He tries not to let it get to him. Tries to lose himself in the festivities of the night - a house party thrown on whim at the discovery that most of the brothers’ mutual friends were in town. He was excited to see his boys from Michigan, Ethan, Dylan, Luca and Jacob, who all climb out of Ethan’s truck with a 6-pack in hand, and crowd around Luke, embracing him with brotherly pats on his back and ushering him into the kitchen to partake in their pre game ritual - a round of shots to line their stomachs.

He still keeps a close eye on you once the party is underway. Watches you and Ellie, watches when Cole joins the two of you, and you laugh at whatever dumb jokes he’s trying to tell you. Watches your gaze flicker his way throughout the night, and leave just as quickly, and he has to shrug off the chirps of his friends when they notice, too.

He later watches you catch up with a couple of the girls coming from your sorority, and that’s around the time he loses you, lost in a round of beer pong that fills his bladder quicker than he could have anticipated.

He excuses himself up to his room, the music dying down the further upstairs he gets, and relieves himself with an inebriated bop of his head to whatever melody he can still hear blasting through the floorboards.

He zips his jeans back up, and ambles over to the sink, washing his hands under the faucet until the sound of his door opening has his heart falling into the pit of his stomach.

“Jesus,” he gasps, shutting off the water and turning to face where you’re stepping into the room and closing the door behind yourself. “You ever heard of knocking? What are you doing upstairs?”

“Was just checking you weren’t like jerking off in here or something,”

“What if I was, were you planning on watching?”

“Yeah, right,” you scoff, pulling a face to feign some sort of offence, but Luke watches as you fidget, tucking your hair behind your ears and shuffling on your feet.

“Like you’ve been watching me all night,” he smirks, tossing the towel he had used to dry his hands back onto the hook and taking a step into your space, backing you against the counter, your shoes no longer shuffling along the floor. It feels like it’s been days now that you’ve been off with him, even though it’s been a mere few hours, but in those hours, he’s had a lot of time to think about your relationship, or lack thereof. “Think I haven’t seen you? Can’t take those pretty eyes off of me, can you?”

He’d first noticed when you came downstairs with Ellie, earlier, pinned to her side and gossiping about something, no doubt catching up on her week away. You kept glancing his way, subtly at first, eyes darting over and shifting back just as quick to your best friend, faking interest and nodding along until you looked back over. Your efforts were more noticeable as the two of you moved around different corners of the room, interacting with different groups and still meeting eyes across the expanse of space between you and him.

His heart jumped every time.

And then Victoria had arrived, just before he had been recruited to play beer pong - an old hookup from his college days. She had always been more of a friend than anything else, and Luke had no interest in reigniting whatever dampened spark they once had, she has a boyfriend now, anyway, but when her hand grazed his arm, and he looked over to see your glare zeroed in on the exact spot she was touching him, he thought he’d have a little fun with it.

Nothing too extreme, a few loud laughs, a little longer spent with her than initially anticipated, but she had been more than happy to regale him with stories about her new relationship, so pretending to pay attention didn’t seem like such a bad idea if it was going to make you do something.

He had a sneaking suspicion as to what had turned your mood, earlier, and he was about to have fun testing his theory - that you had been jealous at the mere mention of other girls being at the house.

He didn’t think it would culminate in you following him all the way up to his room, confronting him in his bathroom with nobody else around, but he’s hardly mad about it, now.

“Shut up,” you scowl, but your tone is weak, and Luke knows he’s got you. Chin tilted up to meet his eyes in defiance, gaze locked on his as he moves closer, and he’s thankful, for the first time tonight, that the boys had forced him to take those shots when the party started.

He wouldn’t have the courage to challenge you like this, otherwise - an inebriated cockiness taking over, puffing out his chest and filling him with the same sort of misplaced bravado he’s been convincing himself to muster all week.

“You already know how to make me.” He mutters, lowly, the proximity of your face to his giving his tone a breathiness that he hopes comes across more seductive than slurred. His mind is stuck on that kiss from the other night, when he had apparently irritated you so much that you felt that was your only option.

You blink slow, eyes dropping to his lips, and before he can blink, himself, you close the distance.

This is different to before - incomparable to a kiss given just to hide your faces, one just to stop him from talking and another when you had thought he wasn’t conscious.

This is heated, and intentional, and intense.

Dainty fingers clutch at the front of his shirt, pinching slightly at his skin before taking a hold of the fabric, and there’s no possible way for you to play this off as something less.

Your lips are firm, slotted against his, and moving before he knows it - his tongue licking at the seams until they part, and you grant him access to the sweet taste of fruity liquor inside your mouth.

Large hands take residence on your hips, sliding daringly backward until he’s gripping at your ass, long fingers stretching down to trace the hem of your skirt, denim thick but not immune to his absentminded efforts to chase the feeling of more.

He’s expecting you to come to your senses, anticipating the grip of your hands to turn into a shove, and the sweetness of your taste to turn sour when you start to yell at him, fire in your eyes and venom on your tongue - but all he hears is you moaning into his mouth, all he feels is the press of your torso against his as your back arches into his touch, his fingertips grazing the top of your thigh as your skirt moves in his hold.

He’s greedy with the way he touches you after that, hands cupping, fingers kneading, nails scratching even just to leave his mark, and he barely notices yours slipping down, down, down until the cold press of your fingertips grazes his abdomen, stomach tensing at your touch.

He groans a little, his movements halting as you manage to distract him from his ministrations, using the leverage you have on his body to press and push until your lips part - swollen and wet with his spit.

His heart thuds in his chest, thump thump thump echoing in his head as he watches you - holds his breath and stares at you with his own lips parted, the taste of you lingering in a way he doesn’t want to swallow too soon.

He waits for your face to turn, for that hypnotised look in your eyes to turn into a glare, the distance between you bringing some much needed clarity - but the shift never comes.

Instead, you push yourself away from the counter, and he finds himself looking straight down as your hands make their way back to the hard ridges of his stomach.

“What are you doing?” He stutters as your fingers start to tickle lower.

“I wanna give you a hand.”

“Give me-,” he splutters, his own hand stopping yours in its tracks. “Am I dreaming right now? Is this a trick?”

“No,” you persist, pushing your hands despite his weak, half-hearted efforts to stop them. “You did me a favour, why can’t I do one back?”

“Because that’s not-,” He can’t believe he’s trying to turn this down, the lump in his throat protesting the words that try to come up. You just kissed him. You just let him hike your skirt up and push you against the bathroom counter, let his fingers go so far beyond the realm of reality that he thinks he’s still lost in a dream - and he can’t figure out why he’s even questioning it, anymore. “There’s a pretty big difference between me letting you sleep in my bed and you jerking me off,”

“It’s only a big deal if you make it one, Luke.” You shrug, pausing at the waistband of his pants. Every nerve from his ribs to his toes tingles, the teasing touch of the tips of your fingers sparking something unshakable within him. “Do you want me to help you out or not?”

“Are you high or something?”

“No,” you chuckle, meeting his eyes again - sparkling and beautiful, a hidden vulnerability flashing across them at the insistence of his hesitant rejection. “Are you? You’re really gonna turn me down to just jack yourself off in here on your own?”

“Please don’t call it that.” He pleads, the last thing he needs right now is any sort of reminder of his brother. Not when you have your hands on him. Not when you could conceivably get on your knees right before him. Not when his deepest darkest fantasies could play out after so many years of pining after you. “No.”

“No?”

“No.” He lets out a panicked stammer. “Not no. I meant no, like no to your question, not no period.”

“What?” You step back with a frustrated huff, taking your hands away, close enough still that he can reach out and grab them, holding them between the both of you.

“I want-,” Good lord, he wants a lot. He can still taste you on his tongue, still feel the press of your kiss on his own swollen lips, and his head is spinning so far out of control he doesn’t think he’ll be able to knock any sense back into it any time soon. “Are you sure?”

“Oh my God, Hughes, just pull your pants down and let’s get on with it.”

Luke pulls you in for one more kiss before he relinquishes all control, and hums and whines as you work his zipper down, the sound bouncing off the tiles and reverberating around his skull.

He doesn’t know how you can so easily go back to normal after.

He can’t understand how you could just lift yourself back onto your feet when the two of you were finished, adjust your skirt around your hips, and leave him alone in the bathroom, panting, flushed and barely coherent, all evidence of your tryst swallowed down like the moans you had forced him to suppress - all except the faint bruises on the lowest part of his stomach that you had sucked into his skin, the ones he hopes grow darker as the days go on, the ones he feels pulsing as he rejoins his friends in the kitchen.

He had once again promised not to utter a word to anyone - but it doesn’t stop the thousands of them that swirl around his brain after, the ones that linger there all through the night, resurface through the week, and etch themselves into the very core of his being.

Thousands of words in hundreds of languages, mixing to form romanticised poems he might never understand.

All he does understand, is that he’s so far gone for you now, it isn’t even funny.

Far gone is starting to seem like the understatement of the century.

Luke can’t get enough of being around you, and it’s so detached now from the two of you only ever hanging out to scheme about Jack and Ellie that he can’t even remember the last efforts you made to do anything about their relationship.

He’s now just focused on whatever relationship the two of you are building between yourselves.

Watching movies in his bed, comparing commentary on your favourites, asking for his opinion, and him asking for yours. And he likes how gentle you are with the things he loves. Movies are kind of his thing, and sharing them with someone else - sitting and watching them and waiting for some kind of reaction, good or bad - could be intimidating with anyone else.

But you’re so attentive. You ask questions, you remember things, and you try to understand why he might love a film, and try to see things from his perspective, rather than stamping your own opinion over his and ruling anything out.

You’re open-minded, even though you pretend not to be. You’d given Happy Gilmore a second chance, even, and Luke never had you pegged as the second chance type.

You talk a lot more to him on your drives to and from work - not that you didn’t talk before, but this is different, entirely. You have actual discussions, around more than just what’s happening at the house, or what’s happening at work.

The two of you talk about college, about your major, your plans for after school. You talk about hockey, about Jersey, about his friends and teammates back there, and the life he’s built away from the one you pretend you never knew.

And the way he feels about you starts to consume him in ways he never thought possible. In ways that make him sort of understand where Jack had been coming from all those years, when he’d never shut up about his feelings for Ellie, and how he thought about her all the time, and wanted to be with her 24/7.

It’s what has him hovering around at the club after he and Quinn had played a round of golf, waiting outside for Quinn to give the keys back for their caddy, and spotting you chatting to Cara at the side door to the restaurant.

He waves as soon as you see him, and his heart jumps when you immediately excuse yourself to skip over, a bright smile on your face that he never thought could be directed his way.

“Hey!” You greet him, cheerily, ponytail swaying behind you as you come to a stop in front of him.

“What time are you getting off?” He asks, foregoing any small talk and cutting straight to the chase.

“I’m on the lunch shift today, so 3,” you pout, checking the watch on your wrist that he knows reads just past 1. “You don’t have to wait around though, I can catch a ride from somebody else,”

“No, I’ll take you home.” He assures you, “I need to go to the mall, I’ve got to get a present for a baby shower, I was hoping you’d help me.”

“I don’t know how much help I’d be, babies give me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Yeah, same,” he chuckles, “Maybe we could grab dinner or something, instead?”

“I was gonna pick up a dress for the party next week, so maybe we could do that first?”

“And then dinner?” He asks, a hopeful raise of his eyebrows that is spurred on by the way you’re biting back a smile.

“Yes, Luke, then dinner.” You chuckle, beaming up at him when his face breaks out into a full-blown grin.

“Sick,” he replies, “Yeah, cool,” he nods as he watches you step away, amusement gleaming in your eyes, “I’ll be out here at 3.”

“I’ll see you then.”

Luke watches as you make your way back to the side door of the restaurant, meeting your eye when you look back at him and relishing in the way he can catch the flush of your cheeks all the way from the fountain.

He smiles to himself as he turns on one foot, light in his step and light in his head, nodding to the guy who is painting the railings leading up to the club foyer and swinging on his feet as he waits for his brother.

If he had a little less self-awareness, he thinks he could start leaping and swinging from the nearest lamp post like a scene straight out of Singing In The Rain.

He hasn’t felt elation like this in a long time.

He hadn’t uttered the word, exactly, but this is as close to a date as he might get, and his entire body is buzzing at the thought of it.

“Are you coming?” Quinn calls out as he descends the steps at the front of the club, keys in one hand and a water bottle in the other.

“Uhh,” Luke drags out as he not-so-subtly looks back to where you and Cara are talking by the side door. “I think I’m gonna check out the gym.”

“You know it’s just a bunch of old guys on machines in there, right? Plus, I thought we were going in the morning with the rest of the guys?”

“Right,” he mutters absentmindedly, “I meant the pool.”

“You hate indoor pools.”

“The sauna?”

“Your little crush is getting out of hand, huh?” Quinn chuckles, elbowing at Luke’s side to get his attention back.

“It’s not a crush.” Luke huffs, lips pouted as he tears his eyes away from you with great effort.

“I think we’re past the point of you denying it, Luke,” his older brother gestures to the wall Luke had been staring at when he came outside, “You’re literally watching paint dry to pass the time until she finishes work-,”

“No, I mean like I had a crush on her,” Luke sighs, “Before this summer, when I just thought she was pretty and hot and I could never pluck up the courage to do anything about it. It doesn’t feel like a crush anymore. Or maybe it does, I don’t know, I kinda feel like she’s crushing me, to be honest.”

He gives a nervous laugh when he says it, but it’s not enough to cover up the way he really feels - not when it comes to his big brother, who puts his keys back in his pocket just so he can spare a hand to reach out and pinch at Luke’s cheeks, teasing, “Lukey’s in love,” before he swats him away.

“Hardly,” he scoffs in denial, although he doesn’t really understand why he’s fighting the thought of it so hard.

It’s not exactly a preposterous idea. Love might be an overestimation - you haven’t exactly let him all the way in - but like seems like an understatement. Obsessed seems dramatic. Infatuated?

“I don’t know, I like spending time with her, like talking to her, is all,” he shrugs. He likes a lot more than that, but confiding in Quinn after how his last encounter with Jack about the whole thing had gone has his back up, a little. “I feel like she might like me too.”

It’s the first time he’s said it aloud to anyone else. He’s chirped you about it enough - taken note of the various shades of pink he can flush your cheeks when he does, darker and darker as the days go on - but he’s been abiding by your request of staying quiet about any of the specifics.

And it’s been hard. Oversharing is kind of his thing, usually, and keeping information from his brothers isn’t exactly something he loves doing, not when he’s been cursing Jack all summer for doing the same.

“Jack thinks she’s using me. He doesn’t like her.”

“Jack doesn’t like that he can’t beat her. Like he can fire a thousand shots at her and nothing goes in, he isn’t used to that.”

“Oh, but I am?” Luke scoffs, although he isn’t entirely sure if he is offended. “Are you calling me a loser?”

“No, Luke, I’m not calling you a loser.” He chuckles. “It’s like hockey, right, you and me, we chase people down. Don’t give in until we’re caught up and we can disarm someone. That isn’t Jack’s game. He’s usually the one being chased, you know? Usually the one ahead.”

“He’s not that bad on the other side of the blue line,” Luke scoffs, although he gets where his eldest brother is coming from. He hasn’t really thought about it in that context - that you and Jack don’t get along because you’re alike - but it makes sense now that he thinks about it.

“He’s not like you, though. You get some weird thrill out of going after people you have no business going after, you have since you were younger, taking down kids 4 or 5 years older than you and twice the size for fun. Makes sense you’d want someone so far out of your league.”

Luke looks back over to where you’re still stood with Cara, and just manages to catch your eye before you look away, pretending he hadn’t caught you. The smile erupts slowly onto his features, close-lipped and soft, but he feels the joy of it all throughout his body.

“I think I’m wearing her down.”

Stolen glances across whatever room the two of you happen to be in, smiles that you’ve only ever sent his way, feather-light but purposeful kisses on the corner of his mouth when you think he’s asleep, seeking him out in his bathroom after seeing him with someone else - yeah, he’s getting there.

“Good for you, Luke,” Quinn chuckles, patting his brother on the back, “As long as you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

He does. At least he thinks so.

You feel weird.

It’s the only word you can think to describe the mood you’ve been in for the past week.

Well, weird and off.

You can’t quite put your finger on it, either, but it’s throwing you off your game.

There had been a second the other day where you had thought you might have gotten to the bottom of things - when you’d come inside from sunbathing with Ellie and had found Luke in his room, packing a bag for his trip to Vegas for some award ceremony he and Quinn were nominated for.

Clarity had hit you like a brick to the head, panic swirling in your chest at the thought of him being gone for a whole week, but then he’d looked up from where he was perched on the ground, had given you a lopsided grin, and had ushered you over to help - and the speed in which you had started to feel normal again quickly diminished any thoughts of Luke being the cause of your weirdness.

