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formulawolff · 5 months ago

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el tango de roxanne - t.w.

pairing: figure skater!reader x toto wolff

word count: 2.8k

warnings: cursing, angst, (slight) age gap relationships, (slight) casual friends to lovers arc, allusions to smut, toto being a jealous fuck, yadayadayada

song inspo: el tango de roxanne by ewan mcgregor, jacek koman, and josé feliciano (if you couldn’t tell by the title hehe)

a/n: if you haven’t watched tessa virtue & scott moir’s iconic moulin rouge routine… where have you been? anyways. this fic was inspired by a request & this routine! i highly recommend watching it hehe. also idc if 2024 is summer olympics… this is my au! let me be!

he couldn’t bear it.

not for one more second.

yet, he couldn’t muster the strength to look away. to avert his gaze from what was unfolding on the ice below, as you glided so beautifully across, your partner in tow.

fuck, you were so breathtaking in this moment.

the way your hair was pulled so neatly into an intricate bun, your features enhanced by makeup. the way your eyes shine as you face your partner, several feet separating the two of you. the way your ensemble sparkled under the intense lighting, the skirt fluttering ever so slightly.

this is where you shone.

like a star in the night, bursting to the brim with nothing but pure, bright light.

while he may excel in the paddock, the rink was your element. where you truly belonged. where you were as cool as the ice, calm and collected as the dramatic flair of the strings amplified your movements, the audience roaring in response.

as you move, it’s magnetizing, the austrian shifting in his seat as your partner wraps you up in his embrace, holding you tightly as the two of you sail across the ice.

his jaw clenches as he notices the way your partner’s hand grasp the exposed skin of your back and shoulders, the routine almost executed perfectly as the music continues.

fuck, how he absolutely despised the way your bodies molded together. the way he held you, lifting you into the air, or onto his thighs, keeping you in close proximity.

of course, he has to remind himself that this is strictly professional. that there is nothing romantic going on between you and your partner, jack probst.

well, not like he could really be upset either.

there was nothing going on between the two of you.

at least, that’s what toto wolff thought.

the two of you met at a cocktail party for the launch of the 2022 formula one season, at the mercedes headquarters in brackley. although you were quite new to the world of racing, you were a plus one, as your best friend invited you to tag along with her. since she was part of the marketing team for mercedes, she had an in.

although you were terrified beyond belief of the idea of mingling with engineers, investors, and well, the drivers, you had reluctantly agreed to come with. as a prominent figure in the realm of ice skating, you were aware that you at least had one thing in common with the racing world.

in order to be successful, every little aspect of the routine had to be executed flawlessly.

just like the engineers and mechanics had to prep the car in order to race, you had to ensure that you had the right skates.

just like how the pit crew had to time their stops perfectly without fail, you had to maintain rhythm with the music, so that the routine would flow.

additionally, you were very similar to the drivers.

you yearned to step foot on that podium, no matter the cost.

at that party, you happened to run into the team principal and ceo of mercedes, mr. torger wolff. the two of you struck up a conversation, the team principal complimenting your career, as well as your dress.

although your best friend thought he was flirting, you had brushed it off, stating that he was just being polite.

however, toto wolff was not being polite.

he wanted you, oh so desperately.

and he was patient. he was going to wait until you were ready.

even if watching your routine with jack absolutely tugged and squeezed at his aching heart.

even if every fiber of his being screamed at him to look away before that jealousy burned through, the flames licking at every part of his being.

there was no denying you had effortless chemistry with jack, as the media speculated the two of you had been an item for years.

however, what toto did not know was that you were in a similar predicament.

after that fateful night in brackley, the team principal reached out to you via email. you wondered how he even got his hands on your email address, but your best friend gave that away with little to almost no interrogation.

allegedly, toto was interested if you, completely allured and entranced by your presence. so, he approached your best friend, inquiring about your contact information. not wanting to give him your number right away, she simply provided him with your email instead, urging him to “slide into those dms.”

so, he did. the two of you hit it off immediately, emailing one another constantly. after a couple of days, he mustered up the courage to ask you politely for your number. with no hesitation, you gave it to him.

from that moment on, a friendship blossomed between the two of you. although he was a bit older, he had this charm that pulled drew you in, wanting to learn more and more about him. also, formula one intrigued you, as you wanted to learn more about the sport.

he showed you the ins and outs of racing, while you educated him on the graces and virtues of skating. a few months into your friendship, he invited you to a grand prix, offering an all-exclusive ticket for the weekend. all you had to do was say the word and it was yours.

however, there was only one thing holding you back.

if you went, you would miss a week or so of practice. which, wouldn’t go over well with jack. especially during the initial stages of the season.

and even more so, with the olympics quickly approaching, you would feel guilty missing so much time.

so, you ended up passing on his offer.

which, hurt his pride just a tad, but not enough to deter him from his end goal.

he was going to have you.

one day.

he just wasn’t sure when.

eventually, you accepted one of his many offers to attend a grand prix. settling on the 2023 monaco grand prix, where dutch driver max verstappen claimed victory.

somehow, someway, the two of you ended up in bed together that night.

you weren’t quite sure how, and neither was he, but you mutually agreed to never speak on it again.

no matter how much it was on your mind.

which, was almost every second of every single day.

on his end, it was nearly detrimental, consuming his every waking thought whole.

to make matters worse, that night in monaco awoke something that you had been trying to keep hidden for months.

you were hopelessly and utterly in love with the team principal.

even if he was twenty-five years older than you. even if his schedule was jam-packed with meetings every minute of every hour of every day. even if he could only call you every so often. even if he was a single father, recently divorced after nearly a decade of marriage. even if there was something unspoken between the two of you, the tension blanketing over like a thick haze.

what toto could never know was that you pictured him right there with you, gliding along the ice, his hands roaming your body. you could almost feel him murmuring in your ear how beautiful you were like this, blissfully lost in the music.

no matter the circumstance. no matter the soreness lingering in your muscles or the sheer terror of falling or missing a beat, that thought alone is what got you though the routine.

it never failed.

and tonight, it was not going to fail you.

despite the stakes at hand, you were a natural at this, showing no signs of fear as the final notes rang in your ears.

this was it.

the end of the routine, jack dipping your body as your head rolls back, dramatically falling.

there’s a beat of silence, before the entire arena explodes.

the sound of thunderous applause fills your ears, jack pulling you in for a tight embrace, clutching you against his chest. sobs rack your body, your shoulders shaking as the realization washes over you.

you guys did it.

you had performed with minimal errors. no major mistakes or noteworthy point deductions.

a flawless routine.

the endless hours put in memorizing the movements, the sleepless nights at the rink, the doubt that you could pull this off, were washed away, slipping from your memory as joy bubbles up within your chest.

“representing their home country, jack probst and ____ _____!”

the boom from the announcer drowns in your ears, jack saying words you can’t quite decipher. you feel his hand in yours, but you’re not here.

you’re somewhere else, somewhere far from the packed arena.

you’re dreaming of his expression right in this moment. how his thick brows are probably furrowed together, his tongue swiping along as his lower lip, knee bouncing ever so slightly. his fluffy brunette locks are probably a ruffled mess, as he probably had ran a hand through it a few times, anxiously awaiting for a glimpse of you before your routine.

jack rips open the foam padding to the rink, where you’re greeted by your coaches. they engulf you in their arms, shouting praises over the hum of the crowd.

meanwhile, toto wolff sits in the stands, hands on his knees as he anticipates the final verdict. his knuckles are nearly white as the denim bunches under his fingertips, his knee bouncing slightly as clips of the routine. replay across the ginormous screens all across the arena.

he's surrounded by you.

your stunning figure as it gracefully flows with the music, every movement absolutely exquisite. your breathtaking smile the moment you're finished, eyes shining like the stars as jack envelops you in his arms.

a pang of envy rises in his chest, yet he swiftly suppresses it.

this moment was not about his jealousy towards your skate partner. he shouldn't be feeling this way.

this moment was about you.

an olympic medal on the line, the future of your skating career at stake.

"the scores please," the announcer booms, blood roaring in toto's ears as he straightens in his seat, leaning forward, eyes scanning the rink.

it does not take him even a second.

you're sitting next to jack, your coaches on either side. although he was a distance away, he could sense your nerves, as your smile was tight-lipped, your hand shaky as it blows a kiss to the camera.

"_____ _____ and jack probst have earned in the free dance 122.60 points, bringing their total to 206.27 points. they are currently in first place!"

the crowd erupts into applause, jeering and screaming throughout the stands. your heart skips a beat as jack springs up, slamming the padding before wrapping you up in his arms against you once more, nearly knocking the wind out of your lungs.

he lifts you, his voice shaky with the promise of tears, "we did it! we fucking did it!"

"i can't believe it," you nuzzle into the crook in his neck, "i can't fucking believe it."

the rest of the night is a blur.

as the two of you stood on that podium, gold medals dangling from your neck as your national anthem played, you couldn't help but shake this aching feeling.

you yearned for him.

you longed to feel his strong arms around you, squeezing you against his chest as his husky voice flooded your ears, brimmed with his accent. to feel his hands glide along your body, their warmth sending shivers down your spine.

there were lengthy interviews, each one nearly draining your remaining energy with each journalist or media outlet. you didn't mind, as you basked in the afterglow of your gold medal win, a grin plastered to your face all evening.

before you knew it, you were in an uber, on your way to a new destination.

toto wolff's hotel room, a luxurious suite in the heart of the city. although every muscle in your body stung, exhausted from the events of the day, your mind is wide awake, buzzing from a torrent of thoughts swirling in your brain.

what would be the first thing that fell from those lips? would he embrace you first? what was he thinking in that moment when you won gold?

as you enter the elevator, punching the correct floor, your heart races, thumping against your rib-cage.

sure, competing in the olympics was nerve-wracking.

but facing the man you were helplessly in love with?

that was enough to make your knees buckle, your body swaying back and forth as the elevator ascended, palms clammy as you wiped them against your sweatpants.

surely he wouldn't mind that you were in sweats.

a shrill ding! rings in your ears, announcing your arrival. sucking in a shaky breath, you turn right, making your way down the hall. his room was not difficult to locate, as it was one of the first ones.

bringing your knuckles to the door, you knock, blood roaring in your ears.

he opens it almost immediately.

"hey," you beam, "i hope i wasn't too-"

lips collide with yours, his hands meeting with your waist, pulling you closer in to him. you melt under his touch, nearly crumpling to the floor as a shiver jolts down your spine. the kiss is fiery yet tender, as if lovers were reuniting after months of separation. it's a kiss of longing and love, bursting with passion.

yet, he pulls away, allowing you to catch your breath. there's a dusty pink hue tinging his cheeks, his chest heaving as he pants slightly.

"i'm sorry. i shouldn't have-"

"don't even," you shake your head, wrapping your arms around his neck, "come here."

he doesn't hesitate, his mouth molding with yours once more as he brings you in the room, nearly slamming the door shut. this time, the kiss is brimmed with lust, an insatiable desire burning deep within the austrian as a whine rises in your throat.

his tongue glides along your lower lip, your head tilting back to grant him access. his hold on your is nearly unbreakable, as if he never wanted to let you go ever again.

your hands roam, inching up the base of his neck, tugging on the roots of his messy brunette locks. there's a rumble in his chest as he guides you to the bed, your back meeting the mattress.

however, he breaks away once more, eyes locking with yours.

"do you have any idea how long i've waited to do that?"

"you didn't have to wait until i won a gold medal," a giggle bubbles up in your throat, fingers sweeping a strand of away from his temple, "hell, maybe if you did that sooner, i would have earned more points."

an airy chuckle fills the space, his lips curving into a radiant grin, "congratulations, little star. there's no one who deserved that win more than you."

"toto," you murmur, his eyes softening at the way his name drips from your sweet lips, "can i tell you something?"

"of course schatzi," his hand cups your face, thumb caressing along your cheekbone, "what is it?"

"i sort of have a method to my skating," you can't help but shrink a little as the embarrassment begins to wash over you, "it helps me focus."

"and that is?" his brows knit furrow.

"instead of jack skating with me, i picture you."

at those words, the austrian nearly collapses.

"you do?"

"i do," you nod, "lately, it's been the only way i can follow a routine without mistakes. it helps me get lost in the rhythm, the flow of the music as it guides us. um, well, as it guides me."

"oh my beautiful girl," toto's mind reels, his heart swelling, "you're always on my mind. lately i can't focus in my meetings or at the paddock or in my office. you consume me."

you consume me.

bliss ripples in your heart as you lean in, the tip of your nose brushing against his, "toto wolff, i'm in love with you. i can't hide it anymore. i can't deny it. i love you."

toto blinks, ensuring that this was no dream. that you were really here beneath him, in his bed at his hotel room. surely this wasn't heaven. surely this wasn't some sort of delusion or mirage.

yet, you were here, nothing but pure adoration swimming in the depths of your warm gaze, your lashes fluttering as his mouth ghosts over yours.

"and i'm in love with you, schatzi. what do you say? should we try to make something work?"

"i think we could make something work," the words are merely a whisper, "actually, scratch that. we're going to make something work."

"that's my little olympian. are you ready for sleep or can i show you just how much i love you?"

#toto wolff #formula one #f1 #toto wolff x reader #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 #toto wolff x you #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff fanfiction #toto wolff fanfic #f1 x female reader #formula one au #formula one fanfiction #formula one fanfic

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braaan · 1 year ago

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In all the ways that matter (w/ Yunjin)

male reader & lesserafim yunjin

smut & angst & fluff (the one where you want more of what’s already yours), 6k words

Let’s be honest: you don’t deserve Huh Yunjin.

She’s an ambitious mishmash of love languages. But from the way she’s always including you in wishlists back to her parents in New York, how she’s always testing new big-stretch-and-yawn-at-the-movies level ways to get her hands on you, or how she’s going on her eighth permutation of pet names and emojis for you on her phone (it’s been POOKIE🧸🦷🤭💙 for the past 2 weeks — your longest running), anyone would guess that she was fluent across the board.

And that’s only while you’re pretending that looks don’t matter.

Because whenever it feels like you have to chalk up a point for Yunjin’s personality, one of her physical features always stops you at the blackboard.

Yunjin looks like she was grandma-knit: finished patiently and smoothed tender. Where skin would normally crease, Yunjin softens. And between the way her eyes sweeten into crescent moons when she laughs, how her lips always find a way to ease back into their permanent pout, or how perfectly her chin nestles in between your fingers, there was nothing about her that didn’t compete to be your favorite.

But all of them have to settle for second best.

Because your favorite thing about Yunjin is her eyebrows.

They waltz between well-learned battle lines on her forehead, stretching emphatically behind boundaries they know other features did not dare cross, because compared to the rest of her face, they’re bold. They explode from sienna to whiskey and hook insultingly fast, threading down to points so sharp that it only feels right to dot them at the end like exclamation marks, putting a megaphone to the stories that her eyes tell. Only on Yunjin’s face does softness ring loudly. Eye contact morphs into reverie, amusement magnitudes up into hilarity, and tenderness becomes love.

You think it’s unfair.

It’s unfair that the reasons you could fall in love with her are endless. It’s unfair that she can simultaneously make the world the two of you share both so tiny, special, and unreplicable and then larger than life, ever-expansive, and infinite. And it’s unfair that she makes doing all of this at the same time look so effortless.

It’s a high bar to clear.

But you try anyway.

If not to at least get close to the standard she sets, for the sex.

The two of you are practically asking for it the time you get caught.

Standing at the far end of a HYBE practice room, it’s all so fitting: under the only lit floodlight, her on her knees, your cock at attention inches from her lips, tension teetering above climax — Huh Yunjin was going to give you a performance.

She’s kissing at the bottom of your shaft, lingering half a second longer each time as she slowly makes her way up your length. She mewls, ad libbing your grunts with soft, venom-laced yeah?s.

“You sound so pent up,” she starts, thumbing your cockhead counterclockwise.

You give her bits and pieces of an affirmative response: you let out a forced breath somewhere between a grunt and an exhale, grip your cock tighter, and pinch one of her nipples with your free hand. She translates.

“Mmm?” Yunjin purrs. She runs the flat of her tongue long across your entirety, flicking up as she reaches the tip.

You’re gripping at anything you can to stay alive. Trying to keep the facade up that you can compete. You splay your free hand and grab at her chest, playing dirty; grasping for a reaction. She plays your game and picks up the rhythm on your cock.

“You don’t want to just paint my face right now?”

Your breath is hot on your lips, tight in your chest. You’re parrying, blocking, countering. You look deep into the pools of honey bourbon in her eyes. You’re falling into the abyss.

Who fights fair with a poisoned blade? Yunjin? Not with the tears dotting the corners of her eyes; not with the drool running down her chin. Her cheeks are hollow as she swallows further and further down your cock. Her lips brush the base of your shaft. It feels good. She knows it feels good, the way she’s looking back up at you; the way you’re groaning.

She raises her eyebrows.

You cum.

And despite all of the preposition, conviction building, and white-knuckle–steeling, you think, you don’t really ever lose. Because the moment you ride out your orgasm, it’s great.

You can’t compete. You kick off the cliffhanger and throw yourself into freefall. You see white flashes where there used to be color, and the tightness under your stomach evaporates into a vacuum: hot, and all at once. You can fully exhale and for what has to be a full minute, you die.

And as usual, after she makes peace with killing you, Yunjin brings you back to life.

She kisses the top of your cockhead before sitting back on her heels. Under the spotlight, sweat literally shimmering, she’s glowing, and she’s ethereal. Her tongue darts at the sides of her mouth before retreating, replaced by her bottom lip, equal parts pink and proud; satisfied and smug. She grabs at a small towel sitting next to her before beginning to clean up, dabbing at where you’d made a fucking mess out of her face.

But not before the door to the practice room opens. Your stomach shatters, and everywhere you just felt warm goes cold. A woman takes the empty space in the doorway, starts in your direction, and continues way too fast.

Your brain is instantly numb, and you scramble for something further than a stone’s toss away from the plot of a cheap porno. She slipped on her towel and grabbed my zipper on the way down! What do you mean Yunjin’s in this room with us? My COCK? God no, this is a thermometer that just looks a lot like- You don’t get far.

And before you try at reasoning that would effectively end you on the spot, the woman gets close enough. She yelps, producing a folder from behind her to try and shield you from any further consequences.

“Can you put-” she shakes her hands — folder and all — in your general direction, “everything away?”

Jolted awake, you scramble at your pants at your ankles, pulling anything your fingers brushed against in the direction you thought was closed. In hindsight, the zippers for your pants pockets probably didn’t matter much, but you zip those too, hoping the thought counted. Yunjin reappears next to you, the straps of her newly stretched tank top sitting awkwardly on top of her shoulders, now resembling probably anything else closer than they would elastic.

The woman gingerly peeks an eye over at the two of you and lets out a deep, full exhale. “Good, phew!”

“You would think we’d have that practiced by now,” she tuts, using what was once her plastic barrier to fan herself. She shoots a dirtier glare at Yunjin before turning towards you, and her expression visibly softens. “Oh! Same guy!”

And instantly, anything that would give off that she was disappointed just a moment ago dissipates, and is replaced by genuine admiration.

“I respect that you guys are trying to make the dating thing work!”

There were some things that practice wouldn’t get you used to.

See, when you and Yunjin first started dating, you expected a little bit of onboarding. A little bit of catching up to speed: When were her parents’ birthdays? Was she allergic to anything? What were her favorite movies? For extra credit, you’re even brushing up on the idol industry: How long was a comeback promotion period? What was an aegyo? — the usual.

But you’re still taking notes to this day.

(It’s a Saturday a couple of months ago, and you and Yunjin are snaking through the aisles of a thrift store.

“And Chaewon’s seeing them?"

Okay: Yunjin’s snaking through the aisles of a thrift store. You’re trailing behind her, making sure you connected all the right dots together.

“Nope,” she says, eyes scanning a tattered band tee. Then, equally nonchalantly: “Idols get horny, too. Dating just makes things messier than they need to be.”

There’s an expectant pause, then Yunjin turns to look at you.

“Not that that’s a rule or anything,” she adds, placing a hand on yours as if to close the lid on any implication that tried to escape. “It’s just not most people’s style.”)

‘Given’ was probably the word for it, you think. The idol industry collected teenagers at their most formative periods, and where others their age condensed pre-calculus and high school breakups, they learned choreography and how to introduce themselves across the language spectrum. When other kids’ hormones flared up and made them deal with acne, they were digitally edited, scrubbed clean, and hidden behind locked doors. An industry formed on cherry-picking highlights had to have a gnarly underbelly — what would be taboo had to be a given — and it probably only helped that everyone had to look like sex.

So you try to catch up and blend in. Try to not get hung up on how casually sex, drugs, and secrets are laced in sentences. Try to take what Yunjin says at face value.

Still, as her manager leads you through the lobby towards the revolving doors, and you’re bowing profusely as you try to apologize for what she brushes off as not the first time and very normal, there’s a certain edge about it all. Like no matter how airtight Yunjin’s grip tried to be, that you were fortifying a house of cards with pillars of paper mâché.

And it sure as hell didn’t help that halfway through the lobby, you trade greetings with her fake boyfriend.

There were some things that practice wouldn’t get you used to.

So get this: your girlfriend was going to be one half of a manufactured dating scandal.

She stood too close to another idol at a variety show, and online forum sentiment was eating it up (or something like that). There it was: a full page, in bold. All over social media. Yunjin, and the boy with the jawline and swoon-inducing eyes (not that you were jealous), everywhere at once, and on the tips of everyone’s tongue. The buzz brought eyeballs to her group debut, and what better way to snowball that momentum than to confirm it?

Yunjin just didn’t know that you knew yet.

And for your sake, it was probably for the better that she thinks her secret was safe. Firstly, because you don’t know how to feel about how you get the information. You were both at the pinnacle of industry — dating an idol — and at the mercy of it — cobbling together information from vague fan accounts, building a list of social accounts that got leaks right; irony never played fair.

And secondly, because you didn’t know how to bring it up.

Truth be told, you don’t know how to feel about it. You don’t know how you’re supposed to feel about it. You’re equal parts ruptured and reductive. Half of you thinks it borders on trust, and the other half scolds you for thinking that way: that you signed up for this, and don’t know how to compromise. Half of you imagines what they talk about when you’re not around: how far he’ll go to convince the public of a relationship, and the other half thinks you have no self-esteem for stooping that low.

