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haologram · 16 days ago

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hanging by a moment 🍻 j.ww [m]

synopsis: it's been a few years since you've been home for your birthday, and wonwoo can't wait to see you...right? genre: estranged childhood friends to lovers au. fluff, angst, suggestive themes. pairing: photographer!jeon wonwoo x fem!baker!reader | side pairing: kim mingyu x chou tzuyu word count: 15.8k rating: 18+. minors please do not interact. warnings: swearing, alcohol. food mentions. mentions of jealousy, breakups. wonwoo is a little bitter. pet names (sweetheart, honey, etc.) kissing. what to listen to: here is gone - the goo goo dolls ; over you - daughtry ; broken - lifehouse ; hanging by a moment - lifehouse ; long way home - 5 seconds of summer ; say yes - seventeen author's note: happiest birthday to my baby @wqnwoos ♡ i hope your birthday was full of wonderful memories and you had lots of good food, please continue staying healthy and i love you. [star dividers by @/cafekitsune here on tumblr!]

– LAST YEAR: GOYANGI SWEETS, HARLEM, NEW YORK.

"Since when do you celebrate Valentine's Day, Y/N?" Jeon Wonwoo's voice was staticky on the other end, and you rolled your eyes as you kept swiping icing on the red velvet cupcakes you'd been agonizing over for six days. Trying and dumping mixes, failed taste tests, a few burnt practice rounds all led up to this: you, up at two in the morning on FaceTime with Wonwoo, who was just now starting to finish up his work day.

You hadn't meant to move so far away, truly – or at least, not for this long. Your best friends were all back home, and the drastic time difference did work for some of them – but you rarely managed to catch Wonwoo. He would usually spend his time holed away in his bedroom or out with Kim Mingyu. However, since Mingyu moved in with his fiancée, Chou Tzuyu, three years ago – Wonwoo had the apartment to himself and you were his only company.

"Since when don't you, Jeon? No hot date for Desperation Day?"

"You watch too many movies, there's no such thing. Anyway, shouldn't you be sleeping? You open in, like, two hours." He was right, you did open in two hours.

There was just something comforting about hearing Wonwoo's voice so late in the night. It makes you feel warm, less alone.

And it's not like Wonwoo knew about your recent fight with your boyfriend.

It wasn't anything serious – just you telling him to get a fucking job, and him insisting that his job was rubbing your feet after a long day at work. It annoyed you so bad that you asked him to leave the apartment for the weekend. It's not that Wonwoo doesn't like Euijoo, but he certainly isn't his number one fan. You argue that you can't dislike someone you don't even know, but Wonwoo has made it clear that Euijoo is simply never going to be a part of his life if you're not present to make it happen. It's always been that way with Wonwoo, though. He quietly disapproved of most of the men you dated, even when you were back home – but he never made you feel bad about his perspective. He simply shared when you asked, and he didn't sugar coat it.

Before Euijoo, there was his clubmate, Hansol Chwe. Before Hansol, there was his teammate, Choi Seungcheol. Before Seungcheol, there was Mingyu.

And every single one got a side-eyed glance, even his best friend.

Slowly, you stopped talking to Wonwoo about guys, because he always seemed to be right about you deserving more. To be frank, you weren’t too keen on not doing what you wanted to do, much less who.

You and Wonwoo never breached that friendship line, and while you found solace in his irrevocable appreciation for you as a friend, you found it odd that around the time you began preparing for your relocation across the world, he floated away.

So much so that he hadn't even gone to the airport to say goodbye, or give you a hug. You hadn't seen Wonwoo in the weeks leading up to it after you told him you'd be leaving, and he always had an excuse as to why he couldn't call or hang out. You tried time and time again, only for him to eventually say he just didn't have time.

He did. You knew he did, because you saw him all over Mingyu and Tzuyu's Instagram stories. You saw him playing chess with Yoon Jeonghan. You saw him at the art museum with Xu Minghao.

You saw him soft launch a girl on his Instagram story the moment you boarded your plane. His story had been posted twenty minutes before, while you were getting your heart ripped out. You’d gone to New York with eyes full of tears, and not just because you were leaving behind everything you knew.

Wonwoo was home, and you wouldn’t have him with you.

Nevertheless, Wonwoo was never…directly the reason behind your breakups – at least, to your understanding. You never toed the line of flirting with him and vice versa, you never made your friendship out to be something it wasn't.

You and Mingyu broke up because of school but stayed extremely close. You met his then-girlfriend,Tzuyu, six months into freshman year, and you were the first person Mingyu ever told that he wanted to marry her. You even helped Mingyu build a Pinterest wedding board when he would visit you and Wonwoo.

The others? Seungcheol made the mature decision and broke up with you because of jealousy issues on his part. Hansol broke up with you with an apology and nothing more, and you tried your best to take it in stride. However, taking things in stride is not your forte – which is how you ended up with Euijoo.

Hansol broke up with you at the airport the day you left for New York, the guilt taking over his features as your eyes widened and filled with tears. You had muttered that you understood, that it was fine – but the fourteen-hour flight from Seoul to New York was full of tears and sniffling. You're sure the woman next to you had been wondering if you were okay, but you're also almost positive that the fourteen-hour loop of 5SOS' Close As Strangers through your headphones spoke for itself.

You had met Euijoo at a bar a week after you landed in New York. Your apartment had long been ready and furnished, waiting for your arrival. You sullied it that same night by bringing him home, the aura of the apartment darkening the longer he stayed. And stayed, he did. It's like he had nowhere else to go, and you were far too nice about it, too.

Hence, how he became your 'boyfriend' and how he 'moved in with you.'

Bullshit; he went home to his mother's one-bedroom condo and picked up a dusty Playstation and a pillow he liked – that was his 'moving in.'

As for why Wonwoo doesn't like him, it's obvious – Euijoo is a loser. He has no goals, no sense of urgency, no whimsical nature – nothing like you. At least, that was what Wonwoo told you the first time you called him from New York…which was over six months since you left Seoul.

You wanted to believe there was a twinge of jealousy in Wonwoo’s voice when you told him about Euijoo. His brows furrowed, he sucked his teeth more times than you could count, and he refused to meet him when you offered to have him say hello.

You couldn't lie to yourself, you knew your relationship with Wonwoo was dwindling. Your calls were growing sparse, he didn’t tell you anything about his personal life, and you still hadn’t gone back home. To him, to your friends, to your parents. The two of you had grown up together, just slightly out of each other's circles. There were two or three people who were your 'friends of friends' that connected you, before Mingyu was the first official bridge between the two of you in the seventh grade. You went on to date Mingyu for three years during high school, before you wound up going to a different university than he did – but attended with Wonwoo, instead. You hated to admit it, but you knew that you clung to Wonwoo like gum did a shoe. You hid behind his broadening frame at fraternity parties, you would ask him over to your dorm (and later, your apartment) for game nights. You eventually started baking for him – cookies, cupcakes, the like. And then you met Seungcheol, on your way to Wonwoo's apartment. You slammed into him, painting his white t-shirt and shorts in pink icing – and you remembered stuttering over your words as you watched his brows furrow while he wiped icing off his stomach. He ended up clicking his tongue, nodding his head and shrugging.

"I guess you can call it avant garde, right?"

The two of you exchanged numbers, and you wound up being late to Wonwoo's place – but at that time, it didn't matter. Not when you scored a date with an older boy that had pouty lips and the thickest thighs you'd ever had the pleasure of seeing. Wonwoo had noticed you were giggly that night, but chose to brush it off when he walked behind you and saw you typing away to an unsaved number.

You and Seungcheol ended up dating for about a year, but the jealousy issues began before your relationship even started. He knew Wonwoo, and they were on the same soccer team – but something about the way Wonwoo spoke about you seemed to tick him off. No matter how often your lips were on his, your hands on his body, your body in his bed – Seungcheol's eyes always narrowed at the sight of Wonwoo floating around you for whatever reason, even if you initiated contact.

You cheered at all his games, but Wonwoo was also there even if you wore one of Seungcheol's jerseys. You invited him to your bake sales, yet Wonwoo was always the one taste testing your recipes. You invited Seungcheol to your birthday dinner, and Wonwoo was naturally there.

Wonwoo recounting memories of you as a kid at dinner was what made Seungcheol make the decision to break up with you the following week. He paced around his apartment while you sat on his couch, rattling off all the ways that Wonwoo spoke about you that meant so much more than just a platonic love.

And you didn't comfort Seungcheol, or refute his thoughts.

In fact, you denied them. You said there was no way Wonwoo saw you as anything more than his friend, you insisted that Wonwoo seeing you in the worst moments of your life was enough to make him feel icky about dating you.

It wasn't until Seungcheol crouched in front of you, holding your hands in his that you understood that he wasn't kidding. He told you that part of growing old together and being in love is seeing each other in those situations and still choosing to care and stay. He told you that Wonwoo holding your hair back as you threw up, Wonwoo knowing all your siblings' names and their favorite things, Wonwoo seeing you riddled with the flu and gross stomach bugs…

Wonwoo cared about you far more than he let on.

You left Seungcheol's apartment that night with a heavy heart and holding the stained white shirt from the first day you met him in your hand. It was still soaked in his cologne, and you remember crying yourself to sleep for two weeks straight.

Wonwoo had been there, and when you told him everything Seungcheol had said – he'd apologized.

He didn't deny anything. He didn't refute any of Seungcheol's feelings.

He apologized, for both making Seungcheol feel that way as well as being the straw that broke the camel's back. You hadn't known what to say, so you just offered to let him stay over and bake cookies with you.

He did, and the two of you gorged yourselves on white chocolate chip cookies while watching White Chicks. You cried again while he was there, and he wiped your tears and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. He held you close as you pouted into his shirt, the soft scent of patchouli from his cologne settling into your skin as a blanket of comfort.

You also remember peering up at him through teary eyes, and his lips instinctively pressing to your hairline. His mumbled words never left your mind, either.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay.”

You didn't date again for a bit after that, and Wonwoo made it a point to introduce you as his friend any time the two of you hung out. It made you feel odd, the way he forced the agenda that you were his friend and nothing more when you had no issue just going with the flow. You understood he didn't want a repeat of your relationship with Seungcheol, but it felt like he was forcing something more than just the label of your friendship.

People often asked if something had happened between the two of you — of which you always denied casually. If they asked Wonwoo, he would scoff, as if he were offended anyone would ever think you were more than just his friend. As if it was gross, or repulsive, to see you as a woman and not just the girl he grew up with. You met Hansol the next school year, a cheeky cinematography freshman that frequented your bake sales. Wonwoo met him there as well, and was the reason you and Hansol met formally. Apparently, Wonwoo and Hansol were both in the AV Club, where Wonwoo also met his first girlfriend: Lee Jaehee.

Lee Jaehee...

She had also been quite the frequenter of your bake sales. She enjoyed your slutty brownies and the strawberry blondies you made, and the two of you had been so close to becoming friends when Wonwoo asked her out. He'd even asked you to bake something for her and you did it happily, free of charge. However, Wonwoo asking her out meant her finding out that you and him went back over two decades, and the same look that settled in Seungcheol's brows, settled in hers. It was painful, to see how she would tense at your presence at Wonwoo's soccer games, ones you'd always attended. It hurt your feelings to see her give you a quick smile before passing by your booths at the bake sales, not bothering to stop by for a nibble or a chat.

It pained you to know that Wonwoo missed your birthday dinner that year to spend the weekend with her, instead. You wound up going over to Seungcheol's apartment that night, and he comforted you as best as he could – by offering a drink and inviting his friends Jeonghan and Joshua over to entertain you. Despite it all, Seungcheol never really held any resentment towards you – but he did have zero problem telling you how blind you were.

You ignored it, too.

You didn’t like the odd feeling you got in your chest thinking about Wonwoo in any way that wasn’t platonic. You weren't stupid – Wonwoo was incredibly profound with a hint of goofy humor. He was smart, and tall…and handsome…God, he was so handsome, it made you want to bite your fist.

So the idea of his hands on you? His lips on yours, his bed being more than just a drunken sanctuary…

It was too much for you to handle.

You started dating Hansol during the first semester of your senior year of college. He'd just become a sophomore, and everyone around him had been incredibly surprised that the senior sweetheart at the bake sales stopped making her incredibly soft peanut butter cookies. The reason? Hansol, and his allergy to peanuts.

No one said shit after that, only cooing at your boyfriend's blushy cheeks from your attention.

Your relationship with Hansol also came as a surprise to Wonwoo, and he found out in the strangest way – by walking into your apartment using his spare key and seeing the two of you getting frisky in the kitchen and covered in flour. You hadn't heard him come in, and didn't seem to sense his presence in the threshold of your kitchen. You don't know it, but Wonwoo has the image of you burned in his mind. The slope of your neck as Hansol kissed down it, the way your shirt was pushed up to reveal flour-covered handprints on your bare chest, the way your thighs were flexing around your boyfriend's waist… The sound of your whimper into Hansol's mouth.

He then made his presence known by coughing exaggeratedly, and you and Hansol almost slipped. Wonwoo rolled his eyes as Hansol yanked your shirt back into place, clearing his throat and greeting Wonwoo.

"How long have you been there?"

"Long enough to know that there is no way eating flour out of each other's mouths is sexy." Wonwoo had come over to tell you that he and Jaehee broke up, and he did tell you – but on his way out of your apartment. You could barely hear him as the door closed, but you were also trying to finish what you and your boyfriend started in the kitchen — so you filed it to the back of your mind as you invited Hansol to join you in the shower.

It wasn't until after graduation that you decided to open a pastry shop. However, you were unsure that your at-home learning was enough to satisfy a gaggle of clientele – and decided to start applying to pastry schools. You’d already obtained a business degree, which made the idea only cement further in your head. Hansol had been incredibly supportive, even going as far as sending you applications and fee waivers while he was in class and you were driving around Seoul with Wonwoo looking for work for the time being.

Then you got a letter back from a pastry school in New York City, and Hansol was ecstatic. He paid for your flight and even took a week off school to go visit it with you. He wound up setting up meetings with realtors so you could get an apartment, and the two of you even went as far as looking at empty lease spaces where you could open a business.

You accepted the offer, and the school covered your flight back to Seoul and then back to New York City. Your parents covered your first year of rent at an apartment in SoHo, after you sent back videos of you spinning in the SeaGlass Carousel and having dinner at Shuka.

However, something changed when you went back to Seoul to pack your things. You also realized you had done all of this without even mentioning it to Wonwoo, who seemed slightly distant when you finally met him for dinner at his place after packing up your apartment. Mingyu and Tzuyu had also been there. Hansol also seemed distant for a few days, not bothering to answer your messages or calls. You showed up at his apartment, only for Seungkwan to answer the door with a knowing look and tell you he wasn't home. You remember scowling, and pushing past Seungkwan to see Hansol asleep in his bedroom, tucked away with a Star Wars blanket you'd bought him for his birthday.

You picked a fight, and Hansol wasn’t having it — said he wasn’t in the right headspace to have this conversation, and asked to rain check it for a better time. You argued there was no better time than the present, and his swollen face (whether from tears or sleep, you were unsure) was enough to make you back off for the time being. He quietly asked you to join him in his bed, and you reluctantly kicked your shoes off and did just that.

He promised he still cared, and promised he still loved you, but it felt different, the way he held you. Like a last hurrah, like a ‘goodbye’ and not a ‘see you later.’ Like things were going to end and there was nothing you could do to change his mind.

You couldn't say you were surprised that Hansol broke up with you a month later, but you were certainly hurt. Wonwoo was also nowhere to be reached at this point, your calls going straight to voicemail and your texts going unread. You assumed he'd finally landed a gig, but it was still unlike him to not respond to you, of all people.

At least, you thought that was what had happened, until you saw his Instagram story.

You stopped wondering where he'd been after that.

It had been four years since then. You hadn't gone back to Seoul once, not even for Christmas or when your parents begged you back. You called for birthdays, you sent gifts out two months in advance. You sent photos of your shop, of your apartment, of you and Euijoo.

Your parents didn't really care about the ones Euijoo was in.

You finally opened your pastry shop in the middle of Harlem – two years after arriving in New York, tweaking your recipes to cater to the local clientele. Your shop was always full of customers and you loved what you did – but most of all, the people loved you. They loved seeing how easily you won people over, how you celebrated your accomplishments by putting even more effort into your business, how your employees cared about you and your shop.

You truly became an essential part of some people's lives – Ms. Julianna who came in every morning for a chocolate éclair; Mr. Cortéz came in every Saturday morning for a box of mixed empanadas and one butterscotch cupcake for his granddaughter, Elisa; Mrs. Stegenga sliding in every Tuesday for a strawberry tart and a cup of unsweetened whipped cream for her dog, Harley.

Euijoo came in everyday as well, but not for a pastry – but to bug you. You'd kicked him out a few times, shoving a warm cinnamon twist into his mouth or an iced matcha with cheese foam into his hand – but he always floated back.

Which was odd, since he didn't have a car and it took thirty minutes to get from your apartment in SoHo to your shop in Harlem. Where he was getting the money for the taxi, or to load his Metrocard was beyond you – the son of a bitch didn't lift a finger.

Now, you're here. You're still at your shop, while Euijoo is likely sprawled out on your king-sized bed, with his outside clothes still on. You're grimacing to yourself as you smooth icing out on one of the cupcakes, your brow furrowed as you hear Wonwoo sigh.

"I miss you." And just as fast as it was said, he moved on.

"Since you're not going to sleep, how was your birthday? I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to call, I've been slammed with projects. Tzuyu booked me for engagement photos, isn't that crazy?" Much like your friends missed out on your life, you missed out on theirs. Mingyu and Tzuyu opened a restaurant in the middle of Seoul, and you missed it. Mingyu and Tzuyu had their first daughter, and you missed it. Mingyu and Tzuyu got engaged, and you missed it. You wouldn't be surprised if you missed their wedding, too.

Wonwoo? He opened a photography studio. He did weddings, all sorts of parties, maternity shoots. He did boudoir shoots for a bit, before handing them over to his business partner, Saerom. She had been introduced to Wonwoo through a few contacts at your old university, and he took her on as an apprentice. She now accompanies him to many shoots and gigs, usually taking the reins if Wonwoo loses his patience or gets too overwhelmed.

You'd seen his photos displayed at a few galleries after you left for New York. Your mother went and took pictures of his exhibits, his shy smile hidden behind flutes of champagne. You congratulated him via text, only to receive a thumbs up in response and nothing more.

"Yeah, that's crazy. Listen, Woo, I'm gonna try and focus on this. I'll call you later, yeah?" You sighed, frustration evident in your voice. You watched as Wonwoo struggled not to roll his eyes as he tongued his cheek, before nodding.

"Sure thing. Get some rest."

He hung up before you could respond, and you looked at the FaceTime log. Eight missed calls from Wonwoo over the last few days, three missed calls from Tzuyu and two from Mingyu.

Your friends missed you, across the world. You were missing every precious moment of theirs.

And instead, you were here. Frosting cupcakes at almost three in the morning, while your do-nothing boyfriend enjoyed the warmth of your apartment. Frosting cupcakes, while your parents begged you to come home for a few days at the very least.

The money here was good. It always had been, and you'd built such a good connection with your clientele and you couldn't imagine abandoning it all because you were homesick.

But you missed home. You missed your mother's hearty soups, you missed your father serving you dinner instead of you serving Euijoo after a long day of doing that for strangers. You missed Tzuyu's light laughter, Mingyu's warm embraces…

Wonwoo. God, you missed Wonwoo.

You remember sending him a photo of your storefront as the sign was finalized, the baby blue calling to the eyes amongst the red brick.

Msg To: Jeon Wonwoo ♡ [11/09] look at it! goyangi sweets is officially in business! (read: 1:09PM)

Msg From: Jeon Wonwoo ♡ [11/09] goyangi?

Msg To: Jeon Wonwoo ♡ [11/09] what the fuck are you doing awake? it's 3am in seoul [11/09] yeah, goyangi. i miss you (read: 1:10PM)

He hadn't answered after that.

Sighing, you clicked your tongue and leaned against your stainless steel counter. You grabbed a cupcake off the cooling rack, prying the warm dessert in half and smearing a bit of frosting on the inside, shoving it into your mouth. You closed your eyes as you chewed, letting your shoulders sag at the sweet treat that made all the stress worth it.

It was worth it, right? The money and the love from the locals, the feeling of physical success…it was enough. It was worth the lonely nights you yearned for

You wiped your hands, moving to the front of the shop and dragging the metal divider down to block the view of outsiders. You weren't opening the shop today, no. You're going to go home, and kick Euijoo out of your bed and sleep.

That's all you need. Some sleep.

– SOPHOMORE YEAR: SEOUL HAWKS VS YONSEI EAGLES, SEMIFINALS.

"We have No. 08, Choi Seungcheol approaching the goal area for the freekick. Choi is the team captain for the SNU Hawks, and the only PreMed student on the team. He has also scored fifty-six percent of all game-winning goals this season, and we're hoping this kick gets them into the Championship bracket."

You were on the edge of your seat, your frame being swallowed by one of Seungcheol's jerseys. You were alone in the stands for the first time – Mingyu and Tzuyu were stuck at the concessions stand. Unfortunately, you were also the only person on this side of the field wearing an SNU jersey, and trying not to tweak out as you listened to Jeon Jungkook and Park Jimin talk about your boyfriend over the PA.

"Oh, oh, looks like Choi is not taking the freekick after all?" Jimin's voice was clear, and the crowd collectively sighed as Seungcheol analyzed the players and shook his head.

You were barely able to sit down as you watched him jog over to his referee, making motions with his hands and arms when you saw Wonwoo crossing the field in a sprint. He slid next to Seungcheol, who pulled him closer into the circle and kept talking. Wonwoo's brows were furrowed as he nodded, breathing heavily before wiping his forehead with the bottom of his shirt. "It seems Choi has nominated No.17, Jeon Wonwoo, to take the freekick instead. Jeon is the second in command, dedicating two years of his college career to this team. He's scored sixteen percent of the game-winning goals this season, opting to stay in the shadows." You didn't like that.

"Alright, alright…it seems we're lining up…Eagles are looking fine this year, aren't they?" "Jeon, that's inappropriate." "What, man? You're going to look at Kim Yugyeom and say I'm wrong?" "Jungkook, they can hear you."

"Hey, shit. Here's your soda." Tzuyu slides in next to you, and you don't unglue your eyes from the field as you reach and fumble for your drink. The straw poked your hand as Mingyu slid past you, making you scowl as you swatted his leg for him to sit down.

"Wonwoo's taking the kick? I thought it was going to be Cheol." Mingyu muttered, taking a bite from his hot dog. You nodded, watching as Wonwoo shook his head while still talking to Seungcheol. His hands were moving rapidly, likely explaining why Wonwoo didn't want to make the kick. Your boyfriend only gave Wonwoo a stern look, and you could make out the words falling from his lips.

"I believe in you. Kick the fucking ball."

You watched as the Eagles made their wall, their goalie shaking his legs out. Kwon Soonyoung, you remembered – you'd met him at a frat party at Yonsei a few weeks back. Seungcheol had gone with you, making friends with the enemy (more like scoping out his competition. Sneaky bitch.) "C'mon, Woo." You mumbled to yourself, grabbing Tzuyu's hand for support as she shoved a nacho into her mouth. You were too amped up to eat, this kick was the one that would settle the score – and it was all on Wonwoo.

You knew Seungcheol wouldn't put anyone he didn't trust on this sort of line. Yeah, he had an issue with how close you and Wonwoo were, but his team was important to him – he'd built this one on his own, handpicked, the best of the best. You trusted Seungcheol knew what he was doing, and that he wouldn't set up Wonwoo for failure…

…And he didn't, as you watched Wonwoo's kick bounce off the goalpost and straight into the net – just barely missing Soonyoung's fingertips.

"THE HAWKS ARE GOING TO THE CHAMPIONSHIPS!"

You cheered happily, the only one besides Mingyu and Tzuyu – and earned the nastiest of glares from Yonsei students as you ran down the steps of the bleachers. Seungcheol was jumping with his arms around Wonwoo and another player, Wen Junhui, when you pushed past them to get to your friend.

"Wonwoo! That was fucking amazing!"

He just shook his head, aiming the water bottle into his mouth as he gestured towards Seungcheol.

"That's all Cheol's idea. Mastermind behind it all." You whipped around to see your grinning boyfriend being shaken by Mingyu, trying to pry himself from your friend's embrace as you felt the cold splash of the water cooler being poured on Wonwoo. It went down your back as well, making you squeal as you jumped out of the way. Seungcheol reached his arm out to you, and you grabbed his hand as his teammates picked a soaked Wonwoo up and onto their shoulders.

"We'll meet you at the parking lot!" Mingyu yelled as he and Tzuyu trailed after them, and Seungcheol only gave a thumbs up. It was customary that the entire team went to dinner together, usually still in their stinky and sweaty jerseys but Seungcheol had long refused to let the team be represented that way. Everyone went home to get themselves together, then he footed the bill.

"Cheol, that was great! You're going to the championships!" Your smile was hurting your cheeks as he nodded, pulling you into his chest. He was sweaty and overwhelmingly warm, but you didn't care as he plucked the fabric of your wet shirt off your back in greeting.

"You know…you could've greeted me first." "Oh, not this again! Seungcheol, Wonwoo is just my friend." "I know he is, Y/N." Seungcheol said pointedly, but you felt scrutinized under his arched brow. You felt your lip jut out into a pout, and he sighed, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"C'mon, you can come over to mine and change." He swept your hair back over your shoulders, his fingers brushing your neck. You frowned, your hands floating to his wrists as he shook his head.

"Tell me you love me, Cheol." "I love you, honey. Come on."

It wasn't a lie. Seungcheol did love you, but it'd slightly become less of a romantic love as the months pressed on. He couldn't get over the odd feeling in his stomach when he saw Wonwoo's soft gestures towards you, the way Wonwoo served your drinks at the parties you went to, the way Wonwoo behind a camera made you smile easily – far easier than necessary for someone that was just your friend.

He hated how you didn't see it, the way Wonwoo was in love with you. He could see it, and he knew it was the truth: Wonwoo would visibly tense at the sound of your name. Seungcheol remembers when Junhui asked him his plans last week, and how Wonwoo grimaced when Seungcheol said he was taking you on a date night.

He didn't like feeling this way. He didn't like feeling like his jealousy was festering in the pit of his stomach while you saw it as nothing more than just friendly banter. Granted – Wonwoo never flirted with you, never touched you inappropriately, he never crossed the line.

But the soft compliments he gave you? The gentle swipe of your hair off your face and the adjustment of your necklaces?

The way he calmly called your name, or sweetheart from across the room…

And you listened.

It wasn't your fault. Seungcheol knew it wasn't, and he felt like a fool to keep feeling so much resentment towards Wonwoo – especially when Wonwoo also made it strictly known that everything he felt was platonic.

It just didn't feel that way.

"I love you, Cheol." "I know, honey. Now…let's get dinner?"

– FIVE YEARS AGO: INCHEON AIRPORT TO LAGUARDIA, NEW YORK.

"I'm sorry."

You were standing in the middle of Incheon Airport, your duffle bag tucked over your shoulder when Hansol dropped the bomb.

"Sorry?" You whispered, your voice shaky as the reality of his words sank in.

It'd been a few days since you packed your last box and dropped it off at your parents' house. Hansol had gone with you, warmly greeting your parents and sitting in your living room, your mother showing him baby photos. You remember feeling your heart race at how Hansol traced your face in the pictures, before glancing up at you.

The wild beating in your chest hadn't been positive, and there was a glint of knowing in Hansol's eyes. The relationship was over, it was just a matter of who pulled the plug, and when. It had been a month or so since you settled everything in New York, and a month since either of you spoke about it. You had gone to his apartment and looked to pick a fight – but the fight never happened. He pulled you into him, and you had snuggled in his bed. You kissed, you watched movies…

But it was a goodbye and you denied it. In your heart, in your mind, you wanted to deny it. It was a good thing, wasn't it? To be in New York and know that Hansol had connections there? His sister lived there. If he wanted…if he wanted, he could come with you. Transfer to a university in New York, and it would be worth it. To study in a place he once called home, to breathe in the inspiration of the city that has been the background of hundreds of films, the breeding ground of insane creativity? And if not…what about you? Were you enough to want to move in with? Did he see a future with you where things were more than just college sweethearts who stayed over at each other's apartments more than four times a week? Did he understand who you were, to the depths – the need to love, because you were overflowing with it?

Did he see a future where you were more than just attached at the hip with Wonwoo?

The truth was, he did. He saw it all with you – the apartment, the marriage, hell, even a kid or two. He saw all of it, a ring and a career alongside you and to see all your hopes and aspirations grow into something tangible. He saw it.

You didn't.

"I know it's shitty of m-me to do this, especially n-now." He held back his tears, but his voice shook with bitten back sobs anyway. "But I can't. I c-can't do long distance."

Somehow, he knew you knew that wasn't the real reason. He knew, from the way the back of your eyes filled with hurt and betrayal, the grip on your duffle making the strap burrow into your hand. The way you bounced on your toes, once, twice – before nodding. A singular tear rolled down your face.

"It's okay. I understand." Your voice had been surprisingly steady as he hesitated, before reaching his arms out. You stepped into them, and somehow felt the weight off your shoulders as he hugged you tightly. "I'll miss you, Sol." "I miss you already, babe. Please call me when you land, okay? I'll be up, I swear."

You had called him when you landed. He'd arranged to have a car pick you up and take you to your new apartment. He finally cried on the phone, and you sobbed with him as you made your bed and settled in.

After six hours of reminiscing and crying on the phone, you hung up for what you thought would be the last time. He wished you good luck, and to call him whenever you wanted. And God, you wanted to.

But just like Wonwoo, you left it alone. Six months, not a single word.

– PRESENT: LAGUARDIA AIRPORT TO JEON WONWOO, HOME.

You looked into the empty space you used to call your second home. Gone were the calming periwinkle walls, the gold-detailed pastry cases. Gone were your cherry wood bar stools, the wicker recliners in the corner, the play areas for children.

Your shop was gone, and you held the keys in your hand one last time.

"End of an era, huh? Where are you going to go now?" Mr. Cortéz was next to you, holding his granddaughter on his hip as you sighed.

"I'm not sure. I'm going to miss Harlem, but I know that…this isn't home." You said sheepishly, running a hand through your hair. He nodded, patting your shoulder with a sympathetic smile.

"We're going to miss you here, mija. You will always have a place in Harlem with us." To say you wanted to cry was an understatement, but you just blinked the tears back as you allowed him and his granddaughter to envelope you into an embrace. "I left my cupcake recipe with your wife, so you can always make them for Elisa. I'm going to miss you."

"Be safe, okay? Don't give up on your dreams." He patted your back softly, and you held back a sniffle as your leasing agent gave you a soft smile. Goodbyes were never something you were good at, but you couldn't say anything more as you handed your keys back to the leasing agent and turned to your packed car. You grimaced at the sight of Euijoo's neck pillow still in your passenger seat, and you reached in through the window to grab it and shoved it in the trash.

You sighed, glancing up at your empty shop once more before slipping into the driver's seat, gripping the glittery wheel cover. You blinked once, twice, before shoving your key in the ignition and pulling out of your parking spot.

You truly had no idea if this was the right decision. In your mind, you weren't sure.

But your heart?

You broke up with Euijoo a few months ago, and kicked him out of your apartment. You slowly started selling everything in the apartment, only packing your essentials and finding a wholesale thrift to take all your furniture from the pastry shop. You closed the shop officially a week ago, and did a mass bake sale to finish all your products.

You went back and forth to Seoul without telling anyone, finding a cozy apartment in Gangnam and meeting with a leasing agent there to open a shop. Your parents long stopped asking you to come home, but you couldn't help and feel giddy as you walked around the city – gorging yourself on hot street food and buying furniture for your new apartment without interference.

Now? You just had to board your plane. You'd sold your car to Euijoo's brother, Hyunjin, and he was waiting at the airport to take it once you left. You had zero plans of telling anyone anything, and you'd be landing in Seoul the day before your birthday. You could catch up on any sleep, and then visit Mingyu and Tzuyu's restaurant. Maybe get dinner there, maybe catch up with the couple…

Maybe surprise Wonwoo.

Yeah, that sounds like the plan.

"Nice change of scenery, finally took a vacation?" Wonwoo's voice is once more staticky through FaceTime, and you've got him propped up in your new bathroom. You hadn't said anything about leaving New York yet, but you shrugged as you carefully lined your lips.

"Mhm, could say that. Finally get to do shit without Euijoo weighing me down. What are your plans tonight? Going to Gyu's?" You ask nonchalantly, but you can feel your hands trembling as you put down your lipliner. If Wonwoo notices, he doesn't say anything.

"Actually, I'm going to swing by the restaurant in a bit. We always call you for your birthday, you know, so it's funny you called me first." He nods lightly, but you know Wonwoo too well to think he's not even slightly suspicious. "Wanted to beat you to it, I guess. I feel alone here a bit, the resort is super nice but I'm so…ugh, I don't know. I might go out for a beer, see what kind of trouble I can get myself into." You wiggle your brows in the camera, and Wonwoo snorts. He swings his keys in front of him, shaking his head as he speaks.

"Not too much trouble, I hope. Have you talked to your parents yet? I know your mom misses you, you've been even more MIA since you and Euijoo broke up. I commend it, don't get me wrong, but still. Where the hell have you been?" "Healing." You shrug, smushing your cheek with the palm of your hand. Wonwoo doesn't look like he believes you, but you only give him a soft smile. He tries to bite his back, tonguing his cheek as he huffs.

"You look happier. I like that." "I feel happier, Woo." It's not a lie. You feel so much lighter being back in Seoul, knowing that your family and friends are no more than a train ride away.

You pretend to check your watch, sucking your teeth.

"Shit, I'm going to miss my dinner reservation. Will you still call me when you get to the restaurant? I miss you guys." You pout, tucking your hair behind your ears as Wonwoo nods.