But it has been hard to shake, even as unidentifiable as it may be, and the longer you feel this way, the worse it gets, bubbling up like anxiety that keeps your jaw tight, and your lips pressed together.

It culminates the night of the boys’ party - a celebration of Quinn and Luke’s nominations, and a good luck send-off of sorts that Jack had wanted to throw before they left.

You had started the night off fine - kind of attached at Luke’s hip, him muttering teasing remarks into your ear about you clinging to him ‘cause you’re gonna miss him when he’s gone, and catching up with a couple of the guys from Michigan. You might have even been having fun at one point, smiling into the red cup Luke had placed in your hand at the beginning of the night that you still hadn’t drained, as you watched him shoot pool and he kept smirking up at you as he leant over the table.

You shouldn’t be feeling anxious when he looks at you like that, but God, do you feel something.

And then your phone starts to buzz in your pocket, and assuming it’s Ellie, who, once again, is away with her family - this time in Europe for a couple of weeks - you pull it out.

But it isn’t Ellie.

It’s your dad.

And the heart that had been thudding in your chest at the mere capture of Luke’s attention just moments ago, is now dropping out of your ass.

It isn’t a call, thank God - you don’t think you could handle that, feeling the way you currently feel - but an email.

Your dad hasn’t called in a while. He rarely texts, either.

This is how it is, now. Emails and Facebook posts you happen to come across, like you’re some distant co-worker or an old family friend.

Not his only daughter. Not the kid he abandoned in search of a better life.

When you open it up, there’s no subject, no body either to the email, just an attachment.

A family photo, him, his new wife, and their two boys, stood in front of the Eiffel Tower, edited into a postcard that reads, Wish You Were Here!

And resentment bubbles within you.

I could have been, if you’d have invited me.

You shove your phone back into your pocket and do a quick glance around the room to check if anyone might have noticed the tears welling in your eyes, but you’re safe.

Luke’s attention is on the table, the rest of the boys’ attention is on him, and you slip away before he has the chance to meet your eye - to see straight through you in the way only he knows how, and make your way to the kitchen in the search of something stronger.

When you push your way through the door, whatever weird feeling that has been consuming you for the past week culminates into something bigger.

Something darker, and heavier, and angrier, like a tornado of emotions tearing through your very core, picking up every last bit of restraint on it’s way as your eyes narrow onto it’s next target.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Jack pulls back in a daze from the blonde who’s face he was just suctioned to, brows furrowed as his intoxicated gaze zeroes in on you.

He slurs out your name, glaring like he’s trying to get his eyes to focus before they roll dramatically, and he runs a hand through his messy hair.

“Jesus, what do you want?”

“Maybe for you to have some respect, or is that a little too much to ask?”

“Could you give us a minute?” He asks the girl in front of him, who scowls at you before walking off, shouldering past you to exit the kitchen as you stare Jack down. “Why are you being such a psycho?”

“I’m sick of you messing Ellie around, Hughes, I’m not gonna just stand around and let you play with her heart like she means nothing to you anymore.”

“She’s not even here,” he scoffs, “She won’t find out unless you tell her.”

“And you think I won’t? She’s my friend, Jack, we tell each other everything.”

“Yeah? She tell you how she’s into Cole?”

“No. Because she isn’t.” You’d cleared that up with her a while ago, asking her straight up if something was going on - and she had said no. She wouldn’t lie to you.

“Then why do I keep getting told that she is? Why is everyone seeing them out together all the time? Why is she texting him tonight and not me?”

“Maybe ‘cause you’re making it your mission to stick your tongue down other girls throats all the time. This entire summer, you’ve done nothing but avoid your feelings so much that maybe she thinks you’re not into her. Maybe you need to pull your head out of your ass and talk to her like a grown fucking adult and stop playing stupid games with her heart.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“And you should be fucking listening. If you keep messing her around, you’ll lose her for good,” you threaten, with a jab of a pointed finger into his chest.

Jack looks flushed, cheeks pink, lips puffy, eyes red-rimmed and hair a mess as he looks back at you - and it’s like he’s functioning in slow motion, you can practically see the cogs turning in his inebriated brain as he comes up with some way to jab back, some way to make you hurt the way the thought of Ellie leaving does to him, just to avoid admitting you’re right.

“What, like how you keep messing my brother around?”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, stepping back when he jabs a finger at you.

“You heard me,” he snarls, “Leading him on like some lovesick puppy while you couldn’t care less about him.”

“Is that what he said?”

“No, funnily enough he won’t even talk to me about you,” Jack’s glare sends a shiver down your spine, one that overrides the buzz of pride at him following your instruction - you know this level of animosity comes from the swirling of intoxication and frustration, he doesn’t actually hate you, the two of you have gotten on somewhat in the past couple of weeks, despite him making out otherwise, but this is different. This makes you feel small, like a speck of something fragile, ready to be stomped and crushed under his irate foot. And it’s not the kind of small you usually like. The kind of small where you compare yourself to the bigger picture. No, this hurts. Aches. Itches in a way that you need to relieve, immediately. “But I bet that’s your doing, because that’s how toxic you are, making it so he can’t even confide in his brother about his feelings. Feelings that you just want to stampede all over like they’re nothing. Break his heart like it’s some kind of sport.”

That isn’t true.

That’s not who you are.

That’s not what you’re doing, not what you want.

You know how it feels to have someone break your heart like that, you’d never do that to Luke.

“Go fuck yourself, Jack.” Is all you can mutter out in defence of yourself before you’re shouldering past him, barging through the uninterested crowd and stomping out of the kitchen.

You think it’s the need to feel bigger that has you poking your head into every room in search of him - the person who had ingrained the notion of needing to feel bigger to feel better to your memory - only able to find comfort in a mop of messy curls that sits on top of a head higher than the rest. It’s what has you grasping at his hand when you do find him outside on the deck, dragging him wordlessly - and thankfully enough, without protest - back through the rest of his house, and to his room before you push him down onto the bed, instructing him to move up and sit against the headboard before you straddle his lap.

You kiss away his questions, fingers clumsily working at the buttons of his shirt until you can tear it off, swallowing down his confusion into your own mouth as he shrinks into your advances.

When you start to grind down into him is when he gains back some level of consciousness, large hands grasping at your waist and pushing until your lips part with a loud smack. And you’re both breathless, panting against each others mouths as he tries to figure you out, looking up at you with a furrowed brow and swollen lips.

“What’s going on?” He asks, eyes darting around you in concern.

Concern that makes you feel larger than life - makes your chest expand and your heart swell and your lungs fill with so much air that you feel like you might float away. To have someone look at you like that, care about you like that, want you for more than what bare bones you’re offering to him, what everyone else wants you for, it makes you feel gigantic.

Like a hot air balloon, carried to far away lands by the flames of his affections.

And if they shut off, you’ll drop into oblivion. Breaking suddenly from the airy mechanics that keep you afloat, plunging at great speeds until you inevitably hit the earth with an almighty, painful splat.

You never did like falling.

“I want you.”

His face scrunches a little as he thinks - thinks a little too hard for someone who’s been pursuing you all summer - and before he can question it, you reach for the hem of your top, pulling it off until you’re left in just your lacy bra, your skirt riding up as your legs fall to either side of his hips.

It’s the most you’ve ever given him aside from being around him in your bikini and the one time you had changed and he hadn’t turned around quick enough, and before you can feel self conscious about it, you feel his eyes rake down the long expanse of your bare skin.

And the way he looks at you now makes you feel even bigger - a hunger in his eyes that tells you he could spend the rest of his time on earth working his way through every inch of you, savouring whatever parts of you that you’ll let him get a taste of, and he’ll never let you go.

“Please?” You’re already technically on your knees, what harm can begging do if it just makes him do something?

You don’t want to talk about it like you know he’s about to ask, don’t want to have to explain why you sought him out, why, for once, you didn’t care that people might see the two of you holding hands, you marching him to his bedroom and him following like exactly what Jack had said - a lovesick puppy.

You just want him. Want to feel bigger. Want to feel wanted.

Want to give in to the part of you that has been dying to fold to him all summer, to let him close that gap, to break down the barriers you’ve been desperately guarding.

He cranes his neck to press a sweet kiss to your lips - one lacking the intensity from before, but not the adoration he always manages to pack in there - the kind that twists at your gut until you can’t take it anymore.

“Please,” you whisper against his lips, kissing him again. “Give me something to hold onto when you’re gone.”

You figure if you use his own words against him - words uttered teasingly, but truthfully, earlier - he’ll give in.

The thought of losing this, of him leaving and finding something better, of distance being wedged between you for the first time all summer and finally giving him clarity, making him see you for what everyone else thinks you are.

Maybe if you give him what he really wants he’ll hold on a little longer.

It’s not like you don’t want it, too.

“You only had the one drink?” He asks, responding with fervour, the pressure of his kiss starting to build. “The one I got you?”

“Didn’t even finish it,” you kiss him again, “Stone cold sober,” and again, fingers trailing between you to work at the button on his jeans, “Want you now.”

“Yeah,” he lifts his hips and helps you pull his pants down, a clumsy shuffle to temporarily part while he wriggles them off, “Want you, too.” He mutters before leaning in to kiss at the corner of your mouth, “Wanted you for so long.”

There’s a voice inside that itches to tell him, I know, but it’s quickly shut up by another - a voice that’s louder, a voice you can’t ignore anymore when it comes to Luke.

A voice that tells you, you know nothing.

>PART THREE<

#luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #luke hughes fluff #*writing #pls don't hate me I swear on my life it will be tomorrow and you do have permission to kill me if not

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lxclerc · 1 year ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐝𝐫𝟑

summary... it’s never the right time for you and daniel, always something pulling the two of you away from each other. requested... yes by literally everyone. yall were coming at me with pitch forks for this warning... age gap (7 years), emotional cheating, physical cheating, angst, angst, angst, light smut (more on fade to black) pairing... daniel ricciardo x horner! reader

note... i am tagging each and everyone of you who asked for a part 2 bc this fic has quite literally loomed over my head ever since i posted it a year ago. literally everytime i open this godforsaken app, someone is offering me their first born for the part 2 so yall better give me all the notes!!!

𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

← prev part

high tide came and brought you in

“if you could go anywhere in the world right now, where would you go?”

the question caught you off guard as your friend drunkenly pondered over it out loud. where would you go? you were sober enough to say home, the most acceptable answer that would not invite any other follow up questions. it’s simple and doesn't need a discussion. the reason it caught you off guard wasn’t just that though but because your answer was instantaneous in your head. your answer isn’t a where but rather a who, came your bitter realization.

and you knew that if you could go anywhere in the world right now, it’d be him you’d go to. he always lingers in the back of your mind, everything that reminded him of you tends to bring a certain kind of aching and longing you’ve grown to resent over the months and years spent without him.

daniel sent you away and deep in you, you know he meant good. he’d done a selfless thing, loving you and setting you free. but missing him was unbearable, loving him all consuming and you resent him for doing this to you. you resent the world for making you fall for a man without letting you have him.

still, you did as he told you. you went back to school, pursuing a career in a field you knew he’d be proud of, achieving your dreams and living your life as though a part of you hadn’t been left with him.

your friends carry on with the party. half of university was partying which is a scene familiar to you. this time, it’s on the beach, the salty air and sound of crashing waves echoing with the sound of the music and chatter. still though, you can’t help but scan the place as though looking for him among the crowd of people the same way you always would. you miss the way you’d find his eyes already on you, pools of brown dripping like honey on your skin.

but he’s never there and you feel dirty whenever another man looks at you, their gazes too eager as they look at you as though you’re a piece of meat, never gentle like his as though you’re aphrodite herself walking among mere mortals.

you miss him is the ugly truth. you miss him so fucking terribly it makes you angry. you don’t want to miss him. you no longer want to love him. loving him hurts, as though he’s clawing at your chest and squeezing your heart together in a sick sort of torture.

but even before he touched you, you were his. all he had to do was look at you. you exist in two places – here and wherever he is.

eventually as the night progresses on, you move away from the party. you’re in some fancy country club and the tile is expensive on your feet as you step out of your heels and walked towards the beach, feeling the cool sand against your skin.

in hindsight, you really shouldn’t have been surprised to find him in a place like this but despite looking for him wherever you go, you’d never expect to find him. searching for him has become a comfort the same way longing for him has – in a sick, twisted and painful way.

but he’s here now and in the one time you hadn’t searched for him, he found you. the moment you’d spotted his figure looking out at sea, he turned to you as though a gravitational pull connected you to him.

one year, three months and fourteen days. that was the last time you saw him but he looked no different from the man who’d brought you back to your hotel room only to say goodbye.

and then he smiled and it was as though the sun shone on you again.

“honey,” he says and your heart trembles.

daniel.

it was too early. and you’re drunk and you aren’t entirely sure if you were dreaming or not.

but he stands before you, eyes of brown looking as though you’re aphrodite herself and he can’t quite believe he gets to stand before you. eyes of brown that seem to be sobbing without tears. daniel.

you’re still not talking and he’s letting you, watching you so intently as though he’s memorizing your face. he looked the exact same but you know what he must be seeing. you look nothing like the woman he left behind. you’d cut your hair short and dyed it. long gone were your summer dress, replaced by tight fitting ones that showed off your body. you feel different and you tried so hard to make sure you wouldn’t recognize yourself in the mirror. you hated seeing the woman who couldn’t make him stay.

but in his eyes, you see your reflection and you recognize her well.

“daniel,” you muttered as the crashing waves touched your feet. would you love me now? you wanted to ask.

he smiled again. “you look beautiful as you always are.”

please touch me, you wanted to beg. soft eyes and soft soft hands. you’re lonely without him.

you manage a grin. “sure, old man.”

the laugh that he let out echoed against your soul. “i’m being honest.”

you missed him. god, you missed him so fucking much.

but daniel still would not let himself love you. not yet, not now that you’re finally building something for yourself. you have friends and have set goals. not yet.

“y/n!” someone calls from behind you but you’re hesitant to take your eyes off of daniel, terrified he’d become a figment of your imagination the moment you do. but your friend's familiar calls force you to. “come on, we have to go.”

you ignore her, turning back to daniel and he smiles at you, offering his hand for you to shake. this is the best he can offer for now. “i’ll see you around, kid.”

you wanted to cry, wanted to scream that it’s so unfair, but you smile sadly as he shook his hand, his calloused fingers so familiar against yours.

“in a few years,” you say.

and as the ocean brought him back to you, the waves must return to the sea.

but you were still gone and gone, gone and gone

the next time you see daniel again, you were twenty four. you’re in your last year of university, applying for your doctorate. you loved academia, you loved your two cats and your little apartment downtown, you loved science and the galaxy it holds and you eventually realized that this is why he let you go. he wanted you to have this — be more than someone who just follows a man around country after country.

he wanted you to grow, wanted you to find the things you really loved without influence from him. he wanted you to find your independence and learn to stand on your own two feet.

max brought you here. it’s his first world champion and as his self proclaimed best friend, he refused to allow you to skip this one and so you pulled up your big girl pants and got on with it, arriving in abu dhabi on friday.

by some cruel twist of fate, he’s the first person you find the moment you enter the paddock. it would have been rude to ignore him and so you smile even though you can clearly see the woman next to him and the way she stands close.

goddamn it.

it hurt. it hurt seeing her there. it hurt seeing her cluelessly smile at you. the way he looks at you now, eyes of brown full of silent apologies, looking as though he wanted to reach over and touch you, to comfort you.

you release a shaky breathe, raising your hand in an pathetic attempt of a wave before you walk past him. you aren’t the same young kid like before. now, you have enough self reservation to not actively put yourself in a situation that would only hurt you. you don’t need to play besties with daniel’s new girlfriend.

the moment you enter the red bull motorhome, you hit max at the back of his head.

“what?” he exclaimed as you glared at him.

“you’re an idiot,” was all you said before moving towards your father. you’d ignore daniel and his girlfriend. you’re here to support max – even if he is a stupid idiot – and there’s no need for you to obsess over daniel.

but of course, you still do anyway. even as you watch the race, you’re watching him. he looks good, amazing, fucking edible. he looks like he stepped right out of your dirtiest dreams, all thick neck and stable arms. he looks beautiful, absolutely gorgeous and breathtaking and you selfishly want him just for you. but you’ve always wanted that and you’ve never been allowed to have him.

and then you’re watching her. she’s grace herself, really. she’s exactly the kind of woman he needed and you wonder if she knows about you and then you wonder what it is about her. what is it about her that made it so that daniel thought she’s good enough for him to love when he never could you?

“mate, it’s getting creepy,” max said as he took the seat before you. he looks tired but he looks determined and the way the hair falls over his face makes you smile. max is a very special person to you and you know that he always will. you hold him close to your heart and you know you’d move the earth for him.

you reach over, fixing the collar of his red bull shirt. “shut up.”

