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[hotelmanagementsoftware]

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[hiraethwrote]

A TICKET IN YOUR NAME

pairing : tobio kageyama x f!reader summary : the charity auction you're in charge of is closing in, and there's still a ticket reserved in his name. your executives are on your neck about wanting a clear answer if the pro player will be able to attend - with no regards for the fact that you broke up three months ago cw : pro player!kageyama, break up, post-timeskip, reader wears a dress, angst, bittersweet, heavy yearning, regret, slight profanity, lowkey self indulgent lol, no use of y/n word count : 5.8k

“Kageyama? Hey, it’s me.”

A ray of cold ran down his spine as your all too familiar voice rang in his ear, tearing painfully at his heart from the first syllable. God, how he had missed those melodic vibrations he now only heard in his dreams.

When the unknown number popped up on his phone screen, his first instinct was to let it go straight to voicemail. But for whatever reason, the voice in the back of his mind told him he should pick it up — he definitely didn’t expect to be greeted with the unforgettable tone of your voice, causing his heart to bang against its cage.

And you had called him Kageyama, instantly pulling out the amateur stitching he had applied to the tears in his heart.

It made him feel a little sick, his last name sounding foreign on your tongue. You never did that, because he hadn’t allowed it. When it came to you, he wanted to be close, intimate, especially since distance came so naturally to all of his relationships. And one thing that separated you from the rest, you called him Tobio.

Or you used to.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything-“

“No,” he said a little too quickly. “No, you’re good.”

“I’m just gonna cut to the chase-“ the sentence came to an abrupt halt when he swore he heard you take a sharp breath, as if you had to contain deep emotions that threatened to overtake your sense of calm. “Management keep bugging me about your ticket for the charity auction.”

“Right,” he said it so quietly he wasn’t entirely sure the microphone picked it up.

“I don’t even know if you’re in town then,” lie — a complete and utter fabrication to try and convince him, but also yourself, that you weren’t still hung up on the past — like you didn’t have his schedule for the next seven months logged into your phone, knowing very well he was in fact still available that evening. “But the ticket is still reserved in your name, and I promised my executives I would provide them with a clear answer if you were attending or not.” Again you cut yourself off, a shaky breath traveling the line, something he had learned long ago was a clear indicator that you were fighting back tears. “Told them I’d have an answer by the end of the week.”

Of course he hadn’t forgotten about the auction — you had stressed about it for months even before you broke up, being in charge of putting the whole event together. The red circle in his calendar marking the date kept coming closer and closer, and he had wondered if you would reach out to ask about it — now he had his answer.

“I’m in town,” he muttered simply, closing his eyes as he just waited for your voice to return.

“Look, I don’t want to pressure you into attending or anything. If it’ll make you uncomfortable, I’m sure I’ll figure something out-“

“It won’t make me uncomfortable.” He was a little surprised by how soft his voice came out, but it was true — he would never be uncomfortable around you. “Next Saturday, right?”

“You remembered?”

“Got it circled.”

“Figured.” Silence swallowed the conversation, and it felt so unnatural. It was only with you he was able to engage in a conversation that flowed like a peaceful stream. He had been deprived of that privilege for so long, and his strangling feelings were slowly piling up inside him, weighing heavy on his heart.

He could picture you so clearly, down to the smallest detail. Right now you were probably sat behind your desk in your office, resting your forehead in the palm of your hand. And if he was still able to interpret your behaviour correctly, simply based on your tone, he suspected there were salty pools welling up in your eyes, threatening to spill over any second.

At this hour, you were probably left alone in the company building, everyone else having gone home already. And he pictured you were longing to go home too, so you could change out of the boring corporate attire he knew you hated with a fiery passion. The second you were to set foot inside your apartment, you would walk straight for your closet to put on your favourite slacks — maybe, if you hadn’t thrown them out already, you would wear his old hoodie as well. “They feel like home,” you always used to say before melting into the piece of clothing that was too big for you.

It was most likely a naive fantasy, but Tobio liked to toy with the image nonetheless.

You stole his attention from his spiralling when you sighed, shifting the entire tension of the conversation into something more serious, deprived from emotion. “Black tie event. Prepare for press, the company won’t be shy about any notable names. Pro player Kageyama Tobio is one of those names. Just let me know where you’re staying, and we’ll send a car to take you to the location.”

The business voice had taken the phone call hostage, barely recognising the voice on the other end of the line. The only time you used it for not work related occasions was when you were mad at him...

“Great, thank you.”

A beat of silence. “Again, sorry to bother you. I know it’s late.”

“It’s fine. You couldn’t… bother me.”

It felt awkward now. The ice was broken, the no-contact had failed, and now neither of you wanted to let go despite not being able to find any words to feed the conversation.

For a split second Tobio was overcome with courage, having to clear his throat before he opened his mouth, “hey, how are you-“

“I’ll see you next Saturday.” His attempt was shut down instantly, rushing to hang up after blurting out your goodbyes.

Your phone hit the desk with an obnoxious rattle before your hands came flying to cover your face, aggressive sobs tumbling past your lips.

Even though you missed him, his voice, the comfort he provided, you just did not have the strength it required to indulge in casual conversation with him. It hurt too much.

Time heals all wounds — what a load of bullshit, because here you sat, three months after the most earth shattering heartbreak you had ever experienced and it still served as an aching gash in your life.

Since that horrid night, you had delved head first into work to distract yourself as best as you could. It had been a privilege to be able to fill your time so you could ignore dealing with the issue at hand — a privilege you had taken for granted as your sobs filled the vacant space of your lonely office.

In less than two weeks, you would be forced to look him in the eyes again. You had to paint your face with a smile, smother your sorrows for the sake of the company as he was expected to stay at your side for the evening.

You weren’t sure you’d be able to pull this one ashore after all.

As promised, a fancy black car had pulled up exactly at the time you had texted him.

The entire car ride was spent in a one sided conversation, where the driver tried to initiate polite small talk only to be met with quiet sounds that barely confirmed Tobio was even listening.

He was too busy trying to plant his feet back on the ground, nerves traveling his body from head to toe. Every ten seconds he tilted his head to check his phone just in case you had sent him any further information about tonight that he needed to be aware of. He was left disappointed every time when there never appeared a notification with your name attached.

Sooner rather than later, flashing lights surrounded the car and he knew they had reached the destination.

This was a part of the job he had never gotten used to, and some part of him would probably always struggle with the attention that came with his career path.

Reluctantly stepping out of the car, he braced himself for the overwhelming noice of the press shouting to grab is attention.

It was only so much his PR training sufficed. He would wave awkwardly, try to smile and present himself as nicely as possible so his managers wouldn’t be on his neck about the bad impression he’d given off — but no amount of training was able to calm his nerves.

Only you did that.

Whenever he had to make public appearances, you were the one to help his feet back on the ground and remind him it wasn’t scary. You would lace your fingers with his, gently press your body against his side with such grace. And you would look at him, your eyes whispering quiet affirmations; you’re doing great, okay? I’m with you every step of the way.

Deprived of your safety, he was overthinking every move he did. Was it obvious how fake the small tilt of his lips were? Who was he kidding, they probably didn’t even see what was his attempt at a smile. Was the outfit okay? Had he picked out the wrong outfit, showing up underdressed to your special night? No, he had purposely chosen a safe option, one he knew you liked. Was his steps towards the entrance too slow? No wait, shit- now he was walking too fast.

He couldn’t be too sure he had been able to pull off the image his managers wanted, but he had at least gotten himself through the doors of the venue.

He had no time to react before he was approached by a neatly dressed individual with a clipboard in her hands. “Mr. Kageyama? Follow me.”

Croaking a quiet ‘okay’, Tobio didn’t know what else to do than do as she said, eventually ending up in a secluded, yet spacious hallway. There were only a few people scattered about, all seemingly rather busy.

Then his eyes landed on a familiar frame that he would recognise any time and any place, forever burned into his memory. Your bare back facing him, phone to your ear as frustration pulled your shoulders high.

Everything else seemed to disappear when he heard your voice, “no, no, it’s supposed to be four-“ you spun around, and the sentence died instantly once your eyes automatically locked with his.

He fell for the temptation, trying to be as subtle as possible as he let his eyes travel you up and down. You were breathtaking, all dolled up in a floor length, satin gown in deep maroon. There was a shy slit in your skirt, and your exposed arms were decorated with the prettiest jewlery.

But what had his breath catch in his throat was the familiar pendant resting right on the centre of your chest — the dainty necklace he recognised as his gift for you for your first anniversary.

“Mr. Kageyama, as requested,” the stranger said before hurrying away to attend other tasks.

“Just… I trust you’ll be able you fix it,” you spoke softly into the phone before hanging up, never breaking eye contact.

He swallowed the lump in his throat that had formed the moment he had seen you again, “hey.”

“Hi,” you said weakly, your nerves driving you to pull at your own fingers. The action captured his eyes which instantly had you hide your hands behind your back. You knew all too well what was running through his mind at the moment, having a nearly primal desire to interrupt it.

One could cut the tension with a knife, thick and suffocating, with so many lingering feelings resting in the prolonged eye contact.

You reached within yourself, closing your eyes for a second to force away your uneasiness. Once they opened, and met his again, all evidence of previous sentiments were gone and replaced with business. Your shoulders lowered slightly, arms moving in front of you again and your entire stance straightening with a newfound sense of confidence.

“Great! You picked a good outfit,” was the nicest compliment you were able to pay him without completely succumbing to the sadness that was walking a fine line, ready to overtake you at any second. “It’s perfect for the evening.”

He tilted his head forward bashfully to hide the small smirk of amusement that formed at his lips because he knew you were being modest in your observations. It wasn’t unintentional that he’d put on the all black, three piece suit you had helped him purchase when he was first signed.

It seemed like a lifetime ago now, but he remembered how you had gladly joined him when he was in such a desperate need for a formal wear he could pull out on special occasions. He would never forget how your lips had parted and eyes widened when he came out in that suit, unable to peer your eyes off of him. He’d watched as you had actively swallowed the lump in your throat before nodding in approval, rather enthusiastically.

“Glad to hear it,” he sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “You look great, by the way. But that’s no surprise.”

For a split second your front wavered with a weak smile. You wouldn’t allow the fragility to settle — you could not afford that tonight, of all nights.

You spun on your heel, walking down the hall in the opposite direction. Tobio didn’t hesitate to follow.

“They’re opening the doors for the other guests very soon, and in roughly twenty minutes I have to go up on stage to welcome everyone. The auction will start shortly after that.” You stopped abruptly outside a huge door, nearly causing him to crash into you. Resting your hand on the handle, he watched how it clenched around the metal. “I’ll find you after. You’re technically still my da-… my plus one.”

Without sparing him another look, you simply opened the door and entered the ballroom, leaving the word ‘date’ hang unfinished in the air.

How had the two of you gotten to this point?

His future used to be so clear — he saw his entire life headed in a direction he had never dared to dream of, based on the fear of its unlikelihood. You brought safety and comfort to his life, which had grown somewhat turbulent after garnering some fame within the world of athletes — no matter how things turned out, it would be okay, because he still had you.

But now he had to control how he didn’t let his gaze linger for too long, because it could be crossing a boundary that previously didn’t exist. He had to hold his tongue so he didn’t bombard you with all the affection he still had for you, because that wasn’t his job anymore.

Slowly but surely, the ballroom started to fill up with an assortment of characters, all ready to spend their money on the extravagant auction. Tobio found himself standing awkwardly in the same spot you left him, along the outskirts of the growing crowd, feeling beyond uncomfortable.

And though he knew he should mingle, all he was able to do was let his eyes follow you when you eventually made your way onto the stage. The music came to a slow stop, the crowd calmed down and everyone’s eyes were on you.

To everyone else, you probably seemed in control of yourself, confident even — but Tobio was still able to read you like a book, rarely having seen you as nervous as right now. Your smile was bright, but very clearly forced as your eyes roamed the audience frantically.

Suddenly you looked at him, meeting his eyes that were always so soft — a feature that somehow always caught you a little by surprise. He was often so stoic, his eyebrows always just slightly tilted in a frown. But his eyes betrayed his cold exterior, conveying a tenderness you had never really seen in anyone else.

With the familiar safety of his gaze, your breathing evened out and shoulders relaxed, which he noticed. He flashed you a small smile before giving you a reassuring nod, telling you there was nothing to be scared of — because after everything, he would still catch you if you were to fall.

Exhaling deeply, you started the welcome speech, your smile now genuine. He followed every single word that fell from your lips with immense professionalism, and every once in a while when your eyes found him in order to ground yourself, his heart would skip a beat.

“Once again, thank you all for attending and I hope you all enjoy the evening.” The crowd erupted into polite applause while you walked down from the stage gracefully.

“You did great,” Tobio breathed as you had joined him again.

“Thank god,” you sighed. “That speech has kept me awake all week.”

“No, it was good. Very professional.” You turned to look at him, a beautiful smile painting your lips as old habits steered your hand for his face.

When you realised what you were about to do, your face fell, hand freezing inches before making contact with his cheek. In all the stress of being up on that stage with everyone’s eyes glued on you, you had forgotten the nerves caused by your ex boyfriend.

It had just come so naturally to you, to caress his cheek. It was a gesture you always did whenever he would come with one of his simple compliments.

“Sorry,” you whispered, quickly retracting your hand.

“No, no, it’s okay,” he stuttered sadly. Tobio had held his breath from the moment he’d noticed your hand raise from your side.

He had frozen still once he realised what was about to happen in hopes that if he didn’t move, you would continue in your trance and he’d eventually feel your flesh pressed against his face. He’d been deprived of the sensation for so long, and he was left disappointed when the feeling never arrived.

Was this how the evening was going to play out? Standing beside each other for hours in an awkward and unnatural silence, both too scared to do anything in fear of offending the other?

Tobio wanted to say something, but small talk had never been his strong suit — that was always your area of expertise, fill the void with chatter so no one was left feeling uncomfortable.

“You planning to bid on anything?” It was as if you had been able to read his mind, saving him from his ever spiralling mind.

“No, not really,” he said simply. “You?”

He turned to look at you, feeling a sense of relief as you let out a small snicker, observing how the auction was about to start.

“I may be in charge of this entire thing, but that doesn’t mean I have the money to get any of the things they’ve put up,” you sighed. “That trip to the Maldives looking really good right now, though.”

For a split second, Tobio heavily considered putting all his money on that trip for you. He imagined being able to walk beside you along the crystal blue shores of the Maldives, peace and relaxation washing over you to the point where you would finally have the time to take proper breaths.

But it was but a mere dream, only a reality in the depths of his mind where he was allowed to fantasise that you were still his.

For the next three hours, you stood side by side as you witnessed all the luxuries items being auctioned off one by one. Every once in a while you would shoot a casual comment in hopes it would lighten the looming cloud that hung over you — it remained persistent.

It didn’t go unnoticed, how the tension in your shoulders never completely evaporated. Even when your bosses came to shower you with praise for all the hard work you’d done, or when you were updated on the insane sum of money that would be donated, your shoulders remained permanently raised half an inch.

He could only suspect it was his presence that caused the strain. Maybe it had been a bad idea of him to attend.

In hindsight he could see how it was nothing short of selfish — because what other reason for attending would he have than only wanting to see you again? He didn’t serve any more purpose than decoration. His name wasn’t even among the most noticeable, so it wasn’t like he brought any more traction to the event than it already had.

Maybe it would be best if he just bolted, let you be able to enjoy what could be considered your evening. You should be proud, celebrate the success of your hard work.

As the auction had slowly evolved into a party, several pairs had decided to move along to the beautiful rhythm that filled the ballroom. Tobio would shoot shy glances towards you, spotting how you were staring longingly at the dance floor.

“You want to dance?”

“What?”

Shit — he hadn’t meant to blurt it out. He genuinely thought the question simply floated in his mind to entertain his fantasy. Seemed like his subconscious had more power than he thought when the words slipped past his lips.

And now you were stood ogling him in shock, arms wrapped around yourself as you were visibly trying to comprehend his question.

He cleared his throat, trying to find the confidence he used to have with you once upon a time. “Would you like to dance?” He asked again, voice steadier than he would have anticipated.

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you considered his request. “Okay,” you whispered, his heart skipping a beat.

This was not the time to let his confidence waver, offering his elbow like a gentleman, holding his breath as he waited for you to hook your arm with his.

Stood in the middle of the dance floor facing each other, you tried to calm your rapid breathing as you waited for him to take the lead.

With slight hesitation you placed your right hand on his shoulder. And it seemed like he picked up on the reluctance in your movements, because his right hand grabbed a hold of yours to have it stretched out — reminding you how big they were compared to yours.

But when you felt his left hand make contact with your bare back, you couldn’t help but draw a sharp breath, igniting memories you had so sorely tried to forget.

In the dead of night, when it seemed like the two of you were the only people left in the world, he would place his lips tenderly along your back, pulling soft giggles from you as his breath tickled you when it brushed against your skin.

And now his warm hand was resting within the ghost of those kisses, reminding you not only of the private and intimate moments shared together, but also just how gentle he was with you.

To say Tobio was a little rough around the edges was an understatement. He could definitely be crass, tone bordering on cruel when talking to someone, despite having no ill intentions whatsoever. His face was nearly permanently stamped with a frown, seemingly always in a bad mood to the untrained eye.

The Tobio people saw on court was also ruthless. Always giving it his all, whether if it was his calculated sets or his powerful serves — he never showed his opponents mercy.

But the second a match was over, and he was reunited with you, all edge seemed to disappear. Same strong hands that had recently performed fiercely on the court, would now cup your face with utmost care while you shied away from prying eyes.

Same tender touch was pressed lovingly against your back in this very moment — and it felt so safe. The security he always supplied in his embrace came to show so easily. Taking care of you was second nature to him, even now after everything.

“Never known you to be a dancer,” you said carefully as he started to take the lead, moving surprisingly graciously along to the music.

“I’m full of surprises,” he dared to joke with the faintest smirk.

“Never known you to be a guy of surprises either,” you quipped, having his smirk stretch a little wider.

He turned to scan the other couples, leaving you to just admire him.

He really was beautiful, and he didn’t even seem to be the slightest bit aware of the fact. When going about his day, he never brought attention to himself so it was easy to forget — until it struck you like lightning from clear skies, suddenly and all at once.

“You’ve outdone yourself tonight,” he breathed, shifting his attention back to your face. It caught you off guard, your cheeks heating up with embarrassment, scared he caught you in your admiration.

“You really think so?”

“Definitely. I’m really impressed.” Again you had his heart skip a beat, when for the first time this evening, you flashed him a wide and genuine grin.

“Thank you.”

“Then again-“ he began, a little scared to continue when you raised your eyebrows in curiosity. “You’ve always been impressive.”

Finally your stress released. Your shoulders lowered and you relaxed in his arms, a softness in your features he had been waiting to reunite with.

This was Tobio — the person you had shared countless conversations about all and nothing with, who knew you inside out. There wasn’t any reason for it to be uncomfortable. Why not make the best out of the situation?

“Volleyball’s going great, I hear,” you breathed, a newfound, though a little unsteady, contentment in your voice.

He nodded slowly, “yeah, you could say that,” a shameless smile of pride curling his lips upwards.

“Bet you can see the end of the road to being the best, now?”

“Staring to spot it,” he mused, acting a lot more humble than you were used to.

“Only Oikawa ahead of you now. Heard he’s still considered to be a remarkable setter-“

“Oh, shut up,” he said with a roll of the eyes, your words trailing into soft giggles.

“You know I’m just kidding. I’ve known you to be the best all along,” you said softly, slowly melting into his embrace more and more by the second.

And by the way he was looking at you right now, with a sense of safety that would always make you feel some sort of belonging, no matter what, you’d never be entirely lost when with Tobio.

It seemed like he felt it too. So many shared moments was coming back to him when being allowed to gaze into your eyes again, especially after all this time — he was scared he might end up spiralling if he let himself sink too deep in the familiar comfort of you.

You couldn’t help but flinch when he broke the eye contact, clearing his throat when he once again observed the surrounding crowd. “Do you think…”

“Do I think what?”

“Do you think they’ll write about this?” He scoffed, nodding in the direction of the not so subtle press who had very clearly been snapping pictures of you.

You shrugged. “I’m not worried,” you breathed, “we were never really public enough to be prolific, were we?”

The soft sound of your nervous chuckle drew his attention right back to you. He shouldn’t be too surprised that something as simple as the sound of your laugh and the twinkle in your eye could threaten to have him fall back in again — he knew he was weak. He felt it every day, with every beat of his heart, how it pulled at him to return to you.

You were dangerous that way, both to him and yourself. Your eyes would always betray you when they were staring at him, your devotion clear as day. It was always simmering just below the surface no matter how far apart you were.

“Besides, I mean, I am really just some nobody working behind the scenes in some big company. I’m no one really cares about-“

A frustrate groan shot past his teeth, spotting how his eyebrows narrowed in the angle he so often sported. “You’ve never been a nobody.” He drew a breath, a distinctly sharp one, his lips drawing in a thin line as he churned what words to say next. “You’re more than a nobody. You’re more than a somebody. You matter. You’re the only one who matters.” His voice was stern, but surprisingly calm — which only made it worse.

You couldn’t wrap your head around how he managed to serve such insanely deep and powerful declaration as it was nothing. It was like he had no idea what kind of weight his words carried, no regard for what impact it might have on you.

And there was a very simple explanation to that — because to him it was nothing. It was just the truth, which always came easy to him.

He noticed the inner corners of your eyebrows tighten, painting your face with sorrow as the corner of your lips drooped south.

“There were reasons, right? Reasons we broke up?” He asked carefully. As his volume lowered, he tilted his head forward, bringing him so painfully close.

Your sad eyes flittered between his, his crystal pools of blue that always enforced the intensity of his messages, and you began to think.