All of you yearns for Yunjin. Because where there were all the things that you had to get used to, there were also the FaceTimes. The phone calls of complete silence when she just wanted someone to listen but was too exhausted to recount what practice was just like. The joy on her face when she told you that was going to debut.

Imposing would be selfish. She deserved everything she worked for, and you don’t even come close to par. Under it all, through the glitz, you see the Huh Yunjin that you fall in love with over again every single day, and she had too tight of a grip on your heart for you to break hers.

So you don’t bring it up, and wait for her to.

It’s quite literally pathetic the way notifications on your phone evoke a physical response out of you. Like it fires a neuron, you’re diving hands outstretched every time you hear it chime.

Sure, it hasn’t paid off yet — you’ve dropped literally everything to be greeted by promotional emails, pushes about the weather, and pings on the latest discounts — but you’ll hold your breath.

Though as you pick yourself up off the floor from familiar disappointment at another non-Yunjin notification, you can’t say that you’re less confused. And you’ve caught yourself multiple times today way too deep in somber tangents for some of it not to start sticking.

The loudest of them all stemmed from the fact that it felt like the answer was implied. That if there was nothing to it, it’d be easy to talk about. That if it was anything like the dating mantra, since it didn’t apply to the two of you, Yunjin would address it at face value.

And tautologically, because she didn’t, it wasn’t.

It’s the end of the week when Yunjin finally texts you.

have dinner plans tonight mister? :)

You draft two texts. The first makes you sound sixteen: obnoxiously sad about the state of affairs of literally everything. The second makes you sound sociopathic: blunt, deflecting, and not enough emojis. You send a third.

Nope! What do you have in mind?

Before long, you’re sitting on a blanket overlooking the Hangang. The sun’s setting, playing a global game of cat and mouse: light spills through the gaps in willow trees, gazebos, and construction, highlighting pockets of parkground with its blessing of orange-red. You’re where the surface area’s the largest, like the paper bowls of ramen didn’t anchor the blanket down enough, and the sun’s rays are what did the trick.

Or, technically speaking: bowl of ramen.

Because while Yunjin was three-quarters of the way finished with hers, sneaking bites in as she took breaths in between practically spoiling her next comeback, yours was virtually untouched. You made do with spinning the floating egg in your bowl dizzy.

“You know,” Yunjin starts, “you didn’t have to come out if you weren’t hungry.”

You look up at her. Her head’s cocked at an angle, piqued such that it catches sunlight. In the glow, she’s beautiful.

“I’m a big girl now,” she emphasizes. “You can tell me no. I might cry myself to sleep after, but — you know — in a big girl way.”

Her eyes curl up into tiny moons like they always do, and you give her a weak response.

It’s tightrope thin. Yunjin’s prodding, expecting you to riposte, poking at things she knows will get a reaction out of you; you don’t bite. You’re both expecting an answer. Your heart is jackhammering at your chest, and between the punctuation, in the offbeats, you want to yell. You want to find out if your house of cards is built on sand.

The both of you are walking back towards HYBE, along the scenic route that you always take, and only someone purposely oblivious would guess that everything was fine.

“Do you,” Yunjin perks up, trailing off, “not like the comeback?”

You don’t say anything.

“Maybe,” she pokes again, “you’re grumpy because I haven’t been texting you?”

You feel her eyes peek at you then retreat. In your peripheral vision you see her purse her lips, nod, and then smirk. You hear a tiny breath.

“Are you,” and she lets out an exaggerated gasp, “seeing someone else?”

“I know about your scandal, Yunjin,” you blurt out, and it's too fast for either of your own goods.

There’s a beat. You both stop walking. You turn her way.

“Your dating scandal — your fake boyfriend — whatever.”

Yunjin isn't great at hiding her emotions — her eyebrows give it away. You see her face gradient across shock, then consideration, before landing on shame. Her eyebrows knit, and she can’t meet your eyes.

There’s another beat. You can hear your heart thump in your ears, and despite the autumn at night, you’re hot. You’re searching her face for a tell, some semblance of an answer; anything.

You’re imposing.

And for the first time in the past week, you’re thinking of her. Of her today and her in the past. Of all the work she put in to get to where she wanted to be. Of what she had to give up to have tonight with you. Of all the nights before this, and the many she had to cancel abruptly because work came up. Of her being here now, and you selfishly making this about yourself.

You’re imposing, and it feels like shit.

“I’m-,” Yunjin starts, voice shaky.

You look at her, and there’s tears pooling in her eyes.

“I didn’t know how to bring it up,” she continues slowly, and then the surface tension breaks. She shuts her eyes tight, and then she’s crying. “It’s in the contract we signed. It helps our comeback.”

You hear the Huh Yunjin that you first fall in love with. Before the glitz, before she had to pretend like she was an adult-

“I don’t know what to say.”

- before she had to hide anything from you.

(The two of you are in front of the HYBE building, and she’s giving you shit for how messily you eat. It’s a late spring, and Yunjin’s hair is shoulder-length and cherry oak. You’re missing a lecture on the pigeonhole principle, and she’s dodging her manager — sea salt ice cream was seasonal, after all.

“How did you get it on your nose?” She chides you, dabbing around your mouth with a scrunched napkin. “They should have you give your I.D. to see if you can handle a cone instead of a cup. Nine-year olds can do this better than you.”

“What if you don’t debut, Yunjin?”

You were always good at telling it like it was, even if you had to disregard social tact. But you had a point. Yunjin was going on her third trainee year, and internally, it didn’t look like it was going to be her last.

There’s a couple of beats before she softens.

“I don’t know.”

It’s a side of her that really only you do. Under the spunk and the character she has to amplify, there is fear: that she’s taking too large a gamble, that she’d be perpetually behind if she didn’t make it, that it’d be safer if she just did what everyone else was doing.

She can’t meet your eyes, and she’s fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

“I just think things tend to happen for a reason,” she says, with more resolve than you expect. “And I don’t think it’s worth it to question it deeper than that.”

“How much of that is because you’re scared of the answer?”

There’s a pause, and the implication is clear.

“Do you always hate to have just a cute, fictional moment?” You look down at her, and she’s expecting it, staring back at you, eyebrows knit, lips in an exaggerated pout. “We can’t just — I don’t know — kiss and end things on the high note?”

You break, and let out the unflattering start to a laugh. She’s deflecting, and you know to let it go. In your heart of hearts, the two of you know that you’re both right. That there’s fear in uncertainty — a lot of it — but also hope. That big payoffs don’t come if you don’t gamble it all.

You lean down and kiss her on the nose.

She’s staring at you as she walks all the way back through the revolving doors, a smirk across her lips, and the unmistakably blue speck of sea salt ice cream on her nose. She’s yelling, letting you know to let the rest of your face have some ice cream, too.)

And you’re staring at her, wishing this time was half as picturesque. She doesn’t have the words; she doesn’t have to. Asking the hard question was your thing. She’s pleading, frantically, and her watery eyes are beckoning. You want to tell her that it’ll all play out, that things happen for a reason; you don’t have to — that was her thing.

Under the soft, streetlamp glow, you see the Yunjin the public doesn’t — the uncertainty, the gamble, the fear. You hear the desperation in the dark days; the resolve, unconvincing yet unabashed, that what was far out was not so; the throughline: that if she pretended to be convinced, maybe you would, too.

You see the Yunjin you love, and you’re so fucking whipped.

You thumb the tear trailing down her cheek. You’re defeated, and it bleeds into your voice, but never going to pass on hitting where it hurts. “What happened to changing the idol industry?”

She chokes back a laugh through tears. “Okay,” she starts, and through the sarcasm she tries for — and how muddy it was between sniffles — she’s glad to hear your voice. “It’s the goddamn industry. What am I supposed to do in the debut video: admit defeat? Who’d watch that?”

“Sorry, it’s just — all of it — so dumb,” she adds for good measure, swiping at her eyes.

Hanging in the night, in the words unsaid, in between the watery sarcasm and the tension quickly evaporating, it’s clear. The two of you resolve a silent conversation. You’re punctuating her apologies with eye rolls, and she wants to hear you say you love her, but she knows that already. You say you don’t deserve her, and she calls you stupid.

Tears hot down your cheeks, you’re both laughing now, bouncing off of each other. And then, into the what’s next of it all: “I can try to get out of it,” Yunjin says.

It’s cathartic and real, and should disarm you.

But you say no.

Down to your cores, you and Yunjin were infinitely kindred. Intertwined forever, etched in the books of fate with permanent marker. You were after each other's hearts, molded from the same cosmic clay. You had each other in all the ways that mattered, and that would never change.

The last stop on your train home is when you get the notification.

are you headed home?

And in the moment, you catastrophize. It was in the middle of the weekend of her comeback. What was she thinking? Did something happen? How far were you away from HYBE?

But even if you played the same situation back a hundred times over, there was no way in hell you’d get to the conclusion that Huh Yunjin was in your foyer, behind your door, and wearing what didn’t leave much to imagination.

“Yunjin-” you try and start, before you’re kissed quiet.

Her hands are on top of yours, leading, as you smooth down the creases of her vanilla crop top and run your thumbs down her body. Your fingers are fluid, filling the divots, tracing along the lines, running the valleys of muscle in the flat of her stomach. Between bouts, as her lips linger inches away from yours, for a moment uncaptured, you breathe in air nonvenomous, and try to grapple with it all, scrambling for something to hold on to before your brain short circuits.

You’re sinking, and you don’t know how to wrestle rights from rudimentaries. Yunjin’s eyes, glazed over, zero in on yours, and she kisses you again. Her lips are sweet and have a bite to them, yours smack as you swallow the venom thick on your tongue. She pulls away, you come up for air.

Standing in the soft, orange-yellow glow of light from the room adjacent, you see the Yunjin the public does — the siren, sultry and seductive: her eyes, soft, malleable, and unassuming — how she could convince you that your name was something else entirely if she looked at you head on — her lips, venom-laced and tantalizing — how she’d push the agenda.

Except this time, you’re finally lucid, and you see the parallel. In the muscles — impressive in the light, but meek at the same time, like it split moments in the spotlight with softness — in the eyes — perpetually provocative, but infinitely innocent — in the perfect unattainable. Everything is polished, nudged purposefully in its direction. It’s all artificial, doctored, and done up.

Huh Yunjin is a product of industry, and you were going to fuck it out of her.

Yunjin’s smirk dismantles as you rip your hands from her grip. It completely falls apart as you pull her into you face first, thumbs across her cheeks. And as she tries to pull back, you’re keeping her where you want her, kissing into the poison. Her hands grab at your chest; at your dress shirt, half foregoing permission, pulling buttons apart, and half to steady herself as you move your dance deeper into your living room.

You’re leading this time, and as your knees bump brown velvet, you’re able to rasp: “Yunjin, on the couch.”

“How do you want me?” she whispers, breath hot on your lips.

“Legs apart.” You push her into the middle seat, and her hands are working at her shorts. There’s an audible zip, and they’re on your hardwood.

And as you’re kneeling down into the negative space in between Yunjin’s thighs, in the seconds, sultry and slow-burn, you catch a glimpse of her face. Spread across the finger in her mouth, eyes half-lidded, and eyebrows upturned, you think you see anticipation. Like you were going to rip Yunjin apart, and — straying away from what she was taught, coloring outside the lines — she might let you.

You test the theory: you take her into your mouth.

And you don’t think you’ve heard an exhale more pained.

You’re generous — lapping at her heat through lace, grazing against her clit — and with variety — kissing her inner thighs, nipping at skin. Yunjin’s sensitive and unintelligible.

“Fuck,” she manages to get out, her hips bucking, searching for more of you. One of her hands tries to meet you where you are, to pull her panties to the side, to feel you on her. But you redirect her to where you want her to be: your free hand on her wrist, you lead her up her chest. And though reluctantly, she translates. Together, you’re undoing buttons, palming the fullness of her breast, and flicking at the hard bud of her nipple.

Eventually, you give Yunjin what she wants.

You’re cradling her thighs around your forearms, and at the angle you have her, suspended, supported by the small of her back, you swear she yelps. You draw her underwear to the side, and then Yunjin’s squealing. She’s whining, she’s so wet, she’s raking her nails at your scalp. Your mouth’s on her cunt, drawing long across her folds, tonguing the alphabet over her clit.

There’s this moment. She’s arching, thighs hooked tight at your arms, on her tiptoes. You poke your tongue into her heat, there’s a high note, and then Yunjin’s cumming in your mouth.

And as you coax her through it, tongue flat, letting her ride your mouth, you’re sharing a gaze. Morbid curiosity can’t stop her from peeking at the mess she’s making, and you want to see what it looks like to kill a goddess.

“Fuck,” Yunjin repeats, like it’s the only word she knows, as you lick your lips. Her head’s tucked into her chest, and the orange bask she’s painted in is competing with the blush sauntering across her cheeks.

“You’re so-” she starts, dodging your eyes, kicking out gingerly at you.

“Mm?” you beckon, easing yourself in between her legs, undoing the button at your pants, freeing your cock tenting at the fabric. “I’m so?” you press again, tugging her panties off, soaked beyond belief.

And how you have her under you, top unbuttoned, hanging off her shoulders, how she can’t meet your eyes, it’s apt. Like she’s disarmed. Like under the layers of polish and practice, purposefully put away; under the glitz, the expensive everything: multisyllabic and most likely mispronounced; under the spunk, in her personal space, when she wasn’t allowed to deflect, Huh Yunjin was naked, and like putty in your hands.

All it took was your mouth on her cunt.

And she sure as shit didn’t need to say anything to you to admit it. It’s hard to miss, the way she’s folding her legs behind your waist, the red across her cheeks deepening.

“Think about your answer,” you quip for good measure, and with your cock hovering inches away from her pussy: “I’m going to fuck you now.”

And truthfully, the confidence is more for you than it is for Yunjin. It’s far from your first time, but every time you slide your cock in Yunjin’s cunt, it’s like everything around you takes a collective deep breath. Time becomes measured in fractions of a second, and you’re clairvoyant and hypersensitive. The head of your cock pushes into her pussy, and it’s hot.

You inhale a breath, picking up the sex in the air.

You swear your vision inverts. There’s white where there used to be color.

You catch the entirety of Yunjin’s mewling, as she goes from fuck, please, and your cock into falsetto. She’s mixing your name with untranslatables.

You feel her fucking cunt.

Teeth gritted, you’re pairing hard and soft. You bury your length in her, the front of your thighs slapping the back of hers, and kiss her lips tender. You only taste Yunjin, and you kiss her like she’s lifeblood. It’s sweet: her lipstick, her taste still on your lips, the breaths you’re sharing. And as Yunjin breaks for air, you’re whispering in the negative space, breath hot.

“Yeah?”

And she’s nodding her head, uncontrollably. Agreeing to anything you put forward, before you even asked. Anything that kept your cock in her.

“You’re-” you try again.

Your hands wrap around her midriff, her hands wrap around your wrists.

“You’re such a-”

God, her fucking cunt.

Except you need to hear it. You want to hear her say it, airtight, with no room for implication to escape.

“Yunjin,” you finally manage, and then in whole: “You’re such a good girl for my cock, aren’t you?”

She’s nodding her head, mumbling. But that wasn’t good enough for you. You’re hilting, deep in her cunt, and steadying yourself, curling a hand around her neck. “Yunjin” — a little louder — “answer me.”

Her hands around your wrists tighten, and she lets out this moan. Like she’s trying to give you the answer you want, and frustrated that she can only whine. Finally, through the untranslatables: yes, yes, all for your cock-

But that wasn’t it. Your fingers are pressing into her throat, and you’re pounding into her, wet all over you; imprinting her into the sofa. “Yunjin,” and it’s dark. “This is all you want, isn’t it?”

And she’s doing everything she can to convince you. She’s pushing herself into your length, grabbing at your hands, and through eyes half-lidded, staring deep at you. To show you she can compete, to show you just how good she was — just for you. And through your grip: “Yes, fuck. God, yes — this is all I-”

But it’s not what you want to hear. You’re riding the line. You’re biting your tongue bloody. Yunjin’s cunt is suffocatingly tight against your cock. Your grip’s white-knuckle on her skin. You shut your eyes tight. You know what you wanted to hear.

“Your other boyfriend can’t give it to you like this, can he?”

And you spend all the luck that was supposed to last you this lifetime, because in a moment of lucidity, you pull out. But immediately after that, you’re left to your own devices, and of course, you cum.

It’s hot, and you feel like a rubber band twanged across the middle. Like everything tight is wrenched out of you, and then let go, left to ricochet on your spine, springing back and forth. Your ears are ringing, your toes are curling; you’re letting out an orgasm so deep, you’re only saved by the fact that your eyes are closed for half of it.

And as you stir, blinking vision back into your eyes, your brain coming back to center, you’re thinking back, and you realize what the fuck you just said.

Yunjin’s meeting you where your eyes are at. Your brain’s numb, her jaw’s frozen in this half-scoff, lips untouching. She raises her eyebrows, giving you somewhere between what the fuck and intrigued. It’s expectant. You opened this up, she’s saying, now what?

You’re standing in the sand, and your house of cards is crumbling. You’re toeing where you expect the line to be, can’t find it, and don’t need to look to know it’s long behind you. Your chest is tight, and the implication is still in the air. You’re scrambling for something: something to walk it back, something in between the lines, anything to drive a stake through the premise and kill it entirely.

Yunjin is less patient. She ventures into the unknown, since you won’t. “Has this been about that the entire time?”

“Yunjin,” and you’re honest, preemptively reaching your hands out to her. “I don’t know why I said that.”

You’re looking straight into her eyes, completely wide. Her eyebrows pinch, and there’s a couple of beats. You know you should take them, to fill in the blanks; not to let the implication linger. But before you do: “I thought about my answer,” Yunjin starts, lowering her fingers to where you left yourself on her stomach.

And only after she runs her forefinger across her tongue, only after she cleans it of cum: “You’re so good, and no one can give it to me like you do.”

Spread across the bite in her lip, eyes half-lidded, and how she’s staring at you through her lashes, the implication’s crystal. And you would probably literally short circuit, if not for the second wind that was Yunjin licking you off of her fingers as she doubled down.

It all crescendos. She’s flipped over, and you’re pounding her into the couch, half to punctuate any sentences that implied she wasn’t completely yours, and the other half because her cunt was still so goddamn tight. The upholstery’s harmonizing, the hardwood exhaling on her offbeat.

You’re gripping Yunjin’s hips, bottoming out in her cunt at an angle, pulling her back into you. And she’s writhing, whining, taking your cock deeper and deeper.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she’s saying, and it irks you a little more than it should.

“Yunjin,” you spit, and you’re pressing your thumbs into her skin. “Shut up and take this dick like a good girl.”

And when you’re both pressing the buttons-

“Who else can fuck you like this, Yunjin?”

no one no sorry so sorry all yours this pussy yours you fuck me so- so hot when you’re jealous

“Yeah? You want me to? You’re such a good girl for me, baby,”

yes so good only for you so messy all over your cock fuck cum in me cum in me please i’ve been such a good girl please

- the gray area might as well be a chasm.

Because after you cum inside her, Yunjin drooling over your sofa, breath shuddering, leaking all over your cock, you have a mountain to climb. Physically — how you’re crumpled over her, exhausted, entangled — emotionally — how you’ll both put a cap on this in its entirety — and all of the rest of the above.

You’ll wait for her to bring it up.

Yunjin’s wrapped in your dress shirt, two sizes too big, and her head’s on your chest. Nothing short of Herculean, you’re in bed, and under polyester.

“He has a girlfriend, you know,” she says.

“Huh?” you manage intelligibly.

“My scandal.” Yunjin motions under the sheets, like the word needed air quotes. “Cute little thing. Works at an animal hospital. Always the loudest voice in the fanchants.”

You’re stunned, and don’t know what the right line of conversation is. “How are they taking it?”

“Probably makes their sex hotter, too.”

Dating made everything so much messier than it needed to be.

Two weeks after their comeback, the scandal breaks.

The official post is tame, but knowing netizens — a look at the comments confirming your suspicions — they’re feral. It’s a collage of three photos that look like they were taken from fifty feet away, but unmistakably of Yunjin an arm’s length away from another figure. They’re on a blanket overlooking the Hangang; she’s cuddled up in one of your hoodies, two sizes too big; and in the third photo, enlarged in post for emphasis, Yunjin’s nestled in his arm, selling the relationship pretty goddamn well.

You open an alt account and leave a hate comment.

LET’S BE HONEST HE DON’T DESERVE HER 💀💀💀😭😭😭

---

#kpop smut #kpop fanfic #reader insert #idol x male reader #idol x reader #lesserafim smut #yunjin smut

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running-with-kn1ves · 1 month ago

Note

Hi. Can you do yandere female orc x female reader? Possible breeding kink perhaps...... Feel free to ignore me though.

A/N: as soon as I saw this I knew I wanted to do it. didn't know how-- but I was determined to write it. THANK YOU fellow fem orc lover we must band together!! we are a dying group :(.

CW: NSFW, FxF, fingering, breeding, slight exhibitionism, dom mechanic orc girlfriend

“You make it so hard on purpose, don’t you?”

You buried your nose into the baby blue pillow, torso twisting away from the beast manhandling your body. “You know I’m busy, you know I’m trying to work… And still, you can’t wait. You just need to be bred all hours of the day, huh?”

You can only respond with a guilty muffle, eyes blurred and focused on the half ajar door.

“Well don’t just whine, give me an answer.” Her fingers inch harder, pulsing against the gentle gumminess of your insides.

“Yes--” Your voice cracks, eager to respond as she slows just a tad. “I do, I really really do, please--”

“Mmn..” The orc returns to her original pace, enjoying the way your slick coats her fingers so perfectly, your body accommodating to her two fingers as they should; you were made to be taken by her. “And this is all you’re going to get, despite how badly you want it. I don’t have time to properly fill you up… even if I want to.”

You feel her pace quicken at that, her own huffs growing in succession as the thought enters both your minds, fantasy blurring with reality.

Your feet hang loosely off the bed and her thighs, ass up in her lap as you desperately try to spread wider, her fingers only shy away from the size of your forearm, pumping into you with precision. A million times she’s done it, and a million times more she’d do it to hear you cry out her name, to feel you grip onto her veiny forearms for support, taking her so deep inside of you it should be considered an art.

