#outright sex on the street in front of other people

[mr-double-downer]

Explain to me why "public sex" is a hill you are willing to die on. What is the point, really? What could motivate someone to feel this way?

because getting my dick sucked at an anime convention was fun next question

[somedaylazysomeday]

Good Intentions Part Nineteen

Another event, another fancy outfit, and a surprise.

Silco x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors, please do not interact.

Word Count: 4,800

Warnings: Ongoing references to sex as a form of payment, references to poverty, mentions of pollution and addiction, mentions of alcohol, fingering, unprotected sex, intercrural sex

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There were many parts about running a charitable outreach that surprised you. From the sheer amount of paperwork to the fact that too many donations could be a bad thing, this life was full of unexpected twists. 

The twist that occupied your mind the most at the current moment was how you were expected to have outfits for formal occasions. A lot of your life was spent doing dirty work or cleaning up messes - literal and figurative. That didn’t translate well to high heels and tailored outfits. 

But special occasions required appropriate outfits, and the grand opening of Jazper’s apartment complex was a very special occasion indeed.

The complex - one Jazper had named Stonesea - was beautiful. You had toured the apartments and found them spacious and well-designed. There were rooms for meetings and community gatherings both inside the building and out, on screened-in balconies overlooking the Lanes. 

The massive structure was built in a square, surrounding a protected courtyard. Jazper had explained that he brought in a botanist from Piltover to design the courtyard's gardens. They had worked together to curate a selection of plants that purified the air and dirt without requiring a lot of sunlight. 

The majority of the day’s celebration was to take place in that courtyard. At the moment, the crowd was standing outside of Stonesea, waiting for Jazper to cut the ribbon bound across the front entrance. But when everyone did enter, the courtyard was stocked and staffed, ready to serve a light lunch to all invitees and new residents. 

At first, you had been wary, concerned that the people there would close themselves away and become a shut-in society, frightened of the Undercity outside. But Jazper had considered that as well. One day a week, on a rotating day, local shop owners would be invited into the courtyard for a small specialty market. Or on days when the air was clean, they could hold the market on the street outside. 

Not every apartment had been filled, but the building was rapidly working toward full occupancy. Many of the residents were people who had either been through the Haven or knew people who had been. All of them were aware that there was a zero-tolerance policy toward Shimmer possession or use inside Stonesea. 

You and Jazper both knew that the Shimmer ban was unlikely to be enforced. There wasn’t much he could do about a resident using Shimmer, not unless they damaged the property or harmed another resident. But it was the appearance of the ban that was the most important. 

A year ago, openly refusing to allow anyone to use Shimmer on the property would be seen as an act of outright aggression against Silco. Stonesea would have been avoided by anyone with half a brain, fearing the repercussions that the chem baron would bring down on Jazper and his business. 

The Undercity was changing, though. You had to admit that Silco had played the game masterfully. Most of the work had been done by you and others like you, but he was seen as indulging the small neighborhood around the Haven, and even people who worked for him thought Silco only let you continue your work because the futility of it amused him. 

In any case, residents seemed to take their promise to avoid Shimmer seriously. And that, more than anything, gave you hope. If enough people made a pact to keep Stonesea Shimmer-free, it would reduce the chances of anyone bringing the drug in. If there were enough people who decided to keep Shimmer use out of the neighborhood, maybe it could stand even without Silco’s manipulation of the drug market. 

Not that you had any plans of ending your deal. No, Silco had dropped several hints that your deal would not be broken without bloodshed and death. That probably should have bothered you more, but all you could really think about was that you had an excuse to keep being around him. 

And that bothered you. 

You let yourself be distracted from your snarled thoughts by a technician walking across the front of Stonesea and testing the microphone that had been set up there. Electronics tended to suffer in the Undercity’s atmosphere, but it seemed to be working when he beckoned across the space. 

Jazper half-jogged over to the microphone and was met with a smattering of applause. You cheered as loud as you could, and were rewarded with a beaming smile from him. “Hello, everyone! Thanks for coming to the grand opening of Stonesea. I’ve had the pleasure of opening several buildings, but this is the first one I’ve made in– in this area.” 

You grimaced at the slip - Piltover architects, like anything else from Piltover - weren’t especially welcomed in the Undercity. But no one seemed to take offense, letting Jazper continue his speech. 

“I hope to bring comforts and useful amenities to the people who choose to make Stonesea their home,” Jazper continued. “And I hope to be as helpful to the neighborhood as you all have been to me. I will proudly say that this is the most excited I’ve been about an apartment complex since my first one. I can’t wait to show you all what we’ve been working on.” 

Jazper accepted an oversized pair of scissors from the same technician who had set up the microphone. “Welcome to Stonesea.” 

He sliced through the ribbon in a decisive snip, gesturing people inside before the halves had fluttered to a rest against the sides of the entranceway. The technician scarcely managed to snatch the microphone and stand out of the way before people began to pour into the building. 

You let the rest of the crowd go first. You had seen Stonesea in various stages of being built and finished, so it only seemed right to let other people see it before you did. When you trailed in at the back of the group, you couldn’t help but smile. The courtyard looked stunning, of course. It always did. The air felt fresher, though you were mostly certain that was a trick of the mind. 

No, you couldn’t help melting a bit at the reaction of the Undercity residents. The crowd had been made up of local business owners and a few of Jazper’s associates, but it also held a considerable number of ordinary people. Some of them were the future Stonesea residents, but others had heard the promise of a free lunch or were simply curious. They stared around in open-mouthed awe, more than one stroking the leaves of the foliage with something approaching reverence. 

Jazper told you that Stonesea was designed at roughly the same level of decoration as his Piltover apartment complexes were, just with different materials to lower cost and protect against the dangerous air of the Lanes. But as far as the residents were concerned, it could be the finest place they had ever been, on par with a Piltover mansion. 

It reminded you what you were working toward, and you were filled with a quiet contentment as you wandered around talking to people. 

When Jazper tapped you on the shoulder, you turned around and immediately offered your beaming congratulations. “It’s perfect, Jazper! I’ve already heard half a dozen people talk about applying to live here. With the amenities and the rent cap, you’ve built the perfect place for the Lanes.” 

“Thank you, thank you,” Jazper said, offering a playful half-bow. “But maybe you should save some of those congratulations for yourself. Or at least for both of us.” 

“I’m… sorry?” you asked, at a loss for what that could mean. 

“If you’ll follow me to the Innovation meeting room?” Jazper requested, holding out an arm as he indicated for you to lead the way. 

Fortunately, you knew Stonesea’s layout well enough to do exactly that. You arrived at the meeting room in record time - your eagerness to know what Jazper had meant made you walk even faster than usual. 

When you were in the room with the door closed behind you, Jazper turned to you with boyish excitement. “Do you know where you’re standing right now?” 

You tilted your head slightly. “The Innovation meeting room.” 

“No! Well, yes, but the important thing is what will be happening here in only a month.” Jazper’s eyes sparkled as you leaned in as if to encourage him. “In one month, Stonesea will host the very first meeting of the Undercity Innovation Committee, right here in the Innovation room.” 

“The Undercity Innovation Committee?” you repeated slowly, trying to guess at the purpose behind the too-pleasant name. “What is that?” 

“That is a group of like-minded business owners who are finally becoming aware of the untapped market of the Undercity,” Jazper told you. “Limited to those who have businesses or organizations in the Undercity and operate them with an eye toward improving the lives of Undercity citizens.” 

“Those will be small meetings,” you said with a smirk. It disappeared when Jazper’s grin widened. “Unless-?” 

“Yes!” Jazper was positively beaming. “After seeing how fast Stonesea filled and the tax breaks the city gave us for building here, I have a few colleagues who have bought buildings in the Lanes. They’re all set to break ground on new businesses within the next month.” 

Your jaw was starting to ache with the breadth of your smile. “That’s- Jazper, that’s incredible! What kind of businesses?” 

“They span a few different industries,” he explained. “One will be a grocer, hiring people for shipping, transport, and store staffing. There will be another apartment complex mirroring Stonesea’s business model, which will offer housing and train staff. A mechanic’s shop, looking to train a group of apprentices on repairing most common appliances and sending them to fix things across both cities-” 

You laughed loudly enough to interrupt Jazper, but he didn’t seem to mind. “That will be… I can’t even begin to think about how many lives that will change. Jazper! I don’t want to get too eager, but it’s starting to feel like we can really do this! We can change the Undercity!” 

“I know,” he said, resting a hand on your shoulder. “I’m trying not to get excited too soon, but it finally seems like we’re getting somewhere. It’s exciting! And, of course, everyone wants for you to be part of the Undercity Innovation Committee.” 

“Me?” you asked, trying to blink away the tears that rose. “The Haven isn’t a business, not really…” 

“But it’s what started all of this,” Jazper countered. “Having proof that there were some Undercity citizens not addicted to Shimmer was what gave me the confidence to start working on Stonesea. If anyone deserves a place on the committee, it’s you.” 

You nodded shakily, not trusting your voice enough to say anything aloud. Jazper seemed to understand, offering a sympathetic smile and nodding toward the door. “Come on, let's go enjoy the party.” 

And you did, eating and chatting and basking in the growing feeling of community until you had to leave. Unfortunately, your next meeting with Silco had fallen on that day. 

If you were being honest, that made you slightly nervous. If you and Jazper could sense the tide turning against a Shimmer-obsessed society, surely Silco could, too. He had told you openly that his funding came from sources other than Shimmer sales, but you suspected that he couldn't be happy about the changes. 

Still, he would be even less happy if you missed your appointment, so you made your way to The Last Drop in the early afternoon. The building was as empty as you had expected it to be, and you went directly upstairs to Silco's office. 

“Hello, pet,” was the greeting you received. Other than the nickname, it was as mildly pleasant as you would have expected with any business associate, and it put you more at ease.

“Hello,” you greeted in return. After a moment observing his desk, you asked, “Paperwork?” 

Silco glanced from you to the haphazard scatter of papers across his desk. A wry look crossed his face. “Indeed. It is never ending, as you well know.” 

You nodded in commiseration, though you were seized by a sense of strangeness. You and Silco did many things together, but exchanging pleasantries was not among them. 

“Fortunately, I have far more pleasant activities with which to distract myself,” Silco said, replacing his pen in its holder. “You're looking well, my little philanthropist. Special occasion?” 

You had changed out of your celebration outfit, but he could apparently still see the care you had taken with your appearance that morning. You lifted one shoulder in a shrug you hoped came off as carefree. “Just trying something different.” 

He gave an enigmatic hum at that, but didn't reply. Instead, he swiveled in his chair, looking up at the window behind his desk. “Join me.” 

It was a request rather than an order, and that enticed you to comply from sheer curiosity. When you got to the window, standing beside his chair, you didn’t see anything you hadn’t expected to. The street outside held a few people, but not many. The neon signs across the way were unlit, and the gray stone of the Undercity stretched away in every direction. 

But the look on Silco’s face was almost blissful, so you looked again. 

The people on the street weren’t rushing nervously, they were greeting each other and falling into occasional conversations. The signs were dark because the sky was lighter than it typically was, murky sunlight illuminating the Lanes. From The Last Drop, you could see a lot of the surrounding neighborhood and were struck by the idea of Silco’s watchful eye keeping guard on his people. 

“It’s wonderful,” you admitted, surprised that you honestly thought it was. 

“It is,” Silco agreed. “I wish everyone could see Zaun as I do. As we do. I well remember our conversation about it being unfinished. We have far to travel if we are to build the Zaun our people deserve, but I believe it is important to appreciate the wonderful moments.”

“Our people?” you repeated before you could fight the question back. 

Silco gave you a sidelong look, seeming more than a little amused by your question. “Yes, our people. Do you think I have missed the work you have done for Zaun?” 

Guilt twisted in your stomach. “I don’t-”

“And I am hardly the only one to see it,” Silco interrupted. “Is that not why Jazper invited you to the grand opening of his venture?” 

“Stonesea is close to the Haven,” you pointed out. “It would be awkward if he didn’t invite me.” 

“Perhaps,” he agreed, shifting his weight. That tiny motion closed the gap between you, pressing his arm against yours. “But he shared the news of Zaun’s upcoming growth with you. Surely that implies more than a professional courtesy.” 

You turned to him, eyebrows flying upward. “You know?” 

Silco smiled. “Of course. I know every important development in Zaun, and especially those that impact this neighborhood. Did you think I would overlook it?” 

“I- You never-” You took a quick breath the reset your snarled thoughts. “I was unaware you were so well-informed.”

He chuckled. “Then your subtlety was an attempt to hide the new businesses coming to the Lanes? My dear, you are vastly entertaining when you underestimate me.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Yet I consistently underestimate your ego.” 

“Mmm, foolish,” Silco agreed, leaning over to nose along the line of your jaw. It made you shiver, but he only pressed closer. “An ego fit for a king. You would do well to keep up.” 

Your mouth opened and you started to ask how he meant it - was Silco telling you to remember that his ego was a force to be reckoned with, or did he want you to grow a similar ego? - but his lips pressed to the side of your neck, followed by the sharp sting of his teeth. With your mouth already open, you had no hope of containing the gasp that escaped you. 

Silco’s mouth stayed on your neck even as he began to nudge you, guiding you steadily toward the window. You went willingly enough, letting his pose you with your hands braced against the window - one on the frame and the other on the window itself. When he had you where he wanted you, he turned his attention to other things, stripping you of your clothing with quick, efficient movements. 

“Look at it, pet,” Silco purred in your ear. He pressed himself to your back, and you could feel every bit of him against your bare curves. His hands slipped around you, one cradling your breast while the other worked steadily down your stomach and toward your mound. “Look at Zaun. We have far to go, but look what we have built so far.” 

“I’m not sure-” 

That was as far as you got before Silco’s fingers delved between your legs, parting your folds and stroking between them with steady, inexorable motions. You gaped at the window, staring blankly at the street beyond the glass panes as your world narrowed to one of feelings rather than sight. 

“No matter,” Silco continued. “I am certain enough for the both of us.” 

You had lost the thread of the conversation, but you didn’t mind - especially when one of Silco’s long fingers steadily worked its way inside of you. His thumb strummed at your clit, his other hand playing between your breasts as you tried to guess at where the sensations would stem from next. It was difficult, which kept you poised on the edge of uncertainty. All you could do was feel. 

There was no way to track the passing time, but you were grinding against Silco’s hand by the time he finally drew away from you. If he had told you that you were dripping onto the floor, you wouldn’t have been surprised. 

You whined as his hands disappeared from you entirely. Silco tutted behind you. “Patience, lovely, patience. Take in the wonders of Zaun from your vantage point while you wait. I will not be long.”

The glass panes of the window were fogged, outlining the shape of your palm and spread fingers. “Silco, please. Whatever you’re doing, hurry.” 

“‘Whatever I am doing’,” Silco repeated, tone full of teasing that you were too keyed-up to appreciate. “With minor effort, I am certain you could work out what I am doing.”

It was true - you could hear the rustle of clothing and myriad other sounds of a person getting undressed. “I was commenting on how long it’s taking. Even you don’t have that many buttons on your clothes.” 

Silco chuckled. “Untrue. I have articles of clothing with more fastenings than you could imagine. I simply did not realize that ease of access would be such a vital part of choosing my outfit for the day.” 

“Never-” You had to stop and swallow before your tongue would cooperate enough to form words. “Never thought I would be able to accuse you of not planning ahead.”

Silco hummed at that. “You must rob me of my ability to think clearly.” 

You would have rolled your eyes at the overly complimentary nature of that comment, but Silco plastered himself against your back. His pelvis pressed flush against your ass. You could feel his length pressing against you, perfectly aligned with you.

Whatever he said, it was obvious that Silco was the one who kept you from thinking clearly, not the other way around. 

You canted your hips and pressed yourself backward toward him. With the angle you had chosen, he could feel every drop that his earlier ministrations had wreaked on you. 

Silco's jaw clenched - you could hear his teeth clicking together beside your ear. You grinned as you amended your earlier opinion - maybe you and Silco wrecked each other's concentration. That made you feel better, even if it seemed bad for the safety of the Undercity. 

“Are you ready, pet?” Silco asked, his voice filled with more grit than you could remember hearing it hold. 

You laughed, glancing back over your shoulder to find him looking almost irritated. “Are you serious? Can you not feel the answer?” 

“My good manners are wasted on you,” Silco lamented. 

Your mouth was opening around a sarcastic reply when Silco pulled his hips back the slightest bit. The small movement notched the head of him at your entrance, and he thrust forward in the next second. He rammed into you at top speed, not giving you any chance of adjusting to the intrusion. 

With your lips already parted, you had no chance of holding back the desperate sound that he pushed out of you. It bounced off the window, echoing back loud and strangely flat. You could clearly hear Silco’s chuckle, likely because he was standing with the sharp point of his chin hooked over your shoulder. 

“Good girl, letting me hear you so clearly,” he commented. “I think we can keep it going, hmm?” 

The instant his hands closed around your hips, Silco was pushing further into you. Your stance widened, both to keep your balance and to give him better access to you. It would have been easier to lean forward into the window - that would have left him plenty of space. But with the way his grip was biting into your skin, you had a feeling he wasn’t going to let you go that far. 

A cruel little punch of his hips made him bottom out inside of you, and you felt the length of him buried in your heat so deeply that you would almost swear he was a part of you. 

You gasped, pulling one hand away from the window grame. Your intention had been to place it against your lower belly, to see if you could feel him from outside of your body. Before you could pull away from the frame, Silco’s hand lashed out, grabbing yours and pressing it back where it had been.

“Stay still,” he ordered, voice like velvet. “You are utter perfection here, like this.” 

You nodded, but he didn’t move his hand. Instead, it stayed covering yours as he began to move. That first time he withdrew from the depths of you sent shivers over your entire body, and your eyes fluttered shut with the feeling. 

“I know, pet - it is overwhelming.” Silco kissed the side of your neck, the quick flash of his tongue against your skin making you suck in a breath. “Yet I cannot help but admire the view.” 

You managed to open your eyes just enough to see the window in front of you beyond the reflections of Silco’s office. It was an enthralling view…. But you also realized that the gray light falling through the glass panes illuminated your body, gilding it enough to be visible from Silco’s perspective. 

Even as you watched, Silco moved his hand from your hip, stroking it downward from between your breasts to the apex of your thighs. He parted you deftly as you watched breathlessly in the reflection of the scene. He found your clit with ease, giving it a leisurely stroke as your head tipped back to rest on his shoulder.

When those fingers left you, they simply drifted backward to tease along your folds. The stimulation there was nice, but the pleasure was muted and tickling. It was only when you shifted your weight unhappily that you realized Silco was teasing the base of his own cock. 

The selfishness of that should have irritated you - or at least exasperated you - but you found it intensely compelling instead. To be used for his pleasure was a humbling thing, but you found that your walls gripped him a little tighter. 

Silco hissed at the contraction of your body around him. “Are you close, dearest?” 

You thought about that for a moment. You were, in fact, so you nodded, leaving the rest of the explanation to fade into the recesses of your pleasure-soaked brain. 

“Good.” Silco’s voice was slightly unsteady, and you didn’t think it was due only to the harsh desperation of his thrusting. “Let’s get you over the edge.” 

His fingertips teased back up, traveling over folds and tracing the lips of you until he found that utterly devastating cluster of nerves. Rather than continue his teasing, Silco stroked your clit mercilessly. You were left gasping and twisting in his arms, sobbing out your pleasure before you even knew that your orgasm was getting closer. 

Silco continued to push in and out of you, his fingers toying with your clit until you were standing slack in his arms. When he did release you, it was only to alter your stance until your feet were closer together. A few strokes in your sensitive channel, then he withdrew with a sharp groan. 

It took a moment to process what he was doing, but you eventually caught on - Silco was pressing his throbbing length in the scant gap he had created between your thighs. 

He fucked into that tight space furiously, tipping you forward with it. Your hands against the window and his arm looped around your waist were the only things keeping you standing when he grunted, thrusting forward with all of his strength. 

Hot cum dripped down your inner thighs a moment later, and you could only be grateful that Silco had removed your pants entirely instead of leaving them to shackle your ankles. 

You slumped against the window, uncaring at the moment that you were naked as you stood watching the not-empty street. You had long since noticed that everyone was too scared of Silco to stare up at his window, so there was a reasonable chance for privacy. In any case, there were good odds that you wouldn’t make it anywhere else in the office. Even the thick slide of Silco’s softening cock out from between your thighs left your knees trembling. 

“Give me a moment to catch my breath and I’ll help you clean up.” 

The offer made you feel a little better - at least you weren’t the only one who had been affected by your session. 

By the time your heart rate and breathing had slowed to a normal pace, a soft handkerchief was smoothing wetness from the insides of your thighs. You were still facing away from Silco, which was the only reason you managed to force the question from your lips: 

“How much of that did you mean?” 

Silco didn’t ask you to elaborate. Instead, the silence turned thoughtful as he wiped the last traces of himself from your skin. “I’ve never considered myself royalty. A leader of Zaun, perhaps, but nothing so authoritarian as a king.” 

“Glad to hear it.” You glanced around, quickly locating your clothes in a neat little stack. 

With a chuckle, Silco asked, “And what does that mean, pet? You think I would be a poor king?” 

“I don’t think Zaun needs a king.” You stopped short, startled at how natural that had felt to say. When had you started thinking of the Undercity as ‘Zaun’? Or was that true at all? It could have been a slip after hearing Silco say it so often. More importantly, when did you start thinking about what would be best for a potential country that didn’t yet exist - that might never exist?

Silco hummed understandingly. “And that is why I believe you could also be another leader for Zaun. You have shown a remarkable understanding for what she needs.” 

“I don’t agree with that,” you told him, dressing yourself with motions that felt stiff and unnatural. 

“Perhaps not,” he conceded, “but that doesn’t mean it is untrue. You care for Zaun - it is evident in how you care for her people at their most desperate. In our first session, you argued with a dangerous man to help a random addict living on the street. If I am not mistaken, you offered him your own lunch.” 

“Maybe I just knew I didn’t like you.” You tossed the insult out with bated breath, but Silco only smirked. 

“You had not yet seen me. You simply could not bear the idea of leaving someone homeless and helpless, at the mercy of the streets.” His smirk softened into something that was almost a smile. “Do not be offended, pet. It was a sign of your dedication to the people of Zaun, proven later when you made a deal with me on their behalf.” 

It wasn’t quite an accurate portrayal of events, but you didn’t want to argue with him. Not when he was implying that your meeting and eventual deal had been on purpose. Besides, you were fully dressed and had other places to be. 

Well, you didn’t, but you would find or invent them. 

“Speaking of our deal,” you redirected, “I’ll see you in two weeks.” 

“Of course, pet,” Silco agreed, inclining his head. “As always, I look forward to it.”

---

Author's Note - And we're back! Thank you all for your patience during my Fanfic February hiatus.

Good news: I reread this story from the beginning and was able to plot out the rest of it. I know myself well enough not to reveal my estimate of how many chapters are left because then I'll write dramatically too much and mess up my count. Suffice it to say that we still have plenty of story left, but I hope to post a chapter a month until it's over. No more hiatuses.

As always, I would adore your feedback. Thank you for reading and I'll see you next month!

[hotxcheeto]

Can you do Ellie x fem!reader who are best friends, but Ellie can’t stop eyeing the reader when they took a day off from patrol to hang out with each other?

Something really fluffy but also with smut.

Thank you! Love your writing! <3

━ 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐃��

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) - Ellie Williams  x Fem!Reader 

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 - Cursing, smut, AFAB reader fluff, pet names ( ellie calling reader pretty ), fingering ( r! receiving ), mentions of a movie sex scene, dirty jokes, finger sucking, kissing, top!ellie, bottom!reader

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ? - Yeah/Nope

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 - sorry this took so long! hope you enjoy lovely and thank you so much for enjoying my writing!

REBLOGS ARE EXTREMELY APPRECIATED

"Morning." Ellie could see the sleep in your eyes still, rubbing one with your hand while staring at her with a thousand yard gaze.

Softly, you muttered something in response, hands falling to your sides as Ellie walked over to you with a smile.

"How much did you sleep last night?" "I was too excited for our sleepover." You didn't answer the question though, yawning big and wide before hugging her torso and burying your face in her cream colored shirt. "So... not at all." "A little bit."

"You're taking a nap with me when we get back." "M'kay." Ellie patted your head and then pushed you back slightly much to your dismay.

"Here. Seth's wife made them fresh." She handed you a granola bar wrapped slightly in white napkin. "Really?" You asked excitedly, taking it from her with a little cheer. "Yeah." "How early did you have to get up to get it?"

This time Ellie was the one who didn't answer the question, shrugging and turning to the stable which Shimmer was stood in. Grabbing her reigns and pulling her out.

"You riding with me?" You shook your head. "Star hasn't gotten enough exercise lately. She needs her workout Ellie." You spoke seriously making her laugh, guiding Shimmer to the gate while you followed after her.

"When'd you get those shorts?" You glanced down at your outfit while Ellie climbed up onto Shimmer, a smile soon appearing on your lips. "Dina gave them to me. Do you like them?" You did a little twirl for her, the way her eyes darkened and fixated on you when unnoticed though. Laughing as you climbed up onto Star.

"They look good." "You can borrow them, but after years of knowing you, I'm not sure that you're a short shorts fan." You giggled. "But people change." You added.

Ellie scoffed as you began to outright laugh to yourself. "Yeah... not my style. Thanks for the offer."

"When we have our sleepover can we watch that new scary movie that you found?" You asked as you both exited Jackson into the cool summer wasteland, the mountains beginning to reflect the light of the sunrise peeking over the horizon.

"Yeah. But I'm not keeping the lights on." You grumbled something under your breath. "Fine. Maybe one." "No I don't need one." "You did last time." You huffed, looking away from her. "Did not."

"What'd you say?" "Nothing." You muttered. "Yeah that's what I thought."

"You're a dick." "You love it."

You shook your head with a little hum. "Nope."

Her eyes scanned your body as you continued down the golden path, giving little pockets of shade through the trees.

"What?" You broke her line of thought, eyes shooting back to your own. "Nothing."

Your ears turned hot along with your cheeks, even though you couldn't see it. Glancing away from her and staring off into the distance.

"We're here." You both slid off your horses, Ellie's hand finding itself on the small of your back as you both walked inside. Cautiously looking around through the small walls of the shop. One of the only ones left on the homey little street just outside of the large neighborhood.

"Do you ever wonder who owned these places?" You asked, grabbing the book from under the counter and signing your names, the entire time her fingers tickled your lower back and hereyes never stopping their movement as she watched outside the front door.

"Sometimes, mostly when you bring it up."

"I like to think about what we'd be like before." You began while standing up straight, turning to meet her eyes. "Like what we'd be and how our lives would go. Do you think we'd have met?" She shrugged. "Probably." "Yeah, we're practically soulmates, like in those stories. Tied together through time." You said dramatically

The comment made her blush this time, even though she knew you meant in a friendly way. Giving her that sweet smile she loved so much.

"You are so corny." "You love it." You giggled.

"I think you would be an astronaut, or do something with how good you are at drawing. And I could run a shop for flowers, or bakery. Or even a bookstore–"

You continued to ramble as you walked out of the shop, Ellie right behind you, though her eyes were locked somewhere else.

"Right?" "Yeah." She didn't hear a word you said afterwards.

"We could've been roommates." You climbed up onto Star. "Sleepovers, every night. Then again we could technically do that now too." Her hand suddenly grabbed your calf, giving you a little squeeze before climbing up on Shimmer.

"You should really just move in." You said matter-of-factly, continuing to ride down the road. "Or you could live with me." "You only have one bed, how're you supposed to have anyone over?" "I have a couch." "Ew I'm never sitting on that thing again."

You could hear her laugh from behind you.

"I haven't on the couch yet, just the bed." "Ellie! I have to sleep there tonight. I'm gonna cancel if you keep talking." She snorted. "I do change the sheets." "Thank God."

You rode in a comfortable silence after that. The cool air sending a light shiver up your spine, relaxing when the breeze blew past. Closing your eyes while leaning forward making your back arch just the lightest.

Ellie knew staring was wrong, admiring you like this would make you uncomfortable if you were aware of it. Surely it would, but she couldn't help herself, you were just so pretty.

Especially when you were so relaxed and sat so nicely.

Making those little noises while you stretched your arms back, looking around yourself and at the trees.

Turning to her with that fucking smile.

"I can't wait to go back to bed." You yawned, dragging her away from your appearance.

"You and me both."

You all but threw yourself onto the mattress, your feet hanging off the bed as you kicked off your shoes snuggling deep into the fresh sheets.

"I gotta change by bra is hurting me." You huffed, sitting up once more while rubbing your eyes. "You wear those shitty ones that's why." "The wire ones make them look better."You pouted at her. "For who?"

You stared at her with an agape mouth, faux shock on your face.

"You are such an ass today." You stood up and shoved her shoulder playfully turning your body away from her and taking your shirt off to change.

"I'm tired." Was all Ellie said in response, climbing up into her spot on the bed. You unclasped your bra and set it aside with your shirt, planning on bringing the clothes home tomorrow once you left.

"Excuses, excuses." You muttered, putting one of her shirts over your head and pulling it down. "Mhm." You glanced over your shoulder as you unbuttoned your jean shorts, seeing her clicking around with her game controller.

"I'm gonna put on a random movie. Background noise, y'know?" "M'kay." You slipped down the shorts and grabbed a pair of sleep shorts you'd left here before.

"I'll probably fall asleep a few minutes in though." She shrugged, scooting over as you made your way to your spot on the bed. Her arm opened wide for you to lay back against, snuggling into a throw blanket that technically was yours, you'd just kept forgetting to bring it home.

The particular movie she'd chosen though started off at a scene that happened to make you go wide eyed.

Seeing the sex scene begin at the start, your face going hot.

She didn't even mean it either. That's what made her chuckle out loud but you didn't even notice. Too alarmed at what was happening on screen.

You sunk deeper into the bed, feeling Ellie's hand creeping up on your bare hip. Shirt having risen up at your movements, her fingers tickling your skin as they moved so slowly across your flesh.

You hadn't seen the movie, but you understood what it was about.

Dina had told you the plot when she gave it to Ellie, thinking it as a good date movie if Ellie would invite girls over more than once every six months and just to have a quick hookup.

The scene was two girls, two friends that had casual sex here and there. A group of friends that party and spend life together, but the girls fight their feelings off the entire movie.

That was their whole plot together.

It was a bit ironic.

"You okay?" You hadn't noticed your squirming, or they way your eyes were locked on the screen. Thighs pressed together while you tightly nodded and looked up at her.

"Mhm." You messed with your fingers as her hand crept lower to the band of your shorts.

You closed your eyes, hoping the lude noises ended soon or you fell asleep first. Your legs pushed together so hard that you prayed it would make the ache stop from terrible thoughts you were having about your best friend.

The best friend that happened to be cuddling you.

You should've been used to it though, you guys cuddled all the time. Snuggling while you slept, that's what friends did. You and Dina did the same, so why did your heart beat so fast when it was Ellie beside you?

Everytime you shut your eyes again though you'd see her doing things to you. Making you feel so good. They'd rocket back open and you'd move around uncomfortably, becoming sweaty and hot.

You wished you could shut your brain off.

"Geez Y/n/n, you move too much." "Sorry.." "You okay?" You looked up at her with blow out eyes and your mouth open just the slightest. "I'm fine Ellie." The way you said her name so innocently made her to grab you up and show you how much she cared about you.

"Really? Because I think if you push your legs together anymore you'll become a mermaid." "Ellie! Don't say that!" You covered your face with your hands and rolled over so your back was facing her.

"I can help, you just gotta ask." "What?" You looked at her with such an pure face, expecting her to laugh at you. "Oh c'mon, that's what friends are for." She said, mocking what you've told her time and time again about her not asking for help when she needed it.

"Stop messing with me, it's not funny." "M'not messing with you, we can pretend it never happened, or that I never asked." You huffed and moved to lay back against her side.

"I dunno.." Her fingers moved between your legs, tickling your inner thigh as she moved down to the crotch area of your shorts. "What if it's weird after?" "It's only weird if you make it weird."

Two of her fingers pulled the shorts aside so your white cotton underwear were visible to her, along with the wet spot that had been soaked right through them.

"Want me to stop?" You looked up at her once more and quietly shook your head before burying it into her side. Hiding your face from her when she pulled your panties aside, a small string of slick sticking to them revealing your glistening, aching cunt.

"Geez Y/n." You heard her whisper under her breath, circling your clit with her middle finger. "You're so wet." "Ellie.." You peaked out to watch her finger move around and around, her other hand pushing your legs father from each other.

"When's the last time you were touched?" She asked, glancing down at you. "Before me and Talia broke u– oh!" Her finger slipped deep into your hole that ached for some attention and was finally getting just a bit. Clenching around her as a few little whines left your lips that had turned into an 'o' shape.

"So what is that? Seven months?" "Mhm" You squeaked as she added another finger, sinking deep inside of you. "Please.. more Ellie.." Per your request her fingers began moving in and out with a gross squelching sound filling your ears.

The ache was delicious once she began to move, pulling you more open so you were set nice and wide for her.

"That feel good?" "Mhm.." You nodded very quickly. "More please." "You're being so polite, can't you be like this everyday?"

Her fingers went faster as they worked themselves in and out of you, her other hand forcing your face to turn up so she could see you. Mouth parted and eyes slowly crossing as you melted into her touch and let yourself enjoy the pleasure.

"You want another finger?" The way you hurriedly shook your head and grabbed her wrist made her smile. Slipping a third finger into your cunt, pushing in and out even faster than before.

"Oh..." "Let me hear you.." She muttered against your lips, moving her head down just enough to where she could kiss you. Tasting the granola from this morning and a faint mix of your toothpaste. Her fingertips grazing against your g-spot giving it just a bit of pressure making you moan into her mouth.

Your grip on her wrist tightening so hard your nails dug deep into her skin creating little moons on the back of her hands. But all she could think about was how pretty you looked breathing against her mouth, squeezing her fingers and moaning just for her.

"M'close El.." "Yeah?" You could feel it winding up in your tummy, legs constantly wanting to go wider as she harshly pulled your shorts and panties away. Letting you suck her in even deeper with a cry.

"M'gonna cum." You breathed, crying as she kissed you once more. Feeling your legs begin to shake, juices coating her hand as you came around her digits. All but screaming into her mouth, hips jerking and spasming as you came.

"Oh Ellie.." You stammered out in a whisper, the girl slowly circling your clit as you came down.

"You're so pretty like this." She moved her hand away from your cunt, moving it up to your mouth. Pushing past your lips letting her fingers explore your mouth.

Your tongue running along each knuckle.

"You want me to clean you up?" She asked pulling her fingers from your mouth with a little 'pop'. "Yes please. But be fast."

You yawned as she moved away, snuggling into your pillow as your shorts and underwear were pulled away. A warm rag cleaning you up as you slowly fell asleep into what was technically her pillow.

Inhaling her forestry scent always mixed with an expired cologne from years and years before.

Your underwear were replaced with a pair of her clean boxers and then your sleep shorts. Her pillow replaced with her chest as you slowly began sinking deeper into sleep.

"Thank you Ellie." You muttered, cuddling into her shirt.

"That's what friends are for, right?" You nodded with a little smile.

"But I think we can be more than that now Y/n."

