#my ex is dragging his feet
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toji-bunny-girl · 5 months ago
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bartender toji fucking the living daylights out of us after a nasty breakup ? also have a nice day
ON THE H★USE !!
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#𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐆 ⟢ bartender!Toji Fushiguro x fem!reader #𝑺𝒀𝑵𝑶𝑷𝑺𝑰𝑺 ⟢ riding the hot bartender after a break up is the least expected thing you��ll ever think of #𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⟢ alcohol, pet names, foreplay, fingering, teasing, grinding, pre-cum, no protection, creampie, car sex, nipple play, squirting, size difference, big dick toji papa, alpha toji with xxxxxxxxl dick, multiple orgasm, one-sided drunk sex (?), power play, I’m so lazy to do tags, who even reads content warnings tbh #𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑻 ⟢ 4k #𝑨/𝑵 ⟢ don’t let this flop guys I spent way too much time on this when I should be studying for my exam 😭
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“Plus, he literally had to beg me to act like I was cummin’ when he stuck his sorry excuse of a dick in me!” your eyelids hung heavily over your eyes as you exclaimed, brows shooting down in a frown. “Get a load of that guy, am I right?”
“He doesn’t pay for your stuff, and he can’t fuck good?!” Toji teasingly mirrored your tone as he manoeuvre behind the bar, uniform taut from the way he natchly flexed his arms; the bottles clinking as he worked deftly to craft out the beverage you ordered. “What a man.”
It has been 2 hours since you’ve been rambling on about your ex-boyfriend, and the ravenette felt like he’d known this stranger for years—all of his secrets and traits aired into his ears. Albeit, it was getting a bit boring, with the same repeated stories tumbling out of your voluble mouth. But still, he enjoyed chuckling at your adorable insobriety, fuelled by drunken mania. 
“Here you go, princess,” a small tug lifted the ends of his scarred lips when your eyes patently glimmered at the newly served alcohol. “It’s the last I can give you, we’re closing…” Toji’s eyes momentarily flickered to his watch, “in 7 minutes.”
“Oh, okay!” you deliriously yawped, downing the beverage into your liqueur-brimmed system before handing him your card, which you aimlessly threw at him, not even lucid of your motions. “Just swipe it.”
Toji simply brushed it off, taking it towards the other side of the counter. He's used to unintentional antics like yours, as long as the tab was paid off he has no problem with them. 
15,900 yen. 
The digits flashed past his eyes like stars, igniting a luminous glint in his dark emerald orbs. Hell, was it a sum to casually splurge on at some mid-high bar? He’s got a pretty girl with probably an equally pretty amount of personality in her wallet, sprawled on the bar top wailing about her broken heart. 
Oh, how he would love to play saviour. 
“Here, princess. Time to go home,” he tapped your card onto the counter after the successful transaction. His gruff voice was low as you drifted further from your haywired consciousness and towards a delicious drowse. You didn’t move when he neared your face, attempting to marshal up your scattered coherence by calling into your ear. 
Toji sighed as he leaned back onto his feet, and crossed his bulky arms, pondering the ways to get you out of the otherwise empty bar. 
It was 12:58 am and the other inebriated customers had gone out by themselves or with their friends dragging them along. Except for you, softly snoring on the sticky counter. 
His coworker shrugged at him when the ravennette glanced at the shorter male for help. “Just get her out of here. I’ll clean up the rest, and you owe me this one,” always so kind—how Toji wished he could smooch that man right then. 
“Thanks, man,” Toji’s eyes curved in moon crescents, before settling his sight onto your dozed frame. His finger pressed against your temple, and your head lolled to the side in suit of a light push; a trail of drool slipping past your plump lips. You were completely and utterly out of it, huh?
Grasping onto your arm, the male lightly shook you awake, the warmth from his calloused palm stimulating your nerves vivified. “Hey, Mr. Bartender…” you had an uneven smile on your crooked lips, sleepiness bubbling into the air with every laggard blink as you breathily chuckled. “Are you gonna bring me home?”
“I don’t know about that, princess,” his tone was syrupy sweet and it licked the ends of your lips upwards into a velvety grin. “But we gotta go now. Come on,” Toji’s hands came to yours, gently pulling you off of the bar stool. You followed after his guide, slipping your card into your pocket before frisking behind him like a lamb to the door. 
The burly male turned to his wrist after the door swung close in the wake of your exit, checking his watch; it read 1:04 am. The train station is closed and it’s going to kill his conscience if he leaves you by the streets like he always does with intoxicated male customers. He has no idea where you stay anyway—best to call a friend of yours to take you home. 
“(Y/N)?”
A grating, vexatious voice called. The two of you swivelled your gaze to the source to find your cheating, insipid creature of an ex with an arm thrown over some chick’s shoulders, chortling at the unstable mess you were. Your eyes were puffy and tumid from the hours of crying slash ranting session, and you were anything but lucid from the way you looked. 
How fucking lucky.
“What you got going on here? Getting kicked out of a bar?” your ex taunted, nearing his face to yours as you narrowed your eyes at him. 
“Y-You…as—”
“Have the lady some of her space, buddy,” Toji’s authoritative voice prevailed over yours as he pushed the male away, rendering him to helplessly stumble backward into a fall. The woman in his arm hid her giggle with a gasp before helping his fuming ass up, his face beet red from his ignominious tumble. 
“Who are you?” he barked, eyelids flying open to show the hidden whites and teeth bared in belligerence. 
“A man who can make her cum, without begging her to fake it,” the woman burst into a half-concealed snicker when the ravennette broke the air with his unanticipated words. Your face grew to be saturated with ardent red, from both the intoxicant that coursed through your veins and the sentence you thought you had heard.
“I call it bullshit,” your ex spat with his upper lip pulled up in disrelish. There’s a flash of humiliation in his glare—he knew Toji seemed better than him and it killed him to know you’ve got suitors who are way out of his league. 
“It’s true,” you tapped Toji’s metallically stiff chest with a twisted, satisfied smirk on your rat-arsed face. “He toootally didn’t just stick his dick in me and call it a day, y’know?”
“Fucking whore.”
“What d’ya say?!” you screeched, ready to pounce on the asshole. “I sent you to the ER once, and I’ll do it again!”
“Alright, that’s enough, princess,” Toji tenaciously held onto your arm, and you’re stuck by him even without him using much strength. “We don’t want you dirtying your hands, do we?” 
A nasty shove met the male’s chest, knocking the air out of his lungs when he hit the ground. It was merely a fraction of Toji’s force, and it already had the male choking to breathe on the ground. 
“Speak to her like that again, and it’s not going to be just a push,” you could hear the rise of a dour, serrated threat in his tone, and it begot the asshole to cower back in trepidation. 
Pussy, Toji grimace. Albeit he was no saint himself but he absolutely despises the ilk of guys your ex filtered into—boisterous and a bully to women, yet nothing but a trifling mutt in front of men.
A tug of his arm, and your limbs wrapped around his wretched him out of his state of visceral contempt. “Take me home!” you ineptly exclaimed, a gruntled grin on your adorable, roguish face. 
Briefly riveting his baleful gaze onto the splayed male on the bitumen, Toji steered you uphill towards the parking lot as you clumsily tottered aside him. 
The encounter with the small-dick fucker sure rendered him more understanding of your evening of outburst. Plus, for you to be cheated on that piece of work was truly the icing on the cake. “Poor you, huh?”
“Forget ‘bout him! You were so cool I almost cummed right there and then,” you teasingly giggled as you peered at him through your heavy eyelids. 
Fuck—it’s no good for you to be saying that with that look on your face. 
His eyes rest ahead the road as you soon come to near the bright red C8 Corvette the woman he’s estranged with had previously gifted him, the car standing out amongst the parked vehicles like a sore thumb. 
Your eyes scintillated in awe when the car luridly flashed and beeped in the night, “That’s yours?!” you cried aloud, frisking all the way to the car, before stumbling over thin air and nearly jolting forward into a fall. Luckily, Toji was quick enough to catch you by your arm, saving your knee a painful event of bloody excoriation. “Oopsie daisie.”
Cute, Toji chortled. 
Jumping into the vehicle, the potent roar of the engine cut through the midnight air after you’ve settled neatly in the passenger seat, the only thing missing was the safety belt that was supposed to secure your form. Reaching to your side, Toji’s hand briefly brushed over your exposed thigh, the hem of your short dress riding up to merely cover your panty. 
A soft, almost inaudible noise fled your lips, and his eyes laid on your face, the faint, intimate gold beam from the street lamp illuminating your glowing features. Your orbs were luminous through the dark, and it roused an innate lasciviousness that lay dormant in his core. 
The liquor that flowed through your blood vessels had not quelled through the lapse of time, but it did not take away your clarity to feel the tension that electrified the air molecules into sweltering magnetism. And gosh do you want to snatch the constriction in the atmosphere and tear it through your canines. 
“Touch me,” you whispered, so soft and vulnerable Toji could seemingly snap you in half with just a touch. 
“You’re drunk, princess,” he reminded, yet he remained unshifted over your smaller frame, his hand merely a molecule from your tempting flesh that sang for his warmth. 
“No,” you were firm. Something in you purled, bubbling a heavy, demanding need to have him devour you. “I want you,” your breath was hot, scorchingly so; airy and desperate. 
“You want me?” his hand fell to your wrist, grasping your soft skin under his heavy hold, and guiding you over to his seat, straddling his lap. His gaze cut through your eyes, daubing pressure against your jumbled nerves, his intensity threatened to slice through the silky jugular of your vulnerability. And you nearly moaned under his eyes.
You gingerly nodded at him, and you thought the knit between your brows was enough to speak for your neediness. 
His grip on your wrist tightened a fraction before you missed the heat radiating from his palm. “Careful, princess. You might regret this,” he had paved a way out, it’s a leave it or fuck it situation served beneath your fingertip—and all the atoms in your body leaped into the growling blaze in the abyss residing in his essence. 
“Please,” your voice was barely a note above a mumble, yet the weight of your single word mitigated any marshalled resistance in him. 
His hands slid up your thighs, inching under your dress, sending tingles to your throbbing core. The intensity that radiated from him ceased to waver as he leaned against your neck, brushing against your skin as you gulped. Dark, ashen clouds drew above the emerald forest of his before he spoke, almost threateningly against your throat, “I want you to remember every single detail of this in the morning.”
With a breathless nod, you had swung the floodgates of your amenability open to his guttural thirst. The heavy, rapacious waves of your desires crash into superposition. You were the fuel and he was the fire, together the air detonated into space. 
His wet lips met yours in a whim, sucking onto your flesh until it stung, greedily tasting every crook and cranny of your wet cavern with the bumps of his tongue. You moaned into his mouth as your hands flew to clutch onto his head, deepening the kiss to reach his insides while his rough fingers sank into the plump flesh of your ass. 
Your lips burned with his saliva, and his tongue fluttered with yours. The atmosphere felt all-consuming, gripping onto your throat and restricting the air from flushing down your windpipe. Yet, your core pulsed between your thighs, an excited blaze slowly roaring into something bigger than you could handle. 
Your chest rose and fell in a quick tempo when you snatched your lips away from his, grasping as much air as you could within a second before you dove right into him. Albeit your sight was hazy, you caught sight of the luminous flush that panned over his cheeks. 
Pretty, pretty. You chanted in your head as your hands slid down to his clothes, clumsily popping the buttons off of the garment that kept the warmth of his skin away from your touch. You want him, you want him. 
Your fingers nearly melted when they met his hot, sinewy chest, and Toji’s teeth sank a little too hard into your bottom lip when you teased his nipples under your touch, innervating them hard with every flick. The salient bulge in his pants rolled against your folds, merely separated by an annoying piece of your underwear, and your moans jumbled into each other’s mouths
“Fuck, princess. You’re driving me crazy,” Toji breathily groaned when your sloppy lips sundered apart, a hot string of mixed saliva connecting your swollen, red lips together. His large hands lifted your ass up into the air as he palmed them, the warmth from him sending a snuggly sensation through your body. “It’s no fun when only you get to tease.”
Your eyes playfully gleamed, before the light shot out of the crater of your orbs—his finger pressed against your sodden panty, damp with arousal. The tingles shyly reached through your belly as he rubbed your hardening bud, and your body shuddered against his. 
“You’re not playing fair,” he murmured against your jaw, leaving trails of bruised kisses down your jugular. His hand left your heat just as the high came close to your clutch, leaving you with nothing but the lingering cold touches of his. 
With a defeated sigh, you ground your knee against his growing hardness, your finger shyly rubbing against the clothed tip of the constrained mount, the spot slowly growing dark from amativeness. 
Toji sunk deeper into the headrest as you touched him, his exposed chest ceaselessly rising and falling. His breath hitched in his throat when you twirled his sensitive nipple between your fingers; your heated exhales warming the side of his neck as his grip almost painfully firmed onto the fat of your ass. 
You didn’t allow his peaking orgasm to come through, forcing yourself off of his sore, throbbing erection, and your teeth bared into a dirty smile. “I am playing fair.”
“You want to test me, princess?” he chuckled, the bassy timbre of his scratching the knot of an itch inside your ears. A gasp leaped out of your throat as your body jolted forward, his seat clicked backward to its maximum taut, “I’ll make you cry for more.”
You found your back nestled in his stead, your thighs spread open with his calloused hand slipping down your supple flesh. His fingers tapped nearer and nearer to your heat, before slipping off your soiled panty. 
“So fuckin’ wet,” Toji sucked an inhale through his teeth as he leered at your dripping sex—thick, rough thumb fluttering friction on your clit once again. Your eyelids flitted shut as you softly moaned against the air, the smell of your arousal filled the confinement of the car; the scent nearly making him growl when it panged hard against his nostrils. 
You watched as Toji slipped a thick finger into your velvety folds, feeling it trodding past your walls. Your heat snugly enveloped him as he filled your inside with another digit, his two fingers pressing, and running themselves over your slick cunny. “Gotta stretch you good for me, princess.” 
Your back inched into the seat with a contented sigh, enjoying the build-up of ticklish pressure stacking up your tummy. Toji was ridiculously dexterous with his fingers—deftly stroking your cunt, and quick to find the spot in you that innervated your pure senses with a ting. 
“S-Shit—” your body was subservient to his touches; your spine curved into an arch, your toes curled tight and your fingernails dug into the flesh of his arm. “M’feel so good. Toji—fuck,” it was as if his fingers were gilded in Eros’ heavenly blessing, the godly grace spilling into your pleasure. Tears began prickling at the sides of your eyes from how hard you were squeezing them, your flailing legs kicking against the dashboard of his car. 
“So pretty when you cry,” Toji groaned under his breath, his damp restraints painfully throbbing from the way your squelching walls tightened around his fingers—oh, how he fucking wish it was his cock in you right there and then. 
His touches were singing your walls into melting squirts of drool, pearls of arousal weeping between your thighs in the wake of his careful strokes. Never were you touched in such a way, and you felt like balling from how good it felt. “M’ close! M’gonna cum! Oh my gosh—!”
“Come on. Cum for me, princess,” you could hear his smirk in his voice as pleasure kissed your senses, fluttering through your electrified nerves and sending a jolt of tingles all over your body. Your mouth was lax open into an ‘o’, nails marking his skin as they sank deeper into his arm, and your walls tightly spasmed with a wave of rough euphoria cracking your bones weak. You fucking came from his mere fingers. 
Your eyes bat open with your lips sundered from your pants, your face ardently glowing from your subduing high. “Fuck…” your wet thighs quivered from the sheer force of your orgasm, and you blinked in disbelief. 
Over 2 decades of living and it was the first time cumming from a real man, not your fingers nor toys. But the brawny, sex-dripped male slipping your dress off of your spent body. 
You almost fell in love. 
Pushing him down the driver’s seat, you crawled over Toji’s firm thighs, running your finger from his chest to his muscle-packed abdomen, then down to the wristband. You were flickering to take charge, and he sank down to your guidance, rough palms resting on your hips. 
Your dress was off, divulging the bare curves of your body, sweat-glazed skin iridescent under the moonbeam and your sex-flushed features were begging for him. You look so, fucking, perfect that he had to bite down the need to ruin you on the spot. 
His hips impatiently thrust upwards into your sticky cunt, grinding his pack against you, urgency in his essence demanding your heat. “Don’t keep me waiting now,” he purred, with a silent warning tagging behind his words. 
Your fingers tugged the waistband of his pants along with his briefs, a drive in you matching his pacing hastiness. His shaft sprang out of its painful confinement, and your eyes nearly popped out from the sheer look of his cock. 
He was oozing with sticky pre-cum from his angry, red tip, throbbing veins ran from the base of his length to the curved head—the size of him bigger than any you’ve seen. The smell of his masculine essence hit your senses and a new pool of arousal began drawing in your tummy, your pussy walls squeezing in empty neediness.
“There’s no backing out now, princess,” Toji’s fingers firmly gripped onto your ass, lifting you over his cock, hovering.
“Who said I’m backing out?” you gulped, before lowering yourself down, his fat cockhead kissing your pussy lips before your hips greedily sank down his length, oblivious to the crackle of tingles it would send to your nerves.
“Careful there,” he teased with a chuckle as you let out an instinctual gasp from the way his girth stretched past your velvety walls, the slick sound of your arousal-dripped cunt, and his heavy shaft bubbled into the air, and scorched your cheeks red.
“M-My gosh…” you cried as your hazy gaze fell to the bulge jutting from the inside of your tummy, your walls taut with his heavy cock buried inside you. “I’m s’full, Toji.”
“Mhm,” he cooed, brushing his hands over the sides of your smooth thighs. “But you gotta start moving, baby.”
Gingerly, you lift your hips up before slowly inching them down his length. Your walls clenched as your sex rubbed friction, and you could feel every pulsing vein of his just as he could feel your fluttering warmth.
“Feel good, princess?” Toji asked breathily, your head faintly nodded, but there was a hint of a dubious glint in your fallen gaze, your knees lifting and sinking your weight.
“I need your help…” your voice cracked in disappointment as you paused, tears of frustration edging by your eyes. You couldn’t seem to grasp a steady pace no matter how long you painfully rode.
“What d’ya say?”
Your orbs looked as though they were melting off of your sweat-glazed skin, blinks of fervourish plea clawing from your drunken gaze into his. “Please, Toji,” your voice hitched, and you’re humping his pelvis. “Please…I want to feel good.”
Aww. How fucking adorable.
You yelped when you felt yourself being raised and slammed down his cock, your folds burning with every stretch of your walls. And it feels so good. “Y-Yes…” your eyes closed shut, fingers scrambling to grip his locks. “T-Toji—mhaa!”
“You’re so fuckin’ cute screaming my name,” the curve of his tip perfectly kissed your g-spot with each piston of his hips, and every time the twitching head of his meat met your gummy part, it sent a flash of electricity up your spine.
“S-Sho good—” you slurred through your words, weighed head lolling idly to every thrust of his fat cock.
“No one can get you dripping off their cock like this, huh?”
“Mmh—yes!” the space between your brows was crumpled into a tensed frown, your hips bouncing up and down his thick girth with his hands guiding your pace. “I love it! I love your cock!”
Toji let out a low groan when you cried, bucking himself deeper into your sloppy mess of a cunt and kissing the surface of your cervix. “Fuck—I love an honest girl.”
Your muscles nearly melted off of your bones as he continued to fucked himself deeper than you’ve ever felt, reaching the parts you didn’t know could be touched and your features dropped with his touches on your deep intimacy. A fierce sear of heat burned through your tingling womb, and it threatened to consume your body whole. “M’ cummin’! Toji—!”
“I know, I know, let it out f’me. Come on,” he grunted, keeping his grip firm on your arms as he fucked himself hard and deep into you. He could feel your squelching cunny clench, so tight as for the purpose of milking him on the spot. “Keep bouncin’ on my cock, yeah?”
“Nngh—No more!” you squealed. “N-No—” his thumb drew between your shaking thighs and greedily swiped over your blushing clit. Your fingernails sank into your palms as you gripped for dear sanity, his cock continuously violating your fluttering spots until they grew sore.
“I can make you feel better, princess,” he mumbled tinglingly against your neck, sinking his teeth down your flesh to hold back a shaky moan. His pleasure was inching to fly to release, and your tight clutch onto his shaft was nothing but a catalytic lure.
“S’ hurts—please!” your babbles were almost indecipherable as he rammed into your sore cunt, his fingers digging into your soft flesh holding onto you tenaciously; pushing you right to the edge of oblivion as he clung onto his nearing release.
“Cum f’me again, baby?”
“M’can’t! Still sensitive—!” you cried before another orgasm shot through your core. You felt as if you were sent up into the ether, stars teeming through your body as the waves of pleasure sent you on a vertigo ride. Your gasps dragged through your lips, your eyelids hung heavily over your bleary eyes, with tears slipping down your hot cheeks.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck—M’close too, baby,” Toji swore through his bared teeth, his cock painfully twitching as thick semen surged through his tip—his hips rolled as your cunt squeezed his remaining sanity, popping them like fireworks before they burst into nothingness.
Your essence squirted out of your tensed cunny, shooting with his mixed cum that dripped down his belly. Your breaths shaky and hot with heightened senses, your sticky sex pulsing in overstimulation.
Exhausted, you fell prostrated on top of his hard muscle-built body, head undulating with the ups and downs of his heaving chest. And slowly, your cognisance drifted back into your mind, the aftermath of everything—the alcohol and the sex, pummelled into you like a heavy truck. Unforgivingly so.
“Toji…I really feel like pukin—”
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reidrum · 3 months ago
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how dare you think it's romantic, leaving me safe and stranded
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A/N: if i stared at this any longer it would never see the light of day...so here she is! this is the longest fic i've ever written and i'm kinda gagged about that but i really hope you like it and if you don't that's okay too this is just silly angsty brainrot anyways thanks for reading this my inbox is open if you wanna yap more summary: in which your kidnapping forces you and spencer to face the fallout following your recently ended relationship cw: angst, hurt/comfort, reader is kidnapped/held hostage, implications and mentions of SA to reader but nothing happens, cm type violence, ex!spencer, lowkey lovers to enemies back to lovers, cat adams, medical jargon, miscommunication trope, the bau team is family, afab!reader, pet names wc: 5.1k
Every case you and Spencer have been on has been insufferable for the rest of the team since your falling out, if it had to be given a name. Everyone always had to deal with your constant bickering and harsh words. It was the same in every case, a difference of opinions that led to incessant fighting between you two, Hotch would have to separate you both and use your joint intelligence separately for the sake of keeping everyone alive.
This last case was nothing different, a serial killer in Athens, Georgia who was religiously sacrificing young women in the name of a cult. Both of you fighting over what you believed the other to be wrong about in their part for solving the case. Spencer thought the unsub would have struck in a zone closer to his home, you assumed he was only going after women who resembled someone in his life. The real problem was that you were both wrong.
And it ended with you being held hostage.
It all happened so fast. You were in the car with Spencer and Rossi driving out to the unsub’s house to check for new evidence when you had stopped at a gas station about 15 miles out from the house to refuel. Rossi got out of the car to pump the gas, Spencer sat in the passenger seat, and you went inside to use the bathroom and grab a quick snack.
You quickly washed your hands after finishing in the bathroom and wiped your hands on your pants, still slightly damp as you turn the handle of the door. As you’re perusing the aisle looking for a snack, you can feel the presence of watchful eyes on you. Casually, you slowly look up and around at the source and clock a figure an aisle over with a cap turned downward blocking their face. 
Your gut was sending flares up, telling you that danger was near. You nonchalantly walk over to the aisle he’s in, pretending to look at the nuts and dried fruits while attempting to get a look at his face. In a (maybe not so) bright idea, you think to knock a bag of nuts on the floor next to the lurker’s feet in the hopes he’ll bend down to pick it up for you.
With a push of your hand, the bag knocks off the shelf and onto the floor and you both bend down to pick it up.
“I’m so sorry about that,” you chuckle lightly, “I’m such a clutz.”
“No problem at all, Miss—.” He stops talking all of a sudden, you’re unsure why. You follow his gaze to your left hip where your FBI credentials are peaking out.
Shit.
He draws a weapon faster than you’re able to react with getting your own out, and by the time yours is out the barrel of his is flush with your forehead.
“Drop it.”
You quickly recognize the man as your unsub, miles away from his hunting ground and about to stray from his victimology with you.
“Come on, up. We’re going for a little ride.” He snarls, glancing outside at the black SUV with your colleagues. He grabs you by a hairful and drags you out the back door, shooting the gas station clerk before making the escape with you to his pickup truck. You’re shoved against the car door, back facing him, as he place a zip tie on your wrists and opens the door to sit you in the back seat. The unsub gets in the driver’s seat and starts the car, glaring at you through the rear view mirror, “I’m gonna have fun with you, fed.”
Meanwhile, back in the car Rossi stands at the pump waiting for the tank to fill and Spencer remains in the car looking over the case details once more. He can’t help but feel something is wrong, but can’t place his finger on it. He looks over the details again meticulously, searching for a fault anywhere in your, or even his own logic. Rossi closes the tank and hops back in the car, “She’s not back yet?” he pondered.
Spencer hadn’t even realized you weren’t back yet, “I guess not,” something wasn’t right, “She went ten minutes ago right?”
Rossi nods, opening his mouth to speak when a gunshot coming from the gas station cuts him off. The men look at each other, eyes widened and rush out of the car, weapons drawn.
“FBI!” Rossi enters, looking for any sign of you but coming up empty. Spencer takes note of the disheveled store, produce and cans lying astray. He steps around the mess to find an out of place bag of sour gummy worms on the floor in the middle of an aisle only filled with nuts and dried fruit. 
Sour gummy worms were your favorite.
A sinking feeling settles in Spencer as he tries to fight the reality his brain is trying to tell him. He looks to Rossi with a pained expression, and Rossi matches it back.
“He took her.”
___
The next few hours are a blur for Spencer.
Rossi called the team to meet them at the gas station, already telling Garcia to hack into the security cameras to find any clue of where he’d taken you. Emily and Derek were checking out the crime scene, Hotch and Rossi talking to the sheriff. JJ finds Spencer staring off onto the one road connected to the station.
“We’re gonna find her, Spence.”
He whips his head up at the sound of her voice, “I should’ve realized sooner. I knew there was something off about his MO, a—and I just couldn’t place it. And now she’s gone and it’s all my fault and I never—“
“Spencer,” JJ interrupts softly, “You couldn’t have known. None of us did, even her.”
“I should have,” he laments, “And if she…if something happens to her because I wasn’t paying attention…” He trails off, too afraid of what his brain thinks is the ending of the sentence.
JJ offers him a sympathetic look, understanding the conflicting emotions, “We’ll find her, she’s strong. You know that.”
He stares back at her hoping, praying, that she’s right and you’re going to be okay. You have to be.
He’s pulled out of his head by Morgan calling him and JJ over, telling Garcia on the phone to repeat her findings.
“Okay, I think I have a lead based on the security camera footage on the car he has and where it’s been last seen. I’m sending the last known coordinates to your phones now.” 
An idea springs to him, “Garcia, can you also check the gas station records and see how much he filled his tank?”
The clacking sounds of her keyboard ring through the phone before she speaks again, “He didn’t fill a full tank, only like, fifteen miles worth of gas.”
Everyone looks up at each other in realization of what the new information means. You had to be close by. Morgan walks over to tell Hotch, who immediately talks to a state ranger about setting up a 15 mile radius around the gas station with monitored roadblocks, no entry or exit without inspection. 
After Hotch finishes he walks back to Spencer and lays a hand on his shoulder, “Good job, Reid,” He nods back with a thin lipped smile and fiddles with his pen anxiously, “Are you okay?”. Spencer can’t tell if he’s genuinely asking him or if he’s asking him for the sake of him being able to do his job properly considering the circumstances. Ever the profiler that man is, he thinks.  He nods again nonetheless and walks over to meet Derek at the car.
Spencer and Derek get into the car and set the route for the coordinates Garcia gave, ETA 14 minutes. He swallows nervously, do you even have 14 minutes? What if he’s too late? What if you’re not even there? What if he never got to tell you—
“Reid. Are you even listening?”
“What?”
Derek raises his eyebrows as he glances at his friend, “Got something on your mind?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re a shit liar, man.”
“I’m not lying.” Even he doesn’t believe himself.
“Spencer—“
“I’m just worried! Okay? We’re all worried, it’s not a big deal.” he snaps.
Derek stops at a red light and looks over the console, “I’m going to ignore whatever that was,” guilt sweeps over Spencer’s face as he continues, “I’m not stupid kid, I know how you’re feeling. But you can’t let whatever turmoil you got in that big brain of yours affect this case. Not now.”
“I know that, Morg—“
“No, you don’t. I know you’re thinking about her, we all are. And we all want—need—her to be okay too. We will find her, but we can’t let the unsub get away too.”
Spencer sighs outwardly seeing the truth in his words. As concerned as he was about you he needed to remember this was still an active case. He couldn't let your past with each other cloud his judgement, even if the fallout still haunts him every day of his life. He needs to save you, but he also has a job to do. He just wasn’t sure if he’d remember that when they finally found you.
——
A pounding in your head stirs you awake, the bitter taste of metal flooding your senses as you come to. You blink a few times adjusting to the lowlights of the unfamiliar environment, hoping to find something distinguishable to ground you back to reality. It doesn’t help once you realize the blood crusted over your eye is the reason for your obscured vision. You attempt to rub it off on your shoulder ignoring the sharp pains shooting up from the abrasive contact. 
Once you think you’ve cleared enough you blink a few more times registering your surroundings to be a house, a cabin more accurately. Your memory is a little fuzzy as you try to recount what happened before you were knocked out cold.
Gas station. Unsub. Unsub at the gas station? But where was I…I went to the bathroom… and was getting…gummy worms?… But Rossi and Spencer were just outside… now I’m here…so does that means the unsub—
“Oh good, you’re awake.”
You jolt at the voice—the unsub you’ve come to remember—and you realize your hands are tied up behind your back, quickly coming to the second realization that you are rendered both injured and immobile.
“What do you want, Jason?” you say hoarsely after a minute.
He chuckles, “I didn’t know they made them so pretty at the academy…” he walks over and kneels in front of you, gripping your chin between his forefinger and thumb to move your head, “They probably kept you around for…entertainment right?”
You whip your head, “Don’t fucking touch me.”
“Oh, you’re feisty. That’s good, keep it up. Makes this more fun.” he walks back over to the table and fiddles with something, you can’t really tell from the floor, “So how’d they make it work back in—what is it called—Quantico! They take turns with you or? There’s so many of y’all, probably had a system.”
The pounding in your head makes it more difficult to process anything he’s saying, “The hell are you talking about, take turns with what?” you ask, wincing through another wave of pain.
He turns around holding a metal rod and walks over, angling the rod under your chin to tilt your face up to meet his as he snarls, “I can’t wait to see how it feels to fuck a federal whore.”
All the color drains from your face and you kick into whatever gas is left in your autopilot. Your feet are flailing in every direction, body thrashing violently to prevent Jason from getting a good grip on you. You quickly learn the purpose of the metal rod hearing the clang! first, a millisecond passing before the pain and threat of unconsciousness spreads through your brain. 
The hit takes you out long enough for him to pin you down on the floor, the weight of his body landing on you before the metal rod goes for your limbs. It’s then you realize the throes of death have wrangled you for what appears to be the last time, and it’s probably wise to start saying—thinking— your final words.
To my parents, I love you. To Derek and Penelope, thank you for letting me third wheel with you. Emily, I’ll miss our weekend Sin City excursions. JJ, please give your boys the biggest hug from their favorite aunt. Rossi and Hotch, you always cared for me like I was your own—I am so grateful for you.
And Spencer…Oh, Spencer. How I hoped I would have the time to say I’m sorry for what happened, I hope you’ll forgive me in due time. I wish I told you that nothing about us ever changed for me. You were and will always be, My Spencer, I just wish I could tell you one more time how much I lov—“
“FBI, Drop your weapon!”
A clattering sound of something dropping rings directly next to your ear and the weight that was on you alleviates at the same time. You groan out and instinctively curl up on yourself, the pain spreading throughout your body. The sensory overload is so much you don’t hear the approaching figure crouching next to you.
“Hey Hey Hey,” Spencer stutters, quickly making work of the ties on your hands and holding you gently as he lays your head on his lap cradling you close, trying to hide the forming tears when he hears your whimpers of pain, “You’re okay, it’s okay. The medic’s coming.” He looks back to where the unsub was and watches Derek put him in cuffs, nodding at Spencer before walking out with Jason.
“…Spencer?” you whisper out weakly. You think you’re dreaming honestly, that in the wake of death you learn heaven isn’t a place but only his arms.
“Yeah, honey, it’s me.” he chokes out looking back down at your bruised face. He’s unsure how you still look angelic even when you’re hurt, but it doesn’t surprise him that you do. You were always good at defying the laws of nature, he prayed it extended to your immortality.
“It hurts.” you pout pathetically.
He brushes a strand of hair out of your eyes gently, “I know it does, honey I know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry this happened. I should’ve been there. I’m sorry, baby.” he whispers tearfully.
You cough out and whimper in pain, “I’m sorry too.”
Spencer shakes his head vehemently, “No, don’t apologize. Don’t do that, just keep your eyes open for me, okay? I’m right here, I won’t leave you.”
The tiredness soon wins and your eyes flutter close. Before Spencer can even panic and beg you to open them again the medic finally comes and asks him—pulls him— to move so they can start working on you.
He reluctantly backs up and watches on with glossed over eyes, barely registering all the things they were sticking in you to wake you up. The medics stabilize your neck with a C-SPINE and lift you onto the gurney, wheeling you back to the ambulance. The same medic who asked Spencer to move comes up to him again, “We’re taking her to Georgetown Medical, you’re allowed to ride in the back with us if you want.”
You slowly come to again on the gurney and Spencer meets your open eyes before you even realize they’re on you. Without hesitation he says, “Yeah, I’m coming.”
The medic team lifts your gurney inside the rig, and right before Spencer gets in he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns around to find Hotch, “You’ll be okay?” 
It’s a loaded question. He’s not asking if Spencer is okay at this moment, because it doesn’t take a profiler to see that he’s the farthest from it. He says it as a grounding reminder knowing how Spencer gets about you. It didn’t matter to the team if you both fell out, the pair of you never faltered in your subconscious for each other. Both of your actions always moved faster than your brains, especially when it involved the other. 
That’s what worried his Unit Chief.
He nods and Hotch gives his shoulder a light squeeze, “Keep us updated,” the concern clearly etched in his eyes breaking through his usual stoicism as he looks inside the rig, “We’ll meet you there as soon as we can.”
Under the bright lights of the ambulance he’s—unfortunately—able to really take inventory of the injuries you sustained. The blue and black bruising scattered your limbs, the congregation of it on your stomach telling him you have at least two broken ribs. His eyes trail further down your body before abruptly stopping, but not on an appendage.
Spencer’s face pales even further than it already has staring at the glint on the undone button of your trousers shining in the reflection of the light.
If they didn’t get there when they did…If he got to you a second later…He can’t even fathom to think about what would’ve happened.
He’s broken out of his spiral by the EMT sitting next to him offering a tissue, which is when Spencer feels the tear and snot streaks rolling down his face. He takes it and wipes his face mindlessly before muttering, “Can I just…” hands reaching out to you before his words come out. Spencer doesn’t notice the EMT tearing up as he gently buttons your pants.
——
You were a fighter.
At least, that’s what the doctors told Spencer when they came and updated him in the waiting room. He blanks out for most of the conversation, eyes unfocusing and ears on low lest your name be spoken.
“She’s stable and awake now, the nurse can take you back to see her.”
He shakes his head to recenter and mutters a thank you before following the nurse through the double white doors. His senses are heightened as he walks closer to your room. The scuff of his shoes on the linoleum floors, the pedantic beeping of machines in the rooms he passes, until he hears the only voice that’s ever been enough to calm the warzone in his mind.
“Hi, Spence.”
His feet move on their own accord right next to your bedside, hands hovering awkwardly at his side. He’s silent for the first couple minutes, just a faint sniffle here and there before he takes a seat near your bed and hears you speak again.
“You can touch me, Spence. I won’t break more than I already am.”
“Don’t say that,” he chides quickly, “It’s not a joke.”
“Well, someone should be the comedic relief here.”
He lays the tips of his fingers right on top of the tips of yours, “You could have died.”
Your face softens, “I didn’t though.”
“You could have.”
“Spencer—“
“Stop down playing it. You don’t know what it was like finding you like that.”
“I mean I have some idea, ‘cause like, I was there.” 
Spencer deadpans at your poor attempt at lightening the mood, a faint smile peaking through while he shakes his head, “Insufferable even at your deathbed.”
“Yeah, the Grim Reaper heard me yapping and said ‘keep her’.”
He chuckles softly as his hand moves further up to rest the front of his palm on the back of your hand, “How are you feeling?”
“I’ve…been better. The doctor said one of my broken ribs punctured an artery, a big one apparently,” you flip your hand over so both of your palms are touching but not laced, you softly continue, “Told me I was lucky I came in when I did. Any later the internal bleeding would’ve spread to my lungs.”
Spencer feels the tears springing again and a lump forming in his throat, “I’m so sorry, sweet girl,” the pet name slipping out before he could realize, “I should’ve gotten there sooner, or realized something was wrong at the gas station.”
“Hey. Don’t do that. You saved my life.” your fingers intertwine with his and squeeze with whatever strength you can muster, which isn’t a lot and it makes his heart clench tighter. “I’m here.”
He lets out the breath he’s been holding since he walked in, “You’re here.”
“I didn’t forget what you promised me when we…broke up,” God you wish it didn’t sound so terminable as it did, “I knew you’d find me. You always do.”
Another sniffle leaves him as he rubs his thumb soothingly on your hand, “I always do…Look, there’s something I need to tell you—“
He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as Penelope & Company burst into your room bearing balloons, chocolates, and many, many stuffies.
“How’s our girl doing?” Penelope huffs, hauling an entire Hallmark catalog worth of gifts in tow.
“She’s doing fine, Penny.” you chuckle lightly, trying your best to hide the wince of pain from your side, “You did not need to do all this.”
“Nonsense, everyone knows bear stuffies are the real medicine of the world.” she gleefully ignores the nurse onlookers, “I also brought you this, of special request by someone who shall not be named.” From her back she produces a bag of your favorite candy—sour gummy worms. A fact that you knew only one person was privy to.
You act surprised nonetheless, “My favorite! Thank you, Penny. And all of you, for coming to see my crippled self.”
Spencer watches the team take turns doting on you. Emily, JJ, and Penelope sit with you for about four Gilmore Girls episodes—another lost relic of modern medicine, according to Penny—after which Morgan, Rossi, and Hotch keep you company for a little bit before bidding you good night with forehead kisses and well wishes. Spencer stays with you the whole time, never once leaving your side. 
You are so loved, he thinks. He didn’t realize how much he liked watching you be loved. It makes him miss the times when he could do that for you too.
——
Weeks pass since the day of your kidnapping. You still find it weird to call it that, even though it’s literally what happened. You’ve been on house arrest—bed rest—begrudgingly, and while Penelope’s very glittery visiting schedule has kept you entertained, it’s been hard when the only person you really wanted to see has refused to come visit since you left the hospital.
You’ve asked Penelope why Spencer hasn’t come, and all she can offer you is a sad smile and a ‘He said something come up sweetie, sorry.’. Texting him seemed even more daunting, more because you weren’t about to beg for his attention if he obviously doesn’t want you to have it. 
The doorbell steals your attention and you glance over at the schedule before you walk over to open it, not expecting a visitor at this time.
Spencer looks up from his shoes hearing the door open, “Hey.”
A minute passes, “Why are you here?” you ask bluntly.
He looks confused, “I came to check on you, brought you takeout from the Indian place you like.” The food in his hand smells heavenly but you can’t seem to enjoy it yet without getting an answer.
“Why are you here, now?” you ask again with an addendum.
He either really wants to piss you off or his ear blew out on the way over but he chooses to ignore you and enter your apartment, “You having nightmares again?”
“What? No…” you lie poorly, straightening up your back, “Just tired.”
He chuckles, “Good to know you’re still a terrible liar. Did you know you wear Doctor Who shirts when you’re feeling anxious?”
Your brows fuddle in confusion but he elaborates, “It’s probably subconscious, something you find comforting and naturally gravitate to in times of distress. It’s a normal stress response but…you’re wearing an Eleventh Doctor shirt.” My Eleventh Doctor shirt, he thinks.
“That doesn’t mean anything.” you feign.
“Maybe it doesn’t,” he nods, “But you are anxious aren’t you?”
“Spencer, what the fuck is going on, why are you here, really?” your eyes narrow, arms crossing defensively.
“I told you, I came to check on you.”
“You just woke up this morning and decided it was convenient for you to see me today?” Spencer opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. You stare at him with tearful eyes and the emotion spills out of you before you can stop it. You speak again after a few moments, voice barely above a whisper, “You left me. Again.”
He tilts his head, “No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.” you grit out, “You were rooted at my bedside the entire time I was hospitalized, and the second I was discharged you were nowhere to be found. I thought, maybe with Penny’s schedule you’d come by, but then I came to find out that you didn’t even put your name down.”
“You almost died!” he retorts, “You almost died, because I made a mistake and you got hurt because of it!”
“So, that gives you the right to abandon me for the second time?”
“I didn’t…” he sighs out roughly, “I didn’t abandon you. I just, couldn’t…face you.” Face you, in pain, as a result of his actions.
“Is that what happened the first time you left?” you bite back.
His eyes steel over, “That was different.”
“I don’t see how.”
“You know why I left.”
“I don’t think I do, Spencer—”
“I left because I was putting you in danger!” he yells cutting you off, “I left because loving you meant dragging you into all the messed up stuff that happens to me, stuff that’ll keep happening to me.”
Tobias. Mexico. Cat.
A single tear rolls down your face, “That’s bullshit, I’m sorry. We work the same damn job, the risks are the same if we’re together or not.”
“You don’t understand—“
“Then fucking enlighten me, Spencer.”
He stares at you, fighting an internal battle of whether he was really willing to admit his truth to you, one that he knows you deserved to know but wasn’t sure if it would put you more in harm's way.
“Cat had details about your family.”
That’s not what you were expecting to hear. Your face drops, “Wh—What?”
His eyes dart around the room nervously, “After I got out of Millburn and we went to see Cat, she was trying all these tactics to get me to break. I was doing fine, until she started talking about you. She was saying things that only you told me, stuff that’s not even on record.”
You remember that day. You were supposed to go with him and JJ to the correctional facility but ended up stuck at the BAU because your skill set was more valuable in helping Penelope locate Mr. Scratch. You remember how he came back to you that day, distant and glassed over. It was easy to chalk up his behavior following it to his recent release, but when you woke up a few weeks later to an empty bed and a throwaway note saying ‘I’m sorry.”, you couldn’t figure out for the life of you why all of a sudden you didn’t exist to him, like you didn’t matter.
“I made a choice, one that I knew would protect you.”
“That’s not a decision for you to make.” you snap.
“I had to,” he says lowly, taking a step closer to you, “If being with me puts your safety at risk…” another step, “I’d rather live in a world where you hate me and are still here…” one more step, “Than one where you loved me and died because of it.” he manages to choke out, taking one final step towards you.
It’s quiet for a couple minutes, save for the soft whistle of the breeze coming from your open window. The resolve in you has long faded, leaving behind nothing but the skin on your bones to weather the damage. It makes sense to you why he did what he did, and you don’t know if the roles were reversed would you do the same thing. But you knew that you loved him and he loved you, and that alone should have been enough.
You can’t help but let out a whine, sounding like a petulant child, “That’s not fair, Spence.”
“What’s not fair, baby?” he softly whispers.
Your whine turns into a cry, “That, all of this. The fall on your sword act in which you decide what’s best for me is to leave me stranded, thinking I did something wrong that made you stop loving me.”
He steps forward a little more, his face mere inches from your own, “You think I stopped loving you?”
“Was I supposed to think otherwise? You couldn’t even stand being in the same room as me.”
His hands raise to gently cup your face, thumbs positioned under your eyes to wipe the fallen tears. He’s missed looking into your eyes as close as he is. For a man who doesn’t believe in religion he’s pretty certain the gates of heaven lie within your irises.
“I was selfish,” he swallows, “I wanted to keep you safe but I did so in a way that I felt was most logical, which turned out to be so fucking wrong regardless since you still got hurt.”
He brings your face impossibly closer, the warmth of his breath gently hitting your face.
“There isn’t a waking moment where I don’t love you. Even when we weren’t together, I still looked out for you and I made sure you were safe in ways I couldn’t tell you. I meant what I said. I told you I’d find you in every lifetime. I love you, in every lifetime, angel girl.”
The ache in your heart only grows with his words, reminding you that he always was and will forever be, Your Spencer.
“You can’t do that again,” you stutter out through tiny sobs, “You need to tell me what’s going on, whatever it is. We figure it out together.”
He nods softly, the hair on his forehead faintly brushing up on yours, “We figure it out together. I’m so sorry for everything, baby.” his lips press a long kiss to your forehead, “I’m here now, I’m not going anywhere.”
You rise on your toes to meet your lips with his, the missed time and unspoken words flowing silently between you both. His hands wrap gently around your waist and pull you flush to his chest, with yours entangling with the brown curls you had missed so much.
Finally back in his arms, you sigh with exhaustion and relief, “You’re here.”
“I’m here, honey.”
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jlheon · 7 months ago
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𝓜𝐒. & 𝐌𝐑. 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 ୨୧ 𝐏𝐒𝐇
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(𝓹airing) — psh x fmr ꣑୧ 𝓯renemies to lovers ; fluff, profanity, & lots of kissing (𝔀ordcount) one-thousand five-hundred forty 𝓹eng's note. these pics. #iWantThat 𝓫ookshelf
𝓼ynopsis. seeing your ex in public leads to hiding in a small photobooth with your annoying student council vice president park sunghoon
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“you’re late,” sunghoon says in the most agitating voice possible as you walk through the classroom door.
“i wouldn’t be late if you did your job,” you huff, walking right up to the desk he sat at and dropping the bags of decorations you had picked up from the party supplies store.
“hey! i said i would pick those up!” he says annoyed, sifting through everything you brought.
“mrs. kim said we needed them by today! why the fuck were you just sitting around?” 
“geez, loosen up,” the boy gets up from his seat, his tall body looming over yours. “let’s just go decorate the gym.”
the two of you split up the bags of party supplies and headed towards the gym where the rest of the council and student volunteers were waiting. 
setting up for the fundraiser was easy until you and sunghoon started yelling at each other over which color streamers should be used over the doorway. 
jake had to drag you away by the shoulders to come to help him with the balloons. sunghoon felt a bitter taste when he saw jake with his arm around your shoulder but decided to ignore it. 
“hoon,” jungwon calls out. “we’re out of balloons!”
“that’s why i should have bought the decorations…” sunghoon mutters under his breath before walking up to where you and jake were giggling. 
sunghoon walks up behind you and places a hand on your shoulder. “we have to go back to the store.” he whispers in your ear. 
you freeze at his touch but nod and say goodbye to jake. he lets go of you and the two of you walk out the exit leading to the parking lot.
the two of you get into sunghoon’s car and he drives off to the mall. 
there’s an awkward silence between the both of you, which you can’t decide if you like bantering with him over it. there’s so much tension due to sunghoon’s lingering touch from earlier.
once inside the mall, you quietly walked side by side into the automatic doors. 
only a few feet from the party supplies stores you halt. spotting your ex-boyfriend and old friend seemingly on a date.
“sunghoon,” you whisper, tapping on his shoulder. “do you see what i see?”
he rolls his eyes at you finally breaking the silence but then looks up to see for himself. once he does that the two seem to have had the same idea, making eye contact with the other.
“oh shit they saw us,” he panics, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the photo booth you were conveniently standing next to.   
the photo booth is small. way too small. sunghoon is already sitting as you uncomfortably sit on the ledge with your legs peeking out from the curtain. 
“get up,” he instructs. 
“what?” you raise an eyebrow. “i’m not letting them see me again! especially not with you!”
“i meant like come here,” sunghoon grabs you and settles you on his lap, so the both of you fit into the small space.
“oh my god, what if they come over here!” you panic resting your hands on his shoulders. “this is bad! especially since i’m with you of all people-”
“with me?” sunghoon questions. 
“well, like when we were dating, he always thought you had a crush on me, which isn’t impossible! i had to keep reassuring him but he never believed me! like me and you are barely even friends-” you ramble, balling sunghoon’s shirt in your fists as you freak out. 
“woah, calm down,” he tells you, prying your hands from his uniform so you don’t wrinkle it. “it’s not like they’ll come to talk to us.”
just as the words left his mouth the sound of two sets of footsteps were picked up by your ears. you started to become overwhelmingly nervous. it was the first time seeing your ex-boyfriend since the split and the fact your childhood best friend was on a date with him. 
even if you drifted, shouldn’t she have some sense of girl code?
“you’re shaking,” sunghoon stares at you. 
“no i’m not!” you shake your head, your heartbeat being undeniably fast. “but like i haven’t had a date since him and that’s kind of sad for me-”
“i swear i saw her,” the familiar voice of your old friend says, sounding so close. “it could have been anyone though.”
“no, i saw her and that motherfucker,” your ex hisses. 
“wow, i’m ‘motherfucker’,” sunghoon whispers, rolling his eyes.
“if he made a move on her i swear.”
“hey, i have an idea,” he says in your ear. 
sunghoon reaches for his phone out of his pocket, holding you close as he leans over slightly to pay the machine for a photo. the screen activates after processing his card and he selects a random frame. 
the camera starts going and you sit confused as sunghoon starts posing. you can’t help but watch him. he always looks pretty but you must admit he knows how to pose. 
you peek over to the curtain to see two pairs of legs standing outside the photo booth. you can only assume it’s them. 
“you weren’t looking in any of them,” sunghoon recalls, pressing print on the screen. 
“oh, sorry,” you turn your attention back to him. 
“it’s fine, let's do another one,” he says nonchalantly as he pays for another photo strip.
this time sunghoon shifts in his spot, making it so that your face can be seen on the screen without having to turn you around in his lap.
you awkwardly copy sunghoon’s poses until by the second to last picture you hear him again.
“that fucker is in the photo booth,” the male voice outside says, seeing as he drops the photo strip back into where it fell from. 
“come closer,” he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. 
“fine,” you lean onto him. “but don’t show my face too much. i’m not wearing concealer today.”
“you look just as pretty,” sunghoon leans closer so your lips barely brush the others. “maybe even prettier than usual.”
he brings his thumb to your bottom lip, gently stroking it before closing the gap. 
you hate to admit it but kissing sunghoon was everything you expected and more. you’ve caught yourself daydreaming about his lips on yours during one-on-one meetings in the conference room. when his hair is still damp from his after-shower practice and his face is still slightly flushed.
park sunghoon can make you mad, especially when he got secretary over you in freshman year. but you cannot deny that even when bitter about the council's choice you wanted to kiss that proud smile on his face. 
he made you mad when he stole your posters when you were running for secretary again the next year. but after he found you crying in the far stairwell he explained he only did that because he thinks you should run for president instead. sunghoon even pulled out another stack of flyers he made for you that he spent the whole night doing.
the sunghoon that got you both kicked out of a council meeting for arguing with each other is the same sunghoon with his lips molded perfectly against yours. 
the same boy that had you studying your ass off when class ranks came out, since he’s your only competition, is the same boy in front of you now with his lips locked on yours.
you start to feel dizzy by the decreased amount of air in your lungs by the minute but you can’t bring yourself to let go just yet. when you start seeing black specs dotting your vision you finally pull away to see a heavily panting sunghoon with a flushed face. 