"Yeah, no worries. Be safe, and don't get too tipsy. I can't hold your hair when you throw up from all the way over here, you know." He scolds, making you giggle.

"Got it. I'll see you, yeah?" You nod, and he does the same.

"See you, sweetheart." The call goes dead as your heart registers the pet name, but you immediately rustle out of the bathroom to catch a taxi. You're wearing a black crew neck over a nice pair of jeans, paired with your favorite dirty Chucks in forest green. You grab your winter coat off the hook by the door, tugging it on and shoving your phone in your pocket. Checking the coat pockets for your wallet and keys, you find both in the left pocket and practically slam out of your apartment.

Not having been to Mingyu and Tzuyu's restaurant definitely proved navigating there to be difficult. You got out a block away from the actual spot, tugging a face mask over your face and pulling the hood of your coat over your hair. You take a deep breath, taking a step forward when you see a tall man step out of a taxi, a black coat covering broad shoulders. Thick frames sit on his nose, the lower half of his face covered by a black mask. You squint your eyes to see closer as he hands the driver a wad of cash, and the crinkle of his nose proves it's exactly who you're looking for.

Jeon Wonwoo.

You stay rooted in your spot as he walks coolly into the restaurant, holding the door open for a woman and her daughter to slip out. The daughter's eyes widen as he moves past them, her cheeks flushing as her mother rushes her off the sidewalk. What a funny thing, to see someone else experience the same things you do.

Over the year that you decided to leave New York, you spoke to Hansol and Seungcheol a lot – even after promising 'this is the last call,' you called them again and again. As it turns out, he too felt that Wonwoo was a bigger part of your life than he could ever be, but it didn't hit him until he found out Wonwoo had missed every single AV Club meeting in the two weeks following him finding out that the two of you were dating. Wonwoo didn't speak to Hansol directly for over a month, until Hansol confronted him and got the answers he was looking for.

Wonwoo had long been in love with you, and had gone over to your apartment initially to, yes, tell you he'd broken up with Jaehee; but he also went over there to confess to you. He'd brought over a bouquet of pink camellias, but left them on the porch in case he caught you at a bad time – and Hansol later found out he threw them away on his way out of your apartment complex.

At first, Hansol had nothing to say on the matter. You were his girlfriend — but he couldn’t lie to himself, the guilt of knowing Wonwoo had been in love with you for so long was starting to eat away at him. With a reluctant heart, he ended things; only for Wonwoo’s dumbass to not make a move and let you slip away to New York.

You'd also heard from Seungcheol and Hansol that he hadn't kept a girlfriend around for too long since – nothing to write home about. He didn't introduce any of them to anyone, just soft launched here and there on social media but mostly kept the "situationships" to himself.

The only hope you had in your belly was that your plan would go, well, according to plan. You'd ordered a bouquet of flowers, pink camellias, to be delivered to Wonwoo at the restaurant after you arrived. After that…okay you didn't plan anything after that, but spontaneity is cool, right?

You wipe your palms on your coat, taking a deep breath as you walk towards the door. Yanking it open, you hear the doorbell alert the people inside – only to see a few people scattered around. Mingyu is wiping a glass down behind the bar and Tzuyu is sitting on a barstool next to Wonwoo, her left hand sitting atop her belly.

With a huge rock on her ring finger. "Welcome to Hana's! Have a seat anywhere, we'll be right with you!" Her voice is just as warm as ever, and you find yourself forcing your feet to move, ducking your head as you head towards the back of the restaurant. You see Mingyu lean over to grab a bottle off the wall, and you slide into one of the booths where you're out of sight but they're not.

You can hear them start to talk about you, Mingyu pouring Wonwoo a beer and sliding it across the bar.

"Has Y/N spoken to either of you?" Tzuyu asks, and Wonwoo clicks his tongue.

"Yeah, she called me earlier. It was a little odd, considering we always call her. But it's her birthday, I'm not going to badger her for answers. Plus, she's on vacation for once. Can't complain." He shrugs, and Mingyu laughs softly.

"Vacation? Where? Did she say?" "I didn't ask." Wonwoo replies, and Tzuyu snorts. "You'd be a horrible spy, Jeon. Here, I'm going to call her. She's gotten better at answering." You watch Tzuyu grab her phone off the table, and quickly lower your ringer as far as it will go. She faces the phone towards all of them, and Wonwoo looks unamused as you feel your phone start vibrating in your hand.

You deny the call, quickly texting her that you're driving to dinner and will call her when you get to the restaurant. A lie, and you can see her frown sadly next to Wonwoo. She puts her phone down, sliding off the bar stool – likely on her way to you.

"Gonna take this order, I'll be right back." She grabs the notepad off the bar, but the ringing of the doorbell grabs her attention. A delivery man with a huge bouquet of flowers slips in, holding the baby blue gift card in his hand.

"For Jeon Wonwoo? Is there a Jeon Wonwoo here?" Wonwoo's eyes go wide, before he clears his throat. "Uh, yeah. That's me, thank you. Does it say who they're from?" The delivery man hands him the card, bidding everyone a good night.

"Well?" Mingyu leans over as Wonwoo puts the flowers down on the bar and flips the card open. His eyes dart back and forth as he reads it, before handing it to Mingyu, who reads it out loud while Wonwoo thumbs the petals.

To Wonwoo,

Thank you for always being someone I can count on, even when I'm halfway across the world. Thank you for looking out for me, and for loving me more than you let on.

Always yours, Y/N.

P.S. Don't forget to call me back!

"Huh." Mingyu clicks his tongue, and Tzuyu grabs the card and scans it. She sighs, holding it to her chest.

"Camellias…" Wonwoo pouts, before his eyes narrow. "They're her favorite. It's like she's trying to tell me something." "Okay, mind reader. What could she possibly have to say that isn't already in the card?" Tzuyu waves it around, and you take it as your chance to slide out of the booth, hands in your pockets. You walk towards them quietly as Mingyu and Tzuyu begin to theorize, and neither of them look your way as you slide into the barstool diagonal to Wonwoo's.

"She probably wants to know what a girl's gotta do to get some service around here." You mumble, and Tzuyu flushes, about to apologize when you carefully slip your mask off.

"But I guess you can treat me, since it is my birthday." You shrug, Mingyu's eyes widening before he covers his face and sinks to the ground behind the bar. Tzuyu scoffs out a laugh, her eyes filling with tears as she pulls your hood off your head, her hands smoothing your hair down gently.

"You're home." She whispers, her belly getting in the way as she pulls you into her. You feel your eyes burn with tears as she buries her face in your hair, your hand moving to pat her back. "I am, I missed you guys." You murmur, and Mingyu hops over the bar to also crush you in his embrace. You can barely see out of your teary eyes, but you can see Wonwoo's cheeks flushed almost as pink as the flowers, the shock in his demeanor evident but he just clears his throat and looks away.

"How long are you here for? A week? A month? Please say a month, you have to meet our kids." Mingyu begs into your hair, and you can barely conjure words as Wonwoo stays silent. "Shit, I'll even buy you a new ticket back to New York if you stay for two months." You don't respond, waiting for the couple to pull away. You wiggle lightly, making them both move back as you wipe your eyes. "I'm here for good. I have a new place in Gangnam, and I'm opening a shop a few blocks from here. I'm…I'm sorry I didn't tell any of you guys." You gesture towards Wonwoo as well, who only tongues his cheek before running the tips of his fingers around the rim of his beer. He nods, "Yeah. Welcome home, sweetheart." "You're not even going to hug me? Some friend you are." You try to joke, and Wonwoo scoffs,before reluctantly sliding off his stool. Tzuyu says something about getting you dinner, skirting out of the way. It seems Mingyu also gets the hint, moving away with the promise of a nice beer.

You're overwhelmed by the same patchouli scent on Wonwoo’s clothes, sweetened with notes of peach as he wraps his arms around your waist. Your own wrap around his shoulders, and you can feel your heart thundering in your chest as he breathes you in softly. He nestles his head next to yours, and his breath is warm against your ear as he speaks.

"I've missed you so much, Y/N." He mumbles, and you feel his arms tighten slightly, as if you're going to slip away. "We need to have a serious conversation, though, because I am mad at you."

You scoff slightly, trying to hide your tears as you bury your face in his neck. He rubs your back gently, before pulling away and wiping your eyes carefully. "Later." You only nod, watching Tzuyu carefully walk over with a bowl of hot tofu stew, and Mingyu slides a pint glass across the bar for you.

You spend the next three hours consoling an emotional Tzuyu, and telling Mingyu all about the delicious dishes you tried in New York. He jests that the restaurant would love a pastry chef if you're willing to share your recipes, and you only snort and turn him down softly. You tell them all about Euijoo, only earning scoffs and huffs from the couple as Wonwoo nurses his beer silently.

You tell them about your shop in Harlem, and how it was actually a call with Wonwoo last year that made you realize that you were unhappy – which made his cheeks flush, but he remained quiet, only nodding along. Tzuyu squeezes his shoulder, and he just nibbles on his lip as you keep talking about all the regulars you had. You tell them about your SoHo apartment and how you often visited the Seaglass Carousel if you were feeling stressed. You promised to take them there someday, if they ever wanted to see what your life was like when you were gone.

They fill you in about their own lives – planning their wedding, having their second daughter in a few weeks. They talk about their oldest, Eunha, and how she's growing up to be just like Mingyu. You hold back tears as they eagerly talk about their budding family and their beautiful relationship, often sharing looks full of adoration and admiration for one another as they spoke. You listen carefully, and Tzuyu even asks if, since you're back, you'd like to be a bridesmaid.

You agree, when Mingyu finally brings out a thick slice of his infamous chocolate cake – one that actually got you into baking but you'd never admit it. At least, not to him.

"Happy Birthday, Y/N! We're so glad you're home, seriously. It's been so dull without you." Tzuyu cheers, allowing Mingyu to light the pink candle in the middle of the slice. You smile softly, tucking your hair behind your ears as they sing to you softly – Wonwoo mouthing along from his stool.

"Make a wish." Mingyu holds it up to you, and you can't help but realize that he's a father now. Tzuyu is a mother, and they have their whole lives figured out. They're so gentle, loving, passionate…and you're still trying to figure yourself out.

Ah, but comparison is the thief of joy.

You close your eyes, sighing before conjuring your wish in your mind.

You don't notice when Wonwoo takes a quick photo, the flash hidden by Tzuyu's shoulder.

You blow out the candle quietly, opening your eyes to see the couple clapping softly. Tapping the plate, you clear your throat.

"Can I get this in a box? I have some things I need to sort out before the night ends."

Mingyu and Tzuyu share a look, before she glances over her shoulder. You nod as she looks back at you, and she smiles.

"Well, we'll see you more often, right? You have to meet Eunha, and the baby."

"Absolutely." And you mean it. You mean it as Mingyu boxes up your slice of cake, sealing it into a brown paper bag for you. You inch closer and closer to Wonwoo as the goodbyes become extensive, before splaying your hand across his back. He glances over his shoulder, a jump in his brows as if to say, ready to go?

You bid Mingyu and Tzuyu a good night, and you promise them you'll even try to come by in the morning for Mingyu's mother's oxtail soup. Mingyu says he can't promise there will be any up by the time you come by, but you make Tzuyu promise to save you a bowl. She does.

"When did you sell the shop?" Wonwoo asks as the two of you step out into the street, the cold air making his breath visible as he speaks. "And why didn't you tell me?" You look at the flowers in his arms, how he holds them like a baby.

"I was worried you'd be upset that I gave up." You murmur as the two of you begin to walk seemingly with no direction, earning a sigh from Wonwoo.

“I’m upset that you didn’t even think to tell me anything. I’m supposed to be your friend. One of your best friends, if I’m not mistaken. You move across the world and suddenly that doesn’t matter anymore?”

“Wonwoo, it’s not like that. I just…I should know what I want out of life. I should know where my heart calls home, but it’s only been a person. I’m not sure if the place matters.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair as Wonwoo flags down a taxi.

“Your place or mine?” He mutters, opening the door for you to slide in.

“Yours.” You mumble back, giving the driver a quick smile as Wonwoo shuts the door. He rattles off his address — and it’s the same building as yours.

“…I live there, too.” You whisper, and he clicks his tongue.

“Good to know.” He shrugs, before reaching over and tugging your seat belt on. He clicks in place, choosing to stay silent as the taxi weaves through the busy roads. You want to say something, and you attempt to several times — but he just shakes his head, pressing a finger to his lips as if to say wait.

And wait, you did.

You let him pay the taxi driver and help you out of the taxi. You let him lead you into the lobby, the security guard giving the both of you a curt nod as you duck into the elevator.

Wonwoo only lives a few doors down from you.

“Interesting.” You murmur to yourself. It’s like I’ll always find my way back to you.

He unlocked his door, holding it open for you to slip through. You did, silently toeing your shoes off in his foyer before stepping into his living room. Shrugging your coat off, you watch him flick the lights on.

Everything is so him. From stacked consoles on the side of his television, to a bookcase full of acoustic guitar records and a few thick books. A few of his cameras are strewn on his kitchen table, popped open and film exposed. His record player sits in front of his window, the blinds and curtains pushed open and the window slightly ajar to circulate the air. There is a mug on his coffee table, half full of what you assume to be green tea.

It smells like patchouli, peaches, and home.

His hand takes the bag from you, and he walks past you to place the flowers and the cake on his kitchen counter. He closes his eyes as he tugs his coat off, and you avert your eyes from his form-fitting shirt — opting to turn around and hang your coat on the rack by the door.

“Are you actually here for good? Or was that just something you said to appease Mingyu and Tzuyu?” He mutters, thumbing at the petals of the flowers once more. You sigh, crossing your arms as you sidle up next to him. Your hip bumps his as you lean on the counter, and his eyes avoid yours as you look up at him.

His shoulders are tense.

“I’m here for good, Wonwoo. I missed it here, I missed Mingyu and Tzuyu and I missed my parents.”

“What about me? Did you miss me?”

His voice is so soft you almost can’t hear it, and you purposely bump your hip to his to garner his attention.

“Of course I missed you.” You whisper, a smile twitching at your lips as he nibbles on his lip.

“Then why didn’t you visit? Why did it take you six months to call me when you first moved? Why…Why did you date Euijoo?”

You feel your chest ache at his questions, the furrow in his brows making you push off the counter, straightening. Sighing, you rest your head on his bicep, the muscle tensing beneath your cheek.

“Sometimes we do things to fill a void, you know? Sometimes we hide from the things we know could be good for us, and look for something we think could be enough, so we won’t ruin or sully what we have already.” You shrug, and he looks down at you again.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means I wish I would’ve realized how you felt about me before I left. I mean, I would’ve still gone but I would’ve visited more. I would’ve come back often, tried to make it work. I’m sorry.”

You peer up at him through your lashes, and he just shakes his head.

“My feelings here don’t matter, I’m talking about you.”

“You are a huge part of me, of my life.” You remind him, your hand ghosting over the small of his back as he huffs.

“So you abandoned your life in New York, your dream, for me?” Wonwoo sounds almost offended, and you scoff.

“I abandoned my life in New York because I missed home. I missed my parents, my friends. I miss talking to my friends when we’re all staying up late, not just when I am and I have to go to bed when the gab gets good. I…I missed walking around in the middle of the night with you, and getting heartburn from eating spicy noodles at two in the morning. Can’t I miss home, Wonwoo?”

He clicks his tongue, tapping his fingers on the counter. “I guess you can. But you said home for you is not a place, but a person.”

“I did say that.”

He doesn’t say anything, picking at his nails silently before sighing.

“Did Hansol tell you about the flowers?” He murmurs, and you nod.

“You could’ve talked to me, especially between boyfriends. You had lots of chances, Seungcheol literally aired you out.” You say pointedly, and he rolls his eyes.

“You didn’t believe him, and I wasn’t going to ruin our friendship because I was feeling something you weren't.”

“And how do you know that I wasn’t?” You raise a brow, and he scoffs. He shoves his hands in his pockets, moving out of the kitchen to go sit on his couch. He leans his head against the wall, closing his eyes as you make your way over and perch on the edge of his mahogany coffee table.

“I’m sorry I missed your birthday dinner that one year. I thought if I missed one, it’d be easier to start getting used to not seeing you. I was fully committed to getting over you, to moving on, even if I wasn’t happy with…fuck, I forgot her name.”

“Jaehee.”

“With Jaehee.” He ran his hand over his face, and you sigh.

“That was ages ago, Wonwoo. We move on.” You pat his knee, and he lifts his head to face you. His cheeks are slightly flushed as he takes a breath.

“I don’t want to move on, that’s the problem. You think I haven’t tried? Do you know how many relationships I’ve been in since you’ve left?”

“Mmh, I don’t. Do tell.” You nod, inching slightly closer, resting your elbows on your knees and clasping your hands together. He doesn’t look amused, running an exasperated hand through his hair and closing his eyes.

“I look for you everywhere, and I’ve never even had you. I can’t help but compare every single woman I’ve ever been with to you, Y/N. It’s driving me fucking insane, being in love with you.”

He’s hiding his face in his hands, and you feel your chest grow hot as you hum in response. You shift slightly, your knees bumping his and making him sigh.

“I mean, for years it's been like we're in this odd mesh of limerence and denial. You do something that makes me think, oh, maybe she's into me? You'd seek me out for comfort, for help, for whatever, and I was there. I am there, like an idiot, hoping you'll just get it. Then you date people who are in proximity to me – my best friend, my team captain, the secretary of my AV club. Then you leave. You left, Y/N."

"I know." You can't recognize the thickness in the back of your throat, the way you swallow around it as he fiddles with one of his rings. "You didn't even come say goodbye, Wonwoo. Hansol ripped my heart out and handed it to me, because of you, and you weren't even there." "I didn't want to see you cry." He mumbles, and you only shake your head.

"You've seen me cry, you've seen me laugh. You've been the reason behind the tears and the laughter. You've seen me in all these weird spots in my life, you watched me date all these men. You were most of the reason as to why these men broke up with me. Yet, you never once thought that I was looking for you?" "Why would I ever give myself that much importance?" He scoffs, and you shrug. "Maybe because I give you that much importance, Wonwoo."

He sighs shakily, leaning back on the couch cushions and swallowing hard. "Did you know I got a few collections displayed in a museum after you left? Your parents went, did they send you photos?"

"Some. I liked the one of Tzuyu and Mingyu in the flower fields." He got up, skirting around your knees and walking up to the bookcase next to his TV. He scours the leather bound books, before a soft aha! falls from his lips, pulling out a green one. He flips it, and you realize it's a photo album.

He hands it to you, sitting back down on the couch. You open it tentatively, your fingers trembling as the photos come into view. They have that digital camera feel to them, a bit grainy and dated. The first photo was old, you could tell just from the image: it was you and Mingyu, sitting around a bonfire at a waterfall you would hang out at during the warmer months, one that went into a lake lined with boulders. You were dating here, and your nose had melted marshmallow swiped across it while Mingyu grinned in the corner of the photo.

"This is an old photo, Wonwoo." "They're all old, you haven't been around." He retorts, before flipping the page.

Another photo of you smiling as you laid out on the flat boulder by the edge of the lake, another of you on the handlebars of Mingyu's bike – you remember that one, it was Mingyu's seventeenth birthday. Another of you with Tzuyu solving a puzzle during one of Mingyu's visits, you and Hansol sharing a cup of lemonade during a snack run after one of Wonwoo's soccer games, you and Seungcheol swinging on a hammock in the park – where you often bumped into Wonwoo taking photos of birds, flowers, life.

There was photo after photo of you, in every moment of your life. There was a photo of the pink camellias he'd gotten for you, there was a photo of his student apartment packed up but one of your cardigans, bright red, stark against the cardboard boxes. This album, full of memories of you through his eyes – without a singular glimpse of Wonwoo, until the last photo.

It wasn't like the other photos – this was high definition, and you remember this photo being taken. You were wearing a pink t-shirt that had belonged to Wonwoo, and a necklace that Wonwoo had given to you for one of your birthdays. You were sitting on his couch, surrounded by Mingyu and Tzuyu. You had a bag of honey mustard pretzels that Wonwoo bought you in your lap, your smile shy and your fingers holding a napkin.

It was the day you finally told them you'd be leaving, just moments before.

And you remember how quietly he'd put his camera away after that, and your friends had settled uneasily around you. Wonwoo sat on his coffee table, eyes worried but masked with a soft smile – just like you were, now.

The album was empty after that, with only two or three pages left to complete it.

"This was an exhibit I arranged for the museum, but I never submitted it. I called it Hanging By A Moment, because that's what…" He takes a deep breath. "That's what this feels like. I feel like I'm just waiting for the moment to end, and I'm not sure in which direction I would prefer it to happen. Sometimes I would stay awake and wonder why I didn't go visit you, but I knew exactly why." You set the photo album on your lap, giving him a gentle look.

"You didn't want to see something that would break your heart." "I didn't want to see you happy with someone else, somewhere else." His voice is thick, and you move to speak but he shakes his head.

"I didn't want to go somewhere and see you living so well without me, when I'm in shambles without you. I couldn't sleep most nights the first year that you were gone. I found myself still walking towards your apartment with Hansol. Hell, I've even hung out with Seungcheol, routinely, just to feel the influence of you. The essence of what you are, imprinted in the people you've graced with your presence." He's looking down at his hands, a singular tear rolling down his cheek. You feel like you can't breathe around the lump in your throat, as he glances up.

"I don't think I can handle this anymore. I need you to say nothing is ever going to happen between us, that the moment is over. I need you to end this, because if you don't, I never will."

You can't speak, but it doesn't matter – because he keeps going.

"I'd be perfectly content having you within arm's reach for the rest of my life, as long as you're happy. You could be across the world, hell, across the fucking universe and I'd never stop missing you, or yearning for you, or loving you. Befriending you all those years ago has got to be one of the biggest mistakes I have ever made, because I can't imagine a life without you. But loving you, being in love with you? Y/N, that has got to be the biggest grace I've ever been given by whatever God is out there. Nothing has ever been easier than loving you has been, but it is the most painful thing I've ever experienced. So, please. End this, I'm begging you." Your throat hurts from holding back your tears, a soft sob escaping your lips as you turn away. You let the tears run down your cheeks, using your hand to muffle your cries as he just lets his tears drip onto his jeans. You can see, through blurry eyes, the way he wants to reach for you, the way his hands clenched into fists before he shoves them under his thighs.

It's silent for a moment, aside from shaky breathing and a few sniffles from Wonwoo. You wipe your eyes carefully, trembling hands gripping the edges of the album as you slide it onto the coffee table next to you. He grabs it, using it as an excuse to stand up and move around – Wonwoo always needed to do that after talking. Like he felt the need to exert all his feelings physically.

You also stand, his rug soft under your socked feet as he slides the album back in place. He doesn't turn back around, his hand lingering on the spine of the album as you round the coffee table. You're right behind him, seeing the buried tension in his back and shoulders as he feels your presence. You clear your throat as best as you can.

"I don't want the moment to end." He doesn't move, and you find yourself stepping in front of him, between the bookcase and his chest. He doesn't look at you, but allows your hands to find home on his chest. You smooth his shirt cautiously, before patting him gently.

He glances down.

"You're my home, Wonwoo." You say softly, feeling his breath hitch in his throat. Your hand moves to his jaw, your thumb gently tracing circles into his cheek. He has a bit of stubble, despite the cool scent of his aftershave. You can't help but let the sacred words slip from your lips as his eyes bore into yours.

"I love you." He looks away, a shaky sob from his lips making your heart ache as you rest your head on his chest. He instinctively wraps his arms around you, so used to your physical affection in years past that it's just muscle memory at this point – despite his own reserved affections. You're surrounded by his scent, his warmth, him.

"I know it won't be easy. I've been gone for five years, and I've missed so much of your life. I know my apologies count for near nothing at this point, but you can't sincerely believe that I haven't yearned for you every step of my journey away." You're slightly muffled, feeling the metal of his necklace under his shirt as he holds you closer, tighter. He doesn't reply, so you keep going.

"I love you, Wonwoo. I'm sorry I didn't allow myself to feel it before, and I'm sorry that I've made you wait so long. I'll wait, as long as you need me to. As long as you want me to wait, even if I die waiting–" "I'd wait an eternity for you." He murmurs into your hair, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

"You shouldn't say that, Wonwoo." "But I did, and I will. I'd die waiting for you, if that's what it takes."

You sigh, pressing your forehead to his chest. "Are you still mad at me?" For the first time in years, you hear him laugh softly. Your arms tighten around his waist reflexively, a pout on your lips as you peer up at him. "I missed your laugh." He huffs, cheeks tinging pink as he avoids your gaze, carding his fingers through your hair. "I'm still mad at you. I bet you paid a shit load of money for a cab from the airport, didn't you? You could've just told me to come pick you up. I would've done it." "I wanted to surprise you." "Well…what about your apartment? I didn't even get to recommend this place, you probably went through some real estate guy–" "You're just grappling at things to be mad about, aren't you?" "No. I am mad." He grumbles, his lip jutted out in a pout as you smile up at him.

"You sure? Can't I change your mind, my good sir?" You wiggle your brows, and he scoffs, but you see the twitch of a smile on the corner of his lips. He tongues his cheek as your hands move to his face, making him look down at you. "I'm sorry, Wonwoo." He rolls his eyes, your hands squishing his cheeks together. "Prove it." You quirk a brow, "Prove…what?" "That you love me. Prove it." He shrugs, moving your hands off his face and letting them go at your sides. You scoff, gesturing to the air.

"I'm here, aren't I? Isn't that enough?" You cross your arms, a defiant look crossing your features as he sighs. His fingers are warm as they tuck a stray curl behind your ear, your skin prickling as he thumbs at your earlobe. "Of course it's enough." He mumbles, "You'll always be enough. More, even. More than enough for me."

You think he mumbles I love you.

Your face grows hot as he scans it, eyes heavy with purpose and love. For the first time, you allow yourself to realize how nervous Wonwoo makes you – your heart racing in your chest as you lean closer to him. He doesn't back away, his hand now gently holding your jaw. His thumb rests on the corner of your lip, the weight so comforting. "Kiss me." You do just that, your lips crashing into his as he steadies your body. Your hands fist his shirt as he kisses you slowly, walking you back into the bookshelf. Your back hits it gently, his hands cupping your face softly as he pulls away. He rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed as your fingers circled his wrists. "I missed you so much, sweetheart." "I missed you too, Wonwoo."

He struggles to bite back his smile, your lips pressing a chaste kiss to his before peppering them all over his face. "You can't stay mad at me forever, you know." You speak through kisses, his nose scrunching as you press your lips to it.

"I can certainly try. You know I can hold a mean grudge." "Mingyu ate your leftovers once, Wonwoo. He literally cooked for you everyday of college, you need to let it go." "You're taking his side? Some friend you are." He scoffs, his hands pushing your hair off your shoulders. You wrap your arms around his waist, your chin in the center of his chest as you pout up at him.

"I flew all this way, I confessed my love…and I'm your friend?" He tongues his cheek, swallowing his laughter as he shakes his head. "Well, no. A friend wouldn't leave me for five years and then suddenly show back up–" "Wonwoo." " –And expect me to just forgive her. You could at least try and get in my good graces." You huff, "So you hate me." "No, no. I'm very much in love with you, actually. However, though love is merciful…I am not as much. You said you'd wait." "Wonwoo–" "Ah, ah. You said you'd wait. So you will." He shrugs, running his hand through your hair. He twirls a piece around his finger, "I know that you know how I feel about you, from other people's minds and mouths. I think it's best if I get to show you, truthfully and openly. Don't you?" You say nothing just yet, choosing to stare up at him with a hint of worry in your eyes. He glances down, the hand in your hair coming to gently hold your jaw. "What if you realize you don't want me?" "Oh, sweetheart. I'd be a fool not to want you. Let the sky fall the day I make that stupid decision."

You sigh, moving to rest your cheek on his chest. He hums, running his fingertips across your scalp.

"It's not everyday you find a muse in someone the moment you meet them. Don't worry about me ever not wanting you, me ever not needing you." You don't reply, feeling your nose burn as your eyes fill with tears. He pats the back of your head, before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Come, I need to take your picture. You need to fill the last few pages of that album."

And, you comply. You let him wipe your tears, pressing kisses to your eyelids as he sits you at his kitchen counter. He pulls out a gold candle from his kitchen drawer, sticking it in the cake slice from the restaurant and lighting it carefully. He pushes your hair back, and pulls the pendant of your necklace out to rest in the middle of your chest.

"Smile, sweetheart." He murmurs behind the camera, and you do. You smile, glossed lips swollen from the kisses, eyes full of stars as you stare at Wonwoo behind the flash. "Make a wish, quickly." You lean forward, closing your eyes when you see another flash behind your lids. Smiling to yourself, you blow the candle out, quickly taking it out of the cake slice. He offers a fork, and you lean on your elbows as he takes out a few bottles of soju.

"What'd you wish for?" He asks, unscrewing one of the lids off the bottles. You smirk around a bite of cake, shaking your head as he turns away to rummage for shot glasses.

"I'm not telling you, it won't come true." He scoffs, pulling out a set of shot glasses you'd given him during college. They have Snoopy and Woodstock doodled on the sides – he was always Woodstock, you were Snoopy.

"Oh, come on. Tell me, I'll make it come true." "What are you, a magician? Tell me what else I missed while I was gone." He rolls his eyes, running his tongue over his lower lip as he slides the Snoopy glass over, filled to the brim with fresh soju. You take it carefully, and he raises a brow.

"Tell me your wish, Y/N." You huff, before reaching over to cheers your glass with his. You both knock back the liquor, and you scrunch your nose as you slide it back over to him. He fills it again, and you shift in your chair.

"If I tell you, you'll have to do it." "Stop being so ominous, I hate it when you do that."

He slides the glass back over, only half full as he sidles up next to you. Your hand instinctively wraps around his bicep, and you rest your cheek on his shoulder.

"Promise me you'll make it come true, Wonwoo." "I promise. It's your birthday, sweetheart. I'd bring down the stars if you asked."

– SIX WEEKS LATER: GOYANGI'S HOME, SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA.

Wonwoo had done exactly as you asked on your birthday – he kept his word, and tried his best to make your birthday wishes come true. Granted, you underestimated him: he would get both done within the six weeks it took to get your shop open.

After the two of you finished off the thick slice of chocolate cake, Wonwoo asked you to spend the night. You did, and a part of you held back tears as he held you in his arms – mumbling in his sleep. Mumbling about how he loved you, how long he'd waited…

How scared he was you'd slip away, like sand in an hourglass timer.

You'd spent the last month and a half glued at the hip. He took you to visit your parents early in the mornings, who bawled uncontrollably and demanded you'd stay all day. Wonwoo hadn't minded, and he stayed with you for dinner several times – and took many odd photos. He never showed you any of them, but he couldn't let you out of his sight, either.

He accompanied you to all your furniture shopping for the shop, he helped choose the paint, he even went as far as taking your website photos. Which, of course, included photos of you – in the kitchen, in your uniform, making a mess of flour and powdered sugar.

Powdered sugar that he kissed off your lips.

Because neither of you could go more than an hour without seeing each other, you practically moved into his apartment. You were spending almost every night there despite your own bed calling your name like a child does its mother. Wonwoo hadn't been kidding about making you wait, either. He let you kiss him, he told you he loved you, yes – but the dates were casual outings. Dinner, picnics, movies. You had a few game nights, and even went over to Hana's for drinks. You'd decided you were each other's plus ones for Mingyu and Tzuyu's wedding, and submitted such information on your RSVP placards.

You spent time together in copious amounts, something you couldn't ever find a fill of. You made him pastry after pastry, coffee cup after coffee cup, back massage after back massage to ease the tension in his shoulders. He gave you a silver necklace, a small letter W hanging from the center.

You wore it with pride. He didn't ask you to be his girlfriend, and he didn't let you ask any questions about it, either.

Instead, he made your birthday wishes come true – he asked the Museum of Arts if they still needed an exhibit for the season. When they said yes, he submitted his Hanging by a Moment gallery – with a few new additions. You'd loved it, and had proudly gone to the museum at least twice a week to see it.

Now?

You're both standing in your unopened shop, showing your parents everything. The walls are a muted terracotta with a few tangerine accents, to match the feel of the digital photos of your life through Wonwoo's eyes. You asked him to make copies of the photos for you as well, framing them in thick, gold frames.

All but one, that sat in the middle of them all on the wall. "And this is the final installment." He spoke to your parents softly, before gesturing to a photo split in the middle. One half was you, dressed in all black with the silver necklace he'd given you three weeks ago, and holding Wonwoo's digital camera up to your face. Your smile was peeking out from behind your hand, directed right at him.

And the other half was him. The only photo of him in the entire exhibit – of him holding his digital camera vertically against his face, slightly messy hair and a beige t-shirt that was two sizes too big for him but you loved anyway. You'd taken this photo at a street food stand, and he remembers how softly you kissed his cheek right after.

You stood next to him with a soft smile on your face as your father perused the photos, his eyes watery as he looked at the ones of you in college. Your smile, so young and carefree. Your eyes, full of the same shimmer and light you have now – but now, it's brighter. You seem lighter.

Happier.

You seem like you're home.

"What do you think?" You ask gently, wrapping your hand around Wonwoo's arm. He instinctively covers your hand with his, and your father nods.

"I think you're in love." He shrugs, and Wonwoo's cheeks flush almost instantly. You chuckle, squeezing your hand around Wonwoo's arm before patting his chest.

"I've got some new pastries in the oven, shall we? I'm trying a new recipe." You wiggle your brows at your parents, who both smile as you extend your hands to them. They take them gingerly, letting you guide them into the kitchen. You look over your shoulder, sending Wonwoo a quick wink as you slip inside with them.

And, Wonwoo knows.

He knows you love him, as he stands in this shop – named for him, by you. Walls covered in you, by him. He knows you love him as you smile warmly at him, your eyes sparkling in a way he'd only ever seen with him – never with Seungcheol, or Hansol, or Mingyu.

Just him.