[gurugirl]

The Guest Bathroom*

Summary: Harry doesn't like it when he sees a guy flirting with you or the way you flirt back so he teaches you a lesson in the guest bathroom, and it's the type of lesson only Harry can teach you

1.8k words

Warning: Stepdad!harry, dark!harry, inappropriate relationship between stepdad and stepdaughter, smut, unprotected sex, cheating, breeding kink, DDlg kink, degradation, spanking, choking, spitting, face slapping

Stepdad!harry masterlist

You made cupcakes for the party your neighbors were throwing. They invited your household and a few others from down the street so it was quite the crowd.

Your mom brought two bottles of wine and Harry carried a six pack of beer. You were greeted at the door by Mrs. Kline. Once inside there was music, people crowded in the kitchen with glasses of wine, and a backyard with even more people.

You grabbed one of the beers Harry carried over and went into the backyard. This house was quite similar to your own. From the interior layout to the pool in the backyard. You hadn’t thought to bring a swimsuit but a few people were in the pool.

You took in the scene and found a familiar set of eyes on you already.

“Hey!!” Mazie waved and smiled at you as you walked her way.

“Hey! Do you live in the area?” You asked her. You went to the same university as Mazie and it was a surprise to see her in your neighbor’s backyard.

“Yeah, my family just moved a few blocks from here a couple of months ago but we’ve known the Kline's for years. You?” She answered.

You nod, “Yeah, just live across the street. This is the only place I’ve ever lived, other than the dorm at school of course.”

You and Mazie continued talking and sat near the pool dipping your legs in.

After a bit of time others joined you, including a cute guy who sat right next to you. He was obviously hitting on you and you didn’t mind it.

Harry, of course did mind. He couldn’t lose control and make a scene in front of everyone, especially with your mom around, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you and the scrawny asshole who kept leaning into you and whispering in your ear. He watched as you put your hand on his forearm and laughed at something he said.

So it should have come as no surprise to you when Harry was suddenly behind you, leaning over you and speaking into your ear, “Follow me.” He didn’t wait for you to stand, he just began to walk away toward the house.

You quickly got up to follow him. You knew he might be upset about the guy who was flirting with you, but why shouldn’t you be able to flirt?

When you walked into the house and through the kitchen, it was still packed with people. Harry was standing near the hallway waiting for you with dark eyes, and anger on his face.

You looked around and didn’t find your mom anywhere as you walked to where Harry stood. He grabbed your wrist and quickly pulled you into the hallway and led you through the door of what appeared to be a sparsely decorated spare bedroom and into the en-suite bathroom.

Locking the door behind him he quickly turned to face you and shoved you into the sink counter. He was hasty in getting your jean shorts off as he spoke quietly, “You better prepare yourself for getting your ass beat and your cunt ripped in half after that display Fucking brat.” He removed your panties to the floor.

With your bottom half bare, Harry pulled you with him as he sat down on the edge of the tub and had you lay over his lap.

“Harry! Wait! Why?!” You played dumb. You knew what he was pissed about.

He grasped your chin in his hand, drawing your face to look at him, “Fucking dirty slut, throwing herself at some limp dick shithead. What? Did you think he was gonna take you into this bathroom and fuck you like I could? Hmmm?” Harry was jealous. He wouldn't admit it outright, but the truth was there. It was clear he didn't like you talking to anyone else. His possessiveness was something you liked.

You scoffed and tried to respond but Harry let go of your chin and popped your cheek with his palm in warning. This meant he didn’t want you to talk back or else he’d slap you harder. You shut your mouth immediately.

Harry shoved your head down and angled your ass upward as he began to issue you a series of smacks to each cheek, progressively getting harder.

You moaned and began to tear up. The thing about getting spanked was that it felt good but it hurt too, enough to cause you to tear up. And Harry spanked you a lot, so your tears were normal to him at this point.

“Look at that… my little slut gets all wet when Daddy spanks her for being naughty. Like when you’re ass is all red and sore?”

You groaned as Harry continued landing his wide palm over your soft flesh. When your ass grew numb from all the stimulation Harry grasped you to move off of him, and while keeping hold of you he moved you to the sink and had you bend over it.

You were feeling woozy from all the bum swats as well from the way Harry angled you with your head dangling while you were over his lap.

You could hear him removing his belt and undoing his pants. You turned to take a look at him, and his eyes were on your bottom where he was holding his thick cock, lining it up to the opening of your cunt.

Suddenly he looked up at you and pushed in. Both of you moaned, mouths parted, eyes locked. With your head still turned to him behind you, your hands flat on the counter in front of you, he began rolling his hips, thrusting into your cunt forcefully.

You gasped sharply as Harry began fucking into you harder.

"This is what whores get when they act out." Harry grunted as he thrusted. His cock felt extra hard today for some reason. He was repeatedly entering you and then backing out almost to his tip, just to slam back in. You yelped at the pinch you felt inside.

Harry grasped your neck and turned you so you were forced to look forward and into the mirror where you could see him behind you fucking you, his palm around your throat. He lifted you so you were stood up right and at this angle you could see him entering you through the mirror, his shiny cock, plunging deep into your pink, swollen pussy, dripping down your thighs with how needy you were for him.

"See that? Only Daddy gets to do this to you. Gets to fuck you like this, or any other way. No one else. Understood?" He growled into your ear lowly.

He punched himself up into you, over and over again and it felt like you were being catapulted into another dimension. He began thrusting so hard you felt the way his balls hit your pussy with a slap.

You tried to speak but it was hard because Harry didn't let up, "Yes! Daddy!" You gasped and tried to finish what you were going to say but it became impossible with how hard he was fucking you and how tight his grip on your throat was.

"Now, rub that little pussy like a good girl so you can come on my cock, feel what it's like when you get fucked by someone who knows what you want." He panted out. One of his hands was holding the back of your hip so you'd stay in place and you lowered a hand down to your clit as you lifted your other to hold onto his forearm at your neck.

Having your clit stimulated felt like heaven along with Harry's heavy cock pushing your insides apart. You moaned lightly, trying not to be too loud.

"That's right. Feels good, doesn't it... Fuckkk..." Harry was feeling his stomach tremble with his orgasm as it started to unravel with the feeling of your sopping cunt wrapped around him.

"So good, Daddy!" You breathed out in a high pitch sob. You closed your eyes when you felt yourself spiral and Harry used his hand at your hip to smack your thigh. You popped your eyes back open.

"Fucking keep those eyes on Daddy so you can watch the only man who can make you feel like this when you come."

You began to come with his words. You forced yourself to keep your eyes open, your mouth dropped in shock at the waves of ecstasy that took over. Harry brought his lips inward as he watched you coming and felt you pulse over his cock. He loved the feeling of fucking into your tight cunt as you were coming, loved pushing in and drawing back out over and over again as you released over him. He'd never felt anything like it.

"Fuck. Fuck... Gonna come in this tight little pussy. S'only for me. S'only mine. Your cunt is mine..." He whimpered out lowly, shaky breaths between words and suddenly he was pumping himself into you, slamming his cock deep into your hole, his come filling your insides.

When you were done, you took your fingers from your clit and leaned back over the counter with your palms flat in front of you as Harry just breathed hard behind you. You watched him as his chest heaved and his face was pink, sweat along his hair line.

He licked his lips and looked at you through the mirror before pulling out and turning you to face him. He crouched down so he was eye level with your cunt and lapped at your opening a little. You were surprised by this. Harry had never licked at your pussy after fucking you. He'd eaten you out plenty beforehand, but never this.

He stood up, his mouth full of his own come that had dripped from your pussy and he squeezed your jaw, forcing you to open up your mouth. He spit everything from his mouth into yours, still holding onto your jaw, keeping you wide open. Harry watched as you swallowed it and he smiled down at you.

"Now, you can go back out there. All fucked out and full of Daddy's come in your pussy and in your mouth and tummy now too, huh? No one's gonna be able to do what I can do. Do not forget that."

You nodded, knowing it was true, and leaned against the counter behind you as Harry pulled his pants up and straightened himself out. He helped you put your panties and your shorts back on and then pushed you to the door to leave the room, undetected by anyone at the party. No one the wiser to the way your own stepdad had just spanked and then fucked you into oblivion.

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[writhe]

help me figure out what the risk here is! CW this post might have some heavy implications or speculation but i really dunno anything for certain.

i live off a well-traveled road. the other night (10-ish?), there was a woman in the middle of the street, kind of erratically waving her hands and reaching towards my car as i passed. it seemed strange but i wrote it off, there’s a lot of sex workers who work around here. i did think it was kinda weird she was in the middle of the road, though. i also haven’t had anyone outright, like, try to flag me down, usually people will just nod a little or hold eye contact or talk to me calmly if i’m walking, but i hadn’t had anyone lunge towards my car before

i had a pang of regret for not stopping. maybe she needed a ride or something? like, sure, there are good reasons to not pick up random strangers. in my experience it’s sometimes been messy and a little inconvenient but usually totally fine. people are generally kind and thankful. i don’t think stranger danger is an especially healthy way to navigate the world or view other people

anyway, tonight it happened again. i was driving, it was much later (nearly 3AM) and i kinda noticed something before i realize it’s a person and this woman full on SPRINTS out from where she is hiding, carrying a huge duffel bag, and like almost theatrically throws herself towards (not in front of) this car while like dramatically trying to wave them down. i’m coming from the opposite direction and once that car passes, she turns towards mine and starts hurrying and frantically waving and practically gets into my lane. i slowed down a lot and went around her. i swear she almost banged her hands against my window. i watched her in the rearview mirror as i drove off and she just stood, completely still suddenly, in the road. it was like she had been trying to act as if she was fleeing something, but i’d seen her in the shadows beforehand, she was totally waiting. and, it was weird how quickly the act was dropped after i passed- if she were trying to stay hidden or get away quick it probably wouldn’t be her move to stand in the middle of the road under a streetlight

but i find it weird that both times it happened in the same spot. the first time it wasn’t a particularly quiet night so it wasn’t like she could get me to stop while someone else, like, ambushed my car? lotta folks panhandle around here but it seems like a bit of a risky move just to ask for money. and i’d really gotten the sense both of em really wanted to get INTO a car, though i don’t know for sure

i guess this event could be completely unrelated but i also heard a woman screaming bloody murder outside my house the other night. definitely not one of my neighbors (as far as i could tell). it went on for a WEIRD amount of time. i was high and wasn’t feeling confident in my own, say, triage abilities. i tried to listen but it mostly just seemed to be continuous, emotionally charged scream-sobbing (but from one person, and didn’t seem directed at anyone). i couldn’t make out anything distinctive, but i got the sense no one was injured and there also werent any pleas for help. it had began so suddenly, as if someone had walked up and waited until they were right outside before having a meltdown. i did kinda crack & ended up looking for her, just by peering though all my windows. the screaming stopped REALLY abruptly. i never saw anyone, i figured they’d given up and left

any have any ideas? to clarify, i didn’t find any of this particularly upsetting, just baffling, and i wanna know why! if anyone says trafficking i s2g

[snackhobi]

pairing: jimin x reader / word count: 20.9k / genre: street racer au, driftracer!jimin, driftracer!reader, rivals to lovers, smut, some fluff too

summary: You used to think that there was nothing better than the sensation of coming first place. However, your rival- the talented, gorgeous, dangerous Park Jimin- is more than happy to prove you wrong.

warnings: unsafe driving (street races are technically illegal), cursing, sexually explicit content, fingering, slight orgasm delay, oral (m receiving), deepthroating, cum eating, unprotected sex, car sex (duh), creampie, multiple orgasms, dirty talk I think that’s everything

EDIT: part two now available!

--

It’s hot tonight.

Humid, too. Your hair has been pulled into a messy updo and your makeup is fierce, as always, and despite the mugginess in the air, you’re still wearing your usual leather jacket even though you can feel how the inside lining is sticking to your skin. You have appearances to maintain and the pastel pink jacket is part of your signature look, even in the heat of summer.

“Busy tonight,” Taehyung comments idly as he leans against the side of your car, and you hum in response.

“Good turn out.” You slam the bright red hood of your baby shut, finally satisfied. “Get off, please.”

Taehyung pouts as he does what he’s told, and pouts even harder when you end up reclining against the hood of the car, leaning your weight into your palms. Jungkook snickers at him from where he’s squatted to shut the toolbox and you laugh when Taehyung swings a halfhearted kick at the younger boy which is effortlessly parried.

The mountain road in Seongdong-gu is crowded. It’s rammed full of fans, throngs of men and women swarming the start of tonight’s route, mingling with each other and ogling the cars and their racers. Most people give you a wide berth, though; by now they’ve learned to stay away from your Pontiac, even if the flame-bright 2007 Solstice GXP is eye-catching in its rarity. Most racers don’t take kindly to random strangers touching their vehicles anyway. Jungkook and Taehyung are the only people who can touch your Solstice without you ripping them to shreds, your childhood friends working alongside you to make sure the engine is in full working order for the rigorous pacing you’re about to put it through.

Sometimes, though, other racers come over to try and flirt with you, usually people new to Seoul, unfamiliar with the circuit. You’ll giggle and simper under their gazes, acting like the ditz that they think you are, coquettish flirting that they don’t realise is a front. You know that a female drift racer is an oddity, and you are especially so with your American sports car standing out amongst a collection of souped up Nissans and Toyotas— you know they think you’re here for fun. That you’re in over your head.

You always make sure to prove them wrong.

“Heads up,” Jungkook mutters. You glance up to see where he’s looking, the lingering smile of your laughter immediately smoothing out when you spot who it is, face going neutral as you sit up.

Park Jimin looks beautiful tonight. He always does, though; plump lips, soft face, eyes darkened with shimmer, the blond of his styled hair contrasting with the dark roots of his undercut. Arresting and stunning. And, just like you, an oddity on these tracks. He knows how good he looks and leans into that beauty, and you know that the other men on this circuit used to underestimate him because of it, too. Just like they had with you and the overtly feminine colours of your outfits. A masquerade.

“Jimin.” You greet him coolly.

“Y/n,” he responds, as cordial as always. He tilts his head, the chains in his earrings swinging with the motion. “You’re looking well today.” When you don’t respond, he continues: “I came over to wish you good luck for the race.”

“I don’t need luck, but thank you.”

Jimin seems amused, smiling a little at your statement. You keep your eyes locked on his, refusing to let your gaze fall down to his lips. You never let yourself be caught off guard around him. 

You remember when he’d first started here, slipping into the pack of racers without any of them taking notice, a quiet, beautiful man surrounded by larger, louder men, his Skyline GTR just one car amongst many— but from the second you’d laid eyes on him, you’d known he was a force to be reckoned with. You could read it in every line of his stance, the way he moved, and how he had introduced himself to you: politely and civilly. No preening and strutting around, no sly attempts to look down your shirt, no ham-handed attempts at negging you.

Isn’t it sad that the second someone around here treats you like an equal, you have to be on guard?

“Good luck to you,” you say. Jimin laughs outright at this, the implication that you don’t need luck but he does; he seems genuinely amused rather than offended. He’s beautiful when he laughs, eyes squeezing shut into crescents, the apples of his cheeks defined with how his lips curve upwards, and honestly, it’s almost overwhelming— how he instantly turns so boyish, rather than remaining like some sort of distant, ethereal angel of beauty. 

For all that you consider Jimin a threat and your biggest rival— in your opinion your win records are starting to look too even— you don’t actually dislike him. It’s just wariness on your part, tempered with respect, though you have no idea what Jimin really thinks about you.

“Thank you.”

He leaves after giving you one, last lingering look, expression unreadable, returning to his black Nissan and his group that surround it. Jimin says something to Min Yoongi, who smiles so widely that you can see his gums. Taehyung muffles a small sigh of longing.

“The sexual tension between you two couldn’t be more obvious,” Jungkook says. For a second you think he’s talking about Taehyung and Yoongi, even if Yoongi isn’t looking in this direction, but then you realise Jungkook is talking about you. You raise your eyebrows at him.

“Have you forgotten that I’m in a relationship, Kook?”

“You can still have sexual tension with someone.” Jungkook shrugs, unbothered. “If you keep eyefucking each other like that I’m going to have to request that you start wearing protection, otherwise someone’s going to get pregnant.”

“Glasses are just eyeball condoms,” Taehyung says, and then both boys crack up.

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Despite the tone of your voice a smile twists up the corners of your lips. 

The only other driver who comes up to greet you is Hoseok. You genuinely like Hoseok, waving at him when he approaches and tipping your head back in laughter when he jokes with you; you’ve known him for long enough to have learned that he’s not actually sleazy, so when he says something flirtatious you play up to it and bat your eyelashes at him before the two of you end up giggling at each other. When he leaves he winks at you and you blow him a small kiss, which makes him clutch his heart as he staggers back and you laugh again. 

Your smile still lingers after your laughter has faded, and you’re still smiling when you happen to make eye contact with Jimin, who’s looking over at you—the second your eyes lock he’s wrenching his gaze away, and even from this distance you can’t help but notice the hard set to his lips. Strange.

When you finally pull up to the start line, all semblance of laughter and levity has gone from your face. The course tonight isn’t entirely simple— the forested hills in the centre of Seoul are popular for good reason, usually deserted at night, the loops of the mountainous roads letting the racers show off exactly how good they are. The start line is just before a horseshoe curve, an arcing bend that’ll immediately set you at a disadvantage if you fuck up, but you’re not worried. You haven’t driven this particular route in Seongdong-gu in a race, the winding snake of a road falling down the mountainside in front of you, but you’ve driven similar routes plenty of times and all your practices have gone well. You feel confident.

Your baby purrs underneath and around you. The sound of the engine is one that’s as familiar to you as your own breathing, the feeling of the steering wheel under your hands entirely comfortable. You’re aware of every one of her parts, having rebuilt and tweaked her yourself, replacing the drop top, modifying her into the perfect drifting machine, and you’ve grown with her; you don’t like to wax lyrical but this car is an extension of yourself and you know her inside and out. Even if Jungkook and Taehyung are your friends and fellow co-owners of the garage, and help you check her over before each race, you’re the one who built her and maintains her.

Along the line other cars roll into place, flanking you. There’re familiar faces— Jimin and Hoseok, of course, but also Kim Namjoon, as well as the other usual people that Seokjin makes sure to invite to his meets, plus a few newcomers that you don’t recognise. The sound of your engines drown out the noises from the crowd, as loud as they are, milling around and holding their phones up to film the start of the race; the usual busy chaos. A flagger appears, a gorgeous girl in revealing clothes who soaks up the wolf whistles from the crowd as she saunters onto the track. You see how she flicks a wink at Namjoon, who grins back at her with bared teeth as she gets ready to motion with the checkered flag in her hands.

One of your hands tightens on the wheel. The other grips the gearstick, hard. The second the flag drops, you’re leaping forwards from the start line, Pontiac’s engine roaring as she responds eagerly to your commands. You round the first bend with ease, flicking your car into a smooth turn that sends dust flying from your tyres; in your mirrors you catch glimpses of the other drivers doing the same, and even if you weren’t familiar with the newbies and the regulars you’d be able to tell who was who from this one moment. A few struggle to complete the bend— one even goes into a tailspin, though fortunately he just stalls on the road instead of plummeting off it— and you and your competitors leave them in the dust as you approach the next turn.

Namjoon is next to you while Jimin is in front. The glint of your headlights off the sleek black paintwork of your rival's car seems almost like it’s taunting you. You grit your teeth and approach the next turn faster, harder, shaving off precious seconds by arcing your car more tightly after you’ve popped your handbrake, edging ahead of Namjoon and pulling closer to Jimin. You want to win, of course, but more than that, you have to beat him— you need another tally against your name.

The adrenaline is running high in your blood, rushing through your veins, spiking each time you squeal into another curve of road; where Jimin was initially ahead of you, you’re now almost level, approaching the last turn of the track. You suck in a lungful of air and lean your body into the weight of your car, throttling her to get more of an angle in the restricted hairpin turn, familiar and confident enough in your Solstice to know exactly how to steer her so you don’t lose control. 

It’s perfect. Jimin curves out more widely and takes longer to straighten up and by this point you’ve slammed down on the accelerator for the final, straight part of the road; you scream over the finish line first to the roar of the awaiting crowd and the wide grins of your teammates, Jungkook and Taehyung elated at your win.

It doesn’t take long for the other racers to finish after you. Jimin is only a few seconds behind you, an insignificant amount of time in the grand scheme of things, but in this moment, on this track, it means everything— the difference between winning or losing. 

“That was dope!” Jungkook whoops when you swing your door open, and you grin at him. You’re a little shaky as you step out of the car, breathing hard with the adrenaline that’s still in your system, lightheaded. You love this feeling. You love when you’re driving and your entire body is on edge and wound tight— but you love the come down, too, the way you can feel how the adrenaline is still roiling through your veins, dissipating. 

You’re surrounded by the hubbub of the crowd, screaming and yelling at each other and the racers, but they’re still careful to steer clear of the cars. You can feel the heat of your engine through the hood and touch your fingers tenderly to the warm metal; you briefly catch Jimin’s eye as he climbs out of his Skyline but before you can do anything, your crew are grabbing you and you’re inevitably pulled away to collect your prize money and, as Taehyung says, ‘get turnt’. 

(You don’t do this for the prize money, though. You don’t do it for the free booze, the drugs, the sex: none of that interests you. You do it because you love to drive, love the sensation of control as you make your car dance in ways most drivers can’t even dream of— love showing that you’re good enough to win.)

Jimin finds you later, sequestered from the crowd and sitting on the hood of your car. Even though you’d won you hadn’t searched out the limelight and had slipped out after making a cursory appearance. It’s this little ritual the two of you have, searching each other out after your races, a few stolen moments of privacy despite the throngs of fans that fill whatever area that Seokjin has relegated the afterparty to. You see that Jimin notices the still full bottle of soju in your hands. You’re only holding onto it for appearance’s sake, an excuse if someone tries to foist more on you— you don’t drink and drive. 

“Congratulations,” he says. His eye makeup is a little smudged, probably from the humidity, but he looks just as alluring as before, stylish rather than mussed. “You drove beautifully.”

“So did you,” you reply, honest. It had been a close call, but Jimin had drifted as well as always, Skyline gliding as smooth and soft as silk over the rough asphalt of the mountain roads. You might be wary of Park Jimin but you’re always civil with each other and you’re nothing if not honest— he’s incredible at what he does.

“Not beautifully enough.” Jimin smiles wryly, but you know this is directed at himself and not you. You’ve never seen him act bitter after losing, unlike some other racers. Then again, he doesn’t flaunt his wins, either. Which is similar to you, you guess, although you wonder why he races at all. You don’t judge based on appearances or personality— you’re certainly the poster girl for being an unusual candidate for a street racer— but you have to wonder what set Jimin onto this path in the first place. “I’ll have to do better next time.”

“Feel free not to, I’m happy if you want to let me win,” you joke.

“We both know that’s not true.” Jimin’s smile has shifted from wry into something smaller. It feels almost like a secret, and you find your heart stuttering in your chest at the sight of it, this tiny bit of- this tiny bit of openness from him. “You want to race against the best, not someone who’ll just hand you first place.”

You blink with surprise. You can’t help but let this surprise show on your face even if you normally try to control your expressions around Jimin; you never want to show vulnerability to any of your competitors, even the ones who seem like genuinely okay people, like Namjoon or Hoseok. “That’s true,” you say. What’s the point of coming first if it isn’t actually a challenge? That’s what makes wins all the better— knowing that you’ve worked for it, that you’ve worked hard, that you’re racing against the best of the best and still come out on top. There’s a difference between being inexperienced and incompetent. You have no time for the latter.

Jimin is close enough to touch you. You’re acutely aware of the sweat that’s beaded along your hairline, both your forehead and at the back of your neck; you’ve shed your leather jacket to try your best to cool down in the humid night air and the baring of your skin has helped somewhat, shorts and vest revealing swathes of skin that can feel the light touch of the breeze, as heavy with mugginess as it is.

Of course, he doesn’t touch you. Instead he brushes his fingers across the metal of the Solstice’s hood, light enough that his fingers don’t leave a mark. Normally if anyone even approaches her you can feel your hackles rising, the urge to snap at them overwhelming— there’s a reason people usually avoid approaching your car— but for some reason Jimin doesn’t conjure this feeling in you. You let the touch pass without comment and you notice that Jimin’s fingers go still for a moment. He’d been expecting you to tell him to stop.

“She’s beautiful,” he says. He’s still looking at you.

“The love of my life.” You can’t help but smile a little when you say this. You lavish praise onto this car, calling her your love and baby, and she gives back as much as you put in.

“Mm.” Jimin hums lightly and strokes his fingers down the car again, before splaying fingers out, palm pressed flat against the hood; you hear the metal of his rings touch against it. The suspension of your Solstice isn’t exactly the highest in the world and with the curve of the hood this has Jimin leaning against it in a way that seems almost flirtatious, his hip cocked, although his expression doesn’t betray anything. He’s intimidatingly gorgeous. “What made you choose this car?”

You shrug. “Gut feeling,” you say. “Desire. I saw it, I wanted it. I got it. Why did you choose a Skyline?”

“Because they’re good for drifting,” Jimin says, with a small grin. Skylines aren’t an uncommon sight on the circuit and it certainly would have been a lot cheaper to tweak a Nissan than your Pontiac, what with export costs and difficulties getting American car parts over here— but that’s one good thing about owning a garage. Easier access because of your connections. “And because I like them.”

You point at him, other fingers still hooked around the neck of the soju bottle. “See, that’s how you should think,” you say. “It’s what I did. Don’t choose something because it’s the smart choice. Choose it because you like it. If you want something, go for it. You’ll make it work.”

Something flickers across Jimin’s face. He opens his mouth to speak but then your phone goes off; it’s in your back pocket, pressed against the hood of your car, vibrations amplified against the metal. Jungkook’s calling you. No doubt he’s wondering where you’ve gone and if he needs to save you from hordes of fans or something.

You decline the call and shoot him a quick text, wedging the soju bottle between your thighs before you begin to type both hands. You don’t notice how Jimin eyes the motion, how the beads of condensation on the glass are slick against your skin, shining; by the time you glance up, looking through your lashes, Jimin has straightened and taken a step back, no longer touching the Solstice. “Stay out of trouble,” he says. “I’ll see you next time.”

“I’ll be counting the minutes,” you say, but it doesn’t come out as sarcastically as you mean it to. Jimin gives you one last smile, a subtle upturn to his perfect lips, before he turns to go. You find yourself staring at Jimin as he leaves and absently wondering how on earth he fits that spectacular ass into those jeans of his.

--

The next time you race against Jimin you’re kind of a mess.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jungkook asks, hesitantly, as you try to slam the hood of your car shut with less force than necessary; you fumble as you raise it and get it shut on the second try.

“I’m fine.” 

Taehyung and Jungkook exchange a look, but neither of them say anything. They’re clearly concerned about you and your weird behaviour. 

You haven’t told them the reason why you’re like this, not yet. You’d caught your boyfriend in bed with his ex; after their break-up they’d remained friends, and you being an idiot, had allowed it. You’d been unsure at first, but you’d decided to trust him after he'd kept on at you about it, only to discover that not only had he been cheating on you with his ex, he’d been cheating on you the whole time you’d been dating. Months of your time, spat on, wasted. You’re mad at him, at her, at them both, of course— you’d kicked them out of your apartment immediately, literally throwing their things out and slamming the door shut in his face when he’d tried to beg for forgiveness— but since that afternoon you’ve gone weirdly numb alongside the rage, and you go quiet when you’re angry, anyway. 

He’d been so nice on the surface, so kind to you, one of your few partners who’d been okay with the street racing and hadn’t tried to fight you on it, even if he’d never actually come to watch or actively encouraged you— but now that you think about it this is probably because it would have given him time to go fuck his sidepiece, which is what’s kind of messing you up the most. You feel stupid, too. Taehyung and Jungkook had always been wary of him, not liking his attitude and being mad that he hadn’t supported your interests. Boy, had they been proven right. Why hadn’t you listened to them?

(Why had you trusted him?)

You’re holding onto a spanner but fumble and drop it onto your foot. You’re wearing boots today so it’s not like it hurts, but the surprise of it brings you back into the moment, angry at your own clumsiness. Jungkook and Taehyung have retreated to the other side of the car; you haven’t told them about the cause of your mood yet and so they’re understandably perplexed at it. But you feel embarrassed and ashamed even if you logically know that it’s not your fault that you’d been cheated on and your oldest friends would never judge you— once this feeling passes, you’ll tell them. You know they’ll come up with some convoluted revenge plan, one that you’ll be totally on board with— but right now? Right now, you’re going to channel everything into this race. 

You’ve just finished flicking the clasps of your toolbox shut and straightened up when you notice that Min Yoongi has apparently walked over and is now talking to Taehyung, who looks faint, while Jungkook looks on with unbridled glee. You feel entertained at their expressions despite the tumult of feelings inside you, but then—

“Everything in working order?”

Of course, if Yoongi is here, Jimin would be, too. He looks so good it kind of hurts. His blonde hair has been pushed out of his face today, swooping away from his forehead, and rather than dangling chains he has simple hoops in his ears; it seems like he’s wearing contacts as well, light hazel eyes piercing as he watches you. (You miss the usual warmth of his dark brown eyes.)

“Pretty much,” you say. Jimin seems surprised at your lacklustre response but you can’t summon the energy needed to be your usual self, none of your subtle biting humour shining through tonight. You see how his brow twitches as he frowns a little; if you weren’t incorrect you’d say he seems— seems worried, almost? 

“That’s good.” He seems unsure about what to say, which is a first for him, and pauses before he speaks again, asking something he never has before. “Are you alright?”

You huff a laugh through your nose. “No, I’m half left,” you say, but then you give him a polite smile. “I’m okay. Do I not seem okay? Are you worried that I’ll pull out before the race starts? Don’t worry, I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.”

It’s weird. Jimin is clearly unsatisfied with your response, but not because it could be considered kind of rude— although it definitely could— but because you’re deflecting, and he’s concerned about you.

Concerned about you? Huh. What an odd realisation.

“I know you wouldn’t pull out of a race,” Jimin says. His eyebrows have both risen a little, face somewhat dubious, but when he says this you know he means it. “I’ll see you on the track.”

When he goes, Yoongi does too, though not before smirking at Taehyung in a way that should probably be illegal— judging from the expression on Taehyung’s face he’s ascended to nirvana and Jungkook muffles a laugh into his palm as you wander over.

“Min Yoongi gave me his number.” Taehyung sounds faint. “Someone pinch me, I’m dreaming.”

Jungkook socks him in the shoulder and Taehyung yelps.

“He said pinch, not punch, Kook,” you say, but Jungkook looks unrepentant until Taehyung punches him back, and then he just looks hurt (emotionally and physically). Neither of you buy it. “I’m happy for you, Tae.”

“You should plan your wedding for October. I bet Yoongi loves Halloween and you’d look great in autumnal colours,” Jungkook says. Taehyung sighs dreamily.

They’re both so caught up in this development in Taehyung’s long term crush that it allows you to let the smile drop off your face, and for a second your exhaustion and hurt shines through before you school your expression. You can’t let anyone on the track witness you being weak— you’ve had to claw your way up in their estimations and you’re not going to let one shitty guy fuck up your performance and take away all that work from you.

A few cars away, unnoticed, Yoongi watches as Jimin watches you in turn, then claps him on the shoulder. “You’re not being especially subtle, kid.”

“I— subtle about what, hyung?”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “That girl is a competitor, not your friend. Why are you worrying about her?”

Jimin pauses before a slow frown starts to grow on his face, organising his thoughts. “I don’t want to race against someone when they’re not giving me their best,” he says. “Where’s the challenge in that?”

Yoongi looks skeptical but decides not to comment and so Jimin is free to glance back at you.

You look fine now. Maybe a little more stern faced than usual, though it can be hard to read your expressions sometimes; Jimin has watched you enough to become infinitely familiar with the line of your lips and the steel in your eyes, the determination written into you, even if most people seem to be unable to see past the makeup and clothes you put on, a way to lull them into underestimating you. 

Most people are so quick to jump to conclusions based on appearance. You must have been the only one who hadn’t done that to him, shaking his hand firmly and carefully when he’d first rolled onto the circuit— he could see how your eyes had darted over him, reading him, taking him in, immediately cautious. You’d seen past the front he’d put on.

You’re endlessly fascinating. Whip smart and talented without being narcissistic, but also without any false humility. You know you’re good. And you know how to play the game, too, coy and flirtatious with the men who underestimate you before blasting past them on the track. Before Jisoo had quit and moved back to Gunpo, you’d been friendly with her, a measured rapport that you no longer have now that you’re the only female racer in the Seoul circuit, and it must be exhausting to consistently be discredited just because you’re a woman— but you never seem ruffled by it.

So what’s happened to you tonight?

He keeps his eyes on you when you pull up to the line. Today you’re in Incheon and your route is to the airport and back again. The start is on the top level of a car park and you’re behind Jimin at the starting line; he keeps his eyes on you in his rearview mirror and notices the hardness of your face, none of the usual anticipation and excitement that colours your features before a race has begun. He can’t help but wonder.

Then the flagger walks onto the track, and Jimin focuses on them, on the swoop of the flag, before the race begins.

--

You come fifth.

All things told, fifth place isn’t bad, especially considering who you were racing tonight; there are a lot of really talented drifters in Incheon who are a lot more familiar with its roads than you are, driving the airport route regularly and drifting in the deserted airport car parks, leaving evidence of their visits with black tyre marks in ringed circles in the parking lots.

So it’s no surprise that an Incheon native had come first (Choi Minho clearly knows what he’s doing). Jimin had come second. You’d just beaten out Namjoon, who’d shaken your hand afterwards and congratulated you on the last turn before the finish line, the way you’d ridden his drag to get the momentum needed to sling yourself forwards and beat him. It had been a good manoeuvre, sure, but you’re still disappointed in yourself.

It’s not the fact that you hadn’t won that’s bothering you. It’s the fact you’d driven terribly, even if someone watching from the outside wouldn’t have been able to tell. For all that you’d been planning to channel your turbulent emotions into drifting, your handling had been off and your reactions had been stunted and so your driving had suffered. Your Solstice had given you as good a performance as always, but it wasn’t the car, it was you. 

You feel like shit.

You leave the afterparty sooner than usual and rather than just escaping somewhere, you leave altogether; it’s hard to be subtle with the loud exhaust of your Pontiac but you manage it somehow, the crowds of fans and drivers too caught up in their own revelries to notice you slipping away. You pull up into the dark of a deserted car park. The only light is from street lamps on the ridge behind you and the moon in the clear sky above and you’re surrounded by nothing but the silence of abandoned vehicles. You let your head tip forward until you’re resting your forehead against the grip of your steering wheel, warm from where you’ve been holding it.

You lift your head to roll your windows down to try and get some cooler night air in, and so you hear the sound of another car pulling into the lot— you know the spread of those headlights, the rumble of that exhaust. Jimin pulls up next to you, coming to a sharp stop before he cuts his engine and the lights die. He climbs out of his car with his usual grace, though when he rounds the hood of your Pontiac to approach the driver’s side he seems to be moving faster than normal.

“Y/n.” He sounds oddly serious, almost accusatory. “What was that?”

“What?”