You could hear the chatter of those in the front shop waiting for their cars to be fixed, for their keys to be returned, to have the attention of your enticing orc girlfriend. But she was busy right now, allowing the rhythm of your thrusts against her hands and stained jeans distract her from her work.

You knew she only had a 20 minute lunch break, that she had already stopped so many times to kiss you behind a wall of tools and to foreshadow what she was going to do to you that night. And still, it wasn’t enough. You couldn’t stop from bending over her work desk, mere panties and a see-through tanktop on, teasing her while she worked.

You didn’t think she’d take it so serious, that she’d really try to teach you a lesson while she had customers waiting. But an announcement of her early break and a quick tug at the thin cotton around your hips led you to your shared bedroom, the only area in the house-slash-car repair shop with a minute bit of privacy. Even then, she barely bothered to shut the door.

Another pair of panties, ripped to shreds from her anger and lust.

“And you know how it drives me crazy, the thought of you being so filled with my cum, your cunt so full you can’t breathe-- and you use it against me!” The orc huffs with a guttural groan-- you can hear her snarl her teeth.

The thought gets her fired up, one hand holding the back of your thigh to help thrust you dramatically in rhythm to her set of fingers.

You feel like a ragdoll, your hips snapping forward and back as she uses you like a cocksleeve, slipping a third, colossal finger inside of you.

You can taste the intensity of the stretch, holding onto the pillow and sheets beneath you for support. You can barely keep yourself silent, the nearing of your climax so tantalizing, so deliciously close.

“Keep quiet,” she huffs, giving a warm slap palmed at your ass to spread you wider. “Can’t let them know, right? Don’t want anybody to hear, how well you take me;.” She leans in close, hot breath and the smell of motor oil filling your senses. “How you’re not going to go anywhere without a pussy full of me tonight.”

Your pleasure-drunken mind wonders heedlessly if its been over 20 minutes, if your girlfriend would dare leave you unfinished, unfilled like this as punishment-- but she keeps going, propping you up to angle herself deeper inside of you.

And without warning, she slips in a fourth finger, one you didn’t know if you could take.

“You’re lucky I’m crazy over you, that I’d kill any other bastard that tried to fuck you like this; hah, as if they could!”

You couldn’t help but arch your back at that newfound entrance, touching somewhere you didn’t know could be so blissful. Your mouth leaves the pillow, drooling just slightly and drawing out an achey, stunned moan.

Your orc girlfriend grabs your hair, shoving you back down into the pillows.

“Just a bitch in heat-- can’t be bothered to keep herself quiet, can you.”

You can tell by her tone she’s mildly annoyed, but you don’t care. You’ll take whatever consequences she gives, as long as she keeps herself inside of you, that she’s just as eager to make sure you’re bred and only bred by her.

But your erratic walls that squeeze around her fingers are suddenly pulsing around nothing. The sound of an alarm fades unceremoniously into your ears, the licks and sucks of sullied fingers overriding it. The sweet sound of them leaving her mouth makes you lift your head in agony. She’s done, she’s done and you haven’t even had half of your fun!

A thick palm squeezes your ass almost to the extent of pain, before throwing you off her lap and onto the wet sheets.

“Don’t bother me again,” The orc warns, her dark hair still kept in its messy half-up, her clothes in tact except for a few dark stains that can be passed off as paint or oil. “I mean it. Or next time I won’t go so easy on you.”

You want to argue, to force her hands back on you or into your mouth, but you’re cut off by her stern look.

“When I get off shift I want you back here, spread open for me. No earlier.”

You try to give a weak “but--” before she walks away, but you’re too late. The door shuts behind her, the grunts of annoyance from customers now dulled behind the door.

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freemansgirl · 1 year ago

Text

“get naked, i got a plan.”

pairing: amber freeman x fem reader

genre: smut

summary: reader confides in amber to make her mask & costume kink sex fantasy come true.

words: 4.6k (enjoy the details 🙈)

warnings: knife kink (ambs fucks you w her knife handle, cuts your tits with it, and holds it against your neck), mask kink, degradation kink (use of “slut”), praise kink, reader gets her tits sucked, amber talks abt wanting to kill men for you, cowgirl position (you’re riding her), bottom!amber.

a/n: halloween special for you guys, happy halloween 🖤

on this exciting halloween night, the air was charged with a unique blend of spooky anticipation and joyful excitement. in order to live it up this amazing, scary holiday, what better way is there to do that other than partying at your girlfriend’s place?

it was the perfect opportunity since amber’s parents were currently gone for the night, which gave her the idea to throw the party while having you help her host it, it being the two of you’s idea. amber always knew how to throw the best parties, the guests and her friends always had the best time of their lives when participating at them. you and her always had a lot of fun such as dancing together (mainly you dance on her) and getting drunk together for shits and giggles.

when you had hit some liquor in your system, you found yourself being really touchy feely with your girlfriend and you wanted her and only her right now. she was constantly whispering sweet nothings in your ear while you grinded your hips against hers to the rhythm of the beat. your ass underneath the black tutu of your witch costume just pressing against amber’s dick made her get so hard. she wanted you so bad that she shamelessly started to attempt rubbing her finger against your clothed, wet pussy under your tutu at one point. she could care less knowing majority of these drunk or/and high teenagers weren’t paying attention to anything around them.

she just couldn’t help herself at all, you were too hot for her to keep her hands to herself. it’s not like you didn’t mind either when both of you were infatuated with just how hot the other looked in their costume, so this was okay. your enchanting, sexy black witch costume matched perfectly with her intimidating, mysterious ghostface costume. amber thought you looked so hot in it, the wide-brimmed hat, your black t shirt exposing your bust perfectly, your thighs looking sexy in your mesh black, thigh high socks, and the way your black tutu bounced everytime you walked, made you looked so good.

usually, you’d tell amber to stop teasing you because “people are looking” but she was wearing a ghostface costume, anonymous to anyone so you weren’t too worried. not to mention, it was pretty packed in this party so no one could really see you guys getting dirty on the dance floor. your girlfriend was really jealous and couldn’t help but let her possessiveness take over. she caught so many prying, inappropriate eyes dawning down on you, watching your every move. she hated seeing all of those people look at what was hers, which would cause her to glare at them or make threatening gestures (the main one being she’d drag her index finger across her neck to mock a “knife slicing throat” emote) towards them behind your back.

you had this sudden burst of confidence due to the liquor consumption, enjoying all of the attention that amber have gave you when you were moaning so subtly. thank god the music was so loud that no one could hear all of the cute, lewd noises that you released for your girlfriend. as amber understood your needs, she wanted to kick everyone out of the party so it was only just you two.

as the clock hit midnight, you guys began to thank everyone for coming out to this party and wished everyone a good night. the atmosphere was now a blend of playfulness and excitement as the two of you started to go up to amber’s room, ready to fuck. you guys will have to clean up the mess of the party later, needs and wants always come first. seeing all of the costumed guest leave brought you guys a sense of intimacy leading up to a deep, lustful makeout session.

“finally, some alone time, am i right?” amber smiled, cupping your cheeks. she starts to pull the chin of the ghostface mask upwards, moving it back some so she could lean in for a kiss. there was a mischievous gleam in his own eyes, displaying her own growing excitement while she looked at how pretty you looked. you start to nod, smiling when you wrap your arms around her neck as your lips meet her own in what starts off as a soft, lingering kiss. the two of you closed your eyes, feeling lost in each other’s embrace.

then, the kiss deepened as it began to feel intense and hungrier, while amber’s free hand gropped your soft, bare ass right under the tutu like she was doing earlier. you let out a gasp which causes her to explore deeper inside of your mouth, dominating the kiss and she starts to push you towards her bed. the two of you pulled back from the kiss, your eyes meeting with lust and satisfaction from this make out session. there was a share of panting between you two.

“you are so sexy, baby. maybe, you really are a witch with the way you got me in a trance when i see you.” amber complimented you, studying your beautiful features and also your witch outfit. she started to hover on top of your body, planting small kisses over your neck to chest. she was thankful that the party was over so she can just have some one on one time with her girl. the make out session was very much needed, considering the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other the whole night.

“you think that’s a trance? you haven’t seen nothing, yet. get naked, i got a plan.” you whispered seductively, looking up at the girl dressed in the ghostface costume. amber pulled away with a pretty shocked expression on her face when hearing you say this, wondering what plan is there. “and what plan is that, love?” she smirked at you, raising a brow to see what is there to come out of your mouth.

you start to sit up, using your elbows to prop you up so you’re sitting up on the bed properly to face your girlfriend. you wanted to have a proper conversation here, serious and all, no bullshit. the only issue is… how could you tell your girlfriend that you wanted her to fuck you in her ghostface costume? your liquor courage from earlier wasn’t here to help you out, it was you, the real, sobered you. your girlfriend studied your features, she can tell you looked worried and she didn’t understand why the sudden mood change. she wouldn’t mind stopping and just going to sleep with you to show how much of a respectful, caring girlfriend she is.

“what’s wrong, (your name)? if something’s bothering you, we can stop.”

your girlfriend rubbed your shoulder with a reassuring look on her face, to show how much she cares about your consent and well-being. as a result of this, you give her a sweet smile and shake your head at her.

“no, it’s not that… lately i…” you trailed off, no longer looking at your girlfriend and you’re looking down at the ground now, out of shyness, before looking back up at amber. “i been wanting to try new things in sex with you, if that’s okay? the sex with you is always amazing, don’t get me wrong, ambs. i just.. wanna spice things up. so with that being said, could you fuck me in your ghostface costume? since it fits the halloween spirit and all….?”

your eyes started to turn into big, doe ones as you stared into her dazed, dark brown ones while she’s processing the information you just told her. you innocently bat your eyes at her, hoping it would convince her. with eyes like yours, how could she even say no? the way your girlfriend stared at you with her eyes now suddenly shocked at this information you told her, worried you. should you just take back everything you said now?

“wait—what?”

these are the words amber could only respond with right now. she was really shocked to hear you even ask for such a request. she wasn’t complaining, hell, she was turned on by the fact that you even asked! she would’ve never thought in a million years that you would ask her to fuck you in her ghostface costume. especially considering that you hated when she would playfully prank you when she would jump out in her costume around her house or the fact that she would joke about fucking you in her ghostface costume once you found out she was ghostface. of course, she never did fuck you as ghostface because she knew how much you hated that costume and she also doesn’t want to hear you complaining about the suit being a turn off as she fucks you.

at first, you disapproved of her being ghostface for self explanatory reasons but you had no choice but to stay with her. knowing amber, she wasn’t gonna let you out of her sight that easily due to her overbearing possessive nature. over time, you had no choice but to accept this but a part of you was… actually turned on by her costume and mask the more you seen her wear the costume. at this point, you couldn’t stop your mask kink from forming and turning into something more, you accepted it.

“you heard me, ambs. cmon, stop playing dumb before i change my mind.” you sighed, a frown was drawn on your lips while you crossed your arms. there was a hint of blush that came across your skin, showing that you felt embarrassed and flustered for even bringing up the suggestion to her. you started to turn away from her but she grabs you by your body and makes you turn back to her.

“no, baby, don’t hide yourself from me. don’t worry, i’m not complaining, it’s just i didn’t know how much of a freak in the sheets my girlfriend was.” amber spoke, lightly laughing before a smirk was plastered to her face. she was right, yes you were definitely freaky, but not this freaky that it caused her shock. there was a blush on your face when she called you a freak. honestly, she loved this so much, seeing you all flustered and shy asking her to fuck you in her costume. at the sound of her words, you feel yourself getting really excited because you’re getting what it is that you asked for.

that’s when she started to actually undress herself underneath the black ghostface robe, taking off her jeans and boots so she can kick them to the side. she moves onto pulling the robe over her head, so she can remove the black t-shirt and her bra she was wearing now. she pulls down her boxers, her 8 inch dick was showing. after she’s fully undressed, she puts her robe back on and pulls her mask over head, covering her face.

at the sight of her getting fully invested into this ghostface costume, you felt your panties dampen with a moist liquid. you were already wet from earlier when amber was touching you underneath your tutu, but damn you just got even wetter for her. before your wanted to get to the actual fucking, she wanted to do some foreplay. she takes out a shiny, metal knife from the pocket of her ghostface costume and walks towards you.

“spread your legs, love.” amber demanded, her eyes narrowing from behind the eyeholes of her mask to look at your very innocent, curious eyes watching her. you looked so nervous and scared of her with that knife in her hand, wondering what she was planning to do, it was just too cute. you slowly spread your legs for her, inviting amber to come and take you on the bed right here and there.

“i’m going take real good care of you, baby. i’m not going to hurt you… yet, that is.” she reassured, hovering her body right on top of you like it was earlier. her pale hands grabbed your black, fluffy tutu to push it down to your ankles so it wasn’t in the way as she works on you. amber took her knife and turned the blade to her, so the handle was facing the entrance of your slick, clothed pussy. her leathered gloves moved your underwear to the side, so it was just your pussy on display.

she pressed the handle right against your slick fold, rubbing it against your the folds of your vagina. you began to let out a groan at how the feel of the handle going up and down against your vagina, it felt so good. when amber saw how your wetness grazed over the knife’s handle, she let out a pleased sigh at how wet you are. “so wet for me as always, you’re so good to me, baby. now let me return the favor tonight.” the black haired girl cooed, while running her left hand all over your thighs as the right hand kept moving the handle on your clit.

the sensation of the handle sliding right inside of your wet folds was enough to cause you to whine, you felt your back start to arch slightly. you grabbed onto amber’s left hand for support and something to grab onto. your breath started to shake when you felt that handle enter inside of you, your mouth turned into an “o” shape.

“fuck, amber…” you groaned, watching her press the handle inside of you deeper. just as soon as things were getting really good, she pulled out the handle abruptly. you looked at her with the most confused look on your face, unsure of why she stopped. “now, sweetheart, if you’re gonna let me fuck you with this costume on, at least use the correct name when i’m fucking you.”

you didn’t understand what she meant by this, because this was your first time letting her fuck you with the costume on. that’s when it hit you, you immediately understood what she meant by her sentence.

“ghostface?”

“nailed it, baby.”

when she heard you called her ghostface, her dick got harder than it already was. hearing you say it so innocently made her want to fuck you. however, she can wait after shes done fucking you with the handle of the knife. she stuck the handle right back into your entrance, picking back up on where the two of you just started. she started to put it right back in there, pushing the handle slowly, taking her time with you so you can adjust.

you let out a wince, trying to get back into feeling the handle inside of you. amber’s left hand moved from holding your thigh to grasping your waist and gave it a small squeeze as a nonverbal cue to stay put. she didn’t want you to move at all because she wanted you to enjoy yourself while she fucked you with this knife. your girlfriend started to speed up her pace, causing you to moan a lot.

if it wasn’t for the ghostface mask, you would be able to see the look on your girlfriend’s face. she was getting so turned on through her lustful, hungry eyes watching you moan all over her knife. that same knife that she used to attack and murder many people in woodsboro, some of them being you and amber’s mutual friends. the same knife that she used to protect you from any creeps trying to mess with you. she had so much blood spilled onto this knife. this was the knife that was the talk of the town, it put so much fear into citizen’s hearts.

you had no business fucking a serial killer, it was wrong and you knew that but you couldn’t help yourself. the thought was starting to turn you on so much, you loved the taboo aspect that came with this. unfortunately, it was a guilty pleasure. your thoughts were being clouded as the knife handle went in and out of your clit, each thrust getting faster, brutal, and harder. your hips were arching as your eyes rolled back into your head, the pleasure was taking over your body.

“good girl, fucking yourself all over my knife. this is what i like to see.” amber’s muffled voice from behind her ghostface mask filled the room, watching you take her knife in. you start to feel your body rise and rise, you can feel yourself getting stimulated down there. a deep, heavy groan escaped your lips when you felt yourself getting close.

“more, ghostface, more! i’m so close! keep going!” you cried out, grabbing onto amber’s left arm even harder when you kept watching her. taking notice of your features scrunching up from the pleasure, she started to thrust the knife even more into you. you started to jerk your body a lot, once your orgasm was approaching. you felt yourself shiver, finishing all over her knife handle. amber pulled the knife out of you, throwing it to the side for now.

she allowed you to catch your breath for a couple of minutes, watching you pant from her hard work of fucking you with the edge of her knife handle. she started to caress the right cheek of your face, rubbing her thumb on it so gently. she lifted up her ghostface mask to plant a kiss to your forehead. “you did so good for me… but i know you’re gonna do even better when i fuck the shit out of you. time for the grand finale, babe.”

there was a smirk plastered on her beautiful, pale features when she stared down at your figure. too bad you couldn’t admire her forever because she pulled the mask right back on, to get back into character. the glistening, shiny knife that she threw away to side was now back into her hands again. the blade of the knife was pressed into the skin of your cheek as it trailed down to your black t-shirt, causing you to let out soft, pretty whimpers here and there for her. “aw… baby, you’re so cute when you whimper for me.” your lover laughed softly, giving you a fake pout to pretend she felt bad about the blade making you whimper.

the knife stopped at the right cup of your bra, her blade poking your right boob. she licked her lips at just how nice and perfect your boobs were sitting up in your black t-shirt. she loved seeing the breastbone of your breasts, the peak of side boobs sticking out from each boob. too bad she was going to ruin your shirt so she can see those pretty titties of yours. “god, i am so lucky to be blessed with the best set of boobs i ever seen in my life. you’re my everything, babe.” she sighed lovingly, before running her blade on the fabric of your shirt, slicing it in half to reveal your beautiful black bra that matched your lacey black panties.

as much as you wanted to complain about your girlfriend cutting off your shirt, you rather save it for after the sex because you wanted her to perform whatever acts were to come next on your boobs. she taps your bra strap with the tip of her knife, giving you a look. “go on, princess, take off your bra for me.”

with that command being said, you started to unclasp your bra in the back letting it drop down to the ground. your bare boobs were now in front of amber, only for her to see. “so pretty, all for me and only me. been wanting to suck on these, the moment i saw all of those losers looking at what belongs to me.” she whispered, fondling each of your breasts, the leather fabric on her hands groping all over your soft boob tissue.

“mhmm, baby. you’re the only one that gets to see me like this.” you gasped at how her leather fabric felt against your body. you started to touch her mask with your thumb, rubbing it in a caressing manner. she takes the knife in her hand and holds right in front of your face, the blade is an inch away from your eyes.

“now, see this knife, right here, darling?”

you nodded at her, eyeing her to see what else she was about to say. “i wanted to slice off every single guy’s head that even fucking took a look at you. i was so close to slitting their fucking throats and placing their lifeless heads on the dresser so they could watch me fuck the shit out of you.” she advised, clenching the knife handle, her knuckles were getting pale out of the jealousy that was being shown through her behavior. you felt yourself getting so hot and bothered when she said that, you couldn’t fight your feelings. you loved it when she showed her possessiveness and jealousy, it was hot when she wanted to kill for you.

amber pressed the knife onto the areola of your right breast, gently dragging it down so it could create a scar. there was some winces of pain that came out when you watched her do this. she lifted up her ghostface mask, so you could only see her mouth but not her whole face. she began sucking on the scar and consuming the blood that was oozing from it while she massaged your left nipple to make you feel better. the way how her tongue was circling and swirling all over your scar made you breathe heavily, it all felt so good because it didn’t hurt as much anymore.

“i always knew your blood would taste good, baby.” amber pulled away, a smirk on her face, pleased with the tangy, sweet taste of your blood. she went to work on your left breast, kissing all over then putting her mouth on it since it was neglected earlier. she gave a nice, long lick to your nipple which caused you to shudder at how wet your left nipple suddenly felt. her licks started to change speed, each one was getting faster while she sucked on it. you grabbed her by the back of her ghostface costume hood so you can push her more into you. after making you moan so many times from the affection, amber was now finished from sucking off your boobs causing her to stop.

she took a good look at your boobs again, admiring just how sexy they are. they were definitely sexy alright, but they’d be even sexier bouncing when you ride her. at the thought of that, amber smirked, there was some excitement behind her eyes at her idea. she put her mask over her head again before patting your ass lightly with the blade of her knife. “get up, i wanna see you ride my dick right fucking now.”

you immediately listened to your girlfriend’s words as the two of you swapped spots. the black haired girl leaned her body against the bed frame, while she watched you across from her. amber grabbed you roughly by your thighs, so you were pulled towards her legs. she started to lift up the ghostface robe up, so she can reveal the lower half of her body, mainly her hard 8 inch dick that’s been eager to enter you the whole night.

“sit that pretty pussy right on top of this dick, baby.” she called out, patting her thighs to motion you to come sit on her dick. you crawled over to her, positioning your vagina to sit right on top of amber’s dick. the two of you share a groan of pleasure when you feel her dick sliding into your wet folds so easily. you could feel her tip getting deeper inside of your hole, stretching you out nicely. “mmm, fuck… ghostface.” you let out a soft moan, while taking your time to move your hips on your lover’s dick.

you started off really slow, taking as much time as you can to move against her. amber stroked her hands against your body, feeling every curve of it. she moved her hands down to your ass, giving it some nice squeezes here and there. your eyes started roll back at how good everything was feeling, you threw your head back in ecstasy. so many moans came from out of your mouth from how good her dick felt against your pussy.

“faster, slut. i wanna see your knees tremble when you ride me. i don’t wanna see you be able to walk in the morning, understand?” your girlfriend ordered, there was sense of harshness to her tone. she started to slap your ass with a hard smack, it leaving a tense sting on your right ass cheek. amber let go of the right side of your hips with her right hand to grab her knife. she picked it up and pressed it against your neck, the blade sitting right above your skin. you nodded, starting to obey what you were told as your body moved quicker onto her dick.

amber started to grab you to guide your movements with her left hand as you rode her dick. she squeezed your ass and pushed it onto her dick, showing that she was in control of your every move. she start begins to put her knife back down so she can grab onto you with both her hands now. she grabs your hips and slams it onto her cock, your whole body jerking upward from the slam. your boobs were bouncing at every single hop that was on her dick.

you press your hands against her body, grabbing her waist to hold yourself up for support. sometimes, you’d take your hands off of her waist to feel up on your body especially your breasts because you knew that was her favorite sexual part of your body. “that’s right, touch yourself while i fuck you.” she cooed, continuing to move you against your hips.

when watching you slam against her thighs, each slam was getting more and more powerful by the second. she licked her lips as she watched your pussy consuming her whole dick, the sight being a beautiful one. you felt amazing on your girlfriend’s dick, so tight, yet it felt so good when you squeezed around her hard dick. “god, fuck, baby you feel amazing on my dick like always.” the raven haired girl let out a groan, praising you for your hard work.

you couldn’t really say much but moan because of how she kept shoving your pussy onto her. “a-all— for… you, ghostface.” you spoke, in between continuous moans at the feeling. the more you rode her, the more you were starting to see stars. you could feel your knees trembling from how much skin was slapping against skin, the only noise happening in this room. you felt your knees about to give out. amber could feel her brows starting to narrow and tighten from all of this pleasure, she was very close to cumming.