“sorry,” sunghoon apologizes as he catches his breath.
your heart sinks. he only kissed you to distract you and probably so your ex will see the photos when they print.
“oh,” you fight the frown threatening to appear on your face. “it’s okay. he’s probably gone now.”
“i would have asked for your permission but you looked really stressed and i thought it would help you get your mind off your asshole ex.”
“thanks,” you say with a pout sunghoon finds adorable.
“you still seem sad,” he pokes at your sides, making you squirm in his hold. “maybe another kiss?”
“maybe,” you say shyly. 
sunghoon is out forty dollars by the time you and he are done kissing in the photo booth. he kept mindlessly swiping his card as his lips stayed on yours to prevent anyone from kicking you two out since you were there for a considerable amount of time.
you’re interrupted by sunghoon’s phone ringing profusely. 
“where are you two?” jungwon asks in a panic. “we need those balloons.”
“traffic,” sunghoon says as you plant a line of kisses down his neck, hands tangled in the hair at his nape.
“hurry up,” jungwon advises him.
you and sunghoon return to school an hour and a half after you originally left. with a bag of balloons and a stack of photo strips. most of them capturing purely just of you two making out.
when stepping foot in the gym and you go over to hand jungwon the balloons he so desperately needed. he quickly notices the matching hickeys forming on both your necks and how disheveled your uniforms and hair appear.
“traffic huh?” jungwon asks as his eyes flicker between both of you.
"lots," you nod as you walk away to help minjeong tie balloons.
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fxstpace · 3 months ago
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the very first night
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summary: the search for a new place to live takes a turn for the worse when the only person willing to split rent with you is your ex-boyfriend.
⇢ pairing: kim mingyu x fem!reader ⇢ genres: romance, angst, smut, exes to lovers au, roommates au ⇢ word count: 19.7k ⇢ warnings: profanity, alcohol conusmption, explicit sexual content (oral sex, fingering, protected sex) ⇢ a/n: title is the very first night by taylor swift. reposted from my old blog.
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ONE
You think that all the decisions you’ve made in your life so far have all boiled down to this one moment.
Karmic retribution, if you will.
Despite the six months for which you and your ex-boyfriend have been separated, Kim Mingyu looks the same. The same floppy hair that never quite sits flat on his head—though he’s let it grow a tiny bit, and now it curls behind his ears—and the same tight-fitting black shirt you swear you tried stealing from him once. Wire-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and warm brown eyes that peer back at you. Pink lips which beckon you with a small, yet welcoming smile.
“Hey.” The word drags from his mouth, and he extends the last syllable for a second longer than necessary. “You’re here early.”
Shit. Even his voice sounds the same.
You heft your suitcase and place it by your feet just so you can avoid eye contact. Under different circumstances, Mingyu probably wouldn’t have let you carry your suitcase all the way up the stairs to the third floor—the elevator has been out of commission since before you even met him, and that doesn’t appear to change anytime soon. He probably would have lugged the whole thing upstairs, despite your protests and claims that you’re strong enough to do it on your own. But now, you can only sense his gaze on your figure as you place it securely on the floor.
When you straighten up, he’s still looking at you. He has an eyebrow raised and his arms crossed over his chest, but his eyes are clouded, almost as if he’s built some kind of impenetrable fortress against you. You have your walls up, too—in the slight clench of your jaw and defiant raise of your chin—and it’s something someone else wouldn’t be able to notice, but you’re sure Kim Mingyu has.
“Yeah. Um.” You attempt to smile, pray it doesn’t visibly appear as a grimace, and gesture behind you with your thumb. “The packers and movers came by pretty early, so everything ended up moving faster.”
“I see.” He purses his lips, evidently running out of things to say. (Good for you, really, because there’s nothing for you to say either.)
You take the chance to glance behind him—a feat in itself, considering how broad his shoulders are—and observe the interiors of what is going to be your home for the next year. Beige walls, the ratty sofa he bought off a garage sale, the television set he originally used to play video games on but ended up using it to watch shows instead—and a potted succulent placed in the corner. That wasn’t there before.
Before you allow your lips to tug up amusedly, Mingyu speaks again. “Is that all? When’s the rest of your stuff coming in?”
“The movers said they’d have everything ready within two days. It might take me longer to get everything sorted out, though,” you reply, aiming your gaze downwards at your suitcase.
It’s an old thing, with fraying fabric and rusty wheels, but it currently contains a fraction of your belongings: Clothes, toiletry, a small pouch where you keep items that have a special significance to you. Only the bare essentials, really. Mingyu had assured you that the room was furnished, with a bed, closet and desk. His old roommate, Minghao, had moved out but left the furniture behind because he had no reason to take them with him—not when he moved in with his girlfriend in her own apartment. All that’s left for the movers to bring over is your bookshelf, your book collection, the rest of your clothes, the Ikea drawer you and your best friend, Park Jihyo, built together, and other smaller items like your desk lamp and office chair.
“That’s okay,” Mingyu says. “Take as long as you need.”
You nod, mumbling a “thank you”, then bend down to pick up your suitcase.
Mingyu moves aside, granting you enough space to roll it across the floor and head over to the side that leads to the Minghao’s old room. Right opposite you is the doorway that leads to Mingyu’s bedroom, and further to the side is the corridor that opens into the kitchen, the small space where he keeps a dining table, and the bathroom.
In a way, you’re glad your room is situated further away from those places. Ghosts of memories linger there, ones that you can’t bear to revisit.
No, it’s better this way; you’re away from everything that you used to consider a second home. Maybe if you close the door behind you, you can pretend like you’re in some kind of void where the only things that exist are you and the bed.
“Wait, Y/N.”
You pause, feeling… something. The way he says your name, so casually, as if it’s second nature to him (it used to be) and nothing has changed at all, has you on edge—not in the good way, but not in the bad way either. 
You turn around. “Yeah?”
“Um.” Your ex-boyfriend hesitates for a second. “I’m… going out for dinner with Minghao and some others, is that okay? It might be late by the time I come back.”
“Okay.” Then, feeling the need to clarify something, you say, “You—you don’t have to tell me that. We don’t… owe each other an explanation for where the other is.”
Mingyu stays quiet, and you look away, teeth worrying your bottom lip. You wonder if he’s going to say anything—or even show any kind of reaction at all. 
“Right. We don’t.” His voice is toned down with a kind of uneasiness that you don’t blame him for. Heck, even you feel a twinge of hurt rise up your throat at your own words. “I’ll… let you get some rest.” He nods once, places his hands in his pockets, and walks back to his room.
Your grip on the suitcase handle tightens. Once you enter your room, you let out a pained sigh. You shut the door and turn your back to the wooden blockade that separates you from the rest of the apartment.
This is not going the way you expected—but then again, what had you expected? That everything between you and Mingyu would just vanish and you could talk to him normally without feeling that tiny pinprick of bitterness stab your chest every time you address him? You and Mingyu have a history, filled with good times and bad times, and six months spent away from each other will do nothing to erase that. 
You think of what your old roommate, Jihyo, would’ve said. He’s just a boy, Y/N. Make him clean the toilet all the time so he’ll automatically get sick of you.
You smile to yourself, unlocking your phone. Jihyo is probably too busy settling down in her new home in the city she moved to, so she can’t pick up your call. You decide to send her a text message instead.
You switch to the food app, order your favourite dishes from the Indian place a couple of streets away, and toss your phone onto the bed. Kneeling, you unzip your suitcase and unpack the few items you have with you. As you move around, you can already imagine how to decorate the place, how to make it feel more like a home and less like you’re an intruder. The closet is just enough for all the clothes you own—the ones you’ve packed and the ones stored in cardboard boxes yet to arrive. The desk placed opposite to the bed is perfect for when you have to work on your laptop late at night; if you place your lamp on it, you might even forget that you’re not in your old apartment. The bed already has a mattress with clean linen on the bedspread. You place your old Looney Tunes duvet on it.
Thirty minutes later, the doorbell rings. You pause your unpacking to get the door and thank the delivery guy for the food. Mingyu has already left, judging by the lack of noise in the rest of the apartment. You just hope he doesn’t come back home drunk and shit-faced—that would definitely ruin the rest of your night, and the much-needed sleep you require. 
You decide not to use the kitchen table, instead opting to take the food containers into your room, where you can eat and watch a show at the same time. It’s lonely, but at least you can have your meal somewhere comfortable.
Your phone rings with notifications. You pick it up, carefully balancing the bowl of curry on your knee. 
(19:47) Jihyo: hows the apartment??? did u make mingyu clean the toilet yet?
(19:47) Mingyu: hey, i’m at a thai place. do you want anything to eat at home? i could get something packaged.
You smile at the first text, tense up at the second one, and place your phone down next to you. Not replying to either of their messages might be a bad idea, but right now, all you want is to have your spicy curry and naan in peace—your best friend and ex-boyfriend be damned.
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TWO
It’s only after you move in with Mingyu that your separation from Jihyo truly sinks in. Now, there’s no one you can wake up at two in the morning because your period started and you ran out of pads, or gossip about that one campus couple who broke up in public at your favourite boba place.
Not to mention the fact that living with your ex-boyfriend is mildly awkward at best and stupidly melancholic at worst.
It’s been a week, but you and Mingyu seem to have figured out a way to work in tandem. It appears as though neither of you want to see the other—just yet, at least. He goes for a morning jog at six; your alarm rings at six. He comes back reeking of sweat at seven in the morning; you’re getting ready to leave for work by then. You do the dishes on the days he vacuums the apartment and vice versa. It leaves no room for conversation, other than the occasional greetings and small talk when you happen to cross paths.
In fact, ever since you purposefully ignored Mingyu’s text asking if you wanted anything from the Thai restaurant, he’s made a conscious effort at avoiding you.
You nearly jump out of your seat when someone taps your shoulder. “Hey.”
You turn around and meet your co-worker, Lee Seokmin’s eyes. He smiles at you, eyes curving into little crescents.
“Hi,” you say, smiling back automatically.
If there’s one person you can count on to bring a smile to your lips, even if it’s eight o’clock in the morning—at work, no less—it’s Lee Seokmin. His cheerful nature and lively personality is infectious. His happiness radiates outwards in waves that everyone gets swept up on. You might even consider yourself envious of how easily he sways everyone, with that exuberant smile and those good-natured compliments he doles out to everyone like they cost him nothing. (Which they don’t, you suppose.)
“Something on your mind?”
Your smile turns into a grimace. “You could tell?”
He gives you a little half-shrug, still smiling. “You had a weird, serious, think-y face. And before you come at me for think-y not being a real word—I’m very aware of that, thank you—it’s the best way I can describe you.”
“You chose think-y—” you bite back a chuckle— “as the best word to describe me? Come on, Seokmin, you can do better than that.”
“I can,” he agrees, “but only when the situation is appropriate.” His face turns grave, and he continues, “But seriously, Y/N. Did you have a rough night?”
His eyes roam over your face, evident concern shown in the curve of his lips and the slight dip of his eyebrows. You control your wince, wondering if the swollen bags underneath your eyes aren’t as concealed by your makeup as you thought. 
Rough week, more like. But you don’t say that to him. “Something like that,” you say.
“You moved out a while back, right? How’s the new place?”
“It’s… good. Close to the supermarket and all that. Everything is within, like, a ten-metre radius, so I don’t have to go very far to get things.”
“That’s nice to hear,” Seokmin says, and you can tell he really means it. “I bet you’re tired, though, with all that packing and unpacking and moving around.”
He bends closer, the front of his loosely tucked shirt just barely touching the back of your chair. This close, you can smell the faint scent of Seokmin’s deodorant and fabric softener. He taps his finger on the arm of your chair. “Do you want to get some coffee with me?”
“Um.” You look back at your laptop and the pile of binders next to it. Seokmin seems to know what you’re thinking, because he huffs and says, “C’mon, I’m sure Seungcheol wouldn’t mind if you took a coffee break.”
“I guess,” you return, flashing him a smile when he rolls your chair backwards to give you space to stand up.
Getting up, both of you weave your way to the third floor, where the only functioning coffee maker is housed. The elevator is too crowded and busy for you to use to get down from your position on the seventh floor, so you settle for using the stairs. Throughout the ten-minute walk (which effectively turns into a fifteen-minute one, thanks to him), Seokmin waves and greets every single fellow office worker you pass by. By name.
You roll your eyes and bite your lip to hold back your laugh when a young, female intern—probably still in college by the looks of it—flushes bright red because Seokmin complimented her barrette.
He catches your eye and grins. “What’s so funny?”
You shake your head good-naturedly. “It’s nothing. Carry on with whatever you were doing.”
“What was I doing?”
“Oh, you know,” you say airily, “making everyone fall head over heels for you because you’re just so nice.”
His grin only widens. “You make it sound as though being nice is a bad thing.”
“That’s not what I meant at all,” you protest. “I’m just— Greeting every single person you see? By name? How do you even know everyone in the building?”
“I just check their ID card,” he explains, shrugging slightly. “I read this WikiHow article that said if you speak to people using their name, it creates a good impression and makes you appear more confident than you really are.”
“Really?”
Humming, Seokmin nods, before adding slyly, “I’m not sure what you mean by making everyone fall in love with me, though.”
“Please,” you snort. “You’re way too charming for your own good—and I don’t mean that in a bad way.”
“You think so?” 
You can hear the smugness in his tone and you roll your eyes again. “Yes, I think so.”
“Then…” He trails off, gazing at the handrail.
Seokmin’s voice turns softer, more serious. Contemplation bleeds into his features, and when he speaks again, he lacks the bravado he had with all the other people he spoke to on your way down.
“Guess I better work on charming the right people, huh?” 
You blink, but before you can digest Seokmin’s words, he gives you another bright grin before rounding the corner and striding towards the coffee machine. You follow, the need for caffeine in your system overriding your instinct to mull over what your co-worker said. Unfortunately, it seems you and Seokmin aren’t the only ones who want coffee; a long queue runs ahead of you. Your coffee break might end up taking longer than you thought.
“So,” Seokmin casually drawls, one hand in his pocket and the other fiddling with his ID card’s lanyard. “Do you want to talk about your rough night?”
“I…” You pause and consider. 
Should you tell Seokmin? You trust him enough—you’ve known him for as long as you’ve been working in this company—and he’s always been friendly to you, offering you a ride home when both of you work overtime and paying for your food on the occasional visits to a café or a coffee shop. Besides, he’s the closest person you have to a friend, now that Jihyo lives in a different city and you can’t call her up whenever you feel like it. You decide to tread the waters first, only telling him the bare minimum.
“Hypothetically speaking,” you begin, “if you move in with someone you don’t like but have known for years, what would you do?”
“That’s a tough one.” He scratches his chin, pretending to think. “I guess it depends on the kind of past you share, y’know? But either way, I would try to… make peace with them, I guess. Like a ceasefire. Offer them an olive branch. Hypothetically speaking, of course.” He grins knowingly at the last bit and you shove his shoulder.
What Seokmin said makes sense. You and Mingyu are living together; your past relationship shouldn’t come in the way of talking to each other. But it does, so much more than it should. Try as hard as you might, every time you think of Kim Mingyu, the first thing that comes to your mind is all the kisses you’ve shared, the way his arms feel around you, how both of you broke the promises you made to each other—all because you were too proud and he was too stubborn. 
You still are proud. For all you know, Mingyu might still be stubborn. 
What a pair, you think drily.
You and Seokmin shuffle forwards. He stays silent, allowing you to process your thoughts and wonder how, exactly, you’re going to get over Mingyu and talk to him without feeling like your stomach is twisting into a million knots. 
Once you reach the coffee machine, Seokmin hands you a cup. “It’s hot,” he warns, before carefully handing you the styrofoam cup filled to the brim with the bitter brew. You cautiously take a sip, wincing when you almost burn your tongue and make a face at your co-worker when he chimes, “I told you.”
The walk back to your floor doesn’t take as long as the walk down. Before you part ways, Seokmin offers you a small smile and a pat on your shoulder.
“If you’re wondering how to approach your roommate,” he says, lowering his voice, “maybe start off by offering them food. Works like a charm every time.”
Food. Yeah, you can manage that. Dinner with your ex-boyfriend.
Should be a piece of cake.
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THREE
Asking Mingyu if he would like to have dinner with you is decidedly not a piece of cake.
When he comes back home from work, Mingyu has only one trajectory: Travel in a straight line from the door to his bedroom, offering you a tight smile if he sees you along the way. His bag is always slung across one shoulder and his shirt is always untucked and his hair is always a wild mess. If his appearance wasn’t achingly familiar, you would probably laugh every time you see his unruly figure.
It takes a week for you to muster up the nerve to look Mingyu in the eye, after your conversation with Seokmin. He’s been pestering you incessantly, almost exactly like Jihyo. When you told her about Seokmin’s suggestion, she had been nothing short of enthusiastic. Your phone has been blowing up constantly with texts from her, egging you on and on and on to make a move first and raise the (hypothetical) white flag. 
“If you keep putting it off, you’re going to be very miserable for the rest of your immediate future,” was her reasoning when you called and spoke to her on the phone three days ago. “But also if you don’t fucking ask him to have a meal with you within the next week, I will fly over and have you both sit in a room, alone, and force you to talk.”
Both the options are pretty much the same. You didn’t have the energy to tell Jihyo that.
It’s on a Monday evening that you catch Mingyu and pop the question. A Monday evening that’s insignificant, really. Almost laughable at how normal the evening is. Mingyu unlocks the door, closes it while toeing his shoes off, and gives you the same tight smile—one where it doesn’t reach his eyes, his jaw is slightly clenched, and his lips thin into almost straight lines. 
“Mingyu.” Your voice comes out breathless, like you’ve been jogging for miles before coming to a stop in front of him. He pauses, wind-ruffled hair framing his face in cloudy wisps.
“Yeah?” 
“I—uh—” you force the words to tumble out of your lips, before you can overthink— “I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me?”
Mingyu purses his lips, looking at you warily. He’s careful, cautious, when he asks, “Is… there any special reason?”
You swallow. “No,” you say honestly, not allowing your eyes to tear away from his. “There isn’t. But I tried making lasagne today, and I would like to share it with someone.”
For a minute, he doesn’t say anything, only lets his bag fall into the crook of his arm. “Okay,” he says finally. “Let me just change and wash up.”
You nod, making your way to the kitchen to bring out the casserole. You’re not usually one for cooking—you prefer ordering takeout because it’s easier and they make the food better than you, anyway—but simply ordering food didn’t sit right with you. Lasagne is a dish you’ve made a few times before, and you would rather make something you’re familiar with instead of trying to whip up something new.
When you go back into the kitchen, you find Mingyu already there, bent over an open cupboard’s door as he fishes out some plates and cutlery. He’s wearing a loose white shirt and grey sweatpants, fringe falling freely over his forehead and obscuring his eyes. 
“Are our regular plates okay or do we need the china ones?” he asks, still bent over.
“Why do we need china plates? Wait, why do you even have china plates with you in the first place?”
He looks over at you and shrugs. “Dunno. Minghao had a china cutlery phase, I think.”
That does sound like a phase Xu Minghao would have.
“The regular ones are fine.” You don’t want to risk breaking Minghao’s precious cutlery.
While Mingyu wipes the plates with a dishcloth, you grab two mugs and pour orange juice from the fridge into them. You take one in each hand and follow Mingyu to the kitchen table, placing both of them on either side.
“Orange juice?” Mingyu’s eyebrows are raised.
“Yeah. So?” you challenge him, raising your eyebrows as well.
But he doesn’t say anything against your choice of beverage, only shrugs and mumbles, “We should really stock up on alcohol.”
Your lips twitch. You don’t allow yourself to smile.
Instead, you pull your chair back and sit down, steepling your fingers in front of you. Mingyu piles some food onto his plate. For some reason, you feel weirdly nervous. What if it’s not as good as you think? What if he doesn’t like it?
You shake those thoughts away. This is Kim Mingyu. Even if the food was bad, he wouldn’t tell you; he would only grin, compliment your culinary skills, and continue to eat despite everything.
“Is it… good?” you ask tentatively, after he takes a forkful into his mouth and chews deliberately.
He waits until he’s swallowed before answering. “It’s great. Really good,” he affirms, and you can hear in his voice that he means it.
Well, almost.
It’s the slight dip and intonation of his tone, but it’s one you’re familiar with. You narrow your eyes at him. Mingyu continues eating, oblivious to your glare. In fact, he shovels more lasagne onto his dish and eats with more gusto, pausing every now and then to gulp down some orange juice.
“Really?” you say casually. “I’m glad. Maybe I should try some too.”
Mingyu’s reaction is so instantaneous, it’s almost comical. His eyes widen by a fraction, and he immediately reaches for the casserole. “You should definitely try some,” he says. “But it’s so good, I wanna have some more.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, watching Mingyu stuff more food into his mouth before deciding to put him out of his misery.
“Mingyu. Tell me the truth. How’s the food?”
He pauses, swallowing the food in his mouth and answering with a subdued, sheepish smile:
“It’s too salty.”
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FOUR
“Why are you leaving so early?” Jihyo’s voice crackles through your phone placed on your bed.
“Seokmin said he wanted to try out the croissants at the new bakery that opened nearby,” you reply, fiddling with the buttons of your shirt. “He also said he wanted to buy a baguette so that he could whack his roommate with it. Something about going all the way to Paris to buy it but his roommate used it to hammer a nail into the wall and broke it.”
A pause, and then, “Is his roommate okay in the head?”
“Good question.” You grin at your reflection in the mirror, pat down the hair at the back of your neck, and grab your phone. “I’m heading out now. I’ll text you later.”
“’kay,” your best friend says. “Tell Mingyu I said hi.”
“I will,” you say, but you already know you’re not going to greet him on behalf of her.
Things between you and Mingyu are… still pretty much the same, honestly. After that dinner fiasco, you’ve been too embarrassed to properly address him, and he’s not made much of an effort on his part. Or maybe you’ve been consciously avoiding him so much that he doesn’t get a chance to put his foot forward. Either way, your cheeks still burn up whenever you think of that night’s dinner, so for now, hiding in your room is quite possibly the only way you can prevent yourself from catching fire completely.
Stupid logic. You’re a grown adult, with the ability to make good judgements and make decisions. Unfortunately, your decisions are mostly borderline idiotic.
Shouldering your bag, you leave your room and head to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. There’s a Post-It note stuck on the refrigerator. Peeling it off the fridge’s door, you read it curiously.
Got some cookies from Minghao’s friend’s bakery. I’ve kept them in the pantry. Enjoy! :) 
Mingyu’s familiar scrawl is branded into your head, and seeing the yellow square of paper makes nostalgia bubble inside your chest like a bath bomb dropped into a bathtub filled with water. You pocket the note, and smile so widely, your cheeks hurt.
Maybe he’s put his foot forward, after all.
Seokmin is already waiting for you outside your apartment building by the time you go out. He grins at you, his eyes crinkling in the corners and teeth flashing happily. 
“Hi,” you greet him. “Did you wait long?”
“No.” Your co-worker shakes his head, still smiling. “I just got here, actually.”
“I’m glad.” You return his smile. “Should we head out?”
Seokmin nods. “Of course,” he says, and you fall into step with him. 
He has a never-ending list of topics to talk to you about—and for the most part, you’re glad that he’s so outgoing. In twenty minutes, you’ve learnt almost everything there is to know about his roommate, Jeonghan, his older sister, his fear of ladybugs (you snort out loud at that particular anecdote), and his favourite anime (Haikyu!! and One Piece). In return, you tell him about that time you and Jihyo accidentally walked into the wrong restroom at a bar, and how you got dumped by your high school crush because he thought you were better than him at playing basketball.
It’s comfortable. Talking to Seokmin always is. 
But you still don’t talk about Mingyu. You try hard to stop thinking of him, but he’s always there at the back of your mind, an unopened gift that you don’t unwrap. 
Finally, you and Seokmin round a corner and find yourselves standing in front of the just-opened bakery. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafts through the open door. An array of different types of breads and other desserts is placed carefully on a display at the counter, and the owner greets you with a welcoming smile.
“What do you want to have?” Seokmin asks, holding your elbow and leading you in.
You eye the basket of croissants. The buttery confection looks delicious, but so does the tray of muffins placed next to it. And the bagels placed beside the muffins. “I can’t decide.”
“How about one of everything?”
You glance at him to see if he’s joking, but Seokmin looks completely serious. “You’re kidding, right?” you say, grabbing his arm. “There’s no way I’m going to let you buy one of everything in this store!”
“I would,” Seokmin admits, a flush creeping up his neck, “if you asked me to.”
You groan. “Seokmin. Please don’t.”
“Alright, alright.” He raises his hands in defeat. “I’m just saying, if you wanted me to—”
“One croissant, please,” you interrupt, addressing the owner. “To go. And he will have…”
“Make that two croissants,” Seokmin finishes. “I’ll have whatever the lady’s having.”
“How gentlemanly of you.”
“I know.”
Seokmin pays for his croissant, and you pay for yours. The owner wraps them up and hands them to you, asking you to visit again. Once you exit, you unwrap yours and take a small bite. The bread is soft and melts in your mouth, leaving a sweet aftertaste. You take another bite, and it’s only then that you notice Seokmin looking at you, a corner of his lips turned upwards in a crooked smile and one hand in his pocket.
“What?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious. “Do I have crumbs on my face?”
“No,” he replies. “I just… I would really love to do this again, Y/N.”
Oh.
Seokmin looks at you so hopefully. Like he’s been waiting for this opportunity for a long time. Like he needs to get something off his chest. Like he never wants this moment to end.
“...I’d like that, too,” you say.
Somehow, the words leave a bitter taste in your mouth, one that even another mouthful of the sweet snack can’t erase.
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FIVE
It’s getting late, and yet Kim Mingyu is hellbent on getting you to keep him company. The worst part is that it’s working—though you would never admit that to him.
Being friends with your ex isn’t that uncommon. You and Mingyu can be friends. But how long are you willing to put up with this ruse before it all blows up in your faces? Friendship between two people who used to date isn’t that much of a big deal—but that’s just it, isn’t it? You and Mingyu weren’t just two people who used to date.
How did you even let him talk you into spending time with him? Or maybe that’s all on you; you’ve never been able to say no to him. One minute you’re looking at his face and remembering the lasagne gone wrong, the next he’s asking if you want to watch a movie with him. Except neither of you have updated your Netflix subscription, so this was a bad idea all along.
Maybe talking to Mingyu is a bad idea. 
Maybe you should go back to your old ways, locking yourself up in your room and only acknowledging his presence when you happen to cross paths. 
But the socialite in you nags, what if he thinks you’re some kind of hermit who only comes out to eat and drink? Besides, he’s here now, right next to you on the sofa—keeping a respectable distance between your bodies—as he watches a rerun of America’s Next Top Model because it was the least shitty thing playing on all the channels you scrounged through fifteen minutes ago. 
Normally, you would be elated at the idea of poking fun at random reality shows, expressing your exasperation at the poorly-written scripted drama and the even worse acting. But even if the showoff between two aspiring models both named Jessica and sporting the same colour of fake tan and bleached blonde hair was somewhat interesting, you find your gaze keeps wandering to your ex-boyfriend.
You trace the contours of his face with your eyes—the cheekbones that jut out only slightly, the furrow created on his forehead as his eyebrows kiss, the way his honey-brown eyes stare at the screen in front of him with a focused intensity. Even the way his lips curve ever-so slightly upwards, despite him pressing them together, has you recalling just how soft they felt against your own. 
His warm, soft skin. The prominent collarbone that you used to press small kisses to whenever you wanted to get his attention. The moles scattered all over his body, creating a canvas for you to paint on by tracing them with your fingers. The flex of his fingers as he bunches them into a loose fist.
Everything about him is so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time.
Even this semblance of friendship that has bridged the drawn-out distance between you both feels strange—as though somewhere in the back of your subconscious, you recognise that this camaraderie is either a really good thing or could go extremely wrong. You’re in the middle of that bridge, trying your best not to lean too much to the right or to the left, but even a slight misstep could lead to everything going downhill.
“Are you rooting for Jessice H. or Jessica C.?”
“Huh?” You blink, escaping your haze of thoughts. “I’m sorry—which one is which?”
Mingyu glances at you with a deadpan expression. “We’ve been watching them trying to one up each other for the past ten minutes.”
“Sorry.” You smile sheepishly. “Both of them look the same to me.”
“Fair enough,” he acquiesces, before returning his focus to the show. “It’s the fake tan, isn’t it? Although the hair is similar too… No wonder they’ve been arguing about who put on their mascara better—it looks identical.” 
You play along. “Or maybe it’s the supposed Gucci belts. I had no idea Gucci made handbags with fake crocodile skin.”
“The more you know…”
You laugh at that, and Mingyu looks at you—really looks, the same way he used to when you made a bad joke and giggled at it yourself. He looks at you with adoration written all over his face, in the upward twist of his lips and the crinkling in the corners of his eyes.
You clamp your mouth shut immediately, feeling a sense of nostalgia, longing and wistfulness seep into your skin, through your flesh and settle deep into your bones. 
Too much. It’s too much, and it’s way too early, and you don’t want to dwell on anything at the moment. So you do what you do best: You hide.
You tear your gaze off him and rub your palms on your old jeans. You hear Mingyu’s sharp intake of breath, but you force yourself not to look, not to think about him. 
“Hey, uh—I was supposed to call Jihyo right now,” you lie, and even you think it sounds lame coming out of your mouth, so there’s no way Mingyu can’t see through it.
“Y/N,” is all he says. 
You hate the way your chest clenches—just because he said your name—but what can you do? Escape the situation and never bring up the obvious elephant in the room?
Yeah. That’s exactly what you do. Making decisions isn’t your forte, but you’ll deal with the consequences of your actions later. Much, much later, if you can avoid it for as long as you’re living here.
You get up and make a beeline for your room, and Kim Mingyu doesn’t say anything to make you stop.
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SIX
Whenever you faltered, Jihyo was your voice of reason. She would help you back to your feet, give you a solid nudge on your shoulder and list out the pros and cons of everything, allowing you to formulate your own opinion and come to a decision.
She isn’t being very helpful right now.
“Think about it,” she reasons. “Before, he was your ex. Now, he’s the guy you live with. You have to talk to him, no matter what.”
She’s right. She knows you know she’s right. You still refuse to acknowledge it, because pride comes before a fall, but you haven’t fallen yet. It’s more like you’re dangling off the precipice.
“How’s Jaehyun?” you say instead, referring to the guy she’s been crushing on ever since she moved to the new city.
Jihyo lets out an unimpressed sigh, the grainy image of her face on your phone screen contorting slightly. “Don’t think you’re being super smart by changing the topic, Y/N. And he’s fine. We went out for boba the other day.”
“Yeah?” You play with the fraying edge of the duvet thrown over your body. “That’s nice.”
Jihyo hums, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “And then he asked if we could hook up.”
You guffaw. “Really?”
“Yeah.” She nods vigorously, affirming her statement. “I said no, obviously.”
“Why? Afraid he’s too much to handle?”
“Please,” your best friend snorts. “Have you seen him? I think I’m too much for him to handle. He couldn’t even pay for the boba without tearing his pocket because he was too enthusiastic in getting his wallet out.”
You smile thinly. Jihyo might be poking fun at the man, but you can tell from the twinkle in her eyes and the way her voice is filled with infectious joy that she’s enamoured by him. You wish you could meet him in person. Instead, you have to settle for checking out his Instagram profile.
“Anyway,” she continues, stifling a yawn, “it’s late and I have to head out tomorrow. I’ll call you later.”
“Okay,” you say. “Good night. Don’t dream of Jaehyun.”
She flips her middle finger at you and you roll your eyes, pressing the end button. Just when you’re about to fluff your pillow so you can lie down, you hear a knock on your door.
“Y/N?” Mingyu sounds remarkably active, considering the fact that it’s currently fifteen minutes past midnight. “Are you awake?”
Curiosity compels you to answer honestly, “Yeah. Is everything okay?” 
You tread over to the door, swinging it open. Mingyu is in his sweatpants—a pair you know he only wears for bed—and a loose graphic T-shirt. You’re wearing pretty much the same attire, except your shirt is an old one, worn-out from your high school days, and it doesn't fit you that well anymore. You tug the hem over your hips consciously.
“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Yeah, everything’s okay. I was just…” He pauses, raising a hand and ruffling his hair. “Do you wanna get some ice cream?”
Of all possible things you expected Mingyu to ask you, this certainly wasn’t one of them. You blink, bemused. 
“Or—or we don’t have to,” he backtracks, when you don’t say anything immediately. “I was just craving something sweet, that’s all—”
“Okay,” you say, surprising yourself with your answer. Mingyu is trying to extend the olive branch you placed in between you both, and you have to appreciate that. Regardless of your personal feelings. Besides, Jihyo was right—he’s the guy you live with, and you need to be able to spend time with him. As friends. Nothing more.
“Okay.” He exhales, relieved. “It’s right across the street.”
“I think I know the one you’re talking about.”
The ice cream parlour is a ten-minute walk from your apartment, but walking with Mingyu makes time fly. He says something about mint chocolate being an underrated flavour, and you insinuate that it deserves to be, and just like that, conversation flows between you both as though your past is some kind of a fever dream.
Where Seokmin is a bright ray of sunshine lighting up your way on a cloudy day, Mingyu is moonlight, skittering over your figure and providing solace in the dark. Seokmin is infectious laughter and gleeful smiles; Mingyu is whispered jokes and shared silence.
Perhaps it’s those very qualities that made you fall so hard for the man next to you. You know for sure it’s those very qualities that still have you in his grip, even though he doesn’t know it. Maybe that’s why talking to him is awkward—because how do you move on from someone who captured your heart and kept it for safe-keeping but know that there’s one big, gaping hole in your chest where his heart is supposed to be? Even now, a small part of you belongs to Mingyu, like a little token which he’s kept locked up and hidden the key.
Six months is a long time, but neither you nor Mingyu seems to be able to bring up what happened. Maybe it’s for the best, you think. You would rather have a small bit of this domesticity that feels familiar than have everything blow up in your face because of the harsh words you exchanged.
You ignore the tightening in your chest and focus on the warmth pooling in your stomach when Mingyu grins and offers you a chance to redeem yourself when it comes to good ice cream flavours. You say mint chocolate is tolerable, but only because Mingyu likes it.
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SEVEN
Seokmin drops by your cubicle almost every day now. He offers to drop you back home, too.
Each time, you smile but decline politely. You still feel guilty about saying that you would like to spend more time with him as well—but in your defence, you didn’t really lie; you do want to spend more time with him, but only as a friend. Seokmin didn’t specify how exactly he wants to go out with you.
It’s getting harder to say no, however. Seokmin is everything if not persistent, and his determination to take you out has you crumbling under his forlorn gaze and pleading words.
He doesn’t make your heart beat faster, or make butterflies erupt inside your belly. Being with Seokmin doesn’t come with bright fireworks or flashy songs. It’s finding the extraordinary in the mundane, and laughing yourselves silly over jokes that aren’t even that funny.
So. It’s not Mingyu, but Seokmin is nice and friendly and stable, and you think you can fall for him. You and Mingyu aren’t going to cross the threshold of friends ever again, anyway. There’s nothing stopping you from going out with Seokmin.
“Okay,” you say when he asks you again, a half-resigned look on his face when he assumes you’ll just say no again. 
The way his expression morphs to elation is worth it, you think. He surges forward, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in for a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispers into your ear, and the joy he feels is infectious—as most good things with Seokmin are—so it’s no surprise that your cheeks are already hurting from smiling too hard.
When you update Jihyo about the latest turn of events, she tuts disapprovingly and says, “Have you told Mingyu?”
“No,” you say, feeling defensive. “I don’t have to tell him, do I?”
Your best friend waits for a beat. “You don’t, I guess.”
Mingyu interrupts your call then, and you quickly tell Jihyo you’ll text her later. He stands in the living room, holding up a pair of button down shirts, one in each hand, forehead creased and mouth downturned.
You lean against your doorway, amused. “You called?”
His face clears as he looks at you, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “I have this work event I need to attend tomorrow, but I don’t know what to wear.”
You observe the shirts he’s holding up. One is cream in colour, long-sleeved and ironed neatly. The other is black, with a thin white stripe along the collar and sleeves.
“The black one,” you say immediately. And then feel your cheeks heat up with your quick answer. In your defence, Kim Mingyu has always looked alarmingly handsome in black. Objectively speaking.
“I haven’t worn this one in a long time.” He brings it close to his face, squinting at it. “It probably stinks.”
“Smell it, then,” you say, chuckling at the mortified look on Mingyu’s face. “What? You’re telling me you’ve never worn your underwear inside out because you forgot to do the laundry? This isn’t that different.”
“I have never done anything of the sort.” He sniffs petulantly at you, before his eyes narrow. “Wait. Does that mean you’ve worn your underwear inside out?”
You wrinkle your nose. “Gross. I thought you knew me better than that.”
Mingyu tenses up at your offhand comment, and you look down, wondering why that even slipped out of your mouth in the first place. Of course you screw everything up just when things are going decently well. 
“I do,” he mumbles. “I do know you better than that.” When you look at him, he has a wan smile on his lips. “Which is why I’m going to trust your judgement and wear the black shirt. Even if it’s musty from sitting in the back of my closet for so long.”
“Oh, shut up,” you huff, walking over to him and grabbing the cloth out of his hand. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
He only raises a single eyebrow at you.
That’s what prompts you to sniff at it. At his goddamn shirt. Like you’re one of those police dogs they use to find missing people.
It… doesn’t smell unpleasant. A little bit musty, like Mingyu said, but that can be attributed to him not wearing it often. Mostly, it smells of faint fabric softener and deodorant—and underneath it all, a scent that is solely Mingyu’s. (Pine and citrus and lavender, all mixed together, in a way that only Mingyu can pull off.)
“It smells fine,” you say, shoving it into Mingyu’s chest. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m not the one who grabbed it and shoved my face into it,” he says, “so who’s the real dramatic one here?”
“I didn’t shove my face into it!” You swat at his shoulder, but he laughs and dodges, eyes twinkling with playfulness.
“If you say so,” he returns, still chuckling to himself.
“When is this event?” 
“Tomorrow evening,” he answers.
“Both of us won’t be at home then,” you say, and he raises an eyebrow. “I… have a date tomorrow,” you explain, and regret it almost instantly. Why are you even telling him that? He doesn’t need to know.
“Oh,” is all he says, followed by a quieter, “Have fun.”
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EIGHT
Seokmin picks you up at exactly six o’clock, wearing a loose button down shirt and slacks, and his hair styled carefully. He perks up as soon as you wave at him, jogging over to you with a smile.
“Hey,” he greets you. “You look good.”
You return his smile, tugging at the edge of your blouse and smoothing out your skirt. “Thank you. So do you.”
Seokmin’s grin brightens, which you didn’t even think was possible. “Thanks,” he says, and then gently takes hold of your elbow. “So… the plan for today is to take you out for dinner, and then a movie. How does that sound?”
“It sounds… good,” you say, letting him lead the way. It’s basic, yes, but you’re a firm believer in clichés—there’s a reason they become popular, after all.
He doesn’t stop talking, and neither do you. Throughout the entire half an hour dinner in some hole-in-the-wall diner that Seokmin discovered a month ago and serves the best blue lemonade mojitos you’ve ever tasted, and the entire two hour movie that’s way too boring for you to focus on the screen anyway, you and your co-worker keep up an endless stream of banter and silly anecdotes and you find yourself enjoying it more than you thought you would.
It’s refreshing, and when you and Seokmin finally make the walk back to your apartment, you find it difficult to let go of his hand. He pulls you to a stop in front of the building, rubbing his thumb gently across the back of your hand. 
His smile is as bright as ever, albeit tinged with slight disappointment. “So. I’ll see you on Monday, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you confirm, nodding. “Thank you for today, Seokmin. I had a lot of fun.”
“Me too,” he returns. “Listen, I—”
He’s interrupted by someone stumbling across the sidewalk—not someone, you realise. It’s two people, tightly coiled around each other in a manner that is entirely indecent for the public eye. But as they trip around one another—still holding each other tightly—your heart sinks deep into the pit of your stomach.
One of them is Mingyu.
The other person is some girl, hair falling loosely across her face, Mingyu’s fingers tangled into her tresses, while his other hand bunches up the material of her dress at her waist. They kiss and kiss and kiss, and you don’t tear your eyes away until Seokmin makes a noise of disgust.
He turns around, blocking your view of them and takes both your hands in his. “I… I’ll call you. Okay?”
You nod numbly. “Okay.”
Seokmin leaves with a bright smile and a lingering kiss on your cheek. You plaster a smile onto your lips until he moves out of your line of sight, after which you begin the arduous trek back to your—Mingyu’s—apartment. Normally, the three floors you climb aren’t much of a strenuous task; tonight, however, every step you take makes you feel like your legs are made of lead. 
You fumble in your purse for your key, the image of Mingyu kissing that girl not leaving your mind. It’s not supposed to hurt, you’re not supposed to be bothered by it. But it stings, like the biting cold on a freezing winter morning, making your fingers stiff and your ears chilly.
You hear footsteps right when you twist the key into the lock.
The last thing you see before you enter the apartment is Mingyu clambering up the staircase, clearly drunk but surprisingly upright. He has a lipstick stain leading from the corner of his mouth to his cheek, his hair is tousled—no doubt from someone running their hands through his silky locks—and his shirt is untucked and wrinkled.
He opens his mouth to say something, but you grab the door handle and step inside, because the last thing you want to confront is the fact that your feelings for Kim Mingyu might not be as forgotten as you believe.
Which is fine, all things considered, except Kim Mingyu doesn’t give a damn.
You let the door slam shut behind you before Mingyu can get in. Technically, it’s his house. Technically, he’s the one who has the right to lock you out.
Technically, you’re acting like a child throwing a tantrum, and technically, Mingyu is allowed to kiss whomever the fuck he wants. 
You wish Jihyo was here. She would ground you, make you see everything calmly and rationally. But she’s been having boy problems of her own (Jeong Jaehyun, who is decidedly not as romantic as Jihyo was led to believe), and the last thing you want is to dump your boy problems on her.
Besides, it’s no big deal. Right?
Mingyu lives here. He should have his own copy of the keys. He’s also drunk. (Drunk and half-laid, your mind helpfully reminds.)
Before you start overthinking about letting the door close behind you, you decide that what you really need is a warm shower. So you let your feet lead you to the bathroom directly, and don’t allow thoughts of ex-boyfriends and overly friendly co-workers to enter your brain.
You don’t hear the sound of keys turning in the lock the entire night, but you shove down the guilt that bubbles up your throat. It’s Mingyu’s fault for not carrying them with him wherever he goes; you’re not his caretaker, anyway. 
Your phone pings with a text message from Seokmin, and you pick it up.
(19:47) Seokmin: I had a great time today. Thanks for coming with me :) 
Despite the fact that you only have a towel wrapped around your body, and the fact that your hair is dripping wet, you feel a tingling warmth creep up your chest. 
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NINE
Monday is a horrible day.
You woke up half an hour later than usual, which led to you rushing through your morning routine. Your clothes aren’t ironed, which is fine usually, but the shirt you pick doesn’t tuck in quite right and you don’t have the time to change it. You almost tripped over the curb in your rush to get to work and nearly spilled a cup of coffee—which is far too sweet for your liking, due to the dollop of sugar you added by accident—all over yourself. Your manager, Choi Seungcheol, doesn’t approve of the project portfolio you compiled, and the deadline is fast approaching, which means more late nights for you.
And to top it all off, your car engine won’t fucking start.
You’re really not in the mood for Seokmin and his exuberant enthusiasm, which is something he probably catches onto, considering the fact that he stands silently next to you, waiting for you to finish cursing the piece of metal you call a car. Once you’re done resisting the urge to burn down the automobile, Seokmin places a placating hand on your shoulder.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, training a concerned gaze over your figure. “I can drop you back home.”
“No, it’s fine,” you mutter sullenly. “I’ll just call a cab or something.”
“Y/N, please. It’s no trouble.” He pauses, and you glance at him, at the sympathetic crease of his forehead and the genuinity reflected in his eyes. It’s touching, and Seokmin flashes you a small smile. “I was gonna head over that way anyway—I wanted to get some stuff from that bakery we went to.”
“I—” You hesitate, and he takes the chance to slide in.
“You call the mechanic. I’ll wait for you in my car, okay?”
He scurries away, leaving you biting your lip and staring at your phone. You should probably call Mingyu; he can help. Knowing him, he would probably want to help, regardless of who was asking him. Instead, you search up the nearest mechanic shop and dial in their number, giving them the details of where you are. They arrive a couple of minutes later, and you watch as they hook your car onto their big tow truck and drive away.
Seokmin waves you over to his car, a sleek Hyundai that's probably a few years old but still looks brand new. He opens the door to the passenger seat with a smile before grabbing the stack of folders you had kept clutched to your chest. You let him take them. You’re far too tired to argue.
Briefly, your mind wanders to Mingyu—what he would do if you had told him. Probably run all the way here, your brain supplies, prompting a wry smile to form on your lips. You press them together when you think of Mingyu with that girl immediately afterwards.
The drive to your house is silent, only the rumble of Seokmin’s car and the soft noise of some interview playing on the radio filling the silence. He pulls to a stop near your apartment, bundles up your work folders in his arms and gestures for you to lead the way to your flat. 
The door swings open before you get the chance to pull out your key. Mingyu stands opposite you, dishevelled—just woken up from a nap, it seems. His mouth parts when he sees Seokmin standing behind you.
“Who’s this?” he asks by way of greeting.
You shift uncomfortably, wanting to say something, but the words stick to your throat like you’ve swallowed chewing gum. Seokmin reaches out from next to you, and you don’t need to see him to know he’s positively beaming.
“Hi, I’m Seokmin,” he says. “I work with Y/N.”
Mingyu shakes his hand, eyes roaming quizzically between you and Seokmin. “Nice to meet you,” he says distractedly. “I’m Mingyu, Y/N’s… roommate. And ex—”
“Come on in, Seokmin.” You glare at Mingyu. He only raises an eyebrow in retaliation. Seokmin coughs slightly, blows out a puff of air, and follows you inside.
“You can just…” You wave your hand around vaguely. Gritting your teeth does nothing to bring you out of your haze. It only exacerbates it.
“Did something happen?” Mingyu moves aside, but you feel his eyes on the back of your neck.
“Y/N’s car broke down,” Seokmin supplies. “It’s at the mechanic’s right now, so I offered to drop her back home.”
“I see.” His next statement is directed at you. “You could’ve called me. I would have come.”
It’s only then that you turn around and face him. He doesn’t move, gaze locked unwaveringly on your hunched-over figure. It’s almost like he’s challenging you to say something.
“I know that,” is all you say, voice low.
Mingyu nods. “Good.”
You avert your attention to Seokmin. He appears lost, gaping at both of you as though he can’t quite catch onto what’s going on. “Let’s go to my room, Seokmin. You can leave my stuff there.”
“Okay.” Seokmin nods, giving Mingyu a hesitant smile. “It was nice meeting you, Mingyu.”
“You too.”
It’s a tiny exchange, but it’s enough to cause a fissure inside your heart. Seokmin is always so nice. He gives out niceness like he’s handing out free candy to toddlers. The only time you’ve ever seen him get remotely angry was when another co-worker of yours forgot a pen drive containing a crucial presentation to an important client—even then, all he did was level a glare at her before calmly asking for a backup drive to be brought.
Mingyu, on the other hand, is like a burning ember. Calm one minute, and angry the next—and it’s the reason you love him, but it’s also the reason you broke things off. You and Mingyu are far too similar, hot-headed and careless to a fault, like two candle flames competing to see who can burn their wick the fastest. You didn’t burn the wick. You ended up burning each other instead. Let it not be said that playing with fire isn’t one of your specialties.
Seokmin lets out a breath that sounds like a huff and a sigh simultaneously as soon as he enters your room. “You can leave the stuff here,” you say, pointing at your desk.
He obliges, carefully placing the stack on the table. “That’s your roommate, huh? Y’know, when you said that you were living with someone you didn’t like, I didn’t think you meant your ex-boyfriend.”
You look away, biting the inside of your cheek. “It’s… difficult. I needed a place to live and he was the only person who offered on short notice. It just happened.”
Seokmin nods understandingly, lips pursed in thought. “He seems like a nice guy.”
“He is,” you agree. “One of the nicest people I know.”
“Yeah?” Your co-worker lifts one corner of his lips in an amused half-smile. “What does that make me?”
The answer is on the tip of your tongue. You know Seokmin is expecting it. Hell, you’re expecting the words to just come out. The nicest guy of them all. That’s all you have to say.
“You’re… Lee Seokmin.” 
The words are flat on your tongue. Seokmin’s expression falls—just the tiniest bit, a crack in the foundation—but you feel a terrible weight in your stomach, pulling you down, down, down until your head sinks below the surface of the metaphorical waves and the water erases your existence. 
Seokmin is a nice guy—you know that, and you’ve reiterated it so many times. The only thing stopping you from being in a proper relationship with him is your ex-boyfriend, only separated from you by a wooden door and cement walls. Mingyu doesn’t like you anymore, not in the way he used to, and it’s clearly time for you to stop dwelling on what you had.
You swallow, looking at Seokmin directly. “And…” You take a step closer to him. “I consider myself lucky to have met you.”
Seokmin looks at you, his gaze unsteady, but he takes one of your hands in his. “Yeah?” His throat bobs when he speaks, and that’s how you know he’s nervous.
“Yeah,” you confirm, letting his fingers slip in between yours. 
He shuffles closer to you, and you can smell his woody cologne intermingled with sweat. You can count the moles on his face, see your reflection in his pupils. 
“Y/N, I really want to kiss—”
There’s a knock on your door, and you and Seokmin jump away from each other like a pair of schoolchildren getting caught doing something you’re not supposed to. Seokmin looks down at his feet; you clear your throat before letting out a hoarse, “Yes?”
“You left your phone outside,” Mingyu calls. “The mechanic just called.”
“Oh, um. I’ll be right there.” You turn back to Seokmin, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Of all possible times for Mingyu to be a cockblocker, why now? “S-sorry about that.”
“No, it’s—you’re fine,” he stammers out, clearly as out of it as you are. “I should probably leave too, I still need to stop by the bakery.”
“Oh, yeah!” you say. “I forgot. Do you want me to come with you?”
“It’s alright,” he says. “It’s getting dark outside and you need to get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay?”
“Okay,” you murmur. “Thank you for today, Seokmin. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
“Cursed your car to oblivion, probably,” he teases.
You flush, heat creeping up the back of your neck and ears. “That—you didn’t have to see that.”
“I thought it was cute,” he returns easily, corners of his lips twitching. 
Against your will, your lips twitch upwards too. “Okay, okay, I get it.”
Seokmin opens your door, and you follow him out of your room. He gives Mingyu a grin, says, “See you around,” and lets you close the door behind him. 
Mingyu crosses his arms over his chest. You glance at him. His eyebrows are knotted together, lips pressed into a stoic line. You bite the inside of your cheek, suddenly feeling awkward.
“Hey,” he begins, voice soft, “is that… your boyfriend?”
You raise your eyebrows. “Does it matter?”
He huffs, shifting from one foot to the other. “Yes—no. No, it doesn’t matter. I was just curious, okay?”
You open your mouth, then close it, at a loss for words. Are you and Seokmin together? Not really. Both of you haven’t done or said anything to define your relationship—if there is one in the romantic sense, at least. Seokmin wanted to kiss you, but Mingyu interrupted before anything could even happen—it’s your irritation at the day being shitty, and Mingyu being an asshole after everything he did that makes you roll your eyes at him and snap at him. “It’s none of your business.”