“her name’s caroline,” max says. “if you want to get to know her then just approach her.”

you glared at him. you don’t want to know her name. you don’t want to know what her laugh sounds like or the color of her eyes. you don’t want to know what made daniel fall in love with her. you don’t want to know her.

“shut up,” you say again. “i’m still blaming you.”

max laughed and you think him annoying you might just be his way of distracting himself from the race so you let him. you let him talk on and on and on the entire time till he’s needed back in the motorhome. you let him steal yur ice cream and tap your nose.

but when you turned back to her, caroline, you find him staring right back at you, anger and jealousy in those brown eyes you missed so much.

and it was like you’re twenty again, petty and young as you glared right back at him. he had no reason to be jealous when he has her beside him. he has no right to be jealous when he’s the one who’s never allowed the two of you to be more.

these hands had to let it go free

that night, he called you for the first time in three years. his name lit up your phone and your hand shook as you picked it up. his picture, smiling up at you taken at your twentieth birthday stares right back at you.

“daniel,” you breathe out as you press the phone against your ear. you’d arrived back in your hotel room two hours ago smelling of champagne and victory. max’s world championship trophy is laying next to you after being forgotten because your best friend was far too drunk to grab it before his girlfriend dragged him out. throughout the party, you avoided daniel like the plague, keeping to your side of the room and never straying towards him.

“i missed you,” he says from the other end, voice cracking and slurring. he’s drunk and you push back the blanket as you enter the bathroom, hand gripping your phone. “but fuck it, i don’t miss this.”

“what are you saying?”

“he’s my best mate, y/n.” there goes your name. not sweetheart or honey. he says your name like it’s sacred, something he’s only ever allowed to say when he’s at his most vulnerable, completely raw and baring his soul to you. “and i wanted to fucking punch his face the entire night.”

you close your eyes. this is familiar to you. daniel and his raw honesty when he’s drunk. daniel and his jealousy of max. this is all so familiar to you that you feel twenty again. you feel young and out of control and so drunk in love with a man you can’t have that it physically hurts. he’s ripped you off the past few years where you’ve grown into yourself. you’re twenty again and so tragically in love.

“i wanted to punch his fucking face because his touching you, because i’m not allowed to touch you,” he continues as you sink to the floor.

“you’re the only one who’s never let yourself touch me, daniel,” you whispered on the phone, broken down from one phone call.

he laughs bitterly and you might as well not have said anything. “and here i am, can’t even sleep next to my damn girlfriend because i keep thinking of you. it’s so unfair.”

you wanted to laugh too. unfair? how does he get to talk about unfair when he’d been the one to create this mess for the two of you? how dare he talk about being unfair when he’s the one who’s with another girl? this is unfair. it’s unfair to you. he doesn’t deserve to talk about it being unfair.

the night he left you in your hotel room on your twenty first birthday, you’d called his name again and again like a child. you hoped by some magical thing that he’ll appear. you were desperate.

“you shouldn’t have come back,” he says. “not yet. we both weren’t ready.”

you wipe the tears falling to your cheeks. “and when will that happen? when will we be ready? maybe it’s time to accept that it isn’t us.”

you heard him let out a shaky breath. “don’t say that. don’t say it.”

“i’m so tired of waiting. if it wasn’t us then and it isn’t us now, why do we still believe that it’s us someday?”

“ask me to stay,” he whispers. “ask me to stay and i will. ask me to drop her and i will. i will drop everything if you ask me to.”

you cry, pulling your knees against your chest. “goodbye, dan.”

struggled through the night with someone new

the next time you see daniel again, you invited him. you’re twenty five, it’s two thousand and twenty two, you’re engaged and you’d gotten arrogant.

you met your fiance, james, in university. you’re in the same program and the same friend group though you never paid much attention to him. for the most part, you never really paid much attention to anyone. six months later and he asked you on a date, one you’d declined without a second thought. it didn’t matter how many guys asked you out, you always declined, daniel in the back of your mind always reminding you of what you’re truly waiting for.

but james never treated you any differently. he never made it awkward and never put you on the spot. for the most part, you both acted like it never happened. but you applied to the same doctorate program and coincidentally ended up in apartments right next to each other. he was a comfort, a friend you already knew that you could rely on. he never made anymore advances towards you but it was inevitable to grow closer.

he’s stability and curiosity. he never once pulled back whenever you touched him or apologized for liking you. it was a breath of fresh air – to be admired so freely. you did your thesis together, hands tightly clamped together as you defended it.

you were the one to ask james out on a date, knowing he wouldn’t again in fear of making you uncomfortable. and after leaning on each other as friends for so long, transitioning to become lovers was so easy, you didn’t have to worry what anyone would say or think of you. you didn’t have to worry what your family would think. everything was easy with him.

james was so different from the type of love you were used to. you could love him without guilt, without pain and longing. you could love him simply, easily. you didn’t need to ask him to love you back, didn’t need to wonder if he’d still love you tomorrow. it was so easy being with him and you’d gotten lazy. waiting and hurting and crying for daniel was exhausting.

you wanted a love you didn’t have to fight for.

you’ve convinced yourself that you no longer felt anything for daniel, gaslighting yourself into believing that you’d close that chapter and left it in the past. you can move on now. there was no need for you constantly being miserable and lonely waiting for him to be ready.

and yet here you were, your fiance’s arm around you as you stare at the front door. you shouldn’t have invited him. there was no reason for you to do so but you wanted to prove yourself. you wanted to prove to yourself that he no longer affected you. daniel is in the past and you’ve told yourself repeatedly that you’ve let him go but now you wanted to show yourself that you have.

if you’re lucky, maybe he wouldn’t attend at all.

“are you okay, love?” james whispered against your ear, having noticed your stiff posture. you spent weeks planning your engagement party, stressing over the smallest details but now you don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.

you loved this about him – the way he’s able to read you like an open book. james knows there was someone before him – someone who’d left you broken and torn apart. he just didn’t know that person would be attending today.

you nod, taking a sip from the champagne glass you’d been holding as an excuse to stop your hands from fidgeting. “just a bit nervous from the crowd.”

“don’t worry too much. it’s just friends and family.” he gives you an assuring smile, accepting your reasoning as he pulls you closer towards him to try and comfort you.

you’re an idiot, the biggest one there is. max told you himself after you told him that you sent the invite to daniel. you’re a massive idiot and you’re in denial and you set your own trap, tempting yourself when there was no need to and now you were going to hurt james because the moment daniel entered the room, your breath was knocked out of you, heart beating furiously as though it recognized him.

it was daniel. how can you be so stupid?

his eyes meets yours and you missed the way those eyes of brown settle on your skin, grazing as though his soul was touching yours. but they’re sad this time – sad and exhausted and defeated and you can practically hear the way your heart shatters. it was daniel. it has always been daniel. it will always be daniel. how stupid were you to think otherwise? how stupid were you to believe you could ever forgot the way your heart and soul roars back to life the moment he enters the room.

you’ll break james’ heart, you’re breaking your own and you’ve broken his.

the entire time, you and james had stood before the door, greeting all of your guests and showing them where they can wait. you absolutely had no plans to greet daniel. it was bad enough that he was here, but james, sweet sweet james, who had no idea what he was doing dragging you towards the formula one driver, hadn’t gotten the memo.

he didn’t know that having daniel’s eyes on you so close would set wildfires in your stomach and he didn’t know how exhausting and difficult it was to contain those wildfires. he didn’t know that he was burning himself as he all but dragged you in front of him.

“hey,” your fiance says cluelessly. “daniel ricciardo!”

daniel is looking at you and you feel frozen under his gaze. it’s heavy. he makes you feel heavy, like you were cheating on james simply by looking at you. you feel nauseous but with guilt eating up at every cell in your stomach. but you shouldn’t feel guilty. he had no right to make you feel guilty for moving on. he moved on. last you him, he had a girlfriend. why aren’t you allowed to do the same? why can’t you go on with your life and build a future with a nice man that isn’t him?

“i’m a big fan,” james says cheerfully, offering his hand for daniel to shake and forcing him to tear his gaze away from you.

daniel forces a smile to his face, moving to shake his hand and you know this is the part where you’re supposed to introduce him. daniel is your guest after all and so you clear your throat, hoping your smile isn’t as stiff as you feel like it is.

“james, this is my friend daniel. daniel, my fiance james.” you manage to let out, gripping your champagne glass to avoid having to touch either of them the same way you avoid the way daniel’s eyes hardened when the word fiance tumbled from your lips.

“it’s really nice to meet you, mate,” james says with a massive smile. god he’s so nice and sweet and you hate what you’re doing to him.

daniel says nothing, only smiling and you end this entire interaction the moment you get a chance to. pointing at the snacks table, you turned to him. “there’s food over there and max is around here somewhere. nice seeing you again, daniel.”

you were lying through your goddamn teeth. thankfully, he seems to have taken the hint, walking away without saying another word.

the entire night, you feel his eyes on you. even as james makes his speech declaring his love for you, daniel stares at you with hooded eyes. he looks pissed and sad at the same time and you wanted to scream. stop looking at me! you couldn’t take anymore of this. he’s looking at you as though you’re under a microscope – staring into your soul like he could reach you there.

you’re an idiot and now that he’s in the same room as you are, the illusion has left you. you’re not over daniel because you can never be over him. he’s engraved in your soul, his fingerprints all over your heart. he was, and still is, the sun that made your universe turn. you’re choking and you needed to get away lest you burst.

daniel is overwhelming. he’s terrifying and addicting and you hate him but you’re madly in love with him. and worse of all, you’ll spend the rest of your life being in love with him. you’ll spend the rest of your life wanting him and hurting for him and and longing for him and that’s a goddamn fucking tragedy.

you manage to get through the party, practically dissociating yourself. eventually the guests leave one by one, only your family and closest friends left. you sit on the foyer with max, the dutchman watching you drink champagne straight out of the bottle.

“you shouldn’t have invited him,” he tells you quietly. “you were fucking yourself over.”

you roll your eyes. you stare inside the house where daniel is talking to your father. your dad offered his home for your engagement party. you know he likes james. your mother too and your little siblings can’t get enough of him. that fact almost makes you want to throw up.

“i thought i was over him,” you say.

it’s max’s turn to roll his eyes. “you’re just a good liar. you’ll never be over daniel and he’ll never be over you. even i know that.”

you glared at him. you already know what he’s telling you and quite frankly, you had no desire to hear it again. “i hate you.”

“neither you nor dan would survive this long without me.” max laughed and you threw the throw pillow at him.

not that he’s lying. you met max the same time you did daniel and you clicked immediately. he knows everything, comforted you many times as you pined over dan. he’s your best friend and he’s also daniel’s best friend. he knows more than anyone how deep the connection you two shared.

“go home already,” you tell him. you’re tired and slightly drunk and you just want to go to bed now. “and make sure you take him with you.”

max laughed at the way you said him like it’s a bad taste on your tongue but did as you said anyways.

that night, you laid on the bed you and james shared, you couldn’t sleep. he’s fast asleep next to you, his arm over your stomach as you lay wide awake. you shouldn’t have invited him because now he’s turned your world upside down again. everything you’ve built for yourself was gone the moment his eyes met yours. he’s a plague, sucking all the happiness out of you.

eventually though, the restless night was about to get worse as you picked up your phone, scrolling through your contacts till you found his name. you stared at it for a while, knowing that you shouldn’t but you’re rattled and your self control is at an all time low. you shouldn’t have been trusted to make any types of decisions.

you come back to what you need

daniel was waiting for you when you parked your car outside his apartment building, hand gripping his phone as he watched you step out of the vehicle. four years since he first let you go and one year since he last saw you and you look as beautiful as you ever were.

he shouldn’t have told you to come but he’s so exhausted from staying away, from waiting for the right time. there will never be a right time and tonight, he’s done holding back. he wants you, he always has and he no longer has the energy to stop himself from wanting you.

“i shouldn’t be here,” was the first thing you said as he opened the door for you.

a lazy, almost mocking smile covered his lips. “and yet here you are.”

you glared at him but daniel’s heart was soaring. it’s been so long since you were this close. he can smell the perfume that followed you and the scent of your shampoo. he’s so so tired, he just wanted to hold you.

he’s going to make this as hard as possible, you realize. you’re no longer a child, he doesn’t need to play nice and easy with you anymore. you’re a woman now and he’s going to treat you like one. but you just need to get over this. you need closure. you need to put him in the past where he truly belongs so you can go about your life. you need him out of your system.

daniel may be everything you wanted but it’s time to accept that he’ll never be what you need.

“why did you come?” you asked, wanting to get this over with as quickly as you can. three years pining for him in red bull and four years of longing for him and everything leads you here.

daniel cocked an eyebrow. he’s done with playing nice. “you invited me.”

okay, you walked right into that one. “you still shouldn’t have come.”

daniel wanted to laugh. “i guess we both like doing shit that we shouldn’t do. now the question is, sweetheart, what are you doing here?”

“i’m getting married, daniel,” you whispered. “we need to accept that it isn’t us.”

“i thought you did that in abu dhabi.”

he’s being an asshole. “you’re the one who told me to leave. you don’t get to be mad that i’m moving on.”

“you’re not moving on,” he laughed, leaning against the wall.

you glared at him. “yes, i am. i’m getting married!”

he looked at you as though you said something hilarious and you wanted to punch him in the face for it. “and yet you’re here.”

“for closure.”

he stepped towards you and you found yourself holding your breath. from this close, you can see the freckles on your cheeks, the ones you used to spend all your time trying to memorize. the curve of his plump lips and the intensity in his eyes. and when he touched, it felt like the first drop of rain after a million years of dessert. his hand perfectly fitted on your hips, warm and so achingly familiar.

his hand snaked from your hip to your legs, finger light on your skin as he ever so slightly tugged at your shorts. you need to pull away but your body needs him closer. you want him. you want him to get closer. you want him to touch you more, to feel his skin against yours. you can have every single inch of his body pressed against yours and you’d still begged to get closer.

his lips graze your cheek before it reaches your ear, even breathes in contrast to your desperately shaky ones. “is that really what you want, baby?”

with every ounce of sanity you have left, you forced yourself to nod and you can feel the way his lips formed into a mocking smile against your cheek.

“really?” he mocked. “then why are you clutching my shirt like you want more?”

you hadn’t even realized the way your fist is holding on to his shirt, pulling him closer towards you like you’re terrified he’d disappear right between your fingertips.

“fuck,” you muttered, the heat of his skin against yours dizzying. james is nowhere near your mind as your hand slips under his shirt, self control flying out the window as you feel the curves of his abs. you want him. you’ve always wanted him so desperately that you’re willing to go to hell for it. “fuck me.”

he kissed you then, fire in his lips as it finally finally touched yours. this is all you’ve ever asked for and it’s worth the damnation you’d be paying in return. you pull him impossibly closer, going on your tiptoes. you need to get closer. closer, closer, closer.

like an addicted chainsmoker to cigarettes, you can’t get enough of his kiss. you want to inhale the fumes of his breath, of him, deep into your lungs. he tugs at your shirt and you pull away enough for him to get it off.

you grunt in complaint when he pulled away from you, only to swallow it back as his lips attached to the skin of your chest, licking and nibbling as it slowly made it way down.

“oh,” you breathe out as he lips attached to your breast, your fingers tugging at his curls as his tongue circled your nipple.

you should have stopped him the moment his hand unbuttoned your shorts but as he bent you over and his hand slipped between your folds and he trapped your moans with his mouth, you were far too gone. god be damned, morality be damned. you’d crawl through hell for this.

but eventually, reality comes knocking and morning comes and your bliss ends. you woke up from your phone ringing, cocooned in daniel’s arms.

“don’t answer it,” he mutters but sleepily, you grab your phone from the nightstand, seeing james’ name on your screen.

and that snaps you out of it, being reminded of what happened the night before and what you did and you all but jumped out of his arms as though his touch burned you.

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mutter under your breath as you hurriedly put on your clothes, daniel watching you still naked from his place on the bed. you turned to him, “this never happened.”

you watched as anger slowly filled his eyes. “are you being serious right now?”

“i’m getting married, daniel!” you’re panicking now, screaming as your phone rings again.

“then why the fuck were you knocking on my door at two in the morning?”

you ignore him, gathering your things. “it was a mistake.”

he’s glaring at you now, looking like he wanted to start screaming. but he remains silent, only glaring as you gather your things and put on your clothes.

you look at him again, apologies and sorrow in your eyes. “i’m sorry but this isn’t me. this can’t be me.”

and then you left, not allowing yourself to look back as you ran to your car. maybe in a parallel universe or a different world, you sit next to each other at the kitchen table and go over the grocery list, but for all the universes and worlds there are, this one was not enough, not for now and not for you and daniel.

when you finally arrive home, your father is in the kitchen, eyeing you up as you walk past him. “where were you? james was looking for you.”

you grimace. there’s a knowing look in christian’s eyes as though whatever you reason he already knows will be a lie. and unfortunately, he’d be right. “i was out with friends.”