“fuck— i’m about to cum. shit.” she breathed out, letting curses roll from her tongue so effortlessly. after you hit you hit your last final jump on her dick, you just sat there and buried your pussy on her twitching dick. she rolled her head back while saying your name as she started to let her cum shoot inside of your vagina. the two of you remained in your same spots, neither of you moving. amber took off of her mask, revealing her fast, heavy pants that were kept behind it.

she could see that you were panting just as much as she was, the two of you had your eyes staring right into each other. you started to lean onto her body, snuggling into her warm, comfortable embrace. her pale hands snaked their way around your hips as a way to bring you more comfort. you were laying your head on top of her shoulder. she gave you a small kiss, before chuckling at your exhausted, laid out position on her.

“i wish you would’ve spoken up about this whole dirty little secret of yours earlier, love. we were missing out on so much fun that could’ve happened sooner.”

#amber freeman #amber freeman x reader #amber freeman smut #scream x reader #scream x you #scream x you smut #q’d 🖤#Spotify

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little-diable · 3 months ago

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Bathroom fun - Spencer Reid (smut)

I saw a clip yesterday and had this idea, so I needed to get this out of my system. Pure, filthy pwp. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Spencer gave the reader some crotchless panties to wear for the party they were invited to, some rushed fun takes place in the bathroom.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, somewhat public, only pwp, spanking, dom!Spencer

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader (1k words)

A gasp left her as his hand found her waist, pulling her closer until she could feel his breath falling her neck. It had been a while since they had arrived at the annual summer party, enjoying time with their colleagues and faces they hadn’t seen in a while.

“Are you having fun, baby?” Spencer pressed a kiss to her neck to make goosebumps rise on her skin. (Y/n) could only nod her head while taking another sip of her drink, trying not to embarrass herself with a crowd so close by. A soft whimper left (y/n), rumbling through her as he squeezed her waist again. “My needy girl, tell me, are you wearing them?”

Heat rose in her system, remembering the small box he had pushed into her hands hours ago, crotchless panties he had commented with a simple “You know how much I hate wasting precious time.” Eager as one can be, she had put them on, trying to ignore the unfamiliar sensation as she put on a smile for those who were all too unaware of her and Spencer’s game.

“Of course I am.” It was nothing but a whimper, a sound that made him chuckle with pride thumping through his veins. Spencer slowly let go of (y/n) to take another sip of his drink before he cleared his throat.

“Meet me in the bathroom in five.” Without looking back at her, he walked towards their colleagues, joining in on their conversation as (y/n) found her way towards the big house. By now, she knew the layout by heart, finding her way to the bathroom with trembling things and her breath hitched in her chest.

Only as the door fell shut behind her, locked by her shaking fingers, did (y/n) allow herself to breathe. No matter how long she had been with Spencer by now, she still wasn’t used to his teasing, their back and forth that made her tremble with delight and anticipation.

She ran a hand through her hair, eyes studying her reflection in the mirror while the minutes passed by. The sound of Spencer knocking on the door made her jump, ripped out of her sinful thoughts. Their eyes met the second he stepped into the space, lips finding (y/n)’s for a bruising kiss. He locked the door again, knowing that even though they couldn’t waste much time, he didn’t like taking risks like these.

Spencer pulled away to turn her around, eyes meeting again in the mirror as he pushed her skirt up her waist, groaning at the sight of her bare cunt. The thin material he had bought for her hugged her behind perfectly, and yet he could only focus on the bare part that was aching for his touch.

He freed his cock with skilled movements while she held onto the sink, preparing herself for a quick and rough fuck that would rob her of the ability to walk straight. Spencer spat into his palm to pump his hard cock a few times before he pushed into her tightness. Arousal dripped from her heat, instantly coating his warm skin.

Both moaned in unison as he bottomed out, allowing her to feel him deep inside before he started to move with a rough rhythm. Their bodies met with every thrust, pushed towards the edge as if the Devil was chasing them, punishing the two sinners for giving in to their lust while others were all too close by.

“Christ, I won’t ever get used to how perfectly you fit around me.” His raspy words left (y/n) mewling his name, high on the feeling of his cock ripping her walls apart. Spencer left his marks on her waist with his tight grip, digging his fingers into her skin to keep (y/n) as close as possible, all while she was torn between lust and pain.

“Spencer,” she choked on his name, eyes rolling back into her head as his hand came down on her behind. It was a silent warning to stay quiet, to let him fuck her while he chased both their highs.

“Touch yourself, baby.” (Y/n) struggled to let go of the sink with one hand, clinging to it with the other while her fingers found her pulsing bundle. Another moan clawed through her - a sound he punished her for with his hand striking her warm skin again.

She rolled her head back against his chest with a whimper, eyes squeezed shut as the intense feeling grew heavier and heavier deep inside of her. Her body was littered in goosebumps, fully focused on the feeling thumping through her veins as Spencer fucked her over the edge.

His hand found her mouth to muffle her sounds, keeping her quiet while his hips kept meeting her behind. Spencer’s smirk grew wider, mischievous eyes watching her come undone with a pleasure-drunken expression.

It only took him a few more seconds before he also came, painting her walls white to leave his imprint on her skin. Only then did Spencer let go of her mouth, allowing a soft laugh to leave (y/n) - a sound that turned into a groan as he pulled out of her. Spencer cleaned them before he turned her towards him, lips meeting hers for a soft kiss.

“Careful out there, baby, don’t want you getting hurt when I’ve got some more plans for us.” He squeezed her aching, now covered ass one last time before he stepped away to unlock the bathroom and pull (y/n) out into the empty hallway. And with a knowing smirk growing on both their lips, they couldn’t help but feel excited about the awaiting night.

#Spencer Reid smut #Spencer Reid x reader #Spencer Reid imagine #criminal minds

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xiakato · 1 year ago

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XIAOTING- Ella Baila Sola (M)

The party was bustling, everyone dressed to the nines. The atmosphere felt expensive, taking a glance around the room, only the most high class brands could be seen. You stand on the second floor overlooking the hall, watching people body to body. Sipping on your room temp gin, studying everyone walking in or walking out. Your eyes land on her, her beautiful black dress hugging her curves, leaving little to your imagination. Her beauty stands out even in the sea of nobodies. Her eyes meet yours,dragging you in. Falling deep into her dark brown eyes, She walks to another room, her eyes only just leaving you as she goes to the next room. You waste little time walking down the stairs, following her into the room, pushing your way through the people. Finding her again came easy to you, once her beauty was burned into your retinas. She turns slightly, looking at you offering you a light smile before moving on. Pushing people out of the way to catch up to this woman. You finally do, she looks over the luscious garden, hearing your footsteps and your bated breath she looks behind.

“Rather relentless don’t you think?” Her voice was beautiful as she is, the low light only provided from the moon etches itself into her beauty.

“Can you blame me?” You ask once you catch your breath.

“Perhaps I could, not every man rushes through a party filled to the brim to get to a pretty woman.”

“Perhaps a man will when he sees the most beautiful woman that has ever blessed his eyes,” You step closer to her, her aura doesn’t falter. She is used to this, you can tell.

“I’m flattered,” Her emotionless face remained perfectly still, “But just like all men, there must be more you want from me.”

The music has gotten louder, the drunks come stumbling out around the two. You get closer to her, “I only wish to get the chance to know a woman that has caught my eye and seems to have something deeper hidden.”

“What’s there to know Mr?” She leaves out her hand.

“L/n, Y/n L/n,” You take her hand ever so softly like she is made from porcelain, kissing her knuckles.

“I’m Shen Xiaoting,” She smiles slightly, taking her hand away from the roughness of yours.

“Xiaoting, nice to meet you on this beautifully moonlit evening.”

“Likewise, walk with me,” She turns and starts walking, her eyes lingering on you just a bit longer. You can’t help but to join her in the rhythm of her step.

“What brought you here tonight Xiaoting?” You ask her, tearing your eyes away from her to take in the scenery.

“Hopelessness,” She replies as she takes your features, “I presume that it is the answer if I were to take my guess.”

“Why hopelessness?” You look, her eyes a sea of emotion betrayed by the statue stillness of her face.

“I’m just lost, a soul without purpose. A loner, if you want to attach a title to it.”

“I’m here,” You stop walking, taking in everything you can about her, her ever so slightly movements, her milk white skin thriving under the moon.

“I dance alone,” She keeps walking, her heels clicking against the stone walkway.

“You don’t have to,” You follow, the wind is a bit chilly. You take your jacket, placing it softly on her shoulders.

“I know, but I don’t trust anyone nearly enough to let them in.”

“I’ll do what I can for you to trust me,” You smiled at her, the night continued on. You spent every minute you could with her, the night ended a win in your book. You got her number and you texted her whenever you could. She opened up to you little by little, you were happy that this amazing person, who was scorned by the shit life threw at them, relied on you. The more time the two of you spent together, the more you yourself realized that you love her. You realized that as you looked at her while at Han river, the calm water, the peaceful atmosphere coupled with her peaceful expression. Her face has brightened tremendously, you like to think it’s thanks to you.

“Why are you staring at me again?” She asks, a giggle escapes from her light crimson lips. You remember the first time you heard her laugh, your heart skipped a few beats at the innocence resonating through it

“Can I take you to dinner?” You blurt out, her giggling stops as you watch a bright smile etch across her face.

“Like a d-date?” She asks, her smile falters a little, the hope in her eyes.

“Yes Xiaoting, like a date.”

She hugs you tightly, “I thought you would never ask me.”

“You knew from the beginning I wanted to take you on a date.”

“Shhhh~” She giggled, hugging you tighter. She pulls away, quickly telling you to pick her up at 7 before she takes off in a taxi. You chuckle rushing home yourself, to get ready for the hopefully a changing point in your life. The all black suit, topped off by a simple gold chain collar pin. The messy yet refined look of the styling of your hair is perfect and you went to get her. Knocking on her door, she opens it wearing the very same dress when you first met her, the dress still perfectly fits her just like that day she lures you into a trap that you can’t get out of, a trap you don’t want to.

“W-wow,” You say as she takes your breath away.

“I haven't worn this since that day,” She shyly pats down the fabric, “I hope you still like this dress.”

“I do but I love the person wearing it.”

She blushes, grabbing her handbag, her hand intertwined with yours as you lead her to the car. The sleek all black Audi R8 with black leather, a perfect choice considering the both of you look like death eaters right now. The choice of dinner was easy, you called up one of your friends that owns one of the best restaurants in Seoul to keep a table for you. The drive was quiet and perfect. Her hand fit perfectly with yours, arriving at the restaurant, your friend met the two of you at the back. Taking you through the kitchen and to a private room. Throughout the night, she opened up more than ever before. You couldn’t help but to smile all dinner, but as always a perfect night must come to an end. Your hands intertwine once more as you walk her to her door. Your hand doesn’t leave hers until she unlocks the door and steps in.

“U-um, Y/n?”

“Yes Ting?” You ask her as you look back at her right before you step off her porch.

“Wanna eat ramyeon?”

You look at her through the mirror, as her dress falls off of her frame. Her white lingerie, a stark contrast from her black dress. You take in the features of her body. Her thighs, her toned stomach, everything. Leaving soft kisses down her nape, under your fingertips you feel her shiver. You lead her to the bed, laying her down, leaving kisses down her body. Hooking your thumbs in her panties, you pull them down and spread her legs which she quickly closes.

“Relax baby, let me take care of you,” You say softly as you spread her legs again, your tongue darts out slowly licking circles around her clit as she whimpers. Your hands grip onto her thighs tightly but not too tight. You keep up with what you are doing, altering between small circles and big circles.

“Fuck baby,” You feel her hand reach out tugging on your hair. Flicking your tongue at random intervals as her hips buckle against your mouth. She’s sensitive, you can tell it’s been awhile since the last time she was taken care of. You flick faster and lick the occasional circle, as her other hand joins the other tugging your hair as she cums. Her legs squeezes your head as she locks ankles riding out her orgasm, “Holy s-shit,” She lets go of your hair, you sit up wiping your mouth. She tastes sweet, just perfect. She pulls you down onto your back as she tosses your boxers and trousers somewhere in the room, “So hard for me already baby,” She strokes your cock softly, “My turn to take care of you,” She smiles as she straddles you, sliding your cock into her in one swoop. She’s the tightest you’ve ever been in, squeezing your cock between her soaked velvet walls.

“Fuck Xiaoting,” You mutter as she lifts her hips slightly and slams back down rolling her hips, your arms wrap around her waist.

“Say my name again please baby,” She asks as she rides you ever so slowly letting you feel everything.

“Xiaoting,” you look her in the eyes, her hair disheveled, her arms around your neck as she rides. You capture her in a kiss, the passion flows out as you hold her tighter. You want to give your entire being to this girl, every bit of you. Her lips pressed against yours is the euphoria you needed, the complete package.

“Y/n, I love you. I love you so much,” She speeds up with her hips, her hands holding on the side of your head.

“I love you too, I love you so much too,” You stare into her eyes as she gets tighter and tighter, “I’m close, Xiaoting.”

“I-inside please, give your love,” She quickens her pace, as she reaches her own climax, you reach yours. You hold the tightest you did all night as she does to you, Your cock throbs as you fill her, her pussy not letting go. Only a tiny bit drips out, You pull back slightly kissing her again.

“I love you Xiaoting,” You say, a bit lucid coming down from your climax. She kisses you again, her tongue swirling around yours. Her body fits perfectly with yours, you never can go back to anything from before now that you had her in your arms.

“I don’t have to dance alone anymore…. I love you too Y/n.”

#kpop smut #kep1er #xiaoting #kep1er xiaoting #smut

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miheartsedthings · 9 months ago

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Pole Candy

18+ Minors DNI

Modern!Billy x Stripper!Reader

Summary: Security guard Billy feels over-protective when a customer gets too handsy.

Warnings: Sex work, attempted assault, trauma, anal stuff. Angst + a little fluff.

(ps. I don't know what I'm doing with these warnings, please forgive me if I've missed something and be careful.)

Cherry Waves - Song I'd be dancing to, feel free to choose your own or use this one.

The flashing lights strobe to the rhythm of the music. Lighting up the stage in melodic hues of pink and purple that move across your skin in velvet pools. As usual, you're in your own world while you dance, in the flow of movement. You watch yourself in the mirror, admiring your body and the new bikini you're wearing. It suits you perfectly and matches your platform heels. The pole is a tool, and you use it expertly, your every movement graceful and slow as eyes around the room watch.

When you started dancing a year ago, the stage was the worst part for you. Even worse than the grabby, asshole customers or those certain girls who always got territorial. All the eyes on you gave you a rush of nerves and excitement you could barely stand. You preferred talking to everyone, moving around the room socializing, and hanging with the other friendly dancers.

Today, you're starting to hate the stage again, when the man sitting up front whistles at you. You turn to see his greasy, grinning face as he puts the dollar between his teeth. You force yourself to smile and ease down onto your knees, crawling slowly over to him. You lean back, watching his eyes admire as you trail your hand up your stomach, caressing your tits a little before slipping off your bikini top.

You lean down and motorboat him, but he doesn't give up the dollar.

“C’mon girl. Gimme something.”

You smile, already annoyed. You slowly turn and put your ass in his face, swirling it around.

“There we go,” he grumbles.

You roll your eyes. Then he jabs you with the dollar, seemingly trying to shove it up your asshole. You jerk away, grabbing his hand. He's laughing when you turn, and you’re still smiling though you're officially annoyed. Across the room, another dancer catches your eye and you give her the SOS look. She trots off to find a security guard. For better or worse, she goes right to Billy.

He's already watching, his focus sharp as a hawk. He’d only been working there a few months, but the connection between the two of you had been instant. You knew it was stupid to date a coworker, but you were falling for him quick and let’s face it; you didn’t always make the soundest choices. Still, he always made you feel safe. When the girl goes and tells him you gave her a look, it's all the excuse he needs to come over.

It's just in time, too.

The man keeps trying to wedge the dollar up your butt crack, making you scoot away. Billy grabs his wrist. Glaring down at the guy with fire in his gaze.

“You new here?” He asks in a condescending tone, snatching the dollar.“Its like this” he looks at you. “May I?” he asks, and you nod, already at peace just having him there. Billy gently places the crumpled buck under the string of your bikini. “See that?” He says to the man, who's now scowling.

“Yeah, I got it, buddy.”

“Good.”

You lock eyes with Billy for a moment, mouthing ‘thank you’ as you go back to dancing.

After your set, the jerk asks you for a dance. On a better night, you'd say no, but it's slow and you can't afford to turn down money, even from a creep. You take his hand, smiling as you lead him over to the private dance area. Billy sees this, and you can tell even from across the crowded room that he hates it.

Back in the private area you get your money upfront and start to dance, trying to be careful, though there's not much you can do. Try not to smile too much, don't give him the impression you wanna be touched. Then again some guys like touching people who don't want it.

The way he looks at you makes you nervous and you avoid his eyes. It’s not the way a horny guy normally looks, the man looks like he wants to literally cook and eat your flesh. The song ends and you stand up, stepping away from him with a smile.

“All done, honey.” You say, your voice dripping with sweetness.

“Not so fast, sugar tits.” He waves another 20 in looks at you with his brows raised. When you hesitate he only laughs “C’mon. Make your money, dollface.”

You’re reluctant, but you smile again, this time it’s so fake it hurts your cheeks. You take the money and start to dance. He keeps groaning and the sound makes you sick. Then, halfway through the song, he locks his arm around your waist and starts groping your ass.

“That’s it,” he groans into your face.

You struggle, trying to push away, but his arm is locked in place and you start to panic, your heart racing as you scramble to escape his violating hand. His finger trying to press into you.

Then, a fist shoots past your head, rocking the dude in his mouth. The guy yells and lets go, letting you scramble to your feet. Billy's got him by the collar and punches him again, his mouth bleeding now.

“Billy, stop!”

You yell this and miraculously, he does. He drags the guy away by his collar, fuming as he leads him out, the jerk stumbling over himself.

“You okay?” Another girl asks. You wanna say you're fine, but you're shaking all over. She helps you collect your bikini and your money and you settle in the dressing room with your head down.

You've had plenty of bad nights as a dancer. Plenty of times your self-esteem has been shaken and you've worried some guy was becoming obsessed with you. Nothing like this. You'd never been so scared before.

Footsteps come stomping into the room and you don't have to look up to know it's Billy. You see him round the row of lockers and spot you. He's fuming, his face red, his knuckles bruised and spotted with blood.

“You can't do this shit anymore,” he says.

“It's just a bad night.”

“That guy had you!” he yelled, rattling your nerves even more “If I wasn't watching the cameras he would've-”

“Stop yelling at me!”

He falls quiet. You turn around on the bench, trying to catch your breath and calm yourself down.

“I know what you're gonna say.” You kick off your heels. “But could you just…not yell? Could you like, comfort me for a second?”

He lets out a breath and sits beside you, letting you wrap your arms around his strong torso as he tucks you under his arm, wrapping you in a hug. Like this, he can feel how much you're shaking and it only makes him more angry.

“You can't do this anymore. I can't fuckin watch this every night.”

“You could a couple weeks ago.”

“It's different now,” he says, rubbing your arm.

You scoff.

“C’mon, Billy. I told you I wasn't gonna quit when we got together. You said-”

“This type of shit wasn't part of the deal. And it's just gonna keep happening, baby. Maybe not every night, but it will.”

You pull out of the hug, shaking your head, you stand and start getting dressed in your street clothes.

“You know I can't leave. Tuition is due soon, rent just went up-”

“So get a normal job.”

“One that pays like this?” You're pulling on your pants, desperate to get home. Billy stands with you, a little pleading in his eyes. He takes your face in his hands, making you look at his handsome face.

“You told me last night you planned to dance for a year. So. The year came and went and here you are.”

You look down, your eyes stinging with tears.

“Shit changed.”

“So how long?”

You're embarrassed and pull out of his hands.

“I can't just drop it, Billy.”

“So, everything you said was bullshit?”

You shake your head.

“Of course not. I really like you, but I have a life. There's things I have to pay for.”

You're picking up your duffle bag and purse, only to have him take the bag on his own shoulder. He stared down at you. Insistent.

“Fine.” He says “Two more months.”

“Excuse me?”

“Two more months. Pay tuition, pay rent, and both of us find something else. Anything else.”

Before you can argue he takes your face in his hands and kisses you. That's what got you in the end. Made you break your no coworkers rule for him. Those lips, the way he kissed you like he'd been dying to do it for years. When he pulls back you touch his cheek, staring at him hard. He’s frowning a little, so concerned. So certain in his desire to protect you.

Something occurs to you as you look into his eyes.

“Are you trying to say you love me?”

“Yes,” he answers with no hesitation.

You shake your head, grinning.

“Falling in love at a strip club. Rookie mistake.”

“I'm a rookie, then.” He says “So? Deal?”

You sigh again, looking down you play with the zipper on your hoodie.

“If you come over tonight and keep me company…then yes.” You look back up into his eyes “Two months.”

His expression finally eases.

“Say it again.”

“Two months?”

“No,” he says, “the other thing.”

You smile.

“You love me.”

He nods, slowly, his eyes moving over every inch of your face like he's trying to memorize you.

“Yeah,” he says “That.”

You spend so long in the shower your fingers wrinkle, and still you wash. Scrubbing every inch of yourself with so much soap, until the water runs cold and you're forced to get out. But you can still feel that man’s clammy, calloused hands, his finger trying to force its way into you while you fought in vain to escape it.

You get dressed for bed and still you're shaking. Pulling on a t-shirt Billy had left and a pair of panties. The clothes feel dirty. You feel dirty.

Fuck. Why should it matter so much? He didn't actually…fuck, why is it still so scary, even now?