Mingyu’s face turns stony, a hardness to his features that you’ve only seen a few times before—it was directed at you the last time, too. “Okay. Fine. Sorry I asked.”
“Are you?” you retort, and before he can say anything to retaliate, you storm back into your room and lock the door.
Your heart feels like it’s been split into two, one half yearning for the comfort and familiarity that comes with still liking Mingyu, and the other excited to explore what Seokmin could offer you—and what he already has offered. But for now, you decide to get some sleep. Your heart can wait.
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TEN 
Jihyo is back.
Jihyo is fucking back, and she’s standing in your—Mingyu’s—living room, arms wide open and a grin on her lips so wide, her eyes crinkle in the corners. It takes all of your willpower not to launch yourself into her arms. Instead, you slow down, toe your shoes off, let your bag drop to the floor, and then launch yourself into her arms.
She laughs at your overzealous demeanour, and you giggle into her hair. God, you’d missed her. Texting every day and video calling every weekend can only do so much, and it’s nothing compared to seeing her in person.
“Hi,” she says, pulling back enough to escape your cage-like hold around her body.
“Hi,” you greet back, smiling so wide and so hard, you can feel your ears pop. “You’re back.”
“I’m back.” She confirms your statement by nodding. “Only for a week, though.”
“Ah.”
Your best friend lets out a sheepish chuckle, and you take a step back. Her suitcase is on the floor next to her, and she’s kept her backpack on the sofa. “Are you gonna stay here?” you ask.
She winces. “No, there isn’t much space here. I booked a room at a hotel nearby. It’s, like, ten minutes by walk from here and it’s not very expensive either,” she assures.
“Okay,” you say, a little deflated. If Jihyo stayed with you, at least the awkwardness between you and Mingyu might be reduced by a small fraction. Her overbearing nature and ability to make conversation with literally anyone would be a lifesaver, given the situation you’ve dug yourself into.
A situation that she knows nothing about.
You haven’t had the time to keep Jihyo updated about the latest turn of events—not when she was busy juggling a relationship with her sort-of boyfriend, Jeong Jaehyun. She doesn’t know about Seokmin, and she doesn’t know about your lingering feelings for Mingyu.
“Hey, you’re back already.”
Speak of the devil. 
You turn around and find Mingyu leaning against the doorway, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. You feel your breath hitch. He continues, “I guess Jihyo already beat me to it, huh?”
“You knew she was coming?” you ask him, almost accusatory. 
“You didn’t tell her?” Jihyo echos, a curious tinge to her tone.
He lifts his shoulder in a half-shrug, lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile. “Wanted to surprise you, that’s all.”
Against your will, you find yourself grinning at him. Mingyu dissolves in the slightest—a small hint of surprise—before he grins back at you, teeth flashing and eyes crinkling. Jihyo lets out a small huff from next to you, but you know nothing can put a damper on your mood right now. Not even your resurfaced feelings for Mingyu, nor your newfound ones for Seokmin.
Your best friend squeezes your arm. “I have some time before I need to check in at the hotel. Do you wanna check out our old place?”
You turn to her and nod. The prospect of going back to the place where you created cherished memories with someone so dear to you is enticing; then you remember your car is still at the mechanic’s. “My car is out of commission.”
Jihyo only turns and stares at Mingyu. He sighs resignedly, pushing himself off the doorway and heading inside his room. “Let me grab my keys.”
“Might as well stop for ice cream along the way,” Jihyo calls out gleefully to his retreating back. 
You gulp. This… might not be a good idea. If Mingyu tags along with you, this would be the first time since last week where you’re speaking to him normally, making conversation that isn’t just along the lines of “Did you do the laundry?” or “I bought some vegetables”. Of course, if you told Jihyo what happened, she would immediately make sure Mingyu doesn’t come. You chew on your bottom lip, but before you can come to a decision, Mingyu emerges from his bedroom, car keys dangling off his fingers.
“Ready?” he asks.
Jihyo grabs onto your arm, excitement so visible on her face that it prompts the tension in your own features to melt away. You let yourself get carried away by her giddiness, not noticing the fond glances the only male in the group keeps giving you whenever he’s sure you’re not looking. If you’d met his eyes once throughout the drive to your old place, you’d see the way his eyes still twinkle at you with the same intensity as they did months ago, but you’re too busy catching up with Jihyo to notice.
Mingyu pulls to a stop in front of your old apartment building—a dilapidated structure that’s not half as modern as the current building you stay in. At least the elevator is still functioning; you purse your lips to contain your laugh when Mingyu looks at it, eyebrows raised in visible astonishment. Jihyo grips your hand tightly when you reach your floor. You tighten your hold on her hand as well, feeling a sudden burst of emotion erupt inside your chest like lava escaping from a volcano.
You and Jihyo round the corner to the apartment that used to be yours, Mingyu following closely. The door is the same dull brown it was back then as well, but someone has put in the effort to redo the varnish. There’s a potted fern next to it as well. 
You let out a shuddering breath. Jihyo wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close; you aren’t sure if it’s just the wind rattling through the open window, but you hear something like a sniffle.
This is the place you lived in when you had your first boyfriend, when you had your first heartbreak, when you cried your lungs out at some stupid TV show that you were invested in at the time but can’t possibly remember the name of now. This is the place where you and Jihyo bonded over crappy supermarket deals and made a mess of the kitchen whenever you tried to learn how to cook something new.
This is the place where you first met Kim Mingyu.
You tilt your head at him, watch as he stares resolutely ahead of him, like if glares at it strongly enough, he can bore two holes straight through the wood. Eventually, his eyes land on yours.
His lips part but no words come out. He offers you a small smile instead, one so tender and heart-warming and achingly familiar. You blink, and the moment is gone. You’re left with the same sense of wistfulness and longing that you always feel around him. 
Jihyo squeezes your shoulder, eyes shining. “Should we ring the bell?” she asks, and then presses the doorbell before you can respond.
A muffled “Coming!” from inside, and the latch is pulled open to reveal a college student—a few years younger than you, perhaps, with sleep bags underneath his eyes and a cup of coffee clutched to his chest. He looks confused—as anyone would be, you suppose, when you see a random bunch of strangers standing on your doorstep—but his expression clears when Jihyo explains who you are and why you’re here.
He says he’s living here with his boyfriend and their pet cat—a beautiful Siberian who coils itself around his legs, tail upturned—and you feel your heart swell with the knowledge that your old haven is being taken care of well. Jihyo consistently badgers him with questions and he answers each one patiently, to his credit. 
A flicker of uncertainty crosses your mind, however. Does Mingyu not remember this? He was looking for apartments in this building, too, when you met him. Doesn’t he remember the old landlady conversing with you? Doesn’t he remember the way people constantly asked if you two were together, which is what even prompted him to ask for your number in the first place? 
You’re shaken out of your thoughts when you feel a slight pressure on your shoulder. Mingyu’s hand is on your shoulder. Your gaze flits over to him. 
“Sorry,” he mumbles, ducking his head. “There was a mosquito.”
He’s lying. 
He remembers. 
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ELEVEN
“Spill.”
“The… tea?” you ask cautiously, looking at Jihyo. She’s holding a steaming mug of tea in her hand.
“You think you’re so funny.” She rolls her eyes.
“I know I am,” you quip, and she rolls her eyes again, taking a sip of the beverage.
“You’ve been distracted since yesterday,” she states matter-of-factly. “Since we went to our old place.” Her voice quietens, “Is it Mingyu? Did he do something?”
You eye her warily, sitting down on the plush armchair opposite her. “No,” you say.
“Then what is it? Did—did you not want me here?”
“No.” You’re quick to alleviate her concerns. “Of fucking course I wanted you here. I missed you. So much.”
Your best friend smiles at that, swirling the tea in the mug. “But something’s bothering you.”
“...Yes.” You admit it slowly, playing with your fingers splayed out on your lap. “It’s not important. You’re here only for a few days, we should do something fun.”
“Y/N,” Jihyo says slowly, enunciating every syllable of your name like she’s speaking to a troublesome child, “if you’re worried about me feeling bad or anything, please don’t. I want to help you.”
You wave her away. “You have your own shit to deal with.”
“What, you mean Jaehyun?” She snorts. “I’m over him. I was over him ages ago.”
“Are you sure?”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Just.” You look down at your feet. “You really liked him, didn’t you?”
Jihyo cocks her head to the side, studying you carefully. “Yes. I did. What about it?”
Your shoulder slump, dejectedness seeping into your figure. “How… did you do it?” You glance up at her, note the way she observes you carefully. Your voice is almost pleading when you continue, “How did you get over him?”
Your best friend’s expression clears, comprehension dawning on her face. She places her mug down, leaning forward and clasping your hand with hers. “It’s Mingyu, isn’t it?”
You shake your head miserably. “Not just him.”
“There’s someone else?” She doesn’t sound surprised, only intrigued and concerned.
You take a deep breath, lock gazes with her—and everything comes spilling out of your mouth like the tide receding into the ocean. You tell her everything, about Mingyu and Seokmin and how conflicted they make you feel; how one is like the living personification of sunlight on a gloomy day, and the other reminds you of clouds providing shade on a hot afternoon. You tell her about how guilty you feel, as though you’re leading Seokmin to believe that you’re ready for a committed relationship when a part of your heart still belongs to Mingyu. You speak until the words end up garbled and slurred, and your breathing turns heavy and salt water streaks across your cheeks, your best friend rubbing them away with the pad of her thumb.
When you don’t know what to say, Jihyo pulls you into a hug—it’s an awkward position, your elbows locked around her arms while your neck is bent at an odd angle, but it’s comforting, and you let your eyes close tiredly. 
“Y/N,” she says, rubbing her thumb on your shoulder soothingly. “I know it’s hard for you to decide, but you have to know: What do you want?”
The question makes you contemplate. What do you want? 
“I don’t know,” is all you can get out, slumping further into her arms.
She hums softly. “But you’ll figure it out. I know you will.”
Will you? You’re not so sure. Maybe when the time is right. But for now, you rest your chin on your best friend’s shoulder and let her rub circles onto your skin.
You pull back when the position becomes too uncomfortable—you can already feel a crick in your neck—and Jihyo wraps her fingers around her discarded mug. She raises it in a half-hearted toast. “To sexy girls who don’t need men in their lives.”
You giggle, rubbing your eyes. “Men are pieces of shit, anyway.”
“Damn right they are,” she croons, falling dramatically back onto the couch. “We should just get married instead.”
“If you propose to me the right way, maybe I’ll consider it.”
Jihyo grins at you, and it’s infectious enough to make you grin back at her. “Consider it done,” she says. “I have a ring in my nightstand drawer with your name written on it.”
“If it’s not pure diamond, I won’t accept.”
“Tsk. So greedy.”
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TWELVE
Introducing Seokmin to Jihyo was not a part of your agenda for the week.
But it’s Seokmin and it’s Jihyo, so really, what else did you expect? Both of them integrated themselves seamlessly into your life, and they have no plans of leaving anytime soon. Might as well get the introductions over with.
Ironically, it happens when you go to collect your car from the mechanic’s, and once they’ve exchanged names and small talk, Jihyo and Seokmin are inseparable. The former regals him with tales of your college shenanigans, while the latter listens enthusiastically, eyes flitting between you both amusedly.
“Okay, that’s enough,” you hurriedly interrupt the conversation, right before Jihyo can go into the messy details of how you wanted to marry the toilet when you were drunk once and Mingyu had to physically carry you out of the house because you were convinced the white ceramic was proposing to you.
“You and Mingyu were together for a long time, huh?” Seokmin asks you quietly, once Jihyo is finished with her sulking at you interrupting her story. She’s at the side, conversing with someone on the phone, leaving you and your co-worker alone in front of your car.
You’re so startled by the question, you nearly drop your keys. “I—why do you ask?” 
Seokmin licks his lips, a seriousness to his figure that you haven’t witnessed many times before. “Just… curious, I suppose.”
You look down once, see how he’s twisted his fingers together—even the Lee Seokmin gets nervous, after all—and look back up at him. “Yes,” you admit softly, voice hitching slightly, “we were. We… were in love, I guess you could say.”
He’s silent for a minute, tongue darting out to lick his lips again. “And now?”
“I don’t know, Seokmin,” you answer him honestly. Your heart flutters inside your chest, while your stomach twists into tight knots—two reactions you didn’t think would go hand-in-hand, yet here you are, leaving your heart bare for Seokmin to take while gatekeeping a part of it to yourself.
He raises his head, warm eyes capturing yours. You see the smallest flicker of hope and sadness, two thin wisps of emotion dancing in his eyes—but even then, his lips are turned upwards, because it’s Lee Seokmin. 
“But you could try?” he asks, so softly you can barely catch the words.
You push down the emotions that threaten to swallow you whole, swirling around your entire body like the blood that flows through your veins. “I don’t know,” you say again, no less honest than the first time.
He opens his mouth, but Jihyo walks back to you both, mouth downturned. “My company said they need me back as soon as possible.” She says it calmly, but disappointment and bitterness seep into her voice.
For a moment, you freeze, and then ask, “When do you need to leave?”
“Tomorrow,” she answers with an apologetic shrug of her shoulders. “They’ve already booked the flight.”
“Okay.” You nod. “I’ll drop you to the airport.”
“I’ll come with,” Seokmin chimes in, and adds, in true Seokmin fashion, “Make sure Y/N doesn’t drive us all into a ditch or something.”
You shove his shoulder, muttering an “asshole” under your breath, and his smile only widens. Jihyo glances in between you both, lower lip caught between her teeth, before she sucks in a breath and smiles. “Good to know my best friend is in good hands.”
“The best hands, actually,” Seokmin teasingly corrects. 
You roll your eyes at the two of them. “Can we go home now, or not?”
“Home it is,” Jihyo agrees, “but first, I demand Taco Bell.”
“Fine,” you concede, letting her grab the keys from your outstretched palm. 
Seokmin grabs your hand once she clambers into your fixed car. His palm is broad, skin warm, and his fingers wrap around yours with ease. He squeezes your hand once, gently, and it feels like a promise and a farewell at the same time.
Seokmin asks you out again three days after Jihyo leaves. 
This time, he takes you out to an Italian restaurant. He’s dressed up in a suit and a bowtie—and actual blue velvet bowtie that sits snugly at the hollow of his neck—and he’s the perfect gentleman, pulling your chair out for you and pouring champagne into your glass like a professional. (When you compliment him on his drink-pouring skills, he just mutters bashfully about how his dad taught him that to please a lady, you need to be good at pouring drinks; it does nothing to ease the quickening pace of your heart.)
Lee Seokmin compliments your dress, says that that specific shade of pink looks beautiful on you. He recommends you try out their vegetable lasagne, says it’s one of the dishes the restaurant is famous for. He laughs about his favourite show, tells you he would love to rewatch it with you someday. He asks if you like gardens because his neighbour is trying to convince him to grow a rosebush outside his house, but he can’t look after plants even if his life depended on it. He wants to go out for ice cream afterwards, but the night is too chilly for the cold dessert so you opt against it.
Throughout, you play someone who’s on her first date, who thinks this is all there is and everything she’s been dreaming of has come true.
You would like to think you’re a good actor.
Kim Mingyu has seen you in nothing but sweatpants and old t-shirts and he used to whisper praises against your skin, flushed with sweat and sweet words. He ate the shitty lasagne you made without complaining, no matter how bad it tasted. He watched whatever was playing on television with you, just because he enjoyed your company and wanted to be wherever you were. He’s not particularly good with plants, but he has a little succulent named Spurt, making sure it gets enough sunlight and water. He likes mint chocolate ice cream, and would defend the flavour with his life.
Kim Mingyu and Lee Seokmin: Two sides of the same coin.
Jihyo’s question resonates in your mind as you and Seokmin walk back to your car.
What do you want?
As you near your vehicle, Seokmin puts a gentle hand on your arm. “Y/N,” is all he says, and you hate the way your chest clenches at that—just because he said your name.
“Did you have fun today?” he continues, eyes roaming over your features like he’s committing you to memory. Like a soldier leaving his wife before he heads out to the frontlines.
“I did, Seokmin. I really did.” You place your hand over his, tracing the veins on the back of his hand, pressing lightly on his knuckles; you need him to know that you truly enjoyed today—desperate for him to know, because it’s the least you can do for him after everything he’s done for you.
“Good,” he says. “I—I had fun today with you, too. I always have fun when I’m with you, Y/N.”
He bends down. You can feel his breath fan out on the shell of your ear and it makes you shiver. He turns his head, and his lips brush against your cheek. A small, soft farewell. 
“I’m sorry I couldn’t—” you begin, feeling your voice begin to wobble.
“Don’t be sorry,” Seokmin whispers, but he sounds firm. “We’re still friends.”
Your heart plummets deep, deep down, a free fall that isn’t orchestrated by gravity. You think you know the answer to Jihyo’s question now.
“Thank you,” you whisper back to Seokmin.
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THIRTEEN
The light is on when you enter the apartment. Mingyu’s figure lies hunched on the sofa, head in his hands, a half-empty beer can next to him. You quickly shuck off your heels and drop your purse onto the shoe rack.
Your ex-boyfriend looks at you when pad over to the living room. “You’re back.” He sounds hoarse, tired. 
“Have you been drinking?” you say in return, raising an eyebrow. 
Mingyu glances at the can in his hand then back at you. “Yeah. Long day.”
“Me too,” you admit quietly.
Perhaps it’s the quiet ambience of your shared home—silent, despite the noise of the city outside—that compels him; or maybe it’s the idea of coming home to someone you think you know better than the back of your own hand. Either way, when Mingyu pats the cushion beside him, your feet move automatically and you sit down, letting out a weary sigh.
It’s quiet, but not in the awkward sense. Not like back then, when Mingyu thought you and Seokmin were dating. Not even when you visited your old apartment. Exhaustion makes its home in your bones, and you suspect it’s taken over Mingyu too; there’s no way this shared piece of night can be so comfortable otherwise.
“Want some?” he asks after a few minutes.
“No thanks.”
Mingyu shrugs and puts the can down on the coffee table. “Wanna talk about it?” He leans back against the sofa, arms crossed behind his head.
“No,” you answer, and then, “Do you?”
“No.” He clears his throat, glancing sideways at you. “Were you with… Seokmin?”
“...Yes.”
You don’t have to look at Mingyu to know he’s clenching his jaw. It’s a pure rush of adrenaline that makes you ask, “Why does it bother you so much whenever I’m with him?”
Silence.
You turn your head, cheek brushing against the back of the sofa. Mingyu’s eyes are closed, hair falling in loose strands around his forehead and neck. You wonder what he’s thinking.
His answer excites you—in the rawest form possible. Anticipation builds up in your chest, threatens to explode through your windpipe. You don’t know what he’s thinking, but when he opens his eyes and meets your gaze, there is nothing you can do to stop your heart from rabbiting inside your rib cage.
“It doesn’t,” he says finally, an air of decisiveness about him.
For the second time that night, your heart plummets, and you tear your eyes off him. “Okay,” you say. “That is, um, good information to have.”
“Isn’t he your boyfriend?” 
“How does it matter to you?”
Mingyu crosses and uncrosses his ankles, this time staring resolutely at the floor. “I don’t know. It just does.”
You purse your lips. He isn’t being fair to you. “What about you?” you demand. “What about that girl you almost brought back home, huh?”
His mouth twitches. “You saw that.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.
“I’m not blind, Mingyu,” you retort.
Your roommate lets out a sardonic chuckle at that, slowly dragging his eyes up. “I highly doubt that.”
“What do you mean?” You scowl at him, feeling your chest begin to heave. “You—you’re like some kind of a riddle, Mingyu. I can never tell what you mean by anything, and it’s even worse now that you’re drunk and—”
“I’m not drunk, Y/N,” he interrupts. 
“I don’t care if you’re drunk or not—” you don’t realise your voice is caving in, growing softer and softer by the second— “stop saying things you don’t mean.”
“I want to kiss you,” he says finally. “I want to kiss you and I may be slightly drunk, but I don’t fucking care. And I mean it.”
You swallow, blood pounding through your veins. “Say that again.”
“What?” he says, sounding genuinely confused. His gaze never leaves your face, every ounce of earnestness and honesty written plainly on his features.
“Say it again,” you repeat.
“I want—”
You surge forward, capturing his lips with yours, pressing them firmly against his even when he lets out a muffled gasp. He doesn’t kiss back immediately, but his hands find their way to your waist, gripping tightly and crumpling the flimsy material of your dress. He kisses you back then, mouth jutting insistently into yours, tongue sliding against your lower lip. You arch your back, scramble to find some balance in this precarious position, and your hands end up tangled in his hair. He tastes like beer and aftershave and something that’s so distinctly Mingyu, you want more.
You pull away when air becomes a necessity, blinking even as Mingyu’s arms pull you closer to him.
“This isn’t over,” you manage to get out in between huffed breaths.
“Tomorrow,” he promises, but his eyes are glazed. He looks at you like a man starved, and tilts his head and kisses you again, kisses you like he might never see you again. 
You let him. It’s Kim Mingyu, after all, and you’ve always been a little weak for him.
You don’t think of Seokmin; don’t let him come out of the tiny pocket you’ve preserved in your heart just for him. Instead, you wrap your arms around your ex-boyfriend’s neck, leaning into his chest and kissing him back with equal fervour, letting him know that you need him as much as he needs you.
God, you’d missed him. Way more than you thought. You’ve memorised his touch, branded it into your mind, but it still feels new. Like the first time you were with him, kissing like two teenagers with reckless abandon. 
His cold fingers find their way underneath your waist, hitching up the loose material of your dress around your thighs. You kneel on the couch cushions in front of him, almost straddling his lap but not quite. His fingers brush against your sides in a way that sends shivers down your spine.
He nips at your lip, asking for entrance to your mouth to which you accept, parting your lips enough for him to get a taste. As he moves his tongue around yours, exploring your mouth in every way possible, you can’t contain the slight whimper that escapes your throat. 
Mingyu groans, leaning his weight onto you as you both start moving together until you’re laid flat against the couch. He’s impatient, you can tell; his fingers dig into your skin, and he groans again when you bite down gently on his lower lip. He pulls back and moves downwards, kissing your jaw and behind your ear, suckling gently on a sensitive bit of skin with expertise. “Tell me to stop,” he says, whispering the words against your skin.
All you do is moan in response, rubbing your thighs together to get some friction with the way he’s moving his mouth against your skin. 
“Tell me to stop,” he says again, more firmly this time.
“Shut the fuck up, Gyu,” is all you reply with, the nickname falling out of your lips with familiarity. 
Maybe it’s the use of something that used to be your thing—something the two of you shared, the shortened version of his name—but hearing it come out of your lips again does things to Mingyu that he isn’t sure he’d ever be able to put into words for you. Trailing his movements down to your neck, he stops at your chest, a small smile spreading on his face. “Forgot how much I loved it when you called me that.”
Looking down at him, you hadn’t realised he’s moved further down your body and his fingers trace the edges of your underwear. Your dress is bunched up above your thighs, skin exposed to the cool air. “Gonna make you feel so good,” he mumbles, pressing a tiny kiss to the inside of your thighs. He toys with the elastic of the waistband, chuckling when you shoot him an irritated glare.
He stares down at your clothed core, mouth watering while his hands move faster than you can comprehend. It takes him two seconds to hook his slender fingers underneath the waistband of your panties before he pulls them down to your ankles and tosses them onto the coffee table. 
You feel a wave of shyness overcome you—with the way he’s looking at you, desperate for your taste—and you try to close your legs, before his hands land on your thighs, halting your actions. “So pretty,” he murmurs. “I want to see all of you.”
Heat burns your cheeks and flows through your body. You turn your head to avoid his burning gaze as you feel him part your legs. He readjusts himself, laying as flat and comfortably as he can with what little space he has on the couch until he’s face-to-face with where you need him most. He tests the waters, leaning in with his tongue out, letting it graze your clit. You stifle a moan, biting your lip so hard, you think it might bleed.
He smiles, loving how you’re holding back. “So quiet, baby. Wanna remember how I used to make you feel.” Laying his tongue flat against your clit, he gives you slow and soft strokes—so gentle that it drives you insane. 
“You’re such—such a tease,” you gasp out, right when he swirls his tongue around the nub.
Mingyu only raises an eyebrow at that. “You haven’t changed.” But all the same, any plans he had to be patient with you go straight out the window; he wraps his arms around your thighs to pull you down further to his face. The sudden pull surprises you, and you gasp a little while searching for something to grab onto. He indulges in your pussy, tongue exploring your pulsating hole that clenches around everything and nothing all at once. He relishes in the way you feel on his tongue, groaning against your folds while bringing a hand up and rubbing his thumb on your neglected clit. 
You’re a mess under his touch, squirming on the sofa, loud groans and soft mewls escaping your lips wantonly. Your fingers find their way into his soft locks, pulling gently on his hair and scratching against his scalp. He lets out a moan against your pussy, lapping at your juices as if you’re his last source of water. “F-fuck, Gyu, ‘m gonna—” a gasp— “‘m gonna cum.”
This only encourages him to work his mouth harder, wanting to watch you fall apart just by his mouth alone. You tug harder at his hair, moans growing louder and more desperate by the second, and your thighs shudder around his head, feeling the rush of your high come so close, you aren’t prepared for it.
With two final sucks to your clit, you come undone on his tongue followed by a string of moans with broken pieces of his name somewhere in between. Mingyu looks up at you with bright eyes and a satisfied grin, as if he didn’t just eat out your pussy like he would never get the chance to again. The mixture of saliva and your juices dripping down his chin makes your eyes widen even as you squint down at him. 
With careful, deliberate motions, he moves away from you, the grin on his face replaced by a more serious expression. You sit up, leaning on your elbows. The aftermath of your passionate actions catches up to you; reaching over, you snatch your panties from the coffee table and swing your legs over. Throughout, Mingyu doesn’t say anything. He only watches, in that quiet, observant way of his, swiping at his mouth and chin with a tissue he grabbed from the tissue box next to the couch.
You glance at him. Is he going to say something? Or is he going to let you walk away again, with all the words you want to say to him lying on the tip of your tongue, always there but never released?
“Y/N.” He scrambles to his feet when you stand up, clutching your underwear in one hand and adjusting your dress with the other. He sounds… uncertain. Completely unlike the Mingyu who cockily asked you if Seokmin was your boyfriend, or who joked around with Jihyo like it was second nature to him.
You bite your lip. “Yes?”
“Do you… do you want anything? Water?” 
You melt a little at his words like an ice cream left out for too long. Kim Mingyu, always so kind, always so caring—you know that better than anyone. 
He can be cruel too, in the way he chips away at your already broken heart. He doesn’t know it but he does—lift your hopes only to let it all crumble down. Like how he broke the promises you made to each other, and how you broke the words you’d sworn to say to him alone.
It hits you again, how you and Mingyu were meant to be, and how lonely it was when he left. You wonder if he feels the same way—did he spend sleepless nights in bed, thinking of you? Did he ever think that if he could travel back in time, he’d do it all over again?
You shake your head no at him. He doesn’t say anything after that, but his lips part slightly. He watches you as you walk over to grab your purse and head inside your room.
That night, you don’t sleep at all—despite wrapping yourself up in your Looney Tunes comforter and the comforting weight of your pillow beneath your head that usually puts you to sleep instantly. 
Instead, it feels like the very first night you and Mingyu broke up all over again.
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SIXTEEN
You don’t tell anyone about what transpired between you and Mingyu. It remains hidden between you both, a secret neither of you are willing to bring up.
Jihyo is back to work at her new city, now completely devoid of boy problems of any sort, since Jeong Jaehyun has shifted his affections to another co-worker. (“It’s better this way,” she tells you, “he didn’t want a committed relationship, anyway.” You can tell she’s truly not bothered by it, so you grin and agree.)
Seokmin doesn’t come around to your cubicle the way he used to earlier, either. Your days at the office are dreary and boring, now that your co-worker’s sunshine smile isn’t there to keep you company. In fact, the only person who still talks to you voluntarily at work is your boss, Seunghcheol, but even then it’s mostly just a sympathetic smile he offers you followed by a new deadline or a project.
You and Mingyu are back to whatever it was you had when you first moved in, before the lasagne fiasco. Not talking to each other, but not not talking to each other either. You swerve around each other in tandem, finding more and more excuses to avoid whatever happened in between you both. He lied when he said he would talk to you about it the next day, after he ate you out on the couch.
You can’t blame him completely; you’ve made no effort to reach out to him, either.
Weariness seeps into your skin with every passing second. You rub at your already half-closed eyes and hide a yawn behind a closed fist. The letters on your laptop screen swim in front of you. The stack of folders next to it drags a tired sigh out of your lips.
You’re so tired. Not just physically, but emotionally you’re drained out, all the liveliness sucked out of you like someone vacuumed up the inside of your heart. The lack of sleep is getting to you; the lack of someone to brighten up your days is getting to you more.
If you and Seokmin were still on a talking basis, he would have sauntered over to your desk by now, hands in his pockets and the same question on his lips: “Coffee break?”
He’s not here now, probably tucked into his corner of the floor. Maybe his smile is directed at someone else. Maybe he’s taking someone else on the daily ritual that you used to consider yours. Maybe it’s time you get out of your fucking swivel chair and get some coffee.
You’re not doing it alone, of course. No, coffee at the office—no matter how shitty the machine is and how long the line for the coveted caffeine is—is yours and Seokmin’s thing. Besides, he said you’re still friends; it’s time for you to step up.
Stifling another yawn, you blink slowly before pushing yourself off your chair. It occurs to you that you don’t know exactly where Seokmin’s cubicle is—he’d mentioned it was by Seungcheol’s room once. You decide to start there.
It doesn’t take you long to find Seokmin. You walk into him—literally walk into him. A startled gasp leaves your lips when you collide into someone’s chest, an apology already on the tip of your tongue.
“Are you okay?”
You blink once. The voice is familiar. You direct your gaze at the person you bumped into. 
“Seokmin,” you breathe out weakly.
He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “The one and only.”
“I-I’m sorry I bumped into you,” you quickly apologise. “I was on my—”
“It’s okay, don’t apologise,” he interrupts. “I should’ve looked at where I was going too.”
“How… have you been?” The question spills out before you notice, and you realise that you’re genuinely concerned about his wellbeing. You’ve missed him, missed his companionship. 
Seokmin looks briefly surprised that you’ve asked him. He clears his throat, once. “Oh, um. I’ve been fine—y’know, the usual. Work, home, sleep and then repeat. How—how about you?”
“I’ve been better,” you admit. “You look tired, though.”
He lifts his hand and rubs his cheek with an accompanying embarrassed chuckle. “You could tell?”
He has bags underneath his eyes. His shoulders sag ever-so slightly. His usually perfectly styled hair isn’t as neat as it used to be. You nod. “You look exhausted.”
“Ah.” Another embarrassed chuckle; you can tell he doesn’t know how to respond to that.
“Coffee break?” you offer, a small, lopsided smile gracing your lips.
This time, the smile Lee Seokmin gives you lights up his eyes.
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SEVENTEEN
“This is ridiculous!” you call out for the nth time, glaring at the door with as much intensity as you can muster.
“Jihyo’s orders!” Seokmin calls back, from outside the room. “I have proof that she asked me to lock you two up in order for you to talk it out.”
Mingyu huffs out a breathless laugh from behind you. He’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, sheets crumpled and pillow on his lap. You turn around to level your glare at him.
“Give it up,” he advises.
“Don’t even.” You pinch the bride of your nose, closing your eyes in exasperation. “This is all your fault.”
“My fault? No one told you to tell Seokmin everything!”
“Well, how was I supposed to know he would go and tell Jihyo?” you splutter out, opening your eyes and bringing your hand down. “I didn’t even know they’d exchanged numbers!”
“Might as well get it over with,” Seokmin’s voice travels through the barricade once more. “The sooner the better.”
“I didn’t ask you, Seokmin,” you mutter.
“He’s right, you know.” Mingyu pats the space next to him, inviting you to sit down. “If Jihyo hadn’t forced him to do it, I would have found some way to do it myself.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” you retort. “You’ve been avoiding me since the day we—since the day we kissed.”
“I would have tried,” he reasons. “But since you’re here now, can you at least please listen to what I have to say?”
“Oh, so now you have things you want to say,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest. Regardless, you sit down next to him. You’re curious, you will admit. This conversation could potentially break your heart, or it could also change the trajectory of your relationship with Mingyu.
Your ex-boyfriend takes a deep breath before beginning.
“The other day, when I said I wanted to kiss you—I wasn’t lying, Y/N. I truly meant it. I’ve wanted to kiss you the minute I laid eyes on you again. I wanted to hold your hand, to take you places around the neighbourhood, to come back home to you.
“I thought we were making progress. I thought we were friends again, and I could somehow win your heart back.” A wry smile crosses his lips. “But then Seokmin came by, and you both just seemed so close. He—he brought back this life in you; your eyes sparkled whenever he was around, and you were always smiling when you were with him. I never saw that after we… after you moved in. You were always so jittery with me—understandably so—and I… I let my jealousy of seeing you with Seokmin get the better of me.
“That day, when I—” he pauses, glancing at you; his eyes are imploring, and you sense that he’s laying himself bare for you— “when you saw me kissing that girl, I did it on purpose. To make you jealous. And then I saw the look on your face, and even when I was drunk, I knew I’d fucked up. So I left her, and I followed you back inside—you closed the door just as I caught up with you. I called up Minghao, spent the night at his place. I think that’s when I realised completely that I—that I still love you.”
Your breath catches in your throat at his words. Your heart is hammering inside your chest. You can’t believe you’re actually hearing these words.
Mingyu swallows. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. Even after we broke up, even after all the things we said to each other—some part of me knew that I shouldn’t give up on you. I have loved you throughout. I will continue to love you throughout.”
He looks down, staring at his hands. In that instant, he looks so small. Vulnerable. As if giving his entire heart to you on a silver platter isn’t enough. As if he’s giving all of himself to you, mind, body and soul.
You need to tell him that your mind, body and soul have always been his.
“Mingyu,” you begin, watching as his eyes travel over to yours uncertainly, “you absolute fucking idiot.”
His lips twitch up briefly. “Wha—”
“I love you, too, idiot.” The words rush out breathlessly. “I never stopped.”
Mingyu’s eyes widen and his mouth opens imperceptibly. You continue, “I knew this would happen. The minute I stepped foot into your house, I knew I would fall for you all over again.”
You reach out and grip his hand, needing something to tether you against him. “And I did.” A watery laugh escapes your mouth. “I fell in love with you all over again.”
A pause, and then Mingyu’s free hand cups your cheek, skin warm against yours. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
Mingyu smiles at your confession—a full smile, with his eyes crinkling in the corners and his lips turning upwards. He leans forward. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
You beat him to it, covering the distance between you both with one swift swoop. You capture his lower lip in between yours, hands resting on his shoulders to steady yourself. He kisses you back with equal fervour, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you impossibly closer. You close your eyes and slide your tongue across the seam of his lips, smiling when he lets out a silent groan. 
He only pulls away once he needs air, but even then he doesn’t let you go. He pulls you forward, making you straddle his lap as he kisses your cheeks, your nose, the column of your throat. You relish in his touches, tangling your hands in his hair and tugging gently at the silky strands.
“We should probably stop,” you whisper, when a particularly sharp nip at your neck elicits a soft moan from you. “Seokmin’s standing outside.”
“Fuck him,” Mingyu says. He presses another kiss on your jaw, looking up at you like you’ve hung up all the stars in the universe.
You roll your eyes affectionately at him. “C’mon. I don’t want to scar him for life.”
“Who cares?”
“I care,” you say, slowly getting off his lap. Already you can feel the absence of his warmth. 
“Fine,” he agrees, once you stand up fully and brush yourself off. “I love you.”
Warmth shoots up your chest and onto your cheeks and neck. Your heart swells, and you find yourself grinning involuntarily. “I love you, too.”
“Good.” Mingyu stands up and pecks your cheek. “Now let’s go save Seokmin from his misery.”
(Later, if you find Seokmin with bright pink ears as he pointedly avoids yours and Mingyu’s gaze, that’s no one’s business but his.)
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EIGHTEEN
Mingyu sucks on a sweet spot right underneath your ear and you can practically hear his smirk when you let out a whine. You fist your hand in the sheets, feeling the soft material crinkle underneath your fingertips. 
“Such a tease,” you whisper out.
He lowers his head, nips at your neck and then runs his tongue over the spot, soothing it. “So you’ve mentioned.”
Your retort dies on your lips when he moves lower and lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses on your collarbones and shoulders. You whine again when his fingers find your nipple, pinching the bud lightly in between his thumb and forefingers. He moves lower, breath ghosting over your abdomen and belly button, until he finally comes face to face with your clothed pussy.
He hooks his finger into the waistband of your panties, nails scraping against your skin. You squirm under his touch, lifting your hips to help him pull the flimsy garment down your legs and toss it to the side. Mingyu sucks in a breath sharply when he sees your exposed cunt—despite already having seen it before, and you feel a rush of pride at the fact that you still have this effect on him. “So pretty,” he murmurs, eyeing your folds hungrily. 
Mingyu works on your clit expertly, thumb rubbing against the nub, eliciting a loud moan from you. He licks a stripe up your folds, grinning when your hand automatically finds itself in his hair again. When he finds you’re wet enough, he slides a finger in. You inhale sharply, hole clenching around the digit. He circles his thumb around your clit once more, before sliding another finger in.
You gasp at that, tightening the hand in his hair. Mingyu leans forward, swiping at your clit with his tongue one more time and pulling both his fingers out at the same time. He relishes in the sounds coming out of your mouth, feeling proud that you’re not trying to hide anything from him. You’re completely under his mercy, as is he when it comes to you.
He slides both the fingers back in, hissing when your walls contract against them, pumping the digits in and out a few more times. The way you moan—because of him—makes him finger your hole faster, enjoying the way your moans increase in pitch. When he sees your eyes beginning to cloud over, Mingyu quickly withdraws his fingers. You whimper at the loss of his touch and he chuckles. “Patience, baby. Don’t want you to cum just yet.”
Your head falls back on the pillow and you mutter a string of incoherent words under your breath. “Look at me,” Mingyu tuts.
You lift up your neck curiously. Mingyu waits for your eyes to land on his lips before he slowly, deliberately puts his two fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digits and licking your juices off. He doesn’t fail to notice the way you bite your lip at the sight.
Once he pulls his fingers out, Mingyu bends down and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Are you even gonna fuck me, Gyu?” you grit out, and his eyes widen.
“Call me that again,” he orders. 
“Fuck me, Gyu.” Your voice is borderline a whimper, and, well—who is Mingyu to prevent you from getting what you desire? After all, he’s always been a little weak when it comes to you.
He gets on his knees, holding his throbbing cock in his hand. He pumps it a few times, groaning softly, before positioning himself at your entrance. “You’re on the pill?”
“Yes.” You nod almost desperately, waiting for him to slide it all the way in.
Mingyu enters you slowly—the pace is almost unbearable—but he shudders when he feels your walls against his dick. You grab onto his shoulders, nails digging into the flesh. A loud moan escapes your lips when he jerks his hips forward, his cock pressing into your cervix. Your eyes screw shut, and Mingyu grunts, pulling out and thrusting back inside with more force. Almost unconsciously, you wrap your legs around his hips, granting him more access to your hole and allowing him to push himself deeper inside you.
He leans down and captures a nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue around the pebbled bud. You gasp out moans wantonly, and it spurs him to thrust faster and faster inside you. He watches you fall apart on him, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips when your moans become interspersed with chants of his name. 
Your grip on his shoulders tighten and the muscles flex under your hold. Your cries reach a crescendo with one particularly sharp thrust; Mingyu can tell your climax is approaching.
He speeds up, pumping into you with as much strength as he can muster. Your nails leave white-hot trails along his back, his shoulders—you try to hold onto him as best as you can. You cry for more, beg him to keep going. A bit redundant, in his opinion—he has no plans of stopping until you’ve orgasmed. 
Mingyu thrusts into you one last time, throwing you over the edge. Your walls clench around his cock tightly, black stars floating in your vision as you cry out his name. He pumps into you weakly, letting you ride out your orgasm while chasing his own high. He buries his face in your neck, breathing heavily, and when your walls tighten around him, he comes inside you, his movements coming to a pause. 
You stroke his sweaty bangs away from his forehead, both of you catching your breaths. He remains sheathed in you, even as he pulls you onto your side so both your chests are touching. 
“Feel good?” he asks, one hand carding through your hair gently.
You let out a tired, but satisfied hum, smiling softly at Mingyu. 
You spend the night curled up in his arms. He sleeps soundly next to you, eyelashes brushing against his cheeks and hands wrapped protectively around your figure. The steady thrum of his heartbeat sounds against your ear, and you smile, even in your sleep.
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NINETEEN
“You have your thinking face on.” Your boyfriend saunters into the kitchen, a knowing smile on his lips. You roll your eyes at him. 
“You can’t tell me you don’t see it too,” you say pointedly, waving your wooden spatula at him.
Mingyu chuckles, moving over and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. He presses a sweet kiss to your shoulder. “What, that Seokmin and Jihyo are meant to be? That smells amazing, by the way, love.”
“Yes,” you huff out, stirring the soup inside the pot boiling on the stove. “And thank you.”
From the living room, you can hear your two friends laughing over something you couldn’t possibly begin to comprehend. Jihyo still lives in another city, but she comes over to visit whenever she can. You and Seokmin remain friends, and he often comes over whenever you, Mingyu and Jihyo decide to hang out—though, you suspect his enthusiasm to join you three has more to do with one particular person rather than the entire group.
“If you say so,” Mingyu agrees. “I think they’re just friends.”
“Friends don’t look at each other that way,” you say matter-of-factly.
“Really? I seem to recall him looking at you the exact same way not too long ago.”
“That’s different, Gyu. Here, can you taste some? I don’t want it to be too salty.” Grabbing a large spoon, you dip it in the pot and offer it to Mingyu.
He obliges, letting you shove the spoonful into his mouth—and yelps almost immediately. “Ouch! You didn’t tell me it was hot.”
You only raise an eyebrow at him, but a small hint of amusement dances in your eyes. “How does it taste?”
Mingyu rolls his eyes at you but rests his chin on your shoulder; his hair tickles your ear. “It tastes amazing as always, love.”
“You’re sure? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”
“I’m offended you think I would lie to you.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you deadpan, and it makes Mingyu giggle.
“I’m serious, it tastes good.” He smiles at you, peeling himself away from you. “Let’s go join the other two.”
“Coming.” You put the stove on simmer and grab Mingyu’s extended hand. His fingers slot in between yours easily. Your lips curl upwards on their own accord, and your heart feels so full, it’s close to bursting.
You’re there, in a room with all your favourite people, and it’s perfect.
The very first night you and Mingyu broke up is pushed to the back of your mind, never to slip out of the corner you’ve tucked it into. The nights after made up for it, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. You rebuild the promises you made and make new ones along the way.
You’d write it in the sky if you could, but you and Mingyu don’t need that. 
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grimmsbride · 22 days ago
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▒ ❀ ̭͡⠀ ❛ SOME ENCOURAGEMENT. NAM-GYU / PLAYER 124
nam-gyu attempts to recruit beloved, timid reader into thanos’s world. all it takes is a little encouragement.
𖥔 ࣪˖ TAGS, nam-gyu is a little pushy (but everything is consensual between him and reader) | unconsensual voyuerism (again everyone is asleep but i don’t wanna make anyone uncomfortable) | ooc characters (first time writing for nam-gyu) | minor degradation & praise (+humiliation(?)) | use of the words slut, good girl, etc. | fingering | minor dacryphilia | just a silly little imagine | nam-gyu is lowkey manipulative | reader is a freak with a thing for fingers/hands | etc.
𖥔 ࣪˖ NOTES, writing smut on company time is actually hilarious, idk why i got this idea during work. but anywho — i hope you enjoy, i tried my hand at his character. as always please ignore any grammar mistakes or typos.
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Imagine Nam-Gyu attempting to recruit someone without the advice of his beloved purple-haired leader. Surprising, right? Despite his own issues with inferiority; the ex-club worker just seems to follow behind Thanos like a hungry puppy desperate for a bone— or drugs, for that matter. But no, just this once, Nam-Gyu takes the lead. The numbers are growing closer and even more scarce, fear lacing people’s minds and causing them to hit that dreaded X button. Thanos’s World’s dream is to continue the games to pay off their debts, right?— so it only made sense for Nam-Gyu to turn an X over to the O side.
He couldn’t just pick anyone. Someone far too strong-willed would definitely tell him no, and someone far too weak would just be a curse rather than a blessing.
Who to choose.. Who to choose..
Soon enough the man’s eyes are locking on to you— a contestant he has seen around, yet hasn’t heard much from. Not only were you easy on the eyes but you just seemed like the perfect person to shape into a worthy teammate.
Within minutes he’s approaching you, an easy-going smile in place as your name falls from his lips. Nam-Gyu had heard it said before by someone close to you, another random that he hadn’t bother to think about.
“Yes..?” Your words are slow, lips pursing as you take in the man before you. You were beyond nervous; this was the lackey of that purple-haired lunatic after all. Watching the two fight on the very first day was enough to tell you to avoid them at all costs. Yet here you were, a few feet away from one of them, under his gaze that trailed over you like a pretty piece of jewelry behind a display case.
You couldn’t help but bring your hands closer to yourself, teeth dragging across your cheek nervously.
From your head to your toes, Nam-Gyu’s eyes soon landed on that big red patch residing just under your bosom. With a breathy chuckle he reached over, allowing a single finger to press and trace the X.
“You wanna get out of the games that bad, huh? You voted X twice already.”
Your eyes flicked down to his hand, before traveling back to his face. “Yeah well..” You dragged slowly, watching that harsh gaze return to your features.
“I—I want to get rid of my debts.. but putting my life on the line for it just seems..” You hoped you got your words across perfectly, even without continuing your sentence. Sure, it was hard being hounded for your debts, but death looming over your head just didn’t seem worth it.
Still, Nam-Gyu only shook his head at you, a sigh full of pity escaping his lips.
“Well, that’s where you’re messing up.” Nam-Gyu hummed, stepping just a bit closer, finger still tracing that damned patch. Your attention kept flicking between his face and finger, wondering why exactly warmth was pooling throughout your entire body.
“Worrying too much about dying is what’s gonna get you killed, not anything else.”
Your eyebrows knitted close, a look of confusion plastered across your face. Worrying seemed like the right way to keep yourself alive.. right? Not worrying just seemed, well— stupid. Not that you would say that to his face, obviously.
“I have to disagree..”
Just barely did you hear the sound of the man sucking his teeth, watching the way his face turned to the side, clearly searching for his next few words. You debated on walking away from this conversation, it was clear what his objective was. And whether ordered by Thanos or not, you didn’t really want to know— nor figure out.
Yet for some reason you were practically glued to the spot, blinking up at him and waiting oh, so patiently for his next spiel. And as you watched his face turn back to you, your breath got caught in your throat.
“Okay then.. worry all you want, but you wouldn’t you want someone to look out for you?” Nam-Gyu’s other hand was reaching to your patch at this point, using both thumbs to trace it. “Being on this side, there’s no unity.. it’s every person for themself.”
The two of you locked eyes, a sickeningly sweet smile crossing his face.
“Come with us, and we’ll look after you. I’ll personally see to it too.”
Slowly did your teeth sink into your bottom lip, struggling to maintain the eye contact that he seemed so keen on keeping. The only thing you could hear was your racing heart and the gentle sounds of his thumbs sliding across that red patch. His words were.. tempting. You wondered if he rehearsed what to say, like a video game with multiple endings; did he have it all figured out before he even walked over? Was he so prepared to convert you, using every rejection you had as some silly obstacles the man easily hobbled over?
So caught up in your thoughts, you hardly realized Nam-Gyu had gotten even closer until his breath fanned across your ear in a simple;
I’ll let you think it over, let’s talk again later..
When you thought of later, you initially believed in thirty mins or so. Maybe this time he would bring over his beloved leader to really get the point across. But no, later seemed to be during lights out; when you all should be sleeping, tucked away in the rare bliss these murderous games brought.
And the only talking that was happening was the soft words Nam-Gyu continued to whisper into your ear and the even softer moans of passion that slipped from your swollen lips.
See, Nam-Gyu wasn’t an idiot despite what Thanos seems to think. Quickly he caught on to two things whilst speaking to you.
The first being, you were quite cute when nervous. And two, you just loved looking at his hands.
So what better way to really stretch his point across but using his beloved fingers to stretch you open just how he liked?
“Should have done this from the start, look how cooperative you’re being..” The smile on Nam-Gyu’s face was permanent at this point, the corner of his mouth twitching with each pitiful moan you released. His rings were tossed lazily to the side, his bare fingers now pushing into your sloppy cunt so perfectly. Longer then your own, they pushed and prodded; opening you up and rubbing against your soaked walls. With each breath you were clenching, causing the smile on his face to only grow deeper.
“Scared of dying but not of some stranger finger-fucking you, huh? What a joke.”
You wanted to tell him off, how he was so mean and so wrong. But you couldn’t, not with how your mind was getting complete lost from his movements. Your teeth were grinding into your bottom lip, a metallic taste filling your mouth as time progressed. Deep moans thundered from your throat, muffled by your harsh biting. You couldn’t imagine having your little recruitment interrupted by some poor contestant just trying to get some rest.
But with the way Nam-Gyu was practically ruining you, it didn’t seem he cared much either way. He was so hellbent on coaxing you, his lips right against your ear as that damned thumb came and circled your swollen bud.
“I told you I’d look after you right, where’s my thank you?”
Your eyes widened the moment his free hand rose, pushing at your cheeks and basically forcing your lips to part. The sound you let out was a strangled mix of a moan and gasp, quickly clasping your own hand against your mouth.
Nam-Gyu chuckled on his breath, thrusting a third finger into your wet cunt as he spoke; “What? You scared of the other contestants realizing how much of a slut you are? Shouldn’t worry too much; this messy cunt is making enough noise for you.”
Your eyes were meeting the back of your skull, so fucking mean he was— yet you couldn’t help but enjoy the attention. His digits were curling inside, brushing across that special spot that caused you to shake. Your thighs were clenching harshly around his arm, rushed breaths escaping as your chest rose and fell.
“Th—thank you.. fuck— please…!” You whimpered as softly as you possibly could, glossy eyes staring up at the man. You felt accomplished the moment he drew closer, feeling the cold metal of his chain brush against your heated skin before a gentle kiss was pressed right against your cheek.
“What a good girl.. You wanna come, hm?” The hand was lowering to your throat, fingers simply wrapping around it yet not squeezing. Nam-Gyu watched in pure enjoyment at the way your head tossed back and forth in a rushed nod; how needy you were for him. What a palpable little thing, is what he thought.
“I can make that happen, you just gotta do something for me.”
More words, whispered, tempting; drifting right into your ear and hitting the same pleasurable spots right between your legs. Speaking of, you felt your peak drawing closer; a tight band resting deep in your tummy— ready to burst.
You knew what he wanted, you weren’t an idiot nor were you too fucked out to forget. Your mind was screaming at you, telling you an orgasm wasn’t worth pressing that cursed button.
Yet, for now, you weren’t thinking with your brain, but with your pussy instead.
“P—please let me join! I’ll press the button— I promise!” Another whisper-yell escaped you, desperation clinging to every word as they fled those pretty lips.
With that final confirmation Nam-Gyu was quickening the pace of his fingers, eating up the way your body convulsed, a lost look invading your eyes as you came undone. Your essence trickled down his fingers all the way to his wrist, a sticky residue that he would make sure you clean up later.
