#note that even well-meaning suggestions might not help right now

[scuderia-eunoia]

☾ the crown that weighs heavy | KA12

starring: prince!kimi antonelli x mercenary!reader in which: you're a hired gun. a good one, at that. normally, you'd have no problem eliminating just about anybody; but your latest target proves to be more difficult than you expected. wc: 2.6k includes: enemies to lovers, no established relationship, might have a part 2 but im still not too sure, use of kimi's first name (andrea), kimi is loosely (i mean VERY LOOSELY) inspired by maven calore from the red queen series. english is not my first language! warnings: none notes: this has been sitting in my drafts for a hot minute because i haven't really. cleaned them out. and partly bc im not really satisfied with the ending soo... but that might mean i'll make a part 2 soon (??) idk. let me know. also, this is pretty old (aka my writing is significantly worse) so i kinda hate it and you, dear reader, may or may not hate it as well- this is your warning.. haha.. anyway, enjoy!

The chill of the night sky sends a shiver down your spine. The entire city is quiet at this hour, asleep and resting for the coming day. But you’re wide awake. Your door doesn’t make a sound as you sneak out into the back alleys, leaving not even a speck of dust in your wake.

You landed a gig today. And it was big.

The requester was anonymous. They sent only a singular piece of paper with the details of your target, along with a sack of gold enough to feed an entire generation. You almost thought it was a scam when you first saw it— especially when you read who they were asking for.

Crown Prince Andrea. Kill him in the next month. I’ll send more gold tomorrow if it isn’t enough.

You didn’t know what was more absurd. The amount of money sitting right in front of you, or this request.

The crown prince was, well, a big deal— if his title didn’t suggest as much. He was the heir to the entire kingdom, a future king awaiting his birthright— which just so happened to be a month from now. You realize, then, what the request was implying: an elimination of the heir.

This wasn’t just any request. You’d be directly involving yourself in a case that plunge the kingdom into chaos.

The crown prince was the only eligible child to be in line for the throne His sister was too young, and there had been rumors circling about how the king didn’t want his daughter to rule even if she came to be of age. You weren’t one to indulge in palace drama, so it wasn’t like you cared about the inner politics about the kingdom. But this piece of paper and whoever was behind it was forcing you to.

You opened the brown sack carefully. Inside, piles and piles of gold coins twinkled back at you. It was an amount you had never seen in your life. To be able to amass this much would be impossible for someone like you in the lower class— but whoever this person was could easily bring it and deliver it to you as if it was nothing. You knew, then, that this person truly wanted the prince dead— and they had the money to make sure he is.

It wasn’t like you were some shoddy mercenary. Your name was popular among the market of hired hands, regarded as someone reliable and who can always get the job done. If clients wanted an elimination so quick that it almost looks like a disappearance, you were the one to call. It’s because of your quality of service that you tend to charge higher than the average price, which most of your clients happily pay for. But this person— whoever they were— was different. You felt it. It wasn’t just the price they were wavering— it was the target.

Who could be insane enough to target the prince? It’s not like he had committed some kind of secret felony that the entire kingdom wasn’t aware of.

But as you looked at the pile of gold coins and the piece of paper again, you realize that it doesn’t matter— not yet, at least. At the end of the day, you were just a third party in every story. A hired hand that helps for their own gain, who erases themselves from the narrative as soon as the job is done. It didn’t matter who or what it was— you were part of the shadows, and this was no different.

Which brings you here now, jumping across roofs across the night as you made a beeline for the royal palace. The moon cloaks you in darkness, with its light shining down on just the right places to give you vantage as you navigate through the sleeping village.

Soon enough, you arrived at the palace, hiding in the shadows as you climbed up into the balconies. Your client sent more details a few days after they sent the initial request— a map that showed the entire palace layout, inside and out, along with a detailed list of palace protocol that the prince had to follow. It audited his entire schedule— when he woke up, possible times of the day where he’d go out to see the public, his free time. You had never received this much information about a target all at once; the most you’d get would be a few pictures of their whereabouts in the past 12 hours, and maybe a few witness testimonies if you were lucky. But this was all on a different level. It made you wonder if whoever made the request had an insider in the palace— or if they were the insider themselves.

You chose to target the prince at night. According to the schedule, he should be free during this night and frequents the balcony during this hour. Your client mentioned that he doesn’t bring bodyguards with him after sundown— a peculiar choice— but an advantageous, nonetheless. The polished marble of the palace balcony is cold when you grab onto it, and you grunt as you launch yourselves upwards.

The evening air is cold against your face when you’re finally able to climb onto the balcony. You tuck yourself behind one of the marble walls, looking around your surroundings. The palace balcony was decorated with plants lining the railings, as polished pillars towered over the entire area. It cast a shadow over certain corners of the balcony, which were perfect for you to sneak around in.

You almost think that your guess is wrong and that the prince wasn’t here tonight— until you see a shadow emerge from inside of the palace. You step closer to the darkness as you look at him from the shadows.

Crown Prince Andrea approached the marble railings as the moonlight poured over him— regal and refined. His sharp eyes looked onto the horizon as he stood unmoving in the center of the balcony, detached from the world he was just in seconds ago.

From your place in the darkness, you drink him in. Curly hair, long eyelashes, an aura of indifference surrounding him. He was dressed in more casual clothing, his simple dress shirt bearing a contrast to the usual royal blue and black that he wears whenever you see him in the town square with his family. He isn’t wearing his crown either; without it, he has the silhouette of an ordinary boy.

The air suddenly feels colder. The bustle of the palace becomes silent. Everything is still, as if the world had finished preparing the scene for your strike and the prince’s final moments. You tighten your grip on your blade as you calm your beating heart. In all of your missions, you have never felt remorse for your targets. They were disposable, which explained why your client even hired you, you’d always think. Why would you feel sorry? You were just a hired blade.

But as you stepped closer and closer to the prince, slowly revealing yourself from the cradle of the shadows, an unexplainable feeling begins building up in your stomach. It crawled its way into your heart, making you bleed an emotion you didn’t know— pity? Sadness? Disappointment?

The blade in your hand twinkles against the moonlight. Did you actually feel bad for the prince? It wasn’t like he did anything wrong, you thought— what could he have possibly done that would make someone want him dead? From what you’ve seen of him; he’s been nothing but a kind and humble soul. He always smiled at the townspeople, worked hard to become a suitable heir to the throne, and whatever else the stories of him said.

But you had no time to think of this. Not now, when you raise your hand to cover his mouth as you pin him against the wall and away from the curtained doors leading back into the palace. He squirms under your grasp, and as you turn him towards you to sink the knife into his skin—

You freeze.

Sharp, almond eyes stare at you, shock and fear tainting his features. Your grip almost loosens when you meet his gaze, but your knife remains steady. It sits just below his chin, close enough to the skin of his neck that any more movement could tear it apart and slit his throat.

The words come out before you even know what they are. “Don’t move.”

A drop of sweat trickles down his forehead, dripping down onto his exposed collarbone. You follow it with your eyes, mouth slightly agape as you stare at his bare skin. You flick your gaze back at him.

“If you move even an inch, you’re dead.” You whisper, leaning into him. His eyes widened at that, but after a moment, his fearful stare dissolves into something calmer— he goes still, and you frown.

You weren’t unfamiliar with depressed targets— people who just accepted their fate after you ended them— but the prince was looking at you knowingly, as if he was aware of something you weren’t. It unsettled you, and your hand over his mouth slips ever so slightly.

Before you could press him against the wall again, the prince grabs the knife in your hand and gently drops it to the ground. The metal barely makes a sound as it falls— it was a custom blade made to be silent upon your request— and your heart skips.

You blink. Once. Twice. By this point, you would have already switched tactics and strangled him right then and there, clean up the possible fingertips you’d leave behind later, and get the job done. But now, you were staring at him dumbfoundedly as your grip on him loosened with every passing second.

His eyes unsettled you. His gaze was piercing, almost as if he was staring right through you. That knowing look never left his face even as he placed his hand over yours, gently lifting it from his mouth and back to your side. You were frozen still the entire time— the prince’s stare leaving you completely immobilized. You could hear your heart ringing in your ears now.

“I know you,” He whispered, tilting his head ever so slightly. His voice sends a shiver down your spine as you stiffened up. Your mind screamed at you— grab the knife and just stab him— but your heartbeat was louder than any other thought in your head. There was that feeling again from earlier— the way your stomach tied itself into a knot, the melancholy that clouded your judgement, and the split second where you felt a mix of pity, sadness, and disappointment— it was all coming back.

You stared at him. Your breath hitched in your throat when you meet his gaze. “What?”

“You’re that mercenary girl, aren’t you?”

Your eyes widened. Panic washes over you, and familiar instincts kick in. You grab both of his hands and press his back against the wall again, eyes burning with fury. But you don’t do anything more. You don’t break his hands or slam him against the marble. Instead, you open your mouth to speak. “How do you know that?”

He doesn’t move against your grip. You wonder if it’s not tight enough or if he’s got a loose screw when he replies, “My family told me about you.”

He smiled as he said it, and your brain short circuits for a split second. Your grip on him tightens, and you feel your judgement slowly bury itself away. “Shut up.”

“You were going to kill me, weren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Why haven’t you?”

Your jaw clenched. You couldn’t answer that. Questions swirled in your mind— why didn’t you? Your knife is still on the ground, and your grip on his hands doesn’t tighten or loosen. You don’t bruise his wrists or knock him out cold. You just look at him.

“You know,” He began, “I could pay you more than whoever told you to do this.”

You frowned. “And why should I?”

“Do you want to kill me?”

The question hung in the air like a blade. You blinked. Did you? You thought about that moment of hesitation you had as you snuck up behind him earlier— was that because you didn’t actually want to kill the prince? Did you feel for him? Was that why your knife felt heavier? Questions that haunted and clouded your judgement continued to conquer your mind, as the answers to them all felt farther and farther away.

That’s when you hear it. The slightest shuffle from the inside of the palace, along with hushed whispers. A feminine voice called from within- “Andrea? Where are you?”

The prince looked at you then. He didn’t say anything as he looked into your eyes, his amber gaze staring right into your soul and the inner conflict that you battled within yourself.

Then, as if a switch had been flipped, your grip on his wrists immediately loosen and you push off him like fire. Your skin burns under a sensation that was never there— and deep down, a part of you mourns the bygone warmth. You looked over to the door. “Who was that?”

“My mom,” he said.

You sucked in a breath. You couldn’t kill him now. You wasted too much time talking to the person you were supposed to kill, for God’s sake— and now, the opportunity is gone. You expected to feel disappointed in yourself for letting a target go like this, but you didn’t. In fact, you felt something completely different: you felt relieved.

You didn’t want to believe the prince’s words. That you were unsure of killing him, or if you even wanted to at all. You knew yourself better than anyone, so who was this guy to make you think otherwise?

You didn’t have time to ponder over it any longer when you hear slow, cautious footsteps approach your direction in the shadows. You’re already preparing to take off into the night when the prince calls out— “wait,”

Your better judgement betrays you as you immediately halt to a stop when you hear his voice. You had your back turned to him now, and you didn’t want to look over your shoulder to see him— it made you scared, and you didn’t know why.

“What?”

“Will you come back?” he asked.

“Of course I will. I’m still going to kill you.” It sounded more like a reassurance for yourself rather than a threat.

“Okay, then.”

A beat. And then, he says, as if he wasn’t even afraid of you or the possibility of your blade sinking into his skin, “I’m Kimi, by the way.”

You scoffed, still not turning to look at him. “Don’t get personal with me, prince.”

Unbeknownst to you, he smiles. “If you say so.”

The feminine voice calls out again: “Andrea?”

You don’t hear Kimi reply anymore. You’re already jumping across the roofs again, riding the evening chill as you took off into the night. You’re faster on your feet compared to before— almost as if you were running from something or someone. You swore you heard the castle howl in the distance as you pulled further and further away, leaving behind the fleeting memory of the prince and his piercing gaze.

[your-so-vain]

💌licked envelopes💌

Word count: 1,469 (lmao 69)

Warnings: age gap, sexual themes, y/n reader, female reader, drunken parties, swearing, sexual mentions, homelander being mad over spilled milk.

Authors note: this is just a part one, soo if you guys have any suggestions I’d love to hear them <3

---

You always had a small crush on homelander. Okay well that might be a little lie.

say since high school you loved homelander, it started when you had rewatched some Vought movie and noticed how golden homelander's hair was and how his biceps glistened with sweat

Oh God had homelander always been this hot?!

---

ever since then you had been a total homelander fangirl talking about him most of the time and the other time talking about whatever members of the seven there currently was.

Yeah you knew what everyone was thinking, voughts wet dream. A teenage girl obsessed with their movie star of a hero.

---

It sorta died down when you became an “adult” by that I mean moving out and going to college.

But you didn’t feel like an adult, you still felt like the same girl curled up on your bed watching a vought blockbluster, by yourself.

Your roommate thankfully didn’t mind you having a poster of homelander in your apartment on your side of the room.

Schuyler was the first genuine person you met in this God forsaken city, and you were thankful for that. You needed somebody to help you wonder the busy streets and your own crowded mind

In return you didn’t say anything when she brought back some rando for the night, even if their noises kept you up all night

---

As you were huddled over your small desk in the corner of your room, Schuyler knocked on the door

“come in!”

She opened the door with a happy squeak “oh my God, girl guess what?!!!!”

You sigh before rubbing my temple “yeah?” You look over your shoulder, with a half smile.

“Soooo Josh is having a party and I want you to come!”

“I can’t, I’ve got a test tomorrow and I need to study.”

“C’mon! That’s all you do. Have fun for once, y/n! It’s the last week of the semester, do something!”

You weren’t in the mood to argue with her.

letting out a shaky sigh before agreeing “sure what’s the harm in one party.”

She squeals before immediately running to her closest to fine you something “sexy” to wear

---

You were shocked to say the least after she gave you a short black leather dress. It was a little on the tight side, but that didn’t matter.

After arriving at the party, you immediately had a drink shoved into your hand by an already drunk schuyler.

You reluctantly drank it, the bitter taste leaving a weird after taste in your mouth that later turned, sweet?

---

After at least i dunno three or four drinks, you started absolutely dropping more then enough information about homelander to last three lifetimes

“Did you uh k-know he grew up in Montana?!” You laugh drunkenly as your words slur together “like the worlds best super, is from Montana!”

Apparently you found it hilarious, as you had uncontrollable giggles thinking about it.

“Like c-can you imagine him, being raised in the most boring state?!”

Some boys in the frat house, the party was being held in laughed. You couldn’t tell if they genuinely found it funny or was just trying to get in your pants, well in this case in your dress.

---

you stretched your body out across the frat house couch, a sigh exiting your body.

Until schuyler leaned overtop of you with a drunken smile

“Ohmygoshhhh GIRL! you look soooooo good! Like I k-knew that dress would be good o-on you.”

She eyes you up in down, before an idea entered her mind

“Y’know what you should do!”

“Huh?”

“You should t-take a pic for homelander, cause like you’re so sexy right now!”

“… your so fucking smart” you immediately hopped off the couch like a rabbit, checking every cabinet and drawer in the frat, for a camera until

The holy grail!

---

You found a polaroid camera that had to be from the 90’s and it surprisingly had film in it.

“woah, y/n that has to be at least fifty years old. Right?”

“….Prolly not.”

You both drunkly and stupidly stare at the camera before grabbing it and running to a room with a full body mirror, schuyler hyping you up the whole time.

As you posed and took pictures. The camera light reflecting off of the mirror and momentarily making your eyes a bit sore

---

After taking at least ten pictures from different, what your drunken mind thought was sexy.

You and Schuyler picked out one of you from the back looking over your shoulder; and the bottom of your dress hitched up a bit showing off some of your ass.

---

After the party was over, you stopped at some random pizza diner that for some reason was still open at 1:38 am

With the polaroid sitting in the middle of the greasy table, between you and Schuyler.

As you finished eating two huge slices of pepperoni pizza you managed to get a sharpie from the man behind the counter, and somehow a envelope as well

“Is this a pizzeria or a fucking post office, why do they have all this?” Schuyler laughs into her palm as she leans back into her chair

As you finished writing on the back of the polaroid, you wrote your name, and the vought tower address with homelanders name signed with hearts around it.

You licked the sticky part of the envelope, before closing it and holding it in a tight grip in your hand.

---

you then pay for your food, and schuylers with her saying she’d “definitely pay you back!” you knew she wouldn’t but you didn’t care.

On your walk back to your apartment you slipped the envelope into a big blue mail box, smiling as you did so. with schuyler a little further down the side walk yelling for you, or else she’d leave you.

---

You woke up with a head splitting headache, you slowly sat up in bed, running a hand through your messy hair that you didn’t bother to brush last night, or even brush your teeth for that matter.

Your head turned to the clock on your counter 10:47 AM?!

Oh God you were late for your test!

At the speed of light you jumped out of bed and quickly began getting ready, the letter hadn’t even crossed your mind.

You were so drunk last night that it’d be impossible to remember.

Right as you grabbed your bag before leaving, you took a look at your self in the mirror “…I look like shit.”

And with that you closed the door behind you and ran to your class.

---

homelander had been mad all day, apparently he asked an intern for some milk and he gave him almond milk…

That was enough to set him off storming into Ashley’s office with his usual speech about him being the boss and in charge

Of course, Ashley just nodded in fear and agreed

---

“Where’s all the fan mail I’ve gotten?” Homelander asked Ashley

“It’s um on the sixty third floor, like it’s always been. Why?”

“I don’t need to give you a reason!” He snarled out at her, slamming her office door behind him, as he went to the sixty third floor

He usually didn’t check his own fan mail, sure it fed his ego to know all these people loved him but, he’s homelander! he wouldn’t touch that stuff with a ten foot pole.

Unless he’s in a mood like today.

---

By some luck, the first piece of fan mail he picks up happens to be yours?!

He looks at it for a moment, with a slight confused look on his face

“Y/n?”

He rolled the name off his tongue, he liked the way it sounded in his mouth

Homelander practically rips the envelope open, when he did the photo of you fell out.

His eyes caught it instantly and he grabbed it before it could hit the floor.

his mouth salivating as his blue eyes examined the photo, he soon flipped it over to see what you had wrote and he read it aloud to himself

“I heard your eyes glow when you cum” he rubbed the bridge of his nose while reading this. Not knowing how to feel

“I’m a visual learner, one day you could show me”

He looked at the smudged sharpie on the back of the photo before flipping it around to look at you

---

For a minute he didn’t do anything he just looked, and then he shoved the photo into his pocket

He was definitely going to save that to jerk off later.

“Y/n..” he muttered as he walked out, a smile forming onto his lip’s, as he imagined bending you over and showing you what you wanted to learn.

---

Homelander reading the back of the Polaroid

[jaeminvore]

Credit Card Baby | Z.CL — PREVIEW (read here)

“Who do I gotta fuck for barricade tickets to Sabrina Carpenter around here?”

PAIRING: Chenle x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Four days, three broke girls, two possible outcomes, and one solution. What are you willing to sacrifice in exchange for a night seeing a long-awaited Juno pose five feet away from your eyeballs? Your dignity, probably because it just so happens that one (1) Chenle Zhong could be the solution to your current girl problem. Only, you don’t really do well with charity. Nothing in life was free and everything had a price, but Chenle likes to think differently—that he's simply helping a friend out. Like the many times he did before. There should be sugar-daddy-sugar-baby joke around here somewhere.

alternatively: ‘three dumb bitches telling each other ‘exactlyyyy’.’ — ‘A sugar-daddy (kinda) au with no age-gap, but with a financial gap that no one asked for’.

CONTENT TAGS & WARNINGS: mildly suggestive themes, crack treated seriously, comedy, college au, fluff, friends to a secret third thing, sugar daddy au (kinda).

TEASER WORD COUNT: 770

FULL FIC WORD COUNT: estimated 15K (more or less)

RELEASE DATE: June 26, 2025 — 11 PM PST

TAGLIST: send an ask if you want to be notified when the full fic is posted!

NOTE: if you listen closely, you can hear me screaming because no one is more excited than me, who finally got around to writing a Chenle fic after so long of telling myself that I will. Eventually. And now we're here YAAAAAAAAAAAY!!

“Guess who might have found a solution to our ticketing problem!”

You slid onto the cushioned seats of the breakfast nook—a breakfast nook, Jesus—right across from Minjeong sipping her to-go cup of thai milk tea. She wordlessly slid one towards you. You took a generous drag of the stuff.

“Actually, it was more of Renjun’s idea—which I am effectively stealing.”

Yizhuo, who was in the middle of plating a hefty amount of pad see ew, looked like she swallowed something toe-curlingly sour. “Oh so you were with Renjun-ge.”

An easy smile curled on your lips as you lifted a shoulder to shrug, sweetly batting your eyelashes. “What can I say? The guy gives good head–” (“I did not need to know that.”) “–anyways, my idea.”

“Mine was probably better.”

“Oh yeah?” you drawled, egging Yizhuo on. “Let’s hear it then.”

“Breaking into the thrift store and stealing everything from the cash register.”

“She claimed if her parents found out about her crimes, they’d have to bail her out from prison and then restore her money privileges,” Minjeong glared at the youngest who simply whistled to Espresso as she carried on with the food. “Then I had to remind her of her reputation.”

“Good thing you did ‘cause that’s the dumbest fucking idea I’ve ever heard,” you said and you made sure it showed on your face as Yizhuo wilted underneath your tangible disappointment that she would even risk an integral part of her privileged life when she had used it as a counter-argument to the whole OnlyFans thing. “So we’re going with my solution to our broke-ness—Chenle Zhong.”

Yizhuo did not look pleased whatsoever. “What does Caillou have to do with Sabrina Carpenter?”

You ignored Minjeong shrieking with laughter. “Chenle’s got money,” you said as if you were talking to a toddler barely getting a grasp on words having their designated meanings. “And do you know what we need to get tickets? Money, and Chenle has a lot of it.”

“It took Renjun for you to realize that Chenle could be our solution?” Yizhuo exclaimed in disbelief, head in her hands. “Oh my God—it took Renjun telling you, then you telling us that he could be our solution? How could I’ve been so stupid?”

Her head jerked upwards, ponytail swishing along and gave you a look so sharp and abrupt that you jerked in surprise. You fixed your posture so fast that your grandmother would have been proud. For once. “You’re definitely asking Chenle.”

“Uh—first of all, why me? Don’t rich people have, like, some sort of kinship with one another? Like, hey, can I borrow ten-thousand dollars? I’ll pay you back with five-percent interest.” You were sure that wasn’t how deals between rich people were made, but whatever. “Second, why not you, money bags?”

“He’ll never say yes to me,” she said brusquely, clicking her tongue. “I kicked his ass a bunch of times in PUBG and he’s still bitter about it. It’s not my fault he sucks absolute balls. There’s like, a compilation of him complaining on stream about how I was cheating–” Yizhuo made air quotations “–on TikTok. It’s so funny. Actually, I’ll send you the link—”

You turned your gaze towards Minjeong for help, eyes widened a fraction for an added pathetic flair as the younger one focused on scrolling through the damn clock app.

“Don’t look at me. Chenle’s just cheap with everyone—actually, maybe except for you,” Minjeong pointed a long, black almond tipped nail in your direction. “the favorite.”

“You say it like it’s an insult.” You slurped your milk tea at an obnoxious volume, shrinking in your seat. “Maybe he’s just nicer to me because I’m nice to him unlike you two.”

“Is that what we’re calling it these days?” Minjeong said, eyeing you curiously.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She moved her gaze elsewhere. “Nothing.”

You squinted. “Uh-huh.”

“Anyways,” she said, pointedly keeping her gaze forward. “He started it. I asked him if I could borrow money for my Lyft and he laughed in my face.”

You pressed your lips together to keep yourself from laughing too because, yeah, the image was a little funny. “You’re exaggerating,” you said evenly.

Yizhuo made a half-wince, half-smile sorta thing with her face. “Are we though?”

“Lele’s not that much of an asshole,” you defended. “He drives me home. You could have hitched a ride with us is all I’m saying.”

On the other hand, Minjeong looked like she was heavily debating whether she should smack you upside the head, or not. “For someone smart, you’re real stupid.”

You frowned. “Hey.”

TAGLIST: @jaylaxies @hoondrop @gojosmojodojo @justalildumpling @dammit-jjk @learnthisfeeling @90s-belladonna

[demie90s]

Can you write a reader x UConn team and reader has like no filter like they could be in the most serious moment and reader would say something out of pocket

Why she got a mic?

UConn WBB Team x Fem!Reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: Me. The team’s walking HR violation. No matter the mood, you will say something that has the whole team side-eyeing, laughing, or questioning reality.

Word Count: ~ 0.5k

Genre: Comedy, Team Fluff, Mild Crack

Warnings: Cussing, chaos, suggestiveness, mentions of thirst, reader being out of pocket at all times

The mic wasn’t even all the way clipped to your jersey before you started talking.

“So like…y’all gon’ feed us after this right? ‘Cause I don’t wanna sound ungrateful but that little fruit tray y’all gave us pregame made me feel like a parrot.”

You were dead serious. Meanwhile, the rest of the UConn team was already doing synchronized neck turns to Geno, who stared ahead like maybe if he focused hard enough he could astral project into retirement.

The reporter chuckled awkwardly. “Right, well—uh—let’s talk about the game. You had a breakout performance in the third quarter. What clicked?”

You nodded solemnly. “I had to pee real bad so I was tryna hurry up and get off the court. Y’all saw me running? That was urgency. It’s called motivation.”

Laughter broke out across the room. Aubrey dropped her head into her hands. Nika was crying silently.

Someone else raised their hand—braver than most.

“You guys really shut down USC’s offense tonight. What went into that defensive game plan?”

You tilted your head. “I mean, yeah. I saw that. USC good and all…but not as good as us so like…I don’t really care. Sorry.”

Caroline leaned in with a PR-smile. “What she means is we watched a lot of film and trusted each other—”

“No,” you cut in. “That’s not what I meant. I said what I said.”

The reporter blinked. “A-And uh—Aubrey, you had a great night on the boards…”

You slouched in your chair. “Yeah, and yet still no date.”

Aubrey snapped her head toward you. “Yo—”

“I told her, I said, ‘If God see fit and we win tonight, you gon’ say yes’—and we did. We won. And she still didn’t say yes. So she fake but that’s between her and the Lord.”

KK was wheezing. “You need help.”

You turned to her calmly. “Nah I need a girlfriend. Two different things.”

The reporter next to the stage was beet red now, trying not to laugh into their notes. “Okay, uh…next question—what was going through your mind during that final play?”

You crossed one leg over the other like this was Oprah. “I was thinking, if the world ended right then, we’d all go with it, so I might as well go out with a win. That’s real.”

Geno rubbed his temples. “Jesus Christ.”

You leaned into the mic again, like a closing statement. “Thank you. And please remember to feed athletes. We is hungry.”

The PR rep jumped in so fast her paper nearly flew off the table. “That’s it! Thanks so much, everyone!”

The moment y’all stepped backstage, Geno turned slowly.

“You know they record those, right?”

“Yeah Coach.”

“And they post them.”

“Mmhm.”

“You’re going to get us sued.”

You gave him your most sincere expression. “It’s okay. I got a lil savings.”

He looked like he aged ten years in five seconds.

Behind you, Aubrey shoved your shoulder, laughing. “Yo are you alright.”

You shrugged. “I’m just honest. And single. And hungry. Somebody gone address it.”

Just like that, you were back in the locker room, already hyping yourself up for post-game food and probably more chaos. Because filters are for water—not for you.

@letsnowtalk @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264 @yorubagirlsworld @daffodil-darlings @h4untedghOul @followthesvn @hibiscusblu @sevikasleftbicep @swiftie4evr @babyphatbrat @sivensblog @beeop223 @huntedghOul @tpwkrosalinda @lightsgore @em-nems @salemsuccss @villain-ryuk @ihrtsarahstrOng @liyahh037 @sillystarv @somedetailsinthefabric @essence-134340 @mochelisgf @soph1asticated @heheievidbri @unvswrld @breezybellab @planet-ghoulborne @art-ofmusic @toorealrai

[pampushky]

Mon Petit Doudou

Pornstar! Charles Leclerc/Pornstar! Reader - 7.4k

here it is!! enjoy! please reblog and share and all that lovely stuff! getting your comments makes my day and seeing how excited everyone was for this made me super happy :)

uhhh anyway. Might be a bit inaccurate, I'm not all that well versed in BDSM stuff so if anything is like... a super negative connotation within the community that's inaccurate (besides one character who has bad etiquette for plot reasons sorry)

anyway lmk what ya think lmao

masterlist |

He was too beautiful to be doing something like this for a living. With those bewitching hazel eyes. The effortlessly styled hair. His athletic build. The sweet slur of his accent as he lowered his voice to a sultry level when he talked to you.

But weren’t you as well? Wasn’t that why you fought so hard for your anonymity? That was why you had only ever allowed your mouth or lower to be seen in any stream or video, combined with the concealer that hid away any tattoos or marks from the prying eyes of those who watched you pleasure yourself on camera. Why you never wore your glasses to any professional shoot. It became a necessity to dress so differently on and off screen.

So why did it feel so weird now? Two of you, the same profession between you as you discuss plans for your… collaboration. Charles smiles at you. Stubbly beard and white teeth, a bit of the foam from his coffee clinging to his mustache. Perfectly styled hair as though he’d just stepped out of a convertible. You know you look similar. The soft cardigan slipping off your shoulders. Exposing the delicate tattoos of rue on your upper arms that circled your biceps and danced up to your shoulders.

Herb-of-grace. Purity. Innocence. How ironic for you, considering what your profession had turned into. From a part-time job to a serious career that often ended up having better benefits and more money. 

Charles leans forward, whispering something in French you don’t quite catch, making you frown as he cackles, leaning back. Other tables at the cafe look at the two of you, and you can see the adoration in their eyes. You look like the perfect couple. In a way, you are, just not a romantic one. A spoiled rotten sub and the protective, sweet dom.

“I think you should let them see the tattoos, no? I think they would like it,” Charles says, shit eating grin on his lips. “What does the rue flower represent again?” Because he damn well knows what it means, he just likes to tease you.

“You’re impossible,” you take a steady sip from your cup, looking down at the journal that you’d brought to jot any ideas or notes down in. “You are aware of that, right?”

“But the people like it.” Charles leans back with a shrug. “So. To continue…”

If only the other tables were close enough to hear any of your discussion. To hear the things he was suggesting. But you couldn’t even protest against most of his ideas— they were appealing. Sponsorship deals that both of you had been offered. Not only would your audience like it, but… well, you would enjoy it as well. You can’t help but the little smile that makes its way onto your lips when he nudges you under the table with his foot. 

“Don’t play footsie with me,” you kick him back gently, making sure to just brush his shin.

“Who said it was my foot?”

“Har har.” You roll your eyes, but Charles kicks you again, and you can’t help but laugh with your head tilted back. “And was that your foot, this time?

“Wouldn’t you like to see, hm?” 

The rest of the video series is figured out pretty easily. The safewords, plot, who’s going to edit the videos (Max will. He’s one of Charles’s buddies who you’ve seen edit together the most filthy things from previous collaborations and blending everything together with a straight face while sucking on a fancy bendy straw leading to a tall can of Red Bull). You’re comfortable with it all, even asking if Max would be willing to let you use the straw for your water bottle during filming breaks when shooting more traditional videos. 

“Probably not. He’s very protective of it,” Charles says sagely, watching as you just doodle loops and loops of ink into your journal. “Do you still use the same brand of concealer? Just so I can have it on hand. The other bottle you gave me expired.”

“Ah, no, ended up having a bad reaction with it the last time I used it,” you scratch your neck and shrug the cardigan back on. Covering up the twin rue tattoos. “I’ll text you the new brand. I can bring it, too, because it’s a bit pricy…” 

“Don’t worry about it, I can get it.”

“Yeah?” 

“Of course,” Charles looks down at his phone when you text him the link, frowning more so about how you had thought you’d even need to think about buying it. A bottle of your matching shade is ordered by the end of his sentence. “You know that.”

“Tattoo seals are also a good thing to use,” You turn to reach into your bag, missing the way that he traces over the leafy, flowering tattoos on your shoulders. You push a few of the little stickers across to him, and he raises an eyebrow. “Don’t have to worry about replacing or cleaning the sheets, then.” 

“Hm. My smart girl,” His praise falls easily from his lips, and he doesn’t miss the way your gaze seems to soften for just a second after it. “I’ll let you know,” Charles snaps a picture of a few and pushes them back towards you. “Stream in a few days then? Don’t forget the collar, mon chou,”

You just laugh, leaning back in your seat while finishing your tea. Like you haven’t been discussing an upcoming scene that will take place in your next shoot with your dom over coffee. How you’ll split the costs and whatever monetization comes from the videos, while also letting him spoil you with the tea and pastries you love. It’s almost like a date. Perhaps in another life, it would be such an innocent thing, and not the planning of a semi-niche porn live stream.

Charles trails kisses down your neck, letting his stubble brush against you, chuckling as your skin flushes, leaving a wake of goosebumps and heated skin under his lips. The camera is on, but you don’t exactly see it, most of your face is pushed out of frame with how you’re lying across his lap.

“Are you going to be good, mon chou?” 

One of his hands rubs softly on your back, while you’re laid across his lap. You’re face down, and you know you’re positioned in a way so that the viewers will be able to see all of your body. You squirm gently, and nod, trying to tilt your head back so that you’ll be a bit closer to his face. You lay so that you’re facing away from the camera. Your tattoos have been carefully covered with a mix of concealer and tattoo patches. It’s warm, and you feel safe, your mind fuzzy as you slip into subspace. Your hair falls in small waves around the duvet, like a halo. 

Sitting comfortably against your neck is your newest collar. A lovely burgundy leather with brass d-rings and pressed eyes that have been carefully polished to shine. A few pendants hang off the D-ring, little gifts from Charles to you. The inside of the collar itself is lined with soft velvet, made to stop the skin from chaffing. Admittedly, Charles had splurged on it for you, wanting you to have only the best as he worshiped you.

“Uh uh uh,” His hand moves to cup the small of your back to stop your squirming. “Doudou, they want to see you. Don’t move so much,” He looks over at the screen, where a few messages are beginning to pop in. A few donations pop onto the stream’s overlay, displayed for all to see, along with the chat on the side, displayed by one of his other monitors.

ugh she’s so cute (€5) Is that a new collar? Looks so cute on her!! (€10) awww!! she’s getting so excited!! happy to see you both <3 (€20) Such a good girl, listening so well already (€5) Make her answer the question. Give a sub an inch and they’ll take a mile. (€50)

Charles frowns at one of the more recent messages in the chat. Very rarely did he ever need to punish you for being a brat or acting out of turn. Whenever he did do this, it was always scripted for the viewers. Played up, and a rare event that usually came after a request was put in for it, along with a substantial amount of money. But fifty euros is nothing close to what would substantiate any punishment, so he brushes over it and smiles at the chat as more tips and excited messages drop in.

“Oh, mon chou, they’re so happy to see you again,” Charles whispers, watching as the viewer count starts to grow as people tap on the notification that you’ve both gone live. More comments in the chat pour in. “Yes, she’s been so good lately, haven’t you, ma moitié?”

He runs a hand up and down your back, and then gently squeezes the swell of your ass. You squirm a little bit again and make a needy noise rather than answering.

Make her answer. She seems like a bit of a spoilt sub, needs a reminder of who’s in control. (€50)

The message donation floats on the stream overlay for a few seconds, before being replaced by more donations. The chat is a mix of more praise and excitement along with a handful of confused ‘???’ about the last donation message. It’s the same username as the other donation that had confused him a bit. His mouth quirks down into a frown before he quickly masks it with a little smirk as he looks down at you.  

“Doudou, have you been good?” Charles whispers softly in your ear, leaning down to ask you. His stubble brushes over your skin, and he gently rubs your lower back, encouraging you to speak. “They want to hear your sweet voice, bébé.”

“Uh–huh,” you mumble out, starting to squirm again. “Been good, sir.”

“Yes or no, bébé,” Charles gently reminds you, his touch still reverent around your skin as you lay across his lap, stomach facing down. “I know you have, but our lovely friends watching you don’t.”

“Y-yes, been so good,” your voice is soft, and his heart melts. Charles is already a very soft dom towards you. Never pushing. Never raised his voice. He doesn’t like using any crops or toys that can verge on pain. That’s just what the relationship between the two of you had become. 

she’s so cute!! Aaksfhasl so so good for us!! I just wanna see her cute little face (T^T) She’s so eager to please!! 

The chat is a blur at this point. Mostly compliments for your good behavior and how eager you appear to be to start the steam. Lovingly, Charles rubs your back again. Kisses the top of your head, and then gently starts to finger you open, prepping you for what you’d both discussed for today’s streams.

“There’s a bunch of toys we’ve gotten today,” Charles leans back to grab the little basket of toys, reading out their names and the slightly dry sponsor segments he knows he has to read. He lifts each one to show the camera, and you press your legs together with a whine as he reads out the descriptions the sponsors had given him for each toy.

He tilts his head back to laugh a little bit at your desperation and softly kisses the small of your back. 

“You should have seen her the other day,” Charles looks at the camera, while you let out little squeaks. You’re still on his lap and trying your best to keep still as he gently pumps in and out of you with his ring and middle fingers. “She was so good. Even when she had a plug in.” 

Hot hot hot omg

You squirm slightly at his words. Whining softly. Staying as still as possible just like he’d told you, lost in the sweetness of subspace. The tip of his middle finger brushes against a very special, spongy spot inside of you that has you keening into the duvet on Charles’s bed. 

“Oh? Did I find something?” Charles feigns disinterest while curling his fingers to press just a bit harder into your G-spot. He reaches with his other hand to grab the camera, wanting the chat to have a good view of your folds clenching around his fingers tightly. When he pulls his fingers out, they glisten with your wetness, and your sweet hole tightens around nothing. “Look at you, so responsive for me,”

He brings himself to a slower pace, no longer thrusting his fingers in and out of you with the same rigor as he had minutes before. You wiggle your rear at him again, craning your neck to look over your shoulder at him with a little sigh, your pleading look invisible to the camera. Just as his lips quirked into a small smile over your sass, another donation popped up just as he pressed the camera back onto its little stand. 

What an indignant little thing. Put her in her place, hopefully this helps you grow a pair. (€100)

Charles holds back every childish instance to flash his balls to the camera just to specifically show this donor that he does indeed have a pair, and a rather substantial set at that. You whine again, and without really thinking, he brings his palm down onto your left cheek, the one closest to the camera. It’s not too hard, and it sounded worse than it actually was. You let out a little yelp, and still, your hands fist in the duvet covers even tighter, looking over your shoulder at him with wide, shocked eyes. 

“You know better than to whine, you’ll get what you want,” Charles' gaze softens, and he already feels a bit of regret for spanking you without warning. The collar around your neck shifts a bit, some of the pendants hanging off the D-ring jingle together from how you’d jerked your head back to look at him. The little bell on the collar chimes sweetly, and soothingly, Charles continues to rub your left cheek, leaning down to softly kiss you out of frame. You whine, and he swallows all your noises, before leaning back in, looking at the camera while lovingly soothing the skin where he’d smacked down. 

To some satisfaction, he can’t see any new donations from that particular donor. He’ll make sure you feel nothing but loved, with the two hundred euros the person had dropped on it. Charles just smiles again, letting his hand still on your lower back, continuing with the stream as planned. 

An hour in and he’s had you nearly cumming on one of the rabbit toys sent to you. It’s smooth, and the actual toy part is a lovely mint green color. A very nice one, with several different speeds used to keep you squirming and whining softly under his touch. Small sighs of “—Sir— please—” and “Ch—Charles—” fall from your lips ever so often, and he even manages to coax a loud moan from your lips, which the chat goes insane about. When you do climax, you don’t even have the where-with-all to try and warn Charles. And he doesn’t even mind, he’s always been happy to just let you chase your own pleasure and highs. 

You whine, slumping against him, feeling him pull the still-vibrating toy from your folds. Your clit is puffy and engorged, and the chat loves to see how you whimper as Charles brushes his fingers through your folds, holding the camera close to give everyone a good view of your still-twitching cunt. 

so pretty now give her another!! Her whines omg Good Girl <3 (€25)  Such a cute little sub Wish i had a dom to take care of me like she does waaaa

Despite himself, Charles smirks, knowing his face is out of view while he gives everyone a good view of your slick heat. The donor who’d been provoking him hadn’t said anything in a while. He grins at every little noise you make, especially with how you whimper at his touches, still sensitive. But you don’t move away— you know you’re safe, and that he’d never do anything to harm you. You have safewords for that exact reason, and you’d never had to use them outside of practice scenarios Charles would make you do just in case. 

He settles the camera back onto its stand, tilting it down so that the stream can also see a bit of himself. He’s shirtless, wearing a pair of gray sweatpants that hang low around his hips. The waistband of his boxers is visible, showing off the V-line of his lower body, and the happy trail of dark brown fuzz that crawls up his torso. 

“Did you like that one, mon chou?” Charles croons, moving so that he blocks the view of the camera, purposefully hiding your pretty face so that you have a bit of time to reposition yourself. “Hmm?”

“Mhm,” your voice is dreamy, and your head lolls uselessly to the side as he strokes your cheek. “S’good…” 

There’s no need for you to call him ‘sir’ at this moment. He doesn’t even really enforce the title, it’s just something that slips out occasionally while he takes care of you. It’s adorable, in all honesty, the way that you talk when he’s truly gotten you into the hazy, carefree state that is your subspace, never so much as raising his voice when talking to you. That’s his brand. That’s your brand. Just a needy sub and soft dom pairing that verged on Charles having an obsession with you cumming and feeling safe while he’s there. 

The rest of the stream goes about as planned. Charles tries a variety of new toys on you, ranging from a dual-purpose clitoral suction toy that doubles as a dildo to vibrating anal beads that you are not much a fan of, but let him try them on you for the sake of experimentation. It all comes to the grand finale of Charles then having you bounce on his lap as you ride his thick cock, your walls clenching around him as you whine and wail out pleas for him. 