He’s staring at you through your open window, his face austere; there’s a loose lock of his hair hanging across his forehead, now, falling away from how it had been pushed out of his face. He looks a little dishevelled, but artfully so, and you can’t help but envy his ability to look fashionably beautiful at all times, even when he’s frowning at you. “Tonight. Your driving was off. What happened?” 

Oh. You look away from him, staring back out of the front windscreen, unable to keep staring into his eyes. You feel weirdly ashamed, like you’ve disappointed him. Normally you couldn’t give two shits about what other racers think of you, but Jimin— Jimin is different. Jimin is the one person you measure yourself against, the one person who you feel personally challenged by, as distinctive and unusual as you both seem on the circuit, standing out in your own idiosyncratic ways, and he’s struck right into the heart of things: your driving was shoddy and he knows it.

“I—” Your mouth opens, and then shuts again. Oh, God. You’ve been holding it together, but as you sit there with Jimin still watching you, something inside you starts to fray and unravel, the tightness of your control slipping away from you. “My boyfriend was cheating on me,” you confess, and then you splay a hand across your face. You hide your face from him and so you don’t see how Jimin stiffens, eyes widening when he notices that you’ve started to cry; you’re not sobbing or making any noise, but there’s a glint of wetness on your cheeks, tears silently rolling down your face. “I only found out today and I can’t stop thinking about it and it fucked up my driving. I should have done better.”

You don’t know why you’re telling him this. Every part of your reputation is built up around not letting your competitors see any weakness in you, and here you are, spilling a private facet of your life to your personal rival and crying in front of him. You can’t look him in the eye. You don’t want to see the judgement on his face, the way you must be falling in his estimations: the way he must be realising that you’re just some weak little girl who isn’t even good enough to keep a relationship going. No doubt any second he’s about to laugh at you, or scoff derisively, or tell you to stop being so dramatic and to stop snivelling like some sort of child, and you’ll be left trying to pick up the pieces of your shattered reputation from the dark grey tarmac.

“Hey.”

Jimin’s voice is soft. When you don’t respond you feel the lightest touch of his fingers against the back of your hand, still pressed against your face; you sniff and pull the hand away, hesitantly turning your head to look at Jimin, afraid of what you’re going to see, even after hearing the tone of his voice.

But there’s no judgement on his face. No derision. He’s crouched down by the side of your Pontiac so your faces are level— his earlier frown has disappeared completely and all you can see is compassion. He doesn’t look like he pities you and instead he looks warm and empathetic. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. He clearly, genuinely means it. “It must really hurt.”

You laugh wetly. “It’s so stupid.” There are tears still dribbling down your cheeks, though they’ve started to slow. “The more I think about it, the more I realise I didn’t even really like him that much? I just… I don’t know,” you sigh. “It does hurt. When you trust someone and they break that trust. Of course I immediately dumped him and I’ll never take him back, but… I still can’t believe he did that to me. With his ex? I should have seen it coming. I feel so stupid.”

Jimin stays quiet as you sniff again. You feel gross and messy, your face swollen from tears, and your makeup must be running, too. You must look terrible right now. And yet Jimin continues to look at you with that gentle understanding, like he doesn’t care about how you’ve just let slip this raw part of yourself. 

You wonder if he’s going to say the usual set phrases— that you deserve better (you do), that your ex was probably a dick anyway (he was), all of that— but he doesn’t. He doesn’t cheapen your pain with any normal idioms. Instead, he slowly reaches forward, giving you plenty of time to stop him or pull away, but you don’t. You let him take the edge of his sleeve and lightly dab at your cheeks, unheeding of how your tears darken the fabric of his expensive looking bomber jacket; the fabric isn’t exactly soft, but his touch is. You don’t know why you let him touch you, yet you don’t regret it, not with how kind he’s being to you right now. You let your traitorous body lean into his touch and he doesn’t react, but you’re not sure if that’s because he chooses not to or if he doesn’t notice.

When Jimin pulls back he keeps his fingers hooked on your door, on the lip where the window has retracted into, and his face is closer now. What little light is reaching the two of you seems to have gathered on him, like the moon can’t help but shine on the man— the silver light mellows him, softening the edges of his beauty, and he doesn’t look like your indomitable rival. He just looks like a person, a boy, surprisingly soft and cute, eyes warm.

(He looks like a friend.)

“There’s nothing stupid about trusting someone that you’re in a relationship with,” Jimin says. “Relationships should be built on trust, and you weren’t stupid for investing yourself in that. What he did wasn’t a reflection on you, and it’s his burden to bear. Please don’t feel stupid.” He’s looking at you so sincerely and the thing inside you that had frayed and unraveled turns to liquid at the sight, trickling through your chest like a refreshing rush of water. 

“Okay.” Your voice is a murmur. “I mean, I do feel stupid right now, but I know you’re right.” It’s one thing to know an emotional truth, but it’s another to hear it said out loud by another person— and it’s nice to know that someone you’re not even that close to supports you. It’s why, in a way, it’s almost easier to believe Jimin; he has no reason to be nice to you. And yet here he is.

“Good.” Jimin is equally as quiet as you, but he sounds pleased, and you can’t help but smile at him.

“I’ll be fine by the next race,” you say. Even as you say that, you know it’s true— your sudden outburst of tears has already started to dry up, and for all that you still feel the pain inside you, you feel… better. Admitting this to Jimin has been weirdly soothing, even if you should probably be worried about how this is going to come back and bite you on the ass. For all that you’ve just been speaking about how someone had broken your trust, you find yourself trusting Jimin, trusting that he’s not going to use this moment of weakness against you later.

You already trust him more than you’d trusted your ex— but you’re not sure if that says something about Jimin or if that says something about you. 

“Don’t worry,” Jimin says. “We won’t count this race.”

You let slip a surprised cough of laughter. Even though you’d been crying less than five minutes ago you find that a smile begins to split your face and your spirits quietly lift when Jimin smiles back at you. You can’t help but notice that one of his front teeth is a little bit crooked, and you’re just— just captivated by it. You've never been this close to Jimin before, or let your eyes run across his face the way they are right now; it seems like there's still more to learn about his features, as familiar with them as you thought you were. 

“How gracious. That means I’m still ahead of you.” Your smile has grown smaller but no less happy, and you hope that Jimin knows that. Judging from the look on his face you’d say that he does. He’s always polite, but he’s never been this overtly, directly kind before, but you’ve also never allowed him the opportunity, the two of you keeping each other at a respectful arm’s length. You can’t help but feel grateful. “Jimin… thank you.”

He gives you a little shake of the head. “I’m sorry you’ve been hurt like this,” he says. “Thank you for telling me.”

“You’re cheaper than therapy,” you reply, grinning at him while pressing your tongue against your teeth and touching it to your lower lip, a little cheeky; he seems surprised at the fact you’re talking to him like this when you’re normally more distant and deliver your lines without the weight of your laughter behind it, especially off the back of just crying. You’ve never seen Jimin caught off guard, even if he seems to gather himself up almost immediately.

“Maybe I should charge you, then,” he says with a smile, and you huff out a breath of laughter.

“That’s just greedy.” You lean back in the seat of your car, hair pressing against the headrest, and look at yourself in your rearview mirror. You don’t look anywhere as bad as you’d thought but you still wince a little. “Oh, wow. I should go home and wash off this mascara before someone sees me and mistakes me for a panda.”

“You make a very cute panda,” Jimin says. You scoff.

“Don’t try and lull me into a false sense of security so I go easy on you the next time we have a race. Just because I spilled a secret to you doesn’t mean that I like you.” You point at him, but the words come out softer than you mean them to and Jimin clearly doesn’t take them to heart.

“Of course not.”

The two of you drive back to Seoul together. When you get to longer, empty stretches of road you throttle your cars and weave around each other; your windows are still down and Jimin’s put his down too, heedless of how the wind is making a mess of his hair. At one point the two of you hit a turn and when you drift around it you let out a loud whoop of joy, chasing away your earlier sadness in the face of this euphoria. 

When you race you don’t let yourself go like this but there’s something to be said about letting yourself shout out loud as you drop into a corkscrew of a turn, riding it out with a screech from your tires, drifting and slamming down on the accelerator because you can. Jimin is grinning and though it’s hard to hear over the roar of your exhausts, he’s laughing; it’s nice to see that he's enjoying himself, too. Normally on the track he's single-minded and only focused on the win, not giving himself over to theatrics, but this, this lets you know that Jimin genuinely loves to drift, and something in you is glad.

You slide into another turn, popping your handbrake and letting the car swing around, and Jimin moves in tandem with you— when you race you’ll try to throw your opponents off, force risky moves so they’re forced off balance, but right now you’re not competing with each other and so you match each other’s motions. Smoke goes flying from your tyres, kicking back dust and burnt rubber, and you ride the spike of adrenaline in your blood with wide eyes and bared teeth. The adrenaline rises in your veins, and the unhappiness dims, and you join in with Jimin’s laughter when you hit another straight stretch of road. You leave your sadness behind in Incheon as you rush forwards and back to Seoul, Jimin matching your pace and coasting alongside you, and it feels weirdly peaceful. Weirdly right.

Once you reach the city and have to part, you pull up at a deserted intersection, adjacent to each other. Jimin’s hair has been entirely pulled out of its earlier style and he looks so much younger like this, blond locks falling over his forehead, dishevelled— you find that you really, really like it. He catches you looking and parts his lips, flicking out his tongue on one side of his mouth, similar to your earlier motion but a lot more shameless. You know the fact that you’re startled is obvious on your face but you’ve never seen him like this before, provocative and wild and free.

“How dare you,” you say mildly, and he throws his head back when he laughs.

--

“Okay, seriously,” Jungkook says. “What is going on between you and Jimin?”

You glance away from the aforementioned man who you’ve been watching as he’s been bent over the hood of his car, fiddling with something in the engine; it’s hard not to look, eyes glued to the motion of his hips and how he fills out his black jeans so perfectly. “Hm? What?”

“Kookie’s right, you’ve kind of been… uh… weird, recently.” Taehyung sounds hesitant.

“Weird? Tae, she goes up to Jimin to talk to him before races. She never does that with other people, let alone Park Jimin.”

“She does sometimes. She likes Hoseok.”

“Guys, I’m still here,” you say, lifting a hand. Both men shut up. “What’s weird about it?”

“Uh, everything?” Jungkook looks baffled. “Since when are you and Park Jimin bosom buddies? I thought you hated him.”

“I never said that,” you protest, which is true. “I just said he’s my biggest rival on the circuit. Doesn’t mean that I hate him.”

“Clearly not,” Jungkook says. “I was joking about the sexual tension before, but nowadays the two of you look like you’re constantly two seconds away from just eating each other. When did that happen?”

“You’re talking about cannibalism, Kook,” Taehyung says, and Jungkook flaps his hand at the other boy while saying you know what I mean.

Okay, admittedly, your friends both have a point. After you’d confessed your break-up to Jimin, even though you instinctively trust him (for some reason), there’d been the lingering concern that he was going to see this chink in your armour and exploit that weakness— but he hasn’t. He hasn’t even referred to it again, not explicitly; the next time you’d seen each other he’d just softly asked if you were okay, and when you’d said yes, that had been that. But as time has gone on you find that when you and Jimin talk, it’s not just the cursory exchanges you used to have. He lingers longer when he speaks to you before races and you open up conversation more when you find each other alone during the afterparties and it’s… it’s strangely easy to open up to Jimin.

So, yeah, you’ve been walking over to talk to him, too. He’d always been the one to search you out first, and you don’t want him to think that your friendship is one-sided, so you’ve been doing the same for him. Friendship. You’re friends with Park Jimin. Who would have thought you’d live to see the day?

“He’s looking over here,” Jungkook says, and you glance in Jimin’s direction. He always looks great but tonight he’s fucking devastating, hair in stylish waves and eyes smoky, the neckline of his shirt almost scandalously low, revealing his collarbones. When you make eye contact, rather than looking away he just stares back at you, before letting his lips curl up in what could be considered a flirtatious smirk— even from this far you can see the glisten of his lips, the dark pink of his pout.

That’s something that’s new, too. As you’ve both been getting to know each other more you’ve been letting down your defences, and one thing that’s apparently developed is this sort of give and take of coy banter, teasing flirtation that just slips out. Sure, you flirt jokingly with Hoseok too, but with Jimin it’s… it’s a bit heavier than that, a little more direct. But feels so natural that you don’t second guess it and you’re not about to stop someone as fucking hot as Park Jimin acting like he wants you, so.

You mirror a similar expression back, pouting your lips at him, and Jimin’s eyes look like they darken in response. Taehyung makes a little noise of distress. “Oh, my God, Kookie, I take it back, you’re right,” he says. “They do want to eat each other.”

“Shut up,” you say, finally tearing your eyes away from Jimin. “Don’t act like you don’t want Yoongi to eat your ass out on a car.”

“I do not!” Taehyung squeaks in a way that says he kind of absolutely does, but he’s embarrassed about it. “Shut up!”

“We’re just friends,” you say, before picking up your toolbox and shoving it into Jungkook’s arms. He makes a little oof sound as the weight of it hits his chest. “Don’t be jealous, you know I’m ride or die for the two of you.”

“You don’t try to eyefuck us like you do with Jimin,” Jungkook says.

“Do you want me to?” You raise your eyebrows at him. Taehyung looks horrified and Jungkooks makes a noise of disgust.

“You’re like our sister! That’s heinous,” he says. “I’m going to get rid of the toolbox and we’re never going to speak of this conversation again.”

“Please, let’s do that,” Taehyung begs. You laugh and roll your eyes but agree, glad that they’ve both dropped the Jimin thing.

You’re not blind. You’ve always known Jimin is drop-dead gorgeous, and it’s also hard not to admire someone when they’re as talented as he is— working hard to grow a skill is something you’ve always found attractive and Jimin drives his Skyline like it’s effortless, wheels spinning and car gliding into each bend as easy as breathing. Jungkook wasn’t necessarily wrong when he said you look like you want to eat him, but as close as Jimin and you are apparently getting, you have no plans to try and fuck your rival any time soon. He’s a friend now, yes, but you’re both competitors, too.

Taehyung catches sight of Yoongi nearby and brightens before wandering off, and Jungkook’s still absent— presumably putting the toolbox away— so you’re left alone by your Pontiac. You run a hand up the back of your neck and just under your updo, feeling your hair under your fingers, an instinctive habit that you don’t think about, but then someone behind you lets out a low whistle.

“Wow.”

You turn away from your car to see who it is. It’s a newcomer to the circuit, someone you haven’t spoken to so far, even if you’ve seen him around. He’s handsome, his hair a red that's darker than the eye-catching brightness of your car and he has a piercing in one of his undyed brows. You’ve only raced against him once— all things told he’s pretty good, even if he hadn’t made it to the top three (you’d beaten Jimin that time, too). 

“And you are?” You decide to play ignorant. The man grins at you, amused.

“I’m Changkyun,” he says. “And I know who you are, Y/n.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head at him. “How do you know that, exactly?”

“It’s hard to ignore a queen when she’s carving up the track.” His eyes slide away from you to your Pontiac, the way the light is glinting off her smooth curves and clean lines. “And when her car is almost as gorgeous as she is.”

You have to admit, as much as Changkyun is shamelessly flirting right now, he’s a lot more nuanced than the usual guys that come over to try it on with you. He clearly knows how good you are and this isn’t the first time you’ve seen him around the circuit so he’s probably aware of your reputation— but he’s still decided to bite the bullet and speak to you anyway. You have to give him props for that.

“A queen, huh?” His eyes flick back up to your face when you say this. “Is that what people say about me?”

“I don’t need someone to tell me that you deserve to be treated like royalty,” he says. “I knew that from the second I laid eyes on you.”

His voice is pitched low and there’s a smile playing at the edge of his lips. You raise your eyebrows and let your mouth purse a little, touching a finger to your bottom lip as if in thought; Changkyun’s dark eyes trace every motion, shameless.

“What does being treated like royalty mean, exactly?” You tap your lip, letting your nail press into the swell of flesh. “Being nice to me?”

“A hands on demonstration would be the best way to show you.” Changkyun has stepped closer to you, leaning in, although you notice he’s still giving you space— he really is a lot more nuanced than you’re used to. You’re begrudgingly impressed, even if you don’t show it. “If you’d like.”

“If I’m a queen, I don’t think I should let some regular commoner just touch me,” you say, a little haughty, and Changkyun laughs.

“That’s true,” he says, grinning at you with a mouthful of teeth, a wolf. “Winners are kings, right? How about if I beat you in the race today, you’ll think about it?”

You let out a little giggle, making it obvious that you don’t feel threatened. He really has endless confidence, especially considering how you’d outpaced him easily in the one race you’ve had together; he’s definitely capable of winning in his Silvia but it doesn’t matter how well he’s tweaked the S15 if he’s not able to drive it as well as he needs to. 

“Oh, I’ll definitely think about it,” you say. “I guess I should wish you good luck then, hm?”

He’s not offended by your laughter and instead it just seems like he wants to rise to the bait. “You’re too kind,” he says. “Would it be too much to ask for a good luck kiss?”

“It would.” You toss your head and he laughs again, quiet and low.

“Alright,” he says, that ever present grin still on his lips. “I’ll see you at the starting line, queen.”

When you climb into your car you know he’ll be watching you. You’re wearing a skirt today and the fabric hitches up when you lower yourself into your seat, revealing the skin of your thigh; you pay no attention to whoever’s looking. You don't have to. You know you look good.

You’ve driven this route in Namsan enough times that you could map out its topography in your sleep, its looping curves lending itself to being one of the most fun roads you get to drift on. Jimin rolls into a smooth stop next to you, Skyline easing into place, and you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. When you take in the expression on his face you almost do a double take.

He looks hungry. There’s no other way to describe it, really. You’re used to seeing resolve on his face, of course, his determination to win— but tonight he looks almost on edge, eyes hard as he stares out at the road and fingers wrapped tight around his steering wheel, like he’s going to throw his car forwards so he can win, starving for it.

When the flag drops Jimin’s Skyline jumps forward like a bullet from a gun. You try to match his pace but he throws you off when he slings himself out of a turn and slides into a choku-dori, the zig-zagging motion of his car catching you off guard and forcing you to drift longer after the turn, your foot tight on the clutch as the back of your Solstice swings around in a wider arc to avoid him. Jimin drives more recklessly tonight than you’re used to, drifting around each bend faster than you would dare: it’s exhilarating to watch even if he’s absolutely destroying you— he blasts over the finish line first to the roar of the crowd, the sound of his screaming throttle dying down as he pulls to a screeching stop, triumphant.

You and Hoseok come joint second, exactly the same time on the clock. You’re panting as you step out of your car, hands shaking with adrenaline, staring in Jimin’s direction with incredulity. Jungkook and Taehyung are waiting for you but when you ask for water they both rush off, saying they can cover more ground with the two of them (whatever that means). Hoseok distracts you when he comes over and high-fives you over your combined second place, indifferent to his loss.

“Jimin was driving like a beast today,” he comments as he glances over at the man. “I wonder what got into him?”

“I have no clue,” you say. Jimin isn’t looking over at you, distracted by groups of fans who have surrounded him before he disappears to collect his prize money, and you wonder what’s going through his head. “Did you see how he approached that second turn?”

“Yeah, I did.” Hoseok nods. “It was way more aggressive than usual, wasn’t it? Oh, I think someone wants to talk to you,” he says as he spots someone over your shoulder, taking a step back and wiggling his fingers at you in a goodbye wave. “I’ll catch you at the afterparty, cutie.”

‘Someone’ turns out to be Changkyun, of course. He’d come fourth. The final hairpin turn seems like it had thrown him off, though he’d recovered well from it if he’d only been beaten out by Namjoon. “Guess someone else has the title of king, tonight,” Changkyun says, and though he sounds disappointed, he sounds less bothered than you would have expected.

“So it seems.” You straighten as Jungkook approaches with a water bottle, already uncapped for you, and you accept it from him gratefully before taking in a sip. He gives Changkyun a long look but doesn’t say anything, though Changkyun seems uncowed. “You drove well, though.”

“That’s high praise, coming from you.” Changkyun seems pleased at your compliment. “Maybe I’ll beat you next time, huh?”

“I’ll try not to hold my breath,” you say drily, no longer in the mood to play along with him. You’re not trying to be cocky but the truth is that you’d never been worried about him beating you— and even if he had, you don’t fuck around with other drivers, or fans, as desperate as they might be. The underground racing scene is rife with this sort of stuff but you still have no interest in it and for all that Changkyun is undeniably attractive and admittedly intriguing, it’s nowhere near enough to genuinely catch your attention.

(There's only one driver on the circuit who has your attention the way Changkyun wants it, but no one needs to know that.)

Changkyun just laughs. He doesn’t seem surprised or offended at all. “Whatever makes you happy. Maybe I’ll see you at the afterparty.”

As he walks away, Jungkook clicks his tongue, unimpressed, while you gulp down another mouthful of water and try to still your adrenaline-shaking fingers.

The crowd at Namsan is pretty big tonight, the openness of the mountain roads allowing more people to get out here and park up to watch, but on the same token of being on a mountain it doesn’t exactly lend itself to being the sort of place that’s good to stand around and drink. There are some warehouses nearby that are empty overnight and it’s only a short drive there, people migrating after the race has finished; you’ll get other drivers who are too afraid to race coming to show off their cars, revving their engines and doing doughnuts in the deserted warehouse car parks. You park your Solstice away from this revelry, not wanting to be asked to join in— you’ve already had your adrenaline high of the night, and besides, everyone knows how good you are without you having to prove it by doing figure 8s in an old parking lot or burning out your tyres.

At one point you see Changkyun again but when he looks like he’s about to approach you, you just raise your eyebrows at him. He lifts his hands in a deferential act of surrender and leaves you alone which shows a surprising amount of self-awareness on his part.

You know Taehyung has wandered off with Yoongi, but you wonder where Jungkook is and turn away from where Changkyun is retreating to see if you can find him. Instead you see Jimin for the first time since the race, making eye contact— he must have been watching you, already looking in your direction when you spot him.

The second you see him, your lips unwittingly lift into a smile. It’s not even conscious on your part, your genuine happiness at seeing him shining through on your face. Jimin pauses but then a girl appears out of the crowd nearby and latches onto his arm, batting her eyelashes at the winner of the night; he’s startled by her appearance and looks away from you before he can smile back.

Normally you’d find it funny, that brief moment of bewilderment on Jimin’s face as he’s being accosted by someone, but for some reason today you don’t feel amused— the smile hardens on your face and jealousy licks at your insides before your eyes widen in surprise. You have no right or reason to feel like this. Jimin is free to do what he likes, of course, and the girl is gorgeous— why shouldn’t he just do what every other driver does and take what he wants?

You think you’re done socialising for the night. You’ll catch up with Taehyung and Jungkook later.

For once you’ve managed to get your hands on a non-alcoholic drink. You crack open the can of peach water and lean against your car as you sip it, feeling refreshed even if the liquid is tepid at best. You’re idly reading the ingredients list and raising your eyebrows at the sugar content when you hear the sound of footsteps approaching you; you glance up, wondering who’s come this far away from the party to your concealed parking spot.

“Jimin?” The surprise is obvious in your voice. Even though you still meet each other alone during each afterparty you’d never expected to see him so soon, especially considering the groupies who’d been gathering around him after he’d come first. The stunning girl who’d been clinging onto his arm is nowhere in sight. “Hi.”

“Hi.” There’s something in his expression that you can’t read. Despite his win, he still has that look of hunger on his face, although it seems more muted than it had earlier. Speaking of his win—

“Congrats on coming first,” you say, raising your can at him in a cheers motion. “That was some incredible driving. You deserve that win.” And everything else that comes with it, you think to yourself, the voice in your head shockingly bitter. You need to calm down.

Jimin is standing a lot closer than he normally does. It’s kind of hard to keep your eyes off the line of his neck and his collarbones; the vee of his shirt has dipped even lower, showing off even more of his skin. “It was close.”

You can’t help but laugh. “No, it wasn’t, and you know it. There’s no need to be humble. But really, your driving was unparalleled tonight. What was up with that? You’re not normally that much of a daredevil.”

Jimin pauses. “You want to know?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know, Jimin.” You’re being more standoffish now than you have been recently, but you can’t help it, even if you sort of feel like a petulant child. You’re still holding onto your can of peach water, arms loosely crossed in a way that allows you to keep lifting it to your mouth, and you raise one of your eyebrows at him as you take a drink from it; you almost choke on that sip of water when Jimin gets closer, crowding you against the car. His arms come to either side of you and he cages you in, trapping you. He leans forwards and your eyes go wide.

“You really want to know?” When he speaks his face is so close to yours that you can feel the heat of his breath curling out of his mouth; your eyes betray you and flit down to his lips, watching the way they curve themselves around the words. Even though you wrench them back up immediately you know Jimin would have seen you look, and there’s a quiet, pleased upturn to his lips now, though the intensity in his eyes hasn’t dimmed at all. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You might be at Jimin’s mercy right now, but you’re not about to let him know that— even if it’s patently obvious. You’ve pulled your arms closer to your chest, trying to crowd as far back against your car as you can, but Jimin is still so close. “Yeah. I do.”

“To prove that I’m better than him,” he says. “To put him in his place.”

Even though you probably shouldn’t laugh directly in Jimin’s face when he looks as intense as he does, you can’t help it. “What, Changkyun? Of course you’re better than him. Why would you feel the need to prove it?”

Jimin seems pleased by your praise, preening a little, but his eyes are still hooded as he looks at you. “So he knows that he’s never going to be good enough.”

His gaze is still heavy, eyes piercing. This entire situation is already spiralling out of your grasp, but even though your heart is pounding, you find that you don’t mind it at all. You'd told Jungkook earlier that you and Jimin are just friends, and you hadn't been lying, but right now it's getting hard to hold onto that fact— the warmth of Jimin's body so close to yours, his face so near to your own, the two of you almost flush.

“Good enough for what, Jimin?”

“Good enough to be the challenge that you want,” he answers. His voice is quiet but you still hear him perfectly. “The challenge that you need.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Oh. “I don’t have to look for that.” Your voice is a whisper, almost trembling as you admit this. As you lay yourself bare in front of Jimin. “You know that I’ve already found it.”

And Jimin— Jimin smiles. He takes a hand off the Pontiac and runs the pad of his thumb down your jawline before resting it just under the swell of your bottom lip. His touch is slow and languid, giving you time to pull away if you want to: but you don't want to. You tilt your head forward into his touch, tipping your head down so that his thumb rests on the seam of your lips instead, but then he takes the hand away. Before you can do or say anything, he sets it on your outer thigh, just below the hem of your skirt, and waits. There's a question in his eyes, a little lift of his eyebrows, still giving you a chance to push him away— but you don't, so he drags his hand upwards and begins to hitch up the material.

You set your can of unfinished peach water aside, metal clinking against the roof of your car. Now that your hands are free you wind them behind Jimin’s neck and tug him closer. Your noses brush as his hand changes direction, drawing his small, delicate fingers over the lace trim of your panties; your mouth opens and you tilt your head forwards, your lips almost touching, but not quite. Jimin doesn’t bridge that gap and seems content to let you get wound up, the way your hips twitch each time it seems like he’s going to dip between your legs but doesn’t.

“Stop teasing me.” Your voice comes out weak and breathy.

“Stop teasing you?” Jimin raises his eyebrows like he’s affronted, even as you part your legs further and he runs his fingers up the seam of your inner thigh, rather than where you really want him to touch. “I’m just returning the favour.”

It’s a little hard to focus on what he’s saying, your focus on the sensation of his fingertips on your skin, but you frown in confusion. “Returning the favour?”

“I’m showing you what you can have, but not giving it to you,” he says. “Changkyun almost thought he could have you. You’re always so coy with Hoseok, too. But you think I haven’t noticed how you’re different with me? You actually want me. But you just tease and flirt and then leave me wanting more.”

“Jimin.” You suck in a breath as you feel a fleeting touch of his fingers where you’ve been wanting them, the lightest run of his fingers over your slit, though you barely feel it through the fabric of your underwear. He must be able to feel the wetness of you through it. He’s barely touched you and you already feel like a wreck. “Kiss me.”

For a long second you think that he won’t acquiesce, but then his lips are against yours and you sigh against his mouth. You’ve always thought that his lips were sinful and you’re proven right, the swell of them so soft, the way he fits them together with yours; you bask in how gentle the kiss is, eyes slipping shut so you can focus on the sensation. One kiss turns into two, into three, presses of your lips against each other, and you’re so caught up in it that you almost forget about the warmth of Jimin’s hand between your thighs— but your eyes fly open and your breath hitches when he finally slips his fingers into your panties. He runs them up your lower lips, touch still teasing, but then he presses his fingertips against your clit, hard, and you gasp against his lips.

He swallows the sound. Your kisses become open mouthed and you lick desperately into his mouth before he starts to circle his fingers around your pearl of nerves, making you jolt against the side of the car. You have to tip your head back to suck in air, breathless from the kisses and sensitivity, and Jimin takes the opportunity to dip his head and kiss the side of your neck, dragging his teeth over your skin. He nips at the sensitive junction between your neck and shoulder and purses his lips before he sucks hard at it, laving his tongue over the mark that's sure to blossom into a hickey.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp. Jimin takes the hand that has been bracing himself against the car and moves it to the back of your neck instead, fingers resting at your lower hairline in a grasp that feels surprisingly tender even as he tips your head forward so he can catch your lips again, now that he's left a physical reminder of himself in your skin. The juxtaposition between the slowness of these kisses and the way he’s starting to teasingly dip his fingers just into your entrance is making your head spin, reeling, his soft lips opposing his firm touch. “Jimin.” Your voice is needy as you dig your fingers into Jimin’s shoulder blades. “Please, I need more.”

Jimin rests his forehead against yours, staring at you, and his voice is low as he speaks. “Don’t worry,” he says, with a little smile. “When we’re not racing, I’ll always make sure that you come first.”

You can’t help but giggle. “That’s so stupid,” you say, and Jimin laughs quietly with you, but then your laughter cuts into an inhalation of air as Jimin presses two fingers into you. “Oh, that’s just unfair,” you pant, but you tilt your hips forward to give him a better angle. You’ve always been fascinated with Jimin’s hands, as small and pretty as they are, and they don’t need to hit deep to make you feel good, filling you up so well as he continues to slide them into your tight, wet heat.

He uses the heel of his palm to grind against your clit as he continues to thrust his fingers into you, and it’s almost embarrassing, how quickly you approach your peak. Since you broke up with your ex you haven’t had sex with anyone else, and you’re usually so tired after work or racing that you don’t make time to pleasure yourself alone— but you get the feeling that even if these things weren’t true, you’d still get wound up this quickly, because it’s Jimin.

You think he knows that, too. You’ve stopped kissing, now, your mouths just open against each other, barely touching, and his eyes are drinking each of your reactions in, the way your body responds to him, the way the pleasure is written across your face. Your brows are drawn together and your breaths are coming faster, and Jimin pushes another finger in— it’s lewd, the slick sound of your wetness against his hand as he thrusts his fingers and continues to press his palm against your clit, the metal of his rings warmed from your skin. 

Just as you think you’re about to cum, Jimin’s hand stops. You make a noise of need, one of your hands coming to clutch his arm as you try to buck your hips, but it’s not enough. You choke back a sob. “Jimin,” you say. “I’m so close.”

“Ask politely, baby,” he replies, smile wicked, and you almost keen. Normally you’d refuse to beg, but you’re wound so tight right now, so needy—

“Please, Jimin,” you beg. “Let me cum, please, I wanna cum, please, fuck, oh—” Jimin’s started to move his hand again, even faster than before, and you grind your hips into it, riding those fingers with wanton desperation.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs. “I want to see you fall apart.”

You shudder at his words. It only takes a few more hard curls of his fingers and one particularly long press against your clit and you tumble over the edge; you can feel how your walls ripple around him as waves of pleasure spark through you, the cum that flushes out of you, and you’re writhing against the Pontiac, riding out your orgasm around his fingers. You don’t know what noises you’re making but Jimin muffles them, pressing his tongue past your lips and licking the sounds out of your mouth.

When he pulls his fingers out of you and takes his hands out of your panties, you shiver, still oversensitive. “God, Jimin, you make me feel so good,” you whimper. Jimin looks pleased, and when he lifts his hand to your lips you let them fall open as you stare up at him. You take his fingers into your mouth without protest, circling them with your tongue, licking across his knuckles and fingertips hungrily, the taste of your own pleasure lingering on your tongue as you bob your head and look at Jimin meaningfully.

You’re both startled out of the moment when you hear footsteps and voices approaching. You freeze, the two of you stiffening against each other; although you’re sequestered from the party, you’re not so far away that people couldn’t stumble across you. Jimin pulls your head into his chest so that you’re hidden from view, his head turning in the direction of the sounds— when they fade he lets you go and you go lax and flop backwards over the roof of your car, letting your arms spread wide after that brief moment of panic passes. Jimin turns his head to look down at you, and you give him a smile, still punch-drunk from your post orgasm come down, which he returns. His lips are kiss swollen and he looks so beautiful like this, silhouetted by the night sky behind him as he smiles at you, even if the rest of your surroundings leave something to be desired.

“Wow, Jimin.” You lift one of your hands to draw it down his chest, pulling the neckline of his shirt even lower, revealing more of his skin to you. You can’t help but sigh with delight, almost overwhelmed. “Do you have any idea how incredible you are?” 

His smile turns surprisingly cheeky. “Maybe, but I wouldn’t complain if you wanted to tell me again,” he says, and you laugh.

“Your praise kink is showing,” you tease. You lift your other hand and draw your palms over his stomach, surprised but pleased when you feel lines of hard muscle through the fabric of his shirt. “You never had anything to prove, you know,” you say, softer now. “Changkyun is nothing to me. No one else is. You’re the only person on this circuit who I watch.”

Jimin bends forwards, resting his elbows on the roof, hovering above you as he continues to give you that cheeky smile. “Oh?”

You smile back. “Don’t act like you don’t know it,” you say. It’s true that you hadn’t had plans to try and fuck Jimin, but it’s also true that— “When I drive, the only person I want to beat is you. No one else matters. You’ve ruined me, Park Jimin. I never used to care like this.”

In the distance, someone’s engine backfires. Neither of you react to the noise. Jimin is looking down at you with a soft but unreadable expression on his face. “I saw Changkyun approaching you at the afterparty.”

You tilt your head back against the car, lifting your chin as your eyes squeeze with laughter. “Then you saw how I basically told him to fuck off?”

“Yes.” Jimin’s smile goes so wide you can see his teeth, eyes crescents, face bright. “That made me happy.”

“Ah, so you like praise and you’re possessive. Cute,” you say, running a finger down Jimin’s forehead and to the end of his nose, before tapping it. “I suppose now is a good time to let you know that I’m possessive, too.”

“Good,” Jimin says, and then lets out a tinkling laugh when you make a kissing noise at him through pursed lips. “Is that why I saw you disappear after that girl grabbed me?”

“No comment,” you reply, but then pout at him when he crooks an eyebrow at you. “I wasn’t about to watch someone else climbing all over you, was I? She was gorgeous, of course I was jealous.”

“You have nothing to be jealous of.” Jimin lightly draws one of his hands over your collarbones, thumbing at the hollow under your neck, your skin hypersensitive to his touch. “You’re the only one I want.”

