#not my best time management and definitely not my best writing

[captain-huggy-bear]

Treat You Right

Pairing: Clayton Keller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: unwanted advances, men not taking no for an answer, Clayton's involved in a fight.

Summary: You're not dating Clayton Keller, but there's one thing he can't stand and that's a guy not treating you with respect...turns out he hates it enough to fight a guy in a bar after a game.

Notes: All I have to say is i'm in my Clayton brain rot era.

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

It's a normal night or it starts that way. Being friends with a bunch of pro-athletes means you're often dragged out after home game wins to whatever bar they decide is best that night. Tonight it's Sunny's, a common choice for the Utah Hockey Club because of the pool table, dart board and the fact that most of the people who come in are old middle age men or contractors. Guys, who might ask for an autograph but not the usual screaming crowd that make it impossible for them to have a drink or two.

You never really had being friends with the lot of them on your bucket list, but Michael had met you when he'd taken his cats to the vets and you'd been there with your own, a fat black moggie called Gremlin who'd fallen in love with Ranger. From that point on cat dates had been a thing because in Kess' words 'you can't separate true love', you weren't entirely sure whether Gremlin loved Ranger or just wanted to lick the other cat bald.

Either way the moment you became friends with Kess was the moment you became friends with the entire team, suddenly you were being asked to events, invited to home games and the celebratory drinks after. It was nice, for the most part you felt like you were their sister, someone for them to look after but also mock, just as much as you made fun of them. You had a little community, a gang, a group where you belonged even if you weren't actually on the team.

The exception to that rule being Clayton Keller...you definitely did not want to feel like Clayton Keller's sister.

It was bound to happen, that you'd have a crush on at least one of the team. It wasn't really your fault, and well, Clay had this way of treating you, all soft and sweet and like a girl, that had you flushing under his attention and preening at any compliment he gave you. You were almost certain it was a one-sided crush doomed to go nowhere and leave you pining after the captain until you settled for some mediocre guy in finance. He was just so nice to you, so sweet.

Still, Clay was half the reason you'd agreed to come out to Sunny's that night. Determined to spend some time with or at least around him. You'd even gone home to change after the game into a nice dress before coming back out again because maybe, just maybe, this would be the night that Clayton Keller realised you were the girl he wanted.

You're waiting for your coca cola at the bar, leaning on your forearms and watching the room from over your shoulder. Kess and Dylan were playing a game of pool in the corner, Kess appearing to be losing based on the glare he was sending Dylan's way. The rest of the guys were sat around their usual table, beers in hand laughing and joking. Your eyes find Clayton like he's a magnet, he's smirking at something O'Brian's said, Tuna probably making some stupid dirty joke or telling a story at the expense of Kess.

"Hey, pretty..." You're pulled out of your people watching by a slurred drawl far too close to your ear for comfort. Your eyes shift to the man next to you, who might have been considered handsome if he wasn't staring at your boobs so blatantly that you suddenly understood what a tasty pastry felt like in a patisserie window. It wasn't particularly flattering.

You shift away from him as much as you can without appearing rude because he'd managed to somehow sneak up on you and get within inches of your ear. Something you're sure he thought was seductive but just made your shoulders tighten and your body tense.

"Hi." You try to keep your tone short, not wanting to encourage the man but hating to feel like you're being unnecessarily rude as well.

"Can I buy you a drink, baby?"

"I'm good, thanks." You gesture at the soft drink your bartender just placed in front of you, thankful that this is your cue to leave and return to the safety of a group of hockey players.

Unbeknownst to you in that moment Marino is nudging Kells with his elbow, chin gesturing in your direction. You look uncomfortable, the way you're shifting away from the man leering at you, practically leaning over you, says enough. Every time you shift away from him, he shifts closer and it's clear to Clayton that you'd rather be anywhere else.

He can't help it, the way it makes his hackles rise, the way his fist clenches tight around his beer bottle as he takes another swig, forcing himself to be cool, to just let you handle it for a moment. It's not like you're dating, it's not like he has any right to storm over there and maybe he's wrong...maybe you're interested in the guy leering down at you like you're a piece of meat. Maybe he's more your type than Clay is.

He doesn't really blame the guy for showing interest. You're beautiful, always, but...there's something about the way you look tonight. Maybe it's that your dress accentuates your hips or the fact that the colour makes your skin look like its glowing...or maybe Clayton is just a little weak for you. That's not exactly a new revelation for him. He's been weak for you since day one.

"Seriously, baby, that's not a real drink, let me get you a real drink."

"I'm good." You stress your point this time, snatching your drink back from the man who just tried to take it off you and straightening to walk back to the guys. Any pretence of politeness dropped because you don't have to deal with this and you aren't going to.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" It's a shift in attitude that you should have expected, you've seen it before, but you don't expect the hand that wraps around your wrist to stop you walking away, your drink spilling as you're jerked to a stop. His hand is tight, uncomfortable so and the situation has gone from irritating to frightening, fear running down you're spine because this strange man has his hands on you.

Your eyes find Clay's almost instinctively, wide and scared but he's already out of his seat and shoving people out of the way with short, sharp apologies as he goes. It's not like he's alone either, half the team are now looking your way, waiting to see if their captain needs any help or not. Looking to see if they need to also step in.

"Get the fuck off me." Still, in the time it takes Clay to reach you you try to shake the man off, glaring up at him like it might help. It doesn't, if anything his grip tightens and he pulls you closer, a hand reaching for the skin of your thigh like he has any right to touch you.

It's that that has Clay seeing red. Going from thinking he'd calmly intervene to storming between the two of you like a bull in a china shop. It must be the surprise of someone intervening that does it, but the man let's your wrist go and Clay's pushing you gently back and out of the way before he's letting a fist fly at the guy's face without so much as a word towards the other man.

"Shit, Clay...What the fuck are you doing?!" All you can do is take another step back, hands coming to your mouth because out of all the guys on the team, Clay's the last one you expect to be starting a fight in a bar with a guy at least a head taller than him.

He doesn't answer you because he's too busy fighting, you're so shocked, so focused on what's happening in front of you, that you jump when Kess brushes your shoulder, pool having been deserted in favour of helping O'Brian and Marino pull the two men apart.

Despite the size difference Clay's winning or it looks like he's winning, you're pretty certain he's broken the other guy's nose and even with a bloody busted lip, he doesn't look winded or ready to stop. Part of you hates it. A stupid display of male pride and dominance that you should not condone at all...another part of you feels a thrill at Clayton fighting on your behalf, at the blood speckles across his white dress shirt, at the bruising on his knuckles, at the way he licks the blood from his busted lip and smirks at the guy sarcastically. Like he's completely and utterly in control.

You're not sure he's going to stop, eyes feral, mouth pursed, huffing like an angry bull when Kess finally has him round the shoulders and starts pulling him away. Tuna doing the same to the stranger. But, Clay does stop, just shrugs Kess off with sharp movements, "I'm fine. He won't be if he doesn't fucking leave though."

It's Tuna that escorts the stranger out of the bar and you're certain the only thing stopping the bar owner from kicking Clay out is the fact he's a local celebrity who brings in half the customers.

"What the hell, Clay?" You're still shocked by the brute display of force from him, not scared, just surprised. You can't deny there's a certain appeal to it. To the way he looks at you as he wipes blood from his chin, how his large hands clench and unclench testing his knuckles for a break. They're just bruised. He's hot...hotter than usual and you kind of hate that you feel that way, like you're setting feminism back 100 years. But, God...

“No one gets to treat you like that, you hear me? No one.” He can't stand it. The entitlement to grab you, the belief that anyone has a right to touch you without permission, to talk to you like that. He's half a mind to chase after Tuna and the guy, to keep going, but he knows he shouldn't...he's already done more than he probably should have. Headlines in the morning no doubt already looking like 'Utah Captain beats local man in bar brawl!'.

"That...you can't just fight someone for being a asshole," You can see Kess gesturing for everyone to give the two of you privacy as Clay steps into your personal bubble. He's still amped up, chest heaving like he wants another fight, lips parted to take in more air. You hate that you want to take a bite out of him, you hate that you want him to take that energy out on you in a completely different way than fighting.

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because...because..." all you can come up with is, "I'm not your girlfriend, Clay...you don't have to defend me."

He looks at you like you're an idiot, the only time he's ever looked at you like that. Like you're daft and it makes you flush with warm embarrassment because why couldn't you think of something better to say.

"No one gets to treat you like dirt. Like a piece of meat. Like he owns you, okay? Doesn't matter if you're my girlfriend or not, men better treat you with respect or they're dealing with me."

"Clay...I get it, you're a woman loving, modern man but..." You're convinced this whole display is just part of his gentlemanly stick, his righteous desire for fairness and justice in the world and nothing to do with you. it would be cute how oblivious you are, if he wasn't so fed up with it.

"And before you start that shit, yeah, I'd defend any woman in here, but I sure as fuck wouldn't be throwing punches over anyone else, baby." Clay runs his hands through his hair frenetically, the strands messy and loose, hat non-existent for once.

You feel like your head is spinning, buzzing, confused because surely he's talking about the fact you're kind of friends, that you're not a stranger. He can't possibly mean...he called you baby? When did Clay ever call you baby?

His laugh is sardonic, disbelieving as he watches the way you stare at him, all wide eyed and confused like he hasn't been trying to flirt with you for the past six months that you've known each other. Like he doesn't try to compliment you every time he sees you. Like he didn't give you his number the very first day so you could meet up. Like he's not totally irrevocably in love with you.

"Do I need to spell it out for you, sweetheart?" He's being a bit abrupt, a little bit mean in a way Clay normally isn't with you. Not quite so soft and he'll apologise for that later but he's still angry about the whole thing and you're obliviousness to his feelings feels like a slap in the face, like he's not good enough for you to even comprehend the idea of something more with. You don't owe him anything, but fuck, he's frustrated with the ignorance of it all.

"You're not my girlfriend, but I sure as hell want you to be and I've been flirting with you for six months and if you're just not interested that's fine, I'll still be in your corner, but I need to know if I'm just wasting my time waiting." This time when you're backed against the bar top by a man, it's by Clay, and it's wanted. He's in your space but with enough room that he's giving you an out, you can slip under his arm and leave at any moment. But you don't.

"You like me?" It's every dream you've had about Clay, every want, rolled up into one. The way he barricades you in on the bar top. The smell of his cologne. The warmth of him. The intense stare of baby blue eyes as he tells you he actually likes you, that your stupid, silly little crush isn't actually as one-sided as you thought.

"Only been flirting with you since the moment we met, baby."

"You've been flirting with me?" You lean back to get a better look at his face, your mouth dropped in shock. In turn he leans back to look at you in a similar manner, eyebrows high, blue eyes blinking in confusion.

"Are you serious?"

"Fuck...I thought...I thought you weren't interested...I thought...I thought you didn't like me back..." You're practically having an existential crisis between his arms because he's just admitted he likes you that he's been flirting with you for months, that all your pining and your moping has been for literally nothing.

"Back?" Clay's smile is starting to grow, the one you adore, all teeth and dimples as he picks up on that one seemingly insignificant word and prods at it. As if that word has put all the frustration, all the anger, all the bad feelings of the night instantly to rest.

"I..."

"Do you like me, baby?" He's all teasing smirks and half-lidded eyes now, leaning back into your space so close that you're chest to chest, nose to nose. So close you can feel the warmth of his breath on your lips. So close it makes you stutter and freeze.

"Clay..." Your eyes dart to all your friends, all eyes on the two of you as you flush warm, cheeks growing supremely hot because fuck, Clayton Keller looks like he's about to kiss you in the middle of a bar with the entire team watching like they need popcorn.

You watch Clayton's eyes flicker to catch the audience watching, the way he takes a moment to pause, to think, whatever impulsive decision he had being put to rest for the moment.

"C'mon..." His hand is wrapping around yours in no time, tugging you along and out of the bar, away from prying eyes as if that isn't just as blatant, just as obvious as kissing you in front of all of them or whatever he might have planned to do. There's part of you that wonders if this might be all some big joke he's about to play, the insecure part, the little girl from your childhood part, that feels like he might turn around and laugh with a loud 'as if!'.

You let him lead you outside, the night air cool against your arms, the sort of chill that makes goose bumps raise on your arms. He doesn't even hesitate before shrugging off his jacket and throwing it over your shoulders, his arm coming to rest there, tucking you into his side like you belong, like its natural for him to do.

You don't speak as you walk, scared to break the silence until you come to a stop a few streets down in front of a shop that Clay had parked across from earlier in the night. No one is around but you and that's what gives him the confidence to push you against the brick wall of the shop, to lean back into your space and ask the question that he never got an answer to.

"Do you like me, baby?" It's more intimate this time, but less pressured. There are no eyes on you, there are no bright bar lights or teammates getting an eyeful. Something about the dimness of the night, the cool air, the feel of his jacket over your shoulders and him, oh him, leaning into your space again, has you answering honestly.

"Yeah, yeah I do..."

There's a silent conversation that happens as his hand comes up to rest against your throat, thumb rubbing against the underside of your chin. He watches you carefully and you try to answer him without words, that you want this, that you really do like him.

Whatever Clay sees must be enough because he's leaning in slow, just slow enough for you to dip out if he's misread the situation, hand tightening just slightly around your throat before his lips are slanting over yours.

It's not a frantic kiss, not forceful or aggressive. He kisses you like a slow dance, like your the sweetest thing he's ever tasted and he's trying to savour it, enjoy it for as long as he can. Lips soft and slow against yours, tongue licking into your mouth unhurried and patient. If anyone is impatient it's you, your hands tangling into his hair and tugging until he groans against you, until that patience breaks just enough for him to start devouring your mouth like he's a glutton for you.

When Clayton finally pulls back from you you're both heaving in breaths, chests bumping against each other and lips kiss bitten. The smile he gives you is so soft, so sweet it makes you want to melt into a puddle, his eyes crinkling as just a hint of his teeth comes out to play.

"Can I take you on a date?" His nose bumps against yours, purposeful in the brush against your own like he can't stand to be too far away from you right now.

"Yeah, you can take me on a date, Clayton Keller."

"Good, cause I really need an excuse to punch the next guy that looks at you funny," He jokes causing you to let out a huff of a laugh, hand escaping his hair to whack his shoulder admonishingly.

"Don't you dare!"

[strawberriesoup]

catch me if you can PT. 1,, ✮⋆˙

☆ street racer!han jisung x cop!fem!reader

☆ genre: street racing AU, angst, fluff, action, strangers to lovers, illegal activity

☆ warnings: lots of breaking of the law (like, felony-level breaking of the law), cursing, fire, injury/pain, near death experience, suggestive content

☆ wc: 6.5k

☆ a/n: i'm so happy i finally got to sit down and write this first part out! honestly i'm pretty pleased with it, and i hope this motivation can stay for the remaining parts! for now, enjoy!

if you make it all the way through, please leave some feedback! i always love to hear other people’s thoughts!! your feedback is what keeps me writing stories like these ❤️❤️

☆ taglist: @jisunggy @holly-here @hannamoon143 @fly-you-dam-fools @chancloud8 @hannieslittlerockstar @vixensss @skzpvol @gxtwllsn @yinzgarden @kayleefriedchicken @nightmarenyxx @ick2001 @dwesion

if you would like to be added to my series taglist or my general taglist, send me a comment or an ask! <3

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Unstoppable, that’s what you are. There’s just something about the way your engine rumbles when you shove in the clutch and shift to a higher gear, how you can feel your tires grip the road beneath you, it’s thrilling. Yellow lines blur into one as you grip the wheel tighter, focusing your attention solely on the path ahead. Just a little farther.

Your blinker flashes as you signal your turn into the Wal-mart parking lot.

Really, you can’t imagine anything more unintresting than grocery shopping. There’s no excitement in searching through various assortments of oranges and grapes, no blaring horns and revving engines to go along with determining the best jug of milk to buy.

When you had joined the city police force, it’s safe to say that this is not how you were expecting to spend your wednesday afternoons.

How embarrassing. Yes, you know that shopping is a normal— and necessary— part of life, but that’s just the thing. It’s normal. Mundane, tedious, dull… Must you go on? A normal thing for normal people to be doing on normal days. Definitely not the action-filled life you had always dreamed of for all those years.

The bitter taste of disappointment fills your mouth as you sulk through the isles. It’s busy today. Groups of people bustle past, none of them paying you any mind. Good. You keep your head tucked towards the ground, not wanting to accidentally make eye contact with someone who might know you. In the back of your mind, you reason that it’s probably ridiculous to be feeling this way. Even still, you don’t lift your face.

The crime rate has been so low recently, with new police recruits popping up left and right, that you aren't even on duty today. While to most that might seem like good news, to you it’s probably the worst news all week. You wish that someone would just start a car chase or something, that way you might get a chance to break the speed limit. Instead,— since you like to manage your expectations somewhat realistically — you’re here, squinting at your shopping list and trying to keep your squeaking cart under control. The gods of choosing a functional shopping cart had not blessed you today.

After an unnecessarily long chat about missing puppies with the sweet old lady who probably broke the world record for the slowest grocery checkout time, you start the trek back out to your car. It shouldn’t be hard to find, given it’s painted a subtle bright crimson. You search the parking lot for the familiar vehicle. Where did you park again? You probably should have paid more attention.

Then, you hear it. At first, you think maybe it’s just the wind whistling around the building behind you. Are you hearing things? No, because there it is again. An unmistakable scream.

Groceries abandoned, you can feel your pulse leap into your temples as you sprint towards the direction of the sound. Whipping your head around, you struggle to get a grip on your surroundings, the midday sun reflecting off the pavement momentarily blinding you.

Another frantic shout brings you to your senses and you are finally able to pinpoint the source of the commotion. Not far off, a cloud of deep black smoke billows from a car on the street. The car had been capsized, shattered glass scattered in a ten-foot radius surrounding it. On first approach, you can’t even tell the front end from the back end. What’s completely unmistakable though, is the gut-dropping smell of an engine fire.

“Mom!” A childs cry rings out above the other panicked voices. A teenage boy holds the little girl in his arms as she rakes at his shoulder in a feeble attempt to break free and run towards the car.

Bystanders are shouting, trying to tear a man away from the door of the car by his arm, shirt, anything they could get a hold of. You can’t tell if the man’s hands are bleeding from the broken glass or from pulling on the door so hard. Who knows, maybe it’s both.

You don’t know if you’ve ever sprung into action so fast. One second you’re assessing the situation, the next you’re shoving people out of the way to access the door.

The window frame had been crushed so much you can barely even see inside the vehicle, let alone utilize it as a viable method of escape. Judging by the lack of law enforcement around the scene, you can tell the car hasn’t been on fire for long. Good. Even though the foul rank of the engine smoke invades your senses, it’s safe to say the vehicle won’t explode. Yet.

Maybe the other door isn’t stuck. You quickly move to the opposite side and tug at the handle, but immediately jerk your hand back when the metal burns your skin. Angrily, you tug a hand across your face. Think. You need to think. Come on, think.

There. A window that hadn’t been shattered, the back windshield. To access it, you’d have to crawl under the trunk and break it open. If you do that, there’s a good chance you won’t be able to turn back around easily once inside, if at all. You can’t tell to what degree the person inside is injured, but you take the lack of any sort of cry for help as a bad sign.

The desperate wails of the little girl make up your mind for you. There’s no time to lose. You need to get this done, and get it done fast.

Shrugging off your purse, jacket, and anything that could possibly get snagged in the car, you squeeze under the trunk. It’s uncomfortably warm, reminding you of the very real possiblility of explosion once the fire reaches the fuel tank. All your faith is funneled into your pocket knife as you jam the back of it into the windshield. Nothing.

Again, you wind back the knife. A yell escapes you as you once again ram it into the window with all your might. Still, it doesn’t yield.

Shit. shit. You have to get in there. You can see the outline of what looks to be a human form inside the car, but no movement. One more time. You can do this.

The man that had been tugging at the door is kneeling behind you, unable to fit underneath the car. He reaches under, stretching his red-stained fingers towards you. At first, you don’t understand what he’s trying to do. Then, it clicks. Wrapping his hand around your own, The knife is encompassed beneath both of your hands. The man’s voice is hoarse as he counts to three. Together, you drive the tool into the windshield.

Finally, the window shatters with a crash. Dark smoke pours out, stinging your eyes and forcing a cough from your lungs. Wasting no time, you squeeze the man’s hand before taking a deep breath and ducking inside.

Shattered glass slices open your palm and you hiss at the white flash of pain. There’s no time to check the damage right now, you’ll deal with injuries later. You tearily squint through the smoke, finally laying your eyes upon a still figure in the passenger’s seat. Still buckled in, she hangs awkwardly from the seat, supported by the seatbelt.

A drop of sweat falls into your eyes. The heat alone is suffocating, but paired with the smoke the conditions are nearly unbearable. The steadily ticking clock of oxygen deprivation hangs heavy over your head, you won’t be of much help if you’re passed out. You grunt as you stretch your arm up to reach for the buckle.

With a click, the woman falls from the seat. No movement. You can’t even tell if she’s breathing.

How the fuck are you going to get her out of here? The car interior around you suddenly feels too small, your vision beginning to spin. No, get a handle of yourself. These people are depending on you. That little girl is depending on you. The image of the little girl’s face, twisted with fear and desperation, fuels you to set your jaw and grab a hold of the woman’s arm.

If you can just pull her past you, you might be able to push her the rest of the way, getting her out as quickly as possible for medical attention, as EMS should be here soon. As if on cue, you hear blaring sirens steadily approching over the crackling of the fire.

Straining, you are able to tug at the woman until she’s past you. Blood roars in your ears as you use the rest of your energy to try and push her the rest of the way. It’s not graceful by any means, but you manage to shove her far enough towards the shattered window for her to be pulled out by a team of gloved hands.

You collapse onto the floor below. Dark fog breaches the corners of your vision. Is that the smoke? Maybe. You can’t even tell at this point. A cough wracks its way through your body as the pulse of adrenaline leaves you.

Well, at least you were able to help. You can feel your eyelids slowly blinking closed, despite your efforts to fight it.

What’s left of your vision is suddenly blocked by… a face? Holy shit. Did you die? In front of you hovers a face that looks like it was sculpted by the gods themselves. A perfectly angled nose sits between two dark eyes that remind you of the cool blanket of night. His lips are moving and you lament over the fact you can’t hear his voice due to an annoyingly loud ringing filling your ears. If this is what heaven is like, you don’t think you mind dying so much.

You can distantly feel your body being lifted as you drift out of conciousness.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

“That was some crazy shit back there, y’know.”

You blink your eyes open, focusing on the source of the familiar voice next to you. It’s Seungmin, your patrol partner. He’s sitting on the edge of the ambulance, knee bouncing up and down. His stare, unreadable as always, greets you. You let out a much-needed sigh of relief. As much as he gets on your nerves, you are definitely more than happy to see a familiar face.

“Seungmin? What happened? Is that— ow, shit!” You sit up too fast from your stretcher and immediately need to lay back down due to a stabbing pain in your skull. “Is that lady okay?” as the sharp pain withdraws into a dull throb, the past events slowly resurface in your mind. Wait. That guy. The one who you saw just before you passed out, who was he? You had never seen him before. Was he even real?

“Well, I’m not sure if ‘okay’ is the right word to use, but she’s alive at least. She was rushed to the hospital along with her family members as soon as you got her out.” Seungmin crosses over to you, leaning on the edge of your stretcher. You can see him better now, and from here you can catch the slightest bit of worry in his features that was not evident in his voice previously. “Which, by the way, that little stunt of yours almost got you killed. If that guy hadn’t gotten you out of there when he did, you would have been crushed.”

So he was real.

According to Seungmin, right after you had been dragged out, the frame of the car completely collapsed; which would have effectively both trapped you inside and squished you. He’s about to continue with details about how next you probably would have caught on fire, before you punch him square in the arm, earning a cry of pain from both you and Seungmin. You shake the pain out of your bandaged hand as you are painfully reminded of that piece of glass that had cut you.

“Anyways,” you scowl at him when he sends you a not-so-apologetic look, “who was that guy? Is he a new police recruit? I’ve never seen him before.” The only reason you know that for sure is because you would never have forgotten that face. You can picture him in your mind right now. You’ve never seen anyone so… well, perfect.

“No, he’s not. Just some civilian who was stupid enough to jump into a flaming car to save your sorry ass,” Seungmin waves away your indignant defenses and heads off towards a group of officers outside the ambulance, “It was a hit and run, the bastard who caused this mess drove off someplace so we’re trying to see—”

“Where did he go?”

Seungmin faces you, caught off-guard. “What?”

“That guy, where’d he go?” You repeat your question, obviously not at all intrested in whatever was going on with the other officers.

Seungmin’s eyebrows lower as he rolls his eyes and turns away once more. “I dunno, haven’t seen him,” he comments over his shoulder helpfully. Then, he’s gone.

Ugh.

Fuck you, Kim Seungmin

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You have to find him. You will not be able to function as a member of society without knowing that he’s an actual person and not just a result of some hallucination. You had asked every single one of the officers and bystanders at the scene if they knew even just his name (you did not appreciate Seungmin making faces at you the whole time, thank you very much) to no avail; nobody knew anything about this mysterious man.

Fine then. You’ll just have to find him yourself.

Weeks go by, and his face never leaves your mind. Sometimes you swear you can see a flash of his honey skin, or those gorgeous eyes, only to look up and realize with disappointment it is in fact, not him. You wonder how many random passerby you have given an unexplainably sour face. Not that it matters what they thought of you. They probably worked a nine to five at some boring old desk.

One night, Seungmin had caught you searching through the criminal records. Maybe it was a stretch, but hey, you were desperate. You had just reached the ‘H’ column when he snuck up behind you. Upon him tapping your shoulder with a “Whatcha doing” on his lips, you had jumped three feet in the air and quickly closed the tab, responding with a very convincing “Nothing!” and rushing out of the room.

Just a name, that’s all you need. Is that really too much to ask?

Suited up in your standard police attire, you wait in line at your favorite coffee place before your night shift with Seungmin. You had finally been scheduled a full eight hours, but honestly your mind was anywhere but work. The bustling coffee shop atmosphere and the overwhelming smell of coffee does nothing for your scattered thoughts. Why the hell are so many people in line for coffee at 10:00 at night?

“One iced americano for Han Jisung?” The barista calls out the next order.

No way. There’s actually no way.

You have to do a triple take to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. It’s really him. You would recognize his face anywhere.

He’s just as stunning as when you had first seen him. Eyes that same dusky brown, nose that same perfect shape. He has a pair of sunglasses perched on top of his head, his hair falling from them in loose waves around his face, framing him like an artwork from the renaissance period. The way he holds himself, too. A casual swagger that so few people can pull off, but he wears it so naturally; completely at ease. One hand in his pocket, he smiles at the barista as she hands him his order, somehow lighting up the entire room with simply his expression.

You are so awestruck that it takes you a second to realize that he’s turned his attention directly to you.

When you do realize though, your heart drops right into your ass. Your first instinct is to jump your gaze to the floor or the ceiling, feigning nonchalance, but you’ve been hyper fixated on his face for so long you cannot bring yourself to look away.

His eyes spark with recognition. You can tell by the way his eyebrows raise amicably as he starts heading towards you. Your heart speeds up to about a million miles per hour.

That is until he looks you up and down. His expression drops and his eyes widen for just a fraction of a second before returning to his previous smile, but this time it feels just a little forced. As he passes you, he nods politely and sweeps past without so much as a word.

What just happened? You watch as he exits the coffee shop. Wait, no, you can’t lose him now, you at least need to thank him. He did save your life after all.

You hustle past the long line much less gracefully than he, catching him outside the door before he can cross the street.

“Hey, wait up!” You call after his retreating form. You see him pause, but he doesn't turn around as you jog up to him. “It’s you! Jisung, right?”

Finally, he faces you. His sunglasses now sit neatly on the bridge of his nose, obscuring his eyes from sight. You can’t detect any of the uncomfort from before in his features. Did you imagine that? Maybe he’s just in a hurry.

“That’s me,” Jisung says, a cute little chuckle punctuates the end of his sentence. His voice is sweet, reminding you of warm brown sugar and butter. Your heart skips a beat as he addresses you with that grin of his, “can I help you with anything, officer?”

It takes you a second to respond, the way he tilts his head at you whilst waiting for a response has you feeling all kinds of weird, bubbly feelings in your chest. You stomp them down and clear your throat.

“No, no I actually wanted to thank you. You know, for saving me. You really didn’t— I mean that was really… courageous of you. And stuff. Anyways. yeah, thanks.” You finish awkwardly, stumbling over your words. Damn it.

Jisung laughs. A beautiful sound, really.

“Thought I recognized you! You’re the pretty little thing who saved that lady from the fire. Gotta hand it to you, officer, you’ve got some guts in there.” He gestures to your badge with a tilt of his head, leaning back on the crosswalk pole and sticking one hand in his pocket.

You’re pretty sure your brain short-circuited at the words ‘pretty little thing’ and you’re not quite sure how to answer, your mouth opening and closing a few times, but no words falling from it.

Jisung grins at your tongue-tied state, letting out another amused huff of laughter and hitting the crosswalk button.

“I’ve got somewhere to be, but you stay safe out there ok? Don’t go jumping into any more flaming vehicles if you can possibly help it, next time I might not be there,” He clicks his teeth and you swear you can see him wink from under his shades. The crosswalk changes to give Jisung the right of way and he heads off across the street.

There you stand, a blushing mess, watching as he heads to a nearby parking spot.

Wait a second, is that his car?

Jisung closes the door to a Chevrolet Camaro, colored in a tasteful matte black. Are you kidding? No, this has got to be a joke, there’s no way he has that car. As the engine purrs to life, you can feel the rumbling vibration in your chest even from across the street. When he pulls out, it’s evident just how suped up it is. There’s an added spoiler on the back and… are those LED lights on the rims? That’s it. You might actually be in love.

The hum of the engine steadily approaches as he pulls up next to you on the street, rolling down the window and looking up at you and your wide eyes.

“Like what you see, officer?” Jisung raises his eyebrows teasingly, a smug little smirk playing on his lips. If it had been anyone else, you’re sure you would be enraged by the expression, but there’s something about him that makes it hot rather than insufferable. He hangs an elbow out the window, lightly tapping his fingers to the bass of some song that plays from his speakers as you take in the vehicle.

“Shut the fuck up, this is yours?” You raise your voice over the sound of the engine, leaning in closer so he can hear you. You momentarily forget that you’re technically on duty right now.

There it is again, that hearty laugh of his. Definitely one of your new favorite sounds.

“Yes ma’am, all mine,” Jisung pulls up his sunglasses, finally giving you a clear view of his face. His face that’s looking more mischievous by the minute. “Maybe one day you’ll do me the honor of taking you for a spin, how’s that sound?” He reaches out and lightly flicks his index finger up the bottom of your chin. Your stomach explodes with butterflies as a result.

“I’m…” You consider your options. Is he serious? He’s definitely flirting with you. Right? He literally just touched your chin while asking if you wanted a ride in his car. He’s definitely flirting. Yeah.

“I’m free tomorrow,” You blurt, against your better judgment. There’s no way in hell you’re going to turn down a opportunity like this.

“Same time, same place?”

You glance at your watch. 10:30 p.m. You should be in the patrol car with Seungmin right about now.

“That works,” You nod. Your answer is a little shaky, but you hide it well.

“Guess I’ll see you then, officer,” Jisung flashes you one last smile, scrunching up his nose and throwing you a half salute. He revvs up his engine once, twice, and then he’s gone.

Letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your legs shake as you head back into the coffee shop to re-order a cup of coffee. You’re going to need it.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

This is stupid. Like, really dumb. You can’t believe you’re doing this.

You’ve been sitting on a bench outside of the coffee shop for the past fifteen minutes. Granted, you’re the one who decided to show up fifteen minutes early, but you’re starting to regret that decision. At least it’s not cold out.

You had spent probably a good three hours debating what the hell you were going to wear. Might seem excessive but there were just so many points to consider. What if you come off too strong? but then again, you wouldn't want to underdress. Or overdress. It’s not even a date, he’s just giving you a ride around, right? Why are you stressing so much?

And so here you wait in your cute little mid-thigh skirt, having decided with a nod that it was a safe bet all around. Plus, it makes your legs look great.

You’re definitely thinking about this too hard.

A quick beep of a car horn catches your attention. You look up right as you feel the distinct purr of Jisung’s engine rumbling in your bones. Thank God, he actually came.

You’re not sure if you’re jittering from the excitement of going on a— Date? You really don’t want to make any assumptions because he hadn’t straight up asked you on a date per say— with the most gorgeous man you’d ever laid eyes on or the excitement of getting to ride in his car. Maybe both. You clench and unclench your fists in anticipation. You’re positively itching to feel what it’s like on the road.

Jisung exits the low car smoothly, heading towards you with a wave. His eyes scrunch up at the corners when he smiles, painting his expression with such a lovely friendliness that makes you want to curl up in a ball and cry. His outfit drastically contrasts his inviting face though, he’s dressed in dark grey washed jeans and a burnt orange short sleeve that hugs his upper body almost skin-tight, a jacket tied loosely around his waist. The duality of man, you suppose. The slicked back style of his hair on top of literally everything else about him screams one thing. This man looks like a goddamn racer.

As soon as you realize you’ve been gawping at him for a good couple of moments now, you snap your focus up to his eyes, already feeling a blush creeping it’s way across your cheeks.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, officer,” Jisung gives you a quick up and down, meeting your eyes afterwards with a look that can only be described as playfulness.

Oh he just knows he’s hot, doesn’t he? Obviously you’re not going to argue, because he’s right.

“Oh my god, don’t call me that,” You protest, lightly punching his arm in retaliation. You definitely don’t miss the unmistakable feeling of muscle under your fist, but that’s really besides the point. The point is he has you all bothered and shit with that nickname. You’ve never been called ‘officer’ so… affectionately.

“You’re right,” He raises his hands in defense, “my bad, babe.”

A retort shrivels on your tongue. You’re pretty sure you can feel your body temprature go up at least two degrees as Jisung heads back to his car, beckoning you to follow him. His back is turned but you can already imagine that little self-satisfied smirk on his face.

He’s going to be the death of you.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You can feel the weight of your body being pressed back into the seat as Jisung speeds up his pace, making your eyes nearly roll back into your head.

The engine roars in your ears as you watch the speedometer whip from zero to sixty in the span of three point five seconds. You can’t help but have a wide grin plastered on your face. It feels like a good stretch after a day of sitting on the couch, you can’t even remember the last time you’ve just, well, drove. Carefree, without the looming restriction of a speed limit or the stress of swerving after a runaway car. Just you and the road. And Jisung, but that’s a plus.

One of the biggest reasons you had strived to join the police force throughout the beginning of your adolescence is that you just could not get enough of that adrenaline rush that comes from zooming down the highway at outrageous hours of the night, competing with your high school friends to see who’s car could accelerate the quicket, maintain the best speed, sound the coolest. The amount of sleepness nights you had spent installing countless upgrades on your car just to beat your friends in some silly bet over a couple of dollars instilled in you the certainty that this is what you wanted to do for the rest of your life.

You had foolishly thought that becoming an officer would cure that hunger burning in your gut, but it just made it worse. You didn’t realize just how bad it had gotten until just now, the familiar sound of hopping gears and the healthy rev of a well-loved engine resurfaces so many emotions that you had so carefully stowed away when you had all graduated and moved on to university, no longer having the time or bravery to risk getting caught anymore.

You glance over at Jisung in the driver’s seat. He looks so at ease, you can tell this is his home, his element. You wonder if he feels the same emptiness by adhereing to the law that you do. It seems taboo to think that way, given your occupation, but you can’t help it.

Jisung flicks on his blinker to exit the highway, and you give him a look out of the corner of your eye.

“Mind telling me where we’re going?” You inquire as he slows to a stop at the intersection.

“Thought it would be nice to go to dinner, don’t you think so?” He glances down either side of the street to ensure it’s clear as he proposes the offer.

Maybe that empty feeling in your stomach was hunger.

“Yeah, actually, I do think so.”

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

The restaurant seems strangely empty. A few of the white-clothed tables scattered about the hall are occupied by the quiet bubble of conversation, but other than that the atmosphere is quite still.

Jisung pulls out your chair for you, flamboyantly flipping his hand into a bow as he waits for you to sit. You roll your eyes, badly supressing a smile as you slide into the seat with as much grace as you can manage.

You had both just picked up the menus that had been set in front of you when a low whistle sounds from behind you.

“Who’s the pretty lady, huh, J? Finally found the time to go through that roster of yours?” Your body tenses as someone approaches from the side. You quickly turn your head to get a better view of the newcomer. Oh wow. Was Jisung just friends with hot people in general?

“Ha ha.” Jisung pulls a half-amused face at the man, and gestures to the seat next to him. “This is Changbin. He’s not usually like this, I swear,” Jisung reassures you, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest as Changbin plops down on the seat over. Despite his bold entrance, he nods politely at you in greeting. It becomes evident that he’s just trying to mess with Jisung, meaning no ill-intent (or even much intrest) towards you. You let your muscles relax.

“Well, were you gonna bring her with us tonight?” Changbin gestures towards you, “you know they always get their panties in a twist when one of us has a girl on our arm—”

“She works in law enforcement, isn’t that cool?” Jisung announces a little too loudly, interrupting Changbin, who immediately snaps his mouth shut.

You don’t miss the way Jisung quirks an eyebrow ever-so-slightly at him, a warning. Huh. Your eyes squint in suspicion. What’s this all about?

“Bring me where?” You question Changbin innocently, pushing past Jisung’s subject change and batting your eyes once or twice, just for good measure.

“Bring you to— well, I mean, It’s a place. Definitely. Yeah. Bring you to a place. Somewhere,” Changbin keeps glancing at Jisung as he speaks, who is currently pinching his nosebridge between two fingers, head tilted towards the ceiling.

Changbin falls silent after that, suddenly very intrested in the condition of his shoelaces. You shift your gaze between the two men as an awkward pause falls over the table.

After a long sigh eminating from Jisung, he leans forwards on the table, hands clasped in front of him. His voice is lowered as he speaks.

“Do you trust me?” His eyes bore into your own, not breaking contact as your mind starts running a mile a minute.

Now, the logical answer you would give to a stranger you hardly know is a resounding ‘of course not,’ but this isn’t just anyone. It’s Jisung. The man who risked his very life to save yours, out of the pure goodness of his heart. You can’t imagine not trusting him, you realize. Because you do, you trust him more than you trust yourself, because he did what you couldn’t that day. Without him, you wouldn’t even be here.

“…Yes, I trust you,” You respond, conviction clear in your voice.

Jisung lets out a breath, once again settling back in his chair.

“Then buckle up babe, ‘cause you’re in for a wild night,” He says with a soft chuckle, just as a loud commotion breaks through the restaurant and crowds of people start to pour in through the front door.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Jisung is a racer. A street racer, to be specific. Very dangerous, and definitely very illegal.

The restaurant turned out to be a meeting point for two rival districts to compete in some sort of tiebreaker race tonight, and it seems like nearly the entire city had come to watch. Jisung had dragged you through the bustling hall off into a corner, where he met up with Changbin and one other racer. You think you heard the name ‘Chan’ but you’re not too sure. It’s quite loud when you have a room filled with excited fans shouting bets this way and that, sure that their district will win and that they’ll walk home with the jackpot.

Jisung, Changbin, and Chan form a three person racing team. They call themselves ‘3racha’. You thought the name was a joke at first, but the laugh caught in your throat when you realized they were being dead serious. Right now the three are huddled together, murmuring over the pre-determined race course, deciding on any last minute strategies.

Right about now, you should be alerting your police team of the highly illegal activity buzzing all around you. Troops would be sent in immediately and the whole event would be shut down, arrests being made left and right.

But, you don’t want that to happen. Not in the slightest.

You know could lose everything over this, your career, your friends, your reputation. None of that matters to you right now. All you want is to see Jisung and his team race.

Not far off, a group that you assume to be the opposing team stares daggers at 3racha, the tallest one of them making eye contact with you. He says something with a scoff, but you can’t make it out just by reading his lips. Whatever it was though, his other two teammates found it hilarious, one doubling over with laughter and the other giving him a jovial smack on the back.

You back away from their prying eyes, accidentally colliding with Jisung in the process. He looks up at you as you send him a quick ‘sorry’, then he shifts his gaze to the still chortling trio. You can see something in his normally soft gaze harden as he straightens up and reaches an arm around your shoulder, gently but firmly pulling you flush to him.

His physical presence overwhelms your senses, suddenly wrapped in a blanket that dulls the rest of the chaos out. You’re positive he can feel your heart racing as he leans in to whisper in your ear,

“I need you to ignore them, okay? They’re just trying to get us bothered, and you’re an easy target for them. Just stick by us. Can you do that for me?” His breath tickles your ear with every syllable he speaks, making your legs weak. You manage a nod and he pulls away from you with a reassuring pat to your shoulder.

Changbin sends a not-so-discreet middle finger their way, which earns both a scowl from the them and a reprimanding tap on the back of the head from Chan.

Frankly, you are a bit overwhelmed. Even though it was just for a second, you miss Jisung’s calming arm around you. Without it, you feel like you are drowning in the unfamiliar voices babbling every which way, every conversation fighting to be understood in your mind at once. Usually, you know exactly how to handle any given situation with a clear mind— it’s part of your job after all— but this? It’s all so foreign to you you don’t even know where to begin.

As soon as the clock strikes midnight, the crowd forms a clear space around both of the teams, allowing room for them to exit the building and enter their vehicles. You scurry after 3racha, feeling quite out of place.

It was to be a relay race. The rules are simple: Three laps around the entire course, each lap assigned to a respective member of each team. Whichever team’s car crosses the finish line first, wins the tiebreaker and takes home the prize. You can tell that mountains of cash are on the line for the boys. Some of the numbers you hear thrown around have your eyes as wide as saucers. If 3racha really is that good, it’s no wonder Jisung is able to afford the kind of car he has.

You’re watching Jisung do a once over of his car, ensuring that everything is safely in order, when he crosses over to you, extending his hand. You furrow your brows, slightly confused, but you take his hand. He smiles, wrapping his fingers tightly around you and squeezing once.

“I want you to ride with me, please?” He says, eyes never leaving your face. You stand in silence for a moment, just soaking in the weight of his hand and the familiarness of his face. The curve of his eyebrow, the slope of his nose, the way his bottom lip always seems to pout out just a little bit, and, oh, those eyes. You feel like you’ve known him for your entire life.

You feel yourself break into a smile.

“Let’s go then,” you squeeze his hand in return.

Jisung’s engine roars to life as him and the other first racer, the tall one’s name is apparently Hyunjin, line up at the designated starting line. 3racha had implored that Jisung go for the first lap, so they would have a healthy leg up on the competition come the second lap, where Changbin would be waiting.

As you wait for the countdown to start your knee bounces up and down, the sickly feeling of intense anticipation eating its way through your stomach.

You feel Jisung’s gaze as he glances over at you, a half grin on his face. What’s he thinking? Your internal question is soon answered as he reaches over and grabs your hand, guiding it to rest on the gearshift.

“10!” A loud voice bellows from a megaphone from outside. The countdown has begun.

Jisung clasps his hand over your own, capturing you in between himself and the vehicle. He’s so warm. Meeting your eyes, he gives you a reassuring nod when he spots your expression, running a thumb along the back of your hand. Now your heart is pounding for a different reason.

“3!” The revving of engines combines with the rush of blood in your ears, the vibrations sending a chill up your spine.

“2!”

“1!”

“Go!”

[yanderes-galore]

Yandere Concept for Bubba Bubbaphant Please?

You know the drill, same format as the other Critters I wrote. Sorry if this isn't as long as the other ones... I didn't have many ideas for Bubba :(

🐘Yandere! Bubba Bubbaphant Concept💡

(My Version)

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Overprotective behavior, Blood, Experimentation mentioned, Deception, Kidnapping implied, Forced companionship.

A couple things to note about Bubba.

I imagine he's probably one of the largest and strongest Critters in his monster form.

Not only that but the material on him isn't furry.

It's probably fuzzy or more akin to actual elephant skin, as odd as that sounds.

Bubba is also one of the smartest Critters.

Which can have its benefits... and its drawbacks.

Like all the Critters I write, Bubba has a plush form and a monster form.

Most monster forms appear to be bipedal, although I imagine Bubba, Bobby, and maybe Crafty are mostly on all fours.

However, Bubba would be bipedal in his smaller plush form.

Due to his intellect, I imagine he'd want to be very helpful towards his obsession.

Maybe Bubba tries to act like a helpful guide to you, coming up with plans or helping you with work.

He, like most of the Critters, prefers to stay in his smaller form

Mostly because his larger form can be a bit problematic.

Imagine being a scientist working on testing the Critters and other experiments.

It's unexpected when you're solving equations or overseeing tests... Only for Bubba to want to help.

The elephant, since creation, has always wanted to be a problem solver.

He wants to learn more about everything around him.

Which, since you seem to know a lot, makes him cling around you the most.

While Bubba might help you if you're a scientist, he would also love to help you if you were a kid around the time of his creation.

The Critters were created to be good around kids and watch over them.

Imagine Bubba watching over you and providing helpful tips and lessons for you?

He loves to help and may even act like a teacher to you.

Bubba's presence has always been calming due to his Lemongrass scent.

Like most of the Critters' scents, Lemongrass supposedly gives stress relief.

So imagine working hard one day, or maybe if you're young and are scared of something... Bubba steps in to comfort you.

The elephant loves to cuddle in your lap, tail swaying as he comforts you.

To him, you're his best friend.

It's his job to keep his buddy happy and stress free, right?

He'll find ways to solve your problems for you...

Even if they're bigger than he thought.

Like the rest of his Critter friends, Bubba ended up being abandoned in the Playcare after the Hour of Joy.

He's managed to survive due to his intelligence and strong monster form... yet it's hard to keep your mind together when you're all alone.

His friends have gone feral by now.

If you ever met Bubba after the Hour of Joy, he's a different beast.

He's tried to keep his mind busy, but it's difficult when you have to feed on other living toys to survive.

He hasn't seen a human for who knows how long....

It's definitely been years, yet he hasn't been counting.

When Bubba meets you, someone who managed to come back after the place shut down, he can't help but follow you.

He keeps his monster form hidden, following you around as a small plush toy.

He's curious... You could either be someone from his past or another person altogether.

Bubba doesn't care much... He's yearned for company.

Now, if he plans things out, he can finally have it.

Bubba seems like he'd make an elaborate plan to get you to trust him.

Something like deliberately putting you in danger, only to save you at the last second.

It's manipulative, but he's surprisingly good at trickery.

I can see him using his monster form to knock something loose, like a piece of machinery, just to trap you.

Then he'll come up to you in his plush form, promising to help lead you out of here.

He isn't the weirdest thing you've witnessed, surely.

After all, this place is full of experiments and living toys.

His younger self might have felt bad about all of this.

However, He's willing to do anything for a friend.

You barely caught sight of his monster form... or maybe you could make out the silhouette?

Either way, you don't think the small elephant plush and the big monster are the same creature.

Bubba would be smiling the whole time you travel through the Playcare.

He's being carefully held by you, wrapped tightly around your arm.

He acts as a guide, after all, he's been here for a while.

He offers tips and warnings, wanting to keep his new best friend out of danger.

He sees you as his savior, you've saved his mind from deteriorating!

Now he wishes to 'return the favor' by easing your stress.

He smells of musk yet also Lemongrass... He's simultaneously a living creature and a toy.

It's strange... but expected in this place.

The smell is no doubt comforting in a place such as this... so you accept Bubba's affection and guidance when you can.

You poor thing... You have no clue that Bubba set this up to have you as his best friend forever.

When you try to escape Playcare, Bubba asks where you're going.

You say you're trying to leave this place... Bubba asks if you're taking him with you?

After all, you can't possibly be trying to navigate this place on your own, right?

When you stay silent, unsure what to say...

Bubba doesn't like that.

In fact, the elephant desperately tries to convince you not to go.

You argue with the guide you once considered a friend, unsure why he wants you to stay in Playcare of all places.

Then... It happens.

The friend you thought you made transforms.

A large slithering trunk slips around your waist as you're met with large flaring eyes.

Bubba resembles a large lumbering elephant in his monster form, strong yet the ribs are showing.

Blood from previous victims stains his mouth and tusks as he stares you down.

This was the beast that attacked you before.

Bubba has planned everything... and for what?

A friend?

You can try to struggle... try to run... but at this point it's useless.

Bubba may be tanky and slow... but his trunk allows him to get away with grabbing you.

You try to plead with him, trying to promise you'll escape with him.

Bubba, however, is smarter than that.

He knows you're tricking him.

He knows a monster like him can't leave with you.

Which means you won't be leaving him.

This will be your new home, a playground for the both of you!

You'll never have to worry about anything ever again....

He'll take care of you here, just like a best friend should...

You're going to have fun forever... or until you eventually perish.

[vigilante-3073]

It’s my birthday is on Saturday! Could I have please a Gregory house x reader imagine?

Birthday Girl

Gregory House x Female Reader

Summary: It is Y/N's birthday and everyone seems to have forgotten but House.

TW: Established relationship, surprise party, House being sneaky.

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY! 🥳🎂🎉 Hope you have the best day ever!

F/N: Father's name M/N: Mother's name

It was Y/N's birthday.

Y/N was a relatively simple person and didn't expect much fanfare on her birthday, but she at least wanted it to be acknowledged. It was almost lunchtime and not one person had wished her a happy birthday.

Y/N hadn't received a single call or text from friends or family either and it was starting to get to her. She sat alone at a table in the cafeteria, picking away at a dry muffin while trying not to cry.

Y/N looked up when House sat down across from her, her eyes quickly returned to the dissected baked good as she tried to keep herself together.

"You've been upset about something all day long. You've been virtually useless in differentials and I think I know why," House started.

"Why?" Y/N questioned softly.

He stuck a hand into his blazer, pulling out a pink envelope and setting it down on the table. Y/N glanced up at him before picking it up, she opened it and slid out a card.

It was blue with a cartoon goose in a party hat on the front, in swirly pink writing it read:

Happy Birthday, you silly goose!

Y/N felt tears gathering in her eyes, "Happy birthday, Y/N," House said.

"Thank you," She said softly.

"I made reservations for us at that fancy place you like, I'll pick you up at eight," House stated.

"Okay," Y/N smiled.

House stood up from the table, "Get some real food in the meantime, none of the stuff they bake here is edible," House said.

House and Y/N had been dating for almost three years. She was an important member of his team and feelings developed between them as they spent more time together. House always had a soft spot for Y/N and he tended to be more gentle with her than he was with other members of his team.

Cuddy and Wilson both talked to Y/N when their relationship was in the early stages. They wanted her to be careful and advised her that being with him was not a good decision.

Y/N and House worked together, he was her boss and he was House, which was reason enough for her to steer clear.

House was rude, manipulative, sarcastic and downright abrasive while Y/N was the complete opposite. She was kind, trusting, soft-spoken and generally sweet, everyone who met her absolutely loved her.

Wilson and Cuddy thought that House would ruin her.

House may not have always been the romantic type, but he definitely cared for Y/N. He looked out for her in ways that weren't obvious, discreetly checking in to make sure she was doing alright.

For the most part, House had done well with keeping his relationship out of the workplace. Other than a few nasty jokes here and there, he treated her the same as his other employees. Things got easier as time went on and Cuddy was actually surprised that he was able to compartmentalize.

The rest of the day was eventful, but it wasn't anything out of the ordinary when it came to being on a case with House. The patient was lied to and browbeaten into making the decision that eventually led to their diagnosis and subsequent cure.

House drove to her apartment after they had finished the case, he brought her a bouquet of flowers and a wrapped gift. He made his way up to the door and knocked, breath catching in his throat when he saw her.

Y/N had always dressed well, but seeing her fully made up always managed to take his breath away.

"You look hot," He said.

Y/N smiled, "Thank you," She replied.

"Got these for you," House said, holding out the bouquet to her.

"Aw, that's sweet. Just give me a minute to put them in some water and then we can go, okay?" Y/N asked, House nodded.

Y/N made her way into the kitchen, House stepped into her apartment and closed the door. He set the gift on the table next to the couch, moving over to the kitchen and watching Y/N as she trimmed the flowers.

Y/N placed the colorful flowers into the water before setting the vase in the center of her kitchen island.

"I know you like pink so I asked for whatever was the most pink," House stated.

"I love them. Thank you, Greg," Y/N smiled.

He nodded, "We should get going, got a reservation in twenty minutes," He said.

...

Dinner went off without a hitch, they had a few drinks and shared a dessert before House walked her back to his car. He opened the door for her, she thanked him as she slipped inside.

House nodded, closing the door behind her before moving around to the driver's side. He drove back to her apartment with the radio playing softly as they talked. House parked the car and walked her up to her apartment, standing behind her as she unlocked the door.

Y/N opened the door, the lights turned on suddenly before the large group of party guests yelled, "Surprise!"

Y/N turned to look at House, "Did you plan this?" She asked.

He nodded, "I know how crazy you are about birthdays so I told everyone to keep quiet about it until the party... Then you were moping around so much that I caved and got you the card," House said.

Y/N smiled, sliding her arms around him and giving him a hug, "Thank you," She mumbled.

He returned her embrace, "You're welcome... Now go enjoy your party," He said.

Y/N pulled away, stepping into her apartment with a happy smile. Everyone was there, including her parents that House flew to New Jersey for the occasion.

House settled himself on the couch with a drink as he watched his girlfriend interact with her friends and family. He knew that he was lucky to have her, but times like these just showed him exactly how lucky he was.

Y/N almost had too many friends to invite, everyone she had ever met fell in love with her and it baffled him.

How could a person be so magnetic to everyone around them without intending to be?

Y/N had no greater motivations, she was just genuinely happy and House wanted to be like that.

Y/N made her way over, sitting down on the couch beside House and crossing her legs, "You enjoying the party?" He asked.

"I am, but you're not," Y/N stated.

"I enjoy spending time with you, not a fan of the crowd," House said.

"Do you want to stay over tonight?" She questioned.

"You just want me to help you clean up this mess," House said, Y/N rolled her eyes with a smile.

"You're right, I only want you to stay over for your cleaning abilities. Not because I like you or anything," Y/N teased.

"I'll stay," House nodded.

"Good, I was hoping that you would," She replied.

"Since I managed to steal you away from your many adoring fans," He started, reaching over and grabbing the wrapped gift that he had left on the table.

House held it out to her, "Open it," He said.

Y/N took the gift from his hand, carefully tearing away the paper. She let out a soft gasp when she realized what it was, a pristine first edition copy of her favorite book.

"Where did you find this?" She asked softly.

"I've been looking around for a while," House said.

"House, this must've cost you a fortune," Y/N said, looking over the book and examining the details.

"You're worth every penny," He stated.

Y/N looked up at him, "You're a really sweet guy, House. Thank you," She said.

He nodded, "I should go introduce myself to your parents, learn what kind of craziness is in my future," House said.

"You go do that," Y/N said, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. House stood up from the couch, making his way over to Y/N's parents.

"Hi, I don't think we've met. I'm Gregory House," He said.

"I'm F/N and this is my wife, M/N. Thank you for inviting us," Y/N's father said.

"Yes, we really appreciate you flying us down to see her," M/N said.

"Of course, you're her parents and you should be here," House nodded.

"We've heard a lot about you, Doctor House," M/N said.

"Don't believe everything you hear... Unless they're good things, then they're completely true," House said.

M/N smiled, "Our daughter seems quite smitten with you and I can definitely see why," She said.

"I'm a lucky guy," House nodded, tapping his cane on the ground gently.

"I was actually hoping to get your blessing to ask her to marry me," House admitted.

Her mother smiled widely, looking over at her husband, "I just need to know one thing, Doctor House... Do you love her?" F/N asked.

"More than I've ever loved anything," House stated.

"Then of course, you have our blessing," F/N said, holding out his hand to House. He shook her father's hand with a small smile, knowing that he was about to make the best decision of his life.

...

Y/N woke up the next morning, eyes fluttering open to the bright sunlight filtering in through the window. Y/N turned onto her other side, realizing that the space beside her was unoccupied. House tended to have bouts of insomnia, but usually wound up in bed beside her before she woke up in the morning.

Y/N let out a soft sigh, eyes drifting over to the alarm clock on the nightstand.

"Oh, crap," She mumbled, climbing out of bed quickly and rushing into the bathroom when she realized that she was incredibly late for work.

Y/N brushed her teeth, combing her hair and pulling it up into a ponytail. Y/N made her way out of the bathroom, searching through her clothing quickly to find an outfit.

"Where's the fire?" House asked, making his way into the bedroom with a tray in his hands.

"I'm really late," Y/N mumbled shakily, trying to keep the panicked tears at bay.

"I called in for you and I already," House said.

"You did what?" Y/N asked, turning to face him.

"You and I are out sick for the day," He stated.

Y/N let out a huff, her shoulders sinking as she looked at him, "Why didn't you tell me?" She asked.

"You were asleep," He shrugged, "Get back in bed, I made breakfast," He said.

Y/N shuffled over to the bed, climbing under the blankets and settling on the mattress with her back against the headboard.

House placed the tray over her lap, "I thought I had a bit more time before you woke up in a panic," He said, moving around the bed and getting in beside her.

Y/N huffed, "You almost gave me a heart attack," She said.

"My bad... I hope that the chocolate chip pancakes and bacon I made will fix it," He said.

"It might," Y/N replied. She shared her meal with House, sipping on her coffee while he watched her.

"I have a question for you," He said, she looked over at him.

House slipped a hand into the pocket of his pyjama pants and pulled out the small velvet box. He flipped the lid open with his thumb before holding it out in front of her. Y/N's eyes widened, gaze flickering between the ring and House.

"Will you marry me?" He asked.

"I'm sorry, what?" Y/N mumbled quietly, House smiled.

House let out a soft laugh, hand dropping onto the bed, "Did you not understand the question?" He asked.

"No... I-I don't know," Y/N said softly.

"I'm gonna ask again, alright?" House questioned, she nodded.

"Will you marry me?" He asked.

"Did you ask my dad?" Y/N questioned.

"I don't want to marry your dad, I want to marry you," House stated, smile widening.

"No, did you ask him for his blessing?" Y/N asked.

"Of course I did and he said yes. Now, I'm gonna ask you for the third time and I need you to focus because asking four times would be humiliating, alright?" House said.

"I'm sorry, I just- I wasn't ready," Y/N said, her cheeks flushing.

"Will you marry me?" House asked.

"Yes," Y/N replied, a wide smile breaking out across her face.

"Finally! My god, I was starting to think that I'd never get an answer," House said.

Y/N cupped his cheeks, pressing her lips to his in a gentle kiss. She pulled away and House took her left hand into his, plucking the ring from the box and sliding it onto her finger.

Y/N smiled as she looked down at it, "It's beautiful, House," She said.

"Wilson helped me pick it out. He's got a lot of experience with ring shopping," House said.

"Well, I love it, it's perfect," Y/N assured.

"I'm glad you like it... Happy birthday, Y/N," He said.

[zae-heeyyy]

I know I’m always writing *sigh* but it’s because I really am always just sighing over everything to do with this man, and more specifically, the talent of this community. I think Ache was one of the first pieces you uploaded after I followed you almost a year ago, and I remember fawning over it, and rereading over and over again because I was just so awe of your ability to put so much emotion into what, 500 words at most? It was so so so masterfully done. I seriously was amazed at how you managed to capture that sexy feeling without actually writing out the “events” of the night before. As I’ve told you before, your writing is a huge inspiration and Ache along with Sooth now are pieces that affirm my belief that you are one of the best. Even the titles alone…ugh. I love seeing both perspectives. I love the contrast between the two– Arthur thinking he fumbled and reader being fulfilled. So beautiful. There’s just something about these two, idk. They’re definitely in my top favorites of all time. Simple, sultry, sweet.

Soothe

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI A companion piece to Ache.

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

You watch him suck air through his teeth at the first taste of coffee in the morning. His brows furrow under that hat as he nearly chokes the first swallow down, standing there next to the campfire.

Alas, you did not crawl out of bed early enough to save the camp from Pearson’s brewing skills. You had been sneaking out of bed early to beat Pearson to the kettle, and it seems that Arthur had noticed the difference in the quality of coffee, noting how surprised he was at the terrible taste.

Not this morning. This morning you crept from another cot entirely, shrugging your chemise on as you quietly searched for your bloomers in a tent that was not your own. Before you left, you had turned back toward the cot, looking back upon your bedmate fondly, still asleep in the cot, half dressed, snoring peacefully.

It would be at least an hour more before he woke up, still sleeping off the whiskey imbibed.

Lest he finds you staring, you quickly scurry over to the laundry pile, where a basket with dirty shirts overflows, waiting for washing. Before Grimshaw catches you dawdling and tans your hide.

You heave the basket up, propping it on your hip.

You have to stop, suck in a breath. 

Oh.

A blooming soreness shoots through the very core of you, burning a path through your hips that was so pleasurable last night. You are certain your cheeks blaze red, a flush creeping down your chest. Regaining your composure, you head toward the lakeside, each step that soreness making itself known.

Through the corner of your eye you see him still at the campfire, trying to drink that shit coffee.

Does he even realize? Does he know? Does he know that he has carved himself a blaze of pleasure within your body? 

Does he know that you now feel so empty?

Oh, how you wonder. Oh, how you wish.

You thrust a shirt underwater and start working at a stain, trying to block out the hot whispers and deep groans in your ear when he pushed into you last night. Your cunt clenches at nothing, recalling through your tipsy haze the perfection of him laying you down in his cot. The feeling of him pawing at your bloomers and flipping up your skirts after you had just enough sherry to get over yourself and sit in his lap earlier in the night.

Oh, how you wish for something more. How you long for it.

You decide to go for broke - you need no sherry anymore. Not when you’ve heard the things he whispered to you with each thrust of his cock last night.

He’s staring down at the ground, still holding on to the cup of coffee as you approach.

“Hey.”

Arthur looks generally surprised. A flush painted across the apples of his cheeks, and he looks up at you with those damned blue eyes and suddenly the feared enforcer of the Van der Linde gang is as awkward as a teenaged boy.

“You feelin’ okay?” He asks, as his cheeks continue to blaze red.

Oh, this man. Your heart flutters.

You smile, lean in, and kiss his cheek.

“I’m hopin’ that wasn’t the last night we spend together, Mister Morgan.”

It was better than you saying what was really on the tip of your tongue - of how you were sore from him, but can’t stand the thought of not being in his cot tonight. “Darlin’, let… let me-” he swallows, obvious discomfort across his features, “Let me take you into town. Let me bed you right.”

You smile as you reach toward the coffee cup, trying to contain your excitement.

“Alright, Arthur. Shall we?”

[lookinghalfacorpse]

it's okay, take your time, we will wait for you as long and you need 🫂🫂🫂

<3 ty for the kind messages

[peridots-pixiwolf]

[Start ID. A green-toned drawing of two characters from an original universe, shown from the shoulders up. It's framed as though they're taking a selfie. On the left is Heathrow, a human with dark skin, long hair, a good number of facial scars, and two painted lines below each eye. He wears something akin to a green hoodie, with fluffy plant matter sewn into the back of the hood. On the right is Crassie, a half elf, which in this universe entails long pointed ears, a pair of short pale horns, a slightly rabbit-like nose and markings under her eyes. Her skin is olive-toned, sporting a couple distinct scars on her face and hand, and she's wearing what is essentially a bush and spiked glovelets. Both of them are smiling, Crassie a little bit wide-eyed and Heathrow with a fond expression. The background's a saturated green with the text "1 YEAR!". End ID]

A redraw-in-spirit of the post from last year's Feb 16 that introduced these two to my blog. It's their birthday :]

[lightseoul]

a/n. once again, i have been inspired by a random instagram reel. i didn't even watch it, really—i just saw the keyword and was immediately spurred into writing this. enjoy <3 (0.9k)

you feel his gaze on you before you even think of meeting it.

“what,” you state more than ask when he doesn’t let up after a minute, not bothering to look up from the book you’re reading.

a scoff resounds from his direction. then: “too lazy to even move your shitty eyes?”

“don’t have to,” you retort as you finally close the paperback, shifting in your bed to regard him. “you’re boring holes into my face with all that staring.”

from where he’s seated at your dining table, bakugou grumbles, although he doesn’t deny the allegations. your face softens when you realize belatedly that he’s being awfully quiet—a jarring juxtaposition to his usual brashness.

something’s up.

but you know better than to pry it from him.

you mentally sigh. the roundabout way it is.

“what, am i extra pretty today?” you joke out of your ass, and that catches him off guard because he chokes on his own spit. that wasn’t part of the plan but you can’t help it—you laugh as he coughs his lungs out, somehow managing to throw in a curse or two in between rasps.

“shitty fucking—” he hacks some more, and when he finally recovers: “i don’t know why i fucking put up with you.”

you shrug, not at all hurt by the otherwise scathing statement. he’s said that to you too many times to count and yet, he’s still here. hanging out with you in your apartment on a friday night, no less.

you don’t point out any of that, though, confident that said knowledge is true enough for the both of you to leave it unspoken. so instead, you continue down the jesting route. “you wouldn’t know how to talk to girls without me, that’s why.”

“fuck off,” he tosses without missing a beat. “i can get the fuck by without your shitty ass guidance.”

that makes you grin, because no, he definitely can’t. how can he when he refuses to do the very first step? as in, choose a girl to talk to?

you know, someone who isn’t you.

his reluctant (best) friend.

and as if he read your mind, he shoots you a pointed look. “and i told you,” he hisses, “you use up all my fuckin’ tolerance. can’t have another girl around because you drive me crazy enough.”

“thanks, kats. i love you, too.”

“whatever,” he answers petulantly as he looks away, although you catch wind of the faint tinge of pink spreading across his cheeks like it always does when you shower him with affection—to his chagrin.

“so…” you start when neither of you says anything for a moment, “am i extra pretty today? or do you wanna share, i don’t know, something.”

“if i spit it out, will you fucking stop badgering me about how you look? you haven’t even showered today, for fuck’s sake.”

a pillow is flung across the room before you can think against it.

“wha—” he gets out instinctively before dodging it with ease. you roll your eyes as he flashes you a victorious smirk. of course. of all the jobs he could have in the world, he had to be a pro-hero and have the signature pro-hero reflexes.

his countenance then morphs as he stares at you expectantly, waiting for an answer, and you have to bite back the fuck you that’s dangling at the tip of your tongue. instead, you give him a curt nod, feigning nonchalance to further coax him into spilling whatever’s in his mind.

“go on,” you press when he doesn’t follow it up immediately after.

“i’m getting to it, alright? jesus.”

a pause.

then, another.

and when you’re finally convinced he’s just playing with you and won’t reveal whatever secret he’s got hidden behind the vault he calls his lips, he says it.

“i’m getting a vasectomy.”

you blink at him.

that was not what you were expecting.

“wh—what?”

you can only watch him in utter bewilderment as he flushes, covering up his fluster with a glare. “you heard me.”

“but, kats,” you begin, not knowing how to say the next bit, “…you’re a virgin. and you’ve never been with anyone romantically.”

the pink from earlier instantly deepens into a scarlet. “so what, hah? you’re the one to talk!”

“no, no,” you manage to respond, slowly shaking your head. you have no idea what’s happening. “that wasn’t meant to be a roast. like, at all. it’s just…why?”

bakugou doesn’t answer right away, instead choosing to press his lips into a thin line.

“you said it yourself, didn’t you?” he says after a while, voice uncharacteristically hushed, as if he doesn’t want you to hear him. you lean in ever so minutely, straining to listen from a few feet away.

“said wait?” you ask, matching the stillness of his tone.

“that birth control fucks you up.”

at that, you barely manage to school your shock into a neutral expression, although it’s definitely your heart that’s suddenly hammering wildly against your chest at his admission. you open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. his gaze is dizzyingly penetrating as you struggle to get your words out, until you finally manage a warbled “y-yeah.”

he probably meant that birth control fucks you—women—up, and not you you.

yeah, that’s definitely it.

with this new strand of knowledge, you’re able to muster a genuine smile his way. “that’s very thoughtful of you, kats.”

and just because you like to be sure of things, you throw in the next thing for good measure.

“she’ll be very lucky to have you.”

silence.

“hah?!”

(the keyword was vasectomy lol) (petition for more birth control methods for men)

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra

[sturnsdarling]

‘never have I ever, shared a girl with my brother’

Matt and Chris’ best friend takes an innocent game of ‘never have I ever’ as her opportunity to ask the boys something she’s always wondered

vibe check: THREESOME (obviously no contact between matt and chris the fact that this even needs to be said is insane). dirty talk, softdom!mattandchris, matt the much, double penetration (no lube mentioned but PLEASE USE LUBE i'm so fr), throat fucking (chris receiving), fingering, squirting, titty play, hickies, cream pie, multiple orgasms (i lost count), they both nut inside her (kill me now), cute mini aftercare literally anything you can think of is in this fic dude i could go on forever

5.3k words of pure smut

A/N: the build up/foreplay to the actual smut is basically the scene from challengers because that scene actually changed my life. anyways if you see my search history say anything about how to manifest thought into reality through detailed story writing mind your business.

love and cigs, merc

There was a city wide power outage in LA, you were hanging out at the boys' house with Matt and Chris when suddenly, the TV turned off and the entire house was pitch black. At first you all freaked out, Chris spouting shit about how this is the night you all die and reeling off the game plan for when an intruder comes in, you and Matt were slightly more collected, Matt immediately checking his phone and confirming the power outage whilst you joked along with Chris about how you were going to fight this supposed intruder.

It had been about an hour, Matt had gone to Nicks room to get all his candles and put them on the living room floor, giving you guys some illumination in the dark. Chris was playing music from his phone, feeling grateful for spotify's offline option. You guys had exhausted every talking point, and even Chris was running out of things to say.

At some point between boredom and death, you suggested a game of never have I ever, and the boys reluctantly agreed. You weren't really playing properly because they didn't drink but, at least it was something.

"never have I ever, lost my virginity on a bench in Boston" Matt said, raising an eyebrow at Chris who rolled his eyes, punching his brothers shoulder.

"oh my god, I fuckin' forgot that thats how you lost it!" you laughed uncontrollably, keeling over into the rug on the floor.

"I dunno why you're laughing so much, kid, you've definitely done worse" Chris tutted at you.

"oh yeah? like what?" you said, playful confrontation in your voice.

"d'you remember when I had to come get you from that dudes house because you threw up on his dick?" Matt interrupted yours' and Chris' conversation.

Your eyes went wide and you nearly spat out the soda in your mouth, trying to stifle your laughter.

"I remember that! you had to climb out the bathroom window because you were too embarrassed to go back out" Chris was keeled over in laughter.

"we've all been there" You shrugged, owning your embarrassing mistake.

"no, kid, we haven't" Matt chuckled, looking to Chris who's face was scrunched up in a confused laugh.

"oh, come on? you're seriously telling me you've never had an embarrassing sexual encounter" you pressed.

"none involving vomit" Chris spoke through his laughter

"and none where I had to flee the scene by jumping out a window" Matt added to Chris' taunting.

"whatever, you guys are just boring, you're lucky you have me to keep you entertained with my embarrassing ass life" You rolled your eyes, pretending to be offended.

"to be fair, once I did accidentally punch a girl in the face whilst i was trying to fuck her" Chris said, trying to stifle his laughter.

"how the fuck did you manage that" You burst into hysterics.

"it was every dark and fumbly and I was still basically a virgin, okay? I apologised like fifty times and she still made me leave" Chris said, a boyish sulk taking over his body.

"dude that's not as bad as the time I was this close to a threesome with these girls, and I got so anxious that I told them my dog had just died and ran out half naked" Matt said, pinching his fingers together and huffing

"not my boy trev, thats so deep bro" Chris shook his head, acting disappointed in his brother.

Matt bringing up his near threesome experience made your ears perk up, and a question you had always wanted to ask came flooding back into your brain. You had been friends with the boys for a while and, had shared stories of all of your sexual escapades, some funny, some incredible and some awful, you were all totally open with each other.

But, your whole friendship, you'd always been curious as to whether they'd ever been offered a threesome, or taken someone up on one. You knew that girls would approach them both, but if one had more interest than the other, the other would back off and let his brother do his thing.

You uncrossed your legs, laying them out flat and placing one over the other as you leaned back on your palms, arching your back slightly as you looked between the boys.

"I have another never have I ever" You said, breaking their conversation.

They both looked to you at the same time, their breath hitching in their throat slightly at the sight of your chest being illuminated by the flicker of candle light.

"never have I ever...shared a girl with my brother" you said with complete nonchalance, looking back and forth between the boys.

Chris and Matt side eyed each other and looked back to you, mouths slightly agape at your forward question.

"like, fucked the same girl on different nights?" Chris asked, being the slightly braver of the two.

you shook your head, "like, fucked the same girl, at the same time" your voice was getting more and more seductive without even meaning to.

They looked at each other again, and then back to you, both slightly stunned, and slightly turned on by you even asking them that.

"we've been offered" Matt shrugged, "but we said no"

"why?" you said, sitting up straight now.

"cause I don't really wanna see my brothers face when I'm tryna cum" Chris laughed, looking to matt who made and agreeing face.

"interesting" you raised your brow quickly with a downwards smile

"why's that interesting?" Matt said, an air of seductive curiosity in his tone.

you shrugged, "I dunno, I jus' think you'd probably enjoy it", you pulled your legs into a criss cross under you, "you don't think the idea of fucking a girl who's so horny for you that she needs another version of you, is hot?" you tilted your head at them.

The boys were slightly stunned, they'd never thought about it like that before. Chris shifted where he sat, trying to ignore the blood rushing to his crotch as Matts eyes were trained on you, his tongue pressed to his cheek as you smiled at him smugly.

"well, when you put it like that, I guess it doesn't sound too bad" Chris said, letting his eyes wander over your frame.

"I've got one" Matt said abruptly, you and Chris looked to him, "never have I ever, offered my triplet best friends a threesome" Matt smirked at you.

You rolled your eyes and Chris attention shot straight to you, "I did not offer you a threesome-"

"yes, you did" Matt cut you off

"I simply asked if you'd ever had one" you shrugged, pretending to have no idea what he was talking about.

"yeah, and then proceeded to tell us exactly why we'd like it" Chris raised a brow at you, not realising he was edging closer to you on the floor.

"was I right?" you said, cocking a brow at Chris.

"yeah, you were" Matt answered for him.

Suddenly, the boys had come significantly closer to you, sitting in front of you like two siamese cats waiting for permission to do something. Your attention flitted between them periodically, the tension in the air thick with anticipation.

"so what then? would you say yes, knowing what you know now?" you said, trying to maintain your confidence

Matt smirked menacingly as Chris' brows dropped, pressing his tongue into the side of his teeth and looking to Matt. Matt side eyed him and they both returned their attentions to you.

"depends on who was askin" Chris said, eyes trained on yours.

"are you askin', pretty girl?" Matt muttered, his long fingers coming up to play with a strand of your hair.

The pet name made your stomach flutter, you don't think you'd ever been this turned on in your whole life, the sight of the boys' growing bulges from under their joggers making your mouth water as they both gawked at you, waiting for permission to fuck you exactly how they knew you wanted them to.

You didn't reply, only smiled as you leant forward, pressing your lips against Matts softly. He leaned into the kiss instantly, his hand coming to your face to pull you into him. The kiss was slow and somewhat soft, Matt asking for polite permission to press his tongue against yours with a gentle swipe over your bottom lip. You granted him access, and he pulled you in deeper to him with his hand on your jaw. He led the kiss with a gentle dominance that was slightly surprising from him. Chris watched with a slightly open mouth, watching as your tongue lapped and pressed over Matts, growing increasingly desperate to know what you felt like.

You broke the kiss with Matt, and immediately turned your attentions to Chris, kissing him with the same tenderness that you did Matt. Chris was a lot more feverish than his brother, his tongue entering your mouth instantly as his hand came to cup the under side of your chin. He bit at your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth before soothing the sting with a warm kiss.

You were reeling in the feeling of kissing them both, the differences between them being so apparent, and only serving to make you want to know how else they were different.

You broke the kiss with Chris and sat back with a content sigh, looking between the two of them as they gawked at you with puffy lips and hooded eyes. You smiled, pushing your hair back off your shoulders and letting it hang down your back, exposing your neck to them. The boys looked to each other and, in an instant, they were by your sides, mouths latched around your neck, pressing their tongues against the soft skin, trailing kisses down either side of your neck.

your whole body felt like it was on fire, the sensation of the two of them nipping at sucking at you neck making you whimper slightly. Matt trailed his kisses down your chest, pressing his warm tongue along the curve of your cleavage as it begged to be freed from your tight tank top.

Chris went in the opposite direction, moving his mouth up your jaw and capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss as Matt slowly tugged at the hem of your top.

You pulled at the strap of your vest, letting it fall down your shoulder and giving Matt silent permission to free your tits from their confines. He complied, ripping your tank down with brute force, making your tits bounce free. He instantly latched his mouth around your nipple, biting down on the flesh and soothing the sting with a wet press of his tongue.

You moaned into Chris mouth, and his hand instinctively found the nape of your neck, collecting a handful of your hair and tugging on it, pulling your head back as he rose to his knees, not breaking the kiss.

"you like having us both kiss you like this, huh princess?" Chris said, smirking down at you with his lips brushing over yours.

"mhm" you nodded, your reply coming out in a whimper as Matt continued to work your nipple.

"she said it herself, Chris, she's so horny for us that just one isn't enough" Matt chuckled, palming your tit in his large hand, using his other to tease the hem of your joggers.

You flinched at the touch, a small shiver running down your spine at the sensation of Matts soft fingers teasing your skin.

"so responsive" Matt uttered, his attention focused on how your skin came up in goosebumps under his touch.

"come here, baby" Chris said as he shifted over to rest his back against the sofa, pulling you slightly by your hair.

You obeyed his orders, coming to rest in between his open legs, your back pressed to his. Matt turned to face you both, watching as Chris pried your legs open, raking his hands down the inside of your thighs at an agonising place, moving closer and closer to your throbbing pussy, but stopping before he reached you there.

You whined as Chris moved his hands round to the outside of your thighs, and Matt chuckled at your neediness.

"oh, come on, Chris, look how needy she is for it, just give her a little taste" Matt looked you up and down, his eyes hooded

"you want it, princess?" Chris muttered, his lips pressed to your ear as he hooked his fingers around the top of your joggers.

you nodded, head pressed against Chris' shoulder with your lip tucked between your teeth.

"words, pretty girl, we need words" Matt pushed, leaning forward and squeezing your thigh, inching his hand down your leg.

"yes, please, I want it" you whimpered, picking up your heavy head to look between the boys.

"want what, baby?" Chris said, a smirk wide on his lips as he nipped at your earlobe

"I want you both, I need you both to fuck me, please" you said, desperation thick in your voice.

With that, Chris pushed down your joggers as Matt assisted in lifting your hips up. Matt pulled them down, eyes trained on your covered pussy as sticky juices leaked from between the lace. You were soaked, and he couldn't help but reach forward to touch you.

"look, Chris, she's dripping for us" Matt said, pushing a finger up your covered folds, collecting your wetness on his finger, showing the glistening substance to Chris, who's mouth was once again latched around your neck.

Matt continued to tease your hole, getting down to eye level with your pussy as Chris continued to hold your legs wide open for his brother, your back arching into his chest as Chris sucked purple marks all over your neck, one hand in your hair, the other pressing bruises into your knee. Matts hands pushed you open further for him as he pressed his tongue flat against your throbbing pussy, you released a guttural moan at the sensation, your head rolling back on Chris' shoulder, giving him better access to your neck.

Matt wasted no time, he had had a taste of you and now he was hungry. He pulled your panties to the side and latched his mouth around your pussy, pressing his tongue into your hole as his nose brushed against your clit.

Chris pulled his hand out from your hair and began to palm your tit, still relentlessly attacking your neck with wet, warm kisses and soft bites.

The feeling of Chris working your tits as Matt lapped and sucked at your pussy was euphoric, the moans leaving you borderline pornographic as the boys' groaned at the sound of you whimpering for them. Matt brought a slender finger to your entrance, moving up your pussy to suck on your clit as he slipped his finger into your sopping hole with ease. Almost immediately, you clenched around him, and he inserted a second finger, curling them upwards as he coaxed your orgasm from you.

"that feel good, princess?" Chris muttered in your ear, "you sound so fuckin' pretty when you moan, y'know that?"

All you could do was moan in response, any sense of coherence being ripped from you by the second as Matt lapped at your pussy like a man starved. He was moaning, actually moaning with every clench around his fingers, drinking you in like you were his last meal.

Chris twisted and pinched at your nipples, his grip on your knee never wavering as he held you open for Matt. You turned your head, biting down on Chris' jaw and pressing your tongue against the stubble there, he chuckled, and captured your mouth in a feverish kiss, groaning as you bit down on his plump bottom lip. His hand raked down your inner thigh, pressing and squeezing bruises into the flesh as he pressed his tongue against yours.

Matt sucked on your clit, burying his fingers knuckle deep inside of you and grazing your g-spot with his long fingers. You broke the kiss with Chris with a pornographic moan, your hands flying to Matts hair to push him desperately into your pussy.

"i think that means keep going, Matt" Chris chuckled.

Matt looked up at you, your mouth agape and brows furrowed as he thrust his fingers deep inside your pussy over and over again, his tongue running circles around your puffy clit. You couldn't help but grind against Matts face, and he moaned at the feeling, using his free hand to hold your hip, near enough forcing you to grind against his tongue harder.

Chris pulled at your hair, making you look at him again and locking his mouth around yours, tongue aggressively pressing and pushing against yours as he returned his hand back to palm your tits.

You were a whimpering mess, moaning and crying into Chris mouth as Matt brought you over the edge with his tongue. You covered Matts mouth with your cum, shaking and convulsing above him as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of you. He unlatched his glistening mouth from yours and helped you ride out your orgasm, watching in awe as you bucked your shaking hips into his hand.

"look how pretty she is when she cums, Chris" Matt said, gaining Chris' attention

Chris broke the kiss and chuckled, watching as you shook against his chest, "the prettiest girl in the world" he muttered, raking his hand down your stomach and pressing the pads of his fingers against your pulsating clit.

You shifted against Chris, whimpering as you felt a wave of hot tingles rush over your body. Matt was curling his fingers inside you relentlessly, begging for more of you, and Chris was rubbing fast circles against your clit, using your own sticky juices as lube for his movements.

Your eyes where clenched shut, head heavy against Chris' shoulder as you bucked your hips into their hands, moaning relentlessly and unable to form a single thought. A second, fast approaching orgasm ripped through you, and you clenched hard around Matts fingers.

"please, please, please" you began to beg, unsure of what you were begging for as your orgasm hit you like a freight train.

You released a wave of juices over Matts hand, squirting up his arm as you lifted your hips, stuttering. Chris pushed you back down, chuckling as he watched you squirm.

When you finally began to come down from our high, the boys slowed their pace and Matt pulled his fingered from you, licking them clean and moaning at the taste of you on his tongue.

"you taste so good, pretty girl" Matt shook his head, pulling off his top with one swift movement.

Chris dipped his fingers in your pussy, inciting a small whimper from you, and pulled them out just as fast, wrapping his arm round you to taste you on his fingers.

"fuckin' delicious" Chris groaned, shifting you forward slightly so he could pull down his shorts, letting his leaking cock slap against his stomach.

You were completely spent already, mind reeling from the shattering orgasms you just experienced, but the sight of the boys undressing for you made you feel increasingly desperate. Chris situated you back against his chest, you were both planted on the sofa and he had lifted you up onto his lap, his cock pressed against your sensitive pussy. Chris pried your legs open once more just after Matt had removed your soaked panties, leaving you totally bare for them.

Chris began to tease your folds with his throbbing cock as Matt freed himself of the rest of his clothes.

"you think you can take us both, princess?" Chris muttered in your ear, his voice cracking with every pump of his cock.

"mhm" you nodded, eyes fluttering at the feeling of Chris teasing your folds with his tip, "I can take it"

"good girl" Matt smirked, coming closer to you and Chris as he pumped his hard length in his hand.

Matt and Chris locked eyes and Matt cocked his head, Chris lifted you up slightly and let his cock slip out the way of your entrance. Matt pressed his tip through your folds, a needy whimper falling from your lips as Chris began to rub slow circles around the entrance of your asshole, preparing you to take them both.

"you ready, beautiful?" Matt said, standing over you with his tip pressed into your folds.

"please, give it to me" you nodded desperately.

Matt smiled a prideful smirk and with your words, pushed his girthy cock inside you. You both moaned at the sensation, Matts hands finding the backs of your thighs as Chris held you open for him. Matt bottomed out inside you, brows knitted together at the tightness of your warm pussy around him.

The feeling of Matt stretching you out, coupled with the slow rubs of Chris' gentle fingers against your hole made you feel light headed, moaning uncontrollably as Chris pushed one, and then two fingers into your gaping hole, using your own wetness as lubrication to slip his long fingers in and out of you. The feeling was unusual, but definitely not bad, the warm touch of them both caressing you as Matt rutted into your seeping pussy at an agonising pace, of Chris fucking his fingers into your asshole, stretching you out perfectly, was genuinely blissful.

You had never felt anything like it, and just as you thought it couldn't get any better, Chris lifted you up slightly, causing Matts dick to slip out of you momentarily. He inched his fingers into your mouth, and teased your hole with his long cock.

"bite down on me, baby, it'll help with the sting" Chris cooed in your ear as he pressed his tip into your clenched hole.

As Chris pushed into you, Matt did the same, thrusting his cock back into your warm pussy. You did just as Chris said, biting down on his fingers as Matt and Chris stretched you out completely. You cried out a moan, the sting only adding to your euphoria as they both began to fuck your gaping holes.

You were completely full of them, being thrust into from every angle as Chris fucked up into your tight asshole, and Matt thrust down into your weeping pussy, Chris fingers in your mouth, and Matts hands pressing bruises into the backs of your thighs.

They were both moaning and muttering, praising nonsense, filling the air with low grunts that were nearly drowned out by the moans that left your throat.

"y'taking us so fuckin' well, pretty girl, so fuckin' well" Matt grunted, planting a hard slap on the back of your thigh, kneading the flesh with soothing touches just after.

"so fuckin' tight around me, baby, fuck, you feel so good" Chris groaned feverishly in your ear, biting down on your lobe as he picked up his pace, fucking into your hole with animalistic passion.

Their praises made your head spin, and you felt yourself getting closer and closer to your third orgasm of the night.

"m'gonna cum, please let me cum, i'm- i'm- i'm" you were rambling, unable to think straight as the boys continued to fuck your holes.

"cum, baby, cum for us" Matt grunted, pressing his thumb over your puffy clit and rubbing steady circles over it.

"show us how pretty you are when you cum, princess, show me again, I miss it" Chris muttered into your ear, pulling his fingers from your mouth and rubbing wet circles over your nipple.

Your orgasm ripped through you, leaving a white sticky ring all around Matts cock as it leaked from you and down onto Chris' balls. Neither of them stopped their pace, fucking you through your high as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your whole body shaking in white hot euphoria as they filled you up. You were borderline screaming at this point, moaning their names over and over again as your whole body tensed.

"so fuckin sexy" Matt grunted, rutting into you with gritted teeth.

Chris watched as your jaw hung slack, slowing his pace in your asshole and pressing a few long, slow and hard thrusts inside of you.

"I need t'know what that pretty mouth feels like" Chris said, pulling out of you. The sting of him removing himself from your gaping hole being soothed by the cool, wet juices of your sopping pussy.

Matt pulled out, earning a whimper from you at the complete emptiness you felt.

Before you could complain, you were thrown about the sofa, head hanging over the edge with your legs pressed against your chest and your mouth stuffed full.

Matt was pounding into you, holding your legs tight against your chest but just open enough so that he could see your tits bounce as he rutted into you.

Chris had his hands wrapped round your jaw, softly caressing your cheeks as he fucked your open throat.

"you're so good, baby, taking me down your pretty little throat like this as Matt abuses your perfect pussy" Chris cooed softly, watching as tears pricked at your eyes, gagging around his massive cock with every thrust.

You loved it, it was exactly what you wanted. The feeling of Matt rutting into you, stretching you out and hitting your g-spot as Chris pounded down into the back of your throat, looking at you like you were an angel as he made you gag around him, was perfect. You reached a hand down to your pussy, and began to rub fast circles over your clit. Matt near enough growled at the sight, fucking you harder than ever, the sting of his skin slapping against yours only serving to push you closer to the edge again.

"keep doin' that, princess, keep playin' with y'self for me, kay? don't you dare stop" Matt grunted, breathy moans escaping his mouth with every thrust into your clenching pussy.

"you gonna cum, beautiful? you like having your throat fucked so much you'll touch yourself over it?" Chris smirked down at you, his pace into your throat never wavering as he periodically threw his head back, thrusting deep into the back of your throat.

You attempted to nod around him, whimpering and moaning around his cock at the familiar tingly feeling creeping up your spine. Chris moaned your name as he bottomed out in your throat, hips stuttering slightly as he reluctantly pulled out and began to thrust in and out once more.

You were clenching hard around Matt, and he knew you were about to cum, uttering encouraging praises to you in hopes of seeing you cum again. "come on baby, gimme one more, y'so fuckin' perfect, such a good girl, jus' gimme one more"

Your pace on your clit began to falter and you came all over Matts dick, moaning around Chris' length as tears fell from your eyes. The feeling of you clenching so hard around him gave Matt the push he needed, and with a few hard and fast thrusts into your sensitive and spent pussy, he came inside you, fucking his cum into you as he rode out his high, pressing bruises into your thighs as his head hung low on his neck.

"fuck, oh my- fuck" Matt groaned, leaning down and biting down on the bone of your knee, trying to steady his bucking hips as they chased the feeling of your warm pussy leaking his own cum all over his cock.

Your whole body felt limp, you were completely fucked out, and yet, as Chris continued to fuck your throat, you found yourself almost sad at the emptiness you felt when Matt finally pulled out of your throbbing pussy.

"Chris, you gotta feel how fuckin' tight she is, dude" Matt sighed, shaking his head and resting back onto the soft couch to catch his breath.

Chris pulled out from the depths of your throat and gave you a warm smile from your hung position over the sofa. He walked round, grabbing your legs and spinning you round so your thighs were spread for him, ass nearly hanging off the edge of the sofa as Chris lined himself up with your spent hole.

"you think you can take just a lil' more, baby? you wanna let me cum inside you as well?" Chris caressed your thigh with one hand and pumped his cock with the other.

"yes, please, Chris, fill me up jus' like Matt did" you whimpered, spreading your thighs wider for him.

Chris smiled, "such a good girl" pressing gentle touches into your thighs as he pushed his cock deep into your aching hole.

Chris' eyes rolled to the back of his head at the feeling of your tight, warm pussy sucking him in like a vice, "Jesus, fuck" he moaned.

You whined at the stretch, not even close to recovered from the pounding Matt had given you. Tears pricked at your eyes once more and you moaned Chris' name, pressing a desperate hand into his chest.

Matt came up beside you, taking your jaw in his hand gently and pressing a tender kiss on your open mouth.

"you can take it, baby, be a good girl and take it" Matt said softly, caressing your hair as you nodded, eyes fluttery and lips parted.

Chris was fucking into you like he'd never felt a pussy like yours in his life. Every time he pulled out, he was sucked back in by your clenching walls, reeling in the way you felt stretched out around him. Your tits were bouncing with every thrust, and with your tongue pressed against Matts in a needy, sloppy, moan filled kiss, you didn't notice Chris' hips begin to stutter. His pace began to falter as he became a rambling mess, thrusting in and out of you, cursing and moaning your name as you moaned into Matts mouth at the feeling of him effortlessly fucking into your g-spot over and over again with his lengthy cock.

With a final hard few thrusts, Chris' mouth was latched around the curve of your neck, biting down on the muscle as he came inside you, filling you up for the second time that night. He fucked you through his high, pushing his cum deep inside your already cum soaked walls.

Matts hold on you was gentle and grounding, him only pulling away from kissing you when Chris mustered the strength to pull out of your perfect pussy.

Chris reached down to the floor and put on his shorts, throwing Matt his and slumping down on the sofa beside you. You were sandwiched between them, Matts head rested on your shoulder and Chris laying over your stomach, your legs hanging open over the edge of the sofa. They were both panting, tracing small circles on your skin as your whole body relaxed into the soft cushion of the sofa.

You were exhausted, completely spent and desperate for sleep as you felt the boys' cum leak out of your sore pussy.

Matt lifted his head up, hooking his finger under your jaw to make you look at him, "you okay, pretty girl?" he asked softly.

You nodded with fluttery eyes and a weak smile, your hand caressing Chris' soft curls as he laid in your lap.

Matt smiled at you, pressing a gentle kiss on your nose, "you wanna go have a nice warm bath and cuddle up in bed with me n'Chris?"

you nodded again, eyes fluttering closed as you hummed, unable to form a sentence.

The boys helped you up, Chris passed you his t-shirt and helped you put it on, telling you to go easy and let him do everything.

They walked you to the bathroom, Matt holding you against his chest as Chris ran the bath and helped you step in, both of them easing you down into the bubbly warm water.

You sighed at the relief of the warm water covering you, your eyes closing and head rolling back on its hinge for a moment.

Matt was sitting down by the side of the tub, his finger tips tracing soft circles on your shoulders as Chris sat on the counter top, sorting the perfect queue of songs to help you relax as much as possible.

taglist: @sturniozalt@mattslolita@shaquilles-0atmeal@blahbel668@sleepysturniolo@le4hsblog @sarosfilms @joemamaaa42069 @2muchofaslvt @seluky10 @cherib3lla @jetaimevous

[sparklingchim]

game on 02 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 2.9k

genre: footballer!jungkook, fake dating, f2l

rating: 18+

warnings: lots of smoochies !! 🤭, their first kiss <3, umm mentions of jk's infamous threesome again 😔, koo talks abt taking girls in missionary what can i say he is a man

summary: jungkook and you practice acting for the cameras. kissing him feels more right than you anticipated.

a/n: yayy chapter 2 is here!!!! <3 writing this was truly saur much fun n i hope u have fun reading too !!! 😋

read chappie one here

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"Just kiss me."

"Hold on a second."

"We really need to practise this."

"I know, just give me a minute."

You scoot away from Jungkook on the couch. You were sitting so close, almost about to kiss him actually, but his intense, doe-eyed gaze made you pause, needing a grounding breath.

You’ve never been this close to his face, and somehow, you can’t seem to cross the invisible line that keeps you from just pressing your mouth on his. Jungkook’s your friend, after all. You’ve known him since he was five and once saw him get his head stuck at school, so of course it’s weird.

You press your lips together in an attempt to focus, and lean in again, but once your eyes meet his, a smile urges on your mouth.

"Oh my god." Jungkook’s frustrated sigh cuts the air. "This can’t already be doomed to failure because of a simple kiss."

"It’s not! I just need to mentally prepare myself."

"I feel...offended? Kinda?" Jungkook weaves his fingers through his hair. "I’ve never had to convince someone to kiss me."

"It’s not you. I promise!" you say, reaching for his knee. "Under any other circumstance, if we weren’t friends, I’d love to kiss you. You’re hot and cute, but the situation we’re in makes me feel so stupid. It’s absurd."

Jungkook cringes when you call him cute and removes your hand off his knee.

Yesterday, when Jungkook showed up unannounced, it took him full ten minutes to convince you he wasn’t pulling a prank on you.

Who would believe their friend begging you to fake date them? It’s ridiculous. Only happens in the fictional world.

But then Jungkook showed you the pap picture that was circulating online. The comments and gossip were nasty and you knew he was caught up in a deep mess.

In the photo, Jungkook was surrounded by two girls, his arms draped casually around their waists as they stumbled out of the club, a half-full drink lazily held in his hand. His hair was a tousled mess, likely from the girls running their fingers through it, and the first few buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a small peek into his defined chest. It was bold, provocative — definitely not the ideal image of a responsible twenty-year-old football rookie.

Probably the worst pap pic you’ve seen of him so far. And the worst timing too.

"You were wasted," you commented, staring at the article he was showing you on his phone.

"And I had so much fun last night." His voice was tinged with frustration, like a child whose favourite toy had just been snatched away. "But then I woke up to this picture, and a flood of missed calls and texts." He rubbed his hands over his face, exhaling sharply. "They just had to ruin it for me."

Noticing your raised eyebrow, Jungkook quickly backtracked. "No, I know it’s my fault too. I shouldn’t have done this right before the World Cup, especially after what I promised. I just hate how everything turns into such a big deal, just because... well, just because I’m me."

The idea of fake dating Jungkook had seemed absurd, something out of a rom-com rather than real life. But the more he explained the pressure he was under, the more you understood why he needed this.

Jungkook was your best friend, and if kissing him in public could save his career, why not help him?

While you got ready for meeting his manager, stepping out of your comfy, rotting-at-home clothes, which consisted of little shorts and an oversized t-shirt (you think it’s actually Jungkook’s, but you’re not quite sure since it’s been in your closet for years now), and slipping into a casual, more presentable outfit, Jungkook busied himself fixing your laundry machine.

Jungkook’s manager knows you well – his entire team does. You are known as Jungkook’s close friend and had been spotted with him on multiple occasions.

Taesung greeted you warmly, though surprise flickered across his face when Jungkook introduced you as the solution to the fake dating plan.

You felt Taesung’s gaze assessing you, weighing your suitability for the role. Jungkook’s PR agent mirrored his scepticism, tilting her head in doubt. They exchanged uncertain glances, which made you nervous, but Jungkook was determined. Jungkook wasn’t Jungkook if he didn’t get what he wanted. With a few persuasive words and his usual charm, he quickly won Taesung over, who sighed and leaned back in his chair, conceding defeat.

"We need to establish the narrative from the start," Taesung said seriously. "The media will dig into your background, and they’ll want to know if there’s anyone else in the picture. So, to be clear, you’re officially single. No boyfriend, no complicated past relationships that could surface. We don’t need any messy stories."

You assured them that there was none. Multiple times. No angry exes, no secret relationships – your personal life was as drama-free as it could get.

Taesung slid a document across the desk.

"This ensures that whatever happens, no details of this arrangement-"

Jungkook’s hand shot out, halting the paper. "No," he said firmly. "She doesn’t need to sign anything."

"Jungkook, it’s just a formality," Jiwoo began, but Jungkook insisted.

"I trust ___. She’s not just anybody. She’s my best friend. If she says she won’t talk, she won’t talk. The NDA isn’t necessary."

"It’s okay," you assured him gently.

Jungkook shook his head. "No, this is ridiculous. You’re not signing a stupid contract."

After more arguing, his manager eventually relented.

Jiwoo outlined the plan in more detail with Taesung – public appearances, social media posts, carefully orchestrated moments that would sell the story to the public. You felt a bit intimidated by the pressure, but you’d get used to it. After all, this arrangement is only for a few months – just until his management can announce that you’d mutually decided to break up on good terms.

But you both need to practise before stepping in front of the cameras.

Which leads you to this moment, a day later, sitting on your couch trying to practice how to act like a couple. And it’s not going well at all.

"Okay, let’s start from the basics then," Jungkook suggests. He rises to his feet, offering you his hand. "Hold my hand."

You gingerly accept his hand, standing up as well.

"See, don’t we look cute?" Jungkook drags you to the mirror. "Or maybe – let’s intertwine our fingers. I think that would look better." He holds your interlaced hands up between the two of you, a satisfied grin plastered on his face. "So cute, right?"

A giggle bubbles in your throat. "You act like you’ve never had a girlfriend."

"Well, it has been a while," he admits, the slightest sulk on his lips. "I’m too busy for relationships." He swings your hands. "The only times I ever hold a girl’s hand is in missionary, above their head when-"

"Jungkook," you interrupt quickly before he can delve any deeper into the story. You give him a mock glare, but there’s no hiding the amusement dancing in your eyes. "Didn’t we both agree on only talking about your bed stories after I’ve had at least one bottle of soju – preferably two, so I can mentally brace myself?"

You love him, you really do, but you don’t want to hear about his bed stories, unless you’re the slightest bit tipsy at first.

"Oh, yeah." He shakes his head apologetically. "Forgot about that."

"Wait, maybe that’s what we should do!" you exclaim as an idea pops into your mind. Your hand slips out of his, and you take a step toward the kitchen. "I think there are a few bottles of soju in the fridge."

"We’re not getting drunk to build up the courage to kiss," he insists. "We shouldn’t need alcohol to pretend we’re into each other."

Jungkook pulls you closer to him, and you stumble slightly, but his hand instinctively moves to the small of your back, steadying you.

"Fine," you sigh dramatically, hand on his chest. "Was just an idea to make this easier for us." The fabric of his shirt is extremely soft and your fingers glide over it.

"I mean, it’s not like we’re complete strangers. And they know it too. We’ve been through enough to pull this off without breaking a sweat."

He’s is right. The public knows you’re one of Jungkook’s closest friends. It wouldn’t be totally unbelievable that you two might have fallen in love.

After all, you’ve always been comfortable with each other —hugging, cuddling during movie nights, play-fight over silly things just to annoy each other. You’ve shared quiet moments, like when you’d fall asleep on his shoulder after a long day or when he’d run his fingers through your hair absentmindedly while you talked. There were times when Jungkook was exhausted and crashed at your place, your fingers gently scratching his head as he slept peacefully. You’ve kissed each other’s cheeks in thanks without hesitation.

Jungkook’s touch isn’t foreign to you.

And still, the thought of acting like you’re in love when you’re not feels strange. Sure, you’ve always been physically close, but this was different. This time, every gesture would be for an audience, every touch would carry a different meaning. It wasn’t just casual anymore.

"I guess," you reply, fiddling with the hem of his oversized t-shirt, avoiding his gaze for a moment. "I think it’s just weird to be this close for show."

Jungkook watches you for a moment, his eyes softening as he considers your words. "Yeah," he murmurs. "But it’s not like we’re faking the friendship part. The rest...we’ll figure out." His fingers clasp your hip, the pads of his fingers gently digging into your flesh. "Don’t think about it too much," he says. "When we have our first public appearance as a couple, pretend like the cameras aren’t there, act nonchalant. Just... y’know. You and me."

You pout, an involuntarily frustrated grumble leaving your lips as you drop your forehead on his chest.

"I hope I’ll do well under all the attention."

You’ve dealt with your fair share of noisy people trying to pry into your relationship with Jungkook, but so far, it’s been somewhat manageable.

"Just you and me," Jungkook repeats, his tone softer and more assured this time. "Nothing can happen to you when I’m there."

You glance up at him, taking in the gentle lines of his face.

"Maybe you should’ve hired a girl that can deal well with attention," you voice your thoughts.

"No." Jungkook’s immediate response rolls off harshly on his tongue. "You were my first thought. I wouldn’t have done this with anyone else but you."

"I was your first choice?" Giddiness makes your face shine.

"Yeah. I don’t think I would’ve felt comfortable with anyone but you."

"Be honest, you just really wanna kiss me."

You stand on your tippy toes, a silly smile spreading across your face.

Jungkook cocks his head to the side, a teasing glint buried in his eyes.

"I think you do."

With a surge of confidence, you take a small step closer, your heart beating a little faster as you close the gap between you and Jungkook. Your lips meet in a gentle, fleeting touch. The contact only lasts for a moment before you pull back, your eyes searching his for a reaction.

"That was a smooch. Not a kiss."

You frown upon hearing him complain.

"What, you want to make out with me in public?"

Jungkook sniffs a laugh. "No, but maybe a little more than how fifth graders kiss."

"You’re a kissing expert now?" you quip back, narrowing your eyes at him.

Jungkook leans in slightly. "I just know what I like."

The challenge in his voice sparks something in you. "Then show me how you like it."

His gaze drops to your lips, and a flutter of excitement spreads in your tummy. It’s unexpected and thrilling and it catches you off guard.

Jungkook’s hand, which had been resting on your back, slowly glides up, his fingers curling around the side of your face, his thumb brushing delicately against your cheekbone.

Your breath hitches as he leans in. His lips meet yours again, but this time there’s more weight behind the contact – still soft, but deeper, more intentional. His lips move slowly and there’s a warmth to it, a tenderness that makes your heart race even as the kiss remains gentle. He tilts his head slightly, deepening the connection just enough to make you melt into him.

The teasing atmosphere lingers in the back of your mind, but for now, it’s pushed aside by the gentle pressure of his lips on yours.

Kissing Jungkook doesn’t feel weird – which makes it a little weird.

When you both finally pull back, it’s gradual. You can feel his breath, warm and steady, mingling with your own.

"Like that," he whispers, his voice barely audible, yet it sends a shiver down your spine. "You’re a good kisser."

You pull back completely. "Excuse me?" you say. "You were doubting my kissing abilities?"

"No, not at all!" Jungkook shakes his head, amusement crinkling his eyes as he gazes at your sulky face. "You’re just a very good kisser. Like, super gentle and smooth."

Heat crawls up your cheeks. You ignore the flush of warmth and keep your composure. "Have you been using the lip balm I got you? Your lips are soft."

"I know, right? Not chapped at all anymore."

He traces two fingers along his bottom lip and your eyes follow the motion, finding yourself inexplicably drawn to his lips.

"Are we done practising?"

"Do you think we looked natural?" Jungkook’s hand slips into yours once more. While he is focused on the mirror, adjusting the way your bodies fit together – tugging you closer, alternating between holding your hand and interlacing your fingers – your mind is still replaying the memory of the tender press of his lips. "For me, it felt pretty natural. Not awkward at all. What do you think?"

It’s the simplicity with which he says it that draws a short laugh out of you.

The sound grabs his attention. "What?"

"You’re just...extremely serious about this. I don’t think they’ll analyse the way we hold hands, Kook."

"But that’s their favourite thing to do," Jungkook replies. "The gossip mills love analysing every step you take, where your eyes wander, who you smile at." A note of bitterness threads through his words.

He’s been playing pro for just two years and has fallen victim to greedy people intruding on his life so many times already. Former friends who leaked private conversations, acquaintances who turned their brief interactions into tabloid fodder, even strangers who felt entitled to a piece of him just because he was in the public eye.

Jungkook searched for solace and silence at your place many times, trying to escape the madness. In the quiet of your dorm, breathing felt easier.

You never asked questions, never pried. In a world where everyone seemed out to get something from him, you just let him be, offering him the comfort of your presence without demanding anything in return.

"People were just criticising this dude – ah, who was it again?" Jungkook stares at the ceiling, raking through his thoughts. "I can’t remember his name, but this guy was getting called out for choosing the booth seat while making his girlfriend sit in the aisle seat."

"The aisle seat? Come on, it’s an unwritten rule that-" You fall silent once you catch Jungkook’s pointed expression. "I mean, yeah. It’s definitely wrong to make a big deal about it. Maybe she prefers sitting there," you shrug.

"But do you see what I mean?" he asks. "Whether you intend to or not, you’re always judging what others do. And that judgement only intensifies when it involves a celebrity."

"Ah, when did you become so famous Jeon Jungkook?" You sigh, looking down at your linked hands.

"I know, right? Two years ago, no one would’ve cared if I had a threesome." He shakes his head in disbelief. "And now I am being punished for it—kicked off the national team, and my best friend has to save me by fake dating me."

"I feel like this would make a good movie," you giggle.

“We have to practise hard, then," he says.

You pull your phone from your pocket. "What if we film ourselves kissing so we can monitor it better?" You set up your phone on a nearby shelf and position yourselves in front of the camera. "Don’t engaged couples do this? I feel like we’re practising for our wedding kiss."

"Oh, butterflies."

"Huh?" You stare at the way he holds his hand against his tummy.

"You just told me you want to marry me. That gave me butterflies."

You slap his arm. "Stop being silly, we have a whole nation to fool that we’re in love."

~

Hang outs with Jungkook often end with the two of you lounging on the couch, snacks scattered everywhere, and a movie playing on the TV.

"Next one?" Jungkook asks from his spot beside you, inching closer with his pleading doe eyes.

You try to push him away by the, but he doesn’t budge.

"I need to study. Like, for real." You had warned him before starting the movie, agreeing to watch only one, but he still tried his luck.

He holds up one finger. "Just one."

You push him off your body, and this time he allows it, his back slumping against the couch. The grumble of complaint in his throat gets muffled by his pursed lips.

"You’re smart. The material is probably set in your brain anyway. No need to revise anything."

You scoff at his bratty words.

"So you won’t ever need to ditch hangouts for football practice because you’re already so good at it?"

"Well, no." He drags the word out, brows furrowed as he considers your question, trying to come up with a reasonable answer. "But I know you don’t need to study as much as you do. You’re just naturally smart."

"I wish, but I ace my exams because I study as much as I do."

"Aish," Jungkook mutters, standing up from the couch and stretching his limbs. His toned tummy peeks out from under his lifted shirt.

"Karina will be home soon anyway," you say. "And I’m not ready to play pretend in front of her yet." The thought of confessing to your roommate that Jungkook is now your boyfriend makes you shudder.

It was one of the conditions that made you briefly reconsider if you could really pull this off or if Jungkook should find another girl. You didn’t just have to act in front of the cameras – everyone had to believe that you and Jungkook are a couple, including your friends and family. You dread the day you have to tell your parents.

You know they once secretly hoped Jungkook would become your boyfriend when you were older, but as he became famous and the public started scrutinising his every move, your parents grew wary of his wild, reckless side.

You follow Jungkook to the door.

"You think she’ll believe us?"

"I dunno," you shrug. "Not sure if she’ll buy it. She’ll probably be suspicious since I’ve never talked about you in that way when we gossip, but I think we’ve practised enough to at least make it look like we love each other."

Jungkook nods and hugs you briefly. "We’ll figure it out." He steps out of your apartment, typing on his phone. "My manager sent me details about our first public appearance." He scans the text, but quickly looks up at you again with an annoyed frown. "Ah, so many words. I’ll just forward you the messages." With a sweet smile and a quick wave, he starts to leave, but you tug at the back of his shirt.

You cup his face, pulling him down to you, and plant a kiss on his lips.

"You’re my boyfriend now. Act like it."

[defmaybe]

J’adore

5.2k words

aespa’s Yoo Jimin/Karina x Male Reader

Prequel to Not Shy

A/N: Kind of extension to Not Shy! Also, this is my last sprint before the midterms lol, I’ll be back after that and try to write something good. Kinda rough bc there’s no beta-reading lol. Thanks for reading as always!!!

—

Spring

“You? A student council member?”

“It’s just the treasurer!”

It’s the easiest position, according to your seniors, which seems to be much, much more credible sources than Kai, the friend you got caught in a debate with.

“Just the treasurer. Mate, have you seen the lads from last year? I swear that one of them almost died.”

“I have to build my portfolio, man. You even have your dance club!” You retort, trying to grasp on something.

“Well, it’s because I like to dance.” Kai says in a mocking tone. He doesn't mean to be condescending, of course. He’s your best friend, after all. “Do you like to work with Excel?”

“I mean–”

“Board games? No, too nerdy. Cheerleader? No, too demanding. And then you fucking jumped onto the student council? I swear, man, you definitely have some kind of death wish,” he says.

You sigh, surrendering to his points. Still, you're too deep in the application process to turn back now. You look back at your phone, seeing all the completed questions in the form.

“I’m not leaving you behind, still,” Kai says, patting your back. “I’ll give you caffeine when you need it.”

Do you think you’re qualified to be a student council member?

Yes.

“I’m sending it now.”

“Good luck.”

Submit

Thank you for your submission. We will announce our selection by May 1st.

—

Summer

Maybe it was how the last year’s council members turned out to be. You were the only one who applied for the treasurer's position. Hell, even the other ones aren’t any more popular either. There was no one in the head of first aid, and they had to roll out another round of applications for that.

The fresh faces of the new student council members are all standing inside this meeting room—so determined, so passionate. Their chatters fill the room up with life.

You glance around the room. You’re familiar with some of them, walk-pasts in the hallways, sitting-fars in the classes, until one woman catches your eye.

Yoo Jimin, you’ve heard that she beat the second place applicant for president by quite a margin. Her confidence is probably what makes her so alluring to the students. Also, her face, fuck, her face, she’s the fucking epitome of perfection.

Maybe it’s the way you stare at her for just a little too long; she starts to walk towards you, and that’s when you fell into her trap for the first time.

She stops just a step away, offering you a handshake—firm, assured.

“Yoo Jimin,” she declares—stern, expressionless.

“Pleasure to meet you, Jimin.” You accept her grip, lips curling inward, letting out a minuscule smile—relaxed, reserved.

“We’ll be working together for the next year. I’m looking forward to it.” She keeps it professional in the expression she makes. There’s nothing to be made of it, except for the fact that she’s very reticent with her face.

You force out another small smile. “I’m also looking forward to it, Jimin.”

—

“Areas! I need two tables and four chairs. Parcels, get your equipment ready.”

The first meeting between the freshmen and their seniors is always the hardest to perfect. There’s the idea that the first impression defines the future of the relationship between the two. So, here you are, in your faculty’s First Meet event. You’re lucky that they let you use the air conditioners on the d-day. Those fucking run-throughs got you all melted.

You have little work to do today, having managed the proposals and preparing to do the post-production stuff. So, you’re at the core team’s table, playing whatever your old laptop can handle, until—

“Are you free?”

You look up from your screen to see the angelic figure that is Yoo Jimin standing in front of you, towering you with ease with you sitting in your seat.

“Uh–,” you can only let out a hesitation.

“I guess you’re—” she bends over the desk to see the gaming screen, before letting out a small laugh. “—free?”

“Y–Yes, Jimin.” A slight view of her cleavage can be seen with her posture, and you have to do your best to find something else to look at.

“Good. Can you help us carry a few tables?”

You look at your frail arms—should’ve done some more work at the gym. “If you want me to tear my biceps.”

Jimin chuckles, before closing on your ear, left hand pressing on your right thigh, “Don’t worry that you wouldn’t be able to jerk off, treasurer. I can do it for you.”

You freeze, not believing the words coming out of her mouth. Did she just say that? Such lewd words?

Jimin, sensing your tensed up body, pulls back from you and laughs. “Oh my god, look at you. I was just fucking with you!”

“Good grief, Jimin. You could’ve killed me,” you huff.

She shoots back a beam. “Come on, let’s get to work.”

—

Fall

The clicking sound of your keyboard and the scratches of the bills you’re arranging permeates the room this evening. Jimin is sitting on the other side of the trash-ridden table—stationeries, snack wraps—eyes unfocused as she swipes one short video after another. Her thoughts seem to be elsewhere now. Dinner? Bed? Someone? You’ll never know.

“Fucking hell, this bitch again,” she mutters under her breath, which you catch. You look up from the budget plan you’re working on, meeting her eyes.

“Sorry, Tinder stuff.”

You return her a tiny smile before going back to inputting the bills. Still, you can hear Jimin’s tossing and turning in her chair as she seems to type something into her phone, before smashing her thumb on the right side of its poor screen. You can’t help but let out a chuckle, one that she catches.

“Yeah, it’s pathetic, isn’t it?” Jimin rhetorizes, placing her phone on the table. “A student president that just can’t find any partner.”

You shrug, still typing, “Well, the work is gruelling.” And she chuckles at your statement.

“Yeah, I guess so. But it’s just, how to explain?” She furrows her eyebrows, tapping her chin to seek the right word in the air, before coming to an answer. “I just can’t find the right person, you know? Half of the line is gone once I show any bit of confidence, and the other half are, well, clingy ass bitches.”

You smile back at her, trying to give her some solace in solitude. “I’m sure you’ll find the right person soon, Jimin. You like–have the whole faculty in your hands.”

She gives you a weak smile. “You always have pleasant words for everyone, treasurer.”

You smile back before returning to your accounting work, unbeknownst to the light bulb brightening up inside her head.

“So, how’s your love life?” She asks, rising from the other side. She leans forward ever so slightly, hands supporting her frame on the white table, slightly revealing the valley of her breasts.

You break yourself from the laptop, once again, meeting her cleavage in your line of sight for a split second. It’s magnetic, but you’re able to resist it, for now.

“Hmm?”

“I mean… you don’t seem to be an awful choice for women, or men, judging from… how many months?”

“Four,” and you gulp.

“Yeah, four months with you, my treasurer. But I’ve never quite caught you being involved in anything,”—she stands up straight, before slowly striding towards your seat, hips swaying at each nifty step—“romantic.”

You clench your eyes ever so tightly at her alluring motion—the swaying hips, the crossing steps—as if there’s anything to examine but her burning lust. “Well, Jimin, I don’t think the passive mid-table guys get much,” you state.

“Is that so? Because you don’t seem to belong at the mid-table.” The distance between you two is shrinking, slowly. And with a few more small steps, you find her towering over you, chest basking in front of your face.

Jimin bends down slowly, revealing just a slight sight of her gorgeous cleavage. The poor crop top is struggling to hold her supple flesh within, even with the workshop shirt helping. You shift just slightly in your seat.

Your eyes are doing their best to resist the magnetic force, but her big brown eyes aren't a sanctuary, either.

“Thanks, miss president.”

Her Dior J’adore is enrapturing you.

“You know, I notice the perfume you wear every day, even if it’s just CK One.” She forces sultry into her perceptive words, and to say, it works. She drags her right middle finger along the length of your arm, lighting a fire in its trail.

You try to keep your composure; it works, for now. She doesn’t seem to notice the sweat hanging off your forehead yet.

“Or how you dress so damn well to class, even if it’s some fuckass subject,” Jimin continues, tracing her hands up to your forearm now.

Your breath hitches, and you can just connect the dots so easily.

“W–Why me, though, Jimin?”

“Oh, clever boy, I just need the real thing, that’s all,” she coos. Her digits are playing with the line of your collarbones now. 

“See, I’m just so fucking sick of my—well, what’s the word, devices. They’re pleasurable, sure, but unlike a real person, which in this case—is you—” Her hand grabs your chin from behind, and you can’t find any resistance. Her sonic reduces into a sensual whisper into your ear. “—they lack warmth.”

“S–So, do you want to have—”

“Sex? Yes, I want you inside me, baby. I want you body clashing against mine, while you moan my name like you’re some common whore.”

It’s haywire, your mind. You are lost in her—her voice, her face, her body, everything that’s about Jimin. Is she really inviting you to have sex with her? Is this interaction even real?

“So, what do you say, wanna go somewhere after this? Somewhere—small, somewhere—private.” Her voice dives into a whisper beside your ear, and you can feel a smile forming beside it. “I’m sure you can work on your bills—anywhere.”

You stare forward, trying to look unfazed to cover your crumbling composure.

“I–I can work on the bills anywhere, Jimin.” Your voice betrays you.

She gives a quiet laugh, “Good to know, treasurer,” before lightly grabbing your chin, with her index and middle finger resting on your lips. Are they seeking silence or entry?

Slowly, they push your upper lip ever so slightly, eliciting a whimper from you. Fuck, is she trying to—

“You know what to do, baby.”

Rejection.

Hesitation.

Submission.

You open your mouth for her—now courtesy of Yoo Jimin. You take in her fingers. They’re cold from the air conditioner. Bite. Lick. Swallow. You close your eyes while doing so, absorbing her taste with your tongue. You feel you’re under her control—so submissive. It’s ecstatic.

“God, do you like being called a whore? Because you’re acting like one right now,” Jimin asks.

You profusely nod at her statement, continuing to suck on her fingers.

“Then keep doing it, whore.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you can hear her giggle. And as your vision comes back to her, the free hand is rubbing against her clothed core now. Mewling sounds can be heard.

“God, keep sucking it, baby. I’ve never cummed as fast as this before.”

“Ngh.” And you keep sucking her fingers.

A sound of the door stops you in your tracks though.

“Guys, I need a few chairs–am I interrupting something?”

Ning Yizhuo, head of student welfare, barges into the room. She stares straight at you two. Good thing Jimin pulls her digits out and puts them behind her back before Yizhuo’s eyes catch sight of you glistening on her, leaving you stranded in your burning desire for your president.

Maybe it’s the way your eyes are still fluttering. Maybe it’s the way your mouth ever so slightly hangs open. Maybe it’s your quick breaths.

Yizhuo wants to know what’s up.

“We’re just–” Jimin tries to find the right word in your eyes. Her blinks are rapid. She’s concerned. She’s afraid.

“You’re–what?” Yizhuo isn’t a patient figure. She’s trying to gauge something out of Karina.

“I–I’m adjusting his posture! O–Our dear treasurer has a bad sitting posture and–”

“Cut the shit, Jimin. What the fuck did you guys do?”

“S–See, he’s sitting a lot, you know? B–Bills. Accounting. Excel stuff.” Jimin’s brows hint at the concern within her chuckle. She pushes the middle of your back to set you straight up. As you follow her move, Yizhuo clenches her eyes.

“Just get me some chairs and don’t fuck inside this room.”

—

Jimin swings her door open, and as expected, every single bit of it is immaculately kept clean. There’s not a single piece of trash on the floor of her white room; the table is meticulously arranged; the bed is folded. There’s a Meteora vinyl placed on her shelf. God, what a tasteful woman.

“Drop your bag.”

You comply as she also does so.

And she immediately pounces on your body, consuming your taste and scent at your nape. Her lips are wet, sending shocks through your pliant frame.

“Mmph, keep this perfume, baby. I just wanna have this scent of you every day.”

It’s CK One.

She plants her kisses along your neck—standing up straight—ever so determined to make you hers. Her hands lock your shifting, shaking body in place, despite being so eager to feel every inch of you—up and down.

“So—pliant, so—submissive,” she whispers.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you deflect, trying to have a hold of the battle. There’s a glint of brattiness inside you that wants to resist her just a little, just before you give in.

“Is that so?” Jimin mewls, before pushing you onto the bed.

“I’m not letting you have me that easily, miss president,” you say with your back against her soft cushion. Jimin is straddling her lean, lengthy legs over yours. She looks so damn tall from this view—you lying beneath her.

“Sucking my fingers, then decide to be a bratty bitch right now—” She lightly taps the tip of your nose, also scrunching hers. “—I like that.”

You say nothing, giving her just a wink from below.

“Oh, baby, I’ll have you scream my name so many times.”

“Fucking make me then.”

And fires ignite in her eyes.

She dives onto your left ear—nibbling, biting, swallowing, whatever she can do with her mouth without tearing your auricle off. Her deep moans send suppressed shudders through your neurons.

Jimin spreads saliva all over your ear, no sign of relenting. Slurping sounds of her flesh ring in your head. She plants each lick with purpose, and it sends jolts and jolts through your body. Still, you’re far from falling apart—tethered on the ground.

“Tsk, i–is this the best y–you can do?”

“Oh, baby, you’re already stuttering? I can do more if you want~,” she tastefully threatens. Then, she brings her right hand into play, tilting your chin up. Your mouth is right beside her neck. The pale smoothness of her skin is presented in front of you, and you just can’t help but—

“F–Fuck!” Jimin yells, clearly enraptured with the swipes of tongue you are giving her. Still, she keeps spreading her saliva on your ear as if it’s hers (it’s hers).

“Oh, b–baby boy, maybe you can use your t–tongue on other things instead,” she whines.

“Your cunt?” You keep stretching your tongue onto her nape, getting a taste of her sweat.

She pulls back from you, robbing the sensations away from your throat. “Clever, now just lie like this. I’m riding your pretty face.”

Jimin then takes off her purple lace panties, giving you a hint of her wet cunt—unshaved—as she lifts her leg, before stuffing the garment onto your nose. Fuck, her musk is so intense; you can just die happily right here.

“You just love it, don’t you?”

You sheepishly nod, pressing her panties against your nose even tighter, eliciting laughs from her sinful mouth.

“I think that’s enough, baby. I wanna fuck your face now,” she says, before tossing away the filthy garment.

Jimin then moves forward on her knees, bringing her heat closer and closer to your face. God, the fact that she’s unshaved only brings you higher. You need to slurp her juice; you need it on your face, you–

“Ready?”

Her cunt is hovering above you now, she’s pulling her skirt up, letting you see her face for the last time before being buried under her.

You nod.

And she sinks onto your face.

The first contact is soft, so, so soft. You’re practically making out with pussy, as she shakes above you erratically. There isn’t much light, with her skirt darkening your vision of what’s around, but it’s like you’d complain. You’re eating your student president out in her room, and you’re doing it so, so well that it sends shivers through her body, again and again.

“Ngh, f–fuck!” Jimin shouts from above—the things you’d do to see her face right now, to see an effect you’re having on her.

You say nothing, just keep lapping up her folds enthusiastically. Her juice drips into your mouth—sweet.

Jimin starts to grind her hips, as the moans grow louder. She’s getting wetter, and you’re still happily drinking her sugary nectar—drunk with it.

“Ah, ah, y–you’re doing well, my treasurer.”

You give her a thumbs up. You keep licking her cunt as if your life is depending on it. She moans so loud; everyone on this floor is probably going to hear that, but you don’t care anymore. The only thing in your head right now is to please Jimin—only Yoo Jimin.

And you can feel her thighs tense, shaking with pleasure. She’s going to cum. Her moans grow more chaotic and shorter than they were.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, fuck!”

She cums hard, collapsing onto the bed, cunt still on your face, ass up in the air. Her core clenches and clenches on your face, and she just forgets to breathe as her hips convulse.

“No squirt today, huh?” you joke from below.

She snaps back into the situation she’s in, sneering, “Fuck off, don’t fucking play stupid with me, wh–whore.”

You laugh, “Alright, alright, let’s get to the main course, shall we?”

“Y–Yeah.”

Jimin lifts off from you, leaving a string of her lubricant between your lips and her cunt.

“God, that’s hot,” you just can’t help but say it.

She giggles, and you can now see the sweat forming on her forehead; there’s beauty in it.

You two, in a haste, discard all of your clothes until you’re left with nothing—just bare bodies on the bed together. You’re sitting opposite of her, expecting her to say something.

She looks ethereal under the room light. The messy hair, the perfect features, the bare body, they all combine into the epitome of perfection right in front of you. Fuck, she’s gorgeous.

“Can I suck your tits?” you mutter. Fuck reticence, you need her, now.

She chuckles. “Sure, but only if I’m on top of you.”

“You just have to find a way to dominate me, don’t you?” you huff.

“Don’t say it like you don’t like it, baby.” She caresses your cheeks, and you shiver at her touch.

You lie down, as she slowly eclipses the light above both of you. Her large breasts are hanging down so close to your face. And—

“F–Fuck!”

You latch your mouth on her right breast as if it’s innate, with your hand kneading on the other. She lets out empyrean moans that only makes you want to suck on them even more. God, you can do this all day.

And not wanting to wait anymore, she impales her cunt with your cock, and you can only moan into her tits. This sensation, it’s overwhelming. Her velvety walls are hugging you so, so tightly. It’s so warm. She’s warm.

“Fuck,” she groans, eyes rolling into the back of her head. “Your cock is so well-bent, baby. It’s hitting my g-spot so good.”

“T–Thanks, J–Jimin.” Your mind is so damn clouded by the pleasure that you can say nothing but her name right now.

And a crack starts to form when she moves—up and down. Her unshaved cunt dragging along your digit, emanating pleasure all over your body from the core.

“B–Babe, c–can you stop s–sucking my tits?” she pleads.

You pull yourself out of her mounds, as she’s still riding you like there’s no tomorrow, and you let out small moans at each contact. “W–What? Ngh.”

“I wanna kiss you.”

You freeze under her. She’s still motioning herself to squeeze the cum out of you, whimpering each time your cock hits the hilt. Is it a confession? Does she love—

“B–Babe,” she brings you back to the mortal world.

“Y–Yeah, kiss me.”

She invades your mouth as if it wasn’t already hers at the second she sits on your face. Your tongues intertwine in a quest to declare their feelings of their owners.

Your hands are still squeezing her breasts. It’s addictive. You press and press into her flesh just to feel her as much as you can. This might as well be the only body you want to have just to yourself, as you dedicate yours to her. Every curve, every contour, every limb, you want her; you want her to want you; you need her. This kiss, fuck, it’s doing wonders to you.

She’d be the one to break off from the kiss to pant above you, hips still smashing into yours in a perfect rhythm.

“W–Wanna go out with me?” she asks.

She’s desperate, all the Tinder dates, all the–

“Babe, I–I fucking know that it’s desperate, yes or no. Fuck those Tinder dates, fuck those guys and girls, I–I want to go out with you, t–treasurer,” she pants.

Maybe it’s her J’adore that’s permeating all over you. Maybe it’s the way your hips are clashing into each other. Maybe, just maybe, it’s the glint in her eyes.

But if you have to recall, it’d be the confidence she’s radiating in clashing your flesh together just right now.

You nod.

Jimin smiles, pulling you into another kiss. You swear it can tear you apart if you have to let this woman go—figuratively.

She pulls off, her breaths becoming shorter and shorter again. “C–Can you cum with me, baby?”

Again, you nod, smiling. It’s inside your loins, building up, building up. Your body tenses up beneath her, same as hers. It’s there. It’s there.

“Fuck, baby, breed me. I’m yours, just breed me, just–ugh!”

And her whole body freezes, juices flowing onto your crotch. Her face is contorted by the pleasure coursing through her. Again, she forgets to breathe, back arching. You don’t slow down, though. Your orgasm is coming too.

“B–Babe–ah!”

It breaks. You busy yourself inside her to the hilt. Just like her, you forget to breathe. You shoot spurts of your seed deep into her womb, intending to breed her as her wish. Your cock shakes inside her, as she moans at each twitch.

It subsides, eventually. The shots get softer and softer to the point the cum just dribbles off the tip of you now. Fuck, your juices even leak out of her cunt onto your crotch, mixed together.

“F–Fuck,” is all she can say, before collapsing onto you, chest pressed up against yours.

“The plan’s still up?”

“Yeah.”

And she slips to the side, embracing you from behind, as you two doze off in the nocturne.

—

“Can I use your toothbrush?”

A long drag of uncertainty comes from the outside. Sun has risen hours ago, yet you two are still in the drowsy state.

“Or do I have to kiss you again for the answer, Jimin?”

“Put your morning breath away from me!”

At least she’s quick with her riposte.

As you brush your teeth, naked, she saunters into the bathroom, still similarly bare from last night. Her breasts bounce ever so slightly with each step in the mirror. Despite the disheveled appearance, her natural beauty shines through the mess—a seraphic being, one might say.

“Ha, yeah, I know I’m pretty, baby,” she says. “People would kill to have a body like me.”

You finish your clean up, before saying, “You’re insufferable, you know?”

Jimin laughs, before giving you a quick peck on the cheek, emanating mellow all over your face. Fuck, you can feel the blood rushing to your erection now.

“You too, babe.” She smiles, before grabbing her mouthwash for a gargling.

Your cock, again, finds the condition to rise in front of this woman. It’s twitching, and you just have to turn back before she notices it.

Still, her sharp eyes find you, and she gives you a small slap on your bare ass, sending pleasure rushing through your body.

“Hey!” she growls with the mouthwash, before quickly disposing of it. “You’re fucking hard again?”

“I–I–I–uh–”

Jimin then presses herself up against your back, arms ever so tightly trapping you from behind in a hug. It’s warm. She’s warm.

“Let me, baby,” she whispers against your wobbling right ear. “I can’t have my co-workers’ needs go unsated.”

“F–Fucking hell.”

In one careful motion, Jimin slides her arms down to your erection, right hand grabbing the length. “Wouldn’t mind some respect from my baby boy~” Her grip and the languid, careful strokes make your legs wobble.

“Tsk, n–no fucking way, J–Jimin,” you muster any inhibition you have left to deflect.

“Well, then.” Jimin then tightens her hold on your cock, transpiring both pain and pleasure to you. “How about now?”

“Nghhhh, f–fuck,” you cry out, the contorted expression appears in the mirror.

“Just like that, baby, moan for me. Show me who owns you,” Jimin coos, loosening her hold a slight, still keeping the adagio tempo.

“Nnnh, J–Jimin.”

“Good boy, good boy,” she murmurs.

She drags her filthy hand up and down your cock so leisurely, finding the rhythm for your pliancy. She strokes and strokes to build you up to the second release with her, this time by her hand.

It feels like eternity—the way her unhurried digits find the pace that would make you want so much more, or how she whispers ‘good boy’ into your ear every time she wants a whiff of reassurance of control. It’s like she needs one, anyway, judging by how you’re moaning like a bitch right now.

“God, you’re making so much sound for me.” The way she swipes her index finger at the tip of your cock on each stroke, fuck, you can fall onto the floor right here and now. “Wanna see your face in the mirror, baby?”

You turn your head leftwards to find reflections of a contorted face and a grin side by side. Her hand is diligent as ever—building you up to your inevitable release.

“What do you say, baby? Wanna see our faces in the mirror?” she inquires again. You can feel a mischievous smile beside your ear.

“Ngnh, a–alright.”

With ease, she forces your body to turn into your image of the ball of lust—the shower of kisses on your neck; the hand sliding up and down your cock; the thigh pressing up against your ass. You shift and shift within her restraint, and that seems to only fuel her fire.

“Moan some more for me, baby. I wanna hear your voice. I want my men moaning.”

You comply, letting out a series of whimpers just for your student president. The sensation of her hand is so damn enthralling—each slide, each nick of a finger, each twist of her wrist, they are all designed to make you surrender to her.

“Good boy. Your moans are so pleasing to hear, you know that?”

“Nngh, t–thanks, Jimin.”

“Wanna up the ante, baby? I can do it faster~” As if her languid tempo isn’t already doing its job in trapping you inside her overflowing lust.

You hesitate, finding yourself wanting this act to go on to such lengths, maybe even when the sun sets again. Being under her comforting warmth is too satisfying.

“I–I don’t know, Jimin.”

“Oh, this baby can’t decide? Guess I’ll just have to–”

She suddenly lets go of your length, cutting your string of desire so easily. You whine, as Jimin lets out a laugh.

“Don’t!” you say in a rush, and letting go the hand you haven’t realized you’ve been holding—hers.

Jimin giggles. “Say please, baby.” She tightens her hug on you, squeezing the plea out.

Your eyes meet hers in the mirror.

“Please, Jimin.”

“Good boy.” And she wraps her hand around your erection again, casually stroking it.

“Ngh.”

The sound of her jerking your shaft fills the room. It’s heavenly—her voluptuous chest pressing up against your arching back with right hand busy sliding on your rod. She does it so cleanly—the technique, the pace. You swear you will cum by the second she whispers another ‘good boy’ into your welcoming ears.

As if she knows your inevitable release, she seeks a higher speed on your cock, stroking it with a swiftness that tries to draw out your moan and your cum as much as she can.

“Ngh, J–Jimin,” you whimper.

“Oh, gonna cum already, baby?” Jimin giggles at your crumble, before giving a peck on your left cheek. “Go on, cum for me. Cum, just like you did last night inside me.”

White spots start to form within your vision. Your breaths become more erratic. It’s there. It’s there.

“Jimin~”

And you explode all over her mirror, painting white streaks on it. You are left with ecstasy on your face as Jimin smiles at your release. Your body shrieks and shudders in her embrace. Your cock twitches in her hand, sending flying ropes of cum everywhere. Fuck.

“Yes, baby, just like that.” Her voice is deep—so seductive.

You continue to shake in her hold, not being able to subside from your high so quickly. Your release grows lighter and lighter in her hand, until it comes out in drops, finally letting you catch your breath.

“Good boy,” Jimin says, before forcing your body towards hers. You are spun around, and she gives you a kiss.

It’s short, but it’s powerful—no tongue fighting for dominance, no slurping sounds, just a kiss.

And she pulls back from it once she’s satisfied, judging from the smile on her face.

“Wanna do this again?” she asks.

“Definitely—well—maybe. You know Yizhuo would beat our asses if she catches us again, right?”

“Just shut up, babe. She won’t know if you’re good with secrets like me.”

You pout, bringing out a laugh from her.

Winter

“It’s going well, isn’t it?” Kai asks.

You give him a small smile. “It’s bearable, yeah.”

“Good to know, good to know.” He then takes a sip of his latte from his cup, looking outside.

“Fuck, I forgot to ask you this,” you say. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Oh yeah! In fact, there’s a woman I've been seeing recently, Yizhuo. You probably know her, right? You guys are working together,” Kai answers.

“Oh,” you utter. “Oh.”

He chuckles, before continuing, “Yeah, I know it’s weird–”

“No, no, not at all, bro,” you deflect with a chuckle along with him. “I’m happy that you’re happy.”

Kai, still chuckling, inquires, “How about you? It’s gotta be more than ‘bearable’ for you to be all happy like this.”

You give him a smile.

[alisonsfics]

risk it all for you

pairing: tyler owens x reader

summary: you and tyler have liked each other since high school. but you both may have waited too long to tell each other, which leads to a pretty nasty fight between the two of you. that’s when a storm comes.

word count: 3.7k

a/n: ended up being so much longer than i thought it would, but had a blast writing for everyone’s favorite tornado cowboy

The comforting scent of burning wood filled your lungs as you sat by the campfire. You didn’t even notice the smile that was glued to your face as you looked around.

The recent storms had brought in all kinds of visitors, hoping to witness a tornado up close and personal. It was the end of a busy day, and all the chasers were camping out in the parking lot of the motel they were staying at.

Tyler, your best friend since high school, had invited you to the bonfire. Tyler had always been the adrenaline junkie, not you. Chasing tornadoes was his thing, and you were glad to let him have it all to himself.

You were currently sitting in the back of Tyler’s truck waiting for him to bring you back a beer.

“So, you’re telling me you and Tyler have never gone for a ride?” One of Tyler’s friends continued to pester you. You quickly shook your head. You couldn’t bear the thought of risking your life like that. “Never, you all can keep your tornadoes. I am happy staying at home and hearing the stories.” You replied.

“Nobody said I was talking about tornadoes.” He retorted. The whole group erupted into laughter. Your cheeks heated up at the implication. It wasn’t like you’d never thought about it. You definitely had.

You heard a few rogue whistles. “Alright, that’s enough.” You heard a low voice say beside you. You turned to look over your shoulder and saw Tyler with two beers in hand.

“Here you go, sweetheart. Don’t let ‘em bother you too much.” He said, handing the bottle over to you. He jumped up to sit next to you on the tailgate. Even after being friends for years, you still sometimes got butterflies when you hung out with him.

“I mean, you can’t blame them. It’s a complete mystery how we’ve managed to stay just friends. I mean, you are just so hot and irresistible. I don’t know how any girl could stay friends with the infamous Tyler Owens.” You sarcastically teased him.

He nearly spit out his beer as he laughed at your joke. Whenever Tyler laughed at your jokes, it was like a little ego boost.

Many people had prodded over the years and asked you and Tyler why you never dated. Every time you gave a sarcastic response to the questions, Tyler fell a little harder for you.

Tyler leaned against you, clinking his bottle against yours. His arm pressed up against yours. Heat radiated off his skin. You hadn’t realized how cold you were. Tyler noticed too.

“Oh hang on, here take this,” he said, grabbing a blanket from behind him. He carefully wrapped it around your shoulders, so it would keep you warm.

You could smell his cologne on the blanket. If you closed your eyes, you could pretend you were wrapped up in his arms.

“So, Tyler, if you two aren’t together, are you seeing anybody else?” One of the girls sat around the fire asked Tyler. You instantly felt your stomach drop. You’d watched girls flirt with Tyler for years, but it never got easier. You faked a smile, but inside, you had a pit in your stomach.

“Why you wanna know? You want me all to yourself?” Tyler jokingly flirted back.

It was no secret that Tyler was a flirt. It never meant anything more to him. It was always just a flirty comment. But you still got jealous. You knew you and Tyler couldn’t have any kind of flirtatious relationship.

The girl pretended to fan herself and blew a kiss towards Tyler. Everyone was laughing at the silly exchange. You just couldn’t do it.

You set down the blanket and hopped down off the tailgate. “I gotta get something out of my car.” You lied, since everyone’s eyes were glued on you. Jealousy was written all over your face. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out.

They all went back to their conversations as you walked away. You wiped away the tear that was rolling down your cheek.

You heard a heavy pair of footsteps behind you. “Wait up. Where ya goin’?” He asked. You both knew you weren’t just “getting something out of your car.”

“Anywhere but here, Tyler,” you said. You continued walking and refused to look back at Tyler. You knew if you looked at him, you’d melt and lose the courage to leave. Tyler could convince you to do anything, and all it took was the twinkle in his eye.

You reached out to open your car door. Tyler smacked his hand against the door, pushing it closed. The loud slam caused you both to jump. It hadn’t been so aggressive in his head.

He mumbled a quick “sorry” and then squeezed himself between you and the car, his back pressed up against the car door.

You focused your eyes on the ground. You refused to look him in the eye.

“What’s goin’ on? Are you mad at me?” He asked you. You rolled your eyes and huffed. He waited for you to answer as you stubbornly crossed your arms. “I’m not mad at you, Ty. I just want to leave.” You said, with your eyes still glued to the ground.

He grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him. You bit your tongue, trying to remain assured. Tyler had to resist the urge to laugh at how much effort it was taking you to keep a serious face.

“Really? Cause it looks like you’re mad at me. In fact, it looks like you’re a little jealous.” He said, smirking down at you. He moved his hand from your chin to brush a piece of hair behind your ear.

You pushed him off of you and took a step back. “Oh, really? Is it that obvious?” You said, hitting his arm. He cocked his head to the side. He was expecting you to deny it, and he was a little shocked when you didn’t.

“So, you are feelin’ a little jealous? Why didn’t you just tell me?” He said, taking a small step towards you. He was wearing the same cocky smile that he always had plastered on his face.

“Do you know how hard it is to see you flirt with every girl you meet?” You asked. He furrowed his brow as he tried to figure out why you were so frustrated. To him, it seemed like there was a very simple solution.

He let his hand rest on your waist, softly toying with the fabric of your shirt. “Well, sweetheart, if you wanted me, you could have just told me. I’m right here for you to take.” He told you, genuinely. Hearing those words come out of his mouth made your stomach do flips.

“It’s different with me and you. We can’t flirt the way you do with those girls.” You told him. You could feel yourself starting to give into his touch, as you leaned in closer to him. “I see no reason why we can’t, sweetheart.” He said, looping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

You could feel your heart pounding. You had to remind yourself to breathe. His cologne was enveloping all your senses. Your eyes were stuck on his.

“Cause with them, it’s casual. But we’ve been friends for years, so it could never be casual. It would have to be all or nothing. It would have to be this serious thing, or we’d risk our entire friendship.” You told him, your voice coming out as a whisper. He ran his fingers through your hair. He couldn’t help but admire you under the moonlight.

“I never claimed to want something casual with you, sweetheart.” He told you. You could feel goosebumps spread down your arms as he looked at you like you were his everything.

You had to pull yourself out of it. You were getting dragged in. “We can’t be together, Tyler.” You said, pulling yourself out of his grasp. You noticed his slight frown as you slipped out of his arms.

“Why not? I think we both know we’d be great together.” He tried to convince you. He didn’t know why you seemed so hesitant when you both knew the feelings were mutual.

He could see the sadness on your face. You wanted to be with Tyler, but you knew it wouldn’t work. “I would always end up as your second priority. It would ruin us, and we’d never be able to be friends again.” You told him. Your emotion was clear in your voice.

He cocked his head to the side in confusion. That was the last thing he expected you to say. He never thought he struggled at showing you how important you were to him.

“What do you mean? Nobody comes before you. Nobody ever has. I’ve always put you first.” He told you. He was practically begging you for answers. He wanted to know how to assure you.

“Owens, I’m not talking about a person. I’m talking about all of this.” You said, looking around you both. There were storm chasers camping out for as far as you both could see. “What are you saying? That we can’t be together because I chase tornadoes?” He asked, starting to raise his voice.

You both were very stubborn people, so it was gradually turning into more of an argument.

“I’m saying you’d always have one foot out the door. And at the drop of a hat, you’d be racing out to risk your life. I can’t be wondering if you’re gonna come home. But, I know how much you love what you do.” You told him. Your voice cracked, and Tyler stepped forward to try to comfort you.

You put your hands up to stop him. He swore under his breath. He was seeing how determined you really were. He was becoming less confident that you could convince you otherwise.

“Well maybe I love you more.” He said.

The thought of losing you was enough to finally push him to confess how he really felt about you. He saw your eyes soften. Those were the words you’d always dreamed of hearing Tyler say.

You felt your heart break when you realized they didn’t change anything. “Oh, come on, Tyler. It’s not fair to throw out words that you can’t back up with any commitments.” You said.

Tyler was becoming more frustrated as he felt you drifting further and further away. “Don’t push me away. You’ve known me for years. You know me better than anyone. You know I’m not reckless. A risk taker? Yes, but I’m careful enough to stay safe. Because I’ve got someone to come home to.” He told you.

You tried to take a deep breath, but all you could focus on was the broken expression on Tyler’s face. “Tyler, I’ve seen you chase tornadoes for years. I’ve seen how much you light up when you talk about it. I know how much you love it. It’s inspiring, it really is, but it’s also the reason you can’t make a long-term commitment to anything or anyone else.” You told him, honestly.

Tyler shook his head, looking down at the ground. You were technically right. He had trouble making commitments. But it wasn’t because of how much he loved storm chasing.

It was because of how much he loved you.

“What about us, huh? We’ve been friends for years. I’ve never missed a birthday or a phone call or a breakup. So, don’t tell me I can’t make a commitment. I have never failed to be there for you. Why would I stop if we started dating?” He snapped at you.

You flinched at how loudly he was talking. He’d never yelled at you before. He noticed how your expression changed. You stepped backwards, putting some physical and emotional space between the two of you.

You pushed past him to open your car door. “Wait, c’mon, don’t leave,” he begged you. He knew he’d crossed a line, and he was trying to remedy it.

“I’m not gonna stay here when you’re yelling at me like that.” You told him. He grabbed your hand and spun you around to face him. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to. I was trying to tell you that I’d always put you first.” He apologized, squeezing your hand. You wanted nothing more than to melt into his arms. But you couldn’t.

“I can’t do this right now, Tyler.” You said, pulling your hand back and getting in your car. Tyler felt a pit in his stomach as you drove off. He couldn’t help but worry that he’d lost you for good.

He ran his fingers through his hair as he wondered what to do. His eyes landed on the bar across the street from the motel. He started walking in that direction. He felt stupid for being optimistic that you’d reciprocate his feelings.

His friends all called after him, having seen the whole fight go down. They all asked him where he was going, but he ignored them all. He wasn’t quite ready to talk about you and have his friends tell him he’d screwed up. Because he knew that already.

So, while you drove home and started crying on your couch, Tyler went to the bar. He wasn’t even really drinking that much. It was mostly just sulking.

He’d drowned out everyone else at the bar who was partying. He was sitting at the end of the bar staring into his glass. All he could think about was how hurt you looked when he yelled at you.

He wanted to pull you into his arms and apologize over and over until you forgave him.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard a news alert playing on the television above the bar. His eyes darted up to the screen and saw “Multiple Tornado Spottings”. He realized your house was right in the middle of the storms.

He swore under his breath and raced towards his truck. Fueled by adrenaline, he sped towards your house. He had the pedal pushed down as far as it would go.

Nothing motivated Tyler more than the thought of you being in harm’s way. He grabbed his phone out of his pocket and clicked on your contact.

He anxiously tapped on the steering wheel as his phone rang. It only rang once before he got sent to voicemail. He tried to call you again, and you declined the call again.

You were oblivious to the incoming storm, and you were in no mood to talk to Tyler.

“Oh, come on, sweetheart. Turn on the news, please.” He muttered to himself, praying that he could will it into existence.

Once he got to your house, he barely turned his truck off before jumping out and sprinting towards the front door.

He banged on the door with his fist. The winds were picking up around him. His adrenaline was still running high.

“Go away, Tyler.” He heard you yell from inside. He pounded on the door again. “There’s a storm, sweetheart. We gotta get to the cellar. It’s not safe.” He yelled through the door. He could barely hear himself over the howling wind. He quickly tapped his fingers on his leg, fidgeting as he waited for you to appear.

The door swung open. Your fear was written all over your face. Tyler grabbed your hand and pulled you with him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a tornado forming in the distance.

The wind was blowing you both around as you raced towards the cellar. Tyler kept a tight grip on your hand. He wasn’t going to let you out of his sight.

“Lookout,” Tyler yelled, shielding your body with his as a dumpster went flying by you both. After it missed you both, he tugged you towards the cellar.

The cellar doors had already flung open from the wind. He grabbed your waist, pushing you inside before him. You quickly ran down to the bottom of the stairs.

“Sweetheart, get me a stick or something down there or these doors won’t stay closed.” Tyler told you. He was wincing as he struggled to hold the doors closed.

You grabbed an old broomstick and handed it to him quickly. He shoved it through the handles and prayed it would hold.

“Alright, c’mon, we gotta get to the back.” He said, nudging you.

“Over here,” you said, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the closet in the back of the cellar.

Tyler closed the closet door behind you both. It was a small closet. You were facing the back wall. He was covering your whole body with his. He had his hand protectively cupping the back of your head.

“Keep your eyes closed and hold on to those pipes, sweetheart.” He instructed you. You quickly nodded your head and did what he told you to do. He pressed a soft kiss to the back of your head, to try to comfort you.

You both had always had a nonverbal way of communicating. He obviously knew you were scared because who wouldn’t be? But he also knew that one of your biggest fears was something happening to him while chasing a storm. And now you were wrapped up in that.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. I promise, I won’t let anything happen to you.” He assured you, holding onto you tightly.

A high pitched whistle filled the room as the wind started to pick up. You could feel the pressure envelop your whole body. Everything around you was rattling.

Up above you, you could hear thuds as the tornado flung around cars and anything else in its path. It wasn’t long until you both heard the cellar doors rip open.

The howling wind got louder. It made your ears ring. Tyler tightened his grip on you as the closet doors started to shake. Your knuckles turned white as you gripped onto the pipes.

“You promise me you won’t play hero.” Tyler yelled at you. He didn’t want you to get hurt trying to save him. You furiously shook your head. “I’m not letting anything happen to you.” You yelled back.

The closet doors started shaking even more. The hinges were loudly squeaking. You just knew that the tornado was right above you.

A piece of the door ripped off and flew through the air. The air swirled around the tiny closet, making it harder to hold on.

Pieces of the door kept splintering off. One of them sliced against Tyler’s bicep, causing him to wince and bite down on his lip.

The closet doors finally swung open. With the large cut on Tyler’s arm, his grip accidentally loosened. He started getting pulled backwards. He only had one hand on the pipes. He was gripping it with all the strength he had.

You wrapped one of your arms around the pipes and the other around his waist, pulling him back into you. You buried your face into his chest.

Then, the wind almost instantly disappeared.

You both continued to hold onto each other as your adrenaline still ran high. Tyler kissed the top of your head. “It’s over, sweetheart. We’re safe.” He whispered, still trying to catch his breath.

You both slowly pulled away from each other and leaned against opposite walls. Neither of you said a word as you tried to process what had just happened.

“You saved my life, sweetheart.” He said, looking at you with love in his eyes. You could feel the tears start to bubble up. You were finally letting yourself acknowledge how scared you’d been, now that you weren’t in danger anymore.

“I was so scared to lose you.” You whispered, your voice cracking. He pulled you into his arms, nestling his face into the crook of your neck. He softly rubbed your back. “You did everything right, sweetheart.” He assured you.

He continued to hug you until you stopped crying. When you both pulled apart, you could see the guilt in his eyes.

“This was all my fault.” He mumbled under his breath. You furrowed your eyebrows as you looked at him. You stubbornly shook your head. “None of this was your fault. It was a tornado. You might be the tornado wrangler, but you can’t control them.” You said, trying to cheer him up and lighten the mood.

He grabbed your hands, interlacing his fingers with yours. Neither of you wanted to keep your hands off each other. You both were still worried if you took your eyes off the other that they’d disappear.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you back there. If I hadn’t, we’d both still be at the motel. You wouldn’t have been in harm’s way if it wasn’t for me.” He told you, apologetically. He was realizing that his actions had put you in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“I’m sorry that I yelled at all. I wasn’t mad at you. I really wasn’t. I was mad at myself. You should have no reason to doubt how important you are to me. If you do, I need to fix that.” He said, squeezing both your hands. You noticed a smile start to grow on his face when you didn’t pull away.

“You never gave me a reason to doubt you. I was just scared. We’re not all as brave as the tornado wrangler.” You teased him. He let out a soft chuckle.

It was nice to have a peaceful moment, laughing together like you always did, after a life or death scenario.

“Does that mean?” Tyler started to ask you, a smirk beginning to grow. You just giggled and nodded your head. “Yes, it means you can kiss me, cowboy.” You said, cheesily smiling at him.

He didn’t waste any time grabbing your belt loops and pulling you closer to him. You cupped his face and leaned in to kiss you. You let yourself melt into the kiss. His soft lips fit perfectly against yours. Just like you’d always dreamed.

You could feel him smiling against your lips. You both pulled out of the kiss. Tyler looked at you with a look of awe. “I’ve spent years wishing I could do that.” He said, smiling down at you.

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Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist for all my imagines or for a specific character/fandom!!

[amirasainz]

I have a request for Lando Norris x Sister!reader where she gets cheated on. Please🫶🏻 I love your writing

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 🧡

Part 2

Big Brother to the Rescue

The paddock was buzzing with activity, fans cheering and cameras clicking as drivers moved between interviews and meetings. It was a typical race weekend—hectic, thrilling, and intense. But for Yn, none of it seemed to matter.

She walked beside Lando, her older brother, keeping her head down. Normally, she loved being at the Grand Prix. She’d tease Lando about his starts, laugh at his banter with the other drivers, and soak in the high-energy atmosphere. But today, her heart felt heavy.

Lando, always in tune with her moods, glanced down at her and frowned. “You’re too quiet,” he said as they reached the McLaren hospitality area. “This isn’t like you. What’s wrong?”

Yn sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

That was all it took for Lando’s protective instincts to kick in. “Oh, you’re definitely talking about it. Did something happen? Who do I need to fight?”

Yn couldn’t help but chuckle lightly at his immediate leap to violence. “It’s nothing. Just...my boyfriend cheated on me.”

Lando froze mid-step. He turned to her, his expression shifting from shock to anger. “He what?”

“Cheated,” Yn repeated, her voice cracking slightly. “With some girl he met at a party. I found out yesterday.”

Lando clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. “That absolute—” He cut himself off, taking a deep breath. “Okay. First of all, you don’t deserve that. Second, I’m going to make sure you’re okay. And third, if I ever see him, he’s toast.”

Yn smiled faintly at his overprotective tone. “Thanks, Lan. But I don’t think anything can cheer me up right now.”

Lando wasn’t having it. “Challenge accepted.”

---

Throughout the morning, Lando hovered around her like a mother hen. He brought her tea, her favorite snacks, and even a McLaren hoodie to keep her warm. The other drivers began to notice.

“Why is Yn so quiet today?” Carlos asked, walking over to where she sat with her tea. “You’re usually giving Lando a hard time.”

“She’s going through something,” Lando replied, his tone making it clear the topic was off-limits. He wrapped an arm around Yn’s shoulders and pulled her closer. “But don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. He ruffled Yn’s hair affectionately before heading off.

A little while later, Charles and Pierre stopped by. “Yn, you’re not smiling,” Charles said, crouching down to her eye level. “That’s illegal. Lando, what have you done?”

“For once, it’s not my fault,” Lando said, rolling his eyes. “She’s just—she’s sad. Leave her alone.”

Pierre, never one to resist a joke, smirked. “Do you need us to scare someone off? We’re good at that.”

“I can scare people off just fine,” Lando said firmly. “Thanks.”

Yn managed a small laugh, which made Charles and Pierre exchange victorious looks.

---

Later, when Ollie came by, he took one look at Yn and immediately tried to lighten the mood. “I’ve got an idea,” he announced, sitting down beside her. “What if I became your new boyfriend? I’d treat you like a queen.”

Yn laughed for the first time all day, the sound catching Lando’s attention from across the room. He walked over, arms crossed.

“Really, Ollie?” Lando said, glaring at his friend. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

“What?” Ollie said, holding up his hands in mock innocence. “I’m just saying, I’d be an upgrade.”

Yn shook her head, still giggling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous, but effective,” Ollie said, winking at her.

Lando wasn’t amused. “Stick to racing, mate.”

Ollie shrugged and walked off, leaving Yn smiling. “He’s an idiot,” she said, leaning her head on Lando’s shoulder.

“True,” Lando agreed. “But if it made you laugh, I’ll allow it.”

---

As the day wore on, Lando continued to dote on Yn. He handed her tissues when she teared up, reminded her to drink water, and even skipped a strategy meeting to sit with her in the quiet corner of the hospitality area.

“You know,” Yn said softly, “you’re a really good brother.”

“Obviously,” Lando replied with a smirk. “But thanks. And for real, Yn, don’t let that guy make you feel like you’re not enough. He’s the idiot, not you.”

Yn sniffled and smiled up at him. “You’re the best.”

“Duh,” Lando said, pulling her into a hug. “Now, what do you say we watch the race together? I’ll dedicate my first overtake to you.”

Yn laughed, feeling lighter than she had all day. “Deal.”

By the time the sun set over the paddock, Yn was back to herself, and it was all thanks to Lando—her overprotective, slightly annoying, but always reliable big brother.

[sceletaflores]

where there’s sparks, there’s fire!

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: you can’t tell if patrick hates you as much as you hate him. every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. but he’s only doing all that to piss you off. you think back to tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. you don’t see it. patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special.

—or: patrick zweig is a slut. you can't stand him.

word count: 4.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), public sex (doing it in a coat closet lmao), more hate sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, light choking, light hair pulling, degradation, even more hints of mean!reader cause i really do live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties always, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: i originally wanted to post a tashi fic next but i realized i don't have any like actual full on plot filled patrick works lmao i felt bad neglecting him and my patrick girlies so yeah. once again had literally so much fun writing this, like i hardcore love this niche!!! i ride so hard for it!!! the tashi fic i'm working on also falls into this category lols and yes this is fourth of july themed and it's late shut up i cannot write fast for the life of me...anyway! to the anons who requested something like this, hope you love it! okay bye mwah xoxo.

Patrick Zweig is a huge slut.

Everyone knows that. He doesn't even go to Stanford but he's still somehow managed to sleep with a third of the girls on campus, maybe even more than a few guys too if the rumors going around are true.

You hate him. Hate isn't even a strong enough word. You loathe him. You despise him. You detest him. Pick any other fancy synonym, the point still stands. You just really fucking hate him.

It blows your mind that someone as sweet and angelic as Art would be best friends with someone like him. Someone who's so obnoxious, so arrogant, so crass. Art’s the guy that goes out of his way to protect you from the gross frat bros at parties, only to bring his very own as a plus one.

Sigma Nu throws a rager every year on the fourth, extending invites to those who are still in Stanford for the summer. The women’s tennis team is always invited, and Tashi always ends up convincing you to go. Well, she’s less convincing than she is more forcing you, but it’s basically the same thing to her anyway. She did your makeup and wrestled you into a Hollister dress, vowing to get you laid as she straightened your hair.

Tashi’s almost more invested in your sex life than you are, constantly hand-picking guys on campus for your consideration. She actually offered up Patrick once when you told her you wouldn’t fuck any of the guys on campus at all. The two of you were practicing, she suggested it as casual as ever while returning your serve. You were so shocked you stopped in your tracks, letting the ball fly right past you. She assured you she wouldn’t mind if you did, that what the two of them had was quote “Nothing serious, he’s just a really good fuck.” and that you should “Totally do it. He definitely wants to fuck you, I can tell.” 

You just brushed her off, ignored the way she smirked knowingly at you over the net. Your cheeks burned as you served again, you wrote it off as annoyance. As if you would ever let Patrick Zweig fuck you.

You lost Tashi when she took off to the bathroom, texting you that she’d be a while thanks to a long line outside the door. You were leaning against a wall nursing a half-empty cup of jungle juice when he came up to you. You can’t remember his name, you think it starts with a B. Something like Brandon? Or maybe Brian? One or the other.

He’s Sigma Nu’s secretary, you sit three seats down from him in your economics lecture. Tashi says he has a crush on you, and he’s nice for a frat guy but he’s definitely not your type. He’s been droning on about his upcoming trip to his family's summer house in Cabo for almost ten minutes. You try your best to seem interested, humming and nodding every couple seconds. You’re in the middle of tuning him out when a loud, familiar voice calls out your name. 

“There you are!” Patrick Zweig shouts from a few feet away, ugly American flag patterned flip flops smacking against the ground as he makes his way over to you. He’s wearing a bright red button down and white cargo shorts you scrunch your nose up at. He’s tanner than the last time you saw him, legs long and even more toned. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that pretty face.” He coos sweetly, his hand that isn't holding a bottle of Bud Light comes up to pinch your cheek.

You scoff, smacking his hand off your face. “You found me, so you can go bother someone else now,” you say, rubbing your cheek lightly. “Bye.” You press, waving your hand dismissively when he makes no move to walk away.

Patrick grins, unfazed by your reaction, he steps in even closer. “Yeah, I missed you too,” he says breezily, his breath smells like cheap beer and camel blues. He’s just as tall as you remember. He has tacky blue shutter shades resting on the top of his head. His eyes rake over your body shamelessly, lingering on the low dip of your neckline. “Cute dress.” 

You ignore him, rolling your eyes before turning your attention back towards Brandon/Brian. He’s silent now, eyes flicking between you and Patrick skeptically. “Are you like, together, or something?” 

You laugh loudly, quickly shaking your head ‘No’. Patrick beats you to speaking though, “God no, man.” he says through a laugh, dark curls bouncing as he shakes his head. “I came over here to warn you.” He continues, voice and expression going overly serious like he’s not talking out of his ass.

Brandon/Brian’s brows furrow, clearly confused. “Warn me?” he asks, head tilting to the left slightly. His puka shell necklace makes a small clicking sound as he moves. 

Patrick nods his head gravely, clapping his free hand down on Brandon/Brian's shoulder a little too roughly to be considered friendly, shaking him back and forth like a rag doll. “Yeah, best of luck trying to get inside that snatch, man.” he says earnestly, jerking his head in your direction. “Cause’ she’s really fucking picky–”

You whip your head in his direction to cut him off, grimacing in disgust. “You would say snatch, you sick fuck.” you snap, red solo cup crunching quietly in your hand. Patrick just laughs, dropping his hand from Brandon/Brian’s shoulder. Anger stews inside you the longer he looks at you with that stupid shit-eating smirk on his face. 

You can’t tell if Patrick hates you as much as you hate him. Every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. But he’s only doing all that to piss you off. You think back to Tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. You don’t see it.

Patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special. Sure, he may feel the constant need to be a horn-dog when he’s around you. That doesn’t mean anything. Patrick’s just gross, constantly making crude comments or lame innuendos. What Tashi fails to see is him making sex jokes around you is just another way he can piss you off. It’s not an open invitation into those god-awful shorts. 

Patrick takes a small step back, big hands raising in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Put the claws away,” You try to ignore the way him saying your name in that goddamn infuriating condescending tone makes your cheeks start heating up. Patrick leans his shoulder on the wall next to you, looking down at you with a small grin on his face. “I actually wanted to congratulate you on cracking the top twenty.” He takes a long sip of his beer, head lolling to the side lazily as he swallows. “Lucky number 14.”

You’re not too proud to admit that Patrick is kind of hot, especially in this lighting. He’s objectively a hot guy, and he knows it. All tall and firm looking even in his horrendous outfit. But he’s kind of cute too, in an ass-holey way. His hair's a mess of soft-looking black curls and his ears stick out from his head sort of endearingly. He’s close enough that you can see he’s got a little brown in his eyes, and long lashes. There’s a handful of freckles sprinkled over the bridge of his nose. 

His big, strong nose that looks like it could work wonders between your legs. Or at least that’s what you’ve heard from Jen in your chem lab. Maybe this jungle juice is stronger than you thought.

Patrick's smirk widens, wolfish and dirty like he can see what you’re thinking. “That’s pretty impressive.” he continues, his tone a mix of genuine admiration and teasing. "Especially for someone who's always so...busy." He lets the last word hang in the air, a clear innuendo that makes your blood boil all over again.

"Busy training," you snap back, not willing to let him get under your skin any more than he already has. "Some of us have actual work ethic, Patrick. We put in the hours on the court instead of fucking anything that breathes, you know? So we don’t look like idiots that get their ass handed to them on tour by nobody scrubs."

You can feel the heat start to simmer in your stomach, anger and frustration bubbling beneath the surface as Patrick's presence continues to grate on your nerves. The tension between you is thick, amplified by the chaotic energy of the party swirling around you. You see Brandon/Brian take a long, awkward sip of his beer as he steps away, turning on his heel to quickly disappear into the sea of bodies crowding the living room. You roll your eyes internally, pussy.

Patrick grins, not deterred in the slightest. “You’ve been keeping up with my matches?” His voice is low and pleased sounding, shiny green eyes slowly getting swallowed by the black of his pupils. 

You pause, owlishly blinking up at him in silence. You’ve been caught. Shit.

You can feel the immediate warmth of embarrassment burning hot on your cheeks as you cast your gaze to the floor. “Only when I need to cheer myself up, a losing streak that high is actually laughable.” You mutter to the floor, lightly swirling your drink in your cup. 

Patrick laughs loudly, throwing his head back in amusement. “Still thinking about me though.” he says matter-of-factly, a lazy grin taking over his face.

His audacity sends another wave of anger and embarrassment through you, your grip tightens around your cup. "Only because you make such a spectacle of yourself," you retort sharply. "It's hard not to notice when you're crashing and burning so publicly."

Patrick's grin doesn't falter. If anything, it widens. "I'll take what I can get from you," he says, his tone a blend of amusement and something else that you can't place. "But seriously, congratulations. You deserve it."

His unexpected sincerity throws you off, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. It's rare to see Patrick in a light that isn’t coated in sarcasm or sleaze. You catch a glimpse of something genuine in his expression, something that almost resembles respect, and it confuses you.

It confuses you, and it makes something warm start to burn in your stomach. You can’t afford to feel any warm, fuzzy feelings around a guy like Patrick, not if you don’t want to get majorly fucked over the second he gets bored of you. 

You don’t know how to react so you do what makes sense, you lash out.

“God, will you just fuck off and leave me alone Patrick,” you say, tone over-dramatic and long-suffering as you tip your head up to the ceiling in annoyance. “I’m trying to have fun.” A lie. The party kind of sucked compared to last years. You were planning on talking Tashi into leaving when she came back, but he didn’t need to know that.

Patrick’s cool exterior finally cracks, letting out a quiet huff of disbelief as a frown starts tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is your fucking problem? I’m being sincere.” The playful light in his eyes is gone, replaced by something darker.

You let out a loud laugh, shaking your head in amusement. “Maybe I’d believe that if you weren’t such an ass. I know you too well, Patrick.” You say, tone mean and condescending. You know he’s right, on some level, but that doesn’t stop you. 

Patrick is silent for a beat, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes you want to start squirming. He lets out a quiet, bitter laugh, bringing his beer up to his lips to take a long sip. You watch the way his throat moves as he swallows, the way his lips look wrapped around the neck of the bottle. You feel a familiar heat start to pool between your legs, thighs clenching involuntarily as your mind envisions something else his slick, pink lips would look good wrapped around. 

He drops the bottle to his side, finally breaking the silence. “You know, now I do believe you.” he says casually, swiping his tongue over his lips lazily. “You must really not be getting any dick acting like this much of an uptight bitch.”

You reel back in shock, his words hitting you like a punch in the gut. The wave of fury that sweeps through you is almost tangible, your vision narrowing to a tunnel that begins and ends with Patrick’s infuriatingly smug face. “What did you just say?” you ask completely taken aback, voice low and rough. Your hand twitches at your side with the need to throw your drink in his face, anger and embarrassment lapping white hot flames in your stomach. 

Patrick just scoffs, heated gaze not breaking from your own. “You heard me.” He says, jaw set stubbornly. “You need like, emergency dick, or something to chill the fuck out for once.” 

You feel your heart rate spike, your free hand clenching into a tight wrist by your side. “You’re a fucking pig.” your voice shakes with anger, you feel sweaty and hot all over. The heat swirling between your legs is persistent.

Patrick laughs, a loud and infuriating sound. “Come on, we both know you’re fucking begging for someone to give you what you need.” He says like it’s obvious, you clench your fist a little tighter. He takes a step closer, voice dropping down to a whisper meant just for you. “I can help you with that. I can fuck all that bratty shit right out of yo–”

You’re reacting before you can stop yourself, hand flying up to slap him hard across the face. The loud crack pierces through the room, loud enough that a few eyes turn in your direction. Patrick's head snaps to the side, the shades resting on the top of his head fly off. 

Your heart stops, hands shaking with the realization of what you just did. You expect Patrick to flip out, start shouting and threatening to sue you or whatever else it is that rich people do. Time seems to slow down as he turns his head, and when he looks back at you, there's no trace of anger in his eyes. Instead, they're dark with something else entirely— something that makes your stomach flip.

He licks his lips, a slow, deliberate motion, and then he laughs, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine. A clear hand print grows steadily, red and angry on his cheek. "Fuck." he breathes, his hazy eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. 

You’re stuck staring at each other for what feels like hours, the music and chatter from the party reduced down to a low hum as you’re caught under Patrick’s heavy gaze.

He drops his beer bottle on the floor carelessly, hand shooting out to grab your wrist tightly and drag you away from the living room. Your cup falls from your grip, splashing down onto the hardwood in a red sticky mess. You fall into step behind him, letting him guide you into the hallway outside the living room before he lurches to a stop in front of a closed door, ripping it open and shoving you inside. Patrick follows quickly, closing the door behind him and bathing the coat closet in darkness. 

It’s a tiny closet, you’re pressed up against too many coats fighting for space on the tiny rack, kicking loose shoes around as you try to find your footing. “Patrick, I–” You start, but you're cut off by a strong hand gripping your forearm and whipping you around. Your back hits the door with a dull thud, you don’t have any time to react before his lips are on yours.

The kiss is the opposite of gentle, Patrick’s lips are almost violent as they move with yours. Your hands tangle in his soft hair, kissing back just as roughly. He hisses into your mouth as you twist the strands in your grip meanly, pressing you into the door harder. His tongue forces its way past your parted lips, claiming your mouth fiercely. He tastes like beer, his fingertips are rough and calloused on your skin, pulling you closer as if he wants to meld into you.

“If you don’t want this, say the word and I’ll stop right now.” He says against your lips, breathless and rumbly. His hands squeeze your hips reassuringly, his own version of sincerity softening the moment.

Yeah fucking right.

“Zweig,” you say slowly, yanking his hair roughly. “If you don’t shut up and fuck me in the next ten seconds, I’ll kill you.”

Patrick grins wildly, surging forward to connect your lips again. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt as the two of you kiss, working them open one by one until you get too frustrated and rip the two half-open sides apart. Buttons clatter onto the floor of the closet, Patrick groans into your mouth, breaking the kiss with a huff. “I liked that shirt, dick. You owe me twenty bucks.”

You’re not listening, eyes trained on the bare skin of his chest as everything seems to slow down for a second. Of course, you’ve seen Patrick shirtless before, when he’s on the court and it’s above ninety or when he’s taking up space in Art’s dorm. This feels different, a completely new situation where it’s actually okay for you to stare at the expanse of his torso. 

You can’t help reaching out to touch him again— running your greedy hands down his chest, his abs, the sharp ‘v’ cut of his hips that makes its way into the waistband of his shorts. Your manicured nails scratch through the dark hair of his happy trail, you can see the muscles in his stomach jump.

“Fuck,” you whisper breathlessly and immediately regret it. He was already insufferable— all you fucking needed was for him to know how you felt right now. How the sight of his barely undressed body is making your pussy soak through your panties.

Patrick doesn’t even gloat, just uses his tight grip on your hips to flip you so you’re pressing onto the door harshly. He impatiently yanks the skirt of your dress up, wasting no time in hooking a finger on the lace of your panties and moving the fabric to the side for easier access.

You hear him pop the button of his shorts open, his zipper following close behind. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” He says, sliding the thick tip of his cock through your slick lips, brushing himself against your entrance teasingly. “I’m gonna make you think twice about bitching me out ever again.” He seals his promise by grabbing your hair and yanking, causing a surprised whine to fall from your lips. His voice is so patronizing, but you aren’t getting mad like you should be. You’re just getting wetter, getting desperate with the need for him to get inside you right fucking now.

You grit your teeth in frustration, exhaling sharply through your nose. “I hate you.” You hiss, grinding back against his hard cock. You gasp raggedly as he starts to sink himself inside you, not stopping until his hips are flush against your ass. “Shit!” Your hands grip the door so hard you’re scared one of your nails will break. The stretch of him burns in the best way possible. You’d never say it out loud, not wanting to inflate his ego anymore than you probably already have, but he’s definitely the biggest cock you’ve taken. Almost porn-star big.

“I know.” He replies easily, hiking your thigh up with his hand as his hips start to pound mercilessly into the meat of your ass, not even giving you time to get used to the thick stretch of him. The loud smack of skin on skin fills the tiny closet easily, you hope to God the amount of clothes shoved in here somehow muffles the sound. The rough denim of his shorts scratches against your raw skin, adding to the sting of his hips.

Patrick was pounding into you in a way that makes you feel every inch of him. His cock felt impossibly big, filling you up like he was carving a place for himself inside of you. The sting in your pussy at the stretch of him is mind-numbing, you think you’d collapse from how hard your thighs were shaking if he wasn’t practically holding you up.

His big hand grips the sensitive skin of your inner thigh hard enough that it’ll probably be bruised by tomorrow. You distantly hope he’s high up enough that your tennis skirt will cover it, because if not it’ll be a hard thing to talk your way out of.

You throw your head back, a strained moan erupting from your lips. Your nails scratch at the paint on the door's edges, raking small lines down the wall. The loud squelch of your pussy’s overflowing wetness every time he sinks back inside you would be embarrassing if you had the mental capacity to care.

“Fuck yeah, keep making those slutty sounds, baby. Want the whole fucking party to hear how good I’m making you feel on this cock,” he mutters, hiking your leg up higher so he can pound into you deeper.

He drops your thigh, sliding his hand up your body and around your throat. You whine loudly, pushing back into his thrusts harder. Guys have tried the choking thing in the past, but Patrick’s hand is the only one that’s felt right. His long fingers curling around your throat like they belong there.

“Shit, fuck- don’t stop.” you mewl, lips parted in ecstasy. His hand squeezes a little tighter, not enough to cut off your breathing, just enough to get your eyes rolling back into your head as your pussy weeps around the thick length of his cock.

“That’s it, taking my fucking cock like you were made for it,” Patrick grates through a groan, gripping your hips and pulling out from your tight hole to spit on where his cock bumps up against your entrance before plunging back in.  You jolt at the extra wetness, whining at how dirty it is. “So fucking tight— does it hurt, baby?” he asks in a barely breathless voice, laughter edging his tone. “Is my fat cock hurting your tight little pussy?”

“God– shit, yes!” you sob loudly, cheek rubbing against the wood of the door as you nod your head frantically. “Hurts so fucking good.” You stop caring about inflating his ego, letting moans fall freely from your lips as you get closer to the edge.

“Fuck yeah, I’m gonna come,” he grunts, his rhythm growing sloppy and erratic as his muscles tense. He wraps your hair in his other hand, pulling hard enough to make your neck crane back awkwardly. He leans forward, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I can feel you, fucking clenching up on me so tight,” he whispers, still pounding into you roughly. “I know you’re close. Do it. Come all over my cock like a slut.”

Patrick's hand tightens around your throat as he talks, cutting off your air for just a second. “Patrick!” Your voice sounds weak and strained, your hand coming up to wrap around his wrist desperately.

He pulls out abruptly, dropping your hair from his fist to frantically jerk his cock, burying his face in your neck. You can hear the lewd shlick shlick shlick of your wetness help his hand glide over the skin of his cock quickly. Patrick lets out a loud growl before you feel the sharp bite of his teeth sinking in where your shoulder meets your neck, muffling a loud groan of your name as he sprays hot come over the skin of your lower back and the swell of your ass. 

The feeling of Patrick’s hand wrapped around your throat as his come paints your skin has you catapulting over the edge. Eyes rolling back in your head as your convulsing pussy gushes wet over his spent cock. 

You drag in greedy lungfuls of air, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “You came first.” You say breathlessly, voice scratchy and hushed. Patrick chuckles against your skin, swatting the tender flesh of your ass lightly. 

“Shut the fuck up.” He mutters half-heartedly, nuzzling his nose in your neck in a way that seems far too intimate for what the two of you just did. You don’t say anything.

Patrick eventually peels himself off your back, but the warmth of his body stays wrapped around you as he starts to gently wipe your skin clean. You’re ready to scold him for using some poor guy's coat as a come-rag, but when you turn your head to glare at him he’s using the inside of his own shirt. You wrinkle your nose, but a tiny smile fights its way onto your lips. So gross, you think with a sort of reluctant fondness.

He leans over to fix your panties back over your puffy, abused pussy. Your thighs continue to shake weakly as you try to stand on your own, still unsteady without Patrick holding you up. He gives you a sweet kiss on the back of your shoulder, smacking his lips loudly. You huff out a tiny laugh, pushing away from the door to face him.

You watch him as he languidly gets re-dressed. He looks well-fucked, his hair and clothes are mess, his face is flushed and sweaty. Your eyes trail down to where he’s buttoning up his atrocious shorts. 

The fabric around the crotch is darkened with your release, wetness soaking the denim around the zipper and front pockets. You gawk at it, a mix of terror and excitement swirling through your stomach. “You can’t go back out like that.” you say to his shorts, shame burning your cheeks. 

Patrick follows your gaze down to his crotch. A pleased smirk plays on his lips when he looks back at you. “I’ll text you later.” Is all he says, zipping his fly and turning towards the door. 

“You don’t have my number.” You say, tugging the skirt of your dress down over your hips. You can slowly feel the horny fog leave your brain, leaving you clear-minded and a little panicked.

He cracks the door open, but before walking out of the closet he looks back at you over his shoulder. “Art’ll give me your number. “ He says casually with a small shrug of his shoulder. You suddenly feel sick, wondering how many other people have heard that line before getting completely ghosted. 

Patrick must see the negative thoughts running through your mind play out on your face. He gives you an actual smile, one that has his eyes crinkling up the tiniest bit at the corners. “Promise.” He says with a reassuring nod, it’s the most sincere you’ve ever seen him. You bite your lip to stop from smiling at the hope blooming in your stomach, nodding back at him slowly. He throws you one last toothy grin before he’s walking out and closing the door behind him.

You sigh contently, staring at the closed door for a few beats before your phone buzzes to life from where it's laying on the floor. You bend over to search for it, blindly rooting around until you see the tiny display light. The ringing stops before you can answer, when you flip the screen up to check your inbox you have seven missed texts and two missed calls.

Four texts and two calls from Art, and just three texts from Tashi.

arty where are you? i’ve been looking for you are you okay? hello???

tash you know you're not invisible right? everyone saw your little show have fun <3

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini a/n: yes i did change the title leave me lmao love you!

[acid-ixx]

Wouldn’t it be funny if Reader shows just a tiny amount of happiness to any one of the batfam, and the next thing you know they try their best to make Reader to do it again.

Example:

Dick:Makes a silly joke

Reader: Actually smiles and laughs at it

Dick: gloats about it to the fam

The BatFam: practically on all fours chasing after Reader to try and make them laugh

Don’t stress out with your writings (btw love your ‘again & again’ series❤️)

Take your time and don’t forget to drink water🫶🫶🫶

laughter is the best medicine

ft. yan! dick grayson, jason todd, and damian wayne

— masterlist !

more beneath the cut ! fluff ? with a mix of yandereness is my thing hehe. i love this ask sm <3 you guys are being fed well today !!!

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

ugh they're the definition of giving someone an inch and they'll be taking a mile. it would especially be annoying if it were dick on the receiving end of the line. but even if he'd be the one you'd take most precaution to, don't underestimate just how much your opinion holds the most value in the family. so they'll most definitely gloat about their achievement of making you smile or hell, even leaning against their shoulder willingly calls for a celebration.

trust me when i say that living in a stuffy manor already sucks, and they don't exactly like seeing you sulk and merely rot in your bed all day. so like any loving family would do, they'll try their damn best to at least see a quirk of your mouth or that faint glimmer in your that dick oh-so enchantingly talk about.

so it comes to them in the form of a surprise that one day, when your oldest brother accidentally trips over one of your expensive novelty ballpen, instead of nearly shouting at him for breaking one of your favorites, it was the "oomph!" sound his throat makes and his wide eyes when his ass directly landed on the floor that makes you crack into small giggles.

if it weren't for his enhanced hearing, dick would've crossed out your laughter as a hallucination, a product of imagination, something entirely impossible to produce, but no.

he had proven himself wrong.

once he turns back at you, he sees the crinkle of your eyes and your palm trying to cover your shit eating grin. the plump of your cheeks are so accentuated that he forgets the initial embarrassment he feels in the first place, replaced with awe at just how artfully captivating his sibling looks; sitting by

it's like a painting, he wishes it was. he wishes tim would be quick enough to capture the succession of your smiles in the live camera feed.

all because he couldn't believe it. couldn't believe that his baby bird is laughing. they're laughing and they look so mirthful and full of life when doing so.

yes, you're laughing at him, at his stupidity for being unable to detect a mere ballpen despite being trained to locate every known obstacle in a field.

but fuck, he was already raised at a circus to fulfill the role of an acrobat who entertains the crowd. what more could it be if that means he could play the role of a clown for you, his baby bird worth more than a thousand lives, whose laughter is equivalent to the immense euphoria that is filling his entire being?

give him an inch and he'll take an entire mile.

the next day, you'd be greeted with... a lot of peculiar instances within your family. all of which you would laugh at because it's not typical that your family displays mistakes, and you feel a bit better about yourself when their imperfections seem to seep out of their being— or maybe it's just your thoughts eating you up again, because is it just you or did jason, tim, and even damian, manage to at least trigger a reaction out of you?

tim would accidentally end up drinking orange juice right after brushing his teeth. his cringing expression, choked gargling and immense spitting is enough to guarantee a light chuckle from your seated form as you ate your cereal in peace, watching him as he tries to rid of the bitter taste on his tongue. although, bitter as it may, the sweetness and the aching of his tooth overpowers the regret he fills for gulping an entire bottle of orange juice down his throat.

he's so glad that he had set up multiple cameras and recorders at different angles prior to your time spent with him because he just couldn't stop watching your reaction in loop whilst he tried to continue his investigations within gotham's latest crime news. yet no matter how hard he attempts to control himself, his eyes couldn't stop looming over to your form, finding your reaction too incredibly cute to be ignored. yeah, he'll do his duties later. for now, he just needs to... screenshot every single frame of your expressions.

jason isn't much of a joker but when reading you one of your favorite stories, he had managed to mispronounce one of the words so badly that it ruined the narrative of the classical book he was voice acting for you. it was a stupid thing to laugh at, but for a guy like jason, who was an english nerd in his very prime, it would be hilarious— especially when his gothamite accent seeps into his vocabulary; which is very unbefitting for the voice of a character who was a princess that loves to wear frilly, pink dresses.

imagine a man, with a growl that vibrates through his skull, and muscles that bulge through his shirt, voices a princess of all people! his high pitched register for the character was already grating to your ears, but the sudden shift from an airy and girlish to deep and gruff with an added effect of a voice crack at the word "cake" was enough to let you burst out into laughs, your giggles echoing through the comfortable silence of the manor's library. for the first time in a while, you let jason wrap his arms around your shoulder, asking for your input about his tremendous acting skills.

jason never had many moments to cherish within the manor, preferring to stay over and outside of bruce's radar, but god does he love going through the batcave's live feed just to zoom in on your expressions, the grin on your face heavily reminds him of himself, back when he was the oblivious robin with no idea of what was coming to him. yet only now, he swears to protect your smile from never faltering.

damian takes his artistry skills seriously, constantly making a show of bragging to you whenever he has the opportunity to. but this time, he was incredibly pissed at drake for accidentally squeezing all the paint from the tube of oil paints he had stored by the drawers, and it was a shade closest to your skin tone, too; he meant to use that tube of paint for his next portrait of you. so like the petty child he is, damian sets on an hour long routine of drawing tim with monstrous features that screams the opposite of what he sports.

that means he had drawn multiple variants of tim with a hideous, actual bowl cut one. no seriously, his hair was a bowl and the strands that peeked out of it were spaghetti strands. in another drawing, his red robin outfit consists of plucked feathers and an elongated beak for its mask, what seems to be the pocket for the eyes now replaced with cat-like slits that makes the vigilantes expression looker idiotic and downright stupid. yet it felt therapeutic for damian to draw that his brother with what he felt was enough revenge to exact upon drake. that scum deserved a horrendously made portrait of him.

what he didn't expect was that you had stumbled upon his atelier, wanting to cure your boredom by painting a scenery when all of a sudden you had to drop all your equipment from your hands because... what the fuck was damian painting...? why is tim crawling across the floor in one of the portraits...? it takes a second or two for you to register the drawing's very detailed portrayal of a literal bowl cut, your laughter bursting out of the seams because no fucking way did damian actually draw something so hilarious and unserious. if you were anybody else, damian would've kicked your shins so violently you would've required a visit to the hospital. but because it's you... he chooses to sulk in the corner with puffed cheeks and burning ears as you approach the painting with said curiosity of a child and a laughter you can't stifle so easily.

at least it got you to stay in the same room as him for about an hour, with you giving your youngest brother more ideas to make the drawings even more unsettling than they already were, to which damian takes your tips to heart.

after you had eagerly (and shyly) showed the entire family you and damian's shared creation of a monstrosity, tim swears he'll never squeeze a tube of damian's paint anymore.

[reyalvr]

RUMORS!

I KNOW YOU HEARD THE RUMORS, YOU MUST GET OVER TO IT RIGHT AWAY!

synopsis ┊ ken sato- a remarkable name in the world of modern baseball- has graced japan with not only his presence, but also his skills as a key player for the yomiuri giants. from press conferences to media endorsements, it’s clear that his stardom has only intensified from his recent move. but what happens when you, his personal assistant, are left to deal with some more… serious rumors?

genre ┊ chaotic fluff, oneshot

pairing ┊ ken sato x gn-PA!reader

warnings ┊ mild cursing, ami is not the reporter depicted!

word count ┊ 2.2k

author’s note ┊ hiya! i recently found time to watch ultraman: rising and this fic was just writing itself in my head hehe… happy reading! (p.s. yes… the title was inspired from the new minions song)

THREE MONTHS. That was how long you had known baseball’s darling, Ken Sato. And in those three months, you had undergone every single PR nightmare you had ever conjured up in your mind prior to pursuing your career. You had worked with celebrities before- doing God knows what ‘til the waking hour on their every beck and call. But Ken, despite presenting himself as a laid back man, was an entirely new… experience. 

From the Kaiju attack at his first game under the Giants, to the continuous streak of losses throughout the first half of the season, it seemed like the Gods were against you as you did your damndest to handle the damage control on his reputation. His ego didn’t aid you either- having to spin and twist multiple incidents to get reporters and media outlets off his back. You weren’t exactly sure what it was that kept you from quitting all in all, but the longer you worked under him, the thinner your thread seemed to snap. 

You huffed an annoyed sigh into the cold air, picking up the pace as you jogged along the designated path by the bay. Your days off were scarce- not because of Ken’s schedule, but because of your own decision to be up to date with his spontaneous actions. Despite the rarity of solitude, you always managed to savor your time off. The music played at a mellow volume in your ears, the morning sun starting to warm your surroundings as you watched its rays splash hues of orange across the sky. 

Your felt your watch beep against your skin, signaling the end of your morning run. Pausing by the railing, you leaned against the old metal bars as you checked your stats. You swiped absent-mindedly on the screen of your smartwatch, scrolling once you were sure that everything was in order. There was one thing that caught your eye, though, as you noticed the red notification bubbles on your message app were continuously going up. It was odd, yes, but not odd enough to be out of the ordinary- at least in your line of work. 

Deciding not to bombard yourself this early in the morning, you opted to give everything a once-over once you made it back to your apartment. Whatever it was could wait- you were on your time and your pace. Besides, it couldn’t be that bad. Could it now?

IT DEFINITELY COULD, AND IT DEFINITELY WAS. You pushed on the gas as hard as you could, your tongue poking into your cheek as you continued to drive to Ken’s house. Of all the days that he decided to make perhaps the stupidest decision in his career, he chose today. Doing your best not to see red, you dialed his phone once more. The ringing played throughout your car as you maneuvered through the roads, and you swore for what felt like the umpteenth time that morning when you heard the tone of his voice message. 

Hey, it’s Ken. Leave a message after the beep, and I’ll be more than happy to ignore it! Said his usual arrogant tone playing before the generic beep. You gripped the steering wheel harder, huffing angrily as you sharply turned a corner. 

“Kenji Sato answer your goddamn phone right now! I’m ten minutes away from your house and when I get there, I better not be greeted with your supposed secret love child!” You yelled, pushing the red button once you finished your message. 

Ah yes. The centerpoint of your current rage: Ken’s “leaked” one-on-one with a reporter about juggling baseball and his homelife. Someone on Ken’s staff had sent the article in your shared work group chat, and nearly all of his personnel had directly messaged you about the issue. It was inevitable for celebrities to get into a scandal once or twice, but one on this level would not be an easy fit to overcome. 

You don’t exactly remember what you were doing prior to receiving the messages- all you knew was that you needed to get to Ken as soon as possible. Of course it just be a misunderstanding, hell it could even be a hoax! But knowing Kenji, anything could be possible. You neared the hill of his private property, driving past the gates as the security recognized your car.

You parked haphazardly at the front of his house, your feet stomping into the gravel as you made your way to his front door. His estate had numerous smart tech installed throughout his home, so you knew that each and every one of your moves were either being recorded or observed. You crouched slightly to be in frame with the doorbell’s camera, your anger slightly toned down.

“Ken.” You paused to narrow your eyes. “Open the door.”

For the next minute and a half you swore you could hear some sort of clash and bang from inside the house. You kept your arms crossed, raising your eyebrow from time to time when the clashing seemed to grow louder. After what felt like an eternity, the front door opened slightly. Not all the way, but just enough for Ken to peek out and smile at you- albeit nervously cocky.

The nerve.

“Hey, [Y/N]! What uh- what are you doing here?” He manages to cough out, roughly combing a hand through his hair. “I thought it was your day o-”

“Save it.” You reply, your gaze sharp enough to slice through whatever excuse he had at the ready. You held up your phone then, the article’s headline prominently bolded:

OUT OF LEFT FIELD: Ken Sato Strikeout? Nope! Love Child Home Run!

Ken’s head bent down to get a good look at what you were showing him, and you watched carefully as his eyes scanned over the article not once, but thrice. You let out an impatient hum, your mouth forming into a slight scowl as the both of you stood in silence. With your head tilted to the side, you dropped your hand back down and crossed your arms. 

“Are you just gonna stand there or are you going to start explaining to me what the hell you’ve been up to these past twenty-four hours?” You question, moving past him as you enter the house. 

Usually you would wait for Ken to let you in, but stalling would only hinder you from coming up with what to do next. The article had already been up for two hours, and you halted any statements from being made before you could get an explanation from Ken himself. He quickly tailed after you, nearly stumbling over himself as you stopped at his kitchen. You gripped the marble countertop, closing your eyes momentarily before you turned to face him once more. 

“[Y/N] I swear, it’s not as bad as you think it is,” Ken says as he tries to add reassurance to his tone, but it doesn't mask the lingering tinge of falsehood.

“Oh, really?” You say, your eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Because in the span of two hours I have had thirty news outlets blowing up my- your management team for a response!”

He opens his mouth to speak, but stops again midway when you continue. “The headline I showed you was local. I want you to tell me exactly how and why you were on the phone with a reporter talking about your private life at God knows what hour. Now.”

You can see him swallow, licking his lips after as he tries to form the right words. He blinks a bit before pinching the bridge of his nose, tilting his head up as he lets out a deep sigh. When he opens his eyes he’s still greeted with your restive stance. Still he remains slightly hesitant, but he does end up recalling the remnants of his conversation with a reporter he had met at one of the parties he attended. Ken goes on to explain that he had only seeked out advice. His schedule, his personal life- he needed an outlet. You can feel yourself slowly untense, though you continued to listen to make sure all your facts were straight.

When he finishes his retelling, he puts his hands up slightly- as if he were trying to put you at ease. “I swear, that’s all I said. I thought,” He pauses, his brows furrowing in a way that made you slightly mad at yourself from blowing up at him. “I just thought I could have a normal conversation for once. ‘Guess I was wrong.”

The warm lights cast a sombre shadow on his features, and from this angle you notice the worn out expression painted on his face. The bags under his eyes are darker than usual, not to mention the fading bruises from his latest altercation with one of players from his opposing team. In front of you was not Ken Sato, this was Kenji; Simply a man who was thrust into a new life without the needed support. 

“Well, no shit.” You say, finally breaking the silence, you fix your posture against the counter as you tone down the anger in your voice. “Jesus Ken, sometimes I wonder how you were able to maintain your career before me.”

At that he lets out a soft laugh, his dull expression slowly fading. “Yeah, I do too.”

You give him a puzzled look before you reply. “Are you mocking me?”

“No! No, I was being serious.” He says, his smile dropping slightly. “I know I haven’t been an easy task, hell you’re here on your day off for Christ’s sake.” 

You hum at his words, narrowing your eyes slightly as you push yourself off the counter with another awkward cough. In all ninety days of working under Ken Sato, never has the man gotten this sentimental with you. You decide not to linger on his words, your attention going back to the problem at hand. 

“Right, well,” You sigh, whipping your phone out in the process. “I need you to give me the name of that reporter. I’ll get the legal team to draft an NDA breach.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows then, looking at you as if you’d said something odd. “I didn’t make him sign an NDA though?”

You only give him a smile, a hint of confidence plastered on your lips. “I know. I have my ways, Sato.”

“You’re a pretty good assistant, then.” He replies, the corners of his lips going up slightly as he keeps his arms crossed. 

“I’m an excellent assistant.” You correct without looking at him, your fingers tapping away at your phone as you prepare the next steps of your plan. 

Ken can only chuckle in agreement, tapping his fingers on his forearm as he awaits your next set of instructions. Within the next twenty minutes you’ve sent out the necessary details to your team, your legs kicking as you sit on one of his bar stools. He’s stood across from you, leaning on the countertop looking at you intently as you explain the response plan. 

“And lastly,” You say, sliding out your hand. “Give me your phone.”

 His head tilts, the same confused expression on his face. “Why?”

“Just do it,” Your hand curls, motioning for him to hand his phone over. “No, I am not installing a monitor.” You add when you see his mouth open to interrogate you. 

He slides his phone over with a defeated huff, and you open a new contact page on his contacts. “If you need to talk, do it with someone who won’t leak your shit.” You say, sliding back his phone when all your details are settled.

“I have your number though, don’t I?” Ken questions, looking over at the number you inputted. 

“You had my work number. Now you have my personal phone.” You point your finger at him before continuing. “Don’t abuse it. I’m still your assistant.” “Wasn’t gonna, sweetheart.” He says, an amused smirk mixing in with his addled look. 

You quirk your eyebrow at the nickname. You shake your head, hopping off the stool as you make your way back to the front door. Ken follows behind you, hands in his pockets as he watches you leave. Before you can open the door though, you look back at him one last time. 

“I mean it, Ken.” You say, making sure it gets through his head. “You have a problem, tell me. You need a solution, you tell me.”

“I know, I know.” He gives you a tight-lipped smile, nodding towards the door. “Go enjoy the rest of your day off before I start thinking you care about me.”

“I do. It’s my job to care about you, Ken.” You reply, giving him a look before you open the door. “Whether you like it or not, I’m your lifeline. At least until you get rid of me, which won’t be happening for a good while.”

“Oh yeah?” He jests, his cocky demeanor slowly coming back. “‘You so sure about that?”

“Extremely sure.” You’re standing outside now, slowly walking backwards. “Twenty minutes ago people thought you had a secret love child and that you were a terrible father. Now you’re back on the face of KFC as baseball’s darling.” 

He’s taken aback. Was he actually booted off of his collaborations? He hastily checked his phone, scrolling through all his platforms. To his surprise, he was greeted with… his usual feeds. No sight of the article, no lingering gossip. His ads had doubled, his partnerships boosted on the products he had endorsed. He looked back up to say something, but you had already started your car. You backed out his estate, giving him a smile through the tinted glass of your windshield. 

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. You were right. But who was he kidding?

You always were.