#my other top songs are as follows:

[cxremedy]

favorite lc! song and whyyyy

i feel like it changes from time to time depending on my mood or if a certain song is stuck in my head. but i think allez les blues is my all-time favorite still. sticking by it. it's my most listened to track for a reason, i suppose.

as for the whyyyy... i am terrible at being introspective (or whatever) about my interests when given the chance to talk about them. it's awful. but i dunno, i like the lyrics. i like the vocals, especially kim's (i believe it's kim singing, yes?). i like the instrumentals. it makes my ears happy.

also, to me, i feel like there's something inherently petty about the song. i love the attitude behind it.

[shalomniscient]

listening to hold on tight by aespa and wow this is so kafka coded…. i’m having VISIONS like imagine being kafka’s stellaron hunter partner. before silver wolf, before sam and before blade it was just you and her, flitting from galaxy to galaxy to carry out elio’s enigmatic will. and you, frankly, can’t fucking stand her.

cocky, smug, arrogant, and worst of all—she had the damned skills to back all of it up. it also absolutely did not help that she was also one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever laid your eyes on. you really would kill elio for pairing both of you up, were it not for the fact that the schemer of a man had something you need. and, it seems, something that kafka needs too. not that you particularly care, of course.

nsft utc—

just like how you totally don’t care as kafka cozies up to your target of the day, the strobe lights of the club casting tempting shadows across her elegant face, those cherry-red lips upturned in a coy, dangerous smile. you watch from across the bar over the rim of your glass—the strongest shit this fucking bar had to offer—and when she flashes you a look from beneath long, fluttering lashes you nearly crack the damn glass in your grip. kafka’s eyes glitter like rubies in the low light, and you grit your teeth so hard you distantly fear they may crack.

seconds, minutes or hours later she finally stands, leading the target away from the bar by the hand. her web has been spun—all that was left for to tangle this foolish, stupid, unwitting fly in her threads. you follow from a distance, hands shoved in your pockets, curling around knives you’re just itching to use at this point. in the background, you faintly register a new song being played; almost folklike in its melody were it not for the electro groove overlaid above it and the dark, fantastic vocals.

baby you and me are a twisted fantasy—

you find kafka and the target in a private room in the back. she’s sat across from him now, grinning from ear to ear. the hunt was over; now, it was time for the kill. he barely gets the chance to squeal before your knife teases the exposed flesh of his throat, and kafka laughs. at your impatience or the man’s crippling, immobilising fear of her, you don’t know. that relaxed, insufferable smirk remains on her lips even as you drag your knife through muscle and sinew and spill the target’s blood all over the lush cushions. it’s red, just like her lips. over the speakers, the music continues.

bodies running on a dream, up all night—

“you’re tense, partner,” she drawls, crossing her legs as she watches you wipe your knife clean. “the job was successful. relax.”

you grind your teeth together as you sheathe your knives back into their holsters. “you wasted my time with that pointless… game of yours.“

“it’s called having fun,” she hums in response, rising from her seat, and taking slow steps towards you, “you should try it.”

“we are not here to have fun,” you growl. “the script is clear—“

kafka cuts you off with a sigh and a roll of her eyes. “bo-ring.” distantly, you hear the music swell.

wired differently, a chaotic energy—

oh, you’ve had enough.

quick as a flash, you pin kafka to the wall, your arm against her throat while the other hand wraps tight around her wrists. her eyes widen by a mere fraction, before her cherry lips part wide in a grin that’s more a flash of teeth than anything else.

“one more fucking word out of you and i swear—“

“you’ll what?” kafka challenges. “punish me?”

“shut. up.”

she sneers. “make me.”

and you do, by crashing your lips against hers in a fervent, chaotic kiss. kafka twitches beneath you ever so slightly, but then she’s returning your fervor, her teeth worrying your lower lip. you growl and probe your tongue against the seam of her lips, forcing your way into her mouth and tasting the residuals of whatever drink she had with that man, his blood now trickling down onto the floor.

kafka groans as you slot your leg between hers, her muscled thighs immediately bearing down on your leg. you move the arm against her throat lower, your hand squeezing at the ample flesh of her breast through her shirt, and the pleased hum that reverberates out of her theoat sounds far, far better to you than her smug chirping. when you pull away, your shoulders tremble from the heavy breaths you draw in.

kafka, meanwhile, retains that damned smirk on her face, her eyes half-lidded and knowing. as if she planned all this right from the start.

“perhaps we should take this somewhere more private, hm?” she suggests, trailing a hand down your front as she rolls her hips against your leg. you stifle the full-body shudder that threatens to course through you, and step away from her.

“fine.”

the grip you have on her wrist is tight, but kafka doesn’t pull away. she only giggles airily, and you know without looking that her expression is definitely one of a cat that got the cream. as you leave the club, the song finally concludes.

buckle up and take a seat, hold on tight…

[ambivartence]

NEW YEAR NEW GIF CHALLENGE RULES: give your 2023 music review by showing your fave boy group, fave girl group, fave soloists, fave debut and most played song of the year, then tag some friends to do theirs!

tagged by @woodziecup and @xiaojuun <3

tagging (no obligation! sorry if u did one of these music round-up compilations already 🙈): @blonde-riwoo @dakbees @hohowonho @hwichanis @insoeng @irlvernon @kimjiwoong @leewonseo @lee-minhoe @lloveorloved @mattwooks @mjyunie @nctsworld @pookiez @quokki @seonghwacore @shnryjn @shorelinnes @starcatching @strayklds @sunghanbin @wayvs @xuseokgyu

[cryptvokeeper]

My worst Broadway hot take is that the 2005 CGI animated movie Hoodwinked would make a good stage musical, actually

[once-was]

Epic the musical makes me more obsessed with ancient Greek religion and story which is difficult to do but somehow manages

[outlying-hyppocrate]

seems you all enjoy my luke black posts

[allpromarlo]

insane how melt my eyez gets better with every listen

[sukunasweetheart]

Being the bane of sukunas existence as you're his girlfriend because you act like a perverted old man around him... he kinda digs it tho, its mildly hilarious and he doesn't dislike the unhinged attention (he tries to be so lowkey about it)

Every once in a while, you'll caress his behind or fondle his big boobily man breasts, the same way he does to you. he was only stunned at first - now he is completely unphased by your sneaky little hands.

he texts you, asking you what you want for dinner, and he's not surprised when the answer is "i want you oiled up and naked in bed by the time i get home". then he just replies with "making pasta"

Big obnoxious smacking noises when you kiss him all over, and sukuna just lets you be, he'll be sitting on the couch turning the tv on and here you come, smooching his cheek. sometimes, its the top of his head, other times, its his forehead or neck. if you do it too much though, you'll get covered with his bite marks in return.

when sukuna gets up to go to the toilet, you ask him if you can hold his peepee while he takes a piss, bc you saw a funny tiktok talking about it... he gives you a silent judgmental stare as he closes the door on your face. but behind it, he lets out the tiniest snort and shakes his head bc the idea of it is so ridiculous.

one time when you go outdoor camping with him you genuinely accidentally stumble close to sukuna who is taking a leak in the forest bush area and he catches you staring from behind as he's buttoning himself back up. and then he's chasing you down while you're screaming that it was an accident and that you only heard him peeing and didn't actually see anything. (not that you don't know what it looks like, anyway.)

when he's sweaty after a workout or some physical exertion, you'll definitely be approaching him deviously, talking about some "covered in flavour" type of bullshit... he'll push your face away and head into the shower but his ears are flushed with red.

just... sukuna who will let u mack on him endlessly bc he secretly doesn't hate the doting 🥹🥹🥹 and if you're not being obnoxiously lewd or affectionate?? thats when he knows something's up...

and obviously, every now and then you'll say something that makes him know that you're not just lusting over his body.

during a walk back home on a summer afternoon, you point upwards while holding his hand and looking up.

"sukuna, look. you're in the sky."

he reluctantly looks up, expecting some sort of dick shaped cloud or something like that. but there are no clouds in sight.

"what is there to look at?" he asks, quizzically.

"the colour, silly. when the sun's still setting, the sky always gets like this, around the same time everyday. the pretty pinkish colour, like your hair."

he turns silent and observes the sky for a minute. you call him silly, as if it's an everyday thing that you compare a person with the literal sky.

"it's my favourite time of the day..." you mumble, just barely audible to his ears. and something about the way you stand there, and speak so softly, makes you look so pretty to him. "i'll always think of you when the sun is setting."

"oh- but i think of you everyday regardless, i suppose."

he already knows that. he already knows you love him. why does he feel so flushed right now?

"alright, i get it. enough. let's continue home," he urges you, holding your hand tighter. you follow him down the street, like a puppy.

life couldn't feel more at peace right now, with your fingers interlocked with his, listening to you hum your favourite song on the way home, the street now covered with the orange light of the sunset.

"any ideas for dinner?" he asks, a few minutes after some silence.

"mmm..."

oh, he regrets asking the question now, fully knowing what's coming.

"i want your tatas in my mouth, please."

"tatas?" sukuna's asks with furrowed brows.

after bursting into laughter at the way he said it, you attempt to think up an actual food you want for dinner.

"...just for tonight." sukuna mutters.

"huh?"

"don't ask me again, i might change my mind."

"wait- really?"

let's just say, your mouth had a taste of heaven for the first time that night.

[shawtuzi]

JJK MEN AS: my favorite sexy songs hehe

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ pairing: suguru x reader, satoru x reader, toji x reader, nanami x reader, sukuna x reader

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ cw include: [suguru] possessive!sugu, he’s kinda mean :((, kinda public sex?? they fuck in a bathroom idk man, unprotected sex, rough sex, he gags her w her panties, spanking, some choking, creampie bc DUH, [satoru] pathetic!toru, he’s so down bad but so sweet, oral f!receiving, gojo cums in his pants while eating her out, unprotected sex, backshots, choking, [toji] drug usage (weed) oral m!receiving, needy!reader, throat fucking, he’s kinda rough, riding, biting, and you guessed it…a creampie!!, [nanami] shibari, use of a vibrator, oral m!receiving, unprotected sex, prone bone position, creampie, baby makin’ sex, [sukuna] i made him nice in this, public sex (nobody can see them), sex on top of a car, unprotected sex, semi rough sex, he pulls out!! shockingly, oral f!receiving, choking, squirting anddddd i think that it about it!!!! wc: 6.5k

a/n: i do NOT condone all the unprotected sex in this!!! yall better be safe 🫵🏽/// mdni boarder credit: @cafekitsune

SUGURU GETO: haunted- beyoncé

‘my haunted lungs, ghost in the sheets. i know if i’m haunting you, you must haunting me.’

“s-sugu,” you mewled against the man’s lips, hissing when you felt his hands tug roughly at your hair. suguru brought his hand to your face, pushing on your chin with his thumb to part your lips even more. once he had enough access he wasted no time shoving his tongue in your mouth, groaning at the sweet yet bitter taste of the wine you’d previously been drinking.

he just couldn’t get enough of you.

you and suguru had coincidentally ended up at the same hotel bar, the two of you engaging in a silent battle of who would talk to the other first. it wasn’t until you got up to use the restroom that sugu threw all caution into the wind and followed you, quick to push you against the nearest stall.

“missed you baby, couldn’t stop thinking about you for days,” he growled, bunching up the material of your dress to the tops of your thighs. “how’d you know i’d be here? i w-was waiting on someone,” your lips had the cutest pout, your brows furrowing as you finally got a good look at him.

his pupils were the size of saucers, holding nothing but desire and want for no one else but you.

suguru chuckled, his head tilting back as he laughed. “your little boy toy? i wouldn’t worry about him,” he hummed, cradling your face in his large hands. suguru shoved his ring and middle finger in your mouth, humming in content when you swirled your tongue around the digits. your breath hitched when you felt those same fingers press against your clit, the dull throb from it had suguru’s pants feeling extra tight.

“w-what’d you do to him suguruuu,” you whined, hands reaching out for his broad shoulders to steady yourself. geto didn’t answer, simply done talking about the irrelevant man.

without warning suguru flipped your body, pressing your front against the stall door. his hands gripped onto your hips, traveling up to your breasts to give them a squeeze. “i don’t want to talk about another man, not when i’m about to fuck you stupid,” you heard the clank! of his belt being undone, your heart skipping a beat when you heard his zipper next.

“y-you have no right to interfere with my da—hates!” you felt like the air had been punched from your lungs when he slipped inside your pussy in one go, his teeth biting onto your shoulder to hide his groans. suguru didn’t move an inch, wanting you to feel how much he missed you with each throb of his dick against your squishy walls. his once perfectly styled bun was now almost completely disheveled, his baby hairs tickling the side of your face.

“you feel me honey? feel how much i love n’ miss you?” his voice sounded breathless, boarder line drunk. suguru grinned when he felt the plushness of your ass grind against his front. he’ll take that as a yes.

suguru pulled almost all the way out, leaving just the tip in before slamming back inside of you, his hand slapping against your mouth to cover your squeals n moans. “you really fuckin’ piss me off you know that?” his free hand wrapped around your throat, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

“you give me the best sex of my life, make me feel like i’m on cloud nine every time i’m with you n’ then you leave me? fuck that,” his forehead fell against your shoulder, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

your eyes fluttered shut when you felt him hit that special spot deep inside you, fat tears welling up in your eyes. you wanted to push him off, tell him to fuck off and leave you alone for good—but the thing about that is you really really didn’t want to. as much as he was an overly possessive asshole no one, and i mean no one could ever fuck you like he could. he had your bodies likes and dislikes down to a tee the first time he ever slept with you and it only got better from there <//3

you heard a small tear, your eyes widening when you suddenly felt more exposed. suguru removed his hand from your mouth, but before you could even get a sound out you felt the soft material of your panties being shoved in your mouth.

“you’re so cute,” suguru pressed a sloppy kiss to the side of your face before gripping onto your hips, picking up the pace of his thrusts. your hands pressed against the stall for balance, nearly on your tippy toes in attempt to escape his brutal pace. suguru was absolutely mesmerized by the way your ass clapped against his pelvis, a shiny, white sheen of your essence coating his dick.

suguru’s thrusts stopped when he felt your hand tap urgently against his toned stomach. he swiftly pulled out and turned you around, concern swirling in his eyes. “you okay sweetness?” he asked, removing your panties from your mouth, his thumb wiping off the drool on your chin. you bit your kiss swollen lip, nodding.

“i just…wanted to see your face when you finish in me,” your cheeks felt blazing hot as you looked down bashfully. suguru’s nostrils flared, his chest heaving. you were absolutely gonna be the death of this man.

“jump.”

you made quick work to jump in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist. he slipped in with ease, the both of you moaning in unison. suguru’s strokes were slow, yet so so deep you swore you felt him in your tummy. “s’good sugu,” your hands were quick to take out the elastic holding his hair up, your fingers combing through the soft locs.

“i know baby, i know. ‘missed you so much, did you miss me?” you wanted to say no, deny him the satisfaction of hearing you say you indeed did miss him but fuck it! you really did miss your sugu.

a particular harsh thrust broke you out of your thoughts, making you gasp violently. “y-yes i did! i missed you so m-much sugu,” you pulled him close by his hair, giving him a bruising kiss. suguru moaned loudly into the kiss, his hips stuttering as he finally began to finish inside of you. his fingers were quick to rub at your clit, his eyes rolling back when you squeezed tightly around him.

your thighs trembled as suguru fucked you through your orgasm, the loud squelching of your pussy echoing throughout the bathroom. “good fuckin’ pussy,” suguru grunted in your ear, pressing a soft kiss to the shell of it.

suguru set you down carefully, chuckling to himself when you grabbed onto him for dear life to steady yourself. “you’re such an asshole,” you muttered, picking your ripped, discarded panties up off the floor. he gave you a toothy grin, plucking the garment from your hands and shoving it into his pocket. “mm i know i am, now let’s get outta here your date gave me the keys to the room he booked for the two of you.”

as he ushered you out of the bathroom you looked up at him, your brows furrowing in confusion, “are you gonna tell me how the fuck you found out about him? this date?” suguru chuckled, his hand wrapping around your waist—

“don’t worry about that gorgeous.”

SATORU GOJO: the way- kehlani ft chance the rapper

‘all i do, is stay up all night losin’ sleep over you. all i do, is drive myself crazy thinkin’ bout my baby.’

“i miss herrrr!”

“toru please shut up and focus on the game.”

“but i miss herrr,” satoru’s head fell against his keyboard with a thud! making geto sigh in defeat.

“why don’t you just call her th—”

“i have been! she won’t answer!” satoru felt tears well up in his eyes as he stared at his texts with you. all he saw was blue bubbles from himself, along with ‘read’ at the bottom. he swiped over to the photos app, sighing sadly at his album of pictures dedicated to you.

why oh why were you so precious?

he clicked on a video he took of you while you were crocheting, sniffling at how cute you looked so concentrated on the hat you were making. he swiped to the next; a video of you sitting on top of his stomach, blunt between your fingers as you sang along to whatever song was playing.

“i feel like i’m gonna throw up sugu, i miss her so much,” he continued to swipe through the folder, a whine bubbling in his throat at a certain video. you were out at a club together and while you were grinding in his lap satoru whipped out his phone, flash on and everything, capturing the entire thing. you looked so pretty in that dress. you looked even prettier with it pushed up to your waist while he fucked you from the back.

satoru was broken out of his thoughts when geto spoke up, “just go over there man. the worst she can do is mace you, or like, call the cops.” gojo huffed, his lips puffing up into a pout.

“you’re right m’gonna go talk to her.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ

“go away!”

you winced when you felt gojo’s body fall against your door, a sound of defeat leaving his lips. “please pretty baby m’so sorry, you know i am!” satoru clutched the flowers in his hand, hot tears brimming his eyes. you huffed, pressing your back against the door. be strong. be strong.

“you missed our date, that’s one date too many! you didn’t even call to let me know! i got all pretty for nothing,” your brows furrowed, a fresh wave of anger running over you. “all to be at home on your ass watching baddies, without me might i add!”

“i’m sorryyyy! i really am just let me in!” his shoulders slumped when he heard you yell back ‘no!’, the pout on his lips deepening.

“y/n…i’m so sorry i forgot about our date i promise it won’t ever happen again. won’t ever let you waste a look on me again i swear. it’s been almost a week and—and i can’t sleep, i can’t eat, i c-can’t even play on my pc!”

he’ll admit he probably sounded like the biggest drama queen but these were desperate times! he’s never met a girl that took such good care of his heart the way you did. the way you let him feel every ounce of love and care you had for him with a single touch. my mans down bad mmkay?!

“baby? you still there?”

your hand was already on the door knob before he even finished his sentence, you just wanted to hear him grovel a bit. “yeah m’here,” you muttered, getting on your tippy toes to look at him through the peephole.

“is that food i see?” you mumbled, eyeing the bag in his hands. gojo nodded eagerly, holding the bag up. “spicy ramen with two things of vegetable tempura from your favorite place,” his lips quirked up into a small smile, you could never say no to your favorite ramen.

he heard some shuffling on the other side of the door before you opened it. he could’ve ate you up the way you looked so cute in your fluffy robe….oh wait—

“satoruuuu,” you head fell back against your pillow, thighs shaking against the snow haired man’s head. gojo moaned against your pussy, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he slobbered all over your clit. his large hands wandered from your thighs, to your tummy, to your exposed breasts.

“missed you so much sweetness,” he whispered to your pussy, giving your thigh a sloppy kiss. his hooded, icy blue eyes flit to yours, “missed you even more pretty baby.” before you could say anything back his lips were back on your clit, caressing it gently with the tip of his tongue. his hips ground into your bed, only adding to how overstimulated he was.

“m’gonna cum toru,” you mewled, fighting to keep your thighs open. gojo pulled you closer to his face by your hips, “me too baby, cum on my face.” you had no idea what that meant at the moment but regardless you did as he said, giving him your third orgasm of the night. satoru let out a pornographic moan against your pussy as his own orgasm hit him like a truck, his hips stuttering against the beg as he drank up your essence.

gojo laid his head on your trembling thigh, nipping the twitching skin. despite cumming in his pants he was still hard, painfully hard actually. with shaky hands satoru pushed himself up, his hands running over the silkiness of your thighs. you gasped when you suddenly felt his lips against yours, your cum smearing from his chin onto yours. one thing about satoru gojo; he was the king of sloppy kisses.

“you ready for me beautiful?” he moaned against your lips, his hips now grinding into yours. you nodded and gojo wasted no time ditching his clothes, making quick work to rid you of your robe. you turned your back to him, arching into the bed, giving him a view of your glistening pussy. gojo gave his dick a few strokes before pushing it between your folds, fat, sticky tip nudging against your clit.

“you’re a fucking dream,” satoru slurred, finally slipping into your pussy. your eyes rolled into the back of your head, mouth dropping open at the delicious stretch of him. once he was all the way in, he leant forward a tiny bit, his pelvis smushing against your ass. “t-too deep toru! too de—deep,” you whined, your hand coming back to slap at his stomach.

gojo chuckled, moving back to his original stance, “just wanted you to feel me wayyy in there.” and with that he was locked in—leg propped up on the bed to give you the meanest strokes known to man. your nails clawed at your sheets, pussy gripping onto satoru’s dick like a vice.

“so fuckin’ wet pretty baby,” gojo moaned, teeth clamping onto his kiss swollen lip. how stupid could he have been to almost lose something so so good? satoru wrapped his hand around your neck, pulling you roughly against his chest. you turned your head, immediately catching his lips in a heated kiss. his free hand cupped your breast, tweaking at your nipple, making you whine into his mouth.

“missed you so much gorgeous.”

“missed you more toru♡”

TOJI FUSHIGURO: james joint- rihanna

‘i’d rather be breaking things cause we can’t see, we’re too busy kissing.’

“you’re so good at that toji.”

you watched him with hearts practically in your eyes as he sealed up the blunt for the two of you. toji chuckled, leaning down to give your cheek a sweet kiss. “thank you baby, hand me that lighter would ya?” you were quick to reach for the lighter next to you, giving him a dreamy smile as you handed it to him. you weren’t high on weed yet, but you were definitely high on your man.

“alright s’all done, let’s get comfy. it’s your turn to pick a movie gorgeous,” toji laid on his side of the bed, head propped up with one of your squishmallows. you laid on his chest, remote in hand as you looked for a movie. you picked ‘texas chainsaw massacre’ because it was his favorite of course. toji gave the crown of your head a kiss before lighting the blunt, his hand finding purchase on your waist.

as the movie went on you became more high and restless. before you knew it you were running your fingers over the ridges of his abs over his shirt, teeth nibbling on your bottom lip. toji was too immersed in the movie to notice your hand was now underneath his shirt, running across his chest and abdomen.

suddenly he felt a tug on the waistband of his sweats. “what’re you doin’ down there,” he chuckled, giving your hip a loving squeeze. you let out a long sigh, sitting up, moving to sit on his stomach. “you just look sooo good toji,” you gave him a dopey smile, running your hands over his pecs. you pressed your forehead against his, “especially when i’m on top of you like this…so handsome.”

toji ran his tongue over his bottom lip, tilting his chin up to let you know he wanted a kiss. you happily obliged pressing your soft lips against his, your hands now cradling his face. you nibbled at toji’s bottom lip, wasting no time to slip your tongue in his mouth once his lips parted. “mm you keep kissin’ me like that n’ we’re not gonna be able to finish the movie,” he mumbled against your lips, grabbing a handful of your ass over your pj shorts.

“fine by me,” you giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck. after a few minutes of kissing you began kissing your way down his jaw to his neck, kissing and sucking on the skin. toji groaned, bucking his hips up into you. you pushed his shirt up, now kissing down his chest, stopping at the waistband of his sweats. “can i? please?” you gave him your best doe eyes, already tugging at the elastic.

“could never say no to you, pull it out for me pretty girl,” toji chuckled, running his thumb over your bottom lip, a groan bubbling in his throat when you started to suck it. you always loved giving toji head when he was high. he a little looser when it came to being rough with you, he didn’t try to hold himself back as much.

that’s how he ended up fucking your throat, head tossed against your plushies while he used you. your eyes squeezed shut, nails digging into his thighs as he fucked your throat damn near raw. you gasped wetly when he pulled his dick out of your mouth, smacking the muscle against your lips. “you take my shit so good, i oughta be rougher with you more often,” toji gave you a lazy smirk, tracing his tip over your pouting lips.

“you should…i like it,” you couldn’t help but look anywhere but his eyes as you said it, your cheeks heating up. “you’re so cute,” toji grinned, pushing down on your chin to open your mouth wider. he slowly pushed his dick in your mouth, groaning when he felt the tip of your tongue lick against the underside. you gagged rather hard when he pushed your head all the way down, your nose bumping into his pelvis. tears began to well up in your eyes and you just looked so cute, he couldn’t help wanna take a picture of you.

“look at me,” toji grunted, tugging at your hair. you blinked slowly, looking at him through your lashes. he was holding his phone up, teeth digging into his bottom lip. he warned you of the flash before taking a picture, dick jumping in your throat at just how gorgeous you looked with a mouthful of his dick. your eyes were red n glossy, practically eye fucking the camera.

you pulled off of toji’s dick with a pop! wiping your mouth with the back of your hand before speaking, “lemme ride you.” toji tossed his phone with quickness, his hands already tugging at the waistband of your shorts. you pulled off your shorts, knees settling beside toji’s hips, your dripping pussy hovering over his leaking tip. you slipped his dick in with ease, your pussy hugging his base as you slid down till your ass was snug against his thighs.

toji let out a deep sigh, rough hands settling on your waist. “every time i’m inside it’s like the first time, squeezin’ me so tight baby goddamn,” you whimpered at toji’s words, your hands pushing on his pecs for support to help you ride him. toji grabbed a handful of your ass, eyes flitting to the wet mess between the two of you. each time you slammed back down a squelching sound followed, your wetness dripping onto his thighs and the bed.

“you look so—fuck, so pretty, baby, can’t believe you’re real,” toji chuckled breathlessly, hissing when reached a hand behind you to play with his balls. all you could do was give him a weak smile, your free hand yanking up your shirt to give him a nice lil view of your tits. toji wasted no time cupping your breasts in his hands, fingers tugging at your nipples.

“hah! m’gonna cum toji,” your thighs trembled as you tried to ride him as best as you could, but the way his tip hit that spongy spot deep inside you wasn’t making it easy at all. toji brought one of his hands down to rub at your clit, thumb drawing vicious circles into your sensitive nub. you came with a squeal, body falling limp against toji’s as you rode your high out by grinding into him.

toji couldn’t a get word out before you were smushing your lips against his, whining about how you were ready to go again. “you sure baby? maybe you should take a little breather yeah?” toji ran his hand up and down your back, grinning when you began to protest. “mm well that’s fine but—” he planted his feet into the bed, lips brushing against your ear, “i’m not gonna be easy on you.”

that was more than fine with you.

toji grabbed your ass with both hands before fucking up into you, groaning into your ear when he felt you tug at his hair. you pressed your lips into his once more, toji drinking up each moan that slipped past your pretty lips. “that feel good baby? hm? talk to me, i wanna hear you,” he sucked on your bottom lip, nibbling on the plushy skin. you whined against his lips, the smell of his aftershave making you dizzy.

“feels s’good toji, y-you’re always so good to—s-shit! to me, so so good thank you thank you thank you,” you were babbling at this point, tears brimming in your eyes from overstimulation. it hurt so good you just couldn’t tell him to stop, let alone to slow down. toji hissed when felt your teeth dig into his shoulder, his pace faltering ever so slightly.

“s-shit do that again, you’re gonna make me cum baby, gonna make me cum so fuckin’ hard,” he growled into your ear, giving your ass two harsh smacks. you did as you were told, biting into the same spot on his shoulder, your tongue lolling out of your mouth to caress the mark. toji’s hips pushing into yours one last time, his arms squeezing around you impossibly tight as he emptied himself inside of you.

his orgasm triggered your own, your mouth dropping open in a silent scream as you creamed his dick. “f-fuck stop squeezing me babe it hurts,” toji let out a breathless laugh, giving your hip a rough squeeze. you shook your head, your nose nuzzling into his neck. “i can’t help it, it feels like im still cumming, like i gotta pee.” toji’s eyebrows raised in surprise, his lips pulling into a smirk.

“oh really?”

“yeah….why are you smiling?”

KENTO NANAMI: god is fair, sexy nasty-mac miller ft kendrick lamar

‘don’t you know your body been mine? i know you know i know.’

“honey, can i take this blindfold off yet?” kento chuckled, his back flopping against the mattress. it was your guys’ four year anniversary of being married and he had a pretty good idea of what you had planned for the rest of the night.

suddenly he felt a pair of warm hands on the tops of his thighs. “you can take it off now,” he heard you giggle, the warmth of your hands now gone. nanami sat up slowly, removing the blindfold with eagerness. he put his glasses on, his mouth dropping slightly once his eyes readjusted to the light.

you were on your knees wearing a pretty baby pink set of lingerie, there were ropes placed on either side of you. “i was thinking we could try that thing you brought up to me a while ago. i was a little nervous at first but m’ready now, i know you’ve been practicing,” you giggled at the last part, heat rising to nanami’s cheeks. it was true, he had been practicing shibari on himself just in case you showed interest. he’d also been doing extensive research—which usually led to him fisting his dick at the thought of you tied up all pretty like that.

kento got on his knees with you, his shaky hands reaching out to pull you close. “you really wanna do this? you don’t have to just because i want to,” he spoke softly, nudging his nose against yours lovingly. you hummed, bringing your hands up to scratch at his nape, “i promise i do. i think it’ll be really, um, hot being tied up like that,” you gave him a small smile, pressing your lips against his.

nanami had read that for your first time doing shibari with your partner it’s always best to bind them in your favorite sex position—hence why he has your on your tummy. it took some time and a lot of patience but he eventually had your arms tied behind your back in pretty knots, checking every couple of minutes to make sure it wasn’t too tight.

“how does that feel?” he asked, gently tugging at the ropes. you tried moving your arms and wrists but they weren’t budging—he really had been doing his research. “feels okay…not tight but, like, secure. keep going,” you gave him a smile of encouragement, resting your head against the mattress once more. nanami gave your cheek a sweet kiss, then another one on your shoulder, and then another one in the center of your back.

“m’gonna do your legs now, i’m gonna connect those ropes to the ones on your arms okay?” he ran his hand over your thigh, giving it a soft squeeze. “okay ken,” you gave him a verbal answer to put him more at ease and it seemed to work, his body visibly becoming less tense as he looped the ropes around your shins.

kento sat back on his knees, admiring his work with hearts in his eyes. you looked like an angel all tied up for him. “how does it feel pretty girl?” he spoke softly, brushing his thumb over the apple of your cheek.

“it feels good ken, can you touch me? please?” kento gave your cheek a kiss before getting up, rummaging through his bedside drawer to find the wand he used on you from time to time. “is it okay if i use this?” he asked, holding the wand in front of you, smiling when you nodded. he switched the wand on to the lowest setting, propping it between your thighs to sit directly on your clit.

your breath hitched, eyes fluttering when you felt him push the wand harder into your clit. “is that good baby?” nanami cooed, tracing hearts along your back. you preened into his touch, your nails digging into your palm,” yes ken, ‘feels really good.” you peeped the bulge in his dress pants, your chest feeling heavy at the thought of having him in your mouth. “kenny?” you whispered, gasping when you felt the wand being yanked from between your legs.

nanami was crouching by the bed, concern clouding his vision. were you hurt? were you starting to not like it?

you noticed his concerned stare, immediately reassuring him, “i’m good! i’m okay, i promise! i just, um, well—”

“what can i do for you darling?” his tone was tender as he spoke, thumb caressing your jaw. “well…i just wanna suck you off…” your voice was tiny as you spoke. after all these years of being together, being intimate with each other, he still made you so bashful.

nanami let out a noise of relief, giving your cheek a soft pat. “geez honey, you scared me half to death i thought you were were hurt!” after a sharing a moment of laughter together nanami placed the wand between your legs once more. “if you need me to stop, kick your legs against the bed three times ‘kay? i made the knots on your legs looser just case. don’t want you getting hurt at all right honey?” he cooed, leaning down to kiss your forehead when you nodded.

after turning up the setting on the wand he slowly began to undo his belt, giving you a warm smile as he did so. your mouth started to water when he pulled his dick out, tip leaking and begging for attention.

he didn’t have to say a word because you already knew what to do, your tongue sticking out waiting to please him. nanami let out a deep exhale through his nose when you kitten licked at his dick. he was about to remove his glasses when you suddenly let out a noise of disapproval. “keep them on please…you look so handsome with them on”, your voice was small as you spoke, your wrists struggling ever so lightly against the ropes. kento grinned, grabbing a nearby pillow to place it under your head for comfort, “of course honey, ‘can have whatever you want.”

kento fucked your mouth slowly, relishing in tiny mewls you would let out. your panties were a mess by now, the soft cotton material sticking to your folds. “look at you humping the bed, you’re so cute,” kento smirked down at you, running his thumb over the bulge in your cheek. you hummed around his dick, your hips circling to get more stimulation from the wand. he pushed his hips forward, groaning deeply when he felt your throat constrict around his tip.

you gasped when he abruptly pulled out of your mouth, your brows scrunching together bc why did he do that??