You let the self-satisfaction show on your face and Jimin laughs again. He’s still giggling when you start to run your fingers rhythmically through his hair, combing through the product that’s keeping it out of his face, and watch as the locks start to cover his forehead. He makes a questioning noise at the back of his throat. “What are you doing?”

“I want to look,” you say. He always has his forehead at least a little bared, and the one time you’d seen it covered, it had transformed his whole look, and you want to see if it was a fluke. 

It wasn’t. Like this his hair is so long it hangs in his eyes, but because he’s bent forward it just frames his face instead, and it almost feels like a curtain that’s shutting off the rest of the world, letting you see a softer side that he never reveals on the circuit. “Ah, there it is. The duality of man,” you sigh happily. Cute, but gorgeous. Soft, but devastating. Incredible.

You draw your hands back down his body, and then you roughly tug his shirt out from where it’s been tucked into his trousers. You feel how his stomach jumps when you lightly drag your fingers across it, feeling the faint definition of abs, and you can’t help but grin. “You’re a fucking meal, Park Jimin,” you say, hooking your fingers in his belt. You tug on it, using the weight of Jimin’s body help you up— he straightens as you do, and your hips are flush, the material of your skirt still hitched up so that the damp material of your panties is rubbing against him, and you can feel his growing hardness. “Can I have a taste?”

Jimin laughs again. When you smile back at him, he leans in and slants his mouth against yours, a small touch of your lips before he pulls back. “Anything you want,” he says, and your smile turns hungry.

You tug at him, repositioning your bodies so that he’s pressed up against the Pontiac instead. He leans back on his arms, bracing his palms against the low roof of the car as you step back for a little bit of room so that you can unbuckle his belt. You use one hand to lift his shirt up, revealing his chest and stomach to you, the lines of muscle he keeps hidden away. Your mouth waters. You’re briefly distracted when you notice stark lines of black on his ribs, splaying your fingers under the tattoo you find there; you want to taste it. So you crouch, dipping your head to lick across the sensitive skin of his rib cage and over each letter, NEVERMIND etched permanently into his skin.

You can feel how Jimin reacts, the way his chest jumps as he sucks in a breath. You want to know what the tattoo means, why he got it, but that can wait— right now you have more pressing matters to attend to. You run your tongue down the line of his stomach as you drag his zipper down with deft fingers, and then pull your face away to watch as you start to pull his jeans down. You take in the sight of his hard cock, contained by his briefs, the damp patch of precum darkening the fabric around the head.

You glance up at Jimin as you shift from a crouch and fully onto your knees. Your bare skin presses against the pavement, rough, but you don’t care; Jimin’s eyes are dark and heavy as he watches you kneel in front of him, and you keep your eyes locked as you purse your lips and kiss the tip of his cock through his underwear. He hisses. You grip his shaft through the fabric, mouthing at the head and dragging your wet tongue across the cotton, staring coyly up at him the whole time.

“Tease,” Jimin says. You huff out a laugh and take your hand away from where it’s been holding his shirt up and cup his balls through his briefs, drunk on how you can see and feel his dick twitching when you do. 

“I give as good as I get, babe,” you say. Jimin takes one of his hands off the Pontiac to rest on the top of your head and lightly tangles his fingers in your hair, grip just edging on firm— you understand the tacit implication of his action and surrender control to him, skimming your hands over his hip bones and around to his ass. 

You’d be lying if you said you haven’t stared at his behind a thousand times, his thick thighs and his round ass, and it feels even better under your hands than you thought. You dip your fingers under the waistband of his briefs and into the soft flesh underneath it, digging your fingernails in before pulling the underwear down so you expose Jimin to the night air. His cock bobs as it comes free of the fabric, as perfect as the rest of him, flushed red head shining with precum. 

Maybe you have a bit of an oral fixation and love giving head, or maybe Jimin’s cock is impossible to resist: all you know is that you need to taste him. Your mouth falls open and you let your tongue rest on your bottom lip for just a moment before you suck the head of his cock into your mouth. He makes the prettiest noise, his fingers tightening against your scalp as you tongue at the slit and lap up the precum that’s gathered there, salt and warmth bursting across your taste buds. Your hands aren’t idle, either, touching the parts of his cock that aren’t in your mouth, fingers on his shaft and around his balls. 

You run your mouth along the side of his length, flicking your tongue and dragging it across a vein, watching Jimin the whole time. He’s staring at you, the way you use your spit-slick lips to press kisses along his cock, the tip, drinking down every drip of precum that beads there, tonguing the sensitive spot just under the head where it meets the shaft. 

Saliva is filling your mouth, mingling with the taste of Jimin on your tongue, and you swallow him back down. You relax your jaw and lower your head, taking Jimin down inch by inch, the weight of his cock heavy in your mouth; you continue to roll his balls in your hand while you use the other to grip what little’s not in your mouth. Jimin’s eyes are wide as he watches how you skilfully swallow him down until you can feel him at the back of your throat, breathing through your nose, and then you start to rapidly bob your head.

“Oh, fuck!” Jimin’s hips jump and you almost gag when his cock thrusts into your throat, off rhythm to how you’re moving, but you’re nothing if not a trooper and recover quickly.  He’s not the biggest you’ve ever had but that just means that you can swallow most of him down, deepthroating him, noises lewd as saliva drips past your lips and onto your chin. You’ve never been afraid to get dirty, and seeing the way Jimin is quickly losing control makes it all the better; you feel his balls tightening in your hand and you can see how his face is twisting, his brows furrowed and his lips falling open as he breathes through his mouth, thrusting forwards in time with the bobbing of your head. You desperately chase that, matching his rhythm as he speeds up; you want to wreck him. 

His fingers dig into your scalp. “I’m gonna cum,” he warns, and you just flick him a glance through your lashes as you swallow particularly loudly and start to go faster, turning your focus to his head, using a hand to twist around his shaft and jerk off his length. His hips drive forward one more time before he cries out, and you can feel how his cock twitches as he cums into your mouth, hot and salty; you suck down each wave of cum, lips tight around him as your hand continues to milk him, grip firm, until he’s twitching from oversensitivity and pulling you off him with the fingers in your hair.

You’re still holding onto his softening length. He looks fucked out, pupils blown, a pink flush down his neck, and he’s panting almost as hard as you are; he watches as you lick your lips, and you feel how his dick gives a half-hearted twitch in your hands, although his face twists a little into a pained expression. “You’re unbelievable,” Jimin says, and you let out a little laugh, pleased.

“And your dick is spectacular,” you say. Your voice is a little hoarse, but god, that was worth it and you would do it again. You’d suck Park Jimin’s cock until you lost your voice if he’d let you. You lift the fabric of your shirt to wipe your chin and mouth, cleaning the saliva that’s gathered and then turn your attention back to the man, hand gentle in your hair as he’s been watching you.

You lift his briefs and jeans for him, standing up and brushing your knees off before you tuck his shirt back in and then do up his zip and buckle his belt, smoothing his outfit back into place. You’re looking down at your hands as you do this, and so you don’t see the way Jimin is looking at you with something akin to affection. “I know a lot of guys don’t like dick mouth,” you say, flicking your eyes up. “But—”

Jimin’s kissing you before you can finish your sentence. You muffle a noise of surprise and kiss him back, shivering when he licks into your mouth, running his tongue across your teeth and over your lips. When you pull back, you end up giggling a little, running a finger under his chin and then tapping his swollen lips. “I was about to say, I still have my water, but I guess that doesn’t matter now, huh?”

You still reach for your drink, lifting the can from where it’s remained steady on the car, filling your mouth with the sweet taste of peach and fizz as you swish it around and then swallow. Jimin watches as you do and then reaches for the can himself— you tip it against his lips and let him finish the rest, watching the way his Adam's apple bobs, and tilt your head to kiss it as it does. He shivers, and you nose at his neck before sucking the skin so that you'll leave a mark on him, too. A reminder of you. He smells so nice, soft orange and something floral, maybe, subtle and light; you really like all these little details about Jimin, how he’s not brash at all, but rather, elegant and understated— and yet still undeniably powerful in his own way. 

You both startle when you hear someone calling out your name, surprisingly nearby. It sounds like they’re coming right in your direction, just around the corner, and there’s only two people who know where you like to park—

“Y/n! I’ve been looking everywhere for y- oh.” Jungkook literally freezes mid step, one foot in the air, blinking at how you and Jimin are standing flush with each other, Jimin’s stance wide so you can stand between his legs, while his hands are resting on your waist. You can see the cogs in Jungkook's mind working, and he puts his foot down in slow-mo as he slowly starts to smile. "Oh, didn't mean to interrupt, don't mind me," he says with a shit eating grin.

"It's okay," Jimin says. "I should go."

You can't help but pout. "So soon? Kookie can leave."

Jimin seems amused, but much to your surprise he indulges you with a small kiss; you didn't think he'd be so forward when someone else was watching. “I'll see you at the next race, sweet thing,” he murmurs, acting as if Jungkook isn't there.

“If you win again, I'll do something nice for you,” you say, and he laughs.

“And if you win?”

“Then you have to do something nice for me. Equal exchange, darling.”

Jimin just smiles. “Sounds like an agreement.”

He leaves with a small wave, and even flicks a wink at Jungkook as he goes past, the taller man watching him go. As soon as Jimin is out of sight your friend rounds on you with a I Knew It expression on his face.

“Yeah, okay, you were right,” you say, lifting a hand to cut him off before he can say anything. “You should just feel glad you hadn't turned up earlier. I think you might have seen some things you would regret.”

“That's gross,” Jungkook says, though he sounds cheerful. He loves being proven right. Brat. “You’d better not start letting him win, though.”

You snort. “Please, as if I would. The race is part of the foreplay.”

“That’s gross,” Jungkook says again. This time he sounds like he means it, and you laugh.

--

“There are way too many people here today,” Taehyung says. You can’t help but agree.

“They need to back off before I start swinging,” you mutter. Jungkook grabs your shoulder and squeezes it.

“We’ve got you,” he says, and you relax.

The multi-level car park in Yongsan is packed to the gills with people, faces in the crowd you know you’ve never seen; you’ve never raced here before and you’re not sure how word got out to so many people, but they’re clearly not familiar with the unspoken etiquette of the circuit and people keep trying to approach your goddamn car. You’ll allow it after a race, people rushing up to congratulate or whatever, but right now you’re grateful to have Jungkook and Taehyung warding people off while you staunchly ignore the wolf whistles aimed in your direction. You're too uncomfortable to play up to it today.

There are a lot of really tweaked out cars here. There’s even another American car, an electric blue Mustang that’s really beautiful, but you wonder at the choice of such a long pony car in the tight corners of an indoor car park.

“At least the prize money will be good?” Taehyung hazards. He’s not wrong— the prize money is a few hundred thousand won higher than normal, probably reflecting the more luxurious district that you’re racing in today. You wonder if that’s why Seokjin organised it here, for more exposure, more cash. The truth is, though, there are more important things that you want to win tonight. On that note—

“Hi, sweet thing,” Jimin says from behind you, and you turn around.

“Jiminie,” you sigh, relieved. Under his jacket his shirt is loose, material tastefully flimsy, and you can’t help but feel smug at the blossoms of colour over his pale neck and across his clavicle, tacit reminders of the race before last when he’d edged ahead of you just before the finish line. The pleats of your skirt cover your upper legs, but Jimin has already seen the similar blooms he’d left on your inner thighs, drawing out the noises you’d made as he’d eaten you out on the hood of his Nissan after your last win. “God, you look good.”

He smiles. “You do too, baby.”

You already feel more relaxed upon seeing him, warmth bursting through your chest at the pet names. “It’s so busy today.” There’s a little whine in your voice as you complain to Jimin and he crooks you a smile, indulgent.

“Just keep your eyes on me, ignore everyone else.”

“That’s like telling the sun to shine, it’s going to happen whether you say it or not,” you scoff. Jimin gives you that smile that he reserves for you, that only you can read because no one else is as good at deciphering his expressions as you are— flattered, bashful, pleased. It’s small, subdued because of the people around you, but you’ll make sure to make him smile like that again later when the two of you are alone together. You melt a little and try not to overthink how quickly Jimin has wormed his way inside your heart; at the end of the day, despite how many times you’ve touched him with your mouth and your hands, you’re still rivals. (Even if that line seems to be growing ever more blurred as time goes on.)

“So when’s the wedding?” Jungkook asks once Jimin’s out of earshot.

“It’s not like that, it’s just a physical thing,” you say. 

“Riiiiiiiiiiight.” Jungkook raises his eyebrows at you. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

“He really likes you, you know,” Taehyung mentions conversationally. “Yoongi says he talks about you a lot.”

“Almost as much as she talks about him?” Jungkook looks at you knowingly, and you pout at them both.

“Leave me alone, you know I’m a delicate flower,” you say, which makes them laugh. You don’t talk about Jimin that much, no matter what Jungkook says.

Your eyebrows raise when you find out who you’re racing tonight. They’ve put you up against someone you don’t recognise or know the name of, the driver of the Mustang, it turns out, the Yongsan crowd wanting to see how both American cars will fare against each other. Your Pontiac is a lot smaller, nippier, but you have no idea what’s under the hood of the other car— although you have to admit the matching blue LEDs that are shining out under the Mustang and from its headlights are pretty, a lot more dramatic than your unadorned Solstice. But you’ve never been showy, and theatrical prettiness means nothing when you’re racing. It’s down to mechanics and skill, not aesthetic. (Besides, your car is beautiful enough that she doesn’t need flashy additions to draw the eye.)

You catch sight of Jimin in your rearview mirror just as you’ve finished strapping yourself in. He’s a point of stillness in the heaving crowd that’s pressing in on the start of the race from all sides, and you see how his eyes crinkle as he smiles and mouths good luck. You rev your engine, finding yourself smiling back before you look over at the driver of the Mustang, who has a cocky grin on his face.

“I’m going to eat you alive,” he says, and you just smile beatifically while batting your eyelashes.

“Big words for such a small man,” you reply, and you see how his fingers tighten around the steering wheel, white knuckled. “Ooh, did that make you mad? Would you rather I pretended to be worried? Who even are you, anyway?”

“I’m going to make you regret saying that,” he snarls, and you laugh.

“You’ll have to catch me first,” you say, winking at him before your window rises and cuts him off.

The second the race begins you slam down on your accelerator, Solstice leaping forward as the Mustang screeches to life beside you. He’s a reckless driver, slamming into turns with too much speed and relying on the heavier weight of his car to keep him steady; you’re having to drive cautiously, swerving away from him when he seems to get too close to you, which happens more often than you like. It almost seems intentional, like he’s trying to take you out, and you grit your teeth as you slide into another turn, watching as he goes wide and sends safety cones scattering as his car swings into them.

It’s not hard to pull out ahead. You pop your handbrake as you approach the spiral ramp up to the final level and your Solstice curls into the rising turn with ease, the shortness of your car meaning that you can soar through the tightness of the walls without scraping along the sides. You emerge onto the rooftop to a yelling crowd and pump your throttle, turning your wheel so you arc out and slide to a smooth stop.

The Mustang appears moments after, though you’re being swarmed by the crowd and almost don’t notice. Thankfully Jungkook and Taehyung are the first to reach you, as normal, a fact which you’re grateful for moments later when the Mustang driver shoves his way through the crowd and makes a direct beeline for you.

You’ve been drifting for a long time, and you’ve experienced your fair share of abuse and bitterness from people who’ve lost against you, but you’ve been around long enough and built up enough of a reputation that you avoid most of it nowadays. The Mustang driver, however, looks furious, apoplectic with rage, and you don’t know what’s going through his head as he approaches you, but it can’t be anything good. You instinctively reach out for the person closest to you— Taehyung— who starts to turn, and Jungkook has noticed him too, already moving to interpose himself.

“Get out of my way,” the Mustang driver barks. “That bitch is mine.”

“Back off,” Jungkook snarls. You’ve never heard him sound like this before, this level of ferocity, eyes wild. “Take one step closer and I’ll make you fucking regret it.”

Taehyung also steps in front of you. There’s a moment where you wonder if you could have avoided this— if you hadn’t taunted him at the beginning, maybe?— but Taehyung’s hand squeezes yours reassuringly, and you realise it probably would have panned out like this anyway. Some people just hate to lose. You catch sight of Jimin at the front of the crowd, staring at you with concern, but Yoongi’s got a hold of him, fingers wrapped tight around his wrist as he holds him in place.

“What are you, her little bitch boy?” The Mustang driver barks at Jungkook. “Are you her little fuckbuddy, huh?”

Jungkook has a black belt in Taekwondo and he’s recently started boxing, too, on top of his general gym rat lifestyle, muscles visible under the tattoos that adorn his arms. Jungkook is literally the worst person you could ever want to get into a fight against; he’s sweet and lovely but he won’t take things lying down, especially if it’s one of his friends being threatened. You see how Jungkook’s shoulders go stiff, and you know you’re seconds away from a physical altercation— the onlookers are making no moves to intervene, and instead are fumbling for their phones to film it— but then Hoseok is there, sliding between them, fingers touching Jungkook’s rising hand.

“Guys, guys, guys,” he laughs breezily, as if he isn’t in the firing line right now. “What’s the hold up? I’m waiting for my turn to race but it seems like the crowd is all here rather than at the starting line.”

“I have some things to say to her,” the Mustang driver says, pointing at you. “And this asshole is in my way.”

Jungkook’s lip curls back from his teeth, but before he can say anything, Hoseok laughs again. “Is that what this is about? Is she really worth your time and energy? If you start a fight, you’ll be banned from the circuit.”

You don’t catch the rest of what Hoseok says, Taehyung turning you away from them and hustling you to your car. “We’ll deal with this, don’t worry,” he says, voice low as he opens your door for you. “I’ll speak to Seokjin and make sure this guy gets dealt with, but for now it’s probably a good idea to get out of here.”

Your eyes flicker over to where the guys are still standing— Jungkook still looks tense, even if it seems like Hoseok is doing his best to smooth things over, casual and at ease. You have no doubt that this is the last time you’ll see the Mustang driver, as confrontational and aggressive as he is, but you still don’t like how genuinely useless you feel right now.  “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“We’ll be fine,” Taehyung says. “Go on. I promise I’ll let you know if anything happens.”

You relent and do as you’re told. “I’m going to Namsan,” you tell him, and he nods in understanding.

You catch Jimin’s eye in your rearview as you gun your engine and leave, and you know without a doubt that he’ll come find you later. The drive to Namsan is a familiar one, although you don’t drift or speed and instead you take your time; you roll to a quiet stop once you reach your destination, rough dirt underfoot as you step out of your car, staring at the panorama of downtown Seoul. You don’t know how long you’ve been reclining against your car and drinking down the sight of the city lights below you when you register the sound of Jimin’s deep exhaust rumbling up the mountain road, the sound of his Skyline as familiar to you as your Pontiac by this point, turning your head to see him pull into the deserted lay-by beside you.

“You found me,” you say by way of greeting. Jimin doesn’t even shut his door and immediately makes his way over to you and cups your face in his hands. You relax into his touch, letting your eyes slip shut as he brushes a thumb over your cheek.

“Tae told me where you’d be,” he says. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You smile lazily, eyes slowly opening. Jimin is filling your vision, surrounded by the twinkling lights of Seoul below and the dark night sky above, and he’s still the most beautiful thing you can see. “It’s not the first time I’ve had an asshole get angry at me, but he’s definitely the most aggressive I’ve ever experienced.” A frown mars Jimin’s features, and you lift one of your hands to smooth out the lines in his brow. “It’s okay. I’m grateful that I have the boys to look after me. And you, too.”

Jimin’s frown fades, but he still looks unhappy. “I’m sorry,” he says, and you blink.

“For what?”

“For not being able to do more. I just stood there and watched.”

You smile gently. “You didn’t have to get involved, Jimin,” you say. “I didn’t expect you to do anything.”

You mean this in a nice way but Jimin’s face goes hard. You’re about to ask if you said something wrong when he cuts you off by kissing you fiercely, and you have to grab his shoulders to keep yourself to tipping backwards on the Pontiac’s hood. Jimin’s hands slide down your waist and he cups your ass before he lifts you; you squeal in surprise and latch onto him, curling your arms and legs around him so he doesn’t drop you.

Jimin might look lithe, but you’ve seen his bare arms and chest often enough to know of the muscle power he has. He walks the two of you to his car, kissing you as he does and your eyes widen as you realise he’s about to try and manoeuvre you both in through the open door while still holding onto you. He makes a noise against your lips as you pull away from the kiss.

“Jimin, put me down for a second,” you say.

“I don’t want to stop touching you.” He noses at your neck, and you shiver.

“If you drop me I’ll never forgive you,” you murmur, and he relents, careful as he sets you down, digging his fingers hard into your ass before he lets go. You’ve barely caught your balance before Jimin slides into his seat, kicking the bar under the chair to send it as far back as possible.

“Get in,” he says, and you instantly comply, climbing into his lap before he slams the door shut. It’s cramped like this but neither of you care, Jimin capturing your lips again as you grind against him, the fabric of your skirt rubbing over his jeans— you’ve started to wear skirts and dresses more often for the ease of access it offers Jimin once a race is over.

“Someone seems a little desperate today.” You mean to sound teasing but you’re too breathless to do so. “You want me to suck your dick that badly?”

“No,” Jimin answers, and the movement of your hips stutters a little as you react with confusion, but then— “I’m going to fuck you tonight, sweet thing,” he continues, and a moan slips unbidden from your lips. The two of you haven’t fucked yet, never going further than using your hands and mouths, but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t imagined Jimin’s cock inside you instead of just his fingers and tongue. “Does my baby like the sound of that?”

“Please,” you say. “God, please, Jimin, I want it so bad, want you to fuck me.”

One thing you’ve learned about Jimin is that he likes it when you’re desperate. He loves to edge you, watch you squirm, the power of your pleasure entirely in his hands, but you know how to play with him, too— know how to beg the way he likes it so that he gives you what you want. His pupils dilate as he listens to you plead and you can feel how hard he’s growing beneath you. He slides his hands under your jacket and over your shoulders, helping you slide it off, although it almost gets tangled over the steering wheel as you wriggle in his lap.

“This is so clumsy,” you giggle, and Jimin laughs too as you both struggle to throw the leather jacket onto the passenger seat, but then he grabs your hips and grinds up against your clothed heat and you gasp. “Oh, fuck. Take that damn shirt off, I want to see you too.”

It’s fumbled and chaotic but the two of you end up shedding your upper layer of clothes, shirts cast aside and forgotten. Jimin helps unclasp your bra, kissing the swell of your breasts before the garment drops and is thrown aside too, Jimin taking the opportunity to dip his head and lick one of your nipples. You gasp again and grab at his hair, grip tightening as he runs his tongue over the hardening bud while circling the other with a fingertip. He keeps changing his attention between them, sucking and licking them until you’re a panting, writhing mess in his lap, lips moving so perfectly against your skin.

“Jimin, please,” you whisper, running your hands over all the bare skin you can touch. “I want to feel you.”

It takes less effort than you’d thought as you crane your body upwards to give Jimin space to shove his jeans and underwear down. His cock is hard, lying against his stomach and smearing precum against his skin as he leans back in the chair. You spit into your palm before taking the length in your hand; a familiar weight by now, the curve of him so perfect in your palm, and you shiver in anticipation. Jimin jolts as you pump him to full hardness, running your thumb over the slit of his cock and gathering the wetness there before spreading it over the rest of him, twisting your wrist as you let your hand rise and fall. 

“Fuck,” Jimin swears, grip on your hips so tight it’s almost bruising. You’re still in your skirt and panties, but somehow it seems dirtier like this than if you’d been fully naked; Jimin’s hand slips under your skirt and pushes the material of your panties aside, revealing your core to him, and you shudder when he drags a finger up your slit, feeling the wetness that’s gathered around your opening. His eyes are hungry. “Always so wet for me.”

You drag your hips forward into his touch, trembling when you feel the press of his fingers over your clit. “Always want you,” you breathe. “Please, I want your cock in me so bad—”

He silences you with a kiss, tongue slick and wet in your mouth, and you lean into it, hand tightening around his length as you move to guide it into you. He stops you with firm hands, one on your waist and the other bracing your inner thigh, and you whine against his lips. “Jimin, Jiminie, I need you.”

“Hold on,” he says, but you can hear the edge to his voice, how he doesn’t want to stop either. “I just— condom—”

“I’m clean,” you say, legs trembling as you continue to hold your position above him, muscles screaming at you to just drop down and let Jimin’s cock fill you up the way you want, but you stay steady. “I got tested after I broke up with my ex— and I’m still on the pill— fuck, Jimin, wanna feel you fill me up.”

Jimin’s eyes are blown, swallowing the dark brown of his irises. The hand on your inner thigh moves and he plunges two fingers into you and you suck in air, your body opening up for him as he presses deep into your inner walls. One thing you’ve discovered over the months is that Jimin reverts to his Busan dialect when he’s turned on, his voice a surprisingly deep drawl that makes you shiver. “Baby wants my cum, hm?”

Your head drops forward and you pant against his shoulder, body jolting each time he curls his fingers against your sweet spot just the way you like it. “Yes, I want it,” you say, and then gasp as he pushes another finger in, hard and fast, stretching you; you’re so turned on and wet that it slips in easily. “Jimin, please.”

Normally you’re certain he’d drag this out longer but he seems as desperate as you, pulling his fingers out of you in one deft motion that has your pussy clenching around the sudden emptiness. He shifts his hands to your waist, holding you tight, and you use one of your hands to keep the material of your sodden panties out of the way as you hold onto his cock with the other, guiding the tip towards your entrance. Jimin lets you down slowly, his head breaching you first and stretching you so well; you tip your head back and arch your spine as you feel him slowly splitting you open, thicker than his fingers as you lower down inch by glorious inch until your hips are flush and you’ve taken him as deep as you can.

Jimin rolls his hips upwards and your hands fly to his shoulders for balance as you clench around him. He hisses. “You’re so tight, sweet thing,” he says, and you grind down against him, moving your hips in little circular motions that has both of you gasping. You bite your lip as Jimin lifts you back up, just as slow as before, and you revel in the sensation of his cock dragging against your inner walls, sensations electric inside you. 

You keep this languid pace for a while, wet and slick, Jimin sucking more marks into your neck as you drag your nails down his chest before you decide to switch things up— you catch Jimin off guard, his hands loose around your waist now, and drop your hips down. The air is punched out of your lungs at the way Jimin’s cock thrusts into you and fills you up all at once, so deep and full, a similar moan ripped out of his lips before his eyes go dark.

“So that’s the game you want to play,” he says. You grin mischievously as you tilt your hips so that your clit rubs against him, shuddering as your toes curl at the pleasure shooting through you.

“You said you’d always make me come first,” you say, batting your eyelashes at him innocently, as if you’re not grinding down his cock. “I thought I’d help you out.”

A thrill sparks through you at Jimin’s expression. He doesn’t respond with words and instead he tightens his grip around your waist before he pulls you almost entirely off his cock, the flushed head just touching your entrance as you squirm in his hold. You wonder if he’s going to keep teasing you but then his hips buck upwards as he pulls you down, and you cry out as he drives into you, setting an unforgiving pace as he begins to drill into you. The car starts to rock with his sharp motions, filled with the sounds of your gasps and moans as you ride him, the slap of skin on skin as you edge closer and closer to your orgasm— but when you tilt your face back and your eyes slip shut one of his hands grips your chin and pulls your head forward.

“Eyes on me.” He’s slowed his ruthless pace, staring into your eyes as he rolls his hips fluidly against yours. “I want to look at me when you cum around my cock.”

“J-Jimin,” you hiccup, and he continues to watch your face as he thrusts into you again— your mouth falls open as your body jolts forward in his lap, but you keep your eyes locked on his. “Jimin, I’m so close,” you say, and he responds with a particularly hard drive upwards. One of your hands drops from his shoulder to rub at your clit, fingers desperate as you circle the bundle of nerves in time with the motion of Jimin’s hips, and you know you’re so close to your peak— a few more presses of his cock into you and you’re gone, pleasure sparking through you as you cum and tighten around him, walls rippling against his cock. You cry out, body tensing as you lean into the sensation, shuddering at how much wetter you grow, flushing out of you onto Jimin’s still-hard erection.

Your eyes widen when he doesn’t stop moving. You’re being thrown into oversensitivity, writhing as Jimin continues to pump his hard length into you, but he knows you can take it, drawing multiple orgasms out of you with his fingers and tongue; your hand falls away from your sensitive pearl as Jimin keeps you bouncing in his lap, each deep push into you more than enough to draw out the pleasure from your first orgasm, sobbing in a gasping breath each time he breaches you again. You do your best to match his pace, and you can tell that he’s close, his rhythm starting to falter as the noises slipping past his lips grow more guttural. All his usual sophistication is completely gone as he chases his own release, but he’s still elegant, still gorgeous— it’s the shimmer of sweat at his temples from his exertions and the growing heat in the car, the motion of his body as he rolls his hips, the beautiful dark of his eyes and the kiss-swollen flush to his already full lips. Park Jimin is so utterly overwhelming, and somehow, in some way, he’s yours, and you’re blindsided by your second orgasm, the realisation throwing you into more waves of pleasure as your body goes tense again and you grind down into Jimin with a drawn out moan.

Jimin’s hips stutter. He’s clearly as surprised as you at the fact you’ve come again so soon, but then his eyes fall shut as he grits his teeth after one particularly tight clench of your pussy and he’s cumming too. He empties himself inside you, hot cum painting your insides with each twitch of his cock as you press closer to him, bodies locked together. He chases each wave of his cum with a thrust, pushing as deep into you as he can,  the last, weaker ripples of your own orgasm drawing the evidence of his pleasure further inside you until he finally stills, hips flush.

You’re both panting as you come down from your highs, your muscles protesting in the uncomfortable position you’re keeping them in, as cramped as you are- but you don’t want to separate from Jimin, and he seems to feel the same, grip sliding from your waist to circle his arms around you and pull you impossibly closer. He keeps you close as he helps lift you upwards, his cock sliding out of you; you clench as tight as you can but not before a dribble of his cum drips out of you and runs down his softening length, and you shiver at the sensation of that warmth as Jimin sets you gently back down in his lap before settling against you.

His head is nestled against your chest, hair tickling your neck and under your chin. All the lust from your fucking feels like it’s slowly ebbing away, and you’re left with tenderness instead, your fingers scratching lightly through the shorter hair at the nape of Jimin’s neck in a manner that’s more affectionate than it probably should be; this is just physical, it’s all physical, but you like Jimin so much that you can’t help but let that adoration shine through right now. If he says anything about it afterwards you can just blame it on the post orgasm glow. It’s fine. This is fine. He doesn’t need to know.

Eventually Jimin pulls his head away and you lean back so that he can look up at you. You’re stunned by how unguarded his expression is, how warm his eyes are. (He looks how you feel.)

“My baby,” he murmurs, and you smile.

“Jiminie.” A giggle slips out of you as Jimin’s hands cup your face, touch so light it’s ticklish. “Say it again.”

“My baby,” he repeats, fond, but then the warmth fades from his face and his expression becomes serious. “Y/n. Do you want this?”

“Hm?” You make a little noise of confusion. “Want what? You? Of course. Isn’t that obvious? I thought the fact that we just fucked would have been a giveaway.”

Normally he would have laughed at this, you know he would have, but his face stays level. He draws a thumb down the side of your face, and you turn into the touch. “Is that all you want? Just to fuck?”

Your eyes widen as they flick over his face, the implication behind his words. “What?”

“Do you know how much it killed me to watch Hoseok step in for you? It should have been me.” Jimin’s frowning, and you hate that expression, hate the anger on his face that he has directed towards himself. “I don’t want to stand by and pretend like you don’t mean anything to me. I don’t want to have to keep sneaking around and acting like I don’t want you. I want everyone to know that you’re mine and I’m yours, that they shouldn’t dare to try and put their hands on you.”

“Jimin,” you breathe. “Are you… are you saying you want to make this official? You want to be my boyfriend?” You run a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face, looking him in the eye even though you feel oddly vulnerable. “You want that?”

“Yes.” He lets you continue to fiddle with his hair, rhythmically combing it away from his forehead with your fingers. “Do you?”

You sigh as you go boneless against him. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something more,” you admit, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, uncharacteristically shy. “I think I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you, even though I thought you were a threat.”

Jimin stills at your confession and then laughs. “Because I’m so gorgeous?”

“And so humble, too,” you say, before pulling back to kiss his forehead, and then his nose, and then his lips. He smiles so wide his eyes squeeze shut. “Oh, keep smiling like that, you’re so cute when you smile like that.”

He keeps smiling like that as you kiss him again. He’s still smiling once you’ve redressed, even though you keep whining about your leg muscles cramping from how you’ve been curled into his lap; you lean against the door as you sit in his passenger seat and have your legs kicked over the centre console of his car so that he can massage your thighs, so maybe you’re exaggerating your complaints so that Jimin keeps his hands on you, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “I’ve been watching you from the very beginning, too,” Jimin says, and you kick your foot lightly in his grasp.

“That’s rivalry, babe,” you tease, and giggle when he catches your foot and holds it still. “Of course you’ve been watching me, you had to know what the competition was up to.”

“I wanted to bend you over the hood of your pretty little car from the second I heard you open that smart mouth of yours,” he says, and looks pleased when he feels how you shiver under his touch.

“You can do that whenever you’d like, now,” you say. You draw your legs back so that you can shift forwards and lean over the centre console, putting your fingers under Jimin’s chin so that you can plant a small kiss on his lips. “Boyfriend privileges.”

If someone had told you, back when you’d first met Park Jimin, that you’d end up like this, you would have laughed in their face and called them ridiculous. But now when he smiles up at you in a way that’s utterly open and sweet, completely at odds to how he presents himself on the circuit, it just feels natural. Like you’ve been drifting towards this moment from the second you’d locked eyes and shaken hands, rivals to lovers to partners, blending all those different facets into one; like it was inevitable from the start.

“Does that mean I can kiss you in public?” Jimin asks, and you kiss him again, letting it linger this time, sucking his plush bottom lip into your mouth and nipping lightly at it before pulling your head back.

“Baby, I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

--

The next time you meet at Namsan, Jimin’s dyed his hair. It’s no longer honey blond, and instead it’s baby pink, a soft pastel shade that of course looks beautiful on him, not to mention—

“You dyed your hair the same colour as my jacket,” you say, voice faint.

“Surprise, sweet thing.” This time when Jimin smiles it’s wide and open, ignoring the fact you’re about to race each other, ignoring the other drivers on the track, ignoring the crowd of onlookers; he only has eyes for you. “Do you like it?”

“Do I like— Park Jimin, I’m going to fuck your brains out after this race is over,” you say. “But right now I demand that you kiss me before I lose my mind.”

You end up kissing him against the side of your Pontiac, sucking on his tongue in a way that’s utterly lewd and scandalous, neither of you paying attention to shocked reactions it causes.

“Get a room,” Jungkook hollers, and Jimin laughs into your mouth as you flip him the bird.

--

[you can read the second part here!]

[ladyfly]

New Parts- The Wedding 9

I googled a website to make a name for a fazbear campsite. and it's gems are special. The top one is good but what are those other ones? I like #2. 1) Freddy's Family Campground 2) disfunctional Freddy 3) cambear 4) Camp Pizza 5) the best campground in america

CW: talk about sex,

You ask Moon how he was able to build the body to so closely resemble yours. All he tells you is he salvaged the parts. Outright telling you at one point that one day he will tell you but today is not that day. You accept the answer with a kiss.