You crawl into bed and fall into a fitful sleep full of the sensation of strange hands against your skin. You find yourself waking time and again to swat away phantom fingers slipping under your shirt, groping you through your panties. You swat at a hand on your shoulder, jolting away from the touch.

“Hey, hey,” Billy says, getting into bed beside you “It's just me.”

Relief rushes over you, letting loose all the tension in you. You scootch yourself into his arms, overwhelmed by fear. He kisses your cheek and then your forehead as you nestle closer, wrapping you up.

“I'm sorry, baby.”

He whispers.

“I can't…” your breath catches “I can't stop feeling it.”

He touches your cheek, wanting to look in your eyes. At first, you can't do it, you don't want him to see you like this. Then, you look. In the moonlight spilling through the window, you see him looking at you with so much tenderness and you feel so safe that it hurts.

“Tell me how to fix it.”

A hopeless sob escapes you. You know what you want, but you can't bring yourself to say it. Instead, you take his hand and place it on your ass, under your panties, pushing his middle finger onto the entrance itself.

“Here?”

He asks, rubbing the spot. You're amazed at what a difference wanting it makes. You nod, and he swirls his finger around, making a gentle moan roll up your throat.

“This is where he touched you, baby?”

His voice is tight, and you nod. It feels so good, you press your lips to his, letting him pull you in tighter. He spits on his finger and returns it to the spot, kissing your neck. You're moaning softly, your nerves finally softening.

“Inside,” you say.

He pushes in, and a warm rush moves through you, forcing your eyes closed. His finger moves in and out, the rest of his strong hand cupping your cheeks while his middle pumps into your asshole.

“God,” you sigh.

“S’this okay?”

He breathes and you nod, looking at him with drunken eyes. He kisses you, and finally, mercifully, your mind goes blank. All you can feel is him.

Thanks for reading ~

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove smut #stranger things #billy hargrove 18+#fanfic #billy hargrove imagine #billy stranger things #story #miheartsedthings

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hookhausenschips · 2 months ago

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Rhythm of Us {CL16}

Navigation

Summary: In a crowded nightclub, Charles Leclerc is instantly captivated by Y/N, a confident and magnetic woman, and draws her into an intimate dance that transcends words. As they move in perfect rhythm, the chemistry between them ignites, creating an unforgettable night of connection and temptation.

WC: 1.1k

Warnings: Mature Themes (This story contains sensual/romantic tension, with descriptions of close physical contact) & Alcohol Use.

16+

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

The club was alive, pulsing with energy, bodies swaying to the heavy beat that echoed through the room. I found myself on the balcony, momentarily retreating from the chaos inside, just needing a moment to breathe. But my mind wasn’t on the night, the crowd, or even the race that was coming up in a few days. It was on her—Y/N.

From the second I saw her; she captured my attention in a way no one else had. Her russet brown skin glistened under the lights, smooth and radiant, her hair cascading in soft, natural curls that touched her waist. The highlights in her hair caught the light in a way that made her stand out from everyone else in the room. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was magnetic, effortlessly stunning. I watched as she laughed with her friends, confidently ordering her own drink at the bar.

Something about the way she moved, the way she held herself, pulled me in. I hadn’t seen her here before, but I knew I couldn’t just stand there and watch her all night. She was far too captivating for that. It wasn’t right for her to be buying her own drinks, not because she couldn’t handle it—she clearly could—but because someone as gorgeous as her shouldn’t have to.

I straightened up, gathering my nerve as I stepped back inside, weaving through the crowd with purpose. She hadn’t noticed me yet, but that was about to change. When I was close enough, I leaned in, my lips brushing against her ear to make sure she could hear me over the music.

"Excuse me, amour. Can I come dance with you?"

She turned her head, locking eyes with me. For a moment, I couldn’t read her expression, but then the corner of her mouth curved into a playful smirk.

"You don’t waste time, do you?" she teased, her voice smooth and confident.

I grinned, shaking my head. "Not when it comes to you."

That seemed to catch her off guard. Her smirk softened into a real smile, and she nodded. "Alright. Let’s see if you can keep up."

I chuckled, offering her my hand as she set her drink down on the bar. She placed her hand in mine, her touch warm and soft, and I led her onto the dance floor. The beat shifted to something slower, more sensual, and I pulled her in close. My arm slid around her waist as we moved to the rhythm, and immediately, I could feel the spark between us. The chemistry was instant.

Her body fit perfectly against mine, and for a moment, it was like we were the only two people in the room. I could feel her breath, warm and steady, against my neck as we moved in sync. I caught the scent of her perfume, something floral and sweet—Kana, I recognized it instantly. It made my head spin.

"You smell amazing," I murmured close to her ear, my voice low.

She looked up at me, her dark brown eyes meeting mine, and there was a hint of amusement in her gaze. "You’re full of compliments tonight."

I shrugged, smiling down at her. "Just calling it like I see it."

We swayed together, the music guiding our movements as the heat between us intensified. Her hips moved in time with mine, her body pressed against me, and I could feel the tension rising. It was almost too much, too fast, but I didn’t want to stop. She made me feel alive, like there was something more to this moment than just a dance.

After a few minutes, I pulled back slightly, just enough to give her some space, not wanting to overstep. "Sorry," I muttered, my voice husky. "Didn’t mean to—"

Before I could finish, she smirked, her hand slipping up to the back of my neck as she pulled me closer again. "Do it again."

Her words sent a shock of excitement through me, and I didn’t hesitate this time. I tightened my hold on her waist, pulling her body flush against mine, my other hand gently cradling her lower back. She let out a soft laugh, her head resting against my chest as we moved together, our bodies practically melting into one another.

I could feel her heartbeat through the thin fabric of her dress, fast and in time with the rhythm of the music. Her laughter was intoxicating, and the way her body fit so perfectly against mine made me feel like I’d known her for years, like we’d done this before.

"You’re really something else," I whispered, my lips brushing against her temple.

She tilted her head back, looking up at me with a raised brow. "Good something or bad something?"

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Definitely a good something."

She smiled, biting her bottom lip for a second as she let her gaze roam over my face. "You’re not so bad yourself, Leclerc," she teased, her voice light, but there was something more behind her words. A curiosity, maybe even a bit of temptation.

The music slowed further, the beat becoming a steady, pulsing rhythm that matched the tension building between us. I could feel the heat radiating off her body, and every inch of me wanted to pull her even closer. But I didn’t want to rush things. Not with her.

"Another drink?" I asked, my voice rougher than I intended as I brushed my thumb against her hip.

She tilted her head slightly, her eyes never leaving mine. "Only if you’re making the toast."

"Deal," I said with a grin, motioning to the bartender. When the drinks arrived, I raised mine, looking into her eyes as I made the toast. " À la femme la plus belle de ce club et la meilleure partenaire de danse que j'ai jamais eue." {“To the most earth-shatteringly beautiful woman in this club—and the best dance partner I’ve ever had}

She rolled her eyes but smiled, clinking her glass against mine. "You’ve got lines, don’t you?"

I laughed, taking a sip of my drink. "I’m just being honest."

She set her glass down after taking a sip, stepping close again. "No more talking," she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. "Just dance with me."

I didn’t argue. I took her hand again, pulling her back into my arms as we started to move in perfect rhythm with the music. Her body pressed against mine, her hands resting on my chest as we swayed to the slow, sensual beat. It felt like we were in our own world, the rest of the club fading into the background as we lost ourselves in the moment.

We didn’t need words. The way she looked at me, the way she moved, said it all. This connection, this energy between us—it was electric. And I wasn’t ready to let go of her, not yet.

A/N: Just a lil something something for you guys, this was loosely based on Don't Talk by Jon B🩷

Join my taglist here!

CL16 Taglist: @esserenorris, @tallrock35, @yourbane, @lightdragonrayne, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @ilivbullyingjeongin, @xoscar03, @ggaslyp1, @icecoldtires, @cmleitora, @d3kstar, @omgsuperstarg

F1 Taglist: @tallrock35, @yourbane, @hiireadstuff, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @donteventry-itdude, @spookystitchery, @dhanihamidi, @decafmickey, @cmleitora, @d3kstar, @omgsuperstarg, @mellowluka, @ysnhua

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artyandink · 3 months ago

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the art of heresy forged 1982

SUMMARY: Modern day, 2022, and you have no clue what’s going on. You knew what you went through. You knew it was real, but why were there people trying to convince you that everything that happened to you wasn’t real. Hell, you called bullshit. But you get your chance to fight back when you get a call at your door.

TW: psychological torture, traummentions of sex, Ben (cause he’s an individual warning), it’s The Boys so be careful guys, really creepy shit, crack, fluff

STW: voyeurism, exhibitionism, missionary, unprotected sex

A/N - divider by @chachachannah

Song Inspo: Heaven by Julia Michaels

cracked armour

NOVEMBER 1982:

You were in the middle of one of your usual sessions with Ben when the door swung open. Ben had you pinned beneath him, both of you completely absorbed in each other, bodies tangled in the sheets, sweat clinging to your skin, and you were right in the middle of things—no warning, no knock, nothing. Just the door creaking open and the shrill voice of Crimson Countess cutting through the room like nails on a chalkboard.

“What the fuck?”

Ben didn’t even flinch, didn’t pause for a second. He just kept going, driving into you with that same reckless abandon he always had, as if nothing had happened. You, on the other hand, couldn’t help but glance over at the door to see her standing there, wide-eyed, her hands on her hips, her mouth twisted in a mix of shock and anger.

“Jesus Christ, Marjorie,” Ben growled without breaking his rhythm. “What the hell do you want?”

You let out a snort, barely holding back a laugh as you gripped the headboard to steady yourself. “Yeah, you can see we’re kinda busy here.”

Marjorie—Crimson Countess—looked like she didn’t know whether to scream or cry. Her perfectly manicured fingers clenched into fists at her sides, and she sputtered for a second before finding her voice. “Busy? You call this busy?”

Ben chuckled, deep and throaty, not missing a beat. “Yeah, sweetheart. Busy. You know, this thing we’re doing here. Real complicated. Takes focus.”

You couldn’t help but throw in your own dig, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you smirked up at her. “You could always pull up a chair, Marj. Take notes if you need ‘em.”

Her face flushed crimson, almost matching the ridiculous red getup she always wore. “You’re disgusting. Both of you.”

“Yeah, well,” Ben grunted, “you’re still standing there, so clearly you’re not that disgusted. Maybe you’re into it.”

“Or maybe you’re just curious,” you added with a wicked grin. “It’s okay. We all know you’re not getting it like this from anyone else.”

That set her off. She threw her hands up in frustration, her voice rising in pitch. “You’re seriously doing this while I’m standing right here?”

“Damn right, we are,” Ben said, his tone casual, as if he was discussing the weather and not in the middle of absolutely wrecking you. “Not like you’re gonna stop us, are you?”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a moan as Ben’s pace quickened, but you were having too much fun watching Marjorie squirm. Her eyes darted between the two of you, disbelief etched into every line of her face.

“This is fucking sick,” she spat, taking a step closer to the bed but keeping her distance like she was afraid to get too close.

“Sick?” you laughed, arching an eyebrow at her. “Nah, this is fun. But you wouldn’t know, would you? Too busy playing PR princess while we’re back here doing the real work.”

Ben let out a bark of laughter. “Real fucking work, yeah.”

Marjorie’s eyes narrowed, and for a second, you thought she might actually lunge at you. But instead, she crossed her arms over her chest, her voice cold. “I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing, Ben, but this is gonna blow up in your face. The public—”

“Fuck the public,” Ben cut her off, his tone sharp. “I don’t give a damn what they think. They don’t matter.”

You grinned up at him, locking eyes as you added, “And neither do you, Marjorie. Not here, not now.”

She looked like she’d been slapped, her lips twitching as she tried to come up with a response. But there was nothing she could say that would matter, not when Ben had made it clear that he didn’t give a shit about her or anyone else.

Ben slowed down just enough to smirk down at you, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Think she’ll stick around for the grand finale?”

You laughed, not bothering to hide the wicked gleam in your eye. “Maybe she’ll take a few notes after all.”

“Doubt it,” Ben grunted. “She’s too uptight.”

Marjorie’s face was flushed red, her breathing ragged as she stood there, hands still balled into fists. “You two are fucking insane.”

“Maybe,” Ben agreed, his voice thick with sarcasm. “But at least we’re having a good time. You should try it sometime.”

“I’ll pass,” she snapped, her voice shaking with anger. “Enjoy your little game while it lasts.”

“Oh, trust me,” you shot back, grinning. “We are.”

She stood there for another few seconds, her eyes darting between the two of you before she finally turned on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind her with enough force to make the walls rattle.

“Fucking drama queen,” Ben muttered, his eyes still locked on you, his breath coming in rough, heavy bursts.

You burst out laughing, the sound echoing in the now-empty room. “She really thought she could do something, didn’t she?”

Ben shook his head, still chuckling. “Dumb as a sack of bricks.”

“Yep,” you agreed, your laughter subsiding as you arched your back, pushing up against him. “Now, where were we?”

He grinned down at you, that familiar cocky smile spreading across his face as he rolled his hips again, sending another wave of pleasure crashing through you. “Right about here, I think.”

“Good,” you murmured, wrapping your legs tighter around him. “Because I wasn’t done.”

Ben smirked, his grip on your hips tightening. “Neither was I, sweetheart.”

For a moment, the encounter with Crimson Countess was nothing more than a vague memory, something to laugh about later. Right now, the only thing that mattered was the way your bodies moved together, the way every touch, every word, sent sparks of electricity shooting through your veins.

You knew this wasn’t normal—not by anyone’s standards. Most people didn’t keep going when someone walked in, especially someone like her. But you and Ben? You didn’t give a fuck. You never had, and you never would.

That was part of the fun.

“Think she’s gonna run crying to PR?” you asked breathlessly, your hands tangling in his hair as he moved faster.

“Let her,” Ben growled, his eyes blazing with that familiar mix of arrogance and lust. “Let her tell whoever the fuck she wants. I don’t care.”

You couldn’t help but grin. That was why you liked being with Ben. He didn’t care about appearances, about what people thought. He did what he wanted, when he wanted, and didn’t apologize for it.

And neither did you.

The two of you were a match made in hell, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The tension built between you, the air crackling with electricity as you moved together, faster and faster, every movement pushing you closer to the edge. You could feel your muscles tightening, the familiar heat pooling in your stomach as you hurtled toward release, and from the look in Ben’s eyes, he was right there with you.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he growled, his voice low and rough. “Show me what you’ve got.”

You bit your lip, a moan escaping your throat as you arched against him, your body shuddering as the tension finally snapped. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed through you, leaving you breathless and trembling beneath him.

Ben wasn’t far behind, his own release hitting him like a freight train. He let out a low, guttural moan as he collapsed on top of you, his chest heaving with every breath.

For a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of your breathing, the only sign of the chaos that had just unfolded. You lay there, tangled together in the sheets, bodies still buzzing from the intensity of it all.

Eventually, Ben rolled off of you, propping himself up on one elbow as he reached for his discarded cigar. “Think she’s gonna tell Vought?”

You snorted, running a hand through your sweat-dampened hair. “Who gives a shit?”

He lit the cigar, taking a long drag before exhaling a cloud of smoke into the room. “Damn right.”

You couldn’t help but grin as you lay there, feeling a sense of satisfaction settle over you. You didn’t care what Crimson Countess did, or what Vought thought. All that mattered was the moment, the thrill of it all, and the fact that, for now, you and Ben were untouchable.

“Next time, maybe lock the door,” you said with a smirk, glancing over at the still-open door.

Ben laughed, the sound deep and rumbling in his chest. “Why? Adds to the fun.”

You shook your head, still grinning as you closed your eyes, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

With Ben, things were always unpredictable, always chaotic. But that was exactly why you kept coming back for more.

2022:

You stood at the stove, spatula in hand, flipping eggs like it was second nature. The sizzle of the pan filled the small kitchen, a comforting sound that grounded you in the present moment. The sun streamed through the windows, casting a golden hue across the countertop. Everything seemed peaceful, normal even—well, as normal as things ever got.

Behind you, Ben was grumbling as usual. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his broad chest, cigar clamped between his teeth. His face twisted in that all-too-familiar sneer of disdain as he scrolled through his phone, eyes narrowed at the screen like it was personally offending him.

“Jesus Christ,” Ben muttered around the cigar. “What the hell is this shit? Who the fuck needs a phone that talks to you? Back in the day, we just picked up the damn thing and dialed.”

You couldn’t help but snicker under your breath. “Welcome to the future, old man.”

Ben scoffed, taking a long drag from his cigar before blowing the smoke toward the ceiling. “Yeah, well, the future’s fucking stupid. Half the shit they got nowadays is useless. What happened to good old-fashioned simplicity, huh? You know, when a car was just a car and not a goddamn spaceship?”

“You sound like a cranky grandpa,” you teased, glancing over your shoulder at him with a smirk. “Next, you’re gonna tell me how much better everything was ‘back in your day.’”

“Because it was,” Ben shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You didn’t have to deal with all these gadgets and apps and…what the hell’s this thing?” He held up his phone, jabbing a finger at the screen. “A fucking smart refrigerator? Why the hell would I need my fridge to talk to me? Just keep my beer cold and shut the fuck up.”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the stove as you scooped the eggs onto a plate. “Sounds like you’re just too old to figure it out, Ben.”

He let out a bark of laughter, stepping closer until you could feel the heat of his body behind you. “Too old? Sweetheart, I’m in my prime. These tech bros just don’t know how to make shit that works.”

“Right,” you replied, sarcasm thick in your tone as you leaned forward to grab a plate. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Ben moved closer, his large hands finding your hips as he pressed himself against your back. The familiar weight of his body was warm and solid, grounding you even as he continued his rant. “You’re telling me you like all this high-tech bullshit? What happened to just waking up, grabbing a cup of coffee, and going about your day without some gadget asking you to rate your sleep or telling you how many steps you’ve taken?”

You laughed softly, your hands steady as you set the plates on the counter. “It’s not that bad. Just different. People like convenience.”

“Convenience, my ass,” Ben grumbled, his voice low in your ear as his hands roamed lazily from your hips up your sides. “It’s just making people soft. Too much reliance on these machines. Hell, half of ‘em probably don’t know how to change a tire anymore.”

You leaned back into him, feeling the rumble of his voice vibrate through his chest. “Well, lucky for you, I’m not one of those people.”

“Damn right you’re not,” Ben muttered, his hands slipping lower, fingertips brushing along the hem of your shirt. He was getting handsy again, not that you minded—usually.

But then, his hand dipped lower, skimming over your stomach, and your body tensed. It was subtle, a brief stiffening of your muscles, but enough that you felt the change. Your breath hitched for just a second, your heart skipping an uneven beat.

Ben didn’t seem to notice at first, his lips grazing the side of your neck as he grunted something under his breath. But you could feel the tightening in your chest, that uncomfortable sensation creeping up on you, like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

He paused, his hands stilling for a moment. “You good?”

You forced a chuckle, shaking off the tension as quickly as it had come. “Yeah, fine. Just—got a weird cramp. Probably from standing too long.”

Ben’s grip loosened slightly, but he didn’t pull away entirely. His breath was warm against your ear as he spoke, his tone more curious than concerned. “Cramp, huh?”

You nodded, turning the stove off and focusing on dishing up the food. “Yeah, nothing serious. Just one of those things.”

Ben was silent for a beat, his gaze lingering on you as if he could sense something was off, even if he didn’t know what it was. But, true to form, he didn’t push. He never was one for digging into emotions, at least not unless they were his own.

“Well, if it’s nothing serious, then I guess we can keep going later,” he said with a smirk, his hands squeezing your hips again before giving you a playful slap on the ass.

You rolled your eyes, the tension in your chest easing slightly as you grabbed the plates. “You’re insatiable, you know that?”

“Damn right,” Ben said, swaggering over to the table like he owned the place. “And you love it.”

You couldn’t argue with that. Despite everything, despite the complicated mess that was your life, there was something comforting about Ben’s rough-edged confidence, the way he bulldozed through every situation like nothing could touch him. It was like having a storm in your corner—loud, chaotic, and impossible to ignore, but also undeniably powerful.

Still, as you sat down across from him, the brief flicker of unease from earlier lingered in the back of your mind, a shadow that wouldn’t quite go away.

Ben took a bite of his eggs, glancing up at you between chews. “You’re quiet today. What, did I finally wear you out?”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Not even close, old man.”

“Old?” He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You wanna talk about old? I’ll show you old when we hit round two later.”

“Pretty sure you’re already on round fifty by now,” you teased, taking a bite of your own food. “Might need to slow down before your back gives out.”

“Fuck you,” Ben grinned, clearly amused. “You wish you could keep up with me.”

You grinned back, the banter lightening the mood, but that tension in your stomach still hadn’t fully disappeared. Ben’s hand on your stomach—it had been nothing, just an absent-minded touch, but it had brought back memories you’d buried a long time ago, memories you didn’t want to face right now.

You shoved them down, locking them away where they couldn’t reach you. Not today. Not while Ben was here, running his mouth about the good ol’ days and griping about technology. You weren’t going to let the past creep in and ruin your morning.

“So,” Ben said, leaning back in his chair and taking another drag of his cigar, “what’s the plan for today? Gonna make me breakfast every morning from now on, or was this a one-time deal?”

You smirked, leaning back in your own chair. “Don’t get used to it. I’m not your maid.”

Ben laughed, a low, rough sound that sent a thrill down your spine. “Damn shame. You make a hell of an omelet.”

You raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the half-eaten plate in front of him. “You mean these eggs?”

He shrugged, unbothered. “Close enough.”

Shaking your head, you got up to clear the table, but Ben’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. He pulled you down onto his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist as he leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear.

“Let’s skip the dishes,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Got something else in mind.”

You felt that familiar heat rise in your chest, your body responding to his touch despite the lingering discomfort from earlier. But still, there was a part of you that hesitated, a part of you that couldn’t shake the memories his touch had stirred up.

“Ben,” you started, but he cut you off with a kiss, his lips rough and demanding against yours.

Whatever you had been about to say was forgotten, lost in the heat of the moment as you gave in, letting yourself get swept up in the chaos that was Ben. His hands roamed your body, fingers digging into your skin as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

For now, the past could stay buried. You had enough to deal with in the present.