“as much as i love this and you for doing it for me i need to fuck you properly.” he carefully, but swiftly began to undo the knots, kissing your wrists and ankles as he did so. nanami grunted when you jumped into his arms, your lips littering his neck and throat with sloppy kisses. nanami squeezed your hips roughly, not being able to contain himself from peppering your shoulder with kisses. “be rough tonight, i can handle it ken,” you whispered in his ear, nibbling on the lobe.

that’s how you ended up on your tummy, head tucked between nanami’s arm and bicep while he fucked you rather roughly. sure, it was a challenge keeping his glasses on like this but it was all worth it to please his wife.

“k-ken why’re you fucking me like that,” you sobbed into the sheets, your legs crossing over themselves in attempt to slow him down. keyword attempt because the second you did that his knee forced your legs right back open. “aren’t you the one who asked for it rough honey? cmon use your words you can do it,” he rasped next to your ear, using his free hand to shove two fingers between your drooling lips.

kento grinned when you whined out an oh so cute ‘i don’t knowww’ over his fingers, your hot tears dripping onto his arm. “that’s right baby don’t think, just lemme think for you,” he gave you a particularly harsh thrust, triggering your long awaiting orgasm. he hissed when you bit down on his fingers, his hips pushing into your ass one last time as he finished inside you.

nanami released his grip, rolling you onto your side before pulling you into him. “that’s was good,” he hummed, caressing your back. you ran a shaky hand down his chest, stopping just above his dick. “lets go again, i have a feeling this one took but you can never be too sure with baby making right?” you nudged your nose against his, your hand now stroking his semi. nanami cupped the back of your neck in his hand, pressing your lips together—

“you’re absolutely right darling.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA: talk 2 u- brent faiyaz

‘if you don’t mind i wanna be the only one on your mind.’

“fuckkk y/n,” sukuna growled in your ear, fingers digging into the fat of your thighs. your mouth dropped open, hand slamming down on the hood of sukuna’s car as he fucked you like a madman. you felt sooo much better than he could’ve imagined, pussy gripping onto him so tightly as if you just wanted to keep him there.

he had pursued you a few weeks prior, spitting out more game than you could handle which is how he eventually got you like this. he was just such a smooth talker. you weren’t able to contain yourself by the end of your third date, asking, no pleading with him to take you on top of his car.

“so big ‘kuna,” you whined into his ear, drool slipping from your lips and onto your exposed chest. sukuna pushed you down softly, throwing your legs over his shoulders before pounding into you once more. his teeth nibbled at his bottom lip, his eyes solely focused on the way your breasts bounced with each thrust.

“so pretty,” he rasped out, pressing a kiss to your ankle. as he littered your ankle and shin with kisses he eyes flit to your face, pupils dilating when he saw your fucked out expression. “i-i’m cumming ‘kuna, i’m—” your body tensed as you came with a loud moan. sukuna was only adding to the stimulation, now using his fat tip to tap against your clit.

he didn’t even give you a breather before he was pushing back inside, nearly knocking the air out of your lungs. “such a good pussy baby, she’s so wet f’me,” sukuna leant down, capturing your nipple in his hot mouth. you scratched at his nape lovingly, your legs tightening around his waist. sukuna moved onto your other breast, his hand cupping the one he abandoned. he kissed, licked, n sucked all over your breasts until you were writhing in sensitivity, giving his hair a rough tug to yank him off.

sukuna pulled off your nipple with a pop! grinning at you as he gave it one last kiss. his once fast paced strokes were replaced with slower, deeper ones, reaching deeper inside you than anyone you’ve ever been with. “you like when i fuck you like that? hm?” sukuna’s forehead was now pressed against yours, his nose nudging against yours.

you physically couldn’t find it in you to reply, too fucked out to even form a sentence. sukuna wrapped his hand around your throat, applying little pressure, his thrusts stopping completely. “wha? w-why’d you stop?” you clawed at his leather jacket, your hips bucking up into his.

“i asked you a question didn’t i?” his voice was strained as he spoke, your pussy squeezing around him every second. the dull throb of his dick inside you sent shivers up your spine. “yes?” you had meant for it to sound more like a statement than a question, but he gave you some grace, seeing as you already fucked out beyond belief.

his grip around your throat tightened, “so answer me. do you *thrust* like when i *harder thrust* fuck you like that? *really hard thrust* you better answer quickly before i pull—”

“yes! yes yes, i like when you fuck me deep like that! please don’t stop ‘kuna,” your voice was trembling as you spoke, your hands moving to his face to cradle his jaw. sukuna kissed your palm, pulling out until only his tip was in you before slamming back in. your chest arched into his, your already sensitive nipples rubbing against the soft material of his shirt.

“that’s a good girl, now cum on my dick,” his thumb began to rub tight, little circles on your clit, cursing to himself when he felt his orgasm quickly approaching as well. you squealed out a symphony of ‘oh my god’s, you legs squeezing around his waist impossibly tight as your pussy convulsed around his dick. a steady stream of you cum shot out at his lower stomach only egging him on to fuck you harder, deeper.

“goddamn y/n, you’re fucking baptizing me down here,” sukuna’s words were slurred, his eyes feeling droopy as he felt the coil in his stomach about to burst. he abruptly pulled out, jerking his dick until he nutted all over your pussy, smearing his cum around your folds. “don’t do that s’gonna make it even more messy,” you whined, hiding your face behind your hands.

“none of that now, cmon lemme see you,” sukuna chuckled, gently prying your hands from your face. he couldn’t help but internally coo at you, your post sex face melting his heart. “you’re so cute, be my girlfriend,” his sudden change of tone caught you completely off guard.

“wh-what?” you sat up on shaky hands, sukuna bringing his hands to your waist to keep you steady. “i said,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead and then your cheek, “be my girlfriend.” you couldn’t help the giddy smile that took over your face, your cheeks heating up. “mm i don’t know, im not quite sure yet,” you decided to tease him a little making him smirk.

“i guess ill just have to be a little bit more convincing then hm?” he kissed his way down your neck, his hands gently pushing you down once again. sukuna began to kiss on the inside of your thighs, nibbling on the soft skin and running his tongue over it afterwards. your thighs shut around his head out of instinct when you felt his breath against at your pussy. you moaned oh so softly when you felt his tongue cup your clit.

the way sukuna had no problem devouring your pussy that was still dripping with his and your cum together had your tummy twisting, itching to jump his bones again. he moaned against your pussy, his brows scrunching when you tugged roughly at his hair. “we taste pretty good together,” the way he looked at your cunt it was almost like he was talking to it (he definitely was).

the car creaked under you as sukuna pushed your knees to your chest, slurping at your pussy as if he were a man starved. you mouth dropped open in a silent scream when you felt him push two fingers inside, instantly curling them. “hah! hah! m’gonna cum again i can’t, i can’t,” you were almost crying at this point, hot tears brimming your lash line.

“yes you can baby, i know you can. been so good f’me all night i know you can make this pussy cum one more time,” the pace of his fingers never faltered as he talked to you, the tips bumping against that spongy spot that had you seeing stars. you’d never experienced an orgasm so hard it had you sobbing, yet here you were thighs shaking violently as sukuna furiously rubbed at your clit, milking your orgasm as much as possible. his chin and the top of his shirt were soaked, but he was as happy as could be.

“‘k-kuna?”

“yes pretty baby?”

“i’ll be your girlfriend ♡”

[kitten4sannie]

sleepover

pairing: perverted bsf! wooyoung x fem! reader feat. a comatose mingi (he’s asleep on the bed lmao…or is he…)

summary: wooyoung is more than willing to hold you when you’re afraid during your horror movie marathon, and even more willing to help distract you like a good friend does.

wc: 1.4k

warnings: perverted dom! wooyoung, subby innocent! reader, bro is convincing and manipulative okay, cnc/dubcon-ish vibes (if that’s not your thing feel free to skip!!), coercion/corruption, exhibitionism (all of the following is done right next to mingi), brief kissing, groping, fingering, initial orgasm denial,, tit play + spit, rough unprotected sex, creampie, this is a wild one idkidkkkkk

a/n: wooyo has been haunting my brain lately so i had no choice but to write this >~< i hope you enjoy <33 alsoo i’ll be posting one more corruption themed fic very soon that feats frat boy san and minyunhwa~

song rec: if you think i’m pretty - artemas

“I told you not to put this movie on, Woo. It’s way too scary,” you complained whinily into your best friend’s shoulder, shielding your eyes from the suspenseful scene playing out on the laptop sitting on the edge of your bed.

“Mingi was the one who wanted to watch it, you know,” Wooyoung chided, causally wrapping his arm around your shoulders, rubbing your bare arm up and down in a comforting manner.

“Well, Mingi’s passed out.” Pouting, you pointed to your other friend that was curled up underneath the comforter beside you, his eyes shut. “He’s not even watching, so what’s the point?”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “Come on, Y/N. Don’t be a pussy.” His cold fingers made their way down to your waist to squeeze at it, making you jump from the sudden contact. “Oh, I see….Do you think the monster’s gonna get ya?”

“Shut up, Wooyoung!” you whisper-shouted, as to not wake up Mingi. You pushed on his chest, feeling his heart beat quickly against your hand. Was it racing like yours was? And, when did he get so close to you? His hand was already running up and down the bare skin of your thigh, causing your thin shorts to ride up more and more, but you didn’t have the nerve to confront him about it. Your pout grew. “I’m really scared, okay?”

“Oh, you poor baby,” Wooyoung cooed softly into your ear, his words laced with faux pity, his sharpened gaze focused solely on your blushing face. “Do you want me to help you, Y/N? Distract you from the scary movie?”

“Y-yes, please…”

You didn’t know what you were getting into, but you trusted that Wooyoung had your best interest in mind. It was then that he gently coaxed you further into his arms, lying comfortably against him as you faced the laptop screen once again. Goosebumps began to spread across your limbs from underneath the warm comforter, but it wasn’t from the frightening movie — it was from Wooyoung’s hand slipping underneath your shorts, his slender fingers rubbing at your pulsing cunt through your panties.

“W-Wooyoung…” you croaked weakly, your face and body growing so hot, you could pass out. Friends didn’t do this sort of thing, did they?

“Shhhh, baby, just look at the screen…yeah, just like that…” he sighed softly, his warm breath fanning over your neck, now concentrating on the way your tank top clung to your softness of your tits, how your nipples grew hard enough to poke through the thin material, groaning when he found your clit through your panties, rubbing at it in slow, small circles.

“B-but we’re friends, Woo…” You made a sad attempt at pushing his hand away, the moral debate you were having internally slowly fizzling away the longer Wooyoung touched you.

“Isn’t this what friends are for?” Wooyoung persisted, pulling your panties to the side just in time for his fingers to dip in between your soaked folds. “And, fuck, you’re so wet right now, Y/N. It feels good, doesn’t it? What’s so wrong with that, baby?”

“But, nnngh…Mingi’s right next to us…” You began to melt into Wooyoung’s arms and the soft mattress below you, unable to resist spreading your legs out for him, your thigh even resting against Mingi’s, not noticing when it shifted just as two of Wooyoung’s digits slipped inside you.

Licking at his lips, Wooyoung then pressed them onto your cheek, egging you on in a low voice, “Then, tell me to stop, baby.” He began to fuck his fingers into you at a fast pace, your walls clenching around them. “Right now. Say it.” Now, he was relentlessly rubbing his thumb into your clit with his free hand, still working your cunt, hooking his digits against the spot that made you spasm, your body growing warmer and heavier. When you pouted up at him and whined, he simply mirrored your helpless expression. “What’s the matter, baby? Hm?”

“Oh– fuck, right there…” you moaned out, not even attempting to look at the laptop screen in front of you, instead solely focused on your best friend beside you, so desperate to cum, you began to roll your hips down every time his fingers plunged into you.

“Yeah? You’re feeling really good now, aren’t you, Y/N? Now that you’re nice and full? Just look at you, baby…You can’t help but fuck yourself dumb on my fingers, huh?” Wooyoung looked like the monster from the movie now, eyes full of hunger, like he was ready to eat you up.

“Uh-huh, uh-huhhh…” Just as your sounds of pleasure began to crescendo, your mind growing cloudier by the second, pulling at the sheets below you because you were right there, Wooyoung ceased his movement completely, leaving you high and dry. “No, please, don’t stop, please…!”

Wooyoung gave you a look of indifference, much like a cat that suddenly wasn’t interested in playtime anymore. “Show me your tits. Maybe then I’ll make you cum.”

Desperate for your best friend’s attention and touch, you slowly rolled your tank top up until your tits spilled out, tears pricking at your eyes. How did you get here? Why did Wooyoung’s deliciously dark gaze successfully distract you from the paralyzing shame you felt? Or is that what made you wet? The way you were slutting yourself out for your best friend while the other was sleeping right next to you? “Please make me cum, Y-Youngie…”

“Fuck, you’re so cute, come here.” Now, Wooyoung was on top of you, leaving as much of his saliva on your tits as possible, squeezing one when he was noisily sucking on the other, his dilated eyes never leaving your teary ones. “Can I fuck you, Y/N? I’ll make you cum, I promise…I need to be inside you, baby, please, you’re so fucking hot…” Desperate for release, Wooyoung lowered his sweatpants until his heavy cock dropped onto your bare cunt, rubbing himself along it, making your mind grow that much more empty. “Just the tip, okay? That’s okay, yeah?”

Before you knew it, you were nodding, and just like that, he was inside you, your best friend, using you like a cocksleeve. Wooyoung was ramming his cock into your cunt like he was trying to knock you up. “That’s a good slut, fuckkk, taking me so well…” You tried to moan, to speak, to say anything, but you couldn’t, not with the way his tongue suddenly went down your throat.

All you could do was cling onto Wooyoung, your nails digging into his skin when it felt like the tip of his cock was pounding into your cervix, almost growing dizzy. When you heard your best friend groaning about how he was getting ready to fuck you full of his cum, you gasped, unable to talk, short, broken moans being punched out of you each time Wooyoung slammed himself into you, your thighs hooking around his waist once his hot load began to pour into you. It was then that you turned your head just in time to realize Mingi was watching you intently, his plush lips parted just enough to let drool slip past, catching onto the way that something was moving rapidly underneath the comforter somewhere near his abdomen.

“Told you she would put out, didn’t I, Min?” Wooyoung mused smugly, fucking you through the orgasm that tore through your used body, using your bruised hips like handlebars as he did so.

“You were so right, Woo, so, so right,” Mingi sighed out, tossing his head back into the pillow behind him, leaving a few watery cumshots on the inside of your comforter and his hand.

You didn’t know if you wanted to cry or to cum again, instead just trying to catch your breath, hiding your face underneath one of your wrists, at least until Wooyoung pulled it down and made you look at the both of them.

“You’ll let Mingi have a turn, won’t you, Y/N? It’s only fair, right?”

Mingi nodded in agreement, before leaning in, licking across his teeth. “Having my cock inside your little used cunt next will make another good ‘distraction’, don’t you think?”

Even though the credits were rolling on the laptop behind them, the monsters hadn’t left. They were right there in front of you, waiting for your permission to ravage you. You couldn’t help but nod. They were your best friends, after all.

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[thepitlanepress]

WHAT ARE YOU DOING? –

↳ max verstappen + gf!mom!reader

⌗ :: masterlist

⌗ :: a/n: since i have the emotional and mental stamina and strength of a decaying cabbage rn this idea has graciously been given to me by my other half @arqbella so big thanks to her for this <3 this is also a short one bc as stated earlier decaying cabbage

"liefje?" max's calls out from the kitchen.

he usually expects an answer within the range of three to forty seconds. if you're super distracted a minute tops. you've alway had this thing- no matter what, whenever max calls you, you somehow hear him every time.

he thinks you also just like it when he calls you liefje or any nickname in dutch. your favorite is liefje though, as you've told him oh so many times.

because who wouldn't want to be called liefje by max verstappen are the exact words you use.

so when you don't answer him for a solid five minutes, he goes searching. he's hopeless at this recipe and needs your expertise before he blows the kitchen up.

"liefje?" max calls out again, still no answer. you must be upstairs somewhere with the baby then.

when he reaches the second floor he calls out your name again, but still no answer.

what is going on?

and being the dedicated boyfriend that he is, he gives up on his search and starts to return to the kitchen hoping things didn't explode in the kitchen while he was gone. surely he can work out how follow the instructions and have a perfect little surprise for you when you come down stairs.

just when he reaches the top step he hears your voice. its higher pitched and it sounds like you're mumbling nonsense so you must be talking to the baby.

whenever he stumbles in on you with the baby you always seems to be singing, or talking, or even gossiping to your little girl, who stares back at you with wide eyes - and an adorable face.

he decides the kitchen will be safe without him - what a mistake that was - and follows the two of his favorite sounds in the world. your voice and your baby's laugh.

he gently pushes the door open and leans on the door frame as he- what are you singing?

"du du du du max verstappen," you coo to the little bundle in you arms. "du du du du max verstappen!" you bounce about causing a little laugh to erupt out of your daughter.

"what are you doing, liefje?" max asks a mix between a smile and a frown on his face.

"i'm singing our daughter a song that i like," is all you supply.

"really because it sounds awful lot like the song that i don't like."

"i'm educating our child on how her papa is a famous f1 driver."

"i think the excessive amount of f1 things in this room will do- its practically a shrine, liefje."

"i happen to like it," you huff at max and smile at your daughter. "and so does she, look at her face, see? she loves it."

"i think she loves the fact that her mama is singing and dancing with her," he points out he says pushing off the doorframe and coming to stand beside you and look over you shoulder at the little girl in your arms.

you both stand there for a mometn just savouring the little peace and memory that you'll most likely keep for a long while.

well that was until, "du du du du max verstappen."

"really?"

2025 © thepitlanepress | please do not steal, use, translate or repost any of my works

– comments and reblogs appreciated

[rememberwren]

Skin Deep

Tattoo artist!Simon x fem!reader. Reader, looking to expand your horizons, you get your first tattoo from an enigmatic artist deemed “Ghost”. 8.4k. Features: soft!Simon who is bad at people-ing, vaginal sex, lots of nipples, like at least three nipples, poor writing, abrupt transitions, shy and awkward reader. Based on this post.

Sequel here.

-

“I bit the bullet!” you shout over the music, hand cupped around your friend’s ear to be better heard. She shrieks in delight at the sound of your voice, turning to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you close to her swaying body. Many eyes in the club follow her movements. She has always been the wild child to your wallflower, attracting attention wherever she goes.

“You bit what?” she shouts back, her breath like a mint julep. 

“The bullet,” you laugh. “I called that guy you recommended and set up an appointment. For the tattoo I wanted!” 

She stares at you blankly. Her silky little tank top is drooping off of one shoulder, so you reach out and tuck it back into place. The longer she stares, the more nervous you grow. She’d been so encouraging after your last boyfriend dumped you—encouraging you to step outside your comfort zone, to ‘make more mistakes’, to live life more fully. Now she’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head and it’s the one doing the talking. 

“What guy I recommended?” she asks. 

“Kevin!”

“Oh no. No, no, no. Not Kevin. Not Kevin. Why, Kevin?” 

You frown. “You said you went to Kevin.” 

“It wasn’t a recommendation, sweetie, if anything it was to caution you away from him! He’s a creep; there’s a reason why I never went back.” 

You deflate like a balloon, going limp and letting her drag you to the nearby free seats at the bar where you sit heavily. It’s not just the tattoo. It’s the icing on a shitcake of a day. 

A new song seamlessly starts, and the dancers nearby go wild with excitement. Your mood is the antithesis of the event; everyone seems to be having a great time except for you. Story of your life. 

“You conveniently left that out. Ugh. I’ll cancel it. What am I even fucking doing—thank you—” you accept the cup of ice water the bartender slides in front of you with a shy smile, sipping at it and keeping your hand curled over the top of it protectively. “—none of this is like me.” 

Your friend frowns. She steals your drink and sips at it. “You were the one who said you’d always wanted a tattoo. You’re an adult. These are exactly the kinds of decisions you’re old enough to make. Look, fuck Kevin. All my friends hate Kevin. I know another guy, and he’s highly recommended. Let me give you his number. Alright?” 

“Alright,” you sigh. You make a silent promise to yourself though: if it doesn’t work out with this next tattoo artist, then you won’t be getting one at all. You’ll take it as a sign from the universe to get back in your comfort zone and stay there, once and for all. 

-

What kind of a moniker is Ghost? you wonder to yourself as you skim the Instagram of the shop this Ghost owns. The profile picture is one of the building itself, and all of the pictures are of various inked body parts. Beautiful ones, admittedly. But no hint of the mysterious figure who owns the shop. There is a personal instagram linked @GHOST89 but it is private when you try to click on it. 

The phone number your friend gave you rings straight through to voicemail. You let out a shaky breath. Fuck, you hate voicemail. Talking to people was difficult enough; talking to people’s disembodied machines was even worse somehow. It isn’t until you’ve hung up after leaving your message that you realize you forgot to tell him your fucking name (genius!). Groaning, you contemplate dialing him back when the phone in your hand rings—and it’s him. 

“Hello?” 

“I’m free Wednesdays for consultations,” says a baritone voice from the other end of the line. 

Nice to talk to you too, you think dryly. Maybe this guy is as bad at the phone as you are. “I work Wednesdays. Are you free in the evenings?” 

He sighs, like this is going to be very strenuous for him. 

“Name a time. I’ll pencil you in. Half is due at the end of the consultation upon booking an appointment. Cash only,” he says. 

Jesus Christ, could he be anymore abrupt? While a tiny part of you is grateful that he isn’t trying to make small talk, a larger part is terrified that you’ve already made an impression so foul that it’s incurred his wrath. What other reason could he have for being so stilted? 

“Alright,” you answer cautiously. “How’s five?” 

“Five. Don’t be late.” 

He hangs up on you, leaving you wondering why every step outside your comfort zone must be so bloody far.

-

You arrive early to the consultation, only to find that the building itself—a tidy little brick two-floor, adorned with a sign that dubbed it SKIN DEEP tattoos & artisan piercings, which you recognize from Instagram—is locked. A note written in neat handwriting taped to the door declares NO WALK INS. Your palms are sweaty. You wipe them on your work slacks, but it doesn’t help. How are you supposed to get in? 

All at once a shadow appears on the other side of the door. The shadow is enormous: well above six feet tall, and broad shouldered. A black surgical mask is tucked up over his mouth and nose, which only adds to his intimidating aura. Judging by the impressive sleeve of tattoos he has, you imagine that this is the guy. 

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. And Ghost. 

Dark brown eyes stare down at you when he opens the door, cocking a hip against the frame, staring at you. Waiting. 

Waiting for you to explain your presence, you realize. 

“I have a consultation,” you blurt out. “At…five?”

He opens the door wider to let you pass without a word. He’s so broad that you can smell him as you pass him: clean and masculine. The inside of the tattoo shop is bigger than it looks on the outside. There is a reception area with a desk and a computer and printer. The glossy wooden floors are polished to shine, leading to an open floor plan. There is a small sitting area with armchairs, a wide sofa, and a table on which rests two bottles of water, a notebook, and a steaming mug of liquid.

“Sit,” he says, his voice the same deep rumble you recognize from the phone. He chooses the chair beside the mug. His body is so goddamn long, his legs lean and thick all at once where he stretches them out in front of him. He reaches for the mug and takes a sip—of tea, judging by the smell. “Name?”

You tell him, perching yourself anxiously on the other chair. He glances up at you, eyes raking over your posture. Suddenly he tugs the mask down to rest beneath his chin, revealing a full, pale mouth. A straight, noble nose. A pink scar stretches across his lips and up towards his cheek. 

“The water is for you,” he says. 

“Oh!” You reach forward and take one bottle, breaking the seal. “Thank you.”

“This is your first tattoo.” 

“What gave me away?” you ask with a weak laugh. 

He doesn’t laugh. “Everything. Is someone putting you up to this? This smells like Soap.” 

“What? No, of course not. I want this, I’m just, I’m an anxious personality. I promise.” You hesitate and then add: “I probably smell like soap because I showered this morning.” 

His mouth twitches. He leans back in his seat and sucks on his teeth, and you get the distinct feeling that he is trying very hard not to laugh at you. Why had you mentioned to him that you showered? What was wrong with you? Just as you’re comprising a list of things, he picks up the pencil and the notebook, opening to a fresh page.

 He asks what you want and God, that’s a harder question. 

You do your best to express your idea, but your words feel halting and silly. His pencil scratches rapidly at the paper as he listens in total silence—pausing only once, when you say that you want this to be a sternum piece. Only then does his pencil seem to hover over the paper, his dark eyes seeking you out and pinning you in place on the armchair. 

He reaches for his tea to take a generous sip and then continues writing. 

He asks a few pointed, concise questions (and you’re just thrilled he was actually listening), following your answers up with more scribbling in his notebook. At length, he shuts the book. 

“I think I see the vision. Give me thirty to sketch something and we’ll see if you want to book an appointment. Something this size, on your sternum could take more than one session, depending on how well you sit. How do you take pain?” 

“I mean, it hurts?” you offer. 

He stares. “Two sessions. Let me sketch something. Drink your water.” 

You think that maybe he’ll move to another room to sketch, but he just flips to a clean page and begins to work right there (drawing the mask up over his nose and mouth again). With nothing else to do, you can’t help but watch him. 

He’s handsome, in an odd sort of way. His brow is a little too low, his gaze a little too intimidating to be considered conventionally attractive, but you find him fascinating to look at, especially when he is so clearly in the throes of something he enjoys doing. It’s almost like watching someone have sex. The thought makes your face go warm. You pick up your phone, determined not to look at him again. 

“Here.” 

You glance up from your mindless scrolling. What he shows you is a beautiful rendition of what you had expressed wanting. There are a few key differences, and he patiently explains why he made the decisions he did. He didn’t make the changes because he thought your idea was stupid. He made them so the image would better fit the contours of your body. He made them because the ink will spread over time, and he wants the look to stay clean. 

His thoughtfulness touches you. 

“I love it. I want it,” you say, enthusiasm getting the better of you. 

“This is just a first sketch,” he says dryly, making that warmth return to your face. “I’ll text you a few variations this week, and we can nail down the final piece. You want to book?” 

“Yes,” you say, nearly buzzing. “I really want to book.”

He’s expensive—but judging by the book of his artwork that is available for you to flip through at the front desk while he quotes you a price and writes you up a receipt, he is more than worth the money. Fuck, he’s got skill. You thought that maybe his art style was too dark for what you wanted, but you found that he was able to adapt styles nicely. You just hoped this tattoo wouldn’t bore him to death. 

“Thanks again for meeting with me,” you say as he sees you out. “I’ll be waiting for your text.” 

“You’ll get it.” He glances past you out the window. It’s dark. “Did you walk?” 

“No, my car is just there.”

“I’ll wait.” 

And he does. His figure darkens the doorway until you have shut your car and locked the doors, temporary insanity making you give him a short wave. He raises two fingers and then disappears. 

-

You didn’t tell me this guy was cute, you text to your friend. 

GHOST? Cute? I’ve never even seen his face lol. He’s always wearing one of his masks. 

You chew over this information. Yes he’d been wearing a mask, but he’d lowered it for you. Did that mean something? Did it mean something that you wanted it to mean something?  

Masks are cute, you say. 

Fuck the tattoo artist!!!! she says. Maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

You’re terrible. 

You’re…thinking about it. 

-

Two days later, you squint blearily into the darkness at your phone after it vibrates on your nightstand. The time reads twelve past one in the morning. It’s from GHOST. 

The two images he sends are beautiful; enough to rouse you straight from sleep into wakefulness. 

I love them both, you tell him. But the second one is amazing. I think that’s the one. 

Keep your appointment. Ten minutes later (after you have already fallen back to sleep) he sends: wear something appropriate.  

And fuck, you didn’t even think of that. 

-

“You’re being ridiculous,” you mutter to yourself in the mirror, turning sideways to assess yourself. On the bed behind you are a series of button up shirts, all of which you have tried on at one point or another. 

“You are,” your friend agrees from where she lounges on your bed, scrolling on her phone. “Your tits are cute. Let Ghost see them.” 

The look you give her is the one the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ was modeled after, surely. She doesn’t even see it, so the effect is lost entirely. You turn your gaze back to the silicone nipple adhesive covers again, still stuck to their adhesive backing. You’ve already used one set of the pack of three, and they covered your nipple and areolas nicely, but still left you feeling so exposed. 

“Be glad you’re not going to creepy Kevin anymore,” your friend says.

“Very glad of it.” 

You felt reasonably safe with Ghost, but still a degree of embarrassment about your own body. Or perhaps that was too strong a word—it didn’t embarrass you, but it felt private. Baring your breasts to a near stranger (especially one you had a grudging attraction to) made your anxiety reach epic level proportions. 

“You should text him about it, see if he has any advice for you. He’s been doing this for years. I’m sure he’s seen it all,” she says—the first good idea she’s had all night, miles ahead of ‘Just let Ghost see your cute tits’. 

That night, you take her advice and text him, hoping you aren’t overstepping some weird artist-client boundary. 

I’m a little nervous.

You can cancel, is all he says. I’ll refund your money.

It’s not that. 

What is it? 

Not really accustomed to the nakedness tbh. There. You said it. Let him think you some prim priss; it was true. 

But all he said back was: how can I help?  

I don’t know, you admit. Then; sorry. I’m probably bothering you with this while you’re working. 

I’m not working. Five minutes later, when it seems as if you aren’t going to message back: I keep the shop closed to the public. One customer at a time: you. I’ll let my piercer know I’m with a client and not to walk in. I’ll keep you covered every moment I can. Better? 

Relief, warm and sweet curling low in your belly, you let him know: much better. 

-

You bring the pasties anyway. 

-

The day of your appointment, you are so nervous you are shaking. Now you know the truth behind the phrase ‘knees knocking together’, as you stand outside SKIN DEEP waiting for Ghost’s hulking figure to appear on the other side of the glass. 

When it does, he’s like a little punch to the gut. That black surgical mask is in place—typical for him, if your friend’s words are to be trusted—but his blond hair, cropped short to his scalp is riotous in a way that is adorably charming, like he hasn’t been able to keep his hands out of it. His black t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, and his jeans fit him nicely around his thick thighs. 

You’re horrified to find that your attraction to him has grown. Exponentially. Your friend’s words echo in your mind—fuck the tattoo artist, maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

“Hi,” you squeak. 

Ghost raises both his brows. He opens the door wider for you to slip past him. Fuck he still smells good.

“I’m still nervous,” you blurt out, hoping that speaking the truth out loud will help you feel better. It doesn’t. 

“That’s normal. You can back out at any time, but the earlier the better. Come look at the image and tell me if it’s still what you want.”

It’s exactly what you want, and more. 

“It’s perfect. You’re very talented.” 

He huffs a little, like you shouldn’t have said such a thing. 

The chair is a great leather contraption which reclines comfortably once he’s gotten you in it (after making you use the restroom first, during which you took the time to splash water on your burning face and double check that your pasties were in place covering all the cutest bits according to your friend). Simon moves around you, making preparations with the ease of someone who has done this work for many years. 

You fight the arousal that blooms in your belly at the sight of him doing such benign things as washing his hands, putting on gloves, opening fresh needles, preparing little wells of ink and sticking them to the movable cart with Vaseline. There’s just something about a person who knows exactly what they’re doing and who is able to do it with efficacy.

“Ready?” he asks at length. 

You nod, hoping your nerves don’t show on your face. Steeling yourself, you unbutton the shirt you’re wearing. His eyes follow your hands, but there is a detached, clinical sort of expression in them. He’s not watching a strip tease, he’s looking at a canvas. 

Finally, you sit in front of him in only the pasties, the shirt lax around your shoulders, and your sweatpants, socked toes curling in anxiety in your shoes. Without missing a beat, he leans the chair all the way back. Then he opens a fresh disposable razor and shaves you. 

“Am I hairy?” you ask, resting your hands oh-so-casually over your breasts to keep them out of his way. 

“Yes,” he says. Then his eyes flicker to yours. “Everyone is. Everywhere. It’s normal.”

“I’m just teasing you.” 

“Didn’t think you had the breath in your body left to tease me,” he mutters, voice nearly lost behind his mask as he carefully works the razor across your skin removing the baby-fine hairs from beneath your breasts and across your sternum. “You’re nervous, I mean.” 

“Would you take the mask off?” you ask on a whim. It had helped last time, to see his face. 

“No,” he says. He adds: “Sorry. It’s more sanitary f’you if I keep it on.” 

You get the feeling that he really is sorry—and that’s well enough. Some of the anxiety in your belly fades away. He would take it off if he could. The most anxious part of the process (baring yourself to a stranger) has already passed. Maybe now you can begin to relax. 

After cleaning your skin, he carefully lays the stencil and has you stand up to look at it in the mirror and make sure the placement is correct and holy fucking shit. It’s sexy. You’ve always been attracted to tattoos, and fancied the idea of getting one on your sternum for far longer than you’d ever admitted to anyone, but seeing it come to life gives you a rush you hadn’t expected. You feel so…badass. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Very good,” you answer, sitting back down, hoping he ignores the way your breasts bounce a little as you do. He leans you back again and this time breaks out the needle gun.