“That’s it, mon chou, you’re being so good for me, always so wonderful,” Charles squeezes your waist, guiding you up and down on his lap as you whine out a sound that might be his name. The camera has a wonderful view of your back, zoomed in to specifically see the way he slides in and out of you. Your cream covers his cock. 

You lean against him, your forehead on his shoulder as you gasp and pant. He can feel the way you’re loosely gripping onto his shoulders, not strong enough to scratch his skin, but certainly hard enough to remind him that you were here, if the warm wetness of your cunt somehow didn’t. 

“Where do you want me? Where, mon chaton?” Charles whispers against your head, and he is rewarded by you looking at him with a hazy glance, just for him.

“I-inside,” you whimper, trying to lean against him further, trying to get him to press his face against yours, stopped only by the fact that he needs to keep your face out of frame.

So he gently moves so that both of your faces are out of frame, his stubbled cheek against yours. Thrusts growing more rapid until you clench around him, trying to milk his cock for anything he may give you. He finishes a minute after, twitching inside of you, and breathing hard as he comes down from his high. In the back of his mind, Charles imagines his cum settling in your womb. Making a baby. Seeing you grow round as the months passed, needing help with simple things. Perhaps it would have if it weren’t for your implant and his vasectomy. Just precautions of the trade. 

Gently, he pulls himself from you, still panting. He brings the camera closer, giving the viewers a good look at how his seed trickles from your folds, mixing with your release. 

hot!! Eeeek!! breeding kink breeding kink She’d look so fucking cute all round with a baby Give her a baby!! (€20)

Charles pauses the camera feed for a few minutes, gently wiping at your core with a warm cloth and praising you endlessly as you mewl helplessly. The chat feeds into his little fantasy. He thinks about you as his housewife. Coming home from a normal office job rather than a studio shoot with other people. Kissing the rue flower tattoos on your shoulders lovingly, while his hands come to hold the little bump of your pregnant belly. 

But with a shake of his head, it’s gone. Because that isn’t your relationship with him. So he turns the camera back on with you settled in his lap, wearing a pair of his boxers and one of his hoodies. You’re curled up happily, face nuzzled into his shoulder, hiding everything away from the camera’s view. He can feel you placing almost sleepy kisses on his neck, along with the contented sighs you’re making. 

As is the normal routine, Charles thanks everyone for their donations, while also allowing viewers to make requests in the chat. Answering questions about the little break from any streaming and videos the two of you would normally do. This is usually when more of the donations sweep in, much bigger ones. The notifications are delayed, and his eyes nearly bulge out of his head when he sees one rather large donation come through. 

I’d like to commission something of the two of you. I’ll be reaching out to your business email after the stream, just to ensure that this tip doesn’t bounce. (€800)

It’s the same username as the donor who had dropped €200 earlier in the stream. Part of Charles feels incredibly uneasy over whatever this commission could entail, simply based on the comments they had made in their previous donations. 

But if they had been able to give over €1000 in a single stream…. Which was nearly a third, if not more, of the total donations…

You shift slightly in Charles’ lap, bringing him back to the present. You’re still lost, he can see that by the distant, glazed-over look in your eyes. What you need right now is a good bath, a bottle of water, and something to snack on while he massages the knots from your back. You can talk about the possibility of something like a commissioned video later.

“That’s…. Hm, we’ll have to see about that, won’t we, bébé?” Charles grins, pressing a chaste kiss against your forehead, before bidding farewell to the stream, and turning off the camera. The donations still pour in for another thirty minutes, and that’s when Charles gets the light ping that everything’s done downloading, right as he’s gotten you to finish a bottle of water. He sends it to Max immediately, who’s already gotten the rough outline of how the video should look. Charles will go over to his apartment tomorrow to work on the specifics of what everything should look like, and then send the link to you for final approval to post. Knowing Max, the Dutchman is likely just starting to wake up as the world is going to sleep. He’ll probably have a mockup done just as the sun starts to rise. 

For now, Charles turns his focus to you, watching as you slowly munch on goldfish crackers, as if deep in thought. It’s funny, really, you’re so lost in your thoughts and somewhat spaced out still. But when you look at him, he can see the little grin on your face as he walks over to you. Letting you curl into his embrace.

“You’re all sweaty.”

“Mm. I was fucking you rather hard near the end.”

That makes you giggle, and you look up at him with a mischievous little grin. “You also spanked me.”

“I did.” Charles swallows a bit of his guilt down. “Are you sore?”

“No. It was… just unexpected.” You fiddle with the strings of his sweatpants, and he plays with the hair at the back of your head. It’s domestic and sweet. It could be a scene from the everyday life of any young couple. Charles feels like he’s in the wrong for wishing it was. “It startled me a bit. Nothing bad.”

“Sorry.” 

You just shrug, and let him help you out of the hoodie. With the utmost care, he peels off the tattoo seals. Wipes away the concealer. And helps you into the shower, washing away any of the stubborn bits of makeup that insisted on staying behind. The rue flowers bloom under his touch, and without really thinking, Charles kisses them, his lips trailing around your shoulders and upper arms as if he’s worshiping some idol. 

It’s the most intimate thing someone’s ever done for you. And Charles realizes he may have just crossed a serious line, looking back at you like a deer in the headlights as you stare at him over your shoulder, with a mildly sleepy gaze. His hands start to shake.

“Why’d you stop?” 

The way you tilt your head is sinful. That someone so innocent and willing to give and submit your body to him also looks at him in such a way. Asking such obvious questions when you already know the answer. Entering a relationship because of your shared profession with him could be catastrophic. You both work in such a niche of your industry when it comes to the kinks and roleplays you’re willing to work through that both of you would be screwed if feelings got in the way of your work. 

“Because we shouldn’t take it any further,” 

“What if I want you to?”

Charles nearly chokes on his surprise. The water is still warm around him. Your hair still has the conditioner in it, just soaking on your scalp as you wait for him to help you wash it out. 

“That’s a bad idea. We shouldn’t.”

“But you were just kissing my tattoos.” Your brow furrows. “That’s hardly the porn we normally shoot.”

“It’s—  it’s not about the porn—”

“Then ask me out.” You say it so plainly. As if it’s that easy… and maybe it is. “I like you.”

“What?”

“I like you. You seem to like me.”

“I do like you!” Charles blurts out. And then blushes violently, his pale skin turning a vibrant pink-red as he starts to rinse the conditioner out of your hair, making you turn away from him so he doesn’t get any of it in your eyes. He still feels guilty for spanking you without much warning. “But don’t you think this could be weird—”

“I think it could be nice.” You sigh, leaning into his touch. Entrusting him to put you back together after breaking you apart. “Don’t you?”

He can’t bring himself to speak after that. Drives you home. You watch him from the window of your apartment as the rear lights of his car fade away. 

The moment Charles is out of sight, he goes to Max’s flat. Pounding on the door hard until the disgruntled Dutchman opens up. He can hear Daniel moving around somewhere in the apartment, talking to one of the cats as Charles stands dumbly at the threshold of the happy couple’s home.

“What?”

“I think I’m in love with her,” Charles blurts out, and Max just scowls further.

“Mate, I could have told you that!” Daniel calls from deeper in the house, as Max pulls the panicked man inside, making him sit down in the cozy living room. Max’s computer set up is pushed into the corner, with a cat tower beside the desk. Sassy currently sleeps happily on the highest little bed, while Jimmy weaves through Daniel’s legs as the Australian offers a slice of pizza to Charles. “What finally made you realize?”

“She— she told me to ask her out. Wait— does that count as her asking me out—?” 

Charles’ voice grows more frantic, and his hands go to his hair as he starts to pace in the living room. Both cats watch him go back and forth, while Max settles at his desk, opening the file to start editing. 

“Who cares? Do it. You’ve been making moony eyes at her for the past year of working with her.” Max grumbles, clearly unamused by the drama of it all. 

“We make porn together!”

“So? That’s how I met Max.” Daniel tilts his head, at which point Jimmy does the same. The Monegasque frowns at him. “Didn’t stop us.”

“You’re both gay.”

“Ouch.” Max’s stoic tone is somehow cutting, even when he’s focused on the screen, pulling up the video Charles had sent to him, and then the outline on the other monitor. “I don’t see how that changes anything. The only difference is that I was Daniel’s editor rather than costar.”

Charles flops onto the couch. Daniel just looks down at the man, before looking over his shoulder at his boyfriend. “And how’d you respond?”

“What?”

“How did you respond to her asking you out?”

His face goes blank, and a look of realization dawns on his face. 

“I panicked?”

“How badly?”

“I kept— okay I responded pretty badly,” Charles admits, and then groans right into his hands, rubbing his face in frustration. He keeps thinking about how he’d kissed your tattoos. Had he inadvertently made you feel like you could ask that? Furthermore, were you really, truly asking that, or were you still somewhat caught up trying to be a good sub?

Images of you sleeping in his bed as the morning sun rises conjure up in his mind, followed by cooking together in the kitchen of his flat, and he can’t help but groan angrily at himself for letting such a fantasy with someone who he could call his coworker appear in his mind at this moment. You, smiling up at him with that coy grin on your face as you sit across from him at the cafe, brushing your foot against his shins while sipping at your cup of tea. Your feet up on his lap while reading a book on his couch, pure domestic bliss. 

“Fuuuuck,” Charles just keeps his hands on his face. “She’s gonna hate me.” 

“She’s not going to hate you,” Daniel tries to comfort him. “Just tell her you need time to think about it.”

“No but— I was also sending mixed messages,” he mumbles, and he hears a long, drawn-out sigh from both Max and Daniel. “I was kissing her shoulders. I— I couldn’t help it, I felt bad, I kinda spanked her without warning earlier in the stream—”

“Gross.”

“I know! But this one donor was getting so pissy about how she was responding—”

“I’m sorry, you let someone who was watching and imagining touching her dictate how you were actually touching her?” Daniel raises an eyebrow, and he folds his arms across his chest. “Dude. You’re her dom, not to mention how many times you’ve been with her. Why would you get so possessive then?”

Maybe he is a bit possessive. Last year, during a studio-based shoot when another dom had been too rough with you, using your blindfold to practically drag you around the set, and spanking you much harder than he had originally implied he would, Charles had immediately cut the camera and kicked the man out of the room, not even letting him get dressed. He’d gone straight to your side after that, checking you were okay for nearly an hour before even considering letting the filming start again. 

That had earned him a bit of a reputation as possessive over his subs, you in particular. The lack of collaborations with any other actors certainly hadn’t helped much either, with your last one being with Daniel almost half a year ago, and that one had been a cuckolding video, where he had posed as the husband watching his wife getting fucked and bred by another man, not even touching you throughout the process besides a scripted kiss at the end. 

Now, Charles feels like he is 1.) the stupidest man on planet Earth and 2.) just passed up on an opportunity that you had presented him on a silver platter. He stares up at the ceiling as Daniel looks down at him. Maxis typing away in the corner, and makes a little ‘hm’ noise, likely getting to the part of the stream where he’d spanked you. 

“Wow. That sounded bad. Didn’t leave a mark though,” Max hums, and then starts to type again, before making a much more distressed noise. “No fucking way— Dani! It’s the fucking guy again!”

“Wha— really?” Daniel dashes over to look at the screen while Charles stays on the couch. “Ugh. What a fucking creep.”

That piques some interest.

“What?”

“Yeah— the guy with the weird dono? Total creep. Tried to commission me into some weird, non-con roleplay. Wanted to do a solo stream for just him, totally ignored all of my rules for that stuff, and outright told me to ‘Just suck it up’ when I used the safeword for some of the shit he was saying about me.” Daniel shivers, and for a moment, Max looks like he wants to strangle the man until his boyfriend squeezes his shoulder. Charles's blood runs cold. 

“What?!” Charles looks over the username again. MattiaBinn. “Jesus fucking—Je le tuerai moi-même pour avoir voulu que je fasse une telle chose avec elle—”

“English, Charles.”

“I’ll kill him myself,” Charles growls, and starts to march right towards the door, “I need to talk to her right now—”

“Or maybe we need to give her time to cool down,” Daniel reaches towards him, holding onto his shoulder and pulling him backward. “She probably still needs some space and to take care of herself after the stream, regardless of how much aftercare you did with her.”

Part of Charles hates that Daniel’s right. Another part of him says that no, you should be letting him take care of you. That’s what his job was as your dom, he was supposed to take care of you and make sure you didn’t experience sub-drop. You deserve only the best, and right now he’s not acting like that. Quite frankly, he’s being a bit of a self-righteous prick about his own feelings for you. 

His phone pings with a notification, and out of pure irritation, he considers silencing it, until he sees it’s an email from a frankly disturbing email address. From: Mattia Binotto. Subject: Commissioned Private Stream.

“Oh, putain de merde,” Charles groans, and quickly scans through the email. It’s exactly as Daniel described. Non-con, harsher treatment, and quite honestly, the opposite of nearly everything Charles did as a dom and that you would agree to. Infuriatingly, your business email has also been sent this. You text him not a second after he’s done scanning it.

Did you also get this?

It seems… uhm, interesting. 

Attached is a screenshot of the email. You’re awake, at the very least. Alert enough to be checking your business email. He texts back quickly. 

I’m not doing any of that.

That’s not the shit I do. Fuck.

…okay. 

Sorry, you seem to be in a bad mood. 

It’s not your fault

Please don’t blame yourself for any of this, mon doudou

I kinda feel like it is…

I didn’t mean to push any boundaries or make you upset about this

I am sorry, Charles.

Charles wants to bash his head against the wall because now he feels like utter shit for making you feel guilty about his own stupidity. Just as he’s about to text you back you send him a goodnight text. When Daniel glances at the screen he visibly winces. 

“Yeah. I’d give her some space.”

Space turns into a week. Instead of the normal collab stream, you do a solo one. Charles ends up watching it. You’ve got an array of toys behind you, most pretty pastel colors or swirling abstract designs that make an odd pit settle in his stomach at the idea of them bringing you pleasure rather than him.

You’re currently fucking yourself on a dildo he’d gifted you, shaped like… certain sweet treat. It was meant to be a bit of a gag gift— the name of it was called the banana split, for Christ’s sake— but seeing you fuck yourself on it made him groan, palming the hardness in his pants as you gasped and whined. You were wearing one of his hoodies too, muffling your little noises into the sleeves. And the chat was loving it, encouraging you to keep going. 

And then the fucking donation showed up from that fucking prick Mattia.

Needy little thing. Do you think you deserve to cum? (€50)

The robot voice that read out the message had you whining, and you momentarily pause, before slowly lifting your hoodie to give the cam a better view, showing the slight bulge in your tummy from the toy resting inside of you before you started to bounce up and down on it again, rutting your hips forward as if that could provide some respite for the high you were chasing. 

“Y-Yes—wanna cum—” Your face is hidden, as per usual, just off-screen, but at the very top, he can see how your chin wobbles a bit as if you’re currently panting with an open mouth, “Please please please please—”

Hold it. Not yet. Needy little sluts only get what they need when they’re good. (€50)

Rage bubbles in Charles’ stomach. Who the fuck did this asshole think he was, first of all, calling you a needy slut, and then acting like you were his to take care of. Charles makes a note to ban him from both of your chats as soon as this is over. 

He can tell by your posture that you look startled, and the chat mixed. Some are telling Mattia to fuck off, while others are encouraging you to listen because Charles isn’t there. You whimper, confused, and Charles nearly screams, sprinting to get to his keys while the stream continues on his phone. He knows how insane he must look, having porn very audibly playing on his phone, but he doesn’t care, not as he starts his car and calls you. He can hear the phone in the background of your stream, and you whine even louder, the wet sounds of you fucking yourself on the toy pausing.

“Fuck, doudou, pick up,” Charles groans, his driving becomes more and more reckless as he gets closer to your apartment. “Pick up!”

The sounds of your stream seem to pause, and there’s a rustle as you move, hopefully reaching for the phone and—

Did I say you could do that, slut? Or are you too stupid to listen to directions? (€50)

Charles roars as he hears you let out a pathetic whine, followed by sniffles. How dare Mattia insult you like that, how dare he make you feel unsafe when you should be feeling nothing but safe and loved. He was going to find him. He was going to find whoever this Mattia Binotto was and beat the tar out of him.

“M’sorry— wanna be good—”

“You are good,” Charles’ mouth is dry,  right as he pulls outside the front of your flat, with a half-assed park job that’s likely going to get him a ticket if he stays there until morning. “You’re so good, mon petit doudou, just hold on,”

You’re not being good now. Apologize, you useless little slut. No wonder your dom isn’t here. What a spoiled little sub. (€50)

Charles fiddles with the lock, searching for the spare you’d told him about, hidden under a fake rock right off of your stoop. He opens the door, nearly forgets to close it behind him, and screams out your name as he tears through the kitchen.

Find your biggest toy for me. And show us how badly it hurts. Do it if you want to be good for me (€50)

When he manages to get to your room, you’re startled by his sudden appearance, and so is the chat. There’s a new, much larger toy positioned under you, the tip just brushing against your folds. The first thing that Charles does is cut the camera. The next thing he does is end the stream. A final donation, clearly placed before the stream ended appears on the screen, all the notifications from the tip jar making a discordant melody with your hiccuping sobs and Charles’ panting.

The donation makes him see red.

Fuck yourself. Slow. Let me hear you cry. (€50)

You let out a whimper, shaking, as you sink onto the toy, only to be scooped up by Charles. He doesn’t give a shit that he’s knocking around the toys and is probably making his possessive reputation worse. He’s not going to let you hurt yourself because some fucking pervert got in your head, and he’s furious that you’ve fallen for the same manipulation he did. 

“M’sorry— m’sorry, I wanna be good—”

“You’re so good, tu es si bon pour moi,” Charles croons, rocking you back and forth, holding you close as you cry into his chest. “I’m here. I’m here. You don’t have to do any of that. Let me take care of you.”

It takes nearly thirty minutes to get you to stop crying. You keep your face pressed into his shoulder, shaking as Charles soothes you, humming softly to you. He speaks in French, knowing that you enjoy the way his voice sounds when he speaks it. 

“Can you tell me where you are, Doudou?”

“In my bed,” 

“Wonderful job, so smart for me,” Charles praises, kissing your forehead softly. Your grip tightens on his shirt, and he can feel a small huff of air against his skin when you breathe out. “And what’s my name?”

“Charles. You’re Charles.” You murmur. “How did you get in here…?”

“Spare key.” He shifts so that you can look at him, one of his hands coming to cup your cheek. His thumb brushes under one of your eyes, the skin sticky from tears. “I was… I was watching the stream.”

“Oh.” You lean against his chest, letting him stroke up and down your back. You nuzzle into the collar of the hoodie. Charles presses his nose into your hairline, inhaling your scent, while keeping his lips against your forehead. “So you….saw…”

“He’s banned. It’s the same guy from the commission email.” There’s a hint of rage in his voice, which fades the moment your nose nudges under his chin, dislodging him from your hairline. 

“Thanks.” He can feel the curve of your lips turning into a smile as you nuzzle into him further. “My hero. Taking care of me, even when you’re upset.”

“I’ll always take care of you,” Charles’ voice catches in his throat at the admission, pulling away enough to look down at you. You, smiling up at him with that coy grin on your face, and a sleepy look in your eyes. 

“It could be nice,” You murmur again, shyer than before. “You and me, couldn’t it?”

“I think it could be more than nice,” His lips are so close to yours, enough so that he can feel your breath against them. Charles has been balls-deep in you. Has fucked into you until you cream around his cock and sobbed out his name. But this is quite possibly the most intimate thing he’s ever done with you. “Really, really nice.”

The taste of your lips on his is divine as he holds onto your waist with one hand, and cups your face with the other. You giggle when he pulls away to catch his breath, and before he can even stop himself, he’s grinning and pressing you into the bed, blowing a raspberry against your cheek just to hear your shrill laughter and feel the butterflies in his stomach that appear every time you laugh around him. 

“Mon petit Doudou,” He can’t stop the grin on his face as he kisses all over your face, looking down at you with nothing but adoration in his eyes. Your hair is fanning around your head like a halo. Your smile is infectious. And he can see a few blooms from your tattoos under the neckline of your hoodie. His hoodie. “Mine, mine, mine.”

“Yours, yours, yours.” You respond, curling into him happily as the two of you lay in your bed.

[bangtan-junkie]

Dissonance (Part 2) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (f)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Genre/Tags: coworker!JK, enemies to lovers, smutttttt, slow burn (ish?), ANGST

Word Count: 6799 words

Synopsis:

After being left alone and humiliated on the floor of a dirty bar bathroom by Jungkook, you had to pick yourself up off the ground (literally). You had to get even, embarrass him like he'd done to you. Maybe you were mean to him before, but you were about to become a nightmare to humble this man. Unfortunately for you, your anger was short sighted, while Jungkook's wasn't. So you never predicted how your plans might backfire on you...

Note:

it's finally fucking here omg. ik it's super late but i'm finally decently satisfied with this. i'm looking forward to writing part 3 bc that's where the tension finally breaks and y'all aren't even ready for the revenge y/n gets lol. i hope y'all enjoy this and it lives up to part 1! i'd love to know your thoughts, if you're still pissed with jk lol, and any suggestions or requests are always welcome! chatting with you guys is my fav part <3

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Dread consumed your senses from the moment you woke up. The weekend had passed, but your chest still burned with rage at the thought of having to see Jungkook again. You hadn't even noticed the time go by over the last two days, too busy seething in your own anger. If you hated Jungkook before, you loathed him now. You forced composure as you got dressed for work. Jungkook already had the upper hand when he'd left you in the bar bathroom. He knew that you'd seen him with the girl afterwards too. You couldn't even think about whether he'd went home with her that night without being sick. After all that, the last thing you wanted was for him to think he had any kind of effect on you. You were going to go back to work with pride and confidence. At least you wanted to.

When you finally got to work, you made a beeline for your desk, pointedly not looking for Jungkook. As you settled in, one of your coworkers stopped by your desk.

"Oh hey Y/n, you feeling any better?" he asked. Your head whipped up, a gentle voice ripping you away from your resentful thoughts. You looked up at him in confusion, eyes settling on his red hair. "From Friday? You left early because you weren't feeling well?"

"Oh, right," you cleared your throat. Just then, you saw Jungkook's unmistakable figure from the corner of your eye. He was talking to someone but you could feel his eyes boring into you. Your blood began to boil but you forced yourself to stay calm. You refused to indulge him at all. "I'm feeling much better actually, thanks Jimin," you replied, shooting your coworker a sweet smile. Jimin was your acquaintance in the office; someone you could actually stand in that place. He was always kind and helpful which automatically made him better than 70% of the people there. Even though you hung out in the same circles, you never really became close friends. Probably because you were always more focused on how annoying Jungkook was whenever you were out. And you were doing it again. You made conversation to force any thoughts of him out of your mind.

"How does your hair seem more red every time I see you?" you asked with a light-hearted laugh.

"I can't be caught slacking. I put in a lot of work to keep this hair ya know," he smiled back at you.

"I still don't know how you got permission from the boss for that," you gestured to his hair. "I asked before and she shut me down so fast." Jimin laughed at the annoyed expression on your face, finding it endearing.

"I guess I'm just that charming," he shrugged, holding back a chuckle. You couldn't help but snicker. Jimin's jokes weren't that different from Jungkook's, but he wasn't obnoxious about it. Jungkook obviously believed his jokes and thought he was god's gift to the world, which made him insufferable. Jimin, on the other hand, didn't take his jokes too seriously and wasn't constantly flirting with anything that moved.

Jungkook, who was barely listening to the person talking to him, had heard your exchange with Jimin. He felt annoyance build in his chest. He knew that if he'd made the same joke, you would've been rolling your eyes and making fun of him. So why were you giggling when Jimin said it? He tried to distract himself by trying to focus on the conversation he was supposed to be having.

A quick chat with Jimin later, you turned back to your desk. You made the mistake of looking up and caught Jungkook's gaze. He looked at you, an indifferent look on his face. He wasn't sure what he was expecting; maybe you'd look away in embarrassment, maybe you'd glare at him angrily. But what he didn't expect was the cold, empty look you gave him - like you were looking right through him, like he wasn't even there. His brows furrowed for a quick second, even more annoyed now. You went right back to work.

That's how the next few days went by. Every time Jungkook was remotely in your vicinity, you'd look through him without ever acknowledging him. If he even tried to walk your way, you left the room immediately. At first, Jungkook thought you were just being childish. But when you regained your confidence after a few days, he knew that you weren't through with him just yet. If he thought your insults were bad before, the newfound loathing you had for him made things ten times worse. It started with you amplifying the spite in your voice when you insulted him for his work. You refused to speak with him directly either, so all the insults were being thrown indirectly and in front of your other coworkers. With every second this continued, Jungkook felt his patience running thin. But if you were stubborn, so was he. He kept up your little game by firing back with his usual sarcastic or flirty remarks. Internally, he was burning with fury, just like you wanted him to.

All the animosity and anger eventually came to its boiling point when you crossed the line for the last time. You had walked to your desk that morning to find that your boss had paired you and Jungkook on the next project. Your skin crawled at the idea of having to work with him over the next few weeks. Part of you wondered if Jungkook had something to do with this. Thinking about him getting your boss on board with making you his partner for this big project was only adding to the fire that was spreading through your body. You already hated the way your boss melted around him, but to think that he could manipulate her to this level? After spiraling for a few minutes, you forced yourself to take deep breaths. You had to remind yourself that you were jumping to conclusions and then convince yourself not to march over to Jungkook's desk and give him a piece of your mind. You tried to get back to work, but all you could think about were what reasonable excuses you could make to get out of this situation. The rest of your morning was spent racking your mind. With no luck, you decided to join your coworkers for lunch; hoping that it would give you a distraction.

Unluckily for you, Jungkook walked into the staff lunchroom soon after, only to find you and some of your other coworkers chatting around the coffee machine. Well, they were chatting and you were busy glaring him down from the second he stepped into the room. Your dark eyes peered at him over the rim of your mug as you sipped your coffee. You knew that there was no way in hell he was going to approach you to talk about this. The solution to your problem practically fell into your lap when you zoned back in to the conversation around you. If he really did get the boss to put you on the project with him, you'd make him regret that decision.

"I can't believe you got that huge project Y/n! You're so lucky," one of them said, playfully pouting.

"Talk about lucky," someone else chimed in, "You even get to work with Jungkook. But I guess that isn't so lucky for you." They laughed lightly, poking fun at you. Clearly they hadn't noticed that Jungkook was in the room, listening.

"Everyone here knows how much you hate him, even the boss. Really, what was she thinking pairing you guys up?" They continued to laugh at your misery. But you weren't annoyed. Instead, your mind lit up with the perfect way to get under Jungkook's skin in that moment. The second he saw the way your eyes lit up, he knew he was in for it. Jungkook prided himself on the fact that everyone liked him and thought highly of him. So what better way to get your revenge and get him to kick you off the project than to take that away from him?

"Yeah," you said skeptically, "She's never paired us up before." You continued to stare directly at Jungkook. Your coworkers looked at you with confusion and amusement.

"What changed this time?" Jimin's voice rang through the room as he walked in to join you. He'd already spotted Jungkook in the other corner of the room, and he saw the dark glint in your eyes. It was clear to him that you were up to something. So he helped you out by stirring the pot a little. Jungkook squinted his eyes at you, annoyed at seeing Jimin again and wondering where you were going with this.

"I think Jungkook really wanted this project," you answered. "And it's easy to get whatever you want when you're fucking the boss," you said, not breaking eye contact for a second. Gasps erupted across the circle as they all looked at you in disbelief. Jimin's brows raised and he scoffed, slightly taken aback that you were making that accusation. But you were more focused on Jungkook's reaction. The look on his face was beyond furious. His eyes darkened and you saw the tick in his jaw as he clenched it.

"Wait, you really think so?" one of them asked, everyone already engrossed in the gossip.

"He is a manwhore," you shrugged. Jimin stifled his laugh, not wanting to be too mean to Jungkook. You finally looked away from Jungkook and back at the group. "And he always gets the good projects. Boss doesn't favour anyone else like that." Your coworkers immediately started gossiping amongst themselves, making random connections because what you said made sense. Some of them already started getting riled up, thinking that their opportunities had been snatched by Jungkook through the boss. You obviously didn't know for sure whether Jungkook was sleeping with your boss or not. But you didn't have to. You just had to plant the idea and you knew your coworkers would jump to conclusions.

"You must be really pissed at him," Jimin whispered, leaning back against the counter. You felt Jungkook's eyes glaring daggers at you but you paid him no attention.

"I promise he had it coming," you whispered back, a devious smirk settling on your lips.

"Remind me to never get on your bad side," he chuckled. You just shot him a smirk. When you glanced back at Jungkook, you barely caught him walking out the door. You didn't know what you were expecting. Maybe you wanted him to lose his shit in front of everyone, or yank you out of the room with him. So the disappointment you felt only annoyed you more. By the time you finished your lunch and made your way back to your desk, you already began hearing whispers about Jungkook and your boss. For a moment, you wondered if this was crossing the line. Definitely. But so was getting you to blow him and ditching you in that bathroom. Now you're even. You couldn't help but smile, knowing that he must be seething about the rumours.

A couple hours later, you were being called to your boss' office to discuss the new project she'd assigned you and Jungkook. You reluctantly grabbed your things and made your way there. You couldn't keep in your scoff when you saw Jungkook already there, making your boss giggle about god knows what. Your boss cleared her throat as she noticed you in the doorway, peeling herself off her desk from how far she was leaning forward towards Jungkook. You fought the urge to roll your eyes. Way to be subtle.

"Y/n," she announced, "Come, sit down." You forced a smile as you sat down in the chair next to Jungkook. He didn't say anything to you, didn't even bother looking at you. Just being in his proximity was pissing you off, especially since he had nothing to say to you. Obviously he couldn't say anything in front of the boss, but you wanted to see that you'd made him just as angry as he'd made you. Maybe all this rage was clouding your mind and judgement...but who cares?

You pulled out your pen and began taking notes as she started talking about the project. Despite hating working with Jungkook, you weren't going to let that ruin your work on this project. You rolled your eyes when you saw that he wasn't taking notes at all. Of course. As your boss began wrapping up the conversation, you gathered your things again, getting up to leave.

"Listen you two," she started, her tone changing. You raised your brows and sat down, curious what she had to say. "I know you don't like working together, but this is an important project. So please, put your feelings aside and work on this together." You scoffed, forgetting to keep your composure. That's when Jungkook finally looked at you. His eyes were fiery but he looked vaguely amused that you had the courage to scoff at the boss. Your boss was also looking at you expectantly, waiting for an explanation. That was all you needed to decide that maybe you weren't even with him just yet.

"Sorry, but it's not about feelings. Our work ethics don't match. I'd rather work on this alone," you said, straightening your back as you felt like you were in the spotlight. Your boss didn't look too happy.

"This isn't a one person project Y/n," she pointed out.

"I know, but it would honestly be easier to do the work myself instead of having to chase him around, begging him to get anything done." The amusement quickly disappeared from Jungkook's face.

"Excuse me?" he finally spoke. You ignored him.

"Maybe we can switch him out for someone who's actually focused on their work instead of flirting," you boldly stated. Your boss scoffed in disbelief.

"What is your problem? Do you think I want to work with you?" Jungkook spat, just about done with your shit. He shifted in his chair to face you, one hand gripping the armrest hard enough to see the whites of his knuckles. Oh now he had something to say.

"You're lucky to be working on this with me. Or else this project would've gone to shit," you retorted with an equal amount of spite.

"There's a reason I'm on this project Y/n. Because I'm good at my job. So if you're letting your personal feelings affect your professionalism, you need to get a grip." His words stung but you refused to accept that there was some truth to them. He was giving you a taste of your own medicine; humiliating you in front of your boss like you were doing to him. All your self control and common sense went out the window when you felt that embarrassment.

"Yeah, that's why you're on this project," you said sarcastically, referring to the rumour you'd started a few short hours ago. You could practically see his nostrils flare as he willed himself to keep his mouth shut.

"You're out of line Y/n," your boss jumped in. She hadn't heard the rumours yet, but she could clearly see that Jungkook didn't like the implications of what you had said. "I don't care whether you two like each other or not. You will put aside...whatever this is...and work together on this, and that's final," she said firmly. Irritation coursed through you, seeing her take Jungkook's side yet again.

"Yes ma'am," you barely grit through your teeth. You'd be darned if you got fired over Jungkook. You quickly stood up and left, rushing to the file room for a moment to cool down. It was the only place you could get some silence - no one ever really stepped into the filing room because most of your work was stored digitally anyways. You pressed your back to one of the metal cabinets, sliding down to crouch as the door slowly shut. You took some deep breaths to calm down. If you went back out there now, you would rip someone's head off. How did Jungkook have the audacity to continue being a dick to you? You knew you'd without a doubt crossed the line back there, but despite that, you didn't feel even with him yet. After a few moments of dragging your mind away from these thoughts, you took one last deep breath and stood back up. You straightened your skirt and fixed your hair. Since you were already there, you decided to grab some files you needed for the project before going back out there. You turned around, pulling a drawer open and digging through the files before you found them. Just as you pulled them out, you heard the door open behind you. You already knew who it was, getting a waft of his cologne. Your heart already began beating faster, not knowing what to anticipate. There was a beat of silence as the door slowly shut.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Jungkook grit through his teeth, trying to keep his voice down. You didn't bother turning around or replying to him. Any semblance of self control he had left snapped when you didn't even acknowledge him. With three quick strides, he was right behind you, pressing you face flat against the cabinets. He yanked one of your hands behind your back, making you drop your files. You yelped as his entire body caged you in, slight panic rising in your chest.

"You don't get to ignore me now," he snapped, voice low. "You haven't shut the fuck up for the last few days, don't start now." He yanked your arm down further so he could hold your wrist with one hand. You groaned at the ache, but decided against complaining about it. His anger was palpable; you could practically feel it seeping through your skin, igniting your own fury. In the shock of the moment, you'd almost forgotten that Jungkook wasn't the only one with reason to be upset. This was all a consequence of his insanely disrespectful behaviour, and he had the nerve to be mad at you now?

"What is it? What's got you so fucking riled up, hmm?" He sounded bewildered, gritting the words through his teeth. The more he pressed against you, the harder it got to ignore the heat building in you. An ugly satisfaction was creeping through you seeing the way you'd managed to get under his skin. This was what you wanted; to see that you'd affected him.

"Didn't get enough cock last time? That it?" he growled, bending down next to your ear. His words pierced right through you, as if he knew exactly which buttons to press.

"Fuck you," you spat before you could compose yourself. You strained in his hold, your arm coming up to elbow him in the ribs. To your dismay, Jungkook predicted your move and held you tighter, keeping you still.

"I thought it'd be enough to keep you satiated for at least a week. But you're just a cock hungry whore hm? " he taunted, his lips grazing your ear and sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. "I should've fucked your throat a little harder. Wouldn't be able to lie about me to everyone - including our boss - then, would you?" Despite the bitterness in his voice, your body reacted to his words. Your mind was scolding itself for the rush of arousal that coursed through you. How was he still affecting you like this?

You shook your head clear. No. He wasn't going to have his way this time.

"Lie? I haven't lied about anything," you replied with a snarky tone. Jungkook chuckled in disbelief. He quickly flipped you around so you were forced to face him. You didn't hesitate to meet his ravenous gaze with your own.

"No? So you really think I'm sleeping with the boss?" he asked, tone getting serious. You shrugged nonchalantly, annoying him more.

"You'll fuck anything that moves," you jabbed. "At least fucking the boss has some real benefits unlike the girl from the bar. Maybe she'd even give you a raise if you could satisfy her properly." Jungkook couldn't hide the disgust that flared across his features; insulted that you thought so little of him. The urge to shut you up was growing stronger by the second, burning through his insides. You were going to drive him insane.

"Watch yourself," he warned, the words coming out dark and gravelly. But the surge of excitement that you felt, knowing that you had managed to provoke him, was addicting. You wanted more.

"If it was anyone else, I'd be all for it. Get that bag, you know?" you said with indifference. "But you? I thought the boss had better taste. Her bar must be in hell." That was enough for Jungkook. Before you even had a second to process what was happening, one of his hands was wrapped around your neck. His fingers dug into the flesh, limiting your breath in the most delicious way.

"You didn't seem to think so when you were begging me to touch you - to fuck you in a dirty bar bathroom," he growled, stepping closer, face inches from yours.

"Yeah, obviously I expected too much," you sneered. "You don't know how to please anyone but yourself. Boss must be a real masochist to keep going back to you. Poor thing," you tutted, knowing you'd practically nailed the head in your own coffin before you'd even finished your thought. Jungkook's face contorted in a snarl as his grip tightened around your throat. You gasped, the dark swirl in your core intensifying.

"Maybe I should talk to her," you patronized, chasing the high from pissing him off. "I can recommend someone who can actually make her feel good - get her off. A man. Not a selfish boy," you emphasized. "Think she'll like me better than you after that?" With that, his other hand was pressed firmly against your mouth, effectively shutting you up. You grunted at the sheer pressure of his hold, now struggling to breathe.

"You just don't shut up, do you?" he spat. The look in his eyes was nearly feral; like he was going to eat you alive. His ego took a hit to your words, even though he knew you didn't actually believe everything you'd said. Still, you seemed to be stuck on his 'selfishness'. It infuriated him that you didn't understand why he wasn't giving you what you wanted, but he'd had enough of you running your mouth. If you'd forgotten how easily he made you melt under his touch, he'd just have to remind you. And make sure you never forgot again.

With each passing second of silent seething, you thought he might actually choke you out. But then he let go of you. You gasped for air, coughing as you caught your breath. Just as you were about to shoot him the dirtiest look you could muster, Jungkook sank to his knees. The snarky remark on your tongue vanished as you watched him kneel in front of you, looking up at you with a carnivorous gaze. Lust consumed your senses as he wordlessly loosened his tie, tugging at the collar of his shirt. You'd think that seeing him on his knees would make you feel more powerful in the situation. But the hunger in his eyes made it clear that he was still very much in control.

Simply put: Jungkook, in a suit and on his knees, was enough to wipe away your last bit of common sense.

"This is what you want, right?" he asked, his hands slipping under your skirt. You felt paralyzed, your breath caught in your throat. His hands moved up your thighs, slowly dragging your skirt up with them. "You wanna cum, yeah?" You were genuinely struggling to form any thoughts, your senses heightened.

"Want me to make you cum?" A strangled groan bubbled in your throat at his tone. He'd barely done a thing and your breathing was already heavy. So much for your resolve. As your skirt bunched above your hips, you suddenly became hyper aware of your situation. You were still at work, in a file room, door unlocked.

"Someone could walk in," you gasped, trying to convince yourself that you didn't want this. He ignored you, trailing his fingers down your hips and legs instead. "We've already been gone for a while. What if someone comes looking?" You desperately tried to focus your wandering mind.

"I guess I should hurry then," he sneered, shooting you a glare. Then his fingers were sliding between your legs, making you close your eyes and sigh as they eased the ache in your clit. By that point you were too far gone to even feel embarrassed about having soaked through your panties. Jungkook hissed as your slick coated his digits. "I put the bar in hell, but still, you get so wet for me," he snapped, adding more pressure. For the first time all day, you had nothing to quip back with. Your sweet silence was like music to his ears. Mindful of the time, Jungkook hooked his fingers in your underwear and pulled them down your legs. You knew there was no going back as you stepped out of them. Your knees felt weak as you watched him hastily shove them in his pocket. But before you could ask what he was planning on doing with them, he hooked a hand under your thigh, lifting your leg up and to the side. With your legs spread and your pussy staring him in the face, Jungkook was struggling to control himself. He wanted to tease you - make you beg and plead - but he didn't. Fuck. He couldn't; not when he felt like he'd lose his sanity if he didn't taste you right away.

Without wasting another second, his lips were pressed to you, the velvety heat of his mouth engulfing you as his tongue licked at your wetness. Your mouth was left agape as your hands buried into his hair, using the locks to keep yourself tethered. Jungkook groaned into your heat; he felt like he was getting drunk off of you. His fingers dug into your thighs as he hungrily lapped at your pussy. Your eyes rolled back and you let out a drawn out moan as his lips wrapped around your clit, creating the perfect amount of suction. You would've thought he was starved seeing the vigor with which he ate you out. He didn't stop, didn't pull away for a single breath - too consumed with the taste of you on his tongue. You were embarrassingly close already, struggling to contain your moans and whimpers. You bit your lip, trying to hold them in, but another particular harsh lick to your clit had you groaning Jungkook's name. Seeing you unravel so quickly only fueled Jungkook's appetite; the sound of his name on your lips going straight to his aching cock. All it took was him groaning into your cunt after that to send you over the edge. Your fingers yanked at his hair, desperately pulling him closer as you felt the white heat build up.

"Jungkook, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck," you cursed, voice whiny as you tried to keep quiet. "Gonna cum," you moaned right as you crashed over the edge. Jungkook felt you tense in his hold as you came on his tongue. He diligently lapped at your slit, sure to pay attention to your clit as well to help you ride out your orgasm. He slowed down as you came down from your high. Naturally, your legs tried to close together once his tongue became overstimulating. But Jungkook's hold was firm, keeping your legs apart. You tried to catch your breath, mind reeling from the mix of pleasure and pain flooding your senses.

"Jungkook... wait," is all you managed to get out. He ignored you again, picking up his pace despite your cringing.

"So fucking good," he growled against you, like he hated admitting it to himself. It felt weird hearing him compliment you after all the bickering and degrading earlier. Yet you couldn't deny that it boosted your ego seeing him so fucked out and angry. He pushed you further up against the cabinets, giving himself better access to you and delving his tongue into your dripping hole. And just like that, the sensitivity was replaced with a delicious pleasure once again.

"Please, wait..." you breathlessly pleaded. In contrast to the last orgasm, he was building this one up slowly. Unfortunately for you, that meant it felt twice as intense and you were getting increasingly worried about being caught.