So, what does it matter? The moment, why does it matter? Why not hang onto it, as long as he can? Why not take in every ounce of your light so long as you allow it, and reflect it right back to you? Why not be a mirror of your love, a beacon of the same hope you hold, a star in the sky that also tells you there is something to wish upon?

Why waste it, when he can savor it – the way you look at him, the way you kiss him, touch him, the way you make him feel? How he's gone absolutely mad just looking at you in the mornings, slowly waking up by his side, burying your face into his bare chest? Why waste the moment when he can capture it – your smiles, your tears, the way you cover your face shyly when he compliments you.

Why not live in the moment – the feeling of your lips against his, the way you claw his shirt off, the way you whimper beneath him while fully clothed and untouched? Why not live in the moment, where he gets to hear you laugh like no one's listening, watch you dance like there is no tomorrow? Why not, when you ask him to take the long way home and roll the windows down, singing along to his playlist and feeling the air whip your hair around until your face is frosty from the wind.

Why not live in this moment – when you're so irrevocably in love with him, and he doesn't have to ever question it because you don't even need to tell him? Where you've related him to a cat that always finds its way back home, where you're supposedly the home and you are – but you are also the cat that finds her way home all on her own?

Why not? "Wonwoo? Are you listening?" "Huh? Sorry." He rubs his neck sheepishly, before noticing he's sitting at the bar of your shop, a dulce de leche éclair sitting on a plate in front of him. Your parents are in the corner, holding their own pastries and analyzing the photos once more. You're leaning your back on the bar next to him, your elbows holding you up as you reach over and gently carding your fingers through his hair.

"I said, I love you." "Now, why does it sound like you're scheming? Tell me what you really said." "It is, promise." You chuckle, your hand coming to pinch his cheek softly. He frowns, only making you coo up at him as you brush your lips to his. He glances up quickly, seeing your parents still enthralled by the photo of you and Mingyu at the waterfalls all those years ago. He looks back down, seeing you absently scanning his face as your thumb continues to rub circles into his face.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, before your father turns around and clears his throat. You look over your shoulder lazily, and your father has the pastry plates in his hand. "Your mother and I are going to start heading out now, honey. We've got a long drive back, and I'm sure you want to clean up a bit around here before your big opening tomorrow." "You're right, Dad. Thank you for coming, I'm glad you two could be the first to see it." Your voice is so warm, he can feel all the stress from his days just melting right off him as you walk your parents to the front. He follows suit, lingering behind as you and your parents say your goodbyes. He interjects his own, enveloping both of your parents in a hug before pulling away. You both wave as they get into their car, your mother waving back as they pull into the street and all the way down the road, before their car turns out of sight.

You turn around, your arms crossed as you look up.

"Goyangi's Home. What a name, isn't it?" You sigh, before glancing over at Wonwoo. He shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into his chest. Your giggle is like music to his ears as your hands rest on his chest, your lip tucked beneath your teeth as you look up at him.

"Well, you're home, aren't you?" "Aren't you, Wonwoo?"

"I am. I love you, you know."

He feels his chest ache in the best way possible, his heart beating twice as fast as you wrinkle your nose at him.

"I know. I love you, honey." So it's fine. It's fine, as Wonwoo lets you kiss his lips once, twice, three times before you slip back into the shop. It's fine, as Wonwoo walks in behind you, his fingers locking the front door so no one mistakes the shop as open. It's fine, as you hand him a broom and make him sweep the shop while you roll out the dough in the back, your hands coated in flour when he comes to steal a kiss.

Or two, or three – until you're pushed against the industrial fridge, his hands wrapped around your thighs as yours tangle in his hair. He doesn't care about the flour. He doesn't care that you'll both be here late to roll out the stupid dough, he doesn't care as long as you're with him.

He doesn't care about the time differences anymore. The kilometers of distance, the aches of missing you. He doesn't care, and he'd do it ten times over just to be worthy of you.

He doesn't care about how pathetic he might sound as he kisses down your neck, begging you to be his girlfriend, begging you to never, ever leave him again.

He doesn't care about all the painful moments he used to hang onto, because you are the best moment to ever capture.

He cares when you promise that you'll never leave him again, your lips soft against the shell of his ear. He cares when you say yes, you'll be his girlfriend. You'll be anything he wants, for as long as he wants it. So yeah, he'll live in this moment. He'll keep it, hold it, cherish it forever as more whispers float off your lips to one another. I love you.

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moonlightwritingf1 · 1 month ago

Text

First Time | LN4

❤︎ summary ━━━━━━━ Lando finds out Y/N is a virgin.

❤︎ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

❤︎ word count ━━━━━━━ 5.3k

❤︎ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, unprotected sex, p in v, oral sex (f receiving)

Based on this request.

Friday night settled over London with a quiet hush, the city lights flickering in the distance and the occasional sound of cars passing below Y/n’s apartment building. Although the night was still and cool, a charged warmth filled the cozy living room. She sat on the edge of her couch, legs tucked beneath her, trying to focus on the movie playing on the TV screen. But it was impossible. Not when Lando Norris was sitting just inches away from her, his presence like a magnet pulling at every nerve in her body.

It had been two months since they’d officially started dating, and yet, the tension between them still crackled like a live wire. Every glance, every brush of skin, every shared laugh—it all felt charged with something unspoken. Something waiting to burst free.

Lando leaned back into the cushions, one arm casually draped behind her. His fingers traced lazy patterns along the fabric of the couch, dangerously close to brushing against her shoulder. She could feel the warmth radiating off him, smell the faint hint of his cologne mixed with something uniquely him. It made her stomach twist in the best possible way.

Lando studied Y/N’s features in silence, his gaze lingering as if he were trying to decipher a puzzle. He noticed the subtle tension around her eyes, the delicate way her lashes fluttered as she blinked, and the gentle parting of her lips with each soft breath. The slight flush on her cheeks hinted at something more—nerves, maybe, or a thought she wasn’t sharing.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle, as if afraid to break whatever spell she seemed to be under. “You doing okay? You seem a little distracted.”

Y/n swallowed. “I’m fine,” she replied quickly. She noticed her own voice sounded defensive. “Just… I was thinking about work. It was a long week.”

He nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, I know the feeling. Meetings, calls, deadlines… not as glamorous as I used to think a normal nine-to-five would be.” A teasing spark lit his eyes. “At least you’re off the clock now,” he added, his lips curving into a soft smile.

Y/n found herself smiling despite her nerves. There was something about his tone—soft and playful at once—that disarmed her. This was why she had let him in, despite all her reservations. His earnestness, the puppy-like devotion in his gaze. He was so unlike the rumors—so unlike how she once imagined him to be.

She stood up abruptly, the need to put a little distance between them overwhelming her for a moment. “Want some tea? I can put the kettle on,” she offered, forcing herself to sound casual.

A small frown tugged at Lando’s brows, but he quickly covered it with a smile. “Sure, I’d love some.”

While she busied herself in the kitchen, Lando took a moment to look around her apartment. It was modest—comfortable and intimate, with personal touches here and there: books carefully arranged on a shelf, a photograph of her parents near the TV, soft throw blankets on the sofa. He couldn’t help picturing how often she might curl up under those blankets, reading a novel after a long day. He yearned to be there during those quiet moments, to share them with her, to make her life a little less lonely.

The clink of the kettle switching off caught his attention. Y/n returned shortly, two mugs of steaming tea in hand. She handed one to him and then sat back down on the couch, leaving only a cushion’s width of space between them. The delicate scent of chamomile filled the air.

“Thank you,” he murmured, taking a slow sip. “You’re too good to me.”

“Trust me,” she said with a small laugh, “I’m not. You just make it so easy to want to do something for you, seeing as you’re always doing things for me.”

Y/n’s mind wandered briefly to the memory of him sending her all those gifts—flowers, perfumes, expensive clothes that made her squeak in shock when she saw the price tags. She had been torn between excitement and embarrassment, but also a bit of suspicion. There was this question that kept haunting her: Could Lando be serious? She needed more than sweet gestures and pretty words. She needed true depth, true commitment. And if he wasn’t that kind of man, she’d rather know now than be hurt later.

Lando watched her expression shift, as if lost in thought. Ever perceptive, he set his mug down. “Y/n,” he said, voice quieter this time, “I can see it in your eyes that something’s bothering you. Is it us… or something else?”

She offered him a tentative smile. “I’m just… still adjusting to us, I think. It’s overwhelming sometimes.”

He couldn’t hide the relief that seemed to soften his features. “I understand,” he said, reaching out and gingerly placing a hand on her knee. “I know I might come on strong, but you have to believe me—I’m in this. No matter what.”

She placed her hand over his. His words chipped away at some of her armor, and she felt a stirring of warmth that had little to do with the tea. “Thank you,” she whispered, letting her thumb brush over his knuckles.

Time felt suspended. The city noises outside turned into nothing but a faint backdrop. In the hush of her living room, the only sounds were their breath, their quiet laughter, and the hum of electricity in the background.

Eventually, the conversation shifted to lighter topics: a fun memory from Lando’s last race weekend in Europe, a comedic mishap at Y/n’s office that had everyone trying to fix a computer glitch that turned out to be user error. The atmosphere grew playful again, but a current of tension remained, rolling through the space between them like a gathering storm.

They inched closer until their shoulders touched. Lando placed a finger beneath her chin, guiding her gaze to meet his. His voice was a whisper in the stillness. “You have no idea how beautiful you look right now.”

Y/n’s lips parted, a bashful chuckle escaping her. “You’re just saying that.”

“No,” he murmured, leaning in, close enough to brush her ear with his breath, “I’m not.”

And then he kissed her. Gentle at first, almost reverent, as if he were savoring the feel of her lips. She responded softly, her heart fluttering. The warmth of his mouth against hers turned every cell in her body alive.

His hands drifted from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her closer so that no space remained between them. She could feel his heartbeat thrumming against her own. Every time their lips parted, he whispered her name, as though it were a plea and a prayer all at once.

The kiss deepened. His hand went up, tangling in her hair, and a soft moan she couldn’t restrain slipped from her lips. Sensations flooded her: his warmth, his scent—a mix of clean soap and the faintest cologne—his unwavering focus on her and only her.

It wasn’t long before the passion of their kisses caused them both to shift. Lando’s palm skated gently over her waist and up toward her ribs. His lips traveled along her jawline, down her neck, tasting the soft skin there. She clutched at the fabric of his hoodie, eyelids fluttering shut.

The moment felt too perfect, too intense. A fierce desire blossomed in her chest, and she had to remind herself to breathe. She could feel Lando’s heart racing, or maybe it was her own.

His mouth found hers again, deeper, hungrier this time. When she felt his right hand cup her breast over her sweater, an unexpected jolt of panic mingled with excitement. The swirl of emotions—desire, fear, anticipation—was suddenly overwhelming.

She let out a quiet gasp and quickly placed her hand over his, stopping him in the motion. It wasn’t intentional, the way her body stiffened, the way her breath caught in her throat. Instantly, Lando pulled back, eyes wide and full of concern.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice low and rough from the heat of the moment. “Did…did I do something to make you uncomfortable?”

Y/n drew in a shaky breath, her cheeks burning, unsure how to explain. She felt her entire face glow with a complex mix of longing and worry. “Lando…” she began, biting her lower lip. She slid her hand into his for a moment, a silent reassurance that she wasn’t rejecting him, but the intensity. “I just…maybe we’re moving too fast right now.”

He nodded, pulling away a little more to give her space. “It’s okay,” he whispered, gently brushing the back of his fingers against her cheek. “We can slow down, I promise. I don’t ever want you to feel rushed.”

She looked down, her hands twisting in her lap. A fresh wave of nerves welled up in her chest—but this time it wasn’t just about caution, it was about her own decision, a burgeoning sense that maybe she was ready to take this leap with him. She’d been holding onto her secret for so long that it almost felt easier to keep the status quo. Yet tonight, something had shifted inside her. She had been convincing herself that her wariness was purely about trust, about not wanting to rush. But if she was honest with herself—truly honest—she wanted him, more than she’d ever wanted anyone.

“There’s… actually something else,” she said in a voice so soft he had to lean in to hear her.

His eyes filled with anxiety. “Talk to me, love. Please.”

She swallowed. “I’m…still a virgin.”

For a moment, the air left the room. Lando stared at her, silently processing, a flicker of genuine shock crossing his face. He exhaled slowly, as though trying to collect his thoughts. “You’re…a virgin?” he repeated quietly, the disbelief evident in his tone. “Wow, I—I’m sorry,” he quickly added, holding up his hands as though in surrender. “I don’t mean that in a bad way, it’s just… I’m surprised.”

She nodded stiffly, her gaze fixed on the space between their knees. “I know we’re the same age. I know how it sounds. You probably had…way more experiences than I ever have.” She tensed, voicing the insecurity that had haunted her for months. “I just, I never met someone I trusted enough. Or maybe I was too busy convincing myself I didn’t need it… didn’t need them.”

Lando, still coming to grips with her revelation, took her hand, weaving his fingers through hers. “Hey,” he said softly, “look at me.”

Reluctantly, she raised her eyes to meet his gaze. And what she saw wasn’t judgment or disinterest—it was gentleness, acceptance… and maybe even awe.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said, voice trembling with raw honesty. “I know that couldn’t have been easy.” He lifted his free hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “And please don’t feel embarrassed about it.”

She let out a shaky breath, tears threatening to form. “I thought you’d think it’s weird,” she confessed. “You’re so… experienced. You’ve had so many women and—”

“Let’s not talk about them,” he interrupted gently. A slight sadness flickered across his face, as though all the old choices he’d made suddenly seemed trivial or even shameful. “They don’t matter. You do.” He swallowed, trying to steady his voice. “And I don’t want you to feel any pressure from me.”

She hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. “Lando, this is… important. But I—” She paused, feeling that swirl of fear in her stomach again. It was now or never. “I think… I’m ready. To be with you,” she admitted, voice barely audible. It was the first time she had truly spoken the words aloud. The admission sent a flush of heat through her entire body.

His eyes widened at her confession. “You’re… ready?” he echoed, as if carefully testing the meaning of those words. Hesitation and tenderness mingled in his expression. “Are you absolutely sure? I don’t want you to do this if you’re not one hundred percent.”

She swallowed, nodding. “I’m sure,” she whispered. A small laugh escaped her, colored by nervousness. “I can’t believe I just said that. But… yes. I—I want this, with you.”

Relief, joy, and something deeper flooded Lando’s features. He reached for her hands again, clasping them between his own. “We don’t have to rush,” he said, though the excitement in his voice was clear. “Just because you’re ready doesn’t mean—”

“It’s my choice,” she interjected softly. “I trust you. And it’s taken me a while to let myself feel this way, but… the truth is, I’m tired of being scared. Of holding onto my hang-ups. I want to share this with you.”

Lando exhaled, a million emotions running across his face—gratitude, longing, protectiveness. “Y/n,” he said, voice thick. “I promise I’ll be gentle. I promise I’ll take care of you.”

She offered him a trembling smile. “I know you will.”

He stood then, carefully pulling her to her feet. They stood close, the fabric of their clothes brushing against each other. Lando dipped his head so that his eyes were level with hers. He could see the mix of courage and trepidation in her gaze.

“Do you want to move to your room?” he asked, the question laced with quiet anticipation.

She nodded, sliding her hand into his. They walked slowly toward the short hallway that led to her bedroom. Every step brought a new spike of adrenaline and longing. The overhead lights were off, leaving only the faint glow from a small lamp on her bedside table. The walls were painted in calming, muted colors—soft grays and blues. The bed itself was made neatly, a plush duvet folded at the end.

Y/n’s heart pounded in her chest. A whirlwind of thoughts chased each other through her mind: He’s here, he wants me, I want him, I’m ready, no turning back… Yet overshadowing all of it was a sense of quiet determination. She had chosen him. After all the months of hesitation, she was certain.

When they reached the bedside, she paused, turning to face Lando. The uncertainty still flickered in her eyes, but it didn’t come from doubt in him—rather, it came from the enormity of the moment. Her first time. Something she had guarded for so long.

He noticed. Gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders and bent to press a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. “We’ll go slow,” he murmured, the warmth of his breath tickling her skin.

She nodded, inhaling deeply. “Slow,” she repeated, as if the word itself were a grounding tether.

Carefully, they leaned in for another kiss. This one was warm and tentative, a promise rather than an urgent demand. Lando’s hands drifted to her waist, and Y/n reciprocated, sliding her arms around his neck. The heat between them was more controlled now, more intentional, and yet somehow even more intense. She felt safe—reassured by the unspoken vow in every gentle touch.

After a while, their kisses grew deeper, more confident. He guided her backward until her legs met the edge of the bed. They sank down together, lips never losing contact. Soft gasps and hushed whispers began weaving an intimate tapestry of sound around them. Even the hum of passing cars seemed distant, as though the outside world had fallen away and left them in a private universe.

The warmth of their kisses lingered, slow and deliberate, as Lando hovered above her on the bed. His lips moved from her mouth to her jawline, trailing soft, featherlight kisses down the column of her neck. Every touch was a promise, every sigh a silent reassurance. Y/n’s breath hitched when his tongue flicked against her pulse point, sending shivers cascading down her spine. Her hands tangled in his hair, holding him close, her fingers trembling with anticipation.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against her skin, his voice low and rough with desire. His lips continued their journey downward, skimming over her collarbone before settling at the hollow of her throat. He paused for a moment, his breath warm against her flushed skin, and then gently tugged at the hem of her sweater.

“Can I take this off?” he asked, his eyes locking onto hers, dark with arousal but still filled with tenderness.

She nodded, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Lando’s hands slid beneath the fabric, his fingertips brushing against her waist as he slowly lifted the sweater over her head. The cool air kissed her skin, and she shivered—not from the temperature, but from the way he looked at her. His gaze was reverent, almost worshipful, as he took in the sight of her bare torso. His eyes lingered on the curve of her breasts, encased in delicate lace, and a soft groan escaped his lips.

“God, you’re perfect,” he breathed, his hands already moving to cup her through her bra. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, drawing a sharp gasp from her. She arched into his touch, her body betraying how much she craved him.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to the slope of her breast, just above the edge of the lace. His kisses were slow and exploratory, each one sending jolts of pleasure radiating through her. When his fingers fumbled with the clasp of her bra, she reached behind her to help him, her hands shaking slightly. The bra fell away, and his breath caught as he took her in completely.

“Y/n…” he murmured, his voice thick with awe. “You’re stunning.”

His hands caressed her breasts, his palms sliding over the soft flesh before his mouth followed. He captured one nipple between his lips, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak while his hand teased the other. Y/n gasped, her back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure coursed through her. Her moans spilled freely now, no longer restrained, and each one seemed to spur him on.

“L-Lando,” she whimpered, her nails digging into his shoulders. “That feels… so good.”

He responded by sinking his teeth gently into her nipple, eliciting a sharp cry from her. His hands squeezed her breasts together, his lips moving back and forth between them, leaving her a trembling, moaning mess beneath him. He worshipped her like this, his touch and his words making her feel cherished, adored.

“Lando,” she whimpered, her hands clutching at his shoulders. “Please…”

He chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her skin. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Please what, love?” he teased, his fingers pinching her nipples lightly, making her gasp again.

She shook her head, unable to form the words. He laughed softly, kissing her lips briefly before sitting back on his heels. His hands drifted to the waistband of her leggings, his thumbs hooking under the elastic. “Can I take these off too?” he asked, his voice gentle but laced with anticipation.

She nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. But… take your top off too.”

His grin was irresistible as he tugged his hoodie over his head, revealing the toned planes of his chest. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. He was breathtakingly handsome, his muscles defined but not overly bulky, his skin smooth and warm.

He returned to her, his hands sliding her leggings down her legs slowly, peeling the fabric away inch by inch. She lifted her hips to help him, her heart pounding as she lay before him in nothing but her underwear. His gaze lingered on her, heat and adoration burning in his eyes.

“God, you’re stunning,” he said, his voice rough with want. He knelt between her legs, his hands resting on her thighs. “Are you sure about this? We can stop anytime.”

She nodded, her voice steadier than she expected. “I’m sure.”

Lando leaned down, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh. She gasped, her hands gripping the sheets as his lips traveled higher, closer to the apex of her thighs. He nuzzled the thin fabric of her underwear, his breath hot against her already soaked core.

“So fucking wet,” he murmured, his voice dripping with desire. He kissed her through the fabric, dragging his tongue over her clit in a slow, teasing motion. She cried out, her hips lifting instinctively toward him.

“Lando!” she gasped, her thighs trembling as he continued to tease her, his lips and tongue driving her wild. He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down her spine.

“Patience, baby,” he purred, his hands sliding her underwear down her legs. He tossed them aside, settling back between her thighs. For a moment, he just looked at her, his expression reverent. “Fuck, Y/N. You have such a pretty pussy.”

Her face burned, but before she could say anything, his tongue was on her, lapping at her folds with long, slow strokes. She moaned loudly, her head falling back against the pillows as pleasure shot through her.

Lando devoured her like a man starved, his tongue circling her clit, dipping inside her, coaxing every ounce of pleasure from her body. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, her hands fisting the sheets as she writhed beneath him.

“Oh my God, Lando,” she whimpered, her thighs shaking. “That feels so good…”

He groaned against her, the vibrations making her cry out. He slipped a finger inside her, curling it just right against her walls as his tongue continued its relentless assault. She swore she saw stars, her entire body tensing as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter within her. Just when she thought she might scream, he pulled back, his lips glistening and his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Do you really want this?” he asked, his voice ragged. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

She nodded, her eyes glazed with need. “Yes, I’m ready. I want you, Lando. All of you.”

He nodded, his breath hitching as he reached for the waistband of his trousers. In one swift motion, he stripped them off, along with his boxers, leaving himself completely bare. Y/N’s eyes widened as she took him in—hard and flushed, his length straining toward her.

He settled between her legs, his weight pressing her into the mattress as he leaned down to kiss her. “I’ll go slow,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “Tell me if it hurts.”

She nodded, her heart swelling with affection for him. “Okay,” she whispered.

He pressed forward slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until he was fully sheathed inside her. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as she adjusted to the unfamiliar sensation. It hurt, but it wasn’t unbearable—and mixed with the pain was an overwhelming sense of closeness, of being connected to him in the most intimate way possible.

“You’re incredible,” he breathed, staying still to give her time. “How do you feel?”

“Full,” she admitted with a shaky laugh. “But… good. Really good.”

He smiled, leaning down to kiss her softly. “You’re doing so well, love,” he murmured against her lips. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

Lando began to move, his hips rolling in slow, deliberate thrusts. Each glide of his length inside her was met with a soft gasp from Y/n, her body still adjusting to the unfamiliar fullness. He kept his pace gentle, rhythmic, almost teasing, as if he wanted to savor every second of this moment with her. His eyes never left hers, searching for any sign of discomfort—but all he found was desire, trust, and a growing need.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice rough with restraint. “So fucking perfect.”

She whimpered in response, her hands sliding from his shoulders to his chest, where she could feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. Her own heart raced in tandem, her breath coming in shallow bursts as arousal coiled tighter and tighter in her core. She arched instinctively, her hips rising to meet his next thrust, and Lando groaned low in his throat at the sensation.

“Lando…” she breathed, her voice trembling. “It’s… it’s so much.”

He paused, concern flickering across his face. “Too much?” he asked, his tone laced with worry. “Do you want me to stop?”

She shook her head quickly, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “No… no, don’t stop. It’s just… overwhelming. In a good way.” Her fingers traced the muscles of his chest, marveling at the way they flexed with every movement. “I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

The relief in his expression was palpable. He leaned down to kiss her again, his lips slow and sweet, before whispering against her mouth, “Then let me show you how good it can be.”

His thrusts grew slightly firmer, the rhythm steady but unhurried. Y/n’s moans grew louder, each one sending a jolt of pleasure straight to Lando’s cock. He ground into her deeper with every push, angling his hips so that he brushed against a spot inside her that made her gasp and clutch at him desperately.

“There…” she whimpered, her nails lightly scratching his back. “Right there, Lando… please…”

A groan rumbled in his chest as he obeyed, focusing on that spot with relentless precision. Her reactions were intoxicating—every sigh, every shiver, every desperate plea only fueled his own need. But he refused to rush, determined to make this first time unforgettable for her.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes dark with adoration. “Watching you like this… hearing you… it’s driving me insane.”

Her cheeks flushed at his words, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she met his gaze with equal intensity, her eyes clouded with passion and something deeper—something that made his chest ache with emotion.

“Touch me,” she begged softly, her hand sliding down to guide his. “Please…”

Without hesitation, Lando reached between them, his fingers finding her swollen clit with practiced ease. He circled the sensitive nub gently, watching as her entire body jerked in response. Her moans turned into breathless cries, her hips rocking against his hand and his cock in a frenzied rhythm.

“Fuck, Lando—oh god—” she gasped, her back arching off the bed. “I’m… I’m close…”

“Let go, love,” he urged, his voice thick with passion. “Come for me.”

The combination of his hand and his cock pushed her over the edge. She cried out his name as waves of pleasure crashed over her, her inner walls clamping down around him in a vice-like grip. Lando groaned loudly, his thrusts faltering as her climax overwhelmed him. He clenched his jaw, fighting to hold on just a little longer—to give her every last drop of pleasure she deserved.

When her tremors finally subsided, she looked up at him with dazed, unfocused eyes. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. She was utterly breathtaking.

Still buried deep inside her, Lando kissed her again, his lips tender and reverent. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Absolutely fucking incredible.”

Y/n smiled shyly, her legs wrapping around his waist as she pulled him closer. “Don’t stop,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “Not yet…”

He nodded, his own arousal still burning hot and urgent, but tempered now by the reverence he felt for her. He resumed his slow, deep thrusts, each one deliberate, each one meant to draw out every ounce of pleasure she could take. Her soft moans filled the room, a melody that made his chest ache with something deeper than desire—something tender, something sacred.

“Tell me what you need,” he murmured, his voice rough but laced with adoration. His hands cradled her hips as though she were fragile, precious. “Anything, love… just tell me.”

Her fingers brushed through his hair, her touch featherlight yet electric. “You,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “Just you.”

Those two words shattered him. Not in the way of losing control, but in the way of surrender—to her, to this moment, to the depth of what they were sharing. He pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling, their hearts beating in sync. His pace quickened, not out of urgency, but out of a need to give her everything he had, to make her feel how much she meant to him.

Her body arched beneath him, her moans growing louder, more desperate. Her hands roamed over his back, not clawing, but caressing, as if she wanted to memorize every inch of him. She clung to him, not out of desperation, but out of a need to be as close as possible, to erase any space between them.

“Y/n…” His voice was strained, but it wasn’t just from the physical strain. It was from the weight of what he felt for her, the intensity of it threatening to spill over. “I’m not gonna last much longer…”

She gasped, her eyes fluttering shut as another wave of pleasure began to crest. “Neither—“ she managed, her voice breaking. “Oh god, Lando—“

He felt her tighten around him again, her climax crashing over her like a tidal wave. Her cry was raw, unfiltered, and it echoed through the room, a sound that would forever be etched into his memory. Her nails dug into his skin, not to hurt, but to anchor herself as she rode out the blissful aftershocks.

That was all it took for him. With a final, shuddering thrust, he spilled himself inside her, his release tearing through him with a force that left him breathless. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his ragged breaths hot against her skin as he whispered her name over and over, like a prayer, like a vow.

For several long moments, neither of them moved. Their bodies remained tangled together, sweat-slicked and spent, but closer than they’d ever been. Gradually, the haze of pleasure began to fade, replaced by a bone-deep satisfaction and an overwhelming sense of closeness that went beyond the physical.

Lando was the first to stir, pressing a soft kiss to her collarbone before pulling back to look at her. His heart swelled at the sight of her—flushed, disheveled, and utterly spent, but smiling up at him with such tenderness that it nearly brought tears to his eyes.

“How do you feel?” he asked, his voice husky but filled with genuine concern. His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing gently over her skin.

She laughed quietly, the sound warm and content. Her fingers trailed along his jawline, tracing the curve of his face as though committing it to memory. “Like I just discovered heaven,” she admitted, her smile widening. “And you?”

He grinned, leaning down to capture her lips in a lingering kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes held hers, dark and full of emotion. “Like the luckiest man alive,” he murmured, his voice thick with sincerity. “Because I get to call you mine.”

Her smile softened, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She reached up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead, her touch achingly gentle. “You already had me,” she whispered. “Long before tonight.”

His throat tightened, and he kissed her again, slower this time, pouring every unspoken word into it. When they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the quiet stillness of the room.

“I love you,” he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. They weren’t planned, but they were true—so true it hurt.

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she just stared at him, her eyes wide and searching. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face, brighter than anything he’d ever seen. “I love you too,” she whispered back, her voice steady despite the tears pooling in her eyes.

He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her as though he never wanted to let go. And in that moment, with her head resting on his chest and her heartbeat echoing his own, he knew—this was where he belonged. With her. Always.

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chrissturnsfav · 2 months ago

Note

Rapper!Chris reaction to paparazzi being inappropriate to singer reader . Kinda like what paparazzi did to Emma watson on her 18 birthday

⋆.˚✮ rapper!chris can't stand when singer!reader is catcalled

cameras pop like fireworks, and the noise of the crowd seems to press in from all directions. tonight is chris' launch dinner to celebrate the release of his new single. you tug at the hem of your dress, suddenly aware of how short it feels under the glare of dozens of lenses.

chris is beside you, his hand firm on the small of your back, guiding you toward the restaurant’s entrance. his usual confidence is there, but tonight, his jaw is tight. you can feel it—the tension radiating off him as the paparazzi shout his name and yours, their voices a symphony of commands:

"chris, over here!" "smile, sweetheart!" "hey, let us see that dress!"

your heart pounds in your chest, a mix of adrenaline and unease. one of them steps closer, the lens of his camera brushing uncomfortably close to your arm. you instinctively pull closer to chris, your grip on his hand tightening.

"you good?" he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear. you nod quickly, knowing that if you speak your voice will tremble, but your glance toward the swarm of cameras betrays your nerves.

then it happens. a shout—some crude joke you don’t fully catch—but you feel it, the way one photographer crouches too low, his camera angled up in a way that makes your stomach twist. he just got a shot up your dress. he fucking got a shot up your dress.

"chris," you whisper, your voice shaky, but he’s already noticed.

"yo!" he barks, his voice sharp enough to cut through the chaos. the murmurs die down for a second, just long enough for him to step in front of you, shielding you from view. "the fuck you doin', huh?"

the paparazzo stumbles back, trying to laugh it off, but chris isn’t having it. his hands are balled into fists at his sides, his whole body taut like he’s ready to swing. "fuckin' think you're slick? fuck was that, huh?" he grumbles in anger.

"chris, please," you whisper, your voice shaking, but he’s locked in, his glare cutting through the paparazzo like a knife.

the guy stammers something about "just doing his job," but chris takes a step closer, his voice dropping low and deadly. "job?" he scoffs, "nah, put that fuckin' camera down before i make you."

when you both finally step into the restaurant, the noise fades from the commotion outside. chris is still fuming, his chest rising and falling like he just stepped offstage.

"listen, m'sorry mama," he says, his voice raw but sincere. "they don’t know how to act, but i ain’t lettin’ shit like that slide."

"it’s okay," you whisper, even though your hands are still shaking.

he nods, his jaw still tight, but his hand finds yours, his grip reassuring. "i gotchu," he says firmly. "ain’t nobody messin’ with you while m'around."

and you know he means it.

thank you for reading! <3

tags: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @swagalicious260 , @sturnhyyhblog , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage

@chrissturnsfav ™

#ᰔᩚ rapper!chris x singer!reader prompt #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #ᰔᩚ rapper!chris x singer!reader #chrissturnsfav ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets x reader #christopher sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo angst #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fluff #sturniolo triplets x you

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pucksandpower · 4 months ago

Text

Lose Yourself

Day 31 → Mind Break 💋 mafia!Charles Leclerc

Warnings: 18+ content, dubious consent, guns, and forced dumbification

Kinktober Masterlist

The office is small, dim, smelling faintly of coffee and old paper. A narrow window lets in thin, grey light, cutting across the surface of your supervisor’s desk. He’s sitting there, looking at you with that familiar mix of intensity and mild concern. There’s a file in front of him, thick, overflowing with papers, and he taps it once, twice, like he’s deciding whether or not to speak.

“You know I wouldn’t bring you in for something like this unless it was absolutely necessary,” he says, finally breaking the silence.

You nod, but don’t say anything. You’ve worked for Interpol long enough to know that when he starts like this, something big is coming. Bigger than usual.

“I’m serious, Y/N,” he continues, leaning forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. “This isn’t like the other assignments.”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting. He hasn’t even told you what the assignment is yet. The edge in his voice is making you uneasy, though. It’s not like him to drag things out like this.

He sighs, opens the file, pulls out a single photograph, and slides it across the desk toward you.

It’s a man.

Dark hair, sharp features, eyes that seem to stare through the camera lens. He’s sitting at a table in some restaurant, probably expensive judging by the suit he’s wearing, and there’s a woman draped over his arm. But the man doesn’t seem to notice her. His expression is unreadable.

“Charles Leclerc,” your supervisor says, as if the name should mean something to you. It doesn’t.

You glance up at him. “Who is he?”

He hesitates, just for a second, and then says, “The leader of the Rosso Corsa.”

You freeze, the weight of the words sinking in immediately. The Rosso Corsa is infamous. A criminal organization that operates in both Italy and the Côte d'Azur, responsible for everything from arms trafficking to political corruption. They’re untouchable.

Untouchable, because no one can get close enough.

Your supervisor lets the silence linger for a moment before he speaks again. “Interpol’s been trying to infiltrate them for years. We’ve had no success. No one’s gotten close enough, and the few who have …” He trails off, shaking his head. “They didn’t make it out.”

“So why now?” You ask, already knowing you’re not going to like the answer.

“Because we have a lead.” He pulls another piece of paper from the file, but doesn’t show it to you yet. “Leclerc’s been recruiting. Quietly. His organization’s expanding faster than anyone predicted. He’s looking for new people, trusted people.”