With your bags in hand the three of you sand at the employee entrance waiting for your ride. A six passenger street legal cart rolls up. You can see it through the little window on the door. You weren't sure what you were expecting but a shitty little six seater golf cart painted to resemble Freddy was not on your list.

The driver is a modified staff bot with a bright olive green shirt and poop yellow hat. It assaults your eyeballs. The three of you take a seat. Sun and Moon sit next to each other and you sit behind them with the luggage. They each have an arm behind their seats so you can hold their hands.

Their eyes are full of wonder as they look around at the world around them. It reminds you of kids visiting Disneyworld for the first time. It warms your.. circuits? You don't really have a heart anymore. Not a real flesh and blood one anyway.

The drive takes you behind the plex along a grey gravel driveway. It's three miles to the campground. Sun and Moon ask many questions about nature and the forest. You answer every question you can. The air is cool leaning towards cold. It being Autumn in the more northern region of the world.

A warm cup of tea would be lovely. Too bad you can't drink tea anymore. You spend some time lamenting all the things you can't eat or drink anymore. However as you gaze up at Sun, who is looking at you in concern, you know you made the right choice. Sun nudges Moon pointing at you.

Moon looks at you carefully as you enter the gate to Freddy's Family Campground "Are you ok? Is... IS something wrong? You aren't regretting-"

You cut him off "NO! ... No. I uh I was just thinking about all the things I can't eat and drink anymore. I don't regret this. I'm just mourning a loss. I'm good now."

Moon climbs into the back of the cart with you. He pulls you into his chest "I'm sorry I couldn't find a way for you to eat."

The cat stops in front of a large log cabin with a sign that reads "Welcome! Office check-in inside!"

It has an image of Bonnie waving while wearing a ranger hat and a sky blue Hawaiian shirt with pine trees and camp fires on it. It looks cute. The three of you climb out of the glorified golf cart.

Sun rolls the gravel under his foot "Ooo! I like that sound!"

Moon helps you out of the cart and Sun take the luggage.

The driver bot holds out a map "TAKE A MAP!" It screams very loudly.

You make a mental note to put this on your list of things to change/fix. The map has a cabin circled on it. It has the same number as the key in your pocket. The cart drives away leaving the three of you alone. You walk up to the main office and try the door. Locked.

You look back down at the map "Let's go find our cabin. After that we can explore the area."

Moon slides a hand around your waist "Or, we can finally take you as your husbands. Show you why you made the right choice. In the bath, in the kitchen, outside."

Sun takes the map from you "It's not far. Lets go!"

The walk to Cabin #21, as stated on the key, takes fifteen minutes. You hope the cart will take people to their cabin. Not that the walk is hard but customer satisfaction. Another thing for the list.

The cabin looks like it came out of a Yogi Bear cartoon. Around the back is a hot tub and fire pit. You wonder if you can use the tub.

As you walk up to the door Moon stops you. "Wait! We need to carry you across the threshold!"

You are about to say something when Sun and Moon pick you up together. They carry you sideways into the cabin. Inside looks like someone took a Cabellas, threw it into a blender, and dumped it into the house.

It has leather couch with buffalo plaid pillows, faux fur rug, and a TV over a fire place. The kitchen is big enough to fit two people. It has a bar for eating. The bathroom has a big shower with a seat but no tub. The bed is a California king. Big enough for the boys. Good.

Moon stalks up behind you and pins you to the bed "You are ours now starlight. Inside or outside?"

Sun pouts "I want to cum inside not out!"

You nod "Cum inside."

Moon chuckles "Not what I was asking."

You wiggle your hips into his groin "Inside then. I wanna fuck you outside tonight."

Sun giggles "Two times? Really sunshine?"

You nod "It's a start!"

[dirtykpopsnaps]

The Resident Bad Boy — Mark Lee smut

Warnings: This fic contains 18+ material. Anyone under 18 seen interacting with this fic will be blocked!!

Contains: bad boy!Mark. Banter between Mark and Y/N. Hate fucking. Unprotected sex. That’s basically it.

Requested:

Words: 3, 478 (wow...I’m getting these requests out faster than I thought. But, I’ve had this request on my mind since it came in...oops😬😬)

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I sigh softly, nibbling lightly on the toast in front of me. Out the window of the kitchen, I’m just able to people slowly waking up in their homes and starting their days. Calmly, my eyes flit over to the digital clock set into the stove. The clock displays back the time 7:00 AM and I climb off the seat. I grab my plate and place it in the sink, grabbing the toast off the top. I shove the toast into my mouth and grab my bookbag off the floor, throwing it over my shoulder. “I’m heading out, mom! Have a nice day!” I call out before walking to the door and heading out into the street.

Calmly, I walk down the street towards the bus stop. Each house on the street looks similar, but different at the same time. At the end of the street, a large stop sign signals the place for the bus stop. A few students are already gathered around the bus stop, some just waiting for the bus and others already studying. I join the group of students and wait patiently. Thankfully, we don’t have to wait long before the bus shows up. Quickly, students step onto the bus and take their seats. I find a seat at the very front of the bus, setting my backpack next to me.

As the time passes, the bus makes a few other stops. Students climb onto the bus and find their seats, talking excitedly to their friends. Up until the last stop, everything is fine. No one bothers me and I sit alone, looking out the window at everything passing. At the last stop, as I do every day, I duck my head and try to avoid all attention. Sometimes this works, other times it doesn’t. Today is one of the days where it doesn’t work. A few people climb onto the bus, finding their seats and talking happily. Then, a person appears at in the isle next to me. “Is this seat taken?” They ask, their voice filled with mock curiosity. I swallow thickly and shake my head, picking up the backpack and pulling it onto my lap. Chuckling to himself, the person takes the seat next to me.

As soon as he sits down, I look out the window and refuse to look at him. The bus slowly starts moving again and makes its way towards our high school. After a few minutes, the boy next to me speaks up again. “Aww, does someone not want to look at me? Did I upset you?” He asks, using a mocking baby voice and trying to get his face into my line of sight. I huff in annoyance, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Leave me alone, Lee. I don’t need your shit this early in the morning,” I growl. Finally, I turn my head to look at him and scowl at him. Just next to me, a thin but muscular young man is smirking at me. His eyes are large and dark, chocolaty brown. His hair is fluffy and dark brown, as well. Just looking at this boy, some might say he looks angelic. But, this boy’s angelic looks have never fooled me. Since the day I met him, I’ve known just the kind of person he truly is.

This man right next to me is Mark Lee. He’s a year above me, a senior at my high school. This young man, as angelic as he may look, has made my life a living hell since the day I met him. My family moved here just a couple years ago due to a promotion my father got. It moved him to another department in Korea and my mother and I moved with him. The day that I started at Seoul Performing Arts High School, I met Mark. He strutted right up to me and started flirting. Most girls would have melted into a puddle. He was the most popular boy in school. He was a bad boy and add to that that he was debuting as a kpop idol, and every girl wanted to be with him. Every girl, that is, except me. I didn’t know who the hell Mark Lee was, but he was too confident and conceited for me to ever fall for him. I wanted nothing to do with him and, ever since that day, he’s made it his goal in life to bother me and bully me.

At my statement, Mark raises his eyebrows. “Oh, you don’t need my shit, huh? Well, you’ll just have to deal, little miss perfect,” he laughs cruelly. I roll my eyes, huffing and looking out the window again. Mark laughs again. “Oh, don’t act like that. You know you like me,” he laughs, wrapping his arm around the seat of the bus and onto my shoulder. I glare at him, shoving his arm off my shoulder.

“You. Wish,” I glare, turning away from him again. Mark rolls his eyes, letting out a deep sigh.

“Fine. Just meet me at our hall during break,” he says plainly. Instantly, my throat feels dry and I look at him, taking deep breaths.

“Who says I want to meet with you?” I ask, lowering my voice. He shrugs his shoulders lightly.

“Well, you’ve never missed one of our meetings before,” he reminds me. I huff again, slumping down in the seat. Mark laughs at my actions, patting my head like one would a petulant child.

Finally, the bus makes its way up to the high school. Kids begin climbing off the bus and I separate myself from Mark Lee as soon as I can. He doesn’t try to stop me and I can see him meeting up with his friends, talking calmly. However, what they’re talking about doesn’t seem to catch his attention. He keeps throwing glances at me and, when he catches me staring back, he blows me a condescending kiss. I roll my eyes, making my way into the school and heading towards my classroom. When I get into the classroom, I find my seat and immediately take a book out of my bookbag. I open the book on the desk and start flipping through it, looking over random bits of information.

For the most part, my morning is fairly normal. My day starts with my vocal practice lessons. The teacher is critical, but only because they want us to do as well as we can. I stay to myself, working with the techniques that he teaches us. About halfway through the class, I start to feel things being tossed at the back of my head. I frown lightly, refusing to turn around and acknowledge it. I know exactly who’s throwing the trash at me and I’m not encouraging him. However, after about another 10 minutes of having trash tossed at me, I whip around. Mark is sitting at the back of the class, laughing with his best friend and looks away when I whip around. “Stop it!” I hiss at him, turning back around and ignoring him for the rest of the class.

At the end of class, the school bell rings loudly. Everyone begins packing up their bags and heading out of the class, walking towards no specific place. We have a 50 minute break now and the students get to spend it however they see fit. Quickly, I gather my bag and throw it over my shoulder, walking out of the room. Looking around to make sure that no one is watching me, I walk in the opposite direction of most students and head further into the school. I walk along the long hallways, making my way towards an empty wing of the school. The classrooms here aren’t used until later on in the day, so this has become our normal meeting spot. As calmly as possible, I head down the hall and wait for him to appear.

Not long after, I hear heavy footsteps as someone makes their way down the empty hall. The person walks along and then turns down the same hall as me. When he sees me standing there, he chuckles lightly. “See? I knew you would show up,” he smiles knowingly. I glare at him, crossing my arms again.

“I hate you,” I sigh, shaking my head at him.

“Well, obviously, you don’t. I mean, it was your choice to show up. You didn’t *have* to come here,” he points out. I take a deep breath, pressing my lips together tightly.

“Whatever,” I mumble, walking down the hall to one of the empty classrooms. Mark follows after me, making no effort to be any quieter. He walks into the room after me, closing the door quietly behind him.

As soon as he enters the room, I press him against the door and smash my lips against his. Mark grunts in surprise, but falls into the kiss soon afterward. When we pull apart, he shoots an infuriating smile down at me. “What a nice greeting. Finally you’re being nice to me,” he chuckles. I narrow my eyes at him, tugging hard at his hair in response. Mark grunts again, screwing his face up in pain. He swats at my hands, pulling them out of his hair. I flash him a tight-lipped smile and he rolls his eyes. “You know you can drop your act here. No one is around to see that you actually *care* about Mark Lee,” he says.

“I *don’t* care about you. You’re just infuriatingly persistent and persuasive. Not to mention, you’re good with your dick,” I tell him. He laughs lightly and I slap my hand over his mouth to muffle the sound.

See, when Mark had first suggested we fuck, almost a year ago now, I had laughed in his face. I hated him. He was like an annoying gnat that just wouldn’t leave you alone. He would pull at my hair. He would lob balls of paper at the back of my head. He would outright flirt with me in front of everyone and anyone. And I can’t tell you how many girls hate me because of that. But, I couldn’t stop thinking about what he had suggested. So, against my better judgment, I showed up. He broke into this huge, shit-eating grin as soon as he saw me. Then, he pulled me into an empty classroom in this very hall and fucked me better than anyone ever could. I’d never been with anyone before that, but I just...knew. He was a major asshole, but he was *so* good with his dick. And, when I told him I was a virgin, he actually showed me kindness and caring for the first time since I had met him. Ever since then, at least once a week, we would meet up and fuck.

When Mark’s laughter has died down, I take my hand away from his mouth. For a few seconds, we just stare at each other, then I lean up and pull him into another deep kiss. This time, he’s not caught off guard and slips his hands down to my hips, holding them tightly. “Someone’s eager,”he chuckles, working on the buttons of his blazer, “What’s the hurry? Don’t you wanna savor the moment?” I glare up at him.

“No, I don’t, Mark. You know we don’t have that much time,” I remind him.

“Jeez! If you wanted my dick that much, all you had to say was ‘please’,” he laughs.

“Mark Lee, if you don’t shut your pretty mouth right now and I fuck me, I *will* leave you right here,” I warn, pulling off my blazer and throwing it over a chair. Mark does the same, working on his tie and shirt.

For a few moments, neither Mark nor I talk to each other. We busy ourselves with throwing off the pieces of our elaborate uniforms and place them around the room. I start working on the buttons of my skirt to drop it, but Mark stops me. “Hey, you know I like that cute little skirt. Keep it on,” he winks. I roll my eyes and stop trying to take it off. Now just in his boxers, Mark drops to his knees and looks up at me. Slowly he trails his hands up my legs until he reaches my panties. He snaps the band against skin, smirking to himself. “These, however...these need to come off,” he chuckles darkly. Immediately after, he slips them down my legs. When they reach my feet, I kick them off and he sets them on top of my blouse and the little bow. Calmly, I slip off my shoes and socks, leaving me in only my bra and uniform skirt.

Standing to his full height again, Mark steps back and hums happily. “Always so gorgeous,” he chuckles. Without hesitation, he drops his last article of clothing and, suddenly, he’s completely naked in front of me. The morning sun lights up his tanned skin beautifully, but my eyes immediately fall to his cock. It’s already standing at attention and ready for us to play. Just staring at it, my mouth waters slightly. It’s just a little longer than average, but it’s very thick and veiny. It always feels so amazing inside of me. After a few seconds of staring, my eyes flit up to his again and he still has that infuriating smirk.

As soon as my eyes meet his, he strides up to me and holds me close. His hand is pressed against the small of my back, keeping us chest to chest. He captures my lips in a heated kiss, swiping his tongue at the seam of my lips. I open them immediately and his tongue makes it’s way into my mouth, fighting for dominance with mine. Although I fight back, I know that he’ll be the one in charge. He’s always the one in charge. Finally, I give in and allow him to take dominance. I feel him smirk against my lips and I have half a mind to slap him, but I decide against it. If I actually were to slap him, he would probably leave me high and dry. Mark moves his lips away from my mouth and starts pressing light kisses against my jaw and neck. “No...no marks, Mark. I can’t cover them right now,” I moan, leaning my head back to give him more access.

“You’re no fun,” he frowns, nipping at my neck.

“Mark,” I say, gritting my teeth. He sighs lightly and continues descending down to my chest.

Smoothly, he begins pressing kisses to the tops of my breasts. He moves the cup of my bra aside and takes my nipple into my mouth, sucking hard. I gasp loudly, threading my fingers into his hair and tugging. He hums against my breast, nipping lightly at the pebble in his mouth. “You’re always so responsive,” he says, moving to the other breast. I hum lightly, tugging at his hair again.

“Mark, don’t waste time,” I moan, trying to steady my voice.

“You’re still no fun,” he groans, leaning back and adjusting the cups over my breasts again. He steps away and takes in my figure, deciding where he wants me. “I wanna see you bent over that desk,” he stares, gesturing his head towards one of the desks nearby.

As soon as the order escapes his lips, I walk over the desk and press my chest against the top, gripping the far edge. I look over my shoulder and bite my lip. “You coming, Lee?” I ask, catching him staring at my ass as the skirt slowly moves up.

“Be patient,” he chides jokingly, striding over and gripping my ass cheek in his hand. He kneads it for a few seconds before pressing his hard cock against my crack. “Are you ready for this?” He asks.

“Just waiting for you stop being a tease, Lee,” I sigh, tapping my fingers against the desk impatiently. I can almost hear him roll his eyes.

“Jesus Christ, woman. Do you ever just take in the moment?” He groans in annoyance.

“Not when we only have 50 minutes to get ourselves off,” I snap.

“You should come to my dorm sometime. I’d take my time with you there,” he hums.

“In your dreams, Lee,” I growl.

“Oh, you bet. Every single night, darling,” he chuckles. I glare at him over my shoulder.

“Mark Lee, fuck me now or I *will* leave,” I growl. He rolls his eyes again, fisting his cock.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, shut up,” he mumbles in frustration.

Just as I’m about to respond, Mark steps up behind me and rubs his cock through my folds. I moan loudly, tightening my grip on the edge of the table. Mark laughs at my response. “Isn’t it you who’s always chiding me about being too loud?” He laughs.

“Mark,” I growl in annoyance, taking deep breaths to try and calm myself. However, before I can say anything else, Mark moves his cock to my hole and presses in. My breath catches in my throat at the feeling and I gasp, clutching the edge of the desk. Mark groans, slowly working himself into me.

“Jesus. No matter how much I fuck you, you’re always so *tight*,” he groans, slowly pulling his cock in and out. Each time he presses back in, he goes in a little further. After several minutes, he’s finally worked himself all the way in.

For a few seconds, he just sits there and allow me to adjust to his size. I can hear him taking deep breaths through gritted teeth, trying not to move before I say he can. When I’m fully adjusted, I nod my head quickly. “Fuck me, Mark,” I moan, pressing my ass back. He groans again, moving his hands to my hips and pulling out. He slams his cock back into me, finding that spot that only he can. I moan loudly, throwing my head back at the pleasure.

“Good girl. Such a good girl for me,” he moans, quicken his pace.

“Only...Only for you, Mark,” I whine, panting slightly.

“Who’s cock makes you feel this good?”

“Your’s, Mark! Your cock makes me feel so good!” He growls, slamming into me yet again. He presses his front against my back, stopping for a moment.

“That’s right, babygirl, only me,” he growls, nipping at the skin of my neck. I groan at the feeling but, before I can chide him for leaving marks, he’s thrusting again.

Quickly, his thrusts reach a point where the desk is scrapping against the floor. That familiar feeling in my stomach is rising and I whine softly. “Mark...Mark, I’m gonna come,” I moan, leaning back against him.

“Come for me, baby. I’m almost there,” he groans. At his words, I allow myself to fall over the edge. I lift up one of my hands, biting it as I fall over the edge. My cunt flutters around Mark, clenching and unclenching involuntarily. He groans loudly, spilling inside of me. I whine, feeling his cum already dripping down my legs.

“Shit...I didn’t mean to do that,” he pants worriedly.

“It’s okay, Mark. I’m on the pill,” I pant back, resting my face against the desk. He laughs lightly, taking in deep breaths.

“Fuck, that’s great,” he says.

For a few seconds, we both just allow ourselves to come down from our highs. When we’ve calmed down enough, we start pulling our uniforms back on. We pull on all of the different parts, checking each other and making sure that we look presentable. I tug my blazer back on when I suddenly notice the unexpected coolness against my cunt. I gasp loudly, searching around the room frantically. “What, what?!” Mark asks in confusion.

“My panties! Where are they?! They were just on top of my blouse!” I whisper-shout, turning around in circles. Mark laughs lightly and I turn to him, my jaw hanging open.

“Why are you laughing at me?!” I ask in shock. Smirking, he tugs something out of his pocket and I’m just able to recognize the color and lace of my panties. “Hey, give those back!” I say, snatching for them.

Quickly, Mark shoves then back in his pocket and smirks. “You’ll get them back when you come to my dorm,” he says plainly, then he turns on his heel and walks off. I stare after him, my jaw hanging open. He did *not* just do that. Finally getting a hold of myself again, I hurry down the hall after him. I hit his arm, begging him to give them back, but he just keeps laughing at me. When he get back into the occupied part of the school, I’m forced to drop it. However, I keep pleading with him for the rest of the day. Let’s just say...I don’t get my panties back...that day, anyway.

[spine-buster]

peaceful easy feeling ft. b.boeser | five

A/N: This is the last part of this mini series!  I know this adventure was short but thank you all for coming along on the ride :)    A quick reminder that I will be announcing my new fic, who it will feature, a small blurb, & a clue as to what to expect from it this Thursday at 7:30pm EST.  Happy reading!

CONTENT WARNING: parents with disease/sickness (Parkinson’s); parent death; swearing; sex; alcohol use; lots of emotions.

                                                               *     *     *     *     *

“You look beautiful, baby,” Brock cooed as he adjusted his cufflinks – well, not really.  He was looking at Grace, not really caring about his cufflinks.  Seeing her stand there in her beautiful dress, her hair curled and pinned, and her delicate jewelry hanging off her ears, neck, and wrists…she was a vision.  He was so lucky.

They were about to leave to attend the Parkinson’s Foundation of British Columbia Gala.  Grace had planned virtually the whole thing, though she worked with the head of the foundation on most major decisions.  She arranged the venue, catering, got major sponsors (okay…the biggest were her uncles, but there were a lot more), organized the silent auction, and arranged the entertainment for the evening.  Everyone who attended their weekly meetings would be there.  Brock knew the Aquilinis would be there.  It was a party, yes, and a function to raise money, yes – but at the end of the day, it was a culmination of Grace’s strength after Hamish passed away.

“Thanks, babe,” she smiled over at him, taking one last look at herself in the mirror.  “Are Petey and Svea ready to go?”

Brock nodded.  “Petey’s been texting for fifteen minutes asking if we’re on our way yet,” he joked.

“You can blame it on me,” she winked.  “Unless Petey takes a good look at your hair.  Then he’ll know it was you.”

Brock laughed out loud, taking the few steps needed to stand right in front of her and wrap his arms around her.  “Hey…before we go,” his voice was low and he looked down at Grace.  “Your dad would be so proud of you for planning this.”

Grace nodded her head.  She knew.  It was a lot of work, and she completely went in head first with planning all of it and maybe, sort of taking over the entire operation, but it was worth it.  She had planned something that would raise money that, hopefully, would fund research so that nobody would have to go through what she went through.  She didn’t just want to be known as an heiress daughter of a billionaire; she wanted to be known as so much more.  An heiress who used her money to fund research projects and arts centres; an heiress who donated her time and money to worthy causes.  She once told Brock that she knew she wasn’t the smartest girl in the world, but that she thought she had a big heart.  She hoped this was the start of others in her community, and in Vancouver, realizing that she had a big heart.

***

“Grace, this is amazing,” Svea couldn’t help but say astonishingly as she took yet another look around the giant room, decorated to the nines with flashing lights and impeccably dressed people chatting and drinking and dancing.  Svea knew Grace would be busy throughout the night, so she wasn’t trying to hog her after their limousine ride together.  But now that Svea got her alone, she had to verbalize it again, just like she did when she walked in.  “Like, I don’t think you understand.  It’s incredible.”

“Want to let me plan your wedding to Elias?” Grace winked, taking a sip of her drink.

“Oh shut up.”

“There she is!” the women both heart Elias yell.  They turned around and saw him and Brock walking towards them, both with drinks in their hands.  “Grace, this is so cool.”

“Thanks Petey.  And thanks for donating your jersey.”

“Anything for you.”

Grace focused her attention on Brock.  “Esther wants us to take a group photo with everyone before everyone leaves,” she said, and Brock nodded his head in agreement.  She looked at Elias.  “If I get everyone together right now, do you mind taking it?”

“Like I just said Grace, anything for you.”

***

Fatigued, physically and mentally exhausted, but still somehow feeling the adrenaline coursing through her veins, Grace climbed into the limousine with Brock, Elias, and Svea at the end of the gala so they could go home.  They dropped off Elias and Svea first, naturally, and Elias had to wake Svea up as she slept on his shoulder throughout the ride.  It left Brock and Grace alone in the limousine together, hands clasped together as the driver drove through the streets of Vancouver.

“You did amazing tonight,” Brock mumbled, his voice low and full of sleepiness but still so direct and meaningful.  “I love you so much, Grace.”

“I love you too, Brock.”

“When we have kids, I’m gonna let them know this was the night I knew you’d become my wife.”

Grace stiffened at Brock’s words, but he was too tired to notice – the small smirk on his face not disappearing despite anxiety – not adrenaline – now coursing through Grace’s veins.  She thought about the implications of his words, how he just outright admitted that she was the one for him.  She thought about her feelings for him, and if she felt the same.  She did.  But was it possible to still be apprehensive?  She loved Brock with her whole heart.  She’d never met anybody like him, and likely would never meet anyone like him again.  She loved him too, with everything she had.

But then she thought about her parents.

Her parents were young and in love once too.  Her parents were once obsessed with each other and madly in love.  Her parents had decided to get married and have a child.  Her parents had decided what Brock was laying out on the proverbial table – what Brock was so willing to give her – and look what happened.  Things didn’t work out.  Love didn’t work out.  Love was complicated.  They separated.  Grace went to live with Eliza but didn’t like it because she missed dad.  She told Hamish who told his lawyers.  His lawyers brought it to the judge.  Divorce proceedings started.  Grace went to live with Hamish.  Eliza demanded alimony for her lifestyle, to maintain it, if not to exceed it.  Eliza demanded child support.  Eliza demanded nannies, a multi-million dollar house, and expensive cars.  Hamish would tell Grace her mother was selfish.  Eliza would tell Grace how stingy her father was.  Eliza would tell Grace how her father only wanted custody so he didn’t have to pay child support.  Hamish told Grace Eliza only wanted child support and alimony so she could hire babysitters and nannies while she went to spas.  A pawn while she was at her mom’s in Shaughnessy; a pawn while she was at her dad’s in West Point Grey.  A pawn when dropped off at school at Crofton House.  A pawn at the dance studio, her happiest place.

What if she and Brock turned out the same way?

***

“You okay?” Brock asked Grace.

Grace wasn’t there.  She was somewhere else, in her mind, thinking about events long passed.  “Your father’s the cheapest man I’ve ever met,” she could hear her mom say in the kitchen as she waited for her cereal before school at seven years old.  “Cheap cheap cheap cheap cheap!  He’s always been so much work to be with, your father.  He refuses to get you a Range Rover – did you know that?  Your dad wants you driven around in some…in some…I don’t know, some Toyota.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Grace said absent-mindedly, giving her pasta a few more twirls to make it seem like she’d eat it.  “Will I still be able to go to dance?”

“Who knows?!  Your father may even take that away from you too!  It scares me, the things he’s taking away from you.”

“But I love dance.”

“Well then maybe you should stay with me.  Daddy will pay me to take you to dance.”

***

“Your mother is a piece of work, let me tell you,” Hamish mumbled as he slapped his cellphone down on the counter.  “She was always so much work to be with.  Always so much work.  Now she wants $60,000 a month in alimony.  Alimony!”

“What’s alimony?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hamish said.  “Have your teachers taught you yet what it means to be selfish?” he asked.  Grace nodded her head.  “Well your mother is selfish.  One of the most selfish people in the world.”

“Grace?  You coming to bed?” Brock’s voice was groggy as he stood in the doorway of the ensuite, his usually well-kept hair everywhere, his eyes sleepy.

“Yeah…yeah, sorry,” Grace apologized, getting up from her seated position on the toilet lid.  “Sorry baby.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.  Yeah I’m fine,” she said, grabbing Brock’s hand and leading him back to bed.

“You’d tell me if it wasn’t right?” he asked softly as she cuddled up against him in bed.

“Of course,” she said, a nervous lump in her throat.  “Of course.”

***

“Gracie…please tell me what’s wrong,” Brock said in a low voice as he tried to wrap his arms around her, only for her to flinch slightly and back away.  That hurt him more than anything.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said unconvincingly.

“Yes it is—”

“Can we just drop it,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee.  “We’re supposed to be on a date.”

***

“What’s the matter with you?” Elias asked, sick of seeing Brock so gloomy and moody the past several weeks.  He’d noticed a change in him, and though Brock was usually very open about what he was feeling with him, he wasn’t this time, and Elias was…skeptical.  Well, not skeptical – worried.  This time, Brock had a girlfriend and was moody, and Elias didn’t know what to expect.  “What’s going on?”

“Something’s wrong with Grace,” Brock revealed to Elias.

“What’s wrong?”

Brock shook his head.  “She won’t tell me.  But she…she zones out a lot, like she’s thinking about something…and it’s so intense that she doesn’t even hear me calling her.”

“What’s she thinking about?”

Brock shrugged.  “She doesn’t tell me.  She’ll never tell me.”

“Well when did it start?”

Brock thought about it.  He really thought about it.  He liked to think he was in tune with changes in Grace.  “The gala.”

“The Parkinson’s Gala?” Elias clarified.  Brock nodded his head.  “Well, could it be about her dad?”

“It’s something more,” Brock was adamant.  He knew she would be sad and would never be the same after her dad died.  That was a given.  No-one was ever the same after the death of a parent, so he didn’t blame her for that.  “It’s…it’s something more.”

***

“Is everything okay with you?” Svea asked delicately as she and Grace were shopping at Holt Renfrew.  Well – Grace was shopping at Holt Renfrew.  Svea was basically just following her around, because it wasn’t like she could afford anything.

“I’m fine,” Grace said unconvincingly.  

“Are you sure?  Because you know you can talk to me if things aren’t okay.”

Grace took a deep breath in, trying to compose herself.  Knowing what she knew about Svea’s parents and their love story, she doubted that Svea would be able to provide any…critical insight, so to speak.  But Grace tried anyway.  “How d’you know a guy is your soulmate, Svea?” she asked.

Svea was taken aback.  It was quite the loaded question to lead with.  “I’d say it’s when you can picture the rest of your life with them.  At least that’s one aspect to it.”

“Can you picture the rest of your life with Elias?”

“Yes,” Svea answered automatically, because she could.  It was as friends, sure, but she still pictured the rest of her life with him.  “Can you picture the rest of your life with Brock?”

Grace paused.  Her response wasn’t as quick or forthcoming.  “Yes.”

“But?”

“But what?”

“There was a pause there,” Svea said.  “But what?”

“But what if, like, things change?” Grace asked.  “What if the love doesn’t last?  What if it breaks down?”

“You mean like your parents?”

Grace didn’t want to glare at Svea – she really didn’t, because Svea was one of the sweetest people alive – but she did.  She glared at her.  “No,” she said forcefully, trying to cover.

“Love always lasts.  True love always lasts.  Look at Elias and I – I mean, we’ve loved each other our whole lives—”

“You and Elias won’t even hold hands or kiss each other,” Grace said angrily, unable to control her emotions at this point.  “You won’t even admit you love him romantically.  How the hell is that love?”

Svea just stared at Grace, unable to formulate words.  Tears welled in her eyes too, and when Grace saw them get red, she hated herself even more.  She hated herself already for making Brock worry, for not telling him the truth, for hiding things from him; now, she hated herself even more for making Svea emotional.  “I’ve gotta go,” she said, leaving quickly, unable to look back at Svea as she left her in the middle of Holt Renfrew alone.

***

“If you don’t tell me what’s wrong right now or I’m leaving,” Brock said sternly, his voice raised.  Both of their voices had been for the last while now, since they were fighting.  He looked at Grace as she stared back at him indignantly from across the kitchen.  “We can’t have a relationship if we don’t communicate – if you don’t tell me what’s been bothering you.”

“There’s nothing wrong.”

“Is it something I did?  Did I say something?”

“It’s not you.”

“Then what is it?”

“There’s nothing wr—”

“Tell me what’s wrong!”

Grace stayed silent.  She could feel herself going red.  She could feel the emotions in her bubble up.  She knew she wouldn’t be able to hold it in much longer.  “Leave.”

Brock furrowed his brows.  “Excuse me?”

“Leave my apartment now.”

Brock stood stoic in spot.  “You don’t mean that—”

“LEAVE!” Grace screamed at the top of her lungs, taking every ounce of strength left in her to not cry.

They were in a standoff.  Brock stood stoic.  Grace stood stoic.  Staring at each other, waiting for the other to move.  Neither did for a while, waiting it out to see who would crack first.  She didn’t mean it, Brock kept thinking.  She doesn’t mean it.  She doesn’t mean it.  But with every second that passed, with every heave of Grace’s chest, with every moment of silence signaling her refusal to budge…

Brock cracked.  

He picked up his keys, gave Grace one last look, and walked out the door.  

***

It was a few agonizing, excruciating, unbearably lonely few weeks later when Brock received a phone call in the middle of the night.  2:38am.  His phone’s ring blaring throughout his empty apartment.

“Hello?” his voice was groggy, tired, exhausted.  

Silence.  

“Hello?” he asked once more, louder this time.  If it was any one of his teammates he’d knock them dead the next time he saw them – Petey especially.

The voice was small and defeated when it finally did speak, asking Brock the question, “What if we end up like my parents?”

Brock was wide awake now.  He got up in bed dramatically, holding his phone against his ear so tightly that he could hear the charger fall out of the electrical socket.  “Gracie,” the shock was evident in his voice.  

“Will you come over?” she asked.

Brock threw the covers off his body dramatically.  “I’m on my way right now,” he said.  He’d drive his car in his slippers if he needed to.  

“Be careful.”

“I’m coming.  I’ll be there soon.”

***

“C’mere,” Brock said the millisecond Grace let him in, wrapping his arms around her and engulfing her into a hug as she clung to him like he’d float away and wrapped every limb she had around him.  He’d made it to her apartment in record time, speeding through the streets of Vancouver to get to her.  It was probably dangerous, but it wasn’t like there were other cars on the road at 2:45 in the morning.  “Talk to me Gracie.  Talk to me,” he urged as he felt her tears against his skin.  

“I’m so sorry,” she mumbled into the crook of his neck.  “I’m so—Brock, I was so bad.  So bad.”

“Shhhhh shhhh shhhh, don’t,” Brock cooed.  “Just tell me what’s wrong.  What’s going on in your head, Grace?”

“Brock…” she began, swallowing her tears before continuing.  She pulled away slightly so she could look him in the eye, wiping her own red ones with the palms of her hands.  She knew she looked awful, but she also knew Brock didn’t give a shit.  “I just miss him so much.”

“Your dad.”

Grace nodded quickly.  “Every part of me misses him.  But then I started to think about how awful he and my mom were during the divorce,” she explained.  And to Brock, that said everything.  Grace told him about it ever since they met – the general, the specific, the nitty-gritty details – and it was awful.  To have that whirling around in her mind would have definitely affected her.  It all made sense to him now.  It all made sense, knowing she never wanted to go back to that.  “And I got scared…I got so scared.  I just kept remembering how bad it was.  So on the night of the gala when you said—”

“So it was something that I said—”

“Nonononononono,” she vehemently shook her head, bringing her finger up to his lips to silence him.  “No no no no no.  I—Brock—I love you with every part of me too.  But…but what if we end up like my parents?  What if we fall out of love?  What if it—what if it ends badly?  What if we ended up hating each other?  They’d always say things like it was so hard to be with one another and—”

“Is it hard to be with me?” Brock asked, not wanting her to go any further and knowing that at this point, he needed to intervene.

“NO!  Never!” she exclaimed.  She never wanted Brock to think that ever.  She cradled his face in her hands.  “Being with you feels natural.  It feels like it was always supposed to be this way.  It’s so easy.  It’s so peaceful.”

“Then that’s how it’ll always be, a peaceful easy feeling,” Brock whispered.  “What’s there to be scared about, baby?”

Grace shook her head, tearing up again.  “Nothing when I’m with you.”