“at seven in the morning?” he narrowed his eyes and you hated his timing. of all times, did he have to question you now?

“breakfast.”

you all but run to your room before he can question you further, thanking all the gods that james isn’t there. for a moment, you stood stunned, reeling from the past twenty four hours as the guilt settles in your chest. you need to get as far away from daniel as you possibly can. you can’t be the type of woman who cheats on her fiance. you refuse to be. you refuse to break a good man’s heart like that.

and yet as you finally calm down enough to try and fix yourself, your phone buzzes, his name appearing on your screen saying he sent you a text message.

daniel i’ve loved you in every way i can. i loved you selfishly and so i tried loving you distantly, i tried loving you selflessly, i tried loving you correctly but i just want to love you now. if i could do it all over again, i would love you better but i can’t love you more than i do now.

this love came back to me

the wind is chilly as you step foot in hungary and the dress you wore is definitely not meant for it but still, you persevere, finding your way to the red bull motorhome and greeting your father. the last time you attended a grand prix was abu dhabi 2021 and yet it still feels like home.

“there’s my biggest fan!” max cheered the moment he saw you, immediately wrapping his arms around you. he hasn’t seen you for nearly a year and he missed his best friend. to be fair, no one has seen you for nearly a year, disappearing from the face of the earth after your failed engagement.

after the night of your engagement party, the guilt ate you alive as you realized that you were exactly the kind of girl you didn’t want to be and so you came clean to james. he screamed and cried and said you could work it out but you were exhausted from lying to yourself. as long as there was daniel, you can never be happy with anyone else and no man deserve to be someone you simply settled with.

you realized then that you’d lost yourself. you don’t know who you are, don’t know who you’ve become and so you left everything you know, ignoring everyone’s calls as you attempt to find yourself.

“actually, i’m supporting ferrari,” you joke once max finally lets you go.

“i’ll disown you!” your father screamed from across the garage, making you and max laugh.

“have you seen him?” max asked, whispering as though he’s telling you a secret.

you shake your head. coincidentally enough, or ironically, the first gp you attend in a while, daniel is announced to race in. and max, quite frankly, is far too excited for the two of you to see each other again. he’s had enough watching you both be stupid.

after catching up with max and the mechanics you still know, you find yourself in a cafe with your father, talking about everything and nothing at all. christian watched your every move and you can see the worry in his eyes. he’s part of the people you ran from and you know that it was a cruel thing to do to your father.

and then he was there and you’re all too familiar with the feeling of your world freezing the moment your eyes meet. he looks better, happier and you’re sure you look different too, hopefully more grown.

“you’re here,” he says, unbelieving.

you smile, genuine and free this time. “i’m here.”

and this time around, you were both tired of fighting it. it’s him. it’s always been him. there was no point denying it. he’s the only person you’ll ever want. you are totally and irrevocably in love with him – the kind of love that’s so intense it feels like an explosion of fireworks throughout your whole body. the love that leaves you sleepless but exhilarated, speechless but poetic, lost but exactly where you're meant to be.

and in that moment, your lives flashed before your eyes – marriage, children, growing old together.

daniel ricciardo is the defining moment, the collision of stars that slammed into you so hard it tore your heart in pieces and only he can put it back together again.

he smiles at you and you smile back.

hello, love, welcome home.

and finally, finally, it felt like the world isn’t burning anymore.

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softspiderling · 11 months ago

Text

think you're a genius (you drive me up the wall) | r.c.

summary: it wouldn't be an outer banks party if there wasn't at least one fist fight. also, rafe is trying to turn over a new leaf.

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

word count: 3,8k

warning: mention of blood, violence (reader gets punched in the face, but there are no graphic details), shitty topper (sorry top)

author's note: long awaited (at least by me) rafe fic, whoop whoop!!! no usage of Y/N, happy reading, don't forget to reblog!!! also tagging @sunderlust bc i borrowed some of our conversation in this fic😘love you sol

☆⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄

“Since when do you drink beer?”

Barely pausing at the words, you continued to stack cold beer cans in your arms, the condensation dripping onto your skin. You didn’t have to turn around to know who the voice belonged to, having heard it so many times. And this was his house after all.

“Wasn’t aware you kept track of my drink of choice,” you retorted, turning around to face him, while simultaneously trying to balance the cans.

Rafe raised an eyebrow at you before his gaze lowered to the beer in your arms. “… You trying to tell me that all that beer’s for you?”

“You calling me a lightweight?”

The corner of Rafe’s mouth ticked up and he took a sip from his drink, the ice clinking in the glass.

“I think we both know I’m not.”

If someone had told you that one day you’d be standing in the parlor of Tannyhill, having a mostly civil conversation with Rafe you’d have them institutionalized. But things have changed. When Sarah returned with the news that Ward has died protecting Sarah, Rafe imploded at first. Blaming her for his death, the downfall of their family and generally being ungrateful for Ward’s love for her.

Everyone avoided the Cameron estate for a while, hearing stuff crash and yells from a mile away. No one dared to step close. A few days after, the disturbances stopped, being replaced with complete silence.

It was so silent, you actually grew concerned until Rafe turned up at Heyward’s setting up a weekly grocery delivery. Pope had dumped the stuff he was holding as soon as Rafe had stepped into the store, storming outside, with Cleo hot on his heels, leaving you to set up the standing order.

“Can you tell Sarah I’m sorry?”

“What?”

You looked up from the register and Rafe clenched his jaw, giving you a look.

“You really gon’ make me say it again?”

“How about you call her yourself instead of making me deliver your message like a post boy?”

Rafe exhaled deeply, knitting his eyebrows together like he was really trying not to explode and honestly, you had to respect him for that. You know how impatient he could be.

“I tried, okay? Don’t you think I’ve tried? I’ve tried to call her, she’s not picking up. Fuck, I don’t even know if she still has the same phone number,” he said, like the words physically pained him. “I don’t even know where she’s staying. Is it at John B’s new place?”

Somewhere between his words, Rafe had started pacing up and down the stairs, making you antsy.

“Hey,” you said, coming around to slowly, carefully - like you were trying to pet a stray cat - curl your hand around his wrist. Rafe immediately stopped, eyeing his wrist where you were touching him.

“Sorry, I’ll take my hand off,” you quickly said, but before you could, Rafe stopped you.

“’s fine,” he muttered, meeting your eyes for a second before looking away again. “Physical touch grounds me… Y’know… When my thoughts get too… Much.”

You swallowed thickly, nodding at him and staying in place, for god knew how long, until Rafe had seemed to calm down.

“Thanks.”

“Sure.”

You drew your hand back, crossing your arms over your chest and leaned against the counter to put some distance between you and him, wildly overwhelmed with this situation. Rafe didn’t seem like he knew what to do either, turning his ring on his finger, his eyes cast on the floor.

“If you really want to apologize to Sarah,” you started, making him look up. “Maybe I can talk to her. Ask her if she’s willing to meet up with you.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow at you, clearly surprised. “You’d do that for me?”

“Don’t let it get to your head. I’m mostly doing it for Sarah,” you scoffed and Rafe only smirked, shaking his head.

“Sure, tough girl. Gonna ring me up now or what?”

Rolling your eyes at him, you returned to the cash register, finishing up his order. You still felt his eyes on you as you worked away.

“Thanks,” he finally said, and you lifted your head, briefly meeting his eyes.

“Don’t mention it.”

And he never did.

Miraculously, you had managed to get Sarah to agree to talk to Rafe and while you had accompanied her to the beach, where she had met up with Rafe, you stayed behind to give them privacy. You weren’t sure what they had talked about, but you didn’t press her about it either when she came stomping back to you with tearstained cheeks. Whatever they have talked about must have helped though, because even though Sarah still stayed with John B of the the times, she went home every odd night, returning with sandwiches and drinks the next day like a soccer mom. It went unsaid that Rafe had provided her with everything and Sarah avoided talking about him, mostly because Pope still got that distant look in his eyes whenever she mentioned her brother. Which is why you were surprised that he was the first one to agree to go to a party Rafe had invited Sarah to, forwarding the invite to her friends.

“What?” Pope had said everyone gave him an odd look. “He stole a family heirloom of mine. The least he can do is invite us to a party of his.”

“Okay then,” JJ jeered, beating on Pope’s back with his opens palms. “Let’s go to a Kook party.”

You had to admit that it was nice to see that the two tribes of the island coming together. The fact that Pogues were invited to a party on Figure 8 was huge. Granted, it was just you and your friends, but still. It was a start.

Loud cheering from outside brought you out of your thoughts, you and Rafe both looking towards the dimly lit backyard, where the main attraction of the party took place.

“JJ and John B are destroying a group of Kooks at Rage Cage right now,” you then explained, lifting the beer in your arms. “Hence... You know.”

“Right right, I was starting the wonder what all that yelling was about,” Rafe mused.

“So how come you’re not out there?”

Rafe shrugged. “Needed some quiet.”

“What, you having your private party in here?” you teased and Rafe smirked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Why? You jealous?”

You rolled your eyes, shifting the beer cans in your arms, the weight slowly getting to you.

“In your dreams, Rafe,” you scoffed. “I got to go, get these beers to the boys before they’ll get warm. You should come down, when you’re done brooding and shit.”

Throwing your last words over your shoulder, you returned to your friends, being welcomed with loud cheers as the empty cups get filled rather quickly. You dropped down into your empty chair, taking your drink from Kiara who had been holding onto it during your absence.

“Pope was about to send a search party because you were taking so long,” she said and you gave Pope a look over the brim of your cup.

“You’re such a mother hen. I was talking to Rafe.”

“Why the hell were you talking to Rafe?”

“You talked to Rafe?”

“Jesus, guys relax,” you groaned, leaning your head back. “He’s fine. He didn’t even do anything. We just talked.”

“It’s never just anything with Rafe,” Pope muttered.

“I get that,” Sarah started, rolling her empty cup in her hand. “But he’s different.Like… He regrets a lot of the thing’s he’s done and trying really hard to make up for his mistakes,” she paused, pressing her lips together tightly. “I’d be the last person to defend him, but I feel like he’s trying to turn over a new leaf.”

Before Pope was able to list all of the bad things that Rafe has done in the past, your conversation was interrupted, angry yells ringing over the music.

“So now you’re just all buddy buddy hanging out here, huh?”

The new voice wasn’t really new and everyone looked at Sarah, who paled, slowly pushing herself up from her chair, looking towards the disturbance, the rest of the group following her.

“Shit. What the hell is Topper doing here?”

The sudden intrusion of a rather inebriated Topper had immediately tanked the relaxed and laid back atmosphere; suddenly, everyone was tense, not daring to make a move in fear of making the wrong one.

“What? Aren’t we here to party?” Topper cajoled, waving a half empty bottle of whiskey around. “Let’s get rid of these Pogues and party!”

The rest of the Kooks looked between themselves, not really wanting to follow Topper’s request but also not wanting to defend your friends. Even if they just had fun together, the Kooks wouldn't go as far as openly defend Pogues, you knew that.

“You should leave, Topper,” John B said, his hands curling at his sides, which was fair, honestly. Even though you had rebuilt the Chateau, bigger, better and most importantly more fire resistant, Topper burnt down John B’s home. His safe space. Topper only widened his eyes at John B comically, snorting.

“Who are you to tell me to leave?”

Sarah pushed herself to the front, pressing herself to John B’s side, which was probably not the smartest thing she could have done, as it only aggravated Topper even more to see her next to John B. You and the others stood right behind her, ready to step in as soon as it escalated.

“Leave, Topper,” Sarah snapped at him. “Nobody invited you.”

“Yeah, as far as I know, you don’t even live here anymore, Sarah,” Topper said, spitting out her name like it was venom in his mouth.

“I didn’t invite you.”

You hadn’t even noticed Rafe having joined you, not really standing on your side, but not on Topper's side either. Suddenly, the tension had grown even thicker and by now, you realized this could go wrong in about a 100 ways.

Topper stared at his friend, mouth agape, before he collected himself, pulling a face.

“Seriously, Rafe? Weren’t you the one who told me that I’m better off without your bitch of a sister and now you’re taking her side?”

“Watch it, Top,” Rafe only said, not even moving an inch.

Not that he had to. Everyone knew what Rafe was capable of, if he was angry enough. Topper only narrowed his eyes at his friend, weighing his options.

“Topper, just go,” Sarah yelled, walking towards him for good measure, trying to offer some sort of olive branch, but Topper only pushed Sarah roughly, causing her to stumble to the ground.

“Jesus, fuck, Topper,” you snapped, rushing to get Sarah back on her feet again, making the fatal mistake of getting between him and John B, as you received a sickening punch to the side of your face.

“Fuck!”

“Holy shit, Topper are you insane?”

You had toppled over your feet to the grass, not having expected the punch at all. Disoriented, you touched your throbbing cheek, your fingers stained red when you looked at them.

“Fuck,” you moaned, feeling like you were about to pass out. Your friends quickly crowded around you, helping you up.

“Shit, girl, you alright?” Cleo asked, carefully pushing your hair to the side to assess the damage.

“Is Sarah okay?” you only asked, pausing to spit out some blood, leaning on Cleo, your legs still shaking.

“Dude, I’m fine!” Sarah said, wrapping an arm around you, still shaking herself.

Your vision was still dizzy, and the voices were not helping, but it seemed like most of the party goers had dissipated as the argument had started. As your eyes adjusted, you could just see Rafe holding Topper by the collar of his shirt and saying something you couldn’t quite understand, before he tossed his friend on the ground. Topper didn’t take long to get back to his feet, fleeing from the scene.

Rafe turned around, his eyes scanning over you before turning to Sarah.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a bruise,” Sarah said, her eyes fixated on you. “But you should definitely get checked out. I can't believe Topper punched you."

“Come on, I got a first aid kit upstairs and some ice for the swelling.”

Rafe reached out to grab you under the arms, but Cleo was reluctant to let you go.

“Maybe I should help.”

“Seriously?” Rafe asked, incredulously and you only watched with narrowed eyes, your reaction time still limited.

“We should just take her home,” Pope chimed in, grabbing you by the shoulder gently, jostling you around.

“Guys, I’m gonna be sick if you keep handing me around like a joint,” you groaned, shutting your eyes, in the hopes of making the dizziness better.

“Pope, it’s fine. Rafe’s not going to hurt her. And he knows a thing or two about patching up wounds,” Sarah said, Pope’s grip on you loosening.

“Fine. But you even look at our girl funny, and you got another thing coming, you hear me, Rafe?”

“Yeah yeah, I got it,” Rafe grunted.

You peeked an eye open, when your friends let go of you, Rafe looping his arm around your shoulder, pausing to look at John B. “You got Sarah, right?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about her.”

Rafe nodded his head in thanks, before leading you towards the house.

"Hey, just call if you need anything!" Kiara called after you, which you only replied with a weak "Okay!", your focus on putting one foot after the other. Rafe had his arm around your waist, taking most of your weight.

“Can you walk alright or do you need me to carry you?”

“If you pick me up right now, I will vomit on you,” you moaned and Rafe snorted.

“Right, and neither of us want that.”

It took you guys an embarrassing amount of time until you reached the house, since you kept making Rafe stop because you thought you were going to throw up. When you finally walked inside, Rafe lead you upstairs, instead of steering you towards the living room.

“Where are you taking me?”

“First aid kit is in my bathroom,” Rafe replied, mostly supporting your weight as you climbed the stairs.

“Ugh, your bathroom? Am I gonna get infected with herpes or something?”

“Is it the smartest idea to insult me in your position right now?” he asked dryly, and you almost sighed in relief when you reached the second floor.

“Just take me to your bedroom Rafe.”

“Alright, Princess,” Rafe sighed, a hint of exasperation in his voice as he guided you to his bedroom, carefully depositing you on the bed. While he went to the bathroom to fetch the first aid kit, you took a second to catch your breath, hoping the world would stop spinning.

Rafe returned with the first aid kit, moving slowly so as not to startle you. He set it down on the bed and then looked at you, concern flickering in his eyes. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you mumbled, pressing a hand to your throbbing cheek. "Just a little dizzy."

"Right." Rafe opened the kit and began to rifle through it, pulling out a bottle of disinfectant and some cotton pads. “This is probably gonna sting,” he warned you.

“Do your worst.”

You managed to flinch only slightly as the cool, yet burning liquid hit your skin, with Rafe’s surprising gentle touch as he cleaned your wound. He put a small bandage on the cut, before sitting back to inspect his handiwork.

“I’ll go grab you some ice for the swelling,” Rafe then said, standing up. “No dozing off, though, a’ight?”