You stare at him. “And you want me to-”

“Get close to him,” he finishes. “Infiltrate. Gather information. Help us bring him down.”

The air feels heavier, thicker, and you shift in your seat, trying to make sense of what he’s asking. “How am I supposed to get close to someone like that? He probably has a hundred people screening anyone who tries to-”

“You’ll be playing a role,” he interrupts, his voice firm. “We’ve been building a cover for you for months.”

He hands you a new folder, this one slimmer, but just as important. Inside, there’s a fake ID, a name you’ve never heard before, and a backstory so detailed you’re almost convinced it’s real.

“Giulia Santini,” he says, nodding toward the papers. “You’ve been living in Monaco for years. High-end art dealer. A few shady connections here and there, just enough to make you interesting to Leclerc, but nothing that’ll get you killed if someone digs a little too deep.”

You let out a breath, leafing through the details. “And you’re sure he’ll be interested?”

“His mother’s an art collector,” he replies, shrugging. “It’s not foolproof, but we’ve done the groundwork. We’ve arranged for you to be introduced through one of his contacts in the next week. From there, it’s up to you.”

You blink, trying to process the enormity of what he’s asking. “Up to me? You’re sending me in without backup?”

“You’ll have backup,” he says quickly. “But you know how this works. You’re going to be on your own for most of it. We need to keep the operation quiet. If Leclerc gets even a hint that you’re not who you say you are, it’s over. For you. For all of us.”

He’s not sugarcoating it, and you appreciate that, but it doesn’t make the task ahead of you any easier to swallow. You swallow hard, feeling a weight settle in your chest.

“Why me?” You ask softly.

He looks at you for a long moment before he answers, his voice lowering. “Because you’re the best. You’re smart and you can handle yourself. You’ve done it before, and you’ll do it again.”

“But this is different.”

“Yes,” he admits, and his eyes soften just a fraction. “But if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

You sit there, the folder in your hands, feeling the weight of everything he’s just laid out for you. There’s a part of you that wants to say no, that wants to walk out of this office and leave the impossible task for someone else. But you know you won’t. You’ve never walked away from a challenge before, and you’re not about to start now.

Still, there’s one thing gnawing at you, something you can’t quite shake.

“If I get close to him,” you say slowly, “what’s the plan? What happens then?”

Your supervisor hesitates again, and that makes your stomach twist. “We gather information,” he says finally. “Enough to bring him down. We’re not rushing this. This could take months, maybe longer.”

“And in the meantime?” You press. “What if he gets suspicious?”

He’s silent for a moment, and then he leans forward again, his voice low and steady. “Then you do whatever you have to do to keep your cover intact.”

The meaning behind his words is clear, and it sends a chill down your spine. You’ve done undercover work before, but nothing like this. Nothing this … intimate.

You clear your throat. “And how far am I supposed to go with this?”

“As far as you need to,” he says, his tone hardening. “But you keep your head. You remember why you’re there. This isn’t about you and him. This is about bringing down a dangerous organization.”

You nod, trying to focus on the mission, on the end goal. But it’s hard when you’re staring at the photograph of Charles Leclerc, at the cold, unreadable expression on his face.

Your supervisor stands up, signaling the end of the meeting. “You’ll leave for Monaco in two days. We’ll have everything set up by then.”

You stand too, feeling the weight of the assignment pressing down on your shoulders. But before you can turn to leave, he says one more thing.

“Be careful, Y/N.”

You pause at the door, glancing back at him. “I always am.”

He doesn’t respond, just watches as you walk out of the office, the door closing behind you with a soft click.

You stand in the hallway for a moment, the folder still in your hand, staring at the photograph of Charles Leclerc one last time.

You wonder, not for the first time, if this is the mission that will finally break you.

***

The Grand Hôtel in Monaco is every bit as lavish as you imagined. Opulent chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting warm light over marble floors and deep, velvet chairs that look more like art pieces than furniture. You’ve been here before, but never in this role. Never as Giulia Santini, the art dealer with a knack for finding rare treasures.

You glance around the lobby, your heels clicking softly against the marble as you make your way toward the bar. Your heart is steady, though there’s a subtle tension in your muscles. You’re about to meet Charles Leclerc, one of the most dangerous men in Europe, and you can’t afford to slip, even for a second.

At the bar, you spot Fabien — your contact, someone who’s vouched for you enough to get you this meeting. He’s sipping a glass of wine, leaning casually against the polished counter as if this is any other evening. When he sees you, he nods once, lifting his glass slightly in greeting.

“Giulia,” he says smoothly when you approach, his voice like honey. He leans in to kiss both your cheeks in the European fashion, his cologne strong. “You look stunning. Leclerc will be impressed.”

You smile at him, playing the part effortlessly. “Let’s hope so.”

Fabien gestures to the bartender and orders another glass of wine for you. “He’ll be here soon,” he says quietly, his eyes scanning the crowd. “He’s already asked about you. You’ve made quite an impression, and you haven’t even met him yet.”

You pick up the glass the bartender slides toward you, taking a small sip. The wine is rich, expensive, but it doesn’t do anything to calm the simmering anticipation in your veins. “What did you tell him?”

“The truth, of course,” Fabien replies with a grin. “That you’re the most elusive art dealer in Monaco, and that you specialize in pieces even the richest men in Europe couldn’t get their hands on.”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “Quite the reputation you’ve given me.”

Fabien shrugs, looking pleased with himself. “It’s not far from the truth.”

You glance at the entrance to the bar, but there’s no sign of Leclerc yet. “And what should I know about him?” You ask, keeping your voice low. “What does he like?”

Fabien’s eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place — is it wariness? Curiosity? He leans in slightly, lowering his voice even more. “He’s intelligent. He’s quiet, but not because he’s shy. He’s watching everything, always calculating. Don’t let the charm fool you. He’s dangerous, but you already know that.”

You nod, your grip on the wine glass tightening just a fraction.

“And,” Fabien adds, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, “he’s not immune to beauty.”

Before you can respond, Fabien straightens suddenly, his eyes locking on something behind you. “He’s here.”

You don’t turn around immediately, though every nerve in your body is telling you to. Instead, you take another sip of wine, steadying yourself, letting the moment stretch out. You feel his presence before you even see him — a subtle shift in the energy around you, the way people in the bar seem to take notice without even realizing it.

Finally, you turn.

Charles Leclerc is standing just a few feet away, speaking briefly with the hostess, who gestures toward the table in the back corner. He nods at her, his expression unreadable, and starts walking in your direction.

He’s taller than you expected, more imposing. His dark hair is perfectly in place, his suit tailored so sharply it looks like it was made just for him — which, of course, it probably was. His eyes, though — they’re exactly like the photograph. Cold, unreadable, scanning the room like he’s memorizing every face, every detail. When they land on you, there’s a flicker of interest, just for a moment, before his expression smooths out again.

Fabien steps forward to greet him, his smile wide and easy. “Charles,” he says, offering his hand. “Good to see you.”

Leclerc shakes his hand, his movements controlled, almost too smooth. “Fabien,” he says, his voice deep, with the hint of an accent that’s hard to place — part French, part something else. His eyes flick briefly to you before returning to Fabien. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all,” Fabien replies. “In fact, I’ve been waiting to introduce you to someone.”

He turns toward you, and for a split second, it’s like the entire room goes quiet. The air between you and Charles seems to shift, though he gives no sign that he’s noticed anything unusual.

“This is Giulia Santini,” Fabien says, his voice warm and confident. “The art dealer I’ve been telling you about.”

You extend your hand, offering a small, professional smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Charles looks at you for just a beat longer than necessary before taking your hand. His grip is firm, but not aggressive, and his skin is warm against yours. “The pleasure is mine,” he says, his voice lower now, meant just for you.

You hold his gaze as long as you dare before letting your hand slip from his. Fabien gestures to the table in the corner, and the three of you make your way over. Charles sits across from you, his eyes flicking between you and Fabien, though most of his attention seems to be on you.

“So,” Charles says once you’ve all settled, leaning back in his chair slightly, “Fabien tells me you’re quite the expert in rare art.”

You smile, playing the role with ease. “I wouldn’t say expert. Just passionate.”

He watches you, his eyes dark and focused. “And what kind of pieces does someone like you find … exciting?”

The question is loaded, and you know it. He’s testing you, seeing how you’ll respond. You take a breath, keeping your expression calm, your voice light.

“It depends,” you say slowly, leaning forward just slightly, enough to draw his attention. “Art is all about perspective, isn’t it? What one person finds valuable, another might overlook entirely.”

Charles’ lips twitch, like he’s suppressing a smile, but it never quite reaches his eyes. “True,” he agrees. “But I imagine you have a talent for finding the pieces that others overlook.”

You tilt your head, meeting his gaze evenly. “It’s what I do best.”

There’s a pause, the air between you crackling with unspoken tension. Charles taps his fingers lightly against the table, his eyes never leaving yours. Fabien shifts slightly, glancing between the two of you, clearly pleased with how the conversation is going.

“You know,” Charles says after a moment, his voice soft but deliberate, “I’ve been looking for someone like you.”

Your heart skips, but you don’t let it show. You raise an eyebrow, keeping your tone playful. “Is that so?”

He nods, still watching you carefully. “Someone with connections. Someone who can move in circles I can’t always reach.”

“And what circles are those?” You ask, keeping your voice light, though you already know the answer.

He leans forward, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “The kind that deal in things not everyone should know about.”

There it is. The subtle shift from pleasantries to something more dangerous, more real. You feel the tension tighten in your chest, but you smile, pretending you’re completely at ease.

“Well,” you say, letting your voice drop just a fraction, “I’m sure we could work something out. If you’re interested.”

Charles doesn’t respond right away, just watches you, his expression carefully controlled. Finally, he nods. “I am.”

Fabien jumps in then, filling the silence with talk about upcoming events, art auctions, places where you and Charles might cross paths again. But you’re only half-listening. Most of your attention is still on Charles, watching the way his eyes flicker with interest, the subtle shifts in his posture as he listens to Fabien. It’s clear that he’s more focused on you than the conversation, and you need to tread carefully.

Fabien’s words become background noise, blending with the clink of glasses and the low hum of conversation around you. You’re not oblivious to the tension under the surface, though. Every move you make, every word you say, it’s all part of the game. And Charles knows it, too.

Fabien laughs, clapping Charles on the back. “I think Giulia could be quite useful for you, Charles. Her contacts run deep, and she’s good at staying … discreet.”

Charles’ eyes meet yours again, and you hold his gaze, refusing to look away. There’s a challenge in the air, subtle but undeniable. It’s as if he’s trying to peel back your layers, see what lies beneath the surface of the woman sitting in front of him.

“I can be discreet when necessary,” you say, your voice smooth, almost teasing. “But sometimes, it’s better to make a statement. It depends on what kind of art you’re dealing with.”

Charles’ lips quirk into a small, almost imperceptible smile, and for the first time, you catch a glimpse of the man behind the mask. “I agree,” he says, his voice low. “Some things are worth putting on display for the world to see.”

Your pulse quickens at the double meaning behind his words, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you lean back slightly, crossing your legs under the table and allowing your hand to rest casually on the stem of your wine glass.

“Perhaps we could discuss it more in private,” you suggest, your tone light but deliberate. “I’d love to hear about the kind of pieces you’re interested in.”

Charles raises an eyebrow, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve pushed too far. But then, he nods, his smile widening just a fraction. “I think that can be arranged.”

Fabien stands, finishing the last of his wine. “I’ll give you two some space,” he says, with a knowing smile, his tone laced with implication. “Giulia, Charles — enjoy your evening.”

With that, he walks away, leaving the two of you alone at the table. You feel the shift in the atmosphere immediately. The casual conversation is gone, replaced by something far more charged, far more dangerous.

Charles leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, his eyes locked on yours. “Tell me, Giulia,” he says, his voice soft but commanding. “How far are you willing to go for a deal?”

The question hangs in the air between you, heavy with implication. You know this is it — the moment where the line between professional and personal blurs, where the real game begins.

You take a breath, keeping your expression calm, though your mind is racing. You need to keep him hooked, keep him interested, but you can’t give away too much too soon. This is a dance, and you need to make sure you’re leading.

“I’m willing to go as far as I need to,” you reply, your voice steady. “But that depends on what’s being offered.”

Charles watches you for a long moment, and you can feel the weight of his gaze, the way he’s analyzing every word, every movement. Finally, he leans back, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re good,” he says, his voice almost admiring. “I can see why Fabien recommended you.”

You smile, taking a sip of your wine. “I’m very good at what I do.”

Charles tilts his head slightly, still watching you with that same intensity that never seems to waver. He’s waiting for your next move, and you can feel the moment stretching out, charged with unspoken tension.

You lean in a little closer, your voice dropping just enough to draw him in. “So, tell me, Charles,” you say, letting your words linger in the air between you, “what kind of art are you really interested in? What would make it worth your while to work with me?”

His eyes darken, just slightly, as he considers your question. “I’m interested in pieces that are … unique,” he says slowly. “Rare. The kind of art most people don’t even know exists.”

You nod, pretending to think it over, even though you already know exactly where this conversation is going. “I can find you rare pieces,” you say, your voice smooth. “But unique? That’s harder to come by. What makes something unique to you?”

As you speak, you casually slide your hand from the edge of the table to your lap, then slowly, almost imperceptibly, move it under the table toward his leg. You don’t make it obvious. Just a gentle touch at first, your fingertips brushing the fabric of his dress pants as you talk, keeping your expression calm, your voice steady.

Charles doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react — at least, not outwardly. His gaze flicks down to your hand for just a second, barely noticeable, before he meets your eyes again. “Unique,” he repeats, his voice lower now, quieter, “is something no one else can have. Something priceless.”

Your hand moves a little higher, just grazing his knee, but you keep your face composed, the conversation continuing as if nothing has changed. “I can work with priceless,” you say, leaning in a little more, your lips curving into a smile. “But it’ll cost you.”

There’s a flicker of something in Charles’ eyes — amusement, maybe — as he watches you, as though he’s enjoying the game as much as you are. “Everything has a price, Giulia,” he says, his voice smooth, controlled. “What’s yours?”

You pause, letting the question hang in the air for a moment before answering. “That depends on how much you’re willing to offer.”

As you say this, your hand slides up higher, just above his knee now, your touch still light, teasing. You can feel the muscle tensing slightly under your fingers, but Charles doesn’t say anything. He just keeps watching you, his eyes dark, his posture still relaxed, but you can sense the shift in the air between you.

“I can offer you more than you’ve ever had,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But you’d have to prove to me that you’re worth it.”

You smile, your fingers moving a little higher, just brushing his thigh now, your touch deliberate but still subtle enough that no one else in the bar would notice. “I don’t think proving myself will be a problem,” you murmur, your voice low and seductive. “I think you already know I’m worth it.”

Charles leans forward slightly, just enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him, though his expression remains perfectly controlled. “What I want,” he says, his voice almost a growl now, “is something unforgettable. Can you deliver that?”

Your hand moves up just a bit more, your fingertips grazing the inside of his thigh now, and you feel the way his body responds — just a subtle tension, a slight shift in his breathing. But still, he doesn’t pull away. He’s letting you set the pace, letting you see how far you’re willing to go.

“I think I can deliver whatever you need,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, your hand pressing just a little harder now, a little more insistent. “If you’re willing to trust me.”

Charles doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at you, his eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, the silence between you is so thick you can almost hear your own heartbeat. You can feel the tension building, coiling tighter and tighter, and you know that you’ve reached the point where the conversation is about to shift again — from playful to something more serious, more real.

Finally, Charles leans back in his chair, just slightly, but his eyes never leave yours. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he says, his voice low and controlled. “You know that, don’t you?”

You smile, your hand still resting on his thigh. “I don’t mind a little danger.”

There’s a brief flicker of something in his eyes — desire, maybe, or something darker. It’s hard to tell with him. He’s so good at hiding what he’s really feeling, keeping everything just below the surface. But you can see the way his body reacts to your touch, the way his breathing has changed, just slightly.

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The air between you feels electric, charged with anticipation. You can feel the heat of his body under your fingertips, the way his muscles tense slightly as your hand moves just a little higher, pressing against the inside of his thigh now.

Then, suddenly, he stands up.

The movement is so abrupt, so unexpected, that for a split second, you freeze, your hand dropping back to your lap as he pushes his chair back. He doesn’t look at you as he adjusts his jacket, his expression unreadable once again, but there’s a tension in his body now that wasn’t there before.

“We’re leaving,” he says, his voice calm but firm, leaving no room for argument.

You blink, surprised, but you recover quickly, standing up and smoothing your dress, your heart pounding in your chest. You’d expected a reaction, but not this. Not so sudden, so decisive.

“To where?” You ask, though you already know the answer.

Charles glances at you, his eyes dark, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Back to mine,” he says, his voice low. “For the rest of the night.”

Your pulse quickens at his words, and you nod, your mind already racing with what comes next. You’ve got him. You’ve hooked him, and now it’s just a matter of playing the role, of keeping him interested long enough to get what you need.

He doesn’t wait for you to respond, already walking toward the exit with long, confident strides. You follow, your heels clicking softly against the marble floor, the sound of the bar fading behind you as you step out into the cool night air.

Outside, a black car waits at the curb, and Charles gestures for you to get in first. You slide into the back seat, feeling the leather cool against your skin, and he follows, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The driver doesn’t say a word as the car pulls away from the curb, and the city lights blur past the windows as you head toward the unknown.

You glance at Charles, who’s sitting next to you now, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body even though he’s not touching you. His expression is calm, but there’s a tension in his jaw, a darkness in his eyes that makes your heart race even faster.

The game is far from over.

***

The car glides through the narrow streets of Monaco, the city lights flickering outside like fireflies in the dark. You try to focus on the blur of neon signs and elegant façades, but your thoughts keep circling back to Charles, who sits beside you in silence, his presence filling the confined space like something dangerous and magnetic.

He hasn’t spoken since you left the bar, and you haven’t dared to break the silence. There's a simmering tension between you, thick and almost suffocating, and though you try to appear calm, the anticipation gnaws at you. You’ve played these games before — seduction, deception — but something about Charles makes it feel different. He’s unpredictable, his control over every moment unnerving.

The car finally pulls to a stop outside a sleek, modern building that towers over the waterfront, all glass and steel reflecting the moonlight. Charles steps out first, and you follow, the cool night air hitting your skin as you walk toward the private entrance. The click of your heels against the pavement echoes in the quiet.

Charles doesn’t say anything as you step inside the elevator with him. The doors slide shut, and the air seems to grow thicker, the silence stretching. You can feel the tension crackling between you, every second charged with something unsaid, something dark and thrilling.

He doesn’t touch you. Not yet. But the way he stands, just inches from you, makes your skin tingle with the anticipation of what’s to come.

When the elevator doors open, you step out into a penthouse that’s every bit as luxurious as you’d expected. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the harbor below, and the minimalist design — all clean lines and muted tones — feels cold, impersonal.

Charles walks ahead of you, loosening his tie as he goes. “Drink?” He asks, his voice low, casual, as if the air between you isn’t thick with tension.

You shake your head, your voice catching slightly in your throat. “No, thank you.”

He turns toward you then, his gaze locking onto yours, and for a moment, neither of you moves. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, and though you’ve done this before, there’s something different this time — a sense of danger that feels very real.

Charles watches you, his eyes dark, unreadable. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a gun.

You freeze.

He doesn’t point it at you. Not yet. He holds it loosely in his hand, his expression calm, controlled, as if this is just another part of the game.

“You’re afraid of this, aren’t you?” He asks quietly, tilting his head slightly as he watches your reaction.

You swallow hard, your pulse racing. “Should I be?”

Charles’ lips curve into a slow, dangerous smile. “Not unless I give you a reason to be.”

He steps closer, and you can’t help the way your body tenses, your gaze flicking to the gun in his hand. You’ve seen weapons before, handled them even, but the way Charles holds it — so casually, so confidently — makes your stomach tighten.

He raises the gun, not toward you, but slowly, deliberately, running the cool metal along your jawline. The touch of the cold barrel against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, and though every instinct in your body is screaming at you to pull away, you don’t. You can’t.

“Do you trust me?” He murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, the gun still tracing along your skin, down your neck, over the curve of your shoulder.

You force yourself to meet his gaze, your breath shallow. “I don’t trust anyone.”

Charles smiles, a dark, almost amused smile, as if he expected nothing less. “Smart.”

He steps even closer, and the gun dips lower, grazing the top of your chest now, the cool metal contrasting sharply with the heat building under your skin. He moves slowly, deliberately, letting you feel every inch of the barrel as it slides over your skin, a slow, deliberate tease.

Your heart is pounding so hard you’re sure he can hear it. The danger of the moment — the unpredictability of Charles — sends a thrill through you, a heady mix of fear and desire. You’ve never been in a situation like this before, never felt this kind of tension coil so tightly in your chest.

He presses the barrel of the gun against your sternum, just enough for you to feel its weight, and you gasp, your body instinctively arching toward him. His eyes darken, watching your every reaction with a predatory intensity that makes your pulse quicken.

“You like this, don’t you?” He asks softly, his voice a low, dangerous purr.

You open your mouth to deny it, but the words catch in your throat. You can’t lie, not when your body is betraying you so completely. The truth is, you don’t know what you feel — fear, excitement, something far more dangerous — but you’re too far gone to stop it now.

Instead of answering, you tilt your head back slightly, exposing more of your neck to him, a silent invitation, a challenge. Charles’ eyes flash with something dark and primal, and for a moment, you think he might actually pull the trigger. But he doesn’t. He’s still in control. Barely.

He moves the gun lower, pressing it against your stomach now, and your breath catches in your throat. Every nerve in your body is on fire, the tension so thick you can barely think. Charles steps even closer, his body almost flush with yours, his breath warm against your ear.

“Do you know what happens when you push someone like me too far?” He whispers, the gun sliding lower, tracing the curve of your waist.

You swallow hard, your body trembling with the weight of his words, the cold metal of the gun still pressing against you in ways you never imagined it could be used.

“Tell me,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling despite yourself.

Charles’ smile widens, a dark, dangerous thing, as he presses the barrel of the gun against your hip now, his other hand finally reaching out to touch you, gripping your waist with a firm, possessive hold.

“I don’t like to be tested,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “But I think you already knew that.”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the moan that threatens to escape as the gun moves even lower, brushing the inside of your thigh now, the sensation sending a wave of heat through your body that leaves you dizzy.

“And yet,” Charles continues, his voice low and rough now, “you keep pushing, don’t you?”

You don’t answer, can’t answer. Your entire body is focused on the slow, deliberate path of the gun as it moves between your legs, the cold metal making your breath hitch, your heart racing so fast you can barely think straight.

Charles pulls back just slightly, just enough to meet your eyes again. There’s something wild in his gaze now, something dangerous and unrestrained, and for the first time, you realize how far you’ve pushed him.

But instead of pulling away, you lean into him, your lips brushing against his jaw, a silent surrender to whatever he has planned next.

He moves the gun away from your body, but the loss of contact only makes the heat between you more intense. Before you can react, Charles grabs your chin with his free hand, forcing you to look up at him, his grip firm but not painful.

“Be careful what you wish for,” he growls, his voice thick with warning.

And then, without another word, he pulls you against him, his lips crashing into yours with a force that steals your breath away. The kiss is hard, demanding, and you respond with equal intensity, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as you pull him closer, desperate for more.

Charles’ hand moves to your hair, tangling in the strands as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a rough, possessive edge. The gun is still in his other hand, but he doesn’t use it, not now. Now it’s just him, the raw power of his touch, the heat of his body pressed against yours.

You’re drowning in the sensation of it, the heady mix of fear and desire overwhelming every sense. Every nerve in your body is on fire, and when Charles finally pulls away, you’re left gasping for breath, your lips swollen, your body trembling.

He looks down at you, his eyes dark with a hunger you’ve never seen before. “We’re not done,” he says, his voice rough, almost ragged.

You nod, unable to speak, your heart racing as you try to catch your breath.

Charles lowers the gun to his side, his fingers tracing along your jaw with a surprising gentleness. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because this is just the beginning."

Charles doesn't let go of you immediately. His hand lingers on your jaw, thumb brushing over your lips with deliberate slowness, as if savoring the moment. His eyes are still dark, dangerous, and that smirk — subtle but sharp — hasn’t left his face.

"Come,” he says, his voice low, commanding, as he steps back, breaking the electric contact between your bodies. His hand catches yours, his fingers wrapping around your wrist, and without another word, he starts to lead you down the hallway, deeper into the penthouse. The gleam of city lights fades behind you as the door to the bedroom opens, revealing a space as sleek and cold as the rest of his world.

Charles doesn’t slow down. His grip tightens just a fraction as he pulls you into the room, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. You’re aware of the luxurious bed, its sharp angles and cool, satin sheets, but your focus is on him. The way he moves, so sure of himself, so utterly in control, sets your pulse racing again.

Without a word, Charles releases your wrist and steps away, walking over to a small table near the window. The city lights reflect off the polished surface as he picks up the gun again, handling it like it’s nothing more than an extension of himself. He weighs it in his hand, almost thoughtfully, before glancing back at you, his eyes gleaming with that same intensity as before.

“You’ve never had anyone like me, have you?” His voice is quiet, but it cuts through the silence like a knife. He turns the gun over in his hand, his thumb tracing the curve of the barrel as if considering his next move.

You swallow hard, your throat dry. “What makes you so sure?”

Charles’ smile is slow, deliberate, as he crosses the room toward you, the gun still in his hand. “Because no one else knows how to make you feel like this,” he says, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. “No one else can make you want something you should be afraid of.”

He’s right. You’ve felt desire before, but never like this. Never this consuming, this dangerous. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the gun in his hand as he stops in front of you, so close that the heat of his body seems to seep into yours.

Charles raises the gun again, the cold metal pressing against your collarbone. He drags it slowly, down the length of your chest, teasing the edge of your dress, his eyes never leaving yours. Your breath hitches, but you don’t flinch. Not this time. Instead, you tilt your head up slightly, meeting his gaze head-on, daring him to keep going.

The corner of his mouth twitches into something darker than a smile. “You like this more than you want to admit.”

His words send a jolt of heat through you, and before you can respond, he moves the gun lower, pressing the barrel lightly against your stomach, the coolness making you shiver. He steps closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “Tell me how much you want this.”

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to catch your breath, but the feeling of the gun, the weight of his words, are too much. You manage to speak, your voice barely a whisper. “I-”

Charles doesn’t let you finish. He presses the gun harder against your stomach, just enough for you to feel the cold metal, his lips ghosting over your neck as he murmurs, “Say it.”

Your heart is racing so fast you can barely think. The danger, the thrill, the way he’s completely in control — it’s intoxicating. You know this is a game, but it’s one you’ve already lost. The gun slides lower, grazing your hip now, and it’s enough to tip you over the edge.

“I want it,” you whisper, your voice shaky, your body trembling under the intensity of the moment. “I want you.”

Charles’ grip on the gun tightens slightly as he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice rough, raw. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Without another word, he moves the gun even lower, tracing the inside of your thigh with the barrel, his other hand reaching up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head back so that you’re completely exposed to him. Your breath catches in your throat, and you can feel the way your body responds, heat pooling low in your stomach, every nerve on fire.

Charles’ fingers tighten in your hair as he presses the gun between your legs, just hard enough to make you gasp, your body arching toward him involuntarily. The cool metal contrasts sharply with the heat building inside you, and the sensation is almost too much to bear.

“Look at you,” he says softly, his voice laced with dark amusement. “I haven’t even touched you properly, and you’re already falling apart.”

You try to speak, but the words don’t come. Your pulse is racing, your body trembling under his control, and all you can do is hold on, your fingers gripping the edge of the bed behind you as you try to steady yourself. Charles watches you, his expression calm, but there’s a hunger in his eyes that makes your knees weak.

He presses the gun harder against you, and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips, your body reacting to the dangerous mix of fear and desire that’s consuming you. Charles’ smile widens, and he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “You like being on the edge, don’t you?”

You nod, barely able to think, your body trembling with the weight of his words, the sensation of the gun still pressing against you, teasing, pushing you closer to the brink.

Charles chuckles softly, the sound low and dark. “Good. Because I’m not letting you come until I say so.”

Your eyes widen at his words, but before you can protest, he pulls the gun away, leaving you breathless, aching for more. He steps back, his eyes still locked on yours, his expression calm, controlled, as if he hasn’t just left you on the edge of something you can barely control.

“Take off your dress,” he says, his voice firm, authoritative.

Your hands shake slightly as you reach for the zipper at the back of your dress, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. Charles watches you, his gaze never wavering as you slowly peel the fabric away, letting it fall to the floor in a soft pool around your feet.

For a moment, he just looks at you, his eyes dark with something that makes your heart skip a beat. Then, without warning, he steps forward again, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you flush against him, the gun still in his hand, though now it’s pressed lightly against your back.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. “But I think you’re even more beautiful when you’re scared.”

You shiver at his words, the weight of the gun against your skin, the way his hands hold you so tightly, so possessively. You’ve never felt anything like this before — this combination of fear, desire, and the intoxicating pull of surrender.

Charles’ hand moves to the back of your neck, guiding you toward the bed, and you follow without hesitation, your body completely under his control now. He pushes you down onto the mattress, his eyes never leaving yours as he follows, the gun still in his hand.

You’re trembling, your body on fire with need, with the overwhelming sensation of being at his mercy. And he knows it. He can see it in the way you move, the way your breath hitches every time he touches you.

Charles climbs onto the bed, his knees straddling your hips as he leans down, the gun now resting on your stomach again. He presses it there, hard enough for you to feel its weight, its presence, and you gasp, your body arching toward him, desperate for more.

“Tell me how much you want this,” he whispers, his voice dark and rough. “Tell me how much you need me.”

You’re beyond words now, your mind clouded with desire, with the intoxicating pull of his control. All you can do is nod, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to steady yourself.

Charles’ smile is dark, satisfied, as he leans down, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s both possessive and demanding. You respond immediately, your hands fisting in the sheets as you kiss him back with equal intensity, your body trembling beneath him.

The gun presses harder against your stomach, and you moan into his mouth, your body on the verge of something overwhelming, something you can’t control.

“Now,” Charles growls, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. “Now you can fall.”

Charles doesn’t move. He hovers above you, eyes dark and dangerous, his body tense with control. The weight of the gun on your stomach feels like a tether to reality — cold, hard, and unforgiving. But the heat between you is anything but cold. It’s burning, pulling you deeper into a place you’ve never been before. You’re on the verge of something, teetering dangerously on the edge, and Charles knows it. He can see it in your eyes, in the way your breath stutters in your chest.

“Don’t hold back,” he murmurs, his voice thick with authority. “I want you to tip over the edge for me. Right here.”

You shudder under the intensity of his gaze, his words pulling at something deep within you. Your body is aching, trembling with need, but still, there’s that sliver of control — something keeping you from falling completely, from losing yourself in this dangerous game. It’s a fine line, and Charles knows exactly how to push you over it.

His free hand moves to your throat, fingers wrapping gently around your neck, not tight, but just enough to remind you of his dominance. The cold barrel of the gun still rests on your stomach, a contrast to the heat radiating between your bodies. His touch is everywhere — overwhelming, all-consuming.

“You’ve been holding back,” he says softly, almost a whisper. “I can feel it. But not anymore. I want all of you.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest, your pulse racing. You’ve never been pushed like this before, never been with someone who can see so clearly through the walls you’ve built. It terrifies you, but at the same time, it excites you in a way you can’t even begin to explain.

Charles leans down, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Let go,” he commands, his voice low, a dark promise. “I want to watch you fall apart for me.”

You tremble beneath him, your body arching instinctively toward his, the need coursing through you like a wildfire. You’re so close, teetering on the edge, and the way he’s looking at you, the way he’s speaking to you, makes it impossible to hold on any longer.

Your fingers curl into the sheets, gripping them tightly as you feel the tension inside you building to an unbearable peak. Charles watches you, his eyes never leaving yours, his hand still resting lightly around your throat, a reminder of his control.

The gun presses harder against your stomach, and it’s enough to send you spiraling. A gasp escapes your lips, and then you’re falling — completely, utterly losing yourself in the moment, in him. The sensation is overwhelming, a wave of heat and electricity that crashes over you, leaving you breathless, trembling, and utterly undone.

Charles’ eyes darken as he watches you, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “There it is,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a dark kind of triumph. “That’s what I wanted.”

You’re still gasping for breath, your body trembling beneath him, your mind spinning. The sensation is so intense, so overwhelming, that it takes you a moment to even remember where you are. But Charles is there, grounding you, his presence inescapable, his control absolute.

Slowly, he lowers the gun from your stomach, setting it aside on the nightstand without a word. His other hand releases your throat, and instead, he reaches up to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his touch surprisingly gentle, almost tender.

You blink up at him, still trying to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You feel raw, exposed in a way you’ve never been before, and the vulnerability of the moment hits you like a tidal wave. But Charles doesn’t push. He doesn’t say anything else. He just watches you, his gaze steady and calm, as if he’s waiting for you to process everything that’s just happened.

For a long moment, the room is silent, save for the sound of your ragged breathing. You feel the weight of his body pressing into yours, the heat between you still simmering, but now there’s something else — a sense of calm, of connection, that lingers in the air.

Finally, Charles moves. He shifts his weight, sliding off you, and then he lies back on the bed, pulling you with him until you’re resting against his chest. You go willingly, your body still humming from the intensity of what just happened, your mind still trying to catch up. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you close, and you find yourself resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

The silence between you is comfortable, the tension from earlier now replaced with something softer, more intimate. Charles’ hand moves idly along your back, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, and you close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself relax into him, your breath slowly evening out.

After a long silence, Charles finally speaks, his voice low and rough. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

You tilt your head slightly, opening your eyes to look up at him. “So are you.”

His lips quirk into a half-smile, and for a moment, the dangerous edge in his expression softens. “I don’t like surprises,” he says, his tone almost teasing. “But I think I could make an exception for you.”

You can’t help but smile, despite everything. There’s something about the way he says it — so calm, so assured — that makes it feel like a promise, like something more than just a passing comment.

