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katsu28 · 2 days ago

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home cooked meals & crashed dinner dates

pairing: oscar piastri x verstappen!reader

summary: your plan to finally make good on your promise of a home cooked meal for oscar's first win is thwarted by a certain older brother of yours. (3.1k)

warnings: general swearing, overprotective brother max. this is the long awaited part two to maiden wins & secret meet-ups, but can be read as a stand-alone!

a/n: we interrupt your (semi) regular programming of lando to give you more bf oscar!!! wrote most of this pre baku so no second win unfortunately

Everything is perfect.

You’ve got Oscar’s favorite pasta dish simmering on the stove, a few appetizers ready on the counter, the table set up nicely for two, and your flat is pretty clean.

All that’s left to do is change into something nice and wait for Oscar to arrive, and your promise of a date night with a home cooked meal for his win will have been fulfilled.

You’re more excited than anything. You haven’t seen Oscar since Hungary because you’ve both been busy, but you managed to find tonight as one night where neither of you have anywhere else to be, no one else to see. All you want to do is spend time with him and love on him as much as you can while you're alone together.

The doorbell rings just as soon as you’ve slipped into one of your favorite dresses, and for a moment you’re confused, because Oscar isn’t supposed to be here for another twenty minutes.

And Oscar, bless his heart, is never early.

You push the thought away as you go to open the door because hey, maybe he’s just as excited to spend time with you as you are with him. It’s the only thing on your mind when you pull it open to greet—

“Max? What’re you—”

Your brother is nudging past you as soon as the door swings open wide enough, completely ignoring your bewildered state in favor of beelining for your sofa and plopping down onto it. He kicks his feet up onto the coffee table in front without a care in the world, settling into the cushions behind him with a loud, relaxed sigh.

“Um, hello? This isn’t your home, you know! An acknowledgement would be nice before you come barging in. And a warning that you’re coming, but whatever, I guess.”

He blinks a few times, cocking his head to the side. “Hi. Sorry, I forgot to text, but I figured you’d be home anyways, so…”

“Right, but I actually have plans soon,” You reply, gesturing vaguely at what you know he knows isn’t your typical staying at home outfit, “as you can see.”

“Oh, that’s a nice dress,” He hums, motioning for you to do a spin. You don’t humor him with one. Instead you walk over to where he is and shove his dirty shoes off your table, wrinkling your nose at just how annoying he’s being right now. “Bit fancy for a night in though, no?”

“Thank you. But I’ve got plans,” You say tightly. He gives a firm nod. You wait for him to say something else, but he doesn’t, so you sigh. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Maxie, but what are you doing here?”

“Can’t I pay my favorite sister a visit without a reason?”

You try again, with more urgency this time. “Sure, but any other time would be better.”

Either Max really needs to get his ears checked, or he’s actively choosing to ignore your words, because he grabs the TV remote off the table, patting the seat next to him as he switches it on.

“C’mon, watch Love Island with me. I’m three episodes behind and I need to catch up before Charles spoils it for me next time we play padel.”

Frustrated to no end at his inability to listen, you cast a quick glance at the time. Oscar is meant to arrive increasingly soon, you’re no closer to getting Max out of your flat, and you’re a hair's width away from kicking him out with force.

“Max, I need you to leave.”

He chuckles, “Why?”

“Why? Because I have plans, have you not heard anything I’ve said?” You huff, propping your hands on your hips frustratedly. Max sits up from his slouch, looking from you, over towards the food on the counter, the candles and silverware on the table.

“Are you expecting someone?” He asks incredulously, brows flying high. “Oh my god, are you having a date over?”

“Maybe. Okay, yes, so you need to go. Like, now.”

Max ignores you (again), rising to his feet, mirroring your stance and expression scarily accurately. Sometimes you feel like you were meant to be twins in another life with how similar you are every so often. Then you think that he would’ve probably absorbed you in your mum’s womb had you actually been twins.

“Who is it?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business, really.”

“Uh, yes it is! As your brother, it’s my responsibility to make sure whoever my baby sister lets all up in here isn’t a fucking serial killer, for starters.”

“All up in here? You’re being ridiculous. I’ll have you know I am perfectly capable of doing things on my own, thank you very much.”

“Uh huh, sure. So what’s their name? What do they do?”

“Still none of your business!”

“You’re being evasive.”

“Yeah, well you’re being invasive.” You level Max with a narrow eyed stare, crossing your arms over your chest. He does the same, but god is he much better at it than you. It makes you let out a sigh, digging the heels of your palm against your eyes. “I love you, Maxie, but I know how you get with people I’ve been in relationships with, and this one…he’s special, okay?”

His glare softens at the pure fondness in your tone, posture relaxing, arms dropping. He studies you for a few moments, like he’s gauging whether or not he should continue with his annoyingly overprotective older brother shtick or drop it all together. “Fine. I still want to know his name though. Full name, first and last. Just so I can do a little background research myself, alright?”

“Oh, I think you know it already,” You mutter under your breath, more to yourself than anything.

“What?”

“Nothing!” You smile at him innocently, shrugging. “Will you go now?”

Max lets you usher him towards the door, sounding a bit annoyed, but you’ll deal with him later. You’ve still got a bit of time before Oscar’s set to arrive to get Max out, thank goodness. “Yeah, alright. But don’t think I won’t make you call me right after whoever this guy is leaves.”

“Yeah, sure, of course. Right afterwards, you got it,” You say absentmindedly. You pull open the door for him, well and ready to finally shoo him away—

And then there’s Oscar, one hand reaching for the doorbell, the other clutching a colorful assortment of flowers wrapped in brown paper.

Fuck.

Out of all your dates, this just had to be the one time Oscar showed up early.

He’s smiling softly, but as soon as the door swings open and he sees Max standing in front of him, his expression turns into that of a deer in headlights. If you weren’t so all over the place right now, you would’ve found it hilarious.

“Piastri? What’re you doing here? And why do you have—” Max freezes mid-sentence, eyes ping-ponging between you and Oscar so fast you wouldn’t be surprised if they popped out of his head. “Oh, what the fuck? You’re dating fucking Oscar? And you,” He turns his attention back to the shaken looking Aussie, “you’re dating my sister? What the fuck!”

“Um…hey, mate. I mean, Max. I mean—hi? Erm, nice to see you too,” Oscar says hesitantly, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck awkwardly. His eyes flick to yours helplessly, begging for a lifeline.

“Hi, Osc. Don’t mind him, come on in.” You push Max aside with both hands, making room for Oscar to cross the threshold.

Though judging by the slightly nauseous look on his face, Oscar would much rather like to turn around and leave right back the way he came. Max, on the other hand, just stares blankly at the two of you.

You ease the flowers out of Oscar’s grip, pressing what you hope is a reassuring kiss to his cheek in return. “These are gorgeous.”

Oscar gives his head a little shake to get himself out of his stupor. “Yeah, I had the florist put together all your favorite flowers.”

“I love them, thank you. Come with me to the kitchen? The vase is on the top shelf.” You slide your hand into his, tugging him in the direction you want to go and he follows, tearing his wide eyed gaze from Max’s as he stumbles after you. Once you’re safely in the kitchen and out of Max’s earshot, you turn to him. “I am so sorry for springing this onto you without warning, he just showed up like, ten minutes ago and I was just about to get him to leave.”

“Um, yeah, no it’s—it’s fine. Just caught me off guard a little, is all,” He breathes, bobbing his head. “So he knows about us…?”

“Pretty sure he’s connecting the dots right now, yeah.” You sneak a peek out of the kitchen to see that Max hasn’t moved an inch from his previous position. His body is frozen in place, but you already know his mind is moving a mile a minute.

You turn back to Oscar, setting aside the flowers on the counter. “I haven’t told him anything else yet, but I think at this point, we might have to. Only if you’re okay with it, though. I can still tell him to fuck off if you want.”

Oscar’s hands slide up your arms, rubbing your shoulders soothingly, calmly. “I’m okay with it. I’ve had you all to myself the last five months, I’m ready to take the next step in our relationship.” He folds you into his embrace, strong arms wrapping around you tightly. Your cheek presses against the firm, sturdiness of his chest, helping settle you in that way it seemed only he could. “Are you?”

“‘Course I am,” You say firmly, pulling back to look him in the eye. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

His lips curve into a small smile, eyes doing that little happy squint thing you love. “Yeah?”

You kiss him instead of answering, short and sweet, before moving to leave. Max has moved to the living room when you make your way out of the kitchen cautiously with Oscar in tow, and he doesn’t seem to notice you’re both there until you clear your throat.

His blank gaze flicks to yours, then Oscar behind you before morphing back into the calculating sharpness that you’ve grown accustomed to.

You’re the one to break the silence. “So…I’m sure you have questions.”

“That doesn’t even begin to cover it,” He grumbles.

One thing about your brother, he talks a lot. A real motormouth, so to speak. And right now, he’s got a lot to talk about. He even slips into Dutch for a few minutes at some point, not even noticing when you lean over towards Oscar to translate for him.

Soon enough you realize he isn’t even talking about your relationship anymore, but has somehow moved on to the faults of his own, which is a whole other can of worms that you really don’t care to discuss. Part of you feels like Max might be projecting a little bit, but you’ll worry about those problems later.

It isn’t until he loops back around to the topic at hand grumbling something along the lines of you making a mistake by dating Oscar that you stop him with a glare and some choice words of your own.

“I’m not going to sit here and let you judge me, Max. I am an adult, I don’t have to explain anything to you, let alone who I choose to be in a relationship with,” You say firmly. You’ll lay everything out plain and simple for your brother, who is usually one of the most observant people you know, so things are as clear as possible going forward. “I love Oscar, and there’s nothing you can say that will change that, so you need to find a way to be okay with this.”

You’re too busy taking a stand against Max’s stubborn nature to notice Oscar right now, but if you had been paying any ounce of attention to him, you would’ve seen his lips quirk up into a wide grin, the straightening of his hunched shoulders.

He’s pleased, to say the least. For a guy known by the world as being extremely flat and composed, he's nothing but expressive when it comes to you.

Max, however, does notice the changes in Oscar’s demeanor. The crease between his brows lessens, because shit, he’s never seen Oscar Piastri smile that big before. Never seen Oscar look at anyone the way he’s looking at you now, even as you continue to lecture Max about boundaries.

“Fucking hell,” He says, dragging a hand back through his hair. It gets you to pause, raising an expectant brow at him. “You’re right. I’m being a total asshole brother, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are,” You say pointedly, arms crossed. He drops down onto the couch behind him, hunching over and propping his chin up in his palm with a heavy sigh.

Guilt tinges at you a little bit at the sight. You know Max means well. He loves you and wants you to be happy, but he gets a little too overprotective of you sometimes. It’s been that way since you were kids. He was away for races a lot, so when he was there he tended to overcompensate.

You sigh, sitting down next to him. “You’ve always watched out for me, and I’ll always be grateful for everything you’ve done to protect me, but I’m not a little girl anymore, Maxie. It’s time to let me do things on my own.”

“You’re making me sound so old right now and I hate it,” Max huffs dramatically. “But you have a point. You’re not a little girl anymore, but you’ll always be my little sister.”

“And you’ll always be my big brother.”

Max presses his lips into a thin line. “Guess I should leave now, huh?”

You nod faux seriously, patting his knee. He sighs, drags himself to his feet, sticks out his hand towards Oscar for a begrudgingly firm shake before he goes. Then he stops in his tracks about halfway to the front door, whirling around to face Oscar again.

“If you hurt her…well, I won’t even have to kick your ass, because she’ll have already done it for me,” He warns, pointing an accusing finger in his direction.

You fight a smile, because even though you know Oscar would never hurt you, you’re secretly pleased your brother recognizes that you can handle yourself.

The Australian boy nods solemnly. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Don’t really know him all that well, huh?” Max teases, the first time he’s looked anything but downright distressed since discovering you’re dating Oscar. You offer him a guilty smile that he rolls his eyes playfully at as he pulls the door open. “Breakfast tomorrow? I’d like to know more about how absolutely fucking blind I’ve been to not know you’ve been seeing Oscar this whole time.”

“Breakfast sounds good,” You chuckle. “Now for the hundredth time, please leave. I’ve got a date.”

You let out the biggest sigh in the world as soon as the door slams shut, a little exhausted at the emotional roller coaster you’ve just been on. All this because you wanted to cook your boyfriend a nice meal for a special occasion.

Oscar’s found his way to the sofa, inviting arms open, soft smile on his face. You plop down next to him with a groan.

You’re only now noticing he’s worn your favorite shirt today, the dark one that hugs his biceps just right and makes the cozy warmth of his brown eyes pop.

“Reckon that went rather well.”

You scoff, both amused and skeptical. “Seriously?”

“Well, in my head, I thought he was gonna punch me in the face, so…yeah, I don’t think it went too bad. All things considered.”

“I feel like I’m always apologizing for things lately,” You sigh, letting your head fall onto Oscar’s shoulder. He exhales in the form of a chuckle, lacing his fingers through yours comfortingly. “And for some reason, my brother seems to be a common denominator. So, I apologize about him too, because we both know he’s too stubborn to say it himself.”

“Seems like stubbornness runs in the family.”

You knock your knee against Oscar’s without any real force behind it, rolling your eyes playfully. “Funny. Sorry you had to hear me argue with him.”

“He’s just being an older brother. I get it.” He shrugs nonchalantly, totally unphased. “Plus, you’re kinda hot when you get mad.”

“Ha! You’re into that?”

“Guess I am.”

“I learn something new about you everyday, don’t I?”

Oscar just grins knowingly at you, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I love you too, by the way,” He says later on in the night, when you’re both standing at the kitchen sink. You’re washing dishes from dinner, he’s drying them with a dishcloth.

His tone is completely casual, offhanded, like the way someone might mention how nice the weather is today.

You blink, brows furrowed in confusion. “Huh?”

“Earlier, when you were chewing Max out, you said—” He pauses, rubs furiously at a wet spot on the plate clutched in his hands, cheeks going pink. “You said you loved me? Was that just to prove your point, or…”

If you’re being totally honest, you hadn’t even realized you’d said it. You’ve never shared those three little words with Oscar before, but the more the weight of them sets in, the more you realize it’s true.

You’ve fallen in love with Oscar Piastri without even knowing.

At the back of your mind, though, you think you’ve known all along. From the first time he’d uttered out an awkward hello in the paddock all those months ago, you were hooked. Since then, being with him was easier than anything else you’ve ever done. Sure, the secrecy and the constant on the go nature that came with being a professional athlete provided a few hurdles, but you like to think you’ve managed to handle them quite well.

“Uh…hello?”

Your focus is brought back to real time, where Oscar is looking back at you with a borderline nervous expression gracing his face.

“Yeah, I do.” You smile warmly. “I love you, Osc.”

You abandon the sponge clutched in your hand, dropping it in favor of reaching across the dish rack and cradling his cheek in your palm, kissing him gently.

“Well, that’s a relief. Thought I’d just made a fool of myself right there.”

He’s got soap suds on his face, one eye scrunched shut at the wetness from your hand, but you think he’s never looked more handsome. He could be wearing the most god awful outfit known to man and you’d still think he’s the best thing you’ve laid eyes on, because you love him and he loves you.

And really, that’s all you need to feel right where you should be.

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post a new fic :)

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x verstappen!reader #op81 #oscar piastri x fem!reader #op81 x reader #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri x you

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onetruemab · 2 days ago

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How to Eat God

You are a Player looking for a Game.

Pick two whole numbers from 1-6. Any time you notice both of those numbers, you may perform one of the following actions:

Flip a Coin

On heads: search for and write down three TTRPG titles you could make your Game.

On tails, write down three reasons trying new things is hard.

Draw a Card

Numeric value: Either set aside that much money (in CAD) for purchase of a Game, spend that much time (in minutes) scrolling aimlessly on a platform of your choice, or both.

King: Search for and watch a clip of Looney Tunes.

Queen: Search for and watch a clip of the Muppets.

Jack: Search for or make an appropriately blasphemous dish/snack.

Ace: Name a character you might play in a potential Game.

Joker: Declare a Game.

Roll a Die

If either of your chosen numbers shows, write down 7 names of potential Players.

If not, procrastinate on finding a Game by doing another task you were procrastinating.

Declare a Game

State the title of a TTRPG to any potential Players. Declare your interest in playing it.

You win when you Declare a Game.

200 words including the title as per the 200-word RPG challenge word counter.

I consent to off-site archival.

I feel like the role-playing part of this might be a bit lacking, but I Capitalized some Nouns which should more than make up for it.

Yes, this is a game which, as @dukeofriven suggested in this post, is “a 200-word solo RPG in which the player works to purchase a copy of Eat God and learn how to play it”. Though I was interested in this competition, no ideas came to mind until I saw this and went “you know what would be funny?”

Granted, you don’t specifically need to play Eat God, but the game does lean towards it.

Full disclosure: I have never written a TTRPG before, and have played only a scarce few. As such, my goal for this game was only to be extremely playable—you’ll notice only one of the actions is actually needed to win.

A clarification on “any time you notice those numbers”—if you see both of them on a clock face, on a calendar, on a room or street number, or even on a keyboard, you may take an action. It’s meant to be fairly common.

200 Word RPGs 2024

Each November, some people try to write a novel. Others would prefer to do as little writing as possible. For those who wish to challenge their ability to not write, we offer this alternative: producing a complete, playable roleplaying game in two hundred words or fewer.

This is the submission thread for the 2024 event, running from November 1st, 2024 through November 30th, 2024. Submission guidelines can be found in this blog's pinned post, here.

#ttrpg #my writing #tumblr 200 word rpgs #200 word rpgs #writing #eat god

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ktownshizzle · 1 day ago

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Love & Lullabies | Part 3

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

Summary: What begins as a simple favor for your best friend Namjoon soon pulls you into the rhythms of Yoongi’s life—afternoons spent caring for his son, late nights filled with candid conversations, and a connection neither of you thought you needed. You’re just fresh out of a long-term relationship with an ex who didn’t want a family with you, so did you really just stumble into a life you’ve always dreamed of? (Thank god Namjoon isn’t the only one who’s clumsy.)

Alternatively: It’s 2025 and BTS is prepping for their comeback. All members seem to have gained muscle weight from their time at camp. But Min Yoongi has gained a different kind of weight—an 8-pound baby and a fuck-load of responsibility. (Thank god you’re there to help him.)

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie

Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it.

Chapter warnings: GRAB YOUR TISSUES!, this bitch is a whole ass kdrama episode and it’s gonna hurt before it gets better, happy ending tho!, themes of self-loathing, anxiety, and depression (MC), severe postpartum depression (not MC), it’s monsoon season and namgi don’t like umbrellas, (____) in the rain cliche scene, NAMTIDDIES because I can’t help myself, lastly… watch me morph this into another workplace romance/co-workers to lovers story lmao (real)

Word count: ~7k

Posting date: November 21, 2024

Notes: This is inspired by an ask/prompt sent by @yoongznme.

I am a clown 🤡 and a liar 🤥 From pretending this is a two-shot, then a three-shot. It has become a chaptered series, atp. There is a part 4 in the works and I fully intend to end it there, but again, I may have just jinxed myself. Anyway! Enjoy, my lovelies~ 💕

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Masterlist

“She’s Haneul’s mom.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut.

“What?”

“Sung Kyung and Yoongi… they’ve been good friends for years,” Namjoon explains quickly, his tone almost apologetic. “I didn’t think they were dating. But yeah, she’s his mom. She left for months and when she came back, she'd already given birth.”

You feel like the ground has been ripped out from under you. What Namjoon said made no sense. You clutch the edge of the counter, your mind racing. “What do you mean she left…?” You have never been more confused in your entire life.

Namjoon sighs. “I don’t know all the details. You know hyung, he tells you what he thinks you need to know. The rest, he keeps to himself. But I do know they did the paternity tests and everything, and Haneul’s his, theirs.”

Theirs. It’s easier if Namjoon just slices your heart open at this rate.

He places a tentative hand on your shoulder. “It’s better to hear it straight from Yoongi-hyung, since you guys are, you know.”

“I– I don’t know. I don’t know what we are,” you say, leaning your weight sideways against the wall to steady yourself.

Get a grip. It’s Haneul’s day.

Namjoon stands to shield you from the rest, in case anybody chances to look your way. You probably look like you’re about to puke. You definitely feel like it.

“Joonie…” Your voice is small when you ask, “Do you think she wants to come back now?”

Namjoon lifts his shoulder, lets it sag, “I don’t know. Maybe. She wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Your chest tightens, a wave of insecurity crashing over you. Of course, she would want to come back now. She’s beautiful, successful, everything you’re not. And most importantly, she’s Haneul’s mother. That’s the kicker. How can you compete with that?

Spoiler alert: you can’t.

When you step back into the living room, the first thing you notice is Yoongi’s mom. She’s standing off to the side, her lips pressed into a thin line as she glares at Sung Kyung from across the room with a mixture of disapproval and barely-contained irritation.

“She shouldn’t be here,” she says quietly, her voice cold and clipped.

“Eomma,” Yoongi grits.

“She abandoned Haneul, Yoongi,” his mom hisses, her tone sharper now. “And she thinks she can just come here like nothing happened?”

Yoongi sighs, his hand briefly brushing his mother’s arm in a silent plea for calm. “Not here, eomma. Please. It’s Haneul’s birthday. Don’t make a scene.”

Of course he is siding with her.

You’re unable to tear your eyes away from Sung Kyung. How can she look so beautiful even if she looks miserable? She exchanges a few more quiet words with Yoongi near the door, her expression alternating between frustration and what looks like regret. You can’t hear what they’re saying, but you catch the way Yoongi’s shoulders stiffen, the way his jaw tightens as she reaches out to brush his arm. You see Yoongi nod, and you’re so curious, what is he agreeing to?

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she leaves. The door is closed, but for sure this chapter isn’t. Not even close.

You entertain yourself by watching some of the BTS members play some video games. Their antics, as funny as they are, don’t really register. Your laughs are hollow, mind totally elsewhere. It’s a while before Yoongi finally finds you, after he disappeared to his studio after Sung Kyung left and went MIA for half an hour or so.

He corners you near the snack table as you pretend to be engrossed in arranging leftover cupcakes.

“Hey,” he says softly, touching your arm lightly.

You turn to face him, your smile brittle. “Hey. How’s everything going?”

“Can we talk?”

You nod, following him toward the hallway, away from the laughter and chatter. The noise completely fades as you enter his soundproof studio and he turns to face you.

He exhales deeply, running a hand through his hair. “I wanted to talk to you,” he says carefully, like he’s choosing every word with precision.

“About Sung Kyung.” you offer. He nods, shoulders visibly tense. “Yeah. And Haneul.”

The mention of Haneul makes your chest tighten, but you steady yourself, waiting for him to continue.

“She and I… we were close for a long time,” he begins, his gaze dropping to the floor. “And yeah, there was a point where I thought it was going somewhere. But then she just… disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

“She left Korea. No warning, no explanation. Just… ghosted.” He shrugs. “I didn’t know where she went or why. She didn’t contact me for months.”

“And then one day,” he continues, “she called. Told me she just gave birth to a son. That it was mine.”

The words hang between you, heavy and jarring. You don’t say anything, letting him get it all out.

“She didn’t tell me she was pregnant,” he says, shaking his head as if he still can’t believe it. “I literally only found out after he was born.”

You feel a pang of sympathy, but then you’re also feeling angry at Sung Kyung. “Why did she wait so long to tell you?”

“She said she didn’t want to burden me. I was already doing my military service and I had that thing… that case. She thought she could handle it on her own.” He looks up at you then, his eyes dark and conflicted. “But after she had him… she couldn’t. She fell into really severe postpartum depression and some other health issues, basically telling me she was diagnosed unfit to take care of him.”

Your throat tightens, and you clasp your hands together to keep them from shaking. “So you stepped in.”

He nods, “I didn’t have a choice. Haneul needed someone, and I couldn’t—I wouldn’t turn my back on him. He’s my son. It was confirmed by a paternity test.”

“And now she’s back,” you say, more a statement than a question.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, dragging a hand down his face. “She says she’s better. That she wants to be in his life now. That she can be. And honestly… I don’t know what to do.”

You study him for a moment, your emotions warring between compassion and your own sense of inadequacy. “What do you want, Yoongi? Not for her, not for Haneul. What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, gnawing his lip before he says, “I just… I want to do what’s right for Haneul.”

The words cut deeper than you expected, but you force a small smile, nodding as if they don’t sting. “That makes sense.”

Yoongi takes a step closer as he studies your face. “But what about you?” he asks, his voice almost too gentle. “How are you feeling about all this?”

The sincerity in his question takes you off guard, and for a moment, you’re tempted to tell him everything. The ache in your chest, the jealousy you hate admitting to, the fear of losing whatever connection the two of you have built. But instead, you plaster on a smile, shoving all those emotions into a corner of your mind.

“I’m fine,” you say lightly. “It’s Haneul’s birthday. That’s what matters.”

Yoongi doesn’t look convinced, his gaze lingering on you as if he’s trying to read the truth in your expression. But after a moment, he nods, letting it drop. “Okay.”

Finally, you glance at the door, forcing yourself to straighten up. “We should probably get back to the party.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, stepping aside to let you pass. But as you reach for the door, his voice stops you.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

You turn back, your brows furrowing. “For what?”

“For everything,” he says, his eyes filled with something you can’t quite name.

You don’t know how to respond, so you just nod. Because his words—why did it feel like a goodbye?

The rest of the party passes in a blur. You keep smiling, keep laughing, keep pretending everything is fine. You stand by as Yoongi helps Haneul blow out his single candle, snapping pictures of his chubby hands smashing into the frosting.

You’re wiping stray frosting from Haneul’s cheek when you glance at him and for a split second, you see her. Sung Kyung’s face is right there, faint but unmistakable, in the shape of his eyes and the curve of his brows.

The realization hits you like a freight train. You freeze, the cloth clutched in your hand, staring at this beautiful baby boy who isn’t yours. Who will never be yours.

It’s too much. You set the muslin down, excusing yourself to the kitchen with a muttered, “I’ll grab more drinks.”

You don’t even make it to the fridge. You stand there by the counter, gripping its edge as you force yourself to breathe, to keep the tears at bay. You’ve never felt more out of place in your life.

Namjoon finds you a few moments later, leaning against the doorway with a quiet, watchful look. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask if you’re okay. He just stays there, close but not too close, his presence steady and silent. You appreciate him for that—for knowing exactly what you need when you’re unraveling. He’s your best friend after all.

But even his quiet support isn’t enough to keep the emotions at bay.

Across the room, Yoongi’s eomma catches your eye. There’s something pitying in the glances she throws your way, a faint furrow of her brow that makes you want to sink into the floor. You had the feeling she knows there’s something between you and Yoongi, but now… now it feels like she’s seeing through you, like she knows exactly how small you’re starting to feel.

Because the truth is, you’re nothing.

You’re not Haneul’s mom. You’re not Yoongi’s girlfriend. You’re just someone who helps out when it’s convenient, and now that they have a nanny, you’re not even that. And it hurts. God, it hurts because you thought—maybe foolishly, maybe selfishly—that you were becoming something more. That you were becoming someone to them. That, maybe, you were becoming a family.

But now, as you stand there watching Yoongi carry Haneul to his room, barely sparing you a glance, the truth sinks in like a stone in your chest. You’re not someone. You’re a placeholder. A stand-in.

And pretty soon, just like Jiyong, they’re going to discard you. Because that’s what always happens. You’re always easy to leave behind. Always replaceable. Always useless.

The thought claws at you, and you suddenly can’t breathe. You grab your things and run. The cool night air stings your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in your chest.

The tears come before you can stop them, hot and angry and full of every ounce of self-loathing you’ve tried to bury.

You glance back at the building. Maybe for the last time. You’re on the outside now—of course you are. You’ve been on the outside this entire time.

Namjoon must have noticed you were gone because he texted shortly after:

Joonie: You okay? Joonie: Don’t worry, I told them you weren’t feeling well. Go home and rest. Text me when you’re there.