You pulled into Georgia’s driveway, the crunch of gravel under the tires the only sound as Ben sat next to you, looking about as out of place as a bear in a tea shop. He was fidgeting with his cigar, lighting it for the third time since you’d left your place. He glanced at the house with narrowed eyes, lips pulled into a scowl. You could practically see the gears in his head turning.

“Remind me again why the hell we’re doing this?” Ben asked, his voice gruff, irritation evident as he took another drag from his cigar. “I’m not exactly the family man type.”

You chuckled, pulling the keys from the ignition and turning to face him. “Because it’s polite to visit people, Ben. Especially when they’re family. You’ll be fine. Just don’t swear every other sentence, alright?”

Ben scoffed, leaning back in his seat and blowing smoke out of the window. “Yeah, sure. I’ll just sit there like a good little puppy and pretend to give a shit about... what? Kids' soccer games? PTA meetings? Jesus, I’m already regretting this.”

“They’re not asking you to join the PTA, relax. Just... be nice. Try not to traumatize the kids.”

Ben muttered something under his breath, but he didn’t argue further. You both knew this wasn’t his scene—family gatherings, kids running around, small talk with people who weren’t about to get shot or punched. But this visit wasn’t about him; it was about Georgia, your niece, who you hadn’t seen properly in years.

You got out of the car, and Ben followed with his usual swagger, rolling his shoulders as though preparing for a battle. You had to hide a grin—he was more nervous than he let on, and the idea of him being awkward around kids was just plain funny.

As you approached the door, it swung open to reveal Georgia standing there with a broad smile. “Auntie! You’re here!”

She wrapped you in a tight hug, and you smiled, hugging her back. She was all grown up now, in her forties with kids of her own, but she still had that sweet energy she’d always had. There was a part of you that found it almost grating, but the pride you felt for her managed to outweigh the disdain.

“Of course I’m here,” you said, pulling back to look at her. “I’m not gonna miss a chance to catch up.”

Georgia’s gaze flickered to Ben, standing awkwardly beside you, his cigar clenched between his teeth as though it was the only thing holding him together. “And you brought... Soldier Boy.”

“Yeah, well, he’s hard to shake off,” you teased, nudging Ben in the ribs with your elbow.

Ben grunted, giving Georgia a half-hearted nod. “Nice place you got here.”

Georgia smiled, a little unsure of how to respond to Ben’s gruff demeanor but polite as ever. “Thanks! Come on in, both of you. Ryan and the kids are in the living room.”

You and Ben followed her inside, stepping into the cozy warmth of the house. The smell of baking cookies wafted from the kitchen, and the faint sound of children’s laughter echoed from the other room. The normalcy of it all hit you like a wave—this was the life you could’ve had, maybe. If things had been different.

Ryan, Georgia’s husband, was sitting on the couch with their kids—a girl about seven and a boy around eleven. The boy, Liam, looked up at you with curious eyes, while the girl, Ella, was more focused on her tablet.

“Hey, Auntie,” Ryan greeted, getting up from the couch and offering a hand to Ben, who hesitated for a split second before shaking it.

Ben wasn’t much for pleasantries, but at least he was trying. “Ryan,” Ben said, his tone short but not entirely dismissive.

You smiled and sat down next to Georgia on the couch, the familiar comfort of family making you relax. Ben, however, stayed standing for a moment, clearly unsure of what to do with himself before eventually taking a seat next to you, his broad frame practically swallowing the chair.

The small talk began—how the kids were doing, Georgia’s job, Ryan’s latest project at work. Ben mostly grunted in response, keeping his words to a minimum as he watched the kids with a wary eye, like they might attack at any moment.

After a while, Georgia stood up, clapping her hands together. “Alright, Auntie, you ready to help me finish up those cookies?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think I remember how to bake?”

“Come on,” she laughed. “You used to be good at it. Besides, we’ll let the guys bond, right?”

You shot Ben a quick glance. The thought of leaving him alone with Ryan and the kids was mildly amusing, but also concerning. Still, you figured he could manage for a few minutes. “Alright, lead the way.”

As you followed Georgia into the kitchen, you heard Ben grunt behind you. “Don’t take too long. I’m not exactly the babysitting type.”

Ryan chuckled. “You’ll be fine, man. It’s just kids.”

In the kitchen, Georgia handed you an apron, which you waved off, and set out some dough for the cookies. As you started rolling it out, she glanced at you, her expression softening.

“So... what’s going on with you and Soldier Boy? Are you guys... a thing?”

You paused, your hands stilling for a moment before you resumed rolling the dough. “A thing? I wouldn’t call it that.”

Georgia frowned, her curiosity piqued. “But you came here together. You’re, like, a couple, right?”

You sighed, knowing this conversation was going to happen eventually. “It’s... complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

You shot her a look, trying to decide how much to explain. “We’ve got an arrangement. We’re... close, but it’s not exactly the whole flowers and dates kind of deal.”

Georgia tilted her head, trying to wrap her head around it. “So, you’re... not dating?”

“Not in the traditional sense,” you admitted, smirking at how understated that was. “It works for us. We’re both rough around the edges, not really the romantic type, you know?”

Georgia raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t push further. “Alright. As long as you’re happy.”

You snorted. “Happiness is overrated. But yeah, I’m good.”

She didn’t quite seem to buy it but let it go for the moment. Instead, she started telling you about Ella’s latest school project and how Liam was getting into sports, and you let yourself get lost in the simplicity of family life, even if it wasn’t yours.

Meanwhile, back in the living room, Ben was having a slightly different experience.

Liam, the eleven-year-old, had been watching him closely ever since you left the room. Eventually, he scooted closer, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Hey, Soldier Boy,” Liam said, his voice hesitant but eager. “Can I ask you something?”

Ben raised an eyebrow, glancing at Ryan, who was distracted by something on TV. “What is it, kid?”

Liam fidgeted, looking around to make sure no one was listening. “How does... uh... how does sex work?”

Ben blinked, completely caught off guard. For a moment, he just stared at the kid, processing what he’d just heard. “What the hell?”

Liam’s eyes went wide. “I mean, I just... I heard some stuff at school, and I thought maybe you’d know.”

Ben sighed, running a hand over his face. This was definitely not in his wheelhouse. He glanced toward the kitchen, silently cursing you for leaving him alone with this.

“Look, kid,” Ben started, leaning forward, “sex... it’s complicated. You don’t need to worry about it yet. But when the time comes, you do it like a man.”

Liam blinked. “Like a man?”

“Yeah,” Ben continued, clearly out of his depth but powering through anyway. “You don’t... overthink it. Just, you know, be confident. Be in charge.”

Liam nodded, though he looked more confused than enlightened.

“Right,” Ben muttered, realizing how unhelpful he was being. “Look, maybe ask your dad, alright?”

Just then, Ryan glanced over, catching the tail end of the conversation. “Ask me what?”

Liam hesitated, glancing between his dad and Ben before shaking his head. “Nothing, never mind.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow but let it go. Ben, on the other hand, was desperately hoping the topic would never come up again.

Back in the kitchen, you were helping Georgia place the cookies on a tray when you heard Liam’s voice echo from the living room, asking about sex. You froze, eyes widening as you shot Georgia a look.

She chuckled nervously. “Uh... should we intervene?”

You shook your head, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Let’s see if Ben can handle it.”

After a few minutes, you and Georgia returned to the living room, carrying a plate of freshly baked cookies. Ben was still sitting on the chair, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, while Liam was quietly munching on a cookie, his mind clearly still processing whatever Ben had said.

“So,” you said, setting the plate down on the coffee table, “everything go alright while we were gone?”

Ben shot you a look that could’ve melted steel. “Peachy.”

Georgia laughed, shaking her head as she sat down next to Ryan. “Well, I’m glad you two could make it. It’s been a while.”

You smiled, relieved that the worst of it was over. “Yeah, it’s good to catch up. Even if Ben here had an... interesting conversation with Liam.”

Ryan chuckled, glancing at Ben. “So, how’s your visit been?”

Ben cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact. “It’s been... different.”

Georgia gave you a questioning look, clearly curious about the nuances of your relationship with Ben. You just shrugged, deciding to keep things light.

“Different is one way to put it,” you said, glancing at Ben. “But it’s been good.”

You and Ben trudged back into the apartment, the door clicking shut behind you with a familiar thud. The evening had been a whirlwind of awkward interactions and half-baked explanations, and you were more than ready to escape into the solace of your own space. Ben, still visibly perturbed by the entire experience, tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter and slouched against it with a sigh.

“Well, that was a goddamn circus,” he muttered, reaching for the bottle of whiskey you both kept in the cupboard. He poured himself a generous glass, taking a long swig before turning to face you. “Never thought I'd say this, but I'm glad to be back here.”

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and tried to shake off the strange discomfort that had lingered from the visit. Your thoughts had been preoccupied with a myriad of things throughout the evening—your niece’s sweetness, the kids’ innocent curiosity, and a gnawing sense of something unspoken.

Ben caught your distant look and raised an eyebrow. “Something on your mind?”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance as you grabbed a glass for yourself and poured a modest amount of whiskey. The amber liquid swirled inside the glass, offering a brief distraction from the conversation you were about to dive into. “Just thinking. That’s all.”

Ben took another sip, clearly not buying your casual demeanor. “Thinking about what? Don’t tell me you’re still stuck on how I handled the kid’s question about sex.”

You winced slightly, the memory still vivid. “Not exactly. Just… other things.”

Ben’s eyes narrowed, his expression softening with a touch of genuine curiosity. “Like what?”

You hesitated, weighing whether or not to dive into the topic. The conversation about kids had been avoided during the visit, and it wasn’t exactly a subject you were eager to tackle. But Ben’s probing look made it clear he wasn’t going to let it slide.

“Well, since you asked,” you said, taking a deep breath and settling into a nearby chair. “I was just thinking about… if we’d ever wanted kids.”

Ben’s face twisted in thought as he settled into the chair opposite you, his posture casual but attentive. “Kids, huh? Funny you mention that. I’ve definitely thought about it before.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. “You have?”

Ben nodded, taking another swig from his glass. “Yeah. Back when I was with Marjorie, we had these… grand plans, you know? The whole family thing. Thought it’d be great to have a kid or two running around. But then life happened, and… well, I guess that’s not on the cards anymore.”

You nodded, a touch of sadness flickering across your face despite your efforts to stay composed. “Yeah, life happens.”

There was a brief silence as Ben stared into his glass, the room filled with the soft clinking of ice. You could sense the weight of his unspoken regrets and the path his life had taken, and it struck a chord with you. But you were far more adept at masking emotions than Ben, and you focused on maintaining your tough exterior.

“Did you ever want kids?” Ben asked, breaking the silence, his eyes still fixed on his drink.

You hesitated, your fingers gripping the edge of your glass a little tighter. “I don’t know. I never really thought much about it.”

Ben raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Never? Not even when you were younger?”

You shook your head, forcing a casual tone despite the tightness in your chest. “Not really. Things were always so… unpredictable. I guess I never thought I’d have a stable enough life to think about having kids.”

Ben leaned forward, his expression softening. “You know, I always figured you’d be great with kids. You’ve got that… protective streak.”

You looked away, feeling a pang of unease. “Yeah, well, things don’t always work out the way you plan.”

Ben took another drink, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrent of tension. “True enough. But sometimes, it’s worth thinking about what might have been, you know? Even if it’s just for a moment.”

You nodded, the words hitting closer to home than you’d expected. “Yeah, I suppose.”

The conversation fell into another silence, the clinking of glasses and the faint hum of the city outside filling the void. You took a sip of your whiskey, trying to steady your nerves as you thought about the life you’d lived and the choices you’d made.

Ben broke the silence with a chuckle. “You know, I think we’d have made a hell of a team if we’d ever decided to have kids.”

You managed a wry smile. “Yeah? How’s that?”

He grinned, leaning back in his chair with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Well, you’d be the strict one, keeping them in line, and I’d be the one teaching them how to break the rules.”

You chuckled despite yourself, shaking your head. “Yeah, I can see that.”

Ben’s grin widened. “You’d have made a great mom, you know.”

The compliment, however casual it was, made you stiffen. You took a deep breath, trying to keep your emotions in check. “Thanks. I suppose.”

Ben seemed to pick up on the shift in your mood, though he didn’t comment on it directly. Instead, he just took another drink and studied you with a thoughtful look. “But hey, we’re still here, still kicking. And that’s something.”

You nodded, managing a small smile. “Yeah. That’s something.”

The conversation drifted away from the topic of kids as you both delved into more trivial matters, the evening winding down with a sense of settled familiarity. But the discussion had left you with a lot to think about. Ben’s offhand remarks about children and what could have been stirred up old emotions, ones you weren’t entirely prepared to confront.

As the night wore on and you both settled into a more relaxed routine, the weight of the earlier conversation lingered, a reminder of the paths you’d taken and the choices you’d made. And while Ben seemed content to move on, you found yourself grappling with the implications of what might have been, even as you masked your thoughts with a veneer of nonchalance.

Fuck.

©️ 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

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suugarbabe · 1 year ago

Note

Love your writing! Could you do a Theodore Nott and best friend reader who he is head over heels for but is too scared to admit his feelings. Mattheo knows how he feels and at a party or something like the Yule ball he brings her as his date to mess with him. Probably leads to a small fight with the boys but results in Theodore confessing to her and maybe some smut as well.

Love a little shy and angry Theo

You and Pansy seemingly walked into a conversation, nay argument, between Theo and Mattheo. As soon as the boys noticed you two, Mattheo made a b-line straight for you.

"Hello, Princess," Mattheo greeted you, cocky smile on full display. You chanced a glance at Pansy as you rolled your eyes. She wore a smirk and raised her eyebrows as if to say 'play along I guess'.

"Hi, Teo. Something I could help you with?" You gave him a dazzling smile of your own.

Mattheo ran his tongue along the front of his teeth, eyeing you up and down, "Would you do me the absolute pleasure of going to the Ravenclaw party with me tonight?"

You shifted your weight, jutting a hip out and tapping your chin like you were thinking about your answer, "Can I wear whatever I want?" You stood straight now, putting your hands behind your back and batting your eyelashes at the dark haired man.

Mattheo gave you a dimpled smile, "Go naked for all I care, love." You smirked at him, pecking his cheek, "Perfect. See you tonight." You grabbed Pansy's hand and pulled her toward your dorms.

As you disappeared up the steps Mattheo returned to where Theo sat. "You gonna tell me what the bloody hell that was, Riddle?" Mattheo rolled his eyes at his friend, "I told you, Nott. If you don't go after her, someone else will. Tonight, that someone is me."

In your room you and Pansy were having a similar conversation.

"I thought you were in to Theo," Pansy laid back on your bed, popping Bertie Botts in to her mouth as you dug through your trunk for the perfect dress.

You held up a slinky green piece with diamond straps, "Gotcha." You smiled to yourself as you stood, tossing the dress on your bed next to Pansy. She held it up, "Definitely slutty."

"Thank you," you smiled, shimmying off your school skirt and unbuttoning your blouse, "and I do like Theo, but he's being a bloody idiot. I thought maybe he didn't like me, but Mattheo just proved me wrong."

Pansy quirked an eyebrow as you pulled the dress over your head, "Little help with the straps, Pans?" She stood behind you, adjusting the diamond straps until the appropriate pattern was revealed. You turned to face her, giving her a twirl before she crossed her arms, waiting for your further explanation.

You huffed, mirroring her body language, "I know you've told Draco that I like Theo, which means that Draco told Mattheo because Draco can't keep anything to himself. SO Mattheo wouldn't ask me to a party when he knew I was pining after his best friend. Unless..."

"Unless Theo was being a huge pussy," Pansy nodded her head in full understanding. You smiled a devilish smile at her, glad your friend was able to piece it all together.

At the party you were giving Theo a full on show. You didn't let Mattheo in on your knowledge of the situation, but he seemed to be playing the role you wanted him to perfectly none the less.

With a decent amount of drinks your hips found a rhythm against Mattheo, your ass pressed firmly against his crotch as you both swayed to the music. You chanced a glance near the drink table where you knew Theo was essentially rooted.

His eyes were glued to your form, hand crushing the red cup in his grip and tossing it to the floor before stalking towards you and Mattheo. As he got closer, you opened your mouth to stop him but when you saw a fist flying you quickly stepped out of the way.

Theo's fist connected with Mattheo's jaw, which only made the latter pause for a second, a smirk gracing his face. Mattheo reared his fist back, fully planning to punch Theo back when suddenly both boys were frozen.

You took a step forward, wand outstretched, "That's enough." You lowered your wand, glaring at the small crowd that was forming before they quickly dispersed. You grabbed Theo by the wrist, dragging him out of the Ravenclaw common room and to the tower steps.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" For once you were looking down at Theo, him on the steps below you. Theo huffed, turning his head to look at his feet.

You were frustrated, not able to help nearly shouting at him, "Theodore Tiberius Nott, look at me right now."

Theo's eyes snapped to yours instantly, "I-I'm sorry," he started, "I don't...don't know what came over me." He looked down at his hands briefly before looking you in the eyes again, "Why did you come with him?"

You placed a hand on Theo's cheek, "Because the guy I wanted never did."

Theo closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, "I'm an idiot aren't I?" You laughed lightly, "Maybe just a little." You smiled, turning to place a gentle kiss on your palm.

"Go back in with me?" he asked, blue eyes full of remorse. You shook your head, "I think," you leaned down, giving a chaste kiss on the lips, "that maybe we should go to the after party."

You started down the stairs, Theo turning confused, "Where's the after party?" Without turning around you answered him, "In my room." This time Theo didn't hesitate before following quickly behind you.

#theo nott x reader #theo nott angst #theo nott x you #nonny bo bonny #theo nott request #theo nott fics

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rafetopia · 1 year ago

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𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

- 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!exgf!reader, topper thornton x fem!gf!reader (only mentioned)

genre: smut & minor angst -> 18+only

warnings: smutty stuff, mentions of past toxic relationship, some soft!rafe, some mean!rafe, name calling, mentions of drugs, choking (in a non sexual way), ass slapping, cheating, unprotected sex, lmk if k forgot something

words: ~3.3k

request: okay!! i wanted to request a rafe x reader based off the song ‘why are you here’ by machine gun kelly. write it however you want🖤 (by anonymous)

summary: after seeing your ex rafe in the club, you have to learn once again why the two of you never could’ve worked out, no matter how much you both wished you could

note: this is a repost from my old blog, which is why you might have seen it before. also i don’t remember if it’s proofread

also big thank you to my baby @chaos-mybeloved for beta reading this one for me

also i’m sorry for the format idk how to format my stuff

I hate that I saw you again last night

You were with somebody and so was I

Met you in the bathroom at 12:05

And I fucked you again

We can never be friends, yeah, yeah, yeah

“Baby, I’m gonna get another drink, you want one?” Topper screamed into your ear, trying to drown out the noise.

You shook your head with a smile and focused back on the music. They were playing your favorite song, there was no way you’d stop dancing just for another drink. The dance floor was full and still, most eyes were fixated on you, as you moved your body perfectly to the rhythm of the song. You were no professional dancer but you sure as hell knew what you were doing.

Concentrated on the music, you didn’t notice the new pair of eyes watching you from the corner of the dance floor. The young man was talking to the girl next to him but his gaze never moved from your body. The blonde must’ve noticed as her voice grew angry but the man didn’t seem to care. He wasn’t even listening to the words thrown at him, his attention only belonging to you.

The song was coming to an end and you opened your eyes back up, slowly adjusting to your surroundings. You did that sometimes while dancing, closing your eyes so you could focus more on the music and enjoy the moment instead of getting distracted by the people around you. You looked around, trying to see if you could find your boyfriend when your eyes met his. A sudden feeling of sadness and anger rushed through your body, keeping you from focusing. Your mind was all over the place, tons of thoughts blocking your mind all at once.

Unsure of how you got there, you found yourself in one of the club bathrooms, hanging above the sink. You tried to keep the tears inside your eyes and normally you were good at that but when it came to him, everything was different. You placed your hands on the sides of the sink, trying to keep your body from falling down when the door to the bathroom opened. You didn’t need to look up in order to know who it was.

“I’m pretty sure the tits on the door stand for “women”.” You spat out.

“(Y/N)…”

“What do you want, Cameron?” You hissed, now turning around to look directly into his light gray eyes.

His gaze went down to the ground, clearly trying to avoid your anger. “I don’t know… You looked sad and I… I wanted to see if you were okay.”

“I’m fine.” You hissed, turning away from him. You looked into the mirror but the girl you met looked far from fine. Sure her makeup and hair looked perfect, but her eyes told a different story. They were watery, seconds from bursting out into tears. She tried to keep herself together but the presence of the boy behind her made everything harder.

You took a deep breath and looked at the boy in the mirror. His hair was a mess, sure it looked good, it always did but not because he put any effort into it. His lips were smiling but his eyes never were good at lying. You had always loved his eyes, the way they sparkled in the morning sun or the way they lit up when you told him one of your unfunny dad jokes that always made him laugh. He always sounded so beautiful when he was laughing, a sound you haven't heard in a very long time but missed terribly. He was in pain, clearly and it hurt you but it wasn’t that that was your fault. At least not completely.

“Listen…” He started, not sure if he should continue or just turn around and leave. “I… I’m sorry that you’re sad. Don’t like seeing you like this.”

“Don’t like seeing me like this?” You laughed. “That’s funny.” You turned around, now facing him directly. “Now be honest Cam-”

“Stop calling me that.”

“But that’s your fucking name now isn’t it?” You paused, walking one step closer to him. “Now be honest, why are you here, Cameron?”

“Like I already said (Y/L/N), because I wanted to see if you were okay.” He pressed, his face now only inches away from yours.

“Hmm. You see, I was okay I was having the time of my life until you and your blonde accessory of the week waltzed in.”

“Ohhh, my accessory of the week hm? Says the one who’s fucking my best friend.” His eyes were dark and his voice turned low. It was obvious how angry he was, something that had never stopped you from topping it off once more.

“That’s right Rafe Cameron, I’m fucking your best friend.” You paused, knowing if you’d go down that road, there would be no going back. “And guess what, he’s better at-” You wanted to continue but got cut off by Rafe's hand around your throat.

“Better at what sweetheart hm?” He whispered. “Tell me, darling.”

“There it is.” You grinned wickedly. “There’s the Rafe Cameron I know and hate.”

