#this was supposed to be way more intense but instead this happened
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mulloey · 3 days ago
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pretty pet • nct 127
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as the newest and youngest member of 127, it’s perfectly natural for them to want to take care of you. probably not like this, though.
requested by anon
pairing: johnny/jaehyun/mark/haechan/yuta x f!reader
word count: 4k
hate is deleted and blocked
warnings: oh boy um, a little dubcon, definitely questionable behaviour from the neos, dom!127 x sub!reader, corruption kink, virginity loss, unprotected sex, orgy, vaginal/oral sex, a few slaps, praise and degradation, innocence kink, corruption, implied LEGAL age gap (reader is around 20), sort of manipulation, size kink, power imbalance kind of, probably more but those are the big ones
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you’d been at SM since 2018, and it was starting to feel hopeless. you’d improved quickly, and by 2020 they were telling you you were ready to debut, but it just… didn’t happen. they’d let you get your hopes up that you’d debut with aespa— no dice. then there’d been talk of another girl group, which had quickly proved to be just that: talk. you were beginning to wonder if it was ever going to happen, or if you’d be better off leaving instead of wasting another six years of your life, when you were summoned to the CEO’s office.
you couldn’t believe what you were hearing— they needed a new member for nct. they wanted something different. they wanted you.
you’d sat there with your jaw agape, unsure how to respond. you? in a… boy group? that boy group? you’d never even met the nct members; the closest you’d ever gotten was when mark had accidentally walked into your practice room instead of his— and his exclamation of “oh shit” before quickly shutting the door was the only time you’d heard any of their voices in real life. and now you were supposed to be in a group with them?
everything was arranged within the hour; gathering this was most likely your last chance to debut before they decided you were too old to bother with, you put your inhibitions aside and agreed. you signed the contract, shook their hands and were making to head back to the trainee dormitories when they’d stopped you— “all your things are in the 127 dormitory,” they told you. you almost laughed; you should’ve figured that they weren’t exactly asking.
you were beyond nervous to meet them; they’d been famous and, more importantly, best friends for eight years— how were you supposed to fit in with them? did they even want you there? not to mention how the fans would react— but that was a problem for a different day.
the first problem, though, quickly proved to be a non-issue; they were beyond welcoming, and quickly took you under their wing. it’s only natural, you supposed— the newest member, completely inexperienced and younger even than the dream members, it’s not surprising they took to you so easily, and were so gentle and nurturing while they showed you the ropes. it was only natural.
to a point.
the signs were there, really; the way they’d looked you up and down before looking at your face. the way their hands lingered on your waist just a few seconds too long when they hugged you for the first time. the affection they showed you that they swore was normal between all of them, but seemed to have… a little more intention behind it. and the way they praised you when you did something well— learning a dance move, hitting a note, remembering a line. “good girl,” they’d purr, cupping your face with a smile. “such a good listener.” perhaps somewhere, deep down, something in you told you this was beyond the caring, concerned members of a group welcoming their newest member. but it was far too deep to notice— buried beneath the heaps of praise and attention they showered you with. until it wasn’t. until it became too obvious to ignore.
yuta was the first one you really noticed. looking back, he was never really subtle; you saw the way he looked at you from the start— the intensity of his gaze, the way he’d swallow thickly, jaw tense when you walked through the living room in your thin summer pyjamas. he was friendly, like the others, but the way he’d find every excuse to touch you, to pull you into his arms, to snake his arm around your waist during practice and whisper in your ear about how good you’re being— was just over the line of excusable. yet you excused it.
maybe you were desperate to fit in with the group. maybe you wanted to prove yourself as an open, reliable member. maybe you loved the way their praises sounded; the warmth of their touches on your waist and thighs. whatever the reason, you never once protested— never once questioned it. even as the other members became increasingly obvious in their participation, and increasingly bold in their claim of you.
it was a few weeks in that it happened. mark had brought home a case of beer and a few bottles of soju— “we always do this, babe,” he’d said. “helps us bond when we drink together, you know?” and you’d nodded, of course; the last thing you wanted to do was question or upset the balance and routine of the group. you still felt very much like an outsider, an intruder, and you wanted to prove you could belong here— to yourself, as much as to them. it was just 6 of you tonight— johnny, jaehyun, mark, haechan and yuta, surrounding you like predators as much as protectors.
looking back, you should have realised then. you should have realised when they’d sat down in a circle, johnny shuffling next to you— “to make sure you don’t get too drunk,” he’d said. “oldest looking after the youngest.” you should have realised when he got closer and closer until, just when you were crossing the line between tipsy and drunk, he pulled you into his lap completely. you should have realised when the first game haechan suggested was ‘never have i ever’. and if not then, then you definitely should have realised when the first question they asked was never have i ever had sex.
you watched them all drink, grinning at each other as they downed the liquid. johnny adjusted you in his arms slightly to allow him to pick up his bottle and take a swig. when their expectant gazes turned to you, you could do nothing but blush. “i—”
if you’d been brave enough to look up, or sober enough to see clearly, you’d have seen the looks on their faces that were unlike anything you’d seen before— shocked, affected, protective. feral. they couldn’t believe it. no one had ever touched you. you were as pure and unsullied as you seemed— theirs for the taking.
“you’ve really,” jaehyun started, voice thick and catching in his throat, “never had sex?”
you shrugged, blushing deeper. “i was, like, 14 or 15 when i joined the company,” you mumbled. “they don’t really— i never had that sort of freedom, as a trainee. or the time.” you were beyond embarrassed, your face surely the reddest it’s ever been. you were certain they were judging you right now; laughing silently at you but too polite to show it. a room full of grown men and you, the only girl, the newest, youngest member, had proven yourself to be even less mature than you already knew they thought you were. you waited for someone to break; to laugh at you or mock you or finally admit that you didn’t belong here after all.
but they didn’t. no one said anything. johnny’s grip on your waist tightened.
“wow,” mark finally broke the silence. “that’s— fuck, that’s precious.”
you looked up in time to catch the glare yuta threw at him. “it is?” you asked. “it’s not— it’s not bad?”
“of course it’s not bad,” johnny breathed. his breath was hot on your neck, making you shiver. you felt his smile against your skin as he recognised your sensitivity. “you’re such a good girl, y/n. we always knew it.”
your mouth opened and closed, words lost on you. johnny’s hand found your thigh and gently squeezed the soft flesh. “we’ve been waiting to have someone like you in the group for a long, long time.”
“i—” your voice broke a little, cracking under the weight of their gazes on you. “really?” you squeaked.
a large, warm hand wrapped around your calf. you turned your head, making a noise of surprise, to see jaehyun staring at you with a look in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. “really,” he said lowly. his gaze shifted, catching johnny’s for a moment, then returning to you. he squeezed your leg gently. “you’re really something,” he smiled. the tension in his neck as he swallowed thickly told you he wanted to say something else.
tentatively, you reached down to place your hand over jaehyun’s, still resting on your leg. for a moment he seemed surprised — you hadn’t yet been the one to initiate physical contact with them, after all — but his expression quickly morphed into something else. johnny’s fingers dug into your thigh. “whatcha doing, hm?” he whispered in your ear. the low hum of his voice lit fire on your skin. “you like it when we touch you?”
“i…”
“she does,” jaehyun purred. “eager little slut.”
you knew you should be offended— he just called you a slut, after all, a terrible thing to say to anyone. but instead you felt your stomach twist, and an intense, pulsing sensation a little lower. without meaning to, you let out a soft, mewling sound that seemed to affect all the men in the room. “fuck,” you heard someone, you thought haechan, groan.
slowly johnny’s hand began to move further and further up your leg, closer and closer, like he was testing the waters— seeing how far he could go before you’d push back against him. but you didn’t— you curled further into his hold, into his touch. his hands were soft and comforting. it felt good. you felt special. that was all it was.
when his fingers grazed over your shorts, a fleeting touch of your pussy, you squeaked, squirming slightly in his hold. jaehyun grinned and you watched as his hand moved from your lower leg to your chest. gently he grabbed one of your boobs and you felt your stomach drop. this was the boldest they’d ever been. he wasn’t even hiding it or disgusting it as an accident— he was owning it. he was touching you, you liked it, and he owned it.
“so tiny,�� he muttered. you weren’t sure if he was talking about you or the tight little tank top he was running his hands across— when he curled his finger around one of the straps, pulling it back and letting it snap against your skin, you decided it was probably both.
the room was quiet, everyone’s focus on you and the way you were responding to every move they made. if you’d been a little more aware, you’d have noticed them inching closer and closer to you from the moment johnny took you into his arms; but only when yuta grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back to meet his gaze by force, did you realise what was happening. they’d surrounded you. you couldn’t escape even if you wanted to.
he released your hair and you looked back to meet johnny’s eyes. he smiled down at you, arms wrapped around your torso, and only then did you realise that his grip was tighter, firmer than before; like he was holding you in place. keeping you still.
testing your theory, you tried to struggle; to squirm. but you couldn’t. johnny wouldn’t let you. his brow furrowed. “keep being good,” he said, tone warning. “or this is gonna go very differently.”
you didn’t want to think about what he was implying; a few times he and doyoung had threatened to punish you or take you over their knee, but you’d assumed they were joking or just trying to scare you into obedience. but maybe they were serious— maybe you really were one wrong move away from finding out just what they were capable of. you shuddered at the thought.
you watched as haechan’s hand reached towards you and finally slipped under your shorts to touch your bare skin. his eyebrows raised. “no panties?” he grinned.
you heard some mumbles of surprise and johnny’s dick twitched against your back. “slut,” he muttered. “you planned this.”