"Thought you wanted to cum, sweetheart," he mocked. "That's why you're being such a bitch, right? Mad that I didn't make you cum last time?" he grit through his teeth. You cursed him under your breath, but were more focused on the feeling of his soft lips against. You finally looked down at him properly, ready to glare at him. But the second you saw his dark eyes staring up at you, the rest of his face buried between your legs, you lost your train of thought entirely. Then you saw his hand sprawled across your lower stomach while his thumb rubbed circles into your clit. Fuck, why was he so hot?

"What if we get caught?" you half-heartedly complained, trying to muffle your whimpers.

"They'll see what a fucking slut you are for me then," he grunted. You slapped a hand over your mouth when he picked up his pace, continuing to plunge his tongue in and out of you. "Keep your hands down," he demanded, pressing harder on your clit. "You're gonna keep moaning like that for me," he hissed, delving right back into the heat of your cunt. In that moment, all you heard was his demanding tone and your hands instinctively went back to his hair without a second thought. You whined, trying to keep your voice down as he slowly built up your pleasure.

"Good," he praised, his words muffled as he continued to eat you out. "I should make you scream, so that everyone knows that you, Y/n, are cumming on my tongue." His words were bitter but they turned you on more. You clearly had some problems. It didn't take very long after that to feel that white heat building up again. Jungkook could tell you were almost there, so he sped up the pace of his fingers and plunged his tongue deeper into you. "Including our boss," he rasped. And then you were cumming again; gripping tightly onto his hair and groaning his name once more.

"There you go," he coaxed, letting you ride his face. You hadn't realized, but at some point, your hips had started moving on their own. Seeing you with your eyes screwed shut and mouth hanging open, as you unraveled under his touch, only fueled Jungkook's hunger. When you started coming down, he finally pulled away; giving you a second of reprieve. That was until you looked down to see his blown out, dark eyes staring at you. His mouth and chin were covered in your juices and he looked ravenous. He quickly pulled off his suit jacket, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt, eyes never leaving yours. Your chest heaved; partly because you were still catching your breath, and partly because of how fucking hot Jungkook looked in the moment. His hands went right back to your thighs, pulling them apart once more.

"Wait, what're you doing?!" you asked, eyes going wide. "I can't cum again, please," you nearly cried. His fingers dug into your thighs as he watched you plead.

"You can and you will," he said firmly. "You know why?" He slid his fingers between your folds, gathering all the wetness that had pooled. "Because you fucking love my touch," he growled. Your already weak knees felt even weaker.

"You're so desperate for it; for my mouth, my fingers, my cock." Your legs threatened to buckle under you if it weren't for Jungkook's hand holding you up. "So desperate that you're being such a fucking brat," he spat. "Trying to piss me off. So, what? So that I'd finally touch you again?" he mocked. Your senses were overwhelmed and his words settled in a pit in your stomach. You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes; whether it was because of his harsh words or the overstimulation of his fingers, you weren't sure. Just as you were about to retort, Jungkook slipped a slender finger into you which slid in smoothly with how wet you were. He let out a throaty groan, quickly slipping another finger into you and curling them upwards. You nearly doubled over as he pressed right into your g-spot.

"See how tuned your body is to me? I've barely done a thing and you're already a mess," he taunted. Seeing how flimsy your legs had gotten, he quickly threw the leg he was holding over his shoulder, getting even closer to you. His name left your lips in a whine, your body torn between pleasure and worry. "Well here, I'm giving you what you want." He punctuated his words by curling his fingers again, making you moan. "You wanna cum? I'll make you cum...over and over again, so you never forget how good I make you feel." And with that, he finally pulled his fingers out before slamming them back into you, setting a hard pace.

Your mind was left blank, so consumed with pleasure that you couldn't even think about staying quiet. Whimpers and moans shamelessly tumbled out of you as he filled you up so delightfully. Jungkook wasn't unaffected either. Feeling how warm and wet you were was driving him up the wall, numbing his own thoughts.

"So wet for me, fuck. My cock would slide right into you with how drenched you are," he thought out loud. He felt you tighten around his fingers, making him snarl and pick up his pace. "Filthy fucking cockslut. I can't wait to feel you tighten around me like that when I'm fucking all this brattiness out of you," he growled, voice low. You could only moan in response.

"Jungkook, s-slow down, please," you begged, knowing that you wouldn't be able to hold on much longer. Before you knew it, his free hand came down on your pussy, leaving a delicious sting spreading through you. A half yelp-half moan sound came out of you, making Jungkook scoff.

"You're gonna take what I give you, like a good little slut," he grunted. "What do you have to say now Y/n?" he asked, annoyance lacing his voice. "You're so convinced I'm fucking every woman and leaving them unsatisfied. Do you feel satisfied yet?" With his fingers pumping you, grazing your g-spot with every thrust, it was nearly impossible for you to form a coherent thought. When you didn't answer, he gave your pussy another smack, making you hiss.

"Answer me," he demanded, "How do you feel now Y/n?"

"F-feel good," is all you could come up with. Jungkook chuckled at your fucked out state.

"Who's making you feel good sweetheart?"

"You," you moaned, feeling yourself reach your climax again. "Oh my god. Jungkook, please...don't stop. Feels so good, I'm gonna-"

Jungkook's ego inflated as you finally found your words again, saying exactly what he wanted to hear. Hearing you beg for him almost made up for all the shit you'd put him through that day. Almost. You were creaming on his fingers before you could even finish your sentence, moaning his name way louder than you should.

"Now you're finally being a good girl," he praised, continuing to pump his fingers through your orgasm. "Fuck, you're getting so tight. Keep cumming on my fingers like that, yeah?" he groaned, imagining how good you would feel on his cock. Your orgasm was so powerful, you were cumming for what felt like an eternity. Jungkook didn't mind; continuing to work you through it. When it was finally over, your legs gave out. Jungkook quickly caught you as you collapsed, and he placed you down on his discarded jacket on the floor. You closed your eyes and waited for your heart rate to go back to normal. When you opened your eyes after a few moments, Jungkook was still kneeling in front of you. His gaze was trained on your still exposed cunt and he had slipped his soaked fingers into his mouth, tasting you all over again. You worried for second that he still wasn't done with you. He slowly dragged his glazed over eyes to meet your. You gulped at the voracious look on his face, your legs instinctively closing.

Meanwhile, Jungkook was battling with his own insatiable thoughts. He knew he couldn't forget about this, about you, about your pussy after this. As infuriating and insufferable you were, he couldn't deny how good you tasted and felt. And he sure as hell couldn't deny how hard you'd gotten him either. With his hormones surging through him, all he could think about was being inside you, in any way. He saw the look on your face and nearly scoffed. You fucked up his reputation and humiliated him all because you wanted to cum, and now you couldn't take it. He took a deep breath, forcing his thoughts away so he could be rational.

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna make you cum again," he said. You scoffed, easing up a little with his reassurance. "You got what you wanted, right? Now maybe you'll keep your mouth shut." The high of your pleasure was wearing off and the weight of his words were hitting you. Did he really just think you were desperate for him? Had he forgotten how he was shamelessly flirting with that other girl right after leaving you in that bathroom? Reality finally caught up with you, and you realized how vulnerable you'd made yourself to him. If someone came in right now, the only person who'd be humiliated was you. Clearly, all of this was just a game to him; a way to shut you up. Jungkook was toying with you and you were letting him. A similar shame and hurt creeped across your skin as the night he'd left you in the bar bathroom. Part of you had started to feel bad about what you'd done earlier, but if Jungkook really was just using you, then you were still nowhere near even.

Without saying a word, you stood up, pulling your skirt back down. In the process, you remembered that he'd taken your underwear. But you'd have to talk to him to ask for them back, and the last thing you wanted to do was talk to him. You'd just have to clean up later and make it through the day without them. You straightened your clothes, trying to make them look as less wrinkly as possible, avoiding Jungkook's piercing gaze. When you finally felt like you looked presentable, that's when you looked at him. This time it was him that was left a mess. His hair was ruined by all the grabbing and pulling you'd done, and his collar was soaked with your juices. You looked at his jacket that you were not standing on, and sure enough, you'd left a wet spot and now heel marks on it too. It made you feel a little better, knowing that this time he'd have to fix himself up instead of you. You picked up his jacket with the toe of your shoe before kicking it over to him. You shot him a cold look.

"You're an asshole," you stated before walking out the door. Jungkook was left on the floor, even more frustrated. He'd felt more gratified after putting you in your place, but then what was that? You'd obviously enjoyed yourself, so what was the problem now? He groaned loudly. Despite his anger, the bulge in his pants was now aching. Everything about you was infuriating to him, so how did you have this much of an affect on him? His mind wandered back to how you felt in his hands and on his tongue. He growled as he palmed his crotch, slowly taking out his hard cock. He stroked himself harshly with the frustration you'd left him with. He quickly pulled out your panties from his pocket, unable to stop himself. His head rolled back and your name spilled past his lips along with low groans as he brought up the thin fabric to his face.

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Tag List: @myjungkookthighs @bemuas @junecat18 @exortedgoods @jahnaviii @jk97bam @itsmekylabear @blueberriesm @marvelbun @vantelover1306 @runariya @btstrology @diame93 @curse-of-art @minyoongi7016

[yandere-sins]

What about darling who wants a baby with yan!nurse and yan! doctor 😍😍

Oh! How sweet of you to remember these two menaces! It's been a hot minute since we talked about them :D Thank you for requesting my two crazy medical staff!

Extra Warnings for Sexual Content, Abuse of Power, Medical Mistreatment/Malpractice, Pregnancy Topics, General Misconduct of medical professionals

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

❥ You are just such a ray of sunshine as you come into the office where the two of them are waiting for you, they immediately fall head over heels for you. Doctor is eagerly listening as you talk about your plan to get pregnant soon and how you want to make sure everything is fine with your body to take on the mother role. Meanwhile, Nurse is rubbing his back up and down, subtly conveying her desire to have you. They only need to share one glance to know that a baby sounds absolutely incredible, and here you are, so willing to participate in this relationship they are already planning with you.

❥ The pieces fall so perfectly in place, and the two are more than willing to give you all the blood tests and check-ups you want, plus some extra that are more in their interest than yours. After all, they want to ensure their lovely little mommy is healthy and ready to start a family with them! Having two professionals so invested and caring for you is really heart-warming, Nurse holding your hand every time you are uncomfortable and telling you how well you are doing, while Doc checks on you constantly while you are waiting for your test results, soothing your anxiety and even waiving additional costs so you can get all the tests. Before you leave, the two hand you a big bag full of the expensive medicine for preparation that they stole from the clinic's infirmary, together with handwritten notes and some recipes that should help... to not conceive a child.

❥ You might be touched by how much they are helping, but you are wrong to think they'd do it so you can get pregnant with just anyone. Definitely not! All their work is just so you feel comfortable enough to come back and ask for more tests (that they'll gladly make, especially the physical exams) because you seem unable to conceive no matter how hard you try. From the very first check-up, Doctor has been sowing a seed of doubt in you that it might be difficult. After all, there is a little something there that looks a bit suspicious. But no big deal, right? No worries, you will be fine! Try some more, and you'll be pregnant in no time. Once again, they send you off with more switched boxes of medicine and absolutely no chance of getting pregnant. At the same time, the two of them go shopping every day after their shift to buy stuff and prepare your and the little one's new room in their home. Babyproofing takes a lot of time, they'd know!

❥ Still, it breaks their heart when you return without success, crying your pretty eyes out. They don't want to make you sad, they really don't! And yet, Nurse can't hold back from smiling ear to ear as she comforts you, hugging and telling you everything will be okay, Doc patting your back as they grin at each other, satisfied that their plan is working out. You, of course, are still so well-mannered and sweet, apologizing over and over for your outburst, not knowing that it turned them on how well things are going and that Nurse now has to change out of the tear-soaked clothes quickly, keeping them to smell and fantasize about while they have a quicky in the breakroom. All while Doctor gives you a bonbon, telling you it'll help you lighten up. You pop it in, of course, trusting him even though he laced it with drugs that will make you a bit woozy but much more receptive to the methods he is going to suggest to make you pregnant.

❥ You tell him you're not feeling so good, but he simply continues to talk to you about inseminating you directly, much like all the alternative impregnation treatments you have heard about before. It sounds like he means with medical equipment but Nurse is grinning madly at the idea of getting to prepare you for the session with her tongue and fingers, knowing fully well there is only one tool Doc is going to use. They inform you about doing it regularly to have the best chances, and that they'll graciously waive the fees if only you sign this document, they have already prepared so that they can proceed with making the appointments. Clearly, you are not in your right mind, but it doesn't really matter to them, as you can't even read the contract you sign and how you practically bound yourself to the two you trusted completely.

❥ This time, they drive you home personally, making sure you are getting home safely. Nurse sits with you in the backseat, massaging your thighs, groping your body and indulging in the adorable sensitivity you have while being drowsy from the drugs. They get you into your bed, tugging you in, groping and touching you some more, each leaving you with a kiss and an alarm set for the next day. Doc makes sure you have all the appointment times with reminders in your phone, as well as checking out your pictures and messages while Nurse fills up your daily pills with more contraceptives. Then, the two of them really get to work, checking out your home and how you live so they can make their own home even more comfortable for you, taking pictures of everything, and ordering food to check out your watch list on TV. By the time they finally leave, they are riled up and excited for the new life that awaits you three; Doc and Nurse getting it on in the car before driving home for another round of "preparations" so they can make sure Doctor helps you get pregnant the next day.

❥ You wake up groggy and disorientated to the alarm set on your phone. There's some food in the fridge and a sweet note from Nurse explaining how they helped you home and telling you not to forget your appointment that day. Of course, you panic a little, not remembering anything after eating the bonbon. Still, in the hectic of getting ready and telling your partner to come to the clinic with you, you don't immediately feel suspicious about the circumstances of your blackout. There's no way you can be suspicious of the two kind medical professionals who greet you gushily, asking if you are okay and how you are feeling after exhausting yourself the day before. They are a little... colder to your partner, but hey! They usher you two into separate rooms so they can have the procedure done, and you are never alone in the process for even a moment, getting all the reassurance and excitement you need.

❥ It takes a while for your partner to do their part, but the two chat with you, explaining what they are doing and that everything is completely normal and professional, so you don't have to worry at all. You don't know that the water-downed version of sperm that Doctor produces isn't the one from your partner (that one is already in the trash and thrown out for good), but his own. It's not supposed to work immediately, so they lowered the chances of you getting pregnant right away. However, if it is meant to be, then so be it. You're not exactly prepared down there, so Doc makes an elaborate spiel of using his gloved fingers to open and adjust you so he can work efficiently. Shamefully, you feel the heat in your cheeks as he keeps massaging your sweet spot, making you wet despite all of this being strictly "professional". But in the end, it is done, and the two tell you how well you did before sending you home with the advice not to wear yourself out and come back for the check-up in a bit.

❥ They wave after you, only to start licking and enjoying your taste on Doc's fingers the second the door closes. Everything about you is so perfect, and they can't wait to see you round and glowing with the baby you three will raise. Nurse is begging Doc not to take too long, wishing for her darling and the baby to come home as soon as possible, but he tells her to be patient and that they need to enjoy the process as much as possible as he adjusts himself, barely able to hold back either. This kind of play happens twice more, although it breaks their heart to see you disappointed that it didn't work again. Each time, they make sure to reassure you and end up leaving you more restless and horny, especially since you're not allowed to have sex with your partner so the seed can "take root". But on the fourth time, finally, Doctor sighs after ordering some tests, telling you it seems like you hit a bump in the road and the "issue" he saw a few appointments before has now gotten more in the way than he thought.

❥ You are completely heartbroken hearing that you might not be able to get pregnant, not knowing better. Once again, it's Nurse who holds and comforts you, telling you everything will be okay as she looks at Doc and asks if they could try that. At this point, they've manipulated you enough to perk up despite your sobs, looking back and forth between the two. Doctor seems hesitant, weighing the options as you ask what they mean. What else is there that you could try? They know you are desperate—they made you this way—and they play the role so well of "I don't know if it's advisable" and "You'd need to be under pretty heavy anesthetic to endure it" but they never explain more about this apparent procedure. Not until you practically beg for them to do it. To help you no matter what and that you want that baby so much, you'd do everything. That's when they know they've won, and having you almost on your knees, looking up at them as if they're your saviors, only confirms the feelings they have for you.

❥ You're invited to their house for the procedure. They explain that it can't be done at the clinic since it's not something the clinic offers in services. But they have a private office in their home, and no one has to come with you either since they'll be there to take care of you. It feels somewhat wrong, but you trust them after all they've gone through with you, and they appear genuinely interested in trying to help you. They made sure to tell you it would be pretty costly. Still, it might be the only way to get you pregnant with your "condition", so you agree, bringing your savings in cash with you and stepping into their home upon arrival. It's a beautiful, luxurious building, and you are surprised at how homely it feels, almost as if you were in your own place. Immediately, Nurse tries to make you comfortable, offers you some tea to calm down and sits you on the couch so Doc can go through the proceedure with you. He's very vague about the details, but waves off most of it since you'll be under anesthesia most of the time anyway. It's strange and unreal, but you follow Nurse as she leads you to the office by the hand while Doctor follows quietly, ensuring all doors are closed behind you.

❥ Nurse helps you change while Doctor "prepares" himself. She claims he has done this countless times, and she is sure it will work for you, too. Then you are led to a medical examination chair, and chuckle nervously as Nurse restrains you to it. Some of those restraints are a little tight, and you tell her, but she assures you it's how it has to be so you don't fall off while unconscious. You relent, trying to calm yourself with deep breaths. It's not until Doc finally appears that you doubt this decision enough to want to stop. However, both of them are quick to wave off your nervosity, telling you that you'll wake up pregnant and it will be as if you were never gone. Before you can tell them clearly that you don't want to, Nurse pulls a mask over your nose and mouth, and a sweet-tasting gas assaults your senses, reminding you of the bonbon you had from Doctor before. The last thing you see is Doc unbuttoning his coat, skin peeking out beneath it, and then you're gone again, just like before.

❥ When you wake up much later, the large lamp of the operation room still beams down at you, and you shiver as you feel the cold chair at your back. Drowsily, you look down, your body rocking in a steady beat. You hear muffled moaning only for your senses to return as your body is forced into a violent orgasm, feet curling in their restraints as you cry out in pleasure and surprise. People cheer as you arch your back and jerk from your orgasm, and then the rhythmical rocking returns, more vigorously as you realize someone is pounding into you. You look up in shock at Doc fucking you, together with the slick tongue of Nurse licking up your slick and everything else drooling from your sex. All the clothes are discarded from all three of you as they mess you up, sweaty and grinning ecstatically. You have no idea how long they've been using your body or what else they did, but it isn't long until Doctor leans over you, his body shuddering as he pumps a load of jizz into you before he looks down, breathing heavily.

❥ "Someone's awake~" he announces, and Nurse jumps up from her position. "Oh, you cute thing!" she lilts, coming up to your head and kissing you passionately, tongues and tastes mingling while you struggle to get out of her hold. "Now you can finally join us! We've still got a lot more loads for you to make sure you're pregnant by the end of this!"

❥ As if prompted by her words, Doc begins picking up the pace again. This time, it's his mouth capturing yours before you can protest and exclaim your horror, the chair giving him all the freedom to trap you beneath him. You are assaulted like this for hours, the only breaks you get are so that Doctor can take care of Nurse's needy pussy by eating her out or fingering her while she plays with you. But his cum only goes to you, and they are thorough in this aspect. Meanwhile, you are forced to come to terms with your entrapment and how naive you had been to be so trusting of these psychos, all while you struggle in your restraints and beg them to stop this assault. But they keep their promise, making sure there is absolutely no chance of you not getting pregnant. And now, you are bound to them forever. ♥

[usomads]

Never Have I Ever // Jey Uso x Reader

Author's Note -> So I had this interesting little idea and figured I'd write it out for y'all... not sure how I feel about it yet but lmk if you like it 🤭 Oh! I have a masterlist now too, so you can check out some other stories I did recently :) happy reading!

Plot -> An innocent game leads to a new first, and new love.

Pairings -> Jey Uso x Fem!Reader (Y/N)

Warnings -> Drinking, Cursing, Hickies, Oral (Fem!Receiving), Unprotected P in V, Creampie, Not Proofread, MDNI

Word Count -> 3.3k

Game Night. The one night a month where you, Josh, Jon, Trin, Joe, and Galina could have a night to yourselves. No kids, no wrestling events to stress over, just drinks and quality time with your people. You met them through work, and although you were part of the production crew you ended up clicking with them right away. Whenever you all were inevitably on the road for shows, you traveled together, stayed at the same hotel, ventured the cities together, you had basically become part of the family.

Game Night originally started as a couples get-together for Jon, Trin, Joe, and Galina but seeing as you and Josh were always around they happily extended the invitation to you two, despite both of you being single.

You were close with everybody in the group, but yours and Josh’s relationship was by far closer than the relationships you had with the others. Josh was the first WWE superstar to greet you on your first day on the job, showing you around and helping you get acclimated to your new work environment. Within the span of a couple weeks he was inviting you to family events, and the rest is history.

After helping yourself to a mixed drink in Joe and Galina's kitchen, you made your way back to the living room where everyone was congregated as they were trying to figure out the next game to play. “Why don’t we spice it up?” Trin suggested, “how about a game of ‘Never Have I Ever’?”

“Jesus, Trin. What are we, high schoolers?” You chimed in, “Might as well get a bottle out and start spinning it too.”

“Oh c’mon, Y/N, live a little,” she teased, “Sounds to me like you’ve got some secretssss!”

“Ugh, fine, whatever. Start already, before you kill my buzz.” 

One by one everyone started taking turns going in a circle stating things they hadn’t done before; some sexual, some embarrassing, and some targeted to get certain players to put their fingers down. After a few rounds everyone in the group only had one finger remaining, and it was your turn. All you had to do was give one confession and everybody would be out of the game, making you the winner. You being as competitive as you were, you saved the best one for last. And you knew it would get everyone out. “Okay umm,” you paused dramatically even though you knew what you were going to say, “Never have I ever… received head.”

You smiled triumphantly as one by one, the group started putting down their fingers. Choruses of “Wowww, you had to go there,” “That’s so unfair,” and strings of curses came from everybody. Everybody except Josh.

“Nah, uce. That means nobody wins. Ma, the whole point of the game is to say somethin’ you haven’t done. You gotta put a finger down.”

“I know the rules, Josh,” you retorted, “I did say something I haven’t done. Which means I win.” “Wait, wait, wait. Girl, you’ve never had a man eat you out?” Trin asked shocked, her question making everyone realize what you had just said.

Josh interjects before you can respond, seemingly annoyed, “She has, Trin, she’s bullshittin’ rn. Because there ain’t no way-”

“There is a way, Josh, because it hasn’t happened. I’ve never had a man go down on me.”

Waves of shock cascaded across the room at your response. How could you go your entire adult life without getting your pussy eaten? It’s actually fairly easy,  just sleep with shitty dudes that don’t wanna reciprocate and there you have it. You’ve experimented a little bit within your sex life, but something as elementary as getting head was something you had yet to check off your bucket list? You can’t really blame everyone for being so surprised about it, shit you probably would be too if you were in their shoes. It seemed like with every second the group sat with this new revelation more and more questions were getting asked, almost an overwhelming amount.

“Okay okay chill, damn. Didn’t realize I was playing ‘truth or dare’ all of a sudden,” you joked before shifting to a more serious tone, “But yes, I’ve sucked dick before. Yes, I’ve been fingered. No, I’m not bullshitting. And yes, my taste in men is ass. Haven’t found a single one that wants to go down on me, yet they expect me to go down on them. Crazy I know, but it is what it is. Men ain’t shit apparently. Now there, did I cover everything?”

“So…,” Jon piped up, “What the fuck y’all be doin’ then? Just straight to pound town and that’s it? No warm up?”

“Pound town is crazyyyy,” you laughed, “But not exactly. Actually, I can break down every time I’ve ever had sex with somebody. It all follows the same steps: kiss on each other for a bit, take all our clothes off, I’ll suck his dick, we fuck, he cums, and then it’s over with.”

“Wait, girl, are you saying you’ve never cum during sex? If that’s what you’re saying honey, I’m sorry, but we gotta find you a fuckin’ man. No more of these boys that you’re messin’ with.” Galina asked.

“Oh, no, I have before. Just a handful of times though, most of the time I’ve gotta finish myself off after. Can’t really expect me to finish if you don’t warm me up a bit, you know?” You responded.

“Man, what the fuck is wrong with this generation? Giving your girl head should be a requirement, these boys you’re fuckin’ with are weird as fuck, Y/N, my girl’s right. We gotta find you a real man,” Joe stated.

“Oh, trust me, I agree with y’all. It’s why I just stopped having sex altogether; Imma have to finish myself off anyways, might as well not waste my time.”

“Y/N, babes, how fuckin’ long has it been since you’ve gotten dick?” Trin asked, anxiously waiting for your answer.

“Um…” Wow, you really had to think about it. “If I remember right, then around Christmas time…” “Oh, so less than a year then. For a second there I thought-”

“Of 2022,” you interrupted. Man, if earlier was chaotic, this new confession was fucking bedlam. Everyone seemed to be losing their minds, except Josh, who had stayed silent and kept his eyes locked on you throughout this entire exchange. 

“Alright, alright, yes I get it. It’s insane, I know. It is what it is, I guess. But as much as I’d love to continue sharing about my travesty of a sex life, I desperately need another drink. Anyone need anything from the kitchen?” Everyone started listing their drink of choice, and you were having a hard time keeping up with it all, until Josh spoke for the first time since your revelation.

“I’ll just come with you, seems like everybody needs something right now. You’re gonna need help carrying everyone’s shit.” You smiled at him, silently thanking him, but he didn’t say a word- he just followed closely behind you to the kitchen. You immediately went into bartender mode, making everyone’s drinks to bring back to the living room, but Josh stood still watching you from the entryway of the kitchen- still not talking.

“Hey, Josh, you mind helping me make a couple drinks real quick? I need some help over here,” you chuckled, but stopped when you noticed he wasn’t responding and turned to look at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Huh?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about you not getting your needs met? You know I would’ve helped you out, ma,” Josh asked, closing the distance between you two.

You furrowed your brows in confusion, turning back to finish making everyone’s drinks. “Helped me? What does that even mean? Look, I really don’t wanna talk about this right now, so can we put this convo on the back burner until the night is over with? Good, now help me carry these drinks back to the living room, would you?” You sighed, grabbing a few cups before brushing past him to head back to the group- leaving Josh alone in the kitchen with his thoughts.

After a couple more games and a few more drinks, it was time for everyone to head out for the night. You rode to Joe’s house with Josh, who you hadn’t talked to since the conversation earlier in the kitchen. You were crashing there for the night, 1. Because you knew you’d have a drink too many and wouldn’t be able to drive, and 2. Because staying over at each others’ houses was a common occurrence nowadays. You both said your goodbyes to the group and headed back to his place. The car ride was silent, neither of you talking to the other and only the low hum of whatever songs were on Josh’s playlist. You stared out of the window the whole car ride, watching the blur of the city lights pass by and replaying you two’s conversation in your head over and over. What did he mean by, “I would’ve helped you out?” How would he have helped you?

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by the car pulling into Josh’s driveway and being put in park. Josh got out quickly, while you sat for a second to let out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding. Well, here goes nothing.

You got inside and went to take your jacket and shoes off, barely getting yourself situated before Josh spoke.

“So, are you ready to talk about it now or are you just not gonna address it?” Sigh, here we go.

“What is there to address, huh? All I did was tell the truth, I haven’t had a guy go down on me before. I don’t really understand what the big deal is.”

“The big deal is that you should’ve told me about this a long time ago,” Josh replied, “If you had told me I could’ve done something about it.”

“Done something about it? How, Josh? What could you have possibly done about it? It doesn’t even matter and honestly, I don’t understand why you’re so worked up over it.”

“Oh, c’mon Y/N, don’t act stupid. You know damn well if I had known about it I would’ve offered to be your ‘first’.” Sorry, what? You blinked hard, trying to make sure you heard him correctly. “Shit, as far as I’m concerned, offer’s still on the table,” his voice lowered, making slow strides towards you and backing you into the door, “What kind of ‘best friend’ would I be if I didn’t make sure you were taken care of, hmm?”

You shivered at his words, feeling the lust that was oozing from his words engulf the space between the two of you. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you hadn’t imagined Josh like this before. Hell, he’s who you think about when you’re touching yourself at night. Sure, he was attractive, but lately you’d developed feelings for the man. You craved him in more ways than one, but never in a million years did you think you’d actually end up in this position- trapped between him and the door while he dragged his fingers along your sides, trailing further and further down…

“So, what’s it gonna be,” he paused, his hand finally reaching your core and rubbing you through your leggings you were wearing. He groaned, feeling your wetness that had soaked through now pooling on his fingers. “You gonna let me take care of you baby?” He leans in to whisper in your ear, “Imma eat this pussy in every room of the house mamas, make you cum in every one of ‘em too. All you gotta do is say the word.”

Your skin felt like it was on fire. The sultriness in his voice had you ready to completely give yourself to him. You had completely soaked through your leggings at this point, and were convinced if they weren’t so restricting you’d be dripping wet for him. You had a choice to make: let him take you right here and raise some question marks surrounding your friendship, or decline his offer and leave yourself hot and bothered? Lucky for you, your voice made the decision before your mind did.

“Please, Josh, please.”

That was all it took for him to smash his lips into yours; desperately but passionate, lovingly yet intense. Your tongues battled for dominance while the two of you hastily removed any article of clothing separating you, craving to feel the warmth of each others’ skin with nothing in the way. Both of you were now left in just your undergarments, relentlessly kissing each other like your lives depended on it. His lips made their way to your neck, leaving trails of hickies in their wake. You moaned his name and fisted his hair with each one he created, trembling with every graze of his teeth or lick of his tongue.

“You… have no idea… how long… I’ve wanted this,” he muttered in between each bruise he made. Your head was thrown back against the wooden door, relishing every moment.

“Me too,” you breathed out, and it was the truth. You had only recently come to terms with seeing him as more than your best friend, but deep down you knew your feelings had begun months prior. He was all you ever thought about, and here you were, melting underneath him as he ensured not a single inch of your body went untouched by his lips. 

His hands traveled to the back of your thighs and by pure instinct you jumped into his arms, holding you tightly as he carried you to your first stop: the kitchen. Josh laid you down on the island countertop, goosebumps erupting all over as the cold surface touched your skin. You arched your back for him to remove your bra, and once removed, he placed a trail of kisses starting from your breasts and moving down to your sternum, then your stomach, and finally your hips, where the band of your thong rested. Looking up at you, his teeth grazed the soft skin before latching onto the waistband of your thong, before sliding it down your legs. His hands slowly traveled up your calves and to your thighs, spreading them apart to give him a look at what he’s been craving since earlier this evening.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he hummed, “And all mine too. Look at how wet you are for me already, baby. Can’t believe you’ve been hiding her from me all this time, ma.” And with that he lowers his head and licks between your aching folds, your eyes widening and rolling to the back of your head the moment his mouth makes contact. He hungrily attacks your folds as your fingers weave themselves into his hair, pushing his face deeper into your pussy. The moans coming from your mouth are uncontrollable, repeating his name over and over as you fall further into oblivion. 

“Tastes so sweet, baby girl, could eat you for every meal.” His words vibrate through your core and your pussy flutters. You inadvertently buck your hips but his arm stops you, holding you down so you can take everything he’s giving you right now. His mouth wraps around your clit, paying special attention to the sensitive bud and you arch your back at the touch- feeling a familiar pressure building up in the pit of your stomach and quickly reaching its peak. “F-fuckk, Josh, feels so good. I’m gonna-”

“Let it out, princess. Show Daddy how good he makes you feel.”

Your orgasm rips through you, sending your body into a state you had never experienced before. You were writhing underneath him, holding onto his hair for dear life as your eyes roll into your skull and your back arches off the countertop. Strings of profanities and pants of his name cross your lips, lost in the flood of pleasure stemming from the hardest orgasm you’ve ever had. You finally begin to take control of your breathing again, attempting to slow it as your body gives out and lies limp on the marble, completely wiped out. Josh lifts his head to reveal himself, mouth and beard dripping in your wetness. He smiles softly at you, proud that he was the first to eat your pussy and proud that he was able to make you completely fall apart for him. He leans up to you and gives a soft kiss to your lips, before lifting your body from the countertop and carrying you once again. “Oh, baby, I’m not done with you yet. I said I was gonna eat you in every room of this house tonight, and you know I don’t break my promises.”

“Ohh f-fuckk! J-Josh, I- I can’t, I’m-”

“Yes you can, mamas, gimme another one. You can do it, princess.” You were now on your 5th orgasm of the night. Josh had kept his promise alright, making you cum in the kitchen, living room, his office, master bathroom, and now his bedroom. You’d think after that many times a man would be exhausted, but with every time he had made you cum he had gained more energy. It’s like making you cum was his food source, and it was driving him to keep going. Once again you came hard from his mouth and tongue, vision turning white and seeing stars as you hit your orgasm. You were for sure tired, but one thought kept you going: you wanted his cock. Bad. 

“B-baby,” you panted, still coming down from your last orgasm, “Please… I want you. Fuck me, please.”

“You just came on my face 5 times, and now you want my dick? Fuck baby, you sure you can take it?” “Fuckk yes, Josh, just please… I need it, baby. I can handle one more.”

Josh takes off his boxers and climbs on top of you, passionately kissing your lips as he pumps his cock and rubs his tip up and down your sensitive pussy, making you whimper into the kiss. “You’ve been so good for me tonight, baby girl. Imma take good care of you, I promise. You ready for me, baby?”

You nod, staring into his eyes as he slowly enters you. You cry out as his cock fully fills your pussy, already close to cumming again.

“Fuck, Y/N, so fuckin’ tight. Taking me so well,” he hisses, slowly thrusting inside of you. He wraps your legs around his waist and peppers kisses on your forehead, cheeks, nose, and lips, whispering praises to you as he slowly pumps in and out of you. Your pussy tightens around him, signaling you’re close, making him moan loudly in response. “Shitt, do that again, mamas. Squeeze my shit just like that, gonna make me fuck you full of my cum, baby.” You dig your nails into his shoulders and moan in response, “Is that what you want, baby girl? You want Daddy to fill you up ‘til you’re dripping my cum? Want me to cum deep, don’t you baby?”

“F-fuck… oh my god… please, Daddy. Want your cum in me so fuckin’ bad… s-shitt, Josh, I’m so-”

“Go ahead and soak this dick, pretty girl. I’m there too, baby. Cum for me.”Any energy you had saved was completely wiped out, coming undone again for him as he buried his face in your neck and pumped you full of his cum. Both of your moans echoed in his room, engulfing you two as you fell apart together. Josh collapses on the bed next to you, you both breathing heavily, and silent. Nothing needed to be said, as you nestled into his side and drifted to sleep with only one thought on your mind: Never have I ever… well now I have… and more. 

[itoshiierae]

hii, really love your writing and i hope you're doing well,, can i request how ran+hanma+izana would react when reader accidentally turned them on and refused to satisfy them? have a nice day tho!

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

ᡣ𐭩 ft: ran haitaini, hanma shuji, izana kurokawa ( x f!reader )

ᡣ𐭩 notes: not her accidentally bricking them up and then going, “oopsie… not my problem 🤭”

ᡣ𐭩 cw: veryyy suggestive, heavy tension lol

✧ RAN HAITANI ✧

you didn’t actually mean to tease him at first.

maybe it was the way you were bent over in that tiny top he bought you the other day. or maybe it was how you licked melted ice cream off your thumb, all slow and careless, like you had no idea he was watching.

but ohhh, you knew. and he knew that you knew.

when he leans in— palm heavy on your waist, nose brushing your neck like he’s trying so hard not to lose control; you just smile, all sweet and wide-eyed, tilting your face up to him with that bambi-eyed look that drives him completely insane.

“whyyy… are you touching me like that, ran??”

he sees straight through you and knows exactly what kind of game you’re playing. and the thing is?? he lives for it. you want to act like you don’t know what you’re doing?? fineee. he’ll play along, draw it out until you’re the one begging for him.

so when you pull away, smirking like you’ve won; he just tilts his head— eyes dark, voice dripping with mock-innocence before he says, “…hmm. so you’re really not gonna help me out, baby??”

you keep up the act. still all doe-eyed, and pretending like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing; biting your lip like you’re shy, batting your lashes like he isn’t already fighting the urge to pin you against the nearest wall.

“that’s cute,” he mutters, voice low as he watches you walk away from him.

“okay... but let’s see if you’re still smirking tonight.”

and in the meantime, he’ll wait patiently until you break— until you’re the one rubbing up against him, breathless, eyes wide with need.

but even then, he still won’t make it easy for you.

after all…. you made him wait, remember???

✧ HANMA SHUJI ✧

it starts with you on his lap at some party on a friday night.

you’re whispering in his ear, laughing a little too close, your hand resting on his thigh; just enough weight and pressure to make him twitch beneath his jeans.

and he knows you feel it.

but then you get up like nothing happened— like you didn’t just feel how hard he was already getting for you. and what’s worse??? you even have the audacity to flash him that sweet, teasing smile as you saunter off to go talk to your friend.

he immediately scoffs, low and sharp. “… babe, so you’re really gonna leave me like this??”

his laugh cracks in his throat, jaw tight as his fingers twitch against the armrest.

“shit… you’re lucky i actually enjoy pain.”

hanma thrives on denial, but only if he gets to twist it back on you later. and ohhh, he could already imagine the things he’s going to do to you.

you wanna act all coy and disappear??? don’t be surprised when, later that night, he drags you into the bathroom; hand wrapped tight around your wrist as he slams the door shut behind you, pinning you against it.

he’s already imagined it. the sound of your gasp. the look on your face. and the words he’ll say, low and mean against your skin:

“you just loveee teasing me, huh?? can’t wait to ruin that pretty little outfit you were so desperate to show off.”

he bites when he’s mad and grins when you whimper under him— and this time, he won’t stop until your knees give out.

you might be able to walk away now, but later??? he’s going to make you beg for his attention. every last drop of it.

✧ IZANA KUROKAWA ✧

izana doesn’t react right away. he just stays where he is, one arm draped over the couch; eyes half-lidded as he watches you stretch across the living room floor.

right now, you’re in the middle of your usual afternoon yoga routine. the tv murmurs in the background, but he’s not listening. he hasn’t been for a while now— not when your hips move like that.

it’s the sway in your stretch, the curve of your back when you arch, the soft flex of your thighs as you shift into different positions— and then, when you reach for the remote, your hand brushes his leg on the way down; fingers grazing his thigh just a little too casually as your gaze lingers for a second too long.

you act like you don’t notice— like you haven’t been slowly unraveling his composure for the past 10 minutes.

or maybe you do know, he thinks. maybe that’s what makes it worse.

“…i’m busy right now,” you murmur, turning away and stepping back towards your mat.

you think he’ll let it go.

instead, he rises quietly as he catches your wrist with one hand, and the other curling under your chin to tilt your face up.

“mhm darling... what makes you think you can leave me wanting and then not do anything about it??”

izana is possessive in the most terrifying way; quiet, unreadable, never one to raise his voice or chase what he already considers as his. not until later…. when he’s got you pressed to the sheets, taking his time, every touch is a quiet punishment for thinking you could leave him wanting.

he won’t give in easily. not even when you’re breathless and trembling— clawing for something only he can give. he’ll lean in close, voice low and cruel as he murmurs, “not yet.”

because if you get to tease him??? then he gets to punish.

© itoshiierae 2025 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ please do not modify or repost my content onto any other platforms.

[scarletttries]

Smutty Ghost Thought

Inspired by this post in which Johnny helps the reader get ready for a night with his hot masked friend.

I don't even play CoD or write Ghost but something about this set up is absolutely living in my mind right now so sharing here too 👻💞

After a couple of weeks of 'practicing' you let Johnny know you're ready for him to set you up with his cute friend in the ghost mask, and surely enough Ghost's more than happy to meet you at a bar just outside of the base. You two barely finish your first drink before you suggest heading back to your place for the next one and suddenly your nails are digging into his biceps as he carries you across to your bed, not letting his bare chest leave yours for even a second as he climbs on top of you. His mask is pulled up just enough for his lips to cascade hungry kisses from your open lips down your torso, and then your underwear is gone and his tongue is frantically lapping at your core, bringing you to the edge before you can even get his pants down.

The way he's groaning and panting between your thighs makes it hard to remember why you brought him here, but you're not about to waste all your efforts training with that dildo so the next time he makes you see stars you drag his covered face back to your lips, his tongue quickly diving between your lips as you start undoing his belt, the intimidating bulge in his pants twitching as your fingers work against his buckle. You can feel Ghost tense up, start trying to pull himself away from your sweet kiss so he can manage your expectations about what's about to happen.

"It's - uh-" he's not sure he can conjure up the words as you nip at the exposed parts of his neck and gently roll him onto his back so you can finish getting the rest of his clothes out of the way. He's surprised at how little you react to his size as it springs free, your face nothing but determination and beaming joy as you pump him in your hand, moving to straddle his thighs as he watches helplessly. "Sorry - it's" he tries again, using his bulging biceps to sit himself up so he can look you in the eye to explain. You look so pleased and warm as you plant a soft kiss against his lips and start to line his length up with your entrance, taking your time to run his tip over your wet folds and throbbing clit.

"Don't worry Simon, I knew you'd be big. So I've been practicing." You say the words like he should know what they mean, his eyes glazing over behind his mask as you start to slowly slide the head of his cock inside you, moving with soft, careful bounces that pull the air right out of the usually composed soldier's lungs.

"Practicing?" He splutters out the words with a moan, gripping your thighs with all his strength just to try and keep his composure as he watches himself disappear inside you at a tortuously slow pace.

"Yeah, someone told me how big you were so I got this a toy your size and I've been practicing fitting it inside me. It's been pretty fun, and I've been thinking of you a lot." The confession came with the same wide eyed innocence with which you might admit to put a note in someone's locker, Simon's swimming head barely able to comprehend the mental image of you fantasising about this moment. As he stared at you, mouth agape, you brought his hands gently to your chest where they began obediently kneading at your breasts and grazing your sensitive nipples. Just about regaining the ability to form a sentence, he has to hear you say it again,

"So you're saying you've been fucking yourself on a toy this big, and making yourself cum thinking about me, so you could go out with me?" He sounds drunk as the words spill from his lips, the feeling of your tight walls slowly lowering around him as you arch your back into his touch almost enough to finish him off right there. You look so perfect as you sink down on his lap, nails digging into his shoulders as your lips slowly part into a blissful smile.

"Well yeah - I like you Simon." It's too much for him as you take in his final aching inch and look him in the eyes and smile so sweetly, his name sounding wonderfully familiar in your saccharine confession. He's been in countless dangerous situations, but Ghost's sure he's never felt quite as unprepared as he does right now. He doesn't know what he possibly could have done to deserve this, but he knows he's going to do everything he can to make sure you feel his appreciation. He's still groping your chest needily so you don't move yet, watching the gears turn in his head as his aching heart implores him to say the words back. In one swift move his mask is dragged off his face and thrown halfway across the room, your smile only growing as you lean in closer to appreciate every new detail of his expression.

"I like you too, love." The words are quieter than he intended them to be, but his lips are so close to yours that you hear them clearly, then suddenly his tongue is in your mouth and his hips are bucking up into you and his fingers are playing with nipples when they aren't rubbing soft circles over your clit. You may have practiced fitting his enormous cock inside you, but nothing could have prepared you for the overwhelming pleasure of bouncing in Ghost's lap while he does everything he can to thank you for taking a chance on him.

Like my writing and want to see more? Why not buy me a coffee in support ☕

[star-centric]

Could you pretty please do some “how they would try to court you” (not in a ABO way, but in a Devildom dating culture way), headcanons / scenarios with Mammon, Beel, and Diavolo?

PAIRINGS: Mammon, Diavolo & Beel x reader (all separate)

NOTE: Let me say this- I love love LOVE requests like these!!! Any time I can write about stuff like this it makes me kick my feet and giggle. Also sorry this is so late- life is a hectic atm 🫠

CW: gender neutral reader, mentions of possessiveness, minor suggestive themes (mainly in Diavolo’s part)

How They Would Try to Court You (feat. Mammon, Beelzebub and Diavolo) (Headcanons)

MAMMON

Mammon’s a lot like his crow familiars- especially when it comes to courting. Combine that with his sin of greed and you’re in for a time!

He’s greedy, so it only makes sense that he wants all of the time. Whether it’s just laying around in your room or even just walking to class, he’s right by your side. People are starting to get used to see him literally everywhere you go. He might as well be perched on your shoulder like your own personal crow

You start to find little trinkets left for you- courtesy of Mammon. Those pairs of earrings you were eyeing at the boutique? You found them on your pillow when you got back from class. The cute pin you says reminds you of him? It's already in your locker. The items are usually something small, but still meaningful to you

Nests!! When you see a cozy bundle of blankets and pillows in both of your rooms, and how Mammon is very adamant (ie. very nervous of your approval) that you have to lay it, you feel like he have no choice but to get in it. It's so comfortable that when he sees you instantly relax he can't help but let his chest puff out in pride (and he may have let out a coo or two when he saw how peacefully you were sleeping)

Speaking of cooing- he’s humming around you too now. It's cute actually, and it makes him blush whenever you comment on it (he even does it without realizing it sometimes, which makes it even more adorable). You start to catch it when you praise him for something, but he starts doing it even more outside of it. He tries to play dumb about it, but he's really happy (and relieved) that you love how his voice sounds (it's what he was hoping for)

He starts to flash show his demon form to you more. It stemmed from your praise at his photo shoot, and ever since then he's been stretching his wings around you. Graze your fingers across them and Mammon would be putty in your hands

Mammon has always been selfish, especially when it comes to you. It’s obvious what he’s trying to do, but you’re still a bit surprised when he gets serious about it. The nights where he asks you not to leave, where he tightens his grip around you and buries his face into your neck, he means it

He wants to prove to you that he’s the only one you need, that you don’t need any other demon but him

BEELZEBUB

Beel’s courting style is simple, yet effective!

Despite it being a while since Beel felt this much of a pull towards someone like this, he really does try his best

He makes sure you’re well fed and never hungry- he knows how he can get on an empty stomach, plus he has to make sure you’re taken care of! It starts to become a very common sight to see Beel feeding some of his food to you, which leaves the others shocked, but he’s unfazed by it. They’ll even catch you bringing you food to share and not the other way around they’re used to

Beel is also like Mammon in a way- always by your side. Whether he’s just stuffing his face or observing something else, he’s right behind you like a second shadow. You didn’t realize how intimidating it was until you started to wonder why so many people started to steer clear of you- literally

(It wasn’t on purpose but Beel wasn’t complaining)

He also starts to work out around you more. You’ve always been amazed at his muscles, awed at how he lifts hundreds of pounds with ease. He’s never been one too full of pride, but the sensation bubbling inside of his chest made him want to show you more. His regular workouts, his fangol games, practice- he wanted you there for it all

Beel can’t explain it, but putting his strength on display for you feeds into a growing urge that’s hard to suppress. He wants to show you how strong he is, how easily he can protect you if something were to arise. The fanged grin on his face when he sees you cheering for him leaves him motivated to do even more

Sometimes he’ll slip into his demon form because of how excited he gets seeing you (which in turn makes his opponents/teammates nervous)

Soft bites- it happened by mistake the first time. Beel accidentally bit your finger while you were trying to feed him. He didn’t break any skin or hurt you, but when you bit him (playfully) in return something…changed inside of him after that. He wanted to do it more- leave your skin littered with marks done by him. And he wants to feel your own blunt teeth bite into him (even if you don’t leave a mark). It’s become a cute memory and another inside joke between you both

(Even if it makes him want to go feral everytime he sees your bite marks)

Beel also scents you! He has the strongest sense of smell in the house (and probably one of the strongest in the entire Devildom), so being able to leave his scent on you isn’t a problem. Lending you his clothes (which the sight of you with them does something to him too), wrapping you in his own blankets while burying his face into your neck- you don’t know why he’s been so cuddly lately but you’re not complaining (and neither is he)

Beel isn’t much of the possessive type, but he’s not willing to share you with any other demon outside of his family. Even then, his primal urge is somewhat satiated knowing that he’s left his mark(s) on you for others to see- and plans on leaving more to show that you’re his

DIAVOLO

The Future King of the Devildom has been lonely for some time now- so forgive him if he goes a bit…overboard in his methods

Remember how he was when you ate the pudding humans weren't allowed to eat? Imagine that type of behavior but with no restrictions

Expect to be adorned in the finest jewelry/outfits you could get in all of the Devildom. It gets to a point where you’re wearing literal millions- all he does is laugh at your shocked expression and waves off your worries. It’s not like he can’t afford it- plus he wants to see you in it all! (and show you how easy he can provide for you)

He’s a lot more bolder than he usually is during this time too (not that he wasn’t bold to begin with). He’s…just not holding back anymore

He’s more open with his touch, his hands finding his way to you a lot more common now. Whether it's out in public or behind closed doors, Diavolo can't seem to keep his hands to himself. The looks you get from people when you're out together make you a little embarrassed, but he holds his head up high anyway (which you're not surprised- he is the ruler still, not like they can say much anyway)

But Diavolo doesn't mind the looks- he wants them actually. He wants people to see you with him, to know that you're with him and that nothing is going to change that. That you're his and his alone. A part of him is tempted to keep you locked inside for his eyes only, but he knows that it wouldn't be right to do that to you

But he does invite you over to the castle more, which somewhat helps his urges. You’re waited on hand and foot by Diavolo, who doesn’t mind at all- he sent Barbatos away on “important tasks” (ie. give him alone time with you). It’s adorable how earnest he is in taking care of you, even if it’s something minimal as holding the door for you or feeding you himself

He’s in his demon form too, and thrives off of your attention- to see how you admire him makes his chest swell with pride. You’re in awe at his form (which makes sense since it’s a rare sight to see), and he loves it. He craves it. He encourages you to touch his wings and have your fingers graze his horns- just be careful not to tug on them too hard, unless you want to really get him riled up more than he is now

Diavolo is also like Beel in wanting to see his marks and scent left on your skin. He shows restraint, and it’s only ever done in spots he can see (mostly). There may be a dark splotch or two on your neck from when he got carried away (or when he wanted to show others that you already belong to someone)

Diavolo really hasn’t felt like this over anyone in years- Hell, probably in his entire life. He really has become enamored with you during your time in the Devildom that he can’t imagine loving someone else. You truly have made his life brighter with your presence

He understands that you can’t stay here forever, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t become mates regardless, right? Or rather, who’s going to stop him?

[wongyuseokie]

Theories & Heartstrings | k.m.g

Chapter 3: Fucked Up, Still Falling

Summary: As a writer with a mildly cynical take on love, you’ve always believed people have a “type”—a pattern they never stray from when it comes to dating. And Kim Mingyu? He’s the textbook definition of someone who wouldn’t go for someone like you, nor would you go for him. But you test your theory when a fateful run-in with your charming neighbour sparks an unexpected attraction.

The plan? Go on dates with him and count how many it takes before your heart gets involved—if it ever does. But Mingyu is unpredictable, effortlessly breaking down your carefully constructed walls with every smile, every late-night conversation, every moment that feels too easy to be just an experiment.

The real problem? Secrets never stay secrets for long. And when Mingyu finds out the truth behind your so-called theory, will it prove you right, or that love doesn’t follow the rules you thought it did?

☆ 18+ minors dni |☀︎fluff | ☁︎ angst | ♕smut

Word Count: 15,457

Pairings: Neighbor! Mingyu x Journalist! Female Reader

Genre/Trope(s)/AU(s): Neighbours AU! Fake Dating AU! (but only one is fake dating. It’ll make sense when you read it, lol). Non-Idol AU!. 

Content Warnings: yelling, swearing, LOTS OF ANGST HOLY COW shit really hit the fan here. Mingyu is very sad and angry (rightfully so) cheol is very very mean, but its warranted, hoshi is mean but not as bad more bitchy than mean. seokmin is snippy but sunshine cant ever be truly cruel. Smut Warnings:  no smut actually, suggestive sure, but no sex mentions of anal sex its more jokey but none of it. lots of kissing, fingering (but its not y/n) dun dun.  Author's Note 1: I'd be remiss if I didn't thank the lovely people who helped beta this monster of a story. thank you @lovetaroandtaemin @nebulousbrainsoup @strxwberry-skiess for your patience time and love thank you guys so much!! Author's Note 2: welp here it is guys my last fic, ever, but good news, this is only chapter 3, and the rate at which i keep increasing my word count, it'll be a while before this is all over. Series Masterlist

That evening, your bedroom was a mess of indecision.

Three dresses lay crumpled on the bed, all rejected for reasons that now felt trivial. Too safe. Too bold. Too pink. Too much like the last time you tried too hard.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, bare-faced and half-dressed, clutching a blouse by the hanger like it might whisper the answer to your dilemma.

“Why am I like this?” You muttered under your breath, heart already fluttering with a mix of anticipation and dread.

Tonight was a date. A real one. With Mingyu.

And you wanted it to be perfect. You needed it to be.

Your fingers fumbled with the delicate clasp of your necklace, the one Mingyu once complimented offhandedly—the one you hadn’t worn in months.

He made you feel... like maybe things could be different.

But even as you spritzed perfume along your collarbone and fluffed your freshly styled hair, the undercurrent of guilt pulsed just beneath the surface.

He didn’t know. Not yet.

About the article. About how much you’d withheld. About everything that came before the version of you he was finally getting to know.

You’d planned to tell him. You would tell him.

Just... not yet. Not tonight.

You needed this evening. One moment where things felt light again. Where the flutter in your chest was excitement and not fear. Where his gaze stayed soft and adoring and not clouded by betrayal.

You just needed one more night.

With trembling hands, you smoothed down the front of your dress and gave yourself a once-over in the mirror.

“You’ve got this,” you whispered.

And maybe, for just a few hours, you could believe it.

“Wow,” Joshua said, eyes widening as you stepped into the living room. “You clean up… shockingly well.”

You smirked, smoothing down the front of your satin dress. “I’m taking that as a compliment.”

“I mean it,” he said, placing a hand on his chest dramatically. “I’ve never seen you look so—wait, is that contour?”

“Shua,” you warned, grabbing your purse.

He grinned. “Okay, okay. You look gorgeous. Just—please tell him tonight.”

Your smile faltered. “What about tomorrow? I just want to bask in tonight, it might be the last time he wants to be around me. I promise, just give me tonight and I’ll tell him.”

“You keep saying that,” he replied gently. “And the longer you wait, the worse it’s going to feel.”

You glanced down at your heels, then at the tiny clutch in your hands, where the journal—a condensed version of your article draft—was tucked beneath your lipstick and phone. “Just… let me have this night. One last perfect date.”

Joshua didn’t say anything else. He just stood up and kissed your forehead. “Then go get your perfect date, bub.”

When the knock came at the door, you inhaled sharply before opening it.

Mingyu stood there in a crisp, charcoal suit, holding a single sunflower. “Hi.”

You blinked. “You wore a suit.”

“You said fancy,” he replied, extending the flower with a sheepish smile. “And you look… beautiful.”

You took the flower and gave him a bashful smile. “You clean up alright too.”

“Alright?” He scoffed. “I wore cologne for this.”

You laughed, letting him lead you down the hallway. His fingers found yours the moment you stepped into the elevator, and the silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable, and warm.

Still, the journal in your clutch weighed heavier than ever.

“Okay, no hints?” You asked as you slipped into his car.

“None,” he said, grinning as he pulled out of the parking lot. “But I will say this—you’ve never been to this place.”

Mingyu’s car smelled like him — something warm and clean and distinctly comforting. He played music as he drove, humming along quietly.

“This song’s cute,” you said, smiling as the melody filled the space between you.

“I thought you'd like it,” he replied, sneaking a glance at you. “Do you want me to sing it to you someday?”

You grinned. “You sing?”

“Only in the shower. Or when I’m drunk. Or when I think you won’t hear.”

“Maybe I’ll catch you one day,” you teased. Then, softer, “I’d like that.”

The rest of the drive was warm and easy, and you found yourself leaning toward him even without meaning to. Everything felt so natural — his jokes, the way he opened your door, the way he pulled you close when you walked toward the restaurant.

And then you saw where he’d brought you.

“Wait. This place is—Mingyu, it’s fancy-fancy.”

He smiled sheepishly. “I said dress fancy, didn’t I?”

“You also said you weren’t trying to impress me.”

“I lied.” He held the door open with a dramatic bow. “I’m trying to impress the hell out of you.”

Your heart swelled. And cracked.

Over candlelight and wine, you let yourself enjoy the night. Mingyu was in his element — charming, attentive, funny. You kept catching yourself staring, forgetting the food in front of you entirely.

“So,” he said between bites of risotto, “on a scale of one to ten… how good of a date am I?”

You choked a little, caught off guard. “What?”

Mingyu smirked. “Come on. You’re a journalist. I’m sure you rate everything.”

You forced a laugh. “Please, I only rate movies and bad exes.”

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “What if I want to be rated?”

You tilted your head. “Dangerous request.”

“Hit me with it.”

You looked at him for a long moment. Everything in you wanted to say ten. But your throat tightened and the number stuck in your chest like a stone.

“Solid… nine,” you managed, lifting your wine glass to cover your mouth.

He gasped. “Nine? What the hell do I have to do for a ten?”

You laughed. “You’ll figure it out. You’re annoyingly good at that.”

Mingyu grinned and leaned over the table. “I’ll earn it. Just wait.”

You smiled back, but the weight of your secret pulled a little heavier.

~~

You spent the weekend scribbling in your journal like it was a secret lab notebook. Bullet points. Observations. Emotional barometers. You even rated the dates, which—when said out loud—sounded ridiculous. But somehow, it helped. Date one: a six. Sweet, funny, respectful. He kissed you. You left out the part where his hands were on your hips for half the movie and your thigh was slotted between his.

You were trying to be scientific about it. But there was no method for what was happening to your heart.

And the worst part? He still didn’t know.

“How’s the story going?” Keira peeked over your shoulder, her iced coffee in hand and her voice low. 

“Is that a hickey?”

You slammed your laptop shut with a yelp. “Keira.”

She grinned. “Relax. I’m just saying, if you’re going over to his place today, maybe wear a scarf. Or concealer. Or both.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s fine.”

“He gave you that hickey?”

You didn’t answer. Keira smirked. “His lips do look soft.”

You laughed nervously. “They are.”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “Use protection, Hemingway.” ~~

Later that evening, you flung your arms around Mingyu’s neck as he lifted you off the ground with a grunt.

“Koala mode activated,” he teased, carrying you inside.

“Mingyu what time do you need me at the gallery tomorrow? You said you needed help moving some stuff right around right for your showcase?” 

Mingyu pondered for a second, “maybe around 4?” 

“Cool, anyway, you lovebirds, keep it PG,” Seungcheol muttered as he passed by, smirking over his bowl of pasta.

You giggled and buried your face in Mingyu’s shoulder. The scent of him, faintly earthy and warm, made your stomach flip. Mingyu carried you straight to his room, and neither of you seemed particularly interested in leaving it.

The door to Mingyu’s room barely clicked shut before you were on each other.

His hands cupped your jaw as he pulled you into a kiss—hot, urgent, toe-curling. You barely had time to catch your breath before his mouth was on yours again, one hand already sliding beneath the hem of your dress.

“You’re sure?” he asked against your lips, his voice already thick with want.

You nodded, tugging his shirt up in answer. “Off. Now.”

He chuckled softly, but obeyed, yanking the shirt over his head and tossing it aside. His chest was warm against your palms, all firm lines and soft skin, and you couldn’t stop your hands from roaming.

“God, you’re unreal,” you muttered.

“Right back at you,” he said, already working on the zipper of your dress.

Clothes came off in between kisses and breathless laughter, piece by piece—your dress hitting the floor, his jeans half-kicked off before he stepped out of them entirely. By the time you tumbled onto his bed, you were down to just your bra and panties, and he was in nothing but his boxers, hovering over you with flushed cheeks and heavy-lidded eyes.

And still kissing you like he couldn’t get enough.

“You never told me you had a showcase,” you murmured later as you lay on his chest, slightly breathless from the makeout session your fingers absentmindedly tracing the curve of his biceps.

He shrugged. “Didn’t know if you’d want to come.”

You looked up at him. “I’d love to. You know I’d love to.”

His ears pinked at your earnestness. “It’s not much. Just a small gallery set-up. Some portraits, mostly candid stuff. I’ve been working on this series of people mid-laugh.”

“That’s adorable,” you whispered and meant it.

Mingyu ran his hand down your back, fingertips grazing the base of your spine. “You have a very nice butt,” he said, dropping a kiss on your shoulder.

You turned, smirking. “Do you plan to fuck it?”

His face went crimson. “Hey! That’s unfair.”

“Why? I’m merely asking questions.”

“You’re mean.”

You rolled onto your back, stretching. “Do you remember that night in the shower? After the party, when you touched me there…it felt so fucking good.”

Mingyu groaned and immediately rolled away from you. “Nope. No. We’re not doing this.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He stood, pulling on his sweatpants like it was armour. “I already broke the rule once. We said no sex until we’re ready, and I want to do this right.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You realise all I’m wearing is my bra and panties?”

He winced. “You’re killing me.”

You sat up. “So what? You just want me to deal with it? Touch myself and journal about it later?”

The words spilled out before you could stop them, and Mingyu’s head jerked toward you.

Oh no. You hated the way it sounded. You could feel it—the guilt slowly bubbling under your ribs like carbonated dread.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” he interrupted. “I’m sorry for snapping. I just… I really like you, okay?”

You softened. “Let’s make a new rule: no more dates at anyone’s house until we’re ready to break all the rules.”

He smiled and tugged you back to bed. “Deal.”

You curled into his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. And yet, your mind was elsewhere. On your laptop, your notes, the dates you were documenting. You wondered if he would’ve ever agreed to be part of your “research” if he had known.

You were halfway to falling for him. And he didn’t even know he was being measured.

~~

“Have you told him yet?” Joshua asked you the next morning, watching you poke at your cereal like it had personally wronged you.

You didn’t look up. “No.”

“How many dates has it been?”

You mumbled, “Ten.”

“Y/N.”

“I know. I know, okay?” You sighed, “I’m telling him. Just… not tonight. He is preparing for his showcase. I don’t want to mess with his head.”

Joshua narrowed his eyes but let it go—for now. ~~

The gallery was empty, but you could see Mingyu inside preparing for his showcase at the end of the week. Minimalist lighting, deep charcoal walls, the soft hum of polite conversation. You stood in front of one of Mingyu’s photographs, a candid of an older couple laughing over a chessboard. It made your chest ache.

“You came,” Mingyu whispered, suddenly appearing beside you.

“I’m almost done here, just ensuring the lights and all are set for the showcase, at the end of the week.”

You turned to smile at him, but his tie was crooked and his hair was slightly damp—like he’d been nervously running his fingers through it all evening.

“You look like someone’s proud boyfriend,” you teased.

He blinked. “Am I?”

Your breath caught. You didn’t answer.

You were walking home, your heels in your hand, when Mingyu tugged you under a streetlamp.

“I didn’t want to ask you like this,” he said, his voice unsteady, “but I’ve known for a while now… I like you, and we’ve been through so much, but I like you. A lot. You make me nervous in the best way. You make me want to be better. So—” he swallowed, “—will you be my girlfriend?”

You stared at him. You should’ve said it right then. About the article. The dates. The reason you were writing everything down.

But you didn’t.

You just said yes. And kissed him so he couldn’t hear your guilt screaming in your throat.

“You said yes,” Mingyu whispered into your hair, almost in disbelief. You could feel the grin on his face as his hands slid around your waist and pulled you into a deeper hug. His voice was low, warm, and giddy. “I have a girlfriend.”

You laughed softly into his chest, but guilt bloomed like ink in water.

“I was going to ask you another day, actually on the day of my showcase, well after it,” he said, pulling back just enough to look at you. “I had this whole plan. Photos of you projected behind me, a cheesy slideshow. But tonight felt… right.”

Your stomach twisted. Photos of you?

“You’re serious?” You asked, half smiling. Mingyu nodded, almost shyly. “I’ve been taking candids whenever you weren’t looking,” he admitted. “I know, creepy boyfriend behaviour. But they’re… they’re beautiful. You’re beautiful. I wanted to capture how you make me feel when I look at you.”

You didn’t know what to say. A part of you wanted to cry — from the sweetness, and the shame.

“That’s really… thoughtful,” you said, trying not to choke on the words. Your smile faltered. “I can’t wait to see it.”

But you could barely look him in the eye.

That night, after Mingyu walked you home and kissed you with all the sweetness in the world, you sat on your bed with your journal open on your lap. You hadn’t written anything since the first few dates. The number six still stared back at you, innocent and clinical. You hadn’t added the last four dates. You didn’t know how to write about the way he made you laugh when you were angry. Or how he told you he dreamed of printing photos in black and white because that’s how he saw the world when you weren’t in it. Or how his lips felt against your forehead after he sang on stage like he was made of stardust.

You crossed out the six and wrote nine.

Then stared at it for a long time.

You closed the notebook and shoved it into your work bag. 

You’d tell him. You had to. But not tonight. Not when he was smiling so brightly. Not when he called you his girlfriend like he’d been waiting his whole life to say it.

You curled into bed, burying your face into your pillow, guilt prickling at the edges of your happiness.

Soon, you told yourself. You’d tell him soon.

~~

The next few days blurred into a montage of camera flashes, coffee dates, and late-night phone calls where Mingyu would talk about lighting setups and lens choices like he was describing magic.

“I’m thinking of opening with black and whites,” he said over the phone one night, his voice sleepy. “The ones I took of you. You know, that photo from the coffee shop? You were laughing at something dumb I said.”

You clutched the phone tighter. “You took a photo of that?”

“I take photos of everything,” he said. “But that one… that one’s my favourite.”

You didn’t know whether to melt or cry. “I can’t believe I’m going to be in a gallery,” you said, your voice lighter than you felt.

“You’re not just in the gallery,” he chuckled. “You’re the inspiration.”

You could hear the grin in his voice. And you wished you could deserve it.

By Thursday, Mingyu was knee-deep in final edits. You stopped by his place with snacks and coffee, trying not to let your nerves get the better of you.

Seungcheol glanced up from the couch. “Hey, muse,” he teased. “He hasn’t stopped pacing for two hours.”

You smiled awkwardly. “I brought croissants.”

Mingyu looked up from his laptop like he hadn’t noticed you come in. “You’re here,” he breathed, and suddenly all the tension in his body melted. “Come see.”

He beckoned you over, pulling you gently into his chair as he stood behind you. Dozens of thumbnails filled the screen — shots of city streets, shadows cast on faces, hands mid-gesture — and scattered among them were photos of you.

One of you reading in the park. One with your hair messy and your lips parted in laughter. One where you were looking directly at the camera, unaware he’d even lifted it.

“Gyu,” you said softly. “These are…”

He rested his chin on your shoulder. “You always say you don’t know how you look when you’re not trying,” he murmured. “I do.”

You didn’t trust your voice. You turned toward him, and he kissed your cheek gently.

And all you could think about was the notebook in your work bag and the words “latest article” scribbled across the first page.

Later that night, curled up together on his couch as he scrolled through playlists for the showcase. 

“You okay? You’ve been quiet.”

He hesitated. The words perched on his lips like a bird on a wire.

“I’m just nervous,” he said instead. “Big night coming up.”

You squeezed his hand. “You’ll be amazing.”

You almost laughed at the irony. Instead, you smiled and leaned into him, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way your heart had started to race.

~~

You stood outside the gallery, trying to convince yourself your knees weren’t trembling. The venue was elegant — all high ceilings, exposed brick, and warm ambient lighting. Mingyu’s name was printed in glossy serif font across the entrance: Kim Mingyu: Through My Lens.

You took a breath. Then another.

“Are you going to walk in?” Joshua whispered behind you, “or just stare at the door until the exhibit’s over?”

You shot him a glare but let him loop his arm through yours.

“I can’t tell if I’m nervous for him,” you muttered, “or just a horrible person.”

“You’re not a horrible person,” Joshua replied easily. “Just… an occasionally dumb one.”

“Thanks,” you grumbled.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” he added as you stepped through the door.

The second you entered, it was as if the air changed. Soft music played overhead, the scent of white wine and something citrusy floating in the space. People lingered over photographs mounted on pristine white walls, murmuring appreciatively. You spotted Seokmin and Keira by the drinks table, and Wonwoo near the back corner with Mia.

And then your eyes landed on him.

Mingyu was in black slacks, a crisp button-down, sleeves rolled up, the camera still slung around his neck even though tonight wasn’t about taking photos — it was about showing them.

When he saw you, his smile was so instant and so sincere it nearly shattered you.

“Y/N,” he said, slipping his hand into yours as you approached. “You came.”

“You asked me to,” you said softly, “I wouldn’t miss this.”

His hand lingered at your waist as he leaned down. “You look breathtaking,” he whispered.

You smiled, kissed him quickly before you lost your nerve. “So do you, artist boy.”

Mingyu turned you toward the display. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

You followed him through the crowd, weaving past strangers and small talk until you reached the far wall — a quiet corner lit by a single spotlight.

There were three frames there.

The first was a cityscape at sunrise. The second was a candid of Seungcheol asleep on the couch with a book covering his face. And the third was you.

The photo was simple: you, sitting at a window, eyes closed, sunlight brushing against your cheeks like a secret. It looked like peace. Like love.

Your breath caught.

“I call it Falling,” Mingyu said softly.

You swallowed. “That’s…”

He smiled down at you. “I took it three weeks after we met, when we were hanging out in the park, that’s when I realized I was in trouble.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came.

“I’m serious,” he added, his voice barely audible over the soft clinks of wine glasses and distant chatter. “I knew you were going to wreck me, and I didn’t care.”

You could feel your heart cave in on itself.

“Gyu,” you whispered, and he turned to you, expectant.

But you couldn’t do it.

You couldn’t ruin this night.

So instead you leaned up and kissed him, slow and soft. “It’s beautiful,” you whispered. “You’re beautiful.”

He wrapped his arms around you and pressed a kiss to your temple. “Let’s celebrate later. After this, it’s just you and me.”

You nodded, your smile shaky. “I’d like that.”

But the words stayed trapped in your throat like a secret begging to be released.

~~

The showcase wrapped up to rounds of applause, handshakes, and endless praise. You watched from the sidelines as Mingyu basked in the limelight — cheeks flushed with pride, hair slightly tousled, still laughing from something Seungcheol said. He looked like he belonged in a painting, and for a moment, you felt like the luckiest person in the room.

But also, the most deceitful.

He found you again before you could spiral too far. “Come on,” he whispered, curling his fingers around yours. “My place. Just us.”

You nodded, letting him lead you out of the crowd, out of the venue, out of the guilt temporarily.

Mingyu's apartment smelled like him. Warm, slightly musky, with a hint of cologne and something sweet — the remnants of a scented candle from weeks ago. You curled up on his sofa while he kicked off his shoes and brought over two glasses of wine.

“To you,” he said, raising his glass.

You blinked. “Me?”

“For showing up. For holding my hand through all this. For being the reason I made half those pieces.”

You stared at him, heart in your throat. “Mingyu…”

He leaned closer. “Can I say something stupid?”

You nodded.

“I think you’re it for me.”

Your heart stopped. You couldn’t breathe. The wine turned to acid in your stomach.

“I mean, we haven’t even been together properly that long, but every time I see you, it feels like everything falls into place.” He laughed softly, bashfully. “Sorry. That was probably too much.”

“No,” you choked, voice barely holding steady. “It’s not. I just…”

You paused, fingers tightening around your wine glass.

Say it. Tell him. Just say it.

“I’m really lucky,” you said instead, forcing the words out like poison disguised as honey. “Lucky to have you.”

Mingyu smiled at you like you’d handed him the world. He reached for you and pulled you into his lap. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “You know that?”

You nodded against his chest, burying your face in his shirt. You couldn’t look at him. You didn’t deserve to.

His fingers stroked lazily up your spine. “I’m happy,” he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

You swallowed the truth. You kissed him instead.

The guilt didn’t disappear. It just burrowed deeper.

And as his lips brushed against your collarbone, his arms wrapping tighter around you like you were everything he’d ever wanted—you promised yourself, next time. Next time, you'd tell him.

You had to.

~~

“Y/N, do you have a hair tie? I’m trying to see how I’ll look with a ponytail,” Mingyu called out to you one evening later from the living room, his voice light.

You smiled, “yeah, in my bag!” You called back, tugging your blanket tighter around you. You didn’t think twice—Mingyu had gone through your bag a dozen times before, always fishing for snacks or stealing your lip balm. You only grew concerned when the silence stretched a little too long.

“Gyu?” You asked, walking out of the bedroom.

And then your heart stopped.

Mingyu stood completely still in the middle of your living room, your journal clutched in his hands like it had scalded him. His brows were furrowed, lips parted in disbelief, and you could tell he had been flipping through it for a while. You followed his gaze to the open page. Your handwriting. His name.

Your stomach dropped.

“What the fuck is this?” Mingyu’s voice was quiet. Too quiet.

You blinked. “Mingyu—”

“Are you seriously rating me?” He said, louder now, shaking the journal for emphasis. “Is this what this was to you? A fucking science experiment?”

You took a step toward him, arms up as if approaching a wild animal. “Gyu, I can explain—”

“No. Don’t. Because right now my brain is running in circles trying to understand how the hell I could be so fucking stupid.” He threw the journal on the couch like it physically burned him. “I thought I was in something real with you, Y/N. I thought this meant something.”

“It does,” you whispered.

“Does it?” He snapped. “Because you sure as hell didn’t act like it. You wrote down bullet points like I was some test subject. You kept track of our dates like I was a fucking checklist.”

You flinched, guilt crushing your chest. “I was going to tell you.”

“When?” His laugh was sharp, humourless. “After you published it? After you hit ten dates and figured out whether I made the cut or not?”

“No! God, no. I just… I didn’t expect to actually fall for you.”

Mingyu’s jaw tightened. “That doesn’t make this better.”

“I didn’t think it’d go this far,” you continued, helpless now. “It started as an idea, a pitch for a column. But then we kept going out, and it stopped feeling like research. I started liking you. A lot. I still do.”

He stared at you, breathing hard. And then he said, so quietly it was almost a whisper, “So the night you said yes to being my girlfriend… you still wrote about me?”

Your silence was answer enough.

Mingyu let out a strangled laugh, blinking rapidly. “Cool. So the moment I thought I’d finally found someone who actually gave a shit about me, I was just another subject in your notebook.”

“No, Mingyu, please don’t say that—”

“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it?” He shouted. “You let me fall for you while you kept notes behind my back. You smiled at me, kissed me, touched me—and you were always thinking about your next paragraph.”

You took a shaky breath, reaching for him, but he recoiled like you’d burned him. “Don’t,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “Don’t touch me.”

You felt your throat tighten. “Gyu, please. I know I should have told you, I just—I was scared. Scared it would ruin what we had.”

“Well, it’s ruined now,” he said coldly. “So congratulations.”

“Mingyu—”

He brushed past you, but paused at the door. “You know what hurts the most? I told you things I’ve never said out loud. I let you in.” His voice cracked then, just a little. “And all the while, you were writing me down like I was disposable.”

And then he left.

You sank onto the floor, the weight of everything collapsing on top of you. The journal sat on the couch, open and damning. You couldn’t even look at it.

You had wanted to fall for him.

Now you weren’t sure you’d ever stop. ~~

You woke up the following morning to silence. No hum of Mingyu’s heater, no soft snores beside you, no faint scent of his cologne in the air. Just your own bedroom, dim and cold.

Your eyes blinked open slowly, heavy, as if even they didn’t want to face the light. The moment you tried to sit up, a dull ache pulsed behind your eyes, the aftermath of hours spent crying into your pillow.

You reached for your phone automatically, more out of habit than hope. No new messages. You hadn’t expected one… but some small part of you still wanted it. Still wanted him.

You groaned softly, dragging your blanket over your head like it might shield you from your own thoughts. But it couldn’t. Not from the way he’d looked at you. Like he didn’t recognize you. Like something in him had cracked—and you had no idea if it would ever be whole again.

You got up eventually, padding into the bathroom. Your reflection startled you: eyes puffy and red, lips chapped, skin blotchy from salt and regret. You splashed your face with cold water, trying to erase the damage, but the guilt clung stubbornly beneath your skin.

The kitchen was too quiet, too neat. You set a pot of water to boil, more for the comfort of routine than any real desire to eat.

As you leaned against the counter, your phone buzzed again.

Still no messages from Mingyu.

Just a calendar reminder. Dinner with Gyu — 7PM ❤️

You deleted it. And still, your chest ached like you'd just done something irreversible.

You whispered into the silence, “I’m sorry.”

But no one was there to hear it. It was just you sat in the living room, feeling awful. 

The front door creaked open sometime late afternoon, followed by the shuffle of sneakers and the low hum of conversation.

“Should we pick up more oat milk next time?” Joshua’s voice drifted down the hall.

“I’m not the one finishing it in two days,” Wonwoo replied, a teasing lilt in his voice.

You didn’t move from where you sat, curled into the far corner of the couch with your knees pulled to your chest, your oversized hoodie practically swallowing you whole. The television was on, playing a random episode of a show you weren’t watching. A forgotten cup of tea sat cold on the coffee table.

Joshua was the first to see you. “Y/N?” His voice softened instantly. “Hey... what’s wrong?”

Wonwoo paused behind him, his eyes immediately taking in the puffiness around your eyes, the slumped shoulders, the blank stare.

“Y/N?” Joshua’s voice shifted instantly. You hadn’t even realized your face had crumpled until you saw the way both their heads snapped up. “What happened?” He asked again, this time standing up, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the way your shoulders shook.

“He knows, he found out.” 

Joshua was beside you in a second, arms wrapping around you as you sank into him. You didn’t even bother holding it together anymore. You let yourself sob, the ugly kind, the kind that made your throat burn and your chest ache. Joshua whispered something softly—comforting, aimless sounds—and rubbed your back.

Wonwoo stood silently, his jaw tight as he looked down at the journal, then back up at you.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” you finally whispered after a while. “I really didn’t.”

Joshua pulled back just enough to see your face. “What happened?”

You wiped your face with the sleeve of your hoodie. “He found it. The journal. The whole damn thing. I think he was looking for a hair tie or something, and it just… fell out.”

Wonwoo closed his eyes and let out a long breath.

“He thought it’d be cute or romantic or something,” you said, your voice hollow. “You know, me scribbling little lovestruck notes. But instead, he found ratings. Fucking ratings. Breakdown charts. He read them all. And then he looked at me like I was the worst person he’d ever met.”

“What did you say?” Joshua asked gently.

“That it was for an article. That I had this stupid idea—this dumb, terrible idea—and that I didn’t mean for it to go that far.” You looked down at your hands. “But it did. I fell for him, and I never told him the truth, and now he thinks everything I said was a lie.”

Neither of them said anything.

“He stormed out. Thinks I’m a liar. Asked if I had to force myself on dates with him just to see how long it would take to fall for someone like him. Like he wasn’t enough on his own.”

Joshua sighed and sat back down, rubbing his temple.

“I begged him to listen. Told him I didn’t mean to hurt him. That I’d planned to tell him. But he just—he didn’t believe a word of it.”

“And now?” Wonwoo finally asked, voice flat.

“I don’t know,” you said quietly. “I don’t think there is a now.”

~~

You hadn’t planned on coming by. Honestly, you weren’t even sure what you were doing until your knuckles rapped twice against the door to Mingyu’s apartment. There was a half-second where you considered turning around, pretending like you’d never shown up. But the door swung open before you could.

“Y/N?” Seokmin blinked at you in surprise. “Hey, wow. Uh—Mingyu didn’t say you were coming by?”

You offered him a small, nervous smile. “I just... wanted to talk to him. Is he in?”

Seokmin hesitated. “Yeah, he's around... sure, come in.” He stepped aside, gesturing for you to walk through. You did, clutching your bag a little tighter to your side. You didn’t know what you were hoping for. A moment. A conversation. A sliver of the version of Mingyu who used to laugh when you messed up the coffee order.

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

Then, Mingyu stepped out of the hallway, stopping dead when he saw you.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice wasn’t raised yet, but it landed like a slap. 

Cold.

Sharp.

You flinched. “I just wanted to talk.”

“Oh, you want to talk now?” He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “That’s rich, coming from someone who spent weeks documenting me like a lab rat.”

“Mingyu, please—”

“No. Don’t ‘please’ me.” He was walking toward you now, slow and deliberate. “Do you think I’m stupid? That I wouldn’t find out eventually? You thought you could just scribble notes behind my back, rate my kisses out of ten, and I’d what—fall even harder for you?”

You opened your mouth, but Mingyu was already shaking his head.

“Seokmin, why the hell did you let her in?” Mingyu snapped.

Seokmin looked between the two of you, piecing together what he had clearly walked into the middle of. “I didn’t know... I didn’t know she—”

“Yeah, well, now you do.” Mingyu’s gaze flicked back to you, burning. “Did you come back to take more notes? See what heartbreak looks like up close?”

“Gyu, I just needed to explain,” you said, voice cracking. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Then why did you?” He asked bitterly. “You chose to keep lying. You chose to keep writing.”

“I was going to stop,” you said quietly.

“But you didn’t,” he bit back. “You kept going. Even after I told you how I felt. Even after I asked you to be mine. You rated the date that same night, didn’t you? What was it—an eight? A nine? Was it good content at least?”

Your throat closed up.

“I was falling for you,” you whispered. “I still am.”

He laughed—a harsh, humorless sound. “Too late. You already wrote the ending.”

You took a step forward, and he took one back.

“Don’t. Don’t look at me like that. Like you’re the one who’s heartbroken. You wrote this story, Y/N. You chose the arc. And now you get to live with the ending,” Mingyu’s voice cracked, and for a second, just a second, you saw it. The pain. The betrayal buried under all that rage. The way his eyes shone—not with hate, but heartbreak.

With all the noise you noticed that Seungcheol had stepped out of his bedroom to see what the commotion was about. 

You wanted to reach for him.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

You saw how they all looked at you–their expressions cold, unreadable, like they didn’t even recognize you anymore. You bent down slowly, the weight of the moment pressing on your spine, and collected your scattered things. 

“Mingyu…” you whispered, one last attempt.

But it was Seungcheol who answered, you didn’t even know when he left his room to join the commotion he heard outside.  his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Leave. For your own good, leave.”

You nodded. Numb. Ashamed. You turned without another word and closed the door behind you.

The second it clicked shut, the tears came fast and merciless. You barely made it down the hallway before they overwhelmed you, hot and humiliating. By the time you stumbled into your own apartment, your face was blotchy, your breaths short and uneven.

You didn’t laugh. You couldn’t.

“Well?” Joshua asked softly.

“He’s done with me,” you choked, “and please, if you can spare me the I told you so lecture—” But the rest of the sentence never made it out. It dissolved into broken sobs as you crumpled into Joshua’s chest. His arms wrapped tightly around you without hesitation, while Wonwoo just let out a sigh of disappointment. 

They didn’t say much that night. There wasn’t much to say.

You were silent through dinner. Silent through the movie Joshua tried to put on to distract you. Silent even when you crawled into bed hours later, the covers pulled over your head like they could shield you from the reality you’d created.

It had only been a day since it happened, but already the weight of it sat on your chest like a brick.

~~

The next afternoon, as you walked home from work — eyes bleary and head pounding — you spotted Seokmin across the street. He didn’t wave. Just kept walking. You jogged across to meet him.

“Seokmin,” you called, a little breathless. “Please, I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

Seokmin turned, slow and stiff. His face was unreadable at first, then slowly twisted into something sharper. “Just go back to pretending you never knew us, yeah?” he muttered. “You’ve done enough damage.”

You swallowed hard, heart lurching. “Will he ever forgive me?”

Seokmin’s jaw tightened. “Who knows. You don’t deserve it. But if you’re lucky… he’ll forget you.”

You blinked back the sting in your eyes. But Seokmin didn’t wait for your response. He shook his head in disgust, walked up the steps to their apartment, and slammed the door in your face.

You stood there for a long time. Just breathing. Just trying not to fall apart again.

~~

You hadn’t expected anyone at your door that afternoon, so when you opened it and were met with a stranger, you were already bracing to explain you weren’t in the mood for conversation. But then she smiled politely and said. “Hi, oh shit you’re not Mingyu, I must have the wrong apartment. ”

You blinked, as a beautiful woman with soft curls, glossy lips, familiar doe-eyed charm greeted you outside your door. 

“You’re looking for Mingyu?” You asked, your voice flatter than intended.

“Yup!” She said, eyes lighting up. 

You nodded slowly, lips pressed tight. “Yeah. The doors look the same.” 

Before she could respond, the door across the hall swung open. “Hey, baby,” Mingyu’s voice floated out, smooth and warm like nothing had happened. “Sorry, I disturbed your neighbor. All the doors look the same.”

The girl giggled and practically leapt into his arms.

“Missed me?” She asked.

Mingyu smirked at her, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a second. That smile you once thought was just for you felt like a blade this time. “Let me show you how much,” he said, pulling her into his apartment.

“Mingyu, I’m sorry,” you said quietly, not knowing why you did. Reflex, maybe. Hope, maybe.

He rolled his eyes and let out a scoff, the door slamming shut before you could get another word out.

You closed your own door gently, like the sound might shatter you if it echoed too loud.

“Y/N?” You turned to find Wonwoo entering the living room. You hadn’t even heard him come up behind you.

“He has a girl over. He’s moving on. And I...” Your voice cracked before you could finish. The lump in your throat grew too big, too fast.

Wonwoo stepped closer, placing the groceries down and wrapping his arms around you. You leaned in, too exhausted to pretend you weren’t breaking anymore.

“I need to fix this,” you whispered into his sweater.

Wonwoo let out a slow sigh as he pulled back. “Or you could just let it go,” he said gently. “Mia wasn’t impressed by it either.”

You stepped away from him, frustration bubbling up beneath your grief. “Who told you to tell her?”

“I didn’t,” Wonwoo replied, his tone calm but stern. “She asked. And you think she wouldn’t have heard it from the others? I told her what happened, and yeah—she got mad. Not just at you. At me too. She’s upset you hurt someone like him.”

You closed your eyes. “I didn’t mean to. I just—I wanted to fall for him. I wanted to try. And I did.”

“Then let him heal,” Wonwoo said quietly. “Maybe he’ll come back to you.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then maybe it means he’s not supposed to.”

You nodded slowly, the ache in your chest pulsing harder. ~~

You had been chased out of your apartment by Joshua, something about you moping and crying killed aura, and plus he said you needed to get out. So while you where in the grocery store, you didn’t expect to see Mingyu. You certainly didn’t expect him to catch you staring at a magazine with the poster from the movie How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. ​​Because that was you. You were Andie Anderson, and you’d lost him. Not in ten days, but close enough. You reached out for the magazine, maybe just to laugh at the irony.

“That’s rich.” The familiar voice hit you like a slap. You turned to find Mingyu standing a few feet away, arms crossed, a smirk that didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Looking for more inspiration to screw someone over?” His voice was sharp, slicing through the aisle like a whip.

You turned slowly, heart already sinking. “No. I wasn’t.”

He glanced pointedly at the magazine. “Actually, the funny thing is—you didn’t even need ten days.”

You didn’t answer, just grabbed a basket and kept moving. Mingyu stayed behind for a moment, then stepped up beside you. “You tried to see how long it’d take for you to like me. You lost me instead. Ironic, huh?”

You flinched, but didn’t stop. You just grabbed your milk, turned toward the cashier.

By the time you paid, rain had started pouring outside like some kind of melodramatic movie set. Your umbrella was sitting back at your apartment. Of course.

“Fuck,” you muttered, arms full of groceries, glaring at the downpour like you could will it away.

“Need a ride?”

You turned around slowly. Mingyu. Hands in pockets, shoulders tense.

You shook your head. “I’ll wait.”

“It’s going to pour for hours. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

Mingyu grabbed the bags from your arms anyway. “This is not an inconvenience, you dating me for an article and breaking my heart? That was an inconvenience.”

You followed him out in silence, too tired to fight.

The drive was quiet, tense. The rain drummed on the roof like it was keeping time with your heartbeat.

“I’m not writing the article anymore,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

Mingyu didn’t look at you. “Because you didn’t get enough content?”

You looked down at your hands. “Because it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I don’t care if you write it or not,” he muttered. “I don’t care about anything that involves you anymore.”

You nodded, throat burning.

“I didn’t mean to let it go that far,” you whispered.

“Don’t,” Mingyu said, his voice suddenly small. “Just don’t.”

You shrank into your seat.

“She’s pretty,” you said after a moment. “That girl. She seems light. Happy, and pretty.”

Mingyu said nothing, eyes fixed on the road. But he tightened his grip on the wheel.

You glanced down, feeling foolish, and reached out to rest a hand over his. He flinched.

You pulled away instantly.

“I can carry my bags,” you said.

“I know,” Mingyu replied. But he still walked you all the way to your apartment and didn’t say another word.

~~The elevator ride was agonizingly silent, save for the soft hum of movement and the rhythmic buzz of the floor numbers lighting up. You didn’t dare look at Mingyu, not when your reflection in the metallic doors already looked wrecked enough. His jaw was tight, eyes fixed on a spot just above your head like if he made eye contact, he’d combust.

The ding of your floor felt more like a punch to the gut. You stepped out, expecting him to turn around and go, but he didn’t. He followed you.

“Mingyu?” You asked softly, turning to look at him as you unlocked your door. His arms were full of your groceries, but it wasn’t the gesture that threw you. It was the fact that he looked more exhausted than angry now—like he'd screamed himself hoarse in silence, and only ashes were left.

He didn’t answer. Just walked past you once the door opened and placed the bags gently on the kitchen counter. You watched him, unsure what to do. Unsure how much space to give someone who already felt galaxies away.

“Oh uh you-,” you said after a beat, trying to sound firm but it came out smaller than intended.

“Save it, I’m just dropping this off,” Mingyu replied without looking at you. “I’m just dropping this off.”

He lingered by the door, hands in his jacket pockets now, as if grounding himself. “Do you… want anything?” You asked, and it felt like asking a stranger if they needed water before they left your home forever.

He looked up at you then, and for a second, you saw something. Sadness? Regret? Longing? You weren’t sure. It flickered across his face and disappeared before you could name it.

“I wanted to hate you, you know?” He said, voice low. “That night, I really thought I could. But then I remembered everything else. The way you’d smile at me when you thought I wasn’t looking. The way you’d write things down when you were nervous. The way your voice always cracked just a little when you were excited. You didn’t make it easy.”

You swallowed hard, tears already welling again. “So you don’t hate me?”

Mingyu shook his head. “No. I think that’s what makes this worse.”

Your breath hitched. “Then what now?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I still can’t look at you without remembering that I was just another chapter in a story you were writing. Whether or not it became real for you, I’ll never stop wondering if it ever started that way.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Every word felt like another nail into your chest, and you weren’t sure if it was guilt or grief that made your throat ache more.

“I should go,” he said quietly, already stepping backward toward the door. “But for what it’s worth, I hope the story was worth it.”

“Mingyu, wait—” you called out as he turned the doorknob, but he shook his head.

“Don’t,” he said, not unkindly. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Determined to show how much you cared for him, you still continued to speak. “I really hope that she makes you happy; you deserve it. I’m so sorry.”

Mingyu looked at you then—really looked. But there was no softness in his gaze, no flicker of the man who once spooned you in his sleep just to be closer.

He stepped away from your reach, disgust curling on his face like it physically hurt him to see you cry.

“I hope that you never find love, Y/N.”

 He said it low, like a curse.

“Because you don’t deserve it.”

The door clicked shut with all the finality of a goodbye you weren’t ready to accept.

You stood in your kitchen, surrounded by your groceries, heart pounding in your ears and chest aching. You didn’t even realize you’d started crying until the sound of your own sob cracked through the silence.

Then he was gone. The door slammed shut before you could blink, and you stood there, a hand still reaching out for him like some pathetic remnant of a memory. The sob left your throat before you could stop it, and this time you didn’t bother to wipe it away.

You didn’t deserve to.

~~

The next morning, your eyes were puffy, your voice hoarse, and your heart too hollow to carry the weight of your body properly. You dragged yourself into the office anyway, needing the distraction, needing something to hold onto.

Keira spotted you before you could slip past her.

“Y/N, can I speak to you?”

You stopped, wincing. God, you weren’t ready for another confrontation.

“Hey,” you muttered as you stepped into her office.

“Can you shut the door behind you?” She asked gently.

Your stomach dropped. “Please don’t fire me,” you said with a half-laugh, though it came out far more desperate than funny.

Keira softened. “Honey, I’m not going to fire you. I’m calling you in because I’m concerned. You look like you haven’t slept in days. And you scrapped the article?”

You sank into the chair across from her, shoulders folding inward like you were bracing for impact.

“It’s a long story.”

Keira studied you for a moment, then reached for her purse.

“Okay, how’s this? We skip the desks and head to the bar across the street. You tell me everything over a very strong drink. My treat.”

You blinked at her. That small gesture—kindness without demand—was enough to make your throat tighten.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I’d really like that.”

And for the first time in days, you felt a flicker of something that almost resembled relief.

~~

“So,” Keira said, finishing off her drink and eyeing your fourth glass like it personally offended her. “Do you like him?”

You didn’t even hesitate. You nodded, your fingers curled tightly around the rim of your glass as though the condensation might cool down the burn behind your eyes. “Yeah,” you said quietly, “I do.”

Keira leaned her chin into her palm, her eyes narrowing as she watched you. “Then go get him.”

You laughed. It wasn’t a pretty sound. “He told me I don’t deserve love.” You stared down into your drink. “And maybe he’s not wrong. I hurt him.”

“Sweetheart,” Keira said, straightening her spine, “you did a stupid thing. A spectacularly dumb thing. But that boy likes you, and he’s bleeding all over you because he’s hurt, not because he doesn’t care.” She reached out and gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Don’t give up on him just because he’s angry.”

But her words barely reached you. Your mind was elsewhere—caught in the sound of his laughter, in the way he used to absentmindedly brush your hair behind your ear, the warmth in his voice when he called you by your name like it meant something.

You blinked, and suddenly you were crying.

“Hey, no tears tonight,” Keira said quickly, passing you a tissue from her purse. “Drinks first, tears later.”

It was a promise you failed to keep.

Two more drinks in, and you were barely standing. Keira kissed your cheek and called you a cab, but you insisted on taking the bus. Said something about needing to “feel things.” You weren’t sure what that meant now. By the time you reached your apartment building, you were too drunk to even recognize your floor. You stumbled into the elevator and prayed to whatever higher power existed that your key would match the door.

You cursed under your breath as your keys jangled uselessly in the lock. “Why won’t you open?” you muttered, knees buckling as you reached forward again—and missed. Your balance tipped, your body about to crash into the floor when strong arms caught you mid-fall.

Your head lolled against a familiar chest.

“Y/N,” Mingyu said, sighing. “You’re trying to break into my apartment.”

You blinked up at him, all wide eyes and bright smile. “This isn’t mine?”

“No it’s not,” he said, dragging a hand down his face. “Come on. You’re drunk.”

“I’m allowed to be drunk,” you mumbled stubbornly.

“It’s literally seven p.m.”

You beamed. “Then I’m very early.”

Mingyu didn’t laugh. He groaned, lifting you with ease and carrying you into his apartment. “You’re lucky Seokmin and Seungcheol aren’t home,” he muttered. “They’d kill you for this.”

You let your head fall against his shoulder. “They’d have to catch me first.”

He sat you down on his bed and fetched a glass of water. “Drink. Please.”

You did as told, the cold water clearing your throat but not your thoughts. The alcohol had cracked your walls open, and guilt was spilling out in waves. “I shouldn’t be here,” you whispered.

“No kidding,” he replied, but his voice was gentler than his words.

“I don’t deserve you, or your kindness, or your stupid soft hoodies.”

Mingyu knelt in front of you, jaw tightening as he watched your face crumble.

“Your eyes are really sparkly,” you said, reaching out to touch his cheek. He flinched—just slightly—and the movement sliced right through you.

“I should go,” you whispered, making a shaky attempt to stand. You wobbled, and his hands shot out instinctively to steady you.

“Okay, let’s just get you lying down before you face-plant.”

You groaned. “I need to shower. I’ll just sleep naked. It’s fine.”

“You are absolutely not sleeping naked in my apartment,” he muttered, ears turning red.

You grinned, delighted by his discomfort. “You used to love when I was naked.”

“And now I just want you clothed and far away from my fragile self-respect.”

Eventually, he helped you to the bathroom. You showered—sloppily, messily, shampoo probably still in your hair. But you got through it. You managed to step out, towel clutched around you, and found him waiting exactly where he said he’d be—on the edge of your bed.

“See?” You mumbled. “Didn’t die.”

But the joke didn’t land. Not when you looked at him and remembered everything. The notebook. His shattered expression. The sound of his voice when he told you to leave.

“Mingyu?” You whispered, voice suddenly small.

He didn’t look at you. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

There it was. The truth. Raw and exposed and echoing through the air like an apology too late to be heard.

He turned slowly, his expression unreadable. “Seokmin said you’d never earn my forgiveness. But maybe, with enough luck, I’d forget you.”

You swallowed thickly. “Can you?”

“No,” he admitted, voice cracking. “I’ll never forget you. But forgive you?” He shook his head. “That’s something I don’t think I have in me.”

You nodded, and even as he stood and walked to the door, even as he didn’t look back, you whispered a soft. “I get it.”

Mingyu didn’t see the tears that fell the second the door closed behind him. But he heard the sound of your sob breaking the silence, and it tore him apart to keep walking.

~~“Oh, Y/N,” Keira sighed, tapping her mug against yours as the two of you sat in the quiet corner booth of your favorite café on a dreary Monday morning. “You’ve got it bad for him.”

You gave her a wry smile as you swirled your tea. “Yeah, well… that makes two of us, apparently.”

Keira raised an eyebrow, already sensing the storm brewing in your voice. “I have some news that’s probably going to ruin your morning.” You glanced up sharply. “Do not freak out,” she warned, glancing toward the main entrance of your office.

“What?” You asked, heartbeat stuttering. You turned—and froze.

Mingyu.

He walked in like he belonged there, tall and calm in his oversized hoodie, camera bag slung over his shoulder. Your stomach twisted into a knot.

“What the fuck,” you whispered under your breath.

Keira quickly stood and put on her most professional smile. “Mingyu, welcome! This is my main feature writer; I believe you’ve read her work?”

He nodded, eyes on you. “Yeah. Sandy Beaches.” His lips twitched at the name, and you wanted to murder Joshua for convincing you to use a beach pun as your pen name.

Mingyu turned to you, his voice clipped. “So, neighbor. You ready to do the artist spotlight on up-and-coming photographers?”

Keira let out a nervous laugh, clearly sensing the tension. “Okay, I’ll leave you two to it.” She bolted.

You led Mingyu to your office, conscious of every footstep behind you. The second the door closed, you rounded on him.

“What the hell is this?” you hissed.

He leaned casually against the wall. “Before you get mad, I was contacted the day of my showcase about doing a feature. I thought it’d be... ironic, you know? My girlfriend writing about me.”

“You know I can reassign this—”

“I don’t care,” he cut in coldly. “You write well. It’s just a profile. I figured I could survive your presence for an hour.”

You swallowed hard, voice softening. “I’ll need to see your work.”

He gave a humorless chuckle. “You already have. Remember the night you agreed to be my girlfriend? That was me, in my element.”

You said nothing. Guilt chewed away at your insides.

“Anyway,” Mingyu continued, “you know more about me than anyone else on staff. Do a decent job. Unless you’re planning to spin this into a tragic tale of the stupid boy who thought he was worth something.”

“Mingyu,” you sighed. “I didn’t lie.”

“No?” he snapped, pushing off the wall. “Then what do you call it?”

You didn’t answer.

“I came in as a formality for your boss,” he continued. “Not for you. You know enough—write your fluff piece, send it off, and we’ll both pretend it’s the end.”

He didn’t wait for a response as he walked out, slamming the door behind him.

~~

You were exhausted from the day’s emotional whiplash and stayed late at the office to avoid running into anyone. By the time you arrived home, it was well past midnight.

The elevator doors creaked open and you stepped out, only to be met with the sound of moaning echoing down the hallway. You frowned, pausing mid-step.

“Harder,” someone panted.

Your stomach dropped.

Your eyes followed the sound—and there she was. That same girl from who knocked on your door by mistake, the girl Mingyu was moving on with, pressed against the hallway wall, legs wrapped around Mingyu’s waist. His back was to you, hands gripping her thighs. Her head lolled back in bliss.

“Gyu, stop. Someone’s here,” she giggled.

“It’s okay,” he muttered. “She’s nobody.”

You blinked. And then you ran—into your apartment, slamming the door shut before the tears could fall. “Oh hi guys,” you greeted Joshua and Jihoon once you entered your apartment, and Jihoon simply stared at–correction–through you.  

Joshua looked up from his laptop. “You okay?”

You tried to smile. It cracked at the corners. “I guess being forgotten feels worse than being hated.”

Jihoon sat up straighter, jaw tightening. “So that’s why you’re mad? Because you hurt someone and now you have to watch them move on?”

“Jihoon,” Joshua warned quietly.

“No, I’m serious,” Jihoon snapped. “You don’t get to stomp on someone and then cry when they refuse to crawl back to you.”

You clenched your jaw, the shame burning under your skin. “I didn’t ask for a lecture.”

“Well, you’re getting one,” Jihoon stood. “Mingyu is like a little brother to me. I didn’t say anything because Joshua begged me not to. Said you were a good person. But I don’t see it.”

That was enough.

You turned without another word and left your apartment, ignoring Joshua’s calls. The hallway was empty—thank god. You slipped out the building and found the nearest bar.

By your second glass of wine, the edges had dulled just enough to stop shaking.

“Y/N?” A familiar voice called out.

You turned. Soonyoung, another one of Mingyu’s friend.

The only time you’d spoken was at the party months ago.

“Or should I say... heartless?” He said with a crooked grin.

You exhaled. “Hi, Soonyoung.”

He slid into the booth across from you. “Sorry, I just needed to get that out of the way. You don’t look great.”

“I’m not.”

He eyed your wine glass. “You drinking alone?”

“Apparently, that’s all I’m good for.”

Soonyoung watched you, head tilting. “Why did you do it? Why write about love like it’s a science experiment?”

You shrugged. “I guess I was scared. Falling for someone the normal way felt… too easy. Too vulnerable.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah, well. You broke the rules. And now you’re stuck trying to rewrite an ending that was already perfect.”

You blinked down at your glass, throat tight.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” you said quietly.

“Okay, and why didn’t you tell him that? Like say something like hey I think I sort of have some feelings for you, but I want to go on a few dates to solidify them?” You sighed, dragging your finger around the rim of your empty glass. “Hindsight is clearly not my friend.”

Soonyoung nodded slowly. “So why are you here?”

You shrugged. “Well, I saw Mingyu with his fingers deep inside another girl, and he acted like I wasn’t even there. Then Jihoon, I guess, said what he wanted to.”

Soonyoung winced. “Yikes.”

“Why are you here?” You asked, frowning slightly.

“Just wanted to use their restrooms, and I saw you, so I decided to come by and grill you,” he replied, lips quirking. “Look, before I go—what you did was really fucked. But did you like him?”

You nodded wordlessly.

“I still do.”

Soonyoung sighed and leaned forward. “Then tell him. Be creative. Tell him until he acknowledges it. I’m not saying he’ll forgive you, but he’ll feel less like an idiot.”

You stared at the condensation slipping down your glass. “Why are you helping me?”

“I’m not,” he said. “I’m trying to help my buddy find some comfort in knowing that he’s someone worth loving, and not just a catchy headline.” Soonyoung sighed and then spoke again. “Y/N, just don’t wait too long if you really do like him. Before someone else writes the ending for you. Anyways, I think the staff here can tell I’m not a patron, so I’ll see you around, I guess. Take care!”

You watched him go, and when the door shut behind him, you realized just how quiet the bar had gotten. And how late it was. You’d lost track of time—again.

The chill in the air greeted you the moment you stepped outside, and it sank in just how far from home you really were. You turned a corner, tried to retrace your steps, but your stomach dropped when none of the streets looked familiar.

“Fuck,” you muttered.

You fumbled for your phone and called the one person you shouldn’t.

“Hello?” “Mingyu.” Your voice was small, unsure. “Hi, I know you hate me, but I… I’m lost.”

A groan crackled through the speaker. “You—”

“No, never mind. I’m sorry for bothering you,” you blurted, ending the call before he could say anything else.

Your screen dimmed before the app you opened for a taxi could even load. Your phone powered off completely in your hands.

“Fucking wonderful.”

You sat down on a nearby bench, staring into the dark, unsure if you should wait it out until morning or hope that someone—anyone—might pass by.

Just as your thoughts started spiraling and panic bloomed in your chest, a voice cut through the silence.

“Hey.”

You turned with a jolt, nearly jumping to your feet. But there they were—Mingyu’s familiar doe eyes, breath visible in the cold air. “So you hung up, and it was a real struggle to find you and I…” Mingyu trailed off, startled when you suddenly wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight.

“You okay?” He asked softly. His arms didn’t move to return the hug.

You stepped back, cheeks flushing. “How did you find me?”

“I assumed you’d gone drinking,” Mingyu said, his voice low, careful. “Soonyoung-hyung texted me, said he saw you at that bar. I just traced my steps.”

You nodded, brushing the back of your hand across your eyes.

“Come on, let’s go back,” he murmured, guiding you toward his car. The silence between you was heavy, but not hostile.

When you reached the car, he hesitated before opening the passenger door for you.

“Hey, um… nothing happened, right? Like, no one tried to hurt you?” He asked as he slid into the driver’s seat.

You shook your head. “I’m okay.”

Mingyu nodded. “I’m sorry for what you saw earlier.”

You bit your lip. “No… I mean. We aren’t together. And I hurt you. So, it’s only fair.”

“No, it’s not.” His tone turned sharp. “That’s fucking toxic, and I’m sorry. We were just caught up in the moment. I didn’t even realise until I saw your face.”

You looked out the window. “Do you like her?”

He shrugged. “Don’t think I’ve been on enough dates yet.”

You winced. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he repeated. “I just meant… it’s too soon to tell with her.”

You took a breath. “I knew. With you.”

Mingyu froze. His hands tightened around the wheel as he pulled over.

“What?” You turned to him, your heart thudding. “I knew I felt something for you. I knew it when I saw Mia and I got jealous. I got jealous of the rock climbing receptionist and then that girl you’re dating now. No one gets jealous unless they care.”

Mingyu’s jaw ticked. “Why are you telling me this now?”

You sighed. “Because I should’ve said it when it mattered. Because I miss you. And I hate that I ruined it.”

He didn’t say anything, but the crack in his silence was louder than any words.

~~

The ride back to the apartment was silent, heavy with everything left unsaid. When Mingyu pulled into the lot, the car barely came to a full stop before you unbuckled and got out. You didn’t wait for him, didn’t speak—just walked briskly toward the front of the building, your heels clicking against the pavement like punctuation to every aching beat of your heart.

You didn’t expect him to follow. But when you reached the elevator and hit the button, you caught a brief glance over your shoulder—and there he was. Mingyu, leaning slightly against the railing, his hands shoved into his pockets, his face unreadable. For a second, your eyes locked. No words were exchanged, but something passed between you—an unspoken permission, a quiet nudge.

You took it as a sign and stepped into the elevator. When he joined you seconds later, the air between you thickened, pressing against your chest like gravity.

The elevator ride was short, but the silence felt infinite.

Neither of you said a word as you reached the hallway. Mingyu unlocked his door, then paused—just for a breath—before stepping inside. He left it open. You followed.

His apartment looked the same, but everything felt different.

Mingyu didn’t look at you when he spoke. “I need you to know that every single emotion I felt with you was real,” he said softly, his back still to you. “Every time you kissed me, it felt like fireworks. Every time you hugged me, I felt safe. And every time we—” He paused, his voice catching. “It wasn’t just sex. It felt like a journey. You made me feel special every time I was with you.”

You swallowed. “Mingyu, I made a stupid mistake. But I wanted to fall for you… because I knew there was something there. I just—I went about it the wrong way. I was scared. But you? You’re someone worth loving. Not just… someone worth writing about.”

He turned around at that, slowly. His eyes scanned your face like he was searching for the lie.

“Are you just pushing me into forgiving you?” He asked, but there was more pain than malice in his voice.

You shook your head. “No. I just don’t want what I did to affect how you see yourself. What I did was on me, not on you.”

For a flicker of a second, you saw something shift in him—like your words hit somewhere tender. But then he stepped forward, and the moment shattered.

“Oh, really?” Mingyu scoffed. “Me? Affected? I’m the one getting laid. Not you.” His words came out harsher than intended, bitterness rising. “Fuck, has anyone ever even wanted you? Approached you? Your ex cheated on you,  even Wonwoo Hyung avoided you—he warned me, you know? He knew you were a ticking time bomb.”

You flinched. Your stomach twisted.

“And I still fucking fell for you,” Mingyu said, voice rising. “Ten dates. Don’t worry I’m over i, clearly, I don’t care, because not too long ago, my fingers were inside another girl.” He said it like a weapon, wielded cruelly, “She was tight. Fuck. Her body was—”

“Enough,” you said, barely a whisper, but Mingyu stopped. Like he finally heard himself.

You turned away and made a move to leave his apartment. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Mingyu asked, eyes wide.

You didn’t answer, just tried to get out of his apartment. 

“Y/N! Fucking stop.”

You froze as Mingyu walked up behind. “Y/N,” he said again, softer now, “look at me.”

You didn’t move.

“Y/N. Look at me.”

You slowly turned your face toward him. His expression was crumbling.

“I know I crossed a line. What I just said… it was cruel, and I didn’t mean it. As toxic as it is, I just wanted to hurt you, the way you hurt me, but I went too far.”

You held your hand out to stop him. “I fucked up, Mingyu. I know that what I did is unforgivable. I want to thank you for tonight. I don’t deserve your kindness. I’ll have your artist profile written and sent to you for your kind perusal in a week.”

“Y/N—”

You smiled, and Mingyu could see the tears threatening to fall. “Goodnight, Mingyu,” you whispered, leaving his apartment, walking across the hall and entering your own apartment, and closing the door behind you. 

He stood there long after the door closed, your words hanging in the air like smoke.

~~

“Y/N? You’ve got a visitor,” Joshua called out, poking his head into your bedroom the next morning. You were freshly showered, curled up in your robe, sipping on kombucha when you caught sight of a familiar figure hovering behind him.

“Oh.” You blinked. Mingyu.

“Can he stay, or do we not like him today?” Joshua asked, squinting at Mingyu like he was trying to summon a glare.

“He can stay,” you replied, quietly.

Joshua nodded. “Alright. But if I hear her cry, I’m calling Wonwoo Hyung to hurt you.”

“Why not you?” Mingyu asked, brow lifting.

Joshua shrugged. “Your stupid golden retriever face makes it hard to stay mad. I can’t hit a puppy.”

You rolled your eyes. “Shua.”

“I’m going. Holler if you need me.” He winked, disappearing into the hallway.

You gestured toward the bed. “You can sit. I won’t bite.”

“You seem better,” Mingyu said, stepping inside and cautiously sitting down beside you. His eyes scanned your face, your posture—like he was trying to read how much of your recovery was real.

“Getting there,” you lied, sipping your drink. “You gave me closure last night, so I guess now I just… learn and heal.”

That lie tasted bitter. You weren’t over him. You weren’t even close.

“Really?” Mingyu asked, his expression tightening. “You got over me so quickly?”

You shook your head, voice soft. “No. I just… I’m leaving you alone.”

He looked down, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Look I’m so fucking sorry for what I said, I was being spiteful. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything I said about her. Or… you.”

You gave him a small nod. You didn’t know what to say to that.

Silence stretched between you until Mingyu glanced around the room and started to get up. “Okay. I guess I should go?”

But he didn’t leave. Instead, he took a hesitant step toward you and knelt on the edge of your bed. His hand brushed your cheek—light as a whisper—and you froze.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. “Truly.”

Then, just like that, he was gone. His hand pulled away. His body retreated. And he rushed out of your room like a man on fire, leaving you stunned, confused, and just a little less miserable.

~~

The following evening, you were sprawled on the couch in your favorite hoodie, arms crossed stubbornly as House Hunters played in the background at low volume. The sunlight had long since dipped behind the skyline, casting a moody blue over the apartment. You hadn’t moved in hours — not since Mia’s party invite had come through the group chat.

“You’re going,” Wonwoo said, nudging your foot with his knee as he walked past holding a bowl of popcorn.

You didn’t even look up. “Absolutely not.”

He sat down on the edge of the coffee table, facing you. “Come on.”

“I’d rather attend my own funeral,” you muttered.

“Dramatic,” he said, popping a kernel into his mouth. “It’s not her wedding, it’s a party. Mingyu will be there. Your friends will be there.”

“Only you and Shua, no one else wants me there.”

Wonwoo tilted his head. “You can’t avoid everything that makes you uncomfortable.” “Mia does,” Wonwoo tried to lie. 

You rolled your eyes at him “that’s because she’s dating you and she cares about you.” 

“I’m not avoiding,” you snapped. “I’m choosing peace.”

“That’s funny, because you look like a woman actively losing her mind in a hoodie cocoon.”

You finally sat up, scowling. “I’m just not ready to go to a party where everyone knows I screwed up.”

Wonwoo gave you a pointed look. “Everyone screws up. But only some people decide to marinate in guilt like a mopey rotisserie chicken.”

“That’s a terrible metaphor,” you muttered.

“Still worked.”

You rolled your eyes and reached for a throw pillow to hug. “Wonwoo, what if he’s there and just—ignores me? What if Mia says something? What if I cry into someone’s jungle juice?”

“Then you cry. But at least you’re not crying alone on a couch watching reruns of sad real estate couples.” He leaned forward, voice softer. “You’re allowed to show up for yourself. Even if it’s awkward. Especially when it’s awkward.”

You stared at him, torn. “Ugh. Why are you good at pep talks?”

“Because I know you,” he said with a small smile. “And you hate feeling left out more than you hate confrontation.”

“God, I hate when you’re right.”

“And yet you listen every time.”

You took his hand. “I’m blaming you if this ends in disaster.”

Wonwoo smirked. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” ~~

Later that evening you were in full panic mode. 

“Wonwoo, I can’t do this. Everyone there hates me,” you groaned as he paced around your living room.

“Oh also, plans changed, Mia needs help so you need to go yourself,” Wonwoo said sheepishly 

“What the hell, no I’ll be walking into a lions den!” 

He shrugged. “Jihoon and Joshua are already there setting up. Mia’s with me. So yeah, it’s just you. Good luck.” And with that, he ducked out the door before you could protest.

You knew you’d have to face the crowd, you decided to suck it up and get dressed. 

You chose your silk blue dress—short, elegant, and dangerous. The kind that hugged all the right curves. You were slipping on your heels when someone knocked on the door.

“It’s open,” you called out.

“Hey. Oh—wow,” Mingyu muttered, stepping inside. The words slipped out before he could stop them, and you instantly felt your cheeks warm under the weight of his gaze.

You cleared your throat. “Uh hi?”

He smiled faintly. “Mia’s party. Seokmin and Cheol are already there setting up. I figured… maybe we could share a ride?”

You hesitated. “Isn’t your date going with you?”

He shook his head. “Yeah… she’s not really relevant anymore. Turns out I was just the decoy to make her ex jealous. She got him back.”

He let out a short laugh. “Guess I’ve got that ‘easy to fuck over’ vibe.”

You didn’t say anything, but your silence was loud.

Mingyu glanced at you. “Anyway. I called us a cab. You ready?”

You nodded.

~~

The cab ride to the party was quieter than expected. Not awkward, not tense—just quiet. Mingyu sat beside you, elbow on the window, tapping a soft rhythm against the glass. You stared ahead, feeling the buzz of anticipation, dread, and god-knows-what else coiling in your stomach like a tightened spring.

“You look amazing, by the way,” Mingyu said suddenly, breaking the silence.

You glanced at him, caught off guard. “Thank you.”

He smiled at the floor of the car, like he didn’t quite know what to do with your voice.

When you both arrived, the apartment was already buzzing. The bass of the music thumped low through the walls, and there was a faint glow from the string lights Seokmin had insisted on. You could hear laughter, someone singing off-key, and the gentle hum of people who weren’t thinking about you at all.

“Ready?” Mingyu asked, already stepping out and circling to open your door.

You paused. “Not even a little.”

He chuckled. “Same.”

The second you stepped in, all heads turned. Not because of you—no, definitely not just you—but because of you and Mingyu, together. He was in all black, stupidly tall and maddeningly handsome, and you were in a dress that had already gotten three glances and a whisper before you’d made it past the entryway.

You felt the pressure of every gaze crawling up your spine. Your hand brushed Mingyu’s by accident. He didn’t flinch, but he didn’t reach back either.

“Hey!” Seokmin grinned, running over, arms already halfway to a hug before he remembered. “Right, hi.”

“Hi,” you replied awkwardly.

“Come on Mingyu, party’s started,” Seokmin said guiding Mingyu, and reluctantly you to the bar.

Mingyu gave him a nod before grabbing a drink from the bar and handing you one without asking.

“I thought you might need this.”

You took it gratefully, muttering, “God, yes.”

The night unfolded in slow motion.

Joshua and Jihoon were manning the playlist and playing hype-men near the drinks table. Mia was radiant, bouncing around in a sequin dress, glowing like a mirrorball. Wonwoo hovered at her side like a quiet shadow, until he caught your eye and gave you a small nod.

You raised your glass in a silent toast.

Mingyu disappeared midway through the night, and you let him. You weren’t sure if you were meant to follow, but you didn’t want to look like you were chasing him. You ended up nursing your drink on the balcony, alone with the music and the pulse of memories.

“You okay?”

You turned to see Joshua step out beside you, two drinks in hand.

“Not sure,” you admitted.

He handed you one of the glasses and stared ahead into the city lights. “You’re handling this better than I thought.”

“Only mildly crumbling.”

“Progress.”

You both sipped quietly.

Back inside, you caught sight of Mingyu again—laughing at something Seungcheol said, his head thrown back. That laugh used to belong to you. That laugh used to be something you could earn, like a reward. And now it was just… public domain.

You turned away, heart thudding like a warning.

You hadn’t even noticed someone approaching until you heard the voice.

“Hey, pretty thing. You’re that girl, right? The one Mingyu dated?”

You turned to face a stranger, his breath laced with tequila and whatever cologne he’d bathed in.

“Excuse me?” You asked flatly.

He leaned closer. “I’m just saying, he clearly upgraded. You should see the new one.”

Before you could reply, you felt someone step between you and the guy.

“Walk away,” Mingyu said, low and lethal.

The guy held up his hands. “Alright, alright. Touchy.”

He slinked off, and for a moment it was just you and Mingyu. Again.

“Thanks,” you said, barely above a whisper.

Mingyu’s jaw was tight. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

“I’m getting used to it,” you admitted. “Not being liked very much.”

Mingyu looked at you, really looked at you. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think that.”

You didn’t know what possessed you in that moment—maybe the warmth from the drink, or the weight of his words—but you reached for his hand and found he didn’t pull away.

Instead, he gave it the smallest squeeze.

Just once.

Mingyu didn’t let go of your hand.

He hadn’t meant to hold it in the first place, but when you slipped beside him in that quiet moment by the balcony doors, your fingers brushed his—and he didn’t move. And neither did you.

From inside, the party carried on. Someone shouted about food. The lights shifted warmer. The bassline of an old familiar track pulsed through the floor. But here, in this sliver of quiet between the hallway and the chaos, everything stood still.

Your hand was still in his.

And he was still staring straight ahead, jaw tight, like if he looked at you now, he wouldn’t be able to look away.

“I should go and get some food,” you said finally, barely above a whisper.

But he still didn’t let go.

“I miss you.” The words dropped like a weight between you. Unprepared. Raw.

You turned your head sharply, breath catching in your throat.

“Mingyu—”

“I shouldn’t,” he cut in, eyes still fixed ahead. “I shouldn’t say that. But I do. I fucking miss you.”

Silence.

You looked down at your joined hands, his thumb just barely brushing your knuckle. It felt like fire.

“I never stopped missing you,” you murmured.

He exhaled through his nose, eyes flickering down to the floor. “That makes it worse.”

“I know.”

“I see you, Y/N. At the café, in the elevator, even when you don’t look at me. I still feel like I’m watching the version of you I used to have… and I don’t know how to unsee her.”

You blinked fast, swallowing around the lump rising in your throat. “I’m still her. Just... more broken.”

“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” he said, softer this time. “And I don’t know what it says about me that part of me still wants to.”

That hurt.

But you nodded. “I wouldn’t expect you to. I just needed you to know... that none of it was fake. Not a single second.”

Mingyu finally turned his head to look at you. And when he did, the full weight of the ache between you crashed like a wave. The room behind you could’ve gone silent or exploded into flames—you wouldn’t have noticed.

“You made me feel like I was everything,” he whispered, eyes locked on yours. “And then you made me feel like I was nothing.”

You didn’t even realize your hands had tightened together until he pulled away.

“I need air,” he muttered. “There’s food inside.”

And just like that, the warmth of his touch vanished.

You stood still, heart racing, fingers burning in the space where his had just been.

Inside, Mia was mid-toast, giggling through champagne bubbles and surrounded by friends. “To a great group of friends, lets have a great night and make regrettable choices!” She shouted, and the crowd cheered.

You laughed weakly, even as your eyes found him again—across the room now, leaning against the kitchen counter, beer in hand, nodding along to something Wonwoo was saying. He wasn’t looking at you anymore.

But his foot tapped restlessly on the floor.

And you knew he felt it too—the storm, the crack, the pull that hadn’t gone away, no matter how much damage you’d done.

You took a step forward.

Then stopped.

Somewhere between the beat of the music and the hum of the laughter, you realized: this wasn’t the moment. Not yet. He wasn’t ready.

And you… you weren’t sure if your heart could take another hit just yet.

So you turned, smiled at Mia, and raised your glass instead.

But still, in every reflective surface—windows, wine glasses, the shine of the fridge—you kept catching glimpses of him.

And you knew he saw you, too.

~~

You had found a quiet corner near the bar, nestled just far enough from the dance floor to avoid being dragged into conversation, but close enough to still look like you were trying. You sipped your drink slowly, hoping that the low lighting and loud music would blur you into the background.

That hope lasted all of ten minutes.

“Well, well,” a familiar voice drawled behind you. “Look who showed up like she was invited.”

You didn’t even have to turn to know it was Seungcheol. You tensed, your hand tightening around your glass.

“I was invited,” you replied coolly. “Mia said—”

“Mia invited you because Wonwoo wouldn’t stop pushing for it,” Seungcheol cut in, stepping in front of you. “And even then, we all said it was a bad idea.”

You glanced over his shoulder and caught Seokmin standing a few feet away, arms crossed, jaw tight. His expression wasn’t hostile—just cold. Closed off in a way that hurt more than yelling ever could.

“You think just showing up fixes what you did?” Seungcheol asked, voice low enough that no one else around you could hear, but sharp enough to slice. “You think looking pretty and keeping your head down makes it all okay?”

“I didn’t come here to start anything,” you said, eyes flicking down to your drink. “I just wanted to show up for Mia. That’s all.”

“Then show up somewhere else,” Seokmin said finally, stepping forward. “Anywhere but here.”

You blinked, trying to keep your composure, but it was getting harder with every second they kept looking at you like you were a stain on the floor.

“Look, I’m trying to be nice,” Seungcheol added, not quite as kind as his words claimed. “Mostly for Gyu’s sake. But if you’re still here in the next hour, I’m not going to hold back. Got it?”

You gave a small nod, lips pressed together so tightly you could taste the metallic bite of blood from how hard you were biting the inside of your cheek. You didn’t wait for them to say anything else.

You turned on your heel, pushing your way through the crowd, each step heavier than the last.

And then you were outside—air crisp, music muffled behind the walls, and your breath fogging out in short, shallow bursts. You rubbed your hands along your arms, trying to breathe, trying to forget the way Seokmin wouldn’t even look you in the eye.

That’s when you felt it—a hand around your wrist.

You yelped, startled, only to find yourself face-to-face with Mingyu.

“Y/N?” He said, his brows furrowed in concern. “Why did you leave?”

You exhaled shakily. “I wasn’t exactly made to feel welcome,” you muttered, pulling your wrist gently from his hold.

Mingyu blinked. “What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you whispered, suddenly so tired your bones ached. “I shouldn’t have come in the first place.”

Mingyu stepped closer, voice gentler now. “Wait—Y/N, it’s freezing. You didn’t bring a coat?”

You shook your head. “I’ll get a cab.”

Mingyu frowned, glancing around. “There’s a diner around the corner. Let’s get food? I’ll make sure you get home safe after, I promise.”

You hesitated. “Gyu, you don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to,” he said. “But I want to.”

~~

The fluorescent lights of the diner buzzed quietly above you, a stark contrast to the bass-heavy chaos of the club. The booths were faded vinyl, the menus laminated and slightly sticky, and the warmth inside made you realize just how cold your skin had gone. You were still clutching your arms like a shield, and Mingyu noticed.

“Sit here,” he said, gesturing to a booth in the corner. “It’s quieter.”

You slid into the seat without argument. Mingyu sat across from you, tapping his fingers nervously against the salt shaker before picking up a menu he didn’t bother reading.

The hostess from earlier walked over with a soft smile. “What can I get you two? Drinks to start?”

You opened your mouth, but Mingyu beat you to it. “Hot chocolate. Extra whipped cream, if you’ve got it.”

Your eyes flicked to him, startled.

He offered a small shrug. “You always get hot chocolate when you’re sad.”

You blinked, the lump forming in your throat again. “And for you?” the hostess asked, turning toward him. “Coffee. Black.” He paused, glancing at you. “Unless you want to split something.”

“I’m not really hungry,” you mumbled, looking down at the menu without seeing any of it.

“We’ll share the fries,” he told the waitress softly. “Thanks.”

When she walked away, the silence pressed in between you again, dense and tight. You stared at the table, tracing the ring of condensation left by a glass long since cleared.

“You want to tell me what happened in there?” Mingyu asked eventually.

You hesitated, your voice low. “Seungcheol and Seokmin. They cornered me. Said I wasn’t welcome. That they were being nice for your sake, but if I stayed… it’d get ugly.”

Mingyu leaned back in his seat, jaw tense. “They had no right.”

“They were defending you,” you murmured. “You were hurt. I get it.”

“I can fight my own battles.”

You looked up at him slowly. “Can you?”

That made him pause. He looked tired suddenly, like the weight of everything was finally catching up to him. “I didn’t know they said that to you.”

“I wasn’t going to tell you,” you admitted. “Because I already knew. I knew I didn’t belong there. Not anymore.”

The waitress returned with the hot chocolate and coffee. You wrapped your fingers around the mug, letting the heat seep into your hands.

“You know,” Mingyu said, eyes on his cup, “for a long time, I hated myself for still caring.”

Your heart squeezed.

“I’d see you around and I’d want to yell, or kiss you, or run in the opposite direction. Sometimes all three in the same minute.”

You smiled faintly. “That’s... fair.”

“But tonight, when I saw you outside?” His voice dipped. “You looked so lost. And I didn’t think. I just ran.”

You stared down at your mug, unsure what to say. So instead, you took a sip. Whipped cream clung to your lip, and Mingyu leaned forward, gently swiping it away with his thumb. Your eyes locked for a breath too long.

“You shouldn’t be this nice to me,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“So why are you?”

He gave you a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Because I don’t think I’ve ever stopped hoping you’d surprise me.”

You swallowed hard, heart thudding.

“Are you still angry?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said honestly. “But less than I was yesterday.”

Your lips curved upward slightly. “Progress.”

He nodded, then signaled the waitress for the check. “I’ll get this. And I’ll put you in a cab, like I promised.”

You stood together, walking toward the door in silence. But just before you stepped out into the cold again, Mingyu turned toward you.

“Don’t listen to Seungcheol,” he said. “You weren’t unwanted.”

With that, he opened the door, walked you up to your apartment like a gentleman, and bid you goodnight.

You could only hope that tonight was the start of healing for you both.

[oikarma]

sometimes the fall kills you 𝜗𝜚 ln4, mv1

navigation / masterlist

summary: (19k) it begins the winter of ‘28. you know this is how ghost stories start. a season, an apostrophe, two end digits, and the death of something.

part one / part two

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

notes: this ended up so much longer than i expected, so this is part one only ☹️ freaking tumblr would not let me post my 1000+ blocks. max is literally not in this, sorry for the clickbait, but reading this is important to understanding the next part where he comes in.

lando is a manipulative and unstable person in this fic. his and yn’s relationship might seem romantic or alluring, to have someone so attached to you, but it’s not healthy at all. from what i’ve seen lando is a sweet person and speaks out about mental health, this fic does not claim to represent him in any way. his behavior here is a figment of my imagination.

anyway, this is the first fic i wrote in google docs, i bled, sweat, and teared my way through it, please be nice. i’m sorry in advance. hope you enjoy!

18+... fingering, blowjob, half-choking, unprotected sex, suggestions of oral (smut is in a specific section, i've marked it in bold, please scroll past if you're a minor)

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Most days, you feel like the shittest boot-licking piece of trash ever thrown away. It stems from your phone, what all the preaching psychoanalysts tell schoolchildren. Don’t compare yourself. Humans weren’t meant to see their own faces. Fuck that. Mirrors are an age-old invention. Every goddamn thing on this planet is a comparison. You know what they won’t admit: the problem is you, in every lifetime.

So. There’s you, and there’s Lando Norris, Formula 1 world champion, certified ladies’ man since his early twenties and maybe the owner of the most beautiful face you’ve ever seen, right down to his perfect nose. There is no overlap in your venn diagrams, save for the fact that you carved out a piece of him and fit yourself there, like you were born to. You didn’t mean it. But, like you already said, you were born to.

It begins the winter of ‘28. You know this is how ghost stories start. A season, an apostrophe, two end digits, and the death of something. The death of what, exactly?

You’re getting ahead of yourself. 29 is hardly old—it doesn’t show on Norris’s face, not yet. It is too early to say “middle-aged,” contrary to popular belief. It is also too early to become a sugar daddy. Then again, standards don’t apply to him. He’s 29 and rolling in cash. It would not be a stretch to say he’s in his prime.

This is not how you find him in the winter of ‘28. The man slumped over a table at a dingy bar in Bristol is nothing like the Lando Norris the world knows. You don’t even recognize him when he’s a bit more sober, only noting that bleary-eyed and slurring somehow suits him. He’s well into the two-digit rounds when your shift begins. Your co-worker shrugs helplessly, tells you to keep an eye on this one (poor thing, drunk out of his mind), and drops the keys into your dumbfounded hands. Consolation has never been your strong suit. You’re allergic to pity, incapable of giving it or swallowing it quietly. The only move you make to help him is to water down each passing drink, more and more, before the ratio is unmissable. By that point, you’re not sure if he can tell the difference between piss and what he’s ordered. Maybe he can, but he’s not drinking anymore.

Now he’s slumped forward, forehead pressed to the sticky wood. His fingers are loose around a glass he’s forgotten how to lift.

“Hey,” you call, leaning over with the rag in hand. “We’re closing soon.”

Nothing.

You sigh and toss the rag on the counter. When you get closer, the smell hits you. Maybe you weren’t close enough, before, in your attempts to stay out of his single-minded drinking. You catch expensive cologne, drowned under sweat and whiskey. Up close, he’s younger than you thought. Late thirties? You might know that face.

“Hey, man.” You tap his wrist, careful not to provoke any sudden movements. Fuck, you’re tired and you don’t want an angry, stubborn man to start a bar fight now. “Time to go.”

His head lifts slowly. It’s too heavy for his neck. This is the first time you see those ridiculous eyelashes, the sharp jaw softened by stubble, the mouth parted. He’s halfway between a laugh and a cry. You’ll get very familiar with those features, in the months to come.

“Where’d she go?” he slurs, blinking up at you like you have the answer. “Where the fuck did she go?”

You freeze for a second. No, this is bad. A sleepy man is okay, as long as he’s not causing trouble. A crazy, inebriated man is a little more than you can take right now. “Who?”

He lets out this bitter little laugh. “My mum,” he mutters, keeling back over and miraculously not splitting his skull in half. “Dead. Just gone. S’fucked, yeah?”

You exhale. The bar is empty. It’s just you and a guy with a dead mom fraying on your counter.

“Okay.” You walk around, crouch slightly, resting a light hand on his shoulder. “Come on. You can’t stay here.”

He flinches under your touch but doesn’t pull away. Just mumbles, “did you know…did you know she kept every helmet I ever…” His words dissolve into a dry laugh. They then evaporate into silence. You manage to get his arm around your frame, hoisting him up with more effort than you thought you would need. He leans into you, a sandbag with no intention of helping, murmuring nonsense as you steer him toward the door.

“C’mon, champ,” you mutter under your breath, only half-mocking. You’re not cruel.

Outside, the cold air hits his face. It must be enough to jolt his senses a little. He sways, blinking hard at the streetlights like they’ve just been invented.

“Where—” he starts, before bursting into more giggles. “Where am I supposed to go?”

You exhale. This man, half-draped over you, a stranger whose grief is soaking through your clothes, a spilled drink of something you shouldn’t know about. You don’t know yet that his name is Lando Norris. You don’t know yet that—no, you’re getting ahead of yourself again. At this moment, your priority is not having a dead man and a murder investigation in your name.

At this moment, all you know is you need to get him into a cab before he collapses on your doorstep.

“Home,” you say, and hope to God he remembers where that is.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Two nights later, he walks in, a reassurance that, yes, he did remember where home was.

He’s so different that you almost don’t recognize him, if not for the same cologne, honey and saffron that wafts into the air. It oozes confidence and allure, just the way the man that wears it does. He does now, at least, with a crisp white shirt (loose, but precise enough to show that it’s been tailored) and a watch that probably costs more than all your student debt combined.

You watch him from behind the counter, heart sinking into your shoes. Of course. Because God forbid one night of decency go unpunished.

He slides onto a stool (right in front of you, of course) and leans in with this easy, practiced charm that makes you want to punch something. It’s so fake, so unlike everything you know about him. He has no right being able to compose himself. You hate rich douchebags who act like they have no problems; this man’s signature is halfway onto that list.

“Evening,” he says. “Miss me?”

You snort before you can help it. The audacity. It’s a wonder he remembers your face, considering he’d forgotten what lamps looked like. You think he’s pathetic. Pity, as you’ve already said, isn’t in your dictionary. He’s a poser who pretends he’s not sad.

“Wow,” you deadpan, draping the rag over your shoulder. “Back to slum it with the peasants so soon? We’re honored.”

He smiles with all his face, from his mouth to his eyes, from his laugh lines to his immaculately set teeth. There are no canine fangs in this man’s mouth, but his grin still comes off sharp and pleased. He was hoping you’d bite.

“You’re quick. I like that.”

You arch a brow. “What do you want, fancy boy? Another blackout? You know, I usually charge extra for babysitting drunks, but I’ll make an exception for you.”

He smiles again, this time with a laugh. You hate the way you notice the way his fingers through his hair, the effortless grace of it.

“Came to settle my tab.” He reaches into his pocket—wallet? You don’t see clearly—and places a black card on the counter. To him, it’s nothing. “And maybe buy the bartender a drink for her trouble.”

You glance at the card, then back at him. You know how to look helpless, how to mold yourself to what a customer wants. You also know how to look unimpressed, in an attempt to ward off this preening pretty boy. “I think you’re overestimating how much I care about your conscience.”

Not once does his smile falter. “Oh, I’m not here to clear my conscience.” His eyes flick over you. Not in that greasy, leering way you’re used to. It’s as if he’s cataloging you for future use, pulling you apart in his head. “I just don’t like owing people.”

You push the card back toward him. Your fingers tap the bar once. “Then consider us square. You lived, I didn’t get vomit on my shoes. We both win.”

You see his eyes widen, just for a moment—you’ve surprised him—and then the grin snaps back into place, looser now. This is a game he’s decided he wants to play.

He leans back on the stool, thumb brushing his bottom lip. He’s savoring something. You don’t know what. “Alright,” he says to himself. “Square, then.”

You nod once, already turning away.

“See you around, bartender.”

You don’t look back. You won’t look back. You’re walking away, carried by your feet and better judgement. There’s a hook under your skin. You know, with a sinking in your chest, that he’ll be back. You don’t even know his name, but you know that much. Not because he owes you, not because he should.

Now, you’re interesting. And men like him never let interesting go.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You’re halfway through a paper when your laptop freezes. You stare at the spinning cursor. It’s the montage people talk of when they’re about to die. It is, in its own right, a death sentence.

“No, no, no,” you whisper, fingers hammering at the keys. Please, please, let it save you. The library around you is packed. Someone two tables over is crying, not-so-quietly, into their sleeve.

You drag your hands through your hair, tug hard at the roots, blink down the burn in your eyes. Coffee-stained hoodie, cracked phone screen, empty energy drink cans rattling in your bag—who’s going to give in first, your body or your mind?

Understandably, you’re a little too occupied to care about who’s around you. They’re all tired and equally as demotivated, so you think. Your chest gives a sick lurch to inform you otherwise.

Leaning against the archway across the room is the devil, arms folded, one ankle crossed over the other. He wears a dark jacket and a faint smirk.

No, you think wildly, almost laughing. What the fuck? This is not happening.

But it is. Your drunken spoils, in the flesh. He pushes off the wall and strolls toward you. You still don’t know his name.

“Didn’t peg you for the overachieving type,” he says when he reaches your table, voice pitched low enough it curls right under your skin.

“Jesus Christ,” you hiss, slamming your laptop shut. It’s already broken, might as well end its misery now. “Are you following me now?”

He raises both hands. “Relax. I’m giving a talk here.” He tips his head toward the auditorium doors down the hall. “Motivation, hard work, all that crap they pay me for. But you,” he adds, eyes flicking over the mess of your table, “you’re making us all look bad.”

Your chest is tight, your breathing ragged. You’re not sure if it’s rage or shame or exhaustion laced in your bones. Probably all three. “Look,” you snap, shoving papers into your bag, “why don’t you stick daddy’s money up your ass and find your way home. Go harass someone who gives a shit. Maybe someone with money, so they’ll be more sympathetic than me.”

When you lurch to your feet, he’s suddenly right in front of you. You see the lashes again, long and tantalizing, about to pull you to your death. You’re going to suffocate on his cologne.

“Burning out, sweetheart,” he murmurs. There’s no mockery in his voice now. “You should pace yourself.”

You shove past him hard enough your shoulder clips his arm. Asshole. You hope he trips down the stairs and chips his veneers. You know exactly why he’s here—it’s not the first time you’ve seen a man cracked open and raw on that barstool, trying to drown themselves in grief and whiskey. Men like him don’t let anyone keep hold of that kind of power. So yeah, you’re overworked, underpaid, and too close to your deadlines.

He’s going to be pulling on that string for a while. He’s going to enjoy dragging out your inevitable unraveling.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The next day at work, it’s quiet. You’re restocking glasses behind the bar. Your eyes are gritty from no sleep, brain still fried. Right now, you’re trying to figure out how the hell you’re going to make this month’s rent. Bartending is great when people give good tips. Today it’s hell.

Your manager taps your shoulder, frowning. “Hey, someone left this for you.” You turn and take what’s in his hands, an envelope with your first name on it. It’s handwritten, a surprising gesture of humility compared to the numbers on the check inside.

You stare at it for a long, long time. Long enough that your hands start to go numb. It’s made out to you. Enough to clear everything. Rent, loans, student debt…fuck, it’s enough to buy you a new car, too.

There’s no note or explanation. Although you’ve never seen his handwriting before—from Lando Norris, the check says, and this is how you finally get his name—you know somewhere across the city, Lando Norris is grinning like a Cheshire cat.

You find him outside a hotel, and obviously, it’s the most expensive one in town. You did a little research on him when you got his name. He’s from here. So he has a house, probably, and he’s at a hotel anyway because the cash burning his pocket is oh-too-much to bear. He’s stepping out of a sleek black car, sunglasses pushed into his hair, scrolling lazily through his phone. The world doesn’t touch him. He practically tosses his keys at you.

“What the fuck, man?” you burst out, voice sharp enough to turn a few heads.

Lando looks up. “Afternoon to you, too. I thought you were the valet.”

You stop in front of him and jab the envelope toward his chest. “You’re not a mafia boss, you know that, right? You can’t just—you can’t just throw money at people like they’re strays and then disappear.”

His brows lift slightly. “Didn’t realize helping was a crime.”

“Helping?” You bite back a laugh. “I know what you’re doing.” Your fingers tighten on the paper, knuckles white. “You want me to owe you. You want me tied to you. You think if you pull hard enough, I’ll snap, and—and what? You’ll own me?”

You see his eyes darken at the suggestion.

“Sweetheart,” he says. He’s talking to a scared cat, pushing off the car, closing the distance between you in one easy step, “you already owe me. You just haven’t admitted it yet.” 

He grins again, now with all his teeth, and says it so casually it makes your head spin: “I want you to be my sugar baby.”

“You’re insane,” you choke out, heat flooding your face. “You’re insane. They need to put you in a psych ward. You can’t say that to people you barely know—”

Lando tips his head slightly. He’s a cat watching the mouse try to run. “Why not? I always say what I want. You’ll figure that out soon enough.”

“Jesus Christ. You can’t just buy people. You can’t—”

“Can’t what?” he cuts in smoothly, like he always does. He seems advertent to letting you finish your sentences. “Help you? Save you some time? Give you a way out before you collapse in that library corner you’ve been camping in for weeks?”

You glare at him, but your chest is tight and you can’t force the words out.

“You’d be surprised,” he murmurs, smile slipping softer now, almost gentle. “What people are willing to let me buy.”

For one furious, helpless second, you want to slap him. Or start crying. Or do something, something that’ll make him feel out of control. What you do is step back, trying to muster venom, voice cracking on the words: “Go to hell, Norris.”

“Take your time, sweetheart.” He winks and hands the actual valet, who’s snuck up behind you two, a nice wad of money. “You’ll come around.”

The check burns in your fist, even as he vanishes between the golden hotel doors.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You crash through your apartment door at midnight, still tasting the metallic buzz of panic on your tongue. It might also be blood. You have a nasty habit of opening cuts on your lips.

The envelope goes on the counter, torn halfway open, the check peeking out, mocking you, taunting you. You slap a hand over your face and groan into your palm. What the actual hell is happening?

Your phone buzzes.

mara(malade) holy fuck

mara(malade) u alive? shift was hell

You practically sag with relief. Mara, your coworker—ex-roommate (now she’s got a bit more money of her own), bartender, chaos magnet, saint. You fire back a desperate come over please bring wine before you can overthink it. Twenty minutes later, she’s on your couch, a bottle of grocery store rosé cradled like it’s a baby.

“So,” she says, fumbling around for a bottle-opener, “what’s the emergency? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or committed tax fraud.”

You shove the check at her. She squints at it, reads the amount, and lets out a low whistle. “Damn, girl. Who’d you rob?”

“Lando Norris,” you blurt, and immediately regret it.

“You wish.” You don’t laugh, a sign something’s wrong and this is not a joke. She looks up, finger pointing accusingly. “Fuck me. Lando Norris as in Formula 1 driver, millionaire, owns-half-of-Monte-Carlo Lando Norris?”

You throw your hands up. “I don’t know about all the rest, but yes, Lando Norris!”

Mara lets out a snort of disbelief. “Okay, back up. Why is Lando Norris writing you a check that could wipe my student loans and buy me a new liver? Did you save his life or something?”

“I—” You collapse onto the couch, pressing your knuckles to your mouth. “He was drunk at the bar. Like, blackout. I stopped him from, I don’t know, choking on his own tongue? And now he thinks I’m some charity case or—”

Mara raises both brows, an impressed little smirk tugging at her mouth. “Babe, respectfully…why you?”

Your head jerks up. “Excuse me?”

“I love you. Don’t get me wrong,” Mara says, hands raised, “but he’s…him. And you’re.” She gestures vaguely. “You’re, like, you. You’re brilliant and broke and working three jobs and I know you, and no offense, but you have no chill. What do you have on him? Are you blackmailing him? Did you see him cry in the bathroom?”

Your mouth opens, then closes, useless. 

“Oh my God,” Mara cackles. “You did.”

You groan, dragging the sleeves of your sweatshirt over your face. “This is a nightmare.”

“Nightmare? This is the plot of every bad Netflix movie I’ve ever binged.” Mara unleashes the rosé with a nice pop. Hardly one for decorum, she takes a sip right out of the bottle. “So. Are you gonna cash it?”

You think of Lando’s smile—smug, that’s the best way to describe it—and the way he looked at you. To him, you were a puzzle he adored having his hands on. You think of the way your stomach twisted when he leaned in close. He already knew how you’d break.

“I don’t know.”

Mara’s grin fades. “Careful, babe. Guys like that, they don’t just give. They take.”

You know. God, you know. 

You spend the next hour pacing the apartment, a lunatic. Mara refreshes your instagram every other minute. She says it’s bad for you, but in your state, maybe she should be doing it instead. The current report: “Nothing. No messages, no tags, no random follows.”

You check the bar’s security footage on your phone and it’s just his blurry back slipping into a car.

You Google him (why did you Google him, why, it was normal the first time and now it’s dangerously close to stalking) and end up falling into a YouTube spiral. Lando’s podium interviews, Lando’s champagne-soaked parties, Lando’s Monaco apartment tour, and Lando’s something with his trainer that makes your stomach do an ugly little flip. Somewhere between the videos, Mara falls asleep on the couch, too tired to be your better judgement. But his number? His email? A way in? You have nothing. Now you’re the desperate one. You should stop, really.

“God, you coward. You can just drop a check on someone’s life and walk away? What are you, Batman? What am I supposed to do with this, frame it?”

You curl forward, forehead pressed to your knees. You laugh under your breath in that shaky, half-hysterical way that’s closer to a cry. You’re not even sure what’s eating you alive more—the fact that he did this, or the fact that some awful part of you wants him to show up again, wants him to walk back through the bar doors like it was just some normal Tuesday, like this hasn’t cracked open something huge and stupid and terrifying inside you.

He doesn’t, in that infuriating way of his, and you can’t find him.

When you fall asleep on the couch at four in the morning, the check is still there on the table, its stupid smooth paper whispering you’re already in too deep, sweetheart, every time you roll over.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Lando doesn’t plan on showing up again, that’s the thing.

He tells himself it’s done. Box checked, debt cleared, one good deed in a life otherwise soaked in champagne and carbon fiber and a mile-long string of bad decisions. Hey, he’s a marginally less shitty asshole. He’s sitting on the balcony of his hotel suite when it starts gnawing at him. 

You didn’t cash the check.

He knows because his assistant flagged it. That’s the kind of man he is now—detached, insulated, always three degrees removed from the mess he makes. He sends the money, someone else watches. He screws up, someone else cleans it. But you didn’t play the part.

He hasn’t gotten a thank-you (you told him to go to hell, actually) letter. He hasn’t gotten any gratitude, not even for the money (you told him to stick it up his ass). You didn’t even try to contact him. He leans back in the chair, tipping his head toward the sky. He lets out a slow exhale. There’s a bitter curl of something in his chest, and it has nothing to do with grief or guilt. It’s irritation.

He can’t stand that you saw him wrecked, sprawled across that bar, drunk out of his mind, cracked open and human. He can’t stand that you walked away. Now you’re out there, a loose thread in his neatly stitched life, and it’s driving him fucking insane. So yeah, he’s going to give it a few more days and then he’s going to go back. He hasn’t any intentions of apologizing or explaining. This is for him only. Lando Norris has never been the type to walk away without solving the goddamn puzzle.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

His patience pays itself over in gold.

You cashed the check. Of course you did.

He knows the exact day, in fact. His assistant texts him with a one-line update (“it cleared this morning”) while he’s halfway through an espresso and a team meeting he hasn’t listened to in twenty minutes. For a moment, Lando just sits there, thumb running along the rim of his cup, that devilish smile peeking out. You finally cracked.

Now he gives it three days before he shows up. He does it quietly, just him at the edge of the bar.

Your head jerks up when you see him, eyes wide. Lando feels it like a hit of adrenaline, clean down his spine.

“You.”

“Me,” he agrees. “Been a while, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that.” You’re rattled. “I didn’t—I only cashed it because—”

“Relax. No strings, remember?”

Your jaw works, teeth catching on the inside of your cheek. “Why are you here?”

His smile tilts with his head, so lopsided it might seem innocent. “To see you.”

“You don’t even know me, asshole.”

“But I know enough,” Lando says, lowering his voice. He knows your name, he knows your situation—well, he cleared all that—, and he knows you’re nervous. You’re breathing too fast. He leans on the bar, eyes half-lidded. He loves watching you scramble for ground. “You’re working two jobs. You’re barely sleeping. You think you can handle everything by yourself, and you hate that you can’t. “You’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop since the day you cashed that check.”

He hears you gulp. He waits a bit longer, two heartbeats, maybe.

And then, with a wicked little grin, he says, “So. How about dinner?”

“Dinner?”

“Dinner,” Lando says again. You’re sharing a secret. “You eat, don’t you?”

You flounder. When you get riled up, it wakes something inside him. Maybe that’s why he’s been coming back, not just because he needs to do charity, but because you entice him.

“I’m not your little project,” you snap. “You wanted me to take the money, I took the money, will you please just leave me alone instead of trying to…” You don’t want to finish the sentence. You can’t even find your arsenal of vulgarity.

“Seduce you?” Lando supplies lightly. “Mmm. We’ll see, won’t we?”

Before you can throw another insult, before you can spit him out, he’s sliding a card across the counter, tapping it once with his finger. You’ve seen this film before. You know what you should do next: push him aside, push all of this down so you don’t think about it. You’ve done it before, can’t you do it again?

“Tonight. Seven. Wear something dangerous.”

Like the shitbag he is, he just walks away.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He came back and haven’t stopped thinking about it since. In your defense, it’s only been a few hours. Your shift ends and you half-stumble home. You shut the door to your apartment, sag against it, and press your fists to your eyes, hoping you can squeeze Lando Norris out of your skull.

You’re not a project. You’re not his charity case. You’re not going to whore it out for more money. Greed is dangerous. You’re satisfied. Do this one thing and let it go.

Your bank account is whole for the first time in a year. The past-due notices are gone. The constant panic is still there, but now it’s now less mechanical notices and more an unspeakable Brit.

Mara’s on your couch when you finally topple over. She’s digging into a bag of chips.

“You’re a mess,” she announces. “Also, is it true Lando Norris tipped you a down payment on a house?”

“Not a house. Not—” you’re muffled by the pillow that your face sinks into.

“Babe,” she says through a mouthful of salt and vinegar, “do you have any idea how hot, rich, and deeply emotionally unavailable that man is? He must really hate what you saw.”

“I don’t know!” you groan. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know—”

You don’t tell Mara about the card he left. You don’t tell her that it’s still in your jeans pocket. You don’t take it out. If you do, you’re worried it’ll manifest into a contract with the devil, one you are a little too eager to sign.

You shouldn’t have worried so much, in retrospect. Now you’re face-to-face with Lando, your fear of the card is replaced by a constant need to fidget with the napkin. It’s brutally wrinkled. You’ve been twisting it in your fists since the appetizers.

Lando, of course, looks completely at ease. The glass turns slowly in his hand. You’re half-convinced he’s heard your every thought and is simply waiting for you to confess them.

“I can’t believe I came,” you mutter.

“You say that like I put a gun to your head.”

You scowl. No one’s looking at you, but you still feel eyes crawling over your skin. Maybe it’s just him. “You left me a check.”

“Mm. So I did.”

“Enough to clear my loans. Rent. Half my fucking soul.”

He leans in across the table, his halfway unbuttoned shirt dipping down in a way that strains you to keep your eyes up. “You’re welcome.”

You bristle. “You think this is charming? Is this how you get girls? Buy their dignity and then flash them a smile like they should be grateful?”

Lando’s brow arches. It’s not in surprise, because he was waiting for that, too. “Sweetheart—”

“Don’t.”

“Fine.” His mouth twitches. “Darling, if I wanted to get laid, I wouldn’t have picked the most hostile bartender in Bristol. You think you’re the first woman who’s ever told me to fuck off?”

It stings. “So why me?”

“You’re interesting.”

“Right. Like a bug.”

“No. Like a puzzle. One I want to take apart with my teeth.”

What the fuck? For a second, all you can hear is the soft click of silverware, someone laughing across the room. Did he just say he wanted to take me apart with his teeth? You were stupid for coming here. You’re going to beat yourself up about it later.

“I’m not a puzzle,” you snap. “I’m a person. A tired one. Who works too many hours and hasn’t taken a proper day off in months. You don’t get to walk in and play white knight just because you’re bored.”

“Who says I’m bored? Maybe I just liked the way you looked at me that night.”

You go still. “That night,” you say carefully, “you were a wreck. You were just another wreck. I had no idea who you were.”

He smiles, almost genuinely this time. “Exactly.”

You pick at the edge of your plate, push around your roasted carrots. They’ve offended you.

“I don’t want to owe you,” you say finally.

“Like I said before, you already do.”

He doesn’t smile. “You cashed the check. You came to dinner. And you’re still here. With me. Which means a part of you wants to know what happens next.”

You’re going to choke on all of this. “What do you want from me?”

All his smiles are wicked. This one is particularly knowing. “Honesty? Time. Your attention. Eventually, your mouth. But I’m patient.”

Egotistical, much? Demanding, much? You’re compiling a list of unflattering words to describe him in your head. It makes the issue feel a bit more manageable. He stretches out like a man completely at home, and says, “you think I’m dangerous. You’re not running. Either you’re stupid or you’re curious.”

You don’t have an answer. At least, not one you can say out loud. You finish your drink in one long, burning swallow and stare at the man across the table who just might end your entire life and make you beg for it.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Now, the flowers. You come home from work, fingers raw with cold. Your shoes are damp with spilled beer—another asshole; this one couldn’t even tip well—only to trip over a box sitting outside your apartment door. You stare at it for a full minute before crouching down. It’s ridiculous, a bouquet four times the size of your head and more colorful than any plants you’ve seen in your life. You think they might all be roses, but you don’t know your flowers very well.

The card is small, white, blank except for a few words:

For the tired girl.—L

You know that handwriting. You’ve seen it on the envelope that decided your fate. You don’t take them inside. You leave them in the stairwell, daring the universe to care.

The next night, he’s waiting. Not at your door, no, that would be obvious. He’s at the bar, same corner stool.

“Figured you’d show up.” Your voice is flat.

“Did you?”

You slam a glass into the rack a little too hard. “Didn’t figure you were the type to stalk.”

“I’m not.” Lando’s long legs kick under the bar. His designer coat is thrown over the adjacent stool. To him, it’s nothing. Probably sent for free, for exposure. “You left the flowers outside.”

“And?”

“And I don’t like wasting effort.”

At least he’s honest. “So what? You’re here to monitor your investment?”

“I’m here,” Lando murmurs, “because you’re the first person in months who hasn’t wanted something from me. Well, until you cashed the check.”

“Fuck you.”

He says, “careful. You might make me fall in love.”

You whirl on him. “Why me? You could have anyone. Any rich little hanger-on, any girl looking for a payday. Why this?”

“Sweetheart, we’ve already had this conversation. What are you drinking after your shift?”

You shake your head. “Not happening.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is bad news. You are bad news.”

“And yet here we are.”

Lando Norris loves giving things, like they might buy your interest. First the card, then the check, then the card again—fuck, you shouldn’t have used it—and now a piece of folded paper. What now, marriage papers?

No. On it is a string of numbers. His number.

He tugs on his coat. The smile he flashes you a smile so uncaring it makes your knees weak.

“Call me. Or don’t. Either way, I’ll see you soon.”

You don’t touch the note for the rest of the night. When you lock up hours later, it’s gone. You know exactly where it is: folded in the bottom of your bag.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

you you’re fucking insane

Delivered. Read.

Lando and you kept the number

You bite down on a curse, drop your head back against the fridge. Why the fuck did you text him? You’re crazy and deserving of whatever comes next, that’s what you are.

you what do you want

Lando a lot of things

Lando you’re at the top of the list

You huff under your breath, disgust growing under your ribs. You should end this here. You should block him, delete the number, set your phone on fire for good measure. But it won’t do anything, you decide. If he truly means to mess with you, it will do absolutely no good. He’ll show up at your job. He’ll do something about the very generous amount of money he gave you, even if he said “no strings attached.” You owe him, that’s the ugly truth.

you go bother someone else

Lando a few things, sweetheart

Lando you texted me first you’re so much fun when you’re madand besides. no one else keeps me entertained like you.

you i’m not your fidget toy

Lando not yet

You actually breathe when you hear he’s gone. Thank god for that millionare job he’s got, driving in circles. It’ll keep him out of your hair for a good amount of time, according to the information you’ve got online. Racing is a very demanding schedule, and now winter’s drawing to an end, he can’t afford to waste his time on you.

You work the bar in peace. You go home in peace. You wake up, no trace of him in the corner booth or at your barstool or leaning against your car with that maddening smirk. You’ve only seen Lando Norris a few times, yet every time you do, your heartbeat goes up like you’re about to die.

Of course, good things never last. His texts start coming a few days after he’s left your life.

Lando do you miss me yet

You roll your eyes so hard it hurts.

you i didn’t even notice you were gone

Lando liar

You toss the phone facedown on the couch. The next morning, there’s a knock on your door. When you open it, there’s a courier with a fucking bouquet. It’s the second one, somehow larger, more obnoxious. There’s no card this time.

You snap a photo and send it to him.

you seriously?

Lando what kind of asshole would i be if i left you alone completely

The next night, it’s a box, no flowers this time, just expensive chocolate you would never buy yourself. You don’t even like sweets. You text him anyway.

you stop

Lando make me

You grind your teeth. You tell yourself not to engage, but you can’t resist sending a:

you you know, i really wish i could

You don’t mean it with any connotation. You just wish he’d shut up and fall off a cliff or something. Then all your debt would be miraculously cleared. 

By day four, you’re jumpy, checking your phone when you swore you wouldn’t. Waiting for a message that makes you want to scream.

Like clockwork:

Lando you thinking about me? be honest

You flop down on your bed and exhale like you’ve been holding your breath for a week. You’re not supposed to want this. You hate him, you really do, and you know that’s true to a certain degree. When he comes by, your fists clench and you try to look anywhere by him. His name brings irritation, gets under your skin, and then it turns into something else. You heard someone say once that hate and love aren’t very different things. Bullshit. Hate and want, more so. That feeling, that despisement, is intoxicating.

Lando i’ll be back soon, sweetheart

You scream into your hands.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Mara nudges you. You don’t need to look up. He’s back.

This time, you have a response prepared. You smile coquettishly, the way you do when you need good tips. You aren’t privy to swaying your hips a little, maybe angling yourself so the curves of your waist are more enunciated. “Did you cry on the plane or after you landed?”

Oh, he’s glaring. You love that. It makes it easy to maintain your perfect picture of innocence, so eager to be happy. “Oh, sorry. Did you not want anyone mentioning Monaco?”

“Funny.”

You reach for another glass. “Did Oscar at least send you a thank-you basket for letting him win?”

Lando’s jaw flexes, a tiny tic. “You keeping up with the races now, sweetheart? Or just the standings?”

You grin. “Just the losses. Yours, specifically.”

Every inch of him is coiled tight. His shirt is rumpled and the sleeves shoved up. You notice how his throat his exposed, like he dressed in a rush, like he couldn’t stand being away from this city another second. Away from you. You’re flattering yourself. Maybe Monaco really did suck and he was so, so, sad he had to live in a million-dollar penthouse that he came back to this city. 

“You know,” he says, “I could’ve stayed in Monaco. Big party tomorrow. But no. I flew home.” His eyes flick over your face, unapologetic. “Guess why.”

Dry as sandpaper, you say, “miss your favorite bartender?”

“You make a mean whiskey sour.”

“I also make a mean ‘get out of my bar, you gosh-darned cunt.’”

He chuckles under his breath, but the sound isn’t fully natural. Lando’s holding something back “You’re good, you know that? Gosh-darned cunt, really?”

“At what?”

You see his knee bounce. “At getting under my skin. You rile me up like you’re trying to start something.”

“Maybe I am,” you say.

“Careful.”

“Is this the part where you try to scare me?”

“No.” His composure is back. He knows something—at the very least, he thinks he knows something. “This is the part where I wonder how long you’re going to pretend you don’t want me.”

Heat licks up your spine. You hate him. You hate how good he is at this. What would it be like, you wonder for a moment, to be rich and good looking and cocky as a man with a two-inch dick.

“You’re right, Lando. I want you so bad I’m shaking,” you say, voice husky. You let your eyelids lower, as if you’re staring at him in a post-orgasmic haze.

His expression changes.

Then you smile a toothy grin. “For a restraining order.” The snort that bursts out of him might be a little impressed.

“You’re insufferable,” Lando mutters, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“And you’re still here,” you shoot back.

He slouches back on the barstool.

“Fuck, you drive me insane.”

You turn so he can’t see you biting your lip to keep from smiling.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The texts are still a thing, something to keep your wits sharp while Lando’s out of town. Getting to bicker and not having to see his face? The gods made this arrangement just for you. To be fair, you haven’t asked for anything aside from what he gives you of his own free will. He never says the words “sugar baby” anymore, but there’s an unspoken agreement that he pays. You can afford some of it, sure, but investments are better. You still have the rest of your life to spend money.

Your phone lights up on the counter. For one second, you consider ignoring it, you really do.

Then you swipe, anyway.

“Hello,” you say, with that voice you only use with him, like you’re about to fall asleep from how dull he is.

“Thought you’d never pick up.”

It’s great he can’t see your face. Your stomach dips, traitorous, and you are absolutely not bored by him.

“What do you want?” you mutter, pressing the phone between your shoulder and ear as you scrub harder at the countertop.

“Relax,” Lando says. “I’m not asking for your soul.”

“I think I already signed it away,” you quip.

There’s a pause. You can hear the faint sound of city traffic behind him, the rustle of fabric as he moves. You can picture it too clearly: his fingers at his collar, half-distracted, grinning to himself because to him, this is all a game.

“I need a favor,” he allows.

Your laugh is mean.  “Oh, do you.”

“Don’t get excited, sweetheart. It’s not that kind of favor.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart.”

You often send him chuckling, as he does now. “You’re really something.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going anywhere near your little circus. Whatever it is, I’m sure you have a dozen girls on speed dial who’d jump at the chance.”

“Sure,” Lando says smoothly. “But they’re not you.” Too cheesy. You won’t give it to him. Still, that lands somewhere you don’t want to admit. You pace behind the bar.

“Look, I’m not some accessory. I thought we already agreed on this. Fuck it. Dinner, okay. If you want to text me, I guess you can have that, asshole. If you have to show up at work, okay, but anything aside from that…”

“Calm down.” His voice dips, completely unriled which only makes you angrier. “It’s just an event. Monaco. Black tie. Tomorrow night.”

You stop pacing. “Tomorrow? Monaco, like, France? Which son of a bitch crashed into your car and gave you a concussion?”

“Mm,” he says. You can hear him smile. “It’s a shame you’re going to say no. Especially since I already had the dress sent over.”

“You what?”

“Check the door.”

You lunge for it, yank it open, and there’s a hotel courier on the stoop of your bar. The garment bag in their hand, something out of a fever dream. You whip back around, phone still pressed to your ear. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe. But you’re still on the line, sweetheart. I had my assistant email the plane tickets.”

“My god. This doesn’t mean anything,” you manage.

“Of course not. See you tomorrow.”

You wave away the courier weakly (they say no need for tip, it’s been covered) and toss the garment bag onto the barstool like it’s radioactive. Mara looks up from her ramen, mouth full, eyebrows shooting into her hairline. “Is that a dress? Please tell me that’s not a dress. Shit, that bag looks expensive.”

“It’s a dress. Kill me.”

Mara sets her wrinkled noodle cup down. “Okay, back up. Shit. You’re going to have to explain. You had a couture gown delivered to your workplace?”

“I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say no. I, fuck, I don’t even know what I said. He just called. I guess he knew I was still at work and sent it here instead.”

“Oh, he called.” Mara clearly wasn’t listening. It was valid, because you would’ve been very invested in your noodles too. “And you picked up. Shocking.”

“I was caught off guard, okay?”

Mara leans back, arms crossed. She’s settling in for a show. “Mm-hm. Off guard, even though you have his contact. And what exactly did our emotionally unstable sugar daddy.”

“He’s not my—whatever, he wants me to go with him. To this stupid black-tie thing. In Monaco—Mara, I’ve never been outside the country, and he wants me to meet more pissy millionaire with egos just like his? Goddamnit, I’m a blasted idiot. I should’ve hung up.”

“And now you’re here,” Mara finishes, “having a full-on meltdown over a man you keep calling a pissy millionaire, but whose name you’ve Googled so much your phone probably thinks you’re a fan account.”

You shoot her a betrayed look.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says, not sorry at all. “Just, are you sure you’re not into him? I don’t know, if you really hated it, you’d be gone.”

You throw a dirty, soaking towel at her. She catches it easily and puts it down. “Fine, fine. But listen, babe. You don’t have to go. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, even if you think he’s hot.”

“I hate you,” you mutter, but there’s no heat in it.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mara says, reaching over to ruffle your hair. “But you are going to text me photos once you get dressed. If you’re going to dance with the devil, baby, you might as well look smoking doing it.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

At some point, after pacing the suite, after staring too long at the ocean view, after wondering what the hell you were even doing in Monaco, the dress ended up on your skin. Now you’re cursing again, fingers fumbling at the clasp behind your neck. It’s a bit worrying how well the dress fits you. You’d be more worried if you had a spare thought. Currently, you’re occupied with trying to get this fucking clasp doe.

There’s a knock at the door. You wonder who it could be, because the hotel people usually announce themselves. One culprit.

“Lando, if you come in here—”

The door swings open. How the fuck does he have a key?

“Relax,” he drawls, stepping inside like it’s his suite, his eyes sweeping over you in one slow, sinfully amused pass. Well, he did order the room. Maybe he had a spare he didn’t bother letting you know about. “I knocked.”

You scowl. “Get out.”

But your hands are still twisted up at the clasp and he sees it. 

“Need help, sweetheart?”

You spin halfway, trying to yank the zipper yourself, but it only slips lower, baring more skin, making you hiss under your breath. “No. Go away.”

He’s already crossing the room. There it is, that cologne, honey and saffron, so inebriating you almost close your eyes to savor the smell. It makes your pulse spike. You know that body heat amplifies the notes. Lando Norris is warm and right next to you.

“Stay still,” he says. His fingers brush yours, gentle yet firm, easing you out of the way. His knuckles graze your nape and your breath hitches before you can bite it back.

“I hate you,” you mutter, as his fingers work the clasp. You wonder if he’s done this many times before. The answer is probably yes.

“Mm,” Lando hums, mouth too close to your ear. “You keep saying that.”

He lingers, too long, his thumb ghosting over your bare skin. Your chest tightens; your hands flex at your sides.

“You think this is charming? Bursting into my room when I’m trying to change?” you snap, half-turning toward him. “Is this how you—”

He cuts you off, his eyes flicking down. “You’re beautiful when you’re pissed off.”

“Fuck you,” you breathe.

“Not yet.” Lando smirks. His voice is gasoline, about to set your insides—everything, really—on fire. You shove at his chest. He doesn’t move, but the contact jolts both of you. One hand is still on your back, holding you like he’s about to dance.

“You’re such an asshole,” you whisper.

“Guilty.” He lets go then. “I’ll wait downstairs. Ten minutes. Though I think you look ready.”

“And if I don’t come?”

Lando’s already at the door. “Oh, you’ll come.” His voice is absolutely certain.

You tell yourself you’re only going down because you need to tell him to his face you’re not doing this. That’s it. That’s the only reason. When you step into the elevator, your palms sweaty, you already know you’re lying to yourself.

The car is waiting outside (probably his, judging from the custom initials ‘LN’) with, you note, tinted windows. Lando’s hair is raked back. 

“Took you long enough,” he says, opening the door with a theatrical little flourish.

“Fucking wanker,” you say. There’s no malice behind it.

The door closes with a soft, expensive thunk. You press yourself against the far side of the seat. You can still feel the heat of him even across the car, the subtle glance he steals when you cross your legs, the way his hand ‘accidentally’ finds your thigh instead of the gear shift. 

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” You want to wipe that smirk of this face. “Like I can’t decide if I want to ruin you or worship you?”

There’s a thought you have often when it comes to Lando Norris. What the fuck? You, who cusses every other sentence, have more decorum than this man. And he’s saying all this with a straight face. It might be sincere, if you didn’t know him any better. You dig your nails into your palm. “You’re such a fucking nightmare.”

Lando looks away from the road. He’s way too confident to be driving safely. “Maybe. But you’re still in my car, wearing my dress, going to my party. You can tell yourself whatever you need to, sweetheart, but you already chose.”

You stare out the window, jaw tight, watching the glittering coastline smear past in a blur of gold, watch it turn into a cathedral of money and ego. Crystal chandeliers, champagne fountains, women in dresses you’d need a mortgage to afford. Well, now you have a willing bankroller, maybe you don’t.

Lando doesn’t so much escort you as claim you. His hand remains at the small of your back, hot breath brushing your ear as he murmurs names you don’t recognize, introductions you don’t want. You slip away from him the moment he’s distracted by some sponsor, ducking toward the balcony again for air. As it turns out, you’re not alone.

“Big crowd, huh?”

You turn, startled, and find a brunette against the railing, glass of water in hand. His tie’s loose, hair slightly mussed like someone’s been messing with it all night. His smile is easy, genuine, the kind that makes your shoulders drop without meaning to. You let out a breath. Lando gets you all tense.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “It’s a lot.”

Alex chuckles. “First one?”

“Does it show?” 

“Only a little.” He grins. “But you’re doing fine. Better than I did my first one. I tripped over a server. Champagne everywhere.” 

Your laugh is genuine, this time. That makes the first nice person you’ve met all evening.

“I’m Alex, by the way.” He offers his hand and you shake it, thankful for the small, normal gesture in a night that’s felt anything but.

You introduce yourself and he brightens. “Oh, you’re with Lando tonight?” he asks lightly, with only curiosity. “How’d you two meet?”

You freeze for half a second—how do you even explain that? That he crashed into your life like a hurricane, arrogant and infuriating, with a check big enough to clear your debts and a smirk that’s been haunting your sleep ever since?

“Long story,” you hedge, a little helpless. “Sort of accidental.”

Alex chuckles, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Sounds about right.” He nudges your shoulder gently. “He’s not all bad, you know. A menace, sure, but not all bad.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re too nice.”

“Well, someone has to balance him out. You okay, though?”

Hell no, you want to say. Your mouths are already forming the words, before you smell that goddamn cologne. It’s like the electrical smell that precedes a storm, a warning. You turn and there’s Lando. 

His eyes flick to Alex, then to you. “Making friends without me, sweetheart?”

Alex winks. “Just keeping her company, mate.”

Lando’s mouth falls into a frown, before he catches himself. “Right.” His gaze cuts to you. “Come dance,” he says, and it’s not a request.

You glance at Alex, completely helpless. He just squeezes your arm gently. “Go on. He’s useless without you.”

He leads you into the throng of people, fingers pressing into the silk at your hip. “Why’ve you been hiding?”

You twist, glaring up at him. “I wasn’t hiding. You dumped me for the wolves.”

“I was making the rounds.”

“And now what, you want a medal?” you snap. God, your heart is about to give out, as his thumb strokes a slow, deliberate line against your side. He spins you into him, just like that, the room tipping for half a second. His chest brushes yours. You feel the hard line of his arm at your back.

“Tell me,” Lando says, “how many of them have come over tonight? Kimi, Charles, George…they’re all wondering what you’re doing with me.”

“Makes sense,” you mutter, “so am I.”

“You’re not a model. You’re not anyone’s plus-one. You’re not chasing some influencer deal.” He lists them, all while keeping his eyes on you. “And you’re the only one in this room who actually wants me to fuck off all of the time.”

“Where’s this going, Norris?”

The edge of his thumb grazes your jaw. “Don’t lie to me. You think I don’t see you looking? You think I don’t know why you stayed?”

You snap, “I stayed because you booked me a goddamn plane ticket. And you keep showing up. And you don’t let people walk away.”

He leans in until there’s barely any air between you. You can’t breathe without inhaling every bit of him. “Neither do you. Couldn’t leave me without getting the last word, could you?”

“You’re so full of shit.”

“I know. You like to tell me that a lot.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Inside the suite, it’s all hush and gold.  You sigh, dig your thumbs under the straps of your heels, and nearly groan when they drop to the floor. God, why did you tolerate them? Your feet are crying with relief. 

He clears his throat.

Lando.

He has one hand braced above his head, elbow to the doorframe, watching you with a kind of feigned indifference. You can tell it’s fake because his searching eyes are anything but lazy. There’s a flush high on his cheekbones, from champagne or the night air or maybe just arrogance. His curls are mussed in that artful, infuriating way that makes you want to bury your hands in them and tug until he curses, letting out a guttural sound in spite of himself.

Fucking hell. It’s obscene, really, how beautiful he is. How sculpted his mouth is, the flash of gold at his throat, though gold isn’t the right word when you look at his tan skin. You should not be noticing any of this. You should not be noticing how his shoulders fill out that jacket or how his chest looks under the thin black shirt or how his lips parted, just slightly, when you caught his gaze.

“Why are you still here?”

He pouts. “Missed you.”

“You barely even know me.”

He pushes off the door, saunters in. “That’s the thing. Don’t know you, but I do know you’re the only one who doesn’t treat me like a trophy.”

You shake your head. “‘Course not. Trophy’s a little too nice to describe you.”

“You’ve been pulling away.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “No I haven’t.”

“Come on, you can do better than that.”

“You can’t just fly me to Monaco, drop me in a five-star hotel, and expect me to—”

“To what?” His voice drops. “Want me?”

Your throat clicks when you swallow.

“Don’t.” You sit on the edge of the bed. “You don’t get it, do you? You walk into a room and it bends around you, like you’re a fucking messiah. I’m just trying to keep my head on straight.”

And then he’s in front of you, crouching, one hand on your knee. Lando’s always had beautiful eyelashes. You’ve known since you first saw them that they would be the end of you. Now, they frame his eyes, those mesmerizing pools of light. They never stay one color. They might actually be clear, only reflecting what you want to see in them. He looks at you like you’re the moon, the stars, the sun. 

His fingers are warm. Solid. For a moment you wonder what it would be like if you stopped fighting this, if you leaned in, if you let him win.

“I don’t want you to keep your head on straight. Not with me.”

“Maybe I should’ve been nicer to you.”

The adoration lingers in his eyes, but there’s a glint. “Oh, I like you mean.”

God help you, you want to kiss him. You want to shove him back on the bed, crawl into his lap, see if his mouth tastes like champagne or heat or both. You want to know if his hands shake when they touch skin or if he’s always this sure of himself.

All you can do is whisper, “Are you staying?”

His fingers curl a little tighter around your knee.

“Unless you tell me to go.”

You’ve never seen him so compliant to your wants. It does something to you. You’ve been demanding to him, always swearing, always telling him to go fuck himself. Still, he’s patient in a way that makes you ache, beautiful in a way that makes you furious. 

You might owe him a moment. Just one, you swear to yourself. Just this once.

You pull him by the collar. He’s shocked, lips forming a perfect circle before they crash into yours with the urgency of someone who has waited far too long. Honey and saffron. Honey and saffron. You’ve associated it with him so long you’re certain someone wearing the same cologne is enough to make your knees buckle in public. His mouth is soft and prying, bringing out a soundless intake of breath from you. His mouth melds to yours.

Lando’s lips part, his tongue teasing against yours. You pull back, just enough to catch your breath, but he follows, his lips trailing down your jaw, then your neck. It’s like he can’t get enough.

You grip his shoulders, trying to steady yourself. It’s useless. Everything about him is a magnet, pulling you back in. You see him in his euphoric haze, his lowered eyelids. He makes a noise like a whine when you leave, as if he physically cannot bear being separated from you, and you think you might actually drown in want. 

“Lando,” you whisper. God, your senses. Your head feels light, dizzy with the taste of him.

“Mm, sweetheart?” His voice is rough, his thoughts are elsewhere.

Just once, you told yourself. Just once. 

���─ ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You’re still half-wrapped in the robe you swore you’d only wear for five minutes after your shower, hair damp, skin bare and a little too aware of itself. But it’s so comfy, like being wrapped in a cloud, and you really can’t bear to take it off.

The door flies open once more, only seconds after you hear the buzz of an accepted keycard. Lando Norris is hardly a gentleman. He doesn’t even knock! 

What he is, however, is a vision of casual, expensive sin—white tee hugging his shoulders, curls damp like he’s only just come from his own shower—okay, those are places your thoughts absolutely should not be going. He smiles. He knows exactly how pretty he looks standing in your suite.

“What are you doing here?”

“Good morning to you too.”

You glance at the clock. “It’s noon.”

Lando gives a loose, one-shouldered shrug. “You looked like you might sleep all day. Figured I’d save you from the crushing boredom.”

You narrow your eyes. “Wait. Why did you even book the hotel for longer? The event is over.”

For a second, you swear he’s surprised you noticed. “I wanted to show you around. Monaco’s wasted on you if all you’re seeing is room service menus and the inside of a suite.”

You fold your arms tighter, suspicion prickling up your spine. “Are you serious? You could have just texted.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I wanted to see your face when I said it.”

Your pulse jumps. Stupid, traitorous heart. You still need to talk to him about that whole kiss last night. Is now a good time?

He pushes off the doorframe. “You coming or not?”

Once more, the everlasting train of no, I really shouldn’t, what the fuck? You should remind him you’re not some prize to be paraded around, not some girl in his endless rotation of models and influencers. You’ve done that many times now. But it doesn’t matter. The real problem is, he knows you’re not, and it’s why you’re still standing here.

“Fine,” you mutter, grabbing your bag. There’s probably some sunscreen (expired, years old, from the last time you saw the light of the sun) and a water bottle in there. “But if you start acting like you own the place, I’m leaving you on the yacht or whatever ridiculous thing you have planned.”

“I’ll do my best. Deal.”

As you brush past him to the closet, you feel his fingers ghost lightly over your back. It’s nothing overt, just enough to set your skin humming, a sensation that’s only amplified when he pulls away.

“By the way, you look good in that robe.”

You nearly trip on the marble floor. Fuck. And he’s gone, before you can have him answer any of your other questions.

The café he drives you to is perched on the edge of the cliffs, all whitewashed stone and trailing flowers. Below, the sea stretches blue and endless. It’s so stupidly picturesque you almost laugh when you get out of the car.

He notices. “Yeah, yeah,” Lando says with a crooked grin. “I’m disgustingly good at this.”

“You? No, you probably have an assistant on speed dial for this kind of thing.”

He presses a hand dramatically over his heart. “Sweetheart, you wound me. You think I need help to be this charming?”

Inside, you settle at a little table by the window. He orders for you without asking (of course he does) and the worst part is, he gets it right. When the waiter leaves, his eyes flicker to yours.

“So. About that kiss.”

You busy yourself unwrapping the sugar packet. Hey, you were going to ask about it. He keeps beating you to the punch. Fucker. God, you want to punch him. “It wasn’t a thing.”

“Oh, wasn’t it? Didn’t feel like nothing to me. Actually, didn’t sound like nothing to me either.”

You flush, scowl at your coffee. There’s a foam design on it, swirling hearts, little stars, and you have an itching suspicion that’s not the way they make all the coffees. “I was, well, I don’t fucking know, man. I was tired, it was late, you were being—”

“Devastatingly handsome? I recall being on my knees for you, too, if that helps.”

“A pain in the ass.”

Lando’s grin widens. He sets his foot against yours under the table, light and shameless. “You know, you can just admit you like me. We’re past pretending, sweetheart. You’ve already travelled the globe just to be with me.”

You kick at his ankle half-heartedly, to which he recoils, then returns. “In your dreams.”

“Oh, you have no idea what’s in my dreams.” His voice drops. You have to look away because, honestly, you don’t trust yourself enough to keep making rational decisions.

“You’re such a fucking menace.”

Lando’s foot nudges yours again under the table, a teasing little tap that makes you jolt. “Relax, sweetheart. You’re safe with me.”

“You’re lucky this is good coffee, or I’d have thrown it in your face by now.”

He grins, all teeth and trouble. “You like me like this.”

“Fuck off.” You kick his ankle harder, but it’s not much of a deterrent. His leg just shifts, stretching out under the table, and now the toe of his shoe is tracing up your calf. “Christ, Lando.” You squirm in your seat, swatting at his knee under the table. That’ll stop him. No, it doesn’t. It only enhances that shit-eating grin.

“What?” he says innocently. “Just stretching my legs.”

“Stretch them in your own damn space,” you hiss. There’s no bite in it, not really, not when your skin feels hot where his foot brushes yours, not when he’s watching you like that.

“Tell me you didn’t think about it last night.”

You scowl. “Bullshit.”

“Mm.” His foot hooks lightly around your ankle. “Didn’t deny it, though.”

You groan and drop your head into your hands. “For fuck’s sake, you are relentless.”

“You’re cute when you swear at me.”

You flip him off without lifting your head.

“Adorable,” he says, chuckling.

After you have another cup of coffee (it really is that good, you wish you could bring it back to Bristol), he finally gets you to leave. “So, tell me. You’re wearing all this, and we’re on a beach in Monaco. Aren’t you hot in that?”

“What do you mean?” you ask, trying to sound unaffected, though you can already feel the heat creeping up your neck.

“I mean, that dress. You’re practically suffocating in it. You should’ve gone for something lighter. You know, something a little more practical for the heat.”

His gaze traces over every inch of you. “It’s a fucking dress, not a snowsuit, Norris,” you say, feeling that faint heat rise between your legs from his words alone. 

Lando steps closer to you, matching your pace, his shoulder brushing against yours. You want to push him away, to keep some distance. “I don’t know, sweetheart. You’ve got all these layers on. Don’t you want to take them off?”

The way he says it, so casually, so confident…you freeze.

Lando sees you hesitate. “What, you can’t handle the heat? I could help you cool down, you know.”

“No, we are not shagging in a public space.”

“Uh-huh,” he hums, and his hand brushes yours. “Who said anything about shagging? You’re not fooling me. I can see it in the way you’re walking.”

“Don’t,” you warn him.

“What? Don’t what? Don’t call you out for being so hot and bothered? You’re practically begging me to notice.”

You can’t stop the sigh that escapes your lips, not when his words are like a drug running straight through you. You step away from him slightly. Like all the other attempts you’ve made to clear yourself of his presence, it’s futile. He’s there, his voice in your mind, the ghost of his touch on your skin. He’s still right there. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You trail behind Lando as he unlocks the door to his apartment. You already bumped into two other drivers, one you don’t know, the other who looked like he belonged in a museum. Some French name, you forget. His girlfriend was also exceedingly pretty.

You don’t know what you were expecting, maybe sleek bachelor minimalism or cold, show-off money. But it’s surprisingly cozy. There are a few race helmets. The scent hits you next, nice laundry detergent layered with leather, engine oil, and beneath it all, unmistakably him. Sweet like honey.

Lando drops his keys into a bowl, sauntering off toward the kitchen. “Want something to drink?” he calls over his shoulder.

Your eyes wander. There’s the massive racing simulator near the window. It’s absurdly expensive, obviously. Framed photos of him on podiums, some with friends you half recognize (Max, you think his name is, Lando’s best mate.) Some are just his grinning face in a champagne shower. Photos, photos, trophies…a small handbag, perched on the back of the couch.

Next to it, delicate sunglasses, definitely not his. They’re too small to cover his face. And a hair clip, one of those pearly ones, girly and pink, resting on the coffee table like it belongs here.

You frown, fingers brushing the edge of the bag without thinking. “Uh…Lando?”

“Yeah?” 

You pick up the clip, turning it over in your fingers. “Whose stuff is this?”

For the first time, there’s a pause. He stills in his movements. Then, “Oh, uh, Magui’s.”

You blink. You repeat, “Magwee?” 

He pokes his head out of the kitchen, a bottle of water in one hand. “She’s a friend.” Lando’s tone is light, breezy. “Mostly PR.”

“Mostly?” you repeat.

“Why? You jealous, sweetheart?”

You scoff, dropping the clip back onto the table. “No.”

“Mm. Could’ve fooled me.” 

The handbag. The sunglasses. That hair clip. Now it’s flipped onto the other side, you see gems spelling out ‘Magui.’ Magui. Who the hell is Magui? More accurately, what the hell is Magui? Who even names their kid Magui? Is it short for something? Marguerite? Magnolia? Some cool European thing?

You watch Lando move casually back into the kitchen, one hand braced on the counter as he opens the water. You cross your arms, aiming for indifference. “Whatever. It’s not like we’re a thing anyway.”

His brow twitches. You almost miss it, because then he’s sauntering toward you. “Not a thing, huh?” he murmurs.

“Exactly.”

“Hmm. Funny.”

“What’s funny?” You glare at him.

“That you care so much for someone who’s not a thing.”

You answer, too quickly to seem casual, “I don’t care.”

“Sure, sweetheart. That’s why you’re glaring at a hair clip like it killed your cat.”

You open your mouth, splutter, “I don’t even have a cat—”

Lando plucks the clip from the table and twirls it between his fingers. “She’s just a friend,” he says, “we have fun at events. She knows the game.”

The game. Right. You know exactly what game. And yet, the thought of him with someone else—all golden skin and quiet smiles and easy laughs, God, you can imagine her already—punches straight through your stomach.

“Good for you.”

“You know, she always said I should bring someone to the next Grand Prix.”

“So?”

“So…” He flashes a slow grin. “Guess I already have someone, don’t I?”

“Lando, I have a job. A real one. With hours and a boss and everything.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t need a job. You have me.”

Your heart trips, stumbles, tries to right itself. “No, not really.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.” He stretches, shirt riding up to reveal a cut slice of abs, just to be a menace. “When’s the last time you took a real break? You deserve one.”

“When is it even?”

“Miami. I’ll take care of everything.”

“Hell no. I already followed you to Monaco. I got to go back, I have assignments due. Absolutely not.”

“Please,” he drawls, sinking onto the couch and one knee brushing yours. “You’d look so good on my arm. You can do your work when we get back to the hotel, baby. It’s not all day.”

You try not to feel your insides go liquid. “I hate eagles.”

“What?”

“Miami. Eagles. I don’t know.”

His eyes crinkle as he laughs. “You would’ve loved Logan.”

You pull a cushion onto your lap, hugging it to your chest. “Is there another one? Somewhere…less Miami?”

“There’s always another one. But you might have to stay longer.”

“Whatever. Okay. This one.”

His whole face lights up. “Yay,” he says, and it’s so cute your heartbeat picks up. He brushes his fingers over your wrist like he can’t help himself. You hope he doesn’t realize.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

“Baby.”

You ignore him.

“Baby.”

You click aggressively on your document. It’s crazy that planes have WiFi. Thank god Lando’s rich, you can’t imagine how much it must cost to get this good of a connection.

“Sweetheart.”

You sigh, yanking one headphone out. “What, Lando?”

He’s sprawled across the leather seat across from you. He has one socked foot propped on the table and his hoodie looks very comfy. You’ve been working for two hours. Come nap with me.”

“Some of us have to pass our classes.”

“Some of us are world champions.”

You roll your eyes. “Go flex that on someone else.”

He does, apparently. Miami hits you like a slap in the face, like it’s annoyed you’re taking up so much of its mistress’s time, the mistress being Lando. You can tell he loves this place. You do not. You’re not going to miss the heat, the flashing cameras, the chaos outside the airport. Lando’s security team pushes through the crowd as reporters yell his name. 

“Who’s this? Lando, is this your girlfriend?”

“Miss, what’s your name? Are you coming to the paddock, too?”

You’re stunned into silence. Lando’s arm finds itself around your waist, pulling you into his side. “Alright, that’s enough, guys,” he says coolly. He wears a practiced smile as he steers you through the crowd. He’s probably done this thousands of times. You barely remember how you get to the car. 

“Breathe,” Lando coos, brushing his thumb over your knuckles.

You shoot him a flat look. “You owe me so much coffee for this.”

So, you’ve never watched Formula One—aside from that one time Mara sent you a video of someone passing Lando—but this looks a lot more stressful than that clip. Speaking of Mara, you pick up your phone and dash a quick message:

you bloody hell i hate this place

She doesn’t see it. She’s still sleeping, which is much nicer than your current situation. Cameras flash in your face. Women with glossy hair and model-long legs float past in designer dresses and tiny heels that shouldn’t work on gravel but somehow do. You grip the pass hanging from your lanyard so tight your fingers ache.

Lando’s hand is still on your lower back, an anchor you can’t leave. To be honest, you don’t want to. He’s the least irritating thing at the moment.

“Smile, sweetheart. You’re with the coolest guy here.”

“That is so debatable. We walked past Florence Pugh five minutes ago.”

“I said guy.” He grins, one-handedly signing a cap handed to him, posing for a photo, laughing with a sponsor. Lando looks perfectly at ease here. The attention craves him.

You just want to disappear.

“Hey!” a voice cuts through the noise. You turn and nearly crash into Alex Albon, beaming, casual in his shirt. “Hey, hey. Haven’t seen you in a bit.” There’s a gorgeous woman next to him, who he gestures at and says, “This is Lily.”

“Hi Lily, hi Alex.”

You hear someone say “Babe!” and it’s sure as hell not Lily, because her mouth hasn’t even opened yet. Your head snaps up. A girl with sun-streaked hair and model cheekbones walks up and kisses Lando’s cheek.

“I’m Magui,” she purrs, eyes flicking over you dismissively. She’s already decided you aren’t a threat.

“Oh. Hi,” you say, because what else is there? You hear yourself, how flat and awkward you sound, and you want to punch a wall.

Lando glances at you, a little smirk tugging at his mouth. “You know Magui. Magui, careful, this one tends to cuss.”

This one. Not your name. Not even a soft tease. Just…this one. Magui laughs like she’s heard this joke before and tucks herself closer to him. You’re going to lose your mind.

When the clock ticks closer to the start of the race, you’re left largely to your own devices. There’s no Lando to latch onto now.You try not to look for Magui—you try—but your eyes keep flicking toward where she disappeared into the swarm of PR people. The lights go out.

It’s chaos into Turn 1. Lando’s there, starting in fourth (or something, maybe you heard wrong) carving his way through like a man possessed. P3 by lap 10, P2 by lap 25, and you can hear his engineer crackling through the headset:

“Let’s bring this home.”

Lap 40. P1.

P1.

You know, it would be a lot more interesting if you understood this a little more. P1 is at the front, you know. Everyone’s glued to the screens, to the track. You’re just worried he’s going to crash. Fuck, these cars are loud. And fast, but you already knew that. By the last ten laps, the whole McLaren garage is on its feet, the mechanics shouting, banging on the pit wall. 

When the checkered flag waves, it’s like the world explodes. The crowd is screaming. The McLaren crew goes ballistic and you’re just frozen, stunned, chest so tight it hurts.

P1. Miami winner. 

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The champagne is still stuck to him after the podium spray. His cheeks hurt from smiling, his throat’s raw from shouting over the team radio (“fuck yeah, well done, team!” Or, more accurately ‘f***yeah, well done team!) because the FIA censors everything. You know, he almost slipped in a few more expletives, thanks to your bad influence), and there’s only one thing that could make his day better. Lando’s eyes dart through the crowd. Everyone wants a piece of him. Everyone but you.

Where the hell are you?

A hand wraps around his arm. “Lando! Oh my god, you were insane out there!” Her arms are around his neck, perfume sugary-sweet. She presses a kiss to his cheek, laughing for the cameras, pulling him in like she belongs in this moment. He stiffens.

“Magui,” he says quietly, trying to peel her off. He’s still looking for you and she’s blocking half of his line of sight. “Not now.”

She just giggles and loops her arm tighter. She’s basking in the spotlight, it’s too late to get her to snap out of it. Lando’s patience snaps like a wire.

“Magui,” he barks. It’s sharp enough that she flinches. “Did you say something to her?”

Her eyes go wide, faux-innocent. “What? Who?”

“You know who. Where the fuck is she? Did you say something to her? Did you screw this up?”

Magui’s lips part in a little gasp, that wounded look she pulls out when it’s convenient. Hell, the cameras are going to love this. “Lando, I didn’t—”

He swears under his breath, before yanking her limbs off him. He twists on his heel to scan the crowd again. The garage. Check. The gates. Check. The pit lane. Check. All the people chanting his name, all the cameras flashing. Normally, he loves it. Right now, none of it matters. None of it means a damn thing if you’re not here.

I just won Miami. Why the fuck aren’t you here?

He kicks at the ground.

“Maybe she left,” Magui suggests from behind him. Her voice irritates him, a little stab between his ribs.

His fingers twitch. Is he panicking, right now? His breath shallows, oppressed by the noise. His mind is a whirl. Did you see something? Did Magui corner you? Did you think you weren’t wanted here? That you didn’t matter? He can’t breathe, it’s like your presence is the only thing keeping the rock off his chest, and now you’re gone its plunging, weighing him down and—

You. His whole body kicks into motion before his brain can catch up.

There you are.

He hears someone yell his name, probably for an interview, maybe for a photo, and he ignores it, almost knocking over a cameraman.

He only wants you.

You looked pretty overwhelmed, shoved forward by the crowd but still somehow trying to disappear. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, and then you’re in his arms. Lando buries his face in your hair, the scent of you cutting through all the smoke. His fingers tremble a little where they clutch at you. He was going insane looking for you. “I couldn’t fucking find you. Jesus, you.”

He pulls back just enough to see your face. His large hands cradle your jaw. 

“I just won Miami,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “And the only thing I could think was where the hell is she—” Lando surges forward, hungry, desperate. All these people and he just wants you to anchor him. 

You flinch back, hands on his chest.

“Lando,” you whisper, lips just brushing his. “no. Not here. I don’t want…”

He readjusts, placing a small kiss on your forehead. “Okay. Okay. Not here.”

“Mate!” You’re not seriously leaving, are you?” He hears Max holler. You back off instinctively.

“I don’t know,” he says, glancing back at his best friend, then at you. “My girl—”

Max whistles low, “Didn’t know we were calling her that yet.”

Lando flips him off half-heartedly, before pulling him into a quick hug. “Shut up.”

He side steps toward you, but you beat him to it, pushing off the wall, sliding in beside him, and you’re trying so hard to be relaxed but he can read it all over your face: the tight shoulders, the too-wide eyes, the quiet little “ugh” under your breath when another cluster of reporters swarms over. “Hey, hey.” Lando ducks his head to you. “You good?”

You sigh. “Fucking hell, man. Sure. Let’s go. I’m a bartender, I’ll make drinks for your cocky ass or something.” You wave a hand. Your eyes flick to the cameras and your mouth pulls tight again.

“That’s why I keep you around, sweetheart.” Before Lando can say more, the media hits.

“Lando! One quick word!”

“Lando, what changed after quali?”

“Who’s the mystery girl, Lando?”

“Will you be celebrating together tonight?”

“Is this your girlfriend? Are you confirming?”

You freeze. You’re plastered to his side. Lando leans into the mic with a smirk, his arm around you. “You’ll have to wait for the documentary, mate.” He’s still grinning when he steers you out of the crush. Obviously, a win brings a hell lot of adrenaline; but this, this right here, with your fingers knotting nervously into the hem of his sleeve?

This is what’s making him dizzy.

Lando’s enamored with how you lean on him, how your trust in him is something sacred. It’s something earned, something he has carved slowly with every word and every action. From pity to hatred to tolerance to…well, you kissed him, didn’t you? There’s a sweetness in the way you depend on him now, even if you can’t do it without cursing him and his mother, too. 

He doesn’t want you to slip away, to ever feel like you could. It’s simple, really. Lando just wants to keep you close and needing him. Because you don’t, not all the time, not like all the others. He’s earned this. 

To hell if he’s going to let it go.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

There’s plenty for him to focus on at the club, with bodies packed tight. There’s bass rattling his chest and too many drinks being passed around. Lando’s friends are out there, hollering, getting wasted, but he can’t look at anything but you.

You in that dress, that little black thing that glimmers every time you move. It rides scandalously high on your thighs, straps slipping just barely off your shoulders like they’re exhausted from the fight to stay up. Your skin practically glows under the club lights. You’re flushed from dancing, laughing, drinking. God, the way you laugh with your head tipped back. Lando swears it’s rewiring his brain. He’s never seen you so carefree before. Usually, you’re all sweet behind the bar, testy when its necessary, but that’s all to make the customers happy. You’re happy right now and its out of duty to no one.

“Jesus Christ,” Lando mutters, eyes glued to you. He doesn’t even hear Max at first.

“Mate.” Max elbows him. “You coming or just gonna stand here having a religious experience?”

“Fuck off,” he says jokingly. His eyes never leave you.

He’s not even drunk, not really. He’s had one, maybe two drinks, something shoved into his hand after the podium. And there was another raised in a messy toast when Max pulled him into a corner, but Lando feels wrecked.

Every inch of his skin is hot. He can’t stop touching you, can’t stop following you with his eyes. It’s like his body has locked onto yours, marking his territory. As usual, a palm on the small of your back. His fingers like to graze your wrist when you reach for a drink, almost like a nice bracelet. The way you fit under his arm, the way you lean into his space without even thinking about it, it’s all setting him on fire.

His mind is a mess:

You smell like vanilla and summer.

You feel like absolute sin pressed up against him.

He wants to ruin you. Desperately wants to pull you into a dark corner and shove you against the wall, mouth hot and desperate on your throat, hips pressed so tight you’ll feel him in your bones. He wants to peel you out of that dress, watch it pool at your feet while you look at him. Wants to sink his teeth into the curve of your shoulder, leave marks no one else can touch, can claim. He wants to leave them there for the whole world to see.

But more than that, more terrifying, is this ache in his chest. It’s not just lust, unfortunately. Lust is easy to deal with. If he just wanted to get in your pants, it would’ve ended that second time you met, when he was sober and at the bar. He wouldn’t have bothered to keep hounding you.

It’s the way you look at him like he’s just Lando, not the man on every billboard. It’s the way you call him out on his bullshit, the way you refuse to laugh at his terrible jokes, the way you chew on your straw when you’re tipsy and overthinking. It’s the way you make him feel seventeen again, half-drunk on adrenaline and dizzy with wanting. The way he turns clumsy and nervous and utterly gone for someone who could shatter him with a word.

And when you come back from the bathroom, eyes lost until they land on him, when you light up like the fucking sun just because he’s looking at you…Lando feels his knees damn near buckle.

“There you are,” you tease, somewhat out of breath from dancing, “thought you were supposed to be the life of the party. Disappointing.”

“Yeah? You gonna dance with me, sweetheart, or just torture me from across the room all night?”

Your mouth comes dangerously close to his ear. “You look thirsty.” You press your drink into his hand. “Try not to choke.”

“You’re fucking killing me.”

“You love it.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “I really do.”

“You know what I keep thinking about?” His fingers trail up your spine, making you shiver. “How fast I could get you out of this dress. How good you’d sound falling apart for me. How bad I want you right now.”

He feels your body react to the words. “Lando,” you warn, “behave.”

“Not a chance, baby.”

Max whistles as he passes, wiggling his eyebrows. “You two gonna come to the afters, or are you skipping straight to dessert?”

“I’m a bartender, Max, I am the afters,” you laugh, shaking your head. Then, lower, so Max doesn’t hear, “c’mon. I owe you a dance.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

(SMUT STARTS HERE)

You step into the elevator, your heels clicking against the polished floor. Lando follows, eyes hungry, already deprived of what he’s been begging for the entire car ride. You know you’re going to regret holding him off. Well, it’s going to be enjoyable on your part.

“Did you plan this, or are you just cruel by nature?”

You turned your head away, as not to distract him from the road. Who’s flustered now?”

His fingers slid a little bit higher. “You want me dead? Well, you’ll get your wish if you keep acting like this.”

The car jolted forward. Lando’s hand tightened instinctively on your thigh. God, his hands were too close to your core. You meant to shift away. If he knew how wet you are, it’d be the end of your ego and dignity. 

“Lando.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he rasped, “I know, I know.” But his hand was still there, his thumb tracing idle, maddening circles against your skin.

The elevator dings, and the doors open to reveal the plush hallway. It doesn’t matter that you’re not inside the suite yet. Lando’s decided it’s close enough to get started, plump lips on yours. He tastes like the last drink you mixed for him and you feel a flush of pride at that. He’s what you make him, isn’t he?

Your arrogance doesn’t last very long, because he smirks against your mouth when he draws out a lewd moan. Fucking hell. Lando’s hands roam your body, shoving you against the walls as the two of you stumble to the door. Hopefully, you’re not causing too much of a commotion for the neighbors. 

“Lando—” you choke out. He has a special reaction to his name, a brief moment of lucidity, and the door is finally open. He spins you around, pushing you against the door in order to close it.

His fingers find the hem of your dress, hiking it up to reveal your bare thighs. 

“Lando!” you hiss again, “what are you doing?”

There are no more questions out of you, though, because you’re rendered to brief whimpers as his fingers brush against your entrance. He’s shoved your panties aside in the haste to get to you. Almost as an afterthought, he loops two fingers around each side and pulls them down your legs. You step out of them and allow him to resume.

He’s back at your folds, fingers sliding up and down the wetness, almost in preparation. Having collected enough lubricant, he dips inside, curling up to hit that sweet spot. It’s astounding, really, how easily he did so. As if he knows you already, inside and out. You sigh, your head falling back against the door, gaze falling away from him. In, out, in, out. You hear nothing but your own ragged breaths and the sound of his fingers pumping against your slick.

He doesn’t like that. Lando's other hand wraps around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. He angles his hand so he grasps you under the jaw. You can only keep your head up now. “Eyes up here, sweetheart,” he growls, his fingers picking up pace. 

Your hips buck against his hand, body begging for more. 

"Such…a fucking asshole," you pant.

Lando chuckles, his thumb finding your clit and drawing his name, over and over, like that’s enough to bring you to exaltation. 

Then he stops, the cruel thing he is. Lando pulls out his hand, leaving you empty, legs bare to the air around you. His fingers are dripping, and he makes sure you watch him as he takes a taste. “Mm. Sweet. Well, come on, sweetheart. Can’t have our first time be against a bloody door.”

God, you’re trembling. You have to hold your thighs together, desperate for friction, desperate for something to be where he once was. He’s ridiculously calm about all of this. You’re the one panting for more, he’s the one in control.

Lando watches as you stand before him, your body flushed with arousal. You know he can see your nipples, hardening under the dress’s sheer fabric. You didn’t wear a bra tonight. Bold choice. He’s noticing now, by the growing bulge in his pants.

"Clothes off," he commands. “I want to see you."

You hesitate for a moment, then your fingers fumble for the dress and yank down the flimsy material in one go. Lando's gaze never leaves you. He sits on the edge of the bed expectantly.

"Come here.”

You obey. You look at him, swollen lips, dark eyes, and wonder if he’s about to kiss you again.

“On your knees.”

Oh.

The words sink in. Want tightens, low in your belly. You drop, hands brushing the floor for balance, a shiver curling up your back as the cool air hits your skin. 

How long has it even been since you’ve given a blowjob? You can barely remember, and that sharp flicker of panic slices through your arousal. What if it’s not good enough? What if this isn’t enough to hold him here?

No. You can’t have that. Now that you’ve finally let yourself give in, you’re going to make the most of it. Make him happy. Make him stay. God knows what you’d do without him, now you’ve gotten used to him. It’d be like trying to give up an addiction once you’re already useless without it.

You lift your eyes, fingers brushing lightly over his waistband. The way he looks at you—half-wild, like you’ve undone something inside him—makes the nerves fade a little. You work his belt loose, the sound of leather sliding through metal too much to bear. It only makes you think about what that belt would sound like against your skin. Stop daydreaming. He’s right there.

Above you, Lando’s breath hitches. When you glance up through your lashes, his hand is flexing at his side as a way of holding himself.

“Fuck…” he grunts, “baby, get on with it. Please.” His eyes are pinned to you, disbelieving. Like your mouth on his cock is something he’s wanted too long, and can’t quite believe he’s finally getting. You ease him free, feeling the weight of him in your hand. Bigger than what you’ve had before, definitely. You’d say six and a half, seven? Seven and a half? It’s hard to compare when your mind is so foggy.

“Look at you.” His thumb brushes your cheek, lingering at the corner of your mouth and prying open. “So fucking pretty like this.”

The praise hits you hard. Wetness pools again. Fuck. Such a tease. You let him guide your pretty mouth to his hardened erection, and lick at it, just a bit. You his breath punch out a muttered curse, his hips jerking just slightly.

“Jesus—”

You move slowly at first, widening your mouth and taking in him, bit by bit. You find your rhythm, your tongue tracing delicate patterns, learning every twitch of his body. Every choked-off sound that spills from his throat is a sign that you’re doing good, a beautiful sound you’re going to be replaying the next time you’re alone in your room. His fingers thread into your hair, tight enough to sting. For a second you wonder if he’s going to pull you back, but he just holds you there. 

You try something new. You lick a slow line along the underside, feeling him twitch in your hand. His thighs tense on either side of you, the muscles jumping as he swears again. 

“Fuck, baby,” Lando groans, his hair teased with sweat that trickles down his neck. He’s golden, even now, a god in your palm. All yours to toy with. You have no doubt that if you asked for anything right now, he’d give it. His chest heaves, a flushed pink creeping down his body. He’s not even undressed yet and you can only dream about what’s under that shirt.

When you take him deeper, hitting the back of your throat, his whole body jolts. You hear a choked sound breaking out of him. The sound reverberates through his whole body, and in turn, through yours. 

“Look at you,” he pants. You’re drooling a little from his sheer girth and he wipes it away. “So good for me, fuck! So good, baby.” You bob your head up and down, ignoring the urge to gag, trying to take his whole length. That does it.

“Shit—shit—baby—” His fingers yank hard on your head, wanting even more of you, wanting to fill you all the way, so nothing can ever come between you two. “Fuck, sweetheart, I’m—wait—”

He comes in your mouth, hot and salty. You have to move your head back so you don’t choke on all of him. You’re sure some of it makes it out of your mouth, drips onto your chin. He doesn’t mind. Lando drags you up roughly.

You’re dizzy, drunk on him. On the taste of him in your mouth, on the way his hands grip your hips like he’ll die if you move even an inch away, on the broken sounds that slip out of him like he’s never been this unmade.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice shaking, mouth grazing your jaw, your cheek, your temple like he’s blessing you with every kiss. “No one’s ever—”

And you realize it’s not even about sex, not anymore. This arrangement? Fuck, all the little details are lost in every moment you spend with him. He murmurs mine, mine, mine between half-kisses like a prayer.

“God.” Lando says, burying his face in your neck, breathing in your scent. Really, it’s mixed with his, the culmination of whatever the hell this is. “You’ve fucking ruined me.”

You’re ruined right alongside him, nails digging into his shoulders, thighs weak, lips parted. This hasn’t even started yet. No desperate, gasping stretch of bodies fitting together. You’ve only gotten the slightest taste of him, he only the slightest of you. There’s so much you don’t know yet, so much to discover.

“Come here. You’re mine, yeah? Say you’re mine.”

Your hands clutch at his shirt. “Yours.”

The sound he makes at that nearly undoes you both.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Now it’s hours later. You’ve lost track of time. His shirt’s somewhere near the minibar, your dress is long discarded. The sheets are twisted, dirty, pulled halfway off the bed. Lando’s asleep. His arm is locked tight around your waist. Unconsciously, his head is still in the crook of your neck. You can feel him, his breath hot against your skin, and judging by how ragged he sounds, someone’s having fun in his dreams.

His fingers keep sliding over your skin, as if the act calms him.

“Baby, baby,” you whisper. You can’t do this either. Might as well get him up, let him have the real thing. “Baby.” You turn around and the loss of contact is enough to wake him. His eyes flutter open, dazed, beautifully clear.

He croaks your name, the one thing he’s certain of. His lips graze yours, then your shoulder. 

You’re drunk on him. The warmth of his skin, the way his hands know exactly where to go, the softness under all that cocky charm. You haven’t left the room in days. Neither has he. You reach back, threading your fingers through his messy curls, and Lando groans, pressing his mouth to the side of your neck. 

There’s a knock at the door. You both freeze, blinking at each other. You’ve forgotten anyone else exists.

“I’ll—I’ll get it,” he says, voice hoarse. Lando scrambles into sweatpants, hair sticking up wildly. You admire the view, the way his chest peeks out under the hastily buttoned shirt. He opens the door just enough to grab the tray, mumbling something to the waiter you can’t hear, and then he’s kicking the door shut again. He’s grinning like an idiot.

“Saved the day,” he says, collapsing onto the bed beside you. “Hero.”