That night, you ignored Yoongi’s call. You stared at the screen as his name lit up, your finger hovering over the answer button before you let it ring out. He left a voicemail. You deleted it without listening.

The next morning, you wake up to another call from him. This time, he doesn’t leave a voicemail. Instead, he sends a message.

Yoongi: Can I come over?

You stare at the text for a long time, your stomach twisting with guilt and anger and sadness. Finally, you type out a single word:

You: No

You throw your phone face-down on the couch, ignoring the way it buzzes again and again and again.

For the next few days, you ghost him.

It wasn’t easy. Every time your phone buzzes, you feel a pang of guilt, a deep ache that gnaws at your resolve. But you can’t bring yourself to answer. You need time. You need to figure out where you stood in all of this.

His messages come sporadically at first:

Yoongi: Hey, can we talk? Yoongi: I don’t know what I did wrong, but I want to fix it. Yoongi: Please. Just let me know you’re okay.

You delete most of them without reading too much into them. But then he starts sending pictures.

The first was of Haneul, grinning in his chair, wearing the capybara slippers you’d gifted him for his birthday.

Yoongi: Haneul misses you

The next day, another photo. This time, Haneul was lying on his playmat, still wearing the slippers, holding onto Bora.

Yoongi: Still missing you

Each message chips away at your resolve, but the one that breaks you comes Thursday evening:

A short video clip. In it, Haneul is sitting on the floor, babbling as he clutches Bora. And then, clear as day, he says it:

“Sa-ra.”

Your heart twists painfully. It’s clipped, but it’s unmistakably sarang. Your term of endearment for him, the nickname you’d called him since he started smiling every time he heard it. He’d never been able to say it back—not until now.

And Yoongi knows exactly what he is doing, sending this to you.

You stare at the screen for what feels like an eternity, leaving the video on loop, before finally opening your call log. His name was right at the top, of course. You hit the call button, your hands trembling as you bring the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” Yoongi’s voice comes through almost immediately.

You exhale shakily. “Hi.”

There was a pause. Then he speaks again, and you can hear his vulnerability. “I didn’t think you’d call back.”

You close your eyes, trying to steady yourself. “How could I ignore that video? Haneul… he said sarang.”

“Yeah, he’s been saying it non-stop since yesterday.”

You swallowed hard, gripping the phone tighter. “Yoongi… about… us.”

“Mmh?” He didn’t interrupt, didn’t rush you. He just waited.

“I’ve been thinking,” you began. “Haneul deserves to have a complete family. He deserves to know his mom, to have her in his life. If—if that’s what you both want.”

Yoongi was quiet for a long moment before he finally responded. “But… he needs you, too.”

Before you can back out, “Yoongi, I need space,” you say finally, your voice trembling.

There was a pause, and when he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “Okay.”

It wasn’t a protest. It wasn’t an argument. Just… okay. It’s the most ‘Yoongi’ reaction to things, and you hate it. You hate it so much.

You hang up, staring at the screen until it goes dark. Your chest felt heavy, your heart splintering in ways you didn’t know it could.

You’d told him you needed space and he said okay. The truth is, when you said space, you just wanted him to make room for you. To assure you that you belong with them. That there is a seat, warm and yours. But he didn’t.

You miss Yoongi so much it feels like a physical ache. But it’s not just him. You miss Haneul’s face, his giggles, his sleepy weight in your arms.

Namjoon has been doing his best to check in. He sends you UberEats nearly every other day, a steady stream of meals you barely touch. The one time he came over, unannounced, he walked into what could only be described as a disaster.

“Jesus Christ,” Namjoon muttered, kicking a stray box out of his way as he entered your apartment. The laundry basket was overflowing, your trash can piled up. You were in a 2-day old shirt, hair a rat’s nest, and you’re slouched on the couch with an empty brain.

Namjoon stared at you, his disappointment radiating off him. “Y/N, you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“I’m fine,” you lied, barely looking at him.

He scoffed. “Fine? You look like you’ve been run over by a truck. Twice.”

“So dramatic.” You rolled your eyes, but the truth of his words stung.

Namjoon crouched in front of you, placing his hands on your knees. “Move in with me for now. You know I have the space. You can’t stay here like this. It’s not healthy.”

“I’m not moving in with you, Joon,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m not your charity case.”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “You’re not a charity case. You’re my best friend. And I’m not gonna sit back and watch you drown in your own misery.”

“I’m not gonna live in your and Soyeon’s sex den,” you snapped unnecessarily.

Namjoon just looked at you, shook his head, before he flopped beside you on the couch. He fed you, forced you to go take a shower, and watched some shitty reality show with you. He eventually left, though you could feel the weight of his disappointment long after the door shut behind him. If he only knew how thankful you were of those visits.

A week later, you find yourself standing in front of Yoongi’s apartment. You didn’t plan this. You don’t even know what you’re hoping to achieve by being here. All you know is that the ache of missing them—missing him—has become unbearable.

You knock on the door before you can second-guess yourself.

Mrs. Kwon opens it, her expression immediately uneasy. “Y/N,” she says, her tone cautious. “You should come back another time.”

“Why?” you ask, your voice sharper than you intended.

She hesitates, her lips pressing into a thin line. “It’s just… not a good time.”

“I need to see them,” you insist, stepping forward.

“My dear girl, please listen—”

But you’re already past her, your determination overriding her warnings.

When you step into the living room–

Fuck.

There she is. Sung Kyung, sitting on the floor with Haneul in her lap, holding a plush toy you don’t recognize. She’s smiling at him, her voice soft as she tries to coax him into playing with it. Adding salt to the wound–Bora, the capybara plush you gave Haneul, is discarded carelessly in the corner near the diaper pail.

Your heart stops, and before you can control yourself, you take a step back, your movement catching Sung Kyung’s attention. She looks up, confused. She doesn’t know you, why would she?

Yoongi’s voice comes from behind you, and you turn to see him emerging from his studio, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Who rang the—”

His eyes widen when he sees you, but you’re already moving, your feet carrying you toward the door in a blind rush.

“Wait—Y/N!”

You barely hear him as you bend down and snatch Bora from the floor. Haneul’s voice suddenly cuts through the air, his tiny, excited voice calling out, “Sa-ra! Sa-ra!”

Tears blur your vision as you wrench the door open and run, Yoongi’s voice calling after you, but you don’t stop.

It’s raining when you step outside. Great, because this day couldn’t get any worse. The cold droplets soak through your clothes almost instantly. You don’t have an umbrella, but you don’t give a shit. Tears stream down your face mixing with the rain.

You don’t know how far you get before you feel it—a warmth against your back, arms wrapping around you tightly.

Yoongi’s voice cracks as he says your name, his rain-soaked body like a furnace against your shivering frame. “Please.”

He sounds like he is begging, but why? What is he asking? What does he want from you?

You shake your head, your voice breaking. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Then why did you?” he asks, his tone desperate, his chest heaving as he pulls you tighter.

“Because I thought… I thought I had a place here. But I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Don’t say that,” he pleads, his voice barely audible over the rain as he turns you to face him. His hands come up to cradle your face. He was starting to shake too, the pads of his fingers damp against your skin. His eyes search yours, desperate, and before you can stop him—or yourself—he closes the space between you and kisses you.

Against the pouring rain, your lips press against each other, clumsy, shaky, unexpectedly urgent. His lips move like he’s trying to say all the things he can’t find the words for, like this is his only way to make you understand. And for a second, maybe a minute, maybe more, you let him.

You feel his ragged breaths as he licks into your mouth, his hair brushing your temple, droplets trailing down your skin. His hand slides from your cheek to the nape of your neck, fingers threading gently through your wet hair. It’s tender and fierce all at once, like he’s afraid you might vanish if he lets go.

But there is a tinge of bitterness cutting through the taste of his kiss. This isn’t enough—not to fix everything, not to erase the doubt clawing at the edges of your mind. Not to prevent the new thoughts from worming its way inside.

Sung Kyung is in his apartment right now. So maybe it’s not just about Haneul anymore. Maybe they’re reconciling. Trying to sort out their own feelings that they put on ice. Yoongi did say he thought their relationship was going somewhere.

God, you do not want to be some homewrecker. You cannot do that to Haneul. Weakly you try to pull back.

But Yoongi doesn’t let you. His lips chase yours, teeth gently sinking into your plush and you’re unable to stifle the moan from your mouth at the delicious sting. You open up to him, lips sliding against his as his other hand grips your waist now, pulling you closer until you can really feel the heat of his body through the drenched fabric of his clothes. The world feels like it’s spinning, everything is blending into a dizzying blur, and you don’t know how to stop it.

Your hand hovers at his chest, not pushing him away but not pulling him closer either. Your heart is screaming to hold on just a little longer. But your head is telling you—

“No,” you whisper, breaking away as quickly as you can without slipping on the slick ground. Your chest heaves as you clutch Bora tighter against you.

Yoongi stands frozen, his lips parted as if he’s about to speak, his dark eyes locked on yours. The rain clings to his lashes, his hair plastered to his forehead, and for a moment, he looks completely lost.

“I can’t do this, Yoongi,” you choke out, your voice shaking. “I just… I can’t.”

And before he can stop you, you turn and run again, your feet splashing through puddles as you make your way to the nearest bus stop. By some miracle, you make your way home in one piece. Barring one vital organ that’s discarded somewhere in Hannam.

My tea's gone cold, I'm wondering why I Got out of bed at all The morning rain clouds up my window And I can't see at all And even if I could, it'd all be gray But your picture on my wall It reminds me that it's not so bad, it's not so bad - Stan, Eminem

Your apartment is cold and quiet, the soft patter of rain against the windows the only sound. The mug of tea on your table has long since gone cold, untouched, as you sit curled up on the couch, staring at that grainy selca Yoongi sent you weeks ago.

You’re startled out of your thoughts by the sound of the door opening. Namjoon steps in, shaking off the rain and holding a grocery bag in one hand, his hoodie slung over his shoulder. He’s soaked to the bone, but he flashes you his dimples anyway.

“You know,” he starts, setting the bag on the counter, “for someone who always claims they’re fine, you sure as hell don’t look it.”

“Don’t start, Joon,” you mumble, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself.

Namjoon ignores you, glancing around the apartment with a disapproving look. “Seriously? It still looks like you just moved in. No decorations, no warmth. This part could be a photo wall or something…”

You roll your eyes. “Alright, Mr. Art influencer.”

“I need a dry shirt,” he says, gripping the edge of his tee and pulling it up and over his head without fanfare.

You’ve never felt attracted to your best friend in any physical or sexual way ever (seriously, ew), but you can appreciate a good physique when you see one.

“Wow, Joonie, are your tiddies getting bigger?” you say as you stand to find a shirt for him from your makeshift closet.

“You’re an idiot.”

Before you can respond, the doorbell rings. Namjoon straightens, wiping his hands on his pants. “You expecting someone?”

You shake your head.

Namjoon strides to the door, glancing through the peephole with a tsk before pulling it open. He doesn’t seem to care that he’s shirtless, which would be awkward enough if it were anyone else standing there.

But it’s Yoongi.

Yoongi stands in the hallway, his expression strained, his eyes immediately scanning the room behind Namjoon until they land on you, curled on the couch. You clutch the t-shirt you were about to lend Namjoon tighter against your chest, unsure whether to feel relief, anger, or the painful longing that’s been gnawing at you for days.

“I need to talk to her,” Yoongi says, his voice calm but heavy with emotion.

Namjoon steps into the doorway, crossing his arms as he blocks the entrance. “Maybe not today, hyung.”

Yoongi’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t flinch. “I have to. I need to explain.”

Namjoon doesn’t budge, his voice soft but firm. “Sorry, hyung. Not after everything.”

Yoongi’s eyes flick to you again, desperate. “I just… fuck,” He swallows hard, his voice breaking slightly. “I can’t let her think she doesn’t matter to me. She does. More than anyone.”

Namjoon hesitates for the first time, glancing back at you. His expression softens briefly, but when he turns to Yoongi again, it’s your voice that responds.

“Yoongi.” Your voice is quiet, but it cuts through the tension like a blade. Both men turn to you, and the hope that flashes across Yoongi’s face makes your lungs shrivel.

You grip the fabric in your hands tighter, willing yourself to stay firm. “You should go.”

Yoongi’s lips part as if to argue, but the look in your eyes silences him. He nods once, slowly, his expression crumbling for just a moment before he turns away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it.

Namjoon watches him for a moment longer before stepping back into the apartment and shutting the door.

The first step is always the hardest.

Namjoon didn’t sugarcoat anything when he told you to get your shit together. “I love you,” he said bluntly after Yoongi left that rainy night, “but you’re the only one who can pull yourself out of this. No one else is coming to save you. Not me. Not Jiyong. Not Yoongi. Just you.”

You hated hearing it, but he was right.

So you took the first step: you called a therapist. Twice a week, you sat in that tiny, clinical room and talked about everything you’d buried for years. The abandonment issues you’d carried since childhood. The shame you felt after your relationship with Jiyong fell apart. The way you constantly give pieces of yourself to others, just like you did with Haneul and Yoongi, leaving nothing for yourself. Thinking that’s okay.

Session by session, the fog began to lift. Slowly, you started to understand that happiness couldn’t come from someone else, no matter how deeply you loved them. It had to come from you—built piece by piece, nurtured, protected.

You realized that loving yourself wasn’t selfish. It was necessary. And for the first time in months, you began to believe you were worthy of it.

At home, you started small. One night, you finally tackled the pile of laundry that had been haunting you for weeks. Another night, you scrubbed down the kitchen until the counters gleamed. And then one weekend, you went to IKEA and bought a bed frame—not just a functional one, but a beautiful one that made you feel excited to wake up in the mornings.

You even hung up paintings on the walls, little pops of color that made the apartment feel like it was actually yours. Namjoon gave you some from his collection, too.

Running sucks, but it became your nightly ritual. At first, it was hard. Your legs ached, and your lungs burned. But the more you pushed yourself, the better it felt—the rush of endorphins, the rhythm of your feet hitting the pavement, the way your thoughts quieted for just a little while.

Bit by bit, you started to feel lighter. Like you were shedding layers of weight you didn’t even realize you were carrying.

And then there was Yoongi.

He was still a constant name on your phone, though the tone of his messages had shifted over time. At first, his texts were full of apologies and pleas for a second chance:

Yoongi: I know I messed up. Please let me make it right.

Yoongi: I’m sorry for everything. I hate that I hurt you.

Yoongi: I need you, Y/N. I should have told you sooner.

Yoongi: Can I come over? I really want to explain everything.

Yoongi: I’m an idiot.

Yoongi: I’ll wait for you. Just tell me when you’re ready to talk.

Then came the texts about Haneul:

Yoongi: Haneul misses you. Not to one-up my own kid, but I miss you more.

Yoongi: Han said your name today. He kept pointing at the door like he was waiting for you to walk in.

Yoongi: I bought him a new Bora. This giraffe is lame. [image attached]

Yoongi: Han’s been carrying Bora 2.0 everywhere. He even tried to feed it rice last night.

And now, weeks later, his messages had settled into something different.

Yoongi: I was in the studio all day, and Hobi made me take a break. We ended up eating too much fried chicken and now I have a zit.

Yoongi: How was your run today? Namjoonah says you’re joining a mini marathon. Good luck!

Yoongi: Still have boxes of Silver Moon tea. It’s too bougie for my ghetto taste buds. Lmk if you want it. Yoongi: Actually, no need. I'll send it thru Namjoonah.

Yoongi: I fucked up the choreography to our new track at Mubank today like an amateur. I hope you didn’t get to watch it.

They were simple, almost mundane. But Yoongi’s texts had a way of hitting you square in the chest. You think back to that conversation in his home, the one where he admitted how lonely he sometimes felt—how he wished for someone to talk to about the little things, the big milestones, everything in between. Someone to share life with. And now, with every message he sends, it feels like he’s choosing you.

Even though weeks have passed without seeing him, he’s still there. Reaching out. Trying to stay connected. Even when you never reply.

But his messages have become tiny bursts of dopamine in your otherwise quiet days. You’re both surprised and relieved he hasn’t stopped trying, that he hasn’t grown tired of pouring himself into the void of your Kakao.

Namjoon told you recently that Yoongi and Sung Kyung have started co-parenting Haneul. She gets supervised visits twice a month. At first, the green-eyed monster threatened to come out. But your best friend tells you that Yoongi never wanted to rekindle anything with Sung Kyung, which gave you some peace. Maybe if you’d been braver back then, you could’ve asked Yoongi yourself. Maybe if Yoongi had been better at communicating, he would have told you then it wouldn’t have felt like such an uphill climb.

But, he was also having such a difficult time, sorting through his own circumstances. And your insecurities at the time were too heavy, too overwhelming to sift through. You probably wouldn’t have believed him then. The progress you’ve made now—to love yourself first—feels hard-won and necessary. And maybe Yoongi also needed to go on a journey to really know what he wants for him and Haneul.

You’ve come to realize through all this that you don’t really hate Sung Kyung. Maybe you were angry on behalf of Yoongi and Haneul for all the secrets she kept, for the ways her choices hurt them both. There was even a night when you found yourself doing a Naver search on postpartum depression. You hadn’t understood how debilitating it could be, how it could turn even the strongest person into a shell of themselves. It didn’t excuse everything, but it gave you perspective, especially as you battle your own demons.

Still, as you journey forward, there are moments when you imagine the “what ifs” with Yoongi, if Sung Kyung hadn't showed up that day. Sometimes, late at night, your mind drifts back to him. You replay his kiss, remembering the way it felt, the way he tasted. You can still conjure the image of his face under the rain, the way he looked at you in that fleeting, heart-wrenching moment.

You wonder if he thinks about it, too. You know he’s waiting. You just hope that when you’re finally ready to let him back in, he’ll still be there—on the other side, willing to try again.

One evening, Namjoon called, his tone unusually excited. “Hey, I’ve got something for you.”

“No, I don’t need more lube, I’m stocked,” you joked, just to be a piece of shit.

“Shut up and listen,” he said, laughing. “Hybe’s opening a daycare for employees’ kids. They need someone to run it. You’re perfect for this.”

Your stomach flipped. “What? Joonie, I don’t even—”

“Don’t even try to argue,” he interrupted. “You have a degree in early childhood education. You love kids. This was your literal job in the states. C’mon, this is made for you.”

“What if I’m not ready?”

Namjoon sighed. “You are. I’ve seen how much work you’ve been putting in. You’re stronger than you think. Just… apply. The worst they can do is say no.”

You’re quiet, so he added. “...and they won’t. I’ll have each member of Bangtan sign a recommendation letter for you.”

“You’re too much, Joonie,” you laugh. But you surely won’t put it past him to do that. “But ok, I’ll apply.”

So you did. And a week later, you got the call.

Your first day at Hybe’s daycare center feels like a dream you didn’t know you had. The space is beautiful—sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm glow over the colorful toys, tiny tables, and pastel murals. There are only three kids who pre-registered, but you were expecting more to walk in.

Namjoon is there, truly your ride or die, sitting casually on your desk with his ever-supportive grin. “You nervous?”

“Nope,” you say, trying to sound confident. But the way your voice wavers gives you away.

Namjoon chuckles. “Relax. You’re going to crush this.”

Before you can respond, the door swings open, and in walks Hobi with Yunjin and their toddler, Jeongyeon. The little girl looks adorable in her sunflower-patterned overalls, her tiny pigtails bobbing as she walks toward the play area.

“Jeongyeon, say hi to teacher Y/N,” Yunjin says, gently guiding her forward.

“Hi!” Jeongyeon squeaks.

You crouch down to her level. “Hi, Jeongyeon! You’re gonna have so much fun today.”

“First kid of the day, ayeeee!" Hobi says, high-fiving Yunjin, before she runs to Jeongyeon who is mounting the toy pony. Then he turns to you, “Congratulations, Y/N.”

Just as they’re leaving, Namjoon nudges you. “By the way, did you know there’s a capybara mascot today?”

“What?” you blink, confused.

Before Namjoon can explain, something soft and warm suddenly envelops you in a hug. You turn to see a capybara mascot wrapping its plush arms around you, its giant head tilted adorably to the side.

“What the…” You laugh, surprised, grasping its arm. “Hybe really went all out, huh?”

Namjoon smirks. “Of course. First-day activations are a big deal here. And look at that, your favorite animal. What a coincidence.”

You grin, stepping back to look at the mascot. “Guess I’m a little biased, but this might be the cutest thing ever.”

The mascot gives you an exaggerated thumbs-up.

Shortly, Haneul arrives. The moment you see him toddling through the door, all your nerves, all the weight you’d carried for weeks—gone. There’s no ache, no tension. Just pure, uncomplicated happiness.

His nanny, a kind older woman, walks him in, holding his hand as he peers curiously around the room.

Haneul bounds toward you giggling, his gummy smile stretching wide as he lets go of the nanny’s hand and waddles toward you.

“Hi, sarang,” you say, crouching down to scoop him into your arms. He smells like baby lotion and sunshine, and your chest feels full as he buries his face in your shoulder. “I missed you.”

You glance toward the door, your eyes darting around instinctively, but there’s no sign of Yoongi. A small pang of disappointment settles in your stomach before you shake it off. He’s probably holed up in his studio, working on something brilliant. It would have been nice to see him though.

The capybara mascot wanders over, drawing Haneul’s attention instantly. His eyes light up as he points at it, giggling.

“Appa!” Haneul says excitedly, punching the knee of the mascot with his tiny fists.

You laugh, brushing a hand through his soft hair. “That’s not your appa, Haneul. He’s probably in one of the big studios upstairs working very hard right now.”

The mascot gives you a pat on the head, and something about its movements feels oddly familiar. But you don’t dwell on it, too caught up in Haneul’s delighted squeals as the mascot does a little dance for him. It sure loves to shake its ass.

For the rest of the morning, you’re in your element, guiding the kids through activities, wiping tears, and singing songs during circle time. Every so often, Haneul points at the mascot and calls out “Appa!” again, and you can’t help but laugh.

And if the capybara mascot seems to hover a little longer around Haneul, or if it lingers near you whenever there’s a chance, well… you just chalk it up to coincidence.

(One day, much later, you’ll find out the truth. But for now, you’re content not knowing.)

That night, your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out to find another message from Yoongi.

Yoongi: Congratulations on your first day!

You stare at the screen, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. For the first time in weeks, as you look at your thread of messages from him, you let yourself smile—a small, cautious smile, but a smile nonetheless. And for the first time in months of radio silence, you type up your first reply to him.

You: Thanks, Yoongi. I’m really happy. :)

His reply came almost immediately.

Yoongi: You deserve it

And it may have taken a while, but you finally believe that. So you decide you are also finally ready to do this.

You: Can we talk? Yoongi: giv me 10 mins im cming overr

A/N:

Alright!! Wheeeew! You good? How are you feeling?!?!? As usual, please sound off in the comments. 💕

I just want to say that am so proud of this chapter. I think I wrote my best, angst work here. Plus - Kissing in the rain? Namtiddies? A taste of smau? Hee hee. 🤗

If you make it to here, thank you so so much for reading this story, you lovely, beautiful, human! xo

Part 4 is coming uppp and it’s gonna be a doozy~ 🤭

P.S. As some of y’all know I am a mom and I have experienced post-partum depression before. It was nowhere near the severity of how it is depicted here (a condition that is grave and rare because the character also has other mental struggles), but I empathize. I cannot imagine being truly unfit to care for my own baby. So I request that we do not vilify L&L! LSK. She fucked up real baddd, she could’ve involved Yoongi earlier, etc etc but again she is trying to do better. Plusss, it needs to be said, she does not want Yoongi. Gasp. Y’all can rest easy. He’s yours! 💕

& If you want to read more of my work, please check out my masterlist. & If you enjoy my work and want to buy me a ko-fi, I'd appreciate it.

Taglist:

@yoongznme @nnybtitts08 @rinkud @nbjch05 @perfectiondazesworld

@marnz1990 @mxrauds @queenbloody @jadestonedaeho7 @futuristicenemychaos

@direnediane @glossdebut @maryhopemei @theresstardustinmyblood @mggv97

@wobblewobble822 @kam9404 @supernoonanyc @damn-u-min-yoongi @ot72025

@busanbby-jjk @granataepfelchen @jajabro @tarahardcore @marihoneywk

@ryryvna @tea4sykes @mar-lo-pap @lilkittenjenjen

@captainchrisstan @thelittlecatonthecake

@flaneuseonthestreets @sexytholland @diamonddia-mond

@yronathaniel @as-hs-blog @amarssfanfic @mafersame @amarawayne

@eurydiceofterabithia @diame93 @welcometomyworld13 @wonh0oe @lilkittenjenjen @jalexad

@jkkkkkay @chimmisbae @angellekookie @jovanaprime @txtsoobean @joonlovely

@kookiewithluv @soop-sprite @hyukaluve

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suguann · 1 day ago

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✎. you aren’t happy about your roommate’s party until you meet the attractive guy down the hall.

tags. fem!reader, future installments will contain smut, age difference, original characters, college student reader, one-night stands, angst, dirty talk, hurt/comfort, size kink, unplanned pregnancy

featuring. simon

It’s your first semester living off-campus, and Finn is boundlessly enthusiastic about all things that involve cheap liquor and crowded spaces, even more so now that she roped you into being her roommate after promising to split the cost of furnishing an apartment that’s probably too expensive for two undergrads working part-time, low-pay jobs.

You don’t like parties, really.

Movies and the social connotations surrounding parties have always made them seem like some monumental proverbial chip in your college experience; the real thing, once the bright-eyed shine of trying something new wears off, is more or less a bunch of random people packed into a room like sardines who abate their social awkwardness with alcohol and loud music.

So, no, you can’t exactly say that you enjoy the thought of Finn’s friends (and everyone she hardly smiles at) cramping up your already tiny apartment—especially when one of them is Miller from one of your business classes, who gives you the creeps.

And leave it to Finn to invite him, anyway.

"Now he knows where I live," you grumble into your bowl of cereal—something probably too sweet and (definitely) full of sugar for breakfast.

Finn shrugs, not at all worried for you, as she pours more sticky orange batter into the hot pan on the stove. "The guy has a crush on you. I think it's cute. And he seems harmless."

“Harmless until I end up in a ditch somewhere.”

You don’t have to see her face to know she’s doing that thing with her mouth whenever you say something she thinks is ridiculous. “If you’d agree to split the Netflix bill, you wouldn’t be stuck watching horror movies. Why do you only own horror movies, again?”

"That's easy for you to say.” You roll your eyes, ignoring her question. “You don’t have to sit by him every week.”

(As if that would ever convince her to change her mind.)

"Ow! Shit!"

You look up right before Finn drops a steaming pancake onto her hand and rushes to the sink to run it under cold water. The mutilated pancake lay forgotten with the others that didn't survive her last several attempts.

"Finn, I think this is unnecessary," you tell her after swallowing a mouthful of cereal. "Can't you do something more practical? Like sticking a note to their door?"

Finn looks up from the sink, her wild, red curls bouncing from the movement. "Oh, come on! Don't chicken out now. I've already made fifteen of these things." She points her pink spatula at the tower of not-quite pumpkin-shaped pancakes on the counter. "Plus, who's going to turn down free food? Now, go put on your costume and hand these out."

You shovel another spoonful of cereal into your mouth, scowling. "I'm not wearing the costume you picked out. It's so...inappropriate."

You’re pretty sure Finn picked out your costume from the dicey sex shop down the street rather than an actual Halloween store—the amount of mesh compared to solid fabric only solidifies the theory.

Finn finally turns the water off and gives you a stern look, amused eyes set under a furrowed brow. "I can find the one you own in the children's section at Costco."

You roll your eyes. "I really don’t feel like flashing my tits to the neighbors while offering them breakfast.”

She grins, wide and teasing. "You have nice tits, though.”

"Yeah, I'm sure the old woman down the hall would love to see her neighbor in the equivalent of a thong and nipple coverings at the start of her day." You don’t think you’d ever be able to look her in the eye again.

"Miss Yado is cool,” Finn says, returning to the stove to continue cooking. “She'll probably just tell you to wear a jacket or something."