Charles’ hand slides up your back, his fingers brushing lightly against the nape of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. He’s still in control, even in this quiet moment, and you can feel it in the way he touches you, the way he speaks to you. It’s intoxicating, in a way that makes you want to stay wrapped up in this moment with him for as long as you can.

He’s quiet again for a while, his fingers still tracing lazy patterns on your skin. The weight of his chest rises and falls beneath you, the steady rhythm lulling you into a strange sense of calm.

Then, just as you’re starting to drift into that comfortable silence, he speaks again. “I have a feeling,” he says softly, almost as if he’s thinking out loud, “this is the start of a beautiful business relationship.”

You blink, caught off guard by the statement. You lift your head slightly to look at him, your brow furrowing in confusion. “Business?”

Charles looks down at you, his expression unreadable, but there’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s not just talking about business in the traditional sense. “We’re both professionals, aren’t we?” He says, his tone casual, but you can hear the underlying meaning in his words. “I get what I want. And you — well, you seem to enjoy the thrill of this as much as I do.”

You swallow, the weight of his words sinking in. This is more than just a fling, more than just a moment of passion. Charles isn’t someone who does things by half-measures, and you can sense that this — whatever it is between you — is going to be something much more complicated, much more dangerous.

But in this moment, as you lie there with your head resting on his chest, the world outside the penthouse feels a million miles away. You’re still catching your breath, still reeling from everything that’s just happened, and for now, that’s enough.

So you don’t respond. You just close your eyes again, letting the steady rhythm of Charles’ heartbeat guide you, and allow yourself to stay wrapped in the calm before whatever storm comes next.

***

The months blur together in a haze of danger and desire. You’re deeper into Charles’ world than you ever expected to be, and somehow, it’s easier than you thought. He lets you in bit by bit, peeling back the layers of his empire with a subtle but growing trust. His guard drops incrementally, his power over you surging with every stolen kiss, every whispered command in the dark. You’re in his bed more nights than not, wrapped in the silk sheets of his penthouse, and it feels almost natural to exist in this dangerous limbo.

Charles keeps you close — closer than he probably keeps anyone else. He starts to share more with you, letting you into the cracks of his life, though always with a calculated air. You begin sourcing illegal art for him — stolen paintings, ancient artifacts, pieces of history with blood on their provenance. Each exchange is thrilling, a high-stakes game where you’re playing both sides, confident you’re getting what you need.

The deeper you go, the more you convince yourself you’re making real headway. Each deal brings you closer to the heart of his operation. You’re gathering intel for Interpol, keeping one foot in the shadows of your real life, but it’s easy to get lost in the persona you’ve built — the woman Charles thinks you are. The lines blur, and you let them. It’s easier that way.

But you’re still playing a role. Always playing a role.

Tonight is no different. You’re waiting for him in his bedroom, dressed in only a sheer babydoll slip, the soft fabric clinging to your skin, hinting at everything and revealing nothing. The city lights outside the window cast a faint glow over the room, and you can hear the quiet hum of the nightlife below, but up here, in this penthouse, it’s just you and the anticipation of Charles’ arrival.

He’s late, but that’s not unusual. His world operates on its own time, and you’ve grown accustomed to waiting for him. You lie back against the pillows, the cool silk brushing against your skin, a quiet thrill running through you as you imagine how he’ll react when he sees you like this — waiting, vulnerable, and his.

The door creaks open, and you hear his footsteps before you see him. Your pulse quickens, and you sit up slightly, anticipation curling in your chest.

“Charles,” you say softly, your voice a mixture of seduction and warmth, the way you know he likes it. “You kept me waiting.”

But something is wrong.

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t smile, doesn’t give you that familiar smirk that tells you the game is about to begin. Instead, he stands in the doorway, his expression unreadable, his gaze heavy as it sweeps over you, taking in the sight of you in the flimsy lace.

You frown, your confidence wavering slightly. “What’s wrong?” You ask, your voice faltering as you shift under the weight of his stare. You sit up fully now, swinging your legs off the side of the bed, your bare feet brushing the floor as you watch him.

Charles doesn’t move. He just stands there, arms crossed, his eyes locked on yours with a cold intensity that sends a chill down your spine.

“It’s funny,” he says finally, his voice quiet, measured. “I ran into someone today — an old associate of mine. Someone I trust.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your expression calm, forcing yourself not to react, not to show the sudden panic rising in your chest.

“Oh?” You try to sound casual, even playful, but there’s an edge to your voice that you can’t quite mask. “And what did this associate have to say?”

Charles takes a step forward, his eyes never leaving yours. “He mentioned something interesting,” he continues, his voice still unnervingly calm. “He said he saw me at lunch the other day. Thought the woman I was with looked familiar.”

Your stomach drops.

You know what’s coming next, but you keep your expression neutral, your heart pounding in your chest as you wait for him to say it.

“He said,” Charles continues, his tone hardening slightly, “that she looked a lot like an Interpol agent he dealt with earlier this year. The one who brought him in for questioning.” He tilts his head, his gaze narrowing. “I told him it must be a coincidence.”

The air in the room feels heavy, oppressive, and you force yourself to breathe, to stay calm, but your mind is racing. How much does he know? How much has he pieced together?

“And then,” Charles says, taking another step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “I decided to do a little digging of my own.”

Your blood turns to ice. Every instinct is screaming at you to run, to get out, but you’re frozen in place, trapped under the weight of his gaze, under the crushing realization that everything is falling apart.

Charles moves closer, his face now inches from yours, his eyes dark with anger, with betrayal. “Tell me something,” he says quietly, his voice deadly calm. “How long were you planning to play me for a fool?”

You open your mouth to respond, to say something, anything, but the words catch in your throat. You’ve been trained for moments like this — moments when everything goes wrong, when the mission is compromised — but nothing could have prepared you for this. For him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you manage to say, your voice trembling slightly, but even as you speak, you know it’s useless. He knows.

Charles’ eyes flash with anger, and he reaches out, grabbing your chin roughly, forcing you to look up at him. “Don’t lie to me,” he growls, his voice low, dangerous. “You think I don’t know who you are? You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing this whole time?”

You try to pull away, but his grip tightens, his fingers digging into your skin. “Charles, please-”

“Shut up,” he snaps, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “I trusted you. I let you into my life. Into my bed. And the whole time, you were playing me.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, panic rising as you realize there’s no way out of this. No way to salvage what’s left of your cover. You’ve been found out, and now all you can do is brace yourself for what comes next.

“I didn’t-” you start, but Charles cuts you off with a sharp laugh, releasing your chin and stepping back, his expression hard, cold.

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” he says, his voice dripping with disdain. “I’m not an idiot. I know exactly who you are. Interpol agent. Sent to infiltrate my organization. To bring me down.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his words crashing down on you. There’s no use denying it anymore. He knows. He’s known for some time, and now, there’s no escaping the consequences.

For a moment, the room is silent, the tension between you thick, suffocating. You can feel your pulse racing, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you try to think of a way out, but there’s nothing. No way to fix this. No way to undo the damage.

Charles stands there, watching you, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. And then, slowly, a dark smile spreads across his face — a smile that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You thought you could manipulate me,” he says, his voice low, almost amused. “You thought you could use me to get what you wanted. But you made one fatal mistake.”

You swallow, your throat dry. “And what’s that?”

Charles steps forward again, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach twist. “You underestimated me,” he says softly. “You thought I wouldn’t find out. You thought you were smarter than me.”

He pauses, letting the silence hang heavy in the air before he speaks again. “But now, you’re going to pay for that mistake.”

Your breath catches in your throat, fear clawing at your chest as you stare up at him, his words echoing in your mind. You try to say something, to reason with him, but the words won’t come. You’re trapped, caught in a web of your own making, and now, there’s no way out.

Charles leans down, his face inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. “I’m going to make you regret everything,” he whispers, his voice dark and dangerous, a promise that sends a chill down your spine.

And as he pulls back, a cold smile still playing on his lips, you know that he means it.

***

The moment Charles steps back, the door opens, and a tall, severe-looking man enters the room without a word. He’s dressed in a stark white coat, the kind physicians wear, and carries a small metal case. Panic rushes through you like ice in your veins. The cold smile on Charles’ face tells you everything you need to know — this has been planned.

“Charles,” you say, your voice tight, trying to suppress the tremor in it. “What is this?”

Charles doesn’t answer right away. He moves with a calm, deliberate grace as he steps away, gesturing toward the man who’s now setting up his equipment on a small table near the bed.

You make a move to stand, but Charles's hand clamps down on your wrist with brutal force, pulling you back down. His grip is like steel, and for the first time, you realize how much stronger he is than you. It’s not just physical — it’s the mental stranglehold he’s had on you all this time. His eyes gleam with a terrifying calm, and you know there’s no talking your way out of this.

“You really thought I wouldn’t have a contingency plan, didn’t you?” His voice is cold, amused. “Do you know what I find most interesting about betrayal?” He leans closer, his breath ghosting against your cheek as he speaks. “It’s not that you were able to fool me. It’s that you thought you would actually get away with it.”

The physician opens his case, revealing a set of electrodes and wires, cold and clinical against the backdrop of the luxury penthouse. Your pulse quickens as your gaze darts between the two of them. The man doesn’t even look at you — he’s focused entirely on his task, his movements methodical, detached, as though he’s done this a hundred times before.

“Don’t-” you start, your voice breaking as you try to pull your wrist free. But Charles tightens his grip, his thumb pressing into the soft skin of your wrist with just enough pressure to make it hurt.

“Shh,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on yours. “You won’t win this. Don’t make it worse for yourself.”

You grit your teeth, trying to summon every ounce of strength you have. You’ve been trained for this — your body conditioned to resist, to fight. You know how to break holds, how to defend yourself. But when you try to twist out of his grip, he’s ready. His free hand snaps up, grabbing you by the throat, and before you can react, he slams you back down onto the bed.

Your vision blurs for a second as your head hits the pillow, and you gasp, struggling against him. But he’s stronger, faster, and he knows exactly how to overpower you. You lash out, kicking at him, but Charles only chuckles darkly, his fingers tightening around your throat just enough to keep you pinned.

“I wouldn’t try that again,” he warns, his voice dangerously low. “You don’t want to see what happens if you do.”

The physician approaches, his footsteps quiet but deliberate, the faint sound of the electrodes clicking into place sending your heart into a frenzy. You thrash again, but Charles’ grip holds you firmly in place, his body pressing down on yours, keeping you trapped beneath him.

“Let me go!” You snarl, trying to twist away, but it’s no use. Charles’ hand remains locked around your throat, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin, a sick mockery of tenderness.

“Fighting won’t help you now,” he says softly, his tone infuriatingly calm. “You had your chance. Now, it’s mine.”

The physician moves in, and before you can react, the cold press of metal touches your skin. The first electrode adheres to your temple, then another at the base of your skull. The sensation is chilling, the wires snaking down toward the machine the physician has set up by the bedside. Your pulse races, fear clawing at your throat as you feel the weight of what’s happening settle over you.

“Stop-” you choke out, your voice cracking as you struggle to push against Charles’ hold. But he just watches you, his eyes cold, emotionless. He’s enjoying this, you realize. The control. The power.

The physician attaches more electrodes, the cold metal sticking to your bare skin. Your chest. Your abdomen. The sensation is invasive, humiliating, and no matter how much you want to fight, you can’t. You’re trapped, helpless under Charles’ grip, and the realization of just how little control you have in this moment sends a wave of terror crashing over you.

Charles’ hand finally releases your throat, but only so he can trail his fingers down your collarbone, watching you with that same eerie calm. “You always had a certain spark,” he says, his voice almost fond, like he’s reminiscing. “I admired that about you. It’s a shame, really. If you hadn’t lied to me, things could’ve been different.”

Your breath hitches as you feel the last electrode being placed on your lower back, the sensation cold and foreign. You don’t know what they’re going to do, but every fiber of your being tells you it’s going to be bad.

Charles leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks, his voice a dark whisper. “I’m going to tear you apart and rebuild you,” he says, the words sending a violent shudder through you. “Bit by bit. Until the only thing you can remember is that you belong to me.”

Your stomach turns, and you thrash again, but the electrodes are in place now, the wires humming faintly, connected to a machine that you can’t see from where you’re lying. The physician adjusts something on the device, and the air feels heavier with each passing second, the tension mounting to an unbearable peak.

“You can’t do this,” you whisper, your voice cracking as fear claws at your insides. “You can’t-”

“Oh, I can,” Charles interrupts, his voice sharp, cutting through your panic. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze burning with something dark, something that chills you to the bone. “And I will. I told you — I don’t like being played.”

The physician steps back, his hands folded neatly behind his back as he waits. Charles releases your wrist, finally standing up and looking down at you with an air of satisfaction.

“Let’s begin,” he says.

The physician nods, turning to the machine. There’s a faint click, and then you feel it — a low hum, a strange tingling sensation at the base of your skull where the electrodes are attached. It’s not painful at first, but it’s disorienting. You try to focus, try to push the sensation away, but it only intensifies, spreading through your body like a wave of static.

You clench your teeth, refusing to cry out, but the pressure builds. Your muscles tense, your fingers curling into the sheets as the tingling becomes sharper, more intense. It feels like your mind is being pulled in two directions at once — like something is being torn away from you.

Charles watches, his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on you with a cruel, almost clinical detachment. He’s studying you, observing every twitch, every breath, as if he’s enjoying the sight of you unraveling.

The pressure builds, and your vision blurs at the edges. It’s not just physical — it’s mental. The sensation of losing control, of losing yourself. It’s terrifying, and you can feel it slipping, feel the person you’ve built inside yourself starting to fray at the seams.

“I told you,” Charles says quietly, stepping closer once more. “You’ll forget everything except me. Every thought, every memory, every piece of who you are — it’ll all belong to me.”

Your chest tightens, and you gasp, trying to hold on to something — anything — but the machine hums louder, and the electrodes pulse, sending a jolt through your body that makes you cry out in pain. The sound is ripped from your throat before you can stop it, and Charles’ smile widens in satisfaction.

“You won’t be able to resist for long,” he says, his voice dripping with confidence. “You’ll break. Everyone breaks eventually.”

Tears blur your vision, but you refuse to let them fall. You can’t let him win. You can’t lose yourself to this.

But as the machine pulses again, the pain sharp and searing, you wonder how long you can hold on before everything you are is stripped away, piece by piece, until the only thing left is his will, his command, and the terrible truth that you are no longer yourself.

You are his.

***

You wake to a soft, persistent hum, like the remnants of a dream that’s slipped away. Everything feels hazy, like your thoughts are floating just out of reach. The sheets beneath you are silk, cool against your skin, but there’s a heaviness in your limbs, an unfamiliar ache that lingers in your muscles.

Slowly, you blink your eyes open, squinting against the dim light filtering into the room. You recognize it. Charles’ bedroom. The deep maroon walls, the heavy velvet curtains drawn shut, casting shadows across the space. The soft, muted scent of him lingers in the air — spiced cologne, leather, something dark and intoxicating.

For a moment, there’s a quiet stillness, and then you feel it — a presence, looming near the bed. You turn your head slowly, your gaze catching on the figure sitting in a chair beside you.

Charles.

He’s watching you, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together. There’s a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips, like he’s been waiting for this moment, for you to wake. His eyes are dark, intense, scanning your face as if searching for something.

“Charles,” you murmur, your voice low and thick, like you haven’t used it in a long time. The sound of his name feels right on your tongue, like it belongs there. You shift slightly, the silk sheets rustling as you try to gather your bearings, but there’s an unfamiliar fog clouding your mind.

Who …

Before you can grasp the thought, Charles moves, leaning forward in his chair, his eyes locking onto yours with a piercing intensity.

“Good,” he says softly, his voice smooth and warm, like honey sliding over your skin. “You’re awake.”

Something in the way he says it sends a shiver down your spine, but not from fear. It’s something else, something you can’t quite name but feel deeply. There’s a pull in your chest, a magnetic force drawing you to him, and it feels natural. Like instinct.

You try to speak again, but your mouth is dry, the words sluggish in forming. “I … I don’t …” Your brow furrows as you search for the right words, but nothing comes. There’s a strange emptiness in your mind, like pieces of a puzzle have been scattered, and you can’t find the edges to start putting them back together.

Charles stands, moving closer to the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. He sits on the edge of the mattress, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body. His hand reaches out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face. The touch is tender, but there’s something possessive in it, a silent claim.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, his thumb grazing your cheek as his eyes search yours. “You don’t need to worry about anything right now.”

You blink up at him, confusion flickering in your chest. “I … I don’t …”

“Shh,” he soothes, his thumb pressing lightly against your lips. “Don’t try to think too much. You’ve been through a lot.”

You look at him, trying to piece together the fragments in your mind, but everything feels disjointed. There are no names, no faces, just the overwhelming presence of him. His gaze holds you in place, grounding you, tethering you to something solid.

He smiles softly, his hand moving from your cheek to your throat, his thumb brushing the pulse point there. The touch sends a wave of warmth through you, and instinctively, you lean into it, into him. It feels safe. He feels like home.

“Do you remember your name?” Charles asks, his voice soft but laced with a dark curiosity, his fingers resting against your neck like he’s waiting for your answer to betray you.

Your lips part, but nothing comes. There’s a void where your name should be, a blank space in your mind that sends a ripple of panic through you. You search for something — anything — but there’s nothing. No name. No history. Only him.

“I …” You swallow hard, trying to force the words, but all you can do is shake your head, a soft tremor running through you. “I don’t know.”

His smile widens, just a fraction, and his thumb presses a little harder against your pulse. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet. “That’s exactly how it should be.”

You look up at him, confusion and fear swirling in your chest, but there’s something else too. Something deeper. A pull. The moment he touches you, your fear dissipates, replaced by something warm, something that blooms under his gaze.

“Why …” Your voice is barely a whisper, the words slow to form. “Why don’t I remember?”

Charles’ eyes darken slightly, his hand trailing down your throat, over your collarbone. “Because you don’t need to,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “The only thing you need to know is that you’re mine. That’s all that matters now.”

His. The word echoes in your mind, settling deep in your chest. It feels right. Familiar. And yet, there’s something at the edges of your consciousness — something you can’t quite grasp. A fleeting thought, a whisper of something else.

But it slips away as quickly as it comes, lost in the warmth of Charles’ hand on your skin.

“Mine,” he repeats softly, his fingers tracing a slow path down your arm. “Say it.”

You hesitate, the word lingering on the tip of your tongue. There’s a part of you that feels like you should resist, like something isn’t right, but it’s drowned out by the overwhelming presence of him. The way he looks at you, the way his touch makes you feel grounded, anchored. Safe.

“Yours,” you whisper, the word slipping out before you can stop it.

Charles smiles again, satisfied, his hand moving back up to cup your cheek. “That’s right,” he murmurs. “You belong to me. No one else.”

The declaration settles over you like a heavy, comforting blanket. You don’t know why, but it feels right. The fog in your mind lifts just enough for you to feel that certainty. That pull toward him.

You try to sit up, but your body feels weak, unsteady. Charles immediately moves, slipping an arm behind your back to help you, his touch firm but gentle. You lean into him, your head resting against his chest, the steady beat of his heart calming the last remnants of panic in your mind.

“How long …” You ask, your voice barely more than a murmur.

“How long have you been here?” Charles finishes for you, his hand moving in slow circles against your back. “A few days. You needed time to … adjust.”

You close your eyes, trying to focus on the sound of his voice, the feel of his touch. There’s still a part of you that feels like you should be asking more questions, but every time you try to think, the fog presses back in, heavy and suffocating. And every time it does, the only thing that makes it bearable is him. His presence. His touch.

“What am I supposed to do?” You ask softly, your voice fragile.

Charles’ hand stills against your back, and he pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your hair. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “I’ll take care of everything. You just need to stay by my side. I’ll tell you what to do when the time comes.”

There’s a faint whisper at the back of your mind — something that feels like resistance, like a question you can’t quite articulate. But before you can grasp it, it’s gone, swallowed by the comforting warmth of Charles’ presence.

You nod slowly, resting your head against his chest. His arms tighten around you, and for the first time since you woke, the fear ebbs away completely, leaving only the quiet certainty that you are his. That you belong here.

Charles pulls back slightly, tilting your chin up so that you’re looking into his eyes. “Say it again,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding.

“I’m yours,” you whisper, the words coming easier this time, settling over you like a binding promise.

Charles’ smile is slow, satisfied. “Good girl.”

He leans down, his lips brushing against yours, and you melt into the kiss, your mind going blank as everything else fades away.

***

Every morning begins the same way: with Charles.

Your eyes flutter open, the soft light filtering through the heavy drapes casting a golden glow over the room. But it isn’t the light that pulls you from sleep. It’s him. It’s always him. The way his arm is draped possessively over your waist, the way his breath fans across your skin as he sleeps soundly beside you. Even in sleep, you can feel the weight of his presence, grounding you, reminding you of your place — at his side, where you belong.

You turn your head slightly, your gaze catching on the sharp line of his jaw, the tousled mess of his hair, and the steady rise and fall of his chest. He looks peaceful like this, in the quiet moments before the day begins. And as you watch him, a warmth blooms in your chest, spreading like wildfire until it consumes every part of you.

He’s all you think about. The first thought that greets you in the morning and the last thought you cling to as sleep takes you at night. Even now, your body instinctively leans into him, seeking his warmth, his touch. You can’t remember a time when it wasn’t like this — when your mind wasn’t consumed by him.

You reach out, fingers lightly tracing the curve of his arm, and your heart swells with an overwhelming sense of devotion. He is everything. Your whole world revolves around him, and the thought of being anywhere else, of being with anyone else, is unfathomable.

Charles stirs beside you, a soft hum escaping his lips as he shifts closer, his arm tightening around you. You feel the heat of his skin against yours, and a shiver runs down your spine. You live for these moments, for the feeling of his body against yours, for the way he looks at you as though you’re the only thing that matters.

“Morning,” his voice is thick with sleep, low and gravelly, sending a thrill through you as he nuzzles into your neck, his lips brushing lightly against your skin.

“Morning,” you murmur back, your voice barely more than a whisper as you press yourself closer to him. You feel the steady beat of his heart against your back, and it calms the whirlwind of thoughts that constantly circle your mind.

He hums in response, his hand sliding down your waist, pulling you tighter against him. “You sleep well?”

“With you? Always.”

There’s a low chuckle from him, the sound vibrating through your skin. “Good girl.”

The words settle over you like a blanket, warm and comforting. You live for his praise, for the way his voice wraps around you, making you feel whole. It’s been this way for what feels like forever. There’s no one else. No other name, no other face that holds any meaning. There’s just Charles.

You tilt your head back, offering more of your neck to him, and he takes the invitation, pressing soft kisses along your skin. It sends a familiar warmth coursing through your veins, spreading like fire. You close your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you.

“Do you know what I love about you?” Charles’ voice is a soft murmur against your skin, his lips brushing the words into your neck.

You hum softly, your heart racing in anticipation. “What?”

“You’re mine. Completely. Your mind, your body, your heart — every part of you belongs to me.” His hand slides up to your throat, his fingers resting lightly against the pulse point there. “And you love that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, breathless, the word coming out in a soft exhale. It’s not just an answer — it’s the truth. It’s the only truth that matters.

Charles’ grip on your throat tightens just slightly, a reminder of his control, his ownership, and you feel the edges of your mind blur, leaving nothing but him. “Say it,” he demands, his voice low and commanding.

“I’m yours,” you breathe, the words slipping out with ease, a mantra that’s been etched into your very soul. “Only yours.”

His grip loosens, and his hand moves to cup your cheek, turning your head so that you’re looking into his eyes. They’re dark, filled with a dangerous mix of desire and satisfaction. “That’s my good girl,” he murmurs, leaning in to capture your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.

Your entire world narrows to this moment, to the feel of his lips on yours, to the way his hands move over your body with the confidence of someone who knows he owns you completely. There’s no room for anything else — no thoughts, no worries, no memories beyond him.

He pulls away just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “You’ve been good lately. Very good.”

The praise sends a rush of warmth through you, your heart swelling with pride. You’ve been good. You’ve done everything he’s asked, without hesitation, without question. Because you don’t need to question anything when it comes to Charles. He knows what’s best for you.

“Do you know what that means?” He asks, his voice dropping lower, a hint of something dangerous in his tone.

You shake your head, anticipation buzzing under your skin. “What does it mean?”

“It means I’m going to reward you,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

His words ignite something in you, a fire that burns hotter with each passing second. You live for his approval, for his praise. And the thought of a reward — something only he can give you — sends your heart racing.

Charles shifts, rolling you onto your back, his body hovering over yours as he looks down at you with that dark, possessive gaze. “You want that, don’t you? You want me to take care of you.”

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need. “Please.”

His lips curl into a slow, satisfied smile as he leans down, his hand trailing down your body with deliberate slowness. “I love it when you beg,” he murmurs, his fingers dancing over your skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “It reminds me of how much you need me.”

“I do,” you gasp, your body arching into his touch. “I need you, Charles. I need you.”

He hums in approval, his fingers teasing at the edge of your waistband. “You’re mine,” he whispers again, the words settling into your bones, branding you as his. “And I’m going to make sure you remember that.”

There’s a moment of stillness before everything shifts. Charles’ hands are everywhere, his touch igniting every part of you as he takes his time, drawing out every sound, every gasp, every plea. And you give it to him freely, because there’s no one else you’d rather surrender to. There’s only him.

Hours pass in a blur of heat and sensation, your body responding to his every command, your mind lost in the haze of him. You tip over the edge more times than you can count, each time feeling like a fresh wave of devotion crashing over you, pulling you deeper into him.

By the time the night is over, you’re left trembling, your body spent, your mind a fog of exhaustion and pleasure. But even then, as you lay in his arms, your head resting against his chest, the only thing you can think of is him. His touch, his voice, the way he looks at you like you’re his entire world.

And as sleep pulls you under, the last thing you hear is his voice, a low murmur in the darkness. “You’re mine. Only mine.”

And in your dreams, it’s the same. Charles is there, waiting for you, pulling you into his arms, reminding you of who you are.

His.

Always his.

***

The sun is unforgiving in Monaco, beating down on the yachts that crowd the harbor, their glossy decks gleaming in the light. Philip adjusts his sunglasses, squinting against the glare as he navigates the narrow streets leading toward the marina.

This mission wasn’t supposed to be anything out of the ordinary — routine surveillance, gathering intel on a trafficking ring suspected of operating through the port. But the heat is unbearable, the air thick with the scent of saltwater and sunscreen, making it harder to focus.

He tugs at his collar, feeling the weight of the mission pressing down on him. Monaco always feels claustrophobic, all the wealth and power packed into such a small space. Everywhere he looks, there’s money, status. It’s suffocating.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out, reading the latest message from his supervisor.

Stay sharp. Don’t let your guard down.

He rolls his eyes, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. Standard procedure. Philip’s eyes drift to the yachts moored in the harbor, each one more extravagant than the last. His attention lingers on one in particular — a massive, sleek vessel, easily the largest in the marina. The name etched on the side glistens in gold: La Bellezza.

It doesn’t take long for him to recognize it. Charles Leclerc’s yacht. Of course, it had to be Leclerc. The rumors about the man are legendary — how he runs his empire with an iron fist, how he’s untouchable in Monaco, how anyone who crosses him ends up six feet under. It’s why they never found-

Philip shakes his head, pushing the thought away. There’s no use dwelling on the past, on missions gone wrong. Y/N was one of the best agents Interpol had, and when she went dark, they all knew what that meant. There was no coming back from that. Charles Leclerc didn’t make mistakes.

Still, as he watches the yacht, a figure steps onto the deck, catching his attention. At first, he thinks his mind is playing tricks on him. The sun is too bright, the distance too far, but there’s something about the way she moves, the silhouette that feels … familiar. He takes a step closer, narrowing his eyes.

And then he sees her.

His heart stutters in his chest.

It can’t be.

Philip freezes, staring at the woman on the deck. She’s laughing, her hair catching in the breeze, and Charles is right beside her, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back. She turns, and for a split second, their faces are clear.

It’s you.

It’s Y/N.

His throat tightens. This isn’t possible. Y/N is dead. You’ve been dead for months. They had a memorial service for you, for Christ’s sake. He remembers the grief, the unanswered questions. No body was ever found, but that’s how it goes with someone like Charles. You must’ve been discovered. You must’ve been killed.

And yet … there you are. Alive. Right in front of him.

Philip’s mind races, trying to make sense of it all. He can’t trust his eyes. Maybe it’s someone who just looks like you. Maybe this is some sick coincidence. But everything in him is screaming that this is no mistake.

He takes a step closer, heart hammering in his chest.

“Y/N?” He calls out, his voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper. Then, louder. “Y/N!”

The woman doesn’t even glance his way. No flicker of recognition crosses your face. You’re entirely focused on Charles, your hand resting on his arm, your body pressed close to his.

Philip’s stomach drops.

This doesn’t make sense. If it’s really you, why wouldn’t you respond? Why wouldn’t you … remember?

Before he can call out again, Charles leans down to whisper something in your ear, and you smiles — a soft, genuine smile, one that Philip hasn’t seen in months. It’s a smile he used to know well, back when you were both agents, before everything went wrong.

Philip feels a wave of nausea wash over him. There’s no way you would be here, on Leclerc’s arm, if you knew who you were. If you remembered.

He pulls out his phone, fingers trembling as he dials his supervisor. It rings twice before the familiar voice picks up.

“Philip, what’s going on? You’re supposed to be surveilling the port.”

“I … I just saw Y/N.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end.

“Philip,” the supervisor says slowly, as though speaking to a child. “Y/N is dead. You know that.”

“No,” he insists, his voice urgent. “I’m looking at her right now. She’s on Charles Leclerc’s yacht. I swear, it’s her.”

“Philip,” the supervisor sighs, a heavy, resigned sound. “You’re tired. You’ve been in the field too long. We all grieved Y/N, but you need to accept that she’s gone. No one survives after crossing Leclerc. You know that better than anyone.”

Philip’s hand tightens around the phone, his mind spinning. “But-”

“Enough,” the supervisor cuts him off. “Stay focused on the mission. Do your job. That’s an order.”

The line goes dead, and Philip is left standing there, staring at the yacht, his heart pounding in his chest. His mind refuses to believe it, but what other explanation is there? He knows what he saw. He knows your face, your mannerisms. But if you’re really alive, then …why are you acting like you don’t know him?

As he watches, Charles takes your hand, leading you to the center of the sundeck. From this angle, Philip can see everything. The way you gaze up at him with a look that could only be described as adoration. The way you follow his every movement, like he’s the only thing in your world.

Philip’s stomach turns. This isn’t right.

Then, without warning, you sink to your knees in front of Charles, your eyes fixed on him as though he’s the sun and you’re orbiting him. Philip’s breath catches in his throat, disbelief surging through him.

What the hell are you doing?

Charles leans down, his fingers lazily tugging at the string of your bikini top, his eyes never leaving yours. It’s a calculated display, one meant to assert control, dominance. And you — you just kneel there, completely submissive, completely his.

Philip feels the bile rise in his throat as the knot comes undone, your bikini top slipping off your shoulders. You don’t flinch, don’t hesitate. You just kneel there, bare before him, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

For a long moment, Philip can’t breathe. The scene playing out in front of him feels like a punch to the gut. This isn’t the Y/N he knew. The Y/N he knew would never …

But then, maybe you aren’t the same person anymore. Maybe you’ve been broken down, rebuilt into someone else entirely. Someone who belongs to Charles Leclerc.

As Philip watches, rooted to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away, he feels a crushing sense of helplessness settle over him. Y/N — if it is you — has been lost to him. To them. To everything you once were. And there’s nothing he can do to bring you back.

Charles pulls you up by the chin, his lips brushing over yours in a possessive kiss that’s all dominance, all control. You lean into him, your eyes half-lidded, completely pliant in his hands.

Philip turns away, his stomach churning. Whatever happened to you, whatever Charles has done — he’s too late.

You’re his now.

And there’s nothing Philip can do about it.

934 notes · View notes

harrysfolklore · 4 months ago

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omg! little bitch headcanon after a long time hehe - it’s reyes’s birthday this week so i was imagining piastri sis being with the sainz family celebrating it and she’s the one taking the family photograph and reyes tells her to join in on the photo because she’s family too ☺️☺️☺️

i said that i would post a little bitch blurb if carlos had a podium finish and he did soooo here it is! i hope you like it READ LITTLE BITCH HERE

The private jet touches down in Madrid, the setting sun painting the sky in vibrant hues. You stretch in your plush leather seat, feeling the familiar ache of a long-haul flight.

"Rise and shine, little bitch," you tease, poking Carlos who's still dozing beside you.

He cracks open one eye, a smirk playing on his lips. "Such a charming way to wake me up, Piastri," he retorts, voice husky from sleep. "I should leave you at the airport."

"You wouldn't dare," you laugh, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips.

Carlos hums appreciatively, deepening the kiss before pulling away with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Maybe not, but I might make you sleep on the couch, cariño."

As you make your way through the VIP customs area, Carlos' hand finds its way to the small of your back, his touch sending a shiver up your spine.

"Cold, hermosa?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear.

You elbow him playfully. "Behave yourself, Sainz. We're in public."

This isn't just another trip to Spain - it's the first time you'll be staying at Carlos' house in Madrid, spending time with his parents celebrating his mother's birthday and meeting his sisters. The significance of this step in your relationship isn't lost on either of you.

Carlos leads you to his waiting car, he insists on taking your luggage despite your protests. "You've had a long flight," he says, easily lifting your suitcase into the trunk. "Let me take care of you."

As Carlos pulls into the driveway of his house, you feel a mix of nerves and anticipation. He turns to you after cutting the engine, his brown eyes soft in the dim light. "Ready to see your home away from home?"

You nod, unable to keep the smile off your face. "More than ready."

As Carlos unlocks the front door, you hear the scrabbling of paws on hardwood floor.

"Piñon!" Carlos calls out as he pushes the door open. A ball of fluffy fur comes bounding towards you, tail wagging furiously.