“no,” you protested, shaking your head. “i didn’t.”
“don’t lie.” haechan’s voice was firm, eyes dark. you whined again and he pinched your clit, making you squirm. “stop moving,” he said.
he may be the youngest and one of the smaller members, but haechan always intimidated you. you’d seen him angry on a few occasions; watched the rage simmer beneath the surface. he keeps his cool, but you always wondered what happens on the other side of the line. now, though, as he eased a finger into your tight hole, you’d rather not find out.
“is she tight?” yuta asked and haechan nodded, groaning slightly. “so fucking tight,” he affirmed. “fucking virgin pussy.”
“let me see,” mark said. “take her shorts off.”
“good idea,” jaehyun grinned. haechan moved his hand away for a moment, allowing the elder to slide the shorts down your legs, finally revealing what they’d been waiting so painfully long to see.
“jesus,” mark breathed.
“perfect little pussy.” jaehyun’s eyes never left your tight, dripping hole. he looked ready to devour you. “john,” he said. “can you spread her open for us?”
you’d honestly forgotten johnny was there; his hold was so warm and familiar that you hardly noticed it. he chuckled against your neck, breath tickling your skin. you knew he felt the way you shivered in response and you felt his smile widen before he lifted his head to peer down at your naked bottom half. “certainly,” he said. “be a good girl and stay still, baby.”
then his big hands were on your thighs, spreading them further apart to expose you properly. you jumped slightly when he touched your pussy, squirming and gasping until he shushed you softly; then with each hand he spread your lips apart, allowing them a full view of your hole.
yuta was the first to speak. “ok,” he breathed. “i’m fucking her first.”
there were mild protests from the others, but no one made any real move to stop him; clearly, you figured, they all knew they’d get their turn. he made quick work of his jeans; unzipping them and pulling out his dick before you registered what was happening. he caught your eye, smiling slyly. “you want it?” he asked.
at that point, you should have said no. you should have put a stop to all this and run to taeyong, or doyoung, or someone because this was all wrong and you knew that. they knew that. but this had gone too far already and right now, all you cared about, all you could think about, was the hard, dripping cock in yuta’s hand. “yes,” you whispered.
his smile widened as he approached you, situating himself between your spread legs. “hold her still for me, john,” he said. johnny made a noise of agreement, moving his hands to hold your thighs firmly open.
though not the largest in the group, yuta was by no means small; just the sight of his cock throbbing and pulsating in his palm made you twitch nervously. once the tip was resting against your entrance, he gently cupped your face, pulling you forward to press a kiss to your nose. it was tender and sweet and the complete opposite to what was about to happen.
it took him a while to push all the way inside you; his size and your lack of experience made it difficult to fit. but he managed, eventually, with the help of johnny’s finger on your clit, making you wetter for his band mate to fuck you; and the feeling of his dick inside you was beyond description. you felt used, full, objectified in the best way. you felt like a doll; spread open for his cock and ready to take whatever he decided to give you. slowly he started to move; his arms rested on your thighs, holding you down and giving him leverage to fuck you. you threw your head back when he finally hit against your cervix, completely overwhelmed, and johnny took the chance to grab your neck, holding you in position looking up at him. he tilted his head. “feel good?” he asked.
a weak ‘nngh’ was all you could manage in response, but none of them faulted you for it. johnny grinned and released your neck only to shove his fingers into your mouth. you choked at the surprise intrusion but quickly got used to it; soon the large, thick fingers were a comforting presence and you sucked at them desperately as yuta continued to stretch you open. you looked back to face the others, and saw that the three not touching you all had their dicks in their hands, stroking themselves to the scene in front of them.
“no one cum,” johnny ordered the watching men. “she’s gonna take all our loads. aren’t you?”
you nodded, but at that moment, pussy stuffed and mouth full while the others watched, you’d have agreed to anything johnny said just for the fact that it was him that said it— and to hear the deep, approving “good girl”, that came in response.
yuta came quickly and without warning; he moaned and shouted something in japanese as he made two or three hard, final thrusts before you felt him release inside you. it felt warm, strangely. it felt nice.
he stayed on top of you for moment, breathing heavily, before pulling out and retreating. you felt warm liquid slowly spilling out of you for a moment, before johnny’s long finger pushed it back in. “good girls don’t waste their owners’ cum,” he muttered and you blushed, nuzzling into his neck.
“alright,” johnny said, “who’s next?”
“us.” you looked up to see mark and haechan approaching you and johnny raised an eyebrow. “both of you?” he asked.
“pussy and mouth,” mark said, like it was obvious. “duh.”
johnny hummed, pressing his face against yours. “can you take that, baby? two cocks at once?”
“of course she can,” haechan rolled his eyes. “she doesn’t have a choice.”
“take it easy, man,” jaehyun muttered, but the look of sheer delirium on your face told him just how much you were loving this— being used without a say in what happened to your own body. you knew they’d stop if you told them; but why would you?
johnny helped you lie down, head in his lap as haechan climbed on top of your chest. his dick was hard and leaking and right in your face; he slapped it against your cheek a few times before forcing it in.
you choked, eyes watering, but took it into your mouth obediently. you’d never done this before, so you let haechan take the lead, which he probably would have done anyway; you let him slam his dick against the back of your throat, again and again, ignoring you whining and choking around his cock. it was painful and uncomfortable and degrading but at the same time it somehow felt so fucking good. maybe it was the way johnny whispered praises in your ear, telling you how well you’re taking your members, what a good teammate you are. or maybe it was the feeling of mark sliding into your pussy easily, finally filling you up again.
he wasn’t as big as yuta, but especially to someone who was a virgin a few minutes ago, he was the furthest thing from small. he fucked you slower and more tenderly than the elder, but he gripped your hips with the same firm, unquestioned ownership of you that they all exuded. somehow he and haechan fell into the same rhythm, their cocks hitting the deepest parts of you at the same time and it was completely overwhelming. through watering eyes you stared up at haechan, barely making out his face through your tears. you moaned around his cock, struggling with his size and you felt your teeth graze against his shaft. he stopped for a moment, cursing under his breath before his palm collided with your face. it wasn’t particularly painful, but it left a lingering sting that floated among the multitudes of different sensations you were experiencing.
“don’t fucking bite me,” he growled, before his thrusts started again.
you heard johnny click his tongue, running his hands through your hair. “bad girl,” he chuckled. “can’t handle a dick in your mouth, huh?”
you whined, sound muffled by haechan’s cock and you heard the men laugh. “we’ll train her up,” haechan grinned. suddenly he grabbed your hair, pulling your head further down onto his dick as his thrusts sped up. his moans got louder and louder, turning to shouts before he cried out painfully and liquid filled your mouth. it tasted strange; salty and strange at the same time. when he pulled out, you saw white liquid coating his cock. “hold on, haechan,” johnny said. “she’ll lick you clean.”
haechan grinned, and then his dick was at your mouth once again. you swallowed the liquid in your mouth so you could open it again, letting him feed his cock between your lips. you licked and suckled at it dutifully, and when he pulled out again, his cock was clean. “good girl,” he purred.
the sight of you licking his friend’s cock clean seemed to push mark over the edge too; he grunted, cursing loudly before you felt yourself filling up again as he released inside you. panting heavily, he sat limply for a moment before pulling out.
the sight was beyond anything they could have dreamed of; their sweet youngest member, lying naked with her head in johnny’s lap and cum leaking out of her holes, too tired and fucked out to even close her legs. they wished they could keep you like this forever; spread open, used, and ready for more.
you were barely conscious by the time jaehyun pushed into you; by now the intense waves of pleasure were a distant sensation; his voice as he spoke to you clouded by the overwhelming emotions overtaking you. you felt his hands on your face, looking up to meet his kind but dark eyes and you gave him a weak smile.
he didn’t take long to cum, perhaps more out of mercy for you than anything else; before he released he pushed two fingers into your mouth, letting you suck and gag yourself on them while he chased his orgasm. he came with a yell, his final, heavy thrust finally pushing you over the edge too.
you felt yourself release around his dick, body convulsing with pleasure. you were completely delirious, screaming though your orgasm and clawing desperately at johnny’s arms. he talked you through it, voice low, but you couldn’t make out what he was saying.
when you finally finished, it proved too much to you; you went limp, completely numb as you blacked out. pulling out of you slowly, jaehyun looked uncertainly at johnny. the elder just smiled, stroking your hair. “she’s fine,” he said. “baby can’t handle that much pleasure yet.”
jaehyun smiled, staring down at your sleeping form and running a large hand up and down your thigh. he looked up, suddenly seeming troubled. “john, you didn’t get to…”
johnny laughed, shaking his head. “doesn’t matter. she needed me with her.”
jaehyun hummed, still staring quizzically at the elder, who shrugged. “it’s no big deal, jae,” he grinned. “she belongs to all of us now. i’ll get my turn.”
you woke up in bed hours later, drenched in sweat and desperate for johnny; you cried out for him, reaching into the darkness and hoping you’d find him there. when he finally walked into the room, coming to sit next to you, you were nearly in tears from how needy and empty you felt.