But before he uses it on you, he carefully takes a clean towel and lays it over your left breast, covering the parts of you that are not nearest to his eyes. His gentleness and thoughtfulness go straight to your cunt. 

“Thank you,” you say softly. 

He just nods. The gun buzzes to life. “I’ll make a line and see how you feel. Last chance to back out without any souvenirs.” 

“I’m not backing out.” 

He clicks his tongue as if to say, It’s your funeral. Then he lays his hand on your sternum above your breasts, pinning you in place, and makes a gentle line. 

It burns more than you expected it to. There’s a sandpaper quality to it, almost like the rasping of a cat’s tongue. The pain is sharp and bright, but it isn’t overwhelming. In fact…a strange part of you sort of enjoys it. Maybe it’s the rush of endorphins. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Good,” you squeak. 

You hear his quiet laugh, no more than an exhale of breath.

“Let me know when you need to break.” 

You don’t know how you feel about the way he phrases that: when you need to break. He adjusts his mask a little, leans over you, and gets to work. Sometimes the needles pass over a place that is more sensitive than the others, making you flinch. He pauses when this happens, eyes flickering up to your own, making sure you are alright even though he can likely feel the pounding of your heart beneath his hand. That hand on your chest, wrist just brushing the top of your breast, is a solid warm weight that seems to tether you back down to the earth as he lines you. He is very careful not to brush against your breast when he wipes away the excess ink and traces of blood, but you feel hyper-attuned to how easy it would be for him if he wanted to. How huge his hand is compared to your tit. Beneath the pasties, your nipples ache with tension, a tension that is mirrored between your legs. 

“Alright. Break,” he says, abruptly turning the gun off. He covers your exposed breast with another towel. “Take ten.”

He disposes of his gloves and disappears behind a curtain in the back, leaving you throbbing between the legs. Worming your phone free from your pocket, you scroll aimlessly, hoping to calm your raging hormones. He returns right at the ten minute mark, just as his cellphone rings. He glances toward where it rests on the table, but makes no move to answer it. 

“Do you need to get that?” you ask, offering him an out.

“No,” he says. “I make everyone leave a message. Weeds out the cowards.”

It had almost weeded out you, you think about telling him, but in the end you decide against it. He gloves back up. 

“Good for more?”

And so it repeats. 

At one point, he runs into a patch of sensitive skin on your ribs just overlaying the bone. It has you sucking in a breath through your teeth, eyes squeezing shut. It’s too late to turn back now you tell yourself; the only way out is through. 

His thumb gently strokes your sternum. 

“It’s rough. You can take it,” he says, quiet and focused. The buzzing of the gun never ceases as he tries to make his work as quick as possible, his words a little distant and distracted. “Just keep breathing. That’s it. Good girl.”

Jesus. Did he not have any idea what those words could do to a girl? A groan escapes your lips, and he clearly mistakes it for pain, because his thumb strokes again the soft skin over your heart, just above the curve of your breast. 

“You can do it. Just a little longer for me, and we’ll break.”

“Hurts,” you breathe, flinching again. 

He hushes you, surprisingly tender. 

“This is the worst of it.” This time, his thumb does brush the edge of your breast, making you suck in a gasp. He recoils, hand lifting away from you and curling into a fist. He rests that against you instead, taking away any further hope that he might brush his fingertips against you. You make it through the rough patch with tears in your eyes but no worse for wear.  

“Break. Ten minutes,” he says again, already shredding his gloves and moving to disappear behind the curtain. 

You call out: “Hey, wait—I’d rather just get through it in one go if I can. If this really is the worst of it.” 

“I need breaks too,” he says stonily.

You duck your head, feeling silly. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He vanishes again. 

He is late to return to you. Only by five minutes or so, but noticeably for a man so usually punctual and so demanding of punctuality in you. His face is stoic—what bits of it you can see from behind the mask—as he washes his hands thoroughly and preps his work station again. 

This time his hand keeps a very respectable distance from your breasts—a fact which you both lament and appreciate all in one. He works with single-minded efficiency, giving you his entire focus. You break once more, but this time he breaks in the room with you, stretching out his back and neck (giving you a generous glimpse of his belly when his shirt rides up, exposing cut abs and a happy trail you’d give your life to follow). 

“I think we could do this in one sitting, if you have nowhere else to be,” he mutters at length. 

“Eager to be done?” you wonder. 

He stares at you, expression flat, and says nothing. Nothing needs to be said. 

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” you murmur, staring up at the bright adjustable light that he has positioned over you. You hope he mistakes that for the reason behind any mistiness in your eyes, his rudeness cutting you deeply. 

So the two of you push through later into the evening, until you are sweating at your temples and the base of your neck from the continuous pain for so long. At last he lays the last gradient for the shading, sprays you down, and wipes you clean so very gently. 

“Go take a look. I’m going to cover it up.” 

It’s beautiful. Stunning, even. You let your shirt gape closed and cover the pasties, revealing a broad glimpse of the sternum tattoo, and it is the sexiest you have ever felt. It almost makes your eyes burn anew.

“I love it,” you choke out. “Thank you.”

“Can I take a picture of it?” he asks. “For Instagram.” 

“Sure!” It will feel a little like being famous, you think, judging by how much notice each of the photos on his Instagram garners. He crouches down on the floor to be at the perfect height, reaches out and gently adjusts your shirt. Parts of the tattoo are covered—the very far edges—but you can’t deny how sexy it is. Maybe he feels the same way. 

After he takes the photo, he posts it and asks for your handle to tag you in it. Then he says: “Let me cover it up. Keep it covered overnight, but tomorrow let it breathe. Keep it clean. Don’t do anything stupid to it. Understand?” 

“I understand.”

“And if you have any questions—text me.” 

-

You get home to find that Ghost’s personal account has requested to follow you. Thrumming with nerves and excitement, you accept the request and send one of your own, spending the night scrolling through his Instagram (so, so carefully to avoid any incidental ‘likes’). Plenty of the photos are of his artwork, still. But there are ones of his dog: a German Shepherd that is thankfully much more photogenic than her surly owner. There are three or four photos featuring Ghost himself, and only one has his full face in the picture. You find yourself staring at his fixated expression for longer than is respectable. 

-

Three days later when you find yourself panicking, you don’t text him like he asked you to. You call. 

Your skin is peeling off. Peeling. Off. The sight of it makes your stomach roll. The entire tattoo is hot to the touch, and the skin around it feels warm as well. Flushed. Is it supposed to hurt this much? 

The internet doesn’t help. The peeling is normal, sure. But everything else is suggesting that your tattoo could be infected. What sort of ink did Ghost use? Was it reputable? What if the infection reaches your bloodstream? You were too young to die! Your anxiety spirals like a plane with one wing, trailing smoke as it soars straight down, determined to take you with it.   

With shaking hands, you don’t even think about texting Ghost. You go straight to calling him, tapping his number in your phone and pressing it to your ear, listening to the ring. 

He’s going to send you to voicemail, just like he does to everyone else—except he doesn’t. All the sudden there is glorious feedback from the other end: a cacophony of voices and laughter, clearly some sort of gathering. 

“Yes?” Ghost says into the phone, as if that’s a decent hello. 

“There’s something wrong with my tattoo!” you cry. 

“Wait—get out of my goddamn way.” There is rustling, and then the noise decreases substantially. You can almost see him standing outside whatever bar his friends have brought him to, mask down around his chin, hand over his other ear as he strains to listen to you. “Say it again. Now I can fucking hear you.”

“There’s. Something. Wrong,” you say through your teeth. “With my tattoo!”

“Well? What is it?”

“It’s falling off, for one!”

He snorts. “That’s normal. That's why you called?” 

“It’s all swollen and hot. And it hurts.” 

Now that shuts him up. He sighs a little, switches the phone from one ear to the other. “Hurts how bad?”

“Worse than getting it.” 

“Fuck me. Alright. Meet me at the shop in…twenty?” 

“Twenty minutes from now?” 

“From when else?” He hangs up. Man doesn’t know the meaning of the word goodbye. 

-

The night is cool. You don’t bother with a bra, not when it irritates your tattoo so much. Pulling your jacket closed more tightly around yourself, you walk from your parking spot along the street to the tattoo shop. 

Ghost stands outside at the curb. His figure is unmistakable. He is smoking, mask down, the lit end of his cigarette a burning ember that flares bright in the darkness. When he sees you coming, he crushes the cigarette beneath his boot and opens the door to the shop, which is still and dark. He flicks on a light switch as he goes, casting the place in a warm glow. 

He’s dressed in his usual dark jeans and an obscenely tight t-shirt, his sleeve of tattoos on display. He leaves the mask down. His eyes are on your tits—or resting where your tattoo is beneath your clothes. 

“Well. Sit. Show me.”

You sit in one of the armchairs, your shoulders rising in defensiveness. “What, just flash you?”

“Nothing I’ve never seen before.” 

Gritting your teeth, you begin unbuttoning your shirt until it gapes open. You cup your breasts with your hands, maintaining your modesty while putting the tattoo on full display. He narrows his eyes, leaning down. His fingers reach out, but then he thinks twice and washes his hands. 

“I was smoking,” he says when you roll your eyes in exasperation. 

“You’re worried about getting the chemicals on my skin but not in your lungs?”

“Fuck my lungs,” he mutters. His fingers hover over your tattoo. “Can I?”

You nod. His fingers are cool when they gently prod and ghost along the edges of the tattoo, feeling for the signature warmth of an infection. “Any fever?” he asks. 

“Not that I’ve noticed.” 

“You feel warm, but I’ve felt warmer. I don’t think it’s infected. Have you tried icing it?”

“No,” you admit. 

“Ice will help. Just use something clean, for fuck’s sake.” As he speaks, his breath fans across your chest, making you shiver. He sees this, his eyes darkening. “When you called, I thought it was for me.”

“It was for you,” you say, brow furrowing. “Who else?”

He snorts, lips quirking. It tugs on the scar across his lips. “Forget it.” 

“Forget what?” 

“Talking about it goes against forgetting it.”

You groan, tossing up your hands. “You’re impossible.” 

He reaches out and jerks your shirt closed, hastily doing up a button. Your face burns as you do up the rest of the buttons—you end up having to backtrack and redo them because he was off by one. 

“Thank you for meeting me. I’m sorry it was for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” he says. “And I wasn’t doing much.”

“You were with friends,” you insist.

His eyes narrow. “Who told you that?” 

“I saw it on your Instagram tonight.” 

“Nosey.” 

“I could buy you a drink sometime,” you offer after a lengthy pause, your heart pounding loud enough to fill the silence between you. Are you really doing this? Are you really asking him out?  “Make up for the ones I lost you tonight.” 

“Maybe.”

God, it’s like he’s not getting it. Maybe you need to be bolder. Fortune favors the bold, doesn’t it? Your hands are shaking when they fall back to the buttons on your shirt. 

“Would you take one more look at my tattoo? Just to be…positive?”

He sighs and makes an impatient hand gesture. Your fingers fumble through the buttons again. You don’t cover yourself with your hands this time; just keep the halves of your shirt over your nipples. He dutifully exams the tattoo again, prodding gently, laying the flat of his fingers against it to feel the warmth it lets off. 

“Maybe you should look closer.” 

His eyes flicker up to yours. “Closer.”

Your mouth is dry. “Yeah.”

“Can’t get much closer than I am.” 

“You could—if you wanted to.” 

“If I—“ it hits him then. You can see it in the fractional widening of his eyes, the way his mouth parts softly in blatant surprise before he shuts it, dark eyes returning to your sternum. He says: “Closer.”

“Mhm.”

The back of his hand brushes against your breast, causing your breath to hitch. His thumb traces softly along the outline of the tattoo, following the path just beneath your shirt, nudging the fabric aside slowly, so slowly, until your breast is bare, nipple puckered and aching. 

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. His eyes flicker to yours as if to see if you really want this—and whatever he sees must reassure him, because then he is sweeping his fingertips along the bottom curve of your breast and taking it into his hand, his palm rasping gently over your nipple. All the breath rushes out of you. Your thighs clench together. Already you’re aching—have been since you saw his mouth around that cigarette on the street—but he moves with determined caution. His thumb finds your nipple and teases it, pulling a desperate little sound from the back of your throat. 

“Pretty little tits,” he says, his voice a warm, smoky rumble that goes straight to your core. He captures your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching softly. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand reaching out to brace yourself against his shoulder. He is solid and firm beneath your touch, unmoving and unmalleable. Your breasts have always been sensitive, but it feels like every touch is directly related to the feelings in your cunt. You find your back arching, hips searching for friction against the seat of the chair. 

“Be still,” he says firmly. Another pitiful sound slips past your throat. “Let me play with you.” 

“Please,” you gasp. “Play with me—even if that’s all you want—just don’t stop, please.” 

His mouth parts as he listens to you, his eyes so, so dark. The pupils have nearly swallowed his irises whole, until you can see yourself bare from the waist up in the reflection. He shakes his head a little. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“I do. I—“ your words are cut off with a gasp as he hauls you out of the chair by your wrist and onto his lap. He’s so thick thighed that it stretches you obscenely to have him between your legs. His hands tear the button-up off your shoulders and down your arms until it flutters to the floor, leaving you half naked. Dipping his head, he presses a heated kiss to the place on your sternum where he had rested his hand during the tattoo—and then trails wet kisses towards your left breast, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking with a decided softness. 

You let out an unflattering, choked groan, resting your weight heavily against him until you can feel the prominent bulge in his tight jeans. His hands find your ass and grip you tightly, working you back and forth, rubbing that bulge against your clothed sex. 

“Driving me fucking crazy,” he mutters against your skin, opening his mouth to drag the sharp line of his teeth against the curve of one breast before switching to the other and flicking his tongue over your nipple. 

You gape at his admission. Had you been? He’d been so closed off and cool…though now that you thought back, maybe that was just his way of hiding it. Suddenly he grips the back of your neck, where your hairline ends, and pulls you to his mouth. He tastes faintly of smoke, even fainter of the drinks he had had earlier in the night, but it is an intoxicating mixture. Your tongues find a rhythm as your hips do the same, both of you fucking in every sense of the word except the literal kind. 

He takes one of your thighs and wedges it between his own, until you’re no longer grinding against his cock but instead his denim-clad thigh. “You the kind of girl who can cum like this? Just from this?” 

“Uh-huh,” you promise, head bobbing. 

He buries his face in your neck. “Good. I won’t last when I’ve got my cock in you. I’d like you to cum at least once before then.”

“Oh god,” you groan, gripping his shoulders fiercely as you begin a halting, stilted rhythm against his thigh. The denim is rough against your leggings. He feels all around you: his scent, his taste, his touch. When his hands find your hips to help you work yourself against him more smoothly, a sigh of gratitude fans from your lips. 

“What else do you need?” he asks. 

“My—touch me—“ He abandons your hips once you find a suitable rhythm. He finds your nipples again, teasing them with clever fingers. The stimulation has your peak approaching faster, building like a storm in your lower belly. 

Ghost leans back to look at you, eyes trailing over you from head to toe: your face burning with warmth, your breasts with peaked little nipples, your leggings nearly soaked through at the crotch with how wet you are. He shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. 

“Fucking perfect.” You bury your face in his neck, feeling a warmth inside your chest. He grips you by the neck again and tugs you back. “Look at me. Look at me.” 

You look at him for as long as you can, but when the band in your belly finally snaps, your eyes roll up and slip shut, your mouth drops open in a choked gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as you shudder and shake in the throes of your pleasure. 

He leans down to kiss you through it, tongue teasing at your slack mouth. 

When he stands, he takes you with him, hauling you up until you wrap your shaking legs around his waist. It’s probably a good thing too. You aren’t sure you could walk otherwise. He carries you the few steps to the couch and lays you down, curling his fingers in the waistband of your leggings. You nod. He strips them off you, along with your flats, and your panties until you are naked as the day you were born.

Your thighs clamp together shyly. He lets them, reaching behind himself to pull his shirt off. Something catches your eye in the streetlights streaming in through the window: Ghost has one of his nipples pierced, a neat little barbell through the sensitive flesh. 

Fingers enter your vision—your own—reaching out on instinct. You hesitate, unsure if he is receptive, and a little afraid to hurt him. He’s so bloody tall, too…but he takes care of that himself by kneeling down by your side, his eyes cautious. Closer, you can see the scars: silvery in the moonlight, crisscrossing over his torso. 

“Does it hurt?” You ask, softly stroking your fingers beneath the pale pink skin of his areola. 

“No,” he says. You can feel the timber of his warm voice vibrating through his chest, up your fingers, straight to your pussy. “You can play with it.”

You shyly run your thumb over it the way he had yours. He sighs, breath fanning across your arm. His eyes go heavy-lidded, tongue flashing as he wets his lips. After a moment, you grow insecure and move your hands away from his nipple down to a scar that crosses his sternum. He lets you, very patient, like a dangerous creature withholding its bite. 

“You’re so—“ the words are whispered dreamily before you have any idea how you plan to finish the sentence. Flushing with embarrassed heat under his wary stare, you finish: “—hot.” 

He physically turns away, expression inscrutable. You can’t help but feel like you have said the wrong thing. He puts a hand on your belly, stroking the softness. “You broken, or can you take more?” 

“I want more.”

“Want my cock?” 

You nod, feeling like a bobble head. 

“I want to hear you say it.” 

“I want your cock.”

His hand reaches for his belt, unbuckling it. Your eyes track the movement with hungry nerves. His hands put butterflies in your belly: thick palms with long, slender fingers, veins criss-crossing along the backs. An artist’s hands. He works his belt free with nimble grace and shucks down his jeans and underwear in one smooth movement, revealing his cock to your gaze and the light from the street lamps. 

He is huge here to match. Downright intimidating in length and girth, uncut with a nice curve toward his belly. He grips himself and gives a series of smooth strokes, the muscles in his abdomen flexing into sharp relief. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter. 

“No gods here,” he says, kneeling up on the couch. His hands part your thighs, and for a long time he just looks at you, that sensitive, swollen place between your legs. He stares so long that you nearly cover your face, embarrassed by whatever he is thinking. Then he touches you, and when he does, he touches you with surprising reverence. He touches you like you are art. 

“Can’t believe you let me ink you,” he mutters, stroking your vulva with his warm palm. His eyes are on the sternum piece now. “Practically let me carve my name into your skin. Anybody around here who sees it will know who did it. They’ll know who touched you.” 

“Good,” you breathe. 

His sigh is shaky. You’re learning his reactions, his very breaths. That shaky sigh means he’s pleased with you. You’ve said something right. 

He reaches down to his jeans on the floor and works a hand into his pocket, pulling free a condom. He hands it to you—for inspection, you realize, though you’ve had so few one night stands (try zero) that you’ve never had the need to inspect a condom before. The package is intact at least. There appears to be an expiration date which you squint at. All looks well. You hand it back to him and he tears it open, rolling it down his considerable length. 

Then he goes back to touching you. One hand braces himself against the back of the sofa so he can lean down to kiss you, tasting your mouth deeply. The other hand finds your entrance, circling it with a finger before slipping inside you all the way to the last knuckle. You are wet enough and relaxed enough that he slips in easily. 

“Relax…there you go. Let me in,” he says under his breath, working a second finger in beside the first. It is a bit of a stretch—he’s thick everywhere goddamn it—but it’s a good stretch, a much needed one. The third finger has you stiffening, whining at the pinch of pain. He slows his fingers and lets his thumb find your clit, muting the pain with little jolts of pleasure. 

“Ghost,” you groan, toes curling against the leather of the couch.

“I think you can take it,” he says, thumb so soft and insistent against that aching pearl of nerves. “But what do you think?” 

“Your cock—want it—please—“

“Alright,” he laughs, pulling his fingers free and wiping the wetness on his cock. “No need to beg.” 

He notches his cock against your entrance and slips inside you. Both of you inhale together, like on cue. Just the first few inches have you feeling full beyond your comfort zone, but he seems to understand in his silent, all-knowing way. He stills, working that free hand between you both to play with your clit until you’re clenching around him, body trying to pull him deeper. He slips further in and then reaches the end of what your body can take. You feel fucking stuffed, your hands shaking where you have gripped his naked shoulders, nails digging into his skin. 

His own breathing is ragged, pecs brushing your nipples with every inhale. The little bursts of pleasure help, until you find that your hips have grown restless, working back and forth as much as his substantial weight will allow when you’re pinned beneath it. 

“Stay still,” he mutters into the juncture of your neck. “Stay still or I’ll cum and this is all over.”

“Can’t,” you gasp, his revelation electrifying you. “Have to move, ‘m so full—“

“Fucking hell,” he groans. He pulls out, leaving you feeling gaped. “Roll onto your side.” 

He gives you instruction but isn’t shy about reaching out and physically arranging you until you are both spooning, your back to his chest. This time when he enters you, it is more shallow, and easier for him to reach around and play with your clit. 

You arch your back, seeking more of him, pressing your breast into his free palm. He plucks at the nipple, teeth nibbling at your throat. 

“Want you to cum again,” he says, stilling your movements so that you can’t fuck your self back against him. “Give me one more. Then it’s my turn.”

“Ghost—I can’t—“ you’ve never cum twice before. Not even with your favorite toys have you been able to scrounge together more than one illustrious orgasm. This knowledge and your expectation of his disappointment has you stiffening in his arms. 

“If you can’t, then don’t,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He keeps his fingers soft and insistent against you, and only after a few lengthy moments does he feel confident enough to work his hips against you too. He pulls out too far and his length drags across your labia, the head brushing where his fingers play with your clit. 

You give a sighing little moan. His head cocks; you aren’t the only one listening to sighs. Now when he gives those lazy, lackadaisical thrusts, his entire length just strokes the outside of your sex. 

“Oh fuck,” you whine, feeling that band in your belly begin pulling tight again. 

He hums behind you, a smug sound. 

“Not sure I want you to cum now,” he says. “Hold it. I’m thinking it over.” 

“Ghost!”

He laughs, honest to God laughs at you. Tears prick your eyes from the sheer need (and a bit from embarrassment) but his hips never cease nor slow their tireless thrusts against you, not even when you grow close enough to beg, close enough to plead. 

He loops his arm around your waist and pins you against him when you cum to keep you from rolling right off the couch, your body wracked with shivers and spasms. The warmth of your release washes over you from head to toe, and you are still basking in it when his cock finds your entrance again and enters you. 

The position keeps the penetration blissfully shallow (otherwise he might give your cervix a painful beating), but he still reaches new lengths inside you, filling spaces you didn’t know were empty. The shop is eerily quiet except for the sound of his hips snapping against your ass and the frequent breathy sounds his cock punches out of your lungs. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck and lets out a series of sounds that are toe-curling: deep groans and raspy curses, whispered praise and hisses through his teeth. His hand grips your hip tightly, leaving shadows the shape of his fingerprints on your skin as he fucks you. 

Sooner than you’d like—but he’d warned you, hadn’t he?—his thrusts grow sloppy, the sounds messy thanks to your wetness as he finds his release and moans it into the skin of your throat. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. And again: “Fuck, fuck. You broken?” 

“Yes.” 

He snorts. Then it turns into that laughter, warm and rumbling against your back. You smile where he can’t see. 

-

“Sorry about this,” he says as he ties the condom off and throws it away, naked as the day he was born. You’re still naked too, though much more shy, legs crossed demurely and arms wrapped around yourself. 

“Regretting it already?” 

“Yes,” he says. Then, when he sees the stricken look on your face, he adds: “Should have at least taken you to dinner first.” 

“Dinner?”

“You owe me drinks. I owe you dinner.” He finds his boxers in the darkness and slips back into them. Then, because the expression on your face still hasn’t relaxed, he says: “I don’t regret the sex. Do you?”

You shake your head. 

He scoffs a little. 

“I mean it,” you insist. You touch your tattoo. “I wanted it…the day you did—this.” 

He raises both brows at you, silently calling your bluff.

“I didn’t think you were interested,” you admitted sheepishly. 

“I jerked off in the back just from seeing half your tits,” he admits, slipping into his jeans now too. His mouth curls a little at the corner when he sees the way you gape at this news. “I was interested.” 

You laugh; you can’t help it. “Dinner, then? Or drinks?” 

“Yeah,” he says. “Alright. Get dressed.”

[smileysuh]

model cowboy

🌙 starring. Jeong Jaehyun x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. You maintain eye contact until the moment your lips meet, and then, you do your best to just relax, to forget about the cameras pointed at you. You allow yourself to melt into the kiss, following Jaehyun's motions, following the gentle notes that soon become more heated. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip, and on instinct, you open your mouth for him, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck to pull him closer.  You try to convince yourself that you’re leaning into this for the sake of the scene, that you’re just being good actors together, but there’s something underneath it all. There’s a desperation. You can almost taste it below the spearmint on his tongue. 

tw/cw. unprotected sex, dry humping, breast worship, slow and adequate foreplay/pussy stretching/prepping, pussy eating, fingering, praise, slight switchy power dynamic but Jae is generally the dom/top, slight overstim, face riding, slight hair pulling, precum (jae is horny), dirty talk, sappy sex, alcohol, etc… I pet names: (hers) superstar.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 13.2k

🍭 aus.actor!Jaehyun, singer!y/n, fake dating au, enemies to lovers au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. it was actually so fun to have small clips of TMZ style gossip reporting- loved that I was able to try different things with this fic :)

Prologue

In this week's news, our favorite kids' show alumni are back on the scene together. Beloved model and actor Jung Jaehyun teams up with childhood costar (y/n) (l/n) for her new single Model Cowboy. This song will mark the kick-off of her third album, and the music video is set to start production sometime early next month, with the song coming out on iTunes and other streaming platforms sometime in the new year.

There’s a lot of buzz on social media about this pairing, as the two stars were ‘shipped’ incessantly in their teen years, with one user commenting, “It’s like Britney and Justin Timberlake all over again! Ah!!!!!”

While Jaehyun has had a string of relationships over the years, our favorite girl power singer y/n has only recently ended a long-term relationship with football player Lee Jeno. When asked how this separation would affect her new album, y/n had this to say: “I want to draw on the pain of a breakup because that feeling is so universal, but at the same time, I want the album to be fun. It’s about ending one cycle, and sure, giving yourself the space and grace to mourn that loss, but also looking forward at the future and other opportunities that come your way when you go through something like that.”

When asked about the new single Model Cowboy, y/n noted, “It’s about going back to your roots and finding that cowboy, blue-collar man. I think the trades are kind of in vogue right now, for all of the best reasons. We want salt of the earth, we want a man who will provide and take care of us- not everything is luxury and partying. There’s such peace in stability, and I want to honor the simplicity of good relationships, which we all deserve to experience.”

Despite all of this, when our reporters enquired about Jaehyun as the star of the music video, who, to us and many fans on social media, doesn’t scream ‘salt of the earth, cowboy, or stability’ our singer simply responded with “No comment.”

Yikes.

However, there may be hope for this fan-favorite couple yet. When Jaehyun was asked about his role in the music video at a recent film premiere for his new action movie ‘Home Grown’ he had this to say: “I did a few music videos in my early twenties, but never with anyone I really knew or admired. I’ve been focused on movies and fashion recently, but I’m excited to do a shorter-form art piece. y/n and her team are very creative, and I can’t wait to see the finished result.” 

I can safely say that we can’t wait either.

Back when y/n was just eighteen, putting out her first album, there was one song that everyone thought she wrote about Jaehyun. We couldn’t help but bring this up to the actor. When questioned if he’d inspired y/n’s first hit single, ‘Forget About Him’, Jaehyun said, “That’s not for me to say, you’ll have to ask her.” This response revived years of conspiracy on social media, and we’re all still itching for the truth.

Production for Model Cowboy is set for the end of the month, and permits have been granted for shooting in California’s Joshua Tree National Park. We’ll all be on the edge of our seats waiting for promo pictures and behind-the-scenes photos. 

Stay tuned for all things celebrity drama and news on our website, or follow us on Instagram and Snapchat for daily updates. 

One:

You’re in your trailer with your assistant, Mark, waiting for your call time, and you can’t help the irritation that’s filling you. It’s the first day of shooting for Model Cowboy, and every other time you’ve filmed a music video, you’ve been excited about the creative journey of turning a song into a visual expression- but not today, and there’s one huge reason for your angst.

“I still can’t believe this is happening,” you groan. “Jaehyun wasn’t my first choice for this, and he’ll never be my first choice for this- it takes away from the meaning of the song to have him starring with me!”

Mark frowns. “I mean, he’s not exactly a model cowboy-”

“More like a model pretending to be a cowboy,” you scoff. 

Your assistant sighs. “Management just wants you two to do this, fake date for a while, promote your music and his upcoming projects, draw intrigue-”

“I know it’s what management wants, I was forced to sign the contract,” you snap. Then you release a breath, getting control of yourself. This isn’t Mark’s fault, in fact, he argued your side in the meeting about this two months ago. “I just… I’m not a huge fan of Jaehyun.”

“You always said he was the most overly confident, smug, pretty boy that came out of your kids’ show,” Mark nods. He’s very good at summing up your difficulties, as he’s your most trusted confidant. You’d never dream of being vocal about your personal opinions of Jaehyun to anyone else, your PR training has taught you not to be fully honest, to prioritize your reputation as a ‘good girl’- but Mark, he gets you. 

“At the end of the day,” you sigh, “sure, Jae might be a better actor, but I’m the better singer.”

“I know you won’t want to hear this-”

“Then don’t say it.”

Mark sends you a pointed look. “He did do that cover of ‘I Like Me Better When I’m With You,’ and everyone loved it.”

“Well, Jaehyun doesn’t have three albums and a Grammy. He did a cover. It’s not like that’s difficult.” 

Before Mark can say anything else, there’s a knock on your trailer. You jump up, ready to start the day of shooting, but when you open your door, it’s not a PA standing there to take you to location, it’s Jaehyun.

He’s dressed in a cowboy-style outfit, however, it’s more runway than practical, and he’s also wearing the same smug smile he always used to have on when you were working together as kids and young adults.

“Long time no see,” Jaehyun muses. 

You roll your eyes. “Don’t pretend you’re happy to see me.”

You know your dislike for Jaehyun is shared with his own disdain for you, and you’d noted that to your managers. How are either of you going to pretend to be in love when this general dissatisfaction with each other is evident every time you’re in the same room?

“Thought I’d come to discuss the whole fake dating script with you, you know, kind of like running lines.”

“There aren’t any lines for our fake dating scenario yet, it’s improv,” you remind him.

“Then, how about boundaries?”

You release a groan. “Fuck it, let’s go find my PA, get in a car to go to location, and we can talk during the drive.”

Two:

There’s a tension in the SUV. With you on his left, your assistant behind you, and Jaehyun’s own manager, Johnny, behind him, everything anyone says will be noted. In fact, Jaehyun’s been listening to Johnny argue on the phone about a brand deal for the past ten minutes.

You’d said you’d discuss the whole fake dating thing, but instead, your eyes are glued to your iPad as you look over the music video notes. 

Jaehyun has always found you to be a very focused woman, he might go so far as to say you have a stick up your ass. Your rigidity is a stark contrast to his own ‘go with the flow’ type of way of doing things, and it’s one of the reasons you’d never gotten along well on sets.

When he’d come to your trailer to discuss PR lines, it had been because he was trying to meet you where you’re at. He thought you’d want to plan. In fact, he’d found it almost laughable when you’d told him it would be improv because out of the two of you, he’s the one that’s always excelled in that area. 

You have this face you put on for others, but Jaehyun’s always seen through it. You lack confidence in yourself, and that’s why you overcompensate by being anal about details, about practicing so you never fail when the time comes. 

Jaehyun leans closer to you, getting a look at the music video notes. The aesthetic board is very desert, horses, sand, sparkles, disco balls, and mirrors- for someone who said Model Cowboy was about finding someone who wasn’t all luxury, there are definitely luxury items in the music video notes. 

“So… tell me again what the song’s about?” Jaehyun asks.

You sigh. “Mark sent you a sound clip, didn’t he? Did you even bother to listen to the song?”

“Yeah,” Jaehyun shrugs, “but I wanted to hear the details from you.”

You take an exasperated deep breath, putting your iPad down on your lap. “It’s about falling in love with someone who’s very salt of the Earth-”

“What do you mean by that?”

Your lips part in shock and annoyance. “It means a man who’s salt of the Earth.” 

“Yeah, you said that, but like…” Jaehyun lets out a small laugh at how bad you’re fumbling this, “what does that mean, to you.” 

Mark shifts in the seat behind you, leaning forward to join the conversation. “It means someone who is honest, and reasonable. Someone who doesn’t think they’re special or better than others.”

You flash Jaehyun a pointed look. “So basically, not you.” 

Jaehyun chuckles. “Baby, neither of us are salt of the earth if that’s your definition.” 

He can see how annoyed you are, can pick up the micro movements, the way your fingers are tapping on the edge of the iPad. It’s a rhythmic thing, something you do to calm yourself, and he’d noticed that pattern in you when you were much younger. 