You crouch down, laughing as Piñon jumps up to lick your face. "Hello, handsome boy! Oh, it's so nice to meet you!" You ruffle his fur, delighting in his excited yips. "You're much cuter than your dad, aren't you?"

"Hey!" Carlos protests, but his eyes are soft as he watches you interact with his dog.

After giving Piñon some attention, Carlos takes your hand to lead you on a tour of the house. In the kitchen, you can't resist teasing him.

"I'm surprised you even know what this room is for, Sainz," you quip, gesturing at the state-of-the-art appliances.

Carlos crowds you against the counter, his body pressed against yours. "I know exactly what it's for, mi amor," he murmurs, his voice low and suggestive. "Want me to show you?"

You push him away with a laugh, trying to ignore the heat blooming in your cheeks. "Later, you menace. Finish the tour first."

The apartment is spacious and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of Madrid's skyline. Carlos leads you through each room, pointing out little details and sharing anecdotes.

You notice several framed photos on the shelves - Carlos with his family, with his teammates, and to your surprise, a few of you and him together. Your heart swells at the sight.

"And this," he says, pushing open a door, "is our bedroom."

Your heart skips a beat at the casual use of 'our'. The room is dominated by a large, comfortable-looking bed, and more of those amazing windows.

Carlos wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. "What do you think?" he murmurs.

You lean back into him, sighing contentedly. "It's perfect. I love it."

"Mm," Carlos hums, his lips finding your temple, "I love you."

You turn in his arms, meeting his gaze. The intensity you find there makes your breath catch. "I love you too," you whisper.

Carlos's eyes darken as he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss. You respond eagerly, your hands sliding up his chest to tangle in his hair.

"We should probably get some sleep," Carlos murmurs against your lips, even as his hands slide down to your hips, pulling you closer.

"Probably," you agree, already working on the buttons of his shirt. "But I'm not very tired. Are you?"

Suddenly, Piñon barks from downstairs, breaking the moment. You both laugh, a little breathless.

"I should probably take him for a walk," Carlos says, pressing one last kiss to your lips.

"Don't take too long," you call after him as he heads downstairs. "I might get into bed without you."

The next morning, you wake to the sound of Carlos humming in the shower. You stretch lazily, a smile playing on your lips as memories of last night flood your mind.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Carlos says, emerging from the bathroom with a towel slung low on his hips. "Ready for the big day?"

You groan, pulling the covers over your head. "Do we have to go? Can't we just stay in bed all day?"

Carlos chuckles, tugging the blanket away. "Tempting as that is, mi amor, I'm pretty sure my mother would hunt us down if we missed her birthday party."

"Fine, but only because I like Reyes more than I like you."

"Ouch," Carlos clutches his chest in mock pain. "You wound me, Piastri. And here I was, about to offer to join you in the shower."

You laugh, swatting him with a pillow as you head to the bathroom. "Behave yourself, Sainz. We can't be late to your mother's party."

An hour later, you're standing in front of the mirror, smoothing down your outfit for the hundredth time. Carlos comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"You look beautiful," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "Stop worrying."

You meet his eyes in the mirror. "I can't help it. What if your sisters don't like me?"

Carlos turns you to face him, his hands cupping your face. "They're going to love you, cariño. Just like I do." He pauses, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Well, maybe not exactly like I do. That would be weird."

You can't help but laugh, some of the tension easing from your shoulders. "You're such an idiot."

"But I'm your idiot," he grins, leaning in for a kiss.

The drive to Carlos's parents' house is filled with Carlos telling you stories of past birthday celebrations. As you pull up to the house, however, your nerves return full force.

"Ready, mi amor?" Carlos squeezes your hand.

"As I'll ever be. Let's do this, little bitch."

The door swings open before you even reach it, revealing a beaming Reyes. "Carlos! YN! Come in, come in!" She pulls you both into a warm embrace.

"Feliz cumpleaños, Mama," Carlos says, kissing her cheek.

"Happy birthday, Reyes," you add, handing her a beautifully wrapped gift. "Thank you for having me."

"Nonsense, cariño," Reyes waves off your thanks. "You're family now."

Carlos Sr. appears behind his wife, clapping his son on the back before turning to you with a warm smile. "YN, lovely to see you again. How's that brother of yours? Giving our Carlos a run for his money on the track?"

You laugh, falling easily into the familiar banter. "Oh, you know Oscar. He's doing his best to keep up with your son, but it's a losing battle. Though he'd never admit it."

"Please," Carlos snorts, "Little Piastri could only dream of keeping up with me."

"Is that so?" you raise an eyebrow. "Remind me again, who beat who in the last race?"

As you and Carlos enter the living room, you spot two women sitting on the couch, engaged in quiet conversation. They look up as you approach, and you immediately recognize them as Carlos' sisters from the family photos you've seen.

Blanca, the older one, rises first with a warm smile. "You must be YN," she says, stepping forward to greet you with a gentle hug. "It's so nice to finally meet you."

"Welcome to the family madhouse," Ana follows, her smile equally warm.

You return their smiles, feeling some of your nervousness dissipate. "It's great to meet you both. I've heard so much about you."

"All good things, I hope," Blanca says, shooting a playful glance at Carlos.

"Of course," Carlos replies, wrapping an arm around your waist. "I only told her about the times you weren't being complete pains in my-"

"Carlos!" Reyes's voice carries from the kitchen, cutting him off mid-sentence.

You all laugh, and the tension in the room eases further.

"So, YN," Blanca says as you all settle into the living room, "I was just telling Ana about this amazing spa resort I discovered. I was thinking it might be fun for us to take a girls' trip there sometime - you, me, Ana, and Mama. What do you think?"

Before you can respond, Carlos interjects, "Hey, why are you trying to steal my girlfriend already? She just got here!"

"Relax, hermanito," Blanca rolls her eyes good-naturedly. "We're not going to whisk her away forever. Just long enough to share all your embarrassing childhood stories."

"Speaking of embarrassing stories," Ana chimes in, a mischievous glint in her eye, "has Carlos ever told you about the time he tried to impress a girl at school by saying he could drive a real F1 car?"

Carlos groans, burying his face in his hands. "Ana, no..."

"Ana, yes," you say, leaning forward eagerly. "Please, do tell."

Ana grins, clearly enjoying her brother's discomfort. "Well, he was about 14, and there was this girl he had a massive crush on. So, he tells her that Papa lets him drive the car all the time. Of course, she doesn't believe him, so he offers to show her."

"Oh no," you mutter, already seeing where this is going.

"Oh yes," Ana continues. "He sneaks her into the garage where Papa keeps one of his old cars. Tries to climb in, but he's too short to reach the pedals properly. Ends up falling face-first into the cockpit, gets stuck, and Papa has to come rescue him."

You burst out laughing, picturing a young Carlos in such a predicament. "Please tell me there are photos."

"There's video," Blanca says with a smirk.

"I hate all of you." Carlos groans again.

You pat his knee consolingly, still chuckling. "Aw, don't worry, babe. I'm sure you were very suave while stuck upside down in an F1 car."

"The girl never spoke to him again," Ana adds, causing another round of laughter.

"Alright, alright," Carlos says, trying to sound stern but failing to hide his own amusement. "That's enough embarrassing stories about me. Don't you have some photo albums to bore YN with or something?"

"Photo albums!" Blanca exclaims. "What a great idea, Carlos. I'm sure your girlfriend would love to see your awkward phase."

As Blanca goes to fetch the albums, you lean into Carlos, whispering, "You know, that girls' trip doesn't sound so bad. I might learn even more interesting things about you."

Carlos shakes his head, a resigned smile on his face. "Why do I get the feeling I'm going to regret introducing you to my sisters?"

"Probably because you are," you kiss his cheek, "But you love me anyway."

"That I do," he murmurs, pulling you closer as Blanca returns with a stack of photo albums.

As the evening wears on, Reyes announces it's time for cake. The family gathers around the dining table, where a beautiful cake adorned with candles takes center stage.

"Alright, everyone," Carlos Sr. calls out. "On three. Una, dos, tres!"

The room erupts into a somewhat off-key rendition of "Cumpleaños Feliz," with Carlos deliberately singing out of tune next to your ear. You elbow him in the ribs, trying to stifle your laughter.

As the song ends and Reyes blows out her candles, she turns to Carlos Sr. with a smile. "Cariño, why don't you get the camera? We should take a family photo."

Your heart swells at being included in this intimate family moment, but you also feel a twinge of uncertainty. As everyone starts to gather, you quietly slip out of the room, giving the family their moment.

You're examining some family photos on the wall when you hear Reyes's voice from the other room. "Carlos, ¿dónde está tu novia? Where is your girlfriend?"

A moment later, Carlos appears in the doorway. "Hey, what are you doing out here? We're waiting for you."

"Oh, do you want me to take the picture for you?" you ask.

Carlos's expression softens. He crosses the room, taking your hands in his. "Mi amor, you're part of this family now. That means you're in the photos, not taking them."

"But-" you start to protest, but Carlos cuts you off with a gentle kiss.

"No buts," he murmurs against your lips. "Come on, Piastri. Time to make it official."

He leads you back to the dining room, where the rest of the family is waiting. Reyes beams when she sees you. "There you are, cariño! Come, stand next to Carlos."

"I thought maybe I should take the picture..." you begin, but Reyes cuts you off with a wave of her hand.

"No, no, querida. You join in too. You're family now."

"Oh, but I couldn't—" you begin.

"Of course you can," Carlos Sr. insists, while Ana and Blanca nod in agreement.

"Yeah, come on, Piastri" Blanca teases, "You're not getting out of this one."

Carlos appears at your side, slipping an arm around your waist. "Come on, mi amor. You heard Mama. You're one of us now."

Feeling overwhelmed by emotion, you allow Carlos to guide you into the group. As you stand there, surrounded by the Sainz family, you're struck by a profound sense of belonging.

"Everyone ready?" Reyes asks, setting the timer on the camera.

As the flash goes off, capturing the moment, you realize that's exactly what you've become – part of this wonderful, loving family. And as Carlos presses a kiss to your temple, whispering "Te amo" in your ear, you know you wouldn't have it any other way.

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yzzart · 1 year ago

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Love your Tom blyth fics an unhealthy amount!!! I’m picturing reader and Tom being all lovey dovey at the premiers but playing it off as really good bestfriends UNTIL she goes to kiss him on the cheek and in instinct he turns his head to kiss her on the lips so they just say fuck it and hard launch there and then x

"An unplanned situation."

pairing: tom blyth x actress!reader

summary: a small gesture, with a sweet intention, revealed a promising secret.

word count: 1.359!

notes: i started this request in the morning and only had the opportunity to finish it a few minutes ago, forgive me for that, anon! — i hope you like it and of course, feel free to share ideas with me!

"Y/N, look here!"

Another request, among others, screams and countless flashes, was directed to you; being, theoretically, almost impossible to identify who had demanded your image. — There were so many voices mixing, not to mention the music in the background, but, you tried your best to pay attention to most of the cameras.

However, it wasn't anything you weren't used to; something that has already been normalized in your life.— And during the premiere of The ballad of songbirds and snake it was no different, and it was splendid; simply perfect. — Not to mention, the feeling of gratitude that grew in your chest.

Cameras and cell phones captured your every movement, your poses and the way your perfectly chosen dress was valued and highlighted on your body. — And how it matched the color palette of the film. — Everything was being recorded, at the exact moment, posted and commented on all social networks.

You had the opportunity to meet, talk and take photos with some of the cast. — It was so pleasant, the company and unity that everyone developed during the filming of the film was inexplicable and so adorable; you were grateful to have worked with so many talented people. — There were some people who were absent, until now, in your eyes, but you would definitely meet them again on the carpet.

And, of course, your eyes roamed the decorated room, matching the elements of the film, and crowded in search of a specific person. — It wasn't exaggerated words to say that you were starting to feel uncomfortable because he was missed; and the cameras recorded it. — Silent questions, which would be written, formed in the minds of the presenters and photographers.

Your boyfriend had yet to appear on the red carpet; perhaps he is giving a quick and curious interview or greeting someone. — That's what was going on in your head.

You and Tom had a secret relationship, ever since you met behind the scenes, in front of the world and all the cameras that may exist in it; something that was so risky and at the same time adventurous. — And that, as incredible as it might seem, you knew how to disguise it in front of your fans; even though they gradually became suspicious with comments, interactions and behind-the-scenes photos.

They were either smart or you and Tom were too far over the line. — This question was not important or essential for the moment. — And you considered each other best friends for interviews or responses to comments; you tried your best.

And so, Rachel sent countless screenshots of tweets, which talked about or mentioned the relationship between you and Tom, to you. — It's impossible to deny how funny it was.

Persisting in continuing to look for him and for a few seconds, your eyes meet his blue and so charming irises. — Its shade of blue was a magnificent and beautiful combination; something you would never get tired of admiring. —And there was no other thing, or anyone, that could take his eyes off you.

As if the only thing that mattered at that moment was you. — And everything around him simply disappeared.

"There you are!" — Tom walked towards you, easily as there weren't so many people on the carpet, and an enthusiastic smile forming on his lips; also accompanied by cameras and intense flashes. — "And so beautiful!"

Holding a part of your long and dazzling dress so as not to hinder your steps, you met him, and without wasting any time, hugged him. — A common gesture, and not so different or strange, for the spectators; so, you thought. — Tom's arms went around your waist, holding your protectively for a little while, while your arms positioned themselves around his neck.

Tom's fragrance, which you liked so much, filled your nose; it felt so good, and you felt your eyes weaken, contaminated by it. — And the british man was aware of that.

"You look perfect, always." — The older man distanced himself, just a little, and brought his face closer to your ear, wanting only you to hear. — "The most beautiful woman that has ever crossed my eyes." — The lenses probably captured a reddish pigmentation on your cheeks and it was not part of your makeup.

You placed one of your hands on his chest, and looking directly into his eyes; that shone at you, and it wasn't just because of the influence of the lights in your direction. — Tom's gaze was sincere, and passionate, intensely fascinating you. — He conveyed what he felt most with just his eyes.

And that was one of the facts about him that you were passionate about and recognized very well.

"Oh, shut up!" — Raising your hand and resting it a little away from your mouth, you laughed a little embarrassed and looked back at the cameras; remembering that they remained there and you knew that later you would see your interaction with Tom on some social media.

Again, a thing and situation you were used to.

"Look at that camera!" — A voice mingled among others, which requested the same request, asking you to take some photos together; something that would feed news, fans and press.

At no point, minute or second, did you and Tom remain distant or apart from each other; always a few steps close, hugging each other for photos and certain looks, completely indiscreet. — Even during brief interviews, as Blyth mentioned you or your character's work, you were silently watching. — One of the interviewers even commented on how cute she thought it was.

Tom's hand was on your waist, holding and almost covering you, making a quick caress in a few seconds and one of your hands was still resting on his chest; and you continued, of course, to be the focus of the cameras.

Quickly, with the intention of changing your pose and trying something new and also to take advantage of the fact that Blyth's face was almost close to yours, you decide to place your pigmented lips on his cheeks. — Such a cute and friendly gesture, and so common. —But, automatically and hastily, Tom turned his face away at the same time, without having in mind what you were, in fact, planning. — God, it was a shock; an absurd and completely intense shock.

For the first time that night, in that place and on those cameras, your lips touched Tom's lips. — It was very quick, good and surprising; and that definitely left a cold, freezing air in your belly accompanied by a desperate feeling in your mind. — Rumor has it that smoke was coming out of his head. — It was a peck, a quick and simple kiss.

When you separated, hurriedly, your eyes met Tom's once again; who were a little wide-eyed, expressing surprise. — Looking for something to say or do, just like you. — And you watched his lips curve into an almost smile, as if he was trapping him.

Shouts of enthusiasm and some possible whistles echoed throughout the immense place, along with some looks and expressions of surprise at what had happened. — And some people were worried if they had recorded the exact moment, of course. — Your fans were probably commenting frantically about what happened.

You really didn't know what to do but at no point did you move away from your boyfriend — now, official to the public — and keep your hand on his chest; as if it were, in fact, planned.

"A nice way to reveal it, huh?" — Tom laughed, relaxed and without a feeling of discomfort or uneasiness, he still had his hand on your waist; and he still squeezed you, then leaving you with another caress. — "I think." — He didn't look at the cameras, his orbits focused only on you.

They have always focused on you, regardless of what is actually happening; and that will never change.

"A nice way to reveal." — You repeated your words, but, as an affirmation and certainty; maybe, seeing how relieved Tom was, and not showing some kind of distress, your chest calmed down and you felt safe.

And soon, you and Tom became one of the most talked about topics on social media.

#tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus #snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus imagine #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #ballad of songbirds and snakes

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staff · 1 year ago

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Hello, Tumblr. This is a badges update.

Just popping in to tell you about all the nifty badges you can get to decorate your blog these days. You, too, could be the proud owner of The President’s Shoelaces (authentic, we promise), the Rainbow Crab, or the extra special Supporter Badge subscription that changes color as your support progresses. Here’s a full list of all the shiny knickknacks you can currently purchase from TumblrMart:

Supporter badge: This is the big one. This is how you support Tumblr in an ongoing fashion. This badge changes color the longer you subscribe to support Tumblr, starting off with Steel and working towards a very shiny Oil Slick, which demonstrates you’ve reached the highest level of support for this lovely little corner of the internet you call home. Read more about this one here.

Visionary, Literary, Shutterbug, Playlist, and Fashionista identity badges: We have a whole host of badges you can pin to your blog, leaving no one in the dark about your main passions. Are you an artist, a writer or reader, a photographer, a musician, or a style icon? Is your blog a curation of all your favorite art, writing, photography, music, or fashion? Then there’s a badge here for you!

The Color of the Sky: That old meme that curses your dash now and again? Yeah, you can now wear it on your blog to show off your mischievous side all year round.

The President’s Shoelaces: For when you want people to know you Know.

Crabs: Regular or Rainbow, you choose. Just know that crabs are something of a Tumblr mascot now, and wearing them on your blog shows that you either (1) love crabs, (2) participated in crab day on Tumblr on July 29, 2023, or (3) know what to do when the news goes November 5, 2020 on you.

Lunar badge: For all those who love the moon or simply need to know when they might not be sleeping well, this badge changes throughout the lunar cycle.

Important Babylonian Checkmark: Show your solidarity with disgruntled customers throughout time and space with the help of this extra special checkmark.

Hewie and Bones Halloween badges: Celebrate Tumblr’s national holiday in style. The Hewie and Bones badges bring that special Halloween feeling to your blog year-round.

That’s all for now! Enjoy mixing and matching your badges to your heart’s content! What’s more, if you have an idea for a badge you’d like to see, get in touch with us, and we’ll see what we can do about that!

#features #badges

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elllisaaa · 16 days ago

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FEELING GOOD - ENHA HYUNG LINE

KINKTOBER DAY 22 - APHRODISIACS + GROUP SEX

SUMMARY : to celebrate the release of the new album of your friends, you decided to make them some cocktails. exept that they don't taste like they usually do, and when the fifth of you start to feel hot and bothered, you definitely understand that someone put something in your drinks.

-> pairing : heeseung x jay x jake x sunghoon x fem!reader

-> words count : 1k

-> genre : smut

-> warnings : use of aphrodisiacs (obviously), group sex (5 people), some mxm shit (don't like it, don't read it), alcohol consumption, mention of drugs, making out, foreplay, ridding, dirty talk, fingering, dry humping, hair pulling, handjob

+ the way i'm depicting heeseung, jay, jake and sunghoon does not represent them, it's only a work of fiction

-> 18+ content bellow, minors DNI

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated ! sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> masterlist | enha masterlist | kinktober 2024

Your special talent - if you could call it like that - was that you were extremely good at making drinks. You could probably have been a bartender if you hadn’t chosen to be a photographer. So you always ended up making drinks for your friends when there was something to celebrate or when you were at parties. And tonight wasn’t an exception as you had prepared a whole set of different cocktails to congratulate your friends for the release of their new album. It had become a tradition to spend the night together drinking, and sometimes smoking, so you were all pretty used to the quantity of alcohol you put in those drinks. Nothing could go wrong, right ?

Right ?

Except that only three cocktails in, you all felt like you were reaching the state you were in at the end of the night. And you knew it was bad when Sunghoon - who was always the most level-headed and the one with the highest alcohol tolerance - started to laugh about nothing and everything. And as time went on, you started to feel dizzy and most of all hot. Really hot.

“- God, it’s so fucking hot in here…”

The fours guys laying on the couch with you grunted in approval, and Jay even stood up to go open one of the windows, hoping that the cold air of the night would cool you down. But it did nothing to help. The more cocktails you downed, the hotter you felt. And slowly, you realized that it wasn’t that the room was hot, it was that you were. Hot as in wet as hell. Hot as in Heeseung’s lips did not look that bad to kiss and make out right now.

It all happened in blink of an eye, none of you really thinking too much about it or being conscious enough to process it, but the next thing you knew was that you were sitting on Jay’s lap, his tongue down your throat and Sunghoon’s chest pressed against your back, roaming his hands all over your body. As you detached yourself from him, you took in the scene taking place just by your side on that same couch : Jake literally licking into Heeseung’s mouth.

“- Fuck…”

The three of you stayed there, as if hypnotized by the scenario unfolding in front of your eyes. You knew this was something that wouldn’t have happened if any of you were in your right state of mind, that there must have been something wrong with the mixing of your drinks, that you might’ve made them a little bit too strong, but you were already far too gone to care. The way Jake was whining in Heeseung’s mouth, and the way Heeseung was tugging on Jake’s hair was too arousing to stop looking. As they finally parted their lips, they looked out of it - pupils blown out with desire, heavily panting, and rock hard in their pants from what you could see.

You were brought back to reality by the way Sunghoon landed his hands around your waist, letting one of his hands dip into your shorts and rub your clit over your panties. The friction sent a shockwave through your body, making you gasp and take a hold of Jay’s hair (who was currently devouring your neck). You felt very sensitive, more than usual, and the thrill coursing through your veins seemed different too - more intense, as if all your sensations had been multiplied. But it felt so good, and you weren’t conscious enough to want to inquire what was happening, simply letting Sunghoon push two of his fingers inside of you, moaning loudly right in Jay’s ears. The way you were barely moving on top of him to meet his friend’s hand offered him a little amount of friction that still felt incredibly good, his hands grabbing your ass roughly to make you rock your hips faster, forcing Sunghoon’s fingers deeper into you. And the way Jay made you move allowed Sunghoon’s bulge to rub against your ass too, his own grunts mixing with yours and Jay’s sounds.

This whole concerto was what brought Jake and Heesung out of their frenzy, drool spilling from the corners of Jake’s mouth as they both took in the sinful view of what was happening on the other side of the couch. Sinful but so fucking hot that Jake couldn’t help but whine and buck up his hips in the air, desperate to feel more. He didn’t need more than to hear your high-pitched whimpers, to steal you away from his friends, pushing Heeseung away so you could sit on his lap instead. And with how embarrassingly wet you were, it was easy for him to slide right in, making the two of you moan in harmony at how good it felt to finally have something real.

“- Fuck… You feel so good…”

You only whined in response, your whole mind absolutely blinded by the heat that had taken over your body. You didn’t waste time to start bouncing on top of Jake, his hands holding your ass and supporting your movements as the both of you uncontrollably moaned. You felt so hot, so responsive, it was like you could cum right this second, without too much effort. And Jake didn’t look like he would be able to last much longer either, if his high-pitched moans and his eyes rolling to the back of his head every time you dropped back down on his cock were any hints.

And as Jake buried his face in between your breasts, you turned your head to the side to take a look at the three others guys, staring at the both of you with greedy, lustful looks on their faces. But what was even more appealing was the way they were all jerking each other off, without even realizing it. They looked so gone, and so fucking attractive like that. Heeseung cracked an eye open, panting loudly because of the fast rhythm of Sunghoon’s fists around his cock and he looked right at you.

“- You’re next Hee…”

A smirk spread on his lips at your words, and as you came around Jake with a loud moan, you didn’t regret one bit putting aphrodisiacs in the drinks.

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my works.

enha taglist (fill in this to be added) :

@lala-----------lala @bbgnyx @rikiives @puppy-minnie @binniesbabygirl @lichyuu @foxinnie8 @hyunstxns @seomisaho @adirajackson @han-to-my-minho @dylanobr1ens @straytiny127

kinktober taglist (dm or comment to be added) :

@d-dilemma @bath1lda @leeknowinggg @anxiousskylar @mikaelless

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glowettee · 1 month ago

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✧ the elle woods study method: mindset makeover & foundation building ✧

hey lovelies! 💗

omg, i'm literally bursting with excitement to start this transformative series with you all! we're going to dive deep into actually studying like elle woods, and all her study methods. it's going to change your academic life. (while keeping you fabulous, obviously!)

let's start with the most crucial element - the elle woods mindset. you know how elle went from being underestimated at harvard to graduating with honors? that transformation began in her mind, and that's exactly where we're starting too!

the core principles of the elle woods mindset (get ready to take notes!):

unwavering self-belief: elle's iconic "what, like it's hard?" attitude wasn't just cute - it was crucial

authenticity as your superpower: your unique perspective is your strength

resilience through positivity: turning every "you can't" into "watch me"

strategic determination: working smarter, not just harder

maintaining your essence: success shouldn't mean losing yourself

let me break down how to actually build this mindset (because theory without practice is like a perfect outfit without accessories - incomplete!):

mindset foundation building: • start a daily confidence journal (pink, obviously!) • write three daily affirmations • document your wins, no matter how small • reflect on challenges and how you overcame them

goal setting the elle way: • dream big (harvard law big!) • break down major goals into mini-milestones • create realistic timelines • identify potential obstacles and plan solutions • celebrate every achievement (even the tiny ones!)

your personal success toolkit: • a dedicated study planner (color-coded, elle would approve) • positive affirmation cards • vision board (mix academic and personal goals) • progress tracking system • reward system for reaching milestones

practical assignments for this week:

yes, i'm giving you all homework, because what's a lesson without doing homework? <3

mindset makeover tasks: • create your confidence corner (a designated study space that makes you feel powerful) • write your personal academic manifesto • identify and challenge three limiting beliefs • create a morning power routine

organization prep: • get your study essentials (cute but functional!) • set up your planning system • create a semester overview • design your ideal weekly schedule

community building: • find your study buddies (your personal warner hunting club, but for academics!) • join study groups • set up accountability partnerships • create a support system

elle's journey wasn't about memorizing legal terms - it was about believing she belonged in those hallowed halls while wearing her signature pink. you deserve to feel that same confidence in your academic journey. <3

advanced tips for the overachievers (because why not be extra?):

record yourself giving pep talks for tough days

create a study aesthetic that energizes you

develop personal success rituals

build a playlist that makes you feel powerful

photograph your progress for motivation

coming up in this series:

time management secrets

memory techniques that actually work

note-taking methods that slay

exam preparation strategies

self-care routines for academic success

group study dynamics

presentation skills

stress management

celebration strategies

and more of course <3

remember: elle woods didn't just survive harvard - she thrived while being unapologetically herself. that's our goal too! you're not just going to study better; you're going to build an academic approach that celebrates who you are.

homework time (but make it fun):

create your academic vision board

write your semester goals

design your ideal study schedule

set up your success tracking system

prepare your study space

xoxo, mindy

p.s. don't forget to reblog and follow for the complete series! we're building our own little academic sorority here! <3

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unabletonotlovesatoru · 2 months ago

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⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ teddy’s notes: long awaited part two!! im so happy with how people are enjoying my stuff its so nicee <33 thank you all so much! i hope you enjoy this too :) also pls dont ask for visuals for this i really am not in the mood to look for something this obscure through twitter porn accs.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ contains: mind that this is timeskip! bakugou as mentioned in part 1. nsfw! reader is still gender neutral and wears a suit, bakugou still has a praise kink, handjobs(m receiving), kissing, praising, also maybe a little bit of exhibitionism but honestly not really.

read part 1 here!

the next time bakugou sees you is when he's attending the annual hero gala.

he wasn't too eager to go, honestly, but his manager basically forced him because he needed to get on people's good side, and nothing works better than his fans getting excited over new pictures and all. katsuki is looking especially good tonight, he knows: a three piece suit that he decorated with the same jewellery set he wore on the photoshoot with you.

it was a gift from the brand: a set of gold earrings with red rubies that he was photographed in first, a simple clean gold necklace and a set of extravagant and quite flashy rings for all of his fingers which he liked a lot. and that damned box of jewellery hasn't moved from its spot in the first drawer of his bedside table until tonight.

he doesn't spot you at first though.

it's only when the flash of a camera blinds him when he is turning around that bakugou is made aware of your presence.

that soft, almost lazy curl of your lips, calmness and curiosity of your attentive gaze and the signature camera in your hands as you scan his figure up and down - bakugou's heartbeat involuntarily quickens, his hand gripping a flute of awful tasting champagne nearly breaking in his hold. he straightens his back immediately, his face wearing its usual scowl.

"you look handsome, bakugou-san." you say, clicking another picture of him before you wander off somewhere else, cutting off any possible further interaction.

putting away the drink in his hand, bakugou races after you yet you're already mixed in the big crowd that appears out of nowhere. it doesn't help that the classic suit you're wearing is identical to everyone's around this big ass venue. and kirishima drags him back to their tables, urging him into joining a useless conversation, while bakugou insistently keeps looking back, looking for you.

katsuki feels electricity running through his whole body when his gaze locks with yours from across the room. it's a brief moment that lasts two seconds yet it's enough to make him go crazy, promising himself to catch you later and say something.

throughout the evening, bakugou occasionally glances around the ballroom, catching the sight of you taking pictures. an easygoing smile present on your relaxed face as you nod and respectfully bow in front of every hero you meet, timidly introducing yourself and asking if you can capture the beautiful moment they are having.

he's watched you be surrounded by an overly excited mina and ochako, with yaoyorozu and jirou peeking behind you as they all looked through the pictures you just took, leaning in close and comfortably, which made you visibly flustered. soon kirishima and denki joined them, tugging shouto and izuku along so you could work your magic on them too, and bakugou felt a pang of something unfamiliar in his chest when you smiled back at the red haired idiot, your beam bright enough to match his.

he looks away solemnly before making his way out of the ballroom, hands deep in his pockets and his face set into a permanent scowl. as he gets ready to leave the venue, you seem to appear out of nowhere — bakugou catches your figure disappearing behind one of the fancy doors in the lobby he is standing in and without a second thought, he is moving after you.

the library is cloaked in silence. it’s dark and unwelcoming, but bakugou’s eyes only focus on you — leaning against the bookshelves as you stare back at him, waiting. your camera is absent, surprisingly, and your small, knowing smile lures him in as he steps closer and pushes the door behind himself, watching the soft light disappear.

“your manager invited me to come here, y’know? as his plus one.” bakugou’s body tenses before he realises that his manager wasn’t present tonight, something about ‘sore throat’ and whatnot. but the mere thought of him being brave enough to ask you to go as his date? even though you clearly declined his offer it doesn’t change the fact that the boy had more balls than him and it makes him fucking furious.

“that little shit,” he growls under his breath, already structuring a fitting punishment for his manager, but the sound of your melodic laughter pulls him out of his thoughts.

“could you come closer?” you offer him your hand, a serene smile on your face.

bakugou obeys.

he leans closer to you, the scent of worn paper mingling with the faint trace of your perfume. his breath hitches as your fingertips graze his wrist, a whisper of contact that sends a tremor down his spine.

your gaze locks with his, eyes smoldering with an unspoken promise. with you pressed between him and the cool, ridged bookshelves, he feels as if the world shrunk until it was only him and you. he yearns for your touch, his chest tightening with an almost desperate ache as he brings your hand to his own, guiding your hand to rest on his body.

it lingers on his torso only for a little bit, skilfully opening the buttons of his jacket, his vest, the bottom buttons of his shirt, and finally slides down to his crotch, cupping him through his pants.

oh fuck, he’s been dreaming of this.

it’s too dark to see anything, but a sliver of light is reflected on your pretty face, allowing katsuki to see your mesmerised expression — your brows raised in interest, your eyes glimmering in fascination and lips parted in surprise, puffs of air mixing with his exhales. he goes to hide his face in your neck, feeling too vulnerable under your attention, but your other hand quickly grips his jaw, effectively stopping him from moving, and bakugou is ready to blow his load then and there.

“no no,” you mutter, tilting his face down, “don’t hide from me. not when you look so pretty.”

katsuki suppresses a needy groan, but you stroke him faster, sliding the soft palm of your hand over his tip over and over again, until he twitches violently and you resume your previous movements. your hand is better than he imagined: it’s so pleasantly cool against the burning skin of his flushed cock, it’s enough to capture all of it in a tight fist and it’s making him see stars he hasn’t seen ever since he first jerked himself off.

“that’s it,” you muse idly, leaning in to press a kiss against his jaw, “you’re doing so good, angel.”

katsuki shudders and glances down at where you’re touching him, exhaling shakily as he burns the sight into his mind, willing himself to keep it forever. you continue planting soft kisses on his face; moving from his chin to his cheek, licking the salty skin of it as if savouring the taste and pecking the corner of his lips so fucking innocently that bakugou nearly loses his mind. one of his hands moves from the shelf behind you and cups the back of your head, moulding his mouth against yours because it’s too much.

your mouth detaches from his momentarily, “i never stopped thinking about you, y,know?”

he’s close, he’s so fucking close, and your words only bring him closer. katsuki can’t stop his hips from bucking into your hands, slotting his mouth over yours again to conceal his sinful grunts and moans that threaten to turn into pathetic whines if he doesn’t let go right now. your nimble fingers weave through his hair, grabbing harshly despite your overall soft demeanour, and it’s enough to make him cum: with his hips jerking forward erratically and choked whines leaving his throat as you continue gliding your hand up and down, with your own rhythm that doesn’t match his at all, but feels so fucking good katsuki’s knees turn into jelly.