“johnny,” you whimpered again. “please.”
and get his turn he did.
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thanks for the request! my first nct fic, hope it was good. i def got carried away lol. reblogs and comments appreciated, requests open! love🖤🖤🖤
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kngrose · 2 months ago
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𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒
includes sevika violet jinx
WARNINGS: 18+, stalking, manipulation, implied violence, implied abuse, toxic relationships, NONCON touching, forced proximity, blackmail, mentions of punishments
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sevika loneliness induction type
Sevika is fiercely loyal to those she associates herself with, and that’s not just anybody. There must be a substance that directly ties her to the cause. And though she’ll never come clean about what the substance is, if she becomes romantically obsessed with you, that loyalty will turn obsessive. She’s a master of control and patience; she’s very practical. Because she’s so calculated, most of her obsessive tendencies will manifest in quiet, almost unnoticed ways.
Her yandere tendencies wouldn’t involve loud outbursts or tantrums. Instead, she would be silently obsessed, methodically planning her moves and slowly, subtly creating a reality where you feel like you can only depend on her. She wouldn’t express her feelings loudly—rather, her obsession would be reflected in small, quiet gestures that make it clear no one else could ever take her place.
Before you two even "met" she was always around. Keeping track of your every move, watching you from a distance, ensuring no one else got too close. She'd follow you, lurking in the shadows, just to make sure no harm came your way—or to make sure you didn’t get too attached to someone else; romantically or platonically. Every time you’d explained the feeling of being watched to your peers, they’d brush it off. “There is nothing unusual about that,” they would say, “look where we live.” You’d suppose they were right. It would feel more strange if you didn’t feel like you were being followed.
Once Sevika finally makes her presence known, anyone who tries to get close to you, even in a friendly manner, will be met with cold, calculating hostility. She will even go as far as to subtly manipulate situations to isolate you from others, all while maintaining the facade of being the perfect ally. She would pay close attention to who you befriended and considered close before deciding who to pluck from your life. And pluck she would. You’ll start to notice slowly but surely that all of your peers have… disappeared. Which is strange; you guys never got into any trouble– you didn’t have any enemies, there’s literally no one who would be singling you all out. “It's dangerous out here,” she’ll say, “It's dangerous and vile and sick. And they couldn't protect themselves.” And she’ll gaze at you, a strange glint in her eyes, “But don't worry. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”
She will use her intelligence and strength not just to protect you, but to shape your perception of her. Sevika is good at reading people, so she will slowly play with your emotions—gently pushing your boundaries little by little. To the point where you feel; like you can’t deny her. Her touches would start to linger too long, in places that friends don't touch. Her gazes were too intense. She’s embracing you, kissing you– calling you names friends don't call each other. Every interaction would feel charged as if she’s marking you as hers in ways that go beyond friendship.
Constantly grabbing at the fat of your thighs, dangerously close to your ass. She’s pulling you into her lap, fondling– much to your displeasure. You’ll tell her, “No, that’s not normal…” You’ll make it known that you don’t see her that way. Do you? But she’ll just shush you, tell you to “Relax.”And as the line between “friend” and “lover” would start to blur, Sevika would be pulling the last seam tightly. She’s got you exactly where she wants you.
She would be able to mask her jealousy with a calm and controlled demeanor, but beneath the surface, she would be seething. If you paid attention to anyone else, she’d nod along with the conversation, but her eyes would be cold, flicking between you and the others with disdain, watching for an opportunity to intervene or manipulate the situation. She’d never directly show how much it bothers her, but when you’re gone, she’d ensure that others get the message; your affection is not to be shared.
Aside from someone trying to deter your attention, if anyone ever tried to harm you, Sevika would always retaliate. She's not afraid to get her hands dirty, and her methods of dealing with threats would be brutal. For her, a threat is a threat, and she would see nothing wrong with taking extreme measures to handle it as soon as the opportunity presents itself. She’s not stupid, she won't just jump the gun. She values patience, which would call for a slow, painful death.
She would be adept at playing on your emotions, making you feel guilty if you ever question her or try to pull away. She might say things like, “I’ve always been there for you, haven’t I? So why would you doubt me now?” using her history of loyalty and support to bind you closer to her, turning any moment of doubt into something you feel you must make up for.
If Sevika truly believes you are the one for her, she would convince herself—and eventually, you—that you were meant to be together. Again, she is fiercely loyal and expects nothing less from you in return. In her eyes, she is the only person who truly understands and appreciates you, so anything else would be a betrayal. Please do not test her patience with this. If Sevika makes it clear to you that she doesn’t want you around anyone else, for any reason, do not be caught around anyone else.
When you make a mistake, which you will know when you've made a mistake, she will just give you this look. The look. The one where you know she's pissed off by just a glance. You’re in luck if you're in public; she won't act on it just yet. And she won't act as soon as you get home, either. I feel like Sevika would wait it out on purpose. By this I mean; If you ever did something that upset her, she would be deathly silent; quietly brooding around you, imposing her size on you in an intimidating way. And I'm not talking about a few hours or a day. I'm talking weeks. And it drives you mad. You’ll be walking on eggshells around her, terrified by the deafening silence. What is she thinking? What is she going to do? And this is all according to her plan. She wants you to think she forgot about it so that when she does exact punishment, it will take you by complete surprise. It’s a mind game. And that’s the first thing she’ll break.
violet self sabotaging type
Vi is fiercely protective, passionate, and can be concerningly impulsive, so pairing this all with yandere tendencies would bring forth a compelling mix of aggression, loyalty, and possessiveness. Let’s start where the root of the issue is; she is incredibly jealous. Unhealthily so. Vi's jealousy wouldn’t just be passive; it would be aggressive and reactive. If anyone even looked at you in a way she didn’t like, she’d be quick to intervene, usually with a punch or a threatening glare. Her jealousy would make her irrationally angry—if you decided to pay attention to someone else, she might lash out in frustration, even if she tries to keep a calm exterior.
Vi’s flirtation might be laced with possessiveness—playful jabs or teasing that has an undercurrent of "don’t you dare look at anyone else" embedded in it. If someone else tries to show affection toward you, she would be quick to remind them, through a sharp glare or a fist to the face, that you’re already taken—and that she’s not afraid to be a little violent to keep it that way.
She’s naturally protective over those she loves, but with you that protectiveness would take a much darker turn. She wouldn’t just defend you from external threats—she would also isolate you from anyone she perceives as a potential rival or distraction. Acquaintances, or even strangers would be seen as obstacles in her path, and she might resort to physical intimidation or threats to keep them at bay. She’s not shy about this either; In fact, more often than not you’ll find out this information firsthand as a witness.
She’s so nosy, omg. She has to know everything. Who you went out with the other night? Was that everyone who was there? Why were you out so long? Where did you all even go? Are you keeping something from her?
She’ll try to shrug this off as her being protective, but her protective nature would cross into obsession. Again, she’s not shy about this. She’s always standing close enough to overhear your conversations, idly breathing down your shoulder and making you and the other person uncomfortable. She’s always be nearby, ready to step in if she feels something is wrong. If you try to go out alone, she'd insist on accompanying you, always finding excuses to be in your personal space.
To most people, She would still appear to be the strong, caring, and honestly reckless person they know, but beneath the surface, she would have an all-consuming obsession with you. Anyone who saw her with you might think you both have a maybe somewhat overbearing, but affectionate relationship. But in truth, Vi would always be calculating, and slowly taking control of your life to ensure that you could never escape her.
She’ll always find a reason to touch you—putting a hand on your shoulder or wrapping an arm around your waist, all while making it clear that no one else is allowed this kind of closeness. The more possessive she gets, the tighter and more lingering her embraces would be, and she wouldn’t tolerate anyone else getting too close.
Vi would use her knowledge of your emotions to manipulate you into doing what she wants. You’re trying to distance yourself? No worries, she’ll be sure to draw you back in with sweet words and kisses you can taste– that always worked in the past. But if not? She’s angry, she’s confused. Why would you want to leave someone who’s so selfless and always ready to fight for you?
She’s guilt-tripping you, reminding you of all the things she’s done for you, how much she’s fought for you, and how no one else cares about you the way she does. And if that doesn’t work? Have fun pulling her out of whatever hole she’s about to dig herself into out of pure spite. Drinking herself into oblivion? Picking fights with any and everyone? Threatening to off herself, for fucks sake.
And if somehow her threatening to end her life doesn't work? That’s fine; just be prepared to clear up the most malicious rumors about yourself. The ones that make people alienate you. They’re spreading like wildfire, there’s no way you’ll be able to have it under control. At that point, who else can you turn to? You’ll have no choice but to worm your way back into the relationship you so desperately wanted to leave. The one person who didn’t turn on you in your time of despair. She’s stubborn and she’s childish and she knows this. But it won't deter her one bit. It’s only when you’re back under her arm that the rumors dissipate like smoke, leaving as quickly as they came. It’ll dawn on you then, where they originated.
jinx delusional type
Jinx is not afraid to harm you. Whether it be mentally, emotionally, or physically. Please understand that she is not above that. She has real psychological issues, so in this relationship being very careful is very vital. It might cost you your life. She is constantly putting you to the test, she wants to see what decisions you’ll make, and how you’ll react under pressure. She might create situations to see if you’ll abandon her or stand by her. If she perceives any kind of betrayal, even a small one, her obsession will deepen, and she will lash out to remind you of her hold on you.