“This whole fake dating thing was not my idea,” you snap finally.

“Yeah, wasn’t mine either. We both have PR managers.”

You roll your eyes, letting out another exasperated sound of annoyance. 

Jaehyun kind of likes poking at you like this. He’d been worried that you’d be super anal about this whole project, and while you’re definitely fighting for control, he likes to jab you where your guard is down. It feels like a win to him, and deep in Jaehyun’s core, he knows it’s not a nice thing to do, but he simply can’t help himself.

You have a history, years of interactions and bickering- he hasn’t seen you in a long time, but getting on your nerves is as easy as it’s always been, and that schoolboy enjoyment from picking on you is as potent as it ever was. 

Three:

You’re a couple of hours into your day, and you’re doing some shots with horses now. You’d chosen Hwasa as your director, she’s a visionary in the type of aesthetic you want, and you’ve worked with her numerous times before. She’s very girl power, which is what you love, and you also enjoy the fact that she sees this as a collaboration.

You’ve worked with male directors in the past who think your music video is about showing their vision, and in your early days as a teen, you hadn’t been able to find your voice. Now, as an adult, you have the final say on everything, and Hwasa is the best partner you could think of for a project like this.

The two of you are by the cameras, making sure the shot will be good. The horses are just hanging out with their trainers, and Jaehyun’s a few meters away under the sun tent, waiting for direction.

“So… I’m thinking…” you look at Jaehyun, then at the saddles on the horses, “What if we try a shot with bareback.”

Hwasa casts you a sideways glance. “I mean… visually, I think that would be nicer, it would encapsulate freedom, but at the same time… is Jaehyun skilled enough to mount while bareback?”

“He’s an actor isn’t he?” You turn to look at Jaehyun. God, you can’t wait for him to fall off the horse and eat shit. “Jae!”

He’s sitting in a chair, his head tipped back, cowboy hat obscuring his face. The sound of your voice makes him sit up, his fingers pushing the rim of the hat up so he can look at you.

“Come over here!” Hwasa calls.

He nods, standing then swaggering over to you. He’s having way too much fun in his little cowboy outfit for your liking. “What’s up?”

“How do you feel about trying this scene on bareback?” Hwasa asks.

Jaehyun looks at the two of you, then over at the horse. “We can give it a go.”

You try to hide your smile, God, this is going to be so satisfying.

Hwasa goes to consult with the safety guys and trainers, who take off the saddle, then talk Jaehyun through how to mount a horse without the aid of stirrups. He nods nonchalantly, as smug as ever.

The scene gets ready, with you and Hwasa behind the camera. “Action!” she calls.

Jaehyun approaches the horse. He stops next to it, stroking it’s hair. You watch him get a gentle grip, and then, in one fluid motion, he hoists himself up, swinging his leg over the horse’s back before steadying himself into a seated position. He guides the horse by its hair to make a neat circle, looking like the most skilled cowboy ever, then he turns and flashes you that smug smile of his as Hwasa yells “cut!”

“That was amazing,” Hwasa tells you. “God, Jaehyun was such a good choice for this.”

“Really? How so?” you ask.

“Just, I know he’s not a stereotypical salt of the earth man. He’s not all American, he’s not a cowboy with a five o'clock shadow- this… dichotomy of visuals versus lyrical interpretation, how any man can be the right man if given the chance, despite all these stereotypes-” 

You can feel your expression fall. Sometimes you hate how artsy Hwasa is, with her bachelor's in English and her way with words and interpretations. You can’t argue with her analysis, because if that’s what she gets out of the visual of Jaehyun flawlessly mounting a horse bareback, then that’s her view of it. 

“Do you want to try to mount bareback too?” Hwasa asks, drawing herself out of her musings to focus on the scenes she wants in the time allotted. 

You release a sigh. “I guess we can give it a try.”

“If it’s too dangerous-”

“If Jae can do it, I can too,” you insist, not wanting to be one-upped by him. 

You’re in a long flowy silver dress with a slit up the thigh, and you remove your white overcoat. Jenni, your makeup artist double-checks you, and you’re handed your flashy disco-ball-styled cowboy hat. 

The safety team and trainers give you a talk about how to mount the horse, and after listening carefully, you feel ready to take on the task. 

Your horse is black, and your outfit is meant to be a contrast. It’s a beautiful horse, and when Hwasa calls ‘Action!’ you approach it carefully. You can feel your heart racing in your chest, and you stop next to the large animal, stroking it for a moment while you gain the courage to try to mount it.

As you make the leap, hoisting yourself up- Jaehyun calls out, “Don’t slip!”

And of course, that’s exactly what happens. Your leg can’t get a grip over the horse, you trip up a little with the silky material of your dress, and just like that, you’re back on the ground with two feet, sending a death glare over your shoulder at Jaehyun.

“It was a nice effort!” Hwasa encourages you. 

“Not many people get it on their first try,” a trainer agrees.

You watch Jaehyun smile smugly, and an annoyance unlike any you’ve ever experienced fills you as he meticulously watches you try to complete the scene. 

Four: 

It’s near the end of your first day of filming. Hwasa had decided on a one day permit for the horses in the desert, opting to get all the scenes involving the large, beautiful animals done in one big go, and now, she’s explaining the final shots she needs to you and Jaehyun.

“So, we’re skipping through the linear timeline a little right now,” your director explains. “This is one of the final shots of the music video, so we’re going to imagine that at this point, the two of you are completely in love.” You and Jaehyun exchange a look. “You’re riding on horseback in the desert. We want bliss, joy, a comfortable kind of peace that comes when you can truly be yourself with another person, a freedom.”

She gazes pointedly at you and Jaehyun.

“I think we can manage,” you scene partner says, but there’s an edge of hesitation in his voice.

“We’re thinking ‘Ride’ by Lana Del Rey, but instead of motorcycles, you’re on horses. Think about how effortless she looked, how devil-may-care,” Hwasa, ever the Lana Del Rey enthusiast, explains. “You know her song ‘Young and Beautiful?’ There’s a line, ‘Hot summer nights, mid July, when you and I were forever wild.’ Do you guys have that?” 

You love that Hwasa enjoys poetic music, it’s one of the reasons you’d been so drawn to her when you wanted to shift out of your role as a child star turned pop icon. Hwasa had been adamant about the Lana Del Rey stylings that she wanted to influence ‘Model Cowboy,’ the American Dream, wild and poetic love. 

However, with all that said, you’d never imagined Lana Del Rey would be tainted by the imaginings of Jaehyun as your lover, and it leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

You’ve already gone over blocking, and Hwasa’s explained the drones and cameras set up to take the shots, so now, all that’s left to do, is get through the day.

Jaehyun can tell you’re lost in thought, he can see the dissatisfied look on your face, but before he can call you on it, Johnny pulls him to the side.

“Good luck with this one,” Johnny muses, patting him on the shoulder. “And don’t fall off your horse, you’ve got to be in Milan in a couple of days for the big Prada show.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Jaehyun brushes his manager off. “I’ve got this.”

“That’s my little go-getter actor,” Johnny grins, having scored a goldmine when he landed Jaehyun as his client, despite being a very young and new manager in the industry. “Be the Model Cowboy you always wanted to be.”

Jaehyun takes a deep breath before joining you. “You ready?” he asks.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh. 

“Okay guys, we’re in love!” Hwasa bellows. “We’ve got this! And… action!”

Your expression immediately changes, suddenly, you’re grinning, in fact, you’re glowing. It takes a second for Jaehyun to follow your lead, but then, the two of you are playfighting and tickling, laughing like young lovers who are tasting what it feels like to have found their soulmate for the very first time. 

Jaehyun knows the blocking, he knows when to wrap his arms around you after a few feet of chasing, when to lift you up and spin you as you laugh and gently kick. He knows when to set you down, going in for a kiss only for you to break free and dart to your horse, effortlessly swinging yourself up onto the black stallion and taking off.

Jaehyun is right behind you, mounting his own white horse and following.

He does his best to keep an easy going, loving expression, and at first, it’s a little difficult. But, as more seconds of the two of you riding through the desert go by, Jaehyun remembers the way he felt about you when you first met.

You’d been just kids then. Two young teens still growing into your bodies, into your personalities. He remembers how beautiful you’d been, even then, how your smile had lit up the room, as it does now when you turn your head to look over your shoulder at him, making sure the distance between you is still correct.

Of course it’s correct, if you want to be anal, Jaehyun can be anal too, and he’s not going to give you any reason to nitpick after the day he’s had. 

No, Jaehyun’s an actor. He’s a professional.

In fact, he’s a Model Cowboy as he chases you through the desert on horseback. 

God, the way you’re looking back at him- you’ve really grown into your looks, and Jaehyun’s not making things up when he says you’re glowing. The golden hour sun is hitting you just right, and suddenly, Jaehyun’s heart is racing. He feels alive, he feels- as if this whole thing is real. He forgets the cameras for just a few moments, getting lost in the experience of being young, wild, and free, with you. 

Something shifts inside of him, although, Jaehyun’s so enthralled with you that he can’t quite pin what’s just taken place.

The scene is over all too quickly, the two of you making your blocking mark at the bottom of one of the rocky cliff faces that litter Joshua Tree National Park. You slow your horse, coming to a stop, your expression falling.

Jaehyun feels his own smile drop as he stops next to you. He swallows thickly, not knowing quite what to say, so, he decides to note, “Wow, your acting has really improved!”

He means it as a compliment, but your expression turns even more sour, and he knows he’s messed up.

“Well that’s a back handed compliment if I’ve ever heard one,” you scowl.

“I-” Jaehyun’s words get caught in his throat, and he has to swallow a lump just to continue, “I meant it in a good way, I was trying to be nice.” 

“If that was you trying to be nice, it makes sense why you can’t keep a girlfriend for more than a month or so,” you snap.

Jaehyun’s chest hurts, and he stares at you in shock. It’s all the more painful, because in some ways, what you’ve just said is true. He’s used to only dating models, people in the industry who aren’t as successful as he is. He’s only ever entered relationships where there’s a power imbalance, and he supposes in a situation like that, any negative feedback could be biting- yet, it’s different with you.

You’re the one with the power here, and it’s clear you won’t take any criticisms from him. You stand up for yourself, in a way no woman ever has around Jaehyun.

As he watches you lead your horse away, signaling the end of the interaction, Jaehyun realizes maybe he kind of likes that you’re very powerful in your own right. Maybe he likes a woman who can defend herself and doesn’t just take what the world throws at her.

Maybe… just maybe, after all this time, he likes you. 

Five: 

The locations crew had found a really cool oldstyle cowboy motel for everyone to stay at. It had been relatively inexpensive compared to other filming location lodgings in the past, and renting the whole place, including the mess hall, for four days had been the obvious choice.

You’re sitting with Mark and Hwasa, all three of you have trays of food from the buffet, but none of you are focused on eating. Hwasa has her iPad out, and she’s going through the shots of the day with Mark. You remind yourself when you peak at the screen that there’s still a lot of editing to do, but so far, it’s looking quite good. 

Your stylist, Jenni, is also with you, and she’s capturing the majority of your attention as she shows you pictures of the costumes set for tomorrow. Your long silver dress is being swapped out for a pink palette upscale cowgirl aesthetic, with Jaehyun in creams and blues to match the lighter blush colours. 

You notice Jaehyun walk into the large dining area. He and his manager, Johnny, head straight for the food, and they tilt their heads together, thick as thieves out of ear shot.

When they’re done filling their trays, they begin to head to a table, and that’s when Hwasa calls them over. “Rough shots,” she explains. “Jae, you sit next to y/n and I’ll show you both some of the details.”

You flash Jenni a look, hating that she has to move over for the model to sit.

Jaehyun is awkward as he does so, apologizing to Jenni, which is his only saving grace.

When he settles, your shoulders are touching, and he leans closer to get a look at the iPad that Hwasa is holding. Hwasa doesn’t show all the shots, just her favourites, and you have to admit, the visuals are stunning even before any editing for light and colour.

Then, Hwasa shows you all the footage from the last scene you’d shot, the one with you and Jaehyun playfighting then leaping on horses.

“This is so good,” Hwasa tells you. “You both look so natural on horses, the drone shots are perfect, and the golden hour? Stunning.” 

While all of that is true, you’re more focused on how in love you and Jaehyun look. It’s weird to be seeing you and Jaehyun like this. It’s almost out of body, or doppleganger realm, because how the heck did you manage to look so happy and in love with Jeong Jaehyun of all people?

You feel the actor shift next to you, and you get the sense that he’s uncomfortable with it as well… however, out of the two of you, he has way more experience on screen. You guess you shouldn’t be shocked that he looks very much in love, he gets paid big money to sell those emotions.

“Anyways,” Hwasa sighs, “y/n, tomorrow morning, we shoot sunrise and into the afternoon, then Jaehyun, the latter half of the day is us at the ranch for some more ‘classic’ cowboy scenes.”

“Sounds good,” Jaehyun mumbles. With one last nod of appreciation, he stands up, and it’s as if he can’t get to another table fast enough. 

Six: 

They’ve been shooting Jaehyun’s cowboy scenes for a couple of hours when he notices your arrival on set. You’re not in the pink costume he’d heard about you wearing this morning, and you’re not all dolled up either.

You’re in a light jacket and jean shorts, a more relaxed look, and yet, you’re still stunning.

You’re next to Hwasa, looking at camera angles and shots, and while you seem to be making a few notes to the director, Jaehyun appreciates that you aren’t trying to micromanage him yourself. 

Shooting continues for another hour, and Hwasa calls a short break so she can figure out what else needs to be done today while they have the ranch.

At first, Jaehyun just goes and grabs a water. Johnny is hyping him up, but the actor is hardly paying attention, his gaze focused on you instead. 

Jaehyun can’t help himself, he walks over to you. You look up from Hwasa like a deer in headlights, and something about it is very endearing. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, can I uh… talk to you for a sec?” Jaehyun asks.

“You know what? Yeah, that’s a good idea,” you nod, “come with me.”

You grab his arm, dragging him away. Jaehyun’s a little confused as to where you’re taking him, and when he finds himself in the privacy of a secluded location behind his trailer, he’s even more confounded. 

“Uh….” he starts, wetting his lips.

“What did you need?”

“I was just… guess I was wondering what you were doing here? Didn’t your shoot finish a couple of hours ago? Figured you’d be getting some rest at the motel.”

“It’s my music video,” you remind him. “Also… management thought it would be good to let tabloids get some shots of us shooting today, that’s why I pulled you over here, we allowed them the field of view to your trailer.”

“So that’s why you took me to such a secluded spot,” Jaehyun grins. 

“It’s the only reason I touched your arm,” you retort.

“Careful, don’t look so angry,” Jaehyun warns you, his hands reaching out to grab your hips and pull you closer. “Wouldn’t want to mess up your tabloid shots.”

You roll your eyes. “Tabloid won’t be on the property till after your last take in an hour or so. Don’t jump the gun, cowboy. After your next scene, you can be as much of a little model slut as you’d like.”

“You think I’m a slut?” Jaehyun asks, shocked that you’re talking to him in this way.

“Am I wrong?”

Jaehyun stands there for a moment, and then, he releases his grip on your hips. “Guess not.”

“So, after you’re done the next scene, we come here, and see if we can pretend to like each other,” you instruct. 

“We just have to be as convincing as we were yesterday,” Jaehyun muses.

You open your mouth to respond, but then you shut it, and Jaehyun’s left wondering what you would have said for the next hour.

He wonders how far you’ll let him take things, and part of him wishes you’d answered his question about boundaries yesterday. This feels like uncharted waters, and his heart is racing when he finally meets you behind his trailer again. 

“Okay,” you sigh. “Do your worst.”

Jaehyun feels himself begin to salivate, and he swallows thickly. There’s no way he’ll do his worst. His worst, would be throwing you against the trailer and having his way with you right here and now- asserting his dominance and seeing if you push back in any way- he suspects you like him more than you let on, after all, Jaehyun’s never met a girl he couldn’t tame.

Life’s hard when you have a stunning face and a hot body to match. 

Jaehyun reaches for your hips, pulling you closer. His skin is tingling with excitement. “I’m going to say something funny, and you should laugh,” he whispers.

You grin broadly, but the expression doesn’t meet your eyes. “Depends on if what you say is funny or not,” you counter. 

Jaehyun’s mind suddenly goes blank. His pick-up lines, his jokes- they all fly out the proverbial window. He doesn’t know what to say, so instead, he begins to lean in-

You turn your head at the last second and Jaehyun’s lips graze past your cheek. He’s a little taken aback at first, but he leans into it, reminding himself that you’d told him to improv. “Is this okay?” he whispers in your ear, still wanting to double-check with you although every fiber of his being is telling him to just do what he wants.

“It’s okay,” you respond, wrapping your arms loosely around the back of his neck. “You’re the actor.”

For some reason, it feels like a compliment that you’re making the distinction between the two of you. You’re right, he’s the actor, and you’re the Grammy award-winning singer.

His lips continue softly on your cheek, and then he adjusts, pressing kisses down to your throat. You shift in his embrace, tilting your head to the side to give him more access.

“Jae-” you warn.

“Just a few more, for the tabloids,” he whispers, nuzzling into your neck moreso than kissing now.

You release a sigh, and with your chests pressed together, Jaehyun can feel your heart racing.

He wonders if you can feel his going a mile a minute too. 

Seven: 

You eat in your room with Mark, too shaken up by your interaction with Jaehyun earlier to dare enter the mess hall yourself. 

“So, I was just sent the tabloid pictures for final approval,” Mark sighs, joining you on the bed so you can see his phone. “They’ll be up in the morning.”

“Just choose your favourites,” you murmur.

“Uh…” Mark blinks at you. “I really think you should look at them with me.”

You take a deep breath. “Fine.” 

Shifting your gaze to Mark’s phone, he scrolls through the shots, and you hate how natural they look. You and Jaehyun just look good together, and it sets your teeth on edge.

“The cheek kissing is cute,” Mark says thoughtfully. “The way you’re holding each other looks real.” 

It looks too real, in fact.

“I’m just happy we have opposing shoot schedules tomorrow,” you admit with another deep breath. You can see Mark side-eying you, and you hold up a hand before he can respond. “Don’t say a word.” 

“It’s just…” Mark struggles at times to surpass your commands. He’s your assistant first and foremost, but your company also expects him to have somewhat of a managerial role over you, and you know it’s a fight for him to find balance at times. “Everyone has shipped the two of you since you were younger. People say it’s like Britney and Justin in the Mickey Mouse Club House show- then you were teenagers, and you went different directions-” 

“Well, Britney and Justin didn’t end up together, did they?” It’s a rhetorical question, and from the way Mark sighs, he knows it.

“You’re missing the point,” he struggles.

You turn your gaze to him. “Am I?”

Mark releases a breath, dropping the issue. You feel bad shutting him down like this, but at the same time, you don’t want to open the can of ‘Jaehyun’ worms, if you will. No, you’d much rather ignore it for right now.

You’re filming a music video for your new album, and you have much bigger fish to fry. 

Eight: 

If Jaehyun wasn’t needed for business calls with Johnny today, he might be on set watching you, and Jaehyun can’t get it out of his head as he chills in his motel room and listens to his manager working.

It’s three hours into calls and details before Johnny is able to take a break, and he sets down his phone with a pointed look on his face. “You’re being weird.”

“Am I?” Jaehyun lets out a small laugh, but there’s little humor in it.

“Talk to me,” Johnny says lightly, giving an air of friendship despite the fact that he’s still in his role as manager. “Talk to me about this whole PR, fake dating thing.” 

Jaehyun shrugs. “What’s there to talk about?”

“Those fake tabloid pictures of you and y/n from yesterday on set dropped an hour ago, they’re trending on Twitter,” Johnny points out.

“It’s called ‘X’ now, actually.” 

Johnny narrows his eyes. “I’m never going to call it ‘X.’ It’s fucking Twitter.” 

Jaehyun can’t help but laugh, for real this time. He loves Johnny, loves him for all of his little millennial quirks.

“Honestly?” Jaehyun sighs, feeling his energy sift again. “Y/N’s super uptight, but… she can act like she’s not, and that’s a different side of her that I wasn’t really expecting.” 

Johnny is quiet for a few moments. “Can I ask you something?”

“Go for it.”

“That song from her first album, ‘Forget About Him,’ was that written about you? Is there a past here?”

“Nah, it wasn’t about me,” Jaehyun assures his manager. “As far as I know, she’s never been interested in me like that. We had this other costar, Haechan-”

“Lee Donghyuck?”

“Yeah, him. They uh, I think there was something there between them, for a little while at least.”

Jaehyun can feel Johnny’s assessing gaze, and he averts his own eyes. 

“It almost seems like you’re jealous, Jae.”

“Yeah, well, Haechan never went on to become a brand ambassador for Prada or star in movies, he was just some little child star.” Jaehyun can taste the bitterness in his words, but he can’t help himself. 

“You know who’s not just a child star?” Johnny asks. “Y/N. You two are, without argument, the most successful people to come out of the show you were in when you were younger.”

“We’re both very driven,” Jaehyun admits. “I do admire that about her, she has a Grammy for fucks sake.”  

“What I’m getting from this,” Johnny concludes, “is that you’re completely fine with this whole fake dating arrangement.”

“Well, as my manager, you should know I’m a good actor,” Jaehyun counters.

Johnny laughs. “Sure you are. Tomorrow is the last day of shooting, you’ve got that big kissing scene, I guess we’ll all see how good of an actor you are then.” 

Nine: 

There’s something comical about the fact that both you and Jaehyun are chewing gum in preparation for your kissing scene. Together, you’re with Hwasa as she goes over the vision for the shot. 

“So, we’re thinking Jae’s going to grab your neck,” Hwasa starts, “gently, of course. More of a cupping the nape of your neck than a grab, actually. It’s going to be slow, a slow exploration of moving closer. Lots of close-ups of the two of you gazing into each other’s eyes. It’s about breaking the distance, about two worlds colliding and connecting in a way that feels natural, unrushed, and just, electric.” 

Jaehyun nods, looking at you. “We can do this.” You wish you were as sure as he sounds right now.

Jaehyun takes out a tissue, and the two of you spit out your gum, disposing the trash before moving into position.

The shot is on the edge of a cliff, with the desert and sunset stretching out like a vast, yellowy-orange ocean behind you. 

It’s as you approach your marked spot that you remember something. “Jae,” you ask softly, “are you still afraid of heights?” 

You watch him take a deep breath, and he nods, standing a few feet from the drop-off. You notice he’s looking everywhere but down, and something inside of you softens for him.

Here you are, worried about the kiss, and here this man is, worried about falling off the edge of a cliff and dying. 

“We’ve got some space between us and the edge,” you tell him, stepping closer. “Here, grab my hips, we’re both steady, we’re not going to fall.”

Jaehyun’s lips part, and you can see the confusion on his face.

You suppose you’ve never been nurturing to him, but you can’t help yourself with this. You don’t mean to be a bitch, in fact, you’d argue adamantly that you’re not a malicious person. Jaehyun just pisses you off a lot, and his behavior generally merits a reaction- but right now, he deserves a bit of peace of mind, and you can see him relax a little as his hands grab your waist.

“Feels more steady?” you double-check.

“Yeah.” He swallows thickly, nodding. 

“We’ve got this,” you assure him.

“Are we ready!?” Hwasa calls.

You flash a thumbs up, turning your attention back to Jaehyun.

“And… action!”

The two of you simply stare at each other for a moment. Hwasa had said she wanted this to be slow. You’re shocked at how exposed you feel looking up into Jaehyun’s eyes. He really is a very handsome man, and he looks so extremely vulnerable right now.

His gaze shifts to your lips, and you allow him to take the lead. One of his hands moves up your body, cupping the back of your neck gently. You can smell the spearmint on his breath, as he moves closer.

You maintain eye contact until the moment your lips meet, and then, you do your best to just relax, to forget about the cameras pointed at you. You allow yourself to melt into the kiss, following Jaehyun’s motions, following the gentle notes that soon become more heated.

His tongue swipes against your bottom lip, and on instinct, you open your mouth for him, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck to pull him closer. 

You try to convince yourself that you’re leaning into this for the sake of the scene, that you’re just being good actors together, but there’s something underneath it all. There’s a desperation. You can almost taste it below the spearmint on his tongue. 

It feels good to be kissing Jaehyun, and the realization makes you break the kiss, opening your eyes and blinking in an effort to get yourself out of the daze that’s come over you. 

“That was amazing!” Hwasa’s voice is like a slap. “I’ve got some shots, but I’ll need you guys to do it one more time.”

Jesus. 

“You good?” Jaehyun asks.

You nod, swallowing thickly. “Let’s just go again.”

You’re kissing him again all too soon, and this time, it’s like fireworks. Your heart is racing in your chest, your skin electrified as you cling to Jaehyun, diving deeper into the feeling of him.

This time, he’s the one to break the kiss, and he looks away immediately. You notice him breathing heavily, but before you can say anything, Hwasa’s approaching again.

“Okay, that was amazing, and I hate to be that person, but I’ve decided I want drone shots too, so… third time is the charm?” She looks between you and Jaehyun and both of you are quick to nod, although, neither of you has yet found your voice.

“You good?” you ask him as Hwasa goes back to her spot, her main drone lifting into the sky with an electric thrum.

“Yeah, just one more,” Jaehyun says, voice wavering.

The two of you get back into position, and you study Jaehyun carefully. You’re looking at him, truly looking at him, and he’s looking at you with the same fierceness. You can tell something has shifted between the two of you, but at this time, you’re unsure how deep it really is.

He kisses you again on Hwasa’s direction, and you wonder how normal it is to feel this way during a kissing scene with a fellow acting partner.

You’ve never had to do this before, but you know Jaehyun has. He’s been in two or three rom-coms, there must be a way to stay professional after kissing a costar, right? 

But God, he still feels so good.

You’d thought - or maybe hoped - that the first kiss would be a one-off. That the second wouldn’t be as great, and by now, maybe the butterflies would have escaped the cage in your tummy, but no, the feeling surging through you is as powerful and electric as it had been with the first meeting of your lips. 

He leaves you breathless.

Standing on the edge of the cliff with Jaehyun, you realize you’re in deep shit. 

Ten: 

Jaehyun notices you in the mess hall. You’re looking over food, plating up your dinner, and he decides now is as good a time as any to talk to you. 

He doesn’t mean to be a quiet, sneaky sort of guy, but he can’t help the lightness of his walk. When he goes to stand next to you, saying “Hi,” you practically jump, your food stray scrambling a little as you compose yourself.

“Jesus,” you cuss. “You scared me!”

“Sorry,” he apologizes sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “So… uh, the shoot is over, I head to Milan tomorrow-”

“Yup, I know your schedule,” you nod, sighing. “It’s in our contract that I come to your show and be front row to watch you, remember?”

“Right, yeah.” Jaehyun swallows thickly. “So… reporters are going to be asking a lot of questions about us.”

“Uh huh, that was the point of the paparazzi pics.” You continue filling your tray with food, so unbothered and cool in your movements that it makes Jaehyun’s heart beat faster. Are you unaffected by your kiss from earlier? Because Jaehyun can’t get the feeling of your lips out of his mind. 

“I just uh, wanted to say, you can trust me to give the right answers and stuff. I’m PR trained.”

God, Jaehyun wants to strangle himself. He feels so nervous, and the look you give him tells him that you think he’s being a dork. He’s definitely being a dork-

“Okay?” you laugh. “I’m PR trained too, we both took classes when we were kids, remember?” 

“Right,” he’s such an idiot, “yeah. Anyways, I guess… I guess I’ll see you in Milan in a couple of days.” 

“Sounds good.”

With one final nod, Jaehyun leaves you be, and he beats himself up about the awkwardness of the conversation for the rest of the night. 

Eleven:

In this week's news, our favourite kids’ show alumni were spotted getting close on set. y/n’s new music video, Model Cowboy, is set to be one of the videos of the summer, starring Prada ambassador Jung Jaehyun. The two have a long history, and while there have been rumors about their romantic connection in the past, nothing has ever been confirmed… until now.

TMZ dropped a photo of the two embracing outside Jaehyun’s trailer, and the internet officially broke. #modelcowboy has been going absolutely wild on X. One user wrote: “all my dreams are finally coming true! Thank you mama e papa!” While another took to X to say this: “At first, I didn’t love Jaehyun as the whole ‘model cowboy’ trope. He just doesn’t fit it for me. But I don’t know, something about the pictures of him and y/n just feels right- guess you don’t need a history as a rancher to be a cowboy, he’s definitely lassoed my heart.“

So far, the general consensus around our new ‘It Couple’ is that it’s been a long time coming. While there’s no official confirmation about their relationship, one of our reporters caught Jaehyun after a show in Milan last night. When asked about their time shooting the music video together, the actor/Prada ambassador had this to say about y/n: “She was amazing. The whole experience [filming Model Cowboy] went without a hitch. She’s super talented, one of the most driven women I know, and I can’t wait to see how this music video pans out for her.”

When asked about the pictures of the two of them that have been trending, Jaehyun said: “I mean, she’s beautiful, she’s an icon- who wouldn’t want a chance with her?” When the reporter clarified by asking if they’re dating, Jaehyun noted, “You’ll have to ask y/n, I’d never be ‘that’ guy who would speak for a powerful woman like her.” 

All we can say is damn, that’s a green flag if we’ve ever seen one. 

Stay tuned for all things celebrity drama and news on our website, or follow us on Instagram and Snapchat for daily updates. 

Twelve: 

There’s nothing like the closing night of a show. Jaehyun feels elated, he feels on the top of his game, like nothing could bring him down. 

“You were amazing,” another model tells him, fluffing her hair up with her hand as the two of them decompress backstage. 

“You were amazing, Vivienne,” he retorts, never feeling more giddy and boyish than he does now. 

“I’m good, but I’m not model of the year good,” she grins. 

“You’re still new,” Jaehyun assures her, although, pride is swelling through him.

He sees her skin flush, her eye lashes fluttering at him-

“Jae?” your voice draws him out of his assessment of Vivienne, and he turns in shock to find you standing there.

You look stunning, your stylist team has really outdone themselves with your looks for the past couple of days- but there’s a sour set to your lips that immediately tells him something is wrong.

“Y/N?” he asks.

“Am I… interrupting something?” your gaze shifts to Vivienne, and Jaehyun immediately understands what’s going on.

“Excuse us,” he says to Vivienne, grabbing your hand to tug you a few feet away. His voice lowers when he asks, “Are you jealous right now?”

“No,” you retort immediately. “What reason would I have to be jealous?”

You’re making a big show about the notion of jealousy being ridiculous, but Jaehyun knows he’s hit the nail on the head. 

“No reason at all,” Jaehyun assures you, and he truly means it. He knows this whole dating this is a PR move, but he hasn’t been able to get you out of his head all week. Every time he’s walked past you sitting front row at the shows- well, he’s been feeling butterflies in a way that he’s hardly been able to admit to himself. “Hey, listen-”

“No, you listen,” you cut him off. “Your show is over, we both fly different places tomorrow morning, management will set our schedules to keep up this whole fake dating thing, I just wanted to say goodbye before I go back to my hotel.” 

“Oh, right.” Jaehyun can feel his heart sink in his chest. “Uh… where are you staying?”

“I’m at the Four Seasons.”

“Do you maybe want to get drinks later or something?” he asks.

“I’m sure you have after parties to go to with your… model friends.” Your gaze shifts to Vivienne again, and that same sour twist to your lips appears.

Jaehyun wants to reassure you, but- the words just aren’t coming. Besides, what would he even say? We’re fake dating but I’ve been rethinking our entire dynamic since we kissed and now I’m not so sure I want it to be fake, because I’m actually really into you, and all of our bickering in the past has been because I’m jealous of your driven nature and I’ve seen you as competition but now I see that we can do more together than apart?

It feels like a lot of word vomit, and Jaehyun’s not about to projectile all of that at you right now. He doesn’t want to look stupid again, doesn’t want to feel like an idiot. He’s scared of rejection, in a way he’s never been scared of it before. 

Instead, dejected, he just nods. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Okay, so you go have fun, I’m going back to my hotel, and like I said, I’ll see you when I see you.”

Jaehyun watches you leave, and suddenly, the high from the fashion show has depleted. No one has ever had this kind of hold on his emotions before, and Jaehyun knows he’s going to have to do something about it, he just doesn’t know what. 

Thirteen: 

“Jeeze, Mark, I told you, I’m going to bed-” Your words cut off as you open your hotel door and find Jaehyun, not Mark, standing there.

“Uh… Hi?” Jaehyun smile sheepishly, and you look him up and down.

He’s in a form fitting suit, but it looks somewhat ragged. His shirt is unbuttoned haphazardly, his hair a little fussed, and his cheeks are flushed pink. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

“Well, I went to the afterparty, like you told me to, but… I don’t know, I just felt bad about how we left things.”

You’re shocked at how candid he’s being, and you don’t see a hint of dishonestly in his body language. “Have… have you been drinking?” you question next.

“Just a little,” he admits. “Can I…” Jaehyun looks around the hallway outside. “Can I come in?”