When you could feel his love still pulsating off of him, and his slightly calloused thumb sending sparks throughout your body as it subconsciously moved back and forth in soft swipes along your spine, it was hard to remember any one reason for why things ended at all.

“Yeah,” you sighed solemnly, nodding slowly, “yeah, I’m sure there was.”

The deep breath he took brushed against your face, and you had to swallow the little sob that harboured deep in your throat. “Do you miss it?”

You instantly knew what he really asked — did you miss him — the real meaning wasn’t hard to deduce, Tobio had always been horrible at hiding his real intentions.

“Sure, some days more than others,” your voice cracked slightly. It was only for a faint second, but it flashed across his face how it wasn’t necessarily the answer he wanted, a hint of anger threatening to scrunch his face. But it evaporated as quickly as it had appeared. “It’s not easy, if that’s what you’re really asking.”

“You see right through me, huh?” It sounded as he was attempting to pull the mood up, but when there was no rise in his tone nor an optimistic twitch in his expression, he failed miserably.

“Well, still know you better than I know myself.”

Silence fell between you, still letting the safety of his arms guide you along to the symphonies that filled the ballroom. You were so close to falling in, completely surrender to the serenity you knew would come over you if you just gave in.

“You know, if there was something I did, I am really sor-“

“Can we pretend?” You cut him off. “Just for tonight, can we just forget everything and pretend?”

His lips parted in surprise. Your antsy nerves creeped back into your body when he slowly pulled back, certain he would turn the request down.

And he knew he should. In a matter of seconds, the healing you’d both gone through up until this point would be undone. But he wasn’t strong enough, especially after having been at war with that antagonising devil on his shoulder all night. With your request egging it on, he was going to let it win.

“Okay,” he whispered, straightening his posture.

With the blink of an eye, you had turned it all off. A smile adorned your lips before simply inching closer to rest your cheek against his chest, reunited with the sound of his heartbeat that you were so used to falling asleep too.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you felt him rest his cheek on the crown of your head, his limbs squeezing you just a little tighter, as if it was somehow going to prevent you from slipping away when the evening came to a close.

You had expected it to pick up its pace, beat like a hummingbird — but it was steady.

Maybe his heart was finally beating steady, after stuttering in his chest for months, lost as it tried to find back to its purpose. And now it had been reunited with it, instantly recognising the euphoria and quickly settling into its supposed rhythm.

Bittersweet — that was how it felt. You were allowing yourself to completely bask in the comfort of Tobio. You hadn’t felt such contentment and rest since the split, and it felt nice to breathe calmly for once.

But he was still your ex, and it would come to an end eventually, again going your separate ways.

Those were sorrows for tomorrow.

You allowed yourself to dance with him, your tears quietly wetting the fabric of his jacket until the evening came to an end.

Looming in the shadow of the auctions success was a sight no one had expected to see.

She’s the cute face behind the whole event, having worked countless hours to pull it all together for it to turn out the way it did, and it’s safe to assume she is probably thrilled with the sum they were able to rake in for the sake of a good cause.

However, you’re probably reading her name and finding it awfully familiar — but you can’t seem to understand why; there’s no reason for you to know the name of some random employee at a big shot company. The name probably rings a bell because she is better known as the ex girlfriend of star player Kageyama Tobio, seemingly home in Japan for a visit. Was the reason for his unexpected return solely to attend the big evening of a special ex-someone?

During their time together, they rarely made headlines as they were notorious for keeping their relationship private. But once the handsome Ali Roma setter became available, people were quick to show their interest.

Though we were not lucky enough to be of attendance at the charity auction, we’ve gotten our hands on exclusive pictures from the night. Not only were they spotted together for the majority of the evening, these photos show they didn’t seem shy when sharing a rather intimate moment on the dance floor.

One can start to speculate if the corporate sweetheart has once again swooned the sought after Kageyama.

Fret not, because we got a rare statement from the woman of the hour, and she says : “I have nothing but respect and adoration for Kageyama, but-“

Tobio shut the magazine, unable to finish the article.

tags : @hiraethwa ﾉ @shouyuus (hope you dont mind i added you love)

an : dedicated to tobio nation <3 lets go with the angst, it is obvi what i love. idk if you guys picked it up, but to me it's sooooo clear where my writers block started to disappear lol comments and reblogs is much appreciated

©hiraethwrote 2024 . all rights reserved. reposting, translating and otherwise plagarisim is prohibited

[thef1diary]

A Spoiled Surprise | M. Verstappen

Summary: Max, your roommate, wanted to decorate the house to celebrate your birthday. Inconveniently, you walked in before he was fully prepared.

— part of the Birthday Bash fics

pairing: max x fem!roommate!reader

wc: 1.5k

main masterlist taglist form

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work

As your birthday approached, the familiar pang of homesickness settled in your heart. Being away from home meant that you couldn't celebrate with your childhood friends or family, and the thought of spending the day alone in your apartment weighed heavily on your mind. But little did you know, your roommate Max had made plans to make your birthday still feel like a proper celebration.

Max had been sneaking around the apartment for days, trying to plan a surprise for you, but it was harder than it seemed.

His determination to make your birthday special fueled his every move as he threw himself into the preparations with gusto. While you were in your room, he rummaged through cabinets and drawers, attempting to gather supplies, but he barely found anything.

Max set to work, his mind buzzing with ideas and possibilities. He meticulously planned every detail, jotting down all the decorations he needed to buy. Nothing was left to chance — this had to be perfect.

He left the apartment a day before your birthday, wanting to buy all the supplies he needed to decorate and to make a homemade cake. With his arms laden with bags filled with streamers, balloons and whatnot, Max made his way back to the apartment. Fortunately, you weren't in the apartment at the time, allowing him to hide the items until he needed to decorate.

When you returned, he was inconspicuously relaxing on the couch, but it still made you raise your eyebrows. "Did you end up going to the store?"

"Yeah, why?" He asked, attempting to be nonchalant.

"You didn't restock anything…” you trailed off, having checked the pantry. "Oh, um, I forgot," he reasoned.

You couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity at his response, but you decided to let it slide for the time being. "It's fine, I'll go tomorrow."

He nodded, a small smile growing on his face because it'll give him a chance to decorate once you're out of the house. However, he does feel bad that he's making you run errands on your birthday.

The next day, Max sat at the kitchen table, his gaze fixed on the calendar displayed on his phone screen. He couldn't help but notice the red circle marking today's date — your birthday. A mixture of excitement churned in his stomach as he could finally decorate.

As he heard your footsteps approaching, Max quickly minimized the calendar app and forced a casual smile. "Hey, are you going out now?," he asked, hoping that you would be out of the house soon.

You nodded, "yeah, just grabbing my keys," you gestured to the car keys sitting on the table.

"Alright, see ya," Max waved playfully, earning a confused expression from you.

Max watched you go, and once he heard the door to the apartment close, and the familiar sound of the key locking the door, he stood up.

He wasted no time in beginning to decorate the apartment. He started with making the cake first, mixing up the batter and putting it in the oven. While it was baking, he hung streamers from the ceiling and started inflating the balloons using the pump.

Despite his best efforts, time seemed to slip through Max's fingers like grains of sand. With each passing minute, the pressure mounted, and he found himself racing against the clock to finish decorating before you returned home.

He taped the 'Happy Birthday' banner to the wall and smiled since it was coming together. The ring from the timer startled him, indicating that the cake was finished baking, reminding him to pick up the pace.

He popped the cake out of the pan onto a cooling rack and let it sit on the counter while he went back to the balloons.

No matter how hard he worked, it seemed as if there were always more decorations to hang, more balloons to inflate, more details to attend to. With each passing moment, the pressure mounted, threatening to overwhelm him.

And then, just when it seemed as if he would finish in time, Max heard the sound of keys jingling in the lock. His heart leaped into his throat as he realized that you were back earlier than expected.

With a sense of dread coursing through him, Max frantically tried to put the finishing touches on the decorations, attempting to pump air into the balloon he was holding, but it was too late.

You walked into the apartment, holding a couple bags full of groceries with a curious expression on your face as you took in the scene before you.

"What's all this?" you asked, your eyes widening in surprise as you surveyed the half-finished decorations.

Max's heart sank as he met your gaze, knowing that he had failed to finish decorating in time. "I, uh, well, I wanted to do something special for your birthday," he admitted, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

You stood in the doorway, a mixture of surprise and confusion flickering across your features as you took in the scene before you. Streamers hung haphazardly from the ceiling, balloons littered the floor, and a plain cake sat on the counter, the aroma of freshly baked vanilla filling the air.

A small smile grew onto your face when you noticed the banner, and your eyes softened as you took in the chaotic scene before you, a warmth spreading through you at the sight of Max's efforts.

"Max, that's incredibly sweet of you," you said, your voice filled with genuine appreciation. "I had no idea you were planning all of this."

Max breathed a sigh of relief at your response, the tension melting away from his shoulders as he realized that you weren't upset with him. "I just wanted to make sure you had a great birthday, you know, being away from home and all," he said, his voice tinged with sincerity.

You quickly placed the bags on the countertop, and stepped forward to inspect the decorations. "Well, you definitely succeeded," you said, reaching out to give Max's arm a reassuring squeeze. "I love it, even if it's not finished."

Max couldn't help but feel a swell of gratitude at your words, a sense of pride swelling within him at the knowledge that he had succeeded in making your birthday special. "Thanks," he replied, his voice tinged with emotion. "I'm glad you like it."

As you both surveyed the scene before you, disaster struck. The balloon Max had been holding slipped from his grasp, and suddenly it was soaring through the air, bouncing off the walls and ceiling like a mischievous spirit.

You both stood there stunned for a moment, watching in disbelief as the balloon's chaotic flight filled the room. And then, without warning, you burst into laughter, the sound filling the room like music to Max's ears.

He couldn't help but join in, his own laughter mingling with yours as he watched the balloon land on the couch, deflated. In that moment, all the tension and uncertainty that had been weighing on him melted away, leaving nothing but a sense of pure joy and exhilaration in its wake.

Once the laughter died down, Max nudged you. "I still have to decorate the cake," he stated, glancing at the cooling cake resting on the countertop.

"Let's do it together," you suggested.

As you and Max worked side by side, carefully icing the cake, the atmosphere in the kitchen was filled with laughter and chatter. "Is this why you 'forgot' the groceries?" You asked, dipping a spoon into the bowl of icing and carefully spreading it over the top of the cake.

Max had a sheepish smile on his face, "I was busy buying the decorations, so I actually forgot about why you sent me to the store in the first place."

You shook your head with a smile, and reached across to grab a napkin, but as you did, your hand accidentally brushed against Max's face, smearing a steak of icing across his cheek.

You gasped once you saw his face, then burst out into laughter again, your stomach already beginning to hurt with how much you laughed.

He instinctively reached up to touch his cheek, but instead of looking upset, a mischievous glint appeared in his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Oh no you didn't," he muttered. Before you could react, Max dipped his finger into the bowl of icing and flicked a dollop of it onto your nose.

"I see how it is," you stated, a playful grin spreading across your face.

With a laugh, the two of you engaged in an impromptu icing fight, smearing frosting on each other's faces and giggling like children. By the time you were finished, both of you had icing all over your clothes, hair, and even on the kitchen floor, but you couldn't remember the last time you had laughed so hard.

As the laughter subsided and you caught your breath, you couldn't help but feel a sense of happiness wash over you. Despite being away from home, living with someone who was once a stranger, you were exactly where you were meant to be.

You held your arms out, stepping closer and embracing Max. He made a disgusted face, "you're all sticky."

You chuckled, "so are you, now shut up and hug me back."

He obliged, wrapping his arms around you too. "Thank you, this means a lot to me," you mumbled against his shirt.

Taglist: @lochnoch @llando4norris @monsieurbacteria6 @namgification @lilymurphy03 @sargeantdumbass @hiireadstuff @racingheartsposts @d3kstar @xjval @namjoonswaifu @isabellewinchester @thedecalcomania-blog @casperlikej @khaylin27 @mlioravanfleet @nikfigueiredo @wonnou @jointhehunt67 @helenemandl6 @charlesleclercsonlywife @dreamingonbed @regalbanshee @landoslutmeout @barcelonaloverf1life @megudaeggu @c-losur3

[helluvapoison]

hey! saw your blog n thought u were like super fuckin cool- so yk can I request a vox x wife!teader and vox accidentally forget their anniversary? it's fine if jot, have a good day/night!!

Vox x Reader

Sitting in Hell’s Kitchen, the finest restaurant of Pride Ring, staring at an empty chair across from you, you decide to find out for yourself just where the fuck your husband is today of all days

• Vox was zipping through cables and wires all over the house to look for you. He checked your favorite spots first but, to his chagrin, you weren’t there

• The money making, signature smile he always wore began slipping on one side when his phone buzzed to life, your icon taking over his screen

• “Darling! I just got home,” Irritation had his voice glitching, “Where are you?”

• “Hm. Late night?” You asked, pettily avoiding the question

• “I-? Yeah, yes,” He sighed, slipping back into work mode for a minute, “Back to back meetings and I had to reshoot yesterday's episode because—“ Minute over, “Wait, that doesn’t matter! What matters is I wanted to come home to my darling partner and you’re nowhere to be found! Where are you!?”

• “Oh me? I went out for a bite to eat. An hour ago. There should be a notification somewhere in your planner, why don’t you check it.”

• Vox huffs and rolls his eyes. He pulls the phone away from his face and quickly swipes through today’s agenda. Anything regarding you is always his top priority—

• x/xx/xxxx: congratulations! today is your anniversary! you have a reservation at 8pm!

• “Fuck.”

• “Mhm.”

• Your phone goes silent. Only half of a second passes before your husband materializes from the wires at the front desk. The panicked expression on his screen is almost enough to satisfy the tornado of emotions inside you. Of course he recognizes there’s people around and there’s an image to project so he gathers himself all too quickly

• His steps over are hurried and clumsy. He presses a kiss to your cheek that buzzes softly on your skin as he sits down, taking your hands into his own in case you decide to leave. Or throw your wine at him. Or both. “Happy Anniversary, darling!”

• Your brow quirks, unimpressed and irate

• “I know it seems like I did, but I didn’t forget. Look I planned this dinner—“

• “That you were late to.”

• “And I have your present right here! Look! I made it months ago just for this.”

• A part of you expects a new phone or watch that hasn’t hit the market yet. Instead Vox pulls out a thin screen from behind his back (Somehow. You’ve learned not to question how he does that) and forces it into your hands

• It scanned your fingerprints the minute you touched it and bloomed to life. For a few seconds it showed you and Vox closer to when you first met, slowly and silently moving as you both laughed. Then it faded and brought a new image of when Vox poured coffee in Val’s lap because he was staring at you. You couldn’t help but snort at that one despite trying very hard not

• “It’s an electronic picture frame,” Vox explained excitedly, “Only this one scans and recognizes your favorite memories. I, uh, already put mine in there for you.” His eyes dart away for a moment, a light blush making his screen glow slightly, “Don’t let anyone else see this.”

• You’re really torn now and he can clearly see it. As a businessman he wants to go in for the final kill, but as your husband he wants to reassure you

• “I didn’t forget, not really. I knew I was missing something all day. I’ll clear my calendar next year— or tomorrow! We can redo the whole day just you and me!”

• You purse your lips together and tilt your head at him with narrowed eyes. Something you did right before you forgave him. “No work at all? No taking calls from Val or Vel? Not even watching yourself on tv?”

• “Let me take care of everything! No one will bother us for an entire 24 hours. Just me and you, my dear. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

• You give him a final skeptical look before your gaze drops to the picture frame with significantly more fondness. You inevitably give in with a sigh, “Fine.”

• Vox is standing up and bringing you with him, his claw on your lower back to guide you out of the restaurant, “Excellent! You won’t regret it baby, I’ll make it our best anniversary yet.”

• To the host at the front his smile doesn’t waver but his voice drops to an octave that leaves no room for arguments, “We’ll be back here tomorrow, same time but we’ll take the table by the window instead. You can put that under Vox. Thanks.”

• “Vox, what are you doing!?“ You whisper loudly in disbelief

• He doesn’t stop, continuing to push you out and onto the sidewalk where a VoxTech limo already awaits. Suddenly his hands are on your shoulders. His eyes meet yours and they’re devoid of the facade he puts on for everyone else

• “When something goes wrong at VoxTech, I have to scrap the plans and start all over to get it right. And I want to do this right for you. I’m going to fix everything, my dear. One hour and I’ll meet you back home with all your favorites.” Despite the tv-ready tone, Vox’s words are coated in sincerity that has you inclined to believe him

• You allow him to help you into the limo, “I don’t need it perfect, y’know. I just need you there.”

• “And I will be! You’ll get both; myself and perfection. Don’t I always say you deserve it all?” Vox kisses the back of your hand before closing the door. He stands there with a smile and waves until you’re out of sight

• He keeps his word, he’s at home with you 45 minutes later. He brings dinner, dessert and wine, all your favorites, and a few extra presents

• The 24 workless hours begin as soon as he walks through the door. He turns off his phone and puts himself on “do not disturb”

• All he needs is you and you’re right here. Happily sitting in his lap while he feeds you cake, your favorite movie in the background. The sound of your laughter or wine glasses clinking together is a far better sound than his ringtone

• (He’ll need a new assistant when he returns to work… and someone to repair that window on the 13th floor. That’s probably why he has 237 notifications from Velvette and Valentino when he turns his phone on after your anniversary do-over)

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ OMG YOU’RE SO SWEET!!!! please enjoy!

[powderpinkandsweeet]

Abby x Reader

Some sfw hurt comfort since I was craving it. Unoriginal but we ball. Abby keeps getting held up at work, missing date nights and coming home at all hours of the night, and you’re getting sick of it.

The waitress had refilled your glass three times now, and the wine stopped burning on the way down by now. Abby was late. Over an hour late, but it felt like so much longer. Each minute going by slower than the last, especially with the repeated visits from your over-attentive waitress. 'Abby oughta learn something about attentiveness from her' you joked to yourself bitterly.

You tap your phone screen to check the time once again. Opening it, you see no notifications from Abby and your long string of worried texts.

5:25PM - Hey! I got us a table :) see you soon <3

5:37PM - Are you on your way yet? I can order you a drink

6:00PM - Everything okay?

6:10PM - Abbyyyy

6:11PM - Abby

6:35PM - Abigail.

6:45PM - Abigail Anderson.

You decided it was the last straw, and prodded her once more.

7:00PM - I'm so done. If you're not here in the next ten minutes I'm going home.

You practically threw your phone at the table, and crossed your arms to wait out the next ten minutes, just you and your fourth glass of wine. Ten minutes later, your glass is empty and you're flagging down the waitress for the check. You pretended not to notice the pitying look she gave you.

7:04 - I'm venmo requesting you for my drinks

You called an uber and steeped in your anger all the way home. Wine-drunk and pissed off, you kicked off your shoes and fell into bed, still dressed up with nowhere to go. Your phone buzzed, and you were on it immediately.

Abby, 7:30PM - Held up at work for a bit, check in just a sec

"Oh you've got to be kidding me," you blurt out loud, "you didn't even read them, did you?" you called to the empty room.

You, 7:31PM - cool, have so much fun

Abby, 7:40PM - ???

Abby, 7:52PM - We were getting drinks tonight?? Where at? I can still meet you there if you give me just a bit.

You: 7:53PM - Dinner, not drinks. Made a reservation 3 weeks ago and sent you the invite. It's on the calendar on the fridge."

You: 7:54PM - And don't bother, I'm already home.

Your message was read instantly, but you couldn't see the three dots so you knew Abby wasn't typing.

'You fucked up. Fucked up real bad this time' Abby thought to herself as she grabbed a bouquet of grocery store flowers and a tub of ice cream from the passenger seat of her car. She took deep breaths as she climbed the steps to your shared home. After the door locked behind her and she'd toed off her shoes, Abby checked her phone for the time, '8:48PM.' "Fuck..." she whispered under her breath. Hours late for your date, and it took her far too long to get out of the office, pick up the flowers and ice cream, bear through Seattle traffic, and make it home to you.

The lights were out and the house was silent as she made her way to your bedroom. She saw you through the partially opened door, flopped face down in the bed, wearing a dress and stockings that were far too formal for bedtime. Maybe it was a little too late for flowers and ice cream. Abby pushed the door open, and it gave her away as the hinges creaked.

You stirred, tiredly lifting your head to turn and glare at Abby. She had to hold in a wince at the two tracks of mascara down your cheeks. You didn't seem excited to see her, rewarding her presence only with a "hmph" and dropping your head back onto the bed. Muffled, she could barely make out your complaint of "bout time you showed up." She held in a chuckle at your stubbornness, knowing it would only get her in more trouble. It didn’t help that you were so cute when you’re angry.

Abby sighed and started to peel her blazer from her broad shoulders, "I know I'm late, I didn't mean to let this happen. You know I hate disappointing you, honey."

You sat up quickly, "oh don't you honey me, Abigail."

"Mhm, so we're using government names now?"

"Yep," you quickly replied.

Abby called out for you with a pleading tone, "Listen, I'm sorry. I got wrapped up at work and-"

"They needed you, yes, I know," you looked her straight in the eyes, "we've been here before, Abby, but it never changes. No matter how many times you say sorry, it's not worth much unless you actually change the action you keep being sorry for."

"Baby, you know I never want to disappoint you."

You sat upright and threw your hands in the air, “then stop doing it! Yeah okay your job needs you, but I need you too. I don't think it's selfish of me to want one night alone with the woman who claims she loves me.”

Abby stepped closer to you and pointed an accusing finger in your direction. “Don’t. Don’t say that, you know I love you more than anything.”