She’ll do little things like leaving doors unlocked or leaving a key nearby, all the while watching silently from the shadows, anticipating your next moves. She enjoys creating confusion, making you doubt yourself, and feeding your insecurities, all while maintaining a façade of sweetness and care. More than likely you may start feeling like you’re losing your grip on reality, unsure whether her actions are out of love or something darker.
If you still have your freedom, you might catch her following you if you have a sharp enough eye. Whether it's sneaking into your room, watching you from afar, or listening in on your conversations, she’ll make sure she knows everything about your life. And if you seem distant or don't include her in your world, it sends her into a spiral of insecurity and she tries even harder to make you need her.
Her paranoia is a defining trait of her yandere tendencies. If you show any kind of affection or attention toward anyone else, she snaps, jealousy swallowing her whole. This can lead her to lash out, either through harsh words, tantrums, or more drastic actions. In her mind, only she should have your attention and affection.
You always have to watch what you say, constantly trying to pacify the thoughts in her in the hope that you’re not feeding into them. Sometimes you’ll catch her muttering things to herself as she stares off at nothing, intervening when her muttering starts sounding homicidal. You’ve learned not to let her talk to herself too long, or she’ll start getting confused. Once, she grabbed your face with an iron grip, jerking your face to hers. “You don't need anyone else, right Baby?” She smiled softly, scanning your face, though the smile didn’t meet her eyes. You were dumbfounded– you didn't know how to respond. You didn’t know how she would react– she was so unpredictable– “SAY IT!” You violently flinched, sputtering the words back to you. It seemed to pacify her then, as her soft smile returned and she pecked your lips. “Right..” She’d muttered, petting your hair idly.
Her emotions fluctuate rapidly. One moment, she’ll be sweet and charismatic, trying to be the perfect companion. You’ll almost let your guard down. But in the next, she could snap, lashing out in a fit of rage at any given thing. It could be something as little as you glancing away while she’s speaking; her eyes quickly darting to see what or who’s stolen your attention from her. She’ll feel betrayed.
Because she’s so unpredictable, you’ll never be able to create a mental routine of the “punishments” she gives you. You’ll drive yourself mad just thinking about it; how the hell can she possibly be coming up with so many ways of torment? Sensory deprivation, shock collars, pinning little bombs to your clothes– they won't explode but you’ll think they will. It’s all a game to her, once she feels wronged. She’ll do anything to make you feel the way she does inside, even if that means breaking the moral code.
Jinx loves having control over situations, especially where you are concerned. She’ll "accidentally" sabotage plans or relationships that threaten her sense of control. Or at least she’ll call it an accident when you bring it up. She also collects items that remind her of you—photos, scraps of clothing, anything that holds sentimental value. She’ll hide these items in hidden places as Jinx sees them as proof of her connection to you, and she’ll be upset if they go missing.
Part of me thinks Jinx doesn’t have an end goal, or she has too many. Too many different voices, too many different ideas, too many possibilities. What does she want from you exactly? Well, she doesn’t know. Does she love you? She does! Well, at least she thinks she does. Why else could she feel so passionately about you? But in the same instance– why does she want to break you so badly? Why does she have the urge to hurt you? You’ll catch her staring, shooting her a weary glance; she’s muttering to herself again. You wonder what it’s about this time.
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please let me know if you would like to be added to my taglist to be notified everytime i post, xx
taglist: @opropheticsoul
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milkloafy · 7 months ago
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SILENT BUT RECKLESS — TODOROKI SHOUTO
⋆。˚ ❀ summary: in which pro hero!shouto saves you from getting run over by a car and finds himself immediately enraptured by you.  ⋆。˚ ❀ contents: pro hero!shouto, fluff, gn!reader ⋆。˚ ❀ wc: 1.3k ⋆。˚ ❀ a/n: aka…pro hero!shouto is a pr nightmare and no u cannot convince me otherwise ! ahdjskc but frl this is so unserious but i miss the og anime loml so here we are :>
Shouto wasn’t exactly known for his talkative nature. 
It was quite the opposite, in fact, with news agencies and magazines often referring to him as the quiet one of the Big Three. Though, he supposed that was better than being known as the one with the family trauma. 
But people often mistook his silence for thoughtfulness, he realized. Or an intense observation of sorts. And while at times that was the case, most times, it was simply because he didn’t have anything to say. 
Shouto blinked as he realized the situation he was in. 
He had just stopped a villain from robbing a luxury clothing store for the third time this month, nothing too exciting, yet the journalists showed up each time for an interview with him after. 
“Sir, we are live,” the reporter reminded with a nervous laugh. “We asked if you had a message for any…”
She kept talking, but Shouto was unable to concentrate. Not because he had heard it millions of times before, but because he noticed a strange movement from the corner of his eyes. 
This was one of the times he was both silent and observant. 
Shouto spotted you crossing the street on your phone, staring at your screen and completely oblivious that a car was headed your way with little to no sign of stopping. 
Without thinking of how it would look to the public for him to ditch an interview mid-sentence, he ran over to you before he even processed his legs moving. Throwing his right arm out in front of him, he sent a wall of ice up to block the vehicle’s predicted path, reaching you just in time to sweep you off your feet and carry you away from the road as the ice began to shatter from the impact. 
The ice wall was thick enough that the car slowed before fully breaking through, but that didn’t stop Shouto from instinctively shielding you with his body in the event that ice shards propelled towards you. 
Once he heard the sound of a crash and alarms, he figured the vehicle was fully stopped and the authorities arrived to assess the situation themselves. Would he get scolded by his agency for putting up an ice wall and potentially damaging someone’s vehicle? It was likely so. But that was better than someone actually getting hit by a car instead. 
The world wanted heroes, but only when they fit into their ideal mold. And while rules and regulations helped keep order in the world, in moments like these when someone’s life was in danger, Shouto couldn’t be bothered to care.
Slowly, his body relaxed and he was able to finally take a look at you. At the person who, for some reason, was so focused on their phone they didn’t notice a car coming at them. 
Any criticisms that threatened to come out of his lips stayed there once he got a good look at your features. He found himself taken aback by how beautiful you looked, though he quickly cleared his throat and recovered from his blatant staring. 
“Be careful when you’re crossing the street,” said Shouto, walking over to a section of grass and away from the commotion that was happening on the road, with you still in his arms. “What was keeping you so occupied?” 
You looked up at him guiltily, your phone clutched between your hands. “I was trying to order my food…” 
He blinked. As a pro hero, he shouldn’t be one the judge victims. But he couldn’t help but raise his brow just a bit. 
“I was really hungry,” you said sheepishly, hiding your face in embarrassment. “But I can’t believe I was so focused on my order I didn’t realize the car wasn’t stopping!” You sighed to yourself before meeting Shouto’s eyes once more. “Thank you for saving me, Shouto. I’m sure you had much more pressing matters to attend to instead of saving some random person off the street.”
He shook his head. “That’s the most important part of the job. Saving people.” 
You smiled gratefully at him and he almost had to look away from your dazzling grin. “Well, thank you for saving this idiotic person right here.” You gestured towards yourself. “Still, I hope my order went through…”
A mixture between a snort and a laugh escaped his lips. You had almost gotten run over and your biggest concern was whether or not your dinner was on its way? 
“It’s didn’t!” you cried in exasperation as you peeked at your phone. “Well, I might as well get a convenience store meal at this point.” Sighing, you leaned your head against his chest for a brief moment of comfort. “By the way, you can set me down now. I think people are taking pictures of us.” 
“Oh,” said Shouto, “right.”
Carefully, he loosened his hold on you and set your feet carefully onto the floor. Before fully letting go of you, he made sure you were stable and steady. For some, it took a while for the events to process and the panic to settle in, and he wanted to ensure you were truly okay. 
You had a worried look on your face as you noticed the video cameras still focused on the two of you. 
“Will you get in trouble for this?” you whispered, leaning close to his ear. 
“For rescuing someone from a getting hit by a car and talking to them after?” He considered things for a moment. “Most likely. But it’s okay. The most important thing is you are safe, both physically and mentally.”
Giggling, you nodded, reaching up to pat him on top of his head. Shouto was startled by the sudden touch, but he didn’t pull away.
“Who knew Shouto was such a worrywart,” you teased. “I’m safe and unharmed, all thanks to you. In fact, to show my gratitude… Why don’t I treat you to some convenience store dinner? On me, of course!” 
Shouto was silent for a bit. There were plenty of things he should be thinking about right now. The headlines that would be made about Pro Hero Shouto saving someone and then going on a “date” with them right after. The damage it could do to his reputation. The overtime hours the agency would make his public relations team work.
Instead, his silence was used to think of what he exactly he wanted to get at the convenience store. 
“Okay,” Shouto said once he made up his mind. “I’ll take a curry bun.” 
You laughed and gestured for him to follow you to the nearest convenience store. “I like that, too. You have good taste.” 
He followed along beside you, pleased with himself when he heard your captivating laugh. 
“I think I want an egg sandwich tonight,” you stated, a thoughtful look on your face. “Or maybe some fried chicken. Or an egg sandwich and fried chicken? And a smoothie for a drink and dessert all in one item! But maybe I want a crepe instead…”
As you rambled on, Shouto suddenly understood how you were too engrossed with trying to order food on your phone that you didn’t realize a vehicle was approaching you earlier. And while that was dangerous, he found it slightly endearing. Just as long as you were away from any cars. 