“I should really be going to sleep soon-”

“Yeah, I heard, Mark’s been on your ass,” Jaehyun nods, swallowing, “but uh…” he leans forward, voice lowering, “What’s that pipsqueak going to do about you staying up just a little later? I mean, you can sleep on your flight tomorrow, can’t you?” 

Yeah, Jaehyun is drunk. “Did you just call Mark a pipsqueak?” you ask in shock.

“So what if I did?” He grins lazily. 

“Jae-”

“y/n.”

You sigh. “Come in, sit down, and let me grab you some water.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His smile is much too large for your liking as he enters your hotel room, going to the couch like a good boy. 

You can feel his eyes on you as you get him a bottle of water from the fridge, moving to join him. “Here.”

“Thanks.” He unscrews the cap as you sit down, taking a large gulp.

“So… what’s this about?”

He’s still drinking the water, like a child after a marathon, just drinking and drinking with small stops to gasp for air- you can’t help but laugh a little, watching with amusement.

Jaehyun finishes the entire bottle. “So-” He takes a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?”

“Making you jealous earlier.”

“What?” You’re in shock. “I was not jealous.” 

“You were, and it’s okay.” He places his hand on your knee and you look down at it then up at him questioningly. “I was jealous of you and Haechan back in the day, but the difference is, I wasn’t hitting on Vivienne, I was just trying to be nice to her, you know, as male model of the year and everything.”

“Jae-”

“I wasn’t hitting on her,” he says again, expression turning firm. “You’re my girlfriend and I’d never, ever do that to you.”

“I’m not your girlfriend.”

“Contractually, you are,” Jaehyun insists. “I can be a good boyfriend to you, if you let me try.”

He’s leaning in now, and you grab a pillow, haphazardly shoving it between the two of you so he can kiss that instead.

“Jae!” You hop off of the couch, heart racing.

“Shit, sorry, you’re just- God, have I ever told you that you glow?” Jaehyun looks up at you with an expression you’ve never seen on him, it’s almost like admiration.

“What are you even saying?”

“You glow. You light up the room. You just- you sparkle, even without disco balls and diamonds.”

You wrap your silky night robe tighter around your body, feeling self conscious. “I don’t glow.”

“You do,” he insists. “Even when we were younger. I think- I think part of me always worried your glow would diminish mine, if that makes sense- but, but after seeing some of the footage from the music video, I see that, now that we’re older, when we do stuff together, when we’re not competing, we can glow together.”

So he’s like… very drunk.

But… haven’t you always heard that drunk words are sober thoughts?

You look down at him, and it feels like you’re seeing him in a new light. 

“Jae?” you question.

“Yes?”

“What’s going on?”

“When we kissed that day on set, I felt something.”

“Are you… not used to feeling things?” you ask.

“Not feeling things like that,” Jaehyun corrects. “I mean, butterflies, sparks, you know, corny rom com shit.”

Your stomach flips, heart beginning to beat faster in your chest- so he’d felt the connection too.

“Look, okay, this is going to be embarrassing if you reject me, but, fuck it, I want to get this all off my chest.” Jaehyun takes a deep breath, running his fingers through his silky hair to steady himself. “I like you. I think, a part of me has always liked you, but, I also used to see you as competition. Now that we’re older, now that we’re both successful, I don’t see you that way anymore- and before you think that’s another backhanded compliment, I just mean, you’ve won Grammys. You’re- a fucking star. And I think… maybe I’ve grown to the point where I can accept other people’s successes without seeing it as a diminishment on my own.”

You’re surprised he can speak this well and use big words while clearly feeling the effects of alcohol, and even more than that, you’re surprised by the context of what he’s saying. 

Jeong Jaehyun thinks you’re a star. He recognizes your hard work and your success. He’s not just some smug asshole looking down at you, he’s actually seeing you, and maybe… maybe you’re beginning to see him. 

“I appreciate the compliment of what you’re saying,” you tell him, picking your own words carefully. 

“There’s that PR training,” Jaehyun winks. “You’re cute. Glowy, little, cute, superstar. Maybe that’s what I should call you, my little superstar, the media would eat it up.”

“That’s your PR training,” you laugh. 

“We can’t help it,” he smiles up at you.

“Can I say something without you getting upset?”

“I’ll do my best,” Jaehyun promises solemnly.

“I want to start by saying this isn’t a rejection,” you clarify, “I just wish you would have told me all of this while sober, instead of showing up at my apartment near midnight before we both fly out of town in the morning.”

“I can see that,” Jaehyun nods. “I guess, you kind of scare me.”

“I scare you?” you laugh. 

“Uh huh.” He swallows thickly. “Like heights.”

He’s so adorably dorky for a famous actor and Prada brand ambassador.

“But- on that cliff that day, when we kissed, and you reassured me, and you let me hold your hips- I don’t know, it was nice. I- thanks, thanks for doing that.”

“I can be quite nurturing if I think someone deserves it,” you tell him. “Which, speaking of, you’re still drunk, and you downed that whole bottle of water, I think I should get you another, and maybe we can move somewhere more comfortable.”

“Like.. the bedroom?” There’s a glint in his eye, and it makes you scoff.

“Get your mind out of the gutter Jae, you can stay on this couch for all I care.”

“I’ll be good,” he promises, crossing his heart haphazardly.

“Come on.” You hold your hand out for him and Jaehyun takes it, allowing you to help him to his feet. You go get another bottle of water and the two of you move to the bedroom. The mattress is substantially more comfortable than the couch, and Jaehyun releases an audible moan as he clammers down onto it.

You get situated, moing under the covers so you feel less exposed.

“I like it when you’re nice like this,” Jaehyun sighs.

“I’d be nicer if you didn’t always tease me.”

“You like it when I tease.”

“I actually hated it when you told me not to slip as I was getting onto the horse during the shoot, and it completely made me mess up and slip,” you point out, still irritated by that ordeal.

“Okay, to be fair, yes, I’m sorry, but also, your dress was silky as fuck, you were going to slip even if I didn’t say anything, and that’s not your fault, it’s Jenni’s for not giving you better clothes to actually ride a horse with.”

He has a point there.

“So…” Jaehyun switches topic, his demeanor getting more anxious, “back on the couch, you said you weren’t rejecting me… can you… can you explain what that meant.”

“It meant I’m not rejecting you.”

“And salt of the earth means salt of the earth,” Jaehyun retorts, rolling his eyes. “Can you give me a Mark style explanation on what you meant.”

“I meant…” you think about it for a second. “I like you too, I think you might be more into me than I’m into you at the moment-”

“Oh yeah?” he counters, crossing his arms over his chest and getting pouty.

“Yeah,” you laugh.

“Fine, okay, maybe,” Jaehyun concedes. “But?”

“But… I’m willing to explore something with you.”

“Yeah?” His expression brightens. “Really?”

“We’d just have to sort out details, you know- we’re on contract for three or so months, so, if we gave it a real go, and things ended before our contract, how would that even work? There are limitations to having a relationship with someone you work with.”

Jaehyun looks down at the water bottle in his hands, clearly thinking it through. “We can… take it slow? I mean, we’d have to, since we both have different schedules and will be in different countries tomorrow.”

“Slow could work,” you agree. 

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, and you almost think he’s going to lean in for a kiss again, and then he asks, “What did happen with you and Haechan? Your first single was about him, right?”

You release a laugh, if this is really a can of worms he wants to open, then you suppose you can let him open it.

You begin to explain to him your history with Haechan, and Jaehyun listens intently. Somehow, he gets the ball rolling on your recent relationship with Lee Jeno, and before you know it, two hours have passed with the two of you just discussing past relationships.

Jaehyun tells you about his own ex’s, about his lack of accountability and emotional maturity. He gives voice to all the trouble spots you’ve identified about him in the past, and clarity on his hopes for being better in the future.

He also noticeably sobers up, which makes you feel a lot better about having this sort of intimate conversation with him.

Soon, you’re both just laying in bed facing each other, talking about everything and anything. “Do you remember that time the catering company on set changed?” Jaehyun asks.

“Oh my god, yeah, when the higher ups wanted more vegan and vegetarian options, and it was just like, raw fruit and veggies with store bought hummus?”

“Jaemin wasn’t used to eating anything that wasn’t carbs or meat and in the middle of a take he had to run to the bathroom?” Jaehyun adds.

“Shat his pants and everything, pissed wardrobe off in a way I’ve never seen,” you giggle. “What ever happened to him?”

“I don’t keep up with many of our old castmates,” Jaehyun admits. “But I think he’s some radio show host or something now, has a segment about embarrassing first dates and stuff.”

“He always loved messy gossip,” you sigh, happy to be reminiscing in this way.

There are only a handful of people who can understand what it was like to be on a kids show in your early teens, only a few others in the world you could possibly have this conversation with.

Despite your differences, you and Jaehyun come from the same place, and it makes it easy to talk to him.

Jaehyun’s staring at you, and he pushes a strand of hair out of your face. “Should I let you sleep?” he asks. “It’s two AM.”

You’re hardly tired at this point, and now that Jae’s sober… and in your bed… your own mind has found its way into the gutter, and you’re not quite sure what to do about that.

“Can I be honest with you?” you ask.

“Always.”

“I haven’t gotten laid in a long time,” you sigh. “And… we’re flying to different places tomorrow, so maybe it’s not the best idea I’ve ever had-”

“It is,” Jaehyun interrupts you. “The best idea you’ve ever had.” You shoot him a look and Jaehyun laughs, back tracking. “I mean, your lyrics and albums are great ideas too- but I just mean… If you’re horny, then you’re horny, and I’m, well, here.” 

“I just don’t want you to feel taken advantage of.”

“Even if you’d tried to fuck me when I first walked in here, all drunk and being stupid, it still wouldn’t have been taking advantage of me.”

“I think fucking someone while they’re drunk is one of the most obvious scenarios of taking advantage of someone,” you counter.

“Okay, true, but- you know what I’m saying.” Jaehyun flashes you a knowing look. “If you want me to fuck you, I’ll fuck you.”

“That’s so romantic,” you roll your eyes. 

Jaehyun laughs, and then he sits up, looking down at you. “If you want romance, we can go shower together or something. I could… romantically wash your body, and tell you how perfect you are-”

“It’s two am, fuck that. Just kiss me.”

Jaehyun grins, then he leans over you, staring into your eyes. He’s moving slower than you thought he would, and part of you wishes he’d just ravage you like some primal animal- but no, he’s acting like he did in your music video. You can practically see adoration in his eyes, and his hand comes up to cup your cheek in a way that’s almost loving. 

“I meant it when I said that you glow,” Jaehyun says softly.

“I know you did,” you breathe, grabbing the back of his neck to draw his lips to yours.

It’s odd how familiar the two of you already are. The kiss isn’t awkward at all, but then again, your first kiss hadn’t been either.

Neither of you are trying to dominate it, you’re moving slowly, reading each other’s body language and cues. 

When his tongue gently licks your lip, you open your mouth for him, drawing him closer as the kiss deepens. 

Jaehyun shifts in your embrace, and then he’s moving to be between your legs, which spread for him. He’s on top of you now, elbows digging into the pillows while you make out like teenagers in love for the first time.

He just feels so good. 

For a long time, you’ve felt like an anxious person. You have a lot of weight on your shoulders, but when you’re kissing Jaehyun, that pressure feels lifted. Your mind goes blank as the two of you make out, your body at the forefront instead of your thoughts. 

Jaehyun slowly begins to grind down against you, and the gentle pressure on your clit has you groaning against his lips.

You feel him smirk, and then he begins to kiss down your throat, taking his time to suck gently on your skin.

One of his hands slides up your thigh, teasing the waistband of your sleeping shorts before moving back down again. He’s so warm, and you hips push up for more stimulus.

“Jae-” you whimper, threading your fingers in his hair.

“Slow, or fast?” he asks, pulling away from your throat to look down at you.

“A bit of both.”

He cocks his head to the side.

“Fast to get my clothes off, slow to explore, then make me cum,” you clarify.

Jaehyun laughs. “Whatever you want, superstar.”

Your skin tingles at the nickname, and your pussy throbs as Jaehyun begins to remove his clothes. Each button feels like an eternity to get undone, but when he slips the fabric off, you find yourself practically drooling.

He has such a perfect body, not too lean, not too muscled, just perfect. 

Then, Jaehyun begins to take off your robe and you sit up to help him. Soon, your shirt is being tugged over your head, and your nipples immediately pebble at the cool air of your hotel room.

You lay back down, staring up at him while Jaehyun takes in your body.

“Glowing,” he whispers, cupping your breast and rubbing his thumb across your nipple. 

You whimper at the sensation, and his eyes move up to your face. He’s grinning at you. “Sensitive?” he asks, gently pinching the bud.

You groan, shifting against the bed. “Yeah.”

“I’ll take care of you,” Jaehyun promises, leaning down to kiss you again.

He begins to descend to your throat again, but this time, he goes even farther down, making it to your chest. The first flick of his tongue against your nipple has you whining, and you thread your fingers through his hair again, closing your eyes to enjoy the sensation.

He continues to suck on your breasts, paying attention to both nipples. You can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter by the second, and you’re torn between loving the feeling of this and wanting something more.

It’s as if he reads you, because he pulls away from your chest, hooking his fingers in your shorts. You both adjust to allow him to get you fully naked, and then he lays down between your legs. He presses kisses along the sensitive flesh of your thighs, looking up at you.

There’d been a time in your life when you hadn’t loved eye contact during pussy eating, but there’s something so erotic about the way Jaehyun’s watching you as he brings his mouth to your core.

He kisses your clit gently, and you watch as his eyes close, his tongue swiping up your folds to taste the wet that has accumulated there.

He groans, delving deeper with his tongue, his large hands grabbing your thighs as an anchor as he begins to devour you. 

Has anyone ever eaten you out like this? Jeno wasn’t much of a giver unfortunately, and it feels like forever since you’ve had someone doing to you what Jaehyun is currently doing.

Your entire body feels alive, with each flick and suck- You’re clutching at the blankets now, moaning desperately as he works you up faster than any man before him ever has.

You guess you hadn’t put a time limit on making you cum. You’d told him fast to undress, which he did, slow to explore, which he also did- and now, it seems he’s intent on making you cum on his tongue, which is something you have no issues with.

“Jae-” you whimper, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair.

He looks up at you and you begin to move your hips, riding his face. He stays still, letting you use him, and you can tell from the groan he releases that he kind of likes you taking control in this way.

“I’m close,” you tell him. “Please make me cum.”

Jaehyun’s fingers dig into your thighs, and then he’s back at it. He takes lead again, sucking your clit into his mouth while you cry out and grab the sheets with your free hand.

Your eyes close, your back arching a little as he works you closer and closer to the edge.

It’s a steady build of pleasure, and then, you’re tipping over. You release a strangled gasp as ecstasy courses through you like electric shocks from the tip of your head down to your toes and fingers.

You can feel your pussy contracting with pleasure, a steady rhythm that prolongs the sensation. Jaehyun continues to suck on your clit, helping you through everything until you’re a gasping mess.

He relents, and you can hear him sit up. Your eyes are still closed, one hand now haphazardly thrown across your eyes as you try to catch your breath.

The sound of Jaehyun’s pants hitting the floor draws your attention, and you look up to find Jaehyun standing there in all his glory.

“Still want to do this?” he asks.

“Get over here,” you command, opening your arms for him.

Jaehyun flashes you a grin, then he rejoins you on the bed.

Your lips are meeting a moment later. It’s not a gentle slow exploration anymore, but a hungry, lust fuelled haze. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it turns you even more. You wrap your legs around his hips, tugging him closer.

His cock rubs between your pussy lips and you whimper, reaching between yourselves to line him up- Jaehyun takes your hand, moving it aside. Then, two fingers enter your soaked core and you groan against his lips.

“Gotta prep you,” Jaehyun muses. “You said you haven’t been fucked in a while.” 

“Don’t tease though,” you warn gently, looking up at him.

“Never.” He kisses you again, drowning out the anxious thoughts as he finger fucks you, spreading his fingers and working you open in preparation for his cock.

Jaehyun begins to curl his digits, hitting the sensitive spot inside of you that has you groaning. You break the kiss to burrow your face against his throat, panting as he draws more and more pleasure out of your already exhausted body.

You feel something drip on your upper thigh, and you look down to see the precum leaking out of Jaehyun’s tip. “Sorry,” he groans, “I’m just, super turned on right now.”

“Then fuck me,” you insist, biting at his earlobe. “I’m prepped now.”

“You sure?”

“We’re both dripping, Jae, just fuck me.”

“You got it, superstar.” Jaehyun grins as he kisses you. He finger fucks you a little more and then he pulls his digits out of your wet core. You watch him sit up, licking his fingers clean, then he grabs the base of his cock.

He presses the tip into you, looking up to watch your reaction. When you release a moan, Jaehyun grins. He steadies over you again, his biceps bulging as his lips meet your own. He pushes deeper inside of you, taking it slow until his hips are flush against yours.

You both groan at the feeling.

“See?” you gasp. “Told you I could take you.”

“Taking me so well,” Jaehyun agrees, his breath hot against your throat as he begins to pepper your skin with kisses.

Jaehyun’s hips start to move, and he fucks you gently at first, allowing your inner walls to get used to the size of him. His kisses distract you as he opens you up, his pace increasing.

You release a loud moan when the tip of his cock hits a deep spot inside of you, and you can feel Jaehyun grin against your throat. “Right there?” he asks, doing the motion again. “Is that the place?”

“Yeah,” you whimper, nodding. “Right there.”

Jaehyun brings his lips to your own, and he kisses you deeply as he continues to abuse that special spot. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, keeping him close as he fucks you. God, you’re so lost in him, in the best possible way.

You never miss out on beauty sleep, but Jaehyun is more than worth it.

“Superstar?”

“Yeah?” you ask, half delirious.

“Would it be bad if I asked you to ride me?” 

“Huh?”

“I just- I could still fuck up into you, but I don’t know, I kind of want to see you on top.”

“Really?” you look up at him in shock. “You strike me as a man who likes to have control.”

“Says the woman who likes to have control,” he counters with a grin. “Or… do you just want to be my pillow princess?”

You consider it for a moment. “You know what, yeah, let me get on top, I want to watch you when you cum.”

Jaehyun physically shivers from your words, and you watch his pupils dilate with interest. “Fuck,” he groans. “Yeah, get on top.”

It’s a quick adjustment, with Jaehyun dragging you onto his lap. You sit down on his cock and both of you groan at the feeling. He’s completely inside of you like this, and you press your hands to his chest, steadying yourself for a moment.

Then, you begin to bounce.

Jaehyun throws his head back against the pillows, moaning deeply.

Fuck, he’s so hot like this.

There’s something so erotic about being on top, on knowing that you’re going to be riding him when he cums.

Your whole relationship has been about competing for power, and now, in the midst of one of the most vulnerable exchanges of power, Jaehyun had stopped from his position on top to give you the opportunity to be in control.

You like that. You like it a lot. 

It shows he hadn’t been lying when he’d talked about the two of you glowing together, and it gives you a newfound kind of hope for whatever relationship is budding between the two of you.

You ride him harder at the thought, and his hands find your hips, helping you bounce.

“Fuck, fuck-” Jaehyun groans, his fingers digging into your skin. “Feels so good.”

In all honesty, the first position had felt better for you, when he was doing all the work, but you’d never admit that to him, especially not while deep in the throes of passion like this. He’d already made you cum, and now, you want to return the favour.

You ignore the burning in your thighs, fucking Jaehyun in a way you’ve never fucked a man before. You can feel the power of it bubbling inside of you, and you focus on his expression, on the pleasure that’s written all over him.

“Jae,” you groan, “want you to cum for me.”

“Don’t-” he swallows thickly. “Don’t you want me to hold out a little longer?”

“It’s our first time, we have flights tomorrow,” you retort. “Just let go, I wanna feel it.”

“You and your scheduling,” Jaehyun laughs, but it quickly turns into a groan, his eyes closing again. “Fuck, okay, but you have to let me make it up to you sometime.”

“Next time we see each other we can spend hours fucking,” you tell him.

“Promise?”

“I promise, now be good and cum for me, yeah?”

Jaehyun shivers again, and there’s a slight look of confusion on his face. You get the sense that he’s not used to being talked down to like this- but it’s clear it turns him on in a new, foreign sort of way.

“Okay, yeah.” Jaehyun anchors himself against the bed, and then he begins fucking up into you, his muscles rippling under his perfect skin. “Shit, fuck-”

You watch the pleasure build in him, until he reaches his peak. The tension clearly snaps, and he lets out a deep groan that goes straight to your core.

You continue to ride him, intent on helping him through it-

Jaehyun grabs you and pulls you down to his chest, holding you still as he shoots his load deep in your pussy. He’s groaning in your ear, hips twitching-

God, you love the way you’re pinned like this, the way he’s cumming so hard he needed you to just stop. 

You allow him to finish, and his grip slowly lets up on you. He’s no longer using his strength to keep you still, he’s just holding you, the two of you panting desperately.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah,” you mumble.

“That day, behind my trailer, the first time I held you,” Jaehyun clears his throat, “could you feel my heart racing the way it is now?”

“I was more focused on my own heart,” you admit.

“Yeah?”

“It was going pretty fast.”

Jaehyun releases a laugh, holding you tighter. “Guess we were both in for it, huh?”

“Guess so.” 

Jaehyun holds you a little while longer, and then he sighs. “I should let you get your beauty sleep.”

“Yeah, but you can stay over if you want.”

“Really?”

“Could you imagine how much people would react if the paparazzi got a picture of you leaving my hotel tomorrow morning?”

Another chuckle escapes him. “You and your PR training.”

“You love it,” you insist.

Jaehyun releases a sigh, burying his face closer to your throat. “I do love it.” 

You’re from the same world, the same industry, and no one has ever understood you or your job the way Jaehyun does.

Wrapped in his arms, the two of you set to fly to different countries in just a couple of hours, something about him just feels so right.

You’ve spent your whole life trying to be someone else for other people, for your management team, for your fans- but with Jaehyun, maybe you can just be exactly who you are, professional obligations and all.

He’d said it himself, he’d seen your glow from the moment you met, even as awkward kids on a tv show trying to make names for yourself. He’d seen your sparkle before you’d even seen it in yourself, and now, maybe he’s right. Maybe you can learn to glow together.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! I kind of loved working on this au, I know it's not classical 'he's an actual cowboy' but I really loved working with Jae as this character

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🔮 preview. You’ve been in love before, but it was always different. You were always with men who saw you as a prize. They put you on a pedestal, and it was often one sided with genuine empathy. You were a support in their lives, as opposed to a form of mutual understanding.But Jaehyun understands you, so you can confidently say he’s the sweetest love you’ve had.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, worship kink, substantial foreplay/prep, fingering, squirting, multiple reader orgasms, overstim, dirty talk, praise, man handling, anal (thumb in the butt), etc…   I petnames. (hers) superstar. 

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.4k I teaser wc. 180

🌙 starring. Jaehyun x afab!Reader

bonus

“Wow,” you breathe, staring out at the crowd as you clutch the Grammy in your hand. “I can honestly say, I never expected this award. To win Best Music Video, I just- I’m in shock. I want to thank my parents, my label, my team of wonderful people, production, styling, Hwasa, who directed the video, and Mark, my manager. I want to thank my fans especially, I wouldn’t be anywhere without you. And, I also want to thank my amazing scene partner, Jaehyun. I know a lot of people were confused about Jae being the Model Cowboy, but he showed up to set, and something just clicked. We made magic with this one, and I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Thanks again, wow, thanks.” 

You’re practically shaking as you make your way off the stage to go rejoin your group of people in the audience. Hwasa and Mark both give you a hug, and Johnny pats you on the back. When you reach Jaehyun, he wraps his arms around you, holding you tight as he presses kisses along your face.

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[dazevi]

outta my mind | vi x fem!reader, fluff, smut (18+ MDNI) wc: 20k

synopsis: you didn’t plan on falling for anyone, let alone the painfully attractive bartender at the underground bar your friends dragged you to. she’s trouble, but she’s the kind you don’t mind getting into. | masterlist

content warnings: bartender!vi x fem!reader — modern au, bartender!vi, college student!reader, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn ish, drinking/alcohol, flirting, mutual pining, pet names; baby, princess, sweetheart, smut!!!; top!vi, bottom!reader, semi-public sex, making out, marking/hickeys, fingering (r receiving), pls let me know if i’m missing anything else!

note: lovely request by @balinor93 ! fanart by wickestd on twitter! ( title inspo from song called outta my mind by monsune )

YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO BE HERE.

It was an underground pub, called the Last Drop, tucked between an alley of a street near your campus. The air inside is heavy, thick with a haze of cigarette smoke and the low hum of chatter and laughter. The brick walls are decorated with bright paintings and band posters, chipped and scratched in places, and adorned with flickering neon signs advertising cheap liquor and beers on tap. It’s dimly lit, with most of the light spilling from the bar itself—a warm glow reflecting off rows of liquor bottles stacked neatly against the back wall. The scent of stale beer and faint traces of spilled whiskey linger in the air, mingling with the beat of a bass-heavy track pulsing through the speakers.

You didn’t really plan to be here tonight.

In fact, you pictured something far less chaotic—maybe sitting cross-legged on your tiny dorm bed, your laptop open to half-hearted notes, headphones in to drown out the incessant noise of your hallmates partying down the corridor.

Finals week was looming, but somehow you found yourself here instead, caught up by a friend you weren’t too close with, Maddie, who told you to wear something cute and live a little.

You glance down at yourself, suddenly self-conscious in the outfit you hastily threw together—something a little nicer than your usual, a pretty black dress you found in your closet a jacket to battle the cold, though, it was not nearly as flashy as what your classmates seem to have pulled off effortlessly.

The slight chill in the room makes you tug at the sleeves of your jacket as you follow your group further inside, weaving through the crowd that seems to grow louder and rowdier by the minute.

Your friend is already laughing, tossing her short hair over her shoulder as she chats with someone from another group, leaving you trailing behind. They surge toward the bar, a noisy clump of university students jostling for attention from the bartender. You linger at the edge of the crowd, unsure of whether to join in or keep your distance.

Your eyes wander across the room, taking in the mismatched furniture and the way the low-hanging lights cast strange shadows over the scuffed wooden floor. It feels gritty, raw—nothing like the polished campus lounges or cafes you’re used to. People are packed into every available space, some leaning close to shout over the music, others pressed together in corners.

When you finally look toward the bar, something—or other, someone—catches your attention.

She’s pretty tall, her toned, tattooed arms flexing subtly as she works, pouring drinks expertly without even looking at her hands sometimes. Short, pink hair glows faintly under the neon lights, messy and partly shaved on the side of her head, but it was like she rolled out of bed and still managed to look better than anyone else in the room. She’s wearing a fitted black tee, tattoos peeking out along her biceps as she slides a drink across the counter to a waiting customer.

She glances up for the briefest moment, her sharp blue eyes scanning the crowd—and they land on you. Just for a second, you think, but it’s enough to make your pulse quicken.

But you look away before you could give her a chance to the way your cheeks reddened slightly, thought it would’ve been hard to see anyway underneath the dimness of the light.

You ended up in a booth in one of the corners of the room, sitting with a couple of your classmates as they drank and ate their pizza. The booth creaks slightly as you lean back, your drink—something simple and unadventurous—sitting untouched in front of you.

The group you came with has scattered across the room now to various corners of the bar, their loud laughter and shouts blending into the rest of the noise.

You’re not sure why you agreed to come tonight. Finals around the corner were stressful enough without the added distraction of cheap liquor and the kind of music that vibrates in your chest.

Across from you, someone slides into the booth with a bit too much enthusiasm, too much confidence, their knee knocking against yours under the table.

You glance up to find a man from your group—one of those classmates whose name you barely remember—flashing you a wide grin. Jason? Jacob? He had short brown hair, a white button up under his coat and smells faintly of whiskey and strong cologne, his cheeks flushed in a way that suggests he’s had a drink too many.

“Hey,” he says, his voice pitched louder than it needs to be over the music. “You’re in Professor Medarda’s class, right? Postmodern lit?”

You blink at him, already regretting this conversation.

“Yeah,” you reply, tone flat, hoping he’ll get the hint and move on.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he leans in, propping his elbow on the sticky table like he’s settling in for a long chat.

“Aren’t you the one who absolutely wrecked her in that debate? Something about, what was it—‘deconstructing the deconstruction’ or whatever?” He waves a hand vaguely, his grin turning lopsided. “Man, that was brutal. Everyone was talking about it for days.”

You press your lips into a thin line, your gaze drifting toward the bar. The bartender with the pink hair is still there, moving effortlessly behind the bar underneath the warm glow of the lights. She laughs at something one of the regulars says, the sound faint but distinct over the din, and you find yourself wishing you were anywhere but here, maybe talking to her instead of… this guy.

“Yeah, well,” you say finally, dragging your attention back to him. “It wasn’t… really a debate. I just pointed out that her entire argument was contradictory.”

Jason-or-Jacob—whatever—laughs, a little too loudly, and takes a swig of his drink.

“See, that’s what I mean! It’s… it’s impressive… And not to mention… you’re… really pretty on the eyes.” He gestures vaguely in your direction, his eyes lingering a little too long.

You shift uncomfortably as you raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Uh… right, thanks.”

He chuckles again, clearly not picking up on your disinterest. “No, seriously. You’re, like, intimidating. Smart. And hot. In a good way.”

“Uh-huh.” You tap your fingers against the edge of your glass, your patience wearing thin. “Listen, if this is your way of hitting on me, you might want to workshop it… or something.”

That finally seems to trip him up, his grin faltering as he moves awkwardly in his seat. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just…”

“Right,” you cut him off, standing and grabbing your drink. “Thanks for the conversation, but I’m gonna go… anywhere else.”

You don’t bother waiting for his response as you stand and step away from the booth, weaving through the crowd.

The bar feels slightly less oppressive now that you’re moving, and as you approach the counter, you can’t help but glance toward the bartender again. She’s wiping down a glass, her movements precise, and for the second time tonight, her eyes meet yours. This time, there’s a flicker of something—curiosity, maybe—as her lips twitch into a subtle smirk.

You set your drink down on the counter, your heart skipping just a little. Maybe tonight isn’t a complete waste after all.

The stool creaks faintly as you settle onto it, the weight of the night pressing on your shoulders. You prop your elbow on the bar and glance down at your drink, still untouched. The condensation clings to the glass, cool against your fingertips as you absently trail them along its surface.

The music feels louder here, basslines thrumming through the wooden counter, but it fades into the background every time your gaze drifts upward—to her.

The bartender.

She’s been moving nonstop, hands deft and practiced as she pours drinks, slides glasses across the counter, and exchanges brief words with customers. She was confident and smooth without even trying, her short pink hair glowing faintly under the neon lights that flicker lazily behind her.

You tell yourself you’re not staring, but you are.

She’s impossibly attractive, the kind of person who seems entirely out of reach—too cool, too confident, too… everything. And yet, you catch yourself glancing her way more often than you should, trying to look away quickly enough that she doesn’t notice.

You sigh, shifting in your seat as you fiddle with your drink again, fingers tracing patterns on the glass. You haven’t taken a sip, and you’re not even sure why you ordered it. It was just something to hold, something to keep you occupied in this crowded room.

Just as you glance up again, hoping to catch another fleeting glimpse of her, a voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Hey there,” someone slurs, the words thick and clumsy.

You blink, turning to find a man standing far too close, his grin lopsided and his eyes glassy from too many drinks. His shirt is untucked, and he sways slightly as he leans an elbow on the bar, effectively blocking your view of anything else—including her.

“You’re way too pretty to be sitting here all alone,” he says, his words slurred but bold. “Let me keep you company, yeah?”

“I’m not alone,” you say flatly, holding up your glass like it’s proof. “And, I’m not interested.”

He laughs, as if you’ve said something charming. “Nah, come on. You’re too gorgeous to be hiding away in the corner. You need someone to—”

“No,” you interrupt, your tone sharp. “I’m really not interested.”

But he doesn’t take the hint. Instead, he leans in closer, his breath reeking of alcohol. “Don’t be like that. Just one drink, huh? I promise I’m a good time.”

You grimace, leaning back and trying to create some distance. “And I promise I’m not.”

The man chuckles, as if he thinks you’re joking, and you feel your frustration rising. You glance around, hoping someone—anyone—might intervene, and that’s when you notice her again. The bartender.

She’s been watching, her sharp eyes narrowing as she assesses the situation. Her hands pause mid-motion as she sets down a freshly poured drink, and without missing a beat, she walks over to your side of the bar.

“Hey,” she says, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

The drunk man looks up, startled, as she plants both hands on the counter, leaning slightly forward. Her gaze is steely as she stares down the man next to you.

“You bothering her?” she asks, her tone deceptively casual, though there’s a warning laced in her words.

The man blinks, clearly caught off guard. “What? No, we were just talkin’.”

“Yeah, well, she doesn’t look like she’s enjoying the conversation,” she replies smoothly. Then she turns her attention to you, her expression softening just a fraction. “You good, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. The word sends a small jolt through your chest, and for a moment, you can only shake your head, your voice caught in your throat.