"Then act like it!" you sob, "because sometimes it feels like you love your job more. Because this isn't the first time, Abby, and it obviously won't be the last." You had realized right when you said them that your words were too harsh, and choked on your next breath.

Abby was hurt but overcome with shame at the realization that she’d been hurting you consistently. For you to feel second to her hit her like a ton of bricks. Abby sat beside you on the bed, leaning forward with her head in her hands. After a heavy sigh, she looked up to meet your eyes, "how long did you wait at the restaurant for?"

You chuckled humorlessly, "psh... nearly an hour and a half."

"I see... well you look really pretty if that's worth anything."

"Ha! You should have seen me two hours ago when my mascara wasn't on my chin."

Abby smiled. Even though it was sarcastic, you still kept your humor, and that was a good sign. "Well, I think the mascara tracks bring the whole look together."

You chuckled again, "you really think so?"

She smiled wider, dimples showing on her cheeks. "You look gorgeous, sweetie. Now come on, up up, gotta get you ready for bed." Abby gave your wrist a gentle tug, but you groaned and remained firmly in place. Your many glasses of wine must have caught up to you. Sliding her arms under your limp frame, Abby lifted you from the bed and carried you to the en suite bathroom.

You sat on toilet lid as she ran a hot bubble bath. While the tub filled, Abby grabbed makeup wipes from your drawer and set to cleaning you up. She held your chin gently with one hand and wiped the smeared makeup from your eyes and cheeks. You had relaxed into her touch and let your eyes slip closed while she wiped them, being drawn from your reverie by a kiss on the nose. "There, all clean. Lets get you in the bath now."

After you had submerged your aching muscles in the water, you looked up at Abby expectantly. "Need anything else, princess?"

"I need you to come sit in the bath with me."

Abby couldn't stifle a laugh, making out through chuckles, "baby, I'd hardly fit in there, plus there's too much water in it right now. It'll overflow if I try to get in there with you."

You pouted and looked away at her refusal. After a moment, you pulled the plug from the bottom of the tub to lower the water. Abby smiled, thinking she must have earned back your favor if you were being this stubborn for her company. She couldn't resist when you looked up at her and plead "I just wanna be close to you." Abby's heart thumped in her chest at you admission, so she undressed.

She was right that the bath would overflow, even after you had drained a few inches of water. But it didn't matter when you were snug between Abby's spread legs, back pressed to her front and your head resting against her shoulder. Her fingers scratched at your scalp and played with her hair as she hummed. You melted into her gentle touch, content. All you had wanted was her time, and her presence.

[octuscle]

Every Friday Night

What do you give someone who actually has everything? My friend Daniel is celebrating his 40th birthday next Saturday. We've been inseparable since high school. By his own admission, he's had a good life: he's a fairly successful doctor, most people appreciate his pleasant if somewhat reserved nature, and time has only given him the occasional gray hair, a slight tummy and shallow laugh lines on his gentle face.

Although he has had to make some sacrifices over the years to achieve his professional and social status, he admits that it has all been worth it. Until now, I always believed that too. What reason did I have not to? Until we had perhaps one or two too many glasses of wine yesterday. The wine loosened his tongue. And Daniel said wistfully that he regretted not having a more rebellious youth.

Shit, I've had a bit too much wine myself… I'm afraid I've been up to some shenanigans. At least I have a Chronivac app on my phone and I get text messages that my subscription is activated. And there's a countdown. Shit, I have a bad headache. And no idea what's going on.

Daniel calls me and asks me what the calendar entry is for Friday evening. It says "Gym" in the calendar. Yeah, right. Gym. Friday night. Isn't that what we always do? I'm a bit confused. Daniel too. "Yes, of course!" he says. Gym on Friday. As always. Will I pick him up? For some reason, I tell him to meet me at the bus stop. Sure, says Daniel. We haven't taken the bus since school days.

Friday evening. It feels normal to meet Daniel at the bus stop. We're both still wearing our casual business outfits from the office. And a sports bag with us. When was the last time I went to the gym? Shit, last Friday of course. We go every Friday. At least. Daniel greets me with a fist bump and offers me a cigarette. Neither of us smoke.

When the bus arrives, Daniel goes straight through to the back. He sits down in the last row with his legs apart and starts rolling a fag. I sit down next to him. Damn, he smells of sweat and tobacco. i start playing with my cell phone. since when do i have a tiktok account? A guy gives me tips on taking Trenbolone. Daniel looks at my screen, grabs my cock and says that the stuff makes me a muscle whore and shrinks my balls. i ask him why that's a problem. We laugh. The people around us roll their eyes. The bus arrives at our station. As we walk to the exit, Dan lights his cigarette. Before we're even off the bus, I take it out of his mouth and take a deep drag. Fuck the smoking ban!

I think the gym sucks, but Dan really wanted to train here. The other guys are pumping iron in our neighborhood. It's closer and you can go straight to the pub with the lads afterwards. But Dan is obsessed with the big boys. He really wants to become a freak. And shit, we're bros. I have to go with him. And to be honest, I totally dig his gym acne. I bet he's going to be a freak.

Training was like, totally lit, dude! The big boys have our backs all the way, major props. That's so dope. But Dan, he's such a poser, always flexing with pics and posts. And TikTok, non-stop! But man, he's already got a squad of followers. Now we're heading to the pub to meet up with the boys, but we're stuck on this darn bus for another freakin' half hour. The shower situation is a total bummer anyways. A quick spray of Axe under the pits, a dab of wax in the hair – good to go! Hey, Dan nailed it with the fresh cut, maybe I should chop mine off too.

Saturday morning. I feel a bit like I've been run over by a bus. In general… Buses. Shit, what have I been dreaming about buses? Tonight is Daniel's birthday party. He's celebrating at the Savoy. Cocktails at the bar, dinner at the grill… I still have to get my tuxedo from the cleaners. And I still need a present… Stop, wait… Didn't I already give him a present?

The birthday party was nice. A bit stiff. At around 02:00, we sit at the bar for one last drink. And Daniel asks me if I can remember last night. Funny, I have no idea what I did. Neither does he.

Thursday evening I receive a message via WhatsApp. Unknown number. We are supposed to pick up our stuff tomorrow at 16:00. Same place as usual. I have no idea what it's about. Daniel calls me to say that someone has told him that we still owe him 100 pounds for some stuff and that we should fucking bring it tomorrow. We both have no idea what it's about…

I get another message at midday on Friday. I ask if we can bring the appointment forward to 5pm. It's not my new iPhone. It's an old scratched device with a cracked display. I reply: "I'm sorry, but we're still at the gym until 18:00. Unfortunately, I can't make it any earlier." My fingers are moving as if remote-controlled. And now I have to go. The disco-poser biceps don't pump up by themselves.

Yo, so check it out, Dan's out here thinking he's this mega athlete, but homeboy be puffin' on them cancer sticks like there's no tomorrow, I'm talkin' 'bout 10 to 15 smokes a day? Psshh, child's play! Dan be double dosin' that, like he's tryna set the world record for most Marlboros inhaled in 24 hours or somethin'. And then, to top it off, dude's pullin' shady moves like stealin' cash from his pops just to fund his steroid stash! Man, I'm grindin' my butt off every night at the slaughterhouse just to keep up with them gym beasts, and this dude be relyin' on his daddy's wallet? Nah man, he gotta get a real job! Then, as if things couldn't get any wilder, my boy Liam starts talkin' 'bout Tren, that hardcore juice that supposedly turns you into a freakin' beast. I've heard stories, man, dudes growin' extra body parts and all! But me and Dan, we playin' it safe, stickin' to our old school supps for now. Ain't nobody tryna grow a third nipple just yet, you feel me?

I swear, Dan is like a walking perfume factory of pure musk. If he just lifts his arm, he's got every dude and babe in the gym drooling over him. Meanwhile, I'm just here, living my best life at all times. And now, the tattoo sesh with the artist is a no-go. Total bummer. I was so stoked to get my full-on sleeve inked up tomorrow evening. It's just way cooler to flex those guns in a tank at the club, you know? I love flaunting my hard-earned biceps. Gotta keep grinding, you feel me?

I slept naked tonight. And as rumpled as my bed is, I had wild dreams. I've got a movie tear again. My last memory was of strange messages I received on someone else's cell phone. When I walk into the bathroom, my heart almost stops. I have a bloody tattoo on my forearm! I raise my arm to see if there are any more. Dude! Eileen usually epilates my armpits every two weeks. Where did the bush under my arms come from? And why does it smell like I haven't showered for three weeks? I really need to take a shower. Although I have an urgent urge to go to the gym again straight away. That rarely happens. My inner bastard usually wins out at the weekend. And if I'm motivated, I should take advantage of it. I could ask Daniel if he fancies a game of squash at the club, I think to myself as I soap up. When I get out of the shower, I get a message from Daniel. He asks me if I have any idea where his tattoo came from. And whether I fancy a game of squash at the club.

I have no idea what's happening to us. On the one hand, I feel much fitter than I did a few weeks ago. On the other hand, Daniel and I have both started smoking. And we got tattoos. Obviously in a drunken stupor. At the age of 40! Who does that? I mean, Daniel seems so much more relaxed. At work, in his private life. And that pays off. He's never received so much positive feedback… And it's hardly any different for me. I feel so much more agile. And shit, I think about sex all the time. And mostly sex with Daniel.

On Thursdays I somehow always start to get restless. I used to primarily look forward to the week being over. But now I'm looking forward to the weekend starting. Kind of like it used to be. At school or university. And Saturdays and Sundays aren't much different than they were a month or two ago. And I can't remember the last few Fridays for the life of me. And the funny thing is that Daniel obviously feels the same way. It's almost Friday morning when I get a new message from the same number as last week. "Ive got a hell of a lot of m1y on u. Dont let meh down. And if u W, ill owe u 1". I really have no idea what that means. For some reason I save the number under "Liam".

Normally "casual friday" for me means wearing chinos with a blazer. Sometimes with just a white t-shirt underneath. But usually with a button-down shirt. Today I'm wearing a sweat suit with a hoodie top under a down vest. The neckline of the tank top underneath is so low that you can see the gap between my pecs. I actually didn't think about it. It just felt right. And no one in the office questioned it. On the contrary, I get a lot of compliments. My boss personally praises my tight ass. At 3:00 pm I get a message from Daniel: "Dude, were r u? fite starts @ 20:00. Didnt we want 2 trin beforehand? n da photo shoot is b4 tht 2!" I call him and ask him what that shit means. He can't remember any message he's supposed to have sent me. But the fact is that I have to go now, even if I still have no idea where I'm going or why.

Oh my god, this night is straight up LIT AF! Had a sick sesh at training with my ride-or-die homie. Then my first presser, ya boy's the ultimate underdog for this brawl. Cameras flashing like crazy. And then the showdown. Damn, your boy's killin' it. But KO in round two? No one saw that coming. Except Liam, he had faith. Dan's hating, thinking it's all fake. He's just salty. Bros gonna hate, but we're tight. Now we're popping bottles for the win. Liam's shouting that tonight's on him. We ain't gotta be told twice, let's partyyyy!

I could swear my nose looks like it's been broken in more than one fight. Somehow I remember boxing matches from the past. But when? At university? I was more of a debating and astronomy club kind of guy. Shit, Daniel and I need a new sports club. This stuffy country club is for wimps. Yes, we're 40 years old. But fit as fuck. There may be customers and colleagues who turn up their noses at us because of our tattoos. But hey, we weren't born with a silver spoon in our mouths. We've fought for everything we've achieved. And Dan and I agree that we've been really successful.

Yes, we like our jobs. And we're both good at it. But real life starts on Friday afternoon. Damn, you can bet your life on it!

[evanchantingpeters]

How I met Evan Peters (Fanfic - Part 3)

Pairings ─ Evan Peters x Y/N (fem reader)

Genre ─ Smut/fluff, Romance

Summary ─ Just as Y/N thought she had it all figured out in LA, her world spins out of control when Evan Peters storms in like a tornado. Their electrifying hook-up leaves her reeling, but waking up alone, she fears the worst. Then, a note appears—his number and an invitation to a date teasing her with a chance. What starts as a romantic evening quickly spirals into a frenzy of hide-and-seek and sex.

Warnings ─ Swearing, semi-public, oral (both receiving), doggy, shower sex, overstimulation, fingering, nipple teasing, spanking, vaginal sex, extra smutty—you savvy pros, you know the game inside out ;)

Read Part 1 here and Part 2 here.

Word count ─ 5K

18+ This is ADULT content. I’m not your mummy to supervise your net access. If you’re a minor, do NOT read!

@evanchantingpeters — All rights reserved. Please do not modify, translate, or plagiarise my content.

You stir awake, blinking sleep away and squinting against the sunlight that streams through your curtains. A lazy smile curves your lips as you stretch, reaching out for...empty sheets. Mmhh, you just love the taste of nothing.

Evan’s not here... Emotional damage, even if what you had was an agreed one-off fling.

A soft groan escapes you as you fumble for your phone, the bright screen momentarily blinding you. 9:30. As you bury your nose into his pillowcase, you inhale deeply, catching a generous whiff of his essence’s sweet residue. You sigh deeply as your eyes land on the bedside table. His missing keys solidify the reality that he’s bounced, and you can’t help but frown.

“I feel like his side hoe when I should be the main character,” you think aloud, grumbling, and it’s giving trauma dumping and anxious attachment. What a refreshing concoction of disaster.

But what really puzzles you is the extra blanket draped over your duvet like a surprise guest. You wrack your brain, trying to recall if you snuggled up in it during the night, but it’s as hazy as trying to piece together a fuzzy Freudian dream.

With a resigned sigh, you roll out of bed, already craving his warmth. Mindlessly scrolling through your phone, you distract yourself with social media updates, news snippets, and the day’s weather forecast while you shuffle to the kitchen for your morning caffeine fix. A pang of disappointment hangs around like a lost sock in the dryer, but you refuse to let it dim your day and activate your female rage.

Or so you tell yourself.

Podcast blaring in the background, you tiptoe your way to the bathroom, facing your reflection in the mirror. You impulsively retrace the invisible path of Evan’s touch on you—from lips to chin, jawline, and neck down your cleavage and stomach. Each sensation has left its mark, and you can’t get enough of the sweet echoes. You sniff through your hair and arms in a desperate attempt to capture his scent on you—a tantalising hint of cinnamon and the musk of his natural oils that never fails to make your knees go weak.

You hop into the shower, letting the scalding water wash away your frustrations. Emerging revitalised and ready to conquer the day, you hastily throw on your work clothes and toss your keys and lanyard into your bag.

And that’s when you spot it by the entrance door—the note board. That bold black marker circling today’s 9 pm to 6 am time slot on your shift calendar, an arrow pointing directly to a message, practically winking at you, “Dinner and quality time with Evan. Text this number for more details.” Your heart somersaults with joy as you read the note over and over again, a goofy grin spreading across your face like wildfire.

You press a quick kiss to the note, folding it carefully and tucking it away as if it holds all the secrets of the universe. With a sense of anticipation bubbling in your chest, you dash out the door, already fashionably late.

On the subway, you retrieve the scrap of paper, tracing your fingers over his elegant handwriting with a soft smile. With a sarcastic tonality, you already craft your message, “I thought ghosts just floated around, they don’t ask you out.”

Within seconds, his response lights up your screen. “Morning to you too. Slept well? I’m the upgraded phantom version. Meet your Casper tonight at 9?”

You can’t help but giggle at his wit. Another text pops up, complete with coordinates to the restaurant he’s inviting you. The excitement builds inside you like a shaken soda bottle, and you’re practically fizzing with anticipation to see what the night has in store.

Time seems to trudge along at a sloth’s pace as you grind through your shift at the boutique. You flash your best retail smile as you serve customers on the cash register. Though, your mind is a million miles away, replaying the reel of moments with Evan; those moments when you convinced yourself that your insides were gonna spill out while he was going to town on you.

Half-heartedly, you tidy up the shop floor, picking up stray items and straightening displays. But let’s be real, your fingers move mechanically, and your brain is on autopilot as your thoughts wander back to the anticipation of tonight’s date. The enthusiasm is buzzing through you like a sugar rush, making it damn near impossible to focus on folding clothes or rearranging racks.

Each interaction with a customer is a blur as you absentmindedly tackle the fitting room. They might as well be talking to a mannequin for all you care. Your mind is firmly planted in Evan-land, where every moment is hot and heavy, and you’re too busy mentally undressing him for the umpteenth time.

“Girl, let me in your bubble, would you?” The voice of Trisha, your department’s jokester, slices through your daydreaming like a ninja with a chainsaw.

You blink, momentarily disoriented, before bursting into laughter at her impeccable timing. “Trish!” you exclaim, relishing in her knack to crack you up with her quirky humour. “Sorry, this bubble is strictly reserved for someone today.”

Her giggle rings out like music in the store as she playfully rolls her eyes. “Fine, fine! You do you, boo. Just make sure to save some of that magic for the rest of us in Stylista Gine, deal?”

With a saucy wink, she sashays off to attend to her own tasks, leaving you to shake off your giggles. The minutes tick by, and eventually, your shift mercifully comes to an end. With a sigh of relief and a bounce in your step, you clock out, knowing that soon you’ll be back in Evan’s arms (and on his dick).

You hastily trod along Sunset Boulevard, your sleek dark coat swinging with each step, and your little black dress add an extra sway to your stride. You’re practically power-walking in heels, like you’re in a race against time and your destination is the finish line.

Arriving at the hotel he’s staying at, you adjust the strap of your black stilettos around your ankle, ensuring no wardrobe malfunctions with your stocking will disrupt your night. With your heart thudding, you breeze through the sliding doors and past the reception. 

The tantalising scent of watermelon cocktail teases your senses as you strut in the bar restaurant, scoping out the room with mounting anticipation.

“Hi there, reservation for Peters?” you inquire, shooting a charming smile at the host, your racing emotions briefly receding.

Reciprocating with a polite grin, he quickly checks his tablet before nodding in confirmation. “Got it! Table 8. Right this way, miss,” he affirms, extending his arm in a welcoming gesture. 

Following the host, you can’t help but feel a surge of excitement as you round the corner and spot Evan’s back at the table. He looks effortlessly handsome in his blazer, like he’s just stepped out of a magazine spread, making your stomach churn with blissful nerves.

“Looks like my date’s here, thanks,” you note quietly with a soft smile.

“Awesome! Enjoy,” the host replies cheerfully, heading back to his post.

As you approach Evan, you lean in and give his shoulder a cheeky squeeze—a silent yet affectionate greeting that speaks volume. His gaze lights up with recognition, and he practically jumps from his chair, his grin widening as he’s eyeing you from top to bottom.

“Hey!” he exclaims, his voice laced with enthusiasm. “My eyes needed a bit of a warning for this stunner. Your fit’s so sleek, it looks tailor-made,” he adds shortly after, beaming, as you flow in a warm hug, his arms clinging around you like he never wants to let go.

With a crooked smirk, you blurt out with a touch of sarcasm, “Thanks. I picked it up with you in mind.”

His eyes widen in surprise, his grin expanding by the second. “Seriously?” he squeaks, visually delighted by the notion. 

You giggle, shaking your head. “Nah, but imagine if I did,” you fire back, your hearty laughter dancing in the air like confetti.

Before you know it, an electric tension fills the space between you as you stand mere inches apart, locked in a silent yet smouldering gaze.

“Are we on a ‘try not to kiss’ challenge?” he spills out, his voice an alluring murmur as his minty breath pleasantly prickles your skin.

A sly smile tugs at your lips. “Let’s see who caves and closes the gap first,” you hum as you flicker between his lips and his eyes. He feels the tension coil in his gut but forces it down with a hard gulp. 

Leaning in closer, his breath mingles with yours as he whispers, “You gotta give your best shot not to kiss me, then,” his tone carrying a seductive undertone that sends a delicious thrill rushing through you.

“You wish. No chance I’m smudging my tinted lip balm,” you retort and playfully pinch his nose, punctuating your mocking banter with a wink.

With a graceful flip of your hair and a coy smile, you ease into your chair, feeling the heat of his gaze on you, all self-assured about the sensual spell you’ve cast over him. 

He’s practically eye-fucking you right now, and you’re loving it.

“If that’s your idea of payback for sneaking out this morning, Y/N, I’ve been running errands and exploring new job prospects for next year,” he explains earnestly, handing you a straw for your cocktail and cutlery for your appetisers.

“And I may or may not have picked up a little something for you,” he announces next, pulling out a wrapped box from his blazer pocket, mischief sparkling in his eyes.

Your playful vibe evaporates, replaced by a whirlwind of shock and emotion. “Shut the…front door, no way,” you utter sheepishly as you cautiously reach for the unexpected gift.

With a throaty chuckle at your reaction, he jerks his eyebrows upwards, silently encouraging you to dive into the gift.

You eagerly rip open the packaging, gasping in disbelief. “Roland Barthes, Mythologies…Oh my days,” you cry out, unable to believe your luck. Your eyes flit to the curious glances from other patrons in the corner, and you swiftly tone your enthusiasm down a notch.

He nods in understanding, smiling fondly at you. “Yep, saw his Lover’s Discourse on your bedside table, and the bookmark was dangling on the final pages,” he justifies, a knowing twinkle in his gaze.

Overwhelmed with emotion, you slide the book in your bag and rise from your seat. “Ugh, Evan! Thanks a ton, you’re the best,” you gush, your voice thick with gratitude as you move closer to him.

He stands up too, his eyes fixed on yours, soft with affection. Stepping closer, his dark eyes dart from your lips to your eyes, as if he’s wordlessly asking for permission. Instead, he reaches out to pull you into a hug, but you gently lift his chin and crane your neck, sealing his plush, pink lips in a brief yet tender peck.

As you break the kiss, Evan blinks in surprise, seemingly caught off guard by the sudden shift in energy. His eyes search yours, silently questioning the unspoken feelings that hover between you, his own heart pounding with anticipation.

“Why did that take so long today?” he sighs against your ear, softly touching his lips. His voice, like honey dripping from velvet, resounds in your ears like a melody as he delicately brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes—the colour of rich black chocolate—are glued on yours, and the gravitational pull of his euphoric visual abyss draws you in.

Your heart flutters at the intensity of his gaze, feeling the heat expand through you. “It took long for momentum,” you retort, your tone light with playful teasing as you flash him a coy smile and sit back down.

The buffalo cauliflower bites aren’t the only thing heating up at your table; your conversation’s spicier than a jalapeño popper and with more layers than a double-decker with extra cheese. One minute you’re debating the perfect burrito toppings, embarrassing childhood nicknames, weird dreams, European cinema and 80s bands, and the next, you’re digging into careers, beliefs, goals, and life’s deepest truths.

It’s like a game of emotional Jenga—one block, or in this case, one topic leads to another, and before you could utter ‘Evan, eat me,’ you’ve both laid your souls bare without even realising it.

Fully immersed in the flirtatious banter, Evan beckons invitingly to the seat beside him with a subtle tilt of his head. “Why don’t you slide here, so I can properly admire your outfit?” he mumbles in a husky timbre, his eyes ablaze with desire.

But just as the tension between you ignites like a volcano lava, the waiter interrupts with his timely arrival. “What can I get for you both?” he interjects, shattering the moment. 

With a mischievous glint in your eye, you gesture Evan to go first, shooting him a ‘hold up, let me cook,’ look. With a bold move, you slip off your shoe under the table and discreetly brush your foot against his pant leg.

You feel him stiffen as he places his order, his composure wearing out. Stifling a giggle, you almost sadistically enjoy his flustered state as he clumsily fumbles and drops his menu, the clatter against the plate resonating like a thunderbolt. 

He’s a ten, but he stumbles over his words and over-apologises when aroused in the most inappropriate settings. Take my money, that bumps him up to a solid thirty.  

“Would you like extra cheese with that?” the waiter chimes in, oblivious to the charged atmosphere crackling between you.

Evan nods, swallowing thickly as your foot ventures higher up his thigh, stoking the flames of his growing hardness.

“And you, miss?”

“Eh? Umm, double everything, please. I’ll have what he’s having. Thanks,” you mutter with a half smile, your leg rubbing against his throbbing erection to a fever pitch.

As the waiter marches to the kitchen, Evan clenches his jaw, frustration painted all over his stormy gaze. He bunches his cloth napkin from his lap and tosses it onto his plate, blowing out a sharp, exasperated breath.

“Evan,” you call out with an apologetic expression, watching him push his chair with the backs of his knees and storm off to the bathroom.

You shoulder the heavy door and step into the empty men’s bathroom, your insides wounding themselves in knots. You scan the room, hunting for any trace of Evan, until your gaze lands on the locked door at the end. Curiosity gnaws at you, nudging you to investigate.

With a hesitant knock, you signal your presence. Before you can react, the door swings open, and Evan’s dark eyes greet you from the other side as he pulls you into the room.

The door clicks shut behind you as you quickly take in the gold-hued surroundings: a lavish toilet, a gleaming sink, and a long bench strewn with plush towels and designer toiletries. The place gives you a babushka-esque feel—a mini, fully-equipped restroom within the main one, and it’s like stepping into a VIP sanctuary.

Though, as you register Evan’s proximity, his body pressed flush against yours, your thoughts scatter like marbles on a polished floor, and pleasure sparks sizzle through your veins like a live wire.

“Hey,” you bleat, feeling the tension twist in your gut as you swallow hard, trying to steady yourself. 

His strong arms cradle your waist. He draws you into a tight embrace until you’re cocooned on his lap, the heat of his body searing into your skin.

You cross your legs as he closes the distance between you, his veiny hands fondling and squeezing your thighs greedily and possessively. 

“Evan,” you croak out, clearing your throat to ground yourself as he strokes your cheek with his knuckle. “I realise that might have been a bit much for public display…and I’m sorry,” you mumble, flashing him an apologetic look before averting your gaze.

But his expression remains stern, a furrow creasing his brow as he lets out an exaggerated huff—eyes hooded and mouth set in a grim line. “That won’t fix it, I’m afraid. I’m still hurt and embarrassed.” 

You quirk a brow at him, a hint of defiance in your gaze as you meet his unwavering stare. “And what do you suggest now?” you challenge with a sly smirk, a daring spark igniting in your face.

His lips curl into a sinister smile as he leans in, his scorching breath against your ear sending a tremor down your backbone. “Get on your knees, and use this beautiful mouth of yours to show me just how sorry you are,” he whispers as he’s massaging your tits, his words like an electric current buzzing through you at a high voltage.

You snort, your hand weaving through his silky hair as you draw him closer. “Oh, you think you’ve won? I’d be more than happy to suck you up—day and night, overtime included,” you purr, your voice husky with longing as you sink to your knees.

Positioned between his legs, you look up at him with a mischievous smile. “Someone’s suffering in there,” you coo and outline his stiff shaft with your tongue, feeling him twitch beneath the smooth fabric, aching for freedom.

Pinned against the wall, he sucks in a breath through gritted teeth, his hips buckling forward in desperate response.

The button of his slacks loosely holds on, barely containing his throbbing beast from bursting it open. Gripping the cold metal of his zipper between your teeth, you drag it down slowly, your pussy dripping as his low growl rumbles from his chest like distant thunder when he finally finds release.

You reach up, flipping down the elastic waistband of his boxers so you can slip your hand in, dragging your fingers along his pulsing crimson tip.

“Suck it, don’t tease,” he commands, his tone rigid and thick with desire. You comply without hesitation, eagerly licking off the subtle traces of his seed off the tip, twirling your tongue around it.

Your mouth is immediately slick with his precum, the thick fluid coating the corners of your lips. The heady scent drives you wild as you savour every drop of his essence. You keep using your tongue to smear some of it to the underside of the head, teasing at the ridges and pressing into the squishy flesh of his head.

He bites down on his lips, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he battles to muffle his grunts, his body quivering with need.  

When you finally close your lips around his painfully hard cock, he reacts with a sharp intake of breath. His fingers thread through your hair as he breathlessly whines your name like a fervent prayer. From that angle, his dimples appear as dark slits along his cheeks, adding to his rugged allure.

You meet his gaze with a sultry mewl of pleasure, giving your throat more room to take him in harder and deeper into your mouth. Flattening your tongue, you glide lower on him as you hold onto his pelvis until his head crushes the back of your throat, testing your gag reflex.

Challenge accepted; you handle him like a pro.

“Y/N, you’re… oh, fuck… No,” he sputters out with an intense shudder, rubbing his eyes as he fights the overwhelming tide of his impending orgasm.

“Load me,” you exhale teasingly as you pull him out of your mouth only to pump him back down with renewed hunger. He intertwines his fingers with yours, guiding your movements as you kick off a slow, torturous rhythmic ordeal just to gauge his reaction.

With a choked moan, he tightens his grip, sticking his convulsing cock all the way down with urgency, thrusting in your mouth with a ruthless pace.

His move and the resonance of his deep voice send a surge of heat to your core that consumes you, tripling the moisture in your panties.

You want him in ways that will add new sins to the bible.

Each time you rise, you suck his tip with fervour before slamming back down on his throbbing length. The symphony of moans he’s emitting are almost sinful—you’ve never gotten soaking wet just from hearing a man groan. He’s gonna be the death of your ovaries.

As you steal a gaze upwards, his abs glistening with a sheen of sweat, you watch his head fall back. “No,” he breathes out repetitively, his chest heaving and his Adam’s apple bobbing—a tell-tale sign that he’s on the brink of letting his load spray onto anything in the room.

His balls tighten, cock pulsing as his thrusts into your mouth turn sloppy and messy. Blinded by pleasure, his mind goes blank as he teeters on the edge.

Still panting, he hauls you off him more forcefully, his fingers hooking onto the hem of your stockings. You notice his nose scrunch up in clear disapproval as he glares at your lips—swollen and shining with wetness—immediately stripping you off your undergarments with raw intensity.

Flipping you over so your upper body’s bent over the wooden bench, he gropes your ass cheek before slapping it harshly, making you squeal with excitement. “Why do I have to say no twice?” he growls, his voice ringing with dominance as he claims you as his own.

You’re ovulating, so your audacity and inhibitions are thrown to the wind, acting like you’ve been dick-deprived your entire life. “I wanna tick you off so much you show no mercy. Just take me already,” you demand, your voice heavy with despair.

With a guttural groan, he obliges, rutting his hips as he lines up his leaking tip with your entrance. The moment he meets your wet folds, you both gasp in unison as he plunges in you. The sensation of him filling you up sparks fireworks as he humps you in long, steady thrusts, his velvet plush head bumping against your swollen clit with a delicious friction.

Your cries threaten to spill out, but his hand clamps gently over your mouth to shush you, his dark eyes flashing with warning. “We have to be quiet, baby,” he rasps, his voice tinged with lust. You turn over your shoulder and nod underneath his grasp, your half-lidded eyes glazing with pleasure.

A muffled yelp roars against his palm as he drills his aching cock deeper inside of you. You grip the edge of the bench tightly, and the sound of it banging against the wall echoes through the room, adding a primal rhythm to your ecstasy. The sensation of your slithery walls stretching to accommodate his thick dick is nothing short of mind-blowing for both of you.

Using the bench for leverage, he thrusts harder, his hand trailing up to caress the curve of your ribs as you writhe beneath him. “Fuck, I love your wet little pussy,” he hisses with primitive desire. “Cum for me, Y/N, all over my dick.”

“I’m getting there, baby. I wanna drown in your juices,” you moan, feeling his jaw slacken against your back as your walls pulse around his throbbing cock.

Just as the bench keeps bashing against the concrete wall in sync with your rising orgasms, a sudden crash breaks the intensity of the moment. The yellow paint plastic box from above the shelf tumbles down—its contents splattering over both of you and the wall, creating an impromptu abstract masterpiece in the spur of the moment.

You both freeze, paint trickling down your bodies, adding vibrant hues to your flushed skin. Evan blinks in surprise, his hands still gripping your hips as he takes in the colourful chaos engulfing you.

“Well, we certainly went hard on the paint,” he quips, trying to lighten the mood despite the unexpected interruption.

You chuckle nervously as you survey the lively mess. “Looks like we got more than we bargained for tonight,” you shoot back, your voice filled with playful mischief.

With a wicked smirk, Evan swipes paint off your cheek, leaving a colourful streak between you two as you embrace. “We’ve got a cleanup on our hands before we can get back to what we—” His words are abruptly cut off by approaching footsteps.

Though the intoxicating passion still clouds your mind, one detail arises with sobering clarity: You’re screwed (literally). 

“You hit it off with the first three cubicles, I’ll handle the ones from the end, and we’ll meet in the middle,” a deep man’s voice echoes from outside, sending a jolt of panic through both of you. 

Evan winces and involuntarily grabs your hand. Your body stiffens as you lace your clammy fingers with his, the paint already forming a small puddle at your feet.

Acting on pure instinct, he ushers you deeper into the toilet, using his foot to discreetly slide the torn condom wrapper closer to your hiding spot.

“What’s the plan now?” you mouth. Your palms are raised in a questioning gesture, fingers wiggling subtly, as your breath comes in shallow, shaky huffs.

Evan shrugs. “That was a plot twist, didn’t see it coming,” he replies, barely audible in his hushed response.

You hang onto his shirt for dear life, your face taking a ghost-like pale complexion as you weigh the consequences of the trouble you’re about to get in. “The door’s locked, but there’s a little slot under it. Shall I wait up here until they’re gone?” you pantomime your words, attempting to convey your plan to Evan with the finesse of a silent movie star. But as you try to hoist yourself up and chamber onto the toilet seat, you slip, almost tumbling backward.

Evan swoops in to catch you like a superhero, his forehead wrinkled by worry lines, eyes wide with alarm. “You good?” he whispers urgently, pressing a finger to his lips in a frantic plea for silence.

You nod vigorously, gesturing toward the door with exaggerated motions, communicating your escape plan like you’re on the charades: “Let’s go check if we’re clear, then sneak out.”

Nodding in silent agreement, he unlocks the door with a flick of his wrist. Poking his head out, he peers cautiously into the corridor. You stretch up on your tiptoes, craning your neck to peek out over his shoulder, scanning the corridor for any sign of movement.

Finding no one in sight, you both spring into action with the speed and stealth of seasoned spies. You snatch up as much toilet roll as you can, using it to hastily wipe away the evidence of your paint mishap. The paper becomes saturated with soap and water as you scrub your life away, determined to leave no trace behind.

Before you know it, Evan seizes your hand, purse and shoes, and you skitter out of the bathroom like you’re escaping a high-security prison. You zip past the slightly open doors of the other stalls, and as you weave the maze of hallways, you catch a glimpse of the two cleaning men hard at work—one wielding a toilet spray like a weapon on the lead, while the other, two doors ahead, diligently mops the floor.

 

You burst out of the bathroom, hearts racing and adrenaline pumping, feeling like you just pulled off the heist of the century. In the dimly lit corridor between the toilets and the restaurant, you exchange triumphant grins, basking in the rush of your daring gateway. With a quick, victorious high five, you’re both ready for the next phase of your adventure.

But before you can catch your breath, Evan pulls you close, his lips crashing against yours in a fiery kiss that sets you on fire. His tongue dances with yours, igniting a fierce passion between you. As his hands start to wander along your ass and clit, you can’t resist and melt into his touch, a soft moan slipping off you.

Reality hits you like a freight train, and you protest against his lips, reluctantly swatting his hands away and pushing him back gently. “You can’t waltz back to your table looking like nuggets dipped in mayo, and I don’t have a spare wardrobe stashed in my purse,” you whine. With a determined swipe, you rub off a scuff mark from his cheek, your thumb tracing the contours of his face as he nods in understanding.

“Okay, let’s go,” he says, and without missing a beat, he takes your hand and leads you in the direction of the toilet. But as you reach the door, he steers you towards the emergency door instead. Throwing yourselves outside, you’re met with the frigid night air, an uninviting shock after the warmth of the restaurant.

The cold bites at your skin, raising goosebumps along your arms. But Evan is quick to replace your coat, which still hangs off your table chair, and envelops you in an embrace, rubbing your arms to warm you up.

You cling to him, his body heat a comforting embrace as he cups your hands in his, blowing warm breath into them. The moon casts a soft glow over a secluded pond before you, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the hotel.

“I’ve got good and bad news,” Evan chirps, his voice tinged with a mischievous undertone. You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued as you lean closer to him, flakes of paint dropping off your arms as he intensifies his rubbing.

“Spill the good news first. Enough shocks for today, I wanna buy myself some time.” 

“The good news is,” he begins, a grin spreading across his face, “my rented place is over there,” he reveals and points behind you. You follow his gaze to the tall complex of flats that extend from the main hotel.

You hum in acknowledgment, planting a quick peck on his lips. “Alright… and what’s the bad news?” you inquire, already bracing yourself for whatever curveball he’s about to throw your way.

“The bad news is that if we wanna keep the prying eyes at bay,” he continues, his eyes fixed on you in mounting suspense, “we’ve got some climbing to do.”

The grass crunches under your feet as you wade through the greenery, your heels sinking into the mud with each step. You duck under the low archway in the middle and reach the towering fence.

“Damn, that’s taller than I thought,” he mutters, eyeing the fence with a furrowed brow.

“Piece of cake,” you counter with a coy smile, tossing your heels on the other end. You make the first move by planting your toes on a cracked piece in the wall, gripping the hurdle tightly to propel yourself upwards.

As he gives you an extra push, his hands boldly grazing your ass, a mischievous sparkle gleams in his eyes. “Speaking of cakes,” he cheers, squeezing your curves as his eyes linger on the enticing view of your cunt beneath your dress, his grin broad and cocky.

“Stay focused, dude,” you hiss, playfully waving him away as you divert your attention back to the task at hand.

With a hint of concern in his voice, Evan watches you climb, ready to catch you if you falter. “Take it slow, Y/N. With this velocity, you gotta use one leg at a time...” he advises, his arms poised to assist you.

Rolling your eyes, you brush off his instruction. “The mansplaining’s redundant, Peters. I’ve got this,” you scold jokingly, confidently manoeuvring over the obstacles.

“It’s hard... oh, mind your head on the branches…” he mumbles, absentmindedly repeating “it’s hard” as he observes your every move with a mix of awe and disbelief.

When you safely tumble over to the other side, he can’t help but chuckle nervously, astonished by your agility. “Oh, that was easy…it was really easy, actually” he mumbles with a shake of his head, mouth agape, still processing your swift ascent.

“Come on, slowpoke,” you taunt, your voice laced with playful challenge. You dust off your hands, the thrill of the escape still coursing through your veins.

“I’m just taking my time,” he defends as he carefully navigates his way over the fence. 

“Says the guy who played Quicksilver,” you mock, giggling, and run your tongue along your teeth with a cheeky smile.

As Evan finally makes it over the fence, he stumbles on a loose stone, his footing giving way beneath him. You gasp, lunging forward to catch him as he starts to fall backward, his arms flailing wildly as he tries to regain his balance.

“Watch out!” you cry out, and you manage to pull him back from the brink of spraining his ankle on the way down. 

He winces in pain, clutching his leg as he tries to stand. “Ouch, that was close,” he groans, his breath hitched. 

Concern floods through you as you help him to his feet, supporting him as he tests his injured ankle. “You okay?” you ask, worry evident in your voice.

Evan nods, his expression strained. “I think so,” he replies, clenching his jaw against the discomfort.

You sigh, realising that your adventure may have taken an unexpected turn. “Maybe we should take it easy for now, old man,” you suggest once you realise he’s fine, suppressing a laugh as you guide him back to safety.

As you playfully rib Evan with the “old man” label, he retaliates by tickling you, his fingers sending ripples of loud laughter down your spine. You squirm and wriggle, trying to escape his teasing grasp, but he’s relentless.

“Alright, alright, I give up!” you yell, breathless from both laughter and excitement. But Evan doesn’t stop there. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he picks you up into his arms, his lips hammering against yours in a passionate kiss, his tongue swirling with yours. 

“Let me show you who’s the old man,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice dripping with desire and challenge as he carries you off.

The reception area lies deserted, and the dull glow of an overhead light seeps through the crack at the bottom of the slightly ajar cleaning storage door. 

“Anyone here?” he calls out, testingly, but there’s no response. Without wasting any time, you make a beeline for the elevator. The ding of the lift makes you jump, you launch your bodies up the stairs, bounding them up like a panther on the prowl, your feet padding down on the carpeted floor.

You creep into his room, edging the door shut until the latch clicks into place, and you pause to laugh at the yellow patches on your body. “I feel like I’ve just wrestled a pig in a mud pit.” 

“I’ve got the best way to clean it all up?” he mumbles sloppily into your lips, his arms folded around your waist, massaging your ass.

Hot water spurts out of the shower faucet, raining down marvellously on the tiled floor. You smile, holding your hand up to it and watching the paint, mostly dried now, run off your legs before landing on the ground and swirling around the drain. The temperature is heavenly, able to ease even the deepest aching of your shoulders, and your smile widens.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, planting a few teasing kisses along your exposed collarbone.

You bite down your lip at the sensation. “Finger-fuck while you kiss me, first. I need it,” you huff in despair, eyes imploring.

“You wish, I deliver, baby,” he breathes out, suckling on your pulse as you lightly pump his erect shaft in your hand in your fluid motion. He seems way too horny and too into you to say no.

He grunts and grounds his hips against your inner thigh. Against the wall, his fingers dip in, gathering some of your warm, slithery wetness and splotching it over your shiny folds. His free hand claws on your face, dragging you for a breathless kiss.

“Gosh,” you moan chokingly, an exhilarating lilt in your words. Your back arches as you feel that knot in your stomach beginning to snap. The pad of his middle finger keeps tapping and circling your clit, and you feel the escalating climb of your orgasm. Your legs start to twitch, and once he realises this, his fingers slowly drift away from your weeping cunt, his slick fingers gripping your thigh.

“Wh-why?” you protest in frustration.

Without uttering a single syllable, he snatches the detachable shower head, a smirk playing on his lips as he winds the cable around his wrist. He cranks the setting to its highest level and kneels down, parting your slopping folds with a confident touch. His lips curve in a devilish smile as he takes sight of your pulsating pussy clenching around nothing, giggling as he realises he’s edged you so badly.

As he positions the shower head near your throbbing clit, you instinctively clamp your hand over your mouth, stifling the shrill whimper that threatens to escape. The sensation of the water hitting your sensitive bud forces your breath out in punchy, laboured gasps as you feel the vibrations bringing your high closer.

He laps at your cunt like it’s a melting ice cream cone, and it doesn’t take long for your sweet cream to leak out along his mouth. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, eyelids fluttering as you’re consumed by the tsunami of your looming orgasm. Each flick of his tongue sends tremors through your thighs, the wet, slick sounds filling the room.

His tongue flattens out against your clit and you let out a needy whine, your hips instinctively bucking against his mouth. He presses his face deeper into your wet folds, tongue jerking at the underside of your clit. As he licks at your entrance, he sinks his tongue into your soaking hole, you cum on his tongue, grinding his face, moaning his name in heavy, ragged pants.

As the aftershocks of your orgasm ripple through you, he stands up straight, his hands gently caressing your waistband in a soothing gesture. But you’re not done yet. With a hungry urgency, you pull him into a kiss, your lips melding together.

He backs you against the wall, hiking up your thighs and wrapping them tightly around his waist. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, guiding him to your dripping entrance. As he slams into you, the world around you fades away, and your head lolls back in ecstasy.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he grunts as he pounds harsher and faster in you, his balls slapping against your ass cheeks.