“you’re so good for me, katsuki.” you purr into his ear as he pants, unable to catch his breath and stares down at you with a gaze so fucked out it makes your expression turn fascinated once again, “so perfect.”

you kiss his neck, pecking almost chastely as you grab the small handkerchief from his suit’s pocket and clean off the mess from your fingers and his cock before tucking him back into his slacks, and katsuki’s never been more grateful because he doesn’t know if he could’ve done it so easily himself. not after what happened.

after bakugou’s breathing steadies, there is a familiar silence settling between you two, one that you disturb with your hands gripping his shoulders and eyes boring into his soul.

“i don’t know if someone’s already called you their muse,” you murmur softly, the earnestness of your gaze pulling him in, “but i would like to make you mine.”

fuck yes, he thinks and kisses you again.

#— teddy’s writing shop 𐙚🧸ྀི #i love this man #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo mha #mha #mha x reader #mha bakugou #mha x you #bnha x you #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki x you #bakugou katsuki smut

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banzonism · 3 months ago

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YOU BELONG WITH ME

one-shot

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: romance, drama, comedy, angst, fluff, slow burn, love pining

tags: football player! jk, photographer! jk, student leader! reader, high school au, chilhood friend, boy next door jk, bff drama, friends to lovers, yeontan cameo

synopsis: Beneath the light banter and playful teasing of childhood friends lies a deep well of unspoken feelings, simmering just out of reach. Quick glances shared during laughter hold more meaning than anyone dares to acknowledge. But everything shifts dramatically when a heartfelt letter reveals unexpected truths, shattering the carefully constructed lives they have built. Will they find their way back to each other and uncover the truth of their feelings? In the end, they must find out if they really belong with each other.

words count: 10k

notes: hello everyone! here's another one-shot from me, and let me tell you i've been thinking about this fic a lot lot lot bc i'm a sucker of this kind of romance, sorry.... inspired by TS "you belong with me” mv but with a twist! if you’re a swiftie, you’ll probably notice quite a few nods to the iconic mv—incorporated some of its most memorable scenes into the story. hope you enjoy this fun, nostalgic ride <3

p.s. dont come for my girl Sana—she might be a little extra in the beginning scenes, but trust me she’s worth it! & threw a Yeontan moment to honor him... fly high, little one 🕊

The gym buzzed with energy as students rushed around, their laughter and conversations creating a lively atmosphere for the school’s event preparations. Colorful decorations filled the room, and tables were piled high with craft supplies. As the student council leader, you moved through the crowd with a clipboard, checking off tasks and motivating your excited team.

“Hey, Miss Y/N!” called out a freshman, her face showing worry. “Can you help us with this banner? It’s too high!”

“Got it!” you answered with determination, quickly heading to where a sturdy ladder was leaning against the wall. You set it up under the spot where the banner needed to go and felt a surge of confidence as you grabbed the banner in one hand and some tape in the other.

Climbing the ladder, each step brought you closer to the colorful paper reaching up to the ceiling. But as you neared the top, your foot slipped a little on the rung. In that quick moment, everything seemed to slow down. “Oh no—” you gasped, trying hard to steady yourself. Before you knew it, you slipped down the ladder and landed with a thud on the polished gym floor. The loud noise echoed in the sudden silence that followed.

Laughter erupted around you, filling the air with amusement. At the center of it all was Sana , the cheerleading captain and your former bestfriend. Her laughter rang out, almost mocking, as she stood with her friends, arms crossed and a smug smirk on her face, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"Be careful, Y/N," she mocked, her voice thick with sarcasm. "Being busy might make you grow old faster." Her laughter felt sharp, and it stung even more when you noticed she didn’t offer to help you up.

Heat flooded your cheeks, mixing embarrassment with frustration, but you fought to keep it under control. Taking a deep breath, you stood up and brushed off your shirt, straightening your back. “Alright, everyone, let’s get back to work! We have an event to make special!” you said, putting on a genuine smile that energized the team.

The room buzzed with renewed focus as your enthusiasm spread, pulling everyone back into the excitement of preparing for the event. Sana rolled her eyes and turned away with her group, their giggles trailing behind, but you didn’t let their laughter get you down.

“Y/N, are you okay?” a familiar voice called through the noise. You turned to see Kim Namjoon, the student council secretary and the head editor of the school paper, approaching with a concerned look on his face, a notebook tucked under one arm.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied with a grin. “Just stumbled a bit, nothing to worry about.”

“Impressive,” he said, chuckling. “Not many can fall like that and still walk away with confidence.”

"You think?" you grin. "Add it to the school paper column. Speaking of which, I need your help editing later." Namjoon smiles, his warmth reassuring.

While being the heaď of the student council was a big responsibility, you believed that your writing skills were really what helped you lead. Every meeting, every plan for events, and every motivational speech was shaped by your years of writing experience. It wasn’t just a hobby; it was a vital tool that helped define your leadership style.

As the day went on, you guided the team with determination, turning your fall into a funny story rather than a moment of embarrassment. With the gym transforming into a lively celebration of school spirit, you felt a swell of pride in both the team and yourself for staying true to what really mattered.

— ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ —

The following day was the big foundation day event, and it turned out to be a tremendous success. As the sun set, you breathed a sigh of relief, feeling proud of how everything had gone. You had led your team to pull off one of the year's most important events, and now you could finally focus on your studies again, catch up on assignments, and enjoy some much-needed relaxation.

But then, things took an unexpected turn.

That evening, the school's football team had a crucial game against a rival school, which brought a huge crowd to the stadium. At first, you had no plans to go; you were determined to finish your essays and study for your upcoming exams. Just as you were about to dive into your books, you received a call from Namjoon.

“Hey Y/N, I know this is really last minute, but can you come by the office?” he asked, sounding urgent.

Curious and a bit worried, you made your way to the editorial office. Being part of the school publication was something you loved, but tonight, you hoped it wouldn’t mean too much extra work.

When you arrived, Namjoon greeted you with a stressed look. “Y/N, I really need your help. You're one of our best writers, and we’re in a tight spot.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What’s happened?”

“Yunjin, who was supposed to write about tonight’s football game, is sick and can’t make it,” Namjoon explained, urgency in his voice. “We need someone to fill in and write the article for tomorrow’s paper. I know it’s short notice, but you’re our best option. Can you take it on?”

You paused, thinking about all the homework and studying waiting for you at home. “Namjoon, I’m not sure I can do this. Writing sports articles isn’t really my thing.”

Namjoon shot you a reassuring smile. “You just have to write down what happens during the game and maybe ask a few of our players about it afterward. You’re a fantastic writer, Y/N. I know you can handle this.”

Feeling torn, you considered the school, the players who had worked so hard for this moment, and how important it was to share their story with everyone.

“Okay, Joon,” you said with newfound determination. “I’ll do it.”

Namjoon visibly relaxed and handed you a notebook and a press pass. “You’re a lifesaver, Y/N. I know you’ve already put in a lot of effort for the school. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

You smirked and raised an eyebrow. “You better. I’m counting on you for lunch for a week.”

Namjoon laughed. “Deal. Now go make it a great article. Good luck!”

With that, you headed towards the stadium, notebook in hand, ready to take on another challenge.

Later, under the bright lights of the stadium, you were caught up in the exciting atmosphere of the game. The crowd's cheers surrounded you as you walked along the sidelines, your press pass hanging around your neck. The lights created dramatic shadows over the players as they warmed up, and you could feel their energy in the air. You stopped for a moment, heart racing, to write down your initial thoughts about the buzz surrounding the upcoming match and the rival team's arrival.

Then, you saw him.

The golden boy everyone had been talking about. He was someone you had known since you were kids—the one who always made it difficult for you to hold his gaze for long. Memories flooded back of sunny afternoons spent playing in your backyards, the shy smiles exchanged during those brief encounters, and that unmistakable flutter in your stomach whenever he was near.

He stood in the middle of the field, naturally drawing everyone's attention, with his dark hair damp from practicing, strands sticking to his forehead. His jersey fit him perfectly, showcasing his athletic build. You could see the fire in his eyes from where you stood—a mix of determination and passion that made him even more captivating.

When the game ended with an exciting win for your school, the stadium roared with cheers. A wave of pride swelled inside you—not just for the team's victory but for the chance to capture this moment through your writing.

As you lingered on the sidelines, you felt torn about whether to approach him. You had enough material for your article, but a small voice inside you urged that this opportunity was too special to miss. Just as you were about to decide, a familiar voice broke into your thoughts.

“Hey, Y/N!”

You turned sharply, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest. There he was, striding towards you with that effortless confidence you both admired and envied. His jersey clung to him, damp with sweat, his hair tousled, and that bunny-like smile brighter than the stadium lights surrounding you.

“Hey, Jungkook,” you replied, trying to sound calm even though you felt anything but. “Congratulations on your win!”

“Thanks,” he said, tilting his head with a curious look, making you feel both exposed and energized. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Did you enjoy the game?”

“Of course! For the article tomorrow,” you replied, clutching your notebook like a lifeline. “You know, school paper stuff.”

“How did you find the game?” he asked, his tone light yet genuinely curious as if he wanted your opinion.

“That’s cool. I mean, you’re cool. I mean—you’re great,” you blurted, the words tumbling before you could stop them. Your thoughts were a tangled mess, and the soft chuckle that escaped his lips didn’t make it any easier to compose yourself.

“Thanks,” Jungkook replied, tilting his head slightly as he studied you.

Trying to regain your composure, you cleared your throat. “Could I ask you a few questions about the game?”

“Sure,” he replied effortlessly.

You began asking him the standard post-game questions, scribbling down his answers. But as he spoke, your focus wavered. His voice was smooth and warm, carrying an understated excitement that made you lose track of your notes. You couldn’t help but notice how his eyes sparkled when he talked about the team’s victory, how the corner of his lips curled into a smile that made your heart skip a beat. Your attention drifted, and your writing soon became a mess of half-written sentences.

“Hey, babe,” a voice interrupted, snapping you out of your daze.

You looked up to see Sana, the head cheerleader—of course she would be here—striding over with her usual charm. Her cheer uniform fit her perfectly, highlighting her athletic build. In that moment, the butterflies in your stomach shifted to a sinking feeling.

“Oh, hey, Sana,” Jungkook greeted her, and you noticed a change in his tone.

“Great game! You were amazing out there,” Sana said before throwing her arms around him in a sudden hug. Jungkook’s body stiffened briefly, and his expression showed mild discomfort as he pulled away.

When she finally let go, Sana’s gaze shifted to you, her smile on a sharper edge. “What’s this?” she asked, nodding toward your notebook.

“It’s for the school paper,” you replied, keeping your tone neutral.

“Last time I checked, you weren’t into sports writing, Y/N.”

Her words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you debated whether it was worth responding. You were exhausted from the long day, and the last thing you wanted was to engage in her petty comments. But something about her smug tone lit a fire in you.

“And the last time I checked,” you shot back, your eyes lockig onto hers with a glare, “was a year ago. So, you don’t know much about what I’m doing now, Sana.”

The tension in the air thickened, but before you could say more, Jungkook stepped in, his voice calm yet firm. “Hey, what’s going on?”

You forced a polite smile, snapping your notebook shut. “Thanks, Jungkook,” you said abruptly, needing an escape. “I’ll, uh, I’ll go now.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” he replied softly, his eyes lingering on you. “See you around.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel a sting. Jungkook and Sana had been linked ever since she became the cheerleading captain, though rumors swirled that they weren’t officially a couple. You tried to convince yourself it didn’t matter, but deep down, it did—just a little. This wasn’t just anyone; it was your former best friend and the boy who had unknowingly captured your heart for years.

Later that night, you sat at your desk, struggling to finish an article you had started. The soft light from Jungkook’s room peeked through your curtains, reminding you of how near yet far he felt. His smile and the sound of his voice echoed in your mind. As you lay there, sleep refused to come, and you found yourself thinking about what could have happened if you had ever had the courage to tell him your true feelings.

— ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ —

After weeks passed and final exams wrapped up, you threw yourself into your studies. It wasn’t just about making your parents proud or keeping your position as a student leader; it was about getting a scholarship to the university of your dreams, something you had worked toward for years. After weeks of sleepless nights and exhausting tests, your final stretch as a high school senior came to a close.

That afternoon, completely worn out, you headed straight to your room and collapsed onto your bed. When you woke up three hours later, it was dark outside, and your mom called you for dinner. Rubbing your eyes, you stretched and turned toward your window. That’s when you saw that your curtain was slightly open, revealing Jungkook’s room across the way.

He was there, his face faintly lit by a desk lamp, talking animatedly on the phone. Even from a distance, you could see the tension in his posture—his brows were knitted together, his jaw tense, and his hand was tugging at his hair in frustration. Concern rose in your chest. Without thinking, you grabbed a notepad and marker from your desk and quickly jotted down a message.

"Are you okay?"

You held it up to the window, feeling anxious as you waited. It took him a moment to notice you, but when he did, his expression softened a bit. He sighed and wrote back:

"Tired of drama."

Unsure of how to reply, you eventually wrote:

"Sorry."

He looked at your note, and a faint, tired smile flickered across his face. He shook his head gently, as if to say it wasn’t your fault. The simple exchange left a strange heaviness in your chest despite the silence between you. You wondered what troubles he was facing, and for a brief moment, you wished you could reach out and help him.

Jungkook then waved at you, a small gesture that felt like a goodnight. You waved back, signaling for him to get some rest. He smiled again, this time it felt more genuine, before closing his curtain. The room immediately fell silent, but thoughts of him lingered long after he disappeared from view.

— ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ —

On a laid-back Sunday afternoon, you decided to take a break from your busy life by diving into a book that had caught your interest. You found a quiet spot on a bench in the park, where the calm surroundings helped soothe your busy mind.

Out of the blue, you were startled by a loud bark. Looking up, you saw a tiny, fluffy Pomeranian running towards you. Its shiny black and brown fur sparkled in the sunlight, and its bright eyes shone with playful energy. A smile spread across your face as the little dog, looking like a cuddly stuffed animal, stopped barking and approached you cautiously.

“Hey there, little buddy,” you said softly, reaching out your hand. The dog sniffed your fingers for a moment and then nuzzled against you, clearly enjoying the attention. Feeling a rush of affection for dogs, you scratched behind its ears and laughed as it playfully licked your hand.

Just then, a voice called out from a distance, “Yeontan!” You looked up to see Jungkook jogging toward you, looking a bit rushed.

“There you are,” he said, picking up the dog and holding it in his arms. “I’m sorry if he bothered you.”

“Oh, not at all,” you replied with a smile, still petting Yeontan. “He’s so cute!”

Jungkook chuckled and scratched Yeontan behind the ear. “He’s not actually mine, though. Taehyung asked me to look after him for a while. He can be quite a handful sometimes.”

“I don’t mind at all,” you said, charmed by the little fluffball. “I love dogs. He’s just too adorable!”

“Right?” Jungkook grinned. “He can be a bit of a troublemaker, though. So, what are you doing here? Just reading?”

“Something like that,” you shrugged. “I needed a break to clear my mind. It helps.”

“That's good to hear. You deserve some time off,” Jungkook replied, his tone growing softer. “So, what’s your plan after graduation? Are you staying here for college?”

You paused, closing your book as you considered your response. “Honestly, I’m not sure. My mom and I haven’t talked much about it, but I’m applying to a few schools that are far away. What about you?”

Jungkook sighed, absentmindedly petting Yeontan. “My dad wants me to stay here and take business classes while focusing on football. He has this whole plan for me to take over his business.”

“Is that what you want?” you asked, tilting your head to study his expression.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, frustration creeping into his voice. “I don’t want to let him down, but…”

“But what?” you prompted.

“I really loved photography and film,” he said quietly. “I told my dad I wanted to study film, but he wasn’t too excited. He thinks football is my best chance at making it to the national team, and that everything else is just a hobby.”

You frowned, feeling a twinge of sympathy for him. “That sounds rough, Jungkook. It’s great that your dad believes in you, but it’s your life. You should do what makes you happy.”

“That’s what your dad always said, right?” Jungkook remarked, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I miss Uncle Seojun. He always encouraged me and was so excited about my photography projects.”

“He really was,” you replied, smiling at the memory of your father. “I remember how thrilled you were when you got that camera for your birthday. You couldn’t stop talking about it!”

He laughed softly, nostalgic. “Yeah, those were good times.”

Jungkook’s gaze softened as he looked at you, momentarily distracted by a stray hair that had fallen over your face. Without thinking, he reached out and gently tucked it behind your ear. The unexpected touch made your heart skip a beat.

“There,” he said softly, almost whispering as if the moment needed a certain quiet. “Now I can see you properly.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you scrambled to find words, but your mind went blank. His hand lingered for a brief moment before he pulled away, and the faint smile he gave you sent your heart racing.

In that moment, everything else faded away—the sounds of the park and even Yeontan’s soft breathing seemed to disappear. You wondered if he could hear how loudly your heart was beating.

You both sat there quietly for a while, with Yeontan curled up between you. It felt like a snapshot of the past, a brief reminder of simpler times before life got more complicated.

But before long, the moment was disrupted. A red car pulled up nearby, and you recognized the girl stepping out—Sana. Of course, it had to be her. With her stylish cap and polished look, she approached like she owned the place.

“Hey, Jungkook! What’s taking you so long to grab Yeontan?” she called out, shattering the peaceful moment you had shared with Jungkook.

Jungkook stood up, brushing off his jeans as if to shake off the experience you’d just had. “I’ve got to go now,” he said, a hint of regret in his voice. “It was really nice talking to you again.”

“Yeah, sure,” you replied, trying to keep your tone casual despite the whirlwind of feelings inside you. “Time to go now, buddy,” you said softly to Yeontan, giving the little dog one last affectionate pat.

Jungkook sank back onto the bench, his smile brightening the moment as he gently took Yeontan’s paw and waved it toward you. “Bye, Yeontan,” you said, unable to suppress the flicker of a smile that danced on your lips despite the weight in your chest.

When Jungkook got on the passenger seat, Sana suddenly whispered to Jungkook, making them like they are kissing on your view, which made Jungkook laugh. You quickly dropped your gaze back to your book, pretending not to notice, acting as if it didn’t bother you. But it did. It always did.

The car pulled away, taking them with it, leaving you alone once again with only your book and the lingering ache in your chest.

— ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ —

The office was filled with a low hum of activity, with the sounds of papers being shuffled and keyboards tapping away. You were sitting at your usual desk, surrounded by notes, layout plans, and playlists for the upcoming graduation celebration. It was your last year of school, and as the leader of the organizing committee, you were determined to make the event truly special.

“Hey, Y/N, have you had lunch yet?” a familiar voice cut through your concentration.

Looking up, you saw Namjoon standing there with a warm smile, holding a neatly packed lunchbox.

“I’ll eat later. I was thinking of heading to the cafeteria,” you replied, forcing a tired smile.

“No need for that,” he said, placing the box down in front of you. “I brought you lunch. You’ve been working yourself to the bone lately.”

“Thanks, that really means a lot,” you said, genuinely appreciative.

“Not a problem. You deserve it,” he replied, pulling up a chair to sit next to you. “By the way, have you heard anything about your application to your dream school?”

You leaned back in your chair with a sigh. “No news yet. I’m just waiting and hoping for that scholarship. It all depends on this.”

Namjoon nodded, his expression confident. “You’ll get it. I believe in you.”

“I hope you’re right,” you said quietly, feeling the pressure weighing on you.

“It’s you, Y/N. You’ve been juggling so much—school, committee duties, everything. If anyone can handle it, it’s you,” he said earnestly, and his encouragement brought a small smile to your face.

You talked about school and Namjoon’s plans for college, enjoying the easy flow of conversation. For a moment, the stress you were feeling seemed to lift.

“So… about prom?” he asked casually, tilting his head. “Are you going? Has anyone asked you to go with them?”

You hesitated, playing with your pen. “Not yet. I’m not sure I’ll even go.”

“Why not?” he inquired.

“I’ve been so busy, and I really need to focus on studying for the scholarship. That’s what’s most important for me right now,” you explained, looking away.

Namjoon frowned a little but nodded in understanding. “I get it. But you know… you’ve worked really hard. Maybe you deserve one night to just have fun. Prom is an important event, especially for someone like you who’s given so much to this school. Just think about it, okay?”

You smiled softly, touched by his concern. “Thanks, Namjoon. I’ll think about it.”

He stood up and gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Good. Now eat your lunch. You need the energy for everything you’re handling.”

As he walked away, you looked down at the lunchbox and smiled to yourself. Namjoon always seemed to know exactly what you needed, even when you didn’t realize it yourself.

— ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ —

Weeks passed, and the gentle light of your desk lamp lit up the messy spread of notes and open textbooks in front of you. You had been studying for hours, going over every possible topic for the entrance exam—a big test that could determine whether you got into your dream school. The clock struck midnight, but you were so focused that you barely noticed the time.

Even so, thoughts of prom kept sneaking into your mind. It wasn’t just that your friend Namjoon had encouraged you to go; it was the fact that prom, the highlight of your senior year, was happening on the same day as your exam. The test was in the morning, and there would be time to get ready afterward, but you wondered if it was worth the rush. Should you focus on your future or let yourself enjoy one night of celebration after all your hard work?

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard a door open from the other side. You saw Jungkook walked into his room, his hair slightly damp, probably from football practice, and his gym bag hanging over his shoulder. He looked a mix of tired and effortlessly cool.

You quickly turned your attention back to your notes, trying not to seem obvious, but you could sense that he was watching you. When you glanced up again, you noticed him grab a notepad and a marker from his desk. He wrote something down and held it up to his window.

“Are you going to prom tomorrow?”

You froze for a moment, caught off guard by his direct question. Slowly, you grabbed your notepad and wrote back:

“No, studying.”

He read your response and his expression changed—was that disappointment? He sighed and quickly wrote another note, a small smile appearing on his face as he held it up:

“Wish you were"

Your heart skipped a beat. The simplicity of his words affected you more than you anticipated. You smiled back, feeling a mix of flattery and frustration. Prom had only been a distant thought until now, but Jungkook’s quiet hope made you reconsider.

You stood up and waved goodbye, signaling that you were heading downstairs for dinner. Your mom greeted you warmly and asked how your studying was going. You nodded, trying to focus on the meal in front of you, but your mind was elsewhere. Between the entrance exam, the upcoming prom, and Jungkook’s note, you felt like you were at a crossroads, unsure of which path to take.

That morning, your mom took you to the university for an important exam. The car ride felt both long and too short at the same time, with the scenery rushing by as your nerves tightened. This was the moment you had been working towards after many sleepless nights and self-imposed pressure. There was no turning back now.

“I know you’re feeling anxious, sweetheart,” your mom said gently. “But no matter what happens, I’m proud of you. And your dad? He would be so happy.”

You nodded, trying to push down the lump in your throat. Her comforting words eased your anxiety, even as your mind raced with worries about what could go wrong.

When you entered the exam hall, the quietness was almost overwhelming. Other students, just as nervous as you, bent over their papers. Once the exam started, it was just you, the questions in front of you, and your pen. You poured all your effort into each answer, determined to do your best.

As you walked out of the hall afterwards, doubt began to creep in. Did I do enough? you wondered. You took a deep breath and reminded yourself, “I’ve done my best. Now it’s in the hands of fate.”

Back home after lunch, you tried to distract yourself from the exam, but the thoughts kept returning. It wasn’t until exactly 1:00 PM, hours later, that your phone buzzed with a notification. An email awaited you.

Your heart raced as you opened it, and the words “Admission Results” jumped out at you. As you read through the letter, one word stood out: Congratulations.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, and then exclaimed more loudly, “I passed!”

Your mom rushed in, startled by your shout. When she saw the email on your screen, her face lit up with joy. You both started jumping around the room, laughing and crying together.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said, wrapping you in a warm hug. “Your dad would be so proud too. I just know it.”

Later, in your room, you began to imagine the life ahead of you at your dream school. New friends, exciting opportunities, and a fresh place to learn and grow. The possibilities felt endless, and for the first time in a long while, you felt truly excited about the future.

Your daydream was interrupted by a loud knock on your door. Startled, you turned to see someone you didn’t expect: Sana.

— ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ —

She stood in the doorway, exuding her usual confidence, but her face was hard to read. "We need to talk," she said, crossing her arms.

The happiness from your recent achievement quickly faded as you wondered what she wanted. You stood frozen at your door, staring at Sana, completely shocked by her unexpected visit. It felt like ages since she’d last been in your house, let alone your room.

“What are you doing here?” you finally managed to ask, still trying to process her sudden appearance.

Instead of giving a straight answer, she crossed her arms and shot you an intense glare, her voice trembling with emotion. “How could you just leave me in this town? I thought we were going to college together!”

Her outburst hit you hard. “People change, Sana. Plans change. Everything changes,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady even as your heart raced.

“You didn’t even tell me?” she said, her eyes shimmering with tears that threatened to overflow.

You let out a heavy breath, feeling the weight of this tense moment. “How was I supposed to? We weren't really on good terms.”

Without another word, she walked past you, frustration clear in her body language, and sat down on the edge of your bed. “So what? Just because we weren’t talking doesn’t mean you could just vanish on me. Even if we were both acting foolish, you could’ve at least figured out a way to let me know.”

You followed her, feeling unsure whether to comfort her or give her some space. “How did you even find out I was going to another school? I’m not even sure I could pass the entrance exam.”

Sana wiped her eyes, and her frustration melted into vulnerability. “I overheard your mom mentioning it…and Jungkook told me too. And you think so little of yourself. Do you hate me that much?”

Her words cut deep. “I don’t hate you, Sana,” you replied softly, feeling your heart ache with her pain. “I’m really sorry.”

“I’m sorry too, Y/N,” she responded, her voice shaking. “I know I haven't treated you well this year. I—” Her voice broke as she buried her face in her hands, regret washing over her like a tidal wave.

You paused for a moment but then sat down next to her. “I was going to send you a letter,” you admitted. “To explain everything before graduation.”

“A letter?” she repeated, her eyes widening with curiosity. “Let me see it!”

With a heavy heart, you opened your cabinet and took out a box filled with letters you had written to people who had meant a lot to you. With shaky hands, you handed one to her.

As she started to read the letter, you noticed her expression change. Tears filled her eyes as she processed the words you had written from deep within your heart. “Y/N, I had no idea you felt this way. I’m so sorry for making you feel alone. If I could go back in time... I would give up cheerleading if it meant keeping you in my life.”

“Please don’t say that,” you replied quickly, your voice filled with urgency. “Cheerleading was your dream. I regret not being more supportive. I should have been there for you.”

Sana shook her head, a realization dawning upon her. “And I should have been there for you, too. I had no idea what you were going through with your dad’s illness. I thought you were pushing me away, but really, I just wasn’t paying attention.”

The two of you sat together, unpacking the hurt and misunderstandings that had built up over the past year. You shared how your father's health struggles had taken over your life, creating a distance you didn’t know how to overcome. Sana opened up about feeling lost when you stopped responding to her messages, believing you no longer cared about her.

“Remember that time we were supposed to hang out? I saw you hugging Jungkook, and I… I thought maybe you didn’t need me anymore,” you reminded her, the memory still vivid.

Sana’s eyes widened in surprise. “Jungkook? Oh my God, Y/N, he was just comforting me! I was upset about my parents fighting, that’s all!”

As the ridiculousness of it all hit both of you, laughter erupted, slowly easing the tension that had lingered for so long.

“And then,” you added, “I got a call from the hospital. My dad was in surgery, and I couldn’t stay.”

Sana’s expression softened, guilt showing on her face. “I thought you ditched me. I waited for you until I couldn’t anymore.”

When you finally returned home after your dad’s funeral, you had wanted to explain everything, but seeing Sana laughing with her new cheerleading friends had hurt you deeply. “I thought you’d moved on,” you admitted, trying to hold back the pain you still felt.

Sana groaned and covered her face, genuine sorrow washing over her. “We were so foolish.”

You nodded, a smile starting to emerge despite everything. “Yeah, we were.”

As the laughter faded, the weight of the past year began to lift, replaced by a sense of ease that had been absent for so long. Hours passed as you both reminisced, catching up on everything you had missed in each other’s lives. When you looked at the clock, you were surprised to see it was already 4 PM.

“Wow,” Sana said, leaning back with a playful sigh. “We just spent hours untangling a whole year’s worth of misunderstandings. Classic us.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, feeling lighter than you had in a long time. “Classic us! So, what’s next? How are things going with you and Jungkook?”

Sana's face shifted to one of mock shock. “Me and Jungkook? Oh, no! I think you mean me and his best friend.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “Wait, Kim Taehyung? Jungkook’s best friend?”

A sheepish smile appeared on Sana’s face. “Yep! Don't act so surprised. I was always around Jungkook because Taehyung and I... well, there’s definitely more happening there than with Jungkook.”

Your mouth dropped open. “Really? This whole time I thought—”

“Thought what? That Jungkook and I were secretly in love?” Sana laughed dramatically. “Ew, no! He’s like a brother to me. Gross.”

You felt a wave of relief, though a hint of irritation bubbled up too. “Well, how was I supposed to know? You two always hung out, and there was that time you called him ‘babe’ during the football game!”

Sana grinned mischievously. “Oh, that? Totally just messing with you. I wanted to see if you get jealous.”

“Jealous?” you repeated, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “Why would I be jealous?”

“Oh, come on, Y/N. It’s obvious. I have known you since we were little, and you have liked Jungkook since middle school, right?”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “You’re the worst.”

“And you’re just in denial about it. It’s painful to watch,” she teased.

Before you could respond, Sana leaned in closer and said, “But honestly, your face every time I was with him? Not subtle at all.”

“Well, excuse me for being human,” you muttered, glaring at her.

Sana just smirked. “Anyway, there’s nothing between me and Jungkook, but there’s definitely something between him and you.”

Your heart raced at her words, but you quickly shook your head. “You’re imagining things.”

Sana rolled her eyes. “Right. I’m the one imagining this. Not the girl who’s been crushing on Jungkook for years.”

“Can we talk about something else, please?” you begged.

“Nope! You can’t get out of this. People always thought we were a couple, but it’s silly because there’s nothing there. The only person I’m into is Taehyung.”

You blinked, trying to grasp all the new information. “So... you and Taehyung?”

“Yep!” she said, grinning. “Don’t worry; I’ll make sure Jungkook knows you’re interested. Not that he doesn’t already.”

“Sana!” you shouted, throwing a pillow at her.

You both burst into laughter, the earlier tension completely gone. For the first time in ages, things felt normal between you and Sana, just like they used to be.

Suddenly, Sana spoke up enthusiastically, crossing her arms like it was settled. “You need to go to this prom!”

You sighed, leaning back against your bed. “No way. I’m not ready for this. I don’t have a dress, I didn’t make plans, and prom starts at 6 PM. Do you even know what time it is?”

Sana rolled her eyes dramatically. “Seriously, Y/N? You know they never start right at 6.”

That made you laugh. “Okay, true.”

“But I still don’t have a dress!” you protested, looking down at your jeans and oversized hoodie. “Even if I did, it's too late to get ready now.”

Sana grinned mischievously and dashed out the door. “Don’t worry! We’re the same size, remember? I’ll grab a dress from my place and be back in no time. Bye!”

Before you could argue, she was gone, leaving you surprised and somewhat amused.

As you leaned back, you reflected on how just hours ago, you wouldn’t have imagined reconnecting with Sana and laughing like old times. Life can be full of surprises.

Moments later, Sana burst through your door, a garment bag draped over her arm, grinning widely. You perked up, but then noticed what she held—a white sparkly long gown.

“Wait a second,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “Where’s the other dress? I thought we were going together!”

Sana winced, her smile faltering. “About that... I actually have plans tonight. With Taehyung.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re skipping prom for a guy?”

She raised her hands in mock defense, laughing. “I’m sorry! I can’t help it; I’m just a flawed human!”

You couldn’t help but laugh along, shaking your head at her antics. “Fine, but you owe me—big time.”

Sana smirked and shoved the garment bag into your arms. “Deal! Now go take a shower. We have a lot to do to make you look stunning.”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed the bag and headed for the bathroom. “You better not do anything weird while I’m gone.”

“Me? Weird? Never!” Sana feigned innocence.

But as soon as you closed the bathroom door, you could hear her giggling outside.

Curiosity got the better of her. Her eyes landed on a small stack of letters sitting on your desk, and one in particular caught her attention. It had Jungkook’s name written on the envelope.

She hesitated for a moment, then grabbed it. “Curiosity kills the cat, but satisfaction brings it back,” she muttered as she opened the letter.

As she read, a sly smile spread across her face. “Oh, this is perfect.” With a sparkle of mischief in her eyes, she tucked the letter into her bag, already planning how to make her night—and yours—unforgettable.

When you returned from your shower, wrapped in a towel and ready to get started, Sana was all business. “Alright, sit down. Let’s work some magic.”

The next hour was a flurry of hairspray, brushes, and accessories as Sana worked diligently, turning you into someone who looked ready for a fairytale. By the time she was done, you hardly recognized yourself in the mirror.

“Oh my god,” Sana exclaimed, stepping back to admire her work. “You’re gorgeous! I’m so proud to call you my friend.”

You rolled your eyes, feeling your cheeks warm. “Stop it, Sana. You’re just flattering me.”

“I’m serious, Y/N. You look amazing.”

Before you could respond, there was a knock at the door. Your mom peeked in, her eyes going wide in surprise.

“Wow,” she said, placing a hand on her chest. “You’re... stunning, my darling.”

“Thanks, Mom,” you replied, trying to hide your blush.

“I thought you weren’t going,” she added, tilting her head in confusion.

“Change of plans,” you said casually.

Your mom turned to Sana. “What about you? Aren’t you going out?”

Sana grinned, ready with her excuse. “I have something important to do tonight.”

You smirked, catching onto the little fib. “Yeah, important,” you teased quietly, getting a playful shove from Sana in return.

As your mom stepped out, Sana handed you your sandals, the final touch, and gave you an encouraging smile. “Alright, Cinderella, it’s time for the ball. It’s almost 7 PM!”

— ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ —

Jungkook tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited at a red light. The lights from the cars in front of him blurred as his thoughts drifted back to a note he had received from you the night before. It simply said, “No, studying.” It was straightforward and so very “you.” You were focused on your future and not swayed by a high school dance. That dedication was just one of the many things he admired about you—your ability to stay on track and ignore distractions.

But part of him selfishly wished you would go to the dance. It wasn’t about the glitz and glamour; he just wanted to see you there, enjoying yourself for once. You had worked so hard all year, and no one deserved a moment of fun more than you. And if he was honest, he simply wanted to see you smile.

He laughed quietly to himself, shaking his head at his own thoughts. What was he imagining? He wasn’t your boyfriend or anything like that. He was just your neighbor, your friend—the guy who chatted with you casually and often caught glimpses of you through your room window when your light turned on.

A car behind him honked, snapping him back to reality. The light had changed to green. He pressed the gas and moved forward, only to hear his phone buzz in the passenger seat. He took a quick look at the screen during the next stop—texts from Sana.

Sana: Sorry, I’m gonna ditch you tonight. Sorry not sorry.

Sana: But I’ve got something to give you right now. Please meet me. Thanks.

Jungkook sighed, feeling a mix of frustration and disappointment. He wasn’t surprised that Sana had backed out. It was typical of her behavior, probably running off for some adventure with Taehyung. He didn’t really care; he didn’t have high hopes for the night anyway. The excitement of prom had faded the moment you decided not to attend.

Still, the weight of his disappointment settled deeper in his heart. For a brief moment, he had imagined that tonight could be special—his chance to finally tell you how he felt. It was his last year of high school, and if he didn’t speak up now, he might never get the chance.

With a sigh, Jungkook turned his car toward Sana’s house. His thoughts raced, torn between the reality of you not being there and the small, foolish hope that maybe—just maybe—you might change your mind and show up. Although, he thought bitterly, what were the chances you felt the same way about him?

Yet, there was a little voice in the back of his mind encouraging him to take the risk. To go for it, even if it meant putting everything on the line. Because if not tonight, then when would he ever find the courage to say anything?

It all started when you moved into the neighborhood. Jungkook had heard some talk at school about a new student joining their class, but honestly, he didn’t care much about gossip. That changed one afternoon when Jungkook found himself in a bad mood after spilling his favorite treat—banana milk. As he grumbled about how his day couldn’t get any worse, you appeared, handing him a fresh carton with a simple, “Here.”

At that moment, Jungkook thought you might be an angel. He didn’t know you well yet, but your quiet kindness left a mark on him. It wasn’t something big or flashy, just a small gesture of support that meant a lot. From then on, you became friends—not best friends like you were with Sana, but close enough for him to pick up on little things about you, like how much you loved reading, how your face lit up when you talked about your favorite subjects, and how determined you were in everything you did.

You were one of the few who encouraged him to take photos, aside from his dad. When Jungkook got a camera for his birthday, he was excited that you agreed to model for him. Over time, you became one of his favorite people to photograph. There was something special about the way you carried yourself—elegant yet strong—that made every picture meaningful.

As time went on, Jungkook noticed a change in you. He would see you walking home from school, looking down and seeming to shut the world out. It wasn’t until later that he found out the truth: your father had passed away after being ill for a long time. Jungkook wanted to reach out, but you had withdrawn from school and social life. He understood that you needed time alone to grieve. Still, he couldn’t shake the concern he felt. Things had changed between you and Sana too; you weren’t talking as much anymore, and Jungkook wondered what had shifted.

He thought about asking Sana about it, but hesitated. It didn’t feel right since she had her own things going on. For a while, Jungkook even thought Sana was interested in him because she was always around, laughing and chatting. But soon he realized her attention was focused on his best friend, Taehyung. Ever since he introduced them, Sana had been trying to get Taehyung’s attention, and Jungkook ended up as her unintentional sidekick.

That sometimes frustrated him, especially when Sana interrupted moments he wanted to share with you. Like that one day you were sitting together on a bench while he was walking Taehyung’s dog, Yeontan, who had a lot of energy. Suddenly, Yeontan broke free and darted away, and Jungkook had rushed to catch him, unexpectedly running right into you. At that moment, it felt like fate.

When senior year began, you returned as a new person—stronger and more confident, with a spark in your eyes that caught everyone’s attention. As the newly elected student leader, you tackled every challenge with determination. Jungkook watched in awe. How could someone who had faced so much come back even brighter? When he found out you were watching the school’s big football game, he played like it was the most important game of his life. Every move was made with the thought of impressing you. When the team won, he secretly hoped that you had noticed him.

But it wasn’t just your accomplishments that captivated him. It was the way you hummed while studying, the light in your eyes when discussing your future, and your unwavering determination. The more time Jungkook spent with you, the deeper his feelings grew.

It wasn’t just a crush anymore. It felt complicated and overwhelming, and he couldn’t ignore it. But along with those feelings came frustration. Jungkook often felt unworthy of you. You were amazing in every way, while he thought of himself as just Jungkook. Even when he tried to pull away from his feelings, they would rush back, like waves that wouldn’t stop.

Jungkook arrived at Sana’s house, where she greeted him with a big smile. She held up an envelope, waving it around excitedly.

“Here,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Make sure you read this at the prom. Or else.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “Or else what?”

Sana leaned in, lowering her voice for dramatic effect. “Or else I’ll share that karaoke video of you singing ‘Baby Shark’ at the top of your lungs last summer.”

Jungkook groaned, grabbing the envelope from her. “Seriously? That was for my little cousin’s party!”

“Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that,” she teased, barely holding back her laughter. “Now go! And don’t mess this up.”

— ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ — — ♡ —

After your mom insisted on giving you a ride and your friend Sana decided not to come with you for some unclear reason, you figured a late arrival would be alright. As you walked into the venue, the lively music greeted you, and then you spotted Namjoon, who had a huge, welcoming smile on his face.

“Oh, wow, you actually made it!” he exclaimed, practically lifting you off the ground with his excitement.

“Someone talked me into it,” you replied, thinking about Sana’s enthusiastic pep talk earlier.

“Whoever that is, I owe them one! By the way, how did your entrance exam go?”

You smiled. “I passed!”

His face lit up even more. “Oh my god, I knew you would! I’m so proud of you!”

“Should we celebrate?”

And celebrate you did. The night turned into a blur of music, dancing, and laughter. Namjoon had a knack for making everything feel light and fun. For the first time in what felt like ages, you felt like yourself again—free from stress and the heaviness of the past year.

But even while dancing and singing along to the songs, you couldn’t help but wonder about Jungkook. You remembered Sana saying he was supposed to be here—and even more confusing, that he was going to be her partner. The thought of him with her nagged at you, even though she had assured you there was nothing romantic going on.

Why are you even thinking about him? you thought, scolding yourself. Just because Sana said everything is fine doesn’t mean he feels the same way about you. Your thoughts were interrupted when Namjoon handed you a drink and pulled you back into the moment. “Come on, no sad thoughts tonight!” he said, grinning widely.

You laughed and accepted the drink, allowing yourself to be swept up in the music and the joy of the evening. Whatever happened later, you decided, could wait until tomorrow. For now, you were going to dance the night away.

Meanwhile, Jungkook was sitting away from the dance floor with his football teammates, lazily holding a drink. He wasn’t really paying attention to what they were saying until Jimin leaned over with a cheeky grin.

“Hey, I just saw Y/N on the dance floor,” Jimin said casually, almost like he didn’t just drop a huge surprise.

Jungkook sat up straight, surprised. “You’re not kidding, right?”

“Nope,” Jimin replied, dragging out the word for more suspense. “But... she’s with Namjoon.”

The smile that had started to form on Jungkook’s face vanished. Of course you were with Namjoon. He felt a familiar wave of jealousy wash over him, even though he knew it was silly—there was nothing romantic between you two, right? Still, he couldn’t help his mind from racing.

As he glanced down at the dance floor, he spotted you right away. You were laughing, your face bright in the colorful lights as you danced with carefree joy. Despite the sting in his chest, Jungkook couldn’t help but smile. You looked so happy, and that mattered to him.

“She looks amazing,” he thought, feeling a bit of a ache in his heart.

Jimin leaned closer, grinning playfully. “You’re so down bad, man. When are you going to tell her? Keeping it inside for years is painful to watch.”

“Shut up, Jimin,” Jungkook muttered, grabbing the drink from Jimin’s hand and standing up quickly.

As he walked away, something slipped from his pocket and fell to the floor.

“Uh, Jungkook? You dropped something,” Jimin called out, picking it up.

Jungkook turned around, snatching the envelope before Jimin could look closer and shoved it back into his pocket.

He made his way to the restroom, his thoughts racing. After closing the door behind him, he leaned against the sink and pulled out the envelope again.

He had completely forgotten about it in the excitement of the night. Slowly, he opened it, curiosity bubbling inside him. As he read the first few lines, his breath caught in his throat.

You excused yourself, telling Namjoon that you needed a break and wanted to find the comfort room. He nodded and kindly pointed you in the right direction. As you walked away from the crowd, the noise of the venue faded slightly, and you welcomed the moment of solitude.

But before you could push the door open, you stopped in your tracks. Jungkook was standing there, looking like he’d just seen a ghost. His eyes widened as they met yours. You gave him a small wave, unsure of what to make of his expression, but before you could say anything, he grabbed your wrist and gently pulled you outside.

“Jungkook, wait! What’s going on?” you protested, but he didn’t stop until you were far away from the venue, out of sight and earshot of the crowd.

Finally, you tugged your arm free, your breath slightly uneven. “What’s going on? Why did you bring me here?”

He looked at you, his jaw tightening like he was wrestling with something he couldn’t hold back any longer. Then he blurted out, “Do you still like me?”

You froze. “Pardon?”

“Do you have feelings for me?” His voice was more urgent this time, his eyes searching yours.

“What—Jungkook, I’m confused! What’s happening?” you stammered, until your gaze dropped to his hand. He was holding something—a letter. A very familiar letter. Your heart sank. No, this can’t be happening, you thought.

“Where did you get that?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. It was the letter. The one you wrote when you thought you had no chance with him. The one you hesitated to give because it felt too vulnerable, too raw. And now, he was holding it.

Dear Jungkook,

There’s so much I’ve been meaning to say, but I never quite found the right moment—or maybe I just didn’t have the courage. You’ve been such an important part of my life, and honestly, I can’t imagine it without you.

We’ve known each other for so long, and I still remember the little things—like the time when we were kids, and you cried because your favorite drink spilled. I gave you mine, and you smiled like the world was okay again. It might sound silly, but that moment has stayed with me.

As time has passed, I’ve come to realize that my feelings for you have deepened in ways I didn’t expect. Maybe it was during those awkward moments in middle school when you were there to help me out without making things weird. Your kindness in those moments really meant the world to me and made me like you even more.

I want to assure you that I’m not writing this to complicate our friendship because that means the world to me. I just felt it was time to be honest, especially with all the buzz around you and Sana. Regardless of what’s happening between you two, your happiness is what truly matters to me. She’s great, and you deserve nothing but the best.

Most of all, I want to thank you. Thank you for being my friend, for capturing memories through your photos when I didn’t know how to see myself, and for being there when I needed someone, even if I didn’t realize it at the time. Thank you for being a part of my dad’s life as well—I know he would be proud of the person you’re becoming.

I’m sorry for the times when I pushed you away or made it hard to talk. I know you wanted to connect, and I regret not opening up sooner. You know I’ve had my struggles, but I hope we can still be just like before.

No matter what happens, I hope you always choose what makes you happiest. You deserve that, Jungkook. I hope I’ll get to see you thriving, chasing your dreams, and smiling that smile that makes everything feel okay.

See you around.

Love,

Y/N

You should’ve known better. She always had a knack for getting involved in things she shouldn't, and this time was no different.

“Answer me,” Jungkook urged again, his voice softer now but still serious.

You took a deep breath, your heart racing. “Yes, Jungkook. I did have feelings for you,” you confessed, your voice shaking. “And... I still do.”

Before you could say anything else, Jungkook stepped closer, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was gentle yet charged, filled with all the feelings he hadn’t found the words for. It felt like time stopped, the noise of everyone else fading away until there was just the two of you.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he smiled—a real, open smile that lit up his face. “I like you too, Y/N. I’ve liked you for so long. I just… didn’t know how to tell you.”

Your breath caught, not in surprise this time, but in the overwhelming realization that maybe, just maybe, this was the moment you had been waiting for.

He kissed you again, and it felt deeper and more passionate, your mouths moving together as if they’d always belonged that way. Jungkook pulled back slightly, both of you catching your breath while still holding onto each other, his eyes shining with joy. "I can't believe this is actually happening," he murmured.

You raised an eyebrow, still reeling from everything. "Neither can I. You dragged me out here, kissed me, and now what? Do we just head back to prom like nothing happened?"

As you stood there with Jungkook, still processing everything, a voice crackled over the speakers from inside the venue.

“Attention, everyone! The moment you’ve all been waiting for—the announcement of our prom king and queen!”

You turned to Jungkook, your hand still in his. “We should probably head back.”

Jungkook shook his head, grinning. “As if I’d win prom king. And there’s no way you'd win, unless you consideration of just how breathtaking you are tonight."

You tilted your head, smirking. “What if I do win prom queen? Don’t you want to be there for my big moment?”

You both laughed at the thought. But before you could say anything else, the emcee’s voice rang out.

“And this year’s prom king is… Mr. Jeon Jungkook!”

You both froze. You stared at him in disbelief. “No way.”

Jungkook blinked, confused. “Did they—? Are we hearing the same thing?”

The crowd inside erupted with cheers, and before Jungkook could react, the emcee continued, “And this year’s prom queen is none other than Ms. Y/N L/N!”

Your jaw dropped as you looked at Jungkook, astonished. “Okay, now I know this is a joke. Sana definitely set this up.”

Jungkook grabbed your hand and began leading you back toward the venue. “Well, come on, Your Majesty. Let’s go claim our crowns!”

As you entered the hall, all eyes turned to you, clapping and cheering. Jungkook’s friends were the loudest, practically bouncing with excitement.

You and Jungkook were brought up onto the stage, where the emcee placed crowns on your heads. Jungkook leaned down and whispered, “I guess we’re more popular than we thought.”

You snorted, trying not to laugh in front of everyone.

As the first notes of a slow song filled the air, the emcee gestured to the dance floor. “And now, the prom king and queen’s dance!”

Jungkook extended his hand to you, his grin widening. “Shall we, Your Highness?”

You rolled your eyes playfully but took his hand. “Let’s not trip over our crowns, Your Majesty.”

As you both danced under the sparkling lights, the crowd faded into the background, leaving just the two of you. This wasn’t just any dance—it was a moment that felt timeless, a memory forming in your heart.

You hadn’t even wanted to come tonight, yet here you were, wrapped in Jungkook’s warm embrace, feeling as if everything had led to this unexpected moment. Looking into his eyes, you understood—this wasn’t just the end of the night; it was the start of something even greater.

For the first time, it all made sense. Like two pieces of a puzzle that had been searching for each other, you fit together effortlessly, naturally, as if this was where you always belong to each other.

end.

#jungkook #jungkook and reader #jungkook au #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook angst #jungkook romance #you belong with me #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine #jungkook fic #jungkook recs #jungkook fic recs #jungkook highschool au #taylor swift

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lovemaybankk · 3 months ago

Text

sweet - part 2: rafe cameron x kook!reader (18+)

pairing: rafe cameron x kook!reader

read part 1 here!

read part 3 here! (soon to be added)

inspired by lana del rey's song, "sweet" ♡

summary: growing up with your protective older brother, topper thornton, has been challenging yet comforting. until recently, have you been starting to see your older brother's friend, rafe cameron, in a new light and your relationship with him starts to change.

word count: 4,012 words, should be proofread but pls feel free to comment regarding anything

author's note: thank you so much for reading this new series!! i sincerely hope you enjoy :)

warning: mdni, cursing, dub-con/non-con, coercive behaviour, degradation kink, oral sex (fem receiving), teasing, masturbation

you and topper arrived at the wreck as your grandparents were settling into their favorite corner booth. the small, rustic restaurant was a local favorite, located near the water, with walls decorated in nautical-themed knickknacks and old photographs of fishing boats ran by the carerra's. the scent of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon filled the air, mixing with the faint saltiness of the nearby ocean breeze that wafted in through the open windows.

you slid into the booth next to topper, who was already immersed in his phone, only looking up to greet your grandparents with his usual charm. "morning, grandma. grandpa," he said, flashing a grin that immediately earned him their full attention.

when the food arrived, the table grew quieter, everyone focused on their pancakes and muffins. outside, the wind picked up slightly, rustling the palm fronds that framed the wreck’s front entrance. you found yourself glancing out the window, letting the rhythmic crashing of distant waves ground you. the warmth of the food, the laughter of your grandparents, and the quiet reassurance of a north carolina sunday morning made the coming out worth it.

as the plates were cleared and coffee cups refilled, your grandpa leaned over to ask about your plans for the week, his gentle curiosity pulling you back into the moment.

after the conversation with your grandpa was nearly finished about your plans and as the plates were being cleared, your mom looked up from her coffee and focused in on you. "so, y/n," she started, her tone casual but with an edge of curiosity, "topper mentioned you went out last night."

you froze for a second, your fork halfway to your mouth. topper, of course. "yes, i just went to grab food."

your dad chimed in, setting his mug down with a thud. "at that hour? with who?"

you hesitated, glancing briefly at topper, who had a smirk plastered across his face. you knew he was waiting to see how you’d explain. "rafe took me," you admitted, keeping your tone as neutral as possible, "he offered to since topper and kelce didn't."

that immediately caught their attention. your mom’s eyebrows shot up, and your dad leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. "rafe cameron?" your mom asked, her voice clear with interest. "as in ward cameron’s son?"

"yes mom," you responded in a respectful manner.

your mom’s face lit up. “he’s such a good young man,” she said, glancing at your dad. “and their family—what a legacy. ward practically built half of figure eight.”

your dad (and grandparents) nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful. "ward’s done well for himself and his family."

your mom turned her focus back to you, her smile almost too wide. "and rafe, he’s such a gentleman to take you out like that." her attention turned towards topper, "really kind of your friend to look after your little sister.”

you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, hoping the conversation would not veer the way you had a feeling it would. you said quickly, "he just gave me a ride. that’s all."

but your mom wasn’t letting it go. "still," she insisted, "you could learn a lot from rafe, topper."

topper snorted, finally speaking up. "you have no idea who rafe cameron really is. you should see him when he’s out with us..." he shook his head, clearly amused, but your parents ignored him, too wrapped up in their admiration for the cameron family.

what did topper mean by that anyways?

your mom began to wrinkle her nose slightly, her smile faltering just a bit. "well, except for sarah," she added with a sharp edge to her tone. "i still don’t know what you ever saw in her, topper."

topper rolled his eyes, clearly irritated that the topic had shifted. "mom, we broke up ages ago. can you drop it?"

but she wasn’t letting it go, leaning forward as if to make her point crystal clear. "i’m just saying, she’s always been too self-centered, and frankly, she didn’t treat you the way you deserve. not to mention the way she ran around with those pogues after everything we did for her."

"okay, okay," topper cut her off, raising his hands in surrender. "we get it. can we move on now?"

your dad sighed, and your mom turned her attention back to you, her expression softening. "you should thank rafe properly," your mom added as if it were a decree. "maybe cook for him as you usually do for us."

"sure mom," you muttered, desperate to end the conversation. topper caught your eye, his smirk growing wider, and you shot him a glare that only made him chuckle.

"as a matter of fact, kelce and rafe are staying over tonight," topper said casually, leaning back in his seat like it was no big deal.

"what?" you asked, your fork clattering against your plate. really, a night of dealing with topper’s friends taking over the house?

your parents exchanged a glance, "well, remember your father and i planned to be out of the island tonight, so you both must hold down the house. again y/n, maybe cook for them—and bake something too. it would be a lovely gesture to thank rafe for being so kind to you last night."

"wait, what? why can’t they just order in?" you protested, already dreading the responsibility they were about to shove onto you.

your mom gave you a pointed look, as if the answer were obvious. "because it’s more thoughtful if you put in the effort yourself, y/n. it’s the least you can do."

you resisted the urge to groan and before you could argue further, topper chimed in, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "exactly, y/n, make us something good please. rafe and kelce will appreciate it,” he said, but you could tell from his smirk that he was thinking about himself, not them.

"you mean you’ll appreciate it," you shot back, narrowing your eyes at him.

topper shrugged, completely unbothered. "maybe. but hey, if it keeps you from ordering random takeout, i’m all for it."

you leaned back into your seat, realizing you had no way out of this. and it was "exactly what you needed" which was going to be a night of acting like a housekeeper to topper and friends, all perfectly capable of taking care of themselves.

or was that all the night would have in store?

there you were standing in the kitchen later that evening, the sound of pots clattering and the smell of something savory filling the air. the counter was currently full of ingredients like bags of flour, bottles of spices, and a carton of eggs you hadn’t realized you’d left open until one nearly rolled off the edge. with a sigh, you grabbed it just in time and muttered underneath your breath how you couldn't believe you had to do this right now.

you could hear laughter coming from the living room, where topper, kelce, and rafe were laid across the couches, clearly having a good time doing absolutely nothing. their voices carried through the house, a mix of jokes and conversation, completely oblivious to the effort you were putting in.

you stirred the pot of sauce on the stove, the wooden spoon clinking against the sides, wondering for the tenth time why you hadn’t just ordered a pizza and called it a day. but no, your parents, mostly your mom, had made it clear this had to be a gesture.

as the timer beeped for the roasted vegetables, you quickly pulled the tray out of the oven, the steam fogging up in your face. you glanced at the clock, realizing you’d been in the kitchen for over an hour now.

part of you felt satisfaction at how the meal resulted, but another part was abound at the fact that it was all for topper and his friends, who probably wouldn’t even say thank you. still, you couldn’t help but wonder if rafe might notice the effort.

with everything finally done, you set the table, begrudgingly arranging plates and silverware for the four of you. the food looked good enough to belong in a restaurant: pasta with a rich, velvety sauce, golden garlic knots, roasted vegetables glistening with olive oil, and the cookies you’d baked resting on a plate at the center of the table.

"dinner’s ready!" you called out loudly.

topper, kelce, and rafe strolled in from the living room, clearly in no rush. topper plopped down at the head of the table, immediately reaching for a garlic knot. "about time," he said with a grin. "i was starving."

"you’re welcome," you annoyingly muttered, sliding into a seat across from rafe, who gave you a small nod of acknowledgment.

kelce wasted no time piling food onto his plate, mumbling something about you being "the best cook." topper, of course, claimed most of the pasta, though he didn’t forget to make a snarky comment about how you probably "overdid the seasoning." you chose to focus on your plate instead.

rafe, on the other hand, served himself modestly, gave the food an appraising glance, and said, "this looks really good, y/n. thanks for making all this."

you blinked, caught off guard by the genuine tone in his voice. "of course," you replied and the small smile tugging at your lips gave you away.

as the four of you ate, the conversation circled around, mostly driven by topper and kelce’s usual banter. but every so often, you’d catch rafe glancing your way, and you couldn’t quite catch what to make of it.

as the meal went on, you couldn’t help but notice that while rafe had started with a small portion, he was subtly piling more onto his plate every time the conversation picked up.

by the time kelce and topper were too busy arguing over the last garlic knot, rafe’s plate was stacked high with pasta and vegetables, his casual demeanor masking how much he’d actually eaten. it was almost funny, watching him quietly load up while the others were too wrapped up in their banter to notice.

it was also adorable, really. the way he tried to act casual about it, like he wasn’t completely going back for seconds, thirds, and even fourths. you caught yourself smiling a little as you watched him scoop another helping of pasta, his expression neutral as if he wasn’t practically inhaling your cooking. the contrast between his polite words earlier and his quiet enthusiasm now made you feel a weird mix of pride and amusement. he genuinely seemed to enjoy your meal, and it was pretty endearing.

the rest of the evening passed in a blur of distant laughter and muffled music coming from the living room where topper, kelce, and rafe had set up. after dinner, you decided to retreat to your room, relieved to have a bit of peace and quiet. with a cozy blanket and a show you’d been meaning to catch up on, you let yourself relax, determined to stay out of their way for the night.

eventually, the night felt calm enough for you to get a snack.

rubbing your eyes and tugging on a random hoodie, you sneaked into the kitchen. the entire house was mostly dark, the glow from the stove light casting soft shadows over the counters. you opened the fridge, scanning for anything quick and easy. maybe a leftover cookie, maybe a fruit. you chose to instead for a container on the counter, a sound behind you made you pause. you turned and saw a tall figure leaning casually against the doorway.

"late night snack?" rafe’s voice was low and calm, carrying a faint trace of amusement.

"what are you doing up?" you muttered, still holding the container of cookies.

he shrugged, stepping into the kitchen, his movements unhurried. "couldn’t sleep. topper and kelce are snoring like chainsaws," he said with a small smirk. "thought i'd grab a drink."

you gestured toward the cabinet where the glasses were kept, "you remember where we have everything right?"

“yup, but thanks,” he said, but instead of grabbing a glass, he leaned against the counter, watching you with an easy gaze. "figured you’d had enough of us for one night?"

"trust me, i did," you replied dryly, taking a bite of a cookie. "but i got hungry."

his smirk deepened, and he stepped closer, closing the small distance between you two. "you know, you did not have to go all out earlier. dinner was super tasty," he said, his voice softer now.

you blinked, caught off guard by the compliment, especially with how he was suddenly looking at you. "thanks...i'm really happy you appreciated it," you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

he took another step closer. his hand brushed the counter near yours, his proximity making your heart race.

you could feel the warmth radiating from him, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. his gaze flicked down to your lips briefly before meeting your eyes again.

"i meant it, you know," he said, his tone growing more thoughtful. "you’ve always had this… way of putting so much into everything you do. it’s something i’ve noticed for a long time."

his words hung in the air, heavy with a sincerity that made your chest tighten. you stared at him, seeing his expression was open and serious.

"you...really think that?" you asked, your voice quieter now.

"of course," he said, his gaze softening yet intensely on you. "you don’t see it, do you? how much you’re worth? the way you laugh, the way you stare, the way you care...even when your family does not even notice. but i do. i always have."

his words hit you hard, and you stared at him, his expression so open yet filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite place, making the space between you feel smaller than ever.

"rafe, i…" you began, but your voice faltered, with no idea how to respond to the pure honesty in his tone.

he let out a low, frustrated laugh, running a hand through his hair as he stepped closer, his movements suddenly deliberate, charged. "god, you’re so oblivious," he muttered, shaking his head. "do you even realize how long i’ve wanted this? wanted you?"

his words stunned you, the heat behind them leaving you breathless. "rafe, i had-"

he interrupted as his hands gripped your waist tightly as he pulled you toward him, his lips crashing onto yours with a kind of intensity that left no room for hesitation. it was urgent, insistent, like he’d been holding back for far too long and couldn’t anymore.

you gasped against his lips, but his hold on you was steady and grounding. he took this opportunity to plunge his tongue into your mouth, and he swirled his tongue around to explore, while also urging yours to meet with his. your hands instinctively clutched at his shoulders, letting yourself sink into the kiss, meeting his passion with yours and succumbing to his touch.

"rafe, no.." you moaned out to him as he began to trail a path of kisses down your neck as he tightly groped your behind, making you loudly gasp. he suddenly came face to face with you again. looking intensely into your eyes, "tell me you do not want this. we can stop this all right now." you held your ground, your gaze locking with his, matching the intensity in his eyes without faltering.

"you want this as much as i do. or else you wouldn’t be here...like this." he abruptly grabbed your neck, cradling it from behind, and pulled you in closer to him as he cupped your lower breast, causing you to audibly whimper.

he let out a chuckle, the sound loud and clear in your face, "you know…i always thought, with seeing you around all the time… and i thought about how innocent you were."

"but look at you right now." he said in a quiet, raspy tone as he began to trail his fingertips down from your chest, embracing every little part of your torso until he reached the waistband of your pants.

you felt utterly grounded in place, having the strongest urge to speak back to him but at the same time, you felt your arousal rising through your body from his touch. you noticed a sudden pooling in your crotch and were tightly clenching your legs together, desperate for touch, his touch.

he looks down at you fully and traces his eyes up and down, savoring the sight of you being visibly hungry and needy for him. he finally focuses his glance to below your waist and he again, traced his touch down your crotch until he felt contact with the area that would send waves of pleasure through you.

you couldn't help yourself but have your mouth loudly gasp and whimper as he began to firmly rub his two fingers up and down your clit in measured movements. as your sounds tore through, his hand quickly shot out, harshly covering your mouth. his grip was resolute, quieting you instantly as his intense gaze locked onto yours. leaning in close, his voice dropped to a low and raspy whisper, completely with authority, "don't make a noise. you don't want your big brother to see you right now...right?"

"with my hands like this..." he maintained that relentless, steady pace, his gaze fixed intently on you. he watched every subtle movement of your body, every tremor and vibration that reverberated from your muffled sounds against his hand. his eyes never left you, taking in the way he pulled wave after wave of sensation through you.

he abruptly stopped, and a soft whimper escaped your lips, pleading for him to continue, to keep massaging your needy folds with the same rhythm. he lowered his face in front of your ears and said, "bend over right now."

you shook your head quickly at his words, your heart racing. You knew it was wrong—being here, being touched by your brother's best friend—regardless, a part of you couldn't resist him. deep down, you knew you wanted this too, all along.

he gripped your shoulders and forcefully pressed you forward until your torso met the surface of the kitchen counter. the pressure of his hand on your back kept you in place, leaving no room for resistance as he leaned in closer, his need for you visible.

"you want to know a secret?" he asked, his voice soft, almost a whisper. you nodded, your curiosity piqued, heart beating faster with anticipation.

he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke, "i watched you that day." he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes searching yours, as though waiting for your response. you knew exactly what he was talking about.

"i was worried for you," he said softly, his voice filled with concern. "i heard noises coming from your room when i was trying to go to the bathroom."

you looked up at him, the tension in his words had your heart racing.

"i came closer to take a look," he continued, his gaze flickering away for a moment before locking with yours again. "and I thought, 'is that what i think it is?' but i also thought, no, not topper's little sister."

his words hung in the air, heavy and full of uncertainty. he took a deep breath before he spoke again. "then i opened the door very, very quietly, and saw you." his eyes darkened slightly, the intensity of the moment shifting.

he started to pull your pants down in a swift motion, your body tensed, instinctively trying to push him away, but before you could react, he grabbed your wrists, locking them together with a grip so strong you couldn't pull free. he pinned them to the table, his hold unyielding. the pressure of his touch sent a wave of heat through you, making your breath catch in your throat as you struggled to regain control.

"i watched you touch yourself, rubbing your sweet cunt in gentle motions. your legs were wide open facing towards the door, like you wanted me to watch you."

he started to rub through your soaked panties, "like this. and i watched you cum, watched you fully release yourself...oh, i will forever remember that."

"but you know what really got me? what you moaned when you were cumming. you wanna repeat it for me right now?" he continued the pace of his strokes against your heat and although you knew what to say, you stayed there, taking him.

you jolted forward and loudly gasped, which echoed through the kitchen, after rafe slapped your cunt. he harshly said and continued to stroke your cunt in a pleasurefully steady motion, "repeat it right fucking now."

you moaned out loud for him, "rafe...". he released that chuckle of his as he lowered himself, balancing on his knees. he buries his face into your wet area, securing his grip on your plush skin, digging into you.

with a slow, deliberate motion, he stuck his tongue flat onto your folds, pressing it gently. his tongue sank into your hole, the overflowing juices moving around your folds as he explored deeper with his tongue.

he paused for a moment, savoring the sweetness, his eyes briefly closing in enjoyment. as he stroked you with his tongue, his jaw worked steadily, and he started to roughly suck your clit into his mouth, flooding your senses with intense pleasure.

you quickly bucked your hips backward onto his face, beginning to subtly grind your pussy into his wet mouth, as he continued to glide his tongue over your folds that were soaked. you wanted more, you needed more. you quietly whimpered to him, "that feels so good, rafe."

heat building inside of you, your breathless moans coming out ragged. your hands instinctively rotate behind you, clutching at his head, fingers tightly grabbing his hair. you were trying desperately to push him off, but it only made him buried himself deeper.

"rafe, please...i could-"

your body quivered through your climax, each wave of pleasure consuming you, as beneath you, he continued the steady pace of his wet tongue thrusting into your throbbing hole, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you and extending your climax.

"oh...yes, rafe!"

you moaned further as you felt the harsh sucking of him trying to taste all of you, and then the continuous licking through your folds to make sure he got all of it.

your body felt limp, the exhaustion from everything washing over you in waves. your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as you sank into the feeling of release. rafe noticed, his eyes softening for a moment before his usual smirk returned. he lifted you with ease, his arms strong and secure around you.

"couldn’t hold on, huh?" he murmured, his voice thick with both amusement and something else—something you couldn’t quite catch.

you barely managed to nod, feeling a strange mix of vulnerability and something more in the air between you. he carried you effortlessly to your bedroom, each step deliberate as though he knew exactly what he was doing.

once inside, he lowered you gently onto the bed, making sure you were comfortable. his fingers lingered at your side, gently tucking the blanket around you, his touch soft yet deliberate. as he adjusted the covers, his eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, the teasing edge in his expression softened.

he leaned down, his breath brushing against your skin, and placed a slow, lingering kiss on your forehead. the warmth of his lips lingered even after he pulled away, his gaze still fixed on you with a quiet intensity. "sleep well," he whispered, his voice low and tender, the weight of his presence settling in the room.

"get some rest," he said, but the tone of his voice shifted, carrying a teasing undertone. he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, "but don’t think i'll let you off easy next time."

taglist! - @purplerose291, @o0itsjustme0o, @gillybear17, @l1ttlesstar, @10ava01, @frankoceanluvr11, @mattyskies, @my-name-is-baby, @ironmakerperfection, @cherry-coloureddfunk, @hoelesslyt, @crazylady20, @itsyourmanjuno

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