That hit him. It was obvious, his grip tightened around your throat and his eyes flickered. He knew you were mad at him but knowing you actually hated him, hit him harder than he thought it would. He wanted to say something, he wanted to spit out a response so dark even the devil would flinch but he couldn’t.

Your body tensed at the loss of oxygen flowing through your throat and you felt your heart fasten but you didn’t flinch. You met his dark gaze and countered with an even darker one. It was like when you were still together, you would challenge and provoke each other until one of you snapped. It had always been like this and it never changed even after you broke up.

He opened his mouth, about to say something when he stopped and let go of your throat. You gasped for air, your hand automatically wandering to your throat. He had done this shit before but never as strong and tight as he did now. His gaze wandered down to the hand on your throat and something in his eyes changed as if he was sorry. He held his hands up and took a few steps back until his back met the wall behind him.

“You know I… I…” He tried but clearly struggled with finding the right words. “I… I’m…” He looked at you, hoping for you to say something but you stayed silent. “You know what, forget it.” He pulled out before ripping the bathroom door open and making his way outside.

Split seconds later and his lips crashed onto yours. You didn’t quite remember how this happened, how your arm reached after him, how you pulled him towards you, or how he smashed the door back shut behind him, all you knew was how much you needed him, how much you missed him.

His hands wandered around your waist as he pulled you closer to him. You had only been making out for a few seconds but you could feel his hardened erection on your body, which turned you on even more. Your hands wandered through his hair, something that you had always loved to do when you were making out.

“Let me show you who the better lover is, sweetheart.” He whispered into your ear. “Bet Topper can’t make you scream the way I’m about to do.” His mouth wandered down your neck, gently kissing and sucking on your soft skin while his hand pushed down your left strap. Your dress was tight but it wasn’t enough to make it fall down your body but it was enough to make your left tit fall out.

He smirked at the sight of your exposed nipple before leaning down and gently sucking on it. He got more passionate with each second, causing you to grow impatient. You placed your finger under his chin and pulled his face back up to yours.

“I need you, to fuck me, Rafe Cameron. Now.” You whispered.

“Mhhh so needy for someone who hates me so bad.” He hummed with a grin on his face. “What would your boyfriend say if he saw his girl like this, all wet for me already, hm? Bet he can’t make you wet like this that fast.”

You rolled your eyes and hopped on the sink behind you, spreading your legs wide apart leaving him no choice but to look down at your exposed thong that was barely enough fabric to cover your folds. You gently let your hand wander through his hair before pulling him towards you. “I. Said. Fuck. Me. Rafe Cameron.” You smirked and continued: “Before I go out there and tell everyone that Topper's dick is bigger than yours.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Is it?”

“Oh god.” You groaned before pushing his head down to your crotch.

He chuckled before placing his teeth on your thong, ripping it from your body with one quick pull. You moaned at the sight of it and let your head fall back onto the mirror. He got down on his knees and started tongue fucking your pussy like there was no tomorrow. He had always had his special ways, techniques only Rafe Cameron knew how to use but this boy never failed to surprise you. You tried to keep quiet, afraid someone would hear you but he made it very hard when he added his thumb to the party. Soon, he started rubbing soft circles around your clit, something that had always been your weakness.

“Rafe…” You moaned out. “I’m close.”

He didn’t answer but you could feel him smirk against your soaking wet pussy. He sped up his pace, even adding another finger knowing how much you’d always loved it. You tried to hold on to the sink you were sitting on, nearly breaking off a nail as you press your fingertips against the cold ceramic. He could feel your walls tighten around his finger and shortly after, you were cumming all over him. He removed his finger and sucked off your juice, something he’d always loved to do.

You were still holding on to the sink, trying to prepare for what was about to come next. From experience you knew, there was no way in hell he’d let you go without having fucked you at least once, and regarding the boner that was pressing against your stomach, he wouldn't make an exception now.

He smashed his lips onto yours, not leaving any room for you to breathe. Your hands wandered down and unbuckled his belt, quickly exposing his hardened erection. You were about to push him inside you when pulled away.

“Uh, Uh, turn around for me baby, let me see that pretty ass of yours while I fuck you.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice, you quickly hopped off the counter and turned around making him able to slide right into you, causing you both to moan out at the sudden contact.

“Fuck (Y/N) you’re still so tight.”

“What, did you think Topper’s dick is so big it would’ve stretched me out?”

You could see his eye roll through the mirror, causing you to chuckle silently. “Glad to see you still have that pretty big mouth. Let’s see what we can do about that, huh?” He whispered into your ear as he leaned forward, his eyes never leaving yours. He reached into his pocket and pulled the ripped piece of fabric before shoving it into your mouth. “Now, we don’t want anyone to find out what a dirty little slut you are now do we?” You nodded quickly, hoping it would get him to finally start fucking you.

Your hopes were heard and soon you were met with his hips thrusting into your ass, making clap sounds every time your skin touched. His hands held onto your hips as his thrusts got faster and faster with every move. He pulled your hips closer to him, changing the ankle which made him reach the spot that made you lose all your senses. You wanted to scream out his name but instead, felt tears forming in your eyes caused by your inability to do so.

This of cource didn’t go unnoticed by him, causing him to grin and only sped up his pace, fucking you even harder than before. His eyes wandered from your face down to your ass where he watched it wiggle because of his movements. He loved the sight in front of him, you being all messed up because of him, salty tears rolling down your face, colored black mixed with your eyeliner, and your ass presented in front of him, begging him to get slapped. In fact, it was his favorite sight. He tried not to think about it too much but he tried to burn that image deep inside his mind, scared he wouldn’t be able to see it again that fast, if ever.

He wished he could’ve gone like this forever but there was still the risk of getting caught and even though he didn’t care, he knew you would, and believe it or not but upsetting you was the last thing he wanted. So he softly let his hands slide over your body, down to your clit where he placed his finger for support. You let your head fall back onto his shoulder, as he still leaned over you. He loved the way your skin felt on his, a feeling he had never felt with anyone else. He loved the way your hair smelled when you let yourself fall back, even though he hated having hair on his face.

You weren’t able to moan his name out loud but by the way, your nails dug into his thigh, he knew you were close and so was he. He sped up once again, causing you to reach your high almost synchronized with him. You could feel his cum shooting through your body as you tried to recover from your own orgasm.

Even though you were able to free yourself from your own panties by now, you still had trouble catching your breath which didn’t go unnoticed by the boy, still inside of you.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asked softly.

You nodded and gave him a happy smile through the mirror, causing him to smile himself. Oh, much he missed that smile. How much he missed you in general. But he knew you didn’t work out, you tried several times and it always ended in tears.

He slowly pulled out and quickly grabbed the piece of paper that you were handing him before you got yourself your own. The both of you cleaned yourself up and got back dressed. He wanted to say something, how much he enjoyed being close to you like this again but the words didn’t come out.

You watched him silently as he struggled to close his belt because it was stuck once again. You silently laughed at the sight in front of you, the boy that just fucked you mercilessly against the sink in the bathroom of your favorite club struggling with a task as simple as closing his belt. It reminded you of a side of Rafe, that he barely showed anyone these days. The side where he allowed himself to struggle, where he allowed himself to be human and not that perfect business robot, Ward Cameron tried to force him to be.

I'm a demon in the night

She's an angel with the white

Told me keep on all the lights

I'ma show you what you like

Help you put back on your clothes

Make sure nothing's on your nose

Ain't even tell my closest homies, nobody knows

“Here let me help you.” You said as you stepped forward and took the matter into your own hands. “I thought you’d thrown this thing out by now, it has been causing problems since the day I bought it for you.”

“It’s still working.” He answered, but there was a shift in his voice. He sounded harsher than before as if someone got into his mind and reminded him how he was supposed to act.

“Whatever you say then.” You mourned as you slid the belt into the buckle.

You got back up, ready to leave when he pulled you back. “You shouldn’t go out like that, here let me fix you.” He grabbed a piece of paper and poured some water on it, before softly removing black makeup stains from your face. He was very careful, not wanting to hurt you. “I think that’s it but maybe you should… like redo that or something… I don’t know. You always used to do that.”

“Right.” You grabbed into your bag and pulled out a thin, black eyeliner. “Do you want to do it? You used to like doing it.”

“Sure.” He chuckled. He wasn’t particularly good at drawing your eyeliner but you didn’t care. It always felt special when Rafe did your makeup, no matter if it looked perfect or not. You never let anyone do your makeup but there was something about the expression he made once he finished that you just couldn’t resist.

“You know… we could try to stay friends, at least.” You proposed carefully. “If you want to.”

“I don’t want to be your friend, (Y/N). When will you get that into your thick skull that this will never happen?” He spat out as he handed you back your eyeliner. “Like we could never be friends. Like… like what would we even do… as… as friends? Like, what would that friendship be good for?”

“Geez, as you wish Cameron, but know that this… whatever this was… will never happen again.” You paused, trying to fight back your incoming tears. “Like ever.”

“Fine by me.” He mumbled under his breath, but still loud enough for you to hear.

“Good, it’s settled then. I go back to Topper and you can go back to snorting coke off some whores ass.” You spat as you grabbed your bag and stormed out of the door.

He saw you walking through the crowd and stumbling back into the arms of your boyfriend.

Rafe knew he fucked up, but it was for the better. He knew how the both of you could get when you didn’t share the same opinion on something. He knew what power his words held over you if he lost control and said things he never wanted to say. He had seen you before, broken down on his kitchen floor between shattered bottles of glass after the both of you lost it. It was painful, seeing you walk back to Topper, the boy he used to call his best friend. He knew he’d go back to snorting coke, he could already feel the lack of substances in his blood and deep down, he knew Topper was the better man. He knew he wouldn’t hurt you the way he did, he never could and he was right. Topper could never hurt you the way Rafe did but that wasn’t because he was the better man, it was because Rafe had something that Topper never would. You loved him.

I hate that I saw you again last night

You were with somebody and so was I

Met you in the bathroom at 12:05

And I fucked you again

We can never be friends

#jas writes ❥#rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x female reader #outer banks fanfiction

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alphabetboyluvr · 1 year ago

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throttle | jjk - three

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - car sex (yay), talk of wet dreams, jaykay is down so incredibly bad, talk of buying a fuck toy just to cope with how much he wants YOU, reader on top, unprotected sex, huge cawk jk, missionary (in a car! very cramped!! but he does it for YOU <3), jk is chatty during sex (like, actually chatty), mentions of politics, mentions of drugs, the plot is plotting, jin is sexy, namjoon is a prick, jungkook is losing his god damn mind, OH and! the oc is given a nickname - she's CC (ceecee) he he he

word count - 7.5k

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

There's a symbiotic nature to the way in which your bodies move together.

You're the moon, Jungkook your tides.

You work in tandem to turn the earth, finding peace in the rhythm that you provide one another. He'll reflect your beauty back at you, and you'll drag him to the shores; offer him respite that he didn't realise he needed until you came around.

It's a fantastical way to think about it, whimsical and ridiculous, but it's the only way that any justice is given to it.

Foolish, some may say, to compare a man to such a vast and complex ecosystem, but you think that maybe there are worlds inside of Jungkook that nobody will ever get to know. Some that maybe he isn't even aware of - but you want to be. You want to learn him. What makes him tick, what gets those dimples of his showing.

It's a fantasy. A what-if. A world of possibilities in the vessel of an impossibly handsome man, carved of stone, filled with feathers. Gentle to the touch, hard on your heart.

Funny thing is, Jungkook kind of regards you to be a fantasy, too. Make-believe. A story told to kids about princesses so pretty they're put to sleep at the tops of towers. The unattainable elite, who are somehow a friend to all, and an enemy to just one.

Jungkook knows better than to let himself indulge in the fallacy of you. It's a misconception he's dreamt up; a romanticisation of the reality that he loathes so much.

He isn't really sure why he's letting himself get so caught up with you. Maybe he just thinks he can keep you at arm's length if he keeps you as part of his imagination.

Which is ironic, given the way his arm is tight behind your back as your hips roll on top of his lap. Can't really get much closer than his cock being inside of you.

There's just something about the way you look at him - the little glances beneath your long lashes and the roll of your eyes - that makes him unable to stay away from you. He keeps coming back for more. Again and again.

You're like crack, he thinks. He's never done it, but he's seen enough poor sods trying to ween themselves of it. The withdrawals are akin to the way he feels when you're not around.

He's always been this way; attracted to the things he knows he shouldn't be. You're not the first forbidden fruit he's ever tried, but he's got a taste for them now. He doubts you'll be the last - unless you're the one that finally poisons him.

As he breathes you in, lips on yours, a hand in your hair, the other on your hip, Jungkook knows that you could, in fact, very well be his last - but he doesn't care.

You're still dressed, missing the intimacy of his skin sticking to yours, but neither of you could wait.

The backseats are icy cold, so your tights have just been pulled off, soaked underwear pushed to the side so that his cock - which has barely been set free from the confines of his trousers, still at the top of his thighs - can push up into you as quickly as possible.

The way his hands grip onto your ass makes up for the lack of skin on skin. He's in control, pulling you up and down his shaft like his own personal sex toy.

Maybe that's what he should do, instead - get himself a toy. A fleshlight. Or maybe even one of those fake torsos, the ones with a perfectly hairless cunt and a bolted-on pair of tits, so that he can mimic the way he grips onto your waist as he does it. That'd solve his problems. Stop him from screwing you. Maybe.

He could fuck himself into it; the silicone a pathetic replica of the silky feeling your walls provide him with, and spill his seed into it while he thinks about you. He could even circle his lips around the plump pussy, have his tongue toy with the labia, dipping down into the leaky hole he'd have stretched out with his thick cock. Lick it all up like a good boy, like he did the last time - but you wouldn't be there to swallow it. He'd have to eat his own cum, and that's just never as much fun.

Plus he remembers the ways your legs clamped around his head as you came, so tight he swore his skull could have cracked.

A sex toy would never have him fearing for his life (although he would die from embarrassment if Jimin ever found it), not the way that you do.

In his sheets, in his car, in his life in general; you're a threat to it. To him. And the acknowledgement of this gets his cock all hard and angry - engorged, flushed red at the tip, leaky - when he's alone and thinking about you at night.

Wet dreams had been reserved for his teenage years, but he'd woken up to damp sheets twice since he'd met you.

The first time, about three weeks ago, he was confused; the head of his cock, still a little firm, peeking out the waistband of his Calvin Kleins, a puddle of his semen gathering in his belly button. He'd poked at it a little, his sleepy yet deliriously horny brain not quite awake yet. Tracing his toned chest with his fingers tips, he ghosted his abs as delicately as he wanted to touch your body - and then he realised.

Or should that be remembered.

Remembered the pair of eyes he'd seen as he checked the rearview mirror in his dream. Didn't matter that the car was somehow driving along that little damp area where the sand meets the sea, or that he also seemed to have been wearing inflatable shoes. It was the eyes - sultry and subdued, sunset catching in your irises - that had his cock getting plump in his sleep.

'Show me all of you,' whispered in a hushed tone, and followed with 'I'll show you all of me, too,' was the thing that had his stiff cock oozing onto his abdomen at four in the fucking morning.

The next time, last week, was a little less dignified. He woke up to himself rutting against his mattress, laboured grunts muffled info his pillows, a wet patch growing midway down the bed. There had been a rag left too close to his bed, the smell of gasoline filling his senses, reminding him of you. Hardly his fault. Did also concern him that he was beginning to get conditioned to developing a semi at the mere scent of gasoline.

It was pretty clear to Jungkook by that point, that if he couldn't fuck you, he'd simply die.

Admittedly, he hadn't expected it to happen so soon.

He also, thankfully, hadn't placed bets with Jimin on it, cause he'd have been out of fifty-thousand won if he had. Little fucker never gives Jungkook any benefit of the doubt. Always bets on him caving as quickly as he can. 'No willpower. All cock and balls, no brain.'

You're both Jungkook's proudest conquest and deepest darkest secret.

Can't be letting the boys know about you. Can't be sharing you with them. Can't so much as admit the fact he's been getting laid whenever they rib him for being celibate (which is a reach - he's only been out of action for, like, a month. Two, tops.).

If they could see the grip he had on your hips and the way your hand were locked behind his head, hair draping over his face, lips lost in his, they'd be asking for tips. Probably be wishing they had x-ray vision so they could see beneath the pooled clothes that protected both of your modesties.

But the windows of his car are clouded, the heat of the exchange between the pair of you preventing anyone from intruding. This is your safe place; with him.

He tightens his grip, but pulls away from your lips. You mirror his actions, curious to see why he'd be willing to leave such a warm embrace, your hips stalled by his hands. He's looking at you, blonde hair tangled over his eyes, the metal of his piercing reflecting tiny fragments of light that sneak into his windows. There's a silhouette to his face, beautiful and bold; the kind of art you'd find in the museum on the outskirts of town.

Maybe you'd go there together one day. Laugh at the pompous nature of it all, revel in the fact that you're both too churlish for all that shit. He'll make up stories for the people in the pictures, and you'll play along, narrating the lives of fictional people for funsies.

When you aren't looking, he'll take a picture of you in front of some drab minimalist piece. He won't show you it. Keep it to himself. A reminder of what once was; the beauty of a girl who could capture every ounce of his attention in a room of priceless masterpieces.

That was the thing that always puzzled Jungkook about artists; how did they know when to stop?

If the artist kept trying to blend out their muses' almond eyes, would they surely not become at one with their skin?

How much paint would saturate the canvas?

At which point would the brush stroke turn into nothingness?

He supposed the same could be said for the illicit embrace he was entangled in; how many kisses would it take for a casual fuck to turn into something a little more consequential?

If eyes are windows to the soul, would he be giving his up if he looked at you as he came?

At which point does a thumb in your mouth become a thumb stroking your blushed cheek, and does it really make as much of a difference as it feels like it should?

When you whine into his mouth, displeased at the way he isn't letting you bounce on his cock, he smiles, and knows that it's already crossed that line.

In fact, the lines are so blurred that 'indistinguishable' is the only appropriate way to describe them.

"I really did want to talk tonight," he hums quietly, pushing your hair back. It had been hot when he was covered in it, the scent of gasoline suffocating him, but he wants to look at you now. You hold up your wrist as he piles it all to the back of your head, his hips moving gently as he pulls the tie from your wrist and secures your hair in place.

"We still can," you say a little breathlessly. You're not exhausted, barely used any of your energy on the languid nature of the fuck you're indulging in, but the way he stretches you, cock thick and plump between your tight walls keeps you slightly out of breath.

"Now?"

"As good a time as any."

He smiles, pretty teeth resting on his bottom lip. Head shaking, a little bashful beneath the lunar light that peeks out from beyond the clouds, he lets his eyes rest on yours. They're inky, full of unspoken words, and you want to spend days studying them, just to decipher even a handful of words that make up who Jungkook is.

"Tell me about your life," he hums, head resting back against the headrest. There's an intimacy to this position. The way you're keeping his cock warm is something that's reserved for, well, no one. You've never done this before. Never shared anything other than your body during sex. It all feels foreign - but surprisingly, his stiff cock inside of you doesn't. "Your dream job as a kid. Your nicknames."

You smile, now, and the way your diaphragm tenses has his cock throbbing. "Vet. Popstar. The usual. One that stuck? Lawyer. And I never had a nickname. My family weren't really like that," you say, before rolling your hips, scared that the mundane talk would make him soft again.

Jungkook stills you. Looks at you with an expression you don't really recognise. His eyes are all hard, the dimple above his lips present as if he's thinking. A miracle, really, given most men's inability to produce a single thought during sex.

"You're smart," he assesses. Thinks that girls who dream of becoming lawyers always are.

"Was an overworked teenager. Burnt out. Flunked," you shrug, failing to disclose exactly why you flunked.

He nods, that fierce contemplative gaze still lacing his features. The pads of his fingers are delicate as he pushes your skirt a little further up your waist. His eyes are still on yours as his thumb hooks beneath the lace of the panties you're still wearing. He presses against your clit. It's only a little pressure. Just enough to have you gasping.

"Could always retake your exams now," he says, as if he isn't toying with your pussy like it's his favourite arcade game. Slow and steady. Easy does it. His eyes are wide. Doe-like. Incapable of committing any crimes, it seems. Innocent. "You're smart enough to do it, CC."

Your lips curl to the side slightly, head tilting, ignoring all of what he said except for those two little syllables at the end. "CC?"

"Everyone deserves a nickname."

"And CC?" You laugh, strands of hair falling loose, framing your face. Jungkook was right. You are a work of art.

"CC," he smiles, leaning a little closer to steal a tiny kiss from your lips. "As in, LMCC."

Brows raised, he's got you curious. "LMCC?"

"Little Miss Clutch Control," he grins, so proud of himself that you can't help but smile, too.

The pressure of his thumb on your clit gets firmer, and Jungkook lets his smile drop as your pout rests ajar, a small moan shaking from your very core. There's an intimacy to be found in the way Jungkook can procure such radiant happiness and sinful lust from you within seconds of one another.

He's harvesting for diamonds again. They're not in your eyes tonight. It's too dark for that. But they are in the hushed moans that let him know he's got a hold on you that no one else has. You could talk all the shit you liked about his clutch control, but if you even attempted to argue with him about his clit control, he'd just laugh.

"Thought you wanted to talk?" You say, though it comes out as a gasp. He's got a rhythm, but he isn't moving his hips. He's just feeling your walls tense around him.

"I do," he says with a shit-eating grin. He's too hot, you decide. So hot that you could never be with him, not properly. You'd probably lose your mind fearing he'd cheat. Boys that look like him always do. "Favourite food?"

The casual nature of his tone is a challenge. One that you accept. Even if your thighs are shaking.

"Don't have one."

"Any pets?"

"Family had a dog."

"Name?"

"Bingsu."

Jungkook is so pretty when he laughs. Cheeks all plump, the tip of his nose shiny from the moonlight his car is being bathed in. It's in his eyes, too, twinkling as if it's joining in on the joke - but of course, it is. You are the moon to his tides. Your happiness, for the moments of which you spend entangled in one another, is intertwined.

"Very original," he teases. He knew at least three girls who had called their pet rabbits Bingsu. Some cats, too.

"I was like 10," you defend. "Fuck off."

You say, as if you arent mounted on top of him.

"Favourite position in bed?" He questions, lifting your skirt so that he can see where your pussy meets his cock. He lets a small pool of spit gather in his mouth, before slowly releasing it, aiming for your clit. He spreads it around with his thumb, getting your pussy all nice and wet as he feigns indifference to the way your moans increase.