Without waiting for an answer, Rafe left the room, leaving you by yourself yet again. Even though he explicitly told you not to doze off, you laid down on the bed, figuring that it might make the pain a little less bad. As soon as your head hit the pillow, Rafe’s scent engulfed you, and you weren’t sure if you lying down in his bed was too... Intimate? Then again, he was the one who had left you in his bedroom by himself. Before you could sit up again, Rafe reappeared in the room, holding a bag of in his hand, an unreadable expression on his face as he took you in on his bed.

“Sure, go ahead and make yourself at home,” he huffed, but you could see the frown on his face. Rafe sat down on the bed next to you, carefully wrapping the ice bag in a small towel and pressing it against your bruise, his other hand cradling your face. Despite the ice on your skin, you felt your cheeks heating up.

It was odd. You’d never have expected that Rafe could be able to be so gentle, so caring, and you suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to kiss him.

“What’d you say to Topper?” you blurted out instead, breaking the silence. You reached up to hold the ice bag, and Rafe pulled his hands back, raising an eyebrow at you.

“What?”

“After he hit me. What did you tell him to make you leave?”

Rafe sighed, leaning back a bit, staring at the wall as his eyes hardened. “I reminded him of what he did to me when I… Hurt Sarah. Asked him if he was willing to beat me to a pulp for my sister, what he thought I’d do to him for hurting her.”

His eyes flickered back to you.

And you.

You let out a breath at the pregnant pause, scared he’d say something he couldn’t take back. Something real. Maye you had been flirting with him, but so what? There was no harm, they were just words. Right? But admitting something real? That was a whole other story.

“Who would’ve thought Rafe Cameron could be so nice?” You said instead, a teasing lilt in your voice.

Rafe snorted, shaking his head with a laugh, the moment dissipating. “Yeah yeah, don’t get used to it. It was a one time thing.”

“Right, right, we wouldn’t want people to think that Rafe the Kook prince actually has a heart.”

“Does that make you the Pogue Princess then?”

“What?” you asked, flushing. “Where’d you get that idea? That’s obviously Kie.”

“Come on,” Rafe huffed, rolling his eyes. “Kie’s half Kook. And don't even start with my sister. Sarah’s… Half and half, at least.”

You eyed him in amusement. It was clear that he’d spent a good amount of time on that analogy.

“What about Cleo?” you asked, humoring him.

“Ehh. She would’ve made a good Pogue princess, too bad you’ve already taken the spot,” Rafe said with a shrug. “Pogue Princess. Flirts with everyone, heart of gold, never hesitates to get right between a brawl to help out a friend and to call people out on their bullshit…. Should I continue?”

“Please don’t,” you laughed, pressing the ice bag to your cheek. “You’re talking shit out of your ass right now.”

“I’m talking shit out of my ass? You’re the one saying everything that comes to your mind to stop yourself from kissing me right now.”

What?

“What?”

You never thought he’d actually say it out loud. Mention the elephant in the room. The tension you had been trying to ignore all this time. The silence that followed was deafening as you tried to find the right words, your heart beating in your chest.

“In your dreams,” you muttered hotly, repeating your words from earlier in the evening, looking everywhere but at him. It didn’t take long for Rafe to grab you by the chin gently, forcing you to look at him, his eyes piercing yours.

“In my dreams, yes,” he said quietly, inching so close that his warm breath was fanning across your face. “What about yours, princess?”

Gaping at him, speechless, you knew you didn’t have long until Rafe would take your silence as rejection. Your mind was racing, but ultimately, you leaned in, closing the gap and finally kissed him. Rafe let out a soft grunt, dropping his hand from your chin and cupping the back of your head instead to press even closer to you. The kiss deepened, becoming more passionate, as you finally admitted the attraction you felt to another, but you pulled away, when you felt a tad too dizzy.

“Right, shit,” Rafe cursed, knitting his brows together, examining your cheek. “Got too carried away.”

You flushed, handing him the small ice bag, that was more or less a bag of water now. Rafe dumped it in the trash next to the nightstand, before turning back to you with a smirk.

“Took you long enough.”

“Shut up,” you huffed and Rafe only grinned, pushing your hair out of your face, where it stuck to your wet cheek. You leaned in for another kiss, only for Rafe to stop you, holding you back.

“Nuh-uh. You get better first. Next time, I want you to get dizzy because of my mouth and not because you just got punched in the face.”

“You sound real confident there will be a next time,” you pointed out.

Rafe sighed, faux-exasperation. “Princess, don’t act dumb, it doesn’t suit you. You really think I’ll let you go after you’ve professed your love for me?”

“After I did what?” you shrieked in laughter, and Rafe only laughed. It was nice seeing him laugh for real for once, not the smarmy, smirk he used to do. After your laughter subsided, your pursed your lips, serious.

“You know my friends won’t take this well, right? Especially Pope.”

Rafe ran his hand over his buzzed hair, exhaling softly. “I know. But I won you over, didn’t I? Rest will be a piece of cake.”

“I’m serious, Rafe.”

You gave him a look and he leaned down, clasping his hands in his. “So am I. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have been trying to make things up to him, to Sarah. To everyone. It might take a while… And I don’t blame him.”

“As long as you’re aware…. Now, can we get back to kissing?”

“Didn’t you just hear what I said?”

Pushing your lower lip forward, you pouted at him. “One kiss.”

Rafe stared at you for a hot second, frowning. “Fine. One.”

But when he leaned down to give you a chaste kiss true to his words, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down on top of you.

"Jesus, are you trying to kill yourself?" Rafe hissed, but you only cackled, almost taking your bandage off in the process.

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠂⠄☆

author's note: pls leave a comment/reblog/like if you liked it🥹

#rafe x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfiction #drew starkey #obx #outer banks

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mybelovedwoo · 1 year ago

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song mingi as boyfriend - headcanon

headcanon, romance, fluff, smut

gn!reader x bf!atz

wc. ~0.8k

an: happy mingi day everyone!!

you can request headcanons if you want to (please only headcanons)!! if you want to be tagged in any of my fics you can apply here <3

masterlist

- the type of boyfriend who will be obsessed with you, and his whole personality would be around loving you and being the best boyfriend possible

-his lockscreen is you smiling for a picture he took on a date, he has playlists on his phone made just for you that you listen to whenever you are together and he talks about you all the time, like always has a fun fact to add about you in a conversation "you know when y/n was a child she liked that too" or "my girlfriend can also do that"

-he would give you the entire world if he could, unfortunately, he can't, but he would do everything with his power to make you feel like you are the most important, precious thing in this world (and next to him you actually feel like it)

-he would quite literally take you everywhere with him, to his studio, to dance practices and schedules, and if you go somewhere he would follow you around too, shopping and even meeting up with your friends

-he likes casual dates, like going out to eat (but not a too fancy place, more like a bbq) or going to the arcade or to the movies

-has a list on his phone about the things you like, and every time a birthday or Christmas, or any holiday comes he opens it and buys a thing from the list. looooves to give you gifts, especially clothes that he thinks would look good on you

-incredibly loyal, he will never leave you behind ever, and you can always count on him, he literally would drop everything if you ask him to

-he LOVES to be pampered, I mean he is just a big baby who loves cuddle time, and also appreciates when you cook for him (it just makes him fall in love with you even more)

-he can get very jealous sometimes, he just gets very sulky those times, but you just have to give him attention and lots of kisses for him and everything is okay

-constantly on a mission to make you laugh, but what makes you laugh actually the embarrassing things he does to make you laugh not the actual joke

-he loves to kiss the top of your head when you lean on him, it's a habit of his that he picked up due to his height

-he thinks you are the cutest human on planet earth and you think the exact same thing about him (bc he is)

-he will get all giggly when you initiate a hug or a kiss, but his favorite is when you hold his face and look deep into his eyes, he probably would get a heart attack from that, he can't take compliments either he would blush so hard

-his kisses are very slow and soft, but he would hold your face with one hand a bit roughly just to hold you secure, and the other hand is around your waist to keep you close to him

-he would call you nicknames like baby, princess or his personal favorite pumpkin, which is even your contact name on his phone

nsfw +18!!!

-so I think mingi is a switch, he could be a soft dom (but not as soft as san if you know what I mean), but he's rather a sub, he likes it when you take control, he thinks it's extremely hot, but doesn't mind taking control either if you're in the mood for that

-it always starts out very soft and romantic, just like his kisses. cuddle times lead to sex 70% of the time, he just wants to feel you even closer to him

-other times he is just really horny, but that's a whole different kind of sex, it would be hot and steamy, like when he comes home all frustrated from practice because he was thinking about you the whole time, or when he gets a bit jealous because you got a bit too close to another member

-when he is a dom ohh boy you'll have a long night. he would do literally anywhere, in the kitchen, in the shower, on the couch

-manhandles you shamelessly, pushes you against the wall, and loves to slap your booty (but not in the way it actually hurts)

-but when he is a sub, he is so loving and careful, all light touches and tender kisses, he just wants to be babied at those times

-for positions, sub mingi loves it when you ride him, he loves the view he gets, but dom mingi loves a good doggy, also loves to view from behind

-i think vocally he is a bit shy in the bedroom, wouldn't speak much during it, just groans a lot

-aftercare is really important for him but prefers it when you do it to him, or at least for it together, would be really soft and kinda in a sentimental mood after

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ugh-yoongi · 11 months ago

Text

the very last thing i decide | pjm

(or, the one in which a love exists that's easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.)

✘ PAIRING jimin x f. reader ✘ SUMMARY you learn what it means to love with blood on your hands. ✘ GENRE hitman/assassin au; angst, smut ✘ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✘ WARNINGS they are both hitmen (hitpeople?) so there's all the content that goes along with that: violence, death, mentions of blood (a lot) and weapons, murder, but no explicit gore. everyone is morally grey at best and downright psychotic at worst (especially yoongi). reader gets stabbed. no one knows how to be a functional human being. swearing, smoking, light smut (penetrative & oral sex), miscommunication and unrequited love but not really, i drop a classic tumblr meme in a line of dialogue. ambiguous/hopeful ending!! some of the themes here are kinda heavy and i am not entirely sure how to tag them so if you have any questions pls don’t hesitate to ask! ✘ WORDCOUNT 12k ✘ LISTEN TO manchester orchestra - telepath ✘ THANK YOU i cannot remember everyone i’ve showed this to over the years. @the-boy-meets-evil for looking this over and brainstorming with me today. @hot-soop for always being a help. @effortandmore because you told me an embarrassingly long time ago this was worth finishing. and i’m pretty sure i also sent this to @jihopesjoint at some point too. i did a quick edit of this on my own, but after nearly three years i just wanted it posted and out of my wips so i'm sure i missed things. pls ignore them. ✘ AUTHOR'S NOTE fic drops two days in a row?? who am i?? i started this in may 2021 and it was supposed to be a simple pegging fic. i abandoned it bc i was convinced no one would want to read it. between today and yesterday i have written thousands of words and made it across the finish line. i hope you like it. the violence is a metaphor for love or whatever.

[37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA]

Jimin’s hair had been red the first time he met you.

How fitting, he thinks, considering he’s currently bleeding out on a table.

Well, there’s still a bit of fight left in him. He hasn’t lost consciousness yet, which he assumes is a good sign; he can still hear Hoseok barking out orders quite clearly. The edges of his vision are fuzzy and the pain in his abdomen is sharp and unrelenting, but he still has enough brain power left to wish he’d died instead.

Because you’d saved his life. And now he’s further indebted to you.

(Jimin never leaves a debt unpaid, but he’s not sure how to make even on something like this.)

Jungkook and Taehyung are fetching supplies faster than Hoseok can ask for them. Two pairs of frazzled, spaced-out eyes. Four sets of trembling limbs. Namjoon’s wearing burn marks into the floor, his cuticles bloody and nearly worried to the bone since he can’t keep them out of his mouth.

And then there’s you.

Sitting cross-legged in a chair as you scroll through your phone. Jimin’s blood is still drying on your hands, leaving smears as you drag your thumb back and forth across the screen, and this doesn’t seem to faze you one bit.

Behind you, Yoongi takes a seat at the piano and starts playing Toccata and Fugue in D minor, and Jimin simply cannot die like this. He can’t die on a wooden table in a room with a piano on which Min Yoongi is playing Baroque organ pieces.

“What is this, a fucking funeral?” Hoseok snaps, though there’s a desperation creeping into his tone that Jimin does not like, does not want to hear. “Cut it out, Yoongi.”

Said man staunchly ignores the doctor, transitioning flawlessly into the fugue. Jimin barely hears the tinkle of your laughter but he hears it all the same, and he wants to pretend it doesn’t calm him, bring him back down to earth when he starts drifting too far away. But you do, and it does, and all he can think about is: will you miss him if he dies? Will it take you long to wash his blood from your hands?

Hoseok’s absolutely incensed, pushed to the limits of his stress at the thought of not being able to save Jimin’s life, and Jimin appreciates this, really, but not when Hoseok pushes two gloved fingers deep into the wound in his stomach so hard all he can do is cry. “Yoongi—”

You snort. You don’t even look up from your phone.

Namjoon, for all his leadership and stoicism and poise under pressure, is just as frantic and panicked as the rest. It’s not everyday one of his people is inches from death ten feet away from him. Most people usually die in the shadows. Kim Namjoon has faced down death more times than most, yet watching the life slowly fade from Jimin’s eyes is too much even for him. “Yoongi, please—”

But the fugue keeps going, tempo change after tempo change, the two pillars of this organization spiraling completely by the time the coda starts, unfocused and sweating and praying. To gods they don’t believe in, to hope, to chance—whatever and whoever might be listening. Jimin usually loves hearing Yoongi play. It’s the only thing that humanizes him, and Jimin had spent so many restless nights shoulder to shoulder with him on that exact bench in the blue hours of the early morning, hypnotized by the way the older man’s knobby fingers moved across the keys.

This is it, he thinks.

Jimin’s going to die with Toccata and Fugue in D minor playing in the background.

He’s imagined his death so many times. Stupid not to in this line of work. Violent, quick and painless, in his sleep, drawn out and gory, a message. And in all of those scenarios, it’s either jarringly silent or there’s someone screaming. Usually him, sounding much like he is now, two fingers stuck in his gut. In all of those scenarios, Min Yoongi is never playing Bach as everything fades to black.

You sigh. “Shut the fuck up, Yoongi,” you say, your tone as blasé and inconvenienced as ever.

Shocked at your audacity, one of Yoongi’s fingers slips and hits the wrong key, something dissonant and metallic as it rings out. But the music stops all the same, the silence nearly giving Jimin whiplash. Now he can hear the clinkof Hoseok’s tools, the squelching of his wound, Jungkook’s desperate pleading for him to just be alright, please God, just hang on. He wants the music back. He doesn’t want Jungkook’s crying to be the last thing he hears. Doesn’t want the sound of his own organs imprinted into his memory.

“What’d you say?” Yoongi asks, because no one talks to him that way. They wouldn’t dare. Most people try not to talk to him at all.

But you do.

And, inexplicably, Yoongi listens.

You roll your eyes. “You go deaf in your old age? I said shut the fuck up. Hoseok’s two knuckles deep in Jimin’s fucking stomach and you’re over there having your little Amadeus moment.”

He bristles. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Yoongi repeats, and Jimin can’t see him, but he knows his eyes are narrowed, lips pulled back in a snarl, fists clenched at his side.

“Oh, princess,” you coo, and Yoongi’s fury is palpable, permeates every inch of this place, overrides all the fear and anguish. “I’m talking to you, baby. I know Jiminie’s busy trying not to die and that’s stressful for all of us, but please do try to keep up.”

Jimin hears the flick of Yoongi’s switchblade. Then he hears him say, “Please let me fucking kill her,” in that lazy Daegu drawl of his, like forming full words are beneath him. Not worth the effort when they’re directed at you.

Still seated, you uncross your legs and, through blurred vision, Jimin watches you grab Yoongi by his belt loops to tug him closer, grab the wrist that holds his knife and press it to your own throat. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Yoongi. Be a good boy and make it hurt.”

Jungkook’s near hysterics at Jimin’s side. “What the fuck is wrong with you two? He’s dying!”

Jimin tries to say I’m not, Kookie, I’m okay but the pressure on his abdomen is too intense. He can barely breathe, and Hoseok’s still digging around, still looking for that stupid fucking bullet, had to do something and do it quick so there’d been very little anesthetic and finesse, and he’s silently screaming for someone to just comfort Jungkook, tell him everything’s going to be okay, but instead—

“Serves him right for being a fucking idiot,” you say, words muffled by the knife still pressed to your throat. “What a painful, permanentlesson in not forgetting your fucking vest.”

“Stop it!” Jungkook sobs, fingers ghosting along Jimin’s matted fringe.

Yoongi’s still scowling. “Just say the word, Joon-ah. I’ll make it quick.”

You actually laugh at that. The kind of full-belly laugh Jimin would kill to be able to produce. “You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Someone snarls. Probably Yoongi. “You’d look so good gutted on the floor like a fish,” he replies, and if Jimin knows him at all, he knows he’s got that dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. The one he always gets when he’s about to kill—the one that makes him so unhinged and dangerous. “Left there to bleed out and die all alone like the trash you are.”