Shouto was so focused on listening to you that he hardly paid attention to the look of shock on the reporters’ faces and the influx of calls he was receiving from his agency. 
Right now, he simply wanted to hear you talk more and eat a curry bun. 
The rest, he could deal with later. 
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kithtaehyung · 1 month ago
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minted: three (explicit) | myg
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title: minted: part three (m) pairing: street king!yoongi x street vendor!reader series: masterlist | one | two rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: at this point, you would do anything to forget. including the unthinkable with a gangster. note: sooo this series basically saved my writing slump haha. i am still having the time of my life and i’m so excited to show y’all more of this minted universe. and to also show you just how spicy things can get❤️‍🔥 note 2: this is ofc a present for hali @sailoryooons that spiraled into a whole universe. still always gonna thank nary @joonary for letting me use the vendor reader idea, as well! also happy birthday to @remmykinsff @awbells @keylime4eva @aaclariww and @noshit-cantfindagoodone!! to everyone else having a bday around this time, this is my gift to you hehehe. warnings: language, drugs, alcohol, slow burn, murder mentions, gang activity, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, chains bc of course :)), world-building, reader is still sassy, yoongi is still infuriating, tension explicit warnings: under the cut! drop date: december 9th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 12.3k 😀👍
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explicit warnings: i know it’s a slow burn but there’s definitely smut lol, choking, head/hair tugging, penetration, oral (f rec), backshotssss, marking bye, rough sex, ass play, breast play, his hands are a nice necklace😀, taunting cus reader’s an icon, thighs, breath play, spanking, hand job, protected sex, multiple orgasms, restraints (his hands, robe tie), brat!reader but who is honestly shocked🙂‍↔️, brat tamer!yoongi lmao, yoongi is a menace i’m sorryyyy, but reader is…?????, need them both™, teasing, rawdogging HELLO?? (pls wrap it up fr!), commanding yoongi a ha ha, pain kink, cowgirl🙂‍↕️, this is just the calm before a whole damn storm
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“But,” you exhale with a shake. “Just for tonight…”  
This is it.
The brink of no return.
Your soul dips into the dark.
“Please make me fucking forget.”
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Did you go too far? 
Is there a limit to his accommodation? Did you actually think this was gonna be easy? 
When silence swirls between your robes, you start to second guess your demand. 
But Yoongi simply stares before stepping aside, allowing you to enter his room with jellied legs. 
This is madness, but you’re gonna go through with it. Whatever the hell this will be. Because you may not know much, but you figure all men sit up the same when sex is on the table. 
This man, though... 
Quite frankly, you aren’t sure about anything when it comes to him. Unless it’s about him doing something questionable. Then there’s no question about it.
The enigma himself makes no conversation as you step inside, even as your eyes roam around a cleaner, more put-together room than when you left the first time. Did Yoongi clean this much while you made a mess of your dreams? 
The only answer you get is a door shutting, followed by a massive presence at your back. Before you can so much as turn around, the first words on your shoulders burn like embers,
“Was he your first.” 
Fuck. 
This isn’t what you approached him for. He’s supposed to make you forget, not remember. Remember?
You don’t turn around; you don’t respond right away. Instead, you swallow before focusing very hard on the fact that Yoongi sleeps on the bedside nearest the window. At least, judging by the way the covers are flipped. You happen to prefer the side opposite.
The heat from his body proves soft but intense, and you can’t help but close your eyes when you finally answer with a question, 
“Do you remember yours?” 
“Yes.” 
“Do you ever regret it?” 
“No.”
Your vision lowers to the rug lying still under the bed. A splash of light grey amongst a darkened, moonlit sea. 
No matter how quick Yoongi answers. No matter how even his tone. 
He still remembers it, too. 
But this isn’t what you expected when you walked in here. You assumed this man was going to get right to it, save no room for you to second guess yourself. Clearly he gave zero shits about kissing you in that taxi, and he damn near undressed you in the living room. 
So what’s the holdup here? Does he want this for real? Or not? 
Head at a slight angle, you admit with a hint of finality, “I don’t wanna talk about that.” 
“Mm.” A warm, rough hand subtly tugs at your belt, and prominent knuckles nudge through the smooth material of your robe. “So what are you really here for.” 
Your eyes blink thrice. 
Yoongi cannot be serious. Does he really not know? 
No. He knows. With a shift of your jaw, you realize he’s just fucking with you, purposefully not in the way you want. “You’re being difficult.” 
“You woke me up.”
Ah. That’s fair. 
“So tell me.” 
Well. If you’re gonna have to spell things out for him, he’s gonna be waiting for awhile. Because the more you stand here not doing anything, the harder it is to gather a little thing called courage. Courage to meet the beast in his den, and madness to let him devour you whole. Now you have neither. Neither, neither, neither.
Awkwardness sticks to your throat until it’s jammed, and you can barely mush your lips together to form sounds. The courage you speak of flees before you can wrangle it, and what’s left of your answer tumbles out like boulders, “This is.. I don’t.. I can’t.” 
“You can.” 
“It’s,” you huff, noting that you don’t like this horrible mix of hesitation and anger, “It’s… I’m—” 
Your vision jolts as you feel a quick tug shit you’re spinning fuck your back just hit a wall—
“Of all things today,” Yoongi murmurs with slits for eyes, “This is what gets you to shut up?” 
Damn it. 
You don’t even have a rebuttal. Because he’s right. Yoongi’s sharp discernment is millimeters from your face and you have no intention to move nor speak. Only quick breaths. Only shaky exhales. 
But you do swallow.
Which brings out a sound you will never admit you like: a breathy, condescending laugh, as coarse and as soft as his touch. 
“You mean to tell me,” he observes, tilting your chin while his irises blaze dark, “You came all the way in here for nothing?”
“No, I—”
“All that talk, and for what.” 
Defend yourself. Say something. Say just one word two words any words—
Did Yoongi just pat your cheek? ..Twice? 
Why did you kinda like that—
“Makes no sense,” he ponders aloud, lolling his head and staring down your crumpled lips. “Who even are you..” 
Now that's an easy one. You always have the answer to that question. 
“No one,” you whisper. “Sorry to disappoint you.” 
Seems like the people back home aren’t the only ones you’ll let down. If Yoongi keeps that question loaded in the chamber, he’s gonna keep shooting the same target. Over, and over, and over. 
But you don’t have to worry. Because he drops it, caging you in with a hand near your stiff, risen shoulder, “So what are you here for.” 
This is a mistake. Either Yoongi doesn’t want this, or he’s being frustrating on purpose and your fire is both stoked and quelled. “Now I don’t know for sure.” 
“The more you stall the harder it gets,” he goads with a lick of teasing. And for a split, minuscule second, you wonder if that meant more than one thing.
Goddamn, he’s annoying. He’s outright savoring this. 
Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised. You woke him up for god’s sake. If someone did this same thing to you after the day you’ve had, you wouldn’t have even let them in. 
Unfortunately for you, Yoongi’s version of dealing with a midnight inconvenience is whittling them down until they leave— 
“So you can tell my bellhop off but I get nothing, huh.” 
Oh, shit. 
Oh, shit. 
You’re so taken aback that you can only ask, “What?” 
Mercifully, the dragon gives you air, straightening before leaving your personal space. 
Your focus should be on his words. You know this. But he uses this moment to rake his hair, and words are no match for the sleeve cascading down his inked forearm. 
Even as his hair flows in waves, you still cling to his tattoos as he looks downward in thought. “You think I wouldn’t check who the fuck was coming up here?” 
It takes you a second to process. 
But you realize what this means and you fall silent again.
Yoongi saw that? All of that? You acted without much thought, and if he really did see and hear everything that went down, there’s a chance he thinks a lot differently about you now. No wonder he’s so thrown by this switch in behavior. 
But on the other hand.. The way he touched you in the living room. Was all that because of what he saw? Is that side of you the one that pulled him close? 
You thought his parting would allow you room to breathe. How very wrong you were. 
Shoving all contemplation aside, you decide to coat the room with concern, your assertion making a brief comeback, “He said a lot of shit, Yoongi. What was that about?” 
He languidly approaches the long table at your side—one you faintly noticed while leaving the room the first time. Unbothered, he slides unhurried fingers over a gun, stopping on the barrel before reaching for something less lethal. 
A decanter, it seems. Liquid flows from the container into a smaller glass, and you assume it’s whisky from the deep amber tones and luscious pour.
When you wonder where else Yoongi litters his weapons, he cuts through your surveying, 
“You really wanna know?” 
Looking up, you nod. 
He sets the bottle down with a dull clink. “He took his chances.” 
“His.. What?” 
Now what the hell could this man mean by that? You were clearly being coaxed into leaving the premises, vaguely feeling like something seemed off. How is he being so dismissive about all this? 
Slowly, Yoongi shakes his head, looking out into the night while taking his initial sip. “I don’t come here often. But when I do, I come alone.” Long fingers nestle his cup perfectly as he explains further, “It’s been awhile, so. Had to feel out the staff.” 
The staff. Is that why Yoongi held your hand? To weasel someone out? You really thought he meant it when he said he just wanted to… 
How naive. 