You pick up your empty bowl and lean over the counter to put it in the sink. "I didn't know you talked to our neighbors."

Finn shrugs, flipping the pancake in the skillet. "She normally walks her dog while I'm heading to class. I stop to talk to her sometimes when I'm not running late."

“Oh?”

She shoots you a wry grin over her shoulder. "You'd know the neighbors too if you didn't scowl all the time."

In response, the corners of your mouth tip down. "I don’t scowl."

"Now, would you go change? These are getting cold."

Several minutes later, you come out of your room wearing the same costume you'd worn the past two years. Finn pouts when she sees you forwent the one she had picked out. However, she doesn’t do more than shake her head and shove a handful of food containers full of pancakes into your hands.

“You’ll be fine. Just remember to smile,” she tells you before the front door closes behind you.

You start on your end of the hall, going door to door and handing out the small containers. The whole time, you’re wondering why Finn couldn’t do this herself, considering you’re hardly a people person as is. Thankfully, nobody seemed too annoyed about being bothered on a Saturday morning—only one neighbor shut the door in your face before you could say anything.

But it’s fine. You’re not going to let it ruin your day. Plus, you only have one person left.

There’s a small pit of nerves in your stomach when you knock this time—half expecting another door to the face. What you don’t expect, however, is the tall and imposing guy who answers.

Who also doesn’t appear to be any less annoyed.

Your mouth opens and closes helplessly, all words stuck to the back of your tongue, watching as stray water droplets drip down from his wet hair and travel down the side of his face before dispersing into the dark stubble lining his jaw.

You stare. And stare. Eyes, most likely, bugging unattractively out of your head.

How did Finn never mention the super hot neighbor who lived six doors down the hall?

He gives you a once-over, and part of you suddenly wishes you’d gone with Finn's costume instead. Only because here, at that moment, you’re willing to admit that maybe the one you have on looks like a six-year-old picked it out—especially when this guy, who is way out of your league, scrutinizes it for a second longer, mostly your frilly crew socks.

"Can I help you?" he asks, his voice low as if he hasn’t been awake for long.

You blink, mild embarrassment rushing through you from the sudden realization that you’ve been standing there and saying absolutely nothing.

"Hi, um, I'm your neighbor from down the hall. My roommate and I are throwing a Halloween party, and we're inviting people in the building." Annoyance slowly melts off his face.

"Thank you,” heavily tattooed arms cross over his broad chest, and he leans against the door frame (and you definitely don’t stare at how his biceps seem to strain against his black t-shirt). “But I think I'm getting a little old for parties."

The corners of your mouth tip up in what’s the beginning of a smile.

"Okay, sure. You're, what, twenty-five?"

It’s a stupid joke, and for a moment, you panic, afraid he’d been unimpressed, but then his lips quirked slightly. "Not quite. Nice costume. Let me guess, fairy?"

"Witch, actually. I’ve always gone with something more original," you babble and bite your lip before you can say something else.

"It’s cute."

Cute?

You’re unsure if you should feel elated that he thinks so or self-conscious—that he might be making fun of you—so you settle with a mumbled “thanks.”

"So, what's with the container?" he asks, nodding toward your hands.

"Oh, um, my roommate thought she could bribe people with food to come to the party." Truthfully, it’s to prevent potential complaints from the neighbors, but you decide not to mention that part, although you think he knows by the way the corner of his mouth subtly lifts.

You give him the plastic container and watch as he stares into it with a furrowed brow. "It's a... pancake?"

"Er, yeah. My roommate likes to go above and beyond for everything."

"What's it supposed to be?" he asks, glancing up at you.

"Um, a pumpkin..."

You look between him and the container and find Finn had accidentally mixed up her presentable pancakes with the throwaways. And the pumpkin shape is...well, it isn't.

"Ah, I see," he nods, his slowly drying hair falling onto his forehead. "That makes more sense."

You can’t stop the giggle that bubbles to the surface. "You think you can do better?"

"Yes, actually," he grins back, all cocksure, with a flash of white teeth. "Maybe I’ll bring some over some time."

"I won't tell her you said that." However, you can't wait to rib Finn later.

"Right, it probably wouldn't make a very good first impression." Then he sticks out his free hand, "Simon."

You shyly shake it—ignoring the little skip in your chest at how big his hand is compared to yours—and tell him your name, too.

His eyes flicker down to his watch, and he curses under his breath. "Well, it was nice meeting you. But I have to finish getting ready for work."

Only then do you take note of the tactical pants and heavy boots he’s wearing.

When you meet his gaze again, you find amusement there, and you consider, with a new rush of mortification, that it probably seemed like you’d been openly eyeing his crotch.

You clear your throat, the back of your neck feeling hot, and you pointedly pretend your voice doesn’t hitch when you breathe a soft, tremulous, "Okay, sure.”

"Tell your roommate I said thanks for breakfast."

"Yeah, I'll tell her. Um, I guess I'll see you around." No longer able to make eye contact with him, you turn away and begin walking (though it’s probably closer to running) toward your door.

And you definitely don’t look over your shoulder to see if he’s still standing there.

You spend most of the party hanging out near the front door, quietly hoping Simon might show up—even though it seems unlikely. After all, he did mention that he’s too old for parties, and a small, insecure part of you wonders if it was his polite way of turning you down.

"The guy was running late,” Finn had tried to reassure you. “I'm sure he was thinking about how to beat expressway traffic before the lunch hour rush hit. Not about the crazy lady in a witch costume running away from his door."

That was the initial deciding factor between your witch costume and the one Finn’s been trying to force you into—only so you don’t have to hear another person call you cute just to seem nice.

And leave it to Finn to jump at the opportunity to help you get ready, though she nearly freaked out when you popped into your joint bathroom with an old tube of mascara that you rummaged out of your nightstand.

"Do you know how many germs are probably on that thing?" Finn’s nose scrunched up as she threw it away in the waste bin near the toilet. "Please tell me you haven't used it since you bought it?"

You had rolled your eyes. "Probably not."

Finn sighed, then smiled. "Luckily for you, I own more than a crusty mascara tube."

You were about to argue, but when Finn told you to sit on the toilet lid with a dangerously sharp liner pen, you’d clenched your jaw instead, unsure what you were more scared of when Finn brought the pen close to your face: that your friend might potentially stab you in the eye or that you’d come out of the bathroom with raccoon eyes.

Thankfully, when Finn finally finished, neither was the case, except the number of looks you’ve been receiving anytime someone stops in the kitchen to get more drinks is something you hadn’t anticipated—especially when one of them happens to be Miller.

You’ve been avoiding him and his overly bare chest from the moment he walked through your front door. It grew more challenging after Finn left your side (the traitor) to talk to a guy you’ve seen her hanging around with on campus a few times.

And with the apartment feeling smaller than it already is, you’re only option is to blend in with the group hanging around your kitchen island.

You’ll be fine, Finn said.

Right, you think as you adjust the scanty tube top under your mesh shirt, trying to cover more of yourself with what little fabric you have at your disposal, and you wonder if it’s too late to change—

A knock at the door makes you perk up, regardless of how noisy the room is, with eardrum-shattering music and loud college students. You pull it open, expecting to see Simon on the other side, only to be disappointed when it’s one of Finn’s friends and her girlfriend instead.

"Hey, Roma." You realize you probably sound rude and attempt to give them your best smile—which is more or less a grimace.

Roma smooths out her extremely short referee-style dress. "Sorry, we're late! I couldn't remember where you lived. There are way too many blue apartment buildings around here..."

Everything she’s saying goes in one ear and out the other when you spot Simon stepping out of the door to the stairway across the hall. You hold your breath, waiting for him to look up from his phone.

But he keeps walking.

"Uh, yeah," you say distractedly before speeding up the conversation. "Hey, Finn is in the living room, but I'll see you guys inside, okay? I need to do something."

You step around them to catch up to Simon, which you learn isn’t easy in heels. So you call his name, hoping he hears you and smiling when he turns toward you. And you don’t miss how his gaze trails down your body slowly.

It makes something inside you quiver as you nervously play with the short hem of your skirt.

“Hey,” he says, sounding every bit as tired as he looks—his shirt from that morning now wrinkled with bluish hollows under his eyes—though he tries to hide it with what you think is an attempt at a smile.

And your cheeks burn because you feel guilty.

"Hey," you repeat dumbly.

Your eyes lower as his smile melts into one of faint amusement at your lack of tact. You fidget, shifting from one foot to the other. Maybe, you think, you should have let him walk into his apartment before you could embarrass yourself further today.

After a moment, you meet his gaze again.

"Uh, I just wanted to see if you still wanted to come over…But I imagine you're probably not up for it, so I’ll leave—"

Simon surprises you when he shrugs his shoulders and says, "Sure."

Your mouth gapes, unsure if you heard him correctly. "Wh-what?"

"I just need to shower and change, and then I'll be over. Okay?"

"I... yeah, okay," your nod is shy, trying not to betray eagerness.

A lazy grin stretches across his mouth. "Nice costume, by the way," he disappears into his apartment before he can witness how his words make you flush.

And you walk back to your apartment feeling a little more floaty than when you left.

masterlist

#.things i write #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #cod x reader #cod imagine #cod x you #mw2 x reader #mw2 imagine #fem!reader

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threeacttragedy · 1 day ago

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Entry 10: The One About the Audibly Loud Lukola FanFic

I’ll address the elephant in the room. And, no, I’m not talking about Jake Dunn’s brown suit! Or, that he’s posing with a man. Or, that Tyler commented “Bellissimo!!!!” on Jake's post.

I don’t think a lot of people understood the connection I was making this morning about “Mis-Directed,” Gwilym Lee, and Jake. So, now I feel the need to explain because I don’t want people running with a narrative that goes in the opposite direction of where I was taking it.

Sorry, JVN, you’re getting pushed to the side again. I promise, I’ll get to you one day.

Let’s go back two months…

On September 25, Nicola posted to her Instagram stories a link to Alex Babsky’s post, which was a picture of Nicola. She had her hair and make-up done but she was wearing one of her own dresses (the black dress she wore in Australia and Brazil). Babsky captioned his post “[pink bow] @nicolacoughlan in London today for…well, never mind what for actually [laughing emoji with hand over mouth] [winking emoji] [shushing emoji].” Nicola responded, “You’re amazing it was so gorgeous to see you xxx.”

Babksy’s caption sent the fandom into hysteria wondering what the hell Nicola was up to. It didn’t help that this was the same day Luke updated his Instagram bio and used “Xx” and it didn’t help that Nicola was wearing the black dress she allegedly wore on her beach walk in Brazil with Luke.

Do you want to know what I thought the photo of Nicola was from? I’m not going to lie – I thought it was pre-wedding makeup. Seriously, not kidding. It reminded me of my own wedding day. Formal hair and makeup and my own dress that was easy to take off without messing up the hair and makeup. I never said I wasn’t a little bit delulu.

On November 5, an author named Lucy Parker announced on her Instagram feed that she had a new Audible book called “Mis-Directed” being released in February 2025. The post came with pictures of Nicola wearing the black dress and the same hair and makeup as the September 25 post. Nicola (presumably) is reading the part of Hattie Murton, and Gwilym Lee (presumably) is reading the part of Anthony Rafe.

Oh, okay.

Turns out, I was wrong.

So, Nicola and Luke didn’t get married.

Fine.

I have always liked crows.

But, wait a minute – what the fuck is this Audible book about? A woman who stars in a romantic drama called “Leicester Square” (what the fuck?) which was adapted from a best-selling romance novel (what the fuck??). Then, in comes our antagonist, Anthony Rafe, who plays opposite of Hattie and, let me quote here, “But when very real chemistry sparks during their scripted love scenes, Hattie begins to think the industry’s legendarily heartless Bad Guy [Anthony] might just a have a pulse after all. And Anthony, for his part, is caught off-guard by the way his heart races when he’s around his aggravating onscreen lover. As reality starts to imitate art a little too close for comfort, the world’s most unlikely couple might just have more in common than they thought…” (what the fuck???).

Let’s start with Leicester Square. What the hell is Leicester Square? Oh, the name of the fake television show on which Hattie and Anthony star. Sure, Jan. Is it odd to anyone else that Leicester Square is the name of the location of where the London premiere of Bridgerton Season 3 took place? You know, the event that happened hours before Papsmear.

Then we have the make-believe show being adapted from a best-selling romance novel. Mmm hmm.

Let’s try and not make the connection between Luke and Anthony. Mmm hmm.

And, let’s add fuel to the fire and have two co-stars falling in love with each other.

Yeah, we get it. It’s a Lukola FanFic being read by none other than Nicola. I mean, the only way it could be any better is if Luke was reading the part of Anthony Rafe! But, no, that part is being read by Gwilym Lee (who is fantastic in everything he does, by the way).

Who is Gwilym Lee? Well, he’s an actor (my father calls him “Midsomer”). Ask Mr. Google about him. But, if you check out his Instagram feed, you will find that he knows Jake and has since, at least, 2022. Is it possible that Nicola met Gwilym through Jake? Yeah, it is.

Now, why do I find this situation intriguing? Specifically, why did I find the post from Jake this morning posing with Gwilym interesting (and a bit shady)? Let me explain.

The Jakholes took the “Mis-Directed” FanFic as shade towards the Lukolas. Yes, they went there because that FanFic does not (in the least) fit nicely into their Jakola narrative. I mean, if it wasn’t shade to the Lukolas, how weird the storyline must have been for Jake! The writing was audibly on the wall, in big red letters, but the Jakholes chose to spin it into something messier than my hair in the morning after sleeping on it wet.

What exactly is this theory? Well, per the Jakholes, Nicola hates the Lukola fandom so much that she sat and read (likely, for hours) this Lukola-coded FanFic just to spite us! I mean, Anthony is a bad boy in this story and “everyone loves to hate” him (don’t forget, Luke became the devil incarnate after Papsmear). And, Hattie is tired of the “brutal press, overly invested fans, and a cutthroat industry…[that] would give even Pollyanna an edge of cynicism.” The Jakholes believe this means Nicola is saying she’s really in love with Jake and she wants us all to know that by reading a Harlequin-style romance about a woman who falls in love with her costar! Oh, my God!! How could she?!

What in the actual fuck are the Jakholes drinking with this bullshit? I know, I know. I shouldn’t expect anything better from people who ship Jake with Nicola. In fact, if I was a Jakhole, I might buy into this conspiracy theory. But, I’m not a fucking Jakhole. And, guess what Jakholes? I don’t mind breaking the hearts of Lukolas by saying we’re probably never going to see sexy-hot Brazil pictures of Luke and Nicola, so I don’t mind telling Jakholes to put this theory back into Davy Jones’ locker and feed it to that bitch Kraken.

Let’s talk a bit further about the absurdity of this “Nicola is shading Lukola” subplot from Hell.

We will pretend Nicola hates Luke. She hates Lukola. She baits the Lukola fandom for shits and giggles.

What would this make Nicola?

It would make her a villain, for starters (and “villain” is me being extremely nice).

More importantly, it would make Nicola a PR nightmare.

Even if Nicola and Luke despised each other, do you believe Netflix, Bridgerton, and Shonda Land would allow Nicola to play games with the Lukola fandom? Talk about playing with fire!

The reality is the lines between Polin and Lukola are heavily blurred at this point. I hate to say it – and maybe a lot of you will view me as a complete asshole after I say this – but, if I learned Nicola was shading the Lukolas (therefore, in my opinion, trolling Luke), I would not be interested in Bridgerton Season 4. Or, Season 5. Or, any season after that. Or, in Nicola, for that matter. You’re welcome to have your own opinion about this but I would feel incredibly betrayed, and not just by Nicola. On top of that, for me, Polin has become Lukola. They’re so blurred, they don’t even resemble a line anymore. Maybe that’s a bad position to be in, but that’s where I’m at. Sorry, not sorry.

I’m not going to rehash the breadcrumbs left by Nicola that support Lukola – if you know, you know (or you can catch up by spending an afternoon on Tumblr). Even Luke, in his own way, leaves Lukola-coded crumbs. We also have damn convincing evidence that Netflix, Bridgerton, and Shonda Land support Lukola. I mean, even they’re blurring the lines with “Nicola and Luke’s Cutest Moments” and interestingly timed images of Polin. So, do you think they’re going to let Nicola fuck with that on a public forum?

That would be a cold, hard NO.

But, this Audible book – “Mis-Directed” – is loud and made louder because Nicola is reading it.

So, what is this Audible book? Shade? Or, Nicola being cutesy? I’m going to place my bets on the latter solely because, like I said, the Corporate Office is not going to let Nicola shade Lukola because it has a direct effect on Polin.

That’s not to say that the excitement of this Lukola-coded “Mis-Directed” FanFic wasn’t attacked by the Jakholes from all sides, and the wind – for the moment – was kicked out of it. That’s a different story for a different day.

But, what I found so intriguing about Jake’s post today is that, of all the people he could have included in his photo (because there’s obviously lots of people at this event), he chose Gwilym. And, this means people will look into Gwilym. People will realize that Gwilym is the other side of “Mis-Directed.” People will realize Jake and Gwilym are friends. People will realize that Jake’s friend is reading a Lukola-themed romance novel with Nicola.

And, if we agree that the book is not shade towards the Lukolas and we agree that Jakola is not real, what is the significance of the connection between Jake and Gwilym? Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe I’m overthinking it. But, the connection – at least in my mind (and it’s been there since November 5) – is that Jake supports “Mis-Directed” because he supports Lukola and he has always been there, helping Nicola lay the breadcrumbs. He wanted people to look into Gwilym and make the connection. Jake could very well be the one who suggested Gwilym read the part of Anthony. Jake is the degree of separation.

I want to close this out by noting that Jake also liked the post Nicola has pinned on her Instagram grid – the black and white one about her Time 100 article. You know, the one where Nicola says, “A lot of people really want me to marry Luke.” Follow the links and it will take you to this article. That’s an interestingly placed like by Jake, in my opinion – as is his photo op with Gwilym.

#lukola #luke newton #nicola coughlan #my thoughts #my opinion #speculation only

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miwsolovely · 3 days ago

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something something bruce wayne obsessing over spouse!reader

he wants to believe that fate brought the two of you together. strings looping through your feeble fingers dripping blood, connecting the two of you together for eternity.

but in reality it was him who brought the two of you together.

setting up meetings, coincidences, every now and then, getting closer to you, blinding you with that oh so perfect smile and strategic placement of his heavy— but gentle and firm— hand.

making sure you feel safe. because he knows, he knows that no one has ever loved you, the way hes planning on loving you, the way he already is loving you.

you dont realize it. he thanks whatever god covered by the curtains of the sky that the clouds of ignorance fog your brain and turns it into mush. pliable and feeble for him to mold you into what is perfect.

because he wants whats best for you, he does. that habit you have of picking away at your nails till your fingers dye red? gone with carefully voiced concerns dripping in sticky honey.

“now, you know i don’t like it when you’re hurt. why’re you doing this to yourself my love? its picking away at my heart.”

and you believe him. because isn’t he right? he only wants whats best for you, why shouldn’t you heed his advice?

signs like being wanted and loved to you, are the gentle concerns and loving advice that push and pull at your brain. he loves playing into that.

and unbeknownst to you, you’re second guessing your every move. ‘i should probably do x. . . but what about y?’

or, ‘how would bruce feel if i did this?’

and the rest of the family play into this which is what is scary.

at first there might’ve been a bit of animosity between you all (namely damian, as he doesn’t want this random to replace his mother), but it all dies down when they realize that ‘oh, bruce is sleeping more, eating more, his mood has improved. . .because of you.’

they notice, process, and act on the fact that you’re weak minded because of bruce.

and in by doing this for bruce, they start to feel their hearts warm for you. they start seeing you as just a parental figure trying to win their hearts, not to win bruce’s money and fame, but to really get to know them.

when they act disappointed in you, your heart shrivels in on itself and it feels like you can’t breathe because you failed them. that gives them the opportunity to have you crawling back for forgiveness because, they’re your children and husband, don’t you love them?

they just want you to do better, right?

you, unknowingly conditioned, in the middle of your unknown torment, to identify concern, disappointment and guilt as signs of being wanted and loved.

©miwsolovely do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms . likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated <3

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strawberry-halla · 3 days ago

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something so amazing about solas is that he is very good at predicting his enemies and his allies moves. he’s always thinking 5 steps ahead, even varric says this. (long post incoming!)

but when it comes to lavellan, he could never predict her. when he first meets her, solas thinks she’s just another dalish elf that is unwilling to listen to his advice. nope turns out she can be willing and not only that but asks him about what he knows so she can better understand the fade/spirits/ancient elves.

and then the haven dream kiss! she’s the one who initiates and solas is once again thrown off guard because he never expected that. and then he just gives into it with so much passion and fade tongue.

in all new, faded for her, solas is once again surprised lavellan agrees with his plan to free his friend, the spirit of wisdom. because nobody in the entire inquisition (except cole) would be down for this?? like all the world knows about spirits is that they don’t ever come in contact with people unless very rarely. they’re an enigma, something to be feared even because they can become demons. but nah lavellan is like ‘yep sounds good let’s go save your friend!’

and solas after this tries to rationalize lavellan’s bizarre behavior as something the anchor changed about her. because he has always known how to read people. he can’t understand her. he thinks her ‘spirit’ has changed due to magic’s influence.

but no, lavellan surprises once again by pointing out that her choices are her own or that if the anchor did change her, wouldn’t she notice? like no wonder solas is so fucking down bad. lavellan subverts everything he thought about the modern people, not just exclusively elves. she’s constantly showing him new points of view and challenging his whole mission. and so the cracks start to form.

“you show a wisdom i haven’t seen since…*pause* my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the fade.”

“your mind, your morals, your… *pause* spirit.”

“it would be kinder in the long run. but losing you would- *cuts himself off*”

and then if lavellan drinks from the well, this conversation and the previous quest itself (what pride had wrought) just cracks solas wide open (even if she didn’t drink). he’s visibly upset because he’s afraid the well will change lavellan and he knows first hand what it’s like to do everything for someone who made the wrong choices! so solas asks what she would do with the power of the well and he’s ONCE AGAIN thrown off guard by her answer. i really like the “help the world move forward” option because it almost aligns with solas’s plan but it doesn’t.

s: “you would risk everything you have in the hope the future is better? what if it isn’t? what if you wake up to find the future you shaped is worse than what it was?”

l: “i’ll take a breath, see where things went wrong, and then try again.”

s: “just like that?”

l: “if we don’t keep trying, we’ll never get it right.”

you’d think this would be an affirmation that solas’s plan is right, but it’s not. lavellan is wanting to fix things now and shape a better future with the well’s power. it’s eerily similar, but once again a path solas didn’t consider. she surprises once more. using the wisdom from the well to help, rather than command. sound familiar? this conversation just solidifies solas’s want. to be himself and to be solas, not fen’harel, with lavellan.

so he takes her to crestwood. somewhere intimate and quiet just for the two of them. a place where the veil is thinnest because it’s easy for spirits to cross and be comfortable. solas is going to tell lavellan the truth. he’s going to abandon his plan. but then solas gets in his own head. he fights with the possibility of her rejecting him because why wouldn’t she? he’s the very god in her culture that ruined everything. what if lavellan sees him for the monster history painted him? and then he realizes why he even wanted to tear down the veil. to avenge his oldest friend and right the wrongs he did to the elves. and it all comes crashing down in not even a second.

“then what i must tell you… *pause* …the truth.”

solas backpedals so fucking hard. the reality of everything just hits him. so he quickly redirects to the vallaslin topic because it’s familiar as he looks down at lavellan’s face and sees the markings of the very gods he locked away.

remove the vallaslin or not solas still loves her no matter what. and the sad option is still my favorite here because once again solas is slipping.

s: “you have a rare and marvelous spirit. in another world-“

l: “why not this one?”

and then at the end of veilguard, lavellan does one more thing solas doesn’t expect. after hurting her, betraying her, leaving her alone without any answers, killing one of her friends, and almost succeeding in his plan, she forgives him. lavellan abandons thedas and everything she knew to be with him. to the very end, she is subverting his tragic expectations.

“this journey is not yours alone. we make it together, always.”

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #datv #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #datv spoilers #veilguard spoilers #dragon age inquisition #dai #dragon age solas #inquisitor lavellan #f!lavellan #solavellan #solas just getting blindsided by lavellan’s freak #loki and sigyn are all over this #it’s rotten work but not if it’s you #the hands that cradled you are covered in blood #but they cradled me yes?#my lil pookies

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stllmnstr · 1 day ago

Text

sure thing – part two.

pairing: yang jungwon x f reader

genre: coworkers au, underground boxer jungwon

part two word count: 10.8k

warnings: swearing, descriptions/depictions of physical violence, blood and minor injuries, jealousy, a bit of a love triangle I'M SORRY, a kiss or five

note: aaaand here's part two! thank you to everyone that left a comment/reblog on part one. this is the conclusion to the story. suffer with me while we daydream about blonde boxer jungwon and enjoyyyyy ♡

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An employee in the marketing department of a large company, your days are filled with poorly worded emails, unrealistic deadlines, and passive aggressive friendly reminders from your superiors. On a particularly awful afternoon, a chance encounter with a coworker from the programming department down the hall is the first thing to make you smile in weeks.

But the more you uncover about Yang Jungwon and his mysterious injuries, flimsy excuses, and always occupied Friday nights, the more you begin to realize that you really don’t know him at all.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

PART TWO

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It’s been a while since you felt anything but dread opening your work inbox.

Monday morning, however, the first message that greets you is a reminder of a time when you did. When you used to keep your email tab open just in the hopes that a certain programmer would send you messages about a jammed printer for you to reread a dozen times.

This time, though, excitement is the last thing you feel. It’s curiosity, more than anything, combined with an urgent need to know what the hell happened between your date and your coworker, that has you clicking on the message.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Printer Issue

Good morning, ___.

I hope this message finds you well. I am currently trying to resolve an ongoing issue with the workroom printer and was hoping you would be able to provide some input at your earliest convenience.

Thank you in advance,

Jungwon

Part of you wants to archive the message without responding and let him simmer in your rejection.

But spite has never held much weight against curiosity, and despite your better judgment, you soon find yourself walking towards the shared workroom.

As expected, it’s already occupied. This time, however, Jungwon is leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. The printer, just as you suspected, is in perfect working order.

There’s a fresh bruise on his forehead, and this time, you don’t wonder where it’s from. It makes sense now. The bruises on his knuckles. The cut on his cheekbone. His seemingly intimate knowledge of head injuries that one fateful Monday afternoon he found you in this very room.

They’re all the result of his hidden hobby, you suppose.

As soon as you enter, some of the rigidity seeps out of his stance. Immediately, his arms fall to his sides, expression softening. “___,” he whispers, like he can’t quite believe you actually came.

Where he softens, however, you cage up.

“You have one minute,” you tell him.

“One minute?” He echoes, brow creasing in confusion.

“One minute to explain what happened Saturday night.”

Jungwon sighs. “I’m sorry. Really, I… I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

You don’t say anything. An apology is appreciated, yes, but it’s not an explanation.

With your silence, Jungwon continues, “I was just… caught off guard. I didn’t expect to see you there, and especially not with him.”

He pauses for a moment, biting at his lower lip. “Look, ___. I know it probably isn’t my place, but I don’t think he’s being honest with you. Jay isn’t the person that you think he is, and–”

Your scoff cuts through his words, stopping him in his tracks. “That’s funny,” you interrupt. But humor is the last thing on your mind. “He said the exact same thing about you, you know. But it has to be bullshit. I mean, what could have possibly happened in middle school that two adults with jobs are still hung up on a decade later?”

Jungwon’s lips part in surprise. “He told you about middle school?”

“Why?” you prod. “Is there something to know?”

But now you’re at a stalemate, neither of you willing to disclose what exactly you know.

After another beat, Jungwon sighs. “Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do–”

“Could have fooled me.”

“But I just want you to be careful, okay? It’s… it’s important to me that you’re safe.”

“Safe?” You scoff. “It was a boxing gym. I don’t know why you’re acting like I was trying to push my way into the ring with you.”