The food goes mostly ignored. Fries are stolen between kisses; champagne is knocked over onto the carpet, bubbling and forgotten. He feeds you a piece of a burger with his fingers, his thumb brushing your bottom lip, asking for permission. You allow him, swallow the food, and yet his thumb lingers. His eyes are wide and pleading.

God, you’d do anything for him.

You glance up at him through your lashes, and the look on his face nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. Hours after his last orgasm, his pupils are once again blown wide, lips parted slightly. Slowly, you part your lips and let his thumb slip inside, just a little, your tongue barely grazing the pad.

The sound Lando makes is low in his throat, instant. His free hand fists the sheets, knuckles going white.

“Fuck,” he rasps, eyes flicking from your mouth to your eyes and back again. “Sweetheart…”

You pull his thumb deeper, hollow your cheeks a little, tongue brushing lazy circles over the tip. Your teeth grazing just enough to make him flinch and tighten his grip on the bed. You know exactly what it’s doing to him.

“So pretty for me, all for me.” he says. When you finally release his thumb with a soft, wet pop, his control snaps. His hands are on you in an instant, dragging you into his lap, kissing you open-mouthed, messy.

You can feel him, hard and aching beneath you. Lando’s not the only eager one here. You roll your hips, trying to find the right feeling. You rise up just enough to tug his sweats down, both of you breathless with laughter and gasps, trembling with how bad you need this, need each other. He’s perfect, red and angry, glistening with pre-cum.

Of course, this is no longer the first time. Your bodies know each other, have found the map to ecstasy. You sink onto him in one smooth plunge, swallowing him whole. Lando curses low and sharp, head falling back against the pillows. 

You move slowly at first, a teasing roll of your hips. You spell his name, starting with the ‘L,’ a long roll downwards, then jerking to the side. It has him nearly sobbing beneath you, but you can’t stay slow for long. He bucks up into you, chasing every drag and slide. You hear his skin on yours, a slapping noise that reverberates around the room, his voice underneath you, pleading, praising, cursing. You bounce in his lap, legs on both sides of him.

And when it’s over, when you’re both boneless and shaking in the sheets, Lando’s hand slides lazily up your spine, caging you close. He starts, “oh, sweetheart, you’re—” but the words fall away. 

You’re both still catching your breath when his phone, forgotten on the nightstand, starts to buzz insistently. 

Lando groans, trying to ignore it, but it keeps buzzing.

Finally, he gives up and blindly grabs for it.

“Hello?” He winces. “Oh. Hi, yeah. Yeah, I know.”

You watch him, propped on one elbow, smiling as you stroke a hand down his chest. You draw little hearts on his abdomen, watching him breathe sharply with every ticklish sensation. He shoots you a helpless look as your hand wanders lower.

He says again into the phone, “I know I can’t stay in Miami forever…yeah, okay, okay, I promise.” Lando throws the phone to the side. “I can’t, technically, but I can bring you around, yeah?”

“Don’t talk about work,” you feign a yawn. “It’s boring me.”

“Oh yeah? Does this bore you?” he drawls, before shifting further away from you, towards the end of the bed. You raise your eyebrows, unsure of where this is going, before he pulls one of your legs across him, sitting you firmly on his face. “Relax, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

His tongue laps at you and you squeal.

(SMUT ENDS HERE)

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You’re hunched over your laptop on the hotel balcony, knees tucked to your chest. The blue glow of the screen painting your face. Hot air sticks to your skin, plastering your hair across your forehead. Your inbox is overflowing, your Google doc blinking a half-finished sentence back at you, and every five minutes your school portal pings another notification. One of your professors has flagged your last assignment as ‘significantly late.’ You close the tab fast. That might make it less real.

Inside, the room is still dark. Although it’s nearly noon, blackout curtains are drawn shut. Lando’s sprawled across the bed, scrolling aimlessly through his phone. He looks peaceful, like he doesn’t have a single deadline to his name. He probably doesn’t.

“Come back to bed,” he calls, not looking up.

You shake your head. “I need to finish this. I’m behind.”

Then: “Behind on what? You’re on vacation, sweetheart. You’re with me.”

“I still have work,” you say, and a little bit of temper makes its way through to your voice. “Just because you hauled me off to another country doesn’t mean my life disappeared.”

You hear the sheets rustle. Then he’s there, barefoot and warm behind you, crouching down so his chin rests on your shoulder. He kisses just below your jaw, softly, and the resulting absence only deepens your craving.

Lando murmurs, “you’re always working. Even when you’re with me.”

You stiffen. “That’s because I have a degree I need to get. I can’t afford to screw this up, Lando.”

His arms slip down, under your arms, around your waist, and he nudges the laptop closed with one finger.

“Hey,” he says, “no one’s asking you to screw anything up. But you’ve been so stressed. You haven’t smiled properly in days.” His lips brush your collarbone. “Don’t you want to just breathe for a second?”

You hesitate. You want to say no, because breathing for a second is not going to help you get anything done. You want to say this is important. But Lando has a voice of silk, wrapping around your ribs, and the laptop is already closed. He shifts so he’s in front of you, and now his hands are warm on your thighs, slowly maneuvering upwards, upwards.

“I can help you. Just take a break. Come lay down with me. We’ll get someone to handle whatever you’re behind on. I’ll make some calls. Easy.”

“You can’t just make calls to fix my classes.”

“You’d be surprised,” Lando says. It’s a joke, but not really. “Baby, you don’t need to kill yourself over a few grades. You have me now.”

“I like working,” you say. It sounds weak.

He kisses you again, on your cheek. Both your hands are in his. “You like overthinking.”

“Come on. Ten minutes. No school. No stress. Just me.”

Ten minutes of heaven. Ten minutes turn into twenty, thirty, and you’re in Lando’s bed for at least an hour before you check the clock, maybe longer. He’s in the shower. Your phone buzzes on the pillow beside you.

mara(malade) babe you can’t be dying on me

mara(malade) hellloooo?

mara(malade) ANSWER MY FT

You answer, flipping the camera up too fast, revealing the luxurious headboard and the messy room behind you. There’s evidence of room service on the nightstand, a folded tablecloth under unused cutlery. Mara clocks it immediately.

“No. Are you in his hotel room again?”

You push your hair out of your face. “Yeah, just for a bit.”

“Don’t shit me.”

“I’m writing,” you lie, moving the laptop slightly to show the open doc, never mind that it’s been untouched for hours. “I’m almost done.”

“Dan told me you missed discussion again. Twice.” Dan is Mara’s boyfriend, a few years younger, and he’s in your class. What a snitch. You didn’t think he’d be watching your every action.

“I’ve been traveling. It’s not a big deal. I’ll catch up—”

Mara frowns. A little crease forms between her brows. “Babe, you said that last week. I’m just worried.”

You shift, tugging the blanket up higher even though it’s not cold. “I’m fine. I’m going home after this one. Just this race.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I’m not going to drop everything for some guy, okay?”

You hate how Mara looks at you. She doesn’t believe you. Her eyes are tired, emphasized by the smudged eyeliner she likes to wear, like she’s already mourning something you haven’t lost yet.

Behind you, the bathroom door clicks open. Lando walks out, a towel slung low on his hips. Steam curls out around him. He sees you on the phone and mouths who is it?

You wave him off and turn back to Mara. “I’ve got to go. We’re leaving for the track soon.”

Mara’s expression doesn’t change. If anything, she looks more resigned. “Okay. Text me tonight, okay?”

“I will.”

You hang up before she can say anything else. Lando’s standing at the end of the bed now, rubbing his hair dry with another towel, bare chest still damp.

“Everything good?” he asks.

You nod. “Yeah. Just Mara being dramatic.”

“Come here,” he says. “Come here.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Mara’s voice had been calm on the phone, but her words weren’t. “Just come back for a little. A week. You’re slipping, and I don’t mean your mental state—God, I don’t even want to touch on that. Babe, please. You’re scared to check your grades, aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer that part. You just sighed and said, “Okay. Yeah. Maybe a few days.”

When you told Lando, he didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you for a while, not moving, and you were a little scared why you couldn’t read him. Then he nodded, real slowly. “Right. If that’s what you want.”

“It’s just a week.”

“Sure.”

You tried to kiss him before you left and he let you. His hands stayed in his pockets, though, and he turned away before you got into the car.

You feel it as soon as you land. A few hours pass with no text from him. No morning check-in, no “you up?” not even a dumb joke. You text him first. He replies and it’s short.

lan have fun with your school thing

You stare at your phone, heat prickling the back of your neck. Is he mad? He said it was okay. You try again later, sending a photo of the library, something neutral. This time, he doesn’t reply.

You lie awake that night wondering if you should’ve just stayed. If this means he’s over it. Over you.

You check your phone again. Still nothing. And you’re cold in your own bed, wondering when your own life started to feel less like yours and more like something you borrowed from him.

From your manager:

“Hope your break was fun. Let me know how many extra days you’ll be taking. If you’ll be back.”

You sit frozen in your desk chair, rereading the line over and over. You hadn’t even realized how many days you were gone. You think of Miami and Emilia Romagna as a blur of cameras, hotel sheets, and Lando’s breath against your skin. You think of how quiet it is now. How he hasn’t even texted today.

From your professor:

“Please come by office hours ASAP. I’m concerned about your last two assignments.”

You close the laptop. Everything feels loud. Your room looks like someone else’s now, dust on untouched things, half-opened drawers. You haven’t unpacked. You haven’t even told your friends much—ha! Aren’t you a regular comedian, what friends are you talking about? Mara? And maybe that one other co-worker who kept getting the same shifts as you, Lils? Mara, Mara, who has been so good to you. Mara keeps sending messages, checking in. You brush her off, saying it’s okay. You’re not sure if you believe that.

Lando hasn’t called. It’s worse without him here, without the promise that he can make it go away with a little wave of his finger. No. Fuck him. If he can’t even call, he can go with Magui and make her problems go away. You can do this. You haven’t needed him up until now—why does it have to change?

You show up to Professor Wilk’s office five minutes early. You tap your fingers against your folder, trying to remember what it feels like to be someone who’s on top of her work. Her door creaks open before you knock. “Come in,” she says. Her voice reveals nothing, but you know she’s already seen your grades. You sit down stiffly across from her desk.

“I’ll get right to it. You’ve been slipping.”

You open your mouth. No excuse comes. Nothing that doesn’t sound ridiculous, at least. Sorry, I was off on vacation with my sugar daddy. Sorry, he said he would solve it and I believed him. At least until I realized the problem was big enough and maybe I should take care of it myself instead of crawling back into his bed. Sorry.

“I know the beginning of the term was strong,” she continues, looking at your file. “You wrote one of the best first essays I’ve read this year. And now you’re missing half your citations. You left a whole section blank.”

You swallow. All she’s saying is true. “I’ve been dealing with some things.”

Professor Wilk nods. “We all do. I’m not here to punish you. But I can’t help if you won’t tell me what’s going on.”

You hesitate. You think of telling her that you flew across the world with a man who called you sweetheart before he called you anything else, who you knew first as a wreck that couldn’t get himself out of a pub. That you forgot what day it was because he kissed you like it was the end of the world, like there was nothing else he had to do. That your job is probably gone and your friends are worried and you haven’t had a proper thought to yourself in weeks. That it’s all been Lando this and Lando that and Lando please come back.

You tell her, “I’ve been distracted.”

“I can see that. I’m going to offer you a rewrite. A clean slate for your last essay. But I want to see you in my office every week until finals. Deal?”

You nod. “Deal.” Already, you’re wondering how you’re going to manage this. Lando’s not going to fly you back every week, is he? There must be limits to even his abilities.

She watches you for a moment longer. Gently, she says, “Don’t lose yourself for someone else. You’re too smart for that.”

You wonder if she knows. Not exactly who, maybe, unless she’s seen the tabloids. After all, Lando Norris isn’t exactly nobody in Bristol. But the way you look right now, tired, expensive sweatshirt that doesn’t belong to you, the faint shadow of a bruise under your collar…maybe she doesn’t have to know everything to know enough.

You leave the office quietly.

lan everything okay

You pause and stare at the singular message. There are no question marks, even though he’s asking things. And this is the first time he’s texted. Maybe three days since he responded. What does he want now?

you she offered me a rewrite

lan great

you but i have to meet w her every week

The read receipt pops up almost immediately. No reply, though, and you know what this means. He only confirms it.

lan so you’re staying longer?

you only a few more days i want to get things under control

lan ok then, sweetheartdon’t let them stress you out yk you don’t have to prove anything to them

you i know

lan come back when you’re ready

lan or just come back now

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

a/n: part 1! i have beef with tumblr, why did it make me split my beautiful story into two parts.

[theseinfernalangels]

A Lesson in Stealing (Kisses?) - Ridoc Gamlyn 🦊

Synopsis: The entire Iron Squad can’t seem to get a grasp on this historical event that seems practically impossible. You’re not even part of their class, but good thing you know a thing or two about stealing!

Includes: Fluff, little suggestiveness, Iron Squad shenanigans, Reader and Ridoc have a lowkey FWB deal going on, etc. Takes place in Iron Flame.

A/N: AUGH I’m down bad for Ridoc and Faelyn. No notes, perfect couple. I also live for Sawyer calling first-years “kid” as a means of making fun of them.

You’re crouched in the corner of the study hall, balancing Tips and Tricks on Advancing Your Signet on your thighs, when you hear a groan of exasperation from the other side of the chamber. Unfortunately, you know exactly who that is by the mere sound of it — Ridoc. And if he’s here, his squad is here. If his squad is here, they won’t leave his side because everyone knows that the Iron Squad clings to each other harder than a stack of burrs connected by syrup.

“I just don’t get it,” comes Rhiannon’s frustrated voice. “How could they have stolen it in just five minutes? And when there were guards all over the place, too? That sounds like bullshit, to me.”

Murmurs of agreement rise through the air, and you tilt your head. Stealing? Call you predictable, but now you’re plain intrigued. Stealing comes a bit…naturally for you; you don’t even know what the book is about, but you start mentally reviewing the best methods of concealment for a large heist.

Distract the guards. Slip into holding chamber and fill up every pocket you can. Replace the weight so that it doesn’t trigger an alarm of some kind. If anyone asks—

The sound of your name being called makes your head snap up from your corner spot. Violet — bless her little heart, she bothered to remember your name — has taken notice of you and is motioning for you to come over. Huh. Weird. You’re not the only other cadet in here — but, you notice, you are the only first-year. You stand, your knees cracking a little from being crouched for too long, and raise an eyebrow, leaning against the adjoined walls. “Can I help you?”

“Well, look who it is.” Ridoc puts on a charming little grin and waves. You raise your hand in greeting, nodding to Rhiannon and Sawyer. “My dream girl, coming to save our asses once again.”

“If I’m your dream girl, you’re doomed, Gamlyn,” you scoff. The back and forth between you two is nothing new; while you’re certainly not a couple by any means, and you’re definitely not exclusive, the two of you are drawn to each other like gunpowder and flame — absolutely fucking explosive.

Vi smiles warmly at you, grabbing your attention. “Sorry. I just…We’re doing this report, right, and they mentioned this super big heist, so—“

“So you wanted me to help you because I’m good at stealing, shit,” you abruptly finish her sentence for her. You weren’t even offended by the implications of her words. They were true, anyway; it was only a couple of months ago that you’d shared with them that you used to have a little bit of a criminal streak and stole things as a child.

“No offense taken,” you add hastily, once you realize Violet looked a little ashamed of her words once they left her mouth. “It’ll take more than the truth to kill me, Sorrengail.”

She looks like she has something to say to that when Sawyer cuts her off, nodding to you. “Sit down, kid. At this rate, we might be here for a while.”

You shake your head and prop yourself up against the table. “No thanks,” you decline dryly. “I’m okay, old man.”

Ridoc scoots his seat outward a little, the chair creaking in protest under him. He gestures to himself with his usual festering gleam in his eye and opens his mouth as if to speak. You realize what he’s about to say and catch him before the breath can even start leaving his mouth.

“If you seriously suggest that I sit on your lap, I’ll find you and stab you in your sleep.”

Violet and Rhiannon bust out laughing, and Sawyer grins, pointing his thumb at his best friend as if to say, Get a load of this guy.

Ridoc doesn’t even miss a beat, that little twinkle in his eye only growing a tad more mischievous. 

“You know my door is always open for you,” he drawls, “but c���mon, Fox. There aren’t any chairs left, and I heard your knees crack from all the way over here, and I’ve been around Vi long enough to know that your joints are probably killing you. Sit down.”

He’s right, unfortunately. The joints of your knees ache a little from standing up so fast, but you also hate to lose your metaphorical footing here; you punch him in his bicep before taking your place on one of his thighs. His pretty lips dip into a pout and he grabs you by the hips, gently dragging you to be sat more comfortably on his lap. You look back at Violet expectantly. “You were saying?”

Rhiannon snorts and rolls her eyes, muttering something under her breath, something akin to, “Little pair of nightmares.” Violet ignores her and pushes her book towards you so that you can peer down at the pages. 

“This is from The Successes and Failures of King Carlon the Strong,” she starts. “Basically, he sent one of his personal spies to ransack another kingdom, but the heist should have been impossible. The other kingdom had thousands of guards, an advanced security system that we can’t even recreate today, and he got in and out without a trace.”

“And,” Ridoc adds, tracing one of his pointer fingers along the edge of your hip. “They didn’t even know things were stolen until about a month after. It says there was hardly any preparation on the thief’s part, but I think that’s bullshit.”

You think back to your earlier notes of the situation and begin reading the text. Quickly, you realize it’s set up like a math problem. Eugh.

In the year 366 AU, King Carlon the Strong (328 AU— 392 AU) sent his chief spymaster, Bronson Dillory (340 AU — 366 AU), to the kingdom of Poromiel to steal one of the most prized objects of their king: The heirloom necklace of his late wife, Queen-Consort Vella Ateridi. Dillory entered the prized chamber at dusk with seemingly no actual plans. The time he returned to Navarre was never recorded, although it is widely accepted information that he was in and out of the room in five minutes. The necklace’s absence was not discovered until one month later. It should be noted that Poromish security systems have been more advanced than Navarre’s for centuries, relying on magic to determine an object’s protection. How did Bronson Dillory accomplish this task? Brainstorm and describe in detail. 

You tilt your head, deep in thought. “Well,” you start, “if it were me, I’d do it in between guard shifts. If they’re disorganized, then they can’t get their shit together to stop you. So, he comes in around dusk, when the old guards are gone and the new ones have yet to return.”

“Couldn’t they hear him?” Ridoc questions, his fingers messing with the ends of your hair while Violet starts scribbling your ideas on a small card. It’s a valiant struggle on your end to try and ignore his hands. “I mean, if you’re sneaking into a heavily-guarded death trap, you’d think they could hear someone sneaking in.”

“Unless he came in through a window,” Sawyer interjects. “Climbed up the walls with a couple of knives like Vi did on the Gauntlet and hoisted himself in. It’s messy, but it’s plausible.”

“But someone could’ve seen him that way.” Rhiannon frowns. “It wasn’t dark out yet; I’d guess it was around 7 p.m. at that point, maybe 6 if we’re feeling generous.”

You glance over at Violet, whose brow is furrowed in concentration. “Unless he had an invisibility signet or something. Do you know if he was a rider?”

Vi blinks and then snatches the book back, combing through the pages like a wolf on the hunt. She sits back and reads for a moment or two before she shakes her head. “He was a rider, but it doesn’t mention his signet.”

You lean back a little into Ridoc’s chest. For an ice-wielder, he’s ironically warm, and the hand that he’s (not so subtly) got locked on to one of your hips doesn’t make it better. If you ask him later, he’ll probably tell you that he was just ‘helping you stay upright.’

Please. You know him better than that.

“C’mon, Fox,” he urges you, his lips not far from your ear. “You’re the sneakiest bastard of all of us. How the hell do you steal a necklace without getting caught?”

You hold back a smile. “So, he’s a rider with an unknown signet. He gets in and out without being caught, and nothing is noticed until a month later.” You pause for a beat or two. “Either he went in and replaced the necklace with a similar one, or…Maybe he found a material similar to the necklace?”

Violet begins scribbling random notes on her little piece of paper, murmuring mostly to herself “Similar properties. Necklace is made of iron and diamonds. ‘Nother copy. But then how…?”

Sawyer blinks at her, now hunched a little and stewing in her thoughts. “How do you know what the necklace is made of?”

Violet shrugs. “Diamonds are diamonds, and the necklace is rusted in the picture. Steel and silver don’t rust, and this picture clearly shows some sort of damage to the jewelry.”

You snort. “Aren’t you a metallurgist, Sawyer? You think you’d know this shit.”

He scowls in your direction. “It’s a picture, Fox. Cut me some slack here.”

“No slack cut,” Ridoc cuts in, and Sawyer huffs a little before shoving him. You feel his other hand come up to balance you before he sticks his tongue out at Sawyer. “Hey, watch it! You’ll hurt the woman, dammit!”

Rhiannon snaps her fingers impatiently. “Shut up, both of you. This is due tomorrow, and I’m not failing this just because you’re stupid.”

You hold back a grin and continue to rattle off whatever comes to your mind. “Okay. So, this guy’s the spymaster, and he’s a rider, so he definitely flew in on a dragon and was close enough to channel. There’s just no way he could’ve done it all completely by himself.”

A loud thud draws your attention back to Violet, who closes the textbook and looks almost…triumphant, with a smug little smile on her face that tells you flat-out that she knows the answer.

“Figure he’s an illusionist,” she says. “He could disguise his dragon, himself, distract the guards, and then keep a projection of the necklace until he physically couldn’t anymore.” She opens the book back up to the original page and taps on the dates. “That’s why he died the same year. He must have burned himself out so badly for the mission that he died.”

You stare at her for a moment before a funny little smile graces your lips, and you slow clap.

“Damn, Sorrengail,” you appraise. “They really aren’t exaggerating when they say you’re a genius, huh?”

She meets your eyes in confusion. “Who’s been saying that?”

Ridoc huffs from behind you. “Just about fucking everyone, Vi. Get with the program.”

She smiles sheepishly, the silver ends of her hair making her little blush stand out more. “Fair enough.” Then she turns to you, her eyes shining. “Thanks, by the way,” she tells you. “I knew it wasn’t a coincidence that you happened to be here.”

She makes it sound like the gods themselves sent you on some holy mission to help them with their Navarrian History homework, and you can’t help the little snort that leaves you.

“Sure,” you reply. “Glad my criminal expertise was good enough for the gods to send me to be your personal homework guide.”

A collective groan surrounds the table, and Ridoc pinches the skin of your thigh.

“Criminal expertise?” He echoes in amusement. “Sweetheart, being a kleptomaniac as a kid doesn’t mean you have a criminal record. You just liked to take shit.” He traces along the part of your outer thigh for emphasis, where your little tattoo rests secretly.

“Unless you’re secretly a war criminal,” Sawyer suggests. “Anything worth confessing, kid?”

You raise your hands innocently. “Get me a lawyer first, and then I’ll talk.”

The squad laughs, their voices echoing around the walls of the study halls like bells. Rhiannon pushes herself to her feet and grabs Violet by the arm. 

“We’re leaving, lovebirds,” she announces. For a minute, you think she’s referring to Sawyer and Ridoc, but once the former appears by the door, you understand her words immediately. You flip her off as they leave — slightly miffed, but also grateful for her ability to read the room (and your inability to get a room).

Ridoc shifts under you as if also understanding what’s happening — and you know damn well he’s grinning from ear to ear. He leans up so you’re pressed right against him, his voice quieter as he gently latches his lips on your shoulder.

“You’re so smart,” he murmurs reverently against your skin. “An adorable godsdamn trickster, you are.”

Your eyes flutter shut, and you lean into his warmth a little more.

“And yet,” you purr, “you still manage to like me, even though I’m up to no good.”

“No shit.” He brushes your hair away from your neck and presses a languid kiss right against your pulse point, setting your skin on fire and coating it in pure ice all at once. “That’s why I like you. You’re a little firecracker.”

You chuckle, a little breathless all of a sudden, ghosting your fingers over his forearms before you move your head a little. “But what would you say if I make something explode, or destroy something? That wouldn’t be good.”

His response comes easily, as always. “You’d look hot as fuck. I’d tell you to do it anyway.”

[darnell-la]

YOUR LIFE WITH ME

pairing: dom!bucky x mutant!reader x sub!bob

summary: Bucky isn’t the type to share, but the chemistry Bob and y/n have is oddly satisfying. It might have gave him more of a push to make his move, and make sure the two knew the line fr they could be living with him.

warnings: threesome, oral (male receiving), penetration, rough sex, making out, choking, slight embarrassment kink, slightly stalking mentioned, etc

note: this story was clearly rushed, but we still hope you enjoy it. PLEASE, we beg for ALL OF YOU to submit some type of Robert “Bob” Reynolds suggestions, as well as some Bucky Barnes suggestions. Thank you!

———

It had only been a month since the new Avengers had found you. It turned out, Mrs. Valentina had a secret deeper than her secrets. She hadn’t planned to come out with y/n yet, but after what happened, she needed extra members on the team.

When she introduced y/n, she had thought the team would be upset. Thankfully, most of them weren’t. They were actually happy that more people wanted to join and help them do good for the world.

The only one who didn’t want to go along with whatever Valentina had up her sleeve was Bucky. At first, he kept his mouth shut, but it wasn’t long until he started taking some anger out on y/n. Like today.

“There’s no reason for you to be here — Just leave and start a new life or something,” Bucky said right after y/n got comfortable in the living room. No one was around but him and her. That’s how he'd usually act a certain way towards her.

“Bucky — I get you’re not use to new people, and new groups, but please understand- Not all of us have places to go. I’ve got no one — You should know this,” y/n said as Bucky leaned back in his chair, upset that she couldn’t just up and leave.

This job is too dangerous for her, and Valentina doesn’t even know if her powers work. What if someone came to invade the old Stark tower, and y/n couldn’t do anything? That would be too much work and stress for Bucky’s hand.

“This job isn’t for you,” Bucky said in his cold, stern voice. “Who I decided to work with does not concern you, Bucky. You’re not my legal guardian or whoever you’re trying to be,”

It wasn’t hard to see that Bucky just wanted to keep y/n safe. People just didn’t know why? What was his deal with this young lady he’s never seen before or knew existed?

“I think she’s right, Mr. Bucky,” Bob said as he made his way into the room. Any time you/n would lay her eyes on him, she’d smile brightly. Bob was so sweet and too kind. How couldn’t she like the man?

“What is this? Some take down Bucky movement?” Bucky sighed as he leaned further back into the couch he was on. “N-No, nothing of that sort — I-I just think you’re taking it a little too hard on Mrs. Y/n here,” Bob said as he awkwardly smiled back at y/n.

“Now, what? Are you going to beat me up, then sweep y/n off into the wind? God, you guys are just so hard to deal with — So damn difficult,”

“I think you’re the only one being difficult, Bucky. Why can’t you just tell me your deal with me? Maybe we can fix it,” y/n said, making Bucky’s heart skip a beat.

For weeks, Bucky has been trying his best to ignore his questions and feelings towards y/n. He hadn’t felt anything like what he was feeling in years, so for them to come up out of nowhere, especially towards someone way out of his age range, triggers him.

“Ain’t no fixing it,” Bucky said, then got up from his seat to get out of the room. “She’s all yours,” Bucky said as he passed Bob. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Bob asked, but Bucky didn’t reply.

“It’s okay — He’ll survive,” y/n said, making sure Bob didn’t feel any time of way about Bucky being himself. Y/n would like to come down to some friendship with Bucky, but he wasn’t exactly a person you could get through to. Or so she thought…

“What are you talking about?” Y/n asked as she stood around the corner from the party Yelena’s dad decided to throw for the weekend. “I see the way you look at him and me — No need to hide, y/n,” Bucky said with a hint of alcohol breath.

“You’re drunk, Bucky,” y/n said, but that only made the man laugh. “Drunk, but not dumb,” Bucky leaned closer to y/n, scanning her face so hard, y/n became uncomfortable.

That wasn’t because he was close. It was because Bucky finds everything out, and no matter how hard y/n has tried staying professional, she couldn’t like the two people she finds unbelievably attractive.

“Look, Bucky- The party is getting hot, and I’d like to drink too, okay? Now, can we leave whatever you want to say for another time?” Y/n said right before she tried to leave. That worked, probably.

“Hey- Stop it, y/n. Weren’t you the one saying I should speak to you? Tell you what, my problem? So you can fix it,” Bucky said, seeming closer to y/n than before. She just knew he could hear and feel her heart pumping fast.

“Why do you want to fix it now? It’s late, and there’s a party,” y/n was trying her best to get this conversation to an end, but that only drove Bucky further. “If I wait for this liquor to wear off, you’ll never get a chance again,”

“Are you guys good?” Bob asked as he came around the corner to the sight of Bucky unbelievably close to y/n. “Yes, yes, everyone’s fine,” y/n quickly spoke as she slipped away from Bucky before anything got too tense.

“And, you’re telling me she’d be fine with something like this? I-I just can’t believe it,” Bob said as Bucky scrolled through y/n’s iPad that she keeps everything she wants no one to see, on.

“I mean, look at this. All of these are writings about us from fans,” Bucky said with a smirk, finally knowing that she liked him for sure. “Yeah, but maybe it just popped up on her uh- her for you page,” Bob said, trying his best to debunk everything Bucky was showing him.

“Well, they definitely did, and then she liked them — In her likes Robert,” Bucky said before placing her iPad back on her test next to her bed. “I don’t know, man. This is like, privacy things, you know? She could get mad, and I don’t like when she gets mad. It stresses her out,”

Bucky shook his head with a smile at how much Bob liked y/n. At first, Bucky wanted y/n for himself, but Bob didn’t seem too bad. He somehow liked the chemistry the two had, and he didn’t want to pull that part.

“Look, I’ll start. You can stand in the dark corner all you want until you feel like coming out, and trust me — You’ll want to come out,”

Throughout the night, Bob and Bucky stalked y/n’s every move like they always do, but harder. It’s like they rarely took their eyes off of her.

One thing Bob noticed that he didn’t notice before was the men flirting with her. Younger and older. For some reason, that didn’t sit well with Bob. He’s never wanted to get violent over something so small, yet he was ready to blow through these men talking to her.

“Relax — Don’t need that thing coming out before our mission,” Bucky said as he passed Bob to make his way towards y/n. Bob had no idea what Bucky was saying, but it had to be good enough to have y/n leave with him.

Bob hid as the two men called out of the party, towards the rooms where they slept.

“What is it now, Bucky? Aren’t you supposed to be the professional one-“ y/n spoke, but soon got cut off by Bucky’s lips softly smashing onto her. For a second, y/n slightly pushed at his shoulders in surprise, but soon pulled him in.

That’s when Bucky chuckled, and she moaned between their kiss. This whole situation felt like a dream, but she was going with it. She could only be thankful that this situation was happening.

“Jump,” y/n didn’t waste her time, and did what she was told. Seconds later, Bucky had them both in his bed, ripping at each other’s clothes. “Want you to keep some of it on just in case anyone unwanted walks in,”

Bucky knew Bob would take a while to come in, so he hoped no one else would come before him. One thing he was not doing was stopping.

Bob couldn’t believe any of this was happening. He could’ve sworn the two would be fighting in his room, so he placed his ear against the door. That was when he heard y/n’s soft moans.

“He actually did it,” Bob said, surprised as he played with his fingers nervously. Bob's heart rate began to increase, knowing Bucky was waiting for his entrance. He was sure Bucky wouldn’t pull this off, but now that it pulled through, Bob was left to fulfill his part.

“Wait, I don’t think we can do this. We work with each other, and- I-I don’t know if this is even meant to be,” y/n said, not overthinking every kiss he’s placed on her body. “Don’t switch on me now, sweets — I mean everything I do,” Bucky said as he began pulling y/n’s panties to the side.

“You wore this dress for me, huh? Short and tight — I love them just like that,” Bucky said, making y/n’s cheeks get hot. “I-I didn’t know,” y/n told the truth, but was glad she picked this out for the night.

“Of course, you didn’t, because you’re so damn clueless, huh?” Bucky asked as he heard the door behind him creak open. Y/n, on the other hand, heard absolutely nothing. She was too distracted by what was going on between her legs.

“I seriously didn’t know, I just- I just wanted to look good,” y/n said as Bucky groaned inches away from her ear. “Well, it worked because I can’t keep my hands off of you. I just need more,”

That’s when Bucky reached into his dress pants to pull himself out. They’ve been making out and touching each other for a while, but y/n still felt like everything was moving too fast.

“Wait- I — Are you sure about this? Y-You said you’re drunk, and-“ y/n tried finding everything to debunk this just like Bob, but Bucky continued to prove the two wrong. “I’m a grown man, baby — Liquor doesn’t make me act on things I wouldn’t do if I were sober. Maybe speak about my feelings, but that's about it,”

Y/n looked into the older man’s eyes, noticing how serious he was taking all of this. It’s almost like he wasn’t drunk. She wasn’t even sure if he was.

“Just let me do what you want me to do. I know you’ve been waiting,” Bucky said after he spat on his hand to rub himself in. “What are you talking about?” Y/n asked as her heart dropped. Be mind went straight to her likes on her reading apps.

“Oh, yeah, I know it all,” Bucky said as he slowly pushed at her entrance. Y/n whined as Bucky’s length instantly stretched her further than she’s ever been stretched before. He was long and big.

“Yeah — You feel good,” Bucky said as he continued to push deep into y/n, only allowing her to choke on her moans and arch her back. “Fuck, you’re big,” y/n blurted out as she tried to control her breathing.

“Yeah? Think you can take it for me? You take everything else when we train, so I’m sure you can take this,” Bucky said as his eyes pierced through y/n’s eyes with a slight smile on his face.

“I-I don’t know,” y/n pushed at Bucky’s lower stomach to keep him out just a little bit, but her lips kept swallowing Bucky back in. “Don’t think this is your only surprise, princess — I’ve got another one. Isn’t that right, Bob?”

Y/n’s eyes widened at that name, hoping he didn’t come in when she was too loud to notice, but he did. “O-Oh, I didn’t know you heard me come in. H-Hey,” Bob said as he emerged from the darkness, showing his bright, awkward, and shy facial expression.

“Oh my god- Wait, Bucky- Fuck!” Y/n cried out loud as Bucky pulled out just to slam himself all the way back into her with no warning. “Hey- I don’t think she can handle that,” Bob said, feeling a bit of sympathy for what y/n had to take from Bucky.

Bob wasn’t a sexual person, and still isn’t, so when he sees the way y/n cried from Bucky’s thrust, the only thing he can do is feel bad, not knowing y/n’s pleasure was higher than ever.

“She’s fine, Bob, don’t worry. Jesus,” Bucky said as he cupped y/n’s face. “Tell him, y/n. Tell him you’re fine, and I’ll make you feel the best you’ll ever feel,” Bucky leaned close to y/n’s face, watching as her eyes rolled back.

“I-I-I’m fine — I-I swear, Bob,” y/n said with a hint of embarrassment, but too much pleasure to tell Bob to shop Bucky. Why in the hell would she want Bucky to stop? She was close. Too close.

“You were that, Bob? Now you can stop being so tense and give yourself a hand, yeah? Help yourself. I’m sure she’s fine with it,” Bucky said as Bob stood right next to y/n’s shaky body.

“I-I don’t know if this is okay, Bucky, I mean- Look at her. She can barely take it,” Bob said, making Bucky chuckle. He loved that and wanted her to feel more. “Stick your dick in her mouth before I take her for myself,”

Bucky knew that would trigger something in Bob, and it indeed did. The way Bob’s eyes glowed at Bucky, made Bucky want to laugh at how much Bob wanted y/n. Bob would never let anyone get in the way of him and y/n. Ever.

It took some time, but Bob ended up reaching into his own dress pants to pull himself out. Y/n’s instantly panicked, knowing his cock would be to much for her mouth.

“I-I don’t know-“ y/n said too many times, but Bob cut her off by slipping into her mouth without thinking. Because the man’s cock is pretty soft while hard, he could squish himself deep enough in her throat to make her gag.

“Fuck-“ Bob cussed as his legs twitched. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Just wait until you get a chance to fill her up down here,” Bucky said as he picked up his pace, pounding her walls harder than she could imagine.

“Hey- Not too much,” Bob stuttered at Bucky, wanting him to slow down on giving her too much pleasure, or else her moans would vibrate too much onto his length. He swore he almost came when he watched Bucky pound into her for the first second he came in the room.

“Deal with it, Bob. It’s not like she’d hate you for it. She’d probably take it all, just for you,” Bob’s stomach began to positively rumble at the thought of her take him, all for him.

“Right, y/n? You gonna take all of Bob, whether he gives it to you now or later?” Bucky asked as his hands tightened on y/n’s waist to pull her in, and keep her still enough for his thrust.

The younger girl couldn’t say any words, but her moans were all the speaking Bob needed to hear before his body shuddered. “Oh my god-“ Bob whined before he began to spill heavily into y/n’s mouth.

“Oh my god, y/n, fuck,” moaned as he grabbed her face to pull her closer to him, making sure his cock stuck deep enough down her throat to force her to take all he had to give.

Her gags and whines only made him shake harder. He even thinks he came twice while being in her.

“You f-feel so good,” Bob stuttered, letting his orgasm take him over. “I know she does. Just wait until you’ve got full control of every part of her body. She wouldn’t be able to last,”

Y/n felt embarrassed by her moan to his comment about her. She just knew Bucky would ruin her. He’s too cocky not to. And, Bob? He was going to make sure Bob knew how much y/n would submit to both of them. Bucky is going to make y/n’s life the best she’ll ever have.

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 14!

if you're reading these, please help us find this fic and this one!

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

circle the drain | hyruling/@hyruling | 2.6k | T

“What if I wasn’t?” Eddie says at last. His voice wavers a bit on the last syllable. we live in a beautiful beautiful world where buck's biggest reason for not being in love with eddie is that eddie is straight. we live in an even more beautiful world because of fics like this that go cool so if eddie isn't straight then that might change some things. i love it so much <3

drive me, crazy | markofalover/@markofalover | 5.3k | T

everyone in El Paso has lost their minds. this captures the diaz siblings so well!! and i love eddie's interactions with el paso citizens so much <3

freddie fakeman 2.0 | carpediaz/@sofa-king-lame | 3.1k | T

The one where Freddie Fakeman strikes again and confessions are made. freddie fakeman, you will always be famous <3 and cilantro soap gene!! this fic has such perfectly in-character buddie dialogue, i love it!!

good as gold | pairofraggedclaws/@pairofraggedclaws | 6.8k | E

Eddie's gonna be okay. He just needs some words of affirmation. this series is one of my absolute favourite things on ao3 right now and i need everyone to read it, like, yesterday. such a lovely, lovely fic <3

i touch myself, i dream | Excalipurr | 28k | E

Eddie accidentally takes Buck's LAFD t-shirt to El Paso. the best thing to come out of eddie in el paso is that it's inspired so many fics to use texting throughout and as a text fic lover, i am so well fed <3 i love how this incorporates voice notes too and eddie throughout this is just a mood!!

let's make the same mistake twice | cloudydaisies | 28.8k | T

buck needs a loophole. eddie needs to know buck needs a loophole. this absolute gem of a fic!! i love the buckley siblings and buck's shitty apartment and the crochet and the juice boxes and the pasta and just absolutely everything <3

might as well be drunk in love | lecornergirl/@clusterbuck | 1.4k | T

buck comes home drunk, and tells eddie something he didn't quite mean to. not spooky i adore you!! this is so good and fun and soft and just a delight <3

over/under | teaspoonmoon/@young-waverer | 11.6k | E

In which incredibly poor communication leads Eddie to suggest phone sex to help Buck get over his apparently unrequited feelings for Tommy, which Buck accepts because he thinks Eddie has realized he's in love with him and feels bad he can't reciprocate so he's offering this as a consolation prize. idiot4idiot, my favourite tag <3 i don't know what it is about buck and eddie but for some reason i find all of their miscommunication and silly behaviour to be the most endearing thing ever. pair that with the phone sex and this fic is just !!!!!

pinky promise | serenelystrange/@serenelystrange | 1.5k | GA

In which there was only one tent. they go camping and i love it so much <3 thunderstorms when you're camping can be so scary and honestly considering everything these two have been through, i'd be terrified too, and i love how they come together in this <3 it's just so soft!!

sweet child, you are a blessing (poor child, you have been cursed) | dumbdpaus/@ayotofu | 62.5k | M

Every Blessing comes hand-in-hand with a Curse. If someone wants to be Blessed with money, or love, or life, someone else must be Cursed. When Daniel Buckley's cancer doesn't seem to be going away, despite the transplant from his little brother, Evan, his parents make a terrible, terrible choice. the worldbuilding and ocs in this one just blew me away. it's so rich, so brilliantly done, and just so good!! and i love the firefam dynamics too <3 such a gem!!

the sign on your heart said it's still reserved for me | playinginthunderstorms/@playinginthunderstorms | 2.3k | T

Eddie calls Buck on the way to El Paso. Buck confesses. i just adore the writing in this one <3 it's just so stunning and the perspective used works brilliantly and it's so emotional and just so, so good. i might be overusing the word gem in this rec list but i have decided that i don't care so guess what, this is also a gem of a fic <3

there is motion at your front door | OrYouCouldHaveMine | 8.6k | E

Eddie moves to El Paso, but in the frenzy of the move, he forgets to disable his Ring camera. When he starts getting alerts every time Buck brings someone home, he starts an increasingly unhinged process of cockblocking his best friend. the gasp i let out when i read this fic summary!! unhinged eddie, i love you so much. this was just delightful to read!!

too close to the stars | jessieswrld | 17.4k | E

Buck helps Eddie experiment. The rest unfolds from there. i love how this one captures eddie and i love the basketball scene!! such a lovely fic <3

you told them i'm straight (but what if you're wrong?) | eightpackdiaz | 2.3k | T

Buck calls Eddie after telling Maddie and Tommy that Eddie's straight. Eddie's not so sure. this is fantastic!! i love the funny moments ("no math" hehe) and eddie's realisation is so lovely!!