“His plan could’ve been solid.” 
“But what?” You ask, newfound frustration clipping your tone. 
Yoongi slides you a look over the rim of his glass. “He didn’t know who he’d be dealing with.” 
Your eyes roll so far they strain.
But this begs a question. Does he mean dealing with you? Or him? Surely he meant your little show at the elevator but he could very well mean himself. 
Facts are facts. Would Yoongi really trade il-don for you? Absolutely not. So you have to assume he’s mostly talking about the latter. 
Your scoff is pitched to the side, “Of course. You wouldn’t trade il-don for anything.” 
Yoongi pauses, not acknowledging your comment in the slightest as he strolls back your way. “Something I am curious about..” As he leans in, musk and whisky invade both your space and senses. And you hate, hate, hate that you need more of it. “Who was he talking to?” 
“Someone he royally pissed off.” 
“Mm.” 
“You’re not gonna punish him?” 
“Me? Nah.” Leaning on the sideboard, he stares out the windows across the room. Your vision follows suit. “Not until I have to.”
If what happened wasn’t enough to warrant a punishment, you’re morbidly curious about what ticks the box. “I figured he’d be dead by now. At least for trespassing.”
Yoongi only shrugs. “Grey zones aren’t just amnesty for the clans. Anything goes here, too, so a ransom attempt isn’t surprising.” 
This man really doesn’t stand on black or white. Here you are with eggs for brains discovering you were almost taken instead of saved, and he’s chalking it up to, what, just another Tuesday? Or is it still Monday? You don’t even know anymore. 
Your question leaves you a little scuffed. Because you feel exactly like leftover goods. The fruit at the back. “Are you always this heartless?”
“So I’ve been told.” 
Great. 
So much for being… Safe up… here… 
You glance at the touch on your hip, and your eyes traverse up his arm as he toys with your belt again. 
Shouldn’t you feel disgusted? Shouldn’t you be walking away? It’s crystal clear how little this man thinks of you, or anyone for that matter. He probably brought you along just to be a shield for his precious il-don. So why can’t you bring yourself to leave? 
Your knot starts to loosen.
His voice begins to flow.
“But if you’re gonna go for what’s mine, don’t be an idiot.” 
Wait.
No. Nope. Stop thinking about what that could mean. Because if you think too hard, it will only leave you disappointed. 
But there’s something you won’t stop doing. And Yoongi knows you won’t. So as he keeps playing at your waist, your words come out in shudders, 
“Can’t believe you used me.” 
Yoongi hums, and it makes you shiver when his touch leaves you to rest against wood counters. “You’re about to use me, too.” 
Fucking hell, he’s right. 
“Gotta say I didn’t expect it, but..” Damn him and his head tilts. “I’m impressed.” 
You’re too empty-headed that you can’t even process his words as genuine praise. His touches already feel like pops of lights in the night sky.
It’s a given. You aren’t prepared for him in the slightest.
“Come here.” 
Lightly pulling your hand, Yoongi brings you to stand in front of him. And from this point of view, you become even more ensnared. 
His robe flows down his taut build so beautifully, painting him like dark water over rolling hills. At his peak, the hair you’ve come to miss frames his face like artwork. Mesmerizing. Your downfall. 
“You get one more chance. Tell me why I’m awake.” 
Your brow lift is only a front. The rest of you is shaking, trembling, howling. “You clearly know.”
“Tell me anyway.” 
Relentless. Will you shame yourself for wanting to see him use this same strategy on other people? Most likely. But will that stop you from thinking about it anyway? Absolutely, positively not. 
But there’s another side of you that’s being comforted. And it’s the side that realizes how much he’s spoken, how much time you’ve spent without needing to watch behind your back. 
Yoongi talking this much? It’s making things easier. And it’s strangely making you feel a little better, even if the subject matter isn’t the greatest topic in the universe. 
After you steal a glance at the other whisky glass, you look into his eyes. Determined and decisive. Knowing exactly what you want at this very moment, because you just need a little more time. 
“Tell me more. About grey zones.” 
Something in the air freezes. And Yoongi’s brows crease so comically you almost laugh. “That’s it?” 
“Yes.” 
His nod is slow as he sets down his glass.
And you’re quickly hauled back so fast that you don’t have time to react. 
A rush of air. The world topples. Soft sheets. 
Dangerously, a thin chain sways above as Yoongi shrouds your body in silk and lingering smoke. A gasp escapes you as he peers into your eyes, and your senses fire as a commanding hand slides up your thigh. 
“Final answer?”
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck you know you want him and you still do but also talking to him isn’t half bad and maybe you’re just tired of being lonely— 
Musk. Alcohol. Breathing hard, you take it all in. Slowly nodding because you can’t function otherwise, which makes a dragon flash teeth. 
But he obliges without moving a muscle, so you’re left underneath a demon—robe dangerously close to opening and exposing everything once again.
A man of conviction, Yoongi does exactly as you ask. Eyes drooped, he continues his explanations, as if he didn’t just shove you into his enormous bed and tangle you under his legs, 
“They started awhile ago, back when all the high-powers got locked in a grudge match. Took half the city with them.” 
Immediately, your shoulders start to sink into his tale. “Half is a lot.” 
“Everything went to shit,” he agrees. “Not even the Politicol could stop it all.” 
“Bullshit.”
His level expression is enough to refute.  
Now that’s a shock to learn. For as long as you can remember, the Politicol have always held more power than any force should ever have. If they weren’t able to keep this under control, the high-powers used to be ungodly. 
Staring at the slippage on Yoongi’s shoulder, you wonder if those ink lines are to immortalize the ones that came before him. The history he must’ve grown up memorizing. 
Still.. Why does he have them all? There’s no way he doesn’t know how disrespectful that is to all three clans. 
But then again. He said he didn’t choose them himself. Which leads you nowhere in this unending maze. 
Head disheveled; robe coming undone. To outsiders, you’d be at Yoongi’s mercy. 
But in reality, you’re laser focused on him and his explanations. Especially when his voice scratches every itch just right. “So…” You watch his gaze slowly slide down your face. “What happened?”
Even now, Yoongi’s hands stay exactly where they are. The only thing that moves is the tinkling swing of his silver above your warming neck. “Deals were made, stripping power from all of them in certain sectors so that none could completely take over.” 
“Why only in certain ones?” 
A corner of his mouth quirks up. “Let’s just say the negotiations went how you think they did.” 
Your eyes roll yet again. But another question pings into your mind as quick as the first one, knitting your brows. “Wait… Deals with the Politicol? Or each other? No way they would’ve let cowards put them all on a leash.” 
At this, something interesting passes over Yoongi’s face.
But it flits away before you can snatch it for further inspection, and the shift of his leg against your thighs resets your brain. 
“Any of the clans could’ve monopolized if they had the right resource, but. They weren’t ever gonna let outsiders get a piece. Called a truce and kept their mouths shut.” 
Makes sense. You know exactly what resource he’s referring to. “The il-don.” 
“That’s part of it.” He shifts again, but this time, your legs have more room to move. “But grey zones have priority infrastructure. The ones that keep the lights on. If you had the money, you had the people. And people are the best resource there is.” 
It’s at this moment that a lot of things click into place. 
And one of those is figuring out that you may have been a little wrong about the man above you. 
Is he heartless? To a high degree. But that comes with being calculating. Patient. Smart. Everything that Yoongi has been this entire time you’ve tagged along. 
He’s not keeping the il-don safe because he treasures it. It’s because the money is a tool. A tool to help him get what he wants whenever he needs. And leverage it for value instead of frivolous decisions and material things. 
Yoongi must have really, really enjoyed your tangerines.
A stray touch finally makes its way inside your thigh. And you flare between your legs. Shivering. Aching. You’re sparkling inside but won’t allow yourself to fully explode. Not when he’s revealing so much without telling. Not when you’re starting to see things from his angle. 
“Keep talking,” you rush out, gripping his robe and squeezing his pelvis. 
Though his fingers still light flares on your skin, Yoongi stops in his daring quest, observing your face without judgment. 
“I like it,” you shakily admit. Because screw it, since you’ll never see him again. “Learning about all this.” 
You sigh at his weight. His beautiful, strangely calming weight. “About you, too.” 
Stopping all movements, Yoongi coats your skin with gravel. “What good will knowing all this do.” 
He’s got a point. And it hammers home exactly what you were just thinking. “Nothing, maybe,” you answer, squeezing his robe a little longer. 
Fuck, you really are this deprived. This lonely. Is bedding a dangerous man—this dangerous man—really better than being alone right now? A mental reset is outstandingly in order throughout the coming abysmal months.
You finish your weak explanation, hoping it’s enough to convince him, 
“But it’s helping.” 
Yoongi lifts his head to watch your eyes. And you observe how dark his are in return. How cold. 
But yet.. Why do you also see…?
With a slight huff, you tack on, “And you aren’t so annoying to talk to right now.” 
There it is. That spark you’ve seen before in dusty, tinkering streets. “Don’t push your luck.” 
“I might.” 
He exhales, shifting himself into a sitting position and facing the door. “The thing about grey zones.. No affiliation, no rules. You can be anyone here.” 
When you lift your upper body to sit, you watch his side profile as you repeat, “Anyone?” 
Yoongi turns to look at your lips. 
You know there’s a question you want to ask. But for some reason, it’s difficult to say. 