“You don’t get it–”

“No.” You throw your hands in exasperation. “I don’t get it. But you’re not explaining it to me. You’re just being evasive and acting like I’m the one in the wrong. So unless you actually have something of substance to say, I’m done having this conversation.”

“____…”

Already halfway to the exit, the sound of your name is lost on you. It’s bad enough that Jay has yet to reach out to you since last night. You absolutely do not need Jungwon bringing this issue into the office as well.

As if on cue, your phone dings with an incoming message.

Half expecting to see a virtual string of apologies from your coworker, you’re mildly surprised to see a different name instead.

You were right about the apologies, though.

Jay: I’m sorry about last night. You were right about deserving an explanation and I want to give you one. I think this is a conversation we should have in person. Are you free Friday night for dinner?

Friday night. Two nights from now. It’s soon enough that you won’t have to stew in resentment, but will give you both the time and space you need to think.

It doesn’t take you long to consider, but you do wait another long minute before giving him the satisfaction of responding.

You: I’ll plan on Friday.

…..

Friday morning comes with a vengeance.

Already teeming with nervous energy at the prospect of your upcoming date with Jay and the conversation that is sure to ensue, you’re a bit of a mess by the time you arrive at work.

Hair windswept, outfit mismatched, lipstick slightly smudged, you already know you’re in for a long day at the office.

But when you arrive at your desk, you find something that softens the blow, just a bit.

Grace, ever the instigator, is already learning over your cubicle by the time you notice it.

“Whew,” she whistles appreciatively. “Someone’s pulling out all the stops.”

And she’s kind of right. The bouquet sitting front and center on your desk is massive. Overflowing with seasonal flowers that already emit a pleasant fragrance even from where you stand. The vase itself it’s gorgeous, too.

Imbued with a myriad of colors, it reminds you a bit of a stained glass window on a sunny afternoon.

Reaching for the small note tucked at the top, you open the envelope with slightly shaky fingers.

___, it reads.

I wish I had more to give you than an apology, but I’ve been told that flowers are a sure thing when it comes to brightening someone’s day. I hope these are able to do that for you.

– J

Frowning, you read it once. Twice.

Jay has already apologized for the incident from a couple of nights ago, and the timing of this second apology seems odd, given your plans for tonight.

You’re left to stand in your own confusion for a moment longer before a text message vibrates your phone in your pocket.

Reaching for it, the flowers suddenly start to make a lot more sense.

Jay: I am so sorry, but I have to reschedule our plans for tonight. It completely slipped my mind, but my sister’s baby shower is tomorrow morning, and I’ve been voluntold to help set it up. I promise to let you know as soon as I can when I’ll be available

Jay: And again, I am so, so sorry

Sighing, you put your phone back in your bag. You can’t blame him. Not really. His sister’s baby shower is undoubtedly an important event, even if the timing is rather unfortunate for you.

Grace, blissfully unaware of your inner turmoil, is still gushing about your flowers. Turning to you, she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “So, what are those for? Got a hot date this weekend?”

You sigh, recently canceled plans still dampening your mood. Deciding there’s no harm in telling Grace your woes, you say, “I wish. Jay just had to cancel on me for tonight.”

“No.” Grace gasps. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think she was personally affronted. “He better have had a good excuse.”

“He did,” you admit. Unlike someone you know. “Family stuff.”

“Ah,” Grace nods. “I suppose that’s acceptable. Have you rescheduled?”

Frowning at the message you have yet to answer, you shake your head. “Not yet.”

“Mm,” she hums, sensing your disappointment. “I’m sure something just came up at work, and he’ll get back to you soon.”

“Yeah,” you nod hollowly. “I’m sure he will.”

You: I understand. Is there any chance we could meet Saturday evening or afternoon? It’s important to me that we talk about it soon.

It’s not as if you expect an immediate response. Like you, Jay is probably at work for the day. Busy and drowning in deadlines and assignments. Maybe even stuck in a meeting.

But thirty minutes pass. And then an hour. Two.

And your message is still completely unanswered.

The more time that passes, the harder it becomes to shake the funny feeling that starts to build in your gut. It builds and builds and builds, all the way until closing time.

And Jay still hasn’t texted you back.

That’s annoying enough all on its own, but there’s something else that just isn’t adding up.

You can’t quite put your finger on it, the thing that’s bothering you so much. But even as you make your way towards after clocking out for the day, something still doesn’t sit right with you. Opening your message thread again, you reread Jay’s last text.

Jay: … my sister’s baby shower is tomorrow morning, and I’ve been voluntold to help set it up.

Sister’s baby shower.

That’s what’s been bothering you. Because unless Jay’s sister is just finishing the shortest known pregnancy in human history, he’s lying to you.

You remember it now. The first time Grace mentioned Jay to you. She had just seen him for the first time since he moved back home.

At his older sister’s baby shower.

Sitting in your car, you scoff out loud in disbelief. The ice he treads on has been dangerously thin since your run in with Jungwon at the boxing gym, and he had the audacity to lie?

Part of you wants to catch him in it. For your own confirmation and for the satisfaction of not letting him get away with trying to pull a fast one on you. But you need an excuse. Some reason to seek him out and find him where he isn’t supposed to be.

Racking your brain, you try to think of a plausible explanation for turning up at his house tonight.

Still sitting in the parking lot, a car turns past you, headlights shining in through your windshield in a way that makes you squint.

In a way that reflects off of the tiny piece of metal jammed in the crevice next to your cupholder. Frowning, you reach down, tugging at it until it’s freed from its confines.

You’re not sure what divine forces are working in your favor, but you make a mental note to properly thank them later. Because clutched between your fingers is Jay’s missing ring. The one that he’s been looking for since he messaged you about it last week.

It’s perfect, you think. An absolutely perfect excuse to drop by his house, even if you should be under the impression that he’s not there at the moment.

Turning the piece of jewelry between your fingers, your eyes catch on an inscription on the inner band. Squinting, you can just make it out.

2013.11.13 King Pen

You’re pretty sure the numbers are a date. November 13, 2013, to be exact. But King Pen. You have no idea what that is.

It sounds like it could be related to boxing, maybe. Pulling out your phone, you do a quick online search.

The results that flood your screen are mostly generic, nothing that gives you any real leads. You try a few different search combinations, including the date and finally, the name of your city.

That does send an old article to the top of your search results. Something published in a local newspaper in 2007.

Clicking on the link, you scan the article for anything relevant.

Samuel Kang, one line towards the beginning reads, shared his plans to open a boxing gym right here in the city. Although there are other similar gyms in nearby towns, this would be the first gymnasium dedicated solely to boxing in the area.

You skip down a few more lines.

When asked if he knows what he’d like to call his project, Kang just smiles and nods his head. “King Pen,” he tells us. “I plan to call it King Pen.”

You frown. Your earlier search is proof enough that King Pen never came to fruition. As a final attempt at getting some answers, you type Samuel Kang into the search bar instead.

This time, the first article that pops up does carry an air of familiarity. Clicking on it, you confirm your suspicion.

Samuel Kang, as it turns out, never opened a boxing gym called King Pen. But he did open one called Kang’s Gym.

Looking through the photo gallery, the weightlifting equipment appears to have been in much better shape in 2008 than it was a couple of weeks ago. But even though the paint was still bright and the training pads were fully intact, it is undoubtedly the same exact gym.

There’s no reason for you to go there now. If anything, you should just drive straight to Jay’s house. But something still doesn't sit right with you.

Why does Jay’s ring say King Pen instead of Kang’s Gym? Especially since it’s dated five whole years after the gym opened under its actual name.

Besides, the gym is on your way to Jay’s apartment. If anything, it’s just a quick pit stop. A confirmation that you’re not going crazy.

Putting your car in drive, you set the ring on your passenger seat and drive out of the parking lot.

It’s already dark by the time you’re pulling into Kang’s Gym. Switching your car off, you remove your key from the ignition.

Your automatic headlights still illuminate the strangely full parking lot in front of you. Frowning, you wonder why so many people are here. Even the night that you came with Jay, the parking lot wasn’t nearly this full, and yet, most of the boxing rings inside were occupied.

Stepping out of your car, you close the door behind you softly. You’re not sure why you’re overcome with the urge to tiptoe. It’s not like you need to sneak around. You’re not doing anything wrong, after all.

But the whole thing feels strange, has you on edge. You make it only a few steps before your eyes land on a familiar car.

“Sister’s baby shower, my ass,” you whisper out loud to no one. Unless she decided to celebrate her new child at a run down boxing gym, Jay is absolutely lying to you. Because that’s his sleek black car, right in front of you. You’d recognize it anywhere.

And a few rows down, you confirm your other suspicion. You’ve never seen him drive it, but you have seen that particular navy blue SUV in the office parking garage before. Jungwon. You’re sure it’s him.

For a moment, you hesitate. It might be easier, cleaner, to just take a picture of Jay’s car and send it to him. After all, that would get your point across clearly enough. Especially if you block him afterwards.

But he’s been evasive about everything related to this place since he first brought you here. And he’s not the only one.

Eyes falling to Jungwon’s car, you decide that catching Jay in a lie isn’t the only thing you want to do tonight.

You want answers.

So the picture you take of Jay’s car remains unsent for now. Instead, you hike your bag a little further up your shoulder and continue walking in the direction of the gym.

Nearing the door, you brace yourself to be met with the large crowd that surely waits inside. Judging from the parking lot, this place must be near full capacity. But as you push through the unlocked door, the gym is completely and entirely empty.

Eerily so.

All around you, workout equipment and boxing rings sit untouched, devoid of life. There isn’t so much as a sound to disturb the uncanny silence.

Frowning, your brow creases in deep confusion. Nothing about this makes any sense.

But you didn’t come all the way here to add to your pile of questions. Instead, you push forward, past the rows of boxing rings towards the locker room where Jay left his bag a handful of nights ago.

It feels wrong to open the men’s locker room. But if no one is here, then surely it couldn’t hurt. Warily, you start to crack open the door, inch by inch.

The locker room, to your unending puzzlement, is just as empty as the rest of the gym.

You’re about to turn back to search the rest of the gym when you notice it. Just across from you, behind the first set of empty lockers. There’s another door.

It’s probably nothing, you tell yourself, even as your feet carry you closer and closer. It probably just leads to a storage closet or a boiler room or–

Pushing the door open, the first thing you’re met with is sound.

Voices. Loud voices. Lots and lots of them. In your surprise, you drop the door, and it clicks shut again.

Immediately, the sound stops. Plunged in silence again, it’s all you can do to not gasp.

Soundproof, you realize. It’s soundproof. And not just the locker room. The entire gym was dead silent until you opened this door.

This time, when you push it open, you expect the cacophonous cheers that greet you. You’re still too far away to make out what anyone is saying. Right now, it all blends into a wall of sound.

Vision is of little help, too. The only thing you see when you open the door is a staircase. In the low light, all you can tell is that it leads down.

Hoping that you’re not currently making the stupidest decision of your life, you place one tentative foot on the first step. Follow it with your other foot. And then you let the door close behind you, plunging you into complete darkness.

Immediately, a surge of panic claws at your throat. The lack of light, combined with the sheer volume of cheers and shouts, is enough to have you crawling in your skin.

Reaching blindly for the door handle behind you, you decide that sending Jay a picture of his car will have to be satisfying enough. But no matter how hard you try to twist the doorknob, it won’t budge.

No. No.

You’re trapped. Effectively locked in.

As the reality of the situation sinks in, you feel the pit of your stomach begin to drop.

Part of you wants to just stay in place, wait for whatever’s going on to end and hope that a stroke of luck will set you free. But then another thought occurs to you.

What if this is the only entrance?

You don’t know how many people are down there, but if the sound and parking lot are anything to go by, it’s a lot.

You’re sure that Jay and Jungwon are among them, but still…

Both of their warnings start to come back to you.

“He’s not who you think he is…”

“I just want you to be careful…”

“It’s important to me that you’re safe…”

Is this what they were talking about? Is this why Jungwon was so angry with Jay for bringing you here? Not because he didn’t want you to see a boxing gym, but because that’s not what this place is at all?

The more you mull it over, the more it starts to make sense.

Still submerged in darkness, you decide that the only way you’ll confirm anything is by moving forward. Slowly, you reach for your phone, turning the flashlight on its lowest setting.

Keeping it clutched in your hands in case you need to shut it off at a moment’s notice, you begin to walk, descending down the staircase.

After two flights on uneven steps, you start to see a light in the distance, a clue that you’re getting closer. And with every step you take, the voices only get louder and louder.

On the third landing, you’re given two choices: continue down the stairs or move into a hallway that stretches to your left. Deciding that staying as far away from the crowd as you can is likely your best option, you opt for the hallway.

You’ve barely walked a few feet when you nearly stumble into a wall. It’s not the end though – just a corner. The light from your phone confirms that the hallway takes a sharp turn.

Following it, you come to another door. This time, you’re even more hesitant. There could be people on the other side.

Pressing your ear against it, the only thing you hear is the same scrambled shouting, the same boisterous crowd. It’s hard to tell for certain, but you don’t hear anything that makes you think there’s someone waiting on the other side.

Slowly, carefully, you begin to open the door.

The sudden light is nearly blinding. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust, but once they do, your mouth drops open.

You were right, thankfully. The small room you enter is mercifully empty.

But it’s also lined with windows that give you a direct view into the room one level beneath you. Jaw dropping, you take in the scene below.

There must be at least five hundred people crammed into the stands that encircle the room. All of them are on their feet, shouting jeers and cheering with equal fervor.

And in the center of it all is a boxing ring. On the side that faces you, bold letters give it a name:

King Pen.

It’s empty for now, but you’re only left wondering for another handful of seconds before a middle aged man steps into the center, microphone in hand. With an open palm, he gestures towards the crowd, commanding them to listen.

Whoever he is, he holds weight here. With the flick of his hand, literally, the room all but falls silent.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says into the microphone. “Next up is the fight we’ve all been waiting for.”

He pauses for a moment as more cheers and shouts fill the room.

“I hope your bets are placed, because these two always manage to surprise us. Please welcome our first challenger to the ring. Back to the city for the first time in years, it’s Jaan!”

But it’s not Jaan. Or at least, it’s not someone you know as Jaan.

No, it’s Jay. The same Jay that took you to an art exhibition and convinced you to try sweet coffee instead of your usual bitter black. The same Jay that flirts with you over text and whispers sweet nothings in your ear after a long day of work.

The same Jay that lied to you about why he had to cancel your date tonight.

The crowd has barely died down when the man presses on, “And your second challenger, the reigning champion… Please give your warmest welcome for Jakah!”

The alias booms around you, echoing through the room. And of course it’s him. Of course Jakah, the reigning champion, is someone you used to think would have trouble hurting a fly.

Someone you thought embodied gentleness, patience, with every ounce of his being.

But no matter how badly you want to deny it, no matter how much the cognitive dissonance wars inside your brain, it’s him.

It’s Jungwon who enters from the other side of the ring.

“Now, remember,” the man addresses the audience again. “Cheer for your favorite. Scream at his opponent. And don’t forget our golden rule: in the King’s Pen,” he begins.

“Anything goes,” the audience shouts back in unison.

Anything? Your heart falls from your throat to the pit of your stomach. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Jay is here, that he lied to you, that he’s fighting Jungwon.

Taking a closer look at the ring beneath you, you notice the odd, rust colored stains that nearly cover it.

Blood, you realize after a sickening moment. The ring is covered in blood stains.

It makes sense, suddenly, why King Pen didn’t appear in any search results. Why this entire place is completely soundproofed. Why Jungwon wanted you to stay far, far away.

This isn’t a sparring match. It’s a duel.

One where, like the audience just affirmed, anything goes.

As the man steps out from the center of the ring, Jay and Jungwon start to circle each other, fists raised in anticipation.

Even from a distance, you can see the tight coil of muscle in their shoulders, the way their bodies prepare for the inevitable fight.

“Say it with me now, folks,” the man booms, now standing on the side of the ring.

“Three.” Jay’s eyes narrow, fists rising an inch higher.

“Two.” Jungwon flicks a stray strand of hair out of his eyes.

“One.” You feel your last bit of breath whoosh out from your lungs.

“Fight.”

It’s like a dance, you think. A sickening, deadly dance that you can’t look away from no matter how much you want to.

Despite your lack of knowledge, it quickly becomes apparent to you why this is the main event of the evening.

Where Jay is sheer, brutal strength, Jungwon is all evasion. He moves with the agility of an athlete, the lightness of a dancer.

He makes it look easy, the way he ducks beneath carefully timed swings and always seems to predict what Jay will do next.

But even dancers stumble sometimes.

You can’t help it, the gasp that slips out when one of Jay’s punches lands true. You watch, horrified, as Jungwon staggers backwards, adding to the crimson stains on the floor of the ring.

Slightly dazed, he brings the back of his palm to the broken skin along his cheekbone, assessing the damage. When he brings it in front of his face, it comes back red.

Jay takes no pity on his opponent. Following his retreat, he aims for another bruising blow. This one hits Jungwon just beneath the ribs. Echoes around the makeshift stadium with a dull thud you hear even from your hiding place.

Again, Jungwon’s sure steps falter.

The rise and fall of his chest is rapid as he struggles to catch his breath. But when he looks up again, there’s a fire in his eyes. Pure, unadulterated hatred that permeates the scant distance between him and his rival and sends a shiver down the length of your spine.

Not one to take things lying down, Jungwon takes advantage of Jay’s momentary lapse in focus.

His fist connects with the bridge of Jay’s nose with a sickening crunch. Head falling backward, the immediate flow of blood is gruesome. It drip down his chin, landing on the floor beneath him in an arrhythmic pattern.

There’s little grace to it now. Gone are the remaining fragments of inhibition as both boys put away their judgment and leave the rest to instinct.

It’s messy, sloppy, angry.

They’re so close; it’s hard to tell which blows come from who. Hard to tell whose wounds are multiplying faster, whose blood is falling more freely.

And then, just when you think you can’t stomach watching any longer, it’s done.

It’s so fast. You can’t quite be sure how it happens. But one second, both boys are standing, and the next, Jay is flat on his back, Jungwon hovering above him.

Still, the crowd is silent. Everyone’s eyes are on the ring.

Jay is down. Trapped beneath his opponent, it’s clear to you who the victory is. But then you remember the words the crowd chanted at the beginning of the fight.

Anything goes.

Your stomach twists with nausea.

Even from here, you can see the tension that still strains the muscles along Jungwon’s back. The rigidity of his shoulders.

For a moment, you think he’s going to do it. To strike again, even though victory is already in his hands.

You see his lips move with words you can’t hear. Beneath him, Jay remains stoic. There’s still fight in his eyes, even if it’s been drained from his body.

Jungwon’s mouth moves again.

This time, Jay nods. It’s a tiny movement, barely perceptible. But it’s enough.

With an agitated flair, Jungwon stands again.

Blood is still dripping from his face, his knuckles. Sweat covers his body, drenches his hair.

He’s won, yes, but the expression on his features is not one of satisfaction.

ARound him, the audience begins to boo, throwing jeers and insults like extra change. They were hoping for more than a fight. They were hoping for cruelty Jungwon isn’t willing to give.

Without a second glance back, he turns and leaves the ring.

Still reeling, you nearly jump out of your skin when the handle on the door to your room begins to turn.

If you had a stronger grip on your sense of logic, you would do something. Try to hide. Scramble to think of an excuse for your presence.

The door opens before you do any of it.

“Oh,” Heeseung says, eyes widening as he finds the room already occupied. And then it registers with him who exactly is already occupying said room. “Oh,” he repeats. “He is not going to be happy about this.”

…..

Heeseung’s fist rings out against the door in three sharp raps. For a moment, silence is the only response. And then–

“I’m not in the mood.”

“Uh,” Heeseung glances at you sideways. “I think you should open the door anyway.”

“I’m serious.” Jungwon’s voice is pure ire. “I’m not doing this with you right now, Heeseung.”

“Okay,” Heeseung concedes. “But I really still think you should open the–”

“What?”

Jungwon’s glare lands on his friend before his gaze slides to you. Immediately, his features slacken in surprise. “Oh.”

And it’s stupid, foolish, naive. But the first thing you feel when you see him standing on his own two feet is pure, unadulterated relief.

He’s injured. It’s obvious from the wounds that line his face and the way his breath is still shallow in his chest. But he’s okay.

He’s here and he’s in front of you and he’s okay.

“Yeah,” Heeseung repeats. “Like I said, I think you should–”

“Go away.”

“What?” Heeseung balks. “Where am I supposed to–”

“Away,” Jungwon reiterates, eyes still locked on you.

Heeseung is sulking, but he follows Jungwon’s command regardless. And then it’s just the two of you.

You both speak at the same time, near identical questions overlapping with one another.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Why are you here?”

A beat of silence passes. Another.

As if he is suddenly remembering your surroundings, Jungwon looks around you, a new urgency in his gaze. You don’t know what kind of consequences places like this carry, but common sense tells you it’s best that you’re not seen. “Come in,” he opens the door a bit wider, giving you space to enter.

You shouldn’t. He hasn’t lied to you, not exactly, but it’s not like he’s been particularly honest either.

And coworkers don’t owe you the truth or the nitty gritty details of their lives, but it’s been a long time since Jungwon and you treated one another like coworkers. No matter what you want to call it, the relationship that you’ve built between conversations in the workroom and email threads and kind gestures in the office feels a lot more like friendship. Or at the very least some iteration of it.

So you’re not mad at him for keeping this from you, not really.

But other emotions are swirling in your gut, and you don’t know what to do with them. Most of all, you’re worried. For his safety. For his wellbeing. For him.

Obeying his command, you step inside the small room. You hear the door click shut behind you.

Looking around, there isn’t much to see. It’s a locker room, essentially, designed for one person. There’s a counter to your left with a small first aid kit and a chair in the far corner of the room.

A gym bag, Jungwon’s you assume, rests next to it.

And, of course, there’s the two of you.

Glancing up, you take a look at him. A long, real look.

He’s wearing the same clothes he entered the ring with. A white athletic shirt that moves with him, gives his long, lean muscles space to move. To flex and contract with every shallow breath.

He’s still just as gorgeous as always, even with a split lip and a nasty cut that spans the length of his temple. Even with the bruising that’s already begun to discolor his near flawless skin.

Sighing, you nod towards the chair behind him. “Sit down.”

“What?” Confusion draws his brow downward, and he hisses in pain at the movement.

“Don’t tell me your illegal fights have ruined your hearing too.”

“What? No.” Jungwon shakes his head. “My hearing is perfectly fine, I mean.”

“Then sit.” You glance pointedly at the chair again. “Down.”

This time, he doesn’t try to argue. You watch from your periphery, frowning at the slight limp in his left leg as he walks toward the chair, easing himself down.

Reaching for the first aid kit on the counter, you bring it with you as you move across the room.

Your steps are slow and even. They carry you all the way to the far corner, until you’re forced to stop.

Standing above Jungwon, your lips pull into a tight line as you begin to assess his injuries. Hesitation might be wise, but you can’t find any of it left in you.

Your movements are sure, gentle but firm. Hands sliding to his jaw, you adjust his face slightly, turning the gash on his temple towards the light. It’s an echo of the way he examined you in the workroom, long weeks ago.

This time, it’s him that’s easily manipulable underneath your touch.

“What are you doing?” He whispers.

Your hesitation is gone, but so is your patience. “Don’t talk.” Jungwon’s lips fall shut. He’s pliant in your hands as you adjust him.

Reaching for the kit, the first thing you pull out is antiseptic cream.

“This might sting,” you whisper.

“It’s okay,” he assures you. But he hisses at the contact all the same. “Doesn’t even hurt,” he lies through gritted teeth, forcing a smile.

If he’s trying to be funny, his attempt at humor is lost on you.

Gaze still narrowed in concentration, you busy yourself by cleaning the worst of his wounds first.

As you move from his forehead to his lip, you don’t think you imagine the sharp inhale he draws between parted lips.

“It stings?” You ask him.

“Just a bit.” You feel the ghost of his whisper against your fingertips.

You look up for a moment, and you find his gaze already locked on yours. It takes a significant portion of your willpower to stop yourself from reaching up to brush his hair from his eyes.

It feels wrong, even if you call it friendship. Even if you and Jay never discussed exclusivity.

Your heart is fluttering, and that’s what makes it all seem so illicit.

With no small amount of effort, you force your eyes down again. Standing above him, your fingers move from his face to his hands. His wrist clasped in your fingers, you sink to your knees in front of him.

Jungwon swallows audibly.

Pulling his hand closer, you examine the series of shallow cuts, of angry, violet bruises that line his knuckles. With another long sigh, you reach for the cream again, applying it generously before carefully wrapping it in a bandage.

After giving the same attention to the other hand, you lean back, assessing your handiwork.

For a moment, neither of you moves. You’re still kneeling in front of him. He still sits above you.

And then, after a breath of hesitation, one carefully wrapped hand finds its way to your face.

Gently, with a touch so light you hardly feel it, he lays his open palm against the expanse of your cheek. Cradles it.

He whispers your name, and you can’t find it in you to look up.

“I don’t…” you trail off, not sure how to communicate the swirling mix of emotions simmering just beneath the surface. “I don’t want to be mad at you.”

“But you are,” Jungwon assumes. He accepts it, and he doesn’t let it change anything. His hand is steady against your cheek. His thumb starts to draw small circles, just under your earlobe.

“I’m not,” you correct. “But this isn’t…” again your words die. It’s frustrating, the way you feel like you can never be straightforward with him. The way you always feel like you have to navigate through subtext and half truths and partial reveals just to get a point across.

“But you don’t owe me anything right now.”

His thumb stills against your skin.

“We’re coworkers,” you continue. “We’re just coworkers, so it doesn’t matter if you fight in illegal boxing matches. You don’t have to worry about what I think of it, and I don’t have to be mad at you for it.”

You do look up at him, begging for a bit of his understanding. “You can be evasive with your excuses and reject all of my invitations. We can meet by chance in the workroom on Monday afternoons, and none of it ever has to mean anything. Neither of us ever has to feel anything about it.”

“But,” Jungwon whispers.

“Yeah,” you nod. Your cheek slides easily against the soft skin of his bruised hand. “But.”

Jungwon is silent for a moment, eyes darting between both of yours. Then, tentatively, he asks, “Are you mad at him?”

He doesn’t say Jay’s name, but the venom he wraps around the word is all you need to know who he’s talking about.

You shake your head, eyelids fluttering. “We’re coworkers.” You reiterate the boundaries he’s always maintained with you. “You don’t get to ask me that.”

Jungwon’s hand slides to your neck, thumb tracing the length of your jaw now. “And if I want to?”

You shake your head again. You can only give him so much on a silver platter. If he wants anything to change, he’ll have to find a bit of his own bravery. “That’s not the question you need to ask me.” Looking up at him, you draw another line. “And not tonight.”

You’ve both been through enough. Heightened emotions rarely lead to good decisions, and the last thing you want is his indecisiveness. His impulsivity.

Quietly, you stand, his hand falling from your face as you rise to full height in front of him.

His eyes look wider from this angle, from above. Even shinier than usual. No matter how many boundaries you draw or how many ways you deny him, he’s someone that’s hard to say no to. Hard to walk away from.

Steeling the last remnants of your resolve, you manage to look him in those dark, sparkling eyes when you tell him, “Good night, Jungwon.”

“Good night, ___,” he whispers to your retreating silhouette.

Closing the door behind you, you barely have a moment to catch your breath before a voice interrupts your wandering thoughts.

“You like him, don’t you?”

The gasp you give is out of shock more than anything. And the “What?” you ask is a knee jerk reaction.

“Yang.” Jay materializes from his position in the darkness, jerking his chin towards the door behind you. “You like him.”

Immediately, you find yourself on the defense. Even if you’re just delaying the inevitable, it’s cagey when you tell him. “We work together.”

Jay just looks at you. “My favorite color is green.”

“What?”

“Sorry,” Jay’s tone is flat. He’s not annoyed, but he’s coming close to it. “I thought we were stating irrelevant facts.”

With a sigh, he drags an open palm down his face. “I know you work together. But you like him, too," he sighs again, reading the horror in your expression. Mostly due to the fact that he read you like an open book when you thought you were keeping your feelings close to the chest. “I’m not… mad. It sucks, but it’s not like I was honest with you either. I’m sorry, by the way, for lying about tonight.”

It’s too much to process, all at once. Your head is swimming and your heart is pounding.

It was a shitty thing to do, yes, but–

“You don’t have to say sorry–”

Again, Jay doesn’t let you finish. “I’m not saying sorry because I have to. I’m saying it because I am. I like you.” He’s so honest. So blunt with his feelings. He makes things so easy. “I like spending time with you. I think we both know that’s not enough anymore,” he casts another meaningful glance at the door behind him. The one that leads to Jungwon’s locker room, “but it’s still true.”

“I…” you trail off, unsure what to say. He’s not wrong. In fact, he’s all but hit the nail right on the head. With deadly accuracy.

Heeseung was the one that found you, that brought you to Jungwon, but still.

It’s not Jay that you checked in on fist. It’s not Jay whose wounds you just cleaned. It’s not Jay who you’re thinking about now.

Like he said, it sucks, but it’s still true.

Jay has bruises, too. Has cuts that line his knuckles and his jaw. He’s here because he’s part of an illegal underground boxing ring. He lied to you about it.

But you just… you’re not mad at him about it. And that’s the final nail in the coffin.

Jay just looks at you for a moment longer. For the third time, he sighs. “You’re really gonna make me do this part too?” He inhales, steeling his resolve. “Okay, then. ___, I think we should–”

“I think we should stop seeing each other,” you finish for him. You can give him at least that much. “I had a great time getting to know you, but I think we want different things right now. I wish you all the best. Really, you’re a great guy, Jay.”

He is.

“I mean it.”

You do.

“Thank you, ___.”

He means it too.

When Jay walks away from you, his shoulders are straight and his head is high.

You feel a lot of things, as you watch his retreating figure.

But no matter how deep you search, regret isn’t one of them.

…..

Monday morning brings with it a distinct sort of dread.

Partly because it marks the beginning of another long week. Mostly because going back to the office means potentially seeing him.

If you’re honest with yourself, you’re not sure if you’re ready for that. If you’re ready to face the feelings you’ve been forcing down for months and the potential fallout they may bring with them.

So, when you open your inbox first thing in the morning, an unreasonable request from your supervisor isn’t the thing you’re most afraid of finding.

Jungwon, however, isn’t planning to stick to old routines. When he seeks you out, he does it in person.

Grace’s eyes are anywhere but on her own work when he walks through the door of the marketing department half past ten.

“___,” he breathes.

The wounds on his face are already fading, hardly even noticeable. You wish you could say the same for the turmoil raging inside of you. You can’t decide if you want to throw your arms around his neck or tell him to fuck off.

In the end, you just look at him blankly.

“Can we…” he trails off, visibly frustrated. He isn’t sure how to do this either. “Can you help me with something? In the workroom. I think the printer is acting up again.”

The printer is fine. You used it five minutes ago.

But he’s not asking you to help him with work or the printer or anything else. He’s asking for a bit of your time, a fraction of your understanding.

It’s messy. It has so much potential for heartbreak, for complication.

But he’s here and he’s looking at you like your answer means the world to him. Like he might forget how to breathe if you don’t say yes.

So, with a rising bout of uncertainty, you tell him, “Let’s go take a look at it.”

The printer, just as you suspected, is in perfect working order. Jungwon doesn’t even spare it a second look.

Instead, he closes the door to the workroom behind you. And then he says, “I started boxing when I was a kid. I think I was eight, nine maybe.”

“What are you–”

“Just listen,” Jungwon begs. “Please.”

You want to protest. You’re not sure why, but the urge is strong. But after a moment of warring with yourself, you finally nod, giving him permission to continue.

“It was just a hobby. Something to keep me busy on long afternoons when both of my parents were working in the restaurant my family owned. But I kept at it, and they could see how much I enjoyed it. By the time I was ten, my mom enrolled me in actual classes.”

Jungwon smiles, reminiscing on the tidbits of a happy childhood. But then his smile starts to falter. “A few months later, my grandpa died. It wasn’t a surprise exactly, but it did have some unexpected consequences on the business. My family started to struggle. With money, more than anything.”

He sighs, and your heart hurts for a past version of him, too young to make sense of all of the sudden changes in his life. “I had to quit taking lessons. I kept practicing on my own, though. And when I started middle school, there was a free boxing club I joined. I met a lot of my friends there. Heeseung, who you met the other night, along with a few others. I also met Jay.”

Jungwon’s lips pull into a line. “I didn’t hate him. Not exactly. He was nice enough, and we had a lot in common. But he had everything that I wanted. Money, mostly. His family never had to worry about it. He could take private lessons and always had all the nicest gear. He didn’t flaunt it, but I noticed. And I envied him for it.”

Looking back at you, he continues, “Heeseung was the one that found the King Pen. He was like me, in a way. His family didn’t come from money. We were young, too young, but we were good. We made them money, so they let us fight. Jay found out and wanted in too. It didn’t matter that he didn’t need the prize money. He just wanted to prove that he was better than us. That he was the best. It was me and him in my very first championship fight. He won, and I hated him for it.”

The ring, you realize. Jay’s ring that he dropped in your car. It was a championship ring.

Jungwon looks down at his hands. The bandages that you put there. “He moved away once high school started. We didn’t keep in direct contact or anything, but I always heard about him. Jay and his international boxing titles. Jay and his new sponsorship deal with a major boxing gym. It just added fuel to the fire that was already there. Made me resent him more, even if it wasn’t his fault.”

No matter how you spin it, you can’t imagine any of that was easy to deal with. Especially as a teenager.

“With him gone, though, I started to make real money fighting. Good money. I lied to my parents and told them I got a part time job. Moving cargo so that they wouldn’t be too suspicious when I came home with bruises.”

Jungwon flexes his fingers. “Boxing became my saving grace. I could give a good chunk of my earnings to my family, and the rest of it, I saved. It put me through university. Let me earn my programming degree.”

You understand him a bit more, then. Why he never seemed annoyed by his job. Why even things like jammed printers never seemed to get to him. He’s thankful for where he is. Has nothing but gratitude for his job when he earned it with years of his own blood, sweat, and tears.

“I have a steady income now, but it’s just… hard, I guess. To let that part of me go. And if I’m honest, part of me has always been afraid too. I mean, my parents had a steady income until they didn’t, you know? I like knowing that even if something happens here, I’ll still be able to support myself. And them.”

It makes sense. It does.

“And then Jay came back.” Jungwon scoffs. “He’d barely been in town for a full twenty-four hours when he showed up at Kang’s with all of his fancy gear and asked to be added to the roster for the next round of fights. And then he showed up there with you and I… I thought I was actually going to lose it.”

Even now, Jungwon’s shoulders are visibly tense. “The actual gym is usually fine, safe for outsiders, but still. He shouldn’t have risked your safety like that. He should have known better. And I…” Jungwon trails off again.

You don’t think you’re imagining the slight tinge of pink that starts to color his cheekbones.

“I was already having a bad enough time with the fact that you were seeing someone. When it turned out to be him, I just… Well, you know.”

Jungwon takes a deep breath in, releases a long exhale.

“I don’t like making bets, and I don’t like situations I can’t predict. Things I don’t have control over. I guess that’s part of the reason why I always liked boxing so much. In the ring, I feel like I have a say in what happens. That even if I lose, it’s because I didn’t move fast enough. I didn’t think quick enough. Things I have control over. Things I can get better at.”

Jungwon looks at you. “I hate guessing. I hate having to wonder. I like sure things.”

His chest is rising and falling a little faster now. Your breath is just as shallow.

“What are you saying?” you ask him.

“I’m saying that I don’t just want to be coworkers with you. I want you to be mad at me for fighting in illegal underground boxing matches.” Jungwon’s gaze is imploring, pleading for your understanding as his eyes search yours. “I want you to call me when the printer jams and when you have a hard day and when you want someone to go to a stupid work event with you on a Friday night.”

He takes a step closer to you, and you feel your spine press against the door of the workroom.

“I want you to be a sure thing,” he breathes, “even if everything about you – the way I feel about you, the thoughts I have about you, the things I want to do to you – have always felt out of my control.”

“Oh.” Your voice is small. Your mouth is dry. Caged in against the door, words are suddenly a hard thing to come by.

“Oh,” Jungwon echoes. “Is that a yes?”

He’s even closer now. Nose brushing against yours, he interlaces the fingers of his less injured hand with yours, reaching up until your hands are intertwined above your head.

“No,” you shake your head.

“Mm,” Jungwon hums, and you feel the vibration travel the length of your spine, settling somewhere deep, just beneath your navel. His lips brush against the corner of your mouth when he asks, “It’s a no, then?”

Again, you shake your head. Trapped in his embrace, the movement is tiny, restricted. Sends goosebumps scattering across your skin everywhere the two of you are touching.

“An oh is just an oh,” you tell him. “This is a yes.”

There isn’t any distance to close. Just pressure to add. He accepts it willingly, even if the sudden contact against the still broken skin of his bottom lip has him releasing a hiss through his teeth.

It’s a discomfort he gets over quickly. His other hand, the one not currently tangled with yours, relocates to the curve of your jaw before he’s doubling down, pain all but forgotten as his lips part against yours.

A repeated motion. A rhythm that’s stilted at first but starts to feel natural the longer you continue.

Over and over. Again and again until the action starts to feel useless. Until you’re not quite sure where his breath ends and yours begin.

You’re in the office workroom, pressed against the door, and the printer is starting to beep in protest.

You’re sure you’ll be thoroughly embarrassed when you inevitably leave long minutes later with mussed hair and swollen lips and a certain programmer trailing behind you that can’t contain his self-satisfied smile.

But for now, you get what he means. It feels good. It feels like relief, to finally know where you stand with him.

So instead of worrying about what your supervisor will think of your mussed collar and smudged lipstick, you pull him down a little firmer by the back of the neck, fingers tangling in the hair along his nape.

You sigh into his mouth, and the fervor he returns with leaves you well and truly breathless.

And for once, it feels like a sure thing.

…..

epilogue

Jungwon: SOS

Jungwon: Babyyyyyyyy

Jungwon: I know you’re reading my messages

Jungwon: PLEASE ___ I really need your help

You: I’m BUSY what do you need

Jungwon: The printer is jammed again

You: And what do you want me to do about that? Call maintenance

Jungwon: Oh please

Jungwon: Last time I called maintenance they sent a guy that couldn’t tell A4 from A3 this is not the job for them

Jungwon: Plus they don’t have the magic touch like you

You: Literally what are you talking about

You: The last time I tried to fix the printer, I broke it so bad it was out of commission for two whole weeks

You: The entire floor was mad at me

You: I had to buy Grace coffee every day for TWO WEEKS

Jungwon: PLEASEEEEEE

Jungwon: Just try once and if it doesn’t work I’ll call maintenance

Jungwon: I promise

You: …

You: FINE

You: On my way

Tucking your phone back into your pocket, you sigh. The workroom door opens with little resistance, but as soon as you step inside, you frown.

Jungwon, for starters, is nowhere to be seen.

And the printer, at least from first impressions, appears to be working just fine. Completely jam-free.

You’re not left in the dark for long. A moment later, the door opens behind you.

Tumbling in like an overexcited kitten, your boyfriend looks all too enthused to be dealing with a supposed jammed printer.

Gesturing towards the machine in question, you frown at him. “What were you talking about? The printer is perfectly f–”

He cuts you off with the press of his lips against your own, pushing you backwards until you run into the printer, spine arching against the copier tray.

“Jungwon,” you protest once he finally lets you up for air. “It’s like you want HR to start a case against us. You have got to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” He feigns innocence, even as he leans in again for another long kiss.

“Mm,” you mumble, breaking free again. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Faking printer emergencies as an excuse to make out. We’re at work.”

Jungwon leans back, but the only thing he uses the space for is to let himself scan you from head to toe. Biting his bottom lip, he runs a set of fingers through the hair that falls across his forehead. “You know, you’re a really terrible liar.”

“I’m not ly–”

“If you actually wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t fall for it every.” He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Single.” The top of your cheekbone. “Time.” The corner of your mouth.

And you hate to admit it, but he kind of has you there.

“Whatever.” You pout, but he just uses it as an excuse to plant another long kiss on your pursed lips. “I’m serious, Jungwon,” you tell him, even if you’re just as breathless as he is, despite the fact that you’re actively pulling him in by the back of his neck. “This has to be the last time.”

“Mm,” he smiles against your lips. “Sure thing, ___.”

…..

outtake — seven months ago.

The tinted window of Jungwon’s secondhand car is hardly an ideal mirror, but he’ll have to make it work.

Giving himself a final once over, he straightens his already immaculate tie. Tugs at the collar of his button down shirt so that it lays just a little bit nicer, the edges of the folds just a fraction of a millimeter sharper.

Bending slightly, he smooths down his hair, pushing it away from his eyes. Catching his reflection again, he suddenly has second thoughts about the version of himself that he sees.

Bleaching his hair had seemed like a good – no, great – idea a few weeks ago. But now, dressed in business casual and about to begin his first day at a new job, doubts start to swirl through Jungwon’s mind.

What if they don’t think the blonde is professional enough? What if it breaks some kind of unspoken dress code?

He knows it doesn’t break the actual, company mandated dress code. Mostly because he’s already read through the handbook.

Twice.

With annotations.

Frowning slightly, Jungwon tilts his head to the side. He’s gotten pretty good with concealer, but there’s still a faint purplish tint that sits just along the edge of his jaw.

It takes a decent amount of effort not to wince at the memory. Sunghoon had gotten him good that day.

Jungwon forces his shoulders to relax. Forces himself to take one big breath in. Release it out slowly.

He has no reason to panic. He went through the same, brutal rounds of interviews as everyone else and was deemed to be the most qualified candidate. He graduated summa cum laude in the same field he’ll be employed in now.

And it’s not like anyone’s going to be looking at his face close enough to notice any slight discoloration. Or, at least, he doesn’t think they will.

To be honest, he’s not really sure how this whole thing works. Office jobs, no matter how many online forums he’s scoured and articles he’s read, are still a bit of a mystery to him.

He hates it. Hates feeling out of his depth and ill prepared. Hates knowing that he’ll have to ask too many questions and stumble through tasks until he gets the basics down.

But part of him is excited too.

He did it. Standing in the parking lot of an otherwise rather unremarkable company, it hits him all at once.

He actually fucking did it.

All those nights in the ring. Every bruise, every scar, every drop of blood. Every saved penny, every skipped opportunity.

They landed him here. An 8 to 5 office job that isn’t flashy or anything special from the outside, but to him, means the world.

He’ll have it all: a steady salary, a place to be in the mornings, coworkers to notice when he’s not around. It’s not much, but it’s his.

So, with one last deep inhale, Jungwon turns away from his car window and tracks a steady path on even footsteps towards the front door.

And a handful of hours later, when Terry from accounting is still talking his ear off about his son’s latest hockey match in the doorway of the staff kitchen, Jungwon’s heart gives an unsteady lurch.

“Hey, Terry,” you nod in acknowledgement, entering the kitchen in search of an early afternoon refill for your empty coffee mug. “Hey, oh.” Your eyes meet his, lips parting. Your words die when you realize you don’t know what to call him. When you realize you’ve never actually seen him before.

And it’s not like Jungwon has never seen a pretty girl before, but – oh.

Oh.

Dressed in a rather simple, work approved ensemble, hair loose around your face, there’s nothing specific that he can pinpoint. All Jungwon knows is that there’s something about you that makes him want to keep looking.

“Jungwon,” he supplies, a bit breathlessly.

Behind him, Terry is still regaling the details of his kid’s game-winning goal.

Eyes locked on him, a beat of heavy silence passes. And then –

“Hi, Jungwon.”

Your eyes. He thinks it must be your eyes. Or maybe your lips. The delicate curve of your cheekbone. His gaze can’t decide where to land.

“Hi,” he manages.

Eyes sliding over his shoulder to Terry, you release a small, amused breath. “Hey, Terry?”

Stopping mid sentence, the middle aged man turns to you. “Oh, hi, ____. How are you?”

___. Jungwon thinks it suits you. A pretty name for a pretty girl.

“Just fine, thanks.” You flash him a quick smile. Just a bare hint, and Jungwon feels his knees getting a little wobbly beneath him. “But I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

“Of course,” Terry nods a little too enthusiastically. Fifteen years at the same company, and he’s the kind of person that still jumps at the opportunity to be needed. Helpful. Jungwon thinks it’s kind of sweet, even if he wishes the man’s gift for brevity in storytelling could be a bit more apparent.

“You know the printer in the workroom?”

Terry nods.

“It’s jammed again,” you frown, the slightest hint of a pout pulling at your lips. Jungwon can’t quite find it in himself to look away from the movement. “Do you think you could take a look at it for me?”

Terry beams. “Of course! I’d be happy to.”

And then it’s just the two of you.

“He means well.” You smile again, softer this time. Like you’re discussing an inside joke only the two of you know about.

Jungwon is suddenly finding his breath a difficult thing to maintain.

“Does the printer do that a lot?” He finally manages to ask. “Jam, I mean.”

“All the time.” You roll your eyes. “You’d think a company raking in this much profit would have the cash to spare on a new machine, but no. This entire floor is just ill fated to suffer” There’s an air of humor to your words, a slight hint of teasing, even if Jungwon thinks there’s an undercurrent of truth to your words.

You smile again. Teeth tugging at your bottom lip, Jungwon can only describe your expression as slightly devious. “It’s not jammed now, though.”

His brow furrows. “It’s not?”

You shake your head. “I was given the gory details of Terry’s son’s soccer game yesterday. Trust me, I saved you a headache and an extra thirty minutes.” You wink at him, and Jungwon really, really hopes the sudden heat in his cheeks doesn’t look as obvious as it feels.

“I think it was a hockey match, actually.”

“Oh.” You pause for a moment, considering. “Right.”

A moment of silence passes. Another. Jungwon has never minded the quiet, but he’s not quite ready for this interaction to end. Suddenly, he feels like he’s scrambling for something to prolong it.

“Thank you.”

Your brow furrows. “For what.”

“The extra thirty minutes and the absence of a headache.” Jungwon taps two fingers against his temple. “I appreciate it.”

“Ah,” you smile, and this time it’s a bit brighter, wider. Jungwon, not for the first time today, thanks his lucky stars that he was accepted for this position. That it landed him here, sharing a staff kitchen with someone like you. “Anytime.”

He hopes you mean it.

And when you turn away from him a few moments later, original mission to refill your coffee remembered, Jungwon looks up at the ceiling with his eyes screwed shut and takes a long, much needed breath.

“Jungwon,” you turn back. Luckily, he’s just returned to a more natural standing position.

“Yeah?”

“It’s nice to meet you. Don’t let this place get you down too quickly.” You wink again. Jungwon does his best to keep his features neutral. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, even though you’ve already turned back to the coffee machine. “Sure thing, ___.”

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: and we're done! thank you for reading! and thank you for bearing with me and the fact that this unfortunately had to be split into two parts. I hope you enjoyed this story, and as always, I would love to hear any thoughts you have. all the best ♡

#jungwon fanfiction #jungwon fanfic #jungwon x you #jungwon x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #enhypen x you #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #jungwon scenarios #jungwon imagines

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happypeachsludgeflower · 2 days ago

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I get I’m your scapegoat here, but first, I’d like to state, it was a joke. An obvious one too by your claim that five million people are making the same joke in your comments, which I’m assuming you’re exaggerating about since you don’t even have five million notes.

Is the make out joke overused? Yea, probably. But the fandom has been making those jokes for half a century now and if you didn’t want it brought up, you shouldn’t have mentioned “tongue or whatever” at all. I for one, wouldn’t have reblogged with the joke if you hadn’t made the reference first.

It was late at night. I had just found out about the video from that destiel meme and watched it. Given an entire presentation to my roommate about the history of spirk in fandom. I saw your post. Laughed at the joke. Agreed with the rest of it. And hit reblog without thinking to check if my comment had been said yet. That was the extent of my consideration of it. I promptly forgot about your post and moved on until I saw your reblog a bit ago.

You say you aren’t being pendantic, but you are. The definition is literally to be concerned with formal rules, and to be finicky about it all. Which you are. I am too now, but at least I’m admitting it.

Sure, it’s an extrapolation fans made that was debunked by Leonard Nimoy in his book I Am Spock where he reveals that touching fingers (the gesture that was extrapolated from) was meant to be the equivalent of holding hands, and not kissing. But it’s also been in the fandom at large for decades now, to the point that the producers of the franchise are aware of it. First of all, Nimoy wouldn’t have debunked it if he didn’t know it was a thing fans thought. And secondly, according to memory alpha (which isn’t the best source, but it’s the one I have right now), in the first draft of the episode Fusion in Enterprise, it was clearly scripted as a sexual reference by stating that the touch was “sensual”. While the scene was reworked and the part of the finger touching seems to have been removed, the writers clearly knew it was a belief of the fandom or they wouldn’t have thought to use it as a precursor to what seems to be a shared sex dream between two Vulcan characters.

Extrapolations may have happened, but that doesn’t mean you should insult the intelligence of anyone that supports it as a headcanon.

Jokes aside, my thought process was not, “more skin contact = more erotic”. It was, “Two people are melding their minds together with a touch and the larger the surface area, the more psionic information is probably passed between the two, and for a bonded pair, that probably feels euphoric.” It also followed the logic that something referenced in every single Star Trek fanfiction I’ve ever read, probably had a base of truth in the franchise somewhere.

And again, you’re right that the scene in unification was a tender and loving moment and we should be able to appreciate that for what it is. But as stated previously. You brought up the “tongue and whatever” yourself in a post about Spock and Kirk holding hands in a fandom that has been known for making jokes about holding hands for fifty some years now.

My apologies for making the mistake of reblogging your post. It won’t happen again. This might be your post, but don’t assume that a scapegoat is going to lie there and take it because you’re annoyed.

like maybe unification didn't make spirk canon in that we didn't see them make out with tongue or whatever but what it did make canon and what makes it so incredibly important to me is that kirk and spock's ending is no longer so goddamn tragic.

before, jim died in his sixties and spock spent the next 100+ years missing him before dying alone. now, even with all the tragedy and heartbreak and the lifetime spent apart, they were together in the end. they were together and happy and everything was beautiful!!

#yes I saw your ‘not a personal attack’ tag but it’s about as sincere as your ‘not being pendantic’ claim #what’s that German word for I don’t inherently disagree with you but your an asshole?#you can reblog with a response to ‘everyone’ all you want but it doesn’t @ them it @‘s me #you could have reblogged yourself and screenshotted the comments instead of specifically calling me out of everyone #I shall be adding graphic depictions of hand holding to every single star trek fanfiction I ever write from now on and dedicate it to you o #spirk #star trek #star trek unification #k/s #tos spirk #765874 unification #tos star trek #star trek tos #tos spock #tos kirk #star trek spirk #star trek kirk #star trek spock #jim kirk #james t kirk #mister spock #mr spock #spock #jim x spock #s'chn t'gai spock #spock/kirk #st tos #star trek the original series #tos

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tthoroughfare · 3 days ago

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crush // abby anderson

*･゜ﾟ･* summary: abby is like can u read my mind? i've been watching u! couldn't fight to save ur life, but you look so cool!!! just me rambling about making abby realize she's not straight

*･゜ﾟ･* pairing: canon!abby x reader

*･゜ﾟ･* content: sfw! you two dancing around each other for now. abby being nervous and cute.

*･゜ﾟ･* length: 1.3k

this is part one and i've already written the majority of the rest. just thought this was a good way to break it up :)

recently i am thinking A Lot about the concept of being the girl that makes abby realize she’s not straight ,,, and the first girl she’s ever with

the idea of her being all fumbly and nervous and you having to take the lead. it’s just good

i also love the idea of being very different to her. you’re not a soldier like her, maybe you do something technical and sciencey. you get moved to the base and become friends, and people are just like… kinda surprised that you’re so close, so fast? on paper, you don’t seem to have that much in common but it just works. she likes that you’re different to her, it’s refreshing

you’d already heard a lot about her before you moved. you told her that not long into being friends with her, to which she’d scoffed a little, toying with her fingers. you were in the canteen, the two of you sitting opposite each other on the end of the table, leaving a gap between the rest of the group.

“good or bad?”

“good,” you’d chuckled, taking a bite of your lunch.

she paused, flitting her gaze away as you held eye contact, chewing slowly. “gonna elaborate?”

the corners of your mouth quirked as you swallowed. “just that you’re… pretty impressive. good at what you do. slightly intimidating.”

she scoffed again, eyebrows twitching. “i’m not… do you think i’m… you think that?”

“…impressive or intimidating?”

“either.”

you’d looked downwards, pausing before meeting her eyes with a teasing smile on your face. “you’re very tall.”

she didn’t tell you this at the time, but she’d heard things about you, too. she hadn’t paid it much mind at the time, but there had been a couple of mentions of a scientist girl moving in to help out with a new assignment full time, and that she was, ‘like, a genius’

also, manny had said something to her along the lines of ‘apparently she’s hot’, while raising his eyebrows with a cheeky smirk

she’d just rolled her eyes

but then she meets you for the first time, and okay. he wasn’t wrong

it’s only a chaste introduction as you cross paths one day, but she has to make a real effort to keep her cool. she doesn’t understand it, she’s just affected by you, just has to know you

and then she does know you, and she still wants to know you more. it’s this feeling, this drive, always wanting more more more

it sends her crazy. the fact it takes her so long to realize she has a crush on you makes her look back and laugh at her own naivety

she finds out you’re gay maybe a month into being friends with you, when you’re hanging out with her at the library. she never gave much thought to the fact you seemed to follow her around, spend nearly all your spare time with her. she figured it was just because you didn’t know anyone else that well yet.

she’s quietly reading on one side of the couch, while you try your best to get some work done on the other, papers strewn over the coffee table in front. it’s difficult to concentrate, though, even though you’re fully aware how inundated you are. one of her legs is slung up on the couch, bent at the knee, and you’re so conscious of the proximity.

after a good while of trying and failing to get anywhere, you look up at her and lean in a little. “hey, abby?”

she looks up from her book, acknowledging you.

“i’m bored.”

she chuckles as she sits up, closing the pages around her middle finger to keep her place. “c’mon, we need you to… save the world.”

you let out a small, fond scoff, putting your notebook and pen down on the coffee table. “that’s really… not what i do. appreciate the delusion of grandeur you’ve just given me, though.”

she watches you with a smile, not meeting your eyes as you sit back on the couch, shuffling around to face her. “so…” you begin.

“so…?” she parrots, raising her eyebrows slightly.

“what went on between you and owen?”

she’s a little shocked at your bluntness, laughing nervously and shifting in her seat. as far as she was aware, you didn’t even know anything about that. “what?”

you pull a face. “come on, i’m not stupid. i notice things.”

in truth, you’re using the question as a trojan horse to figure out if she likes women. you are genuinely curious, though, and right now the conversation sounds a hell of a lot better than doing what you’re actually supposed to be.

she pauses, eyes flitting around the room. “uh… we were together for a while. and now we’re not.”

you nod slowly, waiting for an elaboration that never comes. “that’s it?”

abby shrugs awkwardly, and you feel a little bad for pushing, holding your hands up. “sorry, sorry. i don’t mean to pry.”

“s’okay.” she messes with the novel, eyes trained on it as she runs the pad of her index over the closed pages. “what about you? you got a boyfriend?”

“i, uh… i was with someone. it didn’t work out.”

she hums in sympathy. “he a scientist, too?”

“she’s a medic.”

abby freezes, looking up at you, mouth falling open slightly. she feels stupid for assuming. “oh, shit, sorry. i didn’t realize you were — sorry. not that there’s anything wrong with that.” she mentally kicks herself for the last statement. of course there isn’t. she doesn’t even know why she said it.

you laugh, amused by her babbling and the way the tops of her cheeks turn pink. “you’re good, you’re good.”

she lets out a final, ‘sorry’, gaze darting from you, to her book, to the shelf on your right. then, she looks back at you, feeling the need to break the slightly uncomfortable silence that had fallen. “anyway… her loss.”

you chuckle. “owen’s loss. who needs ‘em?”