Your slick is trickling down his cock, creating a slippery mess on his thighs as he drives into you relentlessly. His breathing picks up pace, the air thick with the heady scent of sex and steam. You almost had him, until his hands forces your hips down onto his cock as far as they would go, his tip nudging against your cervix.

A scream tears from your lips as you squirm against his ruthless assault and bruising force. The tip of his cock brushes against that spongy spot inside you time and time again, the lewd squelching sounds of your poor, swollen cunt only a faint indicator that you were close.

In the misty haze of the shower, you catch him smirk crookedly, pleased with the visual above him. Your tits bounce tantalisingly in front of him, a tempting feast he can’t resist as he reaches out to grab them in his mouth, eager to taste every inch of your trembling body.

As the unbearably tight, hot coil in your abdomen snaps, you’re unable to contain the set of moans that spill from your lips. A tingling heat spreads across your body, your muscles contracting and burning with the intensity of your release.

His face contorts in pleasure, his brows knitting together as his jaw drops in awe. His breaths come out in hurried, choppy huffs as he pumps inside you, warm, white strings of cum painting your walls as if he marks his territory and you as his own.

“Ugh, I’m dizzy...and l look like shit,” you huff out, your voice laced with giggles. Evan stays still for a moment, burying his face into the crook of you neck.

“You’re dizzy but beautiful,” he rasps, chuckling breathlessly, and you feel your cheeks flushing. He strokes your face, his touch tender and loving as he presses soft kisses against your lips. Your tongues dance together in a sweet and intimate exchange as soft moans escape both of you.

Slowly, he pulls out. A mix of your juices coats his tip as it drips from your hole in a seductive display of your shared ecstasy.

“I want cuddles on the bed now,” he says, his voice soft and pleading, a hint of a pout playing on his lips as he gazes at you with adoration.

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Taglist: sillysillygyal, junkie4weezer, frankiesweird, divinerulerz, nickrhodeslittledarling

@evanchantingpeters — All rights reserved. Please do not modify, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[mrsackermannx]

˚ ༘ *ೃ༄ ❝ COME BACK TO ME…❞

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ summary: gojo’s been plotting to get you back ever since you broke up.

୨୧ word count: 4.7k

୨୧ content: gojo satoru/reader, smut, no-curses au/office au, infidelity, exes to lovers, afab reader, light angst (strategic marriage/ breakup mentions), praise kink, porn with plot, love confession, overstimulation, pet names (baby, sweetheart etc), creampie, pussy-slapping, squirting, sprinkle of degradation, slight exhibitionism.

୨୧ author’s note: gojo brainrot finally gave way to some writing hehe, still getting used to characterising him so feedback is appreciated angels <3

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

"Don't shit where you eat," they say. They say that dating your colleague is never going to end well. However, even the most stoic people have a penchant for such relationships, not to mention the secret hopeless romantics. 

Workplace romances can make even affairs appear heartwarmingly wholesome. After all, there was something about trudging up stair after stair when the elevator was too full to them smiling at you just a desk away. Their voice fond as they offer you a sunny "Good morning."

That person who never forgets your favourite vending machine coffee, who pats your shoulder and tells you 'you're doing your best,' who lends you their umbrella, who opens up to you over a beer after overtime. Who notices when you get a haircut, whose eyes are seldom on their computer screen but on your lips. 

Not that you'd ever been unfaithful, not yet. But you'd heard countless stories. Girls talk, after all. You didn't judge, yet the point was although workplace romances could be wholesome and even sexually thrilling. They were sensational and exciting until they were over. 

Until that person no longer stays with you through overtime, bitter memories of you chugging vending machine coffee, swapping candy and chips together and then spit just like you and Gojo always did. You definitely never told anyone how many times you fucked on the desks of the colleagues you both thought sucked, especially not after you'd broken up.

You were together for a while, and although you couldn't say it out loud because it was still too painful, you missed him. A lot. In fact, you spent most nights, fist screwed up at your sides, eyes blurring in the darkness, questioning if there would always be that void he left that no one could ever fill.

Though, breaking up didn't cause the type of animosity that made people scurry from rooms when you interacted. Instead, it confused the hell out of your colleagues. It hadn't even been half a year since, and you and Gojo didn't appear to hate each other at all.

But the pain lingering in your heart ached and was annoying and inconvenient, like a stubbed toe that felt sore and tender for weeks and weeks—but in your case, months. However, Gojo was hardly being subtle with his efforts to ever so secretly win you back at every opportunity. He didn't mind playing the long game. He was going to be your last. 

All of you at the company came from important families in high social circles, marriage and dating. Love. It often came down to strategy, which was the only reason you were dating Miyano Haru, a Kyoto University graduate! CEO of a cybersecurity company! 

Guilt gripped at your gut as you yawned at the thought. 

Your families were shooting for a marriage ceremony during next year's cherry blossom season. But until then, Gojo wasn't slamming the brakes anytime soon. 

Whether that be surprising you with your favourite lunches, leaving tickets for movie screenings, galleries, or museums on your desk, or sending Google calendar invites to restaurant reservations or spa appointments via your work emails across the office floor. With sweet messages like,

Gojo Satoru has sent a "Spa day pamper package for two for this Friday.”

Surprise! You look tired this week baby. Let's go here Friday, yeah? 

Ps: You still look pretty, though. 

Just like you were still fucking dating. 

So today, when you're pitching a marketing idea in the monthly meeting, and Yaga cuts you off. Gojo cannot help himself. 

Yaga was a great man, someone Gojo was grateful to for many reasons, but fuck was this man old-fashioned and unaware of it. He refused to see your potential because he was eternally sceptical of the efficacy of women's ideas.

But you had the best ideas today. Gojo smiled because your ideas were always the best and that’s why this decision was so easy. He could fondly recall your rants about Yaga after every monthly meeting where you'd complain about his blatant misogyny; even Sukuna would let a reluctant chuckle loose to the show. 

All of you in the canteen at your table, Shoko, Utahime, Nobara and Maki at your side, growing passionate about gender pay gaps and audacious men at your company and then the world over. 

Nanami always said the right thing, and so did Higuruma, Yuuta and Choso. Gojo decidedly took the credit for Megumi being so eloquent and respectful. Inumaki was outrageous at times, and Yuuji was a lover of all people and argued fiercely for both sides. 

Those times were always fun. 

Yaga peered over his glasses, "Why don't you expand again on how you plan to execute this idea, Reader?” 

With one hand typing idly at his laptop and the other seating his chin, Gojo sighed so loudly all the eyes in the room cast to him. "Reader obviously has the best pitch for this project." 

He grinned as Yaga's knuckles grew white and he humphed before his voice sharpened, "So, are we really gonna make her explain it again?"

"For once, even I agree with him," Toji added.

Gojo winked as he looked up at you, and you felt yourself melt a little, even under the icy breeze of the conference room's AC. 

Megumi, Yuuji and Nobara huddled together under the oppressive communication Gojo and Yaga's eyes were engaging in. 

Gojo’s eyes narrowed, "So, what are you waiting for? Give her the project."

Nanami offered you a small smile and nodded before his expression soured, and he spoke before Yaga could open his mouth to protest. "I, for once, also agree with Gojo. I think we should open this pitch up for a vote?" 

Choso raised his arm, "Me too. I think it's just what we need, in fact." 

Maki nudged Yuuta and Inumaki before confidently booming, "I volunteer our assistance on the project!"

Albeit a little flustered, you bowed and thanked the room as Yaga reluctantly signed the dream project of the company to you. Sure, you were ecstatic you'd finally been recognised for your hard work and dedication, but you wanted to kill Gojo.

What didn't help was the aggressively obvious effect he had on you still. Sure, you had a new boyfriend, but Gojo didn't care. So that's why you found yourself lingering outside of his office door at 9pm because you knew he wouldn't care one bit. Like that man ever did overtime, you tsked. 

Gojo had been playing a game with you, knowing you'd finally relent, that you'd come to your senses and stop denying yourself of what you really fucking wanted. "Be selfish."

Everybody you'd asked today had told you he'd stayed in his office all day. So yeah, he really was doing this on purpose. His light was on, and he was baiting you, and you hated how easy it was for you to take it.

You knew he wanted you to barge in there, all flustered and mouthy, so he could shove you to your knees and fuck your throat open. 

Your boyfriend Miyano was sweet, he could talk about his feelings, and he didn't run away from emotional intimacy like others had. Like Gojo always had. But your family had set you up with him even though your shattered heart was still just that. Shattered. Your heart had been reduced to fragments— to a puzzle that only one genius could solve, he wasn’t prepared to give anybody guidance in the matter either. After all, geniuses couldn’t explain how to do the things they found easy. 

And although you were the one that ended things with Gojo, it hurt all the same. 

There was nothing wrong with Miyano per se. He came from a respectable family, one your family could bear you marrying into; though the Gojo clan would have been amazing, the Miyano clan wasn't terrible either. 

But you never wanted your family to arrange a relationship or marriage for you. You fell for Gojo instantly and hard. You loved him like you never loved anybody else. He thrilled you, challenged you, and made it seem like the world was too small for you both and that you could see it all when you stood at his side. He made everything and every day exciting but had the vexing ability to make you feel safe and at home all the same.

Gojo Satoru was irreplaceable in every facet of the word, in his work, friendships, and relationships. As fickle as he could appear, he was the first to call in a crisis and someone you could wholeheartedly depend on.

But Miyano was sweet and emotionally forthcoming but…entirely too normal. You didn't yearn to peel back his layers one by one and didn't care much for his childhood stories, unpopular opinions, or core principles. But you treasured the few times you’d sat with Gojo, pestering him to tell you anything deeper, anything that no one else knew. Watching with sparkling eyes as his voice grew so quiet you had to follow his lips until your eyes blurred instead. 

But it was rare he shared anything too personal with you. He had trouble with it more than most. Some nights, although you were sleeping in the same bed, you felt miles apart. 

Gojo had a wall with everybody else, like a layer of infinity that meant nobody could really touch him or delve deeper. They only saw and knew the surface that reflected back to them like a mirror. No one could truly ever get close. 

But it wasn't supposed to be the case for you, was it?

A fond and familiar laugh yanked you from your reverie, "Did you come to thank me? Because you can thank me by going to dinner with me tomorrow."

How was he larger than the door frame? You all but scowled as he leant down and tapped his cheek. "I also accept kisses as a form of repayment if you're willing," he said silkily, a jaunty grin on his lips at your expression. “With interest.” 

Your shoulders slumped, and you huffed, wilfully ignoring the growing heat ping-ponging between your bodies. "Why did you do it?" Your brows knotted, "I wanted to get it on my own, Satoru. And my pitch was strong enough. I didn't need your help."

He threw his hands up and yawned obnoxiously, smoothing the back of his hair down, "Well, what can I say? I'm a doer, not a talker."

You huffed, “No, I'm sure you're always talking."

"You got me there, but" he checked either side of the corridor before he looped his arm around your waist and yanked you into his office. “Game over.” 

"Satoru, I-" Your voice fell into a whimper as he flipped you against his door, his lips ghosting your earlobe as he caged you in. 

"Maybe it's because I know you like to hear my voice," he whispered. "I know you like being talked through it. And, I know you didn’t need my help, we just needed a little push.” 

We needed a final straw. 

You swallowed, fists clenched at your sides as his body suffocated yours. Heat quickly crawled up your cheeks as his large hands slid slowly down your sides, the familiar smell of his cologne igniting memories from the last times you smelt it so closely. Kissing down his throat, across his collarbones-

"What are you doing?" You finally mustered, your voice a breathless squeak. Seconds passed, and the tension blazed and kindled, refusing to be extinguished into silence. You didn't dare turn around to see him enjoying you like this.

"Nothing, nothing you don't want me to do," he said in a lilting voice, hitching the hem of your skirt up half an inch. "You've always been so vocal, so I doubt you'd lose your voice in a time like this, would you?"

"No," you hissed, curbing any further speech in case you fucking stammered.

"Don't worry though, baby. You're easy," he scoffed, "and you never stay quiet, not with me.” 

“Oh fuck you.” You gasped as he shoved his knee between your thighs to part them.

“Oh I will. But if that wimpy boyfriend of yours is doing his job, then I shouldn’t find your panties soaked in a minute, should I, princess?" 

A breath passed, and then he hitched it up a little further, resting his chin on your shoulder to taunt you more. "I see the way you look at me, baby. I know you and that look in your eyes. It tells me all I need to know, princess."

His hand caressed your quivering thighs, brushing your stomach and pausing at your chest. He gripped one breast before the other before it settled upon your throat, and he tipped your head back. 

His lips travelled down your temple, to your cheek, and to your neck, where he spoke, "Hm? Ignoring me isn't quite your style. Isn't that why you came here today?”

He kissed the corner of your mouth, and then you knew you were truly fucked. Watching as he pulled away with a grin spreading as slow and molten as melted chocolate. 

"I know you wanna kiss me," he whispered, blue eyes alight when you turned and showed him the blown-out lust glazing your eyes. "There we go, baby, that's it. Gonna kiss me?"

You nodded, already too far gone. His hand cupped the back of your head, and he met you halfway in a slow, sensual kiss. 

Your fronts drew together, and he shimmied up your skirt until it became a corset. Then he cupped your cunt, the pads of his fingers trailing feather light. Your vision hazed, and your fists curled tighter into his shirt. 

Your features were contorted beautifully with lust. "Do not tease me right now." 

He laughed as you scowled, his heart aching. He'd missed you so damn much.

"Oh? Want me to rub your pussy, baby?" he cooed, long fingers smearing the slick oozing through your panties.

"Now I know what you fucking came for,” he groaned breathily into your lips, waiting for your sign to continue. Your panties were the door, and his dumbing teasing movements were tentative little knocks. But he knew you liked to be stripped bare and fucked like you were his. This was just the final round of his game. 

You bucked your hips forward, needing more, needing him. You clung to him, tugging on his tie, "Satoru, Satoru, more, please," you whimpered through his kisses.

"I only satisfy what's mine, but you're not mine anymore, are you, sweet girl? So what can I do? Nothing."

You eagerly shook your head in protest, on your tip toes, just to drag your mouth down his jaw and neck. "Even though this needy pussy is leaking all over my fingers, responding to me like I own her," he tutted, "but I don't, do I? Pretty girl."

You made a noise half-whimper, half-growl, palming him through his pants until he hissed and then broke his feigned amusement from just how much you were riling him up. "I am yours, Satoru, always, always," you panted.

"I know that baby, but I need to know if she still is." He yanked your panties up so roughly the fabric strained against your clit and made you moan so lewdly you quickly covered your mouth.

"Needy girl," he said lowly before he drew his hand back and slapped your pussy. You moaned even louder, falling weakly into his chest. But you hardly fell far, as he grabbed your face in one hand and leant close.

"You like it when I slap your needy little pussy like this, baby?" His smile moved a millimetre as your eyes darted to his long, pretty fingers. "Want me to bury my fingers inside it till you come too? So you can stop being so needy?"

"Please, Satoru." 

"Then show me, show me how much you want them," he whispered, eyes shooting down between you both as he started to circle your clit, not daring to touch it. 

"Show me you're dying for it, and we can forget about all of this mess, can't we? You've just gotta show me who knows this pussy best.” The growing gravel in his voice turned the words into ragged commands.

In raptured submission, you yanked aside your panties and guided his fingers, back arching against the door as you ran them back and forth against your soaked cunt. Your breaths finally flew fluidly through the air, like his touch was what your body needed to convert the carbon dioxide. 

His jaw grew slack at the sight of you, getting yourself off on his fingers, clumsily rubbing your swollen clit against his fingertips, breaths huffing from your nose in the exertion. 

He leant into the beautiful image of you, moaning in your ear as your slick drowned his fingers. The slick wet sounds of your cunt as you run them back and forth, rapidly unravelling him.

"Look at me," he demanded, plunging two of his fingers knuckle deep until it squelched when you didn’t comply in seconds. You let out a humiliating whimper. The pleasure of the sudden yet sweet stretch danced through every nerve.  

He grinned, fucking his fingers inside, “You look so pretty like this, I should take a photo.”

"I can't…." You couldn't speak, not when his fingers were relentless inside like this, clenching and fluttering as he bullied that spot inside you.

But his name was a never-ending hot, sweaty mantra.

"Trying to give me scraps, huh? But you're mine," he spat. 

"No, I need you, Satoru. I need only you, only you," you babbled. 

The lustful look in your eyes catapulted him over the edge. He couldn't take it anymore, his palm granting sweet friction to your clit as he fucked you like the world was about to end. "I know you need it, baby. I've got you. I know.”

He tried to undo your buttons with his free hand but was too fucked out to do it, grunting for your help, so you did immediately. "Say the words, and I'll stretch this sweet pussy out with my cock after you come, baby.”

"I'm yours, please. Fuck me," you whimpered, your entire body shaking as pleasure climbed through your body, building until you felt the pressure about to burst. Your hands roamed his body, eager to feel him as you removed your own shirt.

But like an animal, he was all over you, kissing, licking, and biting as you squirmed close to your climax. His lips closed around your nipple, and your spine straightened at the softness until he bites it hard. 

You yelped, but he only laughed, "Hurts? Don't care, baby, it hurts seeing you with that loser, the number of times I've had to come in my fucking hand because of you."

The lewd sloshes of your pussy grew louder, and Gojo delighted in how you were now dripping onto the floor. So, he finally granted you mercy, pulsing his hand until you came in wild thrashing waves that rippled violently through your body. 

"Oh yeah? Did that feel good, pretty girl?" he whispered, tilting your chin to devour your breathless mouth. The press of his lips and the erotic flicks of his tongue were making you throb wildly on his fingers. "See, you do like it when I talk.”

He let out such an attractive laugh at your glare that you fluttered around him again. "Baby again? I'm not gonna leave this pussy just yet, let up, or I won't be able to get my cock inside," he hummed. "Isn't that what we both want?"

"Then do it. Put it in me." You spread yourself, and he bit back a moan. His eyes flickered at how you shook when his thumb brushed your clit experimentally. 

Your brows knitted at the lingering sensation, “Please, put it in me, now." 

"Oh baby, but if you keep squeezing like that." Gojo grew dizzy at how your pussy refused to let him go, helping you tug away his belt and zip down his pants. Hazy, as you let up enough for him to take his fingers out of your spasming cunt. 

"You really gonna let me fuck you right here, huh?" 

His eyes were half-lidded at the sight of you in your office heels, panties soaked and half-pulled down, shirt hanging limply and open, your skirt a thick black belt hugging your torso. 

You were a mess, his mess, his pretty mess.

"Oh baby, you're so beautiful." He knelt down, working down your panties with his breath uneven, kissing each knee as he worked them down each ankle and then tossed them behind him. 

"Shall I tell you something?" he mused, running his hands up and down your thighs as he kissed and licked at the slick threatening to stick them together.

"Yes, tell me." Your hands slid instinctively into his hair as he reached your pussy and kissed it.

"I'll be honest, yeah?"

He was waiting for a shaky, "Yeah?" so you granted him one laced through a whimper, so he suckled on your clit in return before speaking. 

“I can pamper you. Spoil you, fuck you, take care of you." His voice was almost hoarse, thick and affected by something other than lust—a different emotion.

"I know that Toru, I do."

"N' I can—love you, too," he murmured, voice so uncharacteristically small but soft like it used to be when he spoke to you at night.

You gasped. Gojo had never said those words, not once. "Satoru, I-" His tongue dove into your cunt, and you almost toppled forwards, but somehow in seconds, he was carrying you. Holding you close, you heard the unmistakable clatter of the desk's contents clatter to the floor as he pressed you down upon the cold surface.

His large arms locked your torso down, and he swiftly resumed tongue fucking your cunt, delving his fingers in and out. His heart was pounding with his confession and from your lack of reply. Though he knew he was fucking you so precisely and so perfectly that it was indeed impossible for you to respond.

Until you burst once more, hands tugging his hair, bucking your pussy into his face, greedy for not just more, but for him. For the actions to do more than the words you could barely manage, so overstimulated and so sensitive that you felt yourself heating up. But then, as your pleasure erupted, feeling your hot arousal coat your thighs, a garbled "I love you" ripped from your chest. 

Satoru froze for several seconds, and then it was as if someone found the remote and clicked play as he somehow tugged off his blazer and pants all at once. Ripping his boxers down just enough to grab the base of his cock. 

Peering down at you, hungry and lovesick. "Say it again." You giggled and tugged him down for a messy kiss, working off his shirt.

"I love you, Satoru, I love you. I've never been afraid to say it." Your body was still shaking from your blinding orgasm, and he loved every second of it. He loved that he was about to ruin you even more. 

His cheek brushed yours as he folded your body, rubbing the tip of his cock against your clit, "I love you," he whispered hotly into your ear, "I want you to feel like the luckiest woman in the world."

“I already do.”

“Yeah?” You moaned in tandem as he bucked his hips repeatedly, more of his cock easing in each time. Teasing you over and over, even though you were ready to take him, and he knew it. "Can you take me, baby?"

"Yes!" You whined, breath hitching as he tapped his cock against your cunt before he slammed in and filled you to the brim all at once. You both groaned, the sounds fading into seconds of soft relieved laughter. "Oh fuck, Toru, so good."

He moaned, voice shaky in your ear, "That's it, baby, you're so good. Take my cock. It's all yours. Take every single inch."

"Fuck Toru, you're so deep, too deep!"

"No, baby, feels good, doesn't it?" 

Before you knew it, he picked you up and slammed you against the glass overlooking the city. If you weren't on the top floor, you'd absolutely refuse. But Gojo always did like fucking you in front of Tokyo at night. 

"You can take it, baby, you can fucking take it, yeah? Cause you're made for me, so made for me," he panted.

"I can take it." 

"I know you can." He sucked and kissed on your neck, no doubt leaving his mark on you, as you wrapped your arms around his neck and took every slam of his hips. His stamina had always been otherworldly, never tiring, even as he fucked you standing up, hands sinking into the undersides of your thighs.

"Leave him," he moaned, not in the slightest asking. 

Luckily you didn't mind, as you tugged him closer and parted your lips, "I will, I promise." 

"Because you're mine, baby." His teeth were clenched, and he was groaning into your ear. Usually, Gojo could pace himself, but it had been so long, and you felt so good clinging to him like this, it was so close and so intimate. “I love you.”

So close, and so…

He blinked at the revelation that hit him like a freight train, he wasn’t going to run any longer. He liked the intimacy, he wanted to tell you all the stupid things you wanted to know now, he wanted to be close, he wanted you. He wanted to be everything you needed and wanted. 

"Are you gonna come?" Your voice was so sweet it gave him an instant sugar rush, "Come in me, baby, fill me, Satoru. Need your cum," you whimpered. “Want it?”

"Yeah? You fucking do, princess? Haah-" He pulled out and shoved your front against the glass. You moaned at the switch, and as he spread you apart before thrusting back in, his large hands engulfing each cheek. 

He lost it as you pushed your hips back on him, moaning and babbling, "Then let's have the entirety of Tokyo be a witness as I give my sweet girl what she fucking wants, huh?"

"Fuck, Satoru, feels too good! I'm close too!" you moaned, both of your bodies meeting in desperate sticky clashes of hips.

He whimpered, “We're gonna come together?" 

You were gonna send him over the edge tonight. 

"I’m so glad you came. Take me, take it, baby. Oh fuck.” His hands dug into your hips, making you take every single rope of his arousal. Lewd sounds tore from your throats at the sensation of him filling you deeply. After seconds of panting and melting into each other's arms, he still made no immediate moves to leave you.

He thrusted slowly to drive it deeper, "I'm not on birth control anymore," you squeaked. "But I'll take th-“

"Good. We're getting the family started just on time."

You giggled tiredly, "You're on board that fast?"

He squeezed you as he laughed himself, arms locked tight around your waist, "Do you wanna see the engagement ring in my desk or?"

"Satoru!" 

He twirled you around to face him, "I was gonna fly you somewhere and propose, but I suppose the cats out of the bag." He pouted and got on one knee, kissing your knuckles, "You'll marry me, won't ya? Think of this as a practice proposal, though!"

You sighed, "God, you're a fucking idiot." 

"Heh, heh." He opened his desk drawer and produced a small black box. 

“I wasn’t joking, actually,” he popped it open with a proud smile, "Shoko kind of helped me pick it, said it was-"

It was beautiful, everything you’d always envisioned but had never described to him or anybody else. 

A slow tear slid down your cheek, another racing beside it seconds later, “Aww! Are you that happy to marry me, sweetheart?"

"Go away! But…yes."

He put the ring on the desk and cupped your cheeks, "Yes, you're happy, or yes, you'll marry me?" he asked tentatively.

"Both!" 

"Yay!”

You were half-expecting people to jump out with confetti because Gojo was just that ridiculous sometimes, but instead, you heard shrill knocking and then Nanami's voice, absolutely exasperated. "Gojo! You knew I was working overtime today." 

He shrugged, grinning at you recoiling into his chest and half-expecting Nanami to barrel in, "Probably the most action you'll get all year!"

He stroked your cheek, full of adoration. 

But I got her back. 

He always did like grand gestures. 

©mrsackermannx: do not repost, plagiarise, translate or modify my works.

tagging: @afortoru @luvjiro @sixpennydame @4sat0ruu @fangirlings-world @romantichomicide95 @nkogneatho @p00pdev1l @utahimeow @hayakawasb1tch @yocoochbussin <3

[shixcherie]

I Love You 3000 | Choi Jongho ☆

~ ~ call me chérie ☆

Navigation | Kinktober List

☆ Day 08 : Jealousy/ Cheating Sex

↬ [ Synopsis ] : A lap dance can do a lot of things. It can bring Jongho running to your door, drenched in rain just for a taste of you.

Word Count : 3.06k Genre : Smut, Angst, 18+, Non-idol Au. Pairing : Lawyer! Jongho x Strip Club worker! F.Reader

WARNINGS : pure smut (18+), lap dance, Hard Dom Jongho, reader is a switch, mentions of drugs, alcohol, serving clients, strong language, dirty talk, pet names (baby, honey, pretty, sweet girl), angsty, fluff at the end, foreplay, reader calls jongho master.

Tag list OPEN! - let me know if you want to be tagged for this Kinktober list

☆☆☆ NOTE : Day 08 dropping a little late ma chéries. Its Jongho’s turn to have a taste of you. Hope you end this piece of mine as well. Day 09 and Day 10 fics on their way, dropping tomorrow.

Who knew this Historical day could become even more iconic and memorable with Jongho showering u with all his love.

Today marked the 3000th day since you ran away from the orphanage, the place your so-called 'amazing' faceless parents abandoned you to, a living hell in all aspects . A place that was supposed to be your home, but felt anything but that. It was the opposite of everything you craved: no warmth, no love, no freedom, only pure dictatorship.

Your 18th birthday marked the first night you tasted freedom, running away from that hellish place. A historical moment for you. Running away wasn’t just the best option, it was the ONLY option, to not only achieve freedom but A life of your own.

Inferno Nights became your second home. The club was infamous for its illegal activities but had never been raided, offering top-class services, premium liquor, exotic drugs, with an irritatingly attractive boss, Choi Lucas, sitting at the top of the food chain.

Was it really better than the orphanage? No.

But does it pay the bills and guarantee you the freedom to be whoever and however you want? Abso-fucking-lutely.

Being Lucas’s favorite fuck toy, oops “His main” like her liked to address you, allowed you to climb the ranks quickly. Not his girlfriend, just a companion. An overwhelmingly satisfying one at that. Trading your body for freedom seemed like the only way to survive in this cruel world. So be it.

Serving him came with lucrative pay, an apartment to call your own, access to the best booze and drugs, and a roster of elite clients to serve.

One of them was a guy who was a criminal attorney by day, but a total stoner, drunkard, and limitless black card swiper by night,Choi Jongho.

Lucas’s darling younger brother, but with double the stubbornness, double the brains, and double the handsomeness,double the money with a sprinkle of love.

A love not for the world, but reserved for a few special, lucky people. For them, he bent the rules and toyed with authority like a tiger playing with its prey.

—

The night of the 3000th day marked the beginning of a rollercoaster ride you never wanted to experience, not even in your wildest dreams. But one your soul desperately needed.

Another historical moment in your life’s calendar.

You always took this day off to indulge in drinking the night away, celebrating the first time your life became your own. Your living room table was set with snacks and whiskey, Netflix playing on the TV, and you all cozy and cuddled up on the couch, when your phone rang.

You scrunched your nose at the name on the screen. Demi. Ugh... you hated that bitch.

Lucas’s second favorite, one of the elite servers like you. She had an extremely pretty face but a completely opposite personality - entitled, bitchy, and annoying. She hated your guts more than you hated hers, and was the sole reason you ended up in trouble most of the time.

“What?” you say, picking up the call, annoyance dripping from your voice,deliberately.

“No hi, no hello, kitten? Is this how you talk to your seniors?” she mocks. You hated being called kitten. It made you feel homeless, helpless, and extra fucking lonely. Like a stray cat wandering the streets, with no place to call home.

“Cut the crap, Demi. Get to the point” you snap, not wanting to endure her voice a second longer.

“A client is asking for you” she says.

Not today. Today you and your precious time belonged to no one.

“Nope. Not coming.” You say dismissively, ready to hang up, but then she drops the name.

“It’s for Jongho. I mean Master Jongho. His friends booked a lap dance for him.And they want only you,” she pauses, her tone shifting instantly. Being Lucas’s brother, no one says no to Jongho.

“So be at the club in 10 minutes. You know what to wear. I don’t need to remind you, do I?” she says and hangs up before you can respond.

Would Lucas be angry with you serving his brother? Maybe.

But a client is a client, and it’s just a lap dance,nothing more.

“No intimate relationships with any of my clients. You three belong to me, so don’t even think about putting those mouths anywhere else” Lucas lectures, addressing you, Demi, and Anya, his three mains.

“That would be cheating in my book, and trust me, you don’t want to find out the consequences of treason.” he adds, a villainous smirk playing on his lips as he delivers the threat.

In 10 minutes, you arrived at Inferno Nights, dressed in the sexiest, tiniest gold shimmery dress, looking like a goddess. A choker around your neck added to the seductive charm, paired with chunky boots to heighten the tension. Light makeup and a bold red lip sealed the deal. Gold was definitely your color. In the dim lighting, it made you look like an angel, a euphoric dream, a salvation from all the stresses of your clients.

Demi greeted you with her usual annoying face, a vicious look in her eyes. Something about it felt off, but you dismissed it, assuming she was just jealous that Jongho had asked for you.

You entered the private room where Jongho and his friends were seated. You recognized every single one of them—Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yunho, Yeosang, San, Mingi, and Wooyoung. Not just because they were regulars at Inferno Nights, but also because each of them owned powerful businesses and had definite connections to the underworld, just like Jongho.

The air buzzed with tension as their gazes locked onto you, the dim light highlighting your shimmering gold dress.

"Look who decided to grace us. Jongho’s favorite." Hongjoong whispered to Seonghwa, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

Hmm? Why am I his favorite? Does he even know I exist?

Jongho’s smile widened as you approached, his eyes dark and intense, drawing you in like a magnet.

“Ready for your dance, Master Jongho?” you teased, swaying your hips. It took everything in you to resist the temptation to pounce on him. The way he looked absolutely perfect in that blazer made you feel weak, like it was tailored just to intensify his sex appeal.

Why the fuck does he have to look so mouthwatering? And he's off-limits? I hate you, Lucas!

“Show me what you’ve got.” he replied, tilting his head slightly with a smirk, trying his hardest to maintain his smooth composure, though you could feel it slipping as you traced his broad shoulders.

You slid onto his lap, the heat between you undeniable as whispers echoed around the room.

“Damn, she’s stunning.” Yunho remarked, leaning closer to San.

“Hope he can handle her.” Mingi added, chuckling softly.

Handle me?! Man, I hope I make it out of here alive.

The world, the people, their whispers—everything faded into oblivion as you became his sole focus, and he became yours.

You straddled him, hips rolling to the sensual beat of the slow music, your body pressing lightly against his chest. His breath hitched as you leaned in, the scent of whiskey on his breath mingling with your perfume, intoxicating both of you.

“You seem a little tense, Master Jongho,” you whispered into his ear, your lips brushing his skin slightly. His jaw clenched, and you could feel his restraint slipping.

His hands hovered over your hips, wanting to touch but holding back. You could see the internal battle in his eyes: desire versus control.

The friction between your thighs and his lap sent jolts of heat through both of you. You could feel him tense beneath you, trying to maintain his composure, but his ragged breaths told you he was already losing that fight.

You leaned back slightly, grinding down harder, your lips parted as the intensity built between you.

“Touch me, Jongho.” you whispered, daring him. Your words caused him to snap. His hands finally gave in, gripping your waist with a roughness that made your breath catch, finally surrendering to the desires he had harbored since the first day he laid eyes on you.

Desire - 1, Control - 0.

Jongho’s craving for you went way back. The first time he saw you at Inferno Nights, you were just a new worker, but seeing you all lovey-dovey with Lucas made him step back, thinking you might like his brother. Only later did he realize that Lucas was a selfish asshole, keeping three girls all to himself. That only fueled Jongho’s desire for you, after all, forbidden things always taste sweeter.

For a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you. Every grind, every movement sent electric shivers through your body, and you could feel his rock-hard response beneath you, your own arousal pooling in your core.

The music played on as you rolled your hips one last time. Jongho’s grip tightened, and his lips brushed against the skin of your neck. A low, hungry growl escaped him.

“God, you’re dangerous.Want you more.” he muttered, his voice thick with lust. His lips found the delicate spot behind your ear, kissing it before biting down hard, pulling a whimper out of you.

The teasing was over. Now, it was pure, raw intensity.

Suddenly, you jumped off him, gulping hard, breaths shallow as your cheeks flushed a deep red. Every pair of eyes in the room was on you, their gazes piercing right through your soul.

“Time’s up. I—I should go now. Thank you, Master Jo-Jongho, for calling on m-me.” you stammered,taking a deep breath, you swiftly walked out of the room.

As you hurried out, Demi caught you by the arm. “Done for the night, kitten?” she asked, a little too amused for someone who should’ve been jealous. But you couldn’t focus on her right now. Your mind was foggy, all you wanted was to go home, strip off the dress that smelled of him, and sleep.

—

Why can’t you sleep? Why did he kiss you? No, bite... it was more of a bite. But why? And why did it feel so good, so heavenly?

Raindrops hit your windowsill as the storm outside raged. You stared at the ceiling, rolling from one side of the bed to the other for what felt like the hundredth time, trying desperately to sleep.

Will Lucas punish you for that? Why does Jongho have to be Lucas’s brother? Ugh… what a fucking mess.

A soft knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. You checked the time, it was 2 AM.

Who could it be? Is it Lucas? Did he find out already? Who told him? Demi for sure. Ugh… Demi, you bitch.

Slowly, you made your way to the door and opened it just enough to peek through. There stood Jongho, drenched from head to toe, a smirk playing on his lips. He looked irresistibly sexy in his wet state, which in turn made you wet down there as your arousal pooled at your core, reminising the moments you both shared a few hours ago. Three words: I. Want. You.

That was it. All your promises to Lucas and your sanity went down the drain as you dragged Jongho inside, latching onto his lips hungrily, which he returned with equal intensity and passion.

Pinning you against the door, his hand cupped your cheek, deepening the kiss as your hands fumbled with his blazer, desperate to free him from his wet clothes. As much as you loved him in that sexy black blazer, right now, all you wanted was him—deep inside you, fucking the living hell out of you.

Breaking the steamy kiss for just a second, you tugged off your tank top before your mouths collided again. His hands now cupped your hips, pulling you tighter against him. His hand signaled for you to jump, which you obeyed, your core aligning perfectly with his clothed, rock-hard dick, the bulge fighting hard to be freed.

His tongue explored the depths of your mouth, sucking, nibbling, biting, as your breathy moans filled the room, accompanied by the sound of the rain outside. His length rubbed against your clothed core, the friction sending waves of pleasure through you, making your toes curl in response to the overwhelming sensations.

“Jongho… ahh… I need you.” you cried out, desperate for him to fill you up.

“Where do you want me?” he teased, his lips trailing open-mouthed kisses along your neck, stopping just behind your ear. “Be clear and precise.” With that, he bit the sensitive skin behind your ear, making you gasp.

“Inside… I need you inside me. Fuck me, and fuck me hard, please.” you gasped, grinding harder against him, desperately trying to ease the ache.

“Good girl.” he murmured, carrying you to your room and gently laying you on the bed. His eyes trailed over your body as he removed your pants, landing on your wet core, dripping and aching, begging to be fucked. His thick fingers slid against your folds, sending waves of pleasure through you as your hands gripped the soft sheets.

Can someone’s touch really do this? You’d never felt like this with anyone else, not even with Lucas.

Collecting your slick on his fingers, he brought them to his mouth, savoring it with a satisfied “Mmm.”

“Turn around for me, pretty girl.” he commanded softly but firmly. You obeyed, lying on your belly, ass up, giving him a full view of your juicy cheeks. He smacked your ass, eliciting a sharp yelp from you, and his hands found yours. “Up.” he instructed.

Spreading your legs for him, your back pressed against his chest, your hands pinned behind you by his large ones as his hard length lined up perfectly against your wet core. He gave you a few teasing rubs before slowly sliding in, stretching you deliciously as you adjusted to his girthy length.

Your head rested back on his shoulder as his pace quickened, his lips latching onto your neck again, kissing and biting, leaving purple bruises wherever they made contact with your delicate skin.

The sensation of his hard length filling you over and over again sent waves of pleasure through your body. Each thrust brought you closer to that painful but sweet release, one that you both have been craving for a while as his groans mixed with your soft whimpers. His fingers found your clit, rubbing in perfect rhythm with his movements, pushing you further to the edge.

Your body trembled, dancing on the brink of euphoria. “Jongho… I’m so close.” you gasped, breathless, your body clenching around him.

“Fuck, baby.” he breathed out, his voice strained with pleasure.

But just as you were about to tumble over the edge, a sharp, familiar ringtone pierced the air, causing both of you to freeze.

Lucas.

His name flashed on the screen of your phone, lying near your feet. The blood drained from your face, terror flooding through you as the realization of what situation you are in dawned upon you. You were too scared to pick it up.

Jongho's chest rose and fell heavily against your back, his hand still on your clit, rubbing softly, teasingly.

"Pick it up, baby. What are you waiting for?" his voice taunted you, breath hot against your ear.He knew exactly what would happen if Lucas found out what the two of you were doing, it would mean death.

Trembling, you picked up the phone. "Hello, Lucas.” you answered, only to be pulled back into the delicious sensation as Jongho’s movements resumed, his dick working its magic as he continued thrusting into you, slow and torturous.

"Y/n! Where the hell are you?" Lucas barked from the other side. His tone was sharp and angry? But why? And how ?

Jongho’s pace quickened, matching the rhythm he had set earlier, each deep thrust making your toes curl, a moan dangerously close to slipping past your lips. "At home. Why? Where else would I be at this hour, Lucas?" You fought your hardest not to moan.

"Are you alone? Why do you sound so… awake?" Lucas questioned, suspicion lacing his words.

Jongho chose that very moment to thrust into you harder, making it almost impossible to keep your composure.

Because your brother is fucking the life out of me? So just hang the fuck up already.

"Because it's raining here." you managed to say. "There might be a storm. You know I’m afraid of lightning and thunder, so I couldn’t sleep." Almost on cue, thunder rumbled in the background, validating your excuse. Jongho’s deep thrust synced perfectly with the sound, sending shockwaves through your body.

"Oh yeah, I remember, sweetheart. What was Demi blabbering about—never mind. Sleep tight. I’ll see you when I’m back." And with that, he hung up.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Demi, you fucking bitch.

As soon as Lucas hung up, Jongho wasted no time. His thrusts resumed with intensity, each one driving you closer to the edge.

"Jongho... I can’t hold…am close, baby." you whimpered, your body trembling, aching for a release after that intesne call.

His deep voice urged you."Cum for me honey" as fingers find your clit again, rubbing in sync with his movements. “You’re soing soo good, sweet girl.”

Your body couldn't hold back any longer. A wave of euphoria crashed over you, and you cried out his name, clenching tightly around him. Jongho groaned, thrusting deeper as he chased his own high. His arms wrapped tightly around you, and with a final groan, he pulled out, spilling all over your back. Hot!

Why does he have to look so hot doing that?

The two of you collapsed together, breathless, as the rain poured outside.

Minutes passed as you both recovered. Pulling you closer, he cupped your cheeks, staring into your eyes as if he wanted to say something but was holding back. “I-I love—” he hesitated.

“I love you,” you smiled, finishing his sentence and stealing a small peck on his lips.

Why did you confess? Who confesses after one night together?

But somehow, it felt safe. He felt safe. His entire presence had that protective blanket you had craved for a while now.

Maybe he is the right one?

“I love you 3000,” he replied, smiling and blushing hard. Cringing at what he said, but you could feel the sincerity in his voice, his words somehow perfectly aligning with your 3000th day.

Another historical moment! also more freedom, maybe.

~ ~ Chérie ☆ signin’ off

DISCLAIMER: This is totally fictional and not a real depiction of the ATEEZ members. It's all just for fun only so please don’t take anything seriously and keep the mood light around here.

© ShixCherie.

[giveafike]

Santa, baby - B.T.S

TLDR: Writing a letter to Santa! This is part 2/12 of Azzie's Advent Calendar 2024!

Word count + info: 3.4k. including dialogue.

Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW! No warnings : )

Azzie Notes ✚: Day 2/12! Hope you enjoy part 2 ;)

————————————————————————

The twinkling Christmas tree cast a kaleidoscope of colours across the dimly lit room, its reflection dancing faintly on the windows; a cozy reminder of the chaotic decorating session just a couple of days ago. The air carried a faint hint of pine and cinnamon from a candle lit earlier. You were stretched out on the couch, your head on Ben’s lap, while your legs hung lazily over the side. His hand moved absently through your hair, the other holding the remote, cycling through the same few channels without settling on any. Outside, the Florida evening was calm as the sun began to set, the December air brushing against the windows. Ben’s leg bounced restlessly, and his off-key rendition of “Jingle Bell Rock” filled the otherwise quiet room.

“Do you ever stop moving?” you teased, your voice laced with affectionate exasperation as you nudged him in the ribs. The vibration of his laughter reverberated through your cheek, resting against his chest.

He grinned, eyes still fixed on the screen. “What do you mean? I’m perfectly still right now, doll.”

“You’re fidgeting,” you countered.

“Am not.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Your leg’s bouncing, you’re humming, and you’ve been flicking through the same channels for 10 minutes. That’s textbook fidgeting. It’s like being trapped on a merry-go-round with a very hyper elf.”

Ben tilted his head down to look at you, mock offence plastered across his face. “I’m an athlete, babe. Being in motion is my baseline, my natural state. Sitting still is unnatural for me.”

“Good thing tennis isn’t played sitting down, huh?” you shot back.

He laughed, setting the remote aside. “You’re lucky you’re cute, or I’d be deeply offended by that comment.”

“Oh, you love it,” you teased, nudging him with a grin.

He stretched his arms behind his head, smirking. “Alright, Miss Observant, what’s your excuse for being so still? You’ve barely moved all day.”

“I’m conserving energy.”

“For what? A marathon?”

“No, for dealing with you,” you quipped, making him laugh so hard his body shook beneath you.

Ben slid a hand to your waist, giving it a playful squeeze. “You’re on fire tonight. Got any more zingers, or is that it?”

“Plenty,” you teased, but the banter softened as your eyes drifted to the Christmas tree. You sighed, your voice more thoughtful now. “But seriously, I needed a lazy day. All that decorating wiped me out. My arms still ache from all that.”

“Wiped you out? I was the one dangling off ladders, risking my life for the good of the house.”

“Bryan was the one on the ladder. You just held it and moped,” you pointed out, holding back a laugh.

“Whatever,” Ben muttered, waving it off.

For a moment, the room fell into a comfortable silence, the faint crackle of the fireplace the only sound. You traced absent circles on his knee, your thoughts wandering. For a moment, you let yourself get lost in the simplicity of it all.

“What’s on your mind?” Ben's voice was quieter now, dipping into that softer register he reserved just for you.

“Christmas,” you admitted, leaning back against the couch, your gaze drifting toward the Christmas tree. “And how I have no idea what to get you.”

He blinked, surprised. “You’re stressin' over gettin' me a gift?”

“Of course I am! You’re impossible to shop for. You already have everything.”

He laughed, his amusement genuine. “That’s not true.”

“Name one thing you don’t have that you want,” you challenged, crossing your arms.

Ben opened his mouth but stopped short, thinking. “Okay, you’ve got a point.”

You groaned, flopping back dramatically. “This is a disaster.”

“Relax,” he said, rubbing you soothingly. “It’s not about the gifts anyway. Just being here together is enough.”

You rolled your eyes, but his sincerity made your heart squeeze. “That’s sweet and all, but it doesn’t solve my problem. You’re not the one shopping for a millionaire.”

Ben smirked. “Well, I'm already sorted, you’re not exactly hard to shop for, you know. You’ve got, like, three weaknesses: coffee, books, and anything fuzzy. Oh, or candles! You're more like an old lady.”

You laughed despite yourself. “Okay, Mr. Know-It-All. What’s your weakness?”

He paused, a teasing smile creeping onto his face. “You.”

You rolled your eyes, groaning. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious!” he said, leaning closer. “That’s why I don’t need anything else. I’ve already got the best gift.”

You buried your face in your hands. “Stop. You’re being so corny right now.”

Ben laughed, prying your hands away gently. “Alright, alright. If it helps, I have an idea.”

You raised an eyebrow warily. “This better be good.”

“When Emma and I were kids, my parents made us write letters to Santa every year,” he began, his grin turning playful. “It was Mom’s way of making sure we got what we wanted without spoiling the surprise. They’d pretend to send them to Santa, but really, they’d just use the lists to figure out what to buy us.”

“That’s sneaky!” you laughed.

“Right?” Ben leaned forward, conspiratorially. “And get this, by the time we were in high school, they stopped hiding it. Mom would literally say, ‘Write your letter, or you’re getting socks and a gift card.’” He shook his head, amused. “So, every year, Emma and I would sit at this exact table, armed with glitter pens and too much sugar, writing our letters.”

“Let me guess,” you sighed before continuing, “You want us to write Santa letters?”

“Exactly!” Ben said, his eyes lighting up. “We write our letters, swap them, and boom, your problem is solved, Santa's got it all under control then! This is basically charity work on my end.”

“You do realise Santa isn’t real, right?”

He gasped, looking down at you with a frown, jutting out his bottom lip a bit. “Take it back.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Fine. But I’m holding you to this.”

“Deal!” Ben shot up from the couch, returning moments later, arms overflowing with an assortment of supplies: colourful markers, pens, paper, glue sticks, and glitter pots that sparkled like tiny treasure chests.

“You had this ready to go?” you asked, amused.

“Nope,” he said, plopping everything onto the coffee table. “But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

At first, you felt out of place. Ben dived in enthusiastically, sketching haphazard snowflakes and slapping on Santa stickers without a second thought. Meanwhile, you stared at your blank sheet of paper, the sheer amount of options making you hesitate.

“You overthinkin' already?” he teased, glancing at you with a smirk.

“No,” you lied, picking up a red marker and drawing a tentative candy cane border.

“Babe, it’s not an exam. Just have fun with it. No rules, no judgment. Just channel your inner kid and tell Santa what you want.”

His carefree attitude was contagious, and soon, you found yourself leaning into the chaos. The table transformed into a colourful mess of spilt glitter and scattered craft supplies, the two of you laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Now and then you'd look up to see how he's coming along, only to find his head down, tongue poking out while holding an arsenal of different things in his hands. Ben was uncapping a red marker and beginning to scrawl his name across the top of his page in giant block letters one minute and then drawing messy swirls with glitter pens the next. Slowly but surely, you found yourself getting into it. The glitter, the colours, the silly doodles, it all felt so carefree like you were a kid again.

You couldn’t help but smile, picturing a younger Ben and Emma hunched over the same table, bickering about markers or laughing over lopsided drawings. There was a warmth in his voice as he spoke about it earlier, a nostalgia that wrapped around you like the soft glow of the Christmas lights.

“I think I just glued my sleeve to the table,” you mumbled, holding up your arm to reveal a rogue patch of glitter glue.

Ben burst out laughing. “That’s commitment. Santa’s gonna be impressed.”

As you settled into the groove, the sound of footsteps approached, and Ben’s mom appeared in the doorway.

“Well, what’s all this?” Lisa asked, her tone warm and amused.

“Mom!” Ben said, his face lighting up. “We’re writing letters to Santa.”

“Looks like you two are making a mess,” she teased, stepping closer.

“A festive mess,” Ben corrected, grinning.

Lisa shook her head fondly, holding up a tray. “I was going to wait until after dinner, but I thought you might like to try my test batch of sugar cookies now.” She placed the plate in the centre of the table, the smell of vanilla and butter filling the air.

“Cookies!” Ben reached for one, but Lisa smacked his hand lightly.

“After you finish your letters,” she scolded gently.

She lingered, peeking over your shoulder. “That’s beautiful,” she said softly, admiring your delicate handwriting and neatly drawn candy canes and soft glitter snowflakes.

“Thank you,” you said, blushing slightly under her praise.

Then her eyes shifted to Ben’s card, and her eyebrows shot up. His paper was a riot of colours, glitter, and stickers layered on top of each other, with a barely legible scrawl in the middle.

“Maximalist, are we?” she teased, suppressing a laugh.

“Uh, Santa likes effort,” Ben sassed, unbothered.

Lisa placed a hand over her chest, her voice softening. “This reminds me of when you and Emma were kids. Seeing this…” She trailed off, her eyes glistening. “It’s just nice to see you both so happy.”

“Mom,” Ben said, his teasing tone gentling.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Lisa said quickly, brushing her eyes before stepping out of the room, not before taking another small look again.

You glanced at Ben, who gave you a sheepish smile. “She gets emotional during the holidays.”

“Can you blame her?” you said softly. “Seeing you like this must be a Christmas miracle.”

Ben rolled his eyes, though his grin gave him away. “Oh, come on. I’m not that bad.”

You tilted your head, pretending to think it over. “Hmm, well, maybe she’s just proud of how creative you are,” you teased, gesturing toward the chaotic swirl of colours and glitter on his letter.

“Or she’s worried I’ll turn the table into a giant art project,” he quipped, nudging his letter to the side. Then his gaze shifted, curious but soft. “What about you? What’d you make?”

You hesitated for a moment, the neat edges of your letter feeling impossibly small under his curious stare. “It’s... nothing too special,” you murmured, pushing the letter toward him. “Here. You first.”

Ben set down his chaotic masterpiece and took your letter carefully, as if it might disintegrate in his hands. He studied the neat candy cane and holly border framing the card, his fingers running over the soft dusting of glitter.

“Wow,” he said, letting out a low whistle as he opened it. “This is… insanely good. Like, you actually have artistic talent. Are you sure you haven’t been secretly working on this for years?”

You laughed, brushing a stray curl behind his ear. “Promise. This is a one-night debut.”

Ben’s eyes scanned the page, his lips curling up as he read.

Dear Santa, I hope this letter finds you well and not too stressed with all the preparations. It’s been a long time since I’ve written to you, but this year feels like a good one to start again. You have Ben to thank for inspiring me. Here’s my wish list, if you have room on the sleigh: • A new bottle of my favourite perfume, it’s been my go-to for years, but it’s running low. • A seat close to the court for Ben’s matches, no matter where they take us. • Wins for Ben, but only if they make him as happy as he makes everyone else. His joy's important! • To spend Christmas every year with the people who mean the most to me. • And maybe, just maybe, some snow… even if it’s just for a day. I hope that isn't too demanding of me to ask. This whole year has been like a present in itself so thank you for this gift, Santa. I promise to leave you extra cookies and milk this year. Oh, and a carrot for the reindeer too. Have a Merry Christmas!

When he finished, he folded the letter carefully, placing it back on the table like it was fragile. His smile softened, full of warmth. “Short, sweet, and not demanding. Very you.”

“Not everyone needs glitter explosions and twenty stickers on one page,” you teased, gesturing at his card.

“Hey,” he protested, a grin breaking through. “My card has personality.”

“It has something, alright,” you said, laughing.

Ben reached over and kissed your temple, lingering for a moment. “Seriously, though. This is perfect. Especially the part about being in the stands. That… that means a lot to me.”

“Of course,” you said, your voice dropping as you nudged his shoulder. “I’ll always be there for you, Ben.”

Ben softened for a moment before he looked down at his card. “Good. Now it’s your turn.” He slid his card across the table with a flourish. “Prepare to be dazzled.”

You picked up the card, struggling to keep your laughter in. The front was pure Ben: layers of stickers, tennis balls, Santa hats, random stars, glitter glue that hadn’t dried evenly, and doodles that vaguely resembled a reindeer.

“Wow,” you said, biting back a grin. “This is… a lot.”

“Flip it over!” he encouraged, his eyes sparkling.

You turned it over, and while the inside was just as chaotic visually, the words stopped you in your tracks. Ben’s letter wasn’t just a list, it was a peek into his heart. The colourful chaos on the page mirrored his playful spirit, but it was the words that tugged at you. His handwriting was large and uneven, the kind you knew he didn’t try to perfect because he didn’t need to impress anyone. In the corner, a sketch of a wobbly reindeer pranced next to a crooked sleigh. Glitter was scattered across the page, probably unintentionally, because there were smudges where his hand must have dragged through wet glue.

Still, there was something so endearing about the effort he’d put into it, and you couldn’t help but smile as you read:

Dear Santa, Hey, it’s Ben. How's the year been? Hope things are good up at the North Pole, though I imagine it’s pretty busy. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it quick since my list has grown a bit since last year. • A solid serve under pressure. Dad’s always saying I need to keep my calm when the moment gets big. Maybe sprinkle some magic dust on my game? Nothing crazy, I like earning it but just imagine it: an extra inch or two at 140 miles an hour, and Dad finally stops giving me grief about it. That’d be a Christmas miracle. • Speaking of Dad, can we get him a steady heart? He puts so much into us, Santa. It’d be great if he could stress a little less, even when he’s watching me blow a tiebreak. • More chances to make people smile. I’ve realised it’s one of the best parts of what I do. Winning feels great, sure, but seeing someone’s day light up? That’s better. • A little extra time. Life moves fast, Santa. Maybe slow it down just enough to enjoy the small things like the quiet moments that matter the most. • A hug for my family. Even when I’m not home, I hope they know they’re the real MVPs holding the fort down here. • Sunshine. Not for me, we’ve got plenty here but for when I’m on tour, so I can carry it with me wherever I go. • That one racket. You know the one. I saw it last week and didn’t want to splurge because technically I don’t need it, but man, it’d be fun to use. (Do elves do sporting goods? Asking for a friend.) • Happiness for her. You know who I mean. She’s the best thing that’s happened to me, and if you could help me make this Christmas together extra special, I’d owe you big time. Just a little more of this, hanging out, laughing, making her smile. That’s all I need, really. • More evenings like tonight. The simple ones, where everything feels right and nothing else matters. That’s all I’ve got! No pressure, whatever you can manage is fine by me. I’ll leave the cookies to Mom, though. She always makes extras if you swing by. The sugar cookies seem pretty good this year, if you ask me. Merry Christmas to you, Mrs. Claus, and the reindeer. Don’t work too hard! - Ben. P.S. If you’ve got any extra luck lying around, maybe sprinkle some on my forehand. Just saying.

You finished reading, your hands trembling slightly, heart fuller than you’d expected from such a chaotic-looking letter. When you looked up, Ben was watching you, his expression soft and unguarded.

“Ben…” you started, your voice catching. “This is so-”

“Too much?” he interrupted quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it’s kind of a mess, but-”

“It’s perfect,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “It’s so you. Honest, sweet, and kind of all over the place, but that’s what makes it perfect.”

Relief flickered in his eyes, and his lips quirked into a crooked smile. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“No,” you said, folding the letter carefully and placing it back on the table. “I mean it. Especially the part about making my Christmas extra special. You’re already doing that, you know.”

His grin softened into something more tender, and he leaned over to brush a kiss against your cheek. “You’re my favourite part of the holidays, you know. Don’t tell Santa.”

You giggled, the warm flush of affection spreading through you. “I think he already knows.”

Ben chuckled, leaning back slightly, his hand casually resting on the curve of your knee. The room fell quiet for a moment as the festive glow of the lights filled the space, but then you sighed, breaking the silence as you scanned over his letter again.

“Ben, this is beautiful and everything, but…” You gestured at his letter, exasperated. “It’s also completely unhelpful. I’m still totally lost on what to get you!”

His grin widened into that mischievous smirk you knew too well. “I already told you. You don’t need to get me anything!”

“Well, don’t be sad if I’m stood under the Christmas tree in nothing but a bow,” you teased, scoffing.

Ben’s eyes lit up as he laughed, leaning in closer. “Sad? I’d call that the best Christmas gift ever! If you’re offering, I wouldn’t mind-”

“Benjamin Shelton!” you gasped, smacking his arm before he could finish whatever undoubtedly dirty thought was forming.

He burst out laughing, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright! I’ll behave… sort of.”

“Good,” you huffed with a playful smile tugging at your lips.

Ben shook his head, still grinning, and slid an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “I’m serious, though, don’t stress about it. You know me better than anyone. Whatever you pick, I’ll love it, because it’s from you. That’s all that matters to me.”

You sighed, resting your head against his chest, letting his heartbeat and the soft glow of the Christmas lights settle your nerves. “You make everything sound so simple.”

“That's because it is simple,” he said, pressing a kiss to your hair. “You being here is the best part of Christmas. The rest? It’s just other little things. Maybe I already have everything I need,” he added softly, his voice suddenly more sincere.

You froze for a moment, your heart catching at the honesty in his tone. “Ben…”

“Don’t make that face,” he said quickly, pulling back with a sheepish smile. “I’m just saying, you bein' here for Christmas? That’s already enough for me.”

You stared at him, unsure whether to laugh or cry. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And yet, you still love me,” he teased, nudging you with his shoulder.

“Debatable,” you shot back, though your smile betrayed you.

Your eyes drifted back to his letter, your gaze lingering on the line: "More evenings like tonight." It wasn’t flashy or materialistic, and that’s what made it hit even harder. For all his teasing and jokes, Ben wasn’t asking for anything extravagant, just more moments like this, where everything felt simple and good.

And for the first time tonight, you started to believe he might be right.

[simlicious]

Looking for Advent Calendar background image submissions from you!

For my annual Advent Calendar, I am looking once again for submissions! Create your most beautiful wintery landscape, cozy fireplace scene, Christmas Market spirit, or anything else that represents the coziness of the season to you! Keep in mind that people will likely see it several times, so maybe you want to focus on telling a story within the image or add little details that people can discover. But you do you! I very much appreciate your submissions! Thank you for helping me make my Adcant calendar extra special! Please read all of the terms and instructions before you submit! Thank you!

the scene should be either wintery, festive, or both

the scene can be futuristic, fantastic, historical, contemporary, whatever you like!

it should be made with/in the Sims 3 (you can also make a render if it is based on Sims 3 meshes)

Keep in mind that the doors will be placed onto the image and may partly obscure the image. Details at the edges of the image might get cut off, depending on the user's display settings.

the image should be 1920x1080 pixels or bigger (if you really want to submit but have a smaller resolution, talk to me, I'm sure we can work something out)

please make sure that you upload the image submission in a way that does not reduce the size or compress the image (the tumblr dm's will reduce it, so please upload it to a photo or file hoster.)

I will reserve the right to do some editing in terms of colors or lightness or maybe smooth out some jagged seams. I may also use an AI-based upscaler to increase its size to support more screen sizes.

You can edit the image yourself before you submit

If possible, please please turn on edge smoothing/antialiasing before you take screenshots, or use reshade to smooth the edges.

You can use Custom Content (even my own😋)

if I get several submissions, which I count on, I will do my best to divide the time justly so every picture gets equal "screen time". However, I cannot guarantee it.

please let me know how you want to be referred to in terms of credit. I will add your credit directly in the image so people know it is yours! If you want to use your blog handle, I will refer to it as @ tumblr, for example.

Please submit by November 28 if you can manage. I do accept late submissions under special circumstances, just talk to me :)

I will only use the images as a Calendar background, for nothing else

Please only submit images if you are okay with all the terms!

If you have any questions, let me know either in the comments of this post or in the dm's/tumblr chat.

[miumura]

( 🎞️ ) LOVE EASILY CRUMBLES — TAEHYUN SHORT FIC

[ DAY FIVE ] of the advent calendar !

( 🎞️ ) SYNOPSIS . . how easy it is to lose love for a season.

( .𖥔 ݁ ) PAIRING . . classmate!taehyun x classmate!gn-reader

( 🎞️ ) GENRE . . fluff, angst | FT. K + NICHOLAS ( &TEAM )

( .𖥔 ݁ ) WARNINGS . . profanity, miscommunications, someone kinda being a douchebag, taehyun is kinda frustrating ngl bc he holds GRUDGESSS 😪 — WORD COUNT : 1.1K+ ( 1139 )

( 🎞️ ) NOTE . . omg is this the start of soph FINALLY working on smth for txt 😱?? LMAO trust i have been trying for the past months but the ideas never got finished so </3 so im def proud of myself for getting this out n finished for u guys 🤍

"Come on! Ask him out!" K whispered, nudging you in Kang Taehyun's direction.

"I can't do this right now! I'm nervous—seriously, calm down!" You attempted to hold your ground, even pushing back, but the inevitable draw towards your crush seemed unstoppable.

"Stop playing matchmaker at the moment!"

"You need to make a move! You both complement each other so well! You, the energetic one, and him, the quiet one—it's a perfect match, if you ask me!" After a final nudge from K, you found yourself right next to Taehyun, who was seated at his desk, engrossed in a book with earbuds in. Well, fuck.

Sensing your presence, your crush, Kang Taehyun, glanced up, his eyebrow arching in mild surprise. Cursing your nerves, you hastily fished out a folded piece of paper from your pocket. Placing it on his desk, you offered a fleeting smile before dashing away.

You locked eyes with K, shooting him a fierce glare. "K, you're in trouble."

"Hey! I helped you—" K's protest was cut short as you chased him out of the classroom, eliciting a yelp. "I'm sorry!"

Meanwhile, Taehyun observed the scene, a small smile gracing his lips at the commotion. Returning his focus to the piece of paper, he carefully unfolded it.

"Here’s my number: XXX-XXX-XXXX.

Let’s go out?"

Despite his typically reserved and aloof nature, Taehyun found himself smiling, a faint pink tint gracing his cheeks—an unfamiliar but welcome sensation for him.

"And then—holy shit!" You exclaimed, eyes widened as you stared at your phone screen. Your heart raced far faster than usual, but who wouldn't get excited over something like this? "He actually texted me!"

"Who?" Nicholas barely showed any reaction but was still curious about the source of your unexpected excitement. “The quiet loser?”

You playfully hit his arm, causing him to wince and rub the spot. “No need to diss my future boyfriend now.”

“Okay, now you're delusional—and your taste in men is terrible too?”

“Oh fuck off, Nicholas,” you retorted, your eyes fixed on your phone, a smile spreading across your face as you read Taehyun's messages.

Hey YN, it’s Taehyun.

So, where do you wanna go?

You quickly typed up a response, “There’s a lovely spot not too far from here. Beautiful trees and a bench made for two. Oh, and there's a chance of snow today! It could be the perfect moment…unless you're not a fan of snow?”

He read your messages, and at this point, you were practically biting your fingernails, hoping he shared your affection for winter. It was your favorite season, with its enchanting snow and the opportunity to wear layers of cozy clothing.

That sounds wonderful. I love the snow :)

When?

With a sense of relief, you quickly arranged for the date to happen today, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement when Taehyun agreed. "I can't believe I just set up a date."

“I still don’t know what you see in him.”

“Stop being a mood killer, Nicho.”

You were spot on—tonight, snowfall was abundant, and Taehyun faced biting winds that blew the snowflakes into his face. Extending his hand, the snowflakes delicately settled in his palm, melting at his touch. At least the snow was pretty today.

Glancing at the time on his phone—6 PM, precisely on schedule—he approached the location. It was indeed a charming sight. The lights cast a soft glow above the bench, creating an atmosphere purposefully crafted for a romantic encounter for two. A smile graced his face; everything seemed just perfect, tailored to his ideal kind of date.

Sitting down on the bench, he looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse of you at any moment. He waited.

And waited.

An hour had passed, and you hadn’t arrived. Taehyun was puzzled; where could you be? He was confident about the time—6 PM and the location you had chosen. His phone suddenly chimed, a notification he hoped was from you, but instead, it was a text from an unknown number.