For now.. his hand rose from your throat to instead cup your cheek, rubbing his thumb right under your eye so tenderly— so sweetly.
“I knew you could do it.. just needed some encouragement, right?”
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iniquitousyearning · 3 months ago
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SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER
october 18th. mattheo — hate fucking / enemies.
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KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.
summary: “at least her favourite form of foreplay isn’t an argument…” “or being a bitch her kink..”
warnings: 18+ MDNI, dubcon(meh), ex bf/gf trope, toxic behaviour, mutual manipulation, these two are chaotic as fuck, mentions of blood, gagging, degradation, rough sex PIV, hate fucking, spitting, spanking, uhhh i think that covers it. this one is a ride. can you tell this is my fav trope?
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"I'm so fucking sick of you.”
"Get well soon, princess."
"Get fucked, Riddle."
Three sentences, three venomous insults that cut the room in half—heavy enough in their intensity to make you want to tear through dungeon walls, splintering stone and mortar with bare hands if it means sparing yourself another second in this blasted room, with him.
Detention at midnight—on a Friday, no fucking less—is unheard of. But leave it to your dickhead ex to make the impossible a reality. His fault, of course. Like always.
Snape had turned a blind eye for months. It was only a matter of time before something had to give. An hour unsupervised was as good as you'll get.
Sulking defeat, you sink back in your chair, rough wood digging into your spine as you eye Mattheo with a glare that could rival a bullet. He looks like hell, and it's infuriating how even in that state he manages to look so nonchalant, so maddeningly unbothered—like even exhaustion makes a home on him and he's comfortable with it. Bags under his eyes, scar cutting across the bridge of his nose, those dark curls falling messily over his forehead, white dress shirt wrinkled and open at the collar.
You roll your eyes, a gesture that feels like your only act of rebellion left.
And he notices. Of course he does.
"You haven't changed a bit," he spits, and you know it's an insult. You scowl as he swipes the blood off his chin with the sleeve of his shirt. "Always a bitch to me over something."
Bitch. The name strikes you, but you won't let him see it, won't let him know that it lands. You've bled too many times at his feet for him to draw blood again tonight.
"Am I not allowed to be pissed off that you dragged us into detention? We should be at the party, Mattheo. We should be anywhere but here." You hear the frustration rising in your voice, like it's boiling up from somewhere deep, somewhere you can't quite reach. It's hard not to let it slip, especially when he looks at you like that. "This is so fucking typical of you. You mess up, and somehow I'm the one who pays for it."
For a moment, there's silence, and it almost feels like a victory until you realize he's only biding his time, waiting to strike back.
"You really want to get back there? To that party?" He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. You long for the chair to break from under him. "After what your new man was caught doing with Lovegood?"
You snort before you can stop yourself, the sound slipping out like a reflex. You hadn't expected that. And quite frankly, it's amusing—no, downright hilarious—that he's clearly been keeping tabs on you and "new man", and now here he is, trying to play it off like he doesn't care. Like it's nothing.
"I'll spare you the insults this once," you mutter, fingers loosening the tie around your neck with a tug. "Because, clearly, you're ignorant to the truth, even if you think you know every goddamn thing." You pause, ripping out your earrings. "He's not my man, so I don't give a shit what he does with who. He ended it last week. Good fuck, sure—but other than that..."
You trail off, making a mocking noise with your lips, a derisive puff of air, as if you could blow away the memory of him as easily as dust off an old book. A Ravenclaw. Brilliant in all the wrong ways—sharp mind, yes, but utterly thrill-less, like he saw you as just another page to flip through, a textbook he was annotating.
It is what it is.
A moment passes and then Mattheo grins—slow at first, but spreading across his face like fire, destructive in its consummation. It unsettles you. He looks more intrigued than he's been in months.
"A good fuck, huh?"
"That's what I said," you reply, clipped, your tone offering no room for him to crawl inside.
"And why didn't it work out? Too good for you?" He says, twisting the knife just because he can. "Too clean, maybe?"
Your eyes scan the room, searching for something within reach to throw at him, anything to break this unbearable tension. Insufferable. Every inch of him, insufferable.
You find nothing, so you throw words instead. "You're an asshole, you know that?"
He nods, as if that's the truest thing either of you have said all night. Of course he knows.
You barely suppress a dry laugh at his idiocy. "Like I told you—he ended it. If you're so fucking interested in why it didn't work out, then why don't you go ask him?"
There's a pause—he's chewing the inside of his cheek as he stares at you. You imagine chewing his head off as you stare at him.
"I'm sure you gave that bookworm the ride of his life," he says, voice half-dry, half-sarcastic, as if he's already bored of the conversation. As if he knew all of this information already. "Everyone knew that was temporary. Your first rebound, congrats."
And just like that, your blood is boiling. He knows how to needle you, how to get under your skin with the slightest flick of his stupid fucking tongue. Your eyes trace the cold stone of the dungeon walls, desperately trying to find something—anything—to distract yourself.
But it's no use. Mattheo's an asshole. He's always been an asshole. That's why you left. All the two of you did was fight and fuck, a chaotic spiral that was as thrilling as it was destructive. Now, he's easily your enemy—dragging you into his messes, never letting you get too far without ruining your life somehow.
And yet—
If you said you didn't miss the sex sometimes, that'd be a lie. Or at least a half-truth. The kind that slips out when you've had one too many glasses of firewhiskey, the kind you'd regret in the morning.
"What about you, dickhead?" You cut through the silence, ignoring his obvious attempt to rile you up. "That Hufflepuff you were seeing—why'd I see her all over Theo tonight?"
He answers far too fast. "They're friends."
You snort, disbelieving. "Right."
You rise to your feet, crossing the room to the bookcase as if it's the most natural thing in the world. The books feel safer somehow, less volatile.
"You're bored of her, aren't you?" You don't care to look at him. You can imagine the way his jaw tenses at the question.
The silence is telling. He doesn't answer right away. You know him well enough to understand what that means. Then, finally, he speaks, a half-answer that doesn't really answer the fucking question at all.
"At least her favourite form of foreplay isn't a fucking argument." He stands, slow, pushing his hair back from his forehead with one battered hand. You glance at him, pulse quickening. "Or being a bitch her kink."
"Does she even have kinks?" It slips out, a knife thrown without aiming. "Sounds like you're bored, Matty."
You watch as he blinks, his eyes darken. That nickname—you know you don't have the right to say it anymore, and that's exactly why you do. It's an insult wrapped in familiarity, and it hits its mark by the way his shoulders tense, jaw tight.
He steps toward you, one calculated step, and you feel it—that chaotic pull, the gravity that's always drawn you both in, no matter how far you try to stay away. A smile pulls at your lips, a cruel thing.
"How cute." He tilts his head just enough to inspect you, eyes dragging over you like he's searching for something to confirm what he already suspects. "Looks like you're jealous."
Your hand grips the bookshelf, eyes locked on him over your shoulder. Jealous? There's not a soul on this planet who could make you jealous. She may be the hero of this story, the girl that gets the guy, might even be everything you're not—
"Looks like you're learning the hard way," you're inspecting him now, too. Every piece of him you once touched. "When it comes too easy it's never gonna' hit as hard, babe."
Another pause from him—something dancing in his eyes. Anger? Maybe. Or something more, something twisted that you don't care to name. You've already lit the match, and now you're just watching him burn.
"You're so clever, huh? So full of advice," he sneers, ripping off his tie and chucking it on a desk. "Go on then, tell me more about how I feel, professor. Since you know everything about me."
You can't help the smirk that curls on your lips. Oh, he's pissed. And that means you're winning.
"What? You don't like hearing the truth? Too much for your delicate ego?" You take a step toward him, savouring every second of this. He hurt you, over and over, the scars from those days still fresh, still bleeding beneath your skin. This has been a long time coming. "You think I care about your new girl, Matty? The one you let your boys fawn over in the common room?...she kissed Theo tonight." You pause, letting that linger. "You think you're doing something, but I see right through you. You don't give a fuck about her. If you did, no one would dare touch her like that. So don't sit here, accusing me of jealousy, like I'm the one hung up on you. You're projecting. And it's pathetic."
He doesn't waste a goddamn beat—his laugh is bitter, sickeningly so—and he advances again, his shadow moving behind him, the space between you now barely there.
"That's amazing, truly. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a goddamn oracle. All-knowing, all-seeing." His voice is infuriating. The look on his face more-so. "What's your verdict then, my lord? You think this is all an act? That everything I'm doing is just to spite you?"
Your heart races, breath catching in your throat as he steps closer. This is a dance you both know too well, the kind where neither of you win.
"I know how you operate." Your chest heaves, anger rising with every breath. "It's all a game to you, Matt. A sick, twisted game to keep yourself entertained."
"That's rich, coming from someone who played it just as well." He takes another step forward. You could reach out and touch him now he's that close. His grin grows. "Too bad your Ravenclaw figured it out before you could sink your teeth in too deep. Next time you see him, make sure to tell him I said you're welcome."
Your brows pinch—the blood in your veins screeching to a halt, backing up like New York traffic at a standstill. You feel it, hot and furious, rushing toward a place it can't go, clogged behind the wall of rage building up inside you—
"You're welcome?" You spit, a sharp snarl caught between clenched teeth. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
He's watching you, his eyes darting over your shoulder, fingers brushing over his lips like he's trying to dull that familiar smirk, that cruel little game he's always played.
Your stomach sinks, drops to your feet.
"Mattheo—" you snap, cutting him off just as he opens his mouth, before he can throw another snide word. "Spare me the cryptic bullshit for once in your life—“
His eyebrows lift at that, but there's a nod, a hint of something deeper in it. You taste the smugness in the air between you, can almost feel it slithering through his silence.
"Looks like you don't know everything after all. Isn't that ironic?" He straightens up, letting the moment breathe before his face hardens into something almost serious. "Your rebound came to me in the courtyard about two weeks ago. Had some questions about you."
"What?" Your nerves are vibrating, every cell in your body on edge. Your blood is so clogged, you swear you're seeing red. "What questions?"
"The usual sort of normal stuff. Your birthday. Your favorite colour. Childhood traumas. Our downfall. You know."
The casualty in the way he says it makes you sick, bile rising in your throat, a bitter burn at the back of your mouth. It's all starting to come together now. This stupid motherfucker—
"You're lying." The words feel weak, frail. He wouldn't—no, he couldn't. "You're fucking lying."
"Am I?" His fingers brush your cheek, but your skin's gone numb, your blood too frozen to feel anything but the cold burn of your fury. "Or, is the truth just…too much for your delicate ego to handle?"
Oh, fuck off—
Your wand is in your hand before you even realize you've grabbed it, instinct, pure reflex. There's barely a second of rational thought before you're casting, the spell hitting him square in the chest, sending him flying back into the chair he once sat in. His eyes flash, anger igniting there, and he scrambles for his wand—but you're faster.
"Expelliarmus."
One word and you're across the room before you even know you've moved, chest tight as you slam the tip of your wand against his throat. There's a cut on his lip, blood trickling down his chin for a second time tonight, but that stupid fucking smirk is still there, showcasing rubies for teeth and carved into his face like it belongs.
"Tell me what you did." Your voice cracks, but not from fear—it's fury, burgling through you, burning hot enough to make your whole body shake. You half want to cut him open just to bury your rage inside him, let him feel it. "If what you're saying is true, he ended things just days later. Tell me what the fuck you said to him."
Mattheo’s leaning back, hands raised in mock surrender, eyes glinting with the same smug amusement that's always haunted him. He's daring you, taunting you. He knows you never cared about that guy, not really.
You both know it. He was boring, easy.
This—this is something else.
His tongue swipes at the blood on his lip. "He didn't tell you—"
"Don't." Your wand digs deeper into his skin, cutting off whatever he was about to say. The pressure makes his breath hitch, but not enough. Not nearly enough. "I said tell me."
"Merlin—okay—I told him nothing, nothing really," his voice makes your grip tighten on your wand. He stares at you for a long, hard minute before he adds; "except that he should show me some fucking gratitude."
Your jaw slips, confusion rushing in like a flood. But before you can even question him—
"I told him he should be thanking me." Another pause. "When he's fucking you."
He laps at the blood seeping from the cut on his lip for the second time in only a minute and you barely notice the movement—the words hit you like a brick, but it's deeper than that, something visceral that crawls under your skin and settles in your bones. It's sharp, raw, cutting through the wall of rage so fast it leaves you breathless. You don't know how to explain it, this feeling that twists through you, something far too complicated to be named.
And then, you become aware of everything at once.
His legs, spread wide on either side of yours, the space between you so small, your chest just close enough to his face that his breath feels like it's fogging your skin. You're towering over him, wand pressed hard into his throat, your heart hammering in your chest like you're ready to ruin him—but his eyes, the way he looks up at you, says he'd let you.
"I may have even added that although you're with him, you'll always think of me. Both you and him know it’s true.“ That stupid smirk is gone, replaced with something you've never quite seen before. He pauses, before he continues. "You miss it. Us." Another pause. There’s something victorious in his tone, something that's almost breaking you. "And no matter how many times you try to forget, you never do, do you?"
Salazar save you—you should hex him. You should fucking hex him. Every nerve in your body is screaming for it, begging for it, but you can't. You can't fucking move. Your wand is still pressed to his skin, but it feels like you're the one pinned down.
"Shut up," you finally manage, but your voice is meek, thin, nothing like the fury you want to feel. "You...you're being—"
"I'll shut up," his hand finds your wrist, pressing your wand tip against his neck with more force—enough to make himself wince. "If you make me."
You blink, stunned, and you can feel your anger slipping, slipping faster than you can catch it. You don't know what's happening to you—it’s just him—his sick twisted insanity that disarms you. Time and time again. An endless fucking cycle.
"I could ruin you," you whisper, but it sounds more like you're trying to convince yourself than him. You press the wand deeper, just enough to draw a grunt from him, but the look on his face—he's not afraid. No, he's enjoying it. "I have more reasons than most to leave you here bloodied for Snape to find in the morning."
You say the words but the conviction is gone, swept away in the flood of heat between you—the dizzying proximity, the way his lips curl, almost smiling but not quite—
"What are you so afraid of?" He whispers, and there's something fragile in his voice now. "That you might actually want this?"
"I don't want this." You force the words out immediately, hoping they will make it real. Hoping they'll stop this spiral. "I regret ever wanting this."
He’s silent for a moment as he lowers his hands, dark eyes falling to trace your lips—
"I know you hate me, the feelings mutual...but I know. I know I'll always be your favourite regret," those chocolate curls shift, his head tilts closer, too close. Not close enough. "You're still my weapon of choosing."
Merlin. Merlin bloody forgive you—
"…to hurt yourself with?” It's half a question, but you already know the answer.
He nods, and that does it.
Your lips are on his, fast and hard and bruising—and the reaction is immediate, visceral. All that backed-up blood—all that rage frozen in your veins rushes forward in a single, scorching wave. It crashes low, between your thighs, a heat so sharp it aches. The shame comes with it. So does the disgust. A sick knot of self-hatred pulsing through you as you taste his blood on your tongue while his hands are under your skirt, grabbing you like he owns you, pulling you into him. It's only a moment before your wand clatters to the ground, and your hands are tangled in his hair, yanking hard, hard enough to hurt.
You want it to hurt. God, you want it to hurt.
He growls at the sting on his scalp—and then, everything flips.
His fingers tug at something, and you realize it's his own wand, the one you tucked into the back of your skirt—and before you can even think, he's got it, casting a spell that sends you flying back onto the desk behind you. You groan—the world spins, but you don't even have a second to gather yourself before he's advancing toward you, casting another spell on his tie.
Within seconds it's slithering across your lips and tying itself around your head, gagging you.
He steps between your legs, parts them with the ease of someone who's done it a thousand times before—rough hands gliding up your thighs, eyes wild. His fingers slip beneath your underwear, through your slit, and you try to hold on to any shred of control, but it's gone. You can feel it. The way you forget everything except the way he leans down, breath hot in your ear.
"Look how fucking wet you are," he spits through a sneering grin. "You're goddamn shameless, aren't you?"
You roll your eyes, but your thoughts scatter the moment his fingers shove inside you, curling hard—so hard you gasp into the tie, your back arching violently off the desk.
"He ever get you this wet?" His voice is like gravel, each word grinding into your bones. "Nod your head if he did."
Your body reacts before your mind does, arching against him, but you don't move your head. As much as it hurts your pride to give him that win. You dig your fingers into his hair and pull—hard enough to make him grunt, hard enough to hurt.
His hand comes down hard on your thigh in response, a sharp smack that stings, a warning. You squeal, and his fingers start pumping faster, deeper.
He huffs. "That's what I thought."
His fingers make quick work of you, relentless, and his thumb presses to your clit, rolling circles in a rhythm that has your blood on fire, shame licking at the edges of your vision, but it only makes you burn hotter. This is all wrong. Everything about this is wrong, something you'll regret with every fiber of your being tomorrow, but right now, it's an ache you need.
It's the wound you keep reopening, the pain you crave because it's the only thing that ever feels real.
"Fuck, you're close, aren't you?" He sounds almost shocked, like he can't believe how easily your body betrays you, but you feel it too, the disbelief crashing through you as fast as the pleasure does. Too fast. Far too fast. "Did he ever make you cum? Huh? When's the last time you fucking came?"
You can't answer, just groan, yanking at his hair again. His response is immediate, another stinging slap to your inner thigh, sharp enough to make fluid prick your eyes. Your orgasm is right there, teetering on the edge, ready to tip over—but then he slows his pace, dragging it out, torturing you.
You whine. A pitiful, desperate sound you hate yourself for.
"Look at me." His voice cuts through the haze, and begrudgingly, you do. "He didn't make you cum, did he?"
Your face burns, not from his breath or his fingers or even the astronomical amount of shame you feel—but from the truth of it. You shake your head.
"How long?" His voice shatters the air between you. "A week?"
You shake your head again, biting into the fabric of his tie as his fingers curl deeper inside you.
"Two weeks?"
Another shake. He curses under his breath.
"You poor little thing." His words are venom, but the second they spill from his lips, he pumps his fingers into you again, massaging at your walls, and your vision goes white. "Can't even cum without me."
You would've slapped him if you could, would've torn him apart, but the orgasm hits you like a freight train, ripping through you with violent force. You clench around his digits, thighs trembling as you ride the wave of pleasure, convulsing, moaning into the tie as he watches you like he's won.
"So fucking easy." He withdraws his fingers, and immediately, his hands go to his belt. "We'll make up for lost time."
Everything about this feels like a rerun. The same scene playing out on loop, again and again—a cycle of self-destruction you know too well, like running headfirst into a burning building, certain you can handle the smoke only to choke on it.
He's taking off his belt, ready to fuck you stupid, and by morning you'll be back to the same familiar hatred, tearing each other apart in new, inventive ways. Your hands move sluggishly to rip the tie from your mouth, but you're slow, too slow, still dizzy from the release that blindsided you, one that you haven't felt in so long—the fabric barely grazes your fingers before Mattheo catches your wrists, yanking them back, dragging you to your feet in one rough motion.
The spin disorients you—arms pinned behind your back, his cock sliding between your thighs.
"You've done enough talking today," he hisses at your ear as he drags along your slit. "You want this, don't you?"
Your mind screams for you to shake your head, to end this here and now. You know he'd stop—he's an asshole, but not that kind of an asshole. You know it. You almost do it, almost say the word that would shatter this madness. But then he drags his tip against your clit and you moan before you can stop yourself.
Your head nods with a wanton moan, and it's so full of shame your eyes sting with tears.
"Yeah, I know, baby." He's taunting you, every syllable smug, condescending. "This pussy missed me so much, huh?" His hand tightens on your wrists until your skin burns, the other hand finding its way around your thigh, pulling you closer to him. "Fuckin' lost without me. S'all it's good for, isn't it? Taking my cock."
You groan, shaking your head in defiance, but even that feels like a lie. You hate him. You want him. You hate yourself for wanting him.
"No?" His fingers inch toward your clit, ghosting over it—you squeal, hips jerking for more. "Maybe we should call this off then?"
You blink once and his fingers are gone—wrenching a whine out of you, pathetic as you push your ass back against him, shame burning through you as you shake your head. Fuck him. Curse him. But you need him inside you, need him to fill the aching void that gnaws at you.
"That's my slut," he growls, and before you can process the words, he's inside you—one long, brutal thrust that spears you open, the stretch burning deep. The sting mixes with shock of his fingers returning to your clit, rubbing circles that make your knees buckle. "You know you're the only girl I've fucked raw? This pussy will always be mine."
He's fucking insane. Completely insane. And the worst part is, you're just as insane for wanting him. For needing him. You can't fight it. You don't even want to. Not now. Not when his voice drips like poison and he's tearing you apart in the only way you understand.
"Mmmf—" you groan into the tie and he's matching you, his teeth grazing your shoulder, marking you in ways that will last for days.
"I hope it hurts," he grumbles against your skin, his breath ragged. He's lying, you can feel it in the way his fingers are moving, coaxing you to cum, even as he pretends to wish you pain. "I hope it fucking stings."
Your hands ball into fists, trapped in his grip, and you imagine clawing at his back until you draw blood, sinking your nails in until he feels every ounce of your anger.
"I want you to feel it—fuck—I want you to remember this," he pants, his voice barely more than a growl as your climax crashes toward you, unstoppable now. "Remember how weak I make you. How much of a slut you are for me."
Another harsh thrust and then, you're there—falling into the void—pleasure is so strong it bleeds out of you, forcing your cunt to clamp tight around him, legs trembling, barely able to support you through it. Mattheo’s curses slip through clenched teeth, but this only fuels him—his rhythm picks up, brutal, hips slamming against your ass with a pace that borders on unhinged.
"Fuck. Oh, fuck." The words are barely audible, grunted against the shell of your ear. You're whining, still twitching with aftershocks, but he doesn't care. His hands are on your hips now, fingers digging deep as he thrusts you forward, slamming you over the desk. The wood bites into your palms as you try to brace yourself, but his anger is palpable, drilling into you— "you wanna bitch at me now?"
The moan you release is automatic, instinctual. You can't stop it. Can't control it. His fingers curl around your throat, shifting the tie down to shove two into your mouth.
"Hhhhh—" you're trying to form words around his fingers, but it's impossible. The garbled sound is pathetic, but he knows exactly what you're trying to say.
"You hate me. I know." It’s smug, punctuated by a sharp smack to your ass, the sting of it making you yelp. He pulls his fingers from your mouth, wiping the spit across your cheek before he grips your jaw, forcing your head to turn, to meet his eyes. "Open your mouth."
There's no time to process the demand. His eyes are molten, crazed, filled with something raw and uncontainable. His next thrust is punishing, slamming into your cervix, making you sob—your mouth parting just enough—
He leans in close, and then he spits into your mouth.
"Swallow it." His fingers dig into your cheeks, pressing the order into your bones. "Be a good girl for once."
You choke out a laugh, even as you're panting, even as he's splitting you stupid.
"Never." The word barely leaves your lips before you’re spitting back at him—your entwined saliva landing across his chin and lips.
For a second, you expect the worst—you brace yourself for the retaliation—the slap, the insult, the way he'll tighten his grip and take back control. But to your surprise, instead of anger, there's a grin—wide and feral, big and crazed enough to reach his eyes.
You smile back. His cock twitches inside you.
"Fuck me," he mutters, then crashes his mouth to yours.
You taste the salt and bitterness of mingled spit, a mess of his and yours, and it pulls a moan from somewhere deep inside you. He devours it, greedy, his hips growing erratic, sloppy as his high nears.
His hand drops to your clit, fingers pressing with a precision that obliterates every last shred of sanity—and it takes only moments before the pressure builds again, fast and furious. Your third orgasm rips you apart, your body clenching tight, muscles seizing as you're lost in it. You're not sure where you end and he begins—your breath congealing with his, your moans swallowed in the space between you.
His release follows right after, crashing over him as he buries himself deep, spilling into you with a groan that reverberates through your bones. You hate the way it feels. You hate the way he fills you. But you also can't deny the twisted satisfaction of it—the way you sought this punishment, needed it. The shame consumes you, but it's comforting in its familiarity.
He pulls out, and the silence between you is easy, broken only by your ragged breathing. The room feels impossibly small now, your body still thrumming with the aftermath, but the moment is over. You both start to move—piecing yourselves back together, pulling clothes into place, avoiding the weight of what just happened.
You don't understand how it came to this, how it always does, but you're not surprised. Not anymore.
After a long, silent moment, he looks at you. “I don’t regret what I did.”
You know he doesn’t.
“I know.”
He blinks. “I won’t apologize for it.”
You know he won’t.
“I know.”
He nods, now, a smirk on his lips as he watches you fix your skirt. You note the hair sticking to his forehead, how he’s still catching his breath even though he’s pretending he isn’t.
“You aren’t mad.” An observation.
“I’m not.” You reply. You know you should be, but the relief you felt when that Ravenclaw ended things tells you everything you need to know. “Just, never do it again.”
He nods again. “Sure.”
You’re pretty sure he doesn’t mean that—but, at least now, as you glance over at him, there's a small comfort in knowing you no longer want to kill him.
3K notes · View notes
shrenvents · 9 months ago
Text
Professor Howlett
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Warnings: Minors dni, smut, no protection, fingering, vaginal, doggy, pet names, squirting, age gap (legal!)
Pairing: Logan Howlett/Wolverine x Student (Mutant) reader
Summary: Your history professor always seemed uninterested in you, that was until you missed his class.
Word count: 2.7k
Throughout high school I’ve always kind of stood out. To be honest, I only have myself to blame. Bright colours and statement pieces are just so much more appealing, than wearing something ‘plain.’ Unfortunately, I did more than just “stand out” that day, just three weeks away from senior graduation. That fateful day, I was so close to the finish line, before my stupid ex-boyfriend discovered my secret, and outed it to the entire student body.
I’m a mutant…
That’s what led me across the coast, for most of the past year, running from god knows what. I heard the stories of mutants being hunted and gone missing, and I didn’t intend to stick around long enough, that I wouldn’t at least make it to my 20th birthday.
However, my days of swindling folks of cash and food came to a halt, when I spotted a man with red-tinted glasses watching me. His invested gaze observed my every movement, so I grabbed all my shit, and the last bit of petty change I managed to get, and sprinted into a crowd.
Just as I thought I was in the clear, my face collided with a colossal, firm chest. I pressed the heels of my palms into it, and felt the cotton of his white shirt, and the rough, yet smooth texture of his worn-in, leather jacket.
Logan Howlett, or should I say, Mr. Howlett, my history Professor... After he and Scott captured me, they dragged me by the ankles to their school for the “gifted.” I cringed when they said where we were headed, but once I arrived and saw all the kids, like me, going about their lives, free, I knew everything would be more than okay.
And one thing I knew for sure, is that I wouldn’t mind attending Mr. Howlett’s class. Did I know jack-shit about history, yes. But I’ve always had a thing for the older guy, and from what I’ve heard, he’s more than enough in that department.
...
This morning, racing out of my room, I swore profusely at my tardiness... Just my luck. The one day that week I get to see and listen to Logan talk for an hour straight, my alarm malfunctions.
Multitasking between attempting to put on my hot-pink heels, wrapping my sparkly bag over my shoulder, and shutting my door, I missed the approaching figure behind me.
“It’s past 11 am, where do you think you’re headed?” I swivel on my toes, spinning to face Storm. “Class?”
“The only class you have left today kid, is at 2. You’ve managed to miss the rest already,” she scolds flatly.
“Noooo,” I fake astonishment and defeat, as I slowly back away from Storm's scrutinizing stare. She calls my name after I’ve taken at least two large steps backward. “Logan wants to see you,” she states, exasperated.
“Oh?” I straighten out, stopping my next step short. “Ok!” I exclaim, a little too perky. She huffs a faint smirk and walks off, and I take flight, zooming to Logan’s class, where he’s most likely dozed off.
Lo and behold, after knocking once and receiving no response, I open the door to see him snoring. With his legs fully extended, and feet resting on his desk, I bask in his lengthy physic. I giggle and then go towards him.
Mr. Howlett?” I say, clearing my throat loudly, he grunts in his sleep and I smile. “Mr. Howlett?” I say even sweeter. A second later, I swear he mumbles my name and my heart stutters, but he’s still sleeping. I move in closer to his ear. “Logan,” I announce rigidly, and my change in tone makes him flinch, legs falling off the table, eyes popping open.
He rasps my name, voice echoing through the classroom. I refused to move away from my position, wanting to seem unaffected by him, but I was anything but. With his lazy eyes roaming over my skin, my heart races wildly. He clears his throat, and rolls his eyes away after taking in my attire, as he usually does —gives me a once-over, and rolls his eyes back to his focus on his lecture.
“You missed class, that isn’t like you,” he notes, almost to himself.
“Yes and I’m sorry-“
“I hope it wasn’t because you were too busy picking that outfit.” Logan scoffs and my eyes widen. He’s always made snarky comments, and this wasn’t anything new, but every time he does, I can’t help the boiling feeling in my lungs, that makes me rise to defend myself. “No, maybe I just felt like sleeping in?” I declare. A short-lived chuckle escapes him. “And you’re just gonna admit to that?” He smirks as he faces me. “I don’t like kids skipping my class.”
“First off, I’m an adult, second, you don’t care when kids skip your class,” I retort, with a growing smile, beaming across my face. Though, his complimentary smile, drops as mine comes to full form. He’s never seemed fond of my smile, or maybe it’s just me.
“You don’t skip my class.” He states once again, and my head quirks in confusion. “Um, I’m sorry?” I compromise, “It won’t happen again.”
“It better not,” He remarks dangerously. My brows furrow.
“Okay, I don’t get why it matters so much to you Mr. Howlett.” I place my hands on my hips, gazing down at him in his chair like I'm reprimanding a child. Which he is not akin to.
He lifts from his chair, standing up. I gasp as he towers over me. “Watch your tone, or I’ll fail ya,” he counters, fighting a smirk, staying stoic. “What?” I yelp and his smirk breaks through. My jaw goes slack. “Mr. Howlett, that’s not funny!”
“What’s not funny, is you pretending like calling me 'Mr. Howlett,' doesn’t turn you on.”
I freeze in disbelief. Was this one of my daydreams? Am I really awake right now?
“You heard me, you damn highlighter,” he asserts. “Call me Logan for fucks sake, if you’re a damn adult.” His scratchy voice loses its humour, and I stay frozen to the spot. “Get outta here, would ya,” Logan orders as he leisurely retakes his seat, getting comfortable for his next nap.
Unable to drag myself away, my eyes refocus on the subject of my desires. “Why do I have such a thing for assholes.”
Before Logan can respond angrily, I sit on his lap, dropping my purse to the floor, and straddling his hips. I cup his perplexed face and crash our mouths together, moulding them into one. He grunts in surprise as if he didn’t expect me to retaliate, as if he didn’t expect that I would want him this way.
He half-heartedly pulls away between kisses, whispering my name in small protests, but he gets muffled by my lips and grinds on his lap. Quickly, his objections turn into fierce groans. He takes my hips into his hands, tightly gripping into my flesh as he pushes me back, onto his desk. I whimper as his crotch stays glued to my core, even as we move. One hand then moves from my hip to my neck, holding it, then slowly sliding to my jaw, grasping it in a hungry, pressing kiss. His tongue laps my mouth, completely dominating me, and I struggle to breathe.
Just as I’m about to pull away to comment on how desperate he seems, his other hand flips me over with ease. My stomach is now on top of his desk, his crotch, like iron against my ass, and his hands trace down from my shoulder blades, to my bum. With my head hung over the desk, I pant, practically drooling.
“You’re asking for detention pinky,” he mutters, and I respond by pushing back into his hard cock. “I'm a sucker for extra attention teach,” I mention, as sensually as I could muster. He chuckles lowly, and I shudder. The pressure of his dick doesn’t change, and his hands continue their unhurried venture of me. “You like attention?” Logan questions, his tone surprisingly soft. His tone makes me shiver and whimper, yet again.
“I like yours.”
“Just mine?” He questions darkly, telling me he doesn’t actually want any opposition. “Yes,” I whisper.
His voice drops an octave as he swears, rolling his hips into me once. I moan loudly. “Shhhh princess, you tryna alert the entire building?” He asks with amusement evident. I shake my head, no, and he laughs by my ear as he dips down. “Good, because I don’t like sharing your attention,” he says passively. “And I’d like to be the only ‘asshole,’ that gets to see what’s under these ridiculous clothes.”
“Hey!” I object meekly. I feel him smile as he leans away from my ear, and I turn my head over my shoulder to watch him peer down at where our bodies meet. “You probably want me to fuck you on this desk.” He speaks as though I’m not there to hear him. “Ya probably want to be taken here so that every time you’re sitting in my class, you can imagine me deep inside you.” He trails off as his hand pushes up my shirt, touching my lower back.
“But we can’t do that,” he sighs hoarsely.
“Why?” My reply is so quick that I grimace.
“Because, if we did, I’d be hard every time I’m in this fucking room, and that ain’t the smartest idea.” I moan at his crudeness and gasp when he pecks my naked spine, just below my bra clip. “Even your lingerie is pink huh?” He laughs smoothly. “Imagined it would be.” My legs rub together instinctively at his words.
“You imagined it?”
He pauses. “Hell yeah I did, though I tried to fight it,” he muses in between a groan. “It didn’t take me long to figure you wanted this too, princess,” he murmurs pleasantly.
After a long beat of silence and a little grinding, I speak up. “So now what? If you’re not going to make love to me here.”
He slowly pushes the hair over my face, behind my ear, tilting my head to face him just a bit. He then leans down and kisses me on the cheek.
“I’ll come to you,” is all Logan says as he reluctantly wrenches himself from me, after giving my ass cheek a mild slap. I yelp and nearly pout at the loss of touch. We hold eye contact as he backs away. “Get going, otherwise you’ll be late,” he comments airily. I nod and scurry out the room, with a grin plastered on my face.
...
After a long, vigorous rest of the day. I collapse into my plushy bed with a sigh.
“Took you long enough,” a dark voice rings, with a hint of familiar sass. I jolt up to see Logan leaning on my wardrobe. His tight shirt is further strained when his arms cross. “Been waiting to ‘make love' to ya all day,” he claims, with a mocking tone, repeating my "childish" words from earlier. My best guess is that he assumes I’m a virgin, from that sentence alone.
So, in an attempt to remedy my reputation, sitting up on my bed, with my arms bracing my figure, I slowly spread my bent legs. I bite my bottom lip, and his eyes shift down and blacken. “Get on with it then, Logan.” I roll my tongue as his name teasingly leaves my mouth. His head twitches in an almost feral manner, and I gulp.
“You’re asking for it,” is all he mumbles before pouncing on me. Our limbs tangle and I moan as his leg presses into my clothed clit. “Please,” I just about sob, to which he responds with an aggressive kiss and another crushing rub of his thigh. I moan louder, and he grunts, “You like that?” I push my hands into his hair, running my fingers through his thick locks. He lets out a coarse groan.
Loving how vocal he is, I decide to encourage him by groping his cock over his rugged jeans. “Fuck, baby,” he groans out when his mouth leaves mine. He then runs his tongue over my neck and collar, soon nibbling on my earlobe. His thigh continues to make work of me, and I match his pace. “You're so dirty,” he grins while his nose brushes my rosy cheek, and then he's kissing me. “I love it,” he professes with amusement, again, coaxing his tone.
Just as I begin undoing his belt, he flips me over on my stomach like before. Then, when I'm lying flat underneath him, he grabs my hips, to lift them towards his crotch as he kneels above. “I better see a pink thong,” he jokes as he strips me bare. He groans in satisfaction as I’m left in just my underwear for his viewing. “Unreal,” Logan practically purrs.
I wiggle my ass playfully, and he growls and smacks it harder than he did in his classroom. I squeal into my pillow, briskly going quiet when I hear his belt being ripped from the loops of his denim. Leaving my underwear in place, he runs his digits over the lace, making me whine, "Logan."
With his name on my tongue, it shortly turns into a cry as the lace covering my clit gets moved to the side, and two meaty fingers dive into me. "Shit, princess," he rasps. "How am I gonna fit?" He asks rhetorically, and I choke a sob, as he wastes no time building up an energetic pace, with his fingers.
He swiftly tears an orgasm from my trembling body, still holding my hips up with one hand. When his fingers leave, I hear his mouth clean them, and I swing my head to face him hastily, but he shoves my head back into my pillow. "So eager," he more or less snickers.
"Very," my smothered voice emits, barely audible.
I nearly shriek when his tip swipes my wet slit. Logan, without notice, suddenly pushes himself inside me, with an agonizing slowness, but I quietly persist. "Atta girl, that's it," he lazily groans out encouragements. My hands pathetically slide onto his thighs, unsure if I'm urging him for more, or begging for discretion.
At once, he shoves himself in all the way, and I let out an extensive sigh. His palm, which was just holding down my head, joins his other hand on my abandoned hip. He lets out various curses, along with my name, and begins to move, in and out. Soon enough, he's pounding into me at a savage rate, completely untamed. As well, it seems purposeful, how he simultaneously bends down to growl and moan in my ear, still thrusting.
He stirs another orgasm, still notably, not experiencing his own. "You look real pretty like this princess," he begins to ramble. "Gonna do this every fucking day." The rest of what he says gets lost in translation, as I grow overwhelmed and overstimulated.
Thoughtlessly, I try to crawl away while he still has my lower half hoisted up. Once Logan realizes what I'm up to, my pitiful effort has him laughing. "Where ya going?"
"Lo, it's too much-"
"Lo? Call me that again, it's cute," he hums.
"No more," I whimper, ignoring him.
"Just one more baby," Logan coos, while somehow increasing his pace, making me cum instantly, squirting a little. His moan rumbles in his chest, and he doesn't stop hammering into me. I grip my headboard, and one of his arms stretches alongside mine, to do the same.
When he cums, his grip snaps the wood, breaking a part of the headboard, making me shout in between sobs. He seems to not notice the damage, too busy finishing on my backside.
After a long minute, he slumps his large frame beside me. One of his arms stays drifting across my skin as his eyes intently coast over my features. "Maybe consider skipping my class more often," Logan expresses as his lips slightly tip upward. He presses his lips onto my shoulder. I smile, giggling, "Why?"
"Cause it doesn’t matter where I fuck you, there's nowhere I won't get hard looking at that pretty face," he smiles dreamily, "And you're impractical wardrobe.”
I giggle, "You have a way with words," I pause and smirk, "Mr. Howlett."
He rises onto his elbow with a devilish grin, "Now you're just begging for it princess."
Part two
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miaoua3 · 5 months ago
Text
Stay The Morning?
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Pairing: CEO! scoups x f!reader
Genre: shameless smut (MDNI), one night stand, meet cute, rich ceo x normal girl, morning after, the whole encounter described through flashbacks, mentions of previous cheating
Description: after your previous boyfriend cheated on you, your friends allowed you three weeks of mopping and self loathing before they drag you out of the house and into a bar. little did you know that a certain gentleman will be there and that he will change your world for a night
Note: i went out with my friends, we jokingly went to our local perfume shop, i found cheols perfume (hermes h24), it made me ovulate….bon appetit.
Warning: barely proofread, read at your own risk lmao
Part two: Stay The Night?
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
to say that walking in on your boyfriend and his coworker shagging in your own bed after you’ve decided to come home earlier to surprise him with a warm and delicious cooked meal messed you up a bit was an understatement.
his apologies fell on deaf ears, partly because you didn’t want to hear it and partly because a sudden ringing appeared to be echoing in the shell of your ear.
overcome with rage, you packed all of his stuff in some plastic bags from previous shopping trips, all while he tried to talk to you and explain that ‘it isn’t what it looks like’.
what a bucket full of bullshit.
deciding that 5 bags worth of stuff should last him a few days, you threw them in front of your door before pushing your now ex in the hallway too.
in his boxers only.
but then, your bravery seemed to have disappeared. while your ex was trying to make excuses explain to you the situation, you haven’t let yourself feel a single emotion other than rage and betrayal.
the moment you slammed the door in your ex’s face though, you felt all the emotions suddenly hit you and you crumbled, letting the tears fall down your face.
in these situations, you always find yourself doing the same thing.
and that is call your two best friends.
in the matter of minutes they were in front of your door, with all the necessities like ice cream and tissues.
and they comforted you. for the whole nights.
and the rest of the week.
and the week following that one.
and then third week week too.
well, at least, until friday evening.
at 6pm sharp, your friend, sana, unlocked the door and kicked them with her foot, your other friend jihyo not far behind her.
only to find you on your couch, watching tv with dead eyes, a bucket of ice cream on your lap (now mostly in a watery consistency).
at the sudden outburst, you looked at the direction of your front door with shocked eyes.
sana, having had enough of your bullshit, marched up to you and pulled you up by your arm, “okay that’s it, go take a shower, we’re going out, i have had it with your bullshit. god, you stink, when was the last time you at least put on deodorant, bro? disgusting.”
you, still being in shock, had little space to let out a complaint at her rambling, until she basically pushed you in the bathroom, making you trip over your own feet, before she closed the bathroom door in your face.
after a second, she yelled “oh and shave your legs and everything else, we are getting you laid tonight!”
by the tone of her voice, you knew that you had no choice but to do as she told you. knowing her, she would make the heavens move just to have her way.
an hour later, you were dressed in a little tight cherry red dress, your makeup done by your two friends, hair perfectly done, a black leather jacket resting on your shoulders, your arms intertwined with the arms of your friends, pulling you out of your apartment and down the stairs.
something in your stomach was telling you that that night wouldn’t go as your friend had imagined it. realising this, you raised your concerns.
“guys, while i really do appreciate this, and im sure we will have so much fun, i don’t think i will be sleeping with anyone tonight. it just feels too soon and im not sure if it would be a good idea for me to do that.”
sana scoffs and replies “girl please, your heart is in your vagina, and currently it is broken thanks to the dumbass that you decided to date even when I specifically told you not to, it just needs to be a big dick that will sprinkle some of its fairy dust on it and it will be as good as new-“, she tried to continue, but jihyo decided to interrupt her by letting go of your arm and using the same hand to reach behind your back and smack sana across the back of her head, full force, making her head fly down.
“stop spewing nonsense, even if we wanted to we can’t make her do anything she doesn’t want to do. plus, if she thinks it wouldn’t be a good idea then it probably isn’t, just because it would work for you doesn’t mean it would work for her.”, jihyo defends you as she intertwines your arms again and rubs the back of your hand with her other hand.
sana just mumbles “we will see about that” in response.
after a few minutes, you reach the bar that you visit semi-regularly aka whenever the stars align and all three of you happen to have a free day on the same day.
sitting at your usual place at the bar, sana orders for all of you before you can even try to protest about how you weren’t in a mood for heavy drinks.
as jihyo and sana are talking between themselves, you look around the bar, just to people watch for a bit, see everyone that is mingling in this bar.
and then you see him.
at the other end of the bar, there sat a man so beautiful it made all of those butterflies you felt on the way to the bar roar together into a chaos.
oh.
he’s so beautiful is the only thought that could cross your mind as you observed him. short black hair neatly styled in a way that it compliments all of his features, dark and thick eyebrows pulling your attention, big and plump lips set in a gentle smile. letting your eyes travel, they end up on his arms, observing how tight the black button up looks on him due to his buff physique. your wandering eyes come to his hands that are resting on the top of the counter, one crossed while the other is playing with the glass filled with dark liquor.
seeming that you have zero self control left, you let your eyes wander back up to his face, to admire the face that you could only describe as if it were sculpted by the gods themselves.
only to find his dark eyes already watching you.
quicker than a thunder, you turn your head towards your two friends again, feeling how hot your face feels due to being caught by the perfect stranger.
you try to go back to the conversation that your friends are having, as a distraction from the most perfect man that you have ever seen in your entire life.
what you fail to notice is that the stranger’s eyes stay on you, caressing your figure with his hot gaze, stopping every few seconds on one of your features, as a way to take not of every little detail and memorise it.
after half an hour, you finish your first drink (that tasted only mildly disgusting due to amount of alcohol it had in it). but it seems that with every sip you took, your self control would lessen and your eyes would stray in the direction of mr.perfect (as you started calling him in your head).
only to snap your head right back because he would already be looking at you, gentle smile playing on the edge of his lips.
the entire time you felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment, excitement and nervousness. to be completely honest, you forgot how it felt to be excited to have got somebody’s whole attention on you, and to have your own attention solely focused on them.
all the butterflies you felt as you were walking to the bar seem to only duplicate with every little exchange of glances between you and mr.perfect.
just as you raised your hand to get the bartender’s attention, a deep “um, excuse me?” came from your right, making you pause your action to turn your head.
and your breath catches in your throat.
because one and only mr.perfect was standing right there, towering over you due to you sitting and him being so very tall, clad in all black, the sleeves of his black button up rolled up to his elbows, the first few buttons undone, giving you a peak to his strong and defined collarbones, a gentle smile teasing the edges of his mouth.
and his gaze.
oh his gaze was burning you from the intensity of it, making goosebumps arise on your skin.
seeing that he got your attention, he continues with a boyish smile “i was just wondering if i could buy you your next drink? it’s just that- i saw you across the room and i thought that you were absolutely beautiful, and my mom taught me that beautiful women should never pay for their own drinks a-and im rambling aren’t i?”, he finishes with a low chuckle, shyly rubbing the back of his neck.
looking at him, it would seem that a cat got ahold of your tongue because you proceed to just stare at him, both of you waiting for you to say anything.
luckily, jihyo comes to your rescue, behind your shoulder smiles at the stranger and says “she would love to!”
breaking out of the trance, you look at her shortly to see her nodding her head encouragingly, before looking at the stranger again with a blushing face “um, yes, i’d really like that”.
he smiles at you, before calling the bartender over. you tell him your order before he directly gets to work.
as your drink is being made, the stranger smiles at you and puts out his hand for a handshake (his beautifully big, veiny and manly hand, adorned by a ring on his middle finger and an expensive watch on his writs) “my name is choi seungcheol, may i ask for yours?”
blushingly, you put your hand in his and introduce yourself. making some small talk, you learn that he is currently 29 years old, and that he’s here with some friends for a friend’s birthday.
just as you were about to ask him what he does for a living, your drink gets put in front of you, breaking the flow of the conversation.
seungcheol, seeing that the only reason why approached you is done, gets up from his sit next to you, “well, your drink is here, i’ll leave you ladies alone now, thank you for allowing me to pay for your drink, enjoy the rest of your night”. he smiles gently before he starts to go back to his friends.
you weren’t lying that alcohol messed with your self control, because in the time it took him to make three steps, you were up and out of your seat, way too loudly than necessary saying “um-!”.
hearing you behind him, he turns around and to see your flustered face, questionably looking at you.
seeing that the cat is already out of the bag and that you already embarrassed yourself as it is, you continue “y-you know, you could buy me the next drink too? o-or, well, you could just- you could offer me a longer conversation instead? um, actually, i-i’d prefer that to a drink.”, you finish with almost to none dignity left, your entire face burning from embarrassment.
seungcheol, in return just smiles.
and the butterflies go wild again.
oh, no.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
waking up, you notice that your room is suspiciously bright. like, way too bright for it to be your room.
the thought makes you jump and sit up automatically, only to notice the lack of the clothes on your body, making you pull the duvet over your chest.
looking around the room, you realise that you were in somebody else’s bed.
and looking to your right, you get the answer as to whose room it is.
seungcheol is sound asleep next to you, shirtless, laying on his stomach with his face turned towards you, his lips set in a cute little pout, his back muscles moving and flexing with every exhale that escapes his mouth.
and his back. oh. my. god.
there were nail scratches all over his back, making it look as if a wild cat had attacked him. but it wasn’t a cat that attacked him, was it now? no it was your doing.
looking around the room, you realise just how much more spacious it looks in the daylight. actually, everything about his condo is big and spacious (as well as everything about him-).
noting every little detail around the room and thinking about how much everything must’ve cost. but it probably didn’t make that much of a difference to him. no.
because choi seungcheol wasn’t just anybody.
he was a ceo of…some company whose name you can’t remember because you were…occupied with something else when he was explaining it to you (read: occupied by watching the veins in his forearms move with every move of his arms that he made).
the fact that he hid that from you up until the moment you walked into his condo makes you mentally scoff at your cluelessness, because who else would wear a watch that size if not a ceo of a company?
you were willing to ignore the big watch. you were even willing to ignore the ridiculously expensive-looking audi that he drove you in to his place. even the underground garage that he drove into.
but walking directly out of the lift and into the biggest condo you have ever since with the whole wall being just one giant window? oh, no way in hell were you going to let it slide.
turning around to look at him questionably, you feel his hand that’s on your back rub slow circles, and his smile turn into a sheepish one.