"How do you go from pets to sex?" You question, finding his method of enquiry maddening.

"Dog," he tilts his head from side to side. "Doggy. Very easily. Answer it."

"Missionary."

It's a lie. You just want to see how he'll react.

"Boring."

"Intimate."

"Old people position."

"Didn't we say we're already married? Perfect for us."

"We're still in the honeymoon period - and don't give me that bollocks about intimacy. I'd say that this is pretty fucking intimate," he protests, thinking that having you on his lap, warming his fat, leaky cock is far more intimate than any rendition of missionary he's ever had.

"And I'd say missionary is only boring if you don't like the person you're fucking," you bite back, just to be difficult. "I could force you to give up all other positions for lent, and I bet you'd still be dying to fuck me every single night, regardless of whether or not it was missionary."

"Yeah, you're right," he admits. Doesn't even find missionary that boring. Quite likes it actually. and he'd happily fuck you for forty days and forty nights. "I prefer morning sex, though."

"Fine," you shrug. "Missionary morning, noon and night."

"Three times a day?"

"Can you handle it?"

"Can you?"

"Only one way to find out."

"You're on," he grins. What he wouldn't give to be buried in your pussy three times a day. "Next question. Political stance?"

"Liberal," you respond instantly. "Left. Whatever you wanna call it. Also, this is terrible dirty talk."

"Good," he nods, as his thumb begins to brush at the hood that protects your sensitive nub, pushing it from side to side. Your toes fucking curl. "I don't fuck conservatives. And also? I can feel you leaking around the base of my shaft. You're still turned on, dirty talk or not."

You ignore his winning remark.

"What if I'd have said I was conservative?"

"You're on my dick in a car down a back alley of Daegu. You're not conservative in any sense of the word."

"But if I had?"

"I'd have probably carried on," he concedes. "Hate fuck."

"You're into that?"

"Not really."

"No?"

"I fuck girls 'cause I like them, CC. I don't really get those straight dudes who always go on about how much they hate women. Surely just fuck dudes instead? Regardless, if I'm fucking someone, it's cause I like 'em."

He says it without a single care in the world. Yet you feel like your whole entire world is imploding, in the best possible way.

"So you like me?" You question, all coy and a little shy. The tip of his cock leaks a little precum into you.

"My dick is in you, no?"

Touché.

And then your morbid curiosity makes an unwelcome appearance.

"When did you last like a girl enough to stick your dick in her?"

Jungkook laughs.

"Last night."

You're about to be offended. He can see it, the way your brows contort, a scowl forming - and then you realise. The smile you give him is sweet, but doesn't last for that long. He'd avoided the question, and you still want the answer. "Before that."

"About two months ago."

"She better than me?"

"I've only fucked you once. Not really a fair comparison."

Disappointing response.

"I'm fucking you right now," you remind him. "The correct answer was to say no."

"Actually," he argues, because of course he does. It's what the pair of you were born to do. "The correct answer is that you're incomparable - but the answer that you want? The one that means anything?" He pauses. Stops toying with your pussy, and pulls you in for a shallow kiss. It's fleeting, but enough. "The way I've been thinking about you doesn't compare. Been going insane thinkin' 'bout you, CC. Wrapped those pretty little legs of yours around my head and have been embedded in my brain ever since. Making me in-fucking-sane."

He's right. It is the answer you wanted.

"So stop asking me questions and fuck me," you laugh. "I've never met a more confusing yet straightforward man."

He ignores your statement, though he doesn't disagree with the sentiment.

"Am I comparable to your last fuck?" He asks, taunting you. He doesn't want to know, not really. But you asked first. He wants to see if there's a reason why; if maybe you're still harbouring some sort of attachment just like you're accusing him of having.

The way your body gets a little tense in his grasp confirms this. He notices. Hard not to when he's trapped inside of you. Thinks it's rich of you to grill him in the way you did, only to clearly be projecting your own feelings onto him.

But there's a look in your eyes that he doesn't like, now. The moon is hiding behind a cloud again, stealing the diamonds from his line of sight.

"I'm sorry," he says. The smile that had been on his face when he'd asked the question is gone, and he's looking at you like he's truly seeing you; the eyebrow hairs that need shaping, the pores that need cleansing and the flyaway hairs that land on the wrong side of your parting.

"It's okay," you say, because you should have expected it. The question was fair game.

Jungkook knocks his head to the side briefly as if to say 'no', but chooses against it. Instead, he pulls you in closer to him and kisses you tenderly, his hips pulsing upwards beneath your weight. His hands are in your hair, tongue in your mouth, and he's reminded again why the answer to his question doesn't matter.

"Let me fuck you how you like it, baby," he mumbles into your plump lips, his tongue flicking against the tip of yours as he speaks.

You question what he means as he grips onto your waist, elevating himself a little but keeping himself snug inside of you. He turns, restricted by the tight space in the back of his car. The movements are a little awkward, but it's endearing how he gets you on your back, sprawled lengthways across the back seat.

Your legs are bent at the knees, a foot resting on the ledge of the window while the other perches on the centre console. You're spread for him, but he can't devour the beauty of you blooming in such a way, thanks to the cramped room. He shuffles his jeans down a little, just beneath his ass, and strokes his cock; pumps it once, twice, as he lines himself up with your entrance.

The position is gonna be hellish for him, his backseat too narrow to really fit the both of you, but he figures if he hooks your foot resting on the window ledge over his shoulder instead, then it should be okay.

And so he does just that. You're surprised you can still bend like that, but you're also pretty sure your bones would turn to jelly if Jungkook asked them to. There's nothing that you wouldn't do to keep him close like this.

"Thought this was boring?" You hum, knowing that it doesn't really compare to standard missionary.

He's stroking the tip of his cock against your folds - and then he sinks back into you, a laboured moan hanging off the cushion of his bottom lip before he presses it into yours. His hips don't really waste much time, fucking into you slow and deep.

"It is," he groans, before hooking your other leg over his shoulder, too. You're a little tighter like this, the grip your pussy has on his cock akin to heaven on earth. "But you're not."

You go to say something, but he can feel you smiling against his lips so he tells you just to kiss him, instead. He rolls his hips into yours, resting himself a little deeper every single time. The tepid air in his car wraps around the pair of you like satin ribbon, tied in a pretty little bow where your bodies meet.

It's a gift, how well you work together. A blessing. A curse, too, but that only concerns Jungkook for now, and honestly, he isn't thinking about it. He's just thinking about the way your hair smells, and how much he wants to suffocate in your scent.

When Jungkook cums, the weight that eases off his shoulders settles in your stomach instead. It traps the movement of the chime that hasn't stopped ringing since he first stepped foot into the gas station that evening. He moans into your lips, tells you how well you take him, how much he likes it, likes you. "Think I'll die if we ever stop hooking up."

He asks if you came, but knows that you didn't. He remembers the way you felt the last time it happened - and as incredible as it had been to have your pussy wrapped around his cock, he knew that it hadn't throbbed in the same way that it had last time.

You shake your head, but you're already moving to sit up. There's something refreshing about your honesty. It's not that he doesn't want to make you cum, it's just that he's getting a bit of post-nut clarity and is highly aware that Namjoon could be around the corner. City isn't that big. Especially not this side of the river.

"Too cold," you smile, to which Jungkook responds with a small, confused hum. "Can't cum when I'm cold. Your car is fucking freezing, Kook."

The way you say his name has him wanting to blast the aircon just so he can get you warm enough to finish all over his tongue - but then you yawn, and he feels bad for keeping you out late after your shift. You're cute when you yawn.

Cute how your hand curls, eyes scrunching up tightly, shoulders hunching and then lowering back down again. He likes your shoulders. They're sloped, and petite, and a far cry from his. So dainty. Everything about you is. The way you look, your pretty lips, the earrings you wear. So pretty, and perfect, and in this moment, his.

Doesn't want the moment to end.

"Come back to mine," he offers, in a bid to elongate that feeling. "Stay the night."

"Again?" You ask, and your tone of surprise has him laughing.

"What? It's not like I'm asking you to marry me, C."

"I'd say no, anyways," you bicker back without even thinking about it.

"Thank God," Jungkook grins, rummaging about to find a packet of tissues he's sure he put in his car at some point.

He'd hidden them up after Jimin had teased him about having car sex like a fucking teenager, but Jungkook had waaaay too much pride in his car to do that.

The tissues are for when he gets greasy food from gas stations. Can't be getting the leather all fucked up, not after he spent so much getting it reupholstered.

"Ah, here," he pulls them from the back of the passenger seat and passes them over to you. Apparently, his mind has changed on the whole 'having too much pride to fuck in his car' thing. "Nah, I just-"

He pauses. Shrugs. Does his trousers back up, and doesn't look at you as you sort out the mess between your legs.

"I liked having you there last night. I'd like to have it again."

He glances over his shoulder, to find you looking at him in the very way he was afraid of. You look fond.

But so does he as he smiles at you.

"Plus, I kinda owe you an orgasm now, and my apartment is way warmer than this tin can."

You tuck the tissues back into the now-empty packet and scrunch your nose up, trying to fight a smile. He doesn't realise, but Jungkook does the same thing back.

Your legs hook over the centre console, and you plonk yourself back down in the passenger seat.

"I do actually wanna sleep tonight," you tell him.

Jungkook smiles, popping open the rear door, making his way back around to the driver's seat. The leather is freezing when his body falls into it, and he starts to realise just how cold you must have been all exposed like that.

He wants to get you home quicker than ever. Shower you in the warmth of his kisses, use his fingers like strike anywhere matches along your skin, igniting fires from the tips of your toes to the very centre of your core.

He'll get you warm.

Get you coming undone. Get you all sleepy and cute. Get you dreaming the sweetest dreams as he holds you close through the night.

"Me too," he says as the engine starts up, his motor purring almost as pleasantly as you do. And perhaps he's just a little cum-drunk, and doesn't realise the weight of his words as he knocks the car into first and heads in the direction of his apartment, humming softly: "Let's get you home."

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When Jungkook wakes up at four in the morning, he's hot. Cheeks a little puffy, hands clammy, tongue dry. Hot.

Your lips are pursed and pouted, firmly shut, body curled up next to his. He wouldn't normally complain, but his arm is trapped beneath your body, and so he's fixed in position next to a girl who burns like the heat of a thousand matches. He'll get scalded, skin tarnished, branded by you, and yet he can't bring himself to disturb you.

He reaches for his phone to check the time, and you hum softly in your sleep. Wonders if you're dreaming; if it's about him. Hopes you are; hopes it is.

His voice is low as he berates himself, whispering to 'get a grip', rubbing his free hand over his face and pushing it back into his hair. It's a little brittle, in need of a deep condition, the bleach damage a small price to pay for the anonymity his hair gave him - until, of course, it became his trademark.

He thinks about cutting it all off sometimes, but he's got a Samson complex. Fears he'll lose his strength without it. Wonders if one day you'll be his Delilah. Kind of already feels like you are.

You would never cut his hair off, though, purely for selfish reasons. Mainly 'cause the way it frames his face makes him look like art; but also cause you like having something to hold onto when things get a little rough (though his ass is also ideal for that).

He likes the way you always play with it. Knows you think it's a little sexy, all wavy (unintentional, just fried) and long. The roots are as dark as his eyes, though.

You romanticise it, in a way. It's like his true self is peeking through, and it makes you think that maybe one day you'll get to know who that is.

Jungkook isn't so sure.

In fact, he knows you won't. Sucks, but such is life.

It's not that he doesn't want you to know when his birthday is, or his favourite spot along the river to watch the world go by, it's just that it's asking for trouble. He gets into enough of that alone.

Still, he likes it when he's not alone. Likes it when you're with him - and so he falls back asleep, the beating of your heart soothing him into his REM cycle like the white noise he normally listens to instead.

It's gone seven by the time he wakes up again.

He reaches out, strokes the mattress where you'd once been and sighs. It's empty, though a little warm. There's silence in his apartment, and your bra isn't hooked over the end of his bed anymore, so he knows you're gone. Probably just didn't want to wake him.

He's cold, now. Hates the fuckin' cold. Isn't made for the winters. His lack of body fat does a terrible job at keeping him insulated through the cold nights, and heating is a luxury that he can't really afford these days, not with the sheer amount of gas he funnels into that goddamn car of his.

You had been a welcome, warm addition.

He'd teased you about it, told you it was the only reason he'd invited you over when you cursed about how bloody cold it was - but then you reminded him that you couldn't cum cold, and it had him flicking on the electric fan heater quicker than you could click your fingers.

Bleary-eyed from the morning sun, his hair a haphazard mess falling over them, Jungkook makes his way to his bathroom. He trips on his jeans in the process, forgetting the way you'd practically stripped him of his clothes the night before. Insatiable, that's what you are - and he loves it.

There's no coordination in his body as he walks, and he imagines a shower is the only thing that will really wake his body up - but there's no point. He needs to be out of his apartment within the next ten minutes. He's already running late.

His tardiness is noticed by everyone by the time he gets to the boxing club that morning.

"Here he is," Jimin grins as Jungkook avoids eye contact with every single fucker in the room. He slings his bag down and chucks his jacket on top, mask following. The room is cold, Old Man Kang not one for wasting precious profits on heaters.

Cold? He'd say. Train harder.

"Sorry I'm late," Jungkook mumbles, head hung a little low, throwing his body down next to Jimin, into the empty seat of a tatty sofa that sits in the corner of the rest area.

Jungkook can feel Namjoon's eyes on him. They're as cold as the ice that's melting on the roads outside, a little bit of spring sunshine thawing what once was frozen. He twists his neck, bones cracking at the top of his spine. Rolls his shoulders back. Postures himself correctly - and only then does Jungkook look at Namjoon.

"Where'd you disappear to last night?" Jungkook taunts him. "One minute you were tailing me, the next?" He clicks his fingers and sticks his bottom lip out, eyes all wide and faux-friendly.

They're the kind of eyes that remind you of the summer before you started secondary school; warm custard on a sponge cake, served up in a yellow cafeteria. A little bit of colour, hundreds and thousands sprinkled on top, but overwhelmingly yellow.

All yellow.

The school regulation sundress, the frills around the top of your socks. The highlighter stains on your fingers, and the rubber band charity bracelet worn around the wrists of every single boy in your class because it was 'trendy', not because any of them actually understood the concept of charity yet.

Yellow; canary, butter, midsummer Daegu sun. Lemon kombucha, mustard, and honey, too. In some lights, maybe even gold.

It curious how eyes so new, so foreign to you, seem to harbour memories of childhood that you thought had been lost. If not the memories, at least, the feelings; the notion that after the sunshine fades, nothing will ever be the same. Jungkook is the summer before secondary school, the final song of your favourite bands' encore, the subway doors closing at 11:57 pm. He's the end of something good, familiar, safe - but nothing great ever came from safe, now, did it?

His eyes are nostalgic, served up with a side of the unknown. Promises. That's what they're full of. Or is it potential? You're not sure, but you're actively choosing to be naive to the fact that it all seems too good to be true.

You don't know him like the boys in Old Man Kang's boxing club do.

Jungkook's void of colour in there. His eyes are black when they look at Namjoon. There's no honey in them.

They're bitter like black treacle, his disdain thick as it oozes over last nights competitor.

"Bastard lights," Namjoon shrugs, his indifference not convincing enough to come off as authentic. "Bad timing. Those cars were all coming from CGV. The last film of the night had just finished. Wasn't expecting the rush."

Jungkook holds back a snort. Typical of Namjoon to go and check the fucking cinema listings, just so that he had something else to blame his poor performance on.

"I mean, I made it through the lights on time," Jungkook smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes. Treacle drips from his whole entire being. It's sticky, and it coats every single surface in the room. The floor, the ring, the people. All covered in the heaviness. Everyone can feel it; how uncomfortable the empty silence is.

"Alright, ladies," Seokjin breaks the tension.

Shoulders broad, shirt discarded by the punching bag he's spent the morning working out his frustrations on, there's a sheen to his skin. It's damp. Salty, presumably, though no one in the room would dare lick his torso to check.

It's as if he's got sodium chloride crystals on his chest, glimmering when the light pours in through a tall window to the rear of the building.

His muscles are made from clay, carved out so intricately that Jungkook wonders why he bothers training himself so hard when he'll never look like his mentor. Impossible.

He's glad Seokjin has never stepped foot in the GS25 you earn your keep from. Thinks it will impact the way you look at him. Thinks maybe you'll start picturing Seokjin's face, instead of his own, whenever he takes you from behind in the future.

The thought unsettles him. Has him adjusting his legs, repositioning his cock so no one notices the fact it's a little plump now.

What? He was thinking about fucking you. Bound to happen. He's only human.

Male to be specific, with a libido to rival that of a bonobo.

Sometimes, Jimin likes to joke that Jungkook's genealogy must be closer to them than it is to his own grandfather. Even made him watch a documentary about it once. Only difference between Jungkook and his distant primate relatives is that Jungkook prefers to keep his sex monogamous.

He's made mistakes before; learnt the hard way that in order to keep things messy in bed, emotions have to run clean.

"Kook?" Seokjin interrupts his thoughts. He hadn't even realised he'd zoned out, but everyone's looking at him now, thankfully none of them noticing the semi in his pants. "You listening?"

"Huh?" He mumbles. "Sorry, was thinking. What were you saying?"

"We're swapping you out. You've been working well -" Namjoon scoffs in the corner, but Seokjin ignores him "- but I want to see if Park can get things done a little quicker."

Oh, fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck. This will not do.

"No!" Jungkook shouts, before realising how out of pocket his tone was. Cringe. "I mean, uh. I just. I've been making good progress. She's a tough cunt to crack."

"Charming."

"Fuck off, Jimin - see, that's what I mean," Jungkook begins to over-explain his outburst. "She'd call me a cunt right back. She likes my sense of humour. It just takes a while for her to open up. Sending Park in would just put us back at square one all over again."

"Yeah, but what's better?" Namjoon interjects. "Square one, going nought to sixty, or square two, still, only going five miles per hour."

"I'm on, like, square ten, asshole," Jungkook spits, incredibly childishly. If he wanted to, he could get specific. Talk about a different game that requires squares. Bases. Tell them all that he hits home runs, and that he's getting pretty consistent.

But if he tells them that, he'll be stopped from playing the game altogether.

"Sure," Namjoon just smirks.

Jungkook runs his tongue along his cheek, and looks at Seokjin, nostrils all flared, lips pouty.

"Calm down, Kookie," he says, and even though it's a little patronising, it has the desired effect. Jungkook respects him too much to fight against him. "I'll give you a week - and then you're swapping out with Park, alright? Get me something good. Something we can work with."

"I've got something," Jungkook shrugs. It isn't much but it at least confirms something they've theorised. "Asked her about politics last ni- last time I went in for gas."

"Casual kiosk discussion, seems legit."

"Do you ever shut the fuck up, Namjoon?" Jimin shoots him a glare.

"See, this is what I mean," Jungkook grumbles. "I can ask her shit like this 'cause I've built up a rapport with her. We talk." Fuck a little bit, too, but who's keeping tabs? "She won't be like that with Jimin."

She better not be.

Seokjin nods. He accepts what Jungkook is saying. Knows he's right - but knows that the lack of results is making his leadership look weak to Old Man Kang. "Carry on. What did she tell you?"

"She doesn't subscribe to her father's idea of politics. Didn't name drop him - never does - but she said she's left-wing."

"Performative," Namjoon scoffs, proving that no, he doesn't ever shut the fuck up.

"Or maybe she's the black sheep," Jimin counters. "The name change, the distancing herself from him-"

"Is all standard witness protection shit," Namjoon argues before Jimin can even finish making his point. "Her daddy is keeping her hidden so that he can keep her safe during the election campaign. Remember the amount of assassination threats he got during the last one? "

There's back and forth between them all, assessing how you ended up behind a gas station kiosk without a single link tying you back to your father. Most photographed man in the city, and yet you've been out of the pictures for a good three years, now.

The four of them never would have known who you are, or how expensive that pretty little head of yours is, had it not been for Old Man Kang and the job he'd given them all a couple months back.

Jungkook didn't exactly lie when he told you he was between jobs. He's just got a little something part time going on, too.

"Well, how about this?" Jungkook interrupts them, cutting their discussion about you short. It was annoying him. None of them know you. Not like he does. He's the only one qualified to have an opinion on the matter. "Keep me on the job. I'll be able to find out far quicker than any of you fuckers."

Seokjin concedes. Accepts that Jungkook is the best bet they've got. Dismisses them all, but keeps an eye on Jungkook as he pulls the neck of his shirt over his head and tosses it down onto his bag.

His composure is cool as he begins to wrap up his palms, but he's nibbling at his lips. Nose all twitchy like a bunny - and when he gets the bag he'll be working on, instead of testing the weight, he just hangs his head. Rests his forehead against it. Holds it. Taps it gently with his knuckles, before whispering a sharp 'fuck'.

But then he's bouncing on his feet, squaring up, getting ready, as if he hasn't just very visibly gone through an existential crisis, of sorts.

He would ask Jungkook what's going on, but there'd be no point. He's as good at lying as he is at throwing punches - and he's got the best left hook on the team. Doesn't use it much - but never misses when he does. Lies? Yeah, he uses them a lot more.

In fact, he's so good at fibbing, that Seokjin half thinks he doesn't even realise he's doing it a lot of the time. He cleans up the ink of his bad choices with white lies, and before he knows it, everything in Jungkook's life is grey.

"Posture straight," Seokjin calls over to him. "Don't lose your form."

Jungkook grunts a response. Does as he's told. Stays in the boxing club long enough to convince them all that it doesn't feel like he's having a heart attack. Chest all tight and shit. Lungs twisting beneath his ribs.

He grabs his stuff as quickly as he can without looking like a mad man on a dash, and locks himself in his car, staring into the oncoming traffic. Hands on the steering wheel, his chest heaves. Up and down, in and out. Contracting and expanding in all different directions.

The soiled packet of tissues is still on his backseat, your hairband looped around his gearstick. Your perfume spices the air, sweet vanilla and black cherry. He can only smell your hair when his nose is nestled in it.

Bizarrely, thinking about it doesn't make his heart race like it normally does. It calms it instead.

Jungkook whines. Stomps his feet a little in his footwell, then rests his forehead on the wheel.

"I'm so fuckin' screwed."

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minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

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