You really think YN would go on a date with someone like you?

The text hit him like a ton of bricks.

She's popular, you're not. Why would she waste her time on a loser like you?

Doubt crept in, making his heart sink.

He felt a wave of nausea rising, his grip on the phone tightening, his fingers nearly turning numb. Did he raise his hopes for nothing? Did he really think that you were going to be different from the rest? The biting cold made it increasingly hard for him to catch his breath—how he despised the sensations coursing through him.

Nervously, his fingers hovered over your contact, finally pressing the call button. He didn’t know what he was doing, but it just felt like the right thing. Anxiously, he chewed on his lip while waiting on the line, and soon, he heard shuffling in the background. His eyes widened at how quickly you picked up the phone.

"Hey Taehyun?" Your voice sounded surprisingly calm on your end.

"Where are you?" he asked, trying to maintain composure, but the cold and wind were beginning to make him sound shaken up.

“I’m here with Nicholas—why do you ask?”

Taehyun should’ve known.

“So I’ve been waiting out here in the cold for no reason?”

“Huh?”

“The date you wanted to go on, YN. God, can you stop acting oblivious and tell me how you actually feel about me?” Taehyun feels the anger getting to him, his voice already rising.

“But the date is set to 8 PM? Wait, did I not tell you that?”

“That’s just a fucking excuse, isn’t it?”

“No, I thought I told you 8 PM? Oh my god—Taehyun, I’m so sorry. It’s a mistake, I swear!” You felt panicked, re-reading the text message you sent, realizing your mistake.

“Yeah right.” he just couldn’t help but chuckle at his situation.

“Taehyun, you have to believe me—” But he cut you off, “I already know how you feel. Thanks for playing with me—oh, and most important, thanks for ruining winter for me.”

“Wait—” But Taehyun hung up before you could continue. He had too many thoughts swirling in his head to deal with everything at that moment.

Taehyun sat alone on the snow-covered bench, the bitter cold seeping into him as he felt the disappointment and frustration swirl within. His emotions were a chaotic mess, a blend of anger, hurt, and the numbing chill of the winter night. The twinkling lights above seemed to mock his shattered hopes.

As he walked away, his shoulders weighed heavy with a mix of resentment and sorrow. Winter, once his beloved season, was now tarnished by this painful memory.

With a heavy heart, Taehyun knew this winter would forever hold a bitter taste, a season stained by a shattered promise and unfulfilled expectations.

SEND AN ASK / COMMENT TO BE ADDED!

TXT PERM TAGLIST — @flwoie @haruavrse @bearseulgs @ilovewonyo @bubblytaetae @ineedaherosavemeenow @ml8dy @wonioml @xiaoderrrr @neozon3nha @ja4hyvn @thia-aep @vampcharxter @sleepymoon27

[starwarsmum]

Espresso is today's prompt!

@maribat-calendar-events

Marinette paced the lobby floor of the Wayne Enterprises’ building, sketchbook clamped in her hands. She was trying not to approach the desk too early but she had arrived at the building with twenty minutes to spare.

When ten minutes had passed she decided that it was early enough to be considered professionally eager and not like she had no concept of time management. The receptionist smiled blandly at her but worked up when she was there to see Tim. She wondered what his position in the company was to make the other staff more polite - not that they were rude before, but the man had practically jumped to offer her a beverage as soon as Tim's name left her mouth.

She was led to an elevator and her eyebrows raised when he hit the top floor button. She didn't know a lot about large corporations but she was fairly sure that the top floor was reserved for people with power. They had the luxury of taking extra time to get to their offices, and being above everyone else offered a privacy that didn't come with being close to the ground.

Perhaps he was using an unused office to seem more important when meeting with what he perceived to be an impressive - not to mention elusive - potential collaborator. But the timid way the secretary that sat outside the office tapped on the door and apologised for interrupting made her wonder.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng! Come on in,” Tim said, grinning at her before turning back to the receptionist. “Thanks Jake, I'll let you know if we need anything.”

“Oh, um, call me Marinette,” she said, sitting down in the chair opposite his own. The office was furnished in a comfortable style, the chairs worn but still chic. “I guess I didn't realise you were quite so high up in the company - I didn't really get your surname the other day.”

“You didn't…oh, wow, I guess I'm so used to people recognising B that it didn't occur to me to use them,” Tim said with a slight grimace. “Tim Drake, adoptee of Bruce Wayne and Co-CEO of Wayne Enterprises.”

“Huh,” was all she said, but her mind was blue-screening pretty hard as she gave him another once over. He was dressed casually, jeans and a loose tee with a hoodie thrown over it. She would rather die than admit it just then but he was unfairly attractive like that - relaxed but confident. “Well, it's nice to meet you officially. You mentioned wanting an original…”

As she got swept up in a discussion about fashion choices and artistic licence, she lost track of time. By the time their scheduled hour was over, he had moved to sit on the desk to the side of her as she sketched her preliminary thoughts out.

“Wow, I knew you were talented because anyone who can design for Jagged Stone is amazing but…it's totally different getting to see your design process up close. I'm sorry to cut this short but I actually have another meeting now. Maybe we could meet again?”

“Sure, I should probably get back to the old job hunt,” she said, her smile dimming slightly. 

“How on earth do you need to get a day job? Isn't designing for Jagged Stone enough?”

“I mean, yeah, it is, but I'm saving as much as I can to buy my own place so having a job with a reliable income would be better.”

“Surely someone wants to hire MDC though, right? I mean, you're a pretty big name in the fashion world.”

“But if I use my alias to get the job, most fashion houses will take the credit for the work I do as MDC. And as much as I want to open my own brand, I kind of like the anonymity. And only designing for Jagged means it's not an overwhelming amount of work.”

Tim seemed to be thinking hard for a minute and Marinette almost reminded him that he had a meeting before he snapped his fingers and pointed at her.

“What if Wayne Enterprises hires you as a designer? Like, low level, hardly an important cog in the machine but still gives you a stable job? Wayne Fashion is a pretty relaxed environment, we have a decent benefit package and you'll get the chance to work with other designers.”

“That sounds kind of…perfect,” Marinette admitted, eyes wide and face flushed. “And given I did all my commissions as a side gig to my schooling anyway, it won't get in the way too much. The only thing is I have pretty bad anxiety, it means I have to duck out occasionally to handle it. It's part of the reason I haven't been able to get a job yet - America is much more cut throat than Paris about that sort of thing.”

“Totally understand, I'll get someone to draw you up a contract and then we can go over it together as soon as we're both free. If you have a lawyer, feel free to ask them to come along and they can make sure you're not signing anything that doesn't work for you.”

Marinette left the building, stunned. She had gone in expecting to do a one-off commission piece for a fan and walked out with a potential job offer. Only time would tell if he was serious, but she had hoped that the tedious search for work was finally at an end.

_ _ _

When Tim set the date for the contract review he wasn't sure what to expect on the day of. His search into her background hadn't pulled anything additional, although there was one file that said she had been approached by the Miraculous Team once to help out. He wondered why she hadn't been kept as a holder but didn't know when he could casually bring it up with the team.

For today, though, he was waiting for the young designer to arrive. She had confirmed that she was bringing a lawyer/friend and he fully expected it to be a friend of hers. She knew an impressive amount of people in different fields to herself. 

What he hadn't expected was Jagged Stone's personal assistant to accompany Marinette. Not many people would know who she was without Jagged next to her but Dick had gone on and on about him and everything to do with him so Tim would have known her anywhere. Dick's love of Jagged Stone is part of what inspired Tim's, and Tim didn't often do things by halves.

“Hi, nice to meet you Mr Drake, I'm Miss Dupain-Cheng’s legal counsel today. My name's-”

“Penny Rolling,” Tim blurted out, launching forward to shake her hand. She seemed amused as she shook back, glancing to Marinette for an explanation. When she didn't provide one he flushed slightly before doing so himself. “I'm, uh, a huge fan of your other client, as is my brother.”

“Well it's unusual to meet someone who recognises me on sight. And you're giving me very Marinette-on-espresso vibes right now, so we'll try to make this quick for you.”

By the end of the meeting, Penny had agreed that the contract was more than fair and Marinette signed with a flourish. 

[queenjunothegreat]

*(blows REALLY loud on a safety whistle)* I've got another one for you all! This one is ALSO an HoJ-verse fic, woo! We're gonna focus on Piper and her relationship with the Aphrodite cabin cuz, like. Bruh. You wanna TALK about an unexplored relationship. Same goes for Annabeth and Leo and their siblings, too smh

So, may I present Ao3 Collection Day Nine: PIPER Has a Spa Day

Back in the Aphrodite cabin, she found Drew kicking a dozen bean bag chairs into a more aesthetic arrangement around the low tables and projector screen, and Piper cocked her head to the side. “Do you show, like, YouTube tutorials for make-up looks or something?” Drew looked at her like she’d grown a second head. “What? No, dumbass. This is for watching movies.” “I’m guessing we’re watching a rom-com?” Piper asked, trying to avoid wrinkling her nose. “No idea,” Drew shrugged. “It’s Mitchell’s turn to pick.” *** Piper makes good on her promise of an Aphrodite Cabin Spa Day. She has a nicer time than she expected to Ao3 Collection Day Nine: Roommates Cabinmates

If Piper were to make a list of all the things she wanted to do, a spa day with her siblings would not have made the cut. It wasn’t the worst thing she could imagine, obviously, but since the day Drew had scribbled the date onto the cabin calendar with that wide, knowing smirk, she’d kind of been dreading it. But she’d made a promise and she was determined to get Jason and Leo together, and that meant getting Drew’s help, and that meant hanging out with her siblings while they all slathered gunk on each other’s faces and gossiped over things she didn’t care about.

That did not mean she wouldn’t try to get out of it.

“Do I have to do this?” Piper whined, flopping herself over the end of Drew’s bed like a fish. “Because I really don’t want to. I can write you a song to serenade Nyssa with instead of this. That could be fun, right?”

Drew dug her foot under Piper’s ribs so she could kick her to the floor. “I don’t care if you go or not,” she said flatly. “If you’d rather sit in the Bunker making weird frog faces at your short friend, or whatever the hell it is you two do, be my guest.”

Piper sat up eagerly. “Really?”

“Sure. But if you want my help – and we both know you need my help – you’ll suck it up and behave normally for once in your life,” Drew finished. “Also, if you do bale, telling everyone is going to be your responsibility. You get to look Lacy in the eye and tell her you’d rather have your teeth pulled than hang out with her.”

Piper paused. “You told them I was coming?”

“No, Lacy told them you were coming,” Drew corrected. “Like I said, I couldn’t care less if you show up, but she’s been asking me if you were going to come every time we do this, and I’ve had to keep telling her no. She was over the moon when I told her you’d finally agreed to this one.”

“Oh.” Piper stared down at her hands. She thought about Lacy, who was one of the more reserved of her siblings giving Drew that big gap-toothed smile just because she thought she was going to get to hang out with Piper. Then she thought about that same gap-toothed grin falling in a look of disappointment when she realized that Piper wasn’t going to show up for her. Piper thought about all those times where she’d clutched a phone to her ear and stubbornly blinked back tears while she told her dad’s assistant that she understood that her dad was busy but that maybe he’d find time for her next weekend. She swallowed thickly. “Okay, I’ll come.”

“Good answer,” Drew drawled like she genuinely couldn’t care less if Piper showed up or not. “In that case, go to the Hermes cabin, and ask to talk to Goose. He’s got the snacks and supplies for tonight. If he asks you for money or any kind of payment, tell him to eat dirt and just leave without it. He knows the deal we have, but he will absolutely try to cheat you out of anything you have. Don’t let him.”

Piper nodded and got to her feet so that she could head over to the Hermes cabin. As promised, she was pointed immediately to someone who introduced himself as Goose, who had a magenta duffle bag that had DT embroidered on it in bright electric blue stuffed under his bed. As promised, he did try to insist that payment was due upon receipt of the bag, but he’d almost immediately backed down after hearing Drew’s second hand command to eat dirt. Piper almost wondered what had happened between the two of them to get that response, but she figured she’d be better off not asking, lest she wind up the one eating dirt. 

Back in the Aphrodite cabin, she found Drew kicking a dozen bean bag chairs into a more aesthetic arrangement around the low tables and projector screen, and Piper cocked her head to the side. “Do you show, like, YouTube tutorials for make-up looks or something?”

Drew looked at her like she’d grown a second head. “What? No, dumbass. This is for watching movies.”

“I’m guessing we’re watching a rom-com?” Piper asked, trying to avoid wrinkling her nose. 

“No idea,” Drew shrugged. “It’s Mitchell’s turn to pick.”

“Speaking of, where is everyone?”

“Valentina is doing clarinet lessons with the Apollo cabin, Aiden, Avery, and Amy are in the stables, and Mitchell and Lacy are down at the lake practicing for the canoe race this weekend,” Drew recited before she gave Piper a sour look. “Which you should know, seeing as you’re co-counselor.”

Piper ducked her head and refused to meet Drew’s eye. “Uh, yeah. You’re probably right.”

Surprisingly, Drew didn’t make a snide comment, she just ordered Piper around to get everything set up for the night. By the time she was satisfied, everyone but Mitchell and Lacy had shown up, and Piper was about ready to rip out her hair. 

“Can we please be done now?” she demanded. Around her the other Aphrodite kids were nodding in agreement, which she smirked victoriously at. “We’ve got all the snacks and the chairs and the face gunk; what else could you want?”

“It’s not face gunk,” Avery protested with clear offense. 

Before Piper or Drew could respond, the door was flung open and Lacy came bounding in, Mitchell hot on her heels. When her eyes fell on Piper, her face broke out in a wide, beaming smile. “Piper! You’re actually here!”

Within a second, Piper was half tackled in a hug and Lacy started talking a mile a minute, eagerly showing Piper everything she needed to know about Cabin 10 spa days. Piper looked up to Drew for any kind of help she could offer, but was only met with a keen smirk of smug satisfaction. Piper resisted the urge to flip her off. 

Despite her initial misgivings about the whole ordeal, Piper had… well, she had fun. Lacy and Mitchell both were more than happy to guide her through the application of all the weird face gunk (”It’s a hydrating and cleansing facial mask, not gunk!” Avery shrieked) and Drew had arranged for Goose to get them just about every junk food imaginable and Mitchell had picked Brother Bear of all things to watch, and Piper most certainly didn’t cry at any point, even when Lacy started sniffling. At one point, Amy and Valentina had blindfolded Aiden and made him guess what Jelly Bean flavor they were feeding him, which was put to a stop when Drew had offered her own hand-crafted Jelly Bean, made from rolling some of the jellied face powder in some nacho cheese dust until it was solid. Valentina and Amy had nearly wet their pants laughing while Aiden gagged and tried to get rid of the flavor with Coca-Cola mouth washes while he cursed them in Ancient Greek. The whole event was a lot louder and messier and more chaotic than Piper had really anticipated it being, and she could probably count one hand the number of times she’d had this much fun. 

Once everything had started to wind down, some of their group had decided to retreat to their beds for the night, but Piper, Lacy, and Avery’s all decided to camp out on the beanbag chairs instead.

With Avery’s loud snores filling their little living room, Piper felt Lacy cuddle closer to her side. “Piper?” 

“Yeah, Lacy?”

“I’m really glad you decided to do spa day with us,” she admitted in her tiny little voice. “I had a lot of fun with you here.”

“Yeah?” Piper asked, her lips curled up in a gentle smile. “I had a lot of fun, too.”

“Do you think you’ll hang out with us some more?”

Piper paused for only a moment before she rolled over and squeezed Lacy up in a hug. “I’ll hang out with you for as long as you want me, Lacy.”

Lacy giggled quietly, and Piper couldn’t help but giggle along with her.

[haeminlgc]

「 SNAPSHOTS & WORDS 」

⇢ season's greetings from Yoo Haemin

items included: desk calendar, photobook, polaroid set (4 polaroids), photocard set (12 cards, one for each month), sticker set (1 sheet), calendar poster and a keychain

[template credit]

Haemin decided to call his season's greetings Snapshots & Words since those who do know him will tell you that he is of the introverted sort and tends not to use his words as much as he should. After some personal growth this year, he has decided to be more forward and live his life instead of sitting idly by and only remembering it in snapshots.

The use of the term 'snapshots' also allude to his love for movies since films are essentially moving pictures. Sometimes seeing just a still or screen shot from a movie can capture your attention and your imagination, bringing you back to that emotional state when you first saw it. And with those emotions memories: memories of people, of food, and events.

The props that Haemin chose to use for this concept were, by his own admission, a little on the nose opting for physical pictures and polaroids for his snapshots and various books and letters for his words component. His styling is leaning a little more towards the modelling side (he shows skin!) as he wanted to show a different side to himself, one who takes a little bit of risk but is still relatively safe and reserved. Two different outfits rooted in the classic black and white with various accessories to complement his looks.

The desk calendar and photobook contain a mix of handwritten letters and notes (scanned) from Haemin to his fans thanking them for their continued support, encouraging them in their daily lives, and reminding them to take time and focus on their own wellbeing. The backs of the photocards and polaroids also carry a short cute message from him.

Haemin is by no means a good artist but his sticker sheet is based on doodles (think hearts, stars, smiley faces, perhaps even the odd plant and/or cat) that he has drawn, as well as encouraging words (fighting!, jjang!, you did well etc.,) that the fans can use to put on their desk calendar to get them through their day.

For sheer ease of use, he decided to go with a keychain instead of a diary (and perhaps the nagging guilt of the many unused stationery notebooks he has stashed in a box in his shelf influenced his decision) which sports pretty, boyfriend-esque picture of Haemin as well as his catch phrase, "always yours, Minmin" on the opposite side.

[imsadstuff]

Loving You Is Red - A Jeon Jungkook Fic, teaser 3

Link to fic: here

Synopsis:

Jeon Jungkook's name was unheard on the Formula 1 paddock till he got a chance to drive a Mercedes car as a reserve driver. His 2020 starts looking brighter as he signs with Ferrari and meets you, his teammates little sister. So many cliched tropes, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, dating brother's best friend, and most importantly Jeon Jungkook looks smoking hot in a Ferrari!

Author's Note:

So, this has been collecting dust in my drafts since I watched Drive to Survive last year, watched the new season, and got motivated to write this fic.

The fic is going to be released on 17th March 2023, mark your calendars!!

Please comment under if you want to be added to the reading list for this fic! ❤ Also, if you have any thoughts or ideas, please feel free to comment or message me and for the love of Jungkook, don't be a ghost reader!

Race 8 Austrian Grand Prix 2020

“Why?” Jungkook asks as he’s walking to the Ferrari office. It’s a meeting and photoshoot heavy day for him.

“Because I have a job now, even if it’s sorting my father’s emails and arranging his meetings, I can’t be there every weekend” you explain calmly as you swivel around in your office chair.

“What’s your day like today?” he asks as a fan stops him for a picture, he’s becoming better at being popular as every race happens.

“We have a few apartment showings, so I’ll be shadowing him, start to figure out if I want to do this or not” you say sipping on your coffee, you’d been arriving early at the office to have some moments of peace before the chaos starts.

“What is your day like?” you ask him and he just grunts, knowing how bad it is to sit through meetings.

“I have a strategy meeting, another meeting with the communications team, lunch with a bunch of promoters and in the evening we’re shooting a bunch of videos for ferrari’s youtube channel” Jungkook reiterates his schedule for the day, and he’s already starting to feel tired.

“Press has just been awful since the last race, no wonder we’re having comms meeting two days in a row” Jungkook had been trying to stay away from the negative headlines but everyone was absolutely shitting on Phillip this week.

“They like pitting you and Phillip against each other, last week was all the ammunition they needed” you had been screening all the click baity articles, they were absolutely making Phillip lose his mind.

“Do you think he hit me on purpose or was I really in his blind spot?” Jungkook asks opening the door to the conference room, most people are already here. Phillip is already slouched against a chair, looking defeated already.

“No comment” “Boo Freaking Hoo!!” he says and you can’t help but smile like a stupid idiot.

“Call me later if you can” you say and Jungkook hums a goodbye as he takes a seat opposite Phillip. 

“So, lots of bad press, people are divided” Claudia says, placing down multiple article print outs and newspapers on the table. 

“And thank you Phillip for snapping at the sky sports reporter, just handing them their headlines” this hasn’t been Phillip’s week, and he’s done with cameras and reporters.

“We need to take hold of the narrative or at least change it because the sponsors aren’t happy with the two drivers seemingly fighting each other. How about you go golfing or something this tuesday” Claudia suggests and Phillip immediately nods his head no. 

“He can’t golf to save his life and I have my sister’s birthday party that day-”

“So, just invite Jungkook, because I really need the news narrative to change” Claudia says with an authoritative tone, the two of them can’t even think about going against her. 

“I don’t want to intrude on a family thing-” Jungkook sounds a little offended by the whole situation, mostly he’s a little ticked off about you not telling him about your coming birthday.

“It’s not, it’s a surprise party with a few friends, I was going to invite you anyway” Phillip says and Claudia smiles widely.

“This is sorted then, I need at least a story with the birthday girl on the two of your instagram’s” The two of them are left alone as Claudia leaves, there’s still this animosity in the air.

“Just so we’re clear, I didn’t hit your car on purpose,” Phillip says, looking Jungkook square in his eyes.

“I know that,” Jungkook replies, a little too confidently.

“How can you be so sure?” Phillip asks as he sits up straight.

“You’re competitive, not petty” Jungkook leaves with a big smirk on his face, he’s been enjoying the season so far a little too much.

taglist:

@blancflms @nadzzzblog @kookiewhtaee @jksoftii @oiseul @elisaaru @coralmusicblaze @tearyjjeon

(comment under if you want to be added to the tag list)