“so, just a businessman huh?”, you question his previous answer with a raised brow.
in return he chuckles, “well, i am a businessman technically, i just never mentioned that i was a ceo of a company”, he answers before he toes off his dress shoes and walks in what you were sure to be a kitchen.
you follow him, slowly observing the ginormous living room that you find yourself into, before stopping in front of the big window. his condo had to be the best in the whole of seoul, because the view that you are looking at right now is enough to leave you breathless. thousands of lights from all across the seoul make it look like the night sky.
after a minute you ask him “why didn’t you tell me what you really do? there wasn’t really a reason to hide something like that so i assume that you had a bigger reason for not telling me.”, you turn your head back to be able to see him clearly.
he stops pouring you two drinks for a moment, looks upwards with furrowed eyebrows for a moment, before looking at you with and with upmost sincerity answers “you just didn’t seem like the type of person who would care about things like that.”, he turns his head back to the glasses in front of him before he continues “plus, i was sitting in front of the most beautiful woman i have ever seen, i much rather talk about you and get to know you than talk about my boring work.”, he chuckles as he finishes his thought.
his answer was so simple, yet it got your breath catching in your throat.
you can’t remember the last time somebody really cared about you and who wanted to get to know you, to learn about all the little things about you.
your gaze finally falls on seungcheol’s back again, and on your artwork.
you feel the heat on your cheeks worsen, the longer you look at the marks on his big and muscular back. the heat to your face isn’t the only thing that looking at his back brings to you, but the memories of last night as well.
although your eyes are focused on the view in front of you, you can feel that seungcheol was walking slowly towards you, until he was standing directly behind you. slowly, you see his hand appear in front of your face, holding a glass of water. carefully, you take it from his hand, saying a quiet “thank you” before taking a little sip of the water.
you gently put the glass on the little table holding a vase to your left, before looking in front of you again.
ever so slowly, you feel him inch closer to you, until your back is brushing his firm chest. his smell has your mind clouded-he smells so good, not too strong like most men do, but just enough to have you taking a deeper whiff of it. such a pleasant smell, it had your eyelids closing in satisfaction on their own.
ever so lightly he places his hand in your hip, his hold on it getting firmer with each slow second. at this simple touch you find yourself gasping lowly, goosebumps raising on the skin of your arms.
you can tell by the precision of his moves and how he takes his time with each action of his what kind of lover he is. the type to make you feel safe and relaxed. the type that would put your pleasure in the first place. the gentle but firm type.
the type to be the best you have ever had.
another step, and his entire front is touching your entire back. there isn’t an inch of you that isn’t touching him. you can feel his breath on the back of your head, and your own coming to a still stand in your throat.
slowly, he moves his head until it’s right there, to your right. he lets his head dip a little lower, so his nose is grazing the skin of your shoulder and ever so lightly, takes a deep breath of your smell.
he inhales deeply, at the end of it a little groan rumbling in his chest. he then lets his instincts take over-slowly, he moves his head so his nose travels across your shoulder, up your neck (where for a few milliseconds you feel his lips brush across your skin too, making you gasp quietly), across your jawline, until his lips are right by your ear.
in what must be the deepest voice you have ever heard from a man, he whispers, “tell me to stop…”, he pauses, letting go of his self control for a moment and letting his lips leave a little kiss on the edge of your jawline, before he continues “…and i will stop”.
gone were all the thoughts from your head, which is probably why you find your head falling back on his shoulder, eyes closing on their own, feeling the lack of the air in your lungs getting to your head, and breathlessly, you say “don’t stop, please”.
which seemed to be enough for him, because in the next second he’s directing your face to his own with two fingers and kissing you like he’s dying, and you are the only antidote that could save him.
his tongue massages your own in such a meticulous manner, that it made a little moan escape you. quickly, you break the kiss for the second it takes you to turn around in his hold, not even realising that he now had both of his arms wrapped around your stomach, and kissing him with what must look like desperation to anybody else.
he sucks on your top lip for a bit, before he deepens your kiss, his hand flying up to hold your jaw in place, slowly turning your head a bit to the side so he can get even deeper.
you seem to be out of your mind, because your hand-all on its own- grabs ahold of his other hand that is resting on your back, and places it on the back of your head.
seeing what you probably must’ve wanted, seungcheol takes a second to push his hand into your hair. and then he pulls on it ever so lightly.
and then you moan loudly in his mouth.
and that seems to do it for him, because he groans deeply at your moan, before he breaks a kiss harshly to grab ahold of your thighs and pick you up as if you weighed nothing.
the action got you gasping, your legs automatically wrapping themselves around his hips. but before you had the time to tell him to put you down and that “you were too heavy”, he’s right back, kissing you like he was starving for it-starving for you.
with ease, he turns around and starts walking down the hall. but since he’s only a man, he gets a bit carried away, having to stop and push you against the wall, his kisses now fast and almost animalistic, travelling from your mouth, across your cheek and down your throat. at one harsher kiss to your skin on the neck, you let out a louder moan, which only fuelled his desire, his kisses getting faster, harsher, his tongue touching your skin with his open mouth kisses, the hold he had on your thighs getting tighter.
you couldn’t remember the last time you felt this wet, this satisfied, this hungry for more from a kiss alone. out of the window went all of your consciousness, your thoughts, the only thing that you knew at that moment were seungcheol and that you wanted him. more than you have ever wanted anything else.
gasping while he continues to attack your neck and collarbones, you moan a simple “more”.
and who was seungcheol to deprive his lady of what she wanted?
taking ahold of his actions, he gets a better grasp on your thighs, before he pushes you two away from the wall. in five big steps, he’s in front of his bedroom door, pushing them opened harshly with his foot, carrying you inside, before letting go of one of your legs to slam the door shut, all while still kissing you.
the thoughts that were playing in your mind like a movie got you slapping your face with both hands, covering your whole face with them.
not being able to sit still anymore, you gut up and out of the bed, quickly picking up a random shirt from the chair that was by the door, and out of the room.
you find yourself a bit lost, before you see the door to your left, on which stoop a sign that said “bathroom”. quickly, you run into the room and close the door behind yourself.
breathing out a sigh of relief, you look around to see just how ridiculously expensive the bathroom must look like.
and without any disappointment, the bathroom looks like it came straight out of somebody’s pinterest board- a big white bathtub to the left, to the right what must be the biggest shower you have ever seen, a toilet to the left in front of you, and a mirror so big there wouldn’t be a wall big enough to hang it in your own apartment. the tiles of the whole bathroom were this nice shade of beige, creating a harmony with the white furniture of the room.
noticing how badly you need to relieve yourself, you do yourself before getting up to wash your hands. as you finish, you look up to see just how bad your makeup must look.
and you gasp. because your whole neck is covered in hickeys, bigger part of them looking like they are connecting, making it look like one giant purple hickey that’s wrapped around your whole neck.
you just stand there for a second, in a loss for words as to how bad it looks. if you saw this sight on anybody else, you would think that they got mauled by a bear or some wild animal of sorts.
looking at the hickeys on your body got you blushing, and even more so as you remember how they came to be.
ever so gently, seungcheol puts you down on his big and fluffy bed. putting you down seemed to be the only thing he was going to do gently, because the very next second he’s basically pouncing on you, the kiss continuing after a brief moment it took him to lay you down. you feel his tongue battle with your own, before he pulls on your bottom lip with his own lips, lightly biting it to tease you just a little bit.
his hands go from resting next to your head to caressing your body, until they reach the hem of your dress. he breaks the kiss apart, starting to ask “can i-“.
but before he can finish the sentence, you are whining in his face, glossy eyes looking up at him “take it off, please, take it off take it off, please please please-“.
your begging seems to make him lose his mind just a bit more. quickly and with no care, as if he’s just as desperate to have this tight dress off of your body, he switches his hold to the straps of your dresss, harshly pulling it down your arms and chest, over your waist and over your hips, before giving it one final pull over your legs and tossing it over his shoulder.
for a moment, he sits on his heels and just observes you. he feels his chest tightening due to lack of oxygen, his heart beating so fast he thinks it could stop any moment.
your curves would get him kneeling in front of you if he wasn’t already doing so. and the little two piece lingerie- god, help him, for he is about to sin, big time.
he wanted to look at this sight for a bit longer, to have it embedded in his mind forever, but it seems that his girl is a bit impatient, because he feels your hand harshly pulling on his shirt and feels himself falling down on you before the sound of your whining even has the time to hit the shell of his ear.
you kiss him desperately, your hands everywhere- in his hair, on the nape of his neck, across his shoulders and scratching on his back.
all while whining and moaning in his mouth.
god help cheol if he wasn’t about to cum just from the pretty sounds you were making for him.
seeing as you weren’t willing to let him go, or stop kissing him for that matter, seungcheol opts to multitask and take his shirt off while still kissing you. the moment its off, your hands seem to have a mind of their own, travelling all over his back and shoulders before straying to his front, your firm touch traveling from his stomach to his chest.
deciding that he can’t wait anymore, he pulls on your underwear harshly, making them fly over his shoulder too, before he lets his lips leave open-mouth kisses over your neck, collarbones, chest, stopping for a bit to give you nipples a little nibble over your lacy bra, over your tummy, on your hip.
before he knows it, he finds himself laying between your legs, looking up at you through his thick eyelashes, his gaze hot enough to burn your skin.
he gently takes your thighs in his hands, before putting them on his shoulders. before he can even utter the words, you nod your head vigorously and enthusiastically, feeling your legs shake slightly at anticipation.
and then his mouth is on you. and you gasp.
he licks one long stripe from your hole to your clit, which he proceeds to suck onto lightly, making your hips buckle. his tongue then starts to lap at it, leaving little kitten licks on your clit.
your hand instinctively fly to his beautiful luscious hair, pulling on it, trying to getting him even closer if possible.
understanding what you want, seungcheol then lowers his mouth a bit, probing and pushing at your hole, twisting his tongue when entering you in ways you couldn’t think were humanly possible, sucking on your entrance every time before his tongue enters you again.
it’s embarrassing to admit, but you can confidently say that you have never been this close to the finish this fast.
which is why you try to pull him away by your hold on his hair. but he ignores your tugging, instead lets one of his hands that’s been holding your thigh travel up and take hold of one of your hands, before intertwining your hands and letting them rest on your hip.
such a simple action but it got your heart feeling so warm, you can for sure say that nobody ever made you feel this way by a simple action such as this one.
feeling your finish approaching quickly, you try to warn him, but he just looks at you with what looked like to be completely black eyes sternly, almost as if he was saying “don’t you dare stop me”.
and who were you to do as much?
suddenly, like a big wave, you feel the euphoria hit you, you back leaving the mattress, the hold you had on his hand and his hair tightening to the point you were sure must’ve hurt him, your thighs locking, squishing his face between them, all while moaning so loudly you were sure his neighbours were about to hate you.
seungcheol just continues to lap at your hole, drinking up every little drop of your cum as if it were nectar, closing his eyes in enjoyment, groaning as he makes sure to drink up everything you were giving him.
after a minute, you start feeling a bit overstimulated, whining in protest, which was seungcheol’s cue to stop. slowly detangling himself from your legs, he slowly climbs back up before he’s kissing you, your own taste greeting you on his tongue.
seungcheol breaks the kiss apart for a moment, his eyes as dark as night as he looks you directly in the eyes, before he asks you.
“are you ready to give me more, pretty girl?”
you again cover your blushing face with your hands, peeking just a bit between your fingers to look at yourself in the mirror.
seungcheol is so perfect, in every way possible, that you weren’t sure that he was real. maybe he was just a speck of your imagination, something you made up in your mind to make yourself feel better about your love life.
your hands slowly slide down your face as the reality of the situation starts to hit you, a sour look overtaking your expression.
seungcheol was so perfect. too perfect for you to have him.
knowing that talking to him again will just add salt to the injury, that it will make you realise just how out of your league he is, you decide that sneaking off would be for the best, for the both of you. after all, this was probably just a one time thing for him.
you bend down to pick up the shirt that you took from his room to put on until you find your dress, when suddenly, you feel a sharp cramp in your thighs, making you gasp.
you knew that you two went quite hard at it last night, but you didn’t think it would make walking hard for you the next day.
shyly, you peek at your thighs to see just how irritated the skin must look like, the recollection of the encounter yet again clouding your mind.
as you kiss, you feel one of his hands reach to the side before you hear him fumble with something, breaking the kiss so you both look at him struggling to find the condom in his nightstand.
after a few seconds he finally pulls out a pack, taking one out of the bunch before he pulls back entirely, sitting on his heels.
carefully he unbuttons his pants, pulling them and his underwear just enough for his cock go be freed. and oh god, if that wasn’t the biggest one you have ever had, he was so big and thick, it made goosebumps appear on your skin in anticipation. he rips the packaging with his teeth, and rolls it on himself, all while he still keeps the eye contact going.
seungcheol then lowers himself back onto you, before he teases your folds with his fingers.
in a raspy voice he says “your pussy got me so drunk that i forgot that i need to prep you before i fuck you”, and then he pushes one of his thick fingers in your hole, your gasp so loud in your own ears that normally it would make you feel embarrassed. he then continues “wouldn’t want to hurt my pretty girl when I’m supposed to be making you feel good, hm?”, he finishes and pushes another finger on the next time he pushes back inside of you.
if you had any mental strength left, you would’ve answered him, but there was literally nothing going on in your head other than how good his fingers felt, massaging your walls, scissoring you,his tumb gently massaging your clit in slow circles, pushing and pulling his fingers in a slow but steady pace, ever so often the til of his fingers grazing your g spot, making you moan in his face.
he fingers you as if he had tons of experience with your body, like he already knew how you liked it. and he does it all while looking at your face, his forehead slowly coming down to rest on your own.
after what you felt must’ve been hours when in reality it was just a few minutes, he seemed to be satisfied, pulling his fingers out completely.
and then he pushed the very same fingers inside of his mouth, eyebrows furrowing and eyes closing at your taste, humming in satisfaction as he licks his fingers clean.
you feel yourself clench as you watch him suck on his fingers. he looked like a god as he did it- his hair now messy and fluffy thanks to you, his expression looks like he’s having the best meal of his life, his tan skin glistening with sweat, his naked chest raising as he breathes in and out.
he looked so divine, it made you go just a little bit insane. just a bit.
he opens his dark eyes again, his face turning somewhat serious. seungcheol then slowly lowers himself down again, caging your head with his forearms that come to rest next to your head, making your entire focus shift to his eyes.
without much thought, you wrap your arms around his back, your legs locking themselves around his hips.
in the corner of your eye you see him his hand disappearing down, before you feel his cock teasing your folds, his head catching on your clit when he goes to pull it down back your folds. you gasp at this action, you eyes wanting to close themselves all on their own but your mind makes them stay open as you don’t want to miss a single thing.
his free hand comes to your face, pushing your hair back a little bit, before his tumb comes to wipe your bottom lip, your lips falling open on their own.
seungcheol caresses your cheek with the same tumb, and with gentle eyes and voice asks “ready?”.
to which you only nod your head slightly.
he smiles slightly before he lightly pinches your cheek “use your words, baby. i need to know you are 100% sure about this.”
a whispered ‘yes’ falls out of your mouth, your eyes in a trance with his own, the only things you are able to focus on are those chocolate orbs of his.
and then he’s pushing inside of you.
you both gasp at the burn, having difficulties fitting him inside of your tight hole.
his gasp turns into a rough growl, deeply saying “fuck, so tight, baby, you need to relax for me, otherwise i could hurt you”.
you try to listen to him, taking a deep breath in and out. kind of at the same time you both look down between yourselves.
only to see that he has only pushed his tip inside of you.
dear lord, may he help you survive this night.
as a minute passes by, you feel yourself slowly relax, seungcheol pushes himself a little bit more every few seconds until he’s completely bottoms out, his hips now touching yours.
he gives you a minute to relax, his hand gently rubbing your cheek, eyes lovingly looking at you.
as you give him a slight nod with your head, he slowly pulls out, before pushing back. he sets a slow pace for the start, carefully looking at your face for signs of discomfort, making your heart clench at his little signs of affection.
the pace continues for a few minutes, the thickness of his cock and how it massages your insides making you moan and him groan.
feeling like its not enough, you whine a little ‘more’ to him.
which was either the biggest mistake or the best decision of your life.
he quickens the movement of his hips slightly, the slapping of skin against skin now being added to the harmony that your moans and his groans were making.
his breath starts coming out heavier, the air that leaves his mouth lightly hitting your face as he’s fucking you.
you whine every time he pulls his hips back and moan every time he pushes them back, his cock repeatedly hitting your sweet spot.
but it seems like you are so desperate for more, so insatiable, that you pull him closer to you with your hold around his shoulders, his face falling in the curve where your neck meets your shoulders, your own doing the very same, whining “more, please, give me more, i want more, please please please-“ directly in his ear, your eyes closing in pleasure.
seungcheol stops for second, making you whine in disappointment, takes ahold of your thighs to hitch your legs higher on his hips.
and then he doubles the speed of his hips.
he sets an insane pace, his hips slapping against the back of your thighs, groans and deep moans falling out of his mouth. his dick feels so big, his head repeatedly hitting your spot, making your moans border on screams.
you can’t remember the last time you got fucked this good, and you were sure this will stay in your memory forever.
seungcheol continues with his merciless pace, your muscles clenching around him which in return makes him make more of those beautiful noises.
“you like that, baby? fuck, the noises you make- you are driving me insane. your pussy feels so tight- fuck, i can barely fit. and it’s so wet i- jesus. is this all for me? hm? so wet, just for me baby? fuck, i could fuck you for the rest of my life, never want to stop, want my dick inside of you all the time. you’d like that, wouldn’t you pretty girl? fuck- such a good girl-“
he continues to praise you and talk about you good you feel, how you are being such a good girl for him, and normally you would answer.
(un)fortunately, you have zero thoughts going on in your mind, only able to moan in his ear while he kisses and bites your shoulder, neck and collarbones, the sting barely noticeable in comparison to the slapping of the skin you feel on the back of your thighs. with extra effort, you successfully say through a moan “more, please, gimme more”.
seungcheol growls at this, before he pulls out completely out of you. he then harshly pulls you by your thighs and turns you over, pulling your hips up before you even have the time to let out a gasp. your chest that are now lacking all the air are touching the mattress while your ass is in the air, fully exposed to seungcheol’s eyes.
without any warning he slaps your right ass cheek, something between a scream and a moan flying out of your mouth. not giving you any time to even process the action, he’s already pushing his cock back inside of you, the new angle making the stretch feel even more delicious.
“fuck, my girl is so desperate huh? so desperate for this cock, moaning so prettily for me. fuck, you are going to be the death of me, you and this pussy”.
he basically lays himself on top of you, covering your whole body with his own, his firm chest pressed in your back, before he resumes his quick pace.
seungcheol pounds into you, so much so that you feel your pussy burn from the force of his hips that are slapping against it.
he continues to praise you but unfortunately you don’t hear anything anymore, only things that you can focus on is the delicious stretch of his dick and how it’s repeatedly hitting your g spot.
feeling your finish approaching quicker than expected, you moan out “im coming im coming im comi-“.
seeing that he is in the same boat, seungcheol groans in your ear, his hand quickly finding your own and intertwining your hands. squeezing your hands tightly, he growls in your ear “cum. cum for me pretty girl, fuck- make a mess on this dick”.
he uses his free hand to find your clit and rub it quickly.
and then you are screaming in pleasure. you feel your walls squeezing him harder than ever, milking him dry, which triggers his own release, a deep moan rumbling in his chest against your own back.
he fucks your slowly through both of your orgasms, your mind so cloudy that you don’t even feel the bite on your shoulder that he had to do in order to quiet down his own moans.
after a minute you feel your thighs shake slightly from overstimulation, lightly tapping him on his arm to stop, and he does. he stays inside as he uses his hand to slightly rub the side of your thigh in comfort.
as you try to regain your breath, you feel seungcheol kiss your cheek lightly like a feather, before he asks.
“ready to give me one more, baby?”
your cheeks burn as your thoughts take over your mind again. quickly shaking them off, you pull on the shirt over your head before leaving the bathroom.
as quietly as possible, you enter seungcheol’s room to find him still sleeping on his stomach, his back turned to you. sighing in relief, you make a quick search for your things.
as you pull on your dress from last night, you grimace at the fact that you will have to wear the same pair of panties from last night.
as you make sure that you have all of your things, you slowly head for the doors.
until a voice behind you stops you.
“leaving already?”.
you stop in your tracks before slowly turning around to see seungcheol looking at you through puffy eyes.
“yknow, if you wanted to leave in the morning, you could’ve just told me that last night, i would’ve prepared a car to drive you back, but i was under the impression that you were going to stay and have a breakfast with me”, he finishes as he lightly rubs his face.
you quickly look down, embarrassment and guilt washing over your face. you did want to stay, you wanted to stay for as long as he would let you, but you weren’t sure if that would be okay for him, or if you even deserved it.
seeing the expression on your face, seungcheol then asks, barely above the whisper, pleading looking at you.
“stay? please?”.
you quickly look up to see his gentle eyes, before you answer unsurely.
“would that really be okay with you? it’s just- i wasn’t sure if you wanted this to be a one time thing only or-or maybe- well, something more, so uh, i thought it be better to just leave a-and i-“
as you ramble, seungcheol feels his lips betray him as a small smile slowly gets bigger and bigger the longer you talk. deciding to make this easier for the both of you, he interrupts you.
“baby?”
you look at him with red cheeks, all and every thought you had evaporating from your mind.
seeing that he got your attention, he continues.
“take that dress off and get back in here, i want cuddles…and maybe something more.”
and who were you to deny him anything?
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junhoswifey · 12 days ago
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STUCK WITH ME - CHOI SU-BONG (THANOS) / PLAYER 230
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a/n: not proofread! read at your own risk!! i wanted to put my own spin on thanos bc everyone makes him so mean and aggressive so i hope i did this justice 🤞🏻🤞🏻
pairing(s): choi su-bong (thanos) x female!reader
warnings: femme reader, ex bf!thanos, language, smut, fingering (r!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, normal squid game gore
summary: what happens when you reunite with your ex who did you dirty in a game where everyone is fighting to survive?
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it has been almost a year since you and your ex boyfriend choi su-bong had broken up. you would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about him practically everyday since then. but the two of you ended things for a reason and you knew you shouldn’t want him in the way you still do but you can’t help it.
su-bong had gotten caught up in some sort of crypto scam and he made you believe it in so much that he even convinced you to pitch your own money into it. of course it didn’t end up working out so that’s how you got where you are today almost 2 million won in debt.
you hated him for dragging you into this but you hated yourself more for trusting him and getting screwed over yet again.
you had been going about a normal day about to head back home for the night when a strange but attractive looking man approached you with an odd looking briefcase by his side. he made a promise to you that if you could beat him in a couple rounds of a silly game he would simply pay you. you were desperate so you played multiple rounds with him until you were fed up with him slapping you for losing. when you finished the man handed you a strange looking business card that you shoved in your pocket until you made it home.
so that’s how you ended up in a room with 455 other strangers. you were awoken by loud music blaring and lights coming on to see your surroundings. you looked down to see you had been changed into a green tracksuit with a small number ‘240’ in the corner of the jacket.
you had sat in your bunk for a while not sure what to do until finally a herd of guards with masks and pink outfits came through the doors. they had explained the rules to everyone and made you line up to go take photos for whatever reason before the first game begun.
“señorita? oh my god! is that really you?” you heard from a distance. you could recognize that voice anywhere. you turned around so fast you were surprise you didn’t get whiplash. there he was just a couple feet away from you, your ex boyfriend, choi su-bong.
you stared in shock as you took him in. he looked the same except he had gotten more tattoos and had freshly purple hair. you couldn’t deny that he looked good even in that ugly green tracksuit.
“what the the hell are you doing here?” you ask looking him up and down. he does the same back to you, “i could ask you the same.” he replied making you roll your eyes.
“well i’m actually here because someone made me lose all my fucking money for a scam.” you said sending him a glare before looking down at the ground. seeing him again after all this time had you feeling all sorts of emotions at once, especially anger.
“oh baby cmon! you’re really still mad about that?” he asked moving closer to you to get a better look. you hesitantly looked back up meeting his eyes once again. “of course I am! do you not understand that you made me go broke? i had to move back in with my parents for fucks sake!”
he just stared at you not knowing what to say next. you took that as an opportunity to get away from him, getting in line to take your photo. you posed for the camera giving a slight smile and throwing up your middle finger. you watched how su-bong practically did the same thing making you remember just how similar the two of you were.
once everyone had finished you were now all walking into a large field that looked like it was outside. the first thing everyone noticed was a giant creepy looking doll on the other side staring back at you.
you heard an automated voice call out to you and explain that you were going to be playing red light, green light. it explained the rules before everyone lined up in front of the starting line. it seemed simple enough. right?
before the game started you all watched how a man with the number ’456’ on his jacket screamed about how if you moved after red light was called you were going to be shot. he had to be crazy right? but his words stuck with you and once the game started and the voice finally called red light you stayed stiller than you ever have before.
everything seemed to be going just fine for a while as the man was guiding everyone and telling us when to go and stop. that was until the woman standing right next to you had a bee land on her neck. you heard her scream and before you could even process what was happening she had been shot, just like the man at the beginning had said.
when the voice called out green light yet again you stayed in your spot too taken aback to even move. you heard su-bong yell out to you, “hey you have to keep going. stay behind me.” so you did just that staying close behind him till you both reached the end.
once the game had concluded you found yourself back in the same bed from before laying down and staring at the ceiling. you had so many thoughts running through your mind. you knew you shouldn’t have come here in the first place. you knew there had to be some sort of catch, and now your life was all the line just to win some fucking money.
you heard footsteps approaching but you didn’t have to look to know who it was. “hey babe. you alright?” you looked over at su-bong wanting to ignore him but instead you sat up and faced him.
“don’t call me that su-bong.” you replied bluntly as you felt his gaze on you. he put his hands up in defense before sitting down next to you. “please stick next to me in here, i wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if something happened to you and i didn’t help.” you heard him say.
it made you smile a little. despite how much you hated his ass you knew deep down he still and always would care for you. he noticed this and it made him smile too. “also i would really like if you called me thanos.”
you scoffed and looked at him with a shocked face realizing that’s why he had the purple hair and colored nails. “you’re serious..? that’s the dumbest fucking rapper name i’ve ever heard.”
he laughed at your response noticing how you did a little too. “oh come on you know you love it.” you just stared at him not really knowing what to say but you honestly loved how he always came up with dumb shit like that and it suited him perfectly.
you two sat there for a while trying to catch up before you were interrupted by the guards once again. they had come in to congratulate the players who were still alive and said we would be holding a vote to stay or leave and split the money that had been accumulated so far.
you watched as the others voted one by one and when it was finally your turn you pressed the red ‘x’ with no hesitation. you watched thanos go shortly after you and to your surprise he had voted to stay. you watched him walk to the other side sighing as he smiled like it was no big deal.
as the voting was nearing an end you were sure you were going to make it out of there until the final voter, player ’001’ had pressed the blue ‘o.’
you stood there in disbelief for a minute before heading back to your bunk not wanting to be apart of the arguments that were already starting. you noticed thanos following close behind and you felt him grab your wrist.
you stared at him and his hand lingered on your arm not wanting to let go. “why did you do that?” you asked gesturing to the blue patch on his jacket. he looked at with an almost hurt expression. “oh come on baby you know i need the money. you do too. if we work through this together we can get that shit and get out of here safely.”
you just rolled your eyes at him trying to explain how putting your lives at risk wasn’t worth it but he didn’t seem to care. instead he pulled you to the bathrooms before you could stop him.
he pulled the two of you into the women’s restroom making you confused. “what the hell are you doing?!” you yelled trying to get out of his grip but he held on stronger.
“baby.. i’ve missed you so fucking much. i hate myself everyday for what i did to you and i know you do too. will you please work through this with me? we only have to do one more game and i promise i will make it up to you when we get that money and get out of here.” you heard him confess.
you wanted to scream at him for what he said. you wanted to tell him no and that he was wrong and you knew he was lying. but you didn’t. no, you couldn’t. instead you found yourself moving closer to him and before you knew it your lips were meeting his for the first time in almost a year.
the feeling made both of you let out soft moans and when you felt him move his hands lower onto your back you couldn’t help the noise that slipped out of you.
you pulled away for a second, your forehead still touching his and looking him in the eyes. “please don’t make me regret this. i want to trust you.” you whispered as he stared at you.
“i promise sweetheart. i want to make it up to you and i want to make you the happiest girl in the world. i will never stop feeling that way.” his words made the two of you smile before your lips met once again.
before you knew it the kiss was becoming more intense and full of need. thanos decided to pull you into a stall just incase someone had decided to walk in on the two of you.
you giggled as you felt him pick you up as if it was nothing. your lips never left his as he pushed you up against the door while holding you. “god i’ve missed this..” he whispered into your ear sending shivers down your spine.
“me too su-bong.” you let out as you felt him start to place kisses down your neck. this made you tilt your head back allowing him more access as you ran your fingers through his purple locks.
“can i take this off?” he asked holding onto your jacket while looking up at you. you nodded quickly and he practically ripped off your jacket as well as the t-shirt underneath.
you moaned softly as he placed kisses to your chest before ripping off your bra as well. he cupped one of your tits in his hand before placing his mouth around the other one.
“please don’t tease me baby.” you whispered which made him only suck harder on your nipple. you could already feel how wet you were becoming as you saw him smirk at your words.
“just wanna take my time with you sweets.” he said before trailing kisses down your stomach. when he got to the waistband of your pants he slipped them off in a matter of seconds leaving you in just your underwear.
“you’re so fucking beautiful.” he moaned as he took in the sight of you that was in front of him. you smiled at him before removing his own shirt and pants so you were now both in the same position. your mouth practically dropped at how good he looked and he couldn’t help but smirk at your reaction.
he removed his boxers before removing your own underwear leaving the two of you naked. it had been so long since you saw each other like this and it made the both of you blush slightly.
he moved closer and placed your lips together yet again. the feeling of your tits pressed up against his bare chest made the two of you moan, aching for more. you felt his hand trail down to your already soaking wet pussy and he stuck a finger in without warning making you moan again.
he kept his eyes on yours as he watched your reaction to his fingers. before you knew it he was adding another before moving his mouth to your tits again. the pleasure was staring to become overwhelming as it had been too long since someone had you like this.
your moans became louder and you knew if anyone walked into the bathroom they would know exactly what was going on. but to be honest, you didn’t care. you yelled out as you felt him pick up his speed encouraging you to cum on his fingers.
you did just that making him smirk at you again before he picked you up once more. he held a firm grip on your sides letting you know he wasn’t going to drop you.
“i love you so much su-bong.. i’m sorry for leaving.” you admitted to him looking into his eyes. “don’t apologize my girl. you had every right to do what you did. i was so shitty to you but i really hope you can forgive me. i just want to move forward with you and give you what you deserve. i love you.” he confessed.
you kissed him again this time a little more aggressive not wanting this moment to end. he held you tight and you could feel his erection against your stomach making you feel even wetter than before. “i need you baby…” you moaned out while looking up at him.
he wasted no time lining his cock up with your entrance. you both moaned before he pushed his length inside of you causing you to throw your head back. he held onto you as he trusted himself up into you never letting go once.
“fuck! you feel so good baby.” he moaned into your ear, resting his head on your shoulder. your nails met his back scratching lightly as he thrusted into you over and over again.
“faster thanos please!” you yelled out wanting more of him. he did what you said thrusting into you even quicker. he would be lying if he said you calling him his nickname didn’t turn on even more. he absolutely loved the effect you had on him.
the speed of his thrusts and the sounds of his soft whimpers in your ear was enough to send you over the edge. you were close and you knew he was too.
“‘m so close baby.” he whispered slamming into you even harder than before.
he wrapped a hand around your throat knowing how much it turned you on. you moaned louder than before at the feeling and you knew you were done for. “i’m gonna cum!” you yelled feeling your orgasm getting closer.
“that’s it baby let it out, cum all over my cock.” he said causing you to do just that. not long after he was releasing inside of you painting your insides white with one last thrust into you.
he pulled out of you before cleaning the two of you up carefully. when the two of you were dressed again you couldn’t help but laugh a little. “what?” he asked looking at you confused. “i can’t believe we just did that here.” you replied smiling big at him causing him to do the same.
“i’d do that with you anywhere!” he said causing you to lightly smack him on the arm. you rolled your eyes before giving him another quick kiss. “i love you.” he said.
“i love you too su-bong.” you replied as you felt him kiss your forehead before opening the stall door for the two of you. he grabbed your hand before heading back to the others. little did you know what was coming your way.
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⇾ be sure to checkout my masterlist if you enjoyed! any type of interaction is appreciated :,)
⇾ thank you for reading all the way through <3 so excited to be posting my first thanos fic!! i want to write for more squid game characters so pls send me requests if you have any!!! i love y’all 💝💝
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classyrbf · 3 months ago
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COME HOME! — TOJI FUSHIGURO
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SYNOPSIS...you’re afraid one day he won’t come home, leaving you in a constant state of worry and fear of what could happen especially with his family in on the line
INFO...toji fushiguro x ex assassin fem!reader, fluff with some angst, domestic relationship, megumi is readers bio kid, toji an assassin, mentions of blood, sweet ending, not proofread
OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated
i'm sorry for being gone for so long and not writing anything or even sticking to my kinktober plan, quite literally fell into a black hole of unmotivation and writing smut was not helping at all lmao
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The night was brutal, cold air striking your skin and the winds were sharp. Yet, you sat by the cracked window, your skin felt like it was on fire. Police sirens flooded the silence and the small dim lamp did its best to light up the room. With your knees tucked to your chest, you sat and watched the cars drive by, one of the streetlights flickering every now and again. Little Megumi slept soundly in his room, tucked warmly in his bed with his favorite stuffed dinosaur. You had been up for hours, waiting for Toji to come back home from his job.
You lived with worry that one day he wouldn’t show up, come back home to you and his son. What he did was dangerous, being an assassin and what not. He always brags about how he’s the best, so fast and strong, silent as a mouse that most of them don’t even get the chance. But, what if there’s someone out there who is strong enough to put up a fight? What if he gets caught? Seriously injured? That’s what makes you worry. You knew what you were getting yourself into from the moment you met him because you also used to be an assassin, but as soon as you found out you were pregnant, that lifestyle was cut short. You’d never do anything to put your son in danger.
Many talks between you Toji about changing what he does, doing something better, safer, always led to arguments. It’s like killing was the only thing he knew how to do. It’s sad to say. But you couldn’t help but love him, and worry for him, care for him. You only wanted Megumi to be safe. The job was a dangerous one. Creating enemies along the way, a target painted on your head. You just needed him to come home. Nervously biting at your nails, your eyes scanned the streets and tops of the grungy apartment buildings. You always wanted to move out of this damn city, but Toji said it’d be too obvious if you two moved somewhere nice, somewhere you couldn’t blend in. As much as you hate to admit it, he was right. You just didn’t want Megumi growing up here, turning out like you or his father. You wanted better for your son.
The rattling of the doorknob makes your head spin, jumping to your feet before even thinking. You were on full alert, hoping whoever walks in was your husband and your husband only. Your eyes narrowed, the bulky frame of Toji stumbling through the doorway, his skin pale and shining with sweat. He slammed the door behind him, groaning in pain as he dragged his feet across the floor and to the nearest chair. He didn’t look too well.
Immediately, you walked out of the living room and into the kitchen, assessing him with a worried look in your eye. “Toji, baby?” You nearly fall over when you cup his face, his nose bloody and lip busted. You don’t even notice he’s holding his side. “What the fuck happened?” You’re cupping his face, eyes scanning his finger when you see the copious amounts of blood on his hands. Lifting his shirt, you see the huge gash on his side. “Fucking hell.”
“Missed you too, sweets,” he struggles to even speak, letting out a pained sigh. “Where’s the kid?” He asks, looking at you rummaging through the cabinets for the first aid kit.
“He’s fine, sleeping. Why?” You glance over your shoulder, snatching the first aid off of the shelf. You kneel in front of him, taking the bottle of alcohol and pouring it straight onto the wound.
“Fuck!” He screams, slamming his hand on the table. “Son of a bitch!” He hisses, clenching his eyes shut. “Could’ve warned me, you know?” He breathed heavily, his chest heaving up and down.
“Would’ve been worse if I did. Answer my questions,” you demand, wiping the blood around his wound while applying pressure.
“Fucker that got me knew about you and the kid. Though…shit—thought someone else might’ve came after you two. I tried getting here as fast as I could,” he sighs. His eyes flutter shut, clenching his fists so hard the whites of his knuckles show. “Don’t worry, I killed him. Obviously.”
“Yeah, he still fucked you up pretty good though.” You shake your head, grabbing the bandage and placing it over the gash. “I told you Toji, we need to leave, find somewhere safer, better. You need to quiet this shit, okay? We got a fucking kid to look out for—”
“Mommy? Daddy?” The soft sound of Megumi’s voice made you spin. He rubs his tired eyes, clinging onto his stuffed dinosaur. “Is daddy okay? I heard him yell.”
“I’m okay, Megs.” Toji flashes a smile. “Mommy’s just helping me with something and then I’ll come tuck you back in, alright? Go back to bed.” He points back to his room.
“Daddy’s okay, baby,” you say softly. Megs just nods and tiredly shuffles back into his room. A deep sigh escapes your lips as you wrap the gauze tightly around his torso before cutting it with the scissors and tucking it under. You toss the scissors to the floor, standing back to your feet to rid your hands of his blood. This is what you were afraid of. This is what you didn’t want. You were a mother now and you knew just how cruel this world was.
You take a rag and wet it under the water before gently lifting his chin, and wiping the blood from his nose. You’ve done this too many times before, it was practically like muscle memory. Stitching yourself up, wiping the blood that seeped into your skin and now you’re doing the same for him. His hands find your waist, squeezing gently while you stand between his legs and Toji forgets about the pain for a moment. His glossy eyes look up at you and he realizes what he has. A wife, a son, a family who cares about him, loves him. You’re always so gently yet so affirmative and he’s reminded why he fell in love with you. You make up every part of him that was missing.
“I’m sorry.” His voice and raspy and delicate. “I know I scared you when I walked through the door like this.” He gently grabs your wrist, pulling your hand from his face. “Look at me, baby.” And when your eyes meet his, he can tell just how worried you are, how much you’re hiding just to seem strong. “I’m sorry.”
Tears well up in your eyes and they’re falling before you could blink them away. “I’m so scared you won’t walk through the door one day, Toji. I wait by the window, watching and listening. Looking out for our baby boy. I don’t want that day to come when you’re not here because of this stupid fucking job,” you cry, looking away from him as you sob into your hands.
His heart breaks at your cries, pulling you down into his chest despite the pain he’s in because he couldn’t care less about that right now. He soothingly rubs your back, placing a kiss on your head. “We’ll leave tomorrow. Everything. Move somewhere else. Start a new life. I fucking promise you. I should’ve listened to you before and I’m so sorry.” His voice shakes with each word. “You don’t know how scared I was to walk in here thinking something might’ve happened to you and Megs. Just thinking about that…fuck…I can’t imagine.” He shakes his head. You cling onto him, holding him tightly. “I love you so fucking much.”
“I love you too,” you sniffle. Lifting your head, you gently caress his cheek with the pad of your thumb, searching his eyes and you see is sadness and sincerity. “Tomorrow. Promise?”
“I promise, baby. Me, you, and the kid. We’ll all get outta here. Go somewhere nice. Maybe a beach, watch him play in the sand?” Toji chuckles. You nod, laughing. “There’s that smile,” he says.
“Daddy?” The little patters of Megumi’s feet make their way into the kitchen. “Are you still gonna tuck me in?” He pouts.
Toji looks at you and then at his son. You hop off of his lap and he stands up as if nothing is wrong, but still walking with a slight limp and his hand holding his side. “Come here, kid.” He scoops him up with arm like he weighed nothing. “How about you sleep with me and mommy tonight, huh?” He reaches to ruffle Megumi’s hair. You walk over to the both of them, your chest feeling warm, a smile adorning your face. Megumi leans his head on Toji’s shoulder, quickly shutting his eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
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ventismacchiato · 1 month ago
Text
16 stuck with you — im so obsessed with your ex !
scaramouche x gender neutral reader
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“It’s finally happening,” Yae sighs with a gleam in her eye, practically floating into the dorms. She sits next to Scara on the couch, her excitement palpable. “The three mystery guests are arriving! Finally, some drama!”
“I feel like there’s been enough drama,” Aether mutters.
“This will take the cake,” Yae giggles, clearly delighting in the upcoming chaos. “Trust me.”
“I think I’ll just stay here then,” Scara mutters, sinking deeper into the couch, his arms crossed tightly as he tries to resist the inevitable.
“Not so fast,” Yae says, “I need you there, especially.”
“She’s scaring me,” Yoimiya pipes up with a nervous laugh, inching her way toward the bedrooms, clearly trying to make a quick exit.
“Come on, enough chitchat,” Yae declares, standing up. She grabs Scara by the shoulder and yanks him up off the couch, practically dragging him by his feet. “I think the guests are situated.”
As you all make your way down to the beach and head toward the kitchens, you can't shake the uneasy feeling sitting in your chest. You’d known guests were going to join the main lot for the show, but no one ever told you who they could be.
“Oh my god, is that Diluc?” Lumine pipes up as Childe begins to fix his unkempt hair in response.
“Oh, hell no,” Scara mutters, his face immediately twisting with disgust as he takes one look at the scene in front of him. His instinct is to turn and leave, but Yae grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him forward, much to his annoyance.
“Is that my ex?” you say in disbelief, glancing at the table. His burgundy hair was recognizable even from how far you were standing. At the same time, everyone in Delusion turns to you, their eyes wide.
“Since when did you have an ex?” Aether asks, genuinely curious. Even Scara looks over at you now, his gaze lingering a little longer than you expected.
“Heizou and I had... a thing for a while,” you murmur, suddenly feeling awkward. “It was more of a situationship. How did you find out, Yae?”
“Research, baby,” Yae says smugly, clearly enjoying this too much.
“What kind of research?” you ask, eyebrow raised.
“Xiao. We asked Xiao.”
“She loves to gossip,” Xiao adds offhandedly, giving a shrug that seems almost apologetic.
“This is great,” Yae exclaims, her eyes lighting up as if she’s already imagining the chaos. “Let’s have some jealousy arcs!”
“I need to drown, I need to drown right now,” Scara mutters in exasperation, visibly agitated. He pulls his arm away from Yae’s grasp. “Please, just let me go.”
Even you’ve never seen him that agitated around you.
“Hush, it won’t be that bad,” Yae says, pulling him along  like a petulant child despite his protests. The rest of the group follows hesitantly behind.
The tension in the air thickens as the group walks into the dining area. The three figures sitting at the table come into full view. Mona is sitting nearest to the door, her posture more relaxed than you would have expected, while Heizou is across her, looking just a bit too calm for comfort.
Her eyes immediately fall on Scara, and she offers him a gentle smile. It’s sincere but carries a hint of hesitation.
“Scara,” Mona begins softly, her voice almost tender. “It’s been a long time since we’ve met, hasn’t it?”
It’s clear she’s trying to be civil, maybe even friendly, but Scara is having none of it.
“Yeah, not long enough,” Scara mutters as Yae pushes him into the chair beside her.
Meanwhile, you sit yourself next to Heizou, which is coincidentally also right across from Scara. Heizou looks as unbothered as ever, though you notice how his gaze flicks between you and Scara. 
“So... long time no see,” Heizou says, speaking in a neutral tone, trying to ease the tension in the room. He flashes one of his smiles, pretending not to care about the undercurrent of discomfort between everyone. “How have things been? You know, outside of... whatever this is.”
You can’t help but chuckle at how easily you slip back into conversation with him. You can’t help but notice the way he leans just a little too close when he says that last part, like he’s testing the waters. 
“Things have been fine,” you reply, your tone playful, “And you?”
“I'm doing better now,” he smiles, his eyes trailing you for a second. You feel your ears burn under his gaze.
Meanwhile, Childe, who’s been awkwardly sitting beside Diluc perks up, “Hey, uh, I like your music,” Childe says, his voice unexpectedly shy as he glances over at Diluc.
Diluc, who’s normally a man of few words, gives a rare smile, his expression softening. “Thank you,” he replies in his low, gentle voice, making Childe shift in his seat.
“So... uh, you like being an idol?” Childe continues, his words tripping over themselves in an effort to keep the conversation going.
Aether, sitting next to him, raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by the sudden shift in Childe’s usual extroverted self. “Wow, you’re really wooing him, huh?”
“Shut up!” Childe hisses, elbowing Aether in the ribs, his face flushed. “I’m trying!”
୨୧✧
The rest of breakfast goes on in a strained silence. Scara refuses to even glance at Mona, his arms crossed tightly and his eyes fixed on his plate. He’s not engaging with anyone. 
On the other hand, you and Heizou are catching up, your easy back-and-forth making the tension at the table feel a little less suffocating. So much so you don’t even realize Scara’s listening in on it.
Heizou, with his usual calm smile, picked up a blueberry tart and slid it across the table toward you. “I remember you really liked these,” he said, his voice warm and casual. “So, I asked them to bring some for you.”
Scara, who had been uncharacteristically quiet all morning, suddenly spoke up. His voice was flat, and his gaze remained fixed on his plate. “Yn doesn’t like blueberries.”
The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the room fell silent. Every eye turned toward Scara, the unexpected interruption making the tension in the air feel even heavier. Scara, clearly aware of all the attention, slowly lifted his eyes, his expression unreadable.
Heizou’s polite smile didn’t falter, but there was a hint of confusion in his tone. “Yes, they do. I used to gift them to them during our trainee days, right?”
He looked at you, his eyes searching for confirmation. But you, suddenly feeling like the weight of the room was on you, couldn’t meet his gaze. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat and looked down at the tart in your hands.
“Actually,” you said, sheepish, “I’m not very fond of blueberries.”
Heizou blinked, clearly surprised, and for the first time, his smile faltered. “...Oh.”
Scara, who’d been content to stay silent up until now, couldn’t help the smug grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “Told you.”
“And why do you care?” Heizou asks, raising a brow at Scara.
Scara, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, looked entirely unbothered. “I don’t want to see them gag at the dinner table,” he said dryly, glancing at Heizou for the first time. “I’m already losing my appetite sitting across from you.”
The table fell silent again, the weight of Scara’s words hanging heavy in the air. You couldn’t help but notice the way Heizou’s smile tightened, as though his polite exterior was beginning to crack. He leaned back, trying to brush it off, but you could see the slight strain in his shoulders from the tension Scara’s jab had caused.
“…Whatever,” Heizou muttered, though you could tell Scara had bothered him, turning back to you. “What did you do with all the tarts I gave you then?”
“I gave them to Venti,” you admitted, still feeling a little awkward.
Venti, ever the enthusiastic one, raised his hand with a mouthful of tart. “They were good!”
For a moment, the tension in the room dissolved into awkward chuckles, but you could feel the remnants of discomfort still lingering. You couldn’t ignore seeing the flash of hurt in Heizou’s eyes upon realizing you didn’t enjoy his gifts. That man had bought you a lot of blueberry related snacks. 
On the other hand, Scara seemed less tense after his squabble with Heizou. 
The awkwardness lingered, but before anyone could say anything further, Mona, who had been quietly watching the scene unfold, spoke up. “Yn, I also don’t like blueberries that much.”
Scara scooped his plate forward, pushing his untouched blueberries onto Mona’s plate. Without a word, he walked out of the room, leaving a trail of silence in his wake as everyone wrapped up their breakfast.
Mona remained unfazed by the small act of defiance, simply getting up from the table and following suit.
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After breakfast, Yae gathered everyone around outside with her usual enthusiastic flair. Well, gathered might be too generous a term since she practically herded you all together. She had to ask the film crew to chase down Scara who was surprisingly athletic when it came to escaping Yae’s stupid games. Well, game was a strong word for whatever this was. It was all rigged from the start, Yae wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to get you and Scara paired with your exes on live television. 
"Could you at least pretend to smile?" Yae sighed, pointing to her lips in an attempt to show him as Scara leaned back, clearly not interested in playing along.
"No," Scara deadpanned, scooting further away from Mona.
“Fine, if you won’t sit by her, at least go sit by Yn,” Yae quipped, clearly amused at his indifference.
Surprisingly, Scara did exactly that, stepping over to your side. Seems he found you more tolerable than her. 
Yae clapped her hands, clearly pleased with herself, and shot a thumbs-up toward the film crew. "Alright, are we all set?" she asked, the microphone in her hand now buzzing with static. "Okay, contestants!" Her voice rang out, louder than before, making everyone jump a little. "We’ll have a quick challenge to see which two couples get to go on a date at Paradise's carnival!”
She lowered the mic, cupping it with her palm and muttering, “Obviously, we need those four to win this,” gesturing at you, Scara, Heizou, and Mona. She paused before continuing with a sigh. “But I’ll get everyone else catering to make up for it.”
"I keep getting my hopes up and forgetting this is all rigged," Childe moaned dramatically from the sidelines, earning a laugh from Diluc, who patted him on the back.
Yae rolled her eyes but wasn’t fazed. She raised the mic again, her voice returning to its enthusiastic pitch. “Alright, time for a little competition to earn your prize! You guys are going to participate in a quick trivia game about each other!"
You didn’t want to win this, especially not when it involved a fake date, but it was becoming clear there was no escaping it.
The teams were set up, and you ended up paired with Heizou, while Scara was stuck with Mona. Yae started her rounds, and the questions were as ridiculous as you expected. It wasn’t a serious trivia challenge, but that didn’t make it any less awkward whenever it was your turn. Everyone else was having fun answering, unlike you. You should’ve known most of the answers about Heizou, but your mind was surprisingly blank on all the details you used to remember.
“Yn, what’s the name of Heizou’s first album?” Yae asked. 
You blinked, then grimaced. “Oooh, can I get a new question?” you asked, trying to deflect.
“It’s called After Hours,” Yae instructed, her voice a little too chipper. "Just say that, and we'll move on."
You hesitated, then awkwardly repeated, “After Hours.”
“Correct!” Yae singsonged, moving on without missing a beat.
You shot Heizou with a sheepish look. “Sorry. I swear I did listen to your album... it just... slipped my mind.”
Heizou chuckled, though there was a hint of hesitation in his smile. “It’s fine. Honestly, I wouldn’t have remembered the title of yours either if I didn’t see it sitting on my shelf every day.”
You blinked, surprised. “You bought my album?”
Heizou shrugged casually. “Yeah, why? Did you not buy mine?”
You pause, “I was broke when I first debuted,” you awkwardly reply, suddenly feeling rather guilty. 
“Don’t worry about it,” Heizou answers, looking the other way. 
Meanwhile, Scara was making a game out of trying to tank his answers, but Yae didn’t even bat an eye. She was too busy setting up the drama.
“Now, Scara, what’s Mona’s stage name?” Yae asked, shooting him a smile. 
Scara barely looked up, “Stardust?” he says with a bored tone, flicking his gaze to the ceiling like he couldn’t care less.
“Correct!” Yae cheered, almost too enthusiastically.
Lumine, sitting nearby, raised an eyebrow. “Won’t people know this is fake? It’s Astra, isn’t it?” she pipes up, “That wasn’t even close.”
Yae waved her hand dismissively. “We’ll voiceover the correct answers later. Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay, bonus points for anyone who gets this!” Yae announced with a sly grin. “If any of your four, apart from Scara, can answer this right, I’ll cut your awkward date short on the island.” Yae adds, looking at you, clearly not expecting you too.
“What was Scara going to originally name his debut album?” She asks, grinning.
“How the hell are we supposed to know that?” Mona muttered, glancing at you, only to be interrupted by your sudden answer.
“Meet Me at Midnight,” you said, almost instinctively, before you even realized what you’d said.
Yae’s eyes widened, a look of disappointment on her face. “That’s correct!” she gasped, then immediately slapped a hand to her forehead. “Wait, why did I bet on that one?”
Scara turned to look at you, genuinely surprised.
“How do you know that but not my debut album?” Heizou asks with a surprised laugh.
You shrugged, trying to play it off. “I remember because I told him it was a terrible name for an album,” you said, looking at Scara. “Now it’s just called Midnights.”
“It was an alright name,” Scara mumbles to himself.
“Sure it was.”
Yae, already over it, clapped her hands with exaggerated enthusiasm. “And that wraps up our trivia game!” She paused for dramatic effect. “The top four contestants are... Yn, Scaramouche, Mona, and Heizou!” She feigns a gasp as everyone rolls their eyes, “What a twist! You four will be off to the island soon for a double date!”
As everyone else started discussing what food to get Yae to cater, you could feel the weight of your fate hanging over you.
୨୧✧
After the game, everyone else heads back to the dorms for some free time, while the four of you are left to awkwardly prepare for your double date. You couldn’t think of anything more awkward as Yae explained how you guys would be spending the day at the carnival on Paradise. Just great.
Once everyone is gathered outside, Jean approaches with a clipboard in hand.
“So, we need to figure out if you four want to take the helicopter or the boat with the crew to the island,” Jean announces, his voice carrying her usual professional tone, unlike Yae who was having a little too much fun. 
Your heart sinks at the mention of the helicopter. You try to act casual, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, but you feel your stomach knot. Scara notices the subtle change in your demeanor.
Heizou speaks up with an excited grin. “Wouldn’t the helicopter be a nicer view? Plus, it’s quicker.”
Mona, standing beside him, nods in agreement, her smile sweet and sincere. “I think the helicopter would be lovely,” she says, her eyes flicking toward Scara. It’s a small, calculated glance. You can’t help but feel a pang of discomfort.
You force yourself to keep a neutral expression, trying not to give away how uncomfortable you feel. You hate flying. The last time you were in a helicopter, you barely made it through without a panic attack. And Scara had been there to witness it. You don’t want to relive that embarrassing moment, especially not with Heizou and Mona around.
Clearing your throat, you try to sound casual, although your voice betrays you with a slight tremor. “I’ll just go on the boat, if that’s okay,” you say, not looking at anyone directly. There. Perfectly played. Totally.
Heizou gives you an amused look. “Oh? Your loss,” he says with a grin, his tone light and teasing. “The helicopter’s way more scenic.”
But then, to your surprise, Scara speaks up, his voice flat as always. “I’ll take the boat too,” he mutters, already turning away as if the conversation had never mattered to him. He starts walking toward the dock without another word.