But eventually, you can’t help it. Because you’re intrigued. You’re haunted. And you really, really need this. 
“Then who do you want me to be.”
He lets out a cross between a scoff and a laugh. Looking into your eyes, he asks in disbelief, “You?”
“I’m pretty good at pretending.” 
“Sure you are.” He gives you another small grin before resting forearms on his knees. “But you don’t want my answer to that.” 
Swallowing is proving too difficult. What the hell does he mean by that? Is it one big bluff or a real opinion? “You’re just being a pussy.” 
All you get is the side of his cheek rising high.
Yeah. He’s not gonna tell you a damn thing. 
“Forget about me then. Who are you right now?” You wait as his expression falls back to earth. “Agust? Or Yoongi?” 
When you end with silence, you’re met with an approaching shadowed visage. And even in this moment, you sense static in the air, both of you poised and locked in a dangerous, thrilling dance. 
“You tell me.” 
Your breath cuts as he slips a finger inside your robe, and you dare not breathe when he pulls—slow, unhurried, intoxicating. 
You’ve never felt quite like this. 
Are you supposed to do something, too? Is there something that usually happens here? Your experience isn’t zero but it is clearly leagues below where it should be. 
Before you can blink a third time, your garment is ever, ever so slightly off your shoulder.
And you haven’t uttered a damn thing.
So he keeps going, sliding it lower, and lower, until he reveals a part of you that you didn’t mean to reveal so suddenly before. 
This time, it’s deliberate. And that makes it terrifying. 
This is the point of no return. The slope of your chest barely keeps your robe from dipping any farther. It’s happening, and life between you will never be the same when it’s over. 
And yet. 
Your nerves speak up at the worst time.
“Get me a drink,” you whisper, “Then maybe I will.”
Yoongi flicks up an eyebrow before obliging, and you silently mourn the loss of his heated touch. 
He walks over to pour you something neat, taking his time bringing both glasses to the bed. When you sit up properly, you habitually adjust your robe, scoffing at his hum. 
“Thanks,” you whisper, taking the glass and smelling the piercing aroma. “Maybe this is what I needed all along.”
“You ever had sex before?”
The question is so sudden and blunt that you cough up a burning sip. “Ow, fuck..” Wincing, you wipe your mouth before breathing in scratchy inhales. “If you must know, I have.”
“Maybe you are good at pretending then,” Yoongi drawls. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“Don’t get me wrong. This situation is new to me.”
His brow raises are definitely talking a lot for him. 
“I’ve just never.. I dunno. Never had just one night.” Taking a more cautious sip, you continue. “Much less with someone like you.”
“Like me?”
“With a.. You know.” You fiddle with your glass. “A customer.” 
When you hear his reaction, you stare at his raised cheek, stomach fluttering when he sighs downward,
“You can’t just say shit like that.” 
“I can say whatever I want,” you counter. “Especially since I…”
You don’t wanna finish that. It helps that Yoongi doesn’t look your way still, taking a sip of his whisky instead. His locks swing forward as he leans, and you almost reach out to feel them. Maybe you’ll get to very soon. When you finally get over this final hurdle of outright shyness. 
Why are you so timid right now? Why can’t you just tell him what you very obviously came in here for and get on with it? You’ve been decisive as fuck the rest of today, so what’s got your tongue pressed this time? Is it really your abysmal level of experience?
Or is it because you’re gravitating to more sides of him with each passing second? 
“Since you what.” 
“Since I don’t like you,” you snip. 
Yoongi flashes teeth in amusement. “Keep telling yourself that.” 
“Oh, shut up.” You take another drink, feeling the burn down your throat. “I don’t have to if it’s true.” 
Both of you keep drinking in silence after that. Which makes things a weird mix of calm and awkward, considering what your original mission was. 
Going over the events of today, it’s a wonder why you aren’t crashing into a dreamless sleep. You’ve been up and having the most exhausting day ever, and yet, you can’t imagine shutting your eyes. 
Think of something else to talk about. Anything. Any topic you could possibly hold a conversation with Yoongi over. 
What did he respond to before? No small talk, since the plantains thing from months ago was a bust. And when you conversed over ramyeon it was more of him angering you on purpose—wait a minute. 
There was something you never circled back to. 
And as soon as you ask him about it, he appears impressed you remembered, 
“Were you bluffing when you said you knew what I was shopping for?” 
“No,” he responds immediately. “And I know I’m right.” 
“Prove it.” 
Mouth curved at an annoying angle, Yoongi shoots you a look before placing his drink down, getting up to walk to a tall armoire. 
Your eyes follow his every movement, even the way his ass moves under that damned robe. But soon, your jaw goes slack not because of his assets. 
But because the motherfucker was right on the money. 
How the… How the fuck did Yoongi know? 
In front of your face lies exactly what you were searching for. Sleek. Minimal. Lightweight and visibly balanced. You don’t even want to keep shopping around because this is the only one you want. 
How did he know you were shopping for daggers based on one single line of questioning? 
“I wasn’t gonna show you until you asked,” he divulges. “Honestly, I was hoping you’d forget. This one was hard as fuck to track down.” 
Eyes flicking up to his, you ask in wonder, “Can I…?” 
He lifts it slightly, signaling that you can indeed hold it yourself. 
And it’s perfect. 
“Wow,” you breathe out, feeling along its edges and hilt. It’s all one continuous line, with metal so black and matted that you almost moan. “I don’t have much on me, but.. I’ll give you whatever you want for this.” 
“Keep it.” 
What? 
“It’s yours.” 
There’s no way he’s just gonna gift this to you. It’s perfectly crafted in material you can’t even find in Crane. And they have almost every class of ore in existence. 
Who even is this man? 
“Yoongi, this is…” You shake your head while extending it back. “I can’t just take this.” 
“You can.” He fiddles with the bracelet on his wrist. “I did.”
Oh. Charming. The weapon you’re being gifted is stolen goods. “Well, in that case, I really can’t accept it.” 
But goddamn, this is more than perfect. You can’t even pluck one finger off the handle. And you can’t change the fact that it was already taken, right? Right?
“At least…” Scowling at your own crumbling morals, you mumble, “Not without good reason.”  
He looks at you over his shoulder. “Do I need a reason?” 
“No,” you reply. “But I’d like one.” 
Yoongi sighs long before moving his fingers. “I lied to you back there in the lobby.” Looking up at a clock instead of you, he works his jaw. “But this time, it really is just that.” 
“You expect me to believe you?” 
Fuck, the veins in his hands are so prominent when he laces them together. “No. But it’s better than those chopsticks you’re saving in the bathroom.”
Oh. So he saw those, too.
“Thank you,” is what you wave in white. Because that’s exactly how you feel and this one gesture does excuse some of his faults. Maybe. Or your standards have plummeted to the gutters. “I, umm. I usually keep one for self-defence. Just in case.” 
Turning it over and back again, you marvel at its light but solid weight. “But I lost mine in the last rough raid before they suddenly stopped.”
“Don’t sweat it.” 
“K.” Placing it on the closest nightstand, you go back to holding your glass between your hands. “One day I’ll pay you back somehow.” 
Yoongi shoots that down on sight. “No need.” 
“But I want to.” 
He glares before picking up his alcohol. “Anyone that owes me shit gets treated a lot different.” The drink rests in his hand like a liquid gem. “So just accept it as a gift, doll.” 
You’d laugh if you knew he was kidding. But you know he’s dead serious, so you only nod. 
It’s quiet again as you both retreat into your minds. 
Yoongi has the mental fortitude of a fortress it seems. Because he really is set on waiting until you tell him what you woke him up for, and it’s been awhile since this all started. 
But being in his presence while the night is quiet is somewhat comforting. You’re finding it easy to think about other things now, especially after he gave you so much to mull over. 
Like grey zones and how they came to be. It’s fascinating how you had no clue even though you should. Even though this whole conflict affected half the city. 
Wanting to gain more insight, you blurt your curiosity, “How long ago were the grey zones fought over? Before everything was decided?” 
“Years. Decades, at this point,” Yoongi answers, his gaze locked as you think about this timeline. “Most people don’t even bother knowing, though.”
“Why? This sounds like a big part of our history.” 
“No one cares if a Crane kills a Dragon.” His tone shifts slightly. And you wouldn’t have caught it if not for his subtle sulk. “They only resent the blood they have to wipe from the street.” 
Your lids lower all the same. Because that resonates deep within your chest, so much so that you feel your heart bend in its aching. “No one cares about us, either.” 
When Yoongi catches your look, you give a sad excuse of a smile. “Being a vendor? Especially where I am? You quickly figure out how little you matter. You as a person, I mean.” 
You slide fingers along the tiny rim of your glass, lost in the fibers of his rug more than anything else. 
Maybe you’re just a loose fiber in the rug of this city. One that will pretend to run only to be swept back into the folds. “The only things that people remember are what you offer. Anything other than that isn’t worth their time.” 
Lifting your chin, you save face. “Can’t say I won’t miss you.” May as well admit it all if you aren’t ever gonna see him again. “You were the only one that ever let me bother them.” 
“You never bothered me.” 
You look up to see him staring. Lip curled upward, you huff. “With all the looks you gave me? I find that hard to believe.” 
Yoongi doesn’t laugh in return. “What would I gain from lying?” 