No one’s survived that look before, but you just grin, as if being on the receiving end of it is nothing more than another simple inconvenience. “Do it, then,” you prompt. “You’re so big and bad, yet here you are, waiting for Namjoon’s permission like some kind of pathetic fucking dog.”

“I’m no one’s dog.”

Your eyes slowly flick over to Namjoon. “No?” you ask, smile widening as Jimin watches you drag your heeled foot up the inside of Yoongi’s calf, his thigh, stiletto coming to rest in the center of his sternum. “That’s a shame, princess. That pretty neck of yours was just made for a collar.”

There’s no doubt in Jimin’s mind now that he actually died back in that penthouse and is now residing in whatever level of hell is watching you give his associate a semi despite him being a millisecond away from murdering you.

Yoongi would do it, too. No hesitation. You’ve been on his shit list for as long as Jimin can remember, and you’ve been daring him to put his money where his mouth is and just kill you already for just as long.

Taehyung groans. “Can you two just fuck already so the rest of us can be spared of this?”

You click your tongue, tone melting like butter. You’re fond of Taehyung, soft on him. “No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie, and god does that hurt his little feelings.”

Your wicked smile gives away nothing—whether you’re telling a bold truth or just unnecessarily needling Yoongi further—but Jimin’s caught off guard and chokes on your words nonetheless.

Hoseok’s forceps still digging around in his stomach, there’s a quiet hurrah of triumph as he finally locates the bullet. Jimin feels nothing as he retrieves it and plucks it out, a reverberated clank! as he drops it into a kidney dish, your words the anesthetic he’s needed as they play on a loop in his head.

When he finally blacks out, either from the pain or the adrenaline or both, it’s your face that greets him. He never gets the chance to tell you why he forgot his vest.

[64.1466° N, 21.9426° W | Reykjavík, ICELAND]

Jimin’s hair is blue when it happens the first time.

It’s November. Namjoon has sent the two of you to Reykjavik and it’s dark all the time, the midnight hue of his hair blending into the impenetrable nighttime that surrounds you. Jimin works best like this—out of sight, part of the shadows. He’s light on his feet, lithe in ways no one else is, not even you, and he’s impossible to anticipate under the cover of darkness.

That’s why Jimin always takes care of the appetizers.

It’s your job to clean up the main course.

The two of you are two halves of the same lethal coin, working together flawlessly after years of carefully honed practice. Jimin slams an unsuspecting man’s head into a wall and you’re right behind him to put a bullet in it.

It’s just how it goes.

And he trusts you. He has to, otherwise he would’ve gotten taken out years ago. You’re not always in his line of sight, but he always feels you, senses your movements before you’re even on your feet. The times it’s gone wrong—and it’s gone wrong so many fucking times, despite how cautious and skilled the two of you are—you’re always right there to catch him before he even hits the ground. Just like a ghost, as if your only purpose in life is keeping Jimin safe and alive.

(It isn’t, but it sure feels that way.)

Tonight it’s another hit carried out in an overpriced penthouse overlooking the northern shore. You’re in and out, don’t waste a second more than you need to. Jimin doesn’t spare a glance at the carnage left behind. Nothing he hasn’t seen a hundred times before. All blood bleeds the same, but he still wonders, foolishly, if his looks different to you. If it feels wrong when it stains your hands and seeps into your clothes.

Jimin has never been covered in your blood before, but he likes to think it would.

The two of you don’t speak until you’re in the quiet safety of yet another hotel room, chain lock thrown across the door, deadbolt secured. A small arsenal of weapons is retrieved from ankles and waistbands and cleaned and packed away meticulously. Jimin’s the one who makes the call to Namjoon, tells him in code that the job’s done. You’ve barely broken a sweat, but under the fluorescent light of the bathroom, Jimin can see a small smattering of blood just along your temple when he closes the distance between you.

Someone else’s, of course.

Anyone who made you bleed your own blood wouldn’t be a quick, clean kill. Jimin would make sure of that.

There’s less to be done about the half-inch scar in the hollow of your throat—a pearlescent reminder of the twin scar he has just below his navel; a callback to the day your devilish mouth said the words Jimin can’t stop thinking about.

“No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie.”

Maybe it’s stupidity. Maybe it’s the feral, years-long build up that’s been simmering between the two of you—low enough to keep warm, contained enough to never evolve into a rapid boil. Maybe Jimin’s just finally desperate enough to go seeking out answers to questions he’s far too scared to put a voice to.

(Really, Jimin knows it’s adrenaline. Nothing more than chemicals. The two of you high on it, heads floating above the clouds. Powerless; or, at the very least, indifferent to stop the very clear path that’s unfolding on the ground below.)

But, god, he needs to know.

Needs answers.

Needs to know if there’s even a chance you feel it, too: the magnetic ebb and flow the two of you have been dancing around for years. If you see how fondly he looks at you. If you have any idea how easy it is for him to get lost in you. If you know he’d let someone put a bullet between his eyes before he placed his life in the hands of anyone else.

Jimin knows he loves you. He’s known it for a long time, just like he knows all those other things that are second nature to him. Loving you is easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.

At least that’s what he’d thought. Until your devilish mouth said those devilish words and sent him into a tailspin he’s yet to recover from.

You have to feel it. God, can’t you? The way the air crackles between you. The way his skin ignites with a simple look from you. The trembling of his fingers at his sides, desperate to just reach out and touch you—fingers that have been bathed in blood, that have taken life. Fingers that now just want to graze softly across your cheekbones, catch on your bottom lip. Fingers that want to hand you the world on a silver platter. Jimin would do anything for you, give you whatever you wanted. You wouldn’t even have to ask.

Can’t you feel that?

He needs to know.

Jimin is composed, elegant. He kills with grace and still maintains as much of his softness as he can. Isn’t ruled by emotion the way Yoongi and Jungkook are. But now, as he teeters on the edge of the unknown, all he wants to do is jump. Wants to buck all his training, all his resolve and forethought, and jump.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, voice thick. Fingers curl into the expensive silk of his shirt just so they have something to do—something to keep them from reaching out and touching you. “Back in Seoul.”

You’re the smartest person Jimin knows. When you ask, “Did I mean what, Chim?” he knows you’re fucking with him. Dragging this out. You know exactly what he’s asking and he knows you’ll never give anything away so easily.

“What you said to Taehyung,” he answers.

You tsk, eyebrows raising in intrigue. As much as Jimin trusts you, as well as you know him, know all those dirty, dirty secrets he’d never tell anyone else, he’s never been so bold with you. “That those long fingers of his would look good wrapped around my throat? Yeah, I meant that.”

Jimin’s jaw clenches at your taunt. “Don’t play games with me.”

A smirk graces your lips. “Trust me, sweetheart,” you say, voice sickly-sweet as the affection starts popping at the last seams holding him together, “if I wanted to play with you, there’s nothing you could do to stop it.”

With Jimin pressed into the wall behind you, you turn to meet his eye in the mirror. Another smile, teeth bared as you run your tongue across your lips, and this one is his undoing. Makes his cock twitch in his dress pants. Makes him bold. “Do you want to, then?” He takes a step forward—close enough to smell the gunpowder stuck to your clothes, your hair. Close enough for the sulfur and metal to sting his nostrils each time he breathes you in. “Do you want to play with me?”

You love Jimin. Maybe it’s a trauma bond or the implicit, unwavering trust the two of you have in one another, but you know you love him limitlessly. But you also know you can’t love him the way he loves you, the way he deserves to be loved by someone, which is why your mask slips as you say, “I can’t give you what you want, Jimin.”

You try to make him understand that. Really, you do—because Jimin is the smartest person you know, and you know he’s thought about every possible consequence down to the most minute detail and has decided this is worth it anyway. You want to believe in something the way Jimin believes in you, even though he’s wrong. You want something worth throwing all of this away for.

Maybe it’s Jimin, maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just been so fucking long since someone has looked at you with any gentleness in their eyes at all that when Jimin meets your gaze and says, “I don’t want anything more than you’re willing to give,” you take his hand and jump, too.

And there’s nothing gentle about the first time.

It’s all raw, urgent need, Jimin trying desperately to convince himself it’s more than it is while you convince yourself it’s less.

It’s the two of you finally giving up and giving in, letting yourselves be pulled taut by that invisible string tying you together.

It’s Jimin’s sharp intake of breath when you fully step out of your clothes, the sight rendering him immobile. Whatever plans he’d had before seeing the curves of your body, all the scars from years of working by his side, the mottled yellow-greens and purples from the bruises lining your skin—he has no plans now. Can barely think. Wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from you with a gun to his head.

It’s the final bricks of the wall he’d built around himself—around his heart, around all those words and feelings he’d never put a voice to—crumbling into ash at his feet. Now he knows he can’t go back. Can’t return to a reality where this isn’t his truth. Where there’s no you and him, him and you. Where it’s just a physical exchange, a give-and-take, tit for tat.

And god, he knows he shouldn’t think like this; knows he’s keeping the truth buried somewhere deep behind lock and key.

…But now that he knows how it feels to move inside you, what else is he supposed to do?

You’re everywhere. Clenched around him. Your taste on his tongue. The feel of you on the pads of his fingers. The smell of you making a mockery of all logical thought. No—no, he can’t do a goddamn thing to stop the avalanche now it’s started.

“Fuck,” he whines, fingers digging into your hips. The soft skin he finds purchase in such a contrast from your hardened exterior, but Jimin knows. He knows you, knows the person behind the mask, sees straight through you each time it slips.

What stared back at him had always been just out of reach.

Taunting him.

Screaming come and get me, come make me yours, come and fucking take what you want.

Until now.

Now it’s tangible. Now it’s breathy, fractured moans that echo off tile walls. Now it’s the sound of his name thatleaves your lips like a prayer. Now it’s the sheen of sweat that covers both of you. Now it’s nails scraping down his back, tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

(And Jimin won’t tell you this, but those red welts are proof that this is real, this happened, and later on when he’s alone, when his mind is working overtime, he’ll look at them and he’ll smile. Because they’re real. Because this happened.)

Now, it’s the way blue becomes his favorite color. Because he can see his reflection in the mirror as he unravels and comes to his own demise as he spills inside of you; can see the fluorescent lights reflecting off the hue of his hair.

Jimin’s hair is blue when he realizes he’s in love with you.

[34.6037° S, 58.3816° W | Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA]

Jimin is blond when Namjoon sends you to South America.

The details had been scarce: a diplomatic advisor with a rap sheet of human rights violations that have been continuously swept under the rug and his equally-corrupt lawyer. A candid photograph paperclipped to another manila folder, Namjoon a fan of all those old cliches. Likes being a little cheeky that way when he can get away with it, because god knows he can’t get away with much, doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.

It’s a simple job. You and Jimin will have it dealt with in a matter of hours. Less if you’re lucky and the universe is agreeable. But the humidity sticks to your skin, has sweat seeping into your clothes and rolling down your temples, and if there’s one thing you can’t stand it’s the heat. Makes it hard to think. And Namjoon—Namjoon, who makes sure all of his agents want for nothing—is a cheap bastard. Rarely approves nice lodging, says it’s too risky despite your arguments to the contrary, that people don’t care what you do when you have money, so you’re stuck in some shithole motel room with an aircon unit that keeps blowing out stale, warm air.

And maybe you shouldn’t, maybe you should be more cognizant of Jimin and all his feelings, but it’s fucking hot, so you peel your shirt over your head and undo the button of your pants. Sit on the edge of the bed and try to think about anything other than the temperature, how it’s starting to prick uncomfortably at your skin.

Jimin clears his throat, keeps his eyes glued to the disgusting carpet. “Got a text from Seokjin-ssi,” he says, words strained. “Looks like they’ll be solo jobs.”

You groan. Leave it to Seokjin to change the plan at the last minute. “Tell Kim Seokjin he’s a useless piece of shit.”

“Done. Anything else?”

“Tell Kim Namjoon if he ever sends us to South America in the summer again I’ll kill him myself.”

Jimin has a laugh like an anodyne. A laugh that takes all those broken, bleeding parts of you and soothes over them like a balm. “Seokjin-ssi says he’s not passing along that particular message.”

“Tell him he’s a bitch, then.”

“He’ll kill me if I say that.”

“He hasn’t done field work in years and he’s probably too vitamin D deficient to leave the basement. He couldn’t even kill a fucking rat.”

There’s another laugh. More forced, less tinkling. You recognize it right away, the sound of anxiety. Solo jobs aren’t common for the two of you. For Yoongi and Taehyung, sure, but not you and Jimin. You’re a team for a reason, and though you’re more than capable of getting this done and out of the way, it doesn’t feel right. Settles in your gut like something rotten, knowing you’ll be without Jimin.

And you know he’s thinking it, too. How he turns the burner over and over in his hands, as if there’s some combination of words he can send back to Seoul to get Seokjin and Namjoon to reconsider. Plans don’t change often; not like this, anyway. These have been declared solos for a reason, and that’s a thought you can’t linger on too long.

“Are they leaving it up to us?” Jimin nods, still not meeting your eye. “Do you have a preference?”

He shrugs, tossing the phone on the small table in the corner. Nothing else to be done. “Not really. What do you think?”

“Nah, don’t care, either. Just toss me one.”

Santiago Aguirre… 47 years old… Resides in a high-rise luxury apartment in Retiro…

Your eyes skim the file, study the black and white photograph of the lawyer. Read over the list of all his high-profile, degenerate clients and all their high-profile crimes. You read about the previous attempts on his life, the seemingly never-ending list of people who want him dead. Your eyes go back to his photograph, frowning at the smug look on his face. What stares back at you is a man who thinks he’s invincible, who thinks a penthouse apartment on the top floor and a security team in the lobby means he’s impervious to harm. A man who has made money off people just like him: dirty, corrupt, hands stained red.

“Okay?” Jimin asks, looking up from his own file.

He’s so striking. So safe. And you know what he’s done, giving you the hit he thinks is easier, willing to risk himself on a solo mission to ensure you make it out. There’s no guarantees in this line of work, in life in general, but Jimin’s brand of selfless love is certainly one.

So you just nod, knowing someone slimy like this can quickly go sideways, and decide you can do the same.

“I’m gonna get ready,” you say. “The plan is the same as all the other solo jobs. Get in, get it done, get out as quickly as possible. Lay low. Don’t come straight back here.”

Jimin rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Anything else?”

You exhale. Try to quiet the nerves roiling in your stomach. Barely resist the urge to press a lingering kiss to Jimin’s forehead before you swallow hard and say, “Yeah. Stay alive.”

It comes out more like a plea.

—

You’re good at your job.

Rarely feel much guilt over it, either, which—well, you’re not sure what that means. That something is permanently broken in your psyche, probably. Being able to take life so easily and without remorse. It’s not natural.

Kim Namjoon is a man who plays God, is the one who decides who gets to live and who has to die. His word is the only law you adhere to. And that’s… that’s something. Makes it less burdensome, takes some weight off, because Kim Namjoon wouldn’t accept a morally-ambiguous job. He wouldn’t ask you to put your life on the line for some petty bullshit.

This is how you’ve lived for the last four years. Four years of blindly following Namjoon’s word, of being a good little soldier and doing whatever is asked of you. Four years of being responsible for not only your own life, but Jimin’s as well, just as he is for yours. Four years that have served you well, all things considered.

Until now.

Something about this job hits you hard. Doesn’t settle quite as quickly as the ones that have come before. For the first time, you’d looked down at the lifeless body at your feet and couldn’t stop the trembling, could barely quell the nausea. Thought what the fuck am I doing, what kind of life is this for the first time. Thought back to that day four years ago when Kim Namjoon saved your life and offered you a job and wondered, for the first time, what would’ve happened if you’d said no.

Now, as you suck on a cigarette, legs dangling off the roof of a building looking not far from collapse, a new thought:

Would Namjoon let you go if you asked?

He’s taken care of you. For four years you’ve wanted for nothing. Have socked away more money than you’ll ever be able to spend, even if you live to a thousand. You could go anywhere, become anyone, and no one would suspect a thing. There’d just be you and a million lifetimes’ worth of transgressions, alone under the weight of all that burden; alone, except for all the ghosts that come to greet you every time you close your eyes.

Doesn’t matter. Namjoon might be willing to let you go, give you the chance to salvage something from this life in the name of normalcy, but Yoongi would gladly put a bullet in your head before he let you disappear with all his secrets.

Doesn’t matter.

You stub out the cigarette and put the butt in your pocket. Make your way down to the street. Stay under the shadows—just visible enough to redirect any suspicion shot your way. You pretend to take a call, flawless Argentinian Spanish falling from your lips as you tell the imaginary person on the other end all about your fucked up day at work. How your manager never gets off your ass, doesn’t trust you, thinks you’re too fucking stupid to run a simple executable.