You blink, taken aback. Mona looks at Scara in surprise, clearly expecting him to choose the faster, more fun option. But Scara just keeps walking, his footsteps heavy with disinterest. He doesn’t look back. 
Jean shrugs, unfazed. “Alright then. We’ll all meet at the carnival on the other island.” She gestures for the crew to follow you two, and the tension seems to dissipate as everyone moves on to their respective transport.
You follow without saying anything, still processing Scara’s response. It wasn’t like he had to take the boat. He could’ve gone with Mona. And yet, here he was, going with you.
Once aboard the boat, the sunlight shimmers across the water, making everything feel a little more serene. The boat rocks gently beneath your feet, and you settle in, stealing glances at Scara, who’s staring out at the horizon with his usual unreadable expression. His posture, though, seems stiffer than usual.
“Thanks for coming on the boat,” you say, breaking the silence. Your voice sounds too loud against the stillness of the water, and for a moment, you regret even saying it. The awkwardness of it hangs between you like an unwanted presence.
Scara doesn’t answer immediately. His eyes stay fixed on the water, but after a few beats, he finally shrugs. “Didn’t wanna sit next to Mona,” he mutters lowly, as if the answer is self-explanatory.
“Alright,” you reply, though the simple response feels like it doesn’t quite cover the weight of the situation. But still, you can’t ignore the fact that he chose to sit with you instead of her. “But still.”
You had been disappointed when Heizou boarded the helicopter without you, but you didn’t blame him. Things had been rather awkward since breakfast, and there was no way to get around it.
Scara shifts in his seat, his eyes flicking toward the water as he says, “Whatever. It’s fine. You don’t have to thank for shit like this.” His voice is as nonchalant as ever, but you can sense there’s more to it. You don’t push it though, choosing to remain quiet, happy just to have the ground beneath your feet. After all, not dangling thousands of feet in the air is a small victory.
୨୧✧
You arrive a bit later than Heizou and Mona, who are already waiting for you both on the island, standing near the carnival entrance.
“Alright, Yae and I will be on the boat while you four go on your date, in your ears,” Jean explains, skimming through what was on her clipboard. “Just go explore the carnival together, and please, try to keep it civil.” Her gaze lingers on Heizou and Scara as she says that last part.
“Actually, I think they’re adding some good drama,” Yae whispers to Jean, her voice carrying a playful note.
“There’s a line between drama and full on fighting,” Jean sighs, clearly unamused.
Once the film crew is situated, Yae starts her spiel again, her voice ringing out through a mic.
“Alright, the winning pairs have arrived and will be having their double date here at Paradise's carnival!” Yae says enthusiastically. “You four must stick together as you explore the attractions! No running off now! Have fun!” she singsongs.
“Where to first?” Heizou hums, his eyes scanning the map board in front of you all.
“Maybe some games?” Mona suggests with a bright smile.
“Sure,” you reply, even though the idea of spending the day with your ex and Scara on a date makes your stomach twist in awkward knots. Scara, as usual, hangs back, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he follows behind the group with no real enthusiasm. You don’t blame him.
The smell of buttered popcorn and sugary cotton candy drifts through the air as you walk through the carnival. The place is mostly empty, though you suspect the company rented the space out just for you all. It’s quiet in a way that almost feels like a trap.
“This one looks fun,” you say, pointing to a ring toss game in front of you.
“Would you like to win something for your date?” The man working the booth asks Heizou, waving some rings around.
Heizou grins, catching your eye. “Sure, which plush is catching your eye, Yn?”
You glance at the display and point to a penguin plush. “I guess the penguin’s pretty cute.”
“Five tries,” the worker explains, handing Heizou the rings, “Three to win.”
Heizou takes the rings and tosses the first one, missing by a wide margin. One miss. Two miss. Three miss. Four miss. Five... another miss. Heizou manages to miss every single one, which, frankly, seems impressive in its own right. You start to wonder if the game is rigged.
Scara, who had been watching with mild amusement, can’t help but chuckle at Heizou’s pathetic attempts. Mona pats him on the back sympathetically, equally entertained.
“Sorry, Yn,” Heizou says with a sheepish grin, clearly embarrassed.
“It’s fine,” you say, rubbing him awkwardly on the shoulder.
“How about you?” The worker asks, nodding towards Scara. “Want to try and win your pretty lady something?”
“Win me the cat plush,” Mona says, folding her arms with a smirk as she glances over at Scara.
Scara rolls his eyes but takes the rings with a lazy flick of his wrist. His first throw barely makes it off his hand, landing miles away from the bottles.
“Oh no. I lost,” he says in his usual monotone voice, clearly throwing the game on purpose.
Even so, Heizou seizes the opportunity to provoke Scara. “See? You’re no better than me,” he teases, his voice light.
Scara gives him a glare as he raises his hand again. “Actually, I’ll take another round.”
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. He easily lands all five rings around the bottles. The worker blinks, clearly surprised.
The man reaches for the cat plush Mona had pointed to earlier, but Scara interrupts.
“That one.” He points to the penguin plush you had chosen earlier. His voice is flat, but you wonder if he’s doing it to spite you.
Instead he grabs the penguin and tosses it over to you without a word.
“At least one of us can actually win a plush,” he says, smirking at Heizou before walking off towards the next stall. Mona sighs and follows him.
You look down at the penguin in your hands, still processing what just happened. He’d won, but he’d also given it to you. 
Every game after that is a repeat of the same pattern: Heizou trying (and failing) to win, and Scara effortlessly collecting plushies. By the time you leave the stall, you’re carrying an absurdly large pile of stuffed animals. You’re forced to hand them off to one of the cameramen just to be able to walk around. You almost feel guilty, offering Mona the cat plush she’d wanted earlier.
Soon, the date devolves into nothing more than Heizou and Scara making bets with each other as you and Mona trail behind, quietly watching them one-up each other in a strange unspoken rivalry. 
“Hey,” Mona says, nudging you gently. “Let’s sneak away.” She nods towards the rides you haven’t touched yet. “You were eyeing the swings.”
You look over at Heizou and Scara, who are too absorbed in their competition to notice anything else. The worker at the fishing game is giving them a look of horror as they try to fish rubber ducks out of a tiny pool.
“You know what?” you say, relieved by the chance for a break. “Yeah, let’s go.”
She grabs your hand and tugs you along toward the swings, placing the cat plush between you two as you hop onto the ride.
As the swings start to rise, you glance over at Mona. She’s screaming with excitement. You can’t help but smile at her, but the smile quickly fades as you find yourself wondering about something. What happened between her and Scara? You know the basic gist of it from what your fans post on social media and from what gossip Xiao has passed on to you, but the Mona you’re seeing now feels oddly different from the one who’d dated Scara.
The ride slows, and you look down to see Heizou and Scara finally noticing that you’ve gone missing. Scara looks up, and you and Mona wave at him as the ride speeds past.
Once you’re off the ride, you suggest grabbing some snacks before Heizou and Scara catch up.
“Chocolate churros sound good?” you ask, already feeling the weight of the strange tension between the group. Mona agrees, walking up to the food stall to ask for a few.
You find a bench to settle on as you wait, the stillness between you and Mona only slightly alleviated by the warmth of the churros.
“Thanks for dragging me away,” you say, looking over at her. “I had fun.”
“No problem,” Mona hums, her voice light as she takes a bite. “Besides, I wanted to check out the rides too. And bonus, got to make Scara upset.”
You glance down at the churros at that, having the urge to ask her about what really went down between her and Scara. But it isn’t quite your place to ask. 
Your train of thought is interrupted when Mona reaches out, brushing some chocolate off your lips.
“You got something…” she murmurs, her face much closer to yours than you expected.
You blink, caught off guard by how close she’s sitting to you. She seems so casual about it, but you start to wonder if she has a different intention than just being friendly.
“Huh?” you murmur, turning towards her.
“Shh,” she whispers, her palm caressing your cheek as she pulls her hand back. “He’s watching.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Heizou and Scara making their way toward you. Scara’s gaze is unreadable, but his stare is piercing.
“Just wanted to make him jealous,” Mona smiles mischievously, her hand gently pinching your cheek.
You try to mask the surprise that rises in you as you look up at Scara. His expression remains neutral, but there’s something unsettling about the way he’s staring. Mona seems to notice too.
“Sorry for abandoning you guys,” Heizou apologizes, looking sheepish as you hand him your extra churro. “Got too caught up in competition.”
Scara says nothing. He doesn’t seem at all sorry for leaving you both. He takes the seat next to you, not Mona, who’s holding out a churro for him. His eyes flicker over to her before settling back on you.
“We should all ride something together before we leave,” you suggest, trying to shake off the tension. “How about a coaster?”
“Sure,” Heizou hums, though you can hear the hesitation in his voice.
Scara shrugs, nonchalant as always. “Whatever.”
The rest of the night drifts by in a blur of rides and laughter, though it’s hard to tell just how much fun Scara’s actually having. He never fully cracks a smile, his face as unreadable as ever, but there’s something about the way his posture relaxes just slightly on the rollercoaster that makes you think he’s enjoying it at least a little bit. Heizou, on the other hand, is the opposite and makes it known how much fun he’s having. He’s as animated as ever as he throws flirty comments your way between rides. 
The weirdness from earlier fades between you and Heizou, especially as he ends up sitting next to you on every ride, his easy smile gradually putting you at ease. 
But Scara? He’s hard to read. He follows along without complaint, occasionally joining in on the banter between you and Heizou, but when he’s not pulling one of his usual stony expressions he’s somewhere else. You catch him staring off into the distance as the carnival lights flicker in the fading sunset, his gaze fixed on something beyond you. It’s moments like these that make you wonder what’s really going on in that head of his. Something you never used to care about before.
Before you know it, the night sky has fully taken over, the bright carnival lights casting long shadows behind you. You pause for a moment, just long enough to breathe in the cool air, the faint smell of popcorn and sweets still lingering in the breeze. 
Mona and Heizou end up walking ahead, chatting about something or the other. Meanwhile, Scara trails along beside you. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t walk ahead either. You almost feel like you should say something, if only to break the silence, but you’re not sure how to approach it.
“Thanks for the plushies, by the way,” you pipe up, the words feeling almost too casual, but you don’t know what else to say. Your hand instinctively grips one of the stuffed animals, the penguin that Scara had won for you. You’d given the rest to the crew, but you wanted to hold onto this one. The soft plush feels comforting against your palm. 
Scara doesn’t immediately respond. You can feel his eyes on you for a brief second, before he looks back down at the ground, his expression unreadable. “No need,” he says in his usual flat tone, like it’s no big deal.
“Didn’t think I’d see you giving out prizes, Scara,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them. You try to make it sound lighthearted, but your voice catches a little on the last word. “You seemed pretty determined to win... for Mona.”
“It wasn’t for her,” he immediately says. But then, after a beat, he answers, his voice a little softer than usual, “I just didn’t want to hear Heizou gloat.”
“Besides,” he adds, eyeing the plush in your hand, “it looks better with you.” His steps slow, just slightly, and for a moment you think he’s about to say something else, but then he just keeps walking towards the dock.
You stand there for a second, a little caught off guard by his words. The air between you two feels charged. He said it so nonchalantly, like it didn’t matter, but there was something in the way he said it that made you wonder if it did.
With a small sigh, you hurry to catch up with him. As you walk alongside him, you can’t help but glance at the penguin plush in your hand, still unsure of what to make of this strange, quiet moment between you.
୨୧✧
Since you and Scara had chosen to go by boat you two had to wait a while longer for it to arrive. Mona and Heizou were already off to the island as you stood by the beach. You look over and see Scara sitting by himself.
He was sitting by the edge of the dock, legs dangling just above the water, his posture tense as he stared out at the horizon with a detached sort of focus.  
You weren’t stupid, you knew he was trying to be alone. But with the way he’d been acting off all day and was now sitting out here by himself you felt your chest twist with something. Something that made you carry your feet over to him. 
You hesitated for a moment, watching the way the wind tousled his hair and how he drew circles in the water with his feet.
"Scara," you called out, your voice quiet.
He didn’t respond.
You sighed, stepping closer. "Kuni," you tried again. 
This time, he turned his head, his eyes flicking toward you, just enough to acknowledge your presence. He said nothing, but he scooted over on the small dock.
You hesitated for a second before taking a few steps and sitting next to him at the edge of the dock. The tension between you two was still thick and unresolved.
“So…” you began, trying to break the silence with casual ease. “It’s weird with our exes, huh?”
He let out a low, almost inaudible sigh, his eyes returning to the water. “Yeah.” His voice was flat. He was frustrated, whether it was with Mona, with Heizou, you, or himself, you couldn’t tell, but you figured it was a mix of all of it. 
You watched him for a moment, then took a breath, deciding to ask something that had been nagging at you since breakfast. “How do you remember the blueberry thing?” you asked, eyes narrowed in curiosity.
Scara’s gaze flicked to you again, and this time, he raised an eyebrow, as if the answer was obvious. “Why wouldn’t I remember?”
His tone was casual, but there was a sharpness to it that made your chest tighten slightly. You’d never really considered that all the times you’d argued, all those little details, would stick with him over the years. 
The silence stretched between you two, and you looked down, finally noticing the cigarette hanging loosely from his fingers.
“I thought you quit,” you said, offhandedly, trying to push the knot in your chest aside.
He didn’t even glance at you. “Don’t worry, I did,” he muttered, voice as indifferent as always. “I just carry one around.” He doesn’t question how you know about him quitting.
You were unsure if you should press further, so instead you just hummed in acknowledgment. You’re about to stand up and leave when Scara’s voice breaks through the quiet once more with a question of his own.
“So, you and Heizou?” he asks. 
“Yeah, a long time ago,” you say, your tone more guarded than you intended. You didn’t think he’d ever cared about it. Then again, maybe he was just being nosy, as usual.
“Why didn’t you date him?” Scara asked, his eyes still trained on the water, watching the waves as they lapped lazily at his feet. He absentmindedly twirled the cigarette between his fingers, but you could feel his attention on you. You always could.
“I don’t know," you said after a long pause, your voice quieter. Your throat tightened. You hadn’t thought about Heizou in a long time. "He switched companies, and then... I debuted." You shrugged slightly, trying to make the words sound casual. “No time, or whatever.” You hated how unconvincing that sounded, but there it was.
Scara didn’t look at you, but you could feel his gaze. Then, after a moment, he said something that made your throat tighten even more.
“You have the time now, don’t you?”
You blinked at the question. For a few seconds, you didn’t answer. Three years had passed since then. Three years of nothing. You could have found the time. You could have sent a message or tried to find him after a concert, maybe even crossed paths at some industry event. You could have tried. But instead, you were caught up in everything that had come after…you’d been occupied with Scara. 
You spared a glance towards him, but he wasn’t looking at you. He never looked at you when the questions got too close to something real. He was staring at the water, still twirling the cigarette between his fingers, but there was an unreadable expression in his face.
“I was occupied, to be honest,” you said, your voice unsteady.
He scoffed, “With what? Your other ten exes I don’t know about?”
“With you.”
There was a brief, charged silence. The weight of your words hung in the air, and you didn’t even understand what you meant. He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he continued twirling the cigarette, his fingers moving mechanically. But you could feel his gaze shift towards you, sharper now. The unreadable expression on his face faltered just for a moment, but it was gone before you could place it.
Finally, he huffed out a breath, leaning back slightly, “Whatever. Not my problem,” he glances at you, “Can’t blame me for that.”
"Yeah, sure." You paused, your voice softer now, tinged with frustration and something else you couldn’t quite name, “But arguing does take up a lot of time.”
He didn’t answer right away. What was there to say? You could feel the unspoken weight of the past between you two, the years of frustration, of unspoken words. 
All of the time that had slipped away, together but apart.
But instead, he just exhaled sharply, pulling himself to his feet with a lazy, practiced motion. He tucks his unlit cigarette away as he reaches his palm towards you. He hoists you up with ease, and you stumble a bit on the dock. His other arm grabs your waist to steady you before letting go, his touch lingering for a moment longer than he needed to.
“The boat’s here,” he murmurs, eyeing you. 
You stare at his hand, your waist still warm from the brief contact, and then at the boat approaching in the distance. The night is settling in, the world around you dimming as the sky deepens to purple and dark blue. The quiet between you is thick, like the air before a storm, and for a moment, you can’t tell if you’re relieved or frustrated that he’s not saying anything else.
You swallow, a mix of something bitter and sweet twisting in your chest. “Yeah. Guess we should go.”
But as he walks, his pace a little faster than before, you catch the faintest of glances over his shoulder. His gaze meets yours for a fleeting second, almost like he wants to say something but stops himself. 
And just like that, he’s gone, stepping onto the boat with the same indifference he always carries.
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[00:00:00] GUEST INTERVIEW TAKE ONE
YAE: What's your name, my beautiful queen?
JEAN: Oh God, cut!
[00:00:03] GUEST INTERVIEW TAKE TWO
YAE: [SIGHS] What's your name?
MONA: [LAUGHS] It's Mona! You all know me.
JEAN: How has your first week on the island been?
MONA: Honestly, weird. Scaramouche has been giving me the nastiest side eye but I still want him to at least acknowledge me, and Y/N is so socially awkward it kind of hurts and—
YAE: Haha, so funny! [PAINED LAUGH] What about a good thing?
YAE: [WHISPERS] This isn't a good look for you, Mona.
MONA, STILL TALKING: - and you know, Fischl is beautiful, but how am I supposed to talk to her? I know I'm a bad bitch, but I can't fumble this one. It'll be so bad for my image and-oh, sorry, did you ask me something?
JEAN: What's... what's a good thing about your first week here. [SOUNDS PAINED]
MONA: Oh! Getting to tan. I'm so pale being inside all day as an idol, it's nice to get some sun. [SMILES]
YAE: Cut!
[00:00:00] POST DOUBLE DATE INTERVIEW
YAE: So, how are you feeling about our guests?
YN: You are an evil woman for bringing them here.
YAE: [GIGGLES] Right? I’m so good at this.
YN: Seeing Heizou was a little awkward, but I think we’re okay now?
YAE: Any sparks flying? 
YN: I’m not sure, I don’t think so.
YAE: And what are your thoughts on Mona?
YN: Well, she was nice…?
YAE: [RAISES A BROW AND GESTURES FOR YOU TO CONTINUE]
YN: Well, she was nice on the date. But looking back I think she was just trying to get a reaction out of Scara [SIGHS] I still had fun though.
YAE: I see all those plushies your not date won for you [WIGGLES HER EYEBROWS SUGGESTIVELY] That was romantic, right?
YN: [WAVES HER OFF] He was just competing with Heizou!
YAE: [GROANS LOUDLY] 
JEAN: Don’t mind her–
LISA: [ALSO GROANING BEHIND THE CAMERA]
YN: Archons, sorry. 
YAE: Yeah, you should be. Open your eyes. 
YN: They’re open I swear! [PUTS HANDS UP]
YAE: Hmph. CUT!
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stuck with you!
masterlist — prev | next
btw chapter eleven is when yn mentions they don’t like blueberries, told ya it would come back (and sorry again if u actually like them, replace it with a fruit u hate)
also typo slide 27 it’s supposed to say yn weverse update and i think i put the wrong year for a few chapters oops
me tryna figure out how to do backstory: twitter thread! more scaramona backstory next chapter so be patient xx
i cudnt fit the written text below pic in this as much so make sure u read all the written parts!
also scara only saying his body count after yn shows interest i know what u r
pls comment or send me an ask if u enjoyed i need motivation 🤗
comment on the MASTERLIST if i can use ur user as a fan in the au!
notes — wow 3 updates in one month merry christmas also btl easter egg who caught that
synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!
taglist — @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @flowerypesky @creammpuff @boxdisappeared @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic @reivelmin @animeobsessed56 @femaholicc @vi0let-writes @izayumi-chan @aloflapse @migorengeaterrr
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dilf-hunter-fantasies · 6 days ago
Note
I was wondering if you'd write anything about Joel and free use?
Love your account babe💗
thank you so much babe, i loved this idea! i hope you enjoy my take on it. i was fantasizing about...
renting a room from joel miller and striking a deal to lower your rent. 
3.5k words 🍒warnings: explicit smut, no outbreak au, age gap (reader in college), female reader, brief mention of f masturbation, free use!!, size kink, pussy pronouns, unprotected piv, use of: sweetheart, darlin' 
click here for more of my writing
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So you end up short on options for housing after breaking up with your ex. You know it seems weird to be a young woman willing to rent a room from an older man who is …well in all versions you spin it…a total stranger. But, your aunt swears he’s a good guy. 
She used to live in his neighborhood, knew his daughter, figured he has the extra room and put you in touch. And all things considered, she hasn’t led you astray. I mean, he hasn’t murdered you. 
Okay, it’s not that bad. He doesn’t give off murder vibes either. More like…grumpy single man vibes. But that works out for your arrangement. You’re both pretty quiet and you keep to yourselves. And he’s not too bad to look at. You catch yourself straddling a line between not being the creep yourself and just wanting to get to know him a little bit. 
The real problem has nothing to do with him and everything to do with you. Well with your bank account. You’ve been bleeding your measly savings trying to keep up with life and the job you have isn’t really enough to live off of. It was a dream to find a hybrid schedule and work for a non-profit with a mission that matters to you. But it doesn’t pay for shit. 
It’s not like Joel’s overcharging you or anything either. Nothing is affordable. 
And now you’re on your last legs. If you can’t keep this together you’ll have to pack it up and crawl home to your family? Not an option. It’s not like you haven’t been applying for other jobs either. But you either don’t hear back or the schedule won’t work with your classes. 
So here you are. Pacing back and forth in your sparsely decorated room. Between your bed and your desk, wearing a groove into the carpet, chewing on your fingers and obsessively checking your phone to see if your sage friends have any better advice. 
They don’t. 
Well, they suggested selling feet pics online, but even if that could be lucrative—it doesn’t get you the money to spend by tomorrow. You toss yourself onto your bed, exasperated. Last resort. You’re gonna have to be honest. 
It takes a long time to gather the mental courage. You stare at your ceiling for so long your eyes blur. You can hear Joel in the kitchen and with a deep breath you force yourself up, dragging your feet down the hallway until you see him. 
The kitchen is warm, whatever he’d made for dinner earlier smells good. So good it makes your stomach growl, announcing your presence in the doorway. The sound makes you grimace—for a split second you’re tempted to hide. To run back to your room and pretend like there won’t be any consequences if you just don’t bring it up. Ever. 
Too late. He shuts the dishwasher with a loud click and turns, his sharp brown eyes meeting yours. You immediately regret this idea. Your feel like you’re sinking into the floor. You don’t know how long you’ve been staring at him now. 
“Hey,” he says gruffly, his voice low and even. He turns back away from you, putting leftovers in the fridge, like it’s no big deal you’ve been standing there silently like a weirdo. “You need something?” 
Your throat is suddenly so dry, you can barely unstick your tongue to speak. “Yeah…uh, can I talk to you for a second?” 
Joel pauses mid-motion, before shoving the last container onto the shelf and letting the fridge door shut, trapping you in the silence together. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks toward you. The way his shirt stretches across his shoulders makes you nervous for reasons you don’t want to analyze right now. 
“Sure.” 
You shift your weight from one foot to the other, your hands twisting in front of you like they’re trying to strangle each other. His eyes flick down to the motion, and you force yourself to stop. 
“So, uh…I was wondering—” You swallow hard. You can do it. “I need to talk to you about my rent.” 
His eyebrows lift, and your chest tightens. 
“Let’s hear it then.” 
“It’s just that I’m in kind of a tight spot right now. Work’s been—well, it’s been fine but money’s tight, and I just—” You’re rambling. Words all running together. “I’m not saying you’re charging too much or anything like that, but—” 
“Slow down,” Joel holds up a hand, and the rest of your words fall flat. His voice is calm, but firm. “You sayin’ you can’t afford it?” 
“I can!” you blurt out. “I mean, I can’t by tomorrow, but I can soon. I just thought, maybe we could work something out. Like…if you could give me some more time or if I could do something to work off some of what I owe.” Joel tilts his head slightly, studying you in a way that makes your skin prickle. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or just thinking, and the silence stretches too long for comfort. 
Finally, he exhales through his nose, dropping his arms and leaning his palms on the counter behind him. His voice is lower when he speaks again, quieter, like he’s weighing every word. 
“You wanna do something for me?” 
Your heart skips, and you blink up at him. Maybe that was a dumb suggestion. You don’t even know what you have to offer. The house is always clean, the yard maintained, he seems to enjoy cooking. 
“Uh, yeah?” your face contorts a little as you try and come up with a suggestion. “If you’d consider giving me a discount.” 
His lips twitch, just the barest hint of a smirk, and something about it makes the air in the room shift. 
“Well,” he drawls, “If I’m cuttin’ you a deal,---” 
“You’ll consider it?” You look at him with a smile already starting to break on your face. You can breathe. 
“Maybe you can cut me one, too.” He finishes his sentence. Your mouth hangs open, but nothing comes out. There’s something behind his words you don’t fully understand, but it’s stuck in the air between you. 
“What kind of deal?” you manage to get out, your voice hesitant. 
Joel pushes off the counter, closing the space between you in a way that’s casual, but calculated. He’s close enough you can make out the lines at the corners of his eyes, the salt-and-pepper in his beard. His gaze holds yours, steady and charged with something new. 
“You say yes,” he starts to explain, his voice dropping into a gravelly timbre that makes your pulse quicken. “And I’ll knock your rent down as much as you need. Simple.” 
The room suddenly feels small, too warm, like his gravity is holding you in place. 
“Say yes to what, Mr. Miller?” Your voice is soft, just a whisper rolling off your tongue. You have an idea what he’s proposing. The way his eyes flicker with something dark and knowing when you refer to him as Mr. Miller. The crackle in the air between you. 
“I think you know what I mean.” 
You shake your head, ever so subtly, wrinkling a brow. In what feels like slow motion, Joel tips your chin up, between his thumb and curled forefinger. Your face is on fire. Somehow exposed even though nothing else has changed. 
“Whenever I need you. Wherever I want you.” 
For a second you think he might kiss you. It feels like everything in your body is calling to him. His mouth is so close to yours. The words are still replaying in your mind. 
But he pulls his hand back. “Think about it,” he murmurs and brushes past you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body. He glances back at you once on his way out of the room. “Offer’s on the table, sweetheart,” he says over his shoulder. “Up to you.” 
You’re left standing, still as a stone, heat prickling up your spine as his words replay in your head. 
What the fuck just happened?
“Hey!” you call out, starting down the hall after Joel. “Wait.” 
He turns, hovering in the doorway to his room. 
“Uh, are you talking about sex?” 
“Yep.” 
Your breath hitches. The corner of his mouth quirks, smug. You look at him with fresh eyes. He’s an attractive guy. Not exactly pleasant, but not a jerk. You can’t imagine he’d have a hard time picking up a date. 
“I’m not a whore, you know.” “I know, darlin’.” His face softens a little. 
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The next couple of days are filled with tension so thick it’s impossible to ignore. Whenever you’re in the same room you can feel his eyes lingering on you. He brushes past you in the kitchen in the morning, his hand grazing your hip when he reaches for his coffee mug. 
You catch him watching you from across the room, leaning against the counter like he has all the time in the world. His eyes roam all over your body, dark and deliberate, and you can feel the promise in his gaze. 
It’s driving you fucking insane. You thought he’d have made a move by now. Hell, you thought he’d have made a move the second you agreed to his deal. But he’d only made sure you each had a few ground rules and that was it. End of conversation. 
“Have a good night now, darlin’. Hope you sleep better without having to worry about your rent.” 
Right. You didn’t have to worry about rent. You just had to spiral in your own room wondering when it would happen. How he’s going to take you.
It’s got you so worked up thinking about him you keep spacing out during your work meetings. Swiveling restlessly on your office chair in your bedroom, trying to remember to look focused and add your two cents in for participation. 
But all you can think about is Joel. You’re on high alert whenever you hear his truck roll into the driveway, the door slamming shut with a thud. His heavy steps coming down the hall. You wonder when he’ll want you. You know he meant it. 
You hope he meant it. 
That night, his footsteps pause outside your door, his presence thick in the air, setting your pulse racing. It makes you squirm, adjusting the skimpy pajamas you’ve taken to wearing as your heart beats faster. You can’t tell if he’s debating coming in or if he’s just fucking with you, but it’s got you breathless. 
The next morning, you’re standing in the bathroom doorway, brushing your teeth when Joel suddenly appears, shirtless and still damp from his shower. He gives you a lazy once-over, stepping close enough that you have to press yourself against the door frame to let him pass. 
His voice is low and teasing as he murmurs, “You’re in the way, sweetheart,” leaving your cheeks flaming. 
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The next day, you’re still tense. 
Stretching in your desk chair as your coworkers read through their budget updates and data tracking for the grants you’re funded through. It’s hard to stay focused, Joel has taken over all of your thoughts. 
Jaz finishes her update and another department leads the rest of the meeting. You’re shuffling your notes around mindlessly, barely hearing a word. Every thought in your head is Joel, Joel, Joel.
Last night, you’d nearly combusted when he finally walked away from your door. You’d been seconds from begging him to come in, to just take you already. By the time he left, your thighs were slick, and the ache was unbearable. You had to handle it yourself, coming hard and fast on your fingers, imagining it was his thick, calloused hands instead.
But now, twelve hours later, the tension is already back. Worse than before. Every noise in the house puts you on edge. His truck rumbling into the driveway. The front door shutting. 
The meeting drags on, voices fading into a blur—until a soft knock jolts you back to reality. 
Before you can answer, the door swings open, and Joel steps inside like he owns the place—which, technically, he does. He leans against the frame, arms crossed, looking completely unbothered by the fact that you’re clearly in the middle of something.
Your heart races. Your eyes flick to your camera to make sure it’s off. Muted. Thank God.
Joel doesn’t say anything, just watches you with a smirk that makes your stomach flip. His dark eyes roam over you, slow and deliberate, and it’s like every molecule of air has been sucked out of the room.
He takes his time crossing the space between you, letting the silence stretch. You can feel the heat radiating off him as he crowds you, hands bracing the arms of your chair, caging you in.
“You gonna tell me to stop?” he drawls, his voice low and gravelly.
Your throat is so tight you can’t even speak. You shake your head.
Joel’s smirk deepens. “That’s what I thought.”
His big hands tug you to the edge of your chair, spreading your knees wide. He runs his palms along your thighs, leaving a trail of heat that burns your skin through your soft leggings. 
Your heart jumps to your throat, chest tight. 
The thought of your coworkers just a click away only heightens the thrill. 
Joel doesn’t hold back. Pulling you to stand. Turning you to face your desk and pressing until you lean your elbows on the smooth surface, framing your keyboard. 
You arch your spine eagerly, holding your breath, bracing for his next move. He smooths a palm over the curve of your ass, humming softly to himself, before slipping his hand between your legs. 
You tilt your head, a shaky breath escaping as his fingers press against you, making your thighs tremble. You know he can feel how wet you already are through the thin material. All day you’re wet for him, just waiting and waiting. 
His touch is firm and you grind into it without thinking, making him laugh under his breath. “Shit,” he murmurs. “She needs it worse than I do, huh?” You don’t answer. Just dropping your head between your shoulder blades as he rubs circles against your clothed pussy. 
He retracts his hand, swiftly pulling your leggings down, exposing your puffy, wet folds to the cooler air. 
You stay folded over, forehead resting on your desk, ass arched in presentation. You don’t know what to expect next, your pulse thunders in your ear as you wait. 
His hands frame your cunt, spreading you wider so he can look closer. You’d be self-conscious being studied so closely if you were any less desperate for him to touch you. But all you can do you is silently beg him to do something. 
“Christ,” he murmurs reverently, dropping to his knees behind you. “Just a taste first.” It sounds like he’s talking to himself. You don’t care. 
You gasp sharply the second his tongue dips between your swollen lips. It’s so much better than your fingers and your frustrated, rushed orgasms last night. It’s so much better. 
He uses his whole face, diving deeper, as he groans into your pussy. Your meeting is still in progress, but the voices coming through your speakers could be speaking a foreign language. They mean nothing to you right now. 
The only thing that matters is between your legs. You’re almost embarrassed at how close you already are. You don’t know if you should say anything. If he cares if he makes you cum. Before you can think any harder, he’s back on his feet and you’re whimpering at the loss. 
“I know.” 
The soft clink of his belt followed by the sound of him unzipping his jeans has your knees weak. The thrill that shoots through you is like lightning, ripping through your system and activating every nerve in your body. 
Be good," he growls, dragging his cock through your slick.
“Oh, fuck,” you can’t help the awe and the relief. The heat, the thickness, the pressure. It’s everything you need, but not enough at the same time. He continues for a moment, coating his length in your arousal as you try to swallow down your needy moans. 
He slots his blunt tip at your entrance, adding enough pressure to make you suck in air. Without even seeing it, you know it’s going to be a stretch. Like he can read your mind, or at least your body, he runs his hand soothingly over your spine. 
It shouldn’t melt your nerves so fast, but the gentle touch eases your mind. For reasons you can’t explain—feelings really, you feel safe. 
“We’ll start slow this time, sweetheart. Don’t worry.” 
And then he’s nudging into you, working you open around his wide cockhead. It’s mildly uncomfortable, but you welcome the dull ache. Your throbbing pussy has been begging for it. He pulls back, repeating the slow movement, splitting you open for him a little further each time. 
It makes you needy, you try to push back against him, but he only swats at your ass. “I told ya to be good.” 
Your cheeks feel hot at the scolding. 
“Sorry, Mr. Miller.” It comes out more confident than you expected, your voice smooth and low. 
You can feel the way his dick twitches at your response before he continues, painstakingly slowly, filling you up. You’re still frustrated, but each time he thrusts into you, your knees almost buckle and you know he hasn’t made it all the way in yet. You’re still hungry for that feeling, for his hips to meet your ass, flush. 
You can’t hold back your moans as he drags along your nerves. He already has your eyes rolling back and he’s not even fucking you yet. 
Until he stops, held still halfway inside of you. You blink your eyes open, trying not to whine. 
He says your name like he’s been calling it and you’ve been ignoring him. “Hmm?” you respond. 
“Think they’re waiting for your answer.” 
“Oh, shit.” 
Joel still doesn’t move. You unmute your mic, trying to steady your voice. “I’m really sorry, uh, can you repeat the question?” 
“Just confirming your mid-cycle reports are already submitted.” 
“Yes.” 
“Great.” 
You mute the mic again and Joel slams the rest of the way home, making you cry out in surprise. 
He doesn’t hold back now, his rough hand gripping your hip as he takes you, low grunts echoing in your room as he snaps his hips forward. Your ass ripples, bouncing off of him with every thrust and the filthy sounds of skin slapping against skin fill your ears. 
He hits so fucking deep at this angle, you can barely think. His balls slap against you and for some reason that makes you even more crazy for him. You meet his every thrust with the same energy, fucking hard. So hard your desk rattles, but neither of you can be bothered by it’s structural integrity. 
He keeps you on edge, pounding into you as the pressure builds. When you shift slightly, his cock drags over the devastating spot that makes you nearly wail.
“Yeah?” he asks as if you could respond right now. “Right there?” 
“Mmm,” is all you can manage. 
“Good. Let me have it. Rub that pretty clit of yours for me, I wanna feel her trying to milk me dry.” 
Fuck. His filthy words nearly send you over the edge immediately, but when you slip your own hand between your legs, it’s euphoric. Furiously working at your slick, swollen bundle of nerves you drive yourself to the brink. 
“Gonna–ah!--gonna cum,” You get the breathy, gasping words out right as your pussy starts to clench around him. He groans lowly, making you see stars as your climax tears through you. 
The waves are still rolling through your muscles, your core still tensing, when he pulls out. The slick sounds as he pumps his cock rapidly are obscene and you don’t want them to stop. But then you feel his hot cum painting your ass, and you’re moaning in unison. 
Then he’s pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before slinking out of your room. You grimace. Tuning back in to the speaker still rambling on about god knows what on your computer. Before you can move, Joel is back with a small towel to clean you up. 
You’re stuck in a daze. A blissed-out state, as you straighten up and pull your leggings back up. Joel’s about to slip back out the door as if nothing happened. Before he steps out of the room though, he gives you a knowing smirk, “You did good for me, darlin’.” 
You’re left staring at the closed door, breathless and trembling, the heat of his touch still lingering on your skin. Rent isn’t the problem anymore. Joel Miller is.
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joemama-2 · 23 days ago
Text
velvet lies
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pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 8.2k tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter
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“You look so handsome like this…” a sultry chuckle is followed by a warm kiss to the lips. The man with a receding hairline laughs in a slimy way, welcoming the woman into his lap. Arms settled around her midsection, indulging in her lips. 
The moment is quickly shut down when an intruding voice cuts in. “Haruka! Some guy is waiting for you at the door.”
With a huff, she pulls back. Lip curled up into a scowl, turning her head over her shoulder to face the man at the top of the stairs. “Tell ‘em I’m busy, damn it!” She snarls out. 
The man sighs and rubs his bald head. “I already did. He said he wants to speak to you, now hurry up here.”
When the door slams shut, she turns back to her customer. “I’ll be back.” She smiles and kisses his wrinkly cheek before getting up and off his lap. She fixes her clothing, a simple tank top and shorts. Looking at the small mirror, she frowns and straightens down her hair. She’s reminded to dye her hair black again to cover up the incoming gray hairs that always greet her nowadays. She applies her usual red lick back to her skin, perking them up with a small pop noise. Her eyes, beady and dark, fixate back up at the door while her feet drag her. 
Once she’s up in the main portion of the building, she rounds a corner and sees a neatly suited man standing at the front desk. The man who called her attention before gives her a certain look before walking off and letting her deal with it. She smiles, leaning against the hardwood. “Why, hello there, handsome. How may I help you today?”
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The man, undeterred and stoic, regards her with barely any emotion. The dark sunglasses on his face obscuring his eyes and Haruka’s brow twitches for a moment in annoyance. She still keeps up her game, however. Resting her cheek against her palm. “Well? How can I—”
“Ms. Haruka, right?” 
The stranger’s voice is deep and defined, causing Haruka’s eyebrows to raise in interest. Her smile widens and she hums playfully. “Ah, well depends on who’s asking. If it’s you, then you can call me Candy.” She whispers the last part, leaning in like she told him a big secret; giggling to herself. 
The man spares a brief glance down at his wristwatch. Haruka notices its pristine gold, oh how valuable. An idea is already forming in her head when she looks back at the man’s black, circular shades. But what he says next causes her body to go into a temporary state of comatose. 
“Are you the mother of Y/N L/N? If so, please come with me. There are some things my bosses would like to discuss with you.”
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It’s the day after Christmas. You luckily got the day off and you’ve just been lounging around your place with Koji. Eating some leftovers and cleaning up a bit, watching him rave about the new toys he got; it’s a pleasant sight. Satoru hasn’t texted you anything today, and while you’re not holding him to that expectation, there’s a part of you that worries he’s still angry. Or maybe even upset at the gift you got him. It probably brought up negative emotions for him. But it was a last minute thing and you assumed he would greatly appreciate it. 
Maybe your assumption was wrong. 
You shake off the thought, refusing to dwell on it. Satoru has always been hard to read, and overanalyzing his silence won’t do you any good. Instead, you focus on Koji, who’s currently making his action figures reenact some elaborate battle scene on the coffee table. His laughter echoes through the room, bright and infectious, pulling a small smile from you.
“Koji, don’t forget to put the smaller pieces back in the box when you’re done,” you remind him gently.
“Okay, Mama!” he chirps, not looking up from his imaginary world.
You take another bite of your leftovers, savoring the quiet domesticity of the moment. It’s not often you get a day to just relax like this. Still, that nagging thought about Satoru lingers in the back of your mind, no matter how much you try to ignore it. Your fingers reach up, feeling for the star pendant Suguru got you. Smiling to yourself as your fingertips graze over the metal. You’re suddenly reminded of the fact that you haven’t thanked him. 
You grab your phone, thumb hovering over his contact. It’s a small debate to call or text him, unsure of which is more…appropriate. Maybe he’s busy or maybe he wouldn’t mind a phone call at this time. You bite your lip, inhaling deeply then letting it go, deciding that your gratitude would feel more authentic if he actually heard you say it. 
You click the call button and within the second ring, his voice lightens up the other end. “Hello?”
You clear your throat before speaking. “Hey, Suguru,” you say softly, twirling the pendant between your fingers. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Not at all,” he replies warmly, a hint of curiosity in his tone. “What’s up?”
As you pause for a moment, your thoughts are being gathered. “I just wanted to thank you… for the gift. The pendant, it’s beautiful.” Your voice dips slightly, the sincerity in your words undeniable. “You didn’t have to, but… it means a lot to me.”
There’s a brief silence on his end before he chuckles softly. “I’m glad you like it. I figured it’d suit you.”
You can’t help but smile, your fingers still tracing the small, intricate patterns on the pendant. “It does. Koji said it makes me look pretty.”
Suguru laughs at that, the sound soft and familiar. “He’s not wrong. The kid’s got good taste.”
A small heat pools in your stomach, cheeks blushing a bit. When you glance over at Koji, you notice just how engrossed he still is in his action figures. “He’s been talking about that Spider-Man you got him nonstop. He even took it to bed with him last night.”
“Really? That’s adorable,” Suguru comments, his tone light but carrying an underlying fondness. “I’m glad he liked it. He’s a great kid.”
“He is,” you agree, your voice softening. “I’m lucky to have him.”
There’s a pause, the silence between you both comfortable yet loaded with things left unsaid. Finally, Suguru breaks it. “How are you doing? After last night, I mean. Satoru told me he was going over.”
The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you’re unsure how to answer. “I’m… okay,” you eventually get out, though it feels like a half-truth. “It was just… a lot. But we did it. For Koji.” 
He hums from the other side. “Yeah, that’s good. I figured.” A moment of pause before he continues. “Satoru can be… intense, especially when it comes to you and Koji.”
You let out a small, humorless laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”
“But other than that, it was good?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
He smiles. “I’m glad, you two deserve a good Christmas.”
With one hand, you bring your dirty dishes to the sink, the other keeping your phone to your ear. “What about you? Was yours good too?”
Suguru’s voice sighs wistfully. “It was, yeah. My team and I spent it handing out some gifts and hot chocolate to the kids. Seeing their faces light up with joy like that, it makes you feel really good, you know?”
Your heart warms at his words, picturing Suguru in his element—kind, compassionate, always thinking of others. You’re reminded back to the time you saw him that day with Koji. “That sounds wonderful,” you speak softly, leaning against the counter. “You’re really amazing for doing that, Suguru. Those kids are lucky to have someone like you.”
He chuckles modestly, the sound low and comforting. “I don’t know about amazing, but thanks. It’s just something small I can do. Makes the holidays feel more meaningful.”
You smile, twirling the pendant again as you consider his words. “It’s more than small. It’s thoughtful. It’s... you.” The words slip out before you can stop them, and you feel your cheeks flush immediately. Embarrassment floods your insides. 
There’s a brief silence on his end, followed by a soft laugh. “You’re too kind. But coming from you, I’ll take it as a high compliment.”
You shake your head, grinning despite yourself. “It’s not kindness. It’s the truth.”  
Koji’s excited shout from the living room snaps you back to the moment. He’s discovered a new pose for his Spider-Man, proudly showing it off as he runs over. “Mama, look!”  
Suguru must hear the commotion, his tone lightening further. “Sounds like someone’s having a good time.”  
“He is,” you say, watching Koji’s eyes sparkle with joy. You nod in astonishment. When your son is satisfied with your praise, he rushes back to the coffee table. “He’s been nonstop since yesterday. I think this Spider-Man might be his new best friend.”  
“Then my mission was a success,” Suguru replies with a chuckle. “I’ll have to find something to top it next year.”  
You bite the inside of your cheek while his words bring a pang of guilt. It’s strange; how easy it is to talk to Suguru, how natural it feels to share these moments. And yet, there’s a part of you that wonders if you’re leaning on him too much, especially with everything unresolved with Satoru. You wonder if what you’re doing is wrong, and considering Satoru’s reaction to his friend’s gift to you, you feel like you’re almost…betraying Satoru. 
“Thank you again, Suguru,” you repeat, your voice calmer now. “For everything. You didn’t have to go out of your way for us, but you did, and it means a lot.”  
“You don’t have to thank me,” he says gently. “You and Koji... you guys are important to me too, you know?”  
The weight of his words settles over you, warm and steady. “That means a lot to me too.”  
There’s another comfortable pause before Suguru clears his throat. “Well, I should let you get back to your day. I’m glad you called, though. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”  
“Okay,” you promise, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Take care, Suguru.”  
“You too,” he says, his voice lingering for a moment before the call ends.  
As you set your phone down, you glance at Koji, who’s now back to his world of action figures. You can’t help but feel grateful for the people in your life now who care so deeply about you and your son.  
But even with that gratitude, your thoughts drift back to Satoru, the press, his parents. And you ponder over the idea of what he’s doing right now, whether he’s holding onto the photograph, if he set it up somewhere; and what it might mean for the three of you moving forward.
There’s no time to start drowning in your thoughts any longer. You’ve already done that yesterday and practically every other day before that. A bigger question has been gnawing at you, and now that you have some free time, you figure you should look into it now. Grabbing your laptop, turning it on and clicking on Google once the screen awakens. The small business card is placed to your right as you type away the company name in the search bar. 
You click on the first link. 
It takes you to an entire directory of the services of Carlisle & Harlow. 
The website loads quickly, its sleek design showcasing high-end properties and exclusive services. The polished images of luxurious estates, private jets, and lavish vacation homes scroll past as you navigate through the various tabs. The site is clearly designed to appeal to an elite audience—every detail is immaculate. You skim through the different services offered, including property management, concierge arrangements, personal assistants, and lifestyle coaching. It all feels a bit too polished, almost like an invitation into a world you’ve only ever seen from the outside.
You feel a slight unease in your stomach. Your mind races back to the business card Evelyn gave you—one that seemed so out of place given everything else you’ve seen in your life. You click through to the “About Us” section, hoping to find more answers about what the company actually does or who else is behind it. 
The page provides a brief history, detailing the company’s founding by the woman, Evelyn Carlisle and her now deceased husband, Noah Harlow—both of whom have since made a name for themselves in the luxury service industry. 
You click on the “Our Team” link. Several executives are listed, each with brief bios that read like glowing resumes. Next, you click on the “Contact Us” tab, staring at the address listed—an upscale location in the city’s financial district. It’s the kind of place where secrets are hidden behind high walls and the name on the door probably has a lot of power behind it.
Taking a deep breath, you mull over this instance. Maybe it’s time to investigate further, but you’re not sure how much deeper you want to dig—especially not without some sort of plan. But that Evelyn woman seemed a little strange to you. It’s just the fact that everything felt quite planned out to you, like someone told her to come to your workplace and offer a job interview. Your intuition has always been right and ever since you became a mother, that increased tenfold. But, this seems like it might have more of a good outcome than a bad one. 
You wouldn’t have to maintain the hard balance of working two jobs and a child. As you continue scrolling and clicking on multiple tabs within the website, one catches your interest. 
‘About Our Founders’
You’re met with pictures of Evelyn and her husband, posing with what you can only assume are other businesspeople, with paragraphs of their background to go along with it. Nothing looks out of the ordinary so far, until a particular picture. 
It’s Evelyn and her husband. Posing with Satoru and his father. 
Your heart stops for a moment, your breath catching in your throat as you stare at the screen. The four of them are dressed impeccably, their expressions polished with smiles that feel carefully rehearsed. The caption beneath the photo reads:  
“Celebrating five years of partnership between Carlisle & Harlow and the Gojo Group, fostering innovation and excellence in high-end luxury services.”
Your stomach churns. The idea of Satoru or his family being involved in this job offer. And it almost makes sense now—Evelyn showing up at your workplace, the too-perfect job offer, the strange sense of everything being orchestrated. It wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be. Unless it is?
Your fingers hover over the trackpad, trembling slightly as you click on the bio beneath Evelyn’s photo. Her background is as pristine as expected: Ivy League education, years of experience in luxury branding, and a reputation for impeccable taste. But it’s the section about her connections that catches your eye:  
"Evelyn Carlisle maintains close ties with prominent families, including the Gojo family, and has been instrumental in crafting tailored solutions for their elite clientele."
Your head spins. This isn’t just a job opportunity—it’s a calculated move. But why? Why now? And why through Evelyn instead of directly from Satoru or his family? You glance back at the business card on your table, its gold lettering gleaming in the soft light. It feels heavier now, like it’s carrying the weight of unseen motives.  
Koji’s laughter breaks through your swirling thoughts, grounding you momentarily. You look over at him, playing so innocently, so unaware of the tangled web you’re beginning to unravel. Taking a deep breath, you close the laptop and sit back. Whatever this is, it’s not just about you anymore. If Evelyn’s offer is part of some larger scheme, you’ll need to figure out the truth before you make any decisions.  
Maybe you’re overthinking this. The Gojo Group is huge and very obviously powerful, of course, they would have ties with Carlisle & Harlow. It’s not that far-fetched, right? It’s just a job opportunity, don’t think too much into it. 
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It’s around the next day at work now. Walking to the café, phone in hand. Rereading Satoru’s first text to you since you last saw him, it’s not entirely underwhelming, you just hoped that he would have expressed his gratitude for your gift. 
Satoru:
Koji left his jacket here from last time, I’ll bring it over today
Your lips purse, thumbs going haywire over the bright screen. Should you ask if he enjoyed the gift? If he even opened it in the first place? Or maybe you’re dragging this out far too much. With a deep breath, entering the cafe, you type back:
You:
I thought you had work today 
Satoru’s response comes almost immediately, as if he was waiting for you to text back.
Satoru:
I do, but I can swing by during lunch. The place is a little far from me, can I come to your job and drop it off?
You hesitate, wanting to type back a ‘no’ as soon as he asked. It would feel a little weird if he came. Satoru and your workplace just don’t seem to mix—and you don’t want them to. If he came, it would only further solidify the fact that he’s integrating himself into your life. Again, you’re probably overthinking things, he’s just dropping off your son’s jacket. But the thought of seeing him right now feels oddly nerve-inducing. 
You:
Sure, I’m on lunch at 12
When you drop the pin of the café’s address, you pocket your phone and set your stuff down, tying the apron around your waist. Hana, on her phone texting, barely looks up when you enter. It’s becoming a bit more repetitive nowadays. Patting down the apron, you speak up. “Still talking to that Naoya guy?”
She hums and nods, giggling at something that was messaged before swiftly typing back a response. Your lips purse, brows knitting at her lack of acknowledgment for you. This guy must really be entrancing her. “He said he was coming today.”
“Oh, really?” You ask, offering a small smile. “I’ll finally meet the lucky guy.”
Hana’s eyes flick up at you briefly before returning to her phone, her cheeks slightly flushed. “Hm? Oh, yeah. but don’t embarrass me, okay?”  
You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you grab a few boxes to refill the supplies up front behind the counter, cutting them open. “I’ll try not to. Just don’t expect me to be on my best behavior if he’s rude.”  
She scoffs, though her grin betrays her amusement. “He’s not rude. You’ll like him, I think. He’s… different.”  
You arch a brow, intrigued by her tone. “Different, huh? Guess we’ll see.”  
Hana waves you off, clearly too engrossed in her conversation to elaborate further.  
And so, the morning drags on, and you can’t help but notice Hana glancing at the door every few minutes, a mix of anticipation and nerves written all over her face. Meanwhile, you busy yourself with the usual flow of customers, though your own nerves begin to creep in as the clock inches closer to noon.  