“who needs ‘em?” she repeats, breathing out a laugh.

after the revelation, something shifts for abby. she doesn’t know why, but finding out that you like women makes her feel… different (?) about you

not in a bad way. just different

she’d always looked at you and thought you were beautiful. possibly more beautiful than any girl she’d ever seen

and she knew she was nervous around you; she was normally pretty outgoing and didn’t really have an issue talking to anyone. but when it came to you she’d overthink every sentence, words getting caught in her throat. she just felt such a need to impress you, wanted to say and do everything right

she just thought that she really, really wanted to be friends with you. that she thought you were cool, and admirable, and funny, and smart, and liked being around you

but finding out that you’re gay just makes her… think. on a whole other level she’d never really looked into

knowing that you could, maybe, maybe, be a viable option sends her mind reeling with a whole host of confusing thoughts more than she’d like to admit

she’d never really put much thought into her sexuality. she’d always just assumed she was straight. sure, she’d looked at women before, gotten a little flustered around pretty girls, but just guessed everyone did

but when it was you… like. you… it was a whole other ballgame

and then, over a few months, she starts thinking about silly things like how it would feel to touch you — really touch you, not just the friendly brushes you already shared. how soft you’d feel, how it would be to have her fingers threaded through your hair

then she starts thinking about if she’d maybe want to kiss you

she decides she’s not against the idea

#tlou #tlou2 #abby anderson #abby tlou #abby anderson fluff #abby x reader #abby x you #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson headcanons #wlw fic #lesbian fic #my writing

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lamiadrowned · 2 days ago

Note

Hellooo! those jinx dating headcanons were so cute, could you maybe expand on Silco meeting Jinx's partner? 🩷

*:･ﾟ✧ silco meeting jinx’s partner

jinx x fem!reader | sfw

this made me so happy to write, the flashback we got of younger silco is heavy on my mind :,) missing him

it would definitely be a lot less intimidating than you’d expect!

in the month or so that you’ve been with jinx, silco isn’t immediately distrusting of you since she talks often about how great you are. not only that, but he can see the difference you’ve made in her life and her mental state. how cheery she becomes when she talks about you. how big her smile gets when he asks about you.

however, it seems she’s a bit embarrassed at the idea of introducing him to you. so, being the protective father that he is, he takes the initiative.

one day, as you’re heading home from work, you quickly reach for the switchblade in your back pocket when you feel a hand on your shoulder behind you.

you turn around to see there’s a woman (who is considerably taller and buffer than you) standing there, clearly surprised to see a knife pointed at her. “my name is sevika, i’m here on behalf of silco. he wants to see you in his office before the day ends. is now a good time?”

thankfully, you recognize the name. jinx had talked about going on a few missions with her. you lower your knife and shrug. “uh… yeah. yeah, now’s fine. lead the way.”

she nods and proceeds to walk with you a few streets down to the building, offering some polite conversation and reassurance– this meeting is solely for the purpose of introducing himself to you, since his daughter won’t.

she takes you to the door of silco’s office, opening it for you and wishing you good luck.

you don’t immediately see silco, but you do hear his voice. “take a seat wherever you’d like.”

once sevika shuts the door behind you, you take a deep breath and follow his instructions; sitting down at his desk and watching his own chair spin around so that he can finally come face-to-face with you.

your anxiety is through the roof and your heart won’t slow down no matter how many deep breaths you take, but you’re able to muster a polite smile.

he sees right through it, though. of course. like father, like daughter. “you seem frightened. i apologize if sevika gave you a scare.“

“oh, no– she was really nice. it’s just… i wasn’t expecting a meeting with the kingpin of the underground today.” you joke.

he laughs, which makes you a bit more comfortable. “another apology is in order, then. i know this is sudden, but jinx… she gets so bashful at the idea of introducing us. i figured, why don’t i take the big leap?”

you nod. “yeah, of course. she talks very highly of you.”

“and you, as well. she talks my ear off, a million words a minute if she finds a way to bring you up.” silco shakes his head with a growing smile. “it’s impressive, how quickly she’s become smitten with you. i’d think you were a sorceress if i didn’t know any better.”

you’re flattered by his kind words, and a bit excited by the fact that she seemingly talks about you so much. you must be doing something right.

the two of you continue on as you answer all of the questions he asks about your upbringing and your current life, and you ask questions about his. it almost begins to feel like you’re talking to an old friend, not the most feared and influential man in the lanes.

however, at one point, he suddenly becomes very serious.

“now, i feel this is an appropriate time to tell you this. you seem to be a genuinely good person, which is all too rare these days.” silco sighs. then, he clasps his hands together and casually leans forward onto the desk, resting his chin on his fists. “with that being said, if i ever come to find out that you have made my daughter suffer in any way, and you will never know peace again. do i make myself clear?”

your eyes widen. you’re finally starting to see why the entire population of zaun is scared witless by him. “understood. it will never come to that, though. i can only hope you take my word for it.”

silco nods in approval of your answer. he’s very impressed by your ability to remain calm in the face of his intimidation. it only proves to him that you’re as good as you seem, and that your intentions are pure– you have nothing to hide.

after a brief silence, he opens his mouth to speak again, but he’s interrupted by the sound of his office door slamming open.

“she’s missing!”

you’re shocked to hear jinx. she sounds frantic, voice hoarse and pitchy, like she can’t contain her terror. “i checked everywhere, high and low! we need to send one of your goons to–”

she’s silenced when she sees you turn around in your chair and meet her glare. her look of horror turns into one of confusion. “what the hell is going on here? is this an intervention?”

you snort at her question, patting the chair next to you, inviting her to come sit down. her shoulders slump and she lets out a dramatic huff as she sulks over to sit beside you. her arms cross defensively. “i don’t know what you weirdos think i did, but those fireworks going off last night were not mine, and to be frank, it’s kind of offensive that you’d assume i–”

“jinx, if you don’t mind,” silco puts a hand up, imploring her to stop talking. “we’ll talk about those fireworks later.”

“what?! i just said they weren’t mine.” jinx scoffs.

“you ramble when you lie. don’t you think i’d know that by now?” silco sighs. “that’s beside the point. since you had no plans to introduce me to y/n, i decided to introduce myself.”

you hum in confirmation. “that’s all. no intervention.”

it takes jinx a long moment to process this information; it seems as if she forgot silco has eyes everywhere, and when he wants something done, it will be done.

you’re almost expecting her to be upset before a beaming smile replaces the scowl on her face. “un-fuckin’-believable! i’m searching all over zaun for you, while you’re here, kicking back with him?!” she points in his direction.

“precisely.” silco steps in for you, aware that this is one of those times where she is very happy, yet tries to pretend that she is very upset. “if it’s of any reassurance to you– to both of you– this relationship has my badge of approval.”

instantly, you feel a sense of pride in knowing that you’d made such a good impression on him. he’s a man that’s very hard to impress, as far as you’ve heard.

you reach for jinx’s hand and squeeze it. her smile is almost as big as yours now. “look at that. i aced the big interview, and i haven’t gone missing.“

#arcane #arcane x reader #jinx #arcane jinx #jinx x reader #arcane silco #silco #silco and jinx

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lvis44 · 1 day ago

Text

Talk To Me // LH44

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Warnings: SMUT 18+ (Minors DNI), Angst, Mostly unestablished relationship, Unprotected Sex (wrap it before you tap it), Alcohol, Not edited

Word Count: 9.6k+

Summary: It's hard to know what someone else is thinking when you don't let them into your own thoughts, but Lewis will certainly show you exactly what's on his mind If you let him.

Notes: Lmao so my poll was pointless, here's all of it all at once! My little fingers were flying tonight! Some fluff, some angst, some smut, followed by some more fluff, just what we all love. I don't have much to say about this one other than ENJOY! I'll be working on a one shot based on that stupid little gladiator fit, the outfit did nothing for me but THE ARMS AND THE FACE??? best believe we need a lil something based on that. Love y'all!!!

I am not a professional writer and all of this is a work of fiction and is strictly for fun. Enjoy! xxx

“I’m so sorry I have to cut this short hun.” Lewis said as he wiped his mouth across the table, his eyes truly apologetic.

“I’m just glad I got to see you for a few minutes while you were here.” You said softly, your heeled foot brushing his calf under the table, your words coming out much shyer than your actions.

It wasn’t that you and Lewis were new to each other, far from it. You had met him at the beginning of his season and now here he was, just a few weeks away from moving to Ferrari. Every break he had he’d made time to see you, yet he’d been a perfect gentleman the entire time. Yes, the pet names were laid on in excess and the touches had begun to linger a few months ago but you were becoming restless for more. You really couldn’t blame yourself when he had the audacity to sit across the table from you looking so incredible, being so sweet every time he suggested you get together. Yes, you may have turned him down at first but this was getting ridiculous, there's no way you two were not on the same page.

“I don’t want to cut anything short, I wish I could stay, I really do,” He paused as he reached forward to grab your hand, “but I have a red carpet in like two days and I have to meet with Eric.”

“Mmm,kay” you huffed out infantly.

“Nah, don’t do that, I’ll see you before I head out, I promise.” He smirked at your attitude, squeezing your hand.

“So you don’t have any time for a pretty girl in between dinner and Eric?” You asked, attempting to layer the sultry and lust in your voice as you let your foot wander higher.

“Y/N.” His voice came out strained but stern, his strong hand grabbing your leg, “I cut it close by even getting dinner with you tonight, just couldn’t stay away.”

“So it sounds like I win over Eric.” You giggled, leaning forward on the table, your calf still in his strong palm.

“Don’t do this to me,” He groaned, “Listen I can leave the tab open, just don’t go home with anyone unless you’re calling me.”

“What if I call you in like 10 minutes?” you giggled again, his hand snaking up your calf despite how composed he was trying to stay.

“Y/N.” He warned, his voice low but his hand never ceasing its exploration.

“Well you go have fun with business things I guess, I’ll be here enjoying the atmosphere and free drinks, as long as I end my night with you.” You told him with a laugh as he stood up, dropping your leg abruptly, no amusement to be shown on his face.

“Not so sure you know what you just asked for baby girl, enjoy the drinks, I’ll send you a car.” Lewis whispered, bent down so only you could hear, making your stomach flip, finishing with a kiss to your cheek.

You watched as his muscular body moved away, staring at him intently as he told the host something while looking directly at you. Through the rest of the evening you enjoyed free drinks while sat with the best view, you listened as the dinner atmosphere turned into a club yet no one disrupted you unless they were refilling your drink. You were happily buzzed and seconds later your phone was buzzing just as much as you were.

“I couldn’t just send a car…” His sultry British accent came over the speaker.

“Are you saying you’re outside to pick me up sir?” You teased him.

“Of course baby, c’mon before I hire someone to drag you out.” He chuckled

“She came in with Lewis Hamilton but he didn't leave with her”

“Heard he's been seeing some woman on the east side.”

“He can't even convince us he likes his car, why would he like her”

The laughter of the girls that were probably too young to be there anyway stuck in your chest. A 15 year olds opinion didn’t matter right? But then again they see the tabloids and you avoid them…

By the time you’re out of the restaurant and into Lewis' car you find yourself in a foul mood, your happy buzz turning into a sad drunk imagining everything he could have done in the last few hours.

“You okay love?” He asks as you plop into the passenger seat, not even waiting for him to see you and open it up for you.

“Mmmm.” You humm, still stupidly in your head.

“Y/N, what’s going on? I’m so sorry I had to leave but-” Lewis starts his argument as he pulls onto the freeway.

“You do whatever you want, Lewis.” You say sharply,

“Woah, where did that come from?” Lewis asks, sharp but inquisitive.

“I should have known you were too good for me, my lew was just a fucking phase. All the damn teenagers in the restaurant knew it… you went and got fucked by someone else, I get it, i made you wait, you’re you, you’re a playboy and I guess-” You try to rant before his hand is against your mouth

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He asks, finally letting your mouth free with a look of pure confusion.

“What am I talking about? Where the hell did you go tonight? What are all those girls talking about?” You ask him sharply.

“Y/N, I went and saw Eric, I told you that. And are you talking about the teenage girls trying to get drinks at the bar?” His voice is firm before turning to further confusion.

“Yes Lewis, I am, they had lots to say as I left.” You try to keep your voice firm but it ends up sounding childish as you slump into your seat, crossing your arms across your chest.

“Y/N, those girls are like 15 years old and probably drunk for the first time in their lives, they were trying to drunkenly flirt with me when I left as if that isn’t a damn felony. Why the hell are you listening to anything they have to say?” His voice is incredulous, unable to process that the night has taken them to this point.

“Well you’re not denying a word they said right now, are you?” You throw back at him.

“I honestly didn’t think I had to!” He exclaims, still in disbelief.

You let out a scoff, turning to look out the window.

“Y/N, c’mon, I had a meeting with Eric, one that I was late to so I could make time to see you, I’m here to pick you up so I can spend more time with YOU. Why the hell would I be off with someone else?” His voice is firm but still holds a faint questioning tone.

“I don’t know, I’m evidently not good enough for you, I don’t even know how or why I caught your attention in the first place. I don’t even know what the hell it is that we’re doing. You haven’t even kissed me Lewis! I constantly feel like an idiot, I sit here wanting you to fuck me and the most I get out of you is you calling me ‘baby’.” You let all of your thoughts come out, against your better judgment, slumping against your seat with a huff.

He is quiet for a moment, stunned to silence. He is struggling between keeping his eyes on the road and staring at you in utter disbelief, a look you would see if you had the guts to steal a glance at him.

“I- I honestly don’t even know where to start…” He says quietly, trailing off.

“You know I’m right, that's why you don't know what to say.” You state as if it's a fact, a sassy quip in your tone as you shrug your shoulders, a sassiness that only comes out after some drinks.

He so badly wants to laugh, not only at your unusual sassiness but at just how ungodly wrong you are, but he knows that he can’t, that he shouldn’t, it would only make everything worse. Instead he does his best to stay firm.

“Sweetheart, no, you couldn’t be further from right. I adore you, I’m just…” He sighs, trying to find the way to explain his feelings without sending you further over the edge, “I’m trying to be a gentleman here, I’m trying to do things a little different than I normally would. I’m out of practice with this whole romance thing and I know that you were skeptical of it at first too. I don’t want to rush you, I just love being around you.”

You scowl at being called out, knowing he’s right, you were very skeptical when you first met him, not convinced that being anything other than an acquaintance of a man of his caliber was a smart idea. You don’t dwell on it though, the liquor in your brain deciding to latch on to something else, ‘he just loves being around you’, there it is, you’re friends.

“So you’re not attracted to me?” You almost whine, if you were sober you would be embarrassed at how it came out but you can’t find it in you to care right now.

“Where the hell did you get that?” He asks, this time he can’t hold back the chuckle.

“You literally just said that you just love being around me.” You point out, still clearly not understanding much of what he said.

“Yes, and I do, how does that translate to me not being attracted to you?” He questions, a small smirk on his face as he notices that your mood is switching slightly from angry to bratty.

“You said JUST, meaning that’s all you want.” You challenge him, reading far too much into his words.

“Y/N, I also said I’m trying to be a gentleman with you and not rush you because of your feelings and boundaries.” He says calmly as he keeps his eyes on the road, trying not to get irritated with the beautiful tipsy woman next to him.

“Well how long were you planning on being a gentleman because I’ve been wanting you to fuck me for about six months now.” You say boldly.

His eyes go wide as he chokes on his own spit, not used to you being so blatant. The two of you flirt, things have gotten suggestive between you two more often than not, but you so boldly admitting something like that is new territory for him. He has to take a moment to gather himself before speaking.

“I- I didn’t know that,” He admits, his voice low, “I honestly thought you had just barely warmed up to the idea of us being more than friends.”

“What about my foot on your crotch tonight seemed like I still wanted to be just your friend?” You laugh in disbelief, slightly unsure if you are bad at putting yourself out there or if he is that bad at reading signs.

“Well yeah, tonight was pretty clear what you wanted, and to be honest I was going to give you exactly that after my meeting, it’s why I picked you up! I’ve been going crazy trying to go slow!” He exclaims.

“Was?” You question quickly.

“What?” He asks, blinking in confusion.

“You said was.” You point out.

“Oh jeez, not this again Y/N.” He huffs, ready for you to be mad at him for a whole new reason.

“No no no, you said ‘was going to give you exactly that’. You don’t want to fuck me anymore?” You pout as you question him.

He once again has to take a moment to gather himself, still unsure how to handle your unabashedness.

“No, I do! In the future, yes, and I will if you’ll let me, but you got in this car ready to cut my head off or at the very least never speak to me again, I kinda thought that the flirty mood from dinner had gone out the window.” He tries to explain as you near his house. With the argument he hadn’t even taken a moment to consider that maybe he should be dropping you at yours instead.

“So not tonight?” You huff.

“No Y/N, probably not tonight.” He says quietly, a hint of disappointment lingering in his words as he pulls into his driveway.

“Why are we here then?” You ask, unsure of what to do now.

“Just come inside for a bit, you can sleep in the guestroom if you want or I can call you a car later if you really want, but I don’t think this conversation is really done.” He coaxes you, undoing his seatbelt and turning to look at you.

“I feel like I’ve made my points.” You shrug, staying firmly seated in your spot.

This time he truly can’t help but laugh at you, getting out of the car and making his way to your door.

“Well maybe I haven’t made all of mine.” He says as he stands in the doorframe, his hand extended to help you out of the car.

You don’t say anything, choosing to stare straight ahead as the brattiness really sets in.

“Y/N, if you don’t get out of the car on your own I won’t hesitate to pick you up myself, c’mon.” His voice is slightly teasing but you can hear how serious he is.

Finally you sigh in defeat, grabbing his hand to step out of the car. You hate that the second you feel his skin on yours your whole body warms. Tingles go down your spine and everything feels just right, you’re meant to be holding his hand, you’re meant to be so much more than just friends, but right now you’re mad at him, so you do your best to shake it off. You’re confident that you played it cool but he could see the feelings from a mile away, the same warmth enveloping him the moment you placed your smaller hand in his. He would normally tease you, but right now he knows not to muddy the waters, he needs you to actually listen to him when he gets you inside. You snatch your hand back from him once you are standing, watching awkwardly as he grabs your purse and closes the car door before gesturing for you to head towards his house. You feel like a lost puppy, obeying his commands but you can’t help it, your bratty mood only has so much strength. When you get inside you feel out of place, despite having been there many times. You can’t explain exactly why you feel so bizarre about it, maybe it’s that you’re finally sobering up and starting to realize that you still have many doubts, maybe it’s that you’re sobering up and realizing exactly what you accused him of in the car, maybe it’s that you’re sobering up and really becoming aware that you blatantly told the man you wanted him to fuck you, regardless of what it is you would rather not be sober right now. The tension hanging in the air as he puts his jacket away is weighing on you like a heavy snow, you want him to put you out of your misery and break the silence but he doesn’t. Instead he just moves towards the kitchen, leaving you to follow him aimlessly. He grabs a glass from the cupboard as you wander over to his wine cooler, ready to make your selection for the talk you're about to have. Before you can even take in the selections you feel his hands on your waist, guiding you away and toward the kitchen island.

“Nope, I think you’ve had enough, sit.” He says firmly in your ear as he just about places you on a bar stool.

You don’t say anything, just watch as he makes his way back to the other side of the island, filling the glass he’d just taken out with water before he’s sliding it in your direction.

“I’m not thirsty.” You say, staring at the glass in front of you.

“You wanted wine about 20 seconds ago.” He deadpans, calling you out with a raise of his eyebrow.

“You know damn well that's not why I wanted the wine.” You shoot back at him, “You said you had points to make, go ahead.” You prompt him, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible.

He sighs, his shoulders slumping as he shakes his head and a look of amusement creeps its way onto his face. He takes a moment, just staring at you, taking you in and you start to feel uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

“Y/N, I don’t know what else to do.” He admits, sounding defeated.

You don’t respond verbally, furrowing your brow in confusion as you cock your head.

“I know we got to a… I guess a better place, back in the car, but I still don’t think you actually get it.” His voice is quiet, he sounds vulnerable.

This is unusual for you, you’re not used to Lewis being anything other than charming and cocky, to see him look defeated, vulnerable, it makes your stomach twist.

“I don’t get what?” You ask quietly, suddenly feeling slightly guilty.

“Hun, I try so hard. I don’t have enough time, and I know that, and I’m sorry for that, but I do my very best to see you as much as I physically can. When I’m away I try to not let a day go by where I don’t at least text you much less call you. I do stupid things with my schedule if it means I get to spend a few extra minutes with you. We’ve talked about things far deeper and greater than anything I’ve ever told my closest friends. I try to make every time I see you special because I know I’m not around for the casual moments and I have to be honest, most of that I’m not even doing for you. I’m doing it for myself because you are one of the most incredible women that I’ve ever met and I would kick myself if I let you fall through my fingers, yet here I am and it seems like I’ve done just that.” His eyes bore into yours as his words flow out freely, clearly unashamed about his feelings.

“I know you try hard, I never said you didn’t.” You say quietly, feeling almost like a child getting reprimanded after a tantrum.

“I know you didn’t say it, but I can’t help but feel it when you get in my car after a good night and immediately make it very clear that you don’t trust me.” He says firmly, his gaze never leaving yours.

“I do trust you.” You say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Then why are you listening to drunk kids in a bar gossiping about things they know nothing about? Why don’t you tell me what you want with me? Things like the fact that apparently you’ve wanted to fuck me for the last six months? Why didn’t you tell me you were starting to maybe feel differently about this whole relationship after making it very clear that I didn’t have a shot?” His questions pour out in a way that makes your stomach knot, knowing he’s right to question all of it.

“I was drunk.” You answer meekly, hoping answering one question will be enough.

He lets out a dry laugh, “Okay, we’ll write that one off. What about the rest of it, Y/N?”

“It scares the shit out of me.” You admit so quietly you’re not sure he can hear as you stare at the glass of water in front of you.

“Admitting it to me or being with me?” He questions, his voice much softer now.

“All of it.” You say, feeling tears forming in your lash line.

“Explain it to me hun, because from where I am, we have a pretty amazing thing here if we just lean into it.” He says, so softly it could make you burst.

“I spend every day questioning not only why but hell if you’re even attracted to me. I know you have a billion other options so I don’t understand why you keep coming back, I’m afraid I’m just fun for you but then I think about it and I realize I’m not even your fun! We’re in wildly different worlds and I don’t even know how anything would ever work. I worry that you won’t be able to actually commit to anything. I worry that I’m the only one here feeling like this and I’m terrified of looking stupid and I’m terrified of losing the little bit of you that I have.” You rant, your tears now slipping past your lashes.

His face immediately softens when he sees your tears, quickly stepping around the island to get closer to you. He grabs the back of your chair, turning you to face him.

“Y/N, baby, I need to remind you that the very day we met, I point blank asked you out and you turned me down,” He starts quietly, taking your face in his hands to wipe away your tears as they fall, “I argued that we seemed like a good match and you had the audacity to agree with me but told me that you wanted a man that wasn’t fucking around, wouldn’t toss you to the side when he got busy. You told me that a romance with me sounded dangerous and that wasn’t what you were looking for but I couldn’t let you slip away like that so I asked you to let me prove that I could be that for you.”

You both laugh gently, remembering the first encounter that started all of this.

“I’ve been here trying to prove it to you, trying to be the perfect gentleman that you deserve, trying not to rush you, waiting for you to tell me you were ready. You didn’t say anything until tonight. And no, I’m not an idiot, I saw you starting to flirt more openly with me, I noticed you opening up about things, things becoming more intimate, but I swore I wouldn’t cross that line until the day you told me I could. If it’s just the logistics of it, that’s something we can work out, we’re both pretty smart people, I just need you to be honest with me.” He smiles softly at you, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“Please kiss me.” You whimper, if your brain wasn’t processing all his words at a thousand miles an hour in the moment you may have cared about how you sounded, but after his speech all you wanted was his lips on yours.

“Is that your official way of telling me I can cross the line? That you’ll actually consider this?” He asks, his face closer to yours but still needing that final confirmation.

“God yes Lewis, I want you, I want to be yours, I want you to be mine, I’m sorry.” You say quickly, grabbing his arms in an attempt to get him closer.

“No need to apologize, beautiful girl.” The words leave his lips softly before they press against yours.

The second you feel his warm lips and their gentle touch, you melt. You feel complete the second he’s kissed you, unsure why you fought it for so long. His grip on your face is steady, grounding, everything you need. He pulls away much too quickly for your liking, keeping the kiss sweet, too PG for what you’re craving desperately. You chase his lips making him release a giggle that only causes you to pout.

“So you approve, huh?” He teases you, his hands coming down to rest on your waist.

“Oh shush, acting like you didn’t love it too.” You say, your pout morphing into a smirk that you can’t contain.

“I didn’t say I didn’t.” He says, leaning back into your lips.

This time he’s slightly less hesitant, his lips moving against yours gently. You can tell he’s holding back still but you're just too pleased to care, only causing excitement of what's to come when he’s less restrained.

“You know, two hours ago you were ready to rail me and now you’re being almost shy with the kisses.” You laugh at him when you finally pull away for air.

“Ssshhh, I’m just getting used to the territory.” He teases you, placing another peck to your lips.

“About that whole you picking me up to bring me back here and ya know…” You trail off, hoping he gets the hint of where you’d like the evening to go.

He lets out a sigh, pinching your hip before speaking, “I know, but not tonight. Just feel like we need to take a second.”

You pout at him again to which he just chuckles, pecking your pout sweetly.

“You’re the one who wanted to take it slow.” He points out.

“You’re the one who told me I was supposed to get laid tonight.” You throw back at him.

“Well you were the one with her foot on my cock.” He says, his eyebrows raised.

You gulp, the word tumbling from his mouth making your stomach coil in a much different way than earlier in the night.

“I-” You start, all the sudden feeling shy.

“Hmmm, cats got your tongue?” He jests.

“Well you were all ready to fuck me tonight but you wouldn’t even kiss me without explicit consent.” You blurt out, trying to call him on his contradiction.

“Fair point, but you were driving me to a new level of insanity at dinner tonight and I thought I was getting the message loud and clear.” He says calmly, leaning back in to kiss you again.

You silently pray that maybe just maybe he’s going back on his word as his lips move against yours, that maybe he’s changed his mind and you’ll end up in his bed tonight, but much to your dismay he pulls away once again despite your attempts to lock him into you with your arms around his neck.

“I could get used to finally being allowed to kiss you.” He smirks.

“You could be doing a whole lot more than that, but no, you’re keeping up the whole stupid gentleman thing.” You say, irritation seeping through your words.

“You told me you wanted a gentleman.” He throws back with an eyebrow cocked, amusement clear on his face.

“Well you proved that part, I want the rest now.” You almost whine, locking your legs around his waist, trying to pull him in. You find yourself annoyed for the first time by how strong he is when he doesn't move, never before being anything other than pleased by the godlike muscles under his skin.

He simply laughs at you, noticing that you're still a tiny bit tipsy, more unrestrained than usual.

“Alright, well you’ve already become a koala, how about I carry you to bed.” He chuckles, finally moving closer to you, only to pick you up.

You feel weightless and safe in his arms, quickly deciding you would let him carry you anywhere forever, a fact that you apparently accidentally state out loud in your still slightly inebriated state.

“Oh yeah? Well you let me know where you want to be carried and I’ve got you babe.” He simply chuckles as he walks toward the guest room, finding your admission endearing. All you can do is hide your blushing face in the crook of his neck.