The man mutters something under his breath, but the bartender doesn’t budge.

“You should go.” she says firmly. “Or I’ll have someone make you leave.”

He hesitates, but the weight of her stare is enough to make him backpedal. He stumbles away, disappearing into the crowd, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Thanks,” you murmur, glancing up at her.

You see her more clearly now. Light blue eyes. A strong nose. A small scar over her top lip. Another one over her eyebrow. Nose ring. And a small tattoo of the Roman numeral six on her cheek.

She straightens, brushing her hands off on a rag as a smirk tugs at the corner of her lips.

“Don’t mention it. A lot of people don’t know how to take a hint.”

You can’t help but smile faintly, your fingers still absently fiddling with your glass. “You seem good at dealing with them… They listen to you.”

“Well, there’s this rule around here that, uh, people shouldn’t really mess with the guy who pours the drinks, so… they either listen or I call Loris—our big scary bouncer.” she says with a smile, leaning against the bar now, her full attention on you.

“Do they always listen?”

The bartender smiles that charming smile of hers and simply says, “No.”

She clears her throat and looks down at your hands, then looks back up at you with an eyebrow raised.

“You gonna drink that, or is it just decoration?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” you say. Her teasing tone makes your cheeks warm. You glance down at your untouched drink, swirling the liquid idly in the glass before muttering, almost to yourself, “I don’t actually drink that often, to be honest…”

Her voice pulls you from your thoughts, warm and teasing. “A glass of water for the pretty lady, coming right up.”

Your head snaps up at the words, your cheeks instantly heating. She’s already reaching for a clean glass. But there’s something different now—something about the way she smirks just a little as she glances at you out of the corner of her eye.

“Pretty lady?” you echo, trying for casual, though you’re sure the slight waver in your voice gives you away.

She shrugs as she fills the glass with water, the ice clinking softly against the sides.

“Well, yeah,” she says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “What else would I call you?”

Your stomach flips at the nonchalant confidence in her tone, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to respond. “I don’t know. Most people just go with my name.”

She places the water in front of you, her smile widening just enough to show off the faintest hint of dimples. “Fair enough. But I don’t know your name yet.”

You hesitate, caught between the urge to give her your name and the inexplicable nerves that come with her attention.

You tell her your name, your voice a bit quieter than you intended.

Her smirk softens into something more genuine, and she repeats your name back to you, slow and deliberate, like she’s trying it out.

“I’m Vi,” she says.

Vi. The name suits her—short, sharp, and just as bold as the woman herself.

“Thanks for the water,” you manage to say, your fingers brushing the cool glass.

“Anytime.” Vi leans her weight on her forearms, resting them on the counter as she tilts her head slightly, her eyes catching yours. “So, if you’re not much of a drinker, what brings you here?”

You can’t help but smile, a small laugh escaping you despite yourself. “My friend thought I needed a break from studying. Dragged me out here against my better judgment.”

“Ah… Those your friends over there?” She nods her head in a certain direction, and you follow it slowly.

You see the group you came with, some scattered by the bar spilling drinks and laughing loudly, others by booths making out and shouting over the music and the rest dancing on the dance floor. There are others, who are gathered by the jukebox, laughing and trying to figure out how to play something other than the heavy bass thundering through the speakers. One of them is gesturing wildly, clearly tipsy, while another leans against the wall, scrolling through their phone like they’re already over it.

You shake your head and smile, “Yeah…”

“Loud bunch.”

“Sorry ‘bout that… finals are coming up soon this month, so...”

She gives you a smile and says, “No need to apologize, princess. I serve you, remember?”

Another one. Princess. You were sure you probably as red as a tomato now.

“I barely know half of them...” you say, taking sip of your new glass of water.

“So, what’s your usual crowd then?” Vi asked, her eyes completely on you as she grabs a glass to wipe it down with a rag.

You shrugs, “Textbooks?”

“Well, that’s no good.”

“So I’ve heard,” you reply dryly, taking another small sip of the water she’d poured for you.

She chuckles again as if she finds your answer amusing in a way she doesn’t quite want to admit.

“I’m not exactly big on crowds either,” she says, leaning a little closer as if sharing a secret.

You raise an eyebrow, gesturing subtly to the packed room around you, where people are practically spilling over each other in their rush to the bar. “I’m not sure if I believe you.”

Vi follows your gaze, scanning the chaotic scene with a small smirk tugging at her lips.

“Fair point,” she concedes, looking back at you.

You glance at her again, curious despite yourself. She’s standing still now, leaning back against the counter with her arms crossed loosely over her chest. Her gaze is on you, not in the sharp, observant way she’s probably used to watching the bar, but softer—almost like she’s lost in thought.

Her smile is faint, but it’s there, tugging gently at her lips, and it’s different from the teasing smirks you’ve seen so far. This one feels more… personal, like she’s mulling something over and doesn’t quite realize she’s staring.

Your stomach twists, her attention making you acutely aware of every small movement you make—the way your fingers nervously trace the condensation on your glass, the way you’re trying not to shift under her gaze.

Finally, you can’t help but ask, your voice a touch quieter than you intend, “What?”

Vi blinks, like you’ve pulled her out of a daydream, and her soft smile turns into something a little sheepish.

“Sorry…” she says, before licking her lips. “Just, uh, a bit distracted.”

Her eyes linger on you for a moment longer, as if she’s debating saying something else. Absentmindedly, she tries to trace every feature of your face with your eyes, trying to remember it.

She wanted to say something else—anything… But, fuck. You were really pretty… and it was distracting her. She also decided that she really liked talking to you—even though it’s barely been ten minutes.

But then, from down the counter, someone shouts her name—a regular by the sound of it, slurring slightly as he waves an empty glass in the air.

“Vi! Another round over here!”

Vi doesn’t move right away. Her head turns slightly in the direction of the call, but her attention snaps back to you almost immediately. She hesitates, not wanting to go anywhere.

She shifts her weight, one hand resting on the counter, her body angled toward you even as she glances down the bar.

“Be right there!” she calls back. It’s almost begrudging.

Your lips twitch into a small smile, watching the tiny battle play out on her face.

“You don’t have to babysit me, you know,” you say lightly, though there’s something a little playful in your tone.

Her eyes dart back to yours, and she huffs out a soft laugh, her hand running through her short pink hair.

“Yeah, I know,” she smiles and mutters, almost to herself, before adding softly, almost like a plea, “Call me if you need anything?”

You nod and she smiles. You watch her go, the faint blush on your cheeks lingering as you sip at the water she poured, the ice cold and refreshing.

For the first time tonight, you’re glad your friend dragged you out.

You cant stop thinking about her.

The library is silent except for the soft rustling of pages and the faint clicking of keyboards. It’s a lot more crowded here now, especially during this time of the year, and you’ve grown not to like it. You’re hunched over a stack of textbooks, a highlighter in your hand, staring down at a paragraph you’ve already reread three times. The words swim on the page, refusing to stick, as if your brain has decided it’s reached its limit.

You let out a frustrated sigh and lean back in your chair, dragging a hand through your hair. The fluorescent lights overhead feel harsher than usual, and the quiet tension of finals week is suffocating.

But it’s not just the studying—or the endless pressure of upcoming exams—that’s been messing with your head.

It’s Vi.

You’ve tried to focus, tried to immerse yourself in everything you could but every time your mind starts to settle, her face slips back in. The way her smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. The way her pink hair caught the light behind the bar. The low, teasing lilt of her voice when she called you pretty.

You groan softly, rubbing your temples. This is ridiculous. You barely know her. You’ve spent what—maybe an hour total in her presence? And yet, she’s managed to lodge herself into your thoughts so completely that it’s becoming a problem.

The highlighter in your hand falls to the desk with a muted thud, and you drop your head into your hands, your elbows resting on the textbook in front of you. You can still see the way she looked at you—softly, like she saw something in you that others hadn’t bothered to notice.

It’s infuriating, really. You’ve got finals to prepare for, and instead, your mind is full of half-replayed conversations and fleeting glimpses of pink hair, strong arms and tattoos.

The worst part? You can’t shake the feeling that she’s thinking about you, too.

It’s irrational—you know that. She’s probably forgotten all about you by now, busy serving countless other customers, flashing that same smirk at someone else.

But a part of you, buried beneath the layers of reason and logic you cling to, whispers otherwise.

You snap out of your thoughts and glance at the open book in front of you. The words blur together again, mocking your lack of focus.

With a frustrated exhale, you push the textbook aside and pull out your phone, the screen lighting up in your hand. You scroll aimlessly for a moment, debating whether you’re actually considering what your restless thoughts are urging you to do.

Should you go back? Would she even remember you?

You shake your head, trying to will away the temptation.

Finals. Study. Focus.

You tap your pen against your notebook, each click bouncing off the walls of the crowded library. It’s packed to the brim, filled with students just as desperate as you to cram as much information into their heads as possible before finals. Yet, instead of feeling motivated, all you can focus on is the cacophony—the whispered conversations that aren’t really whispers, the shuffling of papers, the faint tapping of keyboards, the occasional obnoxious laugh breaking the tension.

Your head throbs.

With a sharp sigh, you drop the pen onto the desk and lean back in your chair again, staring blankly at the high ceiling. You’ve been sitting here for hours, yet the number of notes you’ve managed to take is embarrassingly low. Nothing is sticking. You can’t focus.

It doesn’t help that your thoughts keep drifting to her.

To Vi.

You shake your head as if it’ll clear the image, but it doesn’t.

The noise of the library swells again, louder this time—a group of students a few tables down bursts into laughter, drawing glares from everyone around them. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, but it doesn’t help.

The dorm wasn’t any better. Earlier, when you’d tried to study there, the walls practically vibrated with the bass of someone’s speaker. The hallway had been filled with voices, laughter, and the unmistakable sound of another dorm party kicking off despite the looming threat of finals.

You’d lasted maybe twenty minutes before storming out, bag slung over your shoulder, hoping the library would be better.

It wasn’t.

You sit there for a moment, staring down at your open textbook and the mess of half-finished notes in front of you. The sheer impossibility of getting anything done right now feels like a weight pressing down on your chest.

Screw this.

You grab your things in one swift motion, shoving your notebook and pens into your bag with more force than necessary. The chair scrapes loudly against the floor as you stand, drawing a few annoyed glances your way. You ignore them, slinging your bad over your shoulder and walking out of the library without so much as a glance back.

The cold evening air hits you the second you step outside, sharp and bracing, but you welcome it.

You pause at the edge of the path, staring out at the quiet campus bathed in the glow of dim streetlights. You should go back to your dorm, try again, push through the noise.

But the very thought of that makes your stomach twist.

Instead, your feet carry you forward, down the path and out toward the street. You don’t have a destination in mind, but you already know where you’ll end up.

It’s not a conscious decision—it never is, really. You tell yourself you just need a break, some fresh air to clear your head. But the truth hums beneath the surface, undeniable.

You want to see her.

When your feet finally stop, the bar looms in front of you, the soft glow of its neon sign illuminating the damp pavement below. The night air is cool against your skin, a faint breeze carrying the quiet hum of traffic and chatter.

Your hands are shoved deep into the pockets of your jacket, fingers curling into the fabric as you linger just outside the door. You glance at your reflection in the window—a hoodie that hangs a little loose on your frame, jeans you’ve had for years, and shoes slightly scuffed from the walk here.

You bite the inside of your cheek, wishing you’d thought to stop by your dorm first. Maybe throw on something a little prettier. But instead, your feet had brought you straight here, as if they knew something you didn’t.

It’s almost 9 p.m., and the bar looks alive even from the outside. You can always hear the faint hum of music seeping through the walls.

You hesitate. What are you even doing here? It’s not like you have a good excuse—no friends dragging you along this time, no group to blend into. You’re alone, standing in front of a bar where you might not even be remembered.

But the thought of her pulls at you, stronger than the nerves keeping your feet planted. You’d tried to shake her from your thoughts all week, telling yourself she was just a random bartender, someone you’d probably never see again. But it hadn’t worked. Every time you sat down to study, her face would slip into your mind.

Your chest tightens as you reach for the door, your hand hovering over the handle. What if she doesn’t remember you? Or worse—what if she does, and she thinks it’s weird that you’ve come back?

You shake your head, trying to push the doubts aside. You’re here now. You might as well step inside.

With a deep breath, you pull the door open and step into the warm, dimly lit space. The scent of alcohol and faint traces of perfume hit you first.

The bar is slightly less crowded than it had been the last time, but it still carries the same energy���low lights, muted colors, and a buzz of life that makes the air feel heavier than the world outside.

You glance toward the bar, your stomach twisting when you see her. Vi is behind the counter, her pink hair catching the soft light as she leans over to pass a drink to a customer. She straightens, her expression neutral as she scans the room, and then her eyes land on you.

For a split second, her face doesn’t change, and panic spikes in your chest. Maybe she doesn’t—

Then she smiles.

It’s subtle, but it’s there—a small, warm quirk of her lips that sends your nerves scattering in a hundred directions. She holds your gaze for just a moment before returning to what she’s doing, her hands moving fluidly to pour another drink.

You let out a shaky breath, your feet carrying you closer to the bar. You slide into one of the empty stools, trying to shake off the nervous energy buzzing under your skin. The cool wood of the counter feels solid beneath your palms as you rest your elbows on it, trying to make yourself look casual.

But it’s hard to relax with your pulse pounding so loudly in your ears. You glance around the room, looking for anything to distract you from the fact that she’s here.

You’re trying not to fidget with your fingers, not to bite the inside of your lip, not to seem like you’ve been thinking about this moment for days now—trying to shake the nerves that have settled into your bones. But it’s hard when you feel her presence just behind the bar.

It doesn’t take long before you feel her eyes on you.

You glance up just in time to see Vi, mid-conversation with another customer, glance over the counter at you. And in a split second, she’s finished what she’s saying to the customer, brushing past them with an ease.

She doesn’t even seem bothered by the fact that she’s walking away mid-conversation. It’s as if she’s already decided where she needs to be.

Your pulse quickens.

You watch her approach, the way she moves is confident, the soft hum of the music surrounding her as she gets closer. Her smile is almost shy this time, like she’s not entirely sure what to say after the last time you were here. But she doesn’t hesitate.

“I was wondering when I’d see you again,” she says as soon as she reaches you, her voice low, almost teasing, with just a hint of something more.

Her words catch you off guard for a second. You shift slightly on your stool, trying to keep your cool, but you can feel the heat creeping up your neck. Her gaze is steady, not flirtatious exactly, but certainly interested, like she’s been waiting for this moment as much as you have.

You clear your throat, and even though you try to sound casual, your voice betrays you.

“I didn’t really expect to be back so soon.” The words feel like a weak excuse even as you say them.

Vi chuckles softly, leaning just a little closer as she rests her hands on the counter, her gaze never leaving you. “Not really the type to stay away for long, huh?”

There’s that spark in her eyes again, that teasing warmth that makes you wonder if she’s deliberately making you squirm.

You roll your eyes, trying to hide the nervous flutter in your chest.

“I needed a break,” you explain quickly, looking away for a moment. “Studying was driving me crazy.”

You pull your bag closer to the bar, pretending to straighten it out, but your thoughts keep slipping back to her.

Vi’s smile softens a little as she studies you, her eyes tracing your face for a moment longer than necessary. She doesn’t seem in a rush, doesn’t try to fill the space with empty words or awkward small talk.

You swallow, suddenly aware of how much closer she’s gotten, how much she’s drawn you in. There’s an easy chemistry between you, something unspoken but undeniable.

“Well,” she adds, a teasing glint in her eye as she straightens back up, “What’s your drink of choice, princess?”

You almost forget how to breathe for a second at the sudden shift in the atmosphere, your heart racing again. You take a moment to collect yourself before replying, your voice just a little quieter than usual.

“Surprise me,” you say, the words coming out with a confidence you don’t entirely feel.

Vi’s smile deepens, her eyes flashing with something a little mischievous, “Think I can manage that.”

She decides on making something light and sweet—remembering that you didn’t drink that often.

You watch her as she begins to gather the ingredients for your drink, her hands moving expertly behind the bar. The soft clink of glass bottles and the gentle hiss of the tap. You barely even realize you’re fidgeting until you catch sight of her looking back at you, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Finals week started?” She asks.

You blink, momentarily caught off guard by the question. The thought of finals feels like a weight you’ve been trying to avoid all week. The textbooks, the endless hours of studying, the fact that you’re still not feeling ready for any of it—it all hits you again in that instant. But Vi’s gaze makes it hard to focus on anything else.

For a split second, you can feel it too—the awkwardness, the nerves, the slight flutter in your chest that feels completely out of place. It’s not just her usual flirtation. This feels different somehow. She’s not the smooth bartender effortlessly working the crowd, she’s… her. And it makes your heart skip in a way you’re trying to ignore.

“Yeah, it did,” you answer, your voice quieter than you intended. You rub the back of your neck, feeling a little out of place yourself. “It’s… been a nightmare. The library’s packed, the dorm’s loud—honestly, it’s like no one even remembers that we have to actually study for this stuff.”

She raises an eyebrow, her smile never quite fading but now tinged with something a little more… uncertain. Her gaze flits between you and the drinks in front of her, and for a moment, you wonder if she’s just waiting for something to happen.

“Seems like you’re trying to avoid it,” she says softly, her tone lighter but still holding that underlying curiosity. Her voice is almost shy now, like she’s letting down the tough-girl act just a little, and it feels natural. She looks at you again, this time a little less playful and more vulnerable.

You feel something stir inside of you at her words—maybe relief, maybe the sense that she’s giving you a little window into her own world.

“Yeah, kind of,” you admit, your gaze dropping to the counter as you fiddle with the edge of your glass. You take a breath, glancing back up at her, your tone playful but also a little softer than you meant.

She’s leaning slightly over the counter, her eyes scanning the room for a moment, as though looking for your friends. When she doesn’t find them, her gaze returns to you, a small quirk of her lips tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Here alone tonight?” she asks, her tone light and soft.

You feel a small flutter in your chest, a hint of nervousness bubbling up—was she genuinely interested?

“Yeah,” you say, a little unsure, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass. “My friends are… off somewhere else.”

Vi nods slowly, that small smile still playing on her lips, and for a second, you almost feel like she’s understanding you without needing you to say much at all. She’s always been so good at reading people, it seems.

“Well, lucky for you,” she says with a wink, her tone playful but sincere, “I’m here to keep you company, then. No need to be alone if you don’t want to be.”

She leans a little closer, her voice dropping just low enough that only you can hear.

“Not that I mind the company, either.”

Her words settle in your chest, warm and easy, and for a brief moment, it feels like everything else—the noise, the people, the pressure of exams—falls away. All that’s left is the gentle pull of her attention, the way she makes you feel like you’re the only one she wants to talk to tonight.

You can’t help but smile, your nerves starting to ease.

“I like that you’re here,” you say, a little quieter now, the honesty behind your words surprising even you.

Oh.

Vi swallows the tiny lump in her throat, ears reddening at your words.

“Me too,” she says softly, her eyes meeting yours.

And then the night stretches on, the sound of clinking glasses and lively chatter filling the air, but somehow, the noise feels distant.

Vi moves between you and the rest of the bar, always managing to return to you just as you start to think she’s too busy to notice. She steps away occasionally to serve drinks, her smile never fading even when the pressure of the crowd pulls her in different directions.

Every time she returns, though, she looks at you with that same look in her eye, making you feel like you’re the only person in the room who matters. You can tell that she’s working, but there’s an ease in the way she glances over at you, as though she’s intentionally carving out space to keep you company, to make sure you’re not left alone in the bustle of the bar.

As the crowd grows louder and the night wears on, Vi seems to sense that things are getting a little out of hand. The rush of orders starts picking up, and she glances over at Mylo, a colleague of hers you’ve seen around. With a quick wave, she calls him over.

You watch as Vi leans against the bar, her body language shifting just slightly.

“Hey, Mylo, could you cover the drinks for a bit?” she asked, her tone casual, but there’s something unspoken in the way she does it. Mylo gives her a knowing glance, then nods and steps in to take over, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

Vi doesn’t waste any time.

For the rest of the night, she stays close, always coming back to check on you between serving drinks, leaning against the bar whenever she has a spare moment. Mylo helps manage the crowd, but Vi is there, always making sure you’re okay, always drawing you back into the conversation.

There’s no rush, no pressure—just an easy flow between you two, and the more time you spend with her, the next time her eyes meet yours, the way she smiled, the more you realize that this is something you’ve been craving without even knowing it.

The night slips away quietly, and when you glance at the clock on the wall behind the bar, a wave of disappointment hits you.

It’s later than you thought. You hesitate for a moment, your fingers brushing the edge of your empty glass, and then you finally say it, though it’s not what you want to say at all.

“I should, uh… get going,” you murmur, your voice quieter than you intended. You already know you’ll regret it—regret leaving this place, leaving her.

Vi’s smile falters just a little, her eyes quickly flicking to the clock too, and you see the shift on her face, like she’s come to the same realization. There’s a brief, almost imperceptible pause between the two of you as the world around you continues on, but time seems to slow as she takes a breath.

“I… didn’t realize it was that late either,” she says, her tone softer now. And for a brief second, you can almost feel the space between you close in, like neither of you really wants to say goodbye.

Then, without skipping a beat, Vi’s voice pulls you back into the present.

“Hey,” she starts firmly, like she’s made up her mind about something. “Let me walk you back.”

You blink at her, the suggestion catching you off guard. You hadn’t expected her to offer—hadn’t thought she’d even consider it. And though a little part of you wants to say yes immediately, another part of you, the shyer, more self-conscious part, hesitates.

“I don’t want to put you out,” you say quickly, though you’re not entirely sure why you feel so shy all of a sudden. “Besides, you’re working.”

It’s a simple thing, after all, a walk.

But you’d be even more alone. With her. And although that made you excited, it made you even more nervous.

Vi doesn’t give you the chance to second-guess yourself. Her smile returns, and there’s a spark of something playful in her eyes.

“It’s no trouble,” she says, her tone light but insistent. “I’m not going to let you walk back alone at this time. I don’t think I’d be able to focus without knowing you got home safe, so...”

Before you can protest again, she turns to Mylo, who’s tending to the growing crowd at the far end of the bar.

“Hey, Mylo!” she calls out, her voice carrying just enough over the noise to catch his attention. “I’m taking my break now. Be back in a bit.”

Mylo doesn’t even look up from his work, just nods in acknowledgment. “Alright, Vi,” he calls back, and you catch the playful undertone in his voice. It’s clear he knows exactly what’s going on.

Not wasting any more time, Vi grabs her jacket from behind the bar. She slips it on ace doesn’t look back at you to see if you’re ready; she just turns, giving you that soft, inviting smile.

“C’mon,” she says, her voice low and gentle, like she’s pulling you into something that feels a little outside of the ordinary, but in the best way possible.

Her words make you pause, but only for a moment. You look at her—really look at her—and something about the way she’s standing there, waiting, makes your hesitation dissolve. The warmth in her smile settles in your chest, and for the first time in a while, you realize you don’t mind the idea of the night stretching out just a little longer.

You nod, a soft smile curling at your lips.

“Okay,” you say, your voice more confident than it was a second ago.

Vi grins.

Without another word, she starts walking toward the door, holding it open for you, and you follow her out into the cold night air. The city seems quieter now, the streets not as busy, and as the two of you step into the night, the world feels a little smaller, a little more intimate—just the two of you, alone together for the walk.

You can’t help but feel your heart race just a little, but in the best possible way.

The walk to your dorm is slower than you expect, almost as if neither of you wants to rush through it. The night air is cold, the streetlights casting soft pools of light on the sidewalk. The hum of distant traffic fades into the background as you walk side by side, your pace matching each other’s, no one in a hurry.

You’re not sure what it is, but something about the silence between you feels comfortable—like there’s no pressure, just two people walking together. Vi’s steps are easy, casual, but every so often, she glances at you from the corner of her eye, as though she’s watching you without even realizing it. It’s subtle, but you catch her gaze a few times, and each time, she looks away just a fraction too late, as if she was lost in thought.

You can’t help but notice it, how her eyes linger on you, how her attention feels a little more intense than you’re used to, but it’s not uncomfortable. No, it’s the opposite, actually—it feels like she’s admiring something in you, and the idea makes your stomach flutter in a way you can’t quite explain.

Vi keeps most of the conversation light at first, teasing you about how you managed to get through the day without completely falling apart under the weight of finals. But soon enough, the banter turns into something more genuine, more personal, and you find yourself sharing little details about your life.

Vi, on the other hand, seems to enjoy telling you bits and pieces about herself. She talks about the things she’s passionate about—how bartending isn’t just a job for her, but something that gives her a connection to people and to her dad especially, how she loves the way a good drink can change someone’s mood, make them feel more at ease. She tells you about her favorite spots in the city, the places she goes when she wants to unwind or just take a break from the noise.

She mentions that she has a little sister—one that she’s so proud of with how smart she is. She has a scholarship at some other university a pretty far from here, and you can tell Vi misses her dearly.

For the entire way, Vi doesn’t stop glancing at you.

It’s soft and subtle, but you can see it, feel it—the way her eyes linger on you, tracing the lines of your face in a way that makes you feel warm from the inside out.

And for the first time in a while, you don’t mind being the center of someone’s attention. You can’t help but wonder if, in some small way, she feels the same as you.

“So, your dorm’s just up ahead, right?” Vi says, snapping you out of your thoughts. Her voice is low, and there’s a hint of something soft in it. You realize, in that moment, that this walk has felt… different.

“Yeah, just a couple more blocks,” you reply, your voice a little quieter now, feeling like the night has already given you more than you expected.

Eventually, the two of you reach the entrance of your building. It was an apartment style dorm, sitting just a few miles away from campus.

You stop for a moment, your feet lingering on the sidewalk as you take a small breath, suddenly feeling reluctant.

You don’t want it to end—not just yet.

But before you can say anything, the loud thump of music reaches your ears, coming from one of the floors above. Vi’s eyes flick up toward the building, and her brow furrows slightly as she notices the source of the noise.

“Guess the party’s already in full swing,” she murmurs, a bit of a wry smile tugging at her lips, but there’s something in her tone that’s a little amused.

“Yeah. The usual,” you say, your voice tinged with mild exasperation. You chuckle softly, rubbing the back of your neck, feeling a little embarrassed. “They don’t really care if it’s late… It can be quiet sometimes… but on rare occasions.”

Vi glances up at the building, the loud music still spilling out from one of the floors. She hesitates for a moment, then looks back at you.

“You know, uh, the bar doesn’t… open until six… I mean, the lounge opens at ten, but… no one really comes around that time,” she says, her voice quieter now, as if the suggestion she’s about to make is somehow more personal.

She glances at you again, her eyes flickering with tiny hint of nervousness.

“You could, uh, come earlier if you want some quiet… I’ll be there.”

You hadn’t expected that—hadn’t expected her to offer her own space at all. The bar, of all places.

You feel a warmth spread through you at the thought, a pull you hadn’t expected. Something about it makes your heart race a little faster, and you find yourself hesitating, uncertain if you should take the leap.

It was kind of a lousy excuse, Vi thought, but at least she’d get to see you again, instead of waiting all week to see if you’d stop by.

Though she knew she probably should’ve just asked you out on a date like a normal person, but… maybe she’d be able to see more of you this way.

“Vi, I—” you start, but you don’t really know what to say.

“You don’t have to,” she adds quickly, her voice gentle, as if she’s afraid to push too hard. “But if you’re looking for a place to study, it’s quiet in the mornings. And I promise not to be in your way. You don’t have to stay long or anything—just… if you want to, I’m there. And we could talk more, or just… not.”

The sincerity in her voice catches you off guard, and you feel a small tug at your chest.

You glance at her, meeting her eyes for just a moment, and that’s all it takes. Despite the swirl of thoughts in your head, you find yourself nodding.

“Okay,” you say, your voice steady now, though there’s a trace of something soft beneath it. “I’d really like that.”

You watch as her smile brightens, a little relieved and a little pleased, and for a moment, she doesn’t say anything, she just nods.

Vi pauses just as she’s about to turn away, a hesitant look crossing her face. For a moment, she seems to be second-guessing herself, like she’s trying to figure out the best way to say something without overstepping. Then, with a slight sheepishness that’s almost endearing, she glances back at you, her cheeks coloring ever so slightly.

“Oh, shit, I-I should probably give you my number… you know, in case I’m not there or anything,” she says, her voice a little softer, a little more self-conscious than usual. Her fingers nervously tug at the hem of her jacket, and her eyes flicker away briefly.

You can’t help but smile at the way she’s acting—this confident, capable bartender who, just moments ago, had been so cool and smooth, now hesitating as if she’s unsure whether she’s overstepping by asking for your number.

You reach for your phone, feeling a small rush of warmth in your chest.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” you say, your voice light but warm, trying to make her feel at ease.

You quickly unlock your phone and pass it to her, offering a small, reassuring smile.

Vi’s fingers brush against yours as she takes your phone, and for a second, the touch lingers. She types in her number quickly, and you catch the faintest flicker of a smile playing at the corner of her lips. She hands the phone back to you after saving her contact information and you glance down at the screen.

violet :)

“Done,” she says, her voice light again. “Just… in case you need to reach me or anything…”

Vi pulls out her phone, her fingers slightly fumbling as she unlocks it. Her eyes flick up to meet yours, and she gives you a small, almost nervous smile. You type your number into her phone in return, and when you hand it back, you make sure your fingers brush against hers just a little longer than necessary. She smiles softly when she gets her phone back, seeing the small heart you put next to your name.

“Thank you, Vi,” you say softly, feeling a little bolder now.

She grins, the playful glint in her eyes back now, “Text me… whenever.”

She lingers, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, the edges of her smile bright but just a little tight, like she’s holding something back. Her eyes meet yours, warm and soft, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.

You notice the way her gaze flickers, almost imperceptibly, down to your lips. It’s quick, barely a second, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. Your heart thuds in your chest, and you wonder if she realizes how obvious she is—or maybe she doesn’t care. Either way, her attention makes your stomach flip in a way you’re not entirely prepared for.

“I should…” she begins, her voice quiet and almost reluctant. She shifts on her feet, looking down for a moment before glancing back up at you. She hesitates, like she’s searching for a reason to stay, even though she knows she can’t. “…get back to work.”

Her words are practical, but the way she says them—soft and almost regretful—makes it clear she doesn’t really want to leave.

She’s stalling, and you can tell.

For once, Vi doesn’t have that confidence she carries behind the bar. Right now, she just looks… a little unsure. A little vulnerable.

“Goodnight,” you say softly, the words gentle but carrying more weight than you intended.

Her smile widens, though it’s still tight-lipped, and she nods, her hands still buried in her jacket pockets.

“Yeah… goodnight, princess,” she echoes, her voice just above a whisper. She lingers for another second, her gaze sweeping over your face before she finally steps back.

The sound of her boots on the pavement fades as she turns and walks away, heading back down the street toward the bar.

As she disappears into the distance, you catch yourself glancing at your phone, her number now saved there, and you wonder how long you’ll be able to resist texting her. The night air feels colder without her, but the warmth she left behind lingers all the same.

Truth be told, Vi isn’t usually the one to open the bar.

That’s Mylo’s job, and it’s been that way for as long as she can remember. Surprisingly, he’s the early bird, arriving just maybe thirty before ten—always grumbling about it but showing up on time regardless, keys jangling as he flips on the lights and starts the long process of getting the place ready. It’s quiet in the morning, and it’s practically empty until the sun starts to set.

Vi’s shift doesn’t typically start until later in the evening, right when the crowd begins to build, when the air gets thick with chatter and the clink of glass. That’s her time, where she thrives: loud music, fast drinks, and tiny bit of chaos.

But as soon as Vi gets back to work that night after walking you to you back, something shifts. She heads straight behind the bar, sets her jacket down with a quickly, and finds Mylo leaning against the counter, lazily wiping down the counter like he always does. He glances up at her, one brow quirked, clearly ready to make some smart comment about her lateness and tease her about that little crush she has on you.

But before he can get a word out, she cuts him off.

“I’m opening from now on,” she says flatly, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Mylo freezes mid-motion, the rag in his hand hovering over the counter. He stares at her for a moment, like he’s not sure he heard her right.

“What?” he says finally, his tone incredulous. “Since when do you wanna deal with the morning grind? You hate opening.”

“Since now,” Vi snaps, her tone sharp like she’s already decided and doesn’t care for an explanation.

Mylo narrows his eyes, leaning against the bar with a skeptical look. “You’re serious? You, of all people, wanna deal with the dead hours?”

“Yeah,” Vi says simply, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and beginning to organize the counter with quick, efficient movements. “It’s not a big deal.”

Mylo snorts, tossing the rag over his shoulder. “It is for you. You hate the quiet. You told me that yourself. Even Claggor hates the quiet.”

Vi doesn’t answer right away.

She busies herself adjusting the liquor bottles, her back turned to him as she forces herself not to think about why she’s doing this—or more accurately, who she’s doing this for. But her thoughts betray her anyway, drifting back to the way you’d looked at her tonight, soft and unsure but trusting, the way you’d smiled at her when she offered you the bar as a place to get away. The memory makes something tighten in her chest.

She finally turns back to Mylo, her face composed, her tone even.

“Just need a change of pace,” she says with a shrug, though even she knows it’s not convincing. “Besides, you could use the extra sleep.”

Mylo stares at her for another beat and squints his eyes, clearly unconvinced but too tired to argue.

“Is this about that girl you were talking with earlier?”

“No,” Vi said all too quickly, but she knows she couldn’t keep up the lie against Mylo for too long. “Maybe… Yes.”

“Why didn’t you just ask her out? Looked like she liked you enough. Plus—she literally came back to see you—“

“Just—Let me have this. If it goes sour, you can have all the free drinks you want.”

“Fine,” he says, throwing his hands up in defeat. “It’s your funeral. Just don’t come crying to me when you’re stuck listening to the same three jazz songs we have on Vander’s old jukebox.”

Vi smirks, but it’s faint, her mind already elsewhere. “Noted.”

The truth is, she doesn’t care about the mornings or the hassle of opening. All she cares about is the chance that you might show up again, walking into the bar in the early hours, looking for a place to escape the noise.

And if that means opening the doors herself, sitting in silence for a couple hours, and putting up with Mylo’s grumbling, so be it.

She doesn’t tell him any of this, though. She just gets back to work, excited for the next time she might see you.

The sunlight filters in through the thin curtains of your dorm room, soft and golden, warming your skin as you slowly wake. Your eyes blink open, the haze of sleep still clinging to you, and for a moment, you simply lie there, staring up at the ceiling.

Then, your mind drifts back to the night before.

Vi… again.

The thought of her hits you like a spark, and you feel a smile tug at your lips before you can stop it. Your chest tightens slightly, but not unpleasantly, just enough to make you feel warm all over.

Still smiling, you roll onto your side, glancing at your phone on the nightstand. The thought of texting her had crossed your mind the second you got back to your room last night, but you hadn’t been sure if you should. What would you even say?

Now, as the morning stretches ahead of you, you find yourself staring at your phone again, the nervous energy in your chest making it hard to breathe.

You pick it up, the screen lighting up instantly. And there it is.

A small notification sits at the top of your screen.

“1 new message from violet :)”

Your heart jumps, and your thumb hovers over the notification for just a second before you tap it, unable to wait any longer. The message opens, and your breath catches when you see it.

not to brag, but it’s very quiet this morning. open invitation ;)

Attached is a picture of the bar. The room is empty, save for the neat rows of chairs and the warm light spilling in from the windows. The space looks so different from the lively, chaotic energy you’d seen before—calm, inviting, almost serene. But what catches your eye most is the subtle detail in the photo: her black jacket draped over the back of one of the chairs in the corner, and a mug sitting on the counter.

She’s there, waiting.

Your heart does a little flip, and you bite your lip, staring at the message. The cheeky little smirk emoji at the end feels so quintessentially Vi, and you can almost hear the teasing lilt in her voice as you read the words again.

You’re not sure how long you sit there, staring at your phone, trying to decide how to respond. Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, typing and deleting messages you’re too nervous to send. Finally, you settle on something simple, something safe.

all that space for me?

You hit send before you can overthink it, your chest fluttering with a mix of excitement and nerves. Almost immediately, the little bubble indicating she’s typing pops up, and your stomach flips again.

you get special treatment, what can i say?

Her reply comes with another photo—this time, a close-up of her coffee mug on the counter, a little steam curling up from the top. In the background, you can see her hand resting on the bar, the edge of a tattoo peeking out from her wrist. It’s casual, but the fact that she took the time to send it makes your cheeks flush.

You can’t help but smile again, your heart racing as you stare at the screen. The morning, which had started so quietly, now feels electric, buzzing with the possibility of seeing her again. And as you type out your next reply, you can’t help but wonder where this might lead—and how you’ve somehow stumbled into something that already feels so much more than you expected.

You barely even remember the process of getting ready.

It was all a blur of rushing to find something cute, definitely cuter than the night before yet comfortable, sifting through your limited wardrobe for something that felt right. Even though the chill of winter was biting at the edges of the morning, you chose an outfit—layered up enough to keep warm, but nice enough to make you feel put together. You’d even spent a little more time on your hair, fixing it neatly just for Vi to see.

Now, standing in front of the bar, the nerves hit you all at once.

The quiet street around you makes the moment feel even more amplified. You glance at the entrance, the black-painted door that suddenly feels much taller, more imposing, than it had before. Your heart is pounding in your chest, the bag full of textbooks and notes hanging heavy at your side, reminding you of the excuse you gave yourself for coming here.

It’s just a quiet place to study, you tell yourself for the hundredth time, though you know it’s only half the truth.

The other half is much more difficult to admit—that you’re here for her. That something about Vi has been stuck in your head ever since she walked you home, her warm, smooth voice, the way her blue eyes lingered on you. She made your entire body flutter and you can’t help but want more of it.

You take a deep breath, clutching the strap of your bag tightly, and push the door open. The soft chime of the bell above the frame jingles lightly, and you step inside, immediately greeted by the sound of soft jazz playing in the background. The bar looks just like it had in the photo—empty, calm, and warm, bathed in the golden glow of lights reflecting off the polished surfaces.

Your eyes scan the room, and there she is.

Vi stands behind the bar, her jacket from earlier now draped over a nearby stool. She’s pouring herself a cup of coffee, her back to you at first, but as the door closes behind you, she glances over her shoulder. The moment she sees you, her face lights up with that easy smile, the one that makes your chest flutter in ways you’re not quite ready to deal with.

“Look who it is,” she says, setting her mug down and leaning casually against the counter. She folds her arms across her chest, giving you an appraising look. “Was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.”

You step forward, trying to steady your breathing as you approach the bar. “Well,” you say, your voice soft but steady, “that picture you sent was pretty convincing. Had to check it out for myself.”

Vi’s smile widens, and she gestures to the empty space around you. “Guess you came to the right place, huh? It doesn’t get much quieter than this.”

You nod, trying not to fidget as you sling your bag onto one of the stools. “Yeah. Plus, you did say I’d get special treatment.”

Vi chuckles at that, her voice low and warm, “I did, didn’t I?”

She leans forward slightly, resting her elbows on the counter as she watches you unpack a few of your books.

“Something like that,” you mumble, flipping open a notebook and trying not to let her attention distract you too much. It’s easier said than done, though, especially when you feel her eyes on you, warm and curious, like she’s genuinely interested in every little thing you do.

Vi gestures toward your bag with a playful grin. “Didn’t know you’d bring your entire library with you.”

“It’s called being prepared.”

She smirks at that, but as you settle into your work, she finds herself falling quiet. Her gaze lingers on you as she leans back slightly, folding her arms.

“Go ahead and start. I’ll be here if you need anything,” she says kindly, a smile on her face that made your stomach flutter.

You thank her with a smile and a nod and the only thing Vi can think about is how cute you are.

In just a couple of minutes, you’ve focused up, skimming through a page of dense text, your brow furrowed in concentration, and Vi can’t help but notice the way your nose scrunches just a little when you hit something particularly complicated.

It’s… endearing.

She doesn’t mean to stare. Really, she doesn’t.

The jazz music playing softly in the background seems to fade into white noise as Vi lets herself get lost in the little details of you. The slope of your shoulders, the way your hair falls to the side when you tilt your head, the faint flush in your cheeks that she wonders—hopes—might have something to do with her.

She doesn’t even realize she’s staring until Mylo’s voice echoes in her head: You’re being so obvious, Vi.

She clears her throat, tearing her gaze away and reaching for the coffee mug she’d left on the counter. As she takes a sip, she glances back at you, this time trying to keep her interest a little more subtle.

You catch her staring just as you look up from your book, your eyes meeting hers for a brief moment. Vi freezes, caught, and you tilt your head slightly, raising an eyebrow.

“What?”

She blinks, quickly shaking her head and giving you a grin that’s a little too casual.

“Nothing,” she says, her tone light, though her ears flush faintly.

Then she looks down at her mug, then back up at you. She watches you as you shyly turned away, trying to mask the way your cheeks reddened under her stare. With a soft chuckle under her breath, she moves towards the edge of the bar, finally deciding to make you a cup of coffee.

She moves quietly as she works the espresso machine. The bar is silent except for the faint hum of the machine, the relaxing jazz playing in the background, and the occasional sound of you turning your pages, but her focus isn’t entirely on what she’s doing.

Instead, it keeps drifting to you. Sitting there, head bowed over your notes, and Vi can’t help but notice how different you look today compared to the last time she saw you.

You’re dressed a little nicer today—nothing too flashy, just enough that she can tell you put some thought into it. She likes it. She really likes it.

Maybe it’s the way your sweater hugs your frame a little more snugly, or how your jeans look perfectly paired with your boots. Or maybe it’s just the fact that everything about you feels intentional, like you dressed up… just for her.

Either way, it’s distracting her in the best way possible. She shakes her head slightly, trying to focus on the task at hand, but the thought keeps nudging its way back in: So pretty.

She glances at you as she pours the espresso shot into the cup, the deep brown liquid swirling into the mug. You’re chewing on the cap of a pen, your brow furrowed in concentration, and Vi feels a faint, involuntary smile tug at the corners of her mouth.

She watches closely. Too closely. She watches your lips shamelessly, wrapping your lips around the cylinder shape, biting softly on that pen, and… god, you’re just… something else.

Vi shakes her head and tries to throw the thought out of the window. It’s far too early to be thinking about you like… that.

The hot water follows, and before she knows it, the americano is ready. She sets it on the counter softly, barely making a sound, and steps back to admire her handiwork—not the coffee, but you. And maybe she’d never admit it out loud, but she could probably watch you for hours.

When you finally notice the mug in front of you, you blink up at her with a smile, a little startled.

Vi shrugs, leaning one elbow on the counter, her grin casual but her gaze lingering. “Coffee. Figured you could use it.”

Your lips quirk up slightly at her teasing, but there’s something shy in the way you glance down at the mug, your fingers brushing the edge of it.

“Thank you,” you mumble shyly, almost under your breath.

“No problem, princess.” Vi leans back, her hands sliding into her pockets as she studies you for a moment longer. You’re even prettier up close, she thinks.

After a couple minutes, Vi busies herself cleaning the counter, though her eyes flick back to you more often than she means them to. There’s something about you today that feels different… And if she’s being honest with herself, it’s driving her a little crazy—in a good way.

When Vi had her back turned for a moment, adjusting the bottles on the shelf behind the bar, it was your turn to take the opportunity.

Your eyes wandered before you could stop yourself, taking her in as she worked. She moved smoothly, easy, like she’d done this a thousand times before—and maybe she had—but it didn’t make the sight any less captivating.

You’d been trying to focus on your notes, scribbling little reminders in the margins or flipping pages as if you were actually absorbing the words.

But who were you kidding? You couldn’t concentrate. Not when Vi was right there.

Your gaze lingered on her arms first, toned and inked, muscles flexing just enough with every movement. The way she reached up to straighten a bottle, her fingers long and strong, made your thoughts blur and stutter.

And then there was her profile—the sharp angle of her jawline, the way her asymmetrical lips curved faintly even when she wasn’t smiling. That tiny quirk, one side of her top lip arched slightly higher than the other, was unfairly charming. It made her look like she was always on the edge of smirking, always holding back some witty comment.

When she turned slightly, moving to wipe down the counter again, you quickly dropped your eyes back to your notebook, pretending to read a passage you hadn’t actually taken in.

But the distraction didn’t last long. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw her pick up a glass, her hands moving over it in smooth, practiced motions as she polished it to perfection. Her forearms flexed again just slightly, and you caught yourself staring again, your thoughts hazy and full of her.

Every time you looked up, there was something new to notice—the way her brows furrowed just a little when she was focused, the way her tattoos seemed to tell a story you desperately wanted to know. You liked the way her hair fell just a little out of place when she leaned forward, the way her shirt clung to her broad shoulders and the defined curve of her biceps.

You liked the way she moved, so sure of herself yet entirely unaware of just how mesmerizing she was to watch.

It was distracting, sure, but you didn’t mind in the slightest. If anything, you welcomed it.

It didn’t take long for the mornings at the bar to become your new routine.

Vi would open promptly at ten in the morning, and you’d stroll in not long after, bundled up in a jacket, a bag full of textbooks and notebooks slung over your shoulder. She’d always greet you with that soft, lopsided smile of hers, already moving to make you coffee before you even asked.

“Morning, princess,” she’d say, setting the mug in front of you with a little flourish, and you’d roll your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips every time.

You’d settle into your usual spot, unpack your books, and get to work while Vi busied herself behind the counter.

She was always within view, her quiet presence oddly comforting as you flipped through pages and scribbled notes. And she didn’t hover, not exactly, but you knew she kept an eye on you. She’d pause her cleaning or organizing to glance over, catching little glimpses of your concentrated frown or the way you tucked your hair behind your ear absentmindedly.

For you, the quiet space was perfect, and Vi’s company made it even better.

You studied through the morning, your head bent over your books, easily working and concentrating with the quiet surroundings, before eventually packing up to head to your exams in the afternoon.

One morning, though, exhaustion finally caught up with you. You’d been cramming for a couple days, running on little sleep, and your body decided it couldn’t keep up anymore.

Vi noticed you were quieter than usual, your head drooping slightly as you flipped through your notes. She’d thought about saying something but didn’t want to disturb you.

When she looked over again a few minutes later, though, she saw you slumped forward on the counter, your head resting against an open textbook. Your breathing was slow and even, your face pressed against the pages, looking completely at peace.

Vi froze for a moment, her chest tightening in a way she couldn’t quite explain. You looked… adorable, she thought, almost too perfect in that quiet, vulnerable moment. She wiped her hands on a towel absentmindedly, then glanced around the empty bar.

Unable to help herself, she moved from behind the counter and slid into the stool beside you, making sure to be quiet. She leaned forward, resting her forearms on the counter as she studied you.

The soft rise and fall of your shoulders, the way your lashes fluttered just slightly in your sleep, the curve of your lips as they parted ever so slightly—it all made her heart ache in the strangest way.

For a few long minutes, she just sat there, her head tilted slightly, watching you like she was trying to memorize every detail. She thought about waking you up, but part of her didn’t want to. You looked too peaceful, and honestly, she liked having this moment to herself.

Vi let out a soft breath, her lips curving into a small smile.

“Pretty,” she murmured under her breath, the words barely audible even to herself.

When finals week ended, you should’ve felt relief.

You’d survived the late nights, the endless notes, the last-minute cramming. But as you walked back to your apartment after your last exam, all you could feel was a gnawing worry sitting heavy in your chest.

Without exams to study for, without needing the quiet escape of the bar in the mornings, what excuse would you have to see Vi now?

Could you just… show up?

Vi had told you plenty of times that you were welcome there whenever. But it felt different now, like you were losing the one solid reason you had to sit in that quiet space while Vi worked behind the bar.

The thought made you slow your steps, your bag of textbooks feeling heavier than it had all week.

You’d fallen into a rhythm with her—those soft, peaceful mornings where she’d make you coffee without asking, tease you gently when you got too absorbed in your books, and being in her presence made you feel more grounded than you’d ever been.

Now that the routine was gone, you weren’t sure where that left you.

You tossed your bag onto your bed and flopped down beside it, staring up at the ceiling. Maybe I’ll still go to the bar tomorrow morning, you thought, trying to reassure yourself. But doubt crept in immediately. Would she think it was strange if you kept coming back without a reason? Would it seem like you were lingering too much, too long?

You rolled over, burying your face in the pillow as the worry churned in your mind. You couldn’t deny how much you liked being around her—how much you liked… well, her. The idea of not seeing her felt almost unbearable.

With a groan, you sat up and pulled your phone from your pocket. You stared at the screen, thumb hovering over Vi’s contact name.

You’d only messaged a few times before—mostly her checking in, asking if you’d made it back to your apartment safely. The thought of starting a conversation now made your stomach twist nervously.

But you wanted to see her. Needed to, even.

You tapped out a message and then erased it.

Then another.

Then erased that too.

What were you supposed to say? Hey, finals are over, but can I still come to the bar and stare at you for hours like a hopeless idiot? Stupid.

Finally, you set your phone down with a sigh, running your hands through your hair. Maybe you were overthinking it. Maybe she was thinking about you too, wondering if she’d still get to see you now that finals week was done.

But for a while, you stayed away.

Not because you didn’t want to go back—you wanted to more than anything—but the thought of walking into that bar now made your chest tighten with nerves.

The thought embarrassed you, enough that you buried yourself in other things—laundry, tidying your dorm, even a quick grocery run you didn’t really need. Anything to avoid confronting the growing ache in your chest that whispered how much you missed her already.

You told yourself you’d go tomorrow. Then tomorrow came, and you put it off again.

But those days dragged.

The emptiness of your mornings felt heavier than you expected, and the thought of Vi kept slipping into your mind no matter how hard you tried to focus on anything else.

Here, it felt hollow, like something was missing. And you knew exactly what it was.

By the second night, you were pacing your room, staring at your phone every few minutes, wondering if you should just message her. You groaned at yourself, flopping onto your bed and tossing your phone to the side.

It was ridiculous. You wanted to see her. You liked seeing her. So why was it so hard to just show up?

It was the knock on your door that snapped you out of your restless thoughts. You opened it to find Maddie standing there, already halfway dressed up, her hair curled and makeup done. She grinned at you, that mischievous glint in her eyes as she leaned against the doorframe.

“Get dressed,” she said without preamble. “We’re celebrating. We deserve to let loose a little.”

You hesitated for half a second, your mind immediately jumping to Vi and that bar. “Where exactly are we going?”

Maddie smirked. “The Last Drop, obviously.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you tried to play it cool, shrugging like you didn’t care either way. “Oh, back there again?”

“Hell yeah,” she said, already pushing her way into your dorm. “C’mon, don’t make me drag you. Get dressed. No excuses.”

For the first time in two days, you felt a rush of anticipation—nerves, yes, but excitement too. You couldn’t deny it anymore. You wanted to see Vi.

And maybe going with Maddie and the others would make it easier. Less pressure, less obvious that you were showing up just to see her.

So you jumped at the opportunity, rifling through your closet while Maddie lounged on your bed, offering unhelpful commentary about your choices. Eventually, you settled on something nice—a pretty dress, stockings, a coat to match.

“You clean up well,” Maddie teased as you slipped on your shoes.

You flushed, ignoring her as you grabbed your bag and jacket. It was cold outside, but you’d still made an effort—a bit of mascara, a touch of lipstick, enough to feel put-together.

But as you walked toward the bar, the nerves came creeping back.

The neon sign of the bar glowed in the distance, and your chest tightened as you stepped closer. The thought of seeing Vi again made your heart race, but you shoved the nerves down.

As soon as you stepped through the door of the bar, you could feel the atmosphere shift. It was quieter tonight, but still filled with the familiar hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, the low buzz of the jukebox in the corner.

Your eyes automatically darted to the bar, hoping—no, praying—that you might catch sight of her.

And then Maddie’s voice broke through your thoughts, loud and unmistakable.

“Hey, over here!”

You turned to see her waving enthusiastically at a booth toward the back of the bar. A few of her friends were already there, but what caught your attention wasn’t a group. It was the other two people sitting at the table, one of them leaning back with a casual air, a drink in hand, the other staring at you like they were expecting you.

You froze for a moment, your heart sinking. Your gaze flickered between Maddie and the table, noticing her bright, mischievous smile. She’d set you up.

You forced a smile, suddenly feeling out of place. “Uh, Maddie…?”

Your stomach dropped. A double date?

“This is Chris,” she interrupted, pointing at the guy sitting next to you. He smiled widely, practically leaning over the table as he extended his hand.

You hesitated for a moment, still processing the situation. “Uh… hi.”

“We thought you two would hit it off,” Maddie added, as though she hadn’t just dropped a bombshell on you.

“Yeah, you know, I take Professor Talis’ class, right?” Chris said, his voice a little too eager. “We’ve had a couple of group discussions before.”

You offered a polite smile, not quite sure what to make of him. You weren’t even sure how to respond to the whole situation.

Was this supposed to be a date? You’d come to the bar to see Vi—not this.

You glanced around, your eyes scanning the familiar faces behind the bar, hoping to see her. And there, at the counter, you finally spotted her.

Vi.

Chris kept talking, his voice a constant buzz in the background as you tried to nod politely, throwing in an occasional “mhm” or “yeah” just to keep the conversation moving.

But your attention wasn’t on him. It wasn’t on anything other than Vi.

You saw her again, and this time, it wasn’t a subtle glance. Vi had noticed you, her gaze locking onto you from across the room. Her eyes moved briefly over your face, taking you in, before they shifted downward—her gaze narrowing slightly as she looked at Chris, who was still talking to you like everything was normal.

Your breath caught in your throat when you saw her brow furrow, just enough to let you know she was confused.

There was something in the way she looked at you, something almost possessive, like she couldn’t quite figure out what was going on but she knew for a fact that she didn’t like it. She stood still for a moment, fingers wrapped around the edge a glass as she studied you.

For a second, you wondered if it was just your imagination, but then it clicked. Vi was jealous.

You hadn’t noticed before, but now you saw the little tension in her posture, the way her lips pressed together just slightly, the way her gaze flicked back to you every time he leaned in a little too close.

Chris, oblivious to well… everything, kept talking, his voice rising a little as he continued to try and make small talk.

You had no idea what he’d said because all you could hear was the beat of your heart in your ears, and the undeniable pull of Vi’s gaze on you. It was like she was silently challenging you, wanting to see what you’d do.

You glanced back over to Vi, who was still watching you, but now she was pretending to be busy with something—towels, or glassware, or whatever it was that could distract her from the situation.

You saw her glance down at her phone for a second, and you could almost feel her trying to decide whether or not to come over, to approach you, to do something to get your attention.

But instead of doing that, she lingered behind the bar, still looking at you—her expression unreadable now. And as much as you tried to focus on the conversation in front of you, your mind kept drifting back to her. You didn’t care about him anymore. You didn’t care about anything except the way Vi looked at you just now.

Your eyes slid back to Vi, and this time, you didn’t look away. You didn’t try to hide how you felt.

On the other side of the room, Vi’s eyes were locked on you, even though she tried to focus on the tasks in front of her.

She couldn’t help herself, a sense of possessiveness building in her chest. She wondered if you had dressed up like that for him. The guy you’d been sitting with, the one talking a mile a minute, clearly trying to impress you.

Vi’s stomach twisted, and she found herself gripping the counter a little too tightly as she watched you.

God, you looked so good. Vi’s chest tightened at the thought. She tried to focus on cleaning the counter in front of her, but the image of you with him—of you dressed up for him—kept invading her mind.

She wanted it to be her you were dressed up for. She wanted it to be her who got your attention, who you couldn’t stop thinking about.

She couldn’t do this.

She had to look away, had to force herself to breathe, because it was all getting too much.

With a frustrated sigh, Vi wiped her hands on a towel and excused herself, slipping through the back of the bar and into the staff area. She didn’t care if anyone noticed. She just had to get out of there.

She slammed the door behind her, pressing her back against it as she took a deep breath. Her heart was racing, and her mind was spinning. She had no idea what this was, what you were doing to her.

But the thought of you with someone else, the thought of you not being hers, made her ache in a way she wasn’t ready for.

She rubbed her face with both hands, trying to shake the frustration from her body. She tried to steady herself, taking in a few deep breaths as she stared at the floor. She wasn’t supposed to feel this way. She wasn’t supposed to be jealous.

But she wanted you.

And the more she thought about it, the clearer it became.

Vi’s heart skipped a beat when she heard the knock on the staff room door.

She’d half expected it to be Mylo, probably ready to give her a hard time for disappearing off the floor. He always seemed to have a knack for knowing when she was brooding in the back, and she was sure he’d have something to say about it.

But when she opened the door, it wasn’t Mylo.

It was you.

You stood there in the doorway, hesitant, but with that soft look on your face. You looked so damn good up close like this—like you had stepped out of a dream. Vi’s chest tightened, and she swallowed hard.

You looked at her for a moment, unsure of what to say, and then, in a voice that was soft, you say, “I thought… I thought you might be back here.”

She stood still for a second, just staring at you, unsure of how to handle the fact that you had found her.

“Uh, sorry if I—” You paused, glancing down at your shoes like you weren’t sure how to proceed. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just wanted to, I don’t know, check in.”

“You’re not interrupting. I just—“ Vi stepped back to let you in, closing the door behind you. “—needed to take a break.”

She leaned against the door, keeping her distance, unsure if you’d notice how much she was trying to keep her guard up.

The silence stretched between you two, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt… intimate in its own way.

You were quiet too, glancing around the small room, but eventually, your eyes fell to her again. Vi noticed the way your gaze lingered on her, and she couldn’t help but feel the heat rise to her face.

Her breath caught in her throat for a second, but she quickly brushed it off, trying to focus on the conversation, trying not to get lost in the way you looked at her.

“You didn’t come back… when your tests were over…” Vi’s voice dropped quieter, a little hesitant, like she wasn’t sure how to ask the question.

She hadn’t seen you in a while, and it made her question everything.

The words hung between you, and Vi shifted uncomfortably, her gaze flickering away for a moment, focusing on something in the corner of the room.

She didn’t want to look too eager, too desperate. But the truth was, she had been thinking about you. Every minute of the day. And when she didn’t see you, when she didn’t hear from you, it made her feel like maybe she wasn’t as important to you as she had thought.

She didn’t mean to sound accusatory, but the words had slipped out. Vi cleared her throat, turning back to you.

“I thought… I thought maybe I’d see you again, but… you didn’t come back.” Her voice softened again.

Did you want to come back? Had she somehow messed things up by letting herself feel this much for you? Vi couldn’t keep the questions from creeping into her mind, even though she tried to push them away.

“You didn’t even text,” she said quietly, her voice softer now, almost a whisper.

You blinked, surprised by the sharpness in her voice, the way it cut through the silence that had been so comfortable just a moment ago. You could see it in her eyes—something in the way she said that, something fragile.

It made your heart skip a beat. You hadn’t meant to distance yourself from her. You just… didn’t know what to say.

“I… I didn’t mean to disappear,” you said quietly, your voice soft and unsure. You shifted your weight, glancing down at your feet, before looking up again. “It’s just, I was nervous about coming back without having a solid reason to, and I thought maybe, you know…”

Vi’s gaze softened, the intensity in her eyes giving way to something more tender. She tilted her head slightly, studying you.

“Nervous?” she repeated quietly, as if testing the word. Her brow furrowed slightly. “About what?”

You swallowed, your fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your dress, trying to find the right words. It felt strange, admitting it aloud, but with Vi in the room with you, you couldn’t stop yourself.

“About… you,” you said, the confession slipping out before you could stop it. “About all of this… about seeing you again, about how I feel when I’m around you… I didn’t want to mess it up.”

Vi’s heart skipped a beat at your words. Her breath caught for a fraction of a second.

“It’s just…” she started again, her voice a little rough. “I missed seeing you. That’s all.”

Her gaze shifted to the floor for a moment, a faint flush creeping up her neck. She wasn’t used to admitting this kind of thing aloud either, not even to herself. But there it was, spilling out between you two like something she couldn’t stop.

You felt your heart tug at the honesty in her voice, the way it made you feel like maybe you hadn’t been the only one thinking about this.

“I missed you, too.”

And for the first time tonight, Vi finally smiled.

You couldn’t help but tease her, a small smirk curling at the corners of your lips as you said, “I was waiting for you to text me, too, you know.”

The words felt bold, but you couldn’t hide the nervous excitement bubbling up inside of you.

Vi dropped her head and let out a breathy chuckle. The jealousy, the frustration, everything she’d been feeling earlier—it seemed to vanish completely.

She leaned back against the door, her eyes never leaving yours, full of something far gentler now—something you hadn’t seen before, or at least not like this.

“Can you come here?” she asked, her voice soft, almost like a whisper, but there was something in it that made the air in the room thick.

You hesitated for just a moment, heart pounding in your chest, but you couldn’t resist. Slowly, you walked over to her, your movements measured, though a nervous excitement fluttered in your stomach.

Vi’s eyes never left you as you approached. She watched the way your dress moved with each step, the way your body shifted as you walked toward her, and it drove her absolutely wild. She couldn’t help but let her eyes linger, taking in the sight of you, the way the fabric clung to your curves.

By the time you were close enough, Vi had already moved. She leaned against the door, her hands coming up to gently but firmly grip your hips, pulling you in closer. You felt the heat of her touch spread through you, her hands on your hips guiding you so that you were now flat against her chest, your bodies pressed together.

You couldn’t stop the breath that caught in your throat, the feel of her hands on you sending a wave of heat rushing through your body.

You could feel the rhythm of her breathing, the slight hitch in it when you finally stood there, so close. Her gaze flickered down to the dress you were wearing, and you could feel the tension in her fingers as she lightly traced the hem of it, playing with the fabric as though she couldn’t quite get enough of it.

“I like this,” Vi’s voice was quiet, almost a murmur, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “It’s pretty.”

You didn’t say anything at first, instead simply meeting her gaze, your pulse quickening under her touch. The way she looked at you now, hungry and dazed, made your stomach flip in the best way.

“I… I wasn’t sure if it was too much,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, feeling a little shy but also emboldened by the way Vi was looking at you.

Vi smiled softly, her lips curving up as she leaned in just a little bit closer, her breath warming your cheek.

“It’s perfect,” she said, voice low, as if the words were meant only for you. “You look perfect.”

Her eyes darkened just a fraction, the playful smirk on her lips transforming into something more primal, more feral. Her hands on your hips tightened just a little, urging you closer, as if she couldn’t get close enough.

Vi’s gaze was heavy, her pupils dark and blown wide as they locked onto your face, moving slowly down to your lips. Her stare was intense—shameless, even—and it made your breath hitch.

Her grip on your hips tightened, fingers pressing firmly into your sides. The fabric of your dress bunched up under her hands, her thumbs brushing against the soft material as though she couldn’t help herself. Her touch was slow, almost like she was trying to memorize the feeling of you under her palms.

You could feel the heat radiating off her, the space between you almost nonexistent now. The way her gaze lingered on your lips sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt rooted to the spot, as if moving would break whatever spell had settled over the two of you.

Vi swallowed hard, her Adam’s apple bobbing slightly, her hands twitching against your hips as though resisting the urge to pull you impossibly closer. Her chest rose and fell in time with her quickened breathing, and you could feel her struggle to keep herself in check, though the way she stared at you made it clear how difficult that was.

Instead, her fingers tightened again, the slight pull of your dress drawing you even closer to her. Her lips parted slightly, as if she were on the verge of saying something, but her gaze kept flickering back to your mouth, and you wondered if words were even necessary.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but before you could form a single word, Vi moved. Her grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into your dress as she leaned in and claimed your lips with her own.

Her mouth was warm, soft but insistent, and it stole the breath right out of your lungs. You froze for half a second, startled, but then everything in you melted. Your hands found their way to her shoulders, gripping her lightly as she pulled you even closer, pressing your body flush against hers.

There was a kind of hunger in the way her lips moved against yours, but it was careful too—like she wanted to take her time and savor every second of it. Her fingers slid up your sides slightly, still gripping your dress, her thumbs brushing over your waist as she tilted her head to deepen the kiss.

When she finally pulled back, just barely, her forehead rested against yours. She was breathless, her eyes still heavy-lidded as they locked onto yours. Her hands were still on your hips, holding you against her.

Vi looks at you, a wide, soft smile spreading across her face as she leans her head back against the door, her hands moving upward, tracing the curve of your back slowly. Her fingertips brush against the zipper of your dress, playing with it absentmindedly as she lets out a breathy laugh.

“I think I’m doing this out of order…” she murmurs.

Your brows knit together slightly, still dazed from the kiss.

“Out of order?” you echo, your voice quieter than you intended.

Vi nods, her gaze drifting back to your lips as if they we drawn there magnetically.

Her smile turns almost sheepish, but the heat in her eyes doesn’t fade as she mutters quietly, “Yeah… ‘was supposed to ask you out on a date first.”

The words make your stomach flip, and before you can respond, she keeps going. Her voice softens, a little lower, as if she’s painting a picture just for you.

“I would’ve asked you where you’d like to eat… something casual, nothing too fancy. Then I’d pick you up, you’d wear something pretty for me, and I’ll take you somewhere nice. Not here,” she says with a small grin, “somewhere quiet, somewhere where I could actually talk to you without interruptions.”

Her hands are wandering now, sliding slowly down your sides, then up again, the warmth of her palms seeping through the thin fabric of your dress. One of her thumbs brushes against your ribcage, close to the underside of your breasts, her touch gentle but enough to make your breath hitch.

You’re barely holding onto her words as her hands move, but she keeps talking, her tone calm and almost hypnotic.

“Maybe, take you to this little Italian place I like. Not too crowded, but the food’s incredible. Candlelit, y’know? Not to be cheesy, but I think you’d like it.”

Her hands drift down again, her thumbs skimming along the curve of your hips as she keeps her voice low and steady.

“We’d get some wine—unless you’d rather have water, of course,” she teases softly, her lips twitching into a smirk, “and then we’d just… talk. No distractions, no noise, just you and me.”

Her fingers glide back up, tracing the line of your spine.

“After dinner, maybe a walk somewhere. I dunno, a park, the waterfront… wherever you’d want to go. Just somewhere I could hold your hand and maybe steal a kiss, if you let me.”

You try to focus on her voice, but her hands are relentless, mapping your body like she’s trying to memorize every inch. Your breath catches when her fingers tease the short sleeve of your dress, her thumb brushing your shoulder.

“Then,” she continues, her eyes flicking to yours, “I’d walk you home, make sure you got inside safe. And maybe… maybe if I was lucky, you’d ask me to come in and... Well, I don’t wanna spoil it.”

Her lips curve into a lazy smile, her fingers halting just above the small of your back.

“That’s how it was supposed to go,” she says softly, her voice dripping with affection as her gaze locks onto yours.

Your heart pounds in your chest, your body warm and your mind spinning. It’s impossible to think straight when her hands are on you, her voice so low and inviting.

“So why haven’t you?” you ask softly, your voice almost a whisper.

You lean in closer, and Vi instinctively follows your lips, her breath brushing against them.

“Hm?” she hums, clearly distracted, her gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips.

“—asked me out yet?” you finish, your voice trembling slightly, the boldness of the question surprising even you.

Vi freezes for a fraction of a second, then her lips tug into a small, almost bashful smile. Without saying a word, she leans in and kisses you again, soft and lingering, her lips fitting against yours. After a moment, her mouth leaves yours only to trail a path down to your jaw, her lips brushing against your skin.

She pauses at the curve of your neck, pressing a slow kiss there before muttering against your skin, her voice husky and low, “You make me nervous, too.”

You feel her lips curl into a smile against your neck, like she knows exactly what kind of effect she’s having on you. Her hands tighten slightly on your waist, holding you as if she can feel the way your legs are threatening to give out beneath you.

You tilt your head slightly, giving her better access without even thinking, and she takes full advantage of it. Her breath is warm against your skin, and every kiss feels like it’s melting away whatever distance was left between the two of you.

“Vi…” you murmur, unsure if you’re trying to stop her or encourage her to keep going.

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her lips slightly parted, her cheeks faintly flushed.

“Yeah?” she asks, her voice quiet.

You don’t have an answer, not one you can articulate anyway. All you can do is stare at her, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure she can hear it. And then she smiles, a crooked, endearing smile that makes your stomach flutter in the best way.

Vi’s lips return to your neck, her breath warm against your skin. She lingers there, her mouth pressing gentle kisses to the curve of your throat, her hands holding your waist firmly as if to steady you. You feel her lips part, the faintest scrape of her teeth against your skin sending a shiver down your spine.

“V-Vi…” you whimper again, but your voice lacks conviction, too soft, too dazed.

And good god, her name sounds so good on your lips.

She hums in response, low and teasing, as her lips close over the sensitive spot she’s found, sucking lightly. The sensation sends a shiver through your entire body, and you grip the fabric of her shirt without thinking, your nails pressing into her shoulders as she kisses your neck.

Her hands slide up your back, keeping you close, and her lips move to a new spot, determined to leave another mark. You know you should stop her, that you’ll be left with marks you can’t easily explain, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Her tongue traces over the freshly made hickey, soothing it before she moves lower, her lips brushing against your collarbone now. You feel lightheaded, completely consumed by her—her touch, her warmth, her scent, her hands, her lips.

“Vi…” you try again, but it comes out weaker than before, more like a plea than a protest.

She chuckles softly against your skin, the sound low and rumbling, and you feel her smile.

“Too much?” she asks playfully, though she doesn’t pull away.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Instead, your fingers tighten against her shirt, and she takes it as permission to continue. Her lips find the hollow of your throat, her teeth grazing against the delicate skin there before she sucks lightly, her hands roaming lower to rest just above your hips.

By the time she finally pulls back, you’re breathless, your head spinning. Her lips are slightly swollen, her smile smug but tender as she looks at you.

“You’re gonna hate me when you see those,” she says softly, her fingers brushing lightly against your neck where her lips had been.

As soon as Vi pulls back, her lips curling into that smug, tender smile, you don’t think. You act. You grab her collar, pulling her down as you surge up to meet her lips, kissing her hard and desperate, pouring every pent-up feeling into that kiss.

Vi grunts softly against your mouth, low and rough, and it sends a thrill down your spine. Her hands, still gripping your waist, tighten possessively to keep you exactly where you are. You feel her smile against your lips for a moment before she kisses you back just as fiercely, her teeth grazing your bottom lip, her tongue brushing against yours in a way that makes your knees weak.

It’s almost overwhelming, the way she kisses you—like she’s been starving for you.

She breaks the kiss just long enough to push herself off the door, her hands sliding to your hips as she turns you around. Before you can even process what’s happening, your back hits the door with a soft slam, the wood rattling slightly behind you. Vi’s hands cage you in, one hand by the side of your head and the other on your hip, keeping you in place as she crashes her lips back onto yours.

She kisses you like she’s claiming you, like she wants to make it crystal clear who you belong to. Her heart swells with pride as she imagines that guy you were with outside, seeing all those little bruises she left on your neck for everyone to see.

“You’re so pretty, baby,” Vi murmurs against your lips, her voice hoarse and ragged, before diving back in.

Her fingers slide underneath the hem of your dress, tracing the soft curve of your skin, sending a shiver up your spine. The moment her touch makes contact with the bare skin of your thighs, you gasp, the feeling of her fingers inching higher and higher, making your pulse race.

You can feel the way she presses in, her grip firm, as if she’s marking territory, staking her claim. She wanted you so bad. But she’s careful with you, and you can feel how she’s holding herself back just a little, the restraint making you ache for more. You know she wants you just as much as you want her—and you can’t help but be drawn deeper into her orbit.

Her hands reach up under your dress, the pads of her fingers tracing your lace panties and Vi shudders at the feeling. She can feel the dampness and warmth of you already and fuck, it drives her absolutely wild.

“You’re already wet, sweetheart,” she says, smiling against your neck proudly.

“V-Vi… Here?” You gasp into her ear.

She nods eagerly, eyes dazed as she looks at you, “Mhm.”

“B-But, someone might hear—“

“Then, you’ll keep quiet for me, won’t you, princess?” She purrs into your ear. “Can you do that?”

Your breath hitches at the way she says it, making your knees feel weak. You feel her smile against your skin, a sly curve of her lips that tells you she knows exactly what she’s doing to you.

“Hmm?” she hums, her thumb rubbing the center of your panties in soft circles, testing your reaction. She tilts her head slightly to catch your gaze. “Or are you gonna make it hard for me?”

You swallow, your heart pounding as you meet her gaze, your lips parting to answer, but nothing comes out. Instead, you nod, your breath hitching as her thumb presses your clit over the fabric of your panties.

She smiles, one hand coming up to fondle your breast. You whimper when she squeezes softly, enjoying the soft fullness in the palm of her hands.

“Tell me.”

You get lost in her stare, blue eyes telling you how much she wants you.

“I-I want you, Violet.”

Without wasting another second, Vi slips the hand that was under your dress and into your panties, her fingers immediately coming in contact with your soaking cunt, your folds slick with want. She hums in approval, and all you can do is nod again, biting down on your lip to keep from making a sound. Vi notices, her smirk widening as she leans in again, her lips trailing down your neck in a series of soft kisses.

“That’s my girl,” she whispers, her voice vibrating against your skin, making it impossible to focus on anything but her.

And when she slips a finger inside, you drop your head to her shoulder, trying to muffle your moan. Her finger immediately curls against your tight walls and you can feel your knees buckle as she thrusts her finger into you.

“Oh, V-Vi—“

She lifts her head up and kisses you on the lips, her tongue slipping inside with ease. She swallowed your moans as she whimpered into your mouth, her body trapping you between her and the door.

“You look… so good,” she murmured, voice hushed, her lips grazing your skin as she spoke. “Couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

But then she adds another finger without any warning, her pace speeding up as you leaned your head back against the door behind you. You let your jaw fall when you feel her thrusting, and thrusting, and thrusting, and curling right into that spongy spot inside your pussy that made you moan.

“N-nh … A-Ah, fuck!” You gasp, unable to control your voice as she speeds up her fingers.

“Shh, shhhh, baby,” she murmurs against your lips, tilting her head as she watches you fall apart on her fingers. “Does it feel good, princess?”

“M-Mhm—ah—“

“Yeah?” You feel Vi smile on your lips.

Nodding your head, you whine, feeling your body grow weak the longer she fucked you.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmurs against your neck, her voice low and husky.

Her fingers move quickly as they piston in and out of you, a soft squelching noise filling the empty room, teasing and testing your boundaries, gauging every reaction you give her. You could hear the low thrum of the music outside, playing in the lounge and in the bar, but you can barely begin to think about anything else other than the way Vi was making you feel, the way you were coming undone right in front of her.

“Look at you,” she whispers, her voice thick with adoration, “so pretty like this.”

Her free hand, the one that was fondling your tits, moves from your waist to cradle your face, her thumb brushing over your cheek as she leans in to kiss you deeply.

And holy fuck, you could feel it—how close you suddenly were.

You were sure Vi could feel it, too. She groans against your neck, head falling to your shoulder as she breathes you in, feeling your tight walls clench around her digits. You close. You were so damn close—

Then, Vi’s ears twitch—the sound of footsteps coming closer from behind the door.

She freezes. But only for a brief moment when she hears Mylo’s voice through the door, her body going taut as she glances at you. Your eyes widen, but Vi doesn’t pull away. Instead, a sly grin spreads across her face, her pupils blown wide as she looks at you.

Her lips find your ear, her words sending a shiver down your spine. “Stay quiet for me, yeah?”

And instead of stopping, her lips curl into a mischievous grin. Her fingers don’t falter, if anything she thrusted them faster into your wet pussy, her other hand moving quickly to cover your mouth as a quiet whimper escapes you, muffling all your delicious moans. You whimper against her mouth, eyes rolling back, not sure when you were going to cum. You felt so close—so fucking close.

“Shhh,” she whispers, her mouth brushing against your ear, her voice low and dripping with amusement.

From the other side of the door, Mylo’s voice comes again, confused but unconcerned. “Vi? You in there? You good?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she calls out, her voice steady, calm, like nothing at all is happening. “Just… needed a minute.”

You feel your face heat up as you struggle to stay composed, muffled against her palm, your eyes wide and pleading. But Vi’s gaze is locked onto yours as she continues to fuck you.

“Well, can you hurry up? The bar’s getting packed,” he says.

“Y-Yeah, I’ll be there!” Vi sighs as your legs begin to tremble.

Mylo grumbles something you can’t understand, footsteps retreating as he wanders off.

As soon as the sound of his steps fades, Vi lets out a low chuckle, finally removing her hand from your mouth. Her thumb brushes against your lips as she leans in close, her breath fanning your cheek. You were right around her fingers, and Vi couldn’t help but groan and press her thumb against your clit.

You jolt in her arms as you hold on to her shoulders for some leverage, trying to keep yourself steady, even though it felt like an impossible task. Vi groans when you clench, your soaking wet pussy dripping down your thighs, dripping onto her hand as she fingers you.

Vi could feel it on her fingers, slick and tight. How close you were—fuck fuck fuck. She moved faster and all you could do was hold on and cry into her shoulder.

“V-Vi, I—close—I’m—“

“You wanna cum? Yeah?” Vi whispers, using her body to press you against the door, fingers thrusting harder, deeper and faster. “Cum for me, baby.”

Then it crashes. Vi feels your body tense under her touch, your breaths coming faster as you gush around her fingers. She can see it in the way your hands clutch at her shoulders, the way your head tilts back slightly, lips parting as a soft, desperate mewl escapes your mouth.

But before that sound can grow louder, Vi’s lips crash onto yours, swallowing the moan that tries to escape. She doesn’t stop her fingers until you’re trembling in her arms. You melt against her, your body trembling, leaving you breathless and clinging to her, her strong arms and broad shoulders hold you up. Vi doesn’t pull back, keeping her lips on yours until she’s sure you’re done riding it out.

When she finally does break the kiss, her lips linger close, her forehead resting gently against yours. You’re panting softly, and she’s just smiling.

“Fuck,” she murmurs and you can feel her smirk against your skin as she presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Vi’s hand slows to a stop, pulling her fingers out of you slowly, her palm pressing flat against your thigh as she watches you. Her gaze is stuck on you, like she couldn’t believe what she’s seeing. The way your body trembles against hers, the soft flush of your cheeks, the way your lips part as you gasp for breath—it’s all too much and somehow not enough at the same time.

Her chest tightens as she leans her head forward against your shoulder. Vi wasn’t prepared for this—wasn’t prepared for you. And the thought crashes into her like a freight train: she’s falling hard. Maybe she already has.

She lifts her head up and he thumb absentmindedly brushes against your skin as you catch your breath. You’re leaning against her now, your head resting lightly on her shoulder, still dazed and glowing after your orgasm. Vi doesn’t even realize she’s staring, her lips slightly parted, her pupils blown wide with love.

She blurts it out without even thinking.

“So… dinner… Friday?”

Her ears burn as she watches for your reaction.

“I mean—” she starts, her voice faltering, unsure whether to backtrack or double down.

But when she glances down at you, still pressed against her, all she can do is grin sheepishly.

“You’re seriously asking me out… right now?” you say, lifting an eyebrow at her. Your voice is soft and teasing, but still a little breathless from everything that just happened.

Vi’s lips curl into a crooked grin, and she lets out a laugh that’s equal parts nervous and amused. She’s holding you up slightly, biceps flexing under her shirt, her hands resting lightly on your hips, her thumbs grazing the fabric of your dress like she’s afraid to let go.

“Yeah,” she says, her voice low but steady, her grin widening. “Is that a problem?”

You shake your head, narrowing your eyes at her like you’re trying to figure her out. You dart your eyes downward, glancing down at where her hands are on you, feeling the warmth of her touch through the thin fabric.

“Stupid,” you mutter under your breath.

You stare at Vi.

“Friday?” you ask softly, tilting your head slightly, your voice teasing her.

Vi nods again, more earnestly this time, her lips parting like she’s about to say something, but nothing comes out. Instead, she just looks at you, like she’s this big, lovesick puppy. And, if she had a tail right now, you’re pretty sure it would be wagging hard enough to knock over a chair or two.

“Friday,” she repeats.

She shifts on her feet slightly, her hands still resting on your hips, thumbs brushing tiny circles against the fabric of your dress. You bite back a laugh, your smile growing as you watch her, all nervous and excited.

“Okay,” you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Vi’s entire face lights up, her crooked grin spreading so wide it makes her dimples appear.

“Yeah?” she says softly, and you nod, still smiling.

And then she stops, her eyes flickering to your lips one last time, but she doesn’t move any closer.

She’s waiting—patiently, sweetly—for you to close the gap if you want to. And it makes your heart ache a little because she’s trying so hard to hold herself back for your sake, even when you can tell it’s killing her.

But as soon as your eyes day to her lips and smile softly, her restraint crumbles. She leans in and kisses you, her hands tightening slightly on your hips. Vi’s heart feels like it’s about to burst out of her chest. She likes you—so much it scares her, so much she doesn’t know what to do with herself right now except kiss you harder.

You kiss her back with just as much intensity, your fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt to pull her even closer. You can feel the slight tremor in her hands where they grip your hips, sliding up slowly to your waist. She tastes like peppermint gum and something faintly sweet, and the way she kisses you makes your heart race so fast you’re surprised she can’t feel it through your chest.

Vi pulls back for just a moment, her forehead resting against yours as she exhales a shaky breath. Her lips are still parted, her eyes half-lidded as she looks at you, and she’s smiling—wide and boyish and so full of joy that it makes your chest tighten.

“I really, really like you.”

You laugh softly, your hand moving up to touch her jaw, your thumb brushing over her cheek where her tattoo is.

“I really, really like you, too,” you tease, your own voice a little shaky from how lightheaded you feel.

Vi grins, her dimples showing, and then she kisses you again, this time slower, softer, like she’s savoring it.

You cant think of anything else but her. The noise from the bar, the memory of whatever brought you here tonight—it’s all drowned out by the feeling of Vi’s lips on yours and the warmth of her hands on your waist.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself stop overthinking.

Vi feels like she’s floating, her chest so full it feels like she might burst. She likes you so much it almost hurts, and the way you kiss her back like you feel the same way makes her head spin. She pulls you just a little closer, her fingers slipping around your waist, and she can’t stop the quiet, breathless laugh that escapes against your lips. You smile into the kiss, your own heart thudding loudly in your chest.

If this is what liking Vi feels like, you think, you don’t ever want it to stop.

ty for reading ! | navigation

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

58 / 2.2k / shapeshifter familiars 141 tormenting witch reader for Halloween c:

...

You hum a song to yourself as you pull herbs from your garden and pile them into the crook of your arm. The sun sets rosy this evening; the sky is clear and the moon will be new.

You turn to go in, brushing off your black skirts with your free hand. But a familiar face darken your doorway. Nobody was there a moment ago. Your serene face falls into a sour frown.

"Soap."

Soap gives you a cocky grin. He hasn't lost that insufferable arrogance. "Evenin', witch."

You approach him with your herbs in tow. "What sad state of affairs brings you to my doorstep?"

"Aw, no warm welcome for your favorite scoundrel?"

"I favor you more as a crow."

"Handsome in all my forms, then."

You stop in front of him. It's clear you're going to have to wait for him to move or else squeeze past him. You plant your feet and wait, squaring your sight with his. "Where are the other two?"

Soap plucks one of the flowering herbs with his fingers to inspect it, then twirls it between his fingers. "About somewhere, likely causing the usual mayhem. They'll be right on my heels."

Your frown deepens. This is the fourth impossible quest you've sent them on. And they keep coming back. "Did you fetch what I asked?"

Soap raises an eyebrow as he moves closer to you, his eyes fixed on yours. He raises the plucked flower to his lips. There's an edge of challenge in his voice as he answers. "We did indeed." He gently sets the flower back on top of the pile. The he pulls out a small vial and dangles it in front of you. "And a little extra somethin' for you."

You reach for the vial only for him to pull it back.

Soap's smirk widens. "Pay up first."

Cold irritation spikes through you. You know just how he'd prefer to be paid. You shoulder past him and into your cottage with a scowl.

Soap, of course, follows you in, saunters through your front door, and kicks it shut behind him. He's not the least bit deterred by your annoyance. In fact, he quite likes it. He runs his fingers along the various bottles and implements on the shelves with idle interest. "Oh, come now. You ought to be glad we're back."

You cast your herbs into a basket near the sink. Then you stand at your scrying table, flensing knife in hand, and carve a niche into your palm. The pain is nothing. Not even when you squeeze your hand into a fist to force more blood out. It drips into the wooden bowl underneath.

Payment is payment.

Soap's breath hitches. He's watching you with keen interest. He likes watching you work, your precise, calculated movements and your confident touch with the knife.

The sight of your fresh blood only makes his smirk wider. He takes a step closer behind you to get a better view. "There are easier ways to pay your dues," he says. His hands come around to rest on the countertop on either side of you. "More pleasurable ways. Other, ah, fluids with which to slake thirst."

"Keep your distance, shapeshifter," you tell him. "Or you get nothing."

Soap rests his chin on your shoulder. The touch is far too familiar. His fingers twitch with anticipation, as if the blood on your hand tempts him forward. He's always been a touch perverse, anyway, about you wounding yourself to feed him. This is all your fault isn't it? Sending them quest after impossible quest. They only demand payment because you insist upon such extremes, naively thinking it will kill them.

"You think you have enough blood for all of us? There's an easier way. Just think," Soap murmurs in your ear. "My lips on your neck. My fingers inside you."

His words sends heat unbidden into your core. Unnaturally so. Immediately, your eyes flash, and an unseen force pushes him away from you.

Soap stumbles backwards from you, his body slamming into the nearby shelf. His shoulders heave, and he breathes heavier. Still smirking, but also looking a little more interested.

You see it in his eyes, what he doesn't say or acknowledge: he likes when you push back. He craves it. He likes to see you assert yourself.

"No need to be so inhospitable." That insufferable grin, cocky and smug again. "Just thought you might want to save your bleeding for more important things."

You ignore this. He takes a seat in your chair, and you resume your work. Another cut. Something brushes at your ankles--something purring and black.

"Gaz."

He purrs, deceptively soft and sweet as he twines around your feet. More blood from your palm hits the bowl. Gaz's nose twitches. He turns his intense cat-gaze upward to watch you from the ground. You ignore it.

Gaz is a more patient man than Soap. He knows exactly what effect Soap's words had on you. He can smell your response on the air, and it entices him. But he knows not to press.

Still, after a stretch of silence watching your blood pool, Gaz grates out a low meow as a bid for your attention. Then he jumps up onto the counter and pushes his kitty face into the blood bowl.

Soap clicks his tongue. "Jealous."

You push Gaz away just as his whiskers start to tremble. "Stop that."

Gaz gives a dissatisfied meow. He sits back on his haunches. With a glare, he licks one of his paws in distaste for your scolding.

You deposit him on the floor. Then you get back to work. Quickly, as you hear the distant call of a screech owl. Gaz saunters away with a languid stretch of his back legs.

The owl's cry echoes again. Louder now. And in reply, a dog outside your window howls.

Your heart thumps. Faster, you bid yourself. You dig your fingertips into the gash in your palm just to draw out thicker clots. Faster. No, there's no time. Casting the flensing knife aside with a clatter, you take the bowl in your uninjured hand and turn, hurrying to stand in the doorway. Two of them inside is enough. You don't want any more in your home. No more. It's all you can do to protect your home from what you brought upon yourself.

The dog howls again. Right outside. Then there's the sound of animal shifting to man, and an enormous shadow darkens your doorway before you can reach it. Ghost. He fills the door frame, towering over you and blocking your path. He's so tall and broad that, deliberate or not, every move feels like a challenge to your authority over him. He's on your side, you remind yourself. His size makes him a formidable ally. And a devastating foe, when he wants to be. He's looking at you like he's contemplating being just that.

He doesn't need to announce why he's here, and he doesn't need to say anything else. He's come for payment just as Soap and Gaz have. He'll take it from you one way or another.

Ghost's expression remains inscrutable. But he burns with an emotion you sense and he carefully hides.

"What's the hurry?" The words are low and gravelly.

You stare up at him as you force your nerves to steady. "Must you transgress into my home?"

Ghost's broad shoulders bunch beneath his tattered cloak. His dark eyes take in the scene before him, the way Gaz and Soap make themselves too comfortable in your home. Then they flicker down to the blood. He doesn't have much patience for these games of push and pull. "You expect us to drink from a bowl? Like swine at a trough?"

You cock your head. "Shall I fetch you all soup spoons?"

Ghost's scowl deepens. "Smartass witch. Be grateful we've been lenient with you."

"Have you?"

It's either amusement or contempt that flashes across Ghost's face. You're not sure which. "Do you need me to demonstrate what it means to not be lenient?" He shifts his weight, his shadow stretching and darkening the room around him. "With your insults and feeble scraps?"

"Payment is payment. Whether or not the blood comes in a bowl shouldn't matter. The source is the same."

He doesn't appreciate mind games. And he definitely doesn't appreciate when you, his witch, are the one playing them. You shouldn't play with him when he's already on edge. "Spoken like a woman who's never known how to starve." He strides closer. The sound of the floor shifts under his weight. He only stops when he's close enough to make you feel like the walls are closing in on you. He reaches forward, and with his forefinger, wipes one of the droplets from the rim of the bowl. He brings it to his lips and licks it off his finger. "The blood doesn't matter."

"The blood doesn't matter?" you echo, doubtful. "That doesn’t seem to be the case."

Ghost's eyes flicker with something. Hunger. "No," he murmurs. "You could fill the bowl with anyone's blood. It's you that makes the difference. You spill it. You offer it. That vulnerability is… personal. Better than blood. Fresh. Warm. A piece of you."

He runs his finger along the edge of the bowl and leaves a wet streak along the rim. He's watching you watch him. "You and your foolish demands. Your workarounds. Blood in a bowl isn't real vulnerability."

He takes a step closer and towers over you. "You think we don't notice how you go out of your way to make it as impersonal as possible? You're meant to give us something we want for our services. You'd be better off bleeding someone else dry and offering that up." He leans in closer and runs his gaze over you with a subtle tilt of his head. "But you would never try that, would you?"

"I told you I won't hurt other people for you. The contract is with me and me only."

Foolish promises. "That doesn't mean you get to cheat us."

You offer the bowl with more force. "Drink."

His annoyance flares. Your stubbornness, your arrogance--qualities that both make you a desirable object of focus and chip away at the shapeshifters' patience.

But they’ll be able to teach you a lesson for it sooner or later.

Ghost reaches forward, grabs your wrist, and raises the bowl to his lips. He looks you dead in the eye as he drinks.

Soap is at his side instantly. His pale eyes fix on the bowl.

You hear Gaz shift from feline to human behind you. He draws up until you feel his body heat.

"Now isn't that much nicer?" Gaz says, his voice just as cocky and insufferable as ever. "Nothing wrong with making it personal once in a while. No need to be so stingy."

You watch Ghost, eyes still locked on you, as he swipes his sleeve across his mouth and hands Soap the bowl without looking.

Soap gulps down two mouthfuls with an orgasmic growl.

Gaz chuckles as he brings it to his lips, drinking until it's empty. Then he lets the wooden bowl clatter to the floor. His mouth twitches up into a lazy smirk.

You pull your wrist free from Ghost’s grasp. "You got what you needed. Give me what you brought me and get out."

"Oh, don't be like that," Soap purrs as he prowls towards you. "You enjoy our company."

"Such poor manners," Gaz says mildly. "Seems we've still got to teach you what your responsibilities are. Price won't like hearing that."

You slow, lowering the bloodied bowl into your washbasin. "Price won't come. It's not time yet."

Ghost scoffs. "Price will do whatever he damn well pleases." He prowls closer as well, the predatory sound in his voice more obvious now, like a beast preparing to sink his teeth in. "And he won't like hearing how his second-favorite witch is a lousy hostess."

"He's not coming," you snap. A tinge of fear crawls up your spine.

"Price comes when he wants," Ghost snarls. "You should remember that before you act so foolish."

You hear the screech owl again. Closer this time. The bowl clangs against the bottom of the basin and dread churns deep in your gut.

"Do you hear that?" Gaz asks softly.

"You drank all the blood," you mutter. "You didn't leave any for him. This is your fault."

Soap smiles, but he’s not meeting your eyes. "We left him plenty."

You're helpless to do anything but watch as the sound of beating wings turns to boots falling on the undergrowth outside your open door.

He stands tall, his form blocking the moonlight and shadowing the already dim room. His dark eyes land on you, and he takes in your blood-stained hand and bloodied bowl with a hard frown. What a mess you've made.

"Witch."

He crosses the room to you and takes your jaw in his rough hand. His gaze drives ice into the blood still roaring hot through your veins.

"We're going to have a chat."

...

more Soap / more Gaz / more Ghost / more Price / masterlist

[motorsportbarbie13]

Whispers & Guesses

In which Max lets the news of his secret relationship with you slip out of jealousy.

Warnings: nothing Pairing: Max Verstappen x Singer!Reader Word count: 1.3k words

Shoutout to @shelbyteller for sliding into my DMs with this idea. Inspired by the song ‘Guess’ by Charli xcx and Billie Eilish. This was SO FUN to write omg 🤭 and happy Christmas to all those who celebrate!!

Master List

You were used to the whispers that followed you. The questions that weren't meant to reach your ears, meant to stir up gossip were just part of your life. You had gotten used to people talking about you years ago. You had to or else all of the gossip and rumors would eat you alive.

Nearly ten years into your singing career, with almost 15 Grammy's to your name, the whispers about your weight, your outfits, your hair? They all just rolled off your back. None of it affected you anymore.

So when you walked into the paddock on Sunday morning at Silverstone as one of the celebrity guests, the whispers that followed you didn't even make you to miss a step. It seemed as if people were confused at your presence here, especially since you were in the middle of the European leg of your aptly titled 'Whispers & Guesses' tour.

To the outside world, you were in the paddock as Red Bull's guest just like any other celebrity but those closest to you knew better. You weren't just there to watch a Formula 1 race, you were there to watch your boyfriend race for the first time since you'd started dating him earlier in the year.

You hadn't meant to fall in love with Max Verstappen and you certainly hadn't meant to fall in love with him so quickly but sometimes things don't work out the way you plan for them to. It had all started right after the New Year when Max had treated his sister and mom to VIP box tickets to your concert in Amsterdam.

Your assistant had coordinated a quick meet and greet with the Dutch driver and his family before the concert and you had been stopped in your tracks when you first laid eyes on the Dutch driver. You'd never even heard Max's name before, didn't know how legendary he was in the racing world. You no idea he was a 3 time world Champion and you certainly had never even watched a F1 race but the moment he looked at you with those icy blue eyes, mouth hitching up in that signature lopsided grin, you had been an absolute goner for him.

Max, on the other hand, knew exactly who you were and if he had been pressed, he would have been forced to admit that the meet and greet he had pushed for had been more for his benefit than his niece's. You'd secretly topped his Spotify Wrapped list for the last three years running, although if anyone saw that he'd blame the fact that he shared an account with Victoria and she was a huge fan.

What started out as simple infatuation turned into clandestine meetings carefully coordinated by your entire team as both you and Max wanted to keep the budding romance as quiet as possible for as long as you could. Secret flights for you into Nice to sneak into Monaco on weeks Max wasn't racing were thrilling and when that wouldn't work, Max would charter his plane to find you wherever you were in the world. It was difficult and honestly, not an ideal way to start a relationship but the chemistry between you and Max was undeniable. You both had decided early on that whatever was happening between you two was worth exploring and worth the extra work that it took to spend the precious free time you both had.

You had wanted to see a race for months now but it had posed quite the security headache since access to the paddock was kind of played fast and loose sometimes. The head of security at Silverstone had taken a particular interest in making sure that things were secure for you and after several meetings with your team and theirs that lasted multiple hours, it had finally been enough for your head of security to agree to let you attend.

It had been a complete surprise when you turned up at Silverstone Sunday morning, no one but Red Bull's PR team had known you were even considering coming to the race. As you walked through the paddock with your best friend Alice and PR manager Ginny, the whispers kicked up and only intensified when you 'accidentally' ran into Max where he was stood with Lando and Charles in front of the Red Bull garages.

"Max, it's so good to see you again." You say, pretending that you two don't know each other beyond that time you had met at your concert earlier in the year. When Max had made the request to Red Bull's PR team, he said that you had mentioned at the meet and greet all those months ago that you wanted to attend a race and your schedule had finally lined up.

"I'm so glad your schedule finally opened up to come see me at work." He says, enjoying the role you're both playing in front of everyone else, knowing that you're going to be in his bed later that night.

Introductions are made with you and Alice spending quite a bit of time chatting with the drivers. Lando flirts shamelessly with you, not knowing that your heart already belongs to his friend standing next to him instead. Max thinks it's cute, how Lando thinks he has a chance.

"Ok, ladies, we've got to get over to the hospitality suite before the race." Ginny says eventually.

You give all three drivers quick hugs and wish them good luck, Max's arms holding you just a beat longer than Charles and Lando. "Come back to me safe and sound, okay?" You whisper, mind drifting to that awful crash Max had gotten into with Lewis a few years ago. You had happened upon footage of the crash late one night when you were lonely in a hotel room and Max had been half way across the world at a race. It had scared you half to death and you hadn't been able to watch a race the same since.

Max simply nods, resisting the urge to press a kiss to your forehead. "Always, schatje." He whispers back, voice low so only you can hear him.

All three men watch you saunter away, hips swaying with each step.

Lando catches his fist in his mouth and groans. "God, I love when you can just see the little bits of lace peeking out under their clothes like that."

"And the little sliver of skin? Did you see that tattoo on her lower back just barely making an appearance?" Charles can't take his eyes off your retreating frame either.

Max isn't usually much of a jealous man but the way his friends are talking about you has something burning hotly in his chest. He works to keep his mouth shut as Lando continues to chatter on about you.

"Do you think it's a matching set? The strap I saw was navy...I bet it's a matching set." Lando mutters as he rubs his hand over his jaw.

"It is." Max says simply, hands tucked casually in his pockets. He nearly laughs when both Charles and Lando whip their heads around so fast it's a miracle neither of them snap their necks.

"How...What?" Charles stammers.

"It's a matching set." His tone implies that he knows something that the 2 other drivers don't. "Navy lace with one of those little red bows right in the middle" He points in the middle of his chest as a visual aid.

Lando's jaw is on the floor as he tries to figure out the implications of what Max has just said. Max simply smirks, allowing Charles and Lando to put two and two together on their own.

"I'm not saying your wrong, mate but like, how the fuck do you know?" Lando asks, voice heavy with confusion.

"Well, I picked the set out this morning when she woke up in my bed." Max has to stifle a laugh when Charles' jaw joins Lando's on the floor. "And it's the set I bought for her a few weeks ago when we were in Japan."

With a shrug, Max claps both men on the back and turns away without another word, wandering towards the garage before pulling out his phone to text you about what just happened.

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