When the bell above the café door finally chimes, you glance up instinctively. A tall man with sharp features and an air of confidence steps in, scanning the room briefly before his gaze lands on Hana. His hair is slicked back neatly, and he’s dressed in a tailored coat that screams wealth and status. The tips of his hair dipped black, his eyes are so cat-like that it almost freaks you out at first.  
Hana’s face lights up as she quickly puts the cleaning supplies that were in her hands down and waves him over. “Naoya!”  
He strides over, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leans in to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. “Hana,” he says smoothly, his voice low and self-assured. 
Your eyebrows raise at the blatant show of affection in front of not just you—but the rest of the customers. It’s slightly unlike Hana because you remember her telling you how much she despised PDA. Maybe Naoya is making her come out of her shell. That’s good, right? You watch the interaction from behind the counter, your initial impression of him forming almost immediately. There’s something about his demeanor—charming, yes, but also a little too smug for your liking. Your senses are telling you to be subtly on guard around this man. 
Hana glances over at you, her smile widening. “Naoya, this is my coworker—”  
“Friend,” you correct with a playful smile, giving her a tiny look. It’s strange how she was just going to introduce you as a coworker when she always calls you her friend. Not thinking too much of it, you step out from behind the counter to extend a hand. “Nice to meet you, Naoya. I’m Y/N.”
He takes your hand, his grip firm but calculated. His eyes flicker over you briefly, as if sizing you up. If possible, his grin widens, eyes growing more crescent-like. “Pleasure’s mine,” he says, though the smirk on his face doesn’t quite reach his eyes.  
“So, you’re the one who’s been keeping Hana so distracted lately,” you remark lightly, folding your arms.  
Naoya chuckles, his gaze shifting back to Hana. “She’s easy to talk to. Hard not to get distracted by her.”  
Hana blushes, clearly pleased by the compliment, but you can’t shake the nagging feeling that there’s something a little… off about him.  “Well,” you say, forcing a polite smile, “welcome to our humble abode. Let me know if you need anything.”  
Naoya nods, his smirk unwavering. “Will do.”  
As you step back behind the counter, you catch Hana giving you a warning glance, silently begging you not to say anything more. You just shrug, grabbing the rag Hana previously discarded to wipe down the counter, though you can’t help but keep an ear on their conversation. They convert over to a booth in the corner, seemingly for some privacy. 
Something about Naoya sets your instincts on edge. Maybe it’s the way he carries himself, or the way his smile feels more like a performance than genuine warmth. He’s reminding you of Satoru, just more insidious. It’s probably a little rude of you to have such a critical judgment of the man who’s making your friend swoon, but isn’t that what friends, do? Making sure the men or women that come into their lives are worthy of it? Whatever it is, you make a mental note to keep an eye on him—if only for Hana’s sake.  
You stop eavesdropping. Hana’s a grown woman, if anything, she knows what’s more right for her than you do. Besides, you’re one of the only ones working right now, so it’s better to focus on delivering customer service than ensuring the man in the corner (who has been keenly drifting his eyes towards your figure) is good enough for Hana. Hana, oblivious to your discomfort, continues chatting with Naoya, her smile wide as she laughs at something he says. Her back is turned to you, and all you can do is concentrate on the rising sense of unease in your gut. It’s the way Naoya’s posture remains open and confident, but there’s a hardness behind his eyes that doesn’t sit right with you. He seems like someone who expects to get what he wants, and the thought of him using his charm to manipulate Hana makes you clench your fists beneath the counter. You’re just trying to understand the strange energy he brings into the environment. Maybe it’s your overactive imagination, but you still can’t shake the perception that there’s more to this man than Hana is seeing.
As you refocus on your tasks, you can physically feel the weight of Naoya’s gaze lingering on you. It’s subtle, but unsettling—like he’s paying more attention to you than he is Hana. You shake it off, putting your mind into the register as a customer walks up to place an order. However, the uneasy feeling stays with you. You move through the motions of your shift. Every time you briefly glance over to the booth, his gaze is drawn to you. Not in the way you’d expect a person to look at someone they’ve just met, but with something more calculating. It’s almost as if he’s analyzing you, but why?
You don’t even know how long it has been, at least 15 orders later, when the two walk back up to the front. Hana grabs your attention. “Y/N, Naoya brought up a really good idea. His friend owns that new bar I was telling you about a few weeks ago! Do you want to go out tomorrow after your other job?”
You glance up, a bit surprised by the invitation. It’s not like you haven’t been out with Hana before, but something about tonight feels odd. Maybe it’s Naoya’s presence, or maybe it’s the weird sense of being observed earlier. Still, it’s a chance to unwind, and Hana seems genuinely excited.
You give a soft smile, though it feels a little strained. “I don’t know, Hana. I’ve got a lot on my plate. Plus, I’m not sure about the bar idea... not really in the mood for crowds.”
Her eyes widen, and she steps closer, lowering her voice. “Come on, you deserve a break. You’ve been working so hard lately. It’ll be fun, I promise.”
You meet her eyes, trying to gauge her sincerity. She’s always been good at getting you to loosen up when you're feeling overwhelmed. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go for just a little while, but you still have reservations about Naoya. “Alright, I’ll think about it. I’ll see if I can get out earlier,” you say, trying to keep your tone light. “But no promises.”
Hana’s face lights up. “Yay! I knew you’d come around.” She looks over her shoulder at Naoya, who’s standing a few feet away, reading the two of you with an unreadable expression. 
You suddenly feel like this moment might be the start of something unpredictable. As much as you want to just go with the flow for Hana, a part of you ponders if there’s more to Naoya’s invitation than just a night out. But, for now, you push the thought aside.
“Well, you don’t want to miss out,” Naoya speaks up, chuckling to himself. “Just try. It’s called No Man’s Land. I’ll be there around 10:30 tomorrow night, hopefully I'll see you both there.”
You nod slowly, still hesitant about the whole thing. Something about the way Naoya phrased it—so casual, so sure of himself—rubs you the wrong way. There’s an underlying expectation in his words like he’s already decided that you’ll both show up. You’re not sure if it’s just his personality or something more, but the thought of him controlling the situation leaves you with a strange feeling. Hana, though, looks delighted. “It’ll be so much fun, Y/N. Just relax. A drink or two won’t hurt.” She flashes you a grin before turning back to Naoya, all smiles as she talks about what they’ll do at the bar.
You’re like an outsider, watching as Hana becomes more entangled in Naoya’s charm. You wonder if she sees it too—the little things about him that don’t add up. The way he already seems like the type of man to be just one step ahead with a plan. But she’s excited, so you don’t want to rain on her parade. Besides, you can always back out later if it doesn’t feel right.
Luckily, she sees him out right after. 
And unluckily, you’re waiting outside on your break for Satoru sooner rather than later. 
You glance at your phone once more, watching the minutes tick by. Your break feels longer than it should, and the anticipation of seeing Satoru again only adds to the anxiety that’s been building ever since your last interaction. You tell yourself it’s just a quick exchange—Koji’s jacket, nothing more. But every moment feels charged as if something is on the verge of shifting.
The cool air outside offers a bit of relief, though the tension in your chest doesn’t quite let up. You stand near the corner of the café, eyes scanning the street for any sign of him. The sound of footsteps approaches, and you turn, only to find Satoru strolling toward you with his usual carefree aura.
“Hey,” he greets, his tone light, but there’s something different about the way his eyes stay on you—something that feels almost too familiar. He holds out the jacket. “Koji’s jacket. Didn’t want to leave him without it.”
You take the jacket from him, the weight of it making you more aware of the subtle intimacy of the moment. “Thanks,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I appreciate it.”
He doesn’t say anything immediately, just watches you for a beat too long. You shift on your feet, suddenly feeling acutely aware of the silence hanging between you.
“Is that all?” you ask, hoping the question doesn’t come off too abrupt.
Satoru tilts his head as if considering something. “What do you mean?”
God, you hate it when he plays stupid like this. It forces you to be outright with what you want to say. Standing up straighter, chin tilting high. “I mean…like—well I guess what I’m trying to say is that…did you open…the gift I gave you?”
Satoru’s gaze shifts slightly, his usual simmering confidence faltering just enough to make you second-guess yourself. He pauses like he’s weighing your question more carefully than he typically would. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve overstepped—if you’ve asked something too personal or too vulnerable. The silence stretches between you like a taut wire.
“Your gift?” he finally says, the corner of his mouth lifting just a bit. He sounds almost amused, but there’s a hint of something else in his voice, something you can’t quite pin down.
You feel a wave of heat rise in your cheeks, but you stand your ground. “Yeah. The one I gave you on Christmas.” The words feel clumsy as they leave your mouth, but you can’t take them back now.
Satoru’s expression shifts, the air tensing slightly. “I did,” he says simply, as though it’s nothing. “It was… nice.”
You want to push him further, to demand more of a response, but something about the way he says it makes you hesitate. Is that all? You want to ask again. Was it just “nice”? That’s all? After everything—the thought you put into the gift, the small but meaningful gesture—you wonder if maybe it didn’t even register with him the way it did with you. Maybe you were right, he didn’t even open it and is now coming up with a bullshit response because you put him on blast. 
But you don’t want to push too hard. You already feel like you’re treading on delicate ground. So you force yourself to smile, even though it feels a little stiff. “Well, I’m glad you liked it,” you reply, not entirely sure if you believe your own words.
There’s another beat of silence, and then Satoru shifts his weight slightly, signalling that he’s about to leave. “I should get going. Got some things to take care of,” he says, but he doesn’t immediately turn away.
Instead, his eyes flicker down to your hands, where you’re still holding Koji’s jacket. “Take care of yourself,” he adds, his tone softening just a bit.
You nod, trying to hide the strange pang in your chest. “You too,” you reply, though your voice is quieter now.
His lips thin into an awkward smile. It’s one you give a stranger or someone you barely know—but that’s how things feel between you now, isn’t it? It’s really not worth dwelling over the tiny things that further more prove the horrid line of connection between you two. But for some reason, it still hurts and picks at your heart. 
That moment is quickly splashed away when a familiar—but teeth-gritting voice squeals from behind Satoru. Your grip tightens on Koji’s jacket. Satoru’s shoulders tense up. 
“Satoru! Why’d you leave me in that boutique? It took forever to find you!”
She appears next to Satoru, her presence immediate and unmistakable. Her eyes flicker between you and Satoru with a mix of scrutiny and something else that you can’t quite place. She’s dressed in something designer, as usual, with that polished, effortless look that screams of wealth and status. Her gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than necessary, a quiet challenge in her eyes.
You feel a knot twist in your stomach, an all-too-familiar sense of discomfort settling into your chest. Satoru’s gaze meets yours for just a moment before he shifts his attention to Himari. “Sorry, didn’t mean to leave you hanging,” he says, his tone light but lacking its usual warmth.
Himari, not seeming to notice or care about the tension in the air, flashes you a tight-lipped smile that screams fake. “Oh, well look who it is. The leech.”
“Himari.” Satoru gruffs under his breath, giving his girlfriend a dirty side-eye. 
“What? One minute we're spending the day together and the next you’re here with…her.”
Your jaw clenches, noticing the tug Satoru gives the other woman to the back of her dress, lowly whispering something into her ear. But her facial expression doesn’t deter, and neither does her snaky persona. 
“I thought you had work.” You utter, eyes flickering back to Satoru. 
His brows tighten, huffing out an exasperated breath. Before he can respond, she does it for him. “If you consider being by my side and treating all my needs work, then yeah, he is working.” She giggles at her own joke, making a show of turning his head towards her and plopping a kiss on his pink lips. It lasts only a few seconds before he pulls away. 
But even those few seconds feel like a lifetime.
You feel the bite of Himari’s words, even if they’re clearly meant to dig into you. The word “leech” still stings, even though you know it’s not intended for anything other than a cruel jab. Satoru’s response, or lack thereof, makes the situation all the more uncomfortable. His eyes flick to you for a brief second before turning back to Himari, his expression more quiet and guarded
 One question sounds throughout your brain. Why are you even with her?
You stand there, the tension heavy in the air between the three of you, white-knuckling onto Koji’s jacket, as if it could anchor you through this awkward, uncomfortable moment. Himari’s gaze holds yours for a moment longer like she’s trying to read you, trying to see if you'll react. You want to say something, anything, but you can feel the weight of the situation hanging on your tongue, making it hard to even speak.
Satoru looks between the two of you, his jaw tightening slightly. "Let's go," he mutters, more to Himari than to you, though you can tell he’s trying to smooth things over. Himari, however, isn’t having it. She steps forward, a small smirk on her face as she eyes you again. 
“So,” she starts, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “you two still playing catch-up or is it ‘out of sight, out of mind’ now?” 
Her clipped tone is pointed, deliberately meant to prod, and the weight of them sinks in—her intent clear. Satoru doesn’t reply, simply glancing at you with a silent apology in his eyes—if you can even call it that. You want to scoff at his lousiness. It’s clear she’s trying to assert her dominance in the situation, but you’re not sure whether it’s her trying to put you in your place or if it’s something else entirely.
You force a tight smile, the words you're looking for escaping you. “No need to worry,” you manage to say, the words barely leaving your lips as you turn to look at Satoru one last time. “I’m sure you both have things to do. I’ll get back to work.”
Satoru doesn’t protest, and Himari just gives you another dismissive glance. "Whatever," she mutters under her breath, but you catch the taunt in her voice. She might be playing it off, but you sense otherwise. 
As they walk away, the weight of the encounter lingers in the air around you. You stand frozen for a moment, the jacket still in your hands, and then—almost instinctively—you turn on your heel and head back inside the café. Your heart still pounds in your chest, the sting of Himari’s words lingering long after they’ve both left.
You don’t even know what hurts more—the fact that Satoru’s dismissive attitude didn’t change, Himari’s words somehow managed to rattle you more than you care to admit, or the fact that he barely…stood up for you. It is selfish to at least hold him to a certain degree—a degree where he has the decency to protect you from the cruel shit his now girlfriend so nonchalantly delivers towards you? Maybe how he acted during that first unexpected encounter was all for show.
And of course, the pain in your chest feels more like a slow burn now, another brutal—unwanted reminder that things between you and Satoru, whatever they were…are long gone.
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An Izakaya of this caliber is something Haruka would have only dreamed of sitting in. Warm lighting is stationed above them, inside their own private room while she drinks away and away—solely because the people before her are buying. There are dishes of food scattered around, some picked from and others haven’t been touched yet. “You know, I really appreciate you spoiling me for the past two days, it’s nicer than any man has ever treated me.” 
She laughs to herself, casually leaning back on her palms, holding her pitcher of beer back up to her lips and sipping like a madman. Emi and Kenji Nakamura regard the woman with equally disgusted faces. Beside them is their personal lawyer. 
“So,” Haruka starts, burping and leaning forward once more. “What’s this all about my precious daughter, huh?” Her lip quirks up in a sneer at the reminder of the child she had and practically threw to the wolves. “Is she acting up again? She’s always been a little troublemaker.”
“I’m sure you’ve seen the articles, yes?” Kenji’s firm voice replies. “Involving your daughter, Satoru Gojo, and their son.”
She chokes on her spit. “What?! Son?! No, I haven’t seen anything! I’m a free spirit and I don’t believe in social media, it’s the devil’s play!”
The couple show no further emotion to her outburst. 
Haruka’s face contorts with an expression of disbelief as she wipes her mouth hastily with the back of her hand, trying to regain some composure. The news about Satoru Gojo and her daughter having a child seems to rattle her more than anything else. She leans back again, almost toppling over from the force of her sudden shift in posture, eyes wild. “I—what do you mean, son?” Her voice cracks, and she shoots a glance at Emi and Kenji, her eyes narrowing. “Are you telling me that boy… and my daughter? They have a child?!”
Kenji’s lips curl into a slight frown, his eyes cold. “Yes, it seems your daughter has kept things a secret for years. The media and everyone else have only just found out.”
Haruka’s eyes flash with something venomous, but she quickly masks it with a laugh, the sound forced and hollow. “Ah, what a little dirty sneak. And, please. You know I’m not interested in all that family nonsense. And that son? How could they even think of bringing a kid into their… situation?” Her head shakes as she scoffs at the thought of you bearing a child of your own. And especially with…him. 
“You may not understand now,” Kenji mutters darkly, before leaning in slightly. “But I think it’s time you start paying attention. Because this situation concerns you more than you realize.”
Haruka’s face twitches, the words hitting her harder than she wants to admit. The weight of the sudden revelation was heavy. She glances down at her beer, swirling it absentmindedly, her mind clearly racing with thoughts she doesn’t want to process. “You’re telling me my daughter has a son with him?” she scoffs, shaking her head. “That’s rich. Really rich.” Her tone is bitter, but the realization of the reality around her seems to slowly sink in, and she takes another long sip from her pitcher to steady herself. “She’s such a goddamn fool, I almost feel bad for her. I provided a lot for her, you know? Then she threw it all away.”
Kenji and Emi watch on in disinterest. The lawyer beside them brings out a formal sheet of paper. “We’d like to offer you a deal, Ms. L/N,” Kenji states. 
Haruka looks back up, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Haruka’s eyes narrow, expression shifting from one of indifference to one of calculated curiosity. She shifts in place, wiping her mouth once more with the back of her palm. “A deal? What kind of deal?” she asks, her voice carrying a note of skepticism, but there's a flicker of interest behind her gaze. She leans in slightly, one hand still gripping the pitcher of beer as she lowers it to the table now.
“You see,” Emi starts. “Our only child—our precious daughter is dating Satoru. She probably felt the most disgruntled in this situation out of everyone else. With the suddenness, we fear that everything we have worked for will be put to waste.”
“And with the news of your daughter’s involvement with Satoru Gojo, it has thrown things into disarray for us. What we need is to ensure that this situation doesn’t jeopardize our family’s legacy—both our reputation and, more importantly, our fortune.” Kenji finishes. 
Haruka snorts softly. “I see. So, you’re telling me this little bastard of hers is a problem for you too? What does that have to do with me?” Her words come out sharper than she intends, but she quickly masks it with another bitter laugh.
Emi’s cold gaze sharpens, a glint of something unspoken flickering behind her eyes. “Everything, Haruka. Your daughter’s ties to Satoru Gojo are a direct threat to the family’s interests. And with a child in the picture now… it complicates things further. But we’ve come to a solution, one that involves you—if you’re willing to cooperate.”
Haruka tilts her head, eyes narrowing as she watches the lawyer slide the formal paper across the table toward her. The ink on it is neat, but her eyes flick over it quickly, scanning the contents before she lets out a quiet scoff. “What is this? Some kind of bribe?”
The lawyer, keeping a neutral expression, nods. “It’s an agreement that ensures your cooperation in smoothing over this… situation. If you agree, your involvement will not only secure your own future, but it will also protect the financial interests of both families. In exchange, you’ll receive a position of influence, a stake in the inheritance.”
Haruka’s laughter rings out again, more amused. “Influence? A stake? Do you think I’m some desperate fool who’ll fall for your little schemes? I don’t need your money. I have enough desperate fools willing to give me that already.” She sneers at the paper but then pauses, looking at Kenji and Emi, the weight of their gaze pressing down on her.
She takes another sip from her pitcher, her mind whirling as she weighs her options. A part of her wants to lash out, to dismiss them and their offer completely. But there’s something about the way they’re looking at her, something cold and calculating that makes her pause. The truth is, she’s always been a gambler, and she knows when to fold and when to play her hand. “You really think this is gonna work out?” she says, her voice quieter now, but still filled with an edge of disbelief. “This… deal?” She hesitates, eyes flicking over the paper again, the signature line staring her down. “What exactly are you asking of me?”
Emi leans forward slightly, her posture unyielding. “We need you to leverage your relationship with your daughter. Influence her decisions, guide her actions—anything you can to help steer her away from Satoru. We want to ensure that the child and his existence don’t affect our plans. In return, we offer you protection, money, and a place at the table. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
Kenji watches her closely, his expression hard, but there’s a glimmer of expectation in his eyes.
Haruka’s mind races, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her beer glass as she processes the offer laid out before her. The temptation of power, of influence, is hard to ignore, even for someone who prides herself on being a free spirit. But she’s also no fool. She knows this is a high-stakes game—one where the risks outweigh the rewards if she misplays her cards. And the amount of 0’s she’s staring down at is inexplicably thrilling. She’s already imagining what she can buy with it. 
For a long moment, the room is silent, the tension thick. Emi and Kenji both stare at her intently, their eyes cold and calculating, watching her every move. The lawyer remains as neutral as ever, the formality of his expression only adding to the weight of the situation.
Haruka's lips curl into a smirk, the edges of her mouth twitching slightly as she leans back in her chair. “Leverage my relationship with my daughter, huh? You really think I can do that?” Her voice is laced with a mix of amusement and disdain. “You must think I’m a puppet master or something. But I’m not interested in some petty manipulation games.”
Kenji’s eyes flash for a brief second, a flicker of something darker crossing his features. "You know the consequences of doing nothing. You’ve been avoiding your daughter long enough, Haruka. But she’s not the same girl anymore. She's tied to Satoru Gojo now, and that complicates things. We need you to make sure she doesn’t forget her place. The family’s future is on the line."
Haruka’s hand freezes in mid-air, her gaze locking with Kenji's. She can feel the weight of her daughter’s past mistakes bearing down on her, the consequences that could affect everything she’s tried to distance herself from. Her jaw ticks, her eye twitching. What a stupid little girl, I tried warning you, didn’t I? “I don’t care about your legacy or your fortune,” Haruka mutters, her tone turning colder, sharper. “But I’m not stupid. I can see what you’re offering me.” Her fingers curl around the edges of the paper, her nails digging into the surface. “I have one question for you, though. What happens if I refuse?”
Emi doesn’t blink, her gaze unflinching as she answers. “If you refuse, Haruka, you’ll be left in the same position you’ve always been—irrelevant. Your daughter’s problems will escalate, and your connections, your influence, will be stay meaningless. You will never succeed and you’ll lose the tiniest amount of leverage you have. You’ll watch as everything you’ve ever taken for granted crumbles.” She pauses, the words hanging in the air. “But if you cooperate, we can guarantee your future. Your daughter’s involvement with Gojo doesn’t need to ruin you.”
Haruka’s eyes flick over the paper again, the signature line now feeling like an anchor, pulling her down into a world of obligations and consequences. She takes a deep breath, feeling the familiar rush of excitement that always comes when she’s faced with a gamble. It’s the thrill of uncertainty, the pull of what could be hers if she plays her cards right. Her bottom lip is worried between her teeth. 
“So, what you’re saying is... I’m supposed to ruin my own daughter’s happiness for the sake of your precious family’s legacy,” Haruka says, her voice low, almost contemplative. She stares at the paper one more time before meeting Emi’s gaze. "Fine. You’ve made your offer. But just so you know, I’m no one's pawn. I’ll make this work for me too. You’re not the only ones with something to gain."
Emi gives a small, satisfied nod, and Kenji’s lips tighten, but there’s a small shift in his demeanor—one that signals the deal has been struck. "Good," Kenji replies, his voice firm. "We’re glad we could come to an agreement. We will contact you if necessary and when your action is needed.”
Haruka, for the first time, sets the pitcher of beer down, her fingers now gently grasping the edge of the paper. She grins maniacally and signs it with a flourish. The ink is dark and permanent, sealing the agreement.
With the ink dry, she sits back, a smirk curling on her lips. “This will be fun.”
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mattybsgroupie · 1 month ago
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milf | chris sturniolo
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contents: handjob (m receiving); p in v; mommy kink; corruption kink; milf!reader; virgin!chris; sub!chris
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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ notes: i was so, so excited for this one. and i'm so happy for all the support on my silly ideas. this is the whole story of this blurb but it's just a taste, because i want to do a series about them. i wanna write about the first time they ever saw each other, how did chris confess to her, the time she came back to her husband, everything. there's so much to explore about these two and i hope you guys enjoy this just as much as i did. i love yall so much ♡ btw this is so long and not proofread please don’t hate me
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it was a silent, cold afternoon at home. your daughter was away, traveling with her father — your ex-husband — and you were enjoying some much needed alone time. the sun was setting and the wind blew through the windows as you adjusted yourself on the couch and took a sip of the coffee you were holding in your left hand.
you heard three knocks from the back door, letting out a deep sigh from the back of your throat. you got up to stretch your tired bones and walked in slow steps towards the kitchen, opening the door. it was chris.
christopher sturniolo, one of your daughter’s best friends. he was energetic, funny, educated and extremely attractive for his age. the type of guy you’d want for your daughter — the gentle, sweet kid, who was surprisingly smart and was definitely going to be a great husband.
however at this moment, chris looked tired. his eyebags were darker and his usual easy smile wasn’t here. he seemed… exhausted.
“hi, dear” you said in your gentle, yet sensual tone, which always caught chris off guard. there was something about your voice that soothe him at the same time it got him worked up, the conflicting feelings taking over his chest.
“uhm, hey” chris said, scratching the back of his head. you noticed how his fingers tangled on his own hair — chris was tense. the other hand was hidden inside his pocket, his bruised lips looking even prettier under the sunset.
you smiled gently, thinking your daughter could’ve forgotten to tell him she’d be absent “she’s not here today, honey”.
“i know” chris answered abruptly, his gaze floating from your chest to his own shoes. “c-can i come in?”. with a simple nod, you entered the house, waiting for chris to join. he closed the back door and made his way to the kitchen, quietly following you around.
“i haven’t cooked since it’s just me” you said, noticing how his blue eyes scanned the empty table.
“oh” chris hadn’t realized you paid just as much attention to him as he did to you. “y-you don’t have to” he said. you raised an eyebrow and placed both of your hands on your hips, a classic mom pose. “i just like your food, that’s all” he looked away as you chuckled.
“aw, baby!” you cooed, genuinely happy with his confession as you opened your arms, offering him a warm, tender hug. “fuck, don’t call me that” chris mumbled under his breath as you approached him. you clicked your tongue in disapproval, silently calling him out. you were the older one and he needed to show some respect.
that’s when you noticed it. chris had failed to cover his pathetic boner, standing there, hard, in front of you.
you dragged your feet towards chris in slow, rhythmic steps, the sound of your heels clacking against the floor taking over the empty house. with a grin, you placed your hand on his tummy, chuckling at the contrast of your red nails and his baby blue hoodie. 
“chris, what’s this?” you say as if you’re surprised, gradually lowering your hand to his pants, gently palming his hardened cock. “you’re a naughty, naught boy” chris whined, throwing his head back as he finally felt your hand around him. 
this had happened a few times — a couple more than it should. chris was just so, so needy. your maternal instinct could always tell when he needed a hug or some encouragement, and you always gave it to him. until the hugs got tighter and the words turned to whispers, the handshakes turned to interlocking fingers and the quick gazes became lingering stares. one day, you don’t exactly recall how, chris ended up sitting on your lap, which led to your first kiss and chris inevitably cumming untouched inside his jeans.
“i just— ‘m s-sorry” he gasped when you finally got a proper grip of his cock, stroking him over his sweaters. 
“i don’t think you are” you teased, pulling his waistband and wrapping your knuckles around chris’s dick, which was covered in pre-cum. his cock twitched inside your fist when you placed a kiss on his neck, as if it was the first time he had ever been touched. “hm? what is it baby?”
“mommy” he breathed out without even thinking. his eyes were closed and his forehead was glued to your shoulder, his pathetic moans filling slipping from his bruised lips. “‘m gonna cum!”
“is that why you came here, chris? you wanted mommy to take care of you?” you cooed, biting his bare skin. with one last stroke and a shaky breath, chris came all over your fingers. the thick, sticky liquid covered your hand and dripped down his legs, staining his grey sweatpants. you brought your hand to your lips, licking all of his release.
you chuckled at him and chris quickly wrapped his arms around your waist, trying to get closer to you. chris hid his face on the crook of your neck, sniffing your scent. “i missed you” he mumbled. “missed you s’much”
your hands went to the back of chris’s head, gently caressing his brown locks. “did you, sweetheart?” you cooed, squeezing his shoulder, silently asking for him to look at you. you touched his chin and chris tilted his head, closing his eyes for the kiss he so long waited for. you pressed your lips together in a tender seal, smiling into the kiss.
“let’s get you clean up, shall we?” you said, noticing the cum stain on his pants. “i’ll wash this one for you” 
you said and he agreed, undressing right away. you smiled at his politeness and couldn't help but glance at him as he removed his sweatshirt, exposing his abdomen — chris noticed you staring at him and attempted to tease you “like what you see, mama?”
you rolled your eyes, reaching for his clothes. his half-pumped cock remained coated in cum leaking down his thigh, ending just before his knee. “go take a shower” you suggested — demanded, actually — tossing everything he had on into the washing machine “are you gonna sleep here, sweetheart?”
“i-i… can i?” chris hesitantly asked. “well, there's no one else around” you checked the living room, reassuring chris that neither your daughter nor your ex-husband would be back any time soon.
chris rushed upstairs and took a shower as you finished his laundry. you took that chance to take off your soaked panties, making yourself bare beneath your nightgown before heading to your bedroom.
stepping out of the shower, chris wrapped a towel around his waist and wiped the fogged-up mirror with his palm. his reflection stared back at himself, blue orbs with a mix of excitement and apprehension for sleeping with you for the first time. chris knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help it. you were just perfect. too perfect.
he opened the door and slowly dragged his feet across the hallway, the soft sound of your movements in the bedroom guiding his steps. through the door gap, chris caught a glimpse of you seated at the edge of the bed, your fingers tracing patterns on the mattress.
“done already?” you asked, voice low and tender. chris nodded as he sat by your side and leaned his back down the bed, holding his weight with both elbows.
for a moment, the room was silent, the weight of your emotions hanging in the air. in a sudden rush of courage, you got closer to him, brushing your lips against his, taking it nice and slow.
chris immediately melted under your touch. his large hand went to the back of your head, softly pulling your hair as you moved to his lap, your curvy thighs practically hugging him.
he gasped with the sudden move, even though he had touched you and you had touched him — you never went all the way. chris was a virgin after all, and you had lost your innocence decades ago. you chuckled at him “it's okay, prince” you whispered, placing a kiss on his cheek. “we don't have to do anything you don't want to”
and that's why he loved you. you were so understanding, so compreensive and gave him the reassurance he needed “no! i w-want it!” chris said, a bit of desperation on his tone, the fear of losing you somehow taking over his already fuzzy mind.
“‘m jus scared i'm not... not gonna be good” he admitted, gaze flickering between your chest — right in front of him — and the ceiling. “g-gonna mess up” he mumbled, nuzzling his face against your breasts.
“that's totally okay” you smiled gently, ruffling his hair before playfully biting his neck, pulling his skin with ur teeth. “and besides, you already know how to make me feel good” you purred like a kitten on his ear, your long, red nails scratching a line down his torso.
“you're such a tease, mama” chris whispered back, placing his palms on your ass, pulling the silk nightgown upwards and revealing your bare flesh, making you moan as he groped your lower body.
with a light push, chris had fallen against the mattress. you crawled back to your previous spot, resting your back against the countless pillows that adorned the bed. chris quickly made his way to you — he was used to sitting on your lap — but you were smarter and, obviously, more experienced.
you stopped him by placing both palms against his chest. receiving a pout in response, your skilled fingers moved to the towel loosely wrapped around his hips, finally pulling the cloth and revealing his hardened cock.
you took a moment to admire the scene in front of you: chris, freshly showered, his hair dripping small droplets of water down his shoulders, his lips slightly parted, a string of saliva connecting both parts, his chest quickly rising and falling and his dick unashamedly leaking.
you had been wet from the moment he showed at your door. by now, your pussy was pratically begging for chris. you wrapped your legs around his waist, bringing him closer and sealing your lips on a desperate kiss. chris audibly gasped when he pressed his cock onto your pussy, the new feeling taking over him. he started to drag his swollen lenght against your open cunt, not really sure of what he was doing, but it felt so good.
“whenever you're ready, prince” you breathed out as you enjoyed the feeling of having your folds explored after so long. chris savored that for a bit longer before positioning himself and moving his hips forward.
nothing.
he tried again. it was his first time and it was okay to make mistakes — that's what you told him. chris snorted, a frustrated sigh coming from him. one last try.
nothing, again.
you tried so hard to keep your composure. poor little thing, chris had no idea of what was going on. “w-why is it so hard?” he complained, more to himself than to you. his failed attempts were making him restless and sweaty, “mama” chris called, displaying puppy eyes and the biggest pout. “i c-can't get in...”
he was gonna cry. he was so vulnerable and upset at the same time. you ran your fingers through his hair “hey, hey, look at me” you shushed him, cupping his cheeks. “didn't i tell this could happen, baby? there's no reason to embarassed”
“c'mere” you called, patting the spot next to you on the mattress. “what if mama goes on top, huh? wanna try it that way?” you asked chris with your usual gentle, warm tone. he nodded eagerly, tears beggining to form in the corners of his eyes.
you changed positions, chris had his back resting against the headboard as you sat on his lap. “can you be a big boy and do a big favor for mommy?” he nodded once again, gripping at your hips with both hands. “stay still, alright baby? gonna sit down on you” you warned as you placed your folds against his flushed tip, gradually lowering yourself on his shaft.
“fuck fuck fuck fuck” chris cried at the overwhelming sensation. “mama! s-shit!”
a soft sigh escaped your lips as you surrendered to the moment, relaxing with chris underneath you. “nhng, so big” you whined, adjusting yourself on his cock. you were used to that feeling, being filled up by a huge cock and having men at your feet. but this time was different. it felt so raw, so genuine, so real with chris.
chris threw his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. his moans got louder as you fastened your pace, soon bouncing on his dick. he was making no effort at all, being a pillow prince and simply letting you do whatever you wanted.
more than having his veins pumping inside you, the thought of being his first woman, of taking away his last bit of innocence, of completely corrupting him helped you get closer to the edge.
“mommy, i can't hold it! 'm gonna cum!” chris whined, panting heavily. “cum with me, my good boy” you gave him permission, but the praise was all he needed. chris trembled and jerked his body forward, the instensity of his orgasm being almost too much for him to handle.
his whimpers and uncoordinated movements ts along with the spurts of warm cum filling your insides made you reach your own climax, your juices mixed with chris's release oozing from your pussy and coating his cock.
“gonna pull out, okay?” you told him, preparing to remove yourself from his dick. “no!” chris prosteted. you furrowed your eyebrows, more curious than mad. “c-can i... can i stay inside? please? it took me so long to get in”, he confessed and you couldn't hold back anymore, a giggle escaping from your lips.
you might have taken his virginity, but deep down, chris would always be your little boy.
♡⊹𑄽୧
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arting-block · 2 months ago
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𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | vi x f!reader
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❝maybe it was a good thing that she was angry at caitlyn. then she wouldn’t feel so bad, thinking about fucking you.❞
summary: you've seen vi around as a kid. always at arms length, observing from afar. now she's back, angry and bitter after her stunt with the kiramman heir. you see each other once more. this time as an opponent in the pit. or rather vi and reader fuck each other's lights out.
pairing: pitfighter!vi x pitfighter!reader
warnings: ARCANE S2 ACT 2 SPOILERS, SMUT, angst (unhappy ending whoops), porn with too much plot, depictions of violence, reader has tattoos and scars, afab!reader, mentions of alcohol consumption, unhealthy coping mechanisms, boxing being used as foreplay, switch!vi, switch!reader, slight brat taming, oral (vi receiving), biting kink, spit kink, knife kink (if you squint), light bondage, finger fucking, vi is obsessed with your tongue, you're obsessed with her fingers
words: 10.2K
a/n: i've crawled out of the trenches and spat out a smutty fic for my glorious muscle queen. there's some plot in there, but it's mostly just filler to bring out the tension teehee. if there's demand, i'll make a part two, maybe more ;). post divider credit: @cafekitsune
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Your body felt cold as the nerves settled in. 
The crowd’s uproar can be heard above you, wild cheers and screaming that blends into nonsense. The thumping of shoes on the ceiling above you syncs with your wild heart. The announcer is amplifying their excitement, spewing out the bets in place. Two thousand golden hexes and five hundred silver cogs for you—Arachnid. You instinctively reached for your shoulder, where the design of your tattoo was exposed. The skin along your back rises as the cheers for you overwhelm the arena. Investors from Zaun come together for their favorite fighter. Yours keeps you on a tight leash, pushing you into each fight to get more, more, more.  
You adjust the bandages around your knuckles. You twist your body, stretching the aching muscles until you’re loosened up. Occupying your time before the gates to the tunnels lift. Your heart races, pounding against your ribs. You’ve been a pit fighter for a little over two years. Before that you were tumbling through the undercity engaging in street brawls for food. Fighting wasn’t new to you, yet you were bouncing off the walls with anxiety. 
You were in relatively good shape to fight. A few days of rest and some shimmer got you back on your feet from your last fight. Black Hog was a beast up close but you managed to put up a good show. Normally you wouldn’t be put up against someone of a different weight class, but you were desperate for money. You won the fight with a broken rib and bruised face. Your investor, Parvata, had a gleam in her eyes that soured your victory. 
“Seems as though the spider likes big game,” she drawled, taking a long drag of her cigar. “We’ll see how well you fare against Gord’s fighters. I hear he’s got a prodigy in his ranks. A girl, ex-enforcer, I hear.”
Gord was talking up a storm about his fighters, but you had a feeling the feud between Parvata and him went deeper. Your stunt with Black Hog proved to her that you had skill. A chance for her to settle the score. 
Parvata didn’t know much about Gord’s prodigy. You, on the other hand, had an inkling of who she was. 
You can’t exactly say you were friends with Vi growing up. Your parents knew Benzo and in turn knew Vander as well. Vi and her friends were often away, either in Piltover or across Zaun to gods know where. Interactions with her were rare and short-lived; cordial and surface-level. You exchanged names, glances, laughs, but you weren’t friends. You’ve heard whispers over the years. Vi getting arrested and going to Stillwater. A few years later she is barreling down Zaun with the Kiramman heir. Now the whispers are saying she’s back in Zaun permanently. Fighting in pits for low wages and shit beer. 
You crack your neck, feeling the bones pop and shift. Was she still the spitfire kid you’d see running through the slums? Does she still have her choppy hair brushed to one side? You roll your shoulders back, flexing the muscles, feeling them tighten under your damp skin. 
Will she even remember you?
More cheers erupt as the announcer lists off your opponent’s bets. One thousand golden hexes and eight hundred silver cogs. You have a feeling that more money would be added at the split second before the fight begins. You force yourself to take a few breaths. Focus. Focus. 
You hear the familiar blare of an alarm. A sharp, loud sound that cuts all noise. Your heart spikes—the start of the show. The walls start to vibrate with the noise of the crowd. 
The announcer taps his mic, bringing the attention of the people eagerly awaiting 
Metal gears whirr and the bright lights of the area spill into the tunnel. 
“Spinning webs of tangled limbs is her name!” the announcer says. “Speed and lethality is her game! Give it up for Piltover’s all-around champion—Arachnid!”
You step into the area with all the masked confidence you can muster. The sounds of the crowd are deafening. Hundreds of people crammed into their seats, pushing against one another to get a clear view of you. In their hands they wave black tickets with a red spider in the middle. The air is thick with sweat and alcohol. You pull on your bandage again, tightening the wrappings around your hand. Light patches of blood are dotted along your knuckles. 
“And now for the whirlwind that took this pit by surprise…” The crowd is at the edge of their seats, the noise is bordering on ear-splitting. “The Iron Fist of Zaun!” the announcer yells. 
The gates across from you start to lift and you see a shadow approaching the pit. Your breath catches in your throat. 
Haunting. Everything about Vi is so unlike what you imagined that your brows rise. Dark hair dye is messily applied to her usually vibrant pink hair. Smudges of black were smeared across her face like she applied it with her eyes closed. Your eyes can’t help but drift along her exposed neck, collarbone, and arms. Tattoos and bandages scattered across her skin. 
Vi’s step falters. A wave of shock passes her face before a narrow look settles into her features. 
The wide-eyed, toothy grinned girl was gone. Her dark lips curled down, her nose scrunches slightly as she takes apart the view of you. Wherever bandages don’t cover, you see an array of purple bruises and silvery scars along the canvas of her skin. The harsh lighting of the pit cuts her muscles in such a way that makes her look carved from marble. 
Your breath catches in your throat at her heavy, predatory gaze. Bright blue eyes never leave your face. 
DING!
The starting bell shocks you out of your nerves. In an instant your anxiety evaporates and an odd thrill overtakes you. Instinctively you raise your hands near your face, letting your arms and legs feel loose as you get into a fighting stance. Vi’s expression is unreadable as she leisurely walks the perimeter of the arena. Her eyes dip towards your body. She lingers on the spot near your exposed stomach, a jagged scar that disappears under your pants. 
You take the opportunity to attack. Vi mirrors your raised hands, expecting you to hit her head on. Instead, you duck at the last minute, colliding your shin to her knee. 
— — —
The bag of coins is hefty, more so than you’re used to. 
Your finger digs through the gold and silver; one thousand and fifty golden hexes; four hundred and fifty-five silver cogs. More than enough to cover rent and food for the next three months. 
You don’t bother with a jacket to shield yourself from the heavy downpour, opting to skip the festivities and head straight back home. Your usual thirty minute commute is delayed by the aches in your hip and abdomen. If you weren’t so well versed in getting hit, Vi’s punches would’ve been lethal. 
Gord had every right to brag about his fighter's prowess. Vi was by far the deadliest opponent you’d ever faced. The aim of the game is the knockout, not to kill, but you know the refs aren’t going to get between two skilled fighters with a lust for blood in their eyes. You were all teeth and nails, more animal than human in that pit. It was hard to get into Vi’s blind spots and even harder to accurately land any good punches. You were backed into defense for most of the fight. Vi probably hoped to tire you out before delivering the finishing blow. 
You can tell if someone fights because they enjoy it. There’s a crazed look in their eyes as they try to trap you into continually dodging or blocking their assault. You fight for survival, even if you have some love for the game. Fighting is what kept you alive all these years. It pays the bills, keeps a roof over your head, clothes on your back, food on the table... 
Vi is clearly using fighting as an outlet. You were just unfortunate enough to be her punching bag. 
In a maneuver that damn near pulled a muscle in your back, you used the wall for momentum to jump on top of Vi. Your legs wrapped securely over her hardened biceps and your arms locked her head. Your chest pressed against the hard planes of her traps.  You could feel the heavy thud of Vi’s heart. Choking someone out wasn’t as near of a spectacle as Parvata would’ve liked, but you won the fight without a concussion. 
The rain poured harder as your shaky hands fumble for your keys. The fight ended an hour ago. You let out a string of curses as you try to find the correct key you needed. Cold air stiffens your fingers and your exhaustion is starting to take over. Or so you tell yourself. 
Sweat, blood, and alcohol. That was what the pit smelled like. Thick and hanging on your tongue like smog. 
Your fingers finally latched onto the right key, jamming it into the lock and forcing your way inside. 
Vi was a furnace. Her back radiates warmth as if to scorch you alive. The imprint of her arms still aches between your thighs. Like the pit, she too smelled of sweat, blood, and alcohol. Bernie’s Brew, the cheap shit from the bar above the arena. But there was a sweet musk to her skin. More intoxicating than any liquor. 
The speed at which you rip your clothes off makes your already overused muscles burn more. There’s an inexplicable urge to scrub your skin raw, erasing the phantom smells of Vi off of your skin. You let the cold water fall onto your heated skin. 
You wondered if Vi could feel the burn of your core on her lower back. 
— — —
It takes one week for Parvata to start hounding your ass about returning to work. 
Pit fighting wasn’t all that you did, though it made you the most money. In between brutal takedowns you would run errands around Zaun for her. Debt collecting. In the sweaty arena, at least there was glory to be had when fighting. In the damp houses of the undercity where everyone is barely scraping enough money to even live, it sours your mood for the entire day. There’s no glory to forcing a single father to cough up his last few golden hexes. Which wouldn’t even make a dent in his debt to Parvata. The sight used to make you feel guilty. After a few years of it though, you’ve gotten used to the angry yelling, the sob stories, the begging for one more week to get more money. 
When you find yourself back into the pit, it wasn’t Vi you were up against. 
You ignore the pang of disappointment and let yourself run loose. All the tension and frustration from your day was unleashed. One of your better performances. A right hook slammed into your jaw and a knee found its way into your ribs. But you delivered a well-placed kick to the side of their neck. The lanky man with snake tattoos fell to the ground with a satisfying thud. 
DING DING DING
The ring of the bell announces you as the winner. You hear the chant of your name, the howls of laughter as Rondo is dragged off the floor still unconscious. 
Tonight’s crowd is exceptionally packed. Friday nights usually are. The harsh lights above you make the masses of people blur into a single entity. Various warbles of words blending together. You don’t know why you scanned the crowd. You don’t know why your eyes immediately drifted to your right, pulled by an unknown magnetic force. But it does. 
First you see a burly man with his arms crossed. His face is hard and his physique is like a brick; rectangular and sturdy. He’s looking at you in curiosity. 
Then you see the dark outline of Vi. Your skin burns when you realize she’s already staring at you. It’s hard to tell what she’s thinking. She doesn’t seem to be particularly impressed by you. Her hands are in her pockets as she holds your intense gaze. The man next to her leans over and whispers in her ear. Her eyes never leave yours as she replies. Their conversation is muddled by the cramped people around them. 
For a second, the smell of the pit mingles with the memory of you pressed against her. Her strong back flexing beneath you as she tries to buck you off. The wild look in her eyes when she realizes what you were doing. Your heart beats faster, and not because of the adrenaline. 
You break the spell between you, stomping into the tunnel and weaving towards the exit. 
— — —
It carries on for a few weeks. 
You can never tell if Gord is pushing Vi to fight more or if Vi willingly puts herself through hell every other day. The Iron Fist of Zaun is always in rotation, more so than any other fighter. It’s gotten to the point where people are betting how long Vi could remain undefeated. You’d assume that Parvata would try to push you to fight her again, just to win the bets against her. She doesn’t. With it, no good pay. 
You find yourself settled in the crowds instead of in the pit itself. You don’t join in on the cheers or booing. Guy after guy, match after match. A few missed punches, a nice fist to the face, and the sharp ding of Gord’s bell. Just when you think that there will be no more matches for the night, Vi comes slaughtering in view. 
You hate how you immediately perk up, watching how she goes for a punch that knocks a metal jaw off of someone. A single punch. In less than a minute the fight is over and the crowd goes crazy. Vi’s sweaty back faces you. Her entire upper back is exposed and you now have a clearer view of the beautiful tattoo that adorns her skin. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. A cruel, taunting voice whispers that you wish to trace the wet muscle along the inked skin. Smelling her, tasting her—
You were unprepared for Vi to turn around and hone in on your spot in the crowd. As if she knew you were there, watching her from the shadows. You can’t help but observe the steady rise and fall of her sweaty chest. A bead of sweat making a tantalizing trail down her cheek and dropping between the swell of her breasts. Your mouth dries, suddenly parched. 
Something hot and wanting stirs inside of you. Vi must’ve seen it on your face because her usual scorned face shifts to a teasing smirk. 
A referee motions her towards the tunnels and Vi’s gaze momentarily leaves you. The spotlight is stripped away from you and you feel like you can finally breathe. Your clothes feel too warm—too tight along your body. Her gaze alone is a fire and you want to feel its burn. 
You part the crowd, trying to find the familiar door that leads down to the gate tunnels. 
A rough hand shoots out from behind, yanking you towards the exit. 
— — —
In a strange twist of events, Parvata ends up finding use for you outside of the ring. J’kepie’s bloodied body is dragged into the stale office and Parvata drips off the badge on his jacket. She drags you by the collar and jabs the pin into your leather jacket. Her insignia; a mountain range with a star above it. Head debt collector. 
“Consider this your promotion,” she growls, blowing smoke into your face. “Do well and you’ll get double the pay. Triple if you don’t ask questions” 
You know better than to fight her on this. So you nod. 
— — —
An entire month passes before you find yourself back in the pit. 
Debt collecting—you soon realized—was a misleading title. A glorified mercenary. If that bastard were still alive you would use your mechanical webbing to string him out on the lamppost by his neck. A client paid good money for J’kepie’s services, only to fail miserably. You weren’t allowed a day of rest,  swept up in Parvata’s circle. Caught in the webs of political alliances, drug wars, and hush money payments. After weeks of slaving away, you had finally stomped out the last of the client’s enemies. 
Your reward? Thirty-thousand golden hexes and a weekend off. 
You were at your wits end. The money you earned paled in comparison to the headache of cleaning up J’Kepie’s mess. You were constantly relying on yourself to do the work of over twenty people. You didn’t know how Parvata made it this long with such incompetent drones. At least she always kept true to her word. With the money you have saved up, you were able to buy a bigger home with a working shower. Food isn’t a scarcity anymore and your clothes were brand new.
You don’t know why your mind constantly drifts to the smelly arena tucked in the slums of Zaun. It’s not like you particularly loved fighting. It’s something to keep you occupied. Zaun was a vicious cycle of violence; of dirty tricks and guerilla warfare. In the pit, the only rules were to use your fist, your brain, and nothing else. Your only chance to take control of that cycle and make something out of it. 
Between the long days with blood caking your face, your mind wanders. Not to the thrill of the fight or the satisfaction, but to the angry phantom with piercing blue eyes and a warmth that rivaled the sun. She appears in your dreams with rough hands, calloused from years of fighting. Her fingers dance along any exposed skin; tracing your tattoos with the heavy weight of her tongue. Your back would arch, chasing her touch that she would so readily give you. Hoping that she catches your skin with her teeth, marking, biting—
Morning slips into night and your worn shoes carry you from your (somewhat) cushy apartment to the graffitied building that vibrates with music. Parvata doesn’t accompany you or even mentions for you to continue fighting. Too many loose ends to burn off. With her gone, no substantial money will be placed in your favor.  
You didn’t want the money. You were angry; itching to let off steam. To gather up your frustration and let it boil over the surface until there’s nothing left of you. 
At least that’s what you’re hoping for. 
“Sorry kid, all available fights are booked up.” 
You force an inhale, keeping your voice as even as you can. “C’mon, you know I’m one of Parvata’s. One fight that’s all I ask.” 
The old lady doesn’t lift her eyes from her book. Her eyes drift from one side to the next at a snail’s pace. “I know who you are, kid. Seems like you’re without your owner too. Doesn’t budge the fact that all fights are booked. Can’t you read?” She jerks a thumb to the sign next to her. 
NO SLOTS AVAILABLE
Below the sign was a list of the available matches. Your heart spikes at the words, “Iron Fist” being scribbled in for the first match. Her opponent is none other than Rondo. 
Gears start to turn in your head. 
With a final huff, the old lady tugs a metal string, pulling a sheet of metal over her kiosk. Your nails dig into your wrapped palm, trying to keep yourself from punching the glass. If your fist doesn’t connect to someone’s face soon, you are going to end up in Stillwater by midnight. Not even Pavarta would come save your sorry ass. 
“Fifteen minutes before it’s showtime!” the speakers blare out. 
People have already started to make their way inside through the front entrance. Red tickets in their hands, waving them around excitedly. A recurring color you’d see as you pass by. The sounds of music and cheering can be heard inside, enticing you in. 
You were going to fight whether that old bitch likes it or not.
— — —
Going through the crowd of people was going to shave down the limited time you had. There were multiple entries into the building reserved for staff and VIP members. Fighters typically use the main entrance or go through one of the VIP doors if they’re accompanied by their sponsor. Parvata was away doing gods know what and you didn’t want to fumble through sweaty bodies. The shortest route would be sneaking into the kitchen. 
The lock to the kitchen easily clicked open after a few twists of your hooked pin. Fridays means more people to feed so most of the staff were preoccupied enough to not care about you sliding between them. You breeze past chefs and waiters as you make your way through. A bit far removed from the main event, but you still have ten minutes before it starts. On the other side of the kitchen was a discreet door with small red trim on the bottom. No one looked your way as you opened it. 
The air is considerably colder here. You let muscle memory carry you through the damp corridors until the familiar waiting room comes into view. The door to the room opens and a tall man with snakes coiling his neck steps out. You quickly press against the wall, out of sight. 
A gruff voice calls out to the man: “Will you be back in time? Ten minutes is gonna go by real quick.”
“Just gon’ take a piss,” Rondo grunts, flicking the end of his cigarette to the floor. The door slams shut and he retreats further down the hallway.  
You use the shadows to your advantage, following him like a ghost.
— — —
Vi downs the last half of her beer. The third one today.
Her fifth fight this week. By anyone's standards, that’s too little time to recover. A restless night between each match and shit beer won’t do her any good, but she can’t find it within herself to care. Loris does at least. That’s good enough for both of them. The burn the beer leaves behind gives her the buzz she needs to carry on. Not enough to get her shit-face (not yet at least), but just enough for her body to feel loosened up.
To ease the pain Cait had left behind. Even if it’s only temporary. In the early days, all she could see was the dark blue hair and sharp face of Cait hiding between people. Her face lingered, festering the hurt in her chest until all she could do was sob into her pillows at night. She stopped, only because something else was distracting her. Keeping her afloat in the sea of her grief. 
Another ghost of her past. A hazy memory from bygone days. Where Powder was still her sister; Claggor and Mylo were still pains in her ass; Vander would pour her favorite juice after a successful trip. Sometimes Vi would come home to see you perched up on the bar. Your legs would swing on the stool as you talked to one of her friends. She would mostly see you with Ekko, letting him rattle off your ear until he couldn’t breathe. Rarely would she interact with you, let alone talk to you. She never would’ve admitted to it then, but she was intimidated by you. A pretty, shy girl with a bright smile is enough to make anyone fumble over their words. You were her first crush, for years she was haunted by you. She realized that far too late when your parents had died. You drifted from them. From Ekko, Powder, and her (even if you didn’t know it). You kept in touch with Benzo for a while before he too died. 
Vi wasn’t close enough to know where you’d gone. 
Her fondness for you lingered. During her years in Stillwater she thought of your animated conversations. Short-lived as they were, Vi replayed those talks in her head. Your laugh would tease her in dreams. Your soft hands tracing the scars along her body with love and care. Your kisses would be as sweet as your laugh. By the time Cait had busted her out of that dingy cell, the dreams fizzled out until you were just another memory in her mind. 
Cait was different. While you were just a daydream, Cait was something real to Vi. It wasn’t just a simple crush between the two of them. Not love either, but something different. A trust in each other. Someone to count on when the world turns against them. When the end of her gun slammed into Vi’s abdomen, it felt worse than any punch to her face. Cait took the trust between them, ripped it with her teeth, and spat it out without a second thought. When Cait left Zaun, a piece of Vi went along with her. 
Pit fighting seemed like the only natural outlet for Vi. Why not take the only thing she’s good at and use it to distract herself? It seemed like a good plan at the time. Loris didn’t say much about it, but he knew that she was stubborn enough to follow through with or without him. It worked well enough. Loud music and cheers drowning out the pounding of her heart and the whispers of Cait’s voice. 
But then you appeared across from her. A ghost turned real and tangible. The shy girl who would scream at the sight of any bug had grown up to be a fighter. Outwitting her strength in a way that stole her breath—literally. You were deadly, even as Vi had you cornered with whip-fast punches. When you jumped on her back, compressing her body between your legs, her head at the mercy of your arms, Vi’s anger evaporated. In a mere five minutes you did what no other substance could: make her forget about her heartbreak completely. 
Maybe it was a good thing that she was angry at Caitlyn. Then she wouldn’t feel so bad, thinking about fucking you. 
— — —
Vi enters the pit in sync with the announcer. 
Per routine she automatically starts to rake through the crowd. A mesh of excited faces with their mouths open, screaming her name until their throat grows hoarse. Vi would see your face at every match, watching like a hawk. Your visits grew shorter and shorter. A month ago you stopped coming. Still, Vi grazed over the seats, hoping to see you lingering in the shadows. 
When her eyes fail to see you, her shoulders sag imperceptibly. 
“Get ready for the Piltover Boxing Leagues’ middleweight fighter—Rondo!”. 
Her brain short-circuits when you walk to the arena. The crowd goes wild at your appearance, shouting your name in hopes you would look their way. Instead you held Vi’s shocked gaze. Something is different about you. A look of hunger flashes in your eyes, a determination that was absent when you first fought. Vi forgets about Caitlyn’s betrayal; the feeling of her lips pressed against hers; her toned, lithe body molding against Vi’s torso. 
Vi forgets it all when you stand in front of her. It was forever ago when she had that childhood crush on you. All pure, sweet, and innocent. Something else blooms in her body. Not love, trust, or the fleeting whispers of her old crush on you. A different feeling. A steady heat that slowly overtakes her body. A curiosity that nips at her mind. The urge to pick you apart, analyzing everything that makes you tick. To back you against the wall with nowhere to run. 
Vi’s attention was solely on you. Only you. There’s a spackle of blood across your face and a fading bruise near your temple. She raises her hands near face and you do the same. A charged energy ignites between you two and with it comes a newfound passion. A desire to win. 
DING
Your muscles snap into place as you bolt forward. Vi meets you halfway, sending a hard punch straight to your face. 
— — —
The lights above you strain your eyes. A dull ringing is present in your ears and you feel your body involuntarily swaying to the bass of the music. Vi is not much better. She’s breathing considerably harder now with a fresh bruise on her chest. There’s a noticeable strain in her hip from where you’ve kicked. For the better part of five minutes the two of you were locked into a series of punches, kicks, and scratches. Vi’s body was more rock than flesh. You jabbed every sharp corner of your body into her, slowing her down enough to send your elbow to the side of her head. Vi retreats, putting distance between you two. One of Vi’s hand wrappings came undone thanks to your teeth, leaving her bruised knuckles exposed. 
You circle each other, trying to catch your breath. Vi is terrible at guarding vital parts of her body, but she makes up for it in explosive punches and a speed that rivals your own. Your body is tense, threatening to lock up from exhaustion. You keep your fighting stance, watching Vi’s every move in case she tries to pull another fast combo on you. 
You’re starting to understand why people have a passion for this—the fight. Not just showing off cool moves or delighting in beating someone up just for the sake of it. Not for survival or just as a way to let out all the pent up energy in your body. 
For the first time in your life, you’ve met an opponent who is skilled. In most circumstances you are engaged with people who utilize strength or weapons with little regard to finesse. You stood out to Parvata for your ability to out maneuver, outwit, and overcome opponents who otherwise have the bigger advantage. The thrill that came from a fight would wear off and slowly that high became less and less potent. Each fight felt the same as the last. 
Fighting became a chore, a job to do in order to get money. Pavarta signs and you show up. Dull. Repetitive. Redundant. 
Vi was your perfect antithesis. A break in a mind-numbing routine. Where you attack, she finds a way to block. When you falter she’s hot on your heels. You know she remembers you. You can feel it in the way her gaze keeps falling down your body and back up to your face. Even as you’re trying to knock her teeth in. She doesn’t let her familiarity with you cloud her judgement and you find yourself appreciating it. You’re glad to know that with each punch, she truly means it. 
A blink is all it took for Vi to come swinging once more. You twist out of the way and ram your fist into her side. Vi grunts out, elbowing you in the back. The sharp angle of her joint sends a wave of pain. You fall to the ground, barely catching yourself with weak arms. Vi doesn’t give you time to recover. Her steel-toe boot kicks your side, hard enough to make all the air leave your lungs at once. Pain shoots everywhere. 
With a huff you bring your leg out, swiping her ankle until she’s on the ground with you. It’s a struggle to try to get on top of her. Her mouth in a snarl as she tries to fight you off. 
Much of her intimidation comes with her being on two feet. On the ground, however, she’s flailing. 
You force yourself past her arms and settle your weight on her chest. Vi tries to punch your abdomen but you redirect her punch. Your nails dig into the wrapping and undo it. When her other hand tries to land a hit, you take the loose end of her wrapping and bind her wrists together; caught in a web of your doing. You slam her bound arms above her head onto the concrete. The sound is so crisp that the ringing in your ears cease. 
Vi is full-on thrashing beneath you. She jerks and writhes, desperately trying to buck you off of her. It doesn’t work, of course. You lean closer, taking in the messy makeup, the silver nose ring, the small scars across her face. She’s surprised, her mouth parts to let out frustrated huffs. Her once soft blue eyes are overtaken by her dilated pupils.
She stops shifting beneath you and it’s then that you realize that you’re fully seated on top of her breasts. Your core is settled on top of her sternum, the wild pulse no doubt could be felt by her. The heat is all consuming. A sickening shock goes down your spine and with it comes the familiar ache of arousal. Vi’s gaze is no longer surprised or panicked. Hunger is written as clear as day in her darkened eyes. 
The referee runs beside you, slamming his hand on the ground. Once. Twice. 
The final slam declares you the victor. 
DING DING DING
— — —
Vi is no stranger to being roughly handled. Seven years in prison didn’t exactly go by smoothly. Hell, these past few weeks were filled with nothing but split knuckles and a mind-numbing headache. You were all coiled muscle and snapping teeth in the ring. Vi was wholeheartedly expecting to be dragged off to an empty room and be devoured by you.
But you continue to give her more surprises. 
“Let's get you cleaned up,” you say, leading her out of the building. A soft invitation that was so unlike your behavior when fighting. It’s the first time in years since she’s heard you speak. Directly at her, no less. Vi’s brows draw into a furrow and your lips tilt to a smile. “It’s a bit of a walk, but I know your place doesn’t have good heating.” 
The adrenaline from the fight starts to dissipate, and so does the innate want in her body. She can think clearly now.
Vi stops in her tracks, glaring. “Stalkin’ me much?”
“I’ve been fighting in that pit longer than you, Vi.” Her heart flutters with the mention of her name. You continue walking, kicking rocks out of your way. “It doesn’t exactly pay you much. I had two jobs and could barely keep the water running. Plus, you don’t seem to wash out that makeup.”
“I do.” She doesn’t. You give her a smirk to let her know that you see through her bullshit. You tug on her naked wrist. Warm and tender, like she’s a piece of glass. She lets you. 
You greatly understated how much walking there was to your place. Vi doesn’t complain in the slightest, especially if it means talking to you for longer. Occasionally you would point out a new restaurant that opened or a brothel that many Piltover elites would favor. You’re easy to talk to, she concludes. Sometime during the walk, your hands joined together. Wound tightly, swaying in tandem with your steps. She doesn’t deny that you’re an entirely different person, but there’s part of the old you that remains. You’re still talkative. A trait that Vi often finds annoying, but with you it falls under the category of endearing. Your smiles light up your face, as small as they are. 
Your apartment is better than Vi had pictured in her head. Spacious with high windows and modest furniture. It’s cozy, intimate. More so than when Vi entered Caitlyn’s home. In Piltover, Vi is painfully aware that she doesn’t belong. Everything bad in her life traces back to the gilded city with gleaming white buildings and blue skies. No matter how much money you seem to make (which Vi guesses is a lot more than you make it out to be), you’re a Zaunite through and through. 
Maybe the three mile hike through the Lanes was worth it, Vi thinks wryly.  
The lock to your door clicks shut and Vi is fully aware that she’s alone with you. 
You lean against the wall, kicking off your shoes. The perpetual twilight of Zaun makes your body glow. You peel off the jacket with that shiny gold badge, revealing your bruised body. Your tank top is tight along your chest, emphasizing your body in a way that makes Vi’s face darken. Her fingers curl inside of the pockets of her jacket, itching to touch you. 
“Something the matter?” you ask. A genuine question seeing as how Vi’s face is pinched, focused on you. The darkness of the room makes her look angry. 
Before you can open your mouth again, Vi crosses the room until she’s all that you see. Her hands, rough and calloused like you imagined, find the hem of your top. Your breath is caught in your throat, your body jolting at the contact. Her thumb gently follows the skin along your hip bone—the jagged scar that caught her attention all those weeks ago. You feel her trace imprint of your scar, her thumb teasing the edge of your pants where it continues. 
“Been wonderin’ how far this goes,” she murmurs. She flickers up at your face, hesitating just a bit. Waiting for your permission. 
Your face is warm and your smile is full of teeth. “Why don’t you fuck me to find out?” you challenge. 
Vi wastes no time in slotting your bodies together. Your response is immediate. Your hands slide up her abs, trailing upwards until they knot in her dark hair. Vi groans into you, and you take the opportunity to slide your tongue into her mouth. The sound she emits makes your spine tingle. Vi’s warmth is all consuming. Her hands are everywhere—your hips, the small of your back, your ass—mapping out your body’s topography with her eyes closed. She’s eager to have you close, to feel you, claim you. 
A bit too eager with the way she’s pressing against your lips so hard that you think they’ll bruise. But with the way she’s groping your ass you don’t even have the will to care. 
The leather jacket around Vi’s shoulders is pushed away by your hands. Using Vi’s hair as a leash, you tug her head back, forcing her to reveal her neck to you. You latch onto the soft patch of skin just below her jaw. Vi keens, gripping onto your hips like a vice. 
Her skin is still tacky with sweat. The salt dissolves with your open mouth kisses. Your teeth gently nip the hollow of her throat until the vessels beneath her skin breath. A mark; ownership. Vi jolts when she feels your tongue, hot and needy, drag along the column of her neck. If it wasn’t for your tight grip onto her, Vi is certain that her knees would’ve given out right then and there. 
You jerk her back, harder this time. Vi releases her hold on you. Her eyes are glazed over, her eyes dilated once again. You hook a finger onto a loop in her pants and drag her deeper into your apartment. Vi stumbles, trying her best to get her shaky legs to move faster. You barely felt her up and already she’s been reduced to a horny mess. 
Vi is far from inexperienced. She had a rotation of girls in her prison block vying for her attention, begging for a quick fuck in a supply closet or in the showers. She’s no stranger to being touched, to have a tongue slide into her mouth, or being groped. She doesn’t understand why it feels different when it comes to you. Why is she buzzing with excitement when the door to your room squeaks open? Why does her heart skip a beat when you shove her onto your bed? Why the fuck does she let out a pathetic whine when you lift up your tank top, revealing your bare chest to her? 
You crawl on top of her to kiss her again. It’s slower, precise, but equally as firm. Vi knows she’s strong enough to tug you closer, but the way your tongue keeps sliding against her own makes her head foggy. When you pull away, an obvious trail of spit connects you two. With a single hand you pop open the button on her jeans. Cold anticipation fills her. 
“Wanna take my time with you,” you say against her swollen lips. There’s a raw edge to your voice that lets Vi know that you’re desperate for her too. 
A glint of metal catches Vi’s eyes as you pull out a small knife from your pants. With the precision of a surgeon, you slice open the bandages that cover her chest. The muscles of her abdomen flex when your knife cuts a touch too close to her skin. The layers of wrappings fall open like a flower in bloom, revealing her bare torso to you. 
You kiss along her neck once more. Your lips carve a path down to the middle of her sternum. Wet, sloppy, occasionally accompanied by the glide of your tongue. Vi’s hips involuntarily jerk upwards, trying to alleviate the ache of her core. 
“You’re such a—ah—fucking tease,” she huffs. 
You hum against the underside of her breast. “So impatient,” you chide with a gentle nip of her skin. “Not unlike your fighting style.” 
All words of protest die in Vi’s throat when you take a nipple into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the sensitive bud, watching Vi arch into you. You can’t help but grin at her disheveled state. You palm her other breast, twisting the hardening nipple with your fingers. One of Vi’s hands flies to her mouth, trying to silence the higher pitched gasps and moans. 
You pinch her nipple a little harder. “Cover your mouth again and I’ll stop.”
“It’s embarrassing,” she whines. 
You cup her clothed pussy, digging your hand harshly against the crest of her slit. The moan that escapes Vi is music to your ears. “I’m trying to be nice Vi. I want to hear every noise you make.” You punctuate your words with another roll of your hand. “Can you do that for me baby?”
A few more slides of your hand and Vi gives a weak nod of affirmation. Satisfied, you continue your trail down her torso. You’re a drug. You must be. Your lips alone are undoing her, fanning the flames of her desire in a way that no one else could. With every tender bruise, your tongue gently prods it with a cruel grin. Vi keeps her hands fisted in your sheets, trying to please your demands of hearing her. She’s not used to receiving; being at the mercy of someone during sex. It’s as foreign of a concept to her as living her life in Piltover with an ivory tower and silk clothes. She’s not used to being beaten in a game she’s good at, especially not to the same person. Not with fighting and certainly not through sex. But you managed to do it anyway. 
You’re an enigma to her. Opposite to her in such a way that leaves her aching. Oil and water, yet you find a way to compliment her. Separated by time, but equal when together. Her match in a ring, and her match in bed it seems. 
Vi lifts herself on her forearms, watching you with rapt attention when your mouth leaves her body. You move to her feet, undoing the tight laces of her boots and tossing them onto the floor. Once her other shoe hits the ground with a loud thud, you’ve finally reached the faint trail of hair under her belly button with a soft kiss. Your teeth catch the fly of her zipper and pull it down. The sharp sound made her heart pound faster. You tug onto her pants and underwear, Vi lifting her hips to help you slide them off her body. 
Cold air hits her cunt and she sucks in a breath. Your lips part in awe, seeing the proof of her desire leaking out of her entrance. You settle between her legs, placing your hand on the corded muscle of her thighs to keep her spread for you. You watch her opening clench around nothing, practically begging you to put your mouth on it. Apparently, you were staring a second too long. 
“You gonna watch or are you gonna fuck me?” Vi snaps, already fed up with your prolonged teasing. Her cheeks are flushed as her eyes challenge yours. “Don’t tell me you forgot how to eat pussy.”
Vi grins at your displeased face, happy to see your assured confidence crack just a little. 
You give her a sharp glare, but that only seems to stir a spark of rebellion against your cruel tyranny. You certainly can’t have that. 
So you press your thumb against her puffy clit and watch as her jaw goes slack. 
“Could you repeat that?” you ask with mock innocence. You let your thumb gather some of her slick and gently rub her crest. A wordless gasp leaves Vi as you continue your slow ministrations. “Something the matter, Vi? Spider got your tongue?” Your thumb is pressing against her harder, almost to the point of pain. You shake your head with faux sympathy, clicking your tongue. “Poor thing’s been neglected. I barely touched you and you’re already ruining my sheets. Maybe I should leave you here so I can prevent a mess.” 
A strained noise of protest escapes from Vi. Too caught up in pleasure to see past your obvious bluff.  “Don’t you dare…f-fuck! Don’t you dare stop—shit.”  
“You’re not in the position to be making demands,” you state, emphasized with a light pinch of her clit. Vi bucks her hips into your hand, trying to get as much friction out of you. 
“‘M sorry…won’t do it again—ah—promise!” 
As much as you want to prolong her suffering, you’re too selfish to deprive yourself of good pussy just to prove a point. Next time, you think to yourself. If there will be a next time. You push down that thought, focusing on the growing slick accumulating in your palm. Vi whines when your hand leaves, but quickly swallows any scathing words when she feels your tongue drag along her slit. Kitten licks and kisses along her pussy makes Vi more desperate. But it’s not enough to release the pressure in her core. You continue to tease her even as she’s starting to grow frustrated. You would prod her tight entrance with your tongue, only to retreat a few seconds later. You watch with a grin at Vi’s mounting frustrations, wanting to test her patience with you. 
When you latch onto her clit, sucking it gently, Vi damn near sobs in relief. 
You’re a god. That’s the only explanation. Your saliva holds a magical elixir that sends her nerves ablaze and makes her mind go blank. If this was a ploy to get her to join your cult, she’ll be attending mass every day of the damn week just to experience your mouth on her cunt, no questions asked. Your firm hold on her thighs keeps her from crushing your skull between them. In a few minutes she’s already starting to shake. 
When you add a finger to the mix, Vi is making sounds she never thought capable of. It takes a few tries to find the right spot, but when you do, you’re merciless. Your finger and mouth working in sync to bring her to the height of her pleasure. The pressure between Vi’s legs threatens to snap. Her body winding tighter, tighter, tighter—
Vi chants your name like a prayer. Broken wails that plead for your grace; to give her sweet relief to the pain you had also caused her. “Please, please, please! I can’t…fuck, I need to cum! Please—”
Who are you to deny a beautiful woman’s cries? You add in a second finger, never faltering in your brutal assault. Vi’s pussy clamps down on your fingers—the only warning of her impending descent. 
The pressure explodes outwards. Energy ripples through her body in powerful waves until she’s left shivering. Vi’s back arches off the bed as she cries out your name, her eyes rolling to the back of her skull. Her strong legs wrapping around your head, suffocating you with her body and essence. Cum gushes onto your face and fingers as you continue to fuck her through her orgasm. Only when she parts her legs and starts to jerk her hips away do you stop.
Vi is left shaky, her chest struggling to inhale deeply. Still, she hauls you from her legs and pulls you in for a kiss. She lets out a groan at the taste of her sex on your lips. 
You give her one more peck before pulling away slightly. “Forgotten how to eat pussy, huh?”
The look in Vi’s eyes tells you that she doesn’t regret it one bit. “Worth it to have you prove it to me.” 
“You’re a brat, you know that?” you say, exasperated. 
Vi grabs hold of your waist and rolls you on your back. She doesn’t bother teasing you with nips and open mouth kisses along your body. You were right to call her impatient as she fumbles with your belt. There’s a fire behind those blue eyes of hers, a look of ambition and cunning.  
Before you could question her motives, Vi grabs both of your wrists and mounts on top of you. You feel the clink of your belt as Vi wraps them around your wrists, tying them to your metal headboard. In the span of a few seconds, she manages to secure you to your bed, completely at her mercy. Her slick core rubs against your stomach as you helplessly pull against your restraints. 
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you ask. 
Vi’s hand travels appreciatively down your chest, stopping you giving your breasts a squeeze. “Repaying the favor.” She wears the same look as she does in the ring. Halfway between a glare and a look of curiosity. 
Vi shifts off of you, relieving your body of her weight. Instead she settles between your legs, much like how you did before. 
You tilt your chin out, glaring up at her. “You think that you’re in charge now just because you restrained me?” 
“I do, actually.”
You’d be lying if you said you don’t find it incredibly hot to be at the complete mercy of someone like Vi. Still, you hoped to have your streak of conquering Vi to be undefeated, at least for the night. Vi is too busy tracing her fingers along your body, mentally counting all the scars she could see on your body. You try to not let it show that her seeking fingers have an effect on you, however your traitorous skin erupts in goosebumps wherever her finger travels. Vi takes her time visually appreciating her body. She enjoys the feeling of warm flesh beneath her fingers, the subtle shivers whenever she finds a particularly sore spot. 
“So beautiful,” she whispers, almost to herself. “Been wanting this for so long.”
A shallow chuckle escapes you. “Since you saw me in the pit?”
You whimper softly when she kneads the soft mounds of your breasts.  Her brows furrow and her movements falter for a moment. 
“Before that,” she corrects, in a serious tone that shocks you. 
It takes a moment for the implication of her admission to hit you. You almost laughed at the ridiculous notion. You wanted nothing more than to be friends with Vi as kids. But any advance was met with hesitation. She would constantly avoid any prolonged interaction with you. You tried not to take it to heart; she always had a lot on her plate. You assumed she didn’t think you were cool and you’ve learned to make peace with that. Even if Powder constantly assured you that Vi didn't actually hate you…
Oh.
“I just…I thought that…y'know.” 
“Y’know what?” Vi asks. 
You force a steady inhale. “I thought that you didn’t want to be friends with me. I grew up thinking you secretly hated me.” Suddenly the immediate chemistry between you two in the ring starts to make sense. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner? When I saw you again I thought that you wouldn’t remember—”
Vi shuts up your rambling with a kiss. A dizzying, passionate kiss that steals what little air you have left in your lungs. You wrap your legs around Vi’s hips, bringing her closer. She lets you press your pelvises together, groaning in your mouth when you start to move. Her hips move in sync with yours, grinding against your heated core with fervor. 
Vi breaks the kiss but doesn’t stop the movement of her hips. “I thought about you every night since our first fight.” You let out sharp gasps when her hands return to your chest. “When I saw you in the stands, I wanted to drag you to the bathrooms and fuck you against the sink” Her hands finds your hips and presses you down to her pubic bone, hard enough to make you arch into her with a whine. “Let me have you. Even if it’s just for tonight.”
“Do it,” you say, your voice growing hoarse, “take me. I’ll be yours.”
There’s the unspoken meaning behind that declaration. A line that separates you two, once crossed it can have the power to destroy you from the inside out. You don’t seem to realize the weight of what you’re saying. Vi knows her mind is still conflicted on Caitlyn. She can’t bring herself to commit to hating her, but she can’t deny the toll it’s taken on her mind. Poisoning her. With you, the pain recedes, forgotten and pushed away. A distraction. A damn good one. 
When Vi kisses you again, she remembers all of the reasons why she was so drawn to you. You were more than just a pretty girl that she admired from afar. Her antithesis. Should she accept your invitation, wholeheartedly, you will have the power to be a weapon of her undoing. Vi should be scared of that. Not too long ago she poured her heart and bled for someone who ultimately discarded her. 
But then you moan out Vi’s name—breathy and desperate. A longing to rewrite your shared past between each kiss. A call to action. To finally answer one of Vi’s biggest what if? 
Vi runs past that separation between you two. Just for tonight, she promises weakly. 
In her haste to get your pants off your body, she snaps the button of your jeans and yanks the garment off along with your soaked panties. Her fingers run along your slit, teasing your entrance with the pad of her finger. 
“Please!”
Vi slides her middle finger down to the knuckle, curving ever so slightly. You jerk into her hand and Vi knows she’s found your weakest point. It’s like her fingers were made your pussy. She gives an experimental press of her finger, slowly building up a steady pace. Your tough demeanor chipping away bit by bit with each drag of her finger. 
You’re panting heavily. The squelching sound of your wet cunt fills the space between your bodies. Vi sets a moderate pace, enough to elicit moans, but not enough to satisfy. Vi must’ve seen the look on your face. 
“Let me take care of you, baby.” Her hand moves a touch faster, but you’re so wound up that any difference makes you cry out. “That’s it—that’s my girl.”
 A steady ache builds in your core at the name. You pull needlessly against the tight restraints, hoping that one more tug would be enough to free your hands. You want to touch her, to bring her closer to you bodies and fuck you properly. 
Vi laughs at your struggle. “Too much for you? Should I slow down?”
You shake your head vehemently. “More…give—fuck, give me more Vi. Need you…need more of you!”
The moment you feel her lips on yours, you also feel the addition of another finger deep in your cunt. The effect is immediate. Vi could barely kiss you with how loudly you’re moaning; jaw hung open, head thrown back, and your hips furiously meeting her fingers. She grabs your open jaw and forces you to look at her. Vi’s spit hits the back of your throat. When she sees you swallow—mouth closing and throat squeezing—she lets out a string of curses. 
A third finger makes your eyes roll to the back of your skull. Your thighs seize up and your chest tightens. You’re so, so close. You need something more. Just one more push and you’ll fall off the edge. 
As if Vi could read your mind, her hand leaves your face, pressing below your belly button, right where her fingers meet the spot inside of you that makes you see stars. The pressure from her other hand combined with her feverish fucking was enough make you cum—hard. Your body twists in on itself, trying to ride out the pulses of pure feeling. Blinding pleasure rips through your body like lightning, hitting you fast and leaving behind a burn. Your cum rushes out of you like a dam, coating Vi’s fingers. 
“That’s it baby. You’re taking me so well. My good girl,” Vi coos, slowing down in her assault against your cunt. 
It takes a minute to come down from your euphoria. Your body slowly relaxes as Vi eases her fingers out of you. You can’t help but whine at the loss. 
In an executive act of mercy, Vi tugs at the belt restraint, freeing your sore wrists. 
You feel warm. A hot, pulsating nerve that’s been rubbed raw. Never in your life had sex ever been that good. You don’t even think you’re even capable of making yourself cum that hard. Vi collapses beside you, pulling you to her chest. You breathe in the scent of her; sweat, musk, and faint traces of leather. 
“We’ll shower tomorrow,” she mumbles into the side of your head. Exhausted. 
You feel the lull of sleep start to take you too. You bury your face into her neck, letting yourself trace patterns along the muscles of her back. Her strong arms wrap around your body, caging you with her warmth. Her soft, bruised, scarred skin enveloping you. You lay like this for a while, listening to the slow staccato of her heartbeat. Vi’s breath evens out and soon she’s asleep in your arms. It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep as well. 
— — —
At some point during the night, Vi twists away from you. You only notice when her voice starts to pull you awake. 
“Didn’t…didn’t mean to,” she whispers. Her face is scrunched up, pained. 
You’re unsure what the protocol is for someone having a bad dream. You want to smooth your thumb over her pinched brows, kissing her frown until her imaginary worries go away. But if Vi wakes up, would she talk about it? You’re paralyzed by the decision, you opt to simply stay on your side of the bed. If it gets too much then you’ll wake her. In the meantime, you’ll try to ignore her sleep talking. You only have the weekend off after all. Soon, Parvata will be knocking on your door, demanding for your services. The thought alone makes you exhausted. 
The bed shifts again and this time Vi’s arms find you. This time, your back is pressed against her chest, her lips ghosting over the top of your shoulder. 
“Sorry…” she murmurs into your skin. A longing spelled with each syllable. “Love…I love you.”
You’re frozen. Her arms around your waist feel like dead weight. A sour feeling is felt in your gut; the feeling that whatever comes out of her mouth will haunt you. 
Vi’s mouth moves again. Sounds pressed against your skin, trying to be let out. Then, you hear it. As clear as Piltover’s skies.
“Caitlyn.”
You felt your heart stop in its tracks. It’s the clearest word that came out of her ramblings. With it comes a shock of clarity that makes the room feel ten degrees colder. Caitlyn…why does that name seem familiar?
Kiramman. Caitlyn Kiramman. Vi’s supposed enforcer buddy before she would up in the pits. Responsible for the removal of one of the chem-barons and their followers. Not much is known about what exactly went wrong to have Vi end up back in Zaun. But one thing was clear. 
Vi was using you. To distract herself from the Kiramman heir. It wasn’t a desire to reconnect with you that led her to follow you. Seems as though sex was a better option than shitty liquor. You feel Vi nuzzle against your skin and you fight the urge to recoil from her touch. It’s not like you’ve staked your claim to her. She wasn’t your girlfriend. You didn’t establish any boundaries or attach any labels to what you were. She never accepted your invitation after all—”I’ll be yours”. 
You slowly maneuver your body until you’re facing Vi. She’s still sound asleep. The hard crease in the middle of her brows is gone, looking  more relaxed than you’ve seen her. You shouldn’t feel jealous. Vi isn’t your partner. And now you have confirmation that she most likely never will be. 
So you cling onto her. Pretending that just for tonight, she’s actually yours. 
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mywritersmind · 1 month ago
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NOT SO HAPPY HOLIDAYS - LN4
↳pt.4
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christmas special
part one - part two - part three
summary : You’re not a damsel, just someone who happens to enjoy the help of an attractive man once and a while. This goes down the drain as soon as he refuses to kill a spider for you. Christmas is approaching and Lando is inching closer and closer to the nice list, only if he stops mentioning that kiss.
og summary : Spending Christmas with my brothers best friend isn’t my ideal way to celebrate. With my parents in the maldives and my ex calling me non stop, I was hoping for a small town cozy christmas! I was going to get that with Max and his girlfriend until Lando Norris worked his way into the mix.
listen up : kissing! dual pov! mentions of sexual content!
words : 4157
⋆。‧˚⋆
I thought that I wouldn’t be able to sleep. My mind was already racing after kissing Lando and my thoughts always take over when I'm in my bed.
I couldn’t stop thinking about his lips on mine while I brushed my teeth. Or his hands under my shirt while I braided my hair. But the second I slipped under the covers, honestly wanting to over analyze the moment, I fell asleep.
There was one catch though. A glaring and irritatingly obvious catch.
I dreamt about him.
It wasn’t horny or scary, it was just… him. We sat on the couch and watched a movie. I don’t remember what he was saying, just remember how he looked in the firelight.
I woke up actually sad that it was over.
⋆༺
I barely talk to Lando in the morning, there’s definitely no time for any sort of conversation revolving around our secretive kisses.
Do I even want to talk to him about it?
Yes and No. I need to understand what it was but I’d also like to not embarrass myself and become another one of his one night things.
And then there’s Max and our little friends christmas. P definitely is sending me suspicious looks when I drag her to sit with me in the back seat instead of Lando.
Lando and Max sing christmas songs the whole way to the rink. Yes, you heard that right.
The rink.
It’s outside and I've never been more bundled. In a thick pink scarf and puffer jacket, I struggle to get my ice skates on. Lando sits next to me, hitting my arm as he tightens his skates, gripping the laces with how ungloved fingers.
He ties his into little bows as he says, “Need help, Sunshine?” I blink, for some reason, the nickname catches me off guard.
Max and P are already taking photos together as I nod, not even saying anything before he kneels in front of me, “I’m not some damsel in distress, you know.” I say as he takes my foot between his knees.
His curls are refreshed, those green eyes glancing up at me as a small smirk tugs at his lips, “I’m aware. Are you worried I think that?”
He tightens the laces, “I just want you to know I can do things for myself.” Even with snowboarding, he had to carry me. It makes me feel helpless even if he does look good helping me.
“I know you can, Sunny, trust me.” He moves to my other skate, “You kissed me all by yourself last night.” He says it in a low, quiet voice. Tieing off my skates and tapping my knee.
He's not smirking anymore, just looking at my partially shocked face. Lando stands, walking away as I wobble on my feet to get to the ice.
Contrary to my walking on the ground skate skills, I’m great at skating on actual ice. I used to skate when I was younger, Max had his one thing with karting and I wanted that.
For me, It wasn’t skating. But I did find a certain love for the cold sport.
Lando however, is not multi talented when it comes to sports. He grips onto the side rain as Max and P hold hands next to him.
I snap a picture of him where he looks utterly distressed. He frowns at me laughing at him, P joining, “Lan, we should get you one of those crutch things.”
His jaw drops at the implication just as a kid skates by, holding the plastic helper. “Help me out here.” Lando reaches for Max’s arm but my brother pulls it away quickly.
“You’re on your own for this one, bud.” He leaves as P starts speeding up. The rink isn’t too crowded which is good especially for the time of year.
Lando looks at me, uncomfortable and annoyed at the kid behind him who yells at him to hurry up, “Fuck no.” I laugh and start skating backwards, “It’s not that hard.”
He chuckles a bit, “That’s what she said.”
I frown and start to leave but am abruptly pulled back by Lando’s hand on my arm. He’s let go of the side and is grabbing my arm with impressive strength.
I roll my eyes and move his hands to mine, turning around so I can face him. It’s taking everything in me now to laugh, he’s hunched over in a dior jacket as his ‘4’ necklace dangles. “Look at me, Norris.”
He looks up hesitantly, “Stand up straight.”
“Yes Ma’am.” He winks and I almost let him go but he holds on tighter, his rings indenting into my gloves.
His posture improves as Max and P pass us, but I don’t even think he sees them because his eyes are on me.
He laughs a bit at the kid who zooms past us, and starts getting the hang of it more, “There you go…” His smile widens as we start up faster, then promptly trips.
“I’m feeling humbled.”
I laugh, “You should be. You’re shit at this.” He pulls me closer and I can’t if it’s on purpose or because he just tried to speed up.
Either way, he’s looking down at me and dropping one of my hands so we both face the same way. I go to pull my hand away but his grip tightens.
“You’re not gonna fall on your face.”
“I’m gonna fall on my face.” he says immediately as I laugh a bit and look away. “I need my face!”
“Right… brings in the big bucks at work.” Lando tugs me closer and smirks down at me.
“Are you… flirting with me?”
I bite my lip, shaking my head, “Keep dreaming.”
“Oh I had a great dream last night!” He says, far too chipper for me to fall for his words. “After a quick cold shower, I fell right to sleep.”
I roll my eyes at his words, “Now you’re just boosting my ego, Norris.”
“C’mon, Sunshine. You saw me last night. That fucking movie was torture.” I shiver at the icy air even though my legs are warming up from the workout.
“I thought it was good.” I shrug.
“Yeah well you didn’t have a raging hard-” Max and P catch up to us then and Lando switches his speech seamlessly, “Hard! This is so hard!”
P giggles and takes my other hand so we’re in a row now, the boys on either side of us. I send Lando a look but he doesn’t look at all guilty, just smirking innocently.
Pietra and I leave the boys, allowing me to speed up and do some rounds without my deadweight that is Lando. “Did something happen?” P asks as I dodge a man.
“Lando almost fell?”
“No.” She laughs, “I mean between you two…” oh shit. “I mean, did you take my advice?”
Translation : Did I fuck Lando Norris.
“No!” I say quickly, “I’m not going to either.”
We kissed. We kissed. We kissed.
“Ugh!” P groans as we pass them again, “Just a little holiday fling!”
I shake my head once again, pretending like the best kiss I've ever experienced didn't happen at all. “We just argued all though the movie, he stole my popcorn.”
“You two were pretty quiet when we got home.”
I sigh, “I’m sorry that we didn’t go at it, P!” We did. We would have probably gone further if it wasn’t for her and Max.
I’m soon taken down by my previous weight. Lando literally lands on top of me, sideways, and groaning. I rest my head against the ice, accepting defeat at this point.
“You’re a horrible teacher.” Lando says as he lifts himself off me, kneeling next to me as I sit up on my elbows.
“Excuse you!” I scoff and stand, looking down at him, “You’re a bad student.”
He's smiling still, even as I place my hands on my hips, “Maybe skating really isn’t my thing.” No shit.
I help him up anyway, only because I'm genuinely scared he will claw up my body if I don’t. His hand is warm even against my glove.
He moves it to my hair, smoothing it down a bit and brushing some ice off. It’s odd and so very gentle, “You’re blushing.” He says it almost as a whisper.
“I’m cold.” Is all I say in response, skating off and resting my hands on my hot cheeks.
⋆༺
Our day goes by incredibly fast. After a movie and some take out, we’re all slumped on the couch.
“Max was totally in love with you after the first date!” I laugh, playing with my sweats waistband.
P laughs with me as Max gets red, “It’s not a bad thing to understand your feelings!”
“No, just a bit creepy.” Lando says, his arms stretched around the couch.
“Oh right, Mr ‘I don’t date’!” Max retaliates, putting his arm around P, “When was the last time you kissed a girl that you actually liked!?”
My face goes hot while I reposition myself and laugh with Max and P. I move off the couch and sit next to the fire, doing anything to avoid eye contact with Lando.
He looks like he wants to spill everything, but then remembers his audience and just shrugs, “None of your business, Mate.”
“We should set you up!” P hits Max’s chest repeatedly in excitement as he coughs, “We know someone!”
Max raises a brow, “We do?”
P just rolls her eyes, “I do. I went to school with her, she’s an instagram model.” P starts to pull up her instagram on her phone when Lando eyes me, a bit scared.
“I’m okay, P. I like my life womanless right now, especially Instagram model-less.” I smile at his words and lay back on the carpet.
“I don’t know, I’d be fun seeing you actually fancy someone.” I say, hating the idea but liking the way Lando looks at me.
“Oh would it?” Lando deadpans.
Max pours more wine, “What about you, Y/n? That asshole stuck on you still?”
I smirk a bit and shake my head, glancing at Lando quickly, “No… he stopped calling.”
“I smell a match making opportunity!” P starts.
I quickly shut this down, “I’m off men right now. I don’t want a boyfriend and even if I did, i’m all fucked up from my ex.”
P looks sad but I didn’t mean to bring down the mood! Max sighs, “I knew he sucked from the beginning! Just saying!”
Lando smiles, “You never like Y/n’s boyfriends.”
“This one was extra bad!” my brother whines, “But yeah, so what? You have horrible taste, Y/n!”
I scoff, sitting up, “I do not!”
“You definitely do!” Lando laughs along with my brother, “Remember when you went out with that guy Max HATED in highschool?” He’s laughing harder now as Max’s jaw drops.
“I forgot about him! Fuck, sis, you need to find someone actually good for you!”
Lando sits up, grinning at me, “Yeah like me!”
“Not like him!” Max says quickly, “You’ve got good friends though, Bob.” He’s smirking now, “A certain spaidnard?”
Lando doesn’t look like he finds this funny, “No.”
“I don’t know, I'm into older guys.” Lando looks genuinely horrified at my answer, “Actually fuck Carlos give me Lewis. I’m down to be his controversially young girlfriend any day.”
“Can you not drool over my coworkers!?” Lando stands, “I’m gonna grab some snacks.” He leaves and P practically catapults herself onto the floor.
She kicks her feet behind her, smiling at me, “So… Maybe I have someone else for Lando.”
I raise a brow, “No.”
Max looks at the two of us, “P if you set Lando and Y/n up i’ll-”
His girlfriend turns to him, eyeing the man, “You’ll what?”
Max laughs, actually laughs! “Nevermind. Y/n would never go for him.”
⋆༺
I’m all cozy in my bed when I feel something on my leg. I think it’s just a hair at first, until it starts moving up my leg.
Lando’s in my room in seconds, eyes wide and in only sweats once again. “Why the fuck are you screaming bloody murder!?”
My heart is hammering in my chest as I run over to the door, “There- fuck! A huge spider just crawled up my leg!”
He makes a disgusted face and backs up into his room, “No way.”
I see the thing on my bed still and hop back, pointing, “Lando!” I keep my voice down now because Max and P are definitely already sleeping, “Kill it!”
“No chance, Sunshine! You kill it!” He puts his hands up and I swear it’s just an excuse to remind me that he’s shirtless.
I cross my arms, “You’re the man!”
He scoffs, stepping closer to me so I have to look up, “You’re the feminist!”
I scowl and look back at my bed, “I’m not sleeping there.” I stare at my once comfortable bed with disgust, looking back at Lando who’s smirking. My face drops, “No.”
“If you want to take the cough P spilled wine on, be my guest.” He shrugs and moves back to his room, his bed is screaming to me, I swear!
I look back at mine room once again, grabbing my hoodie and pushing past him, “Hands to yourself.”
“No problem…” When I turn around, he’s staring at my ass.
He climbs into bed after pulling a shirt over his head. Very polite of the man I was on top of yesterday.
I try to sleep immediately but am stuck looking out the window that Lando keeps open. I can see the snow falling onto his balcony, his slides are outside and getting covered by the white powder.
Lando shifts next to me and I'm suddenly ultra aware of his warmth. I can hear his breathing and my heart starts beating faster. I hate him. I hate him for making me feel like this.
“You awake?” His voice scares me in the dark, shifting to my side to look at him. I can see him lightly in the shadows, the moon adding light to the room and letting me see a strip of his face.
He’s so close that I can see the faint scar on his nose. “Mhm.” I mumble.
“I can’t sleep.” He whispers, “I’m scared that there’s gonna be a spider.” I can’t help but laugh, covering my mouth as he smiles across from me.
“Remember that time…” I giggle, “That one halloween.”
His jaw drops a little, “Holy shit. I blocked it out of my memory!”
I roll my eyes, “You screamed like a little girl when that fake spider fell on your head.”
“Fell!?” He whisper yells, “You threw it at me!”
I shake my head, “You took half my candy. It’s called redemption.”
“I was trying to flirt with you.” He admits as I laugh a bit, “Shut up, I was fourteen!”
“Aw don’t be embarrassed.” I smile, “It’s cute.”
His groans and shoves his face into his pillow, mumbling, “You know what, sunshine? You still manage to make me blush the same as back then.”
I groan, sitting up and resting my head against the headboard, “Stop.”
He sits up with me, leaning back on his arms and looking at me, “Stop making me blush first.”
I shake my head, “It’s not my fault you l-” like me. He can’t like me. Fuck he cannot like me! My smile drops and I look down at the comforter.
“It’s not your fault I what?” His tongue darts over his lips, his eyes locked on mine. I shake my head slowly and he starts again, “What do you want for Christmas, Sunshine?”
I blink, “It’s in two days. You still haven’t gotten me a gift?”
His smile is back now, “Maybe. Maybe not. I still want to know what you actually want. Hey, if it’s me, I won’t protest.”
I bring my feet under me, getting the sudden urge to run my hands through his hair, “You're too cocky for your own good.”
“Getting kissed by a pretty girl does that to a person.” His voice is deeper, more tired. Which makes me more breathless.
His shirt is riding up a bit, the blanket and his sweats tugging down so I can see a sliver of his stomach. “You’re not gonna let that go, are you?”
“I’ll stop joking about it, if you want.” He shrugs, “I can’t promise I won’t stop thinking about it. Or you.”
I lean closer, “Were you born a flirt?”
He smiles, toothy and happy, “Yes. And you love it.”
I give in, just a bit, “Maybe.” I sigh, looking at Lando as his eyes pierce mine. Maybe I like it because I shouldn’t.
Maybe I like the idea that no one in this house knows I'm in his bed.
Maybe I like that he hasn’t tried to kiss me.
“I know what I want.” Lando swallows, leaning closer as he nods, “But I'm not waiting until christmas.”
Maybe I like him a bit more than I planned.
I can feel his breath, smell his shampoo, “I'm a very generous gift giver.” His eyes flick down to my lips as I don’t say anything, “Use your words, Sunshine.”
“Kiss me.” He leans in but I stop him, “But, Lando. I can’t- I want this to stay quiet. Just us, quiet.” He looks hurt for a second but nods.
“I can stay quiet.” He whispers, his lips an inch away from mine, “Can you?”
I gasp a bit when his lips lock over mine. His hand on my waist. He’s slow and sensual, his body pushing against mine with none of the pressure or nerves I've felt with other men.
I think a part of me was meant to kiss Lando.
He slips his hand under my shirt, mumbling through the kiss, “Tell me to stop and I will.”
I groan as he moves off my lips, kissing down my jaw and finding my neck, “Don’t.”
⋆༺
The next morning, I sit by the window of my room, reading with the door open. I have my headphones on and am so engrossed in my book that I don’t even realize Lando was watching me until Max’s footsteps heavily move across my room.
Lando watch’s his best friend join me while just slowly walking past, into his room. I hate this. I hate him.
My brother sits opposite of me, “Hi.”
“Hey?”
“How are you?” I raise a brow at my brothers words. He never is weird and casually like this and he can definitely see the confusion on my face. “Okay, I need to talk to you.”
“Go ahead…?” I close my book and watch him speak nervously. “Seriously, you’re freaking me out.”
“It’s nothing bad!” he says defensively, “It’s just…” He looks to the door and whispers, “I think Lando fancies you.” This is a very weird turnaround because he said he knew I wouldn’t go for him last night.
My jaw actually drops. Like I’m genuinely shocked at his words. “Um no he does not.” My mind goes to Lando from last night.
Lando on top of me.
Lando’s hair in my hands.
Lando’s face between-
“I’m just saying, be careful. I know him.” My brother knocks my foot with his so i’ll pay attention again.
“So do I… He definitely doesn’t care about me. Not in that way, or any really.” I go to pick up my book again, praying that this conversation will be over.
He stops me, “Y/n, I’m serious.”
“So am I.” I’m serious too. He stopped me before we could go all the way and I think a part of that is my brother's influence and room downstairs. I shut my book, “Lando doesn’t like me, he likes to flirt and he likes to piss you off. I’m an easy outlet for that.”
Max shakes his head, “Don’t let him kiss you.” Oh my poor naive brother…
“I won’t!” I laugh when I say it because I'm lying directly to his face.
⋆༺
lando
“I’m going to the store or else we will stare!” Y/n wraps a thick scarf around her neck, “Anyone wanna join?”
Now think with me here.
If the girl you went down on is looking incredibly beautiful again and asking if you would like to spend more time with her, despite sleeping in your bed with your arm around her the whole night, what would you do?
I guess my real question is, How eager is too eager?
I play it cool, pretending like I’m not jumping for joy in my mind that I've finally gotten to her. “I’ll go.”
She rolls her eyes when Max and P stay silent but I know she’s happy.
The car ride there is quiet, I convince her to let me drive as she reads off the list of things we need. The snow came down hard last night so the fact that we even made it to the store is a blessing.
Y/n is now leaning against the trolley, her back arched as she leans over it and walks. I follow her like a fucking puppy.
“Bacon.” I grab it for her.
“Olives.” I grab it for her.
“Fusilli…” I stop.
“Fusilli?” I groan, “Can’t we have Penne?”
She frowns, looking up at me as I hold the two boxes of pasta. “You’re such a child. We’re not having Penne for Christmas eve dinner.”
“Why not? It’s pesto! It’s only right.”
“Well it’s not very christmassy.” She puts her hand on her hip, her fingers tapping against her waistband. The same fingers that were in my hair last night.
“Wanna go make out?”
She grabs the Fusilli and rolls the trolley away from me. I laugh and follow her. She reaches for the wine she likes but I grab it before she can break anything, handing it to her I say, “What else is on that list of yours?”
She sends me off to grab tomatoes and garlic. I grab some mozzarella on the way but am stumped while looking for the garlic.
I finally spot it but a woman is standing in front of it, making the tiny food out of my reach. I pretend to look at something else and hope she will go away but am surprised at her commitment to finding the correct pickles.
I finally give up, knowing Y/n will be annoyed if I take too long because her ice cream might melt, “Excuse me.” I say as she steps back.
“Yes?” She looks at me with a smile as I awkwardly return it.
“Sorry, I need to grab the garlic.” She moves and I grab some, “Thanks.”
“No problem, sorry for being in the way.” The way she giggles makes my smile falter, “I like your shirt! Do you like racing?” I’m wearing an old McLaren shirt that I didn’t expect would be seen because it’s so cold out.
I clear my throat, “Yeah.”
“Me too!” Oh god i’m stuck. “I love McLaren as well.” Right….
“Do you follow indy car or Formula one…?”
“Formula one!” I can’t tell if she’s tricking me or just lying. “How about you?” And she’s definitely just stepping closer to flirt with me.
“Indy car!” I step back, trying to go but she keeps talking!
“Formula one is just so glamorous! I went to a grand prix once and…”
“Lan.” My tension is released as soon as Y/n rolls up with the cart, “Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She sounds pissed off and very dry which almost makes me laugh.
“Oh!” the woman's smile turns sour, “Don’t worry.”
“We should go.” Y/n says, smiling politely.
“Don’t want the ice cream to melt!” I agree with her and practically run away.“Awkward that she didn’t know who she was talking to.”
Y/n scoffs, “Yeah I don’t think she actually liked F1…”
I laugh as we approach the checkout and I get a glimpse of her face. “Oh my god.”
She eyes me as we put the items up, “What?”
“You’re jealous.” She looks horrified that I even suggested it.
“I am not!”
“You so are!” I laugh, “Admit it. She was just talking and you called me Lan and you gave her the stink eye!” She doesn’t reply, just finishes with the food and moves to the register. “Do you know how many men flirt with you on a daily basis! Especially this trip!?”
The worker smiles at her and our things get bagged quickly, “Y/n…” I say teasingly as we leave the store.
“Shut up, Norris.” she snaps.
I open the trunk, leaning over the filled trolley to get closer to her, “You can be jealous. It’s hot.”
She goes to say something but shuts her mouth, loading the bags into the car and slamming her door shut.
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