When he finally plops you down on the mattress of the guest room you manage to pull him down into a kiss once again, one of his hands finding your waist as the other props him up above you. His lips move slower against yours this time, becoming slightly more explorative as you feel his tongue brush against your bottom lip. You open your mouth, welcoming him eagerly, the taste of him on your tongue is intoxicating. You take one last chance at what you’ve been dying for for months, moving your hand down from his neck to slip beneath the button down that is draped over his skin. You take your time to explore the solid ridges of muscle bulging beneath soft skin, you can imagine every tattoo that your hand brushes against but you wish nothing more than to actually see them. You can’t help but moan into his mouth when you feel his grip on your waist tighten as you touch him. The sound does something to him, you can feel his whole body tense beneath your touch as you make your way to his back, raking your nails lightly down the skin.

“Please Lew, want you so bad.” You whisper against his lips.

He pulls away from you with such urgency that you're convinced he’s about to say no again. He stands tall next to you, staring at you for a moment, just taking in the sight before him. You're laid on his guest bed, your hair strewn against the pillows with your short cocktail dress riding up your thighs. He pauses for a moment, closing his eyes, you wish for nothing more than to know what he’s thinking at that moment.

“Fucking hell,” He sighs and you begin to accept defeat, “yeah, okay, yeah, I can’t act like I’m not dying here anymore, but not here.”

You feel giddy the moment you hear his words, not processing what he meant by ‘not here’ until you're being scooped up bridal style, taking you by surprise.

“Lewis, we were in a bed.” You laugh, leaning in to place soft kisses against his neck that have him faltering in his steps.

“Yeah we were, but mine is much better and if this is happening you’re staying with me for the night.” He states as calmly as he can despite the tension flowing through his body.

It's a short walk before you’re once again being placed on a bed and you have to admit he was right, his bed is much better. You whine when you feel him move away making him laugh at just how needy you are.

“Patience baby girl, gotta find a light so I can see just how amazing you look when I make you cum.” His voice is teasing but serious, making your body flood with anticipation.

Within seconds he’s flicked on a warm light, a lamp by the side of his bed, just enough so you can see him as he stands next to you finishing undoing the last few buttons of his shirt. Your mouth goes dry when he shrugs it down his shoulders and you become nervous at how you might react to seeing him fully naked. It’s not that you haven’t seen Lewis shirtless before, it’s the knowledge that now you get to touch him, you know that his skin will very soon be pressed against yours, and it's driving you insane. You reach out toward him, your hand finding the skin just above his pants before he grabs your wrist.

“What did I just say Y/N?” He says lowly as he moves over you once again, “patience.”

“Been waiting so long Lewis, I don’t have any left.” You whine, your hips bucking up towards him when he presses a kiss just below your ear.

“Mmmm,” He hums through a chuckle before his voice turns thoughtful, “how do you think i feel? Been waiting a hell of a lot longer sweet girl. I gotta savour this.”

His lips tracing your neck are teasing, just enough contact to make you squirm but not enough to satisfy the carnal need brewing inside of you. His hands feel larger than ever before as they trace over your body, groping you in spots you never knew would emit such a reaction from you. He hasn't even taken off your dress yet and he has you a whimpering mess, your hands grasping onto his bare torso. You can feel the smirk of satisfaction on his face as he kisses down your throat, his hands finally reaching for the straps of your dress.

“Do you step in or is there a zipper?” He suddenly asks, taking you by surprise as he pulls away for a moment.

“Huh?” You shake your head, trying your best to come out of the absolute daze he had just put you in.

“Your dress.” He clarifies, not that it helps you any.

“Yeah? What about it?” You ask again, eager to have his lips on you again and still not fully back in your brain.

He smiles, laughing lightly as he shakes his head, “Your dress, did you just step into it or is there a zipper I need to find. It’s so pretty, don’t wanna ruin it.” His hands are massaging your hips as he speaks, not doing much to help you actually process his question.

“Um, there’s a zipper on the side, why did you-” Your question is cut off by his lips on yours once again.

“I’m in fashion baby, I’m familiar.” He mumbles against your lips as his fingers find the zipper, gracefully undoing it before his hands are back at the straps of the dress. Once again he pauses, “You absolutely sure?”

“Positive Lewis, I want this so much.” You tell him, trying to keep your voice firm so he has no further need to question you and delay what you're so desperately seeking.

The moment he hears the words leave your lips he’s back in action, his hands lowering the straps of your dress and pushing it down your body. You become very aware of the fact that you chose to go without a bra for the dress when you see his wide eyes staring at your chest. You almost feel shy but the way he’s looking at you takes any hesitation away. Once he’s taken in his view, he’s leaning down, peppering kisses across your whole chest. You can’t help but moan his name at the feeling of his lips on your skin, your grip on the back of his neck tightening. You almost explode when you feel his warm mouth wrap around your sensitive bud, his thumb brushing gently, teasingly over the other. You aren’t sure how you will be able to actually take it when you get to what you are dying for. You are writhing beneath him, spurring him on with every little whimper he pulls out of you.

“God, the little sounds you make, fucking music.” He murmurs against your skin as his kisses begin to trail lower, making his way down your abdomen.

When he finally reaches your hip you think you truly lose your mind. The one and only thought you can muster is ‘Lewis’. He takes his time, kissing across your pelvic bone, moving lower and kissing down the tops of your thighs. Finally he begins his ascent back up, nibbling on your inner thighs as he does, this tongue tracing circles against your skin that you have a desperate need to feel elsewhere, somewhere he’s been neglecting so far. Finally his fingers hook into the band of your thong, a lacey one you chose specifically for tonight, hoping this would happen finally. He hesitates for a moment, his eyes flicking to yours for a final confirmation.

“Please.” You breath out, lifting your hips to help him remove the tiny piece of fabric.

“Fuck Y/N” He says, just as breathless as you as he takes in the sight before him. He’s looking at you with the same admiration that he had when he took your dress off.

His thumb brushes gently against your folds, enough to make you shiver and moan but not nearly enough to satisfy the desire deep in your bones. You move your hips closer to him, earning a faint chuckle but thankfully he takes the queue, parting you open for himself so he can admire the aching bundle of nerves he’s dying to pull into his mouth. He strokes against you gently, just a few flicks before his thumb is trailing down to your opening, swiping up the wetness that is pooling.

“You’re making a mess, baby.” He tells you, his voice smug.

“Well, do something about it.” You snap back at him, your brattiness coming back with full force.

“Yes ma’am.” He laughs, giving you a playful salute that makes you want to slap him.

All your annoyance however is washed away in an instant when his lips finally suction around your mound, shocking you in a way you didn't know was possible. A loud moan leaves your mouth against your will, your hands moving to grab his bedsheets in an attempt to ground yourself. He groans against you, his tongue flicking in the perfect pattern, the combination sending you onto another planet.

“Oh fuck.” You squeal when he grabs your legs and puts them over his shoulders, diving in deeper and closer than he was before.

His mouth trails down, his nose still bumping against your clit as his tongue prods at your entrance, tasting every bit of you he can. His hands are tight on your hips, keeping you in place to pleasure you exactly how he wants. You can feel your stomach tightening, it’s embarrassingly quick you fear, but then he’s slipping a finger into you, his lips latching around your nerves.

“C’mon baby, I can feel it coming, give it to me.” He mumbles against you, the vibrations going through your spine.

You moan loudly, feeling the tension in your body rise. You’re a writhing mess, no longer able to be anchored by the arm draped across your stomach with little purpose. Just when you think you’re about to hit your peak you feel a second finger slip inside you, the pair hooking in the perfect motion that makes you crumble. You’re shaking as you moan loudly, your vision becoming blurry and your ears ringing as you come undone. His fingers never stop their torment, working you through it to ride out the high. When you finally come back into yourself Lewis is kissing along your thighs and leaving soft kisses to your overly sensitive core, his tongue dipping into you every now and again with a smirk.

“That feel okay?” He asks you when he finally sees you watching him, his tone dripping with the ever cocky ego of his.

“Oh shut up.” You giggle, pushing at his head as you burrow your head into the pillow next to you.

“Hey, c’mon now, don’t try to hide from me.” His voice is much closer than it was before and when you turn your head he’s directly above you, hovering over your face with a blissful smile that makes your heart clench.

“Don’t go getting too big of an ego, I needed a good fuck.” You giggle before his lips come down to meet yours.

“Mmmm, well first of all, just so you know, you taste divine and you look immaculate when you come,” He begins, mumbling against your lips before he trails down to your neck, “second of all, you haven’t gotten the good fuck yet darling,” With that he pulls away to look you dead in the eyes, “think you can handle that? Dying to know how incredible you feel.”

Within seconds you’ve gone from content mush to a horny animal again. You don’t know how your brain let you forget about the best part, you needed to feel him.

“Yes, oh my god please.” You breathe out, bordering on begging but you couldn’t care less in the world in that moment.

Your hands begin to move blindly, trying to find his belt buckle but just fumbling with nothing as you get distracted kissing him once again. He smiles, a genuine kind smile as he pulls away from you, sitting back on his heels to undo his pants himself. There’s something about the genuine happiness on his face that makes your heart clench and your stomach flip. He doesn’t just want a quick fuck, he wants you, he’s happy that its you. It’s not the cocky grin of a man who sweet talked some chick into his bed, it’s the genuine smile of a man who finally has the girl he’s been pining over for a year in front of him and finally on the same page. You’re only left to dwell on how much this means to him, to the both of you, for a mere moment, because soon he is lowering his pants and you catch your first proper glimpse of the prominent bulge threatening to burst his boxer briefs. You can’t hide your reaction, your eyes going wide when you see the size of it. You want to slap yourself, you should have known, you should have been prepared. Not only does the man exude ‘big dick energy’ in every thing that he does and says, he is usually sporting a bulge on the day to day without being hard. He clocks your reaction, a warm chuckle reverberating through his chest.

“Still sure about this?” He asks, his voice soft, catching on to your genuine hesitation.

“Can I see it?” You ask and immediately want to take it back, you feel like a teenager afraid of seeing a dick for the first time.

He laughs softly, kicking off his pants fully before leaning down to kiss you again.

“Of course, you can see it, touch it, measure it, inspect it however you want before you decide.” His words are punctuated by kisses, carrying a teasing lilt with every one.

“Stop, it’s just, your ego obviously doesn’t need it, but it looks bigger than what I’m used to.” You whine, your voice becoming shy as you attempt to dodge his kisses in embarrassment.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” The tease has left his tone, his voice soft and serious now, “we only do whatever you can handle, okay?”

You finally look back at him, embarrassed by your shock. The beautiful brown eyes that you meet hold nothing but sincerity, helping your nerves immensely.

“We’ll go slow, yeah?” He prompts, squeezing your thigh.

You nod, wanting desperately to connect with him that intimately. It’s been a desire burning within you for so long now you can't fathom possibly backing out, you know he’ll take care of you.

“You wanna touch it first?” He asks, his voice sincere but still causing you to laugh, making him join in with you, “Hey, I’m serious, maybe it’ll help.” You can hear the seriousness in his voice behind his giggles.

“Okay, yeah, actually that might help.” You admit, your laughter finally quieting down.

When he rids himself of his boxers you almost go through the same shock again. Firstly because of just how large he is, he’s longer than anyone else you've ever seen and so girthy you’re not sure you will be able to wrap your hand around him. Secondly because there he is, naked in all his glory, his strong thighs proudly showing muscles you could never dream of having, his beautiful torso adorned with intricate images and abs that have made you drool since the first time you saw him without a shirt.Your desire for the man in front of you quickly overtakes any hesitation you’d previously had, quickly sitting up to grab him and pull him towards you, crashing your lips against his. He moans into your mouth as your tongue dances across his. You take all your lust and turn it into gumption, reaching down and gently brushing your hand along his cock. His grip on you tightens and an almost pained whimper leaves his mouth as you do so. You take that as a good sign, reaching in between your own legs to get your fingers wet before wrapping your hand properly around his cock, stroking him gently. A groan leaves his throat as he forcefully pulls his lips away from you.

“There’s no way you just did what I think you did, is there?” He asks you, his eyes blown out, crazed with lust and disbelief.

You just giggle, swiping your thumb over his leaking tip, leaning in again to catch his lip. He lets you stroke him for only a moment before he’s pulling away and grabbing your wrist.

“It feels amazing babe, but if you keep doing that I’m going to cum.” He tells you earnestly, his forehead resting against yours as he breathes heavily.

“Well I kinda thought that was the point of this whole thing.” You giggle at him, knowing exactly what he wants but enjoying getting to tease him if only for a moment.

“The point,” He begins, pushing you down to the bed by your hips so he is hovering over you again, “is that I would rather be inside you when I do.” His words are muffled against your skin as he kisses down your neck, your brain short circuiting.

“Please.” You breathe out for what feels like the hundredth time of the night.

“I got you.” He murmurs, your legs locking around his waist.

You feel his bulbous head trailing through your folds, collecting your wetness. You almost feel as if it must be a dream, there's no way you finally got this lucky. Then you feel the slightest bit of pressure at your opening, he's not even inside you yet and you gasp.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you, we’ll go slow, you just keep telling me how you feel, okay?” He whispers in your ear.

You nod and the second he’s sure you want it you feel him pushing forward, the stretch stinging and feeling like too much yet also feeling absolutely perfect. He only thrusts about a quarter of the way in before he’s pausing.

“How you feelin’ baby girl?” His voice is soothing but you can hear the strain as he asks the question. You need him to keep going, the momentary pain melting into ultimate satisfaction.

“More, oh my god, please.” You moan out.

He finally continues, pushing into you with such care it makes your heart burst. The way he’s handling you makes it evident that this isn’t just a fuck for him, it’s a coupling, He cares more about being close to you and your pleasure than he does the rest of it. When you feel his pelvis meet your clit you clench every muscle in your body, feeling fuller than ever before. He lets out a deep groan, dropping his head into the crook of your neck.

“You let me know when I can move sweetie, but you gotta relax for me. Okay?” You can hear the tension in his voice muffled against your neck, his lips moving against your skin.

You let out a breath, working through the overwhelming feeling of being so full of the man you care so deeply about, your body finally relaxing.

“Please move Lew, I need it.” You whimper out, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“That's my girl.” He says softly, his face just above yours with a soft smile as he begins to thrust.

Within moments he has found a pace that has your toes curling and your nails raking down his back. He is hitting every single spot you need him to, stretching you to the limit in the best way possible, working you to your peak in a shockingly quick manner. He’s not rough, he’s not fast, his movements are slow and languid. If he’s not staring directly into your eyes while he whispers sweet and filthy words to you, his lips are on yours as you swallow each other's moans. You’ve never been happier to have a vocal lover than Lewis, you can tell he is loving every single second, that he is overwhelmed with how good he feels. He’s not holding back a single moan, grunt, or groan and it’s only spurring on your pleasure. He sounds so good, looks so good, and feels so fucking good. You’ve never felt quite this all consumed by a man before, he is all that exists in the moment. He is leaning down on his forearms, his large biceps caging you in and it's all you can do not to lean over and bite them. His voice is in your ear when his tongue isn’t in your mouth, his heavy cock is splitting you in two with every perfectly aimed slow deliberate thrust, his pelvis is dragging across your clit giving you every ounce of pleasure you could ever need.You can already feel your toes clenching and your walls beginning to lock him in as you brace yourself in his shoulders.

“God, you feel fucking perfect, fucking made for me. My girl, all mine, huh?” His voice is rough as he talks to you, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes boring into yours.

You can only nod, tears slipping down your face as even moans refuse to escape your throat.

“That’s it baby, just feel it. Taking it like such a good girl.”

The tone of his voice and the dirty words tumbling from his lips have your stomach clenching, you know you’re almost there and so does he. His slow and steady pattern speeds up every so slightly, still keeping the same intimacy but increasing the obscene pleasure running through your body as his hand snakes down to properly rub at your clit.

“Let go for me Y/N, cum all over my cock, I’m right here, I’ve got you, lemme feel it.” His voice is strained but soothing as he talks you to your release.

Within seconds you let out a guttural moan, your whole body tensing as you feel the coil snap. The only word that can leave your mouth is his name, a chant of ‘Lewis’ leaving your tongue as your mind goes blank. You can faintly feel his thrusts falter before his own groan is matching yours, his head falling to your shoulder as thick ropes of cum lace your walls. You have no idea how long it is that you lay there on his bed completely limp. You have a faint memory of the whimper that left your lips when he finally pulled out of you. You know there was a moment of panic when you saw him begin to walk away but you were so blissed out that you ended up focusing on how good his ass looked. What you don’t know is how long it’s been since he left or how long you’ve been laying there, now all you can think about is how badly you want him back next to you. You try to move to sit up but quickly realize the best you can do is prop yourself up on your elbows. As you struggle, Lewis comes back into the room, holding a wet cloth and a glass of water, a smile across his face as he takes in the sight before him.

“You’ve been gone for forever.” You whine, unaware if it's even true or not, doing your best not to admire the fact that he is still stark naked in front of you.

“I’ve been gone for maybe two minutes,” He laughs, making his way towards you, “honestly didn’t even think you would notice, you seemed pretty content off in some bliss land.”

“Hey, that’s technically your fault.” You weakly argue, falling back onto the bed.

“A fault I will happily take,” He smirks, leaning down toward you and pressing his lips against yours, “again, and again, and again, and again.” Each declaration is sealed with a kiss, making you giggle and very weakly try to push him away.

He finally moves away from his assault of kisses, placing the water on the night stand next to you and moving to part your thighs which immediately makes you protest.

“Lew, it was amazing but I can’t.” You whine, squirming away from him.

“Baby,” He laughs, trying to stay sweet but far too amused by your sex drunk mood, “I wasn’t trying anything, I swear, just wanna clean you up because I think a shower is pretty far from your reality right now.”

“Oh.” You mutter, not used to any of your partners ever taking the time to take care of you afterwards. It was usually you realizing a little while later that you had to make sure you peed at the very least.

Lewis however makes sure to take extra care with you, one hand massaging your thigh as the other wipes the warm cloth against your skin. He does smirk when he reaches your core and sees you flinch the slightest bit, but even with your reaction he stays sweet and careful, caressing you in what can only be described as a loving manner. When he’s done, he throws the cloth carelessly onto the floor, something you would have thought would drive him insane, knowing he’s a tidy control freak. Instead of worrying about it, he runs his hands up your sides, kneading at your flesh in a way that somehow feels intimate but not sexual.

“Do you want to sleep like this? Or do you want some clothes?” He asks gently, placing a kiss to your stomach that once again manages to not feel suggestive somehow.

You can feel yourself getting shy. You know the answer he wants but you really want at least a t-shirt, something about sleeping naked has always made you feel weird. You hesitate for a moment, your answer apparently written all over your face because he just smiles and places another kiss against your skin before getting up and heading towards his closet.

“T-shirt or sweatshirt?” He calls out from within the closet, not an ounce of bother in his tone.

“Sweatshirt?” You answer, unsure of yourself.

“Boxers, shorts, or sweatpants?” He calls out again, unphased by your request.

“Is boxers weird?” You ask, still unsure.

“Nope!” He says, emerging from the closet, now wearing a pair of sweatpants low on his hips, his hand full of a stack of clothing for you.

“I’m sorry.” You mutter as you sit up to take the clothing from him.

“Arms up,” He says, the sweatshirt above your head ready to dress you, making you giggle, “and why are you sorry for wanting to be comfy while you sleep?” His voice is muffled through the thick fabric of the sweatshirt that he places over your head.

“I’m sure you would have rathered, I said naked.” You admit as your head pops out the neck hole making him laugh.

“Sweetie, you’re in my bed, that’s all I need. Want you to be comfortable.” He says sincerely, a soft smile on his face as he leans down to place a kiss on your forehead. “Besides I’ve always been kinda convinced that monsters will grab me if I have a foot out from under my blanket so I can’t blame you for wanting to sleep in something.”

You can’t help but let out a genuine laugh at that, knowing that that was one of your childhood fears yet it still follows one of the most fearless men you know.

“Alright, ya gotta scooch this beautiful bum.” His instructions come out soft with a soft pat to your ass as he slides the boxers up your legs.

Everything about the moment feels so loving and playful, it’s hard to imagine that this man that is saying bum and telling you he’s afraid of monsters under the bed was making you see stars and become delirious mere minutes ago. This was a feeling you could definitely get used to. Once you were dressed, Lewis was prying the blankets out from under you, attempting to make room for himself in the bed, laughing at your lack of movement.

“Okay, first note to self, she’s a damn bed hog.” He said playfully once you were both in the sheets, his arm wrapping around you in an attempt to pull you as close as possible.

“Hey, you can’t possibly already be making a cons list, you wore me down like three hours ago.” You argue, half serious, as he maneuvers you so you’re laying against his chest as he hikes your leg up over his hips.

“Not a cons list, just a things to remember list.” He assures you softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Okay, I suppose I can live with that.” You huff playfully into his chest, your fingers tracing patterns along his pecs.

He hums in satisfaction, evidently enjoying your soft touch on his skin as you cuddle further into him.

“Hey Lewis.” You grab his attention, your voice muffled with your cheek smushed into his chest.

“Yeah baby?” His voice is tired as he massages the back of your head, his other hand tracing soothing patterns on your back underneath his stolen sweatshirt.

“We’re gonna make this work, right?” You ask him, your voice timid but needing to hear the confirmation before you can let yourself fall into a peaceful sleep.

“I’m going to do everything in my damn power Love, would never forgive myself for letting you slip away” He tells you seriously even though you can tell he’s beginning to drift off.

That’s all you needed to hear. You let yourself nestle even further into him than you thought was possible, beyond happy that you finally admitted that this was your man. Nothing could ever be perfect, and while your reservations may still have some validity, nothing was better than this beautiful man underneath you and you were prepared to fight like hell to keep him.

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ellecdc · 19 hours ago

Note

OMG CONGRATULATIONS ON 5K MOTHER!!! LY<3 Could I please request 🐻— 'one talking to the other when they think they’re asleep' with our pretty boy Remus where it's the reader talking about Rem🥹

thank you so much, lovie!! <3

Remus Lupin x gn!reader who thinks he's asleep [663 words]

CW: written with a fem!reader in mind but no gender markers used, fluff

Remus can tell that the movie has ended by the deep, definitive breath you take as the credits roll and the music plays.

You don’t move, though, and for that Remus is grateful. It had been quite the week at work; deadlines and meetings and projects, bosses trying to cram in as much progress as they could before the Christmas break, and Remus is exhausted.

He’d barely uttered his “hello” upon getting home before you were suggesting ordering take away and watching a movie. A quiet night in, you had called it. It sounded like heaven.

Clad in comfies and lo mein on a plate, the two of you snuggled up on the couch. Plates ended up on the coffee table, legs were tucked underneath bodies, Remus’ head rested against your shoulder.

And though the world fell quiet, Remus never did fall asleep.

He’d completely melted into the couch at some point during the movie, now curled up on his side with his head on your lap as you card your fingers through his hair. Eyes closed in contentment, breathing evened in his ease.

He loves you.

“I love you.” You murmur softly as if you read his mind, and Remus feels his lips curve into a smile, though his body was simply too heavy to offer you a proper response. “You work too hard, m’love.”

He would have argued with you, or dismissed you immediately if you’d said anything of the sort when he first got home, but now he was trapped and complacent in your embrace.

“Always taking care of everyone else, aren’t you?” Your fingers brush through his hair again before trailing to his shoulder and down his arm as you speak. “You take such good care of me. I wish you’d let me take care of you, sometimes.”

He really couldn’t help it then, he turned his head so he was looking up at you, offering you a warm smile as you tsked at him.

“Not even sleeping when you should be, Rem.”

“You take great care of me, dove.” He argues quickly, rolling onto his back so he could continue staring up at you more easily. “What do you call tonight?”

“I call tonight I was too lazy to cook and then got to watch my favourite Christmas movie.” You offer wryly, and Remus shakes his head reproachfully.

“That’s not true at all. You knew I’d had a day, and made sure I didn’t have to think about anything but sitting my arse down on this sofa.”

Your lips purse as you trace a line down the side of his face with your finger. “That was one day.”

Remus hums in the negative. “No. It’s also the way you just happen to text me everyday around noon, when I happen to be scheduled for a break but usually happen to get too caught up in what I’m doing to realise. It’s also the way you claim that you have to work early in the morning when you notice me growing weary at the pub with my friends so that they don’t tease me for my old man tendencies. It’s the way you let me drone on and on about numbers and stats and editing that I know doesn’t interest you at all, just because you know it interests me. How could you say you don’t take care of me?”

He watches you study his face for a few moments, expression unchanging even when you finally blurt “I liked talking to you better when you were sleeping and couldn’t argue with me.”

Remus’ laugh echoed throughout your flat before he stretched out his limbs with a pleased hum.

“Would you like it better if I went back to sleep?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“See? There I go again,” he starts as he rolls back onto his side and you queue up another movie, “taking care of everyone else.”

Remus’ eyes fall shut at the sound of your tinkling laughter.

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sturnsrecord · 17 hours ago

Text

CLIMB THROUGH MY WINDOW

PART THREE — [fuckboy!chris x smart!reader. alcohol, drugs, blowjob]. somethings changed between you and chris, but you’re a smart girl and you know what it is — telling yourself to ignore how you feel and what’s going on.

ʚ part one ɞ — ʚ part two ɞ

you walk around the house, desperately looking for bella. “oh my god, where have you been?” she looks up at you from her position on a random couch, her words slurring slightly. “i was with chris.” you mumble watching as her expression shifts to a sly grin.

you roll your eyes at her insinuation. “shut up.” you huff, sitting down next to her.

“have you just been sat here alone?” you ask, subtly changing the subject. she scoffs, taking another swig of her drink which she definitely didn't need. “no- i was making out with some guy, but he left to get himself a drink.” she explains, her words a little jumbled.

you raise your eyebrows. “oooh, who is this guy?” you question, showing more interest in the hopes she doesn’t ask about chris. but she shuts it down, clearly more interested in your life than talking about her own.

“did you finally fuck him?” she asks, blurting out the words. you drop the act, letting out a sigh. “no, i didn't.” you mumble, pausing as you hesitate to continue. “he went down on me.” you add quietly.

she lets out a shriek, before gasping and grabbing your arm. “oh my god, was it good?” she leans in, whispering the last part.

you look over at her before slowly nodding your head, unable to hold back the grin on your face. her hand tightens on your arm. “holy shit! that good?” she questions, knowing that the way you responded meant it must’ve been really fucking good.

“would you calm down?” you usher, looking around to make sure no one was witnessing this interaction. she pulls back, a guilty look on her face as she motions locking her lips.

“so when are you having sex?” she says quietly, clearly not abiding to shutting up. you roll your eyes at her nagging questions. to be honest, you had no idea, so you hesitate to answer.

“do you think your parents are having any effect on this?” she asks carefully. you frown. “what no?!” you exclaim wanting to deny it to the ends of the earth. but then you think, looking down as you fiddle with the bottom of your skirt. “i know i'm not gonna go to hell for having sex before marriage.” you mumble out.

bella sighs, leaning into your space. “yeah i know you know that- you’re not fuckin stupid.” you let out a little sigh at her reassuring yet slightly inconsiderate words.

“i'm sayin, maybe you don’t wanna disappoint them.” she elaborates.

you think for a second, her words taking you back a little. did she just completely hit the nail on the head? no, because you were gonna have sex with chris. right?

“i wouldn't disappoint them.” you mumble out. “cause i wouldn’t tell them.” you explain, trying your hardest to rationalise against bella.

“so you’re saying you wouldn’t feel even a little guilty?” she pushes, holding her thumb and her index ever so close together.

you turn to her, pushing away her hand. “what do you know, you’re just a drunk girl with too many talking rights.” you mutter playfully.

she scoffs at your words slumping back against the couch as she crosses her arms over her chest. “wow.” she scoffs again, shaking her head. “i can't believe this.” she mumbles dramatically.

she continues to complain, incoherently mumbling about how she was completely right and you were just stubborn.

but you weren’t listening.

your attention was fixed on chris who you had spotted across the room. it’s like your mind and body just knew when he appeared, your gaze automatically shifting to him like an alert had gone off in your brain.

you usually looked a few times, took note of what he was doing and then returned your attention back to whatever you were doing.

but this time you were unable to look away, your stomach turning at the sight of him talking to another girl.

it’s not like you’d never seen him do this before, in fact you’d probably be able to completely mimic the way he flirts just by the copious amount of times you've seen him do it.

what made you feel nauseous right now wasn't the thought of him with another girl but rather the fact that your stomach dropped at the sight.

you’d never cared before, and that was easy.

but watching him right now, smiling every time that stupid girl put her hands on him, ‘mindlessly’ grabbing his arm- it made you feel sick to your stomach.

you weren’t naive, it was obviously jealousy, which came from a place that you were willing to ignore.

“hello- i swear to god you actually just don’t fucking listen to me, like holy hell.” bella complains beside you, which makes you turn back to her.

“sorry, i'm here.” you mumble. she lifts her head back up, looking over to where your gaze was before, taking in the scene of chris flirting with some girl.

“you told him you didn’t care if he fucked other girls.” she mumbles out unhelpfully.

you playfully smack her arm, although she’s completely right. “yeah because i didn’t.” you huff, still looking his way.

“past tense… interesting.” she mumbles, pretending to be in deep thought. you turn back to her, your mouth slightly open in shock. “would you stop analysing me, it’s freaking me out.” you tell her, not loving her drunk personality right now.

she holds her hands up in surrender, letting out a small giggle at your situation. “i hate you right now.” you mumble, letting your head fall to your hands.

“no you don’t.” she mumbles, pulling you into a hug. “you love me.” she mocks, dragging you down so that the both of you are slouched into the sofa, half your body on hers.

at this point you've given up the grumpy facade, giggling with her. but you both quieten down when someone approaches, a drink in their hand.

“uh, bella?”

you turn to see an attractive man with a confused look on his face. “oh my god.” she chuckles beside you as you awkwardly sit up. “this is the guy i was talking about.” she shrieks, one hand gripping his top whilst the other held onto your arm like she was introducing the two of you.

you smile up at him awkwardly as he gives you a little nod of acknowledgement, although his attention quickly returns to bella as she tugs on his shirt.

you're not sure how it happens, but when you look up from fixing your skirt his drink is on the side and his lips are on hers.

“oh, wow.” you mutter in slight shock, shuffling along the couch as they begin to make out. “jesus.” you sigh under your breath before standing up and leaving.

you never enjoyed walking around a party alone. and sober.

you found it so awkward, especially when you were mindlessly walking with no place to be, just hoping you'd find a situation you could involve yourself in.

what you hated even more was feeling like a complete loser when the guy you'd just gotten with was taking a girl upstairs right before your eyes.

you stood in the other room, looking through the doorway as she led him up the stairs, watching like some creep at their every interaction for all of five seconds.

you told yourself you were fine, that it didn't bother you. you tried your hardest to jump back into your precious carefree mindset, trying to hone in on the old feeling.

but something had changed.

something had switched in you because all you could feel was pure jealousy and most of all dread.

was he gonna fuck her? was he gonna do exactly what he did with you? was he gonna enjoy it more?

the thoughts rattled in your head. you knew you were overthinking, but it was hard to combat the intense feeling in you with rational thoughts.

you decided on a cup of straight vodka and a cig out front, sat alone on the steps to the house.

occasionally people would walk past, either leaving or joining the party. maybe it was the increasing alcohol intake or the lack of acknowledgement from others, but for once you weren’t embarrassed to be seen alone.

“you sat all alone?”

you turn to see chris, hands in his pockets as he looked down at you with a smirk. you give him a weak nod before looking back down at your feet.

“you good?” he asked, concern in his voice as he sat down beside you. “yeah, i'm fine.” you mumble, smiling a little, usually the move that would make chris actually believe you.

“you got an almost empty cup of somethin,” he peers down at it in your hand. “and you're smokin.” he points out, making a point against your pathetic stand.

you shrug like this is your usual state. “what's wrong?” he presses, his voice slightly softer.

you're taken back by his unusual care and attention to your emotions, used to him usually just moving on when you told him you were fine.

but now how could you tell him what was wrong.

you think, swirling around the remaining vodka in the cup. now would've been a great time for him to not care.

“is this neat vodka?” he questions with a frown. you zone back in, looking over at him. “...yeah.” you mumble out. he motions towards it before gently taking it from your grasp.

he takes a swig, wincing at the taste. “you’re fucking insane.” he tells you before handing whatever was left back.

“you're also upset.” he circles back. “or y’know- not doin too hot.” he says, evidently not very good with comforting words.

“not doing too hot?” you question, subtly trying to avoid answering the question.

he shakes his head, giving you a look. “y;know what i mean.” he huffs, his gaze turning into warmth, like he was trying to coax the information out of you with a look.

you shrug again, rummaging through your mind for an excuse, or another reason why you would feel shit. but as you think, horrendous images of chris and that girl pop up into your brain, stilling your train of thought for a second as well as your heart.

“you don’t have to talk t’me bout’ your issues.” he mumbles, reassuring a little as he pulled out a paper to roll a joint.

you look over, snapping back into reality and out of your stupid thoughts. “it's not that- i just…” you sigh, unable to explain yourself.

“m’just not used to you asking me shit like that.” you mumble out meekly.

the corner of his lips turn up, his eyes remaining on the half rolled joint in his hands. you take note of the small, amused reaction. “are you only asking me what's wrong because you're coked?” you blurt out, an almost shot in the dark.

he frowns a little, but the amusement on his face never leaves. “nah.” he shakes his head, denying your accusation. “might be why i'm persistently askin’.” he admits.

“big word for you chris.” you hum, mocking him in retaliation. he rolls his eyes, biting back a smile, but you could see it seeping through. the way he genuinely found you funny, even though he liked to keep you in check by never admitting it.

“shut the fuck up.” he chuckles, shaking his head as he speaks.

a peaceful silence settles between you as he delicately licks the paper, smoothing it over into a perfect cone. despite what he was doing, she admired how good he was.

“i could teach ya y’know.” he says, clearly taking notice of her attention. “i don't wanna learn how to do that.” you tell him.

he shrugs, fiddling with it as he looks over at you. “why not?” he asks, like you were crazy for turning that down. “just don't.” you mumble, looking over at him.

you'd forgotten how close he'd sat, the both of you looking at one another shining a light on the lack of space between your bodies.

close enough to kiss him.

the thought flashes through you before you can even think, and now your lips are on his in a soft delicate kiss.

you can't tell if he's shocked and frozen or just kissing back so gently it almost felt like nothing. but then his free hand wraps around your waist, caressing the skin through your top.

it's a slow careful kiss, with no intention of anything further.

he pulls away, clearing his throat a little before his hand comes back to the joint. he shifts to find a lighter, almost trying to do something to distract his mind from that kiss.

you on the other hand stare at his very move, almost infatuated with him. it's like that kiss had put a spell on you, completely consuming your mind.

you craved the feeling, wanting nothing more than to feel that soft touch from him again. but you know it won't happen again. like you'd both been caught in a loophole, into another universe where you weren't you and chris… but you also were.

he brings the zoot to his lips, lighting it before he takes a long toke, exhaling it as his body relaxed.

you want to speak, break the silence before it becomes awkward, but it never does. the two of you sat there not exchanging a single word, which made you think that he felt it too.

he passes the joint to you, brushing the tobacco crumbs off his lap with his other hand as he holds it out for you.

you raise your eyebrows before taking it from him, taking a small puff as he leans his elbows on his knees. “don't have too much, y’already tipsy.” he suggests.

it's not an order or a demand but rather a playful comment from a place of care. “i'm not tipsy.” you scoff, keeping up the light conversation.

“ok fine, drunk.” he huffs, correcting himself sarcastically as he rolls his eyes. you smack his arm lightly. “i'm fine, practically sober.” you tell him, lying straight through your teeth.

he shakes his head a little, clearly debating between staying quiet or continuing the conversation. “you initiated a kiss- you ain't sober.” he says, lightly mocking you for being tipsy.

you roll your eyes at his light insult, looking over at him before talking. “you think i wouldn't kiss you sober?” you question, your voice quiet yet clear.

his eyebrows raise at the change in vibe of the conversation as he motions for you to pass the joint back. “not like that.” he responds before inhaling.

you squint your eyes, the corner of your mouth tugging up. “like what?” you ask, your voice barely loud enough for him to hear.

he lets out a small chuckle at your teasing tone, loving the way you were testing him. but he doesn't respond, giving you a small look which said everything and more.

“you're funny when y’drunk.” he mumbles with a small smile, clearly finding this whole ordeal very funny. “m’not-”

“yeah, yeah- i know.” he interrupts, motioning you to stop, not wanting to hear you defend yourself anymore.

he focuses in on smoking as you finish the last sip of your vodka, earning a judgemental glare from him. you watch as he hesitates to speak, clearly ready to say something.

“can i take y’home?” he asks, his tone making it obvious that he was trying to keep it casual. “i'm sleeping over at bellas.” you respond in a whisper, feeling bad for indirectly rejecting his offer.

but he just nods, not showing a single care in the world that you didn't immediately say yes. “you guys gettin’ an uber?” he asks, although it's more of a suggestion.

you press your lips together, nodding.

“good.” he muttered before taking another toke, watching the smoke as it left his lips.

you sit in another calm silence, something that had been happening more often. you thought that it was because of all the unspoken words between you that you would be saying in these times. but you didn't talk- at least not in the way you should be. letting every tension-filled moment pass until it faded into the past.

he takes a final toke, flicking the butt to the floor before he stood. “lemme know if your plans change, yeah?” he mumbles out as he walks back in, leaving you sat alone again.

you go to respond but he's gone, his offer hanging heavy in the air. for once you felt yourself buckling at his words, the sudden urge to put him above all else looming over you, like he was in your head.

did he know how to get in there? was this all a mind fuck to get you at his demand?

you turn your head to the door, almost as if you were looking at him again. god did you feel stupid for wanting him so badly, a silly little fuck boy who gave you just enough attention to get you hooked.

of course you knew all about his ways before getting yourself here, you just thought you were smart enough to not fall for it.

but did chris’s mysterious, charming personality really trump your intelligence and self respect?

“wait, why can't you go home?” he asks as the both of you walk down the road, you explaining that you couldn't just walk into your house this late at night.

“because i told my parents i was sleeping over at bellas.” you say, watching as he rolls you a cigarette whilst walking. he nods a little, but it's obvious he doesn't completely understand.

“you always smoke this much when you're drunk?” he asks, raising an eyebrow as he hands you the cig. you put on a thinking face, slotting the cig between your lips as you search your bag for a lighter. “difficult to answer.” you ponder. “considering i'm not drunk.” you say with certainty, giving him a look.

“sorry, how could i forget.” he mumbles, bringing a lighter to the end of the cigarette. you watch as the flame lights the paper, blowing in and out to get it lit.

you’d caved.

going back into the party to find chris, subtly hinting that you did want him to take you home. bella was more than ok with it, getting excited for you. (which you shut down quickly).

but here you were, on your way to sleep over at a boys house. chris’s house. you'd never been in his room before, and quite frankly you were shocked he even agreed to take you to his house.

but there was something comforting about how he let you in, not shutting you out, and if anything encouraging to spend more time with you.

after walking in silence for a while, he motions you to pass the cigarette to him. “you always smoke this much when you're drunk?” you mimic his previous question as he rolls his eyes.

“shut up.” he scoffs, holding it between his fingers as he exhaled. “m’not drunk.” he mumbles under his breath before bringing the cigarette back up to his lips.

“huh, sure.” you scoff back to annoy him. he rolls his eyes again in response as he passes the cig back. “m’actually not drunk- so zip it.” he snarks.

“yes you are.” you tease, pointing your hand at him, smoke trickling out of the cigarette. “you wouldn't be letting me sleep over if you werent.” you continue, raising an eyebrow as you brought your hand back to your own personal space.

“would’ya stop mimickin’ our entire convo from earlier?” he accuses, his brows scrunching together. “wha- what?” you halt, holding your arms out dramatically.

“keep walkin.” he huffs, motioning you to get a move on. but you took it as avoidance, to move away from his previous statement.

“what convo?” you mumble as you catch up to him, a look of confusion on your face. he shakes his head, as if that's a response. then it clicks in your brain. “when you said i wouldn't kiss you like that if i was sober?” you tease, a smirk playing on your lips as you look across to him.

he lets out a sigh, like he's given up when it comes to light conversation with you. and like he knew what you were about to say next.

“so what did you mean by that again?” you tease, pushing his buttons a little. he shrugs, playing it off as he casually slips his hands into his jean pockets.

“that it was a random kiss is all.” he responds. “but you said ‘like that’- what does ‘like that’ mean?” you press.

he lets out a small chuckle. “was a good kiss.” he shrugs, looking over at you. you send him a sweet smile, letting the soft compliment seep in. “oh shut up- dont look at me like that.” he huffs, turning to look the other way, but not before you spot the soft blush across his face.

no fucking way.

“like what?” you question after a beat, just pushing him further. “okay, we're movin’ on.” he tells you warningly.

“ok, ok.” you nod, watching as he relaxes a little. you both walk in silence for a bit, abiding by his wish to stop talking.

“so what did you and that girl do?” you mumble quietly, and oh so stupidly. your words leaving your mouth before you could think, probably because of the alcohol in your system. (not that you'd admit it).

he scoffs, an amused look on his face. you couldn't tell if he was shocked that you'd asked, or somewhat admired it. but he gave the same back, answering your question just as bluntly as you'd asked it.

“she sucked m’dick.” he mumbles, looking over to gauge your reaction.

it was hard to hide your own shock that he’d actually answered, not beating around the bush. but you nod a little, looking ahead.

he hesitates for a second before speaking again. “why, you jealous or somethin?” he asks with a sly grin.

“do you want me to be?” you respond, just as cocky.

he's taken back a little but doesnt let it show, shrugging yet again. he goes to say yes, but stops himself realising how that looks. “nah.” he shakes his head, looking down for a second.

“then i'm not.” you hum, passing what's left of the cig back to him. he takes a toke, clearly thinking for a second as the both of you walk. “you don't have to be.” he mumbles, peering over at you, clearly not believing you. “could always just, y’know.” he looks down at his crotch, the suggestion clear as day.

you smack his arm, scoffing at his audacity. “you serious? is this how you get girls to do shit, use their jealousy against them?” you question, only partially joking, because of course you wanted to.

“so you are jealous.” he points out with a cocky smirk, flicking the butt to the road. you roll your eyes, looking away momentarily.

“fuck off.” you mutter, your cocky facade crumbling as you feel your shyness take over again. he nudges you a little, a grin plastered on his face. “don't get shy on me.” he teases.

you simply blush at his words, only getting more and more timid. but he smiles, finding it sweet as he hangs his arm over your shoulder.

you get to chris's house, following behind him as he unlocks the front door and walks in. it's a nice house, similar to yours.

you quietly creep up the stairs behind him, taking in his room as he opens the door. it's a typical teenage boys room, but with more posters and decorations than you thought there’d be.

“will your parents care that i'm here?” you mindlessly ask as your eyes roam over the room. he shakes his head as he empties out his pockets onto his desk that's already piled with junk. “nah, they won't come in.” he responds.

you nod, walking over to his unmade bed to sit, taking a closer look at his bedside table, noticing a picture stuck to his wall. “you have a sister?” you question.

he whips his head round in confusion before noticing what you were looking at. “yeah, but she's in college.” he says, taking his coat off to throw it onto his chair.

“huh.” you nod, wondering why he'd never spoken about her. but then again, when did you and chris ever sit down and talk about your family trees?

“you can borrow a t-shirt or somethin’.” he says, motioning towards his draws. your gaze follows, taking in the furniture, some of the bottom drawers not fully closed because of how stuffed they are.

you stand, opening the top drawers to find his socks and boxers. you shut it before opening the next ones down, pulling out a random t-shirt.

“pornstar?” you question, reading out the graphic on the shirt. he cocks his head round from where he's sat at his desk, raising an eyebrow as well as the corner of his lip. “what? you dont fuck with it?” he taunts.

you shake your head with a smile, shutting the drawer before taking your current top off to slip into his t-shirt. “got any pyjama bottoms?” you ask.

“uh, nah.” he responds, looking your legs up and down, clearly wanting you to not cover up. “don't own any.” he teases wickedly.

you roll your eyes, slipping your denim skirt off to leave you in just his t-shirt and underwear. he smirks before returning his attention back to his desk.

“what’re you doing?” you question, walking over as you rest your hand on the back of his chair. the view of him rolling a joint answers your question as you nod, raising your eyebrows.

you weren't one to comment on someone else's habits, but it was honestly impressive how much he smoked.

you stand behind him, watching as he does his thing. “wanna sit?” your eyes tune in immediately, your hand dropping from the back of the chair. “oh sorry.” you mumble out, backing away to go sit back on the bed.

he turns, face contorted in confusion. “the fuck you doin’?”

“huh, i was jus-” you go to explain but he cuts you off. “meant on m’lap.” he explains, amused at your misunderstanding.

your face heats up slightly before you stand up. “gladly.” you mumble, sauntering over to sit sideways across his lap, chris's upper body leaning back slightly to give you space.

then he leans forward into your space, continuing his previous activity. your arm wraps around his shoulders, the other leaning against his desk that was digging into your side ever so slightly.

“you wanna crumble some in?” he offers, holding out the clay-like chunk of hash. you take it from him, observing it curiously. “you giving me a tutorial?” you tease, removing your arm from around his shoulders, leaning further onto the desk.

“somethin’ like that.” he murmurs, his eyes darting down to your ass, nothing but your black lacy underwear covering it.

“ok, so what do i do?” you frown, completely oblivious to his ogling. “uh, jus’ use your fingers to pick small pieces off.” he instructs, now looking over your shoulder to watch your movements. “yeah, yeah. jus’ like that.” he praises as you crumble small pieces over the line of tobacco in the paper.

he watches you closely. “make sure it's even across the tobacco.” he tells you.

“like this?” you question, crumbling more at the front and end. “uh-huh.” he nods, before his gaze lingers back down to your ass, his hand following suit as he gently squeezes the flesh.

you smile as you feel his hand on you, his fingers digging into your ass. “is this why you wanted me on your lap?” you ask, your attention focussed on what you were doing.

he shrugs, a lazy grin on his face. “jus’ an added bonus.” he mumbles, tilting his head back to get a better look.

“hmm, sure.” you hum back, knowing that it was all calculated. not that you minded the groping.

“s’that good?” you ask, handing back the chunk of hash. he turns his attention back, his hands returning to the table.

“mhm.” he hums, picking up the paper to roll it into a neat cone. you keep your arms on your lap, watching as he licks the paper and does whatever. then he taps your thigh, telling you to get off.

you scooch off his lap, chris standing up with a sigh before he lightly slaps your ass,

“awfully touchy today.” you taunt, following as he sits on his bed, opening the window. “shut up.” he scoffs in response, clearly not wanting to address it.

you climb onto the bed, sitting by the window opposite him, legs crossed. he lights the joint, making no effort to keep it out of the window. it was obvious that he did this a lot.

you smoke in silence for a while, chris passing it to you before leaning against the wall. “you still drunk?” he chimes, an undertone of care and worry in his voice.

you shrug, exhaling out of the window unlike chris had been doing. “i was never drunk.” you mumble, looking over at him with a teasing glare.

“hmm.” he nods. “so you're still keepin’ that up.” he mocks. you shake your head slightly, rolling your eyes.

“i was tipsy at most.” you huff, ashing the zoot on the window ledge. he raises his eyebrows. “so you admit it.” he retorts. you playfully shove him a little, only spurring on his cocky grin.

“you're so annoying.” you sigh, handing him the joint. “you love it.” he murmurs under his breath, taking a toke.

you pull a face, furrowing your brows as if to deny his accusation. but you both knew it was true.

“so how was she?” you ask, pettiness drowning out your words. he scoffs, his tongue darting out in his cheek.

“what? don’t wanna talk about it?” you taunt stupidly. maybe you were lying about not being drunk, or you just liked to prod and push him in ways he didn't like.

“don't do that shit.” he scoffs, not quite as amused as you. but you don’t let out, just shrugging at him. “god, y’really know what to say.” he mutters sarcastically, shaking his head.

it was stupid of you to bring it up again, especially like this. you’d told chris from the start you didn't care about other girls, yet here you were. acting like a bratty, petty girl, desperate to be his no.1 in a swarm of girls.

“m’just curious.” you mumble, lying through your teeth.

he scoffs again, getting slightly annoyed at your attitude you were keeping up. “you're curious?” he echos, raising an eyebrow. “curious about another girl suckin’ my dick?” he snaps, his voice slightly harsher than usual.

“yeah.” you sigh, acting like this was a normal conversation, or that it hadn’t come out of the blue. he takes a toke of the joint before passing it back to you, refusing to answer by staying quiet.

“we're friends, i don't care.” you shrug, inhaling some of the joint. “just curious.” you repeat.

he lets out a huff, reluctantly answering. “was alright, nothin’ special.” he mumbles, looking over to see your reaction.

“did you come?” you blurt out, choosing to prioritise your curiosity over the logical idea to stay quiet, absentmindedly ignoring what chris does with his dick.

he chuckles under his breath, now finding it funny how serious you were. “no.” he responds, looking over at you.

“so, can’t have been that good.” you tease. he raises his eyebrows, letting out an amused chuckle. he didn't know if he loved or hated this side of you.

“you're on one right now.” he says, shaking his head as he motions for you to pass the zoot.

“why?” you chuckle, acting innocent in your intentions of the horrid conversation you had started. he takes it from your hand, taking a toke before speaking. “cause you ain’t even sucked a dick before.” he retorts, knocking you down a peg or two.

you pull a face, shrugging. then something takes over your body, the same thing that has made you act like this in the first place.

you shift in your spot on the bed, leaning forward to begin unbuckling his belt. he kisses his teeth, rolling his eyes. “the fuck you doin’?” he questions, thinking you were teasing him or pulling his leg.

“what do you think?” you whisper back, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans.

he looks down, watching your hands. almost waiting for you to stop and say that you were messing with him.

but then your hand dips below his boxers as you tug out his soft dick like you'd done it a million times. “seriously, what're you doin’?” he scoffs, thinking you wouldn't go through with it considering you’d made it pretty clear that you weren't exactly up for everything.

you sigh, looking up at him with all seriousness. “sucking your dick.” you say as if he was stupid for even asking.

his throat goes dry realising you're serious, his dick twitching as it immediately begins to grow hard as the words leave your mouth.

you wrap your hand around his cock, pumping it a few times, before you scooch back to give yourself more space. you bring your mouth to the tip of his half hard dick, experimentally licking the slit.

he takes a toke of the joint, watching you with dark eyes, watching as he takes in the fact you weren’t bluffing.

he doesn't say anything, letting you do what you want at your own pace, turned on by the fact you'd never done this before.

you take his dick further, going about half way as you slowly slide it in and out of your mouth. he takes in a sharp breath, his dick stiffening fully now that he was in your mouth.

he tries not to speak, but his desperation gets the better of him. “go further.” he mumbles, his voice hoarse.

you look up at him through your lashes before abiding, taking his dick further down your throat until you feel the need to gag, pulling off before you do.

you recover quickly though, collecting the saliva in your mouth as you duck your head back down, sucking this time, your cheeks hollowed. you don't go as deep, instead stopping before you can gag, as you bob your head up and down.

“oh shiit-” he groans, the unexpected change in pace driving him crazy. you wrap your hand around the base, pumping it as you suck him hard. “fuck, you sure you never done this before?” he breathes out, taking another look at you.

you mumble around his dick, sending shivers down his spine.

you'd never done this before, and you were making it up as you went along. maybe part of the motivation was to prove yourself, a petty part of you wanting to make sure this was ten times better than what any other girl could give him. and maybe that extra motivation is exactly what made this a mind blowing blowjob.

“holy fuck – you’re good at that.” he breathes out, his free hand threading through your hair, whilst he held the other out of the window with the now forgotten joint.

his praise only spurs you on, bringing out something within you that just made you want to please him, and make him feel good.

he lets out low groans and breaths as you continue, taking on whatever he told you to do. catering to how he wanted it.

it had been about ten minutes and you were already doing a lot more, your wrist twisting in rhythm as you harshly sucked him, your tongue occasionally darting out delicately over the tip, the way he told you he liked it.

“mgh, so fuckin’ good.” he groaned,the hand that wasnt in your hair gripping onto his duvet beneath him. the joint now out and resting on the window ledge.

you shift your position, your ass now up, as you got into a sort of doggy position between his legs.

“shit, that’s fuckin’ hot.” he breathes out, looking over at your ass in those lacy black panties. the ones that had been consuming his mind the entire night.

you mumble around his dick again which just pushes him further to the edge. his eyes shutting tight as he tries to hold off his orgasm in order to enjoy the feeling of your mouth on him longer.

“you're gonna make me cum.” he moans, his voice breathy and rough. you feel your stomach bubble at his words, your brain going back to the fact that that other girl hadn't, and here you were, about to push him over the edge despite the fact you'd never given a blowjob before.

you suck harder, if that were possible, motivated to make him come. you wanted to make him feel good, better than any other girl ever had or could.

it consumed your mind like a plague. you hated how much you had begun to care, but right now you were ignoring that. focusing on chris's dick instead.

“oh fuck -” he whines, his hips thrusting up ever so slightly, making you gag. you pull off reluctantly to avoid throwing up as he removes his hand from your hair, your eyes now watering.

“jesus christ.” he breathes. you finally get a look at him, and he looks hot – completely fucked out. “i'm so close.” he mumbles out shamelessly, his usual casual demeanour completely gone.

“sorry.” you mumble, swiping your thumb across your bottom lip to remove the excess saliva.

“no no, you're good.” he says, his voice horse and desperate. you take his dick in your hand, jerking him off as you catch your breath for a second. “i can cum like this.” he mumbles, his chest rising and falling ever so slightly as he leans back.

you shake your head. “you can cum in my mouth y’know.” you tell him, not thinking twice about the offer.

his eyes widen a little. it's not like he'd never come down a girl's throat before, but he hadn't expected you to be so willing to do so.

“you sure?” he whispers. you don't respond, simply taking him into your mouth again which causes his mouth to fall open, his head tilting back slightly.

it only takes a few more minutes before he's rutting his hips upwards ever so slightly, his breaths coming out rugged.

“gonna cum.” he mumbles, letting you know. you continue the same rhythmic movements, wishing you could see him coming apart right now.

then he lets out a strangled moan as you feel the warm salty liquid spurt into your mouth. you wince your eyes a little at the taste, sucking it out of him until there's no more. then you swallow, pulling off him, immediately looking around the room for some water.

“holy fuck.” he breathes, falling back on the bed as his limp dick rests on his abdomen.

you hop off the bed, taking a sip of water from the glass on his bedside table.

“i don't even know whatta say.” he sighs, brushing his hair off his forehead. you swallow the water as you look over at him laid on the bed. “was it good?” you ask.

he scoffs. “shut the fuck up.” he huffs, eventually tucking his dick back into his boxers before sitting up. he picks the joint off the ledge, lighting it as he takes a toke.

you crawl back onto the bed, crossing your legs under, holding your fingers out for him to pass the zoot.

“youre somethin’ else - fuckin’ hell.” he says, still in an orgasmic bliss. he hands you the joint before gently grabbing the side of your head to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

you let out a small chuckle at his touchiness and affection. “i should make you jealous more often.” he murmurs, his cocky attitude returning promptly.

you roll your eyes before, playfully smacking his arm, giving him a stern look. “why would you do that when you know what i can do?”

he lets out a soft chuckle at your comment, smirking to himself in pride of your skills. “good point.” he agrees, looking you up and down as if he's still trying to process what just happened.

it's like something had switched between the both of you, new territories of vulnerability seeping through. you had done more than you told him you would, and to be truthfully honest, he cared about you more than he'd like to admit. the both of you acting like you were fucking dating.

©sturnsrecord

notes . finally posted the next part, hope everyone from my previous account manages to find this. enjoy xx

tag list . @iizzyyy @sophsturns @strnilolover @sturniolossss

#sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturiolo fanfic #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #sturniolo #chris sturniolo #★ctmw #��sturnsrecord

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