No one spares you a second glance.

Not here, on this nondescript street in a nondescript Argentinian neighborhood, and not when you stumble into the tiny lobby of your shithole motel. The poor kid behind the desk doesn’t even glance up, just mutters a good evening, miss under his breath that you return in a voice far too high-pitched to be your own.

Better to be seen and be unremarkable than draw attention to yourself trying to stay invisible, you figure.

The cameras in the stairwell are broken so you take the steps two at a time. Pull the room key from its place inside your boot, happy to no longer have it digging into your skin. Pause just long enough to make sure you don’t hear anything on the other side of the door before you’re unlocking it with your free hand wrapped around the trigger of your gun.

It’s empty.

Of course it is.

Jimin stashed the burner in a place no one but you would think to look. You text one simple word to Seokjin—Hey!—and you get two in return: Who’s this?

You know who it is, you fucking dickhead.

It takes a few seconds, but the reply is a simple—

Sorry.

Then you toss aside the phone and float in the darkness of the room. There’s nothing to do but wait, because you don’t dare to do anything alone. There’s sweat and blood and fuck knows what else stuck to your skin, your hair, but you can’t risk taking a shower. Can’t risk the water dampening your senses. Can’t risk being cornered in a moldy bathroom, only one way out. Can’t risk doing anything alone. Can’t take a fucking shower.

It’s this thought, more than anything else, that has your body flushing with rage.

What kind of life is this?

Namjoon had never mentioned repaying your debt. He’d never insinuated you owed him anything at all for saving your life, but you know something like that never comes for free. Namjoon doesn’t do anything just because. Has no goodness in his heart to do anything in the name of it. Watching Jimin nearly die in front of him had been the exception to his usual nature; a rare slip-up by an otherwise detached, uncaring man.

Still, whatever you owe him has surely been repaid by now. Tenfold, if the bloodstains along your collar are anything to go by.

It’s time for Namjoon to let you go.

—

Something is wrong.

Two hours have ticked by and there’s no word from Jimin. No word from Namjoon or Seokjin, either, which is the only reason you’re still in this nauseating motel room and not out on the streets searching for him. Solo jobs don’t go like this. The two of you are always in and out, tragically efficient. Back to where you started and then back on a plane, nothing left behind except a singular bullet hole and another fragmented piece of your conscience.

You’ve had a lot of jobs go wrong, but never two hours.

You’re about three minutes from coming out of your skin. Sick to your stomach with worry, anxiety weighing you down like an anchor. You wouldn’t be able to go out searching for Jimin like this even if you could, and there’s no point in dwelling on that, examining it further. All you can do is wait.

It’s another hour before you hear the click of the lock. You’re nearly on your knees in relief, but you stay rooted to the flimsy mattress. Try not to think about how you’ll have to sleep on it, even though you’ll be up half the night with residual worry. All those lingering ghosts.

Jimin doesn’t say anything, so neither do you.

[55.6761° N, 12.5683° E | Copenhagen, DENMARK]

Jimin’s hair is orange when you go to Copenhagen.

Not for a job, just to breathe. You wanted to see the city at Christmastime; Jimin’s never been.

You crack a joke. Point out buildings of similar color, have him stand in front of one as you take a picture. Everyone smiles when they pass the two of you on the street, Jimin’s eyes fond even though he rolls them as you pose him how you want. Still stands against an apricot-colored wall and flashes a smile and a peace sign, cheeks pink from the cold. Does a good job of pretending the two of you aren’t here just for fun, that this is something more.

It’s not.

The two of you fucked in a hotel room in Reykjavik and haven’t spoken a word of it since.

You nearly lost your mind over him in Buenos Aires and haven’t spoken a word of that, either.

Instead, his hand finds yours as the two of you walk around Tivoli Gardens. You marvel at the lights and Jimin marvels at you. You share mulled wine and spiced doughnuts. Jimin tries to drag you on the swings but you plant your feet and refuse, laughing through your refusals. As dangerous as your lives are, motion sickness might be the most. He gets his revenge and poses you in front of a giant nutcracker, then again in front of one of the endless Christmas trees.

Jimin pays for the two of you to decorate honey cakes. You’re surrounded by families with shrieking children and palpable adoration, and it’s all you can do not to wonder if anyone you’ve taken out had ever had something like this. Something that makes your soul warm; something that still lingers in your bones years later.

The two of you take a selfie when it starts to snow. It stings when you have no one to send it to, so it just lives in your phone. Maybe it’s enough.

On another day, Jimin holds your hand through Torvehallerne. This time you marvel at him while he marvels at all the food, eyes wide each time he turns to ask if he should buy something. You always say yes and he always shares, and it’s all you can do not to think about why you don’t have to budget yourselves. Why you’re able to walk through the market and buy whatever you want; how you could buy every item for sale and it wouldn’t make a dent.

(You pick up small trinkets for Taehyung and Jungkook. Not because you want to, but because it feels nicer than remembering that you have no one to buy gifts for. Not really. Not anymore.)

Jimin wants to ice skate, so you do. He holds your hand then, too. More out of necessity than anything else, and he has none of his usual grace. Someone hands you a free cup of hot chocolate, just because. Jimin pouts and then it’s his hot chocolate. It’s all you can do not to kiss away the whipped cream on the corner of his mouth.

Back in your lavish hotel, after countless days have blurred together and Jimin’s fresh from a shower, skin flushed, you finally ask yourself if it’s worth putting up such a fight. If it’s really all that bad to care for Jimin and be cared for in return. If it’s all that bad to be someone else, just for a little while: someone with a normal life who makes a normal living and has a normal capability to love. Someone who isn’t damaged beyond repair.

That will never be you. Not fully, and certainly not in this lifetime, but maybe it could be, a little.

“Jimin,” you say, because you need to try. Jimin loves you in ways you’ll never understand, and you want to be better for him. “We should talk.”

Your voice is small and hesitant, and Jimin hates it. Sees trouble where there’s only vulnerability, so he misreads. Shakes his head. Takes a risk and stands between your legs at the edge of the bed—yours, because there’s two—as he tilts your head back, thumbs pressing into the contours of your cheeks. The scar still sits in the hollow of your throat, and that version of you feels so far away. That life feels so far away.

There’s no violence here. There’s no blood, no fugues. There’s just you and Jimin, whose voice is small like yours when he shakes his head and says, “You should kiss me instead.”

The second time is nothing like the first.

Jimin moves delicately. Feels like silk lace, tastes like spun sugar. Moves both his mouth and his body fluidly, no hesitation, yet he still takes his time. Still pauses to look at you with endless devotion; with awed reverence. Makes a map of your body and marks all his favorite places with his lips.

“Tell me what you want,” he says. Speaks the words against the skin just beneath your ear. “Anything. I’ll give you whatever you want, just have to ask.”

What you want isn’t tangible, isn’t possible, so you stay quiet. Thread your fingers through Jimin’s hair, gasp when he mouths along the column of your throat. Jimin reserves all his softness for you. Bathes you in it. Would kill anyone to keep it that way.

So you say, “Want your mouth,” and let slip a quiet moan when he gives you what you’ve asked for. When he situates himself between your thighs and sucks and licks until you’re writhing, making a mess, grasping fruitlessly at the sheets, his hair, his shoulders, only calming when his hands find yours and your fingers interlock.

Jimin mouths at you until you’re trembling. Until you’re needy and desperate, hips moving on their own, fucking yourself against his face. Until nothing exists except the heat in your belly, the stars behind your eyelids, the heady, fucked-out sound of Jimin’s voice as he talks you through it, murmurs praise against your cunt.

Jimin mouths at you until you forget.

This isn’t your life. This is not something you can have.

But, in the grand scheme of things, what does it matter? You’ve made peace with death, and there’s only one of two ways it’s going to come for you in the end: by Namjoon’s hand or someone else’s. So what does it matter?

This time, Jimin fucks you slow. Kisses you with your taste still in his mouth. Thumbs over a hardened nipple just to see what earns him a reaction, and what you truly want is more time—something else that’s impossible.

Jimin’s hair is orange when you think you might be in love with him.

[ 48.8566° N, 2.3522° E | Paris, FRANCE ]

Jimin’s hair is pink when—

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the toilet.

Soaks a washcloth in warm water. Wrings it out. Stands in front of you, and there’s water dripping onto the floor and Jimin doesn’t care, doesn’t seem to see anything in this moment except for you, your hands covered in someone else’s blood, and he reaches out, gently grabs your wrist. Palm up. Someone else’s blood. Everything smells like copper and iron. Looks too surreal beneath the fluorescent lights of this hotel bathroom for your mind to make sense of it.

There is care in the way Jimin cleans your hands. There is tenderness in the way he both refuses to see what you really are and the way he’s the only one to ever see you so entirely, when you look down at the blood he’s washing away and all you can see is stigmata. When all you see is sin.

“I know you don’t love me,” he says, and there is a conviction in his words that stuns you into silence. “Not the way I love you, anyway.”

That tenderness is still there as he says this. As he presses the wet fabric into the meat of your palm, wipes the stains away, and the warmth is as calming as it is undeserved. It feels like something forbidden. It feels like salvation and condemnation all at once, like whatever sick depravity permeates you is contagious, will take over Jimin, too, just from touching you.

Jimin is close enough to reach out and touch. Close enough to see the violence that he exists in alongside you: the rips in his clothes, the scars that decorate his skin. Close enough to know he smells sickly-sweet, just like death. Your hand shakes as it reaches for him and never follows through. Doesn’t want to contaminate him.

“I do,” you finally say. Whatever is in your voice is not conviction. “I can’t.” You suck in a breath, try to steady your breathing. This is where it all comes crashing down, you think, because in all the years you’ve done Namjoon’s bidding, you’ve never cried. You can take life so freely and without thought, but you cannot love Jimin. “Someone like me isn’t capable of it.”

Jimin pauses, the washcloth stuck in the space between your ring and middle fingers. “And who is someone like you?”

Water is still dripping to the floor. Serosanguineous: blood tainting something untouched. Not something one thing or another but both, watery-pink. Looks like Jimin’s hair. “I’ve killed a lot of people,” you answer. “More than I can count. More than I can name. More than the ones that come to haunt me at night.” Your free hand moves to your chest, covers your heart. “There’s nothing here, Jimin. I’m not sure there ever was.”

The washcloth drops to the floor, and all that blood belonging to a man whose name you never bothered to learn before you put a bullet between his eyes finds a new place to rest. “I think,” he begins, clasping your unclean hand in his own, voice dropping to a whisper, “you forget, sometimes.” You gasp as he places your palm to his cheek, drags it across his face, smears a stranger’s blood across his skin. “That we’re the same.”

Jimin is always overwhelming, but the love he has for you is even more so. It consumes you entirely, embeds itself beneath your skin, makes a home, would tear you apart, body and soul, to return to him.

[ 47.4979° N, 19.0402° E | Budapest, HUNGARY ]

Jimin’s hair is lavender when it all goes to shit.

“You’re being followed.”

Seokjin’s voice is garbled through the earpiece, tinny and metallic, and you roll your eyes. Some things don’t need to be said, because you’ve known someone was following you for the last three blocks. Average height, black peacoat, close-cropped haircut. Not the kind of person that’d stand out here, and that’s exactly why you’d sent Jimin in the other direction.

“No shit,” you respond in Hungarian, because you already know the man following you doesn’t speak or understand it. “Give me somewhere to go.”

It takes Seokjin a few moments to run the translation. “There’s a side street up on your right,” he answers. “It’s tight, but there’s an alleyway at the end. You can buy some time if you’re quick.”

“Where’s Jimin?”

You pass a vendor selling lángos and duck into the street behind the stall. Just as Seokjin had said, there’s a small alleyway up on the left, and your footfall is near-silent as you break into a sprint to reach it. “Safe,” is all Seokjin says.

You take a second to steady your breathing, knowing you’re good on time—the man following you was close enough to know where you’d turned, but, if you’re lucky, not much after that. That plays on a loop: if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky. What is luck, what does it look like, in a life left entirely to chance? In a life with no guarantees?

You tuck yourself away, focus on Seokjin’s metallic breaths. Think about his basement in Seoul, why he’s in it. Ask, “What happened in Addis Ababa?” because it feels important to know.

There’s not much you know about Seokjin’s life. Whatever happened in Ethiopia had been before your time, reduced to hushed whispers and gossip fodder after your arrival. No one spoke of it, Seokjin especially, but every now and then something would slip in the same way weeds grow in sidewalk cracks.

A job gone wrong. A bombing at the consulate with Seokjin inside.

His reply is simple, words spoken carefully: “I loved someone once, too.”

He can’t see it, but you nod nonetheless; an answer that doesn’t require a response, because you know. It’s enough to fill in the rest. What Seokjin’s trauma looks like. Why he doesn’t do field work anymore. Why he prefers the solitude of the basement, rarely a sound beyond the electric thrum of the server racks.

Who had gone in to retrieve him, and why Yoongi has the scar over his eye.

“You loved someone,” you conclude, “and he would’ve been willing to die for you.”

“Yes,” Seokjin says, and it’s like the word’s been punched out of him. Sounds like something repressed, something left to rot in the darkest corner of the world.

Love, to Seokjin, looks and sounds the same as death.

“I think most people spend their entire lives searching for a love like that,” he continues, and if you could see him you think he might look dazed, off-kilter. You think he might be an avatar. Seokjin is prying his ribcage apart, unwrapping the barbed wire from his heart, saying I once was in love and this is all I know of it. “But, to me, in this life, it’s a prison. Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? How do you—I kissed that skin. I worshiped it. I pressed my lips to it with whatever softness was left in me. How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled?” He exhales, all tremor. “You can’t. You can’t.”

You know this all too well. You know what it feels like to look at Jimin and know, intrinsically and subconsciously, that you wouldn’t even hesitate. You’d take and give life to keep him alive and safe. You know that when you exit this world at someone else’s hand his face is the last thing you want to see.

You know it’s a liability.

You know it’s a target painted on your back. Between your eyes.

You know there’s nothing left to say, that this particular conversation has run its course. The two of you sit in an amicable silence, and you hope Seokjin can hear the life that surrounds you, however mundane. Hope he can hear the lángos vendor trying to hawk his goods; hope he can hear a city 8,000 kilometers away; hope he can hear these regular, everyday people going about their lives and remember there’s hope beyond his four walls.

I think you’d like it here, you think, but you don’t dare to say it aloud.

Time passes in a meaningless blur. Could be minutes, could be hours. No one’s come to kill you, so you reckon you’ve long since been in the clear. And maybe it speaks to Seokjin’s idea that love is a prison, because you know something’s happened to Jimin long before Seokjin speaks it into existence.

You’re up and out of the alleyway before you’re told to move. Have no idea where you’re going, but you’re racing through the streets of Budapest with a panic you haven’t ever felt in your life. Feels like quicksand; feels like molasses; feels like you have to wade through all the blood you’ve spilled, now congealed, to get to him.

“Where am I going?” you demand. Your lungs are on fire. In the split-second of silence it becomes a desperate scream. “Seokjin, tell me where the fuck I’m going!”

“The—fuck, the wa-warehouse up on your right.” You can’t think about why he’s crying. “I don’t—I don’t know wha-what’s there, you need to be careful. Please, you have to—”

Twenty seconds and you’ll be there, you’ll be with Jimin, you just need to keep running. You need to keep your head on straight. Remember your training. Remember you’ve built a life in a viper pit.

A man in a uniform is unloading a shipment around the back of the building. Faces away from you, bent at the waist. Takes very little effort to smash his head into the stone exterior and knock him unconscious, pocket his badge. You can’t get stupid now. Tell Seokjin to make sure all the cameras are cut, ask what floor when you shut yourself inside the freight elevator, unwilling to take the stairs and run into anyone who might be waiting. All the way to the top, he says, so all the way to the top you go.

—

Over the course of your life, you’ve made peace with death. Have stared it in the eye more times than you can count. Have dealt it out, evaded it, shook its hand.

You are wholly unprepared for the sight that greets you.

Red. Everything is red—the walls, the floor, what used to be a beautiful parquet pattern in the wood. In the center of the room: two bodies, maybe three. Not much that’d be able to identify them beyond a pile of teeth, no saying whose is whose. Slaughterhouse scraps.

And this is not—Jimin doesn’t work this way. Isn’t his MO. Jimin’s kills are elegant and neat, topped with a bow. What you see before you is ultraviolence. It is unhinged, it is fury, it is a complete loss of control. It’s what love looks like to Jimin, because he sits at the very edge of a rotted chair, legs crossed. Face streaked with blood, clothes covered in it.

“Jimin,” you say, because what else is there?

He tilts his head to the side, smirks a little, looks at you beneath his lashes. Eyes that used to find you across a room and calm you. Eyes that have locked onto you in the throes of pleasure. Eyes you’ve seen yourself reflected in, bathed in love and adoration.

Eyes that now contain nothing.

“Jimin, what the fuck happened?”

He removes his gloves with his teeth and doesn’t flinch away from the taste of iron. “They said they hurt you,” he states simply, “so I did what needed to be done.”

“What—” Nausea claws at your throat; for the first time, it’s all too much. This isn’t Jimin. This isn’t your Jimin, who smiled as you posed him against apricot walls in Copenhagen, who took a bullet to the stomach to protect you and never, ever told you. This is not the Jimin who wasted the last of his goodwill on loving you. “What did you do?” you whisper.

He rises to full height and it makes you flinch. You are scared of Jimin for the first time in your life: scared of who he is in this moment, what he’s capable of. And he sees it, lets that brand of anguish overtake him. Reaches for you before he decides against it and lets his hand drop to his side. Says, “I would never hurt you,” as if the words could brand themselves into your skin so you’d never forget.

“No, you’d just—” You squeeze your eyes shut. Don’t think about how one of the men nearly embedded into the floor was the one trailing you earlier.

Instead, you think about Seokjin: Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? You think about: How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled? You think about: In this life, it’s a prison.

You drop to your knees. Let the blood seep through your clothes and into your skin, undeserving of shying away from it.

Namjoon should’ve let you go.

You think about the men in front of you. Who they were, who they loved. The grief all of this is going to leave behind, and it becomes impossible to breathe. You grasp at your throat, think about all the times you’ve been strangled and who’d been there to cut the rope. There is no limit to Jimin’s devotion, and you understand now, how it drove Yoongi to madness. How he loved someone so much he would’ve retrieved their corpse from a building and how that same person can no longer bear to look at the damage they’d caused.

“This isn’t love, Jimin,” you choke out.

He stands in front of you. Stigmata. You’re worshiping at the altar of some kind of devil. At least his hands are clean when he places his fingers beneath your chin, forces you to look up at him. “What is it, then?”

“Destruction.”

A quiet huff of cruel laughter. “See, this is the difference between me and you, darling.” He takes back his hand, runs it through his blood-streaked hair, and your chin sags to your chest without his support. “Because I already knew that. Because I have destroyed myself every single day loving you.” He squats down, eye-level, and he says, “I need you to listen to me when I say this, sweetheart: you do not love me the way I love you, because I would do worse. When it comes to you, there is nothing on this earth I would not destroy to keep you safe.”

He clears his throat. Collects whatever’s in his mouth and spits onto one of the bodies. “If this is enough to have you tucking your fucking tail between your legs, then go, because this doesn’t even scratch the fucking surface.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything, and sometimes that says it all.

Jimin presses a kiss to the top of your head. Makes a call. Cleaners will be here soon, he says, better get going.

You watch him go.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair is black when Namjoon calls the meeting.

He takes the seat across from Namjoon’s desk because they don’t meet like this often. Assignments are usually manila folders slipped under doors, hushed whispers in hallways confirmed with a nod or a text on a burner phone. Assignments are not last-minute assemblies in conference rooms and offices.

But the way Namjoon is looking at him, with his clenched jaw and a gaze that’s meant to look barbed to anyone who doesn’t actually know him—Jimin doesn’t need to ask what this is about.

Had he bothered to look, he would’ve known by the way you stood in the far corner of the room, face obscured by the mid-afternoon shadows. Yoongi’s close to you, for some reason: dressed head to toe in black, perched on a lateral file cabinet, using a metal corner to sharpen his switchblade. Just like a harbinger of death. Some sort of fucked up omen, a warning that’s come too late.

Didn’t I tell you this would end badly, he hears Yoongi taunt in his head. This is what happens when you lay with trash.

Easy for Yoongi to say when he doesn’t know what it means to be cared for by you. Doesn’t know how it feels to give in to the freefall and plummet at your feet, stripped back and laid bare. Doesn’t know how it feels to kiss secrets into your skin like constellations, to map his tongue along every unspoken confession.

Easy for Yoongi to say, because he doesn’t have to survive the aftermath. Doesn’t have to feel the heartbreak, the agony of having you and watching as you slip through his fingers. Yoongi doesn’t have to struggle just to breathe, doesn’t have to endure the nights staring at the ceiling, watching as the daylight creeps into the corners of his vision. Doesn’t have to watch you looking so unaffected.

“Jimin.” Namjoon’s tone is flat, needlelike.

Behind him, Yoongi chuckles lowly. “What?” Jimin asks, his gaze trained on the painting behind Namjoon’s head. Looks like one he’d seen in Berlin, the time the two of you had gone just because and spent an afternoon ducking in and out of museums to escape the rain.

When he closes his eyes, he still sees the raindrops stuck to your eyelashes. The beads of water rolling off the sleeves of your leather jacket. How blinding your smile had been. The laughter in your voice as you ordered beer after beer after beer for the two of you in flawless Berlinisch. A brief, fleeting glimpse at normalcy. At the kind of life the two of you could have if you were just… different. Lived different lives. Were different people.

“You’ve gotten sloppy.”

Namjoon’s words are a cold bucket of water. Snap him back to reality, yank him back to the present where he’s forced to leave those river-lined streets behind. You’re silent and Yoongi’s still snorting laughter. “Okay,” is all Jimin can bring himself to say.

Jin had gotten sloppy once, too, and Namjoon stuck him down in the basement to work logistics. Might not be so bad, Jimin reckons. He’d be away from you, spared of this fucking misery. “So you know that’s unacceptable.”

Jimin just shrugs, resigned to his fate, whatever it may be. “I’m reassigning the both of you,” Namjoon continues. “You’ll both have new partners for your next assignments, since you clearly can no longer be trusted together.”

“Who?” Jimin manages to choke out.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, clearly having expected an argument. “You’re being sent to Shanghai with Jungkook. You,” he says, turning his attention to you, “are going to Moscow with Taehyung.”

She’s fond of Taehyung, Jimin wants to say. But you’d been fond of him too, once upon a time, and that’d only ended in heartbreak, so who fucking cares.

They’re cruel, the tricks Jimin’s mind plays on him. How he convinces himself you look pained. How his fingers wring together at the thought of entrusting his life in the hands of someone else, someone new. At your life being just as at stake; at Taehyung being tasked with keeping you alive. Would you die for him, too, the way you’d always told Jimin you would for him? Would Taehyung take a bullet to the stomach to keep you safe the way Jimin had?

Even more cruel is the way you scoff, pushing yourself off of the wall as you fold your arms across your chest and say, “That’s bullshit, Kim Namjoon.”

No one talks to Namjoon that way except you.

Yoongi’s knife stops twirling. Just like a bird sensing a storm, senses on high-alert as he flicks his gaze over to you. “I’m sorry?” Namjoon says. “What part of Jimin losing his mind and nearly outing all of us seems like bullshit to you?”

“Hm, let me think,” you retort, a manicured finger tapping against the hollow of your cheek. “The part where you’re reassigning me for someone else’s mistake?”

Which part was the mistake? Jimin wants to ask. Needs to know how much you regret. Was sleeping with you the mistake? Falling in love with you? Getting too caught up in all these daydreams and letting reality get away from him?

“This organization is more important than Park Jimin getting his goddamn dick wet,” Namjoon snaps. “Keeping all of you safe—keeping you alive—is more—”

You scoff. Take an entire container of gasoline and pour it right on top of Namjoon’s flammable ire. “Then perhaps you’d be so kind as to explain to me why Min fucking Yoongi can fuck damn near everyone in this establishment, yet I have to sit here and listen to your goddamn mouth—”

Jimin doesn’t think Yoongi even knows his arm is moving.

There’d just been the trading of barbed words. His own name being spoken into the ether. Yoongi’s arm moving away from his body, switchblade clasped tightly between his fingers as he plunges it into your flesh.

Jimin watches it puncture your arm in slow motion. Feels the bile in his throat, the heat in his belly. Looks first at Namjoon whose jaw has gone slack, skin pale, as he stammers over words that won’t come. Then he looks at Yoongi—expects to find shock or guilt but finds only a muted disinterest and flared nostrils.

Finally, he looks at you. Watches the white cotton sleeve of your shirt slowly turn red and sticky-wet. Watches as your lips move around syllables and vowels and consonants Jimin can’t decipher.

“—fucking piece of shit, this is my favorite shirt! I’ll never get all this goddamn blood out of it—”

Jimin thinks he hears Yoongi say you deserve it. But Jimin isn’t really thinking much as he clambers out of his chair and moves in Yoongi’s direction. Doesn’t think at all as he lets instinct take over, lets adrenaline steer him headfirst into yet another bad idea.

He’s always known there’d come a day he’d be face-to-face with the sight of your blood. Had always known it’d come from someone else’s hand. Had always promised himself that hurting you would be the last thing anyone ever did.

Jimin has his fingers wrapped around Yoongi’s throat and he finally understands it—the joy Yoongi finds in taking life.

“What’s the matter, Jimin-ah?” Yoongi taunts. Jimin tightens his grip. Suddenly hates that fucking scar across Yoongi’s eye. “You’re never on clean-up duty. Always make your girlfriend do the dirty work. Finally grew some fucking balls, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Jimin says stupidly. Can’t think of anything more to say. Not that he needs to. Wrapping your hands around someone’s throat sends enough of a message, he thinks.

Namjoon’s still tongue-tied as you yank Yoongi’s blade from your arm, immediately pressing your other hand over the wound to stem the bleeding. The sight of your blood is making Jimin dizzy; the smell of the iron hanging in the air. All he wants to do is choke the life out of the man in front of him, but more than that, he just wants to hold your hand. Wants to comfort you, even though he knows you don’t need it. Not from him, not from anyone, but he still wants to. Wants to press his lips to the sweat at your brow.

And Yoongi can see it, too, because he starts laughing. It’s an odd, fractured noise. Jimin isn’t sure if he’s ever heard him laugh before, decides he also hates the way it sounds. Feels all wrong watching it leave his crooked smirk. Makes Jimin’s stomach plummet to the ground.

“Oh, you’re fucked, aren’t you?” Yoongi teases around Jimin’s slackened grip. “You weren’t just fucking her, you’re in love with her.”

Weird how Jimin is the one with his hands around someone’s neck and feels like he’s the one suffocating.

[ 31.2304° N, 121.4737° E | Shanghai, CHINA ]

Jimin watches the life drain from an innocent woman’s face and feels nothing.

Jimin watches Jungkook cut a man down and feels even less.

When it’s over, he cleans up wordlessly and doesn’t eat for three days.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair has faded to brown by the time he returns from Shanghai.

The more complicated job had gone to you and Taehyung. Jimin had tried not to take it personally. The Russian hits are always unnecessarily violent and Jungkook still isn’t fully trained. There’s still a phantom pain in Jimin’s stomach that warns him of the consequences of taking on more than he can chew. So, sure, Shanghai had gone fine, but his mind had been nearly 7,000 kilometers away the entire time.

Good thing he’d returned to Seoul unscathed, too, because he’s sure Namjoon would’ve eliminated him without a moment’s hesitation if he’d fucked up again.

But Shanghai had only served to prove the leader right. Jimin can’t work with you anymore. Can’t focus, can’t stomach the violence, can’t keep his goddamn head on straight.

He sighs as he glances at Jungkook to his right. Jimin had watched him murder two men in cold blood not even thirty-six hours ago and now he’s doe-eyed and sucking down his third banana milk of the morning. It really makes his head spin, being paired with this grown-up infant of a man now instead of you, but for all of Jungkook’s apparent shortcomings, he’d kept Jimin alive. He isn’t dead.

And then you walk in with Taehyung and he wishes he was.

Because you’re laughing and Taehyung’s got his arm slung around your shoulder and you look happy. It’s the kind of happiness that should be contagious, bloom warmth in his chest, but it doesn’t. It just takes the last frayed strand of hope he has and sets flame to it.

You don’t look like you miss Jimin at all. Don’t look like you’ve lost sleep or skipped meals.

“Didn’t take you long, did it?” Jimin says, because he’s wounded and lashing out. Not because he means it.

You must know he doesn’t, too, because you don’t react. “Watch your mouth, Park Jimin,” Taehyung warns, because he doesn’t know, and this only sets Jimin off more. You don’t need defending. Or had you, and Jimin had simply thought it wasn’t his place to provide it? That you wouldn’t want it?

“Or what, Kim Taehyung?”

Taehyung is cherubic. It’s part of his charm, one of many reasons why he’s so effective. If you’re looking to die, you look for the guy who looks like Yoongi, not the one who smiles wide and warm like Taehyung. So when he sets his jaw and pokes his tongue into his cheek and says, “Or I’ll cut your fucking head off, you stupid fuck,” your attention is finally piqued.

“I’m so sick of this,” Jungkook wails, banana milk tossed carelessly in the trash. “All of you need to get your fucking shit together!”

Taehyung rolls his eyes at the same time you pretend to inspect your nails. “Is that why you’re so temperamental, Chim?” Taehyung prods, looking every bit the pretentious, murderous angel he is. “Because you got sent to China on a babysitting mission while the grownups did real work?”

“Fuck you,” Jungkook snaps, rising to full height. “I’m not a fucking child.”

“Oh? Could’ve fooled me.” Taehyung’s words are razor-sharp and smell like kerosene. “Tell me, then: were you on babysitting duty? Had to look after our precious little Jiminie while he nursed his broken heart?”

You sigh, full of faux-exasperation, and place a gentle hand on Taehyung’s forearm. Dig your nails in just enough to be a warning, and if Jimin hadn’t been looking he’d miss it: the way Taehyung deflates instantly, anger dissipating like smoke, back in control. Just because you’d touched him. Just because you were there. Jimin knows that touch, how it feels to be under your control, and it makes his chest ache. Makes everything feel like it’s sitting wrong in his stomach, and he’s either going to be sick all over Namjoon’s overpriced fucking rug or wrap his hands around Taehyung’s throat the way he’d done to Yoongi.

He’s out of his goddamned mind; he feels untethered. Helpless. Like it was always going to end like this, and maybe Jimin knew that and had just ignored it. Maybe now he’s paying the price—maybe he’s finally found something he can’t afford.

Jungkook’s still going off, nasty gaze set on Taehyung because he’s the only one playing along. They’re exchanging words Jimin can’t make heads nor tails of. Words he doesn’t care about. Words that ring empty and hollow because they sound nothing like the way you say his name. Shapeless, unlike the way your lips move around those syllables.

“Jimin,” you say, the sound finally registering and bringing him back down to earth. All he can do is stare. “Can we talk?” Taehyung and Jungkook are still trading barbs.

Wonders how he got here. Looks around the room and wonders if each and every one of them is destined for this same fate, this madness. Wants to tell you why he forgot his vest, why he was three hours late in Argentina. Wants to grovel and beg and leave this place and never look back.

More than anything, he wants to know what it feels like to actually be human.

So he shakes his head. Tries not to be haunted by the way your face falls at the rejection.

There is a scar on his abdomen and a scar on your arm that both tell the same story. There is a man in the basement who is in love with a man above ground and is too weighed down by guilt to do anything about it. There is a man here who plays god, has soldiers to do his bidding, and there is very little here that Jimin has only for himself.

The two of you will have that conversation, but he needs to be human, first.

[ 34.6901° N, 135.1956° E | Kobe, JAPAN ]

This is a waste of your fucking time.

Whatever Namjoon had thought would be here doesn’t seem to exist. Yoongi can barely tolerate you on a good day, threatens to stick a dagger in your neck at least twice an hour, but the more time the two of you waste chasing ghosts, the closer he comes to unraveling entirely.

“Stop fucking staring at me,” he snaps, blowing the smoke of his cigarette right in your face.

You tut. “But you’re so beautiful, Yoongi, I just can’t help it.”

He digs his switchblade from his boot. Makes a show of flipping it open. “I can cut your fuckin’ eyes out of your skull,” he intones. “Maybe that’ll help.”

In your ear, Jimin’s laughter rings like crystal.

Ricochets off of all the corners of Seokjin’s basement, makes the echo sound warped through the earpiece. “Please tell Yoongi-ssi to keep an eye on the man with the shaved head. In front of him, roughly sixty degrees to his right.”

You relay the message. Watch as Yoongi transforms—sharpened gaze, rigid posture, disappears into the shadows. More apex predator than man. “And me?” you ask.

“Backup,” comes Seokjin’s voice. “We haven’t found your mark yet.”

You hum. Pick up the cigarette Yoongi left behind and stick it between your lips. Smoke it nearly to the filter. “You got it, boss,” you tease, just because it flusters him.

“I’m—that’s not—knock it off.”

Exhale. Stub out the cigarette. Butt in your pocket. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, and his voice is soft, sounds like spun sugar. “Stay alive, all right?”

Jimin’s hair isn’t dyed at all.

if you've read this far: thank you so, so much! i am more appreciative than i can put into words. this is very different from what i typically write, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

i would love to hear your thoughts if you have any. <3

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