“We won’t end up like your parents because we’re not your parents,” he said.  His words were so simple but they hit Grace like a ton of bricks.  “We’re different people.  I love you more than anything, and the thought of hating you—Grace—I—it’s never, never crossed my mind.  I never could.  You give me everything.  Do I give you everything?”

She nodded.  “Everything.”

“Then I’m gonna keep giving you everything.  And I’ll do it till the end of time, Gracie.  Because I love you.  I can’t picture myself with anyone else.  I can’t…I can’t picture going through pain with anyone else besides you.”

Brock’s words were loaded – she knew that.  “I can’t picture going through pain with anyone else besides you.”  Grace nodded.  The sentiment was so serious, but so right.  When she really thought about it, would she have wanted to experience this pain with anyone else besides Brock?  No.  He meant the world to her.  And that’s how it was always going to be.  “I’m so dumb,” she shook her head at herself.

“You’re not dumb.  For what you went through, it’s a legitimate worry,” he reassured her.  “But I promise you, I promise you, I’ll love you with everything I have and you’ll love me with everything you have, and we won’t end up like your parents.”

Grace was overcome with emotion.   “I love you so much, Brock.”

“I love you too,” he leaned in to kiss her, once, twice, then again and again.  When they stopped, he wrapped his arms around her body and lay down on her couch, bringing her body down with him.  He wiggled out of his hoodie.  Then he pushed her body down slightly, and that’s when Grace knew exactly what he was doing.  She lay her head on his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat.  

“Can you feel it?” he asked softly.

Grace nodded.

[toplinetommy]

Anthony beauvillier from smut list 2 with #2 and #56

oopsy my finger slipped and i wrote over 3.3k in enemies to lovers smut

warnings: unprotected sex, rough(ish) sex

Stella had effectively ditched you not even an hour into your night. Her and her boyfriend getting way too drunk and touchy way too fast, resulting in them calling it a night fairly early to go home and fuck. You were just hoping they choose to go to his place and not back to yours, or else you’d have to deal with her and her inability to be quiet while drunk.

That left you where you currently were, seated between Anders and Matt, and across from your least favorite Islander of them all: Anthony. He hadn’t done anything to make you outright dislike him per se, it was more that he had done nothing to ever warrant a friendship between the two of you.

Maybe it was the tequila mixed with the vodka you had consumed in your system, or maybe it was the long dry-spell you were in the middle of, or maybe it was the lack of rude comments he had made at your expense tonight, or maybe it was the way his arms were bulging in his light blue dress shirt, or maybe you were just finally admitting just how attractive he was to yourself. Maybe it was a combination of all of the above, but your eyes lingered on the winger in front of you. You could see the veins in his hands every time he brought his whiskey glass to his lips and every time his tongue swept over his bottom lip to catch any droplets of remaining liquid. 

God his lips would feel good between my thighs, you thought to yourself.

The thought had you shaking your head and abruptly asking Anders to move so you could exit the booth, muttering something about how you needed a refill. The guys looked at you quizzically, noting the very much full tequila lemonade that sat on the table. Nevertheless, you marched through the overcrowded club to get to the bar, in search of a stronger substance than the one you abandoned at the table.

The bar was packed, just like any other Thursday in the city, which was something you were starting to be ungrateful for. You squeezed your way in between two random strangers, hoping to get the bartender’s attention quickly. Except, the bartender seemed to not notice you and continually asked for the people’s orders that surrounded you. You let out a large puff of air, impatiently tapping your heeled foot on the ground below you. 

The bartender finally made their way over to your frame, and you opened your mouth to spout out your order, but you were silenced by an all too familiar voice behind you and a warm hand wrapping around your waist.

“Two tequila shots, please,” Anthony spoke loudly over the music.

“Oh, also a vodka sprite with cranberry, please! And a lime!” You shouted as the bartender turned around. They returned shortly, two tequila shots in hand as well as the drink you ordered.

“They’re all gonna go on his tab,” you smiled, taking the drinks.

Anthony looked at you dumbfoundedly as you spoke, confused as to where that agreement came from. He didn’t mind though, it was a small price to pay if he wanted to play his cards right tonight.

“So are both these shots for me, or are you taking one too, Beauvillier?” You smirked, holding both shot glasses in hand. Honestly, you thought of just downing at least one of them before asking him, but some side of you wanted to be polite and wanted him to join you. 

“Wouldn’t have ordered two if I didn’t expect us both to take them,” Anthony answers, grabbing a shot glass from you. He steals two slices of lime from behind the bar after, handing you one to use as a chaser. 

“What’re we toasting to?” you ask. Toasting to something whenever you took a shot was something you had been doing ever since you started drinking and you sure as hell weren’t going to forgo it this time around because of him. 

“To an unforgettable night,” Anthony answers. You don’t miss the sly smirk that’s playing on his lips and you definitely don’t miss the way his eyes stare into yours, reading your reaction. 

“To an unforgettable night, then.”

One shot turned into two, the drink you ordered long gone. The two of you had stayed at the bar, conversing in a friendly manner for once, before getting the urge to dance.

You placed a soft hand on his shoulder, using it for leverage to pull yourself up so you could speak into his ear. “You wanna dance?” 

Anthony shuttered at the breath fanning against his neck. He swallowed thickly, trying to carefully think of what his next moves were going to be if he wanted you to end up back at his place later. It was like a chess game with the two of you, neither of you ever leaving your king piece out to dry, and always making sure you were stealing the other’s pawn when you could.

“Yeah,” he let out, a little shakiness in his voice, which was something he never had, considering his confidence when it came to speaking to you, or any girl for that matter.

In a moment of bravery and confidence, you took one of his hands, interlocking your fingers, and dragging him to the dance floor before finding a spot barely big enough for your bodies. There was just enough space for you to turn your body away from him, backing up into his front. You slowly started moving to the loud thump of the bass, his hands coming to rest on your hips. His hands guided your movements of rubbing your ass into his crotch. You placed one hand atop of his and the other snaked backward to the back of his neck.

His hands roamed around your hips, every now and then moving to your stomach to pull you tighter into him. His fingers dance along the hem of your leather pants, sending a shiver through your body that you’re sure he didn’t miss. One song flowed into the next song and the next thing you know you’re turning around in his arms to face him, your hands falling on his broad chest. You played with the collar of his shirt a moment before standing on your tippy-toes to whisper in his ear once more. 

“I think I’m gonna head out soon,” your lips brushing against his ear as you speak. His hands that are wrapped around you waist tighten at your words. You don’t say anything else, letting him think he has the next move. 

“Yeah?” He asks, pulling away from you in order to look directly at your features. He’s trying to read your face for a sign of what to do next, his normal confident personality dwindling in comparison to the assertiveness you’re showing him tonight. His gaze shifts from your eyes down to your lips, his tongue peeking out to wet his own. He sees you do the same, and he takes it as a sign to lean in and kiss you. When he does, you turn your cheek, making his lips land harshly on your cheek. The action has him pulling away quickly, confused by your shutdown. 

“I don’t kiss in public settings like this,” you explain.

“Then how about you head out with me? Back to my place?” 

You pretend to contemplate the question before nodding your head, agreeing that you’ll go home with him. With that, Anthony is pushing you out of the bar all the while calling a car. The air outside is warm for the time of year, considering there’s usually snow on the streets of the city by early December. The two of you shove into the backseat of the Toyota that’s picking you up. His hand rests a little high on your thigh the entire car ride back to his place. You make no effort for small talk with him and he does the same, only responding to the driver when he made a comment about the Islanders season.

The second the two of you are in the elevator of his high-rise condo, he’s shoving you against the wall. “You have no idea how much I want you,” Anthony breathes out into your neck. You lean up into him, wrapping your hands around his neck and pulling his face down to yours so you can connect your lips.

Your lips are only slotted between his for what feels like a second before the ding of the elevator interrupts you, causing him to pull away. Looking at him, mere inches in front of you is when you decided it definitely wasn’t the dry spell or the alcohol talking. Anthony was the definition of attractive with his bulging muscles and firm stature, simple as that. 

He leads you to his apartment door, unlocking it with ease and dragging you in behind him, pushing your body against the entryway wall. His lips attach back to yours, his arms on either side of your head, crowding your body between the wall and his. His lips move feverishly against yours, your hands quickly working at the buttons of his dress shirt.

“I’ve never wanted anyone to fuck me this badly,” Anthony breathes out heavily.

“Then get on with it, Beauvillier,” you demand, pushing your hands underneath the now open fabric of his shirt. Your eyes drop down to his torso, admiring the hard lines on his abdomen and how defined his v-lines are. God, you couldn’t wait to see his muscular legs under his dress pants.

You pushed at his chest, deciding on your own that you were not letting him fuck you for the first time against the wall of his apartment, and instead moved both of your bodies to where you thought you saw his couch. Once you were seated on Tito’s lap, his shirt long gone on the hardwood floor somewhere, your hands began making work at his belt. You managed to get it unbuckled, while he started leaving a trail of kisses down your neck, occasionally opting to nip at the skin. He pushed the low-cut top you were wearing down so it was showing off your now bare chest. Tito’s eyes almost bulged out of his head as he saw that you weren’t wearing a bra and you had to hold in a giggle at his reaction.

His lips attached to your nipple, causing you to involuntarily buck your hips against his and moan. Your fingers carded through the short hair at the back of his head, tugging a little on the longer strands to grab his attention. You enjoy the way his teeth tug at your nipples, but the alcohol in your system plus the long-game you had played tonight has you impatient. He releases your nipple with a pop, replacing his mouth with his hands, kneading both of your breasts. 

You place your lips on his once again, abandoning them after a brief moment, choosing to turn his head to the side, exposing more of his neck and littering kisses there in search for his sweet spot. You find it right where his neck meets the dip of his collarbone, sucking lightly. You continue to nip at his skin, sucking bruises into his chest and moving further down until your knees are scraping against the shag carpet below his couch. 

Your hands’ reconnect with his open belt buckle, popping open the button on his pants and sliding the zipper down. He lifts his ass and legs off the couch, helping you as you pull his pants and boxer briefs down to his ankles. His cock springs free, semi-hard from your previous actions. Your hands wrap around his shaft, pumping a few times until he’s fully hard and you’re leaning your head forward and licking a long stripe up the underside of his cock. He moans and the sensation, his hands instantly finding their way to your hair.

You take him into your mouth all in one-go, deciding to not tease him any further. Your hands move along what can’t fit in your mouth, the spit gathering there making it easier for you. You pick up the pace, bobbing your head at a quick pace. The sounds of your wet mouth gagging on his cock fills his ears, and he’s throwing his head back against eh couch cushions, moaning loudly in pleasure. The sounds you’re pulling from him cause a flutter in your stomach and you can start to feel yourself getting wet. You pull one of your hands away from his shaft, shoving it inside your underwear and spreading the wetness around to rub at your clit and moaning around his cock.

Tito catches on to your actions quickly, telling you to take your pants off and pulling you into his lap. His member brushes against your clit as you place yourself in his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs. His hands lift you up off of him, one hand slipping through your folds, pushing two of his thick fingers into you. You moan at the sudden feeling, bucking your hips in hopes of getting any sort of friction on your clit. His eyes are on your eyes as he watches your face fill with pleasure. He can’t take it anymore deciding he needs to be inside you now and takes removes his fingers, causing you to whine at the feeling of emptiness.

He pulls his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean as he tastes you. He rolls his eyes with a moan at the taste, making a mental note that’s he’s got to get his face between your thighs soon. He pumps himself a few more times before you’re slowly sitting yourself on top of him.

It’s messy; your shirt hasn’t even been discarded, your tits still exposed and bouncing against you as you bounce on Tito’s cock. Your fingers scratch at his chest, your head tilted back in pleasure as moans escape your mouth from deep inside you. Tito’s hands can’t seem to find a place on your body to find purchase, instead moving them from the globes of your ass to your hips, one hand making its way to your parted lips, pushing his first two fingers in your mouth. Your lips close around them, swirling your tongue around the calloused digits. 

“Fuck, baby,” Tito groans out, a hungry look in his eyes as he watches his cock slide in and out of your pussy. “Just like that.”

You moan around his fingers at the praise, moving one of your hands down to your clit, applying pressure. Anthony doesn’t like that, pulling his fingers from your lips in a quick motion and swatting your hand away from where your bodies are joined. With your now free hands, you pull your top from your body, one of your hands pinching at your nipples.

The spit on his fingers adds a cooling feeling to your clit, and as you bounce faster on his cock you can feel your stomach tighten and your eyes clench shut. Your moaning only increases, not caring about how loud you’re being knowing you’re in an empty apartment being fucked by probably one of the hottest men you’ve ever laid your eyes on. 

Tito keeps rubbing your clit, his hips starting to buck up in hopes of making you fall over that edge. You can start to feel your orgasm crashing over you, so you collapse into his chest, halting your movements and making him do all the work. He pushes you through your first orgasm of the night, not letting you have any downtime before he’s pulling you off of him and pushing you to your knees on the couch so that you’re facing away from him and resting your forearms on the back of the couch. 

You all but moan when he takes no time in entering you once again, this time in one, swift, harsh motion. His hands grip your hips, showing no mercy with how much pressure he’s applying as he begins fucking into you with quick, hard thrusts. Your ass ripples against him every time you meet his hips. Even with Tito being a professional athlete, you’re still shocked at his stamina as he rails into you at a heavy pace. You’re grateful for the couch cushions in front of you, using them to support the front half of your body. 

A sharp smack to your ass check shocks you, has your head snapping up from the couch to look over your shoulder at Tito behind you. He’s got his lip between his teeth and his previously styled hair is starting to flop down over his forehead. 

“Anthony,” you shriek as his tip hits your g-spot. He continues to relentlessly pound into you, his eyes glued to where his cock moves in and out of your pussy. The only sounds that fill the living room are your moans and curses and the continuous slapping of skin on skin. His hand lands another slap on your ass, before his hand travels up your back, collecting your hair in his fist. He pulls you back into him by your hair, forcing you to sit up straight. 

The grip he has in your hair is tight and exposes your neck to him, where his teeth bite down. He sucks a few bruises into the side of your neck and your shoulder, his other hand traveling up to your breast. 

“Keep saying my name,” he grunts into your ear. “Let everyone know who’s making you feel this good.”

“You,” you whimper out. “You’re fucking me so good.”

“Say my name,” he breathes out hastily in rhythm with punctuated thrusts as he speaks, biting down again on your neck in hopes that you’ll get the message. 

“You, Tito,” you shriek as he thrusts harder and slower than before. “Fuck, Tito.”

He picks up his pace as you chant out his name, the hand on your breast moving down to your swollen clit. The new pressure there causes you to fall back against his chest, unable to keep yourself up on your knees for him. His pace is erratic as he chases his high with you, cursing out hot breaths into your neck. There’s a heavy sheen of sweat on your chest and even more on your back against Tito’s chest. 

With a moan of his name, you’re coming for the second time that night and he’s following close behind, pulling out and pushing you so you’re draped over the back of the couch again, and finishing across your ass.

“You think you can keep going?” He asks once you’ve both caught your breath, pulling you into his arms so he can place a kiss on your lips. You nod your head, “Good because you’re gonna sit on my face.” He demands, dragging you to his bedroom. And if you end up fucking in his bed after he eats you out, and then blowing him once more in the shower before calling it a night, and then one more time on his kitchen island the next morning, and if you guys make out like teenagers as he bids you goodbye, then no one has to know.

And maybe, just maybe, the tension between the two of your that you once thought was plain, old distaste, was really just the clear attraction between one another that you both ignored. 

[deputy-stackhouse]

When vampires came out from their coffins, the world had varying degrees of acceptance. Within the small, homely, town of Bon Temps Louisiana, it seemed as though the majority weren't too welcome to the idea of the dead wandering their streets. Vampire Bill Compton had been an easier introduction into the idea of incorporating and, at a stretch, 'welcoming' the bloodsuckers into the community, much of that being thanks to one Sookie Stackhouse, a rather unique individual who had taken a quick liking to the charming southern vampire. Bill and Sookie had created a view on what a positive 'companionship' could look like, the male setting an expectation of a kinder, less threatening vampire. However, where there was gentlemanly behavior and good intentions, the dark and the dirty; the secret, underground, and temptation were never too far away.

The news of the vampire bar was mainly passed around by whispers. Some were disgusted, some concerned, and others were simply curious. Jason Stackhouse would put himself within the category of the former if anyone outright asked his opinion (though it was rare anyone did), truthfully though, it was his curiosity and, well, the idea of sex that had gotten him to decide to visit. He was not a Fang-banger, no, but he'd happily be someone's 'sloppy seconds' and make his impression in a way only a living man could.

Shreveport wasn't a far drive; 22 miles away, give or take a few to get to Fangtasia. The parking lot was busy with both cars and people, and it was unclear from a distance whether the beings were human or fangers.  It was easy for faces in the dark to remain anonymous. The young man took a brief moment to look himself over in the rearview mirror, adjusting his shirt collar and running a hand through his hair before getting out of the car. He was used to getting attention, especially from women, and while he soaked it up like a dish sponge and let it inflate his ego, he wasn't quite sure how he felt about it being from the dead, his wandering gaze as he walked towards the entrance noticing a few heads turn.

  It wasn't until he stepped foot inside the joint that he truly realized what he had gotten himself into. The whole place oozed sex. How Sookie, all innocent and southern doll-like, hadn't been overwhelmed was beyond him, but now wasn't the time for his mind to wander to his sister. He made a beeline to the bar, thinking the alcohol would help soothe the rare nerves that had settled in his gut. His attention stuck to one of the dancers while he waited, only to be broken by a gruff clear of a throat from the bartender to draw his focus back. "She's uh, pretty damn good, huh?" He commented, jerking his head to the side to gesture to the dancer as he moved to the front. "Could I just get a beer?" He asked after he was met with no response other than a fed-up expression.  @kingxfanger

[astralaffairs]

voltaire to versace 01 | thomas jefferson

title: voltaire to versace 01

pairing: professor!thomas jefferson x reader

words: 7.3k

warnings: implied sex, heavily suggestive content but nothing explicit, hella teasing, dolley madison payne

desc: from francis bacon to foucault, descartes to dante, your political philosophy seminar doesn’t promise to be a blowout — and yet, one mysterious stranger and a risqué evening later, your burberry-clad professor gives you the feeling it won’t be quite the snoozefest you’d expected.

WASHINGTON D.C. — HOME to the White House, the Lincoln Memorial, a metro that no longer catches on fire, and most importantly, one Y/N L/N's new university. Coming in as a transfer student in the second semester of her junior year wasn't exactly her ideal scenario, but walking across a stage in a cap and gown sixteen months later certainly was — a degree is a degree.

She'd spent the previous two semesters abroad, traveling throughout Europe and trying to figure out her next step. She hadn't yet paid her junior year tuition, and on one fateful night in northern Italy, she transferred to the University of Westphalia on a whim (that whim being a generous financial aid package and a pre-existing housing offer, but that was neither here nor there). It'd been a jarring few months, spending the Christmas season packing up her entire life to not only leave Europe — a process that came with many heartbroken nights of hotboxing a friend's apartment and mourning the loss of her societal nap times — but also finally abandoning her hometown in favor of moving to the east coast.

The change may have left a lump in her throat, but it lifted a weight from her shoulders; she felt light on her feet despite the heavy D.C. snow. Much of the credit for that had to fall to her dearest Dolley Payne, the light of her life, the wind beneath her wings, the old best friend who'd found herself a dirt-cheap apartment just outside of campus and offered that Y/N come be her roommate. How could she resist a proposal like that?

However, that was also how she found herself a drink and a half deep and putting back on her boots at nine o'clock the night before classes started.

"Are you sure going out right before the first day back is a good idea?" Though Y/N was eyeing Dolley skeptically, she just rolled her eyes, pulling on her coat and scarf.

"Relax, it's not like we're going clubbing," she assured her, but when Y/N raised a dubious eyebrow, she continued, "Come on! You literally moved in last night. What kind of best friend would I be if I didn't take you out at least once before everything's back in college mode?"

Dolley nudged Y/N playfully as she pulled on her coat, and the latter sighed. "I'm a new student here, Doll. I don't think showing up hungover to my first class is a particularly good look."

"You don't even have class until 3 PM!" she argued, and though she pursed her lips, Y/N had to admit Dolley had a point. "Relax, I won't even get you drunk. I just need you to come see the cute little speakeasy on fourth street. It's my favorite spot."

"'Speakeasy'?" Y/N questioned, buttoning up the front of her coat, and Dolley nodded enthusiastically.

"Mhm. You've gotta know somebody to know about it," she said. "It's a pretty open secret in this neighborhood, but it's one of the only bars that isn't always crowded."

"It's a Sunday night; how many people are really going out drinking?"

Dolley gave her a tired glance. "You'd be surprised."

———————

AND WHEN THEY stumbled upon the bar not twenty minutes later, surprised she was.

"This is really the place?" Y/N was looking around skeptically, struggling to believe that the dirty, dank alley she'd been led into was was the entrance to Dolley's favorite spot in town. Had Dolley decided to murder her now that her name was on the lease, if only for the insurance payout? Had she been dealing with the mafia? Maybe she'd changed more in the past year or so than Y/N thought.

"Do I ever steer you wrong?" Dolley asked, eliciting a heavy sigh from the other woman.

"Too often to try and count."

"So then it's long overdue that I get it right." She finally stopped in front of a nondescript, weathered metal door in the back of a mildly battered building, and Y/N all but skidded to a halt, having been expecting to keep walking a while longer. She was hesitant to follow when the door Dolley opened revealed a set of stairs going up, but taking a step forward revealed the warm light filtering down toward them, carrying alongside it traces of jazz music and animated chatter. "See? I know what I'm talking about sometimes."

"Sometimes," Y/N repeated, unconvinced.

When they emerged just moments later, Y/N decided fairly quickly that she liked it. It was quaint, old-fashioned, but a warm, charming space.

"So?" Dolley asked, and though she gave a noncommital shrug, Y/N was smiling. "Let's get a drink or two in you and maybe you'll give it the credit it deserves." And maybe, just maybe, Dolley had hit the mark once again.

Two drinks and an hour later, the both of them were seated at the bar, giggling and slumped over one another but far from drunk. As it turned out, a year apart left them with a surprising amount to talk about, from Y/N's hostel horror stories to Dolley's nightmare of a former roommate -- both of which left them endlessly grateful that they were going to be living together from then on. Their coats were draped over the backs of their seats, and the energy spilling over from their spirited conversation was born more of a sugar high than of any real intoxication -- both their drinks were heavy with fruit juice and mixers, if only for the sake of sobriety.

"...but that was when the cops showed up."

Y/N's eyes widened. Dolley had only finished detailing about a semester and a half of her freshman year, and she was still at least fifteen minutes into sharing her first run-in with UW's notorious midterm rager. "You can't just stop the story there!"

"But there's no more to tell! No one stuck around to get arrested. We were on the steps of the library, for heaven's sake."

"So you just left? How'd you get away?"

"Oh," Dolley giggled, a hand resting on Y/N’s knee as she leaned toward her in her short fit of laughter. "Well, I just ran for it, and very nearly got myself hopelessly lost. A grad student ended up letting me hide out in the library until it all cleared up."

"A grad student, huh?" Y/N wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "And you spent the whole night locked in there with them?"

"Oh, you know it's not like that! I was nineteen, don't you start making drama where there isn't any."

"But Doll, you know that's my specialty," Y/N whined, and Dolley laughed. "Anyway, were they cute, though?"

"All I'll say is that if I were trapped in a library with them tomorrow, I'd feel lucky to be on birth control."

Dolley's sly grin made Y/N gasp teasingly, leaning back to eye the other woman as though she'd just instigated a scandal. "Dolley Payne! I am ashamed at your lack of self restraint."

"You wouldn't be if you were on the receiving end of it."

"You offering?" Y/N raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of her drink.

"I mean, my roommate just moved out, so there's no one at my apartment right now," Dolley said mildly, giving a slight shrug. "Any chance you wanna spend the night?"

When she winked, Y/N couldn't help but laugh outright. "Mm, I'll definitely consider it," she said, sarcasm heavy in her voice, and despite her dry tone, Dolley once again burst into a fit of giggles, her hysterics more contagious than Y/N would've liked to admit. Perhaps her roommate couldn't hold her alcohol quite as well as as she thought.

Dolley leaned back toward the bar for a refill, and Y/N's eyes began to wander in her absence. The room was packed with leather furniture, tufted couches and armchairs; it had a fireplace along one wall and a pool table in the corner at which two men seemed to be escalating quite a heated argument. The sight amused her, if only in the least, but she turned away with her small smile, taking another sip of her drink. That was when her gaze landed on the man directly to her left where she sat facing Dolley, his arm draped over the back of the couch and his stare fixed on her friend. Y/N raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, don't look now, but the hottie at your three o'clock is totally checking you out."

"'Three o'clock'?" Dolley repeated, brow furrowed, "Y/N, it's past ten, what are you--"

"Military directions, Doll; just--" Y/N cut herself off with a scowl, glancing back to her side. "Don't be too obvious about it. He's directly to your right." When Dolley's head whipped around toward the man, subtlety be damned, Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. However, the other woman's eyes widening gave her pause. "What, d'you know him, or something?"

With the way Dolley was biting her lip and fiddling with the rim of her glass, it was strikingly obvious that there was more to the story. "...Sort of," she replied vaguely.

"Which means what, exactly?" Despite Y/N's newly uncovered intrigue, Dolley's eyes didn't leave the man in question, and her best friend scowled. "Spill. Now."

"That's James," she finally answered, wearing a wide grin. "He's a friend."

"I need details here!" Y/N demanded. "Based on how he's looking at you, I'm not sure I buy that he's just 'a friend.'"

"He's a PhD candidate. We've crossed paths in the school of economics a couple of times, and he's a big sweetheart. But you didn't hear that last part from me." Y/N raised an eyebrow at her words, and Dolley continued, "And I might've slept with him, like, once or twice."

"How is that the last thing you think to mention? You've been holding out on me," Y/N said, swatting at Dolley's shoulder, but she just shrugged. "So are you gonna go over there and talk to him, or what?"

"Oh, no, I can't leave you alone here!" she protested. "This is our night to celebrate your finally moving here. I wouldn't abandon you like that."

"I can take care of myself; I promise." Y/N gave her a pointed look before nodding back toward James. "Besides, you're stuck with me all the time now. Don't pass up something like him just to spare your conscience. C'mon."

Dolley hesitated, stealing another glance to her right, and when James met her gaze, giving her a small smile, Y/N could see her face light up. "Are you sure?" Despite Dolley's hesitance, her eyes were shining, and Y/N nodded.

"Go. Have fun. Live a little."

"I'll be back for you in a bit, dear." Dolley squeezed Y/N's shoulder affectionately as she stood up, sending her a grateful look before starting off to her right.

Y/N turned back to the bar with a chuckle, finishing off her drink and asking the bartender for a glass of water, musing about what her first few days at the university would look like, her gaze absent as she looked up at the shelves of alcohol across from her. She was still sad to have left her semester of travel behind, but she'd long since decided to embrace the change this year had already begun to bring. She was living at the nation's capitol, paying next to no tuition at a prestigious university. New beginnings were bittersweet, but she was excited for her path forward.

Her thoughts had begun to gravitate toward the semester of actual classes she had before her (because apparently, to get a degree, she had to "get good grades") when she was pulled back to the room before her, the bartender setting a martini down in front of her. It looked tempting, but-- "I'm sorry; I think there's been a mistake?"

Her words seemed to catch the bartender by surprise as he stopped himself in his tracks, returned to where she was sitting. "What seems to be the problem, ma'am?"

"No problem at all, but I think this drink is someone else's," she said, pushing it back toward him with a polite smile. "I've just been having water."

"Actually, it was sent by the gentleman at the end of the bar." Her eyebrows shot up, and when she glanced to her right, she caught the gaze of a well-dressed man whose eyes were already trained on her, wearing a barely-there smile, an expectant eyebrow raised. She hadn't realized she was staring, gaze wandering from the v-neck of his sweater to where it was pulled taut around his dark forearms, until the bartender cleared his throat, and she turned back to him with a start. The man several seats over was now grinning outright, in her opinion overly self-pleased, and she deigned not to acknowledge how the way he was looking at her had her heart pounding against her ribcage. "Take it or leave it, but it's no mistake."

She bit her lip, not daring to turn to her right once more; she could already feel the blood rushing to her cheeks, creeping up her neck. "Would you please send it back to him?" She asked in a small voice. "Tell him that if he wants to talk to me, he can come here and do it himself."

To her relief, he obliged her with a surprised laugh, continuing off with the glass she'd been offered, and she thanked him quietly as he went on his way. It couldn't have been a minute later when a low voice from behind Y/N made her jump.

"Y'know, when I buy women drinks, I don't usually get 'em returned to me with stipulations."

The corners of her lips twitched upward, but she didn't look at him until he came around to stand beside her. "Then maybe you've been buying drinks for the wrong women."

"It's like that, huh?" His soft huff made her smile. "Maybe I bought a drink for the wrong woman just now."

Y/N turned to him with her brow furrowed, already opening her mouth to rebuke him, but when she saw his teasing smile, she stopped herself. "You still decided to come over, didn't you?"

"So, what, you're just too irresistible?" He rose an eyebrow, and she shrugged.

"You said it, not me."

He laughed, drumming his fingers on the back of the chair beside her, and she pursed her lips as she eyed the man. He had a full head of dark, thick curls, and his tight sweater bulged at his biceps, drawing her distracted gaze away from his winning smile. "Mind if I join you, then?"

She was leaning onto the bar, resting on her forearms as she considered him, lips pursed. "I suppose some company couldn't hurt."

"Glad to hear it." Y/N was struggling to pull her eyes away from the wide grin he wore, but as he took a seat beside her, he didn't seem to mind. "So what's a woman like you doin' drinkin' alone on a Sunday?"

"Good question," she started, lips pursed as she considered him -- because really, what was she doing? Playing ghost wingwoman for Dolley? Reminiscing on her shitty flings in Europe? Trying to sober up from the sugar content of her sickeningly sweet cocktails so she didn't throw up from something other than alcohol? "Maybe I've just been waiting for someone to finally approach me."

Her mischievous smile made his eyebrows shoot up, surprised but more than pleasantly so. "'S that right?" The noncommittal tilt of her head gave him little to go on. "Sorry to say it, but if you're lookin' to meet people, this isn't the first place I'd recommend, sweetheart."

"It seems to be working for me so far," she pointed out, raising a smug eyebrow, and the man laughed, eyes shining. "Then again, I don't even know your name. Have we really even formally met?"

"You make an excellent point," he conceded, and when Y/N took another sip of her water, his eyes flickering down to her mouth was the furthest thing from subtle. "But what's the intrigue of a mysterious stranger approachin' you at a bar if I just tell you my name, hm?"

"What, are you going to make me beg for it?" The undertone of her own words certainly wasn't lost on Y/N, not as her voice dropped to a murmur, the corners of her lips curling up into a mischievous smile. He didn't seem thrown off, either; his eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch, a fire blazing behind them that Y/N could've sworn hadn't been there even a minute before.

"Don't you start givin' me ideas," he said quietly, and she could feel her breath catch, her stomach turn, but she paid it little mind, "unless that's what you're really lookin' for."

"I don't think I know what you're implying." The innocent smile Y/N had plastered on made him raise an amused brow, despite that her voice sounded as though she'd been winded. "But it does seem awfully mean to make such a fuss over something so simple. I have to say, I almost feel like I'm being exploited."

"Hey, I came all the way over here. 'S your turn to put in some leg work now." When he bumped his elbow into hers, she hadn't expected to laugh at the brief, teasing action, but whether it was hormones or her excessive consumption of glucose, something about that night had her feeling just a bit lighter than usual.

"Alright, alright," she finally caved, dropping the coy facade. "What can I ever do to make up for the wasted martini and two meters of walking you had to overcome?"

"You can tell me where you're from, for starters." Y/N raised a skeptical eyebrow at the question, folding her arms, but he only shrugged. "What? Haven't seen you around here before; I know I'd remember if I had." She rolled her eyes when he winked but didn't cut him off. "So what's your deal, then? In town visitin' a friend? Here for some kinda election event?"

"I just moved here, actually. I'm new to the neighborhood."

"So you're livin' around here?"

"So you're already trying to stalk me?"

He laughed at her accusatory stare, her lips pursed. "Nah, 'm just from this part of town," he said, but hesitated a moment to continue as he eyed her curiously. "Can you blame me for takin' interest when I hear a pretty face like yours is gonna be out 'n' about here more often?"

"Excuse you, I'm much more than just a pretty face," Y/N said defensively, but the man just shrugged.

"Well, since you're refusin' to tell me anythin' about yourself, how am I supposed to know that?" The look in his eyes was challenging, and she let out an amused huff, trying to bury how endeared she was in a facade of exasperation.

"Alright, smart guy; you win this one," she said with a scowl, but her lips quirked as she continued, "I just settled into an apartment building a block or two over. Now have I earned your name?"

"I'm Thomas," he supplied.

"Y/N."

"Y/N," he repeated quietly, the look in his eyes softening. "So, where'd you move here from?"

"A little bit of everywhere," she responded vaguely, taking another sip of her drink, and Thomas cocked a brow.

"Care to explain?"

"I've been abroad," Y/N laughed, enjoying his look of bemusement. "I'm from Ohio, originally, but I went to Chicago for school, and I've spent the past year or so in Europe."

He nodded, pausing a moment at her words. "Really? Ohio?"

"I spent a year halfway across the world, and that's what you choose to focus on?" Her words were almost indignant, and the disbelief in her narrowed eyes made him laugh.

"'M sorry, I just..." He trailed off, his eyes wandering down her figure, and she gave him a skeptical glance, turned back to her drink. "Wouldn't have pegged you for a Midwesterner."

"There's a reason I ran for the hills the first chance I got." She snorted, taking a sip of her seltzer water as she shook her head. Her gaze was absent, drifting across the wall behind the bar, but before Thomas could question it, she'd turned back to him, eyebrows raised. "So what about you? What's your origin story? Texas? Alabama?"

"Virginia, born and raised," he answered easily, clear pride in it laced through his voice, but he glanced at her suspiciously a moment later. "I really strike you as bein' from Alabama?"

"Listen, the southern accent was all I had to go off of. I did my best," Y/N defended, trying and failing to keep a laugh out of her tone, and he scoffed.

"Sure you did, sweetheart." The sarcastic lilt to his voice came alongside a broad grin, and had his voice not been so playful, she may have written him off right there and then. As it was, though, she couldn't even bring herself to scowl at the words. Instead, she held his warm stare, trying not to concentrate on the fact that she could feel his body heat permeating his sweater just inches to her left, trying to reign in her spiking pulse. Being beyond hyper-aware of just how close Thomas was, though, it shouldn't have startled Y/N when he knocked his knee into hers. When her eyes refocused, having been lost in thought, she could see in his eyes the pleasure he was taking in how skittish he'd made her.

"Anyway, now that I'm not some cryptic intruder," he started -- he didn't seem to notice that Y/N's focus was still fixed on subduing the heat rising in her neck, "can I buy you that drink?"

—————————

THUS BEGAN THE rest of their night. It was nearly eleven when Dolley texted her from the other side of the room, a frantic plea for forgiveness if she went home with James. (She swore, she hadn't meant to leave Y/N alone on their first night out together -- besides, Y/N seemed to have found a nightcap of her own. Forget a tall drink of water; the stranger in burgundy was a daiquiri and a half -- Dolley's words, not mine.)

And really, Y/N didn't mind. She was more than willing to walk home alone if it meant a night of just a little adventure. She ended up staying at the bar with Thomas until the owner nearly had to throw them out -- and Y/N couldn't blame them. Neither of them had had anything to drink in over an hour, so she supposed that as the clock neared midnight, they really weren't making much of a dent in the profit margin.

But it wasn't her fault, really. No one told her when she'd left her apartment that evening that, for once in her life, the person sending her a drink wouldn't be an incel with a god complex. Quite frankly, not only was that bullet dodged, but Thomas quickly proved to be more than a few inches above the low, low bar she'd set.

The night grew colder outside the windows, but the pair of them were preoccupied, busy inching closer, her hand falling upon his arm when she laughed, his legs brushing against hers as he acted as though he hadn't even noticed. They could both tell her demure front was just for show; her skin burned under his touch, layers of fabric be damned, and his gaze was electric. She'd long since thrown caution to the wind, anyway. Where the night was headed was clear only minutes after he'd sat down beside her; the air between them was charged. Sure, she'd only met him a couple hours prior, but any sort of a spark could certainly make a fire to last at least one night -- and last it did.

However, she didn't expect to have to be the one to push it that far. Brazenness seemed to be Thomas's mode of operation, so she was almost surprised when their being herded out onto the street below didn't immediately end in his hands on her skin, her body pulled flush against him. When they reached the musty alleyway, she was struggling to believe the firebrand of a man who'd bought her a drink hours before had suddenly become so mild in the night air.

But he'd bought her a drink. The ball was in her court.

"You cold, sweetheart?" Y/N glanced back over her shoulder, shivering, to see Thomas watching her with concern in his eyes. To be candid, she was fine -- winter in D.C. had nothing on the frigid bite of the air in Finland -- but she couldn't pretend how worried he looked wasn't part of what was tempting her to deal with the devil, heavy shadows clinging to his brow.

"I'm alright," she replied quietly, offering him a reassuring smile, but his creased brow didn't part.

"You sure? That coat doesn't look all that heavy."

"Really. I'm okay," she said with a light laugh, though she didn't think how she'd begun sniffling as her nose started to run was helping her case all that much. "I have a short walk home; it's no biggie."

That, however, made his eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. "You're walkin' home? Y/N, I dunno how safe that is."

"It's hardly snowing."

"I mean for you to be alone in the city in the middle of the night," he said, pausing as he reached where she stood just before the opening of the alleyway. "Can I call you an Uber?"

She turned her head to find him right by her side, perhaps an inch between the pair, his warm breath tickling her neck as he looked down at her. Her smile was hesitant. "I'm not letting you burn up some fossil fuels for a two block car ride. I can take care of myself."

"How 'bout if I walk you home?" he offered, and she let out a light sigh. "C'mon, leavin' you here alone in the middle of the night doesn't sit right with me. If somethin' happened..."

Though he trailed off, the implication in his words was obvious, and Y/N raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying that, because a stranger might follow me home, I should let a different stranger follow me home to prevent it?"

When she put it like that, Thomas couldn't help his quiet laugh at the irony of the situation. "Hey, I thought we'd agreed I'm not a stranger anymore," he protested, but Y/N looked him up and down skeptically.

"What, you paid for my drinks and called me pretty, and suddenly we're besties?"

"Now, we both know 'besties' wasn't exactly what I was goin' for," he said matter-of-factly, his smile sharp but playful, and despite how tilted the whole situation felt, she couldn't hold back her chuckle. She rolled her eyes, stuffed her hands in her pockets as she turned back to the well-lit sidewalk before them, the January snow crunching under her boots, but when she met his eyes, Thomas's expression had softened. He rose an inquiring eyebrow, and finally, she sighed.

"Yeah, you walking me home would be nice."

A grin split his light demeanor. "Alright. Lead the way, sweetheart."

"Follow me."

They took a right out of the alleyway, and as traffic continued to roar by beside them, speeding through the night, as the low buzz of the antiquated streetlights permeated the air, they fell into a comfortable silence, never falling out of step with one another. Snow was flecked across both their coats, and shadows were cast across their features, cycling back with each passing lamp.

Y/N hadn't been exaggerating when she deemed it a short walk home; it couldn't have been more than five minutes before they found themselves nearing the front steps of her building, and she looked up at him.

"Hey, thanks for tonight," she said, voice timid, and he turned to her with a wide smile.

"'S been my pleasure," he replied. "Sorry for keepin' you out so long; your roommate must be startin' to wonder."

When Y/N laughed lightly, Thomas raised an eyebrow, apparently not following whatever she'd taken away from his words. "I have a feeling she's a little too preoccupied to be worrying about me right now," she said dryly. She'd been back in town for not 48 hours, and Dolley was already going out on her own -- as supportive as Y/N was, Dolley had a habit of getting too attached too quickly. She was praying James wouldn't end up another regrettable hookup.

However, Thomas couldn't exactly hear her thoughts, something Y/N hadn't considered before tightly grabbing ahold of the rope to her mental tangent -- it was his fault, really. She couldn't be blamed for his lack of talent in mind-reading. But as he continued to watch her expectantly, as she pulled herself back to the present, she finally said, "She's spending the night with someone else tonight. Make of that what you will."

He shook his head in amusement. "Good for her."

"I'm sure her host thinks so."

A moment passed in quiet under the frigid night sky, Y/N hesitant to act but Thomas hesitant to leave. He was the one to break it.

"It was good to meet you, Y/N," he said softly, and she raised her eyebrows. Her window of opportunity was dwindling. "Hope I'll see you--"

"D'you want to come upstairs?" She hadn't meant to cut him off, but the words were spilling from her tongue before she could lose her nerve. Her heart was pounding; she wasn't fond of having to make the risky move, and the tentativeness in his raised eyebrows wasn't helping.

"Seriously?" Oh, God. Was it really such a ridiculous idea that he was struggling to believe she was asking? "I..." Thomas let out a heavy sigh when he trailed off before pursing his lips, tongue in cheek and looking everywhere but at her. "'S temptin', but... I can't do that to you."

Y/N only stared at him in disbelief. "What?"

"You've been drinkin' all night." His tone left little room for negotiation, but she was on the edge of taking offense. "I know you don’t seem drunk, but if your judgment isn't all the way there, it's not happenin'. G'night, sweetheart."

She was still standing in stunned silence when he turned to walk back the way he came, but when he started retreating in her field of vision, she called after him, "Hang on." To her relief, he looked back at her quizzically, footsteps stalling on the snow-coated sidewalk, and she took a step toward him. "I've been drinking seltzer water and fruit juice all night, Thomas," she said, and his eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "So if you're not interested, you don't need to make excuses, but I'm asking you while perfectly sober."

Her stomach seemed to be trying to turn itself inside-out as she waited anxiously for him to respond; the calculated way he looked her over only exacerbated the feeling. "Have you had anything to drink tonight?"

"Next to nothing." The pause between them was heavy, both their minds racing but far from in consensus. "Your move, Thomas."

Not three seconds passed before he was striding toward her decisively, and she inhaled sharply when his arm snaked around her waist, his other hand cupping her cheek, thumb sweeping over the expanse of skin. She was flush against his chest, too surprised to even react, her hands resting at his upper chest, and her eyes widened when she felt his cheekbone brush against the crown of her head. He tilted his head down to look at her, his lips hardly a hair away from the top of her ear. She could feel his breath down her neck, setting her nerves alight. "Can I kiss you?"

Her answer was immediate. "Please."

And before she had time to think, his lips were on hers; he was tangling a hand into her hair. He wasted no time in starting to walk her back toward her building, steadying her with a firm grip on her waist as she stumbled backward.

She yelped when her heel hit the bottom step up to her building's door, and she broke the kiss, then clinging to his shoulders in an effort not to fall, struggling to hold her weight on her legs as she lifted one foot onto the first step. Both their chests were heaving, and Thomas wore a wry grin.

"I've been wantin' to do that since I sent you that martini," he murmured, dipping down to kiss along her jawline, and Y/N let out a breathy chuckle.

"So you had to wait, what, three hours?" she retorted, tone dry. "Oh, how you've suffered."

"Had to wait three hours too long," he corrected her, and before she could jab back at him, his mouth again found hers. She moaned against him when he bit down lightly on her bottom lip, responding in kind by rolling her tongue teasingly against his. It was too much and yet still, not enough. His hands were all over her; she couldn't focus on how his body felt pressed into hers as the sensation quickly overwhelmed her, and when his grip on her hip tightened, she gasped into his mouth.

"Thomas, wait, I--" She was cut off before she could get the thought out. "Thom-- Mmh--!" He kissed her ardently, reveling in her response to his touch every bit as much as she was reveling in the feeling of it. Regardless, she pulled back, looking him in the eye, and held him off with a hand on his chest. "Let's go in. I'd rather be somewhere a lot warmer and a little more..." --she traced a finger down the lapel of his designer coat with a sly smile, finally using it to pull him closer-- "...private."

"Don't have to tell me twice." He split from her, tugging her alongside him and up the stairs by her hand, and her eyes widened at his frantic movements. She didn't even flinch at first, stunned by how abrupt the action had been, but when he glanced back over his shoulder at her, her fingers already linked between his, she drew in a shuddering breath.

"Let's go."

From there, their night was a blur of heavy jeans and chunky sweaters being scattered across Y/N's bedroom, their coats discarded and long forgotten not three feet past her apartment door. Whatever gods were above seemed to have smiled on her; she and Dolley both striking it lucky on the same night felt too perfect for it to be coincidental, especially as Y/N's bedroom door slammed loudly behind them, her body pinned against its interior moments later.

Every impatient touch was ablaze, brimming with fireworks and crave as her eager hands found their way up his shirt, his curls bouncing when he pulled it over his head.

It was all reckless, every second of it, but as Y/N saw it, what was the worst that could happen? The occasional uncomfortable run-in with Thomas if they passed on the street? That was beyond worth her evening of adrenaline. She gasped when he pushed her back onto her mattress, climbing on immediately after her.

"Thomas," she moaned, threading her fingers into his curls as his lips worked their way down her neck.

"What is it, sweetheart? Hm?"

She squealed when he nipped at her sensitive skin, nails digging into his upper back, but her tense muscles relaxed as he began sucking a hickey into the same spot a moment later. "I need you. Please."

She could feel his smile against her skin, the vibrations of his light chuckle. "Well, since you asked so nicely..." He pulled back as the pads of his fingers dug into her hips, and she inhaled sharply. His eyes were shining, predatory and smug. "How could I say no?"

——————

COME THE NEXT morning -- or, really, the next afternoon -- Y/N was grateful to have escaped without a hangover, completely absent a headache, the light of day not even a bother as it glared past her curtains. However, the minute she tried to sit up, she realized that she certainly had a backache, and she wasn't entirely convinced her legs would be willing to work when she tried to stand.

Realization struck her a moment later; she winced as she sat bolt upright, ignoring the ache in her shoulders when she lunged for her phone. Oh, shit.

"Thomas," she hissed, shoving his snoring body through her comforter. "Thomas, wake up."

He sniffed as he shifted in her bed, trying to speak through his heavy yawn. "What's goin' on?"

"What's going on is that it's almost two o'clock." Her scowl was deep-set as she shoved the covers off of herself, paying him little mind as she began to root through her drawers for something to wear. "And you need to go. I have somewhere to be."

It hadn't occurred to her to be self-conscious as she paced through her room, but when she turned back to see Thomas's lazy stare following her still-naked body, she could feel her cheeks flare. "Get dressed."

"Alright, alright," he said, sleep still heavy in his voice as he reached for his phone where he'd discarded it on his long-abandoned jeans. She didn't see it, busy pulling on underwear and yanking on a hoodie over her the heavily-marked skin of her chest. "Fuck. I'm gonna be late."

She rolled her eyes when his own panic was finally what kicked him into gear, as he began shoving his legs back into his pants in a frenzy. "Jesus, do I need to get home," he muttered to himself, unsteadily typing something into his phone with one hand as he struggled to buckle his belt with the other. "Sorry for crashin', I--"

"It's fine; it was late as all hell," Y/N cut him off, too preoccupied to concern herself with what'd happened the night prior. She was clinging to the desperate hope that her laptop might not be dead as she dug through he drawers for its charger. "When you find all your stuff, you can just go."

"Alright. I..." He glanced to her hesitantly, pausing in his quest to put himself back together before he could flee with his dignity and whatever plans he had for that afternoon still intact. She glanced at him inquisitively in his silence. "I'll see you around, Y/N."

She offered him a small smile before he returned to trying to dig up his sweater, completely oblivious to where he could've possibly tossed it. "Let's hope so."

Those were all the words exchanged before she ducked into her bathroom, began running the shower, and wiped her smeared mascara from where it'd been running down her cheeks. Thomas left with no more pomp or circumstance.

She hardly had time to fix her appearance after she showered, doing the bare minimum before she rushed back to check on the charge her laptop had left. 74% would be enough to make it through her first lecture, right? She didn't waste a second on dwelling.

Her first class was, to her dismay, halfway across campus from her apartment. She hardly slipped into the lecture hall in time, the clock striking 2:59 PM as she took a seat toward the back, quietly greeting the person in the seat beside her as they glanced up from their phone. Maybe her rolling up less than sixty seconds before the lecture began wasn't exactly the best first impression for her, coming in as a 2nd semester junior at a new college, but she'd managed to beat Professor Jefferson, so it appeared she was safe.

It was 3:03 when he showed up; Y/N had just finished convincing the fan on her laptop to stop shrieking, had found a pen nestled into the deepest depths of her bag. She was scrolling absentmindedly through Twitter when the back doors of the lecture hall were thrown open one final time. She didn't look up at first, but his voice made her eyes widen.

"Afternoon, everybody. Hope you've all been doin' well through the long winter." His voice was upbeat as he padded down the carpeted steps toward the desk at the front of the room.

Y/N was fairly sure she was going to be sick, and unfortunately, she had no hangover to chalk it up to. Disbelief permeated her every shaky breath, the feeling trounced only by dread. Her throat had gone dry.

"For anyone who doesn't know me, I'm Professor Jefferson. I started in the political science department this last fall," he said as he reached the floor, loud voice projected through every corner of the hall, tone joking when he added, "And for anyone who's eventually gonna ask, I promise 'm well aware of how young I am."

When he turned around, Y/N's worst fears were realized -- though, she was certainly surprised at how put-together he looked, having left her apartment just one short hour earlier.

"I've spent the past few years workin' in government, but I'm glad to be back in classrooms, even if I'm on the other side of 'em." He set his briefcase down on his desk, looking the room over as he withdrew his papers, opened his laptop. Y/N was sinking progressively further and further down in her chair. "I trust you've all done the assigned readin'?"

He was met with a scattered chorus of yeses and halfhearted noises of affirmation, and he chuckled. "Well, 'm glad to hear you enjoyed 'em so much."

She wasn't sure whether his words being met with soft laughs dispersed throughout the room was because of the sarcasm sitting heavy in his words, or instead because of how contagious his bright grin was.

"Alright, alright, the enthusiasm'll get there. Feel free to pull up the syllabus on whatever you've got with you, but it'll be projected up here as we go through it." The class sounded slightly more awake by then, and while it surely wasn't everyone, Y/N felt confident enough that a decent fraction of the noise was her classmates murmuring with disbelief about how this was their professor, no doubt interspersed with jokes about suddenly taking an intimate interest in political philosophy, capped off with a wink.

But she was no one to judge. Despite being unsure whether her heart was trying to beat its way through her ribcage or if it'd altogether stopped, when Thomas leaned against the front of the desk, arms folded and ankles crossed, she couldn't bring herself to regret the events of the past sixteen hours -- were she given a chance to turn back time, it was a mistake she'd readily make again.

"I'll take any questions as we go on through it," he continued, but that time, as he scanned the crowd, Y/N's luck seemed to have run out. However, though she'd been given the luxury of a gradual realisation, the inevitable punch in the gut of recognition hit him all at once. His eyes locked onto hers, immediately going wide, his expression dropping to one of alarm, and she held his gaze warily.

His silence was a fraction of a second too long, long enough to raise questions, before his self-awareness kicked in, and he picked his jaw up off the floor. The smile he plastered on was riddled with unease. "Hope everything in the course description was clear. I have no doubt this'll be an... excitin' semester."

He played off his shock easily, falling back into his upbeat persona, but as he went on, Y/N felt lucky she'd already read the syllabus — she didn't process a single word out of his mouth. The class was three hours long, and only five minutes into the first day, she’d apparently already slept with her professor.

If this was the semester she had ahead of her, then, well... 'exciting' was certainly a word for it.

[momo-de-avis]

gelato

Okay, it was really hard coming up with something for this one cause I genuinely can't remember anything involving ice cream

Something did come to mind though. It's a bit of a stretch, and I'm risking a lot telling this story because there's a twist, but here it goes.

2006, I was a highscooler. Like any highscooler in the mid-2000s, I thought the coolest kid in my school was the ugly ass, six-pack looking ass dude who played the guitar, and my friends all drooled over the cool guys who sat on the exact same spot every day: the bench scribbled all over with stupid shit under the pine tree by the common room.

If anyone here is from Almada and studied in Pragal, I have PICTURES

I also stood out back then because I pierced my nose, wore a bazillion colours and then decided to dye my hair pink shortly after. I went through a vegetarian phase (which didn't last cause I love picanha so much) and a pseudo-hippie one, a pagan one, and a metal one. As one goes.

I had this friend. It was something close to a best friend. The only reason I never claimed her best friend was because she claimed someone else best friend, and I felt it was rude. We talked on MSN every day (lmao) and she was a social person. Mind you, I was super social too, but she had a wild life. We did the tackiest, stupidest shit a teenager can do, like drinking energy drinks and ditching class to read poetry. I am not joking, I was a complete clown.

This story is super convoluted, so I'm going to suppress some details both for the sake of her identity and because it's sincerely long as shit. But from one point on, her life started to get messy. We would be talking on MSN and she's tell me shit like "brb, [friend] just popped over in my house with 32 roses". Or: "oh my god, [same friend] just showed up here with his guitar and singing at my window". Another instance, she started weaving this tale about how the guitarist I had a crush on winked at her at the bus stop (man teenage girls have one braincell). And one ANOTHER instance she wove this really complex tale that made us believe she got drunk, passed out, had sex, and then had urges for mango ice cream (yes, ice cream will be a recurrent topic for some reason) which made us believe she was pregnant.

If you guys are seeing where this is going, it means you're adults. I did not, which meant I was a clown. Rest assured, I'm laughing my ass off as I am typing this.

That's when a new player comes in, who everyone called the Peruvian guy. Yes, because he was Peru.

Peruvian guy was the only one nobody had claimed in the band, except this girl. Until she started coming off with wild claims. It all started with the wildest love story I've ever heard in my life, like not even lifetime comes up with this shit. And unfortunately, only portuguese people will see the level of atrocious in this. Because it all started in a 25th of April Da Weasel concert, inside a crammed TST bus (the 124 OF ALL BUSES) as everything should begin.

These two lovebirds spot each other inside a bus that smells of sweat, vomit and nutsack and thing "damn, we're going to fall in love right now". The Almada main plaza is filled with drunken teens and two stops later they get off. My friend and him decide the best way to discuss the nonexistent relationship is the backdoor of our school, which is a plot hole if I've ever seen one, and he says, with no introduction, that he is madly in love with her. Just like that, going in raw. She is baffled. He repeats himself.

I should remind you that this was all relayed to me by her the following day.

To prove himself, he takes off his shirt, in the middle of the road, and despite being the least busy street in the entirety of the city and 1AM, he, according to her, stops traffic, and bare chested, starts slapping that shit on the concrete screaming I LOVE YOUUUUUUU like some coked up Peruvian Chris Pine. She is still baffled. It is still not enough. So he then grabs her by the shoulders, and SMACKS her against the school gates, which by now are a good 10 meters away, so it must have been a dance. Yes, she showed me the bruises the next day, I need you to remember this detail. And there, in front of a line of enraged drivers that clearly did not exist, he kissed her passionately. I do not think a part of her considered any of this to be assault, I genuinely think she thought this was romantic.

From here on out started the romantic walks by the beach and the gallons of digested ice cream. I mean, gallons. She even showed me receipts. She even relayed back to me his favourite ice cream flavours, where they went together at 9AM and where they sat as they tasted their ice creams together, hand in hand, holding a cone and licking away.

As you have all gathered already, all of this was horseshit.

It started falling apart when I actually befriended Peruvian guy lmfao

Man it was the worst fallout i ever witnessed. Her whole family actually protected this shit, it was wild. We were pretty angry (I mean, I was particularly angry cause these lies were specifically aimed at me, and it turns out only her name was real) and we didn't deal with it the best way, but some of us offered help, but man I lost it when she laughed in my face and said "of course it was all fake". Then again, I was 17 and hormonal, so not the best judgement.

The twist here is that I found her on tumblr again and can safely say she hasn't changed much. From what I've seen, I wouldn't trust much of what she says, but at least she seems more confident in herself. She doesn't come off as an outright pathological liar, and I certainly wouldn't believe shit, but looking back it now it is so fucking funny the lengths through which she went to make up this fake romance, man. Especially because we were teenagers fantasising about these dudes in a band and then my friends and I actually befriended them in our senior year of high school and they were actually pretty cool, chill dudes and the fantasy shattered completely, they were just guys (and the guitarist was a bit of a piece of shit too, and ugly if I'm being honest, but that's my standard today speaking).

But man, I hope to achieve that level of originality. What is so wild to me is that she showed me the bruises, bro. That girl bashed herself against a wall or something to prove a dude had a rough, passionate kiss with her. At least she had help and is better today (though she's not active on tumblr anymore, at least I haven't seen her in the past year or so)

[loftec]

Hi! in this prompt, could we know about Mickey's ex boyfriend or something? I think his name was Matt?

thank you for participating + pre NTW - Mickey's POV 👀

Anon: tell us about Matt

Yevgeny: his name was Mark

Mickey, pinching the bridge of his nose: Martin, and no. I’m not gonna tell you about Martin.

Narrator: little did Mickey know that he had zero say on the matter, let’s goooo.

April 13, 2013. Saturday.

Mickey is just off the L when his phone rings. For a moment, he considers ignoring the buzzing in his pocket as he lights up a cigarette and bounds down the metal steps. The list of people likely to call him is very limited, and most of that list is very welcome to fuck off to voicemail on a Saturday evening. Work can fuck off, telemarketers can doubly fuck off. On this particular Saturday, even his extended family can fuck off. It might be Martin, wondering where he is, but he can quite frankly also fuck off, seeing as Mickey is no more than five minutes away from their agreed rendezvous.

That only leaves one, and the thought alone is enough for Mickey to step out of the flow of people rushing to and from the platform, and check the damned call. Seeing the ID, he quickly picks up, pressing the phone to his ear.

”What the fuck?” he asks, unsure if he should be annoyed or alarmed and figuring this would best cover a bit of both.

”Hey dad,” his son says, unexpectedly.

”Yev?” Mickey says, inching towards annoyed. At least his son is unharmed enough to dial a phone, so it can’t be too bad. ”What’s wrong? Where’s Sonya?”

”She’s right here,” Yevgeny says, he sounds fine, normal, good, ”we can’t find the cake poking thing.”

Staring at the empty space in front of him, Mickey feels the rest of his mood swan dive head-first into annoyed. ”The what?”

”The thing we use to poke cakes, to check if they’re done? We can’t find it and we need it, the cake is almost done.”

Taking the forgotten cigarette from his lips, Mickey angles the burning end away from his face as he rubs at the deep line between his eyebrows.

”Kid,” he says, trying to sound calm, ”give the phone to Sonya.”

There are some muffled noises over the line, and then Mickey can hear his son’s distant voice. ”He wants to talk to you.”

”Hey Mickey,” Sonya comes on, breezy as anything. ”Is it supposed to be in the cutlery drawer? Been rifling through that thing for a good minute already.”

”Are you fucking kidding me?”

”What? It’s not such a weird guess, is it? I’d say it’s cutlery adjacent at least.”

”I’ve been outta the fucking house for less than forty minutes!” Mickey says, calmly. He is absolutely not screeching loud enough to have people on the street give him concerned looks. ”And you call me about some fucking–, I don’t have anything like that! Who has a thing specifically for poking cakes?!”

”Oh please,” Sonya scoffs. ”Plenty people do, you being one of them!”

He wants to point out that this is categorically not what he meant when he said ’call me if there’s an emergency’, but he’s got a feeling that this is only going to get him into an argument about the definition of ’emergency’ that he’s not going to win, and besides, he’s got bigger fish to fry right now.

”I absolutely do fucking not!” he splutters, glaring at a couple throwing him side-eye as they rush past him. ”Are you outta your mind?”

”I know you have one, because I gave it to you,” Sonya says, clanking sounds in the background from where she’s still presumably rifling through Mickey’s shit. ”Remember? When you moved in? I got it in Sweden when I was visiting for my cousin’s wedding. It was hand crafted, Mickey, you better not have thrown it out!”

”That thing?” Mickey balks, smoothly electing to not point out that they both know Sonya came home from her trip with like ten of those in her luggage and then spent the next two years giving them to all her friends and family whenever she’d forgot about getting gifts for an occasion. ”I stuck it in Merida.”

The silence on the other end of the line is palpable, and it takes a second for Mickey to hear what he just said.

”Who is Merida, and do I want to know why you stuck my hand-carved Swedish cake poker in her?”

Mickey sighs, and decides that he doesn’t have to answer that. He can try, at least. ”Tell Yev it’s in Merida.”

”I most certainly will not tell your sweet summer child that you’ve stuck the cake poker in–,” her increasingly high pitched voice abruptly falls to a hiss, ”–Merida, who is Merida?”

Luckily, Mickey can hear his son in the background, saving him from having to explain. ”It’s this thing?”

There’s another silence, Mickey takes the opportunity to smoke and accept the inevitable.

”Two questions,” Sonya says, her usual good humor back in her voice. ”One, you stuck my hand-carved Swedish souvenir in a potted plant? And two, you named the plant Merida?”

”It’s cartoon character–,” Mickey starts, before realizing what he’s saying and cutting himself off, ”I didn’t name it, obviously.”

”But you still call it by its name.”

”Whatever,” Mickey blows out a puff of smoke and can’t help smiling. Sometimes he just has to stop and take stock of how fucking ridiculous his life has turned out. And how much he fucking likes it, despite himself. ”Congratulations, you found it. Any other emergency you needed me for, or can I get back to my–”

He swallows, catching himself mid-sentence, suddenly unsure of how he intended to end it.

”–thing.”

”You’re there already?” Sonya asks, sounding genuinely remorseful now. ”Sorry, you left so late I thought for sure you’d missed the train and would still be en route, or I wouldn’t have told Yev to call. How’s the date going?”

Mickey swallows again, throat dry. He starts walking down the street in the direction of the bar.

”It’s fine, still on the way,” he says, ”and it’s not a date.”

”Like heck it isn’t,” Sonya tuts, ”you’re out on a Yev weekend for the first time since I’ve known you, and I saw that shirt you’re wearing.”

He runs a hand self-consciously along his belt, his button-down still tucked in and in place. He refuses to worry about it.

”You looked good, Mickey, I meant to tell you,” Sonya continues, and she doesn’t even sound like she’s teasing anymore which Mickey knows even less how to handle. ”And you’re undeniably on a date.”

”Shut up,” Mickey mutters and smiles to himself when Sonya laughs. Feeling a little more himself, he chucks his cigarette to the curb and stops to look across the road at his destination. ”Maybe.”

He hadn’t really considered the possibility, before Martin asked him. But the sex was always good, they got along really well, and when Martin looked up at him from his bed as Mickey was pulling on his jeans, his hair rumpled and lips still shiny, and asked if he wanted to go to some kind of hipster showcase gig together, Mickey had barely even hesitated.

”About time, too,” Sonya says. ”Was starting to think the guy wasn’t all there, taking his sweet time. Maybe he was waiting for you to ask.”

”Ey,” Mickey shakes his head, ”it’s only been a couple of months.”

”Try six! That’s half of a whole year.”

”Try minding your own fucking business,” Mickey says and frowns. Maybe it has been that long since the first time they hooked up, but it’s not like they’ve been fucking on the regular the whole time since then.

”Just happy for you, Mickey,” Sonya says, like it’s an easy thing for her to say. ”You like him, right?”

He doesn’t say yes, but he doesn’t outright deny it either, which probably tells Sonya everything she needs to know.

”Gotta go,” he says instead, ”and don’t call me again unless it’s an actual fucking emergency. See you tomorrow.”

Not waiting to see if she’s got something to say to that, he hangs up and shoves the phone back into his pocket. Staring at the unassuming building across the street, he allows himself a moment to take it all in. He’s just casing the joint before he enters, it’s normal fucking behavior. He isn’t stalling.

It doesn’t look too busy from the outside, there’s no line, and no bouncer or guard by the propped open double doors. The walls of the building are littered with layers of posters, on both sides of the doors and across the covered windows. Not much can be seen through the doors from his vantage point, but he assumes that it’s a front room leading to whatever’s going on inside the building.

There’s a guy standing off to the side of the doors, smoking. He’s got a lanyard shoved down his back pocket, ID badge dangling in clear sight. Most likely someone working at the bar, out on a break. His shoulders are hunched and he’s got a phone clutched to his ear, head bent and lips pressed together in a thin line. He nods at whatever is being said to him over the phone. Mickey looks up at the worn sign above the door.

”Fuck it,” Mickey mutters and, pushing aside the last of his niggling doubt, makes his way across the street and through the doors. It’s dark enough inside that his eyes need a second to adjust, before he quickly orients himself and heads toward the noise and lights leaking out from behind a set of swing doors beyond the coat check.

”Excuse me!” someone pipes up behind him, and he turns back to raise his eyebrows at the girl standing behind a counter by the entrance. ”We’ve got a showcase tonight, you need to buy a ticket.”

She makes an apologetic face as Mickey gets closer and pulls out his wallet.

”25,” she says when he gives her a questioning look.

”Christ,” he mutters, but forks over the money. ”This better be good.”

”We’ve got a really exciting lineup tonight, all local acts,” she says, obviously relieved now that he’s payed and she can tuck away his hard earned cash in her little lock box. ”I’m hoping I can take a break soon so I can sneak a peak of the headliner.”

She winks at him as she hands over a ticket, and he has zero fucking clue what he’s supposed to do with any of that.

”Okay?” he says and accepts the ticket. ”What’s this for? I’m already here.”

”In case you want to go in and out,” she says, and then tacks on when she seems to remember something she’s supposed to say; ”there’s no smoking in the venue.”

Mickey shrugs and pockets the ticket, biting back the urge to tell her that there’s no fucking smoking anywhere these days, thank you very much. The girl is still smiling at him when he turns his back on her and heads for the bar.

”Have fun!”

Finally inside, the place seems to be a collection of smaller rooms with some walls knocked down to make a larger, oddly shaped space. The bar is crowded, three bartenders moving around each other and pouring drinks in the narrow space behind it, and all the tables tucked away in the dark half-room next to it seem occupied. In the main room, Mickey finds the small, raised stage with a bigger crowd gathered in front of it. There’s a guy on stage, talking about something and looking like he’s about to cry while getting thoroughly ignored by a majority of his audience.

Mickey included, when he spots Martin a bit to the left of the stage. He’s talking to a couple of people he must have met in the crowd, smiling in that carefree way of his, eyes squeezed together and head tossed back when he laughs. He seems to do that a lot, laugh and talk and make friends wherever he goes. Open about himself in casual throw-away lines as he lets Mickey into his apartment, takes his clothes off, catching his breath, seeing Mickey off again. It’s nice seeing him out here, in the real world.

Maybe this could work. Mickey really should have tried harder to be on time, leaving your date to make new friends while he waits for you to show up seems like a bad move, now that he thinks about it.

Shit. Here goes nothing.

”Hey!” Martin exclaims, face lighting up with a wide smile when Mickey walks into his line of sight. He doesn’t sound upset, really doesn’t look it either when he pulls Mickey in for a quick kiss. It’s over before Mickey’s had the chance to do much else than blink in surprise.

”I’m late,” he acknowledges and hopes Martin will take the attempt at an apology for what it is.

”It’s fine,” Martin gins at him, tilting his head in the direction of the stage, ”you haven’t missed anything good.”

”– have you ever noticed that?” the guy on stage mutters into the microphone, ”I mean–, uh, I’ve noticed, that–, sometimes–”

Tuning the guy out again, Mickey looks past his date at the two people still standing on his other side, regarding them curiously.

”We got a problem?” he asks them, raising his eyebrows further when the woman just smiles at him.

”Oh,” Martin says, angling himself so the four of them make a little semi-circle in the crowd. ”My friends, Nora, Ethan, this is Mickey.”

Mickey stares at the side of Martin’s face for a moment, before he notices Ethan’s outstretched hand. He feels confused enough to grab it in a quick handshake. The woman, Nora, just keeps smiling.

”Nice to meet you, Mickey,” she says, clearly hiding something. People generally aren’t this smiley without an agenda, in Mickey’s experience.

”Sure,” Mickey says, glancing at Martin for some clue as to what he’s supposed to do now.

”You wanna go get yourself a drink?” Martin asks, pointing in the direction of the bar. ”This comedy train wreck should be over soon, hopefully.”

”Sure,” Mickey says again, wrong-footed by the whole odd situation and frustrated with himself for not being able to shake the feeling that he’s made a huge mistake.

”Go with him!” Nora says, making Martin take a half-step closer to Mickey by shoving lightly at his shoulder. ”We’ll save the spot.”

She gives Martin a pointed look and some kind of silent communication seems to happen between them, ending with her looking victorious and Martin dropping his head back with an exaggerated sigh. Then he turns to Mickey and playfully gestures for him to lead the way.

”Sorry about her,” he says once they’ve reached the bar, leaning in closer to speak directly into Mickey’s ear. The warmth of his breath makes the hairs on his neck stand on end. ”I keep telling her to back off, but she’s got it in her head that we’re doing something we’re not.”

Mickey swallows and turns his head to look at Martin when he leans back.

”And what are we doing?” he asks, and he doesn’t realize how it sounds until he sees Martin’s gobsmacked expression.

He lets out a startled laugh. ”Are we really gonna talk about this now? Here?”

And technically, Mickey agrees with him. He really doesn’t want to have the ’what are we’ conversation, and he definitely doesn’t want to have it now, here. But he’s already said it, and now he needs to know.

”Maybe,” he says and frowns when Martin just stares at him for a moment.

”I don’t know?” Martin eventually says. ”We have fun, right? I didn’t think you wanted it to be more than that?”

Mickey can barely hear his own thoughts over the noise from the bar, but he can practically feel his heartbeat in his throat. ”Do you?”

Martin makes a pained face, like it’s an involuntary reaction to the mere idea, before he shrugs helplessly and gives Mickey an uncertain smile.

”We don’t really have anything in common, Mickey,” he says. ”I don’t know, I just don’t see it going anywhere.”

”Thank you for participating,” the guy on stage says, his voice louder and verging on hysterical. It gives Mickey a reason to look away from Martin’s face for a second, hating the sympathetic twist to his lips. He feels like a fool.

”You suck!” someone yells in the audience.

”Yeah? Right back at you buddy!”

”Get off the stage!”

”Sure,” Mickey says, and nods. ”No, sure. You’re right.”

”Sorry?” Martin says and grins when Mickey rolls his eyes. ”And we can still have fun, right? Hey, I’ll buy you a drink! What do you want?”

”Anything, a beer,” Mickey tries to focus on Martin, on the list of prices pinned to the wall behind the bar, but there is suddenly too much noise, too many people, too much… stuff. ”I just gotta–”

He doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, so he stops. He doesn’t know what he wants, but getting out of this room would be a good start.

Martin looks confused, and then tuts reproachfully when Mickey pulls out his pack of smokes and gestures in the direction of the doors. He hates it when Mickey smokes, always makes him brush his teeth before they do anything. Guess that’s another thing they don’t have in common. Mickey hadn’t given it much thought.

He leaves Martin by the bar to fend for the bartender’s attention on his own and goes back outside, ignoring the surprised look on the girl by the door when he strides past her. Once outside, he’d hoped the fresh air and relative silence would knock him back on track, but it doesn’t. Everything is exactly the same, only now he can add ’running away like a pussy’ to the list of tonight’s embarrassments. He hates this, this isn’t him.

He should go back inside, show Martin and his friends that he doesn’t give a shit. Have a couple of beers, get through the night, make that asshole suck his dick until he can’t feel anything but a warm mouth and his own pleasure. But he’s not repaying any favors, not tonight, let that shithead take care of himself, since he can’t see it going anywhere. Fuck that. It’s fine.

”I know–, no, I know…”

Wrapped up in his own bullshit, Mickey hadn’t noticed he wasn’t alone. The same man from before is still on the phone, and he looks if possible even more miserable than he did when Mickey first arrived.

”That isn’t–, no, I know you didn’t… listen–”

Mickey ignores him, taking out a cigarette putting it to his lips. Might as well, he’s already out here. He lights it up. He, lights it up… come the fuck on, he lights it up. His lighter is out. Fucking great.

”Ey,” he says and turns to the guy on the phone, ”you got a light?”

The guy stares at him, and Mickey absently thinks he looks even worse up close. Like, disturbingly hot and built enough to properly toss a guy around if he wanted, but absolutely worn down by whatever it is he’s doing with whoever’s on the phone with him. Whatever, not Mickey’s problem. He shakes his empty lighter when the guy doesn’t immediately react.

”Oh,” the guy blinks, his eyes are red. He digs out a lighter from somewhere and hands it over. ”Here.”

”Thanks,” Mickey steps close enough so he can reach out and take it, and consequently hear the distant sound of a man’s voice on the other end of the line. He can’t make out any words, but the tone is unmistakable. The guy frowns and turns away slightly.

”Jesus, Jace, what the fuck?” he says, voice low and sharp. ”Are you serious right now? I’m not–, you know what?”

Mickey lights up and takes a couple of steps away to give the guy some privacy, but might still watch him out of the corner of his eye and hear pretty much everything he says. Call him a nosy bitch, but he really needs the distraction right now.

”I can’t do this right now,” the guy sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. ”We’re on in like ten minutes and I can’t–, I can’t do this with you right now. I asked you for time.”

He listens, and whatever it is that’s being said to him seems to hit a nerve. The general air around him of annoyed resolve slowly shifts into something more resigned.

”Yeah, I know… I’m sorry,” he says, and Mickey doesn’t know him or his situation, but he knows this can’t be right. ”Tomorrow, we’ll talk. I promise. Yeah, thanks… I will. Love you, too.”

Mickey shouldn’t be listening to this, he should finish his cigarette and go back inside. Find Martin and enjoy the night, have some fucking fun. Maybe he should, but he doesn’t want to.

He wants to go home, put on some fucking comfortable clothes and watch a movie with his kid.

”Heads up,” he says and waits until the phone guy looks up before he lobs the lighter back at him. He fumbles, but catches it. ”Fuck him, you deserve better.”

The guy stares at him, and rightly so. Mickey doesn’t know why he said that, he doesn’t know anything about it. But the guy looks… he looks a bit like Mickey’s feeling, deep down and buried many times over.

He looks lost.

”You deserve better,” Mickey repeats, because he already said it and he’s nothing if not all in. The guy opens his mouth on a shaky exhale, but he doesn’t say anything. Probably thinking of ways to get away from the freak accosting him on the street with unsolicited affirmation bullshit. Which, fair enough. Guess that’s Mickey’s cue to fuck off. If the guy would just stop staring at him like that.

A hand-holding couple suddenly walks right through their intense moment, heading for the doors. Mickey comes back to himself and, thinking quick, he takes out his ticket and waves it at the couple to get their attention.

”No thanks,” the man said, probably thinking he’s trying to sell it.

”Just fucking take it,” Mickey grumbles, shoving the ticket at them.

”Uh, thanks?”

Mickey waves a dismissive hand at them, already on his way.

”Thank you!” someone shouts after him.

He can’t wait to get home. Kick off his shoes, wash out the gel in his hair. Untuck his fucking shirt. Investigate whatever that cake poking business was about, hopefully cake. Watch his kid watch a movie, see his little face light up and mouth along with the words. Absolutely ignore Sonya’s inevitable attempts to get him to ’talk about it’.

His life is fucking fine the way it is, he doesn’t know why he got it in his head to try and make it something it isn’t.

[hex6rcist]

The original ask for this was accidentally deleted so here it is in a post. The ask was along the lines of: Jin meeting reader when they start a conversation with him out of the blue. They go from friend, to FWB, to a relationship. Can be NSFW. I believe the asker was @slobbynblobby​ 

This ended up way longer than I had thought because I went with a weird format that isn’t really a fic but also isn’t really headcanons? So I hope that’s cool. Hope you enjoy. <3 

TW: Alcohol, nsfw, drunk sex 

WC: 4,200+

Jin x [F!] Reader Developing Relationship

First Meeting

Jin isn’t one to strike up a conversation with strangers in public. If he could help it he would actually avoid speaking in public at all. His tic makes it particularly difficult for him to communicate with anyone who doesn’t know him well enough and can often times embarrass him in public, so he’d rather just keep his mouth shut. 

However he won’t be outright cold to anyone out and about who tries to talk to him. He’ll do his best to give lost strangers directions, he’ll excuse himself if he bumps someone, he’ll thank the person at the checkout counter. He’s not a dick. If anything he can just come off as curt as he tries to keep his ticing to an unoffensive minimum. 

When you sit next to him on the late night train he gives a polite bob of his head but that’s about it. It was never a problem for him if he was brusque in a public setting because no one expected much more. But you sat for a while, fiddling with the end of your shirt and letting your eyes wander around the train. Being late it wasn’t as packed as usual but everyone was still seated close together. Idly you two bump knees. 

Jin draws his knees in closer, eyes shifting over to see if he’d bothered you. He was surprised when you were looking right back at him. Your nose twitched in a way that Jin thought was cute but could have possibly been an indication of disgust. His eyes quickly shifted away and he mumbled a short, “Sorry.” 

You give a small smirk. “Never apologize mister, it’s a sign of weakness.” He’s a little taken aback by the response, unsure of what to say to that. “I take it you’ve never heard of John Wayne huh?” He simply shook his head no and your nose gave another one of those cute twitches. “He’s an American actor form the 1940s. He was in a bunch of these cool western films, ya know the ones about cowboys? And he always plays these tough guys who say cool shit like, ‘Courage is being scared to death, but saddling up anyway.’” You’d struck your best tough guy face and put on a drawl, making Jin chuckle lightly. A little smile plays on your face too. You like his laugh and wanna hear more.    

You chat for so long Jin is actually surprised when the train comes to a halt and you start to grab your things. “Sorry, my stop. It was nice talking to you. Maybe I’ll see you again.” All he can get out is a pretty lame, “Oh, bye.” before you’re gone. In the silence you left him in he’s not sure how to feel. One part of him is glad that he’d gotten through a pretty normal conversation with a perfect stranger on the train. He felt normal which was refreshing. But another part of him wanted to kick himself for not getting your number or at least your name. 

Second Meeting

Jin wouldn’t want to outright admit that he was looking for you but he would say he ended up on that particular train more often than he would have before. The week passes by without a sighting and he comes close to giving up, he’s really starting to feel a little creepy. But that Friday night just before the train was about to depart you slide through the doors before they could close with a relieved sigh. Jin could feel his heart in his throat. Would you even remember him let alone sit by him again? Maybe you were just being polite that night. 

Sure enough when you recognize the cute blonde guy you’d chatted up just last week sitting in the same spot he’d been in before you don’t hesitate to flop down in the space next to him. “Hey there, good to see you again. I realized I didn’t introduce myself before I got off last time and felt so rude. Especially after you let me talk your ear off. I’m y/n!” Jin really couldn’t believe his luck. “I’m Jin.” “No I’m not!”  He flinched slightly at his outburst. Last time he saw you he had been doing well for a while but things tended to change fast with him. Once again Jin noticed your nose crinkle a bit but you ignored his outburst. “Jin, I like that name. It suits you.” 

Just like last time you spend the whole ride chatting. Jin doesn’t let on that he’d come to take this train every night since you met just to see you but you reveal to him that you work the late shift at a bar in Kamino Ward So you always take this train back home on the weekends. He decides that makes sense for you, the kinda girl who starts a conversation with a stranger on the train, to work at a bar. “Why do you take this train?” Obviously he doesn’t want to tell you what his business in that part of the city is so he settles on saying he also works in the area but takes the late train home because he likes to hang out at the bar after work. 

This time when you get up to leave he’s a little more ready, It’s the same stop you got off at last time. “It was nice talking again Jin! You should come by my bar some time. I’ll buy you a drink. I work tomorrow night if you’re interested.” With a little wave he watches you hop off the train. He can’t help but smile the whole way back to his shitty motel. Sure he hadn’t manned up enough to ask for your number yet, but at least now he didn’t have to feel like a stalker. 

Becoming Friends

The night after your second meeting Jin had decided to come and meet you at the bar. He was glad when he realized it was more of a small dive and not one of the clubs with a thrumming bass. This definitely suited him better. Though it was still a Saturday night and the place was kind of packed he was able to find a seat at the end of the bar. When you noticed him you couldn’t help but be excited. “You came!” You made your way to him, cutting your conversation short with another man. You being so excited to see him and the dirty look the guy shot him went to Jin’s head juuuuust a little bit if he was being honest. 

“Okay, okay let me think. I’m so good at guessing what people like to drink so don’t tell me okay!” He gives a short nod, “Alright impress me.” You stand back and act like you’re framing him up in a camera shot while he makes goofy poses. “Mhm, yeah, that’s good, yup. Okay! I got it!” You throw open one of the coolers and pull out the cheapest beer you got before cracking it open and placing it in front of him. “Oh, you are good.” “Whaddaya think I’m cheap?” You giggle and shrug, “Not cheap, just not one for frills, beer is beer.” This time when your nose wrinkles he realized it for what it was, a little tic of your own.

Jin ends up at the bar with you every weekend and every time he comes you’re just as excited as the first. What had started off as a chance meeting on the train turned into a friendship. He loved to watch you work, effortlessly juggling social situations in a way he couldn’t imagine doing. You really were a people person and he just really liked that about you. 

Though his favorite part of the weekend really had to be when the two of you walked to the train together. It was strangely intimate to share such a casual routine with you. And he was glad he could. He really didn’t like the thought of you making the walk to the train on your own that late at night in that part of the city. He knew you could take care of yourself, he’d seen you break up plenty of bar altercations, but he also knew what kind of threats stalked these streets and with your friendly nature he worries someone might lure you in. 

The biggest thing Jin noticed once he spent more time with you is just how damn friendly you could be. You were downright kind in a way he didn’t often see. You were the kind of girl who’d give a bum your last dollar, your last cigarette, and ask about their day. It always took him aback that in a world like this someone as sweet as you could exist. 

FWB

Jin knew he was attracted to you. He knew as soon as he met you. Though if he was being more honest he’d say it wasn’t as much an attraction as it was a crush. You were funny, smart, beautiful, sweet, the whole package really. and he knows he’s not the only one interested. Plenty of other men at the bar vied for your attention, leaving large tips and their phone numbers or leaning over the bar just to get closer to you. It made him glad you never really drank at work. He didn’t want anyone to try and take advantage. 

That’s why he was shocked to see you downing shots with one of your other regulars when he entered the bar one Sunday night. You frantically gesture for him to come join you and the small group of regulars at that end of the bar, opposite where he’d normally sit. He approached shyly. He knew some faces and some names but never chose to interact much with other customers, much preferring your company. But you happily introduced him to the group before revealing it was one of the patron’s birthdays. Later you two would remember this as the night that Jin met party y/n.

Needless to say you all got pretty trashed, buying the birthday boy, Jin, and yourself shots. By the end of the night you had a hard enough time closing up the bar on your own Jin jumped in to help put up chairs and mop while you focused heavily on counting the till and pulling the money you spent past your comp tab out of your tips. 

It really wasn’t until you two had gotten on the train that you both realized how drunk you were. You head lolled onto his shoulder as you two tried to quell fits of giggles, much to the annoyance of the other passengers. When your stop rolled around you both agreed it’d be safest if Jin walked you home. 

At first it didn’t really hit you but the closer you got to home the more you started to think. Should you invite him in? You looked at Jin from the corner of you eye. He wasn’t the only one with a crush. You knew you wanted to invite him in and you were just drunk enough to take the leap. But then how clean was your apartment right now? Did you leave you underwear from this morning on the floor? Is your makeup all over the bathroom counter? All these thoughts abandoned ship however when you reached your door. Jin shifted from foot to foot awkwardly while you fumbled with your keys. Finally you got them in the lock and opened the door. Moment of truth. “You wanna come in?” 

You two were barely through the door when your lips found his. Neither of you was sure who’d leaned in first and neither of you cared. In an instant your hands were all over each other. Groping, caressing, feeling it seemed neither of you could get enough. Your nails raked through his hair and his strong hands had found their way under the hem of your shirt to grab your waist. The feeling of his hands on your bare skin is all it took to finally get the two of you out of the entryway and stumbling towards your room. 

You both laughed lightly as you guided him by the hand through your dark apartment, tripping over nothing and bumping into walls and each other. When you two finally reach your room he’s pleasantly surprised by the way you push him down onto the bed and climb on top of him. He’s almost thankful for his inebriated state and the confidence it gave him. While your lips pressed to his neck, kissing and nipping, his hands found their way to your ass, giving a firm squeeze. 

Both you and Jin eagerly shucked off each other’s clothing. Once you were naked and laying below Jin you couldn’t help but feel just a little shy, cheeks tinting pink. He let his hands glide along the length of your body before they found your hips and squeezed. “You’re so beautiful.” “I’m gonna fuck you so good.” Your lower lip caught between your teeth as Jin lowered his head to start kissing down your stomach, the tickle of his scruff making you giggle. 

Jin settled himself between your legs, his broad shoulders keeping them spread for him. Just before his lips found the spot where you wanted them most he took a detour to nip playfully at your inner thigh. You gave a little yelp your toes curling as you giggled again. “Jin! Don’t tease me.” Not wanting to leave a pretty girl waiting he finally let his tongue lave up the length of your wet cunt, just to get a taste of you. His tongue found it’s way to your clit, circling around the sensitive bud in a way that made you moan. Your head fell back onto your pillow as your thighs squeezed to trap Jin’s head. Not that he minded. His large calloused fingers probed shyly at your entrance, feeling how wet you are from his treatment. He pulled back just long enough to press his fingers to your mouth. You part plush lips to take his fingers in and suck on them. He moaned, the feeling sending a shock though his system. He loved how you looked right then, eyes glazed with lust and his fingers in your mouth. He slowly thrust them in and out, letting you get them nice and prepped before he couldn’t wait any more. “Good girl.” “You’re such a slut.” Eagerly Jin returned to his spot between your thighs. He gave himself the privilege of watching one of his fingers enter your tight pussy. Even though it was only his fingers he couldn’t stop the satisfied sigh that fell form his lips before he went back to your clit. 

Jin made sure you were well and satisfied before finally standing and pulling you to the edge of the bed. He gave his achingly hard dick a few stroked before slowly pushing it inside you. “Oh fuck!” The way your thighs quivered and your voice hitched was enough to drive him crazy. He wanted nothing more than to pound into you but he held it together. He wanted you to enjoy it as much as him. He locked eyes with you and let his hands cup your face. He thrust slow and hard, groaning softly. “You feel so fucking good, y/n.” “I wanna make you scream for me.” Jin’s cock stretched you so good you could only reply in small whimpers and moans. Your hand found the back of Jin’s head pulling him so close your foreheads touch before you lock lips in a heated kiss. 

When you finally adjust your legs wrap tightly around his hips and you press yourself farther into him. Jin gladly takes the cue and his hips begin to move at a brutal pace. The first hard thrust arches your back and rips a loud moan from you. He sits up, one hand pinning your hips to the bed and the other rubbing unrelenting circles on your clit. You’ve only just started and you can already feel an intense orgasm rippling through your body, making your legs tremble. The feeling of your pussy clenching around him only spurred Jin on further. 

The next morning Jin’s head was pounding. He squinted against the harsh light of the sun and buried his face into your chest. ‘... Wait...’ He shot up with a small gasp before looking around the room. It took him a moment to remember exactly what happened last night but the pieces slowly clicked together. He looked down at your still naked form, snoring softly next to him. He slowly lowered himself back down, laying on his side. He brushed your hair out of your face and took in your sleeping face. 

After that night you two had an admittedly awkward morning. You made coffee and some greasy breakfast food to quell your monster hangovers but you couldn’t ignore what had happened the night before. You also couldn’t ignore the lingering touches and eye contact between you two. Finally after eating and getting a few cups of coffee down Jin trapped you between his body and the kitchen counter. His fingers raked through your hair before cupping your cheek. Any resolve you had to not do this again was quickly replaced by need as you pull Jin in for a deep kiss. 

It would go on like this for the next 3 months. Stumbling back to your apartment on drunken nights, stealing kisses in alleyways, playful pinches and squeezes. You two had both tried to stop what was happening but you just couldn’t keep your hands off of each other after that first night. You’d both agreed to enjoy whatever this casual sexual relationship was for now. You were having fun and there was no reason to read too much into it. 

Relationship

“Hey Jin you going to see your girlfriend? When do we get to meet her?” Toga’s questions threw him through a loop. ‘Girlfriend.’ The word made him nervous but excited. And well at this point he really wouldn’t say that you weren’t his girlfriend. Neither of you was really sure when it happened, but it just dawned on you both one day that things had just gotten more serious. Nights of stumbling back to your apartment to hook up turned slowly into walking home hand in hand to watch a movie on the couch. You now cooked more meals together instead of just breakfast. Hot, passionate kisses turned to slow, sweet smooches. In the end though neither of you minded all that much. It was nice. Comfortable. “Yeah I am.” “You’ll never meet her!” 

That night when Jin met you at the bar he found it hard to keep his heartbeat steady. That word just wouldn’t leave his mind, ‘girlfriend.’ You crack open a beer and place it in front of him before leaning over the bar to press a chaste kiss to his lips. It had become more common for you to greet him with little kisses and sweet hugs. That had to mean you felt the same right? You were both on the same page? 

At the end of the night it took all of Jin’s courage. But once the bar was closed down and you two was sharing one last beer in the dim light he decided now was the best time. “Y/n, you know how I feel about you right?” Your nose crinkled in the way he loved and your cheeks flushed. “I think I have a pretty good idea...” Jin nodded, “Good because I want us to be on the same page. I want you to be my girlfriend.” God that word made your heart flutter. You wrap your arms around his neck and lean in for a sweet kiss. “Mmh, I like the sound of that.” 

Dating Jin most days was like a dream. He was handsome, funny, and loving. He wanted nothing more than to make you happy and you wanted to do the same for him. In a lot of ways he surprised you. A healthy and loving relationship wasn’t an easy find these days. That being said you knew Jin had his problems, you did too. No one was perfect. You two had a long discussion about what exactly to do when Jin had one of his episodes and that’s when he showed you his mask. If he was going to be with you he wanted to be honest. Finding out about the League was a hard pill to swallow but one you were willing to take. You had your own issues with the way this superhuman society was canted and you could understand why Jin did what he did. But it made you worry for him, not just for his physical safety but his emotional wellbeing too.

Jin had decided that the best way to make you feel better about the situation would be to introduce you to the league. They had really become his family and so had you. He figured if you could see firsthand what kind of support he had it’d put you at ease. So that’s how you ended up hanging out in an abandoned bar with some of Japan’s most wanted criminals. It was a little uncomfortable at first but the setting was familiar to you. Your attitude quickly put everyone at ease, and seeing Jin so happy definitely helped. 

Toga was probably the quickest to take to you. She was a romantic after all and she really felt that you and Jin were a perfect match. And you were so cute too! A little fact that didn’t escape Dabi’s attention. He made sure to give Jin a good clap on the back for that though he otherwise seemed uninterested in you. The others regarded you politely but with apprehension. Jin could be a little too trusting for a villain sometimes. Though no one would deny that you were a very cute couple, other than a disgruntled Shigaraki who’d only really agreed to this so Toga would stop asking. 

 After the first meeting Jin’s life fell into a kind of weird harmony. He moved out of his shitty motel and into your small apartment. He liked not hiding anything from you and feeling completely accepted for who he was. He knew his life would never be normal or peaceful but this was fulfilling, and that’s all a guy like him could ever ask for.  

[libsterslobsters]

Sick Again

Summary: It's the worst time of month for the reader, and on top of the difficulty of dealing with her period, she's having an awful, no good, very bad day all around. Lucky for her, Bucky just wants to help.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem! enhanced! Reader

(Reader can see shards of the future and understand every language)

Warnings: mild angst, mentions of blood and menstruation, language, fluff

Author's note: This is the softest shit I've ever written for this site! In real life, I'm lucky enough to have someone who goes out of their way to make my day better when I'm dealing with my period, so I thought the reader deserved that too. As always, I've left the reader unnamed so this can be read as a self-insert, but I've written so much about this character that, in my head, her name is Violet.

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 She knows it’s going to be a rough one from the moment she wakes up. She’s slept through her alarm somehow (either that, or she forgot to set it), and she’s not entirely sure if her phone dinging with  a good morning text that’s brought her out of unconsciousness, or the dull ache in her lower stomach. Cramps. Great. As she stands, she realizes that it’s already started, the bed has a noticable red splotch and her thighs are wet. Her period has arrived. Hey, at least she’s not pregnant. That would be some relief if she were actually having sex.

 While waiting for the shower to heat up (after stripping the bed of course; she’ll have to do something about those sheets to make sure they don’t stain), she reads over her text. “Good morning, sweetheart.” That’s a new one. He must be exploring different pet names. So far, she feels awkward using anything other than his given name. Still, she smiles and types back a “Good morning. How are you always so damn chipper?” before stepping into the shower.

 There’s not a lot of options for breakfast, and every single one of them turns her stomach as she imagines consuming them. With a sigh, she shoves some spare change in her pocket and vows to buy herself a cup of coffee on the way to the college. It’ll give her the jitters, but she’s so tired this morning that it’s a risk she’s willing to take.

 Unfortunately, by the time she arrives at work, her head is pounding and the cramps have gone from unpleasant to downright painful. Her plan for this morning’s class was to read the children’s classic, “Green Eggs and Ham”, have a discussion about rhyming words, and then have her students work on simple poems of their own, but she’s feeling so bad that she decides to make it a movie day and have them translate a scene of their choosing from a Romanian cartoon into English.

 Usually she enjoys her work. The students always ask great questions, and the thing she likes most about teaching adults is they’re here because they want to learn. Today, however? It feels like every minute lasts five times as long as it should, and by lunch time, she’s wilting. When her phone rings, she almost sends it to voicemail, but then he’d worry about her, and besides, the highlight of her whole shitty day so far has been that good morning text.

 “Hey, Bucky.” As she says it, a wave of nausea hits her, and she has to take a deep breath before continuing. “What’s new on the other side of the city?”

 She really should be paying attention, but she feels bad enough that most of what he says goes in one ear and out the other. She’s so muddled in fact that she doesn’t realize he’s asked her something until the line goes silent for a few seconds too long.

 “I’m sorry. Say again?”

 “Doll, are you okay? You sound a little…” he hesitates. “...not like yourself.”

 She’s prepared to tell him she’s fine, right as rain, but one thing they both absolutely agree on is honesty between them, since they have to tell so many lies to the outside world on a day-to-day basis.

 “I’m not feeling that well today, but I’ll be okay.”

 “What’s going on? Are you coming down with something, do you think?” Yeah, her period, but if what she’s read about the nineteen forties is anything to judge from, he’s probably not used to hearing about that particular bodily function.

 “No. It happens every so often. I’ll be good as new in a few days.” But right now, she sure as shit wishes she’d remembered to grab a few aspirin.

 “If you say so. Do you want me to swing by after you get home from work and bring you anything?” That would be really, really great, but considering she still has blood-stained sheets soaking in her bathtub…

 “No, that’s alright. Thanks anyway.”

 “Okay, if you’re sure.”

 It’s a mercy she only has two afternoon classes, neither of which are very intense, so by two o’clock, she’s on the bus home. All she wants to do is curl up into a ball on one of the seats in hopes it’ll alleviate some of the pain in her abdomen, but then an older gentleman with a cane boards the bus and there aren’t any other seats available, so she waves him over and gives him her seat. It’s only another ten minutes, after all. Finally, the bus stops a few blocks from her apartment so, slinging her over-filled backpack onto her shoulder, she sets off on the trudge home.

 She’s just set foot into the building when a woman she recognizes as her neighbor from a few doors down comes her way. “The heat is out and the super is off who knows where.” Great. She thought it felt a little chilly in here, and now that she’s paying attention, her breath is forming ice crystals in the air. She thanks her neighbor for the warning and, collecting her mail, heads towards the elevator.

 Because her luck is shitty, she has a vision of pressing the buttons and waiting, only for nothing to happen. Looks like the elevator is out too. The stairs then. No big deal. She only lives on the sixth floor. It could be worse. Of course, on her way up, her backpack strap breaks, so she has to shift to carrying it in her arms. Today is just not her day, and she needs to accept it.

 That truth becomes even more apparent as she reaches her door (at last!) and realizes that her key is nowhere to be found. She must’ve dropped it in the stairwell when her backpack gave out. She’ll have to go searching for it later, but for now, she digs around in her purse and, producing the right implements, proceeds to pick her own lock and let herself inside.

 It shouldn’t be possible, but her apartment is actually colder than the hallway was. Feeling utterly defeated, she drops her backpack onto the couch with a thump and, not bothering to peel off her coat, climbs into bed. Maybe she can get a power nap and it’ll give her enough energy to get through the papers she needs to grade before tomorrow.

___________________________________________________________________________________

 The first sign of trouble appears when he texts her ten minutes after the usual time she arrives home, and there’s no reply. From what he’s read, lots of people take a while to return texts or phone calls, but not her. No, she’s always prompt. Thirty seconds or less. Then, he tries to call, ask her if she’s  feeling any better and if she’s sure she doesn’t want him to bring her anything. After eight rings, he gets her voicemail. He’s not great at leaving messages, so he just goes with the basics. Hey, it’s Bucky. Just checking on you. Call me back when you’re up to it. Another hour passes, and nothing.

 He can’t just sit around his apartment worrying, so he decides to do what he was planning on earlier when he sent the first text: ignore that she’s told him she doesn’t need anything and go to pick up some supplies, then drop them by her front door. No need to go inside if she’d rather not have company. They don’t even have to see each other. He wonders briefly as he’s going through the grocery store, adding cans of soup to his cart, if this is crossing a boundary. Should he just leave her be, since she said she didn’t need anything? Is this pushing too far? He doesn’t know, but he can’t stop imagining her all alone with no one to take care of her. Sure, she can look after herself, but she doesn’t have to. No, a few cans of soup and some tea won’t go amiss. That’s all he’ll do unless she asks for his help.

 The bus ride is a little awkward, considering the two huge paper bags he’s carrying with him, but that’s the least of his worries as he sends her another text that he’s dropping a few things by her door, but not to worry about making conversation if she’s not up to it, he won’t come in. No reply, again. A huge part of him wants to get off at the next stop and just run the rest of the way (it’d probably be faster), but that seems like a good way to attract attention, so he forces himself to stay in his seat, waiting for the right street.

 The lobby is freezing when he steps inside. There’s a thermometer hanging by the elevator. It’s in celcius, but he rapidly translate the temperature. Roughly thirty-eight degrees fahrenheit. In other words, cold as fuck. As he’s waiting for the elevator to return to the ground floor, a man passes by him and mutters, “You’re going to be waiting a long time, son. It’s out of order.” Of course it is. This isn’t the worst apartment building in the city, but it’s not too far off. The stairs, then.

 He’s halfway up the six flights to her floor when he sees something on the ground, something he immediately recognizes because of the butterfly key chain attached. Her keys. Now he’s not just worried; he’s outright scared. Grabbing up the keys, he hurriedly climbs the last three flights  and, no longer concerned about looking suspicious, knocks hard on her door. Nothing. Fuck. What should he do? The obvious answer is to use the damn keys (he has a spare set, but he’s never let himself in without her express permission before) and go inside. So, that’s what he does, hoping against hope that there’s a logical explanation for all this. One besides something being very, very wrong.

 It feels like someone left the air conditioning on full blast inside the apartment. At first he thinks a window must be open, but as he walks from kitchen to living room (all four paces of it), he sees nothing out of the ordinary. Well, except her backpack. The strap has given out, and it’s been thrown haphazardly on the couch. So at least she made it home.

 He calls her name quietly, then a little louder before making his way towards her bedroom, not wanting to startle her. The bathroom door is ajar, and without meaning to, he glances inside. Immediately, he freezes. There’s a set of bed sheets in the tub, and… is that blood? Shit! How could he be this stupid? He should’ve rushed over the second he realized she’d taken too long to return a text. Now who knows what’s happened?

 The bedroom door is closed, so he can’t see inside. A cold sweat has broken out on the back of his neck as, slowly, he turns the doorknob. He’s got one hand on his pocket with the knife concealed inside as he eases the door open, but there’s no need. She’s all alone in there, curled into a ball on her stripped bed, still in her coat and hat. Thanks to his better than average sight, even from a distance, he can tell that she’s breathing, body shifting slightly with each inhale and exhale, and in return, he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

 He approaches the bed as quietly as he can so as not to disturb her. She’s really out then, if she hasn’t woken up from the mattress dipping as he sits down next to her. He doesn’t touch her, just holds the palm of his good hand a few millimeters away from her forehead. No fever from what he can tell. He feels a little foolish now, because it appears that she’s perfectly fine. More than likely was asleep and didn’t hear the text alert. Still, for his own peace of mind, he needs to hear as much from her.

 “Doll, can you wake up for me?” As he says it, he pushes back a few stray hairs that have stuck to her forehead in sleep. Her eyelids flutter once, twice, before opening all the way.

 “Bucky? What-” She starts to sit up, then groans.

 “What’s wrong?”

 “Nothing.” She shakes her head, a pained smile in place. “At least, nothing major.” He’s not sure he buys that, but before he can give it anymore consideration- “What are you doing here?”

 There’s no good way to put it, so he goes with the truth.

 “When you didn’t answer your phone, I got worried. I was gonna come by and drop some things off at the door, but when I found your keys in the stairwell-”

 “Oh.” She chuckles softly. “So that’s where they went. I had to pick the lock on my own front door. Must’ve dropped them when the strap broke on my backpack.” That answers that. Not a fight. Not her running to get away and, in her haste, losing her keys. Just an ordinary mishap.

 “Sorry.” Without thinking, he scratches at his neck. “Guess I got a little carried away.”

 “No, don’t be sorry.” She shakes her head and, offering him a small smile, takes his hand. “It’s sweet of you to worry. Although I didn’t mean for you to.” Worrying about her seems to be a permanent part of his life, and frankly, it’s one he wouldn’t get rid of even if he could. That reminds him…

 “Why were there blood-soaked sheets in your tub?” Her cheeks heat up, and he immediately hates himself. “Sorry. The door was open and I saw-”

 “It’s okay.” She looks down, studying her lap. “This is embarrassing to talk about, but I started my period last night in my sleep.” Oh. “That’s why I wasn’t feeling so hot today, and before I went to work, I put the sheets in the tub to soak.” That makes sense. If he felt stupid before, now he feels like an absolute moron.

 “Don’t be embarrassed.” It wasn’t exactly something that was commonly talked about when he was growing up, but he’s an adult. He knows how this works. “I shouldn’t have pried.”

 “We’re together now, right?” Frowning in confusion, he nods. “Pry away. I’ll tell you to fuck off if you push too far. After all, I think you know my biggest secret.” He chuckles and leans forward, planting a kiss on her forehead.

 “I think that’s mutual.”  Now that he knows she’s okay, it’s time to get to work. “Is it okay if I go ahead and unpack what I brought? Just a few cans of soup and the like?”

 “You didn’t have to-”

 “Sure I did.” He cuts her off. “That’s my job. Take care of my best girl.” The blush is back, but this time, he doesn’t feel bad for provoking it.

 “I can help you put those away-” As she speaks, she sits up and starts to climb out of bed.

 “Or you can stay there and rest. Let me handle it.” She still doesn’t look convinced. “Then maybe we can just sit together and relax, watch a movie while you get a head start on those papers? What do you say?”

 She sighs. “Are you sure? I’m not going to be much company, and this time of month can get kinda graphic.”

 As if that’s even a question. “I’m sure.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

 It hasn’t been an evening for the record books. The most exciting thing that’s happened is that she’s taken a hot shower with him still in her apartment (scandalous! He was a mere two rooms away, so he could’ve seen everything). Still it’s been nice. The canned soup tasted as you would expect canned soup to taste. They made brief small talk about each other’s days before starting up a movie on her laptop (Frozen, because it seems appropriate, given the temperature, plus if she has to deal with ‘Let it Go’ living in her mind rent-free for the rest of her life, then dammit, so does he), and settled in on her bed to watch. The last paper was graded a full hour ago, and currently, she’s resting with her head on his chest, both of them bundled in every blanket she owns.

 The cramps are still bad, but his good arm is slung over her lower stomach, and the warm is helping somewhat. That, and with a few painkillers in her system, she’s feeling much better than earlier in the day. Better, and sleepy.

 She tries to stay awake (she wants to be completely alert for every second that he’s with her), but between the warmth from their bodies pressed together under the covers, the pleasant background noise from the movie, the contentment of a full stomach, and the heaviness of exhaustion, before she realizes it, she’s asleep.

 It’s only when she feels a feather-light touch to her cheek that she opens her eyes and becomes aware that she’s been dosing. His face is mere inches from her, hand caressing her face.

 “Doll, you seem pretty tired. I think we should call it a night and let you get some rest.”

 She knows better, but she’s just sleepy enough that her inhibitions lower, and she murmurs,

 “Stay with me.”

 Behind lowered lashes, she sees his face break into a small smile.

 “Sure, sweetheart. I’ll stay if you want me to.”

 It’s forward. They’ve never spent the night together (or, come to think of it, even been in her bed) before in any sense of the word, but as she drifts off once more, she can’t help but think that this just feels right.