Mm. That’s an interesting question. But the alcohol starts to talk for you as you have the balls to flirt. “People lie to get laid, for one.” 
“Mm.” He takes a measured sip of his glass, the last dredges of it swaying at the bottom. “Can’t say I’ve ever needed to.” 
“Shocker,” you drawl, sipping to match his pace. And it’s after this drink that you loosely admit, “This is really good, by the way.” 
“Yeah?”
“Mmhmm.” Lifting the glass to peer inside, you swirl it around before divulging a past you don’t talk about—ever. But what are rules of conversation when you want to stall? “My uncle got me into whisky a long time ago. But fruit stands don’t pay for top shelf alcohol.” 
“Where’s he at now?” 
“Uhh.” You look away. “Gone.” 
“Sorry to hear that.” 
He gets up, and you watch in silence as he makes his way to the sideboard. Stuff shifts around before he appears to pour another glass. And he stays there for a bit, black robe blending into all the dark decor. 
“Yoongi?” 
He turns. 
“Can you keep talking?” You keep your drink steady between your robed legs. Buzzed and vulnerable, you offer an explanation, “Turns out there’s a lot I wanna forget right now.”
Like endings. And future endless days without your most frustrating, most dangerous, most favorite customer. 
Yoongi pauses before walking back to the bed. When his thighs settle next to yours, he asks without much heart, “What do you wanna know.”
“You.”
His jaw shifts, and you feel a slight tug in your chest. 
Was that too forward? Probably. But you’ll take what you can get, like a last meal chosen to hit every one of your desires. “Anything you wanna tell me, of course.”
Yoongi remains quiet. Which isn’t unexpected but still a little letdown. 
“Not much to tell.” 
Ah. Just more lies then. Maybe you should stick to the original plan. “Nothing at all?”
He looks at you, planting a hand on the bed to lean a little closer. “Nothing you’d wanna hear.”
You shift between his eyes. Wondering if it’s better not knowing or if you really do wanna give in. 
Perhaps his eyes will speak for him instead. Glowing dark. Hints of ember and smoke. Years and years squeezed into those irises. 
“What if I do,” you quietly question, catching the light on his alcohol-tainted lips. 
Reaching out, you boldly place a thumb over one side, slowly brushing off excess liquid and marveling at how soft he is there. Tender, just like his name. “What if I don’t care.”
Yoongi waits for a moment before holding your wrist, the atmosphere trembling and buzzing around your shoulders. Oxygen depletes as he leans in close, his beautiful features almost touching yours. 
You feel something locking into place. Something beautiful and terrifying. And it holds you down as you feel his hair, his warmth, his—
A noise blares into the room before you can feel yourself rushing upward, your body reacting on survival instinct alone. Glasses spill onto the rug and you don’t know what’s happening but lack of sleep lack of comfort lack of everything has you ready for—
Time stops. 
Sounds muffle. 
And your eyes flash wide as you see the tip of your blade pointed straight at Yoongi’s side. 
Just as he’s poised with a gun pointed towards the door. 
It’s a phone ringing. 
A fucking. Telephone. 
What have you done?
As Yoongi slowly shifts his gaze to your outstretched hand, you tremble in severe regret. Regret that you pulled this on him with the very weapon he gave you. Regret that he knows all there is to know about how you still feel about him. 
But you didn’t mean to… You didn’t even think. And you abhor how you directed your fear at the one person that kept you alive. The one person you fucking saved. 
When Yoongi lowers his gun, he doesn’t acknowledge the guilt on your face. But as he walks away to grab his device, his gaze flicks back to you before he answers across the room. 
Shit. 
You fucked up you fucked up you fucked up. 
You weren’t lying when you said you wouldn’t care. You really weren’t. But who knows what Yoongi will think of you after that shock of a face off. 
Coming into his room was most definitely a mistake. Now you can’t wrangle your emotions for shit, head pounding with feelings and outcomes and adrenaline to the brim. 
Yoongi’s close to the wide bathroom stairs, so you can’t hear what’s being said. He does keep looking at you, though, which keeps your fingers pressed against a hilt. 
Are you in danger? Will Yoongi not want anything to do with you anymore? Is it alarming that you can’t decide which one is worse? 
The call doesn’t last long.
And as soon as he hangs up, you’re sputtering like a broken fountain, dagger still wielded as he stalks forward—phone clunking to the ground. “Who was that.” 
“No one.”
“What’s gonna happen to me.” 
“Nothing.” 
Fuck. You really did fuck everything up. Your brain is so battered that you’re gonna be skittish and paranoid for a long, long time. “Yoongi, I’m so—I didn’t mean to—It just happened—”
Forget it. It’s over. Your last interaction will haunt you forever and the only way you’ll experience what could’ve happened between you will be in your wildest darkest sweetest illest—
Burns flare at your eyes when Yoongi’s chest meets the quivering tip of your blade. 
“Stop,” you wince out, a damning tear pinging to your feet. “Just stop.” 
He starts to walk forward, which alarms you enough to step back because what the fuck is he doing! Why can’t your arms move? Why can’t you lower the fucking dagger? 
“I can’t,” you croak. “I can’t move.”
You’ve been firing on all fronts the whole day. Even in your dreams, you’re in survival mode. You can’t unlock your arms because they fight for the rest of you. Your legs propel you when the rest of you wants to give up. 
But that still doesn’t stop your heart from aching. It burns, it burns, it burns. 
When Yoongi grips your wrist, you choke on a sob. When he calls you smart, you squeeze your eyes shut in shame. And when he whispers to drop the fucking blade or he’ll do it for you, you do so after a maddening pause. 
It clunks to the ground when a gun does, and you’re suddenly spun until the backs of your knees hit something solid. 
Immediately, you’re thrust back onto dark sheets again, tears now rolling into your ears as you instinctively let Yoongi smother you whole. 
His hand slides to your inner thigh, and your mind reels when you start feeling a hardness on your stomach. Breath whooshes out of your mouth before you're covered in silk and muscle, and pleasure bursts from where he quickly devours your neck fuck.
Hands are quick to untie your robe as fire stokes your throat. 
“I won’t ask again,” he vows with a voice that rumbles. “Tell me what you fuckin’ want.” 
“Yoongi—” 
“Say it and it’s yours.” 
“Make me forget,” you shove through your teeth. “Just make me fucking forget.” 
“How.” 
Fuck lack of experience. Fuck being shy. You aren’t wasting another damn second and your emotions need all the release they can get. Loose lips, loose tongue, looser inhibitions.
The monster inside of you yanks at its chain, claws and claws at its confines screaming at you to give in. You need this. You want this, especially if Yoongi himself is gonna give it so willingly.
Just say it. Just say it.
“If this really is the last time I’ll see you…” 
Yoongi stills as your eyes lock unblinking. 
Tell him. Four words. 
“Fuck me like it.”
A proverbial chain snaps as Yoongi dives into your neck, ravishing you and sucking hard on your vein. When you yelp, your clenched legs seem to encourage, and he thrusts forward to launch you up the bed with a purpose. With intention.
All to let you know what you just got yourself into.
His fingers light little fires along your skin, burning everything in their paths up your arms, your sides, squeezing into your imperfections and latching down. His lips set your being ablaze as he keeps feasting, causing your breaths to get shorter, and shorter, and shorter. 
“So sensitive..” 
When you feel the warm swipe of a tongue, your eyes scrunch shut as you shudder. Which makes the whole thing worse for you when Yoongi chuckles dark in return. 
“I don’t think you’re ready for this.” 
“Shut up,” you huff out, grasping for his robe and raking at his sleeves. “Of course I am—Fuck.”
His thumb rolls across your exposed nipple, pinching it to make you arch right up into his chest. “You sure?” 
When the hell did he even open your robe? How did he do that so quick without you knowing? 
You bite down on your lip to keep from screaming, nodding in determination while your brows almost kiss. 
Watching your expression, Yoongi pinches again, biting his own lip while slowly spreading that shit grin. Your moan comes out more like a muted hum, which seems to displease. 
“Uh uh,” he orders. “You’re gonna be loud for me.”  
“But what if someone—” 
“They won’t.” 
He continues in his control, sliding a hand under your thigh to hitch it up before shoving it to the side. 
And you know where he’s going. But it still shocks you all the same when his fingers make contact with your slick. 
Your very, very wet slick. 
Many, many things will haunt you for life. Your experiences. Your choices. 
But right now? The only thing that will follow you to your grave is this distinct, biting, staccato batch of laughter. “You shouldn’t’ve ever come in here.” 
Breath ragged, you watch as Yoongi concentrates, exploring your cunt with his long digits and hitting every nerve with perfection. When you rub against him, he growls, lifting shiny fingers to insert right into his mouth. 
Sucking. 
Licking. 
And your eyes mirror his at once—as black and pulsing as fallen stars. 
He swoops down at the same moment you tug on his clothing, his mouth latching onto the side of your neck he hasn’t ravaged. Impatient, his hand yanks the bottom of your robe to the side, fully exposing your legs and leaking folds while you grapple with your own obstacles. 
It’s messy. It’s jilted. It’s exactly what you want. 
As soon as you find the slit in his robe, you take a brave leap and reach for his cock, not knowing what you’re gonna find but having a vague idea based on his—
Oh. What.
Fuck, he’s gonna split you in two. 
You’ve held one before. You know what they feel like. But this cannot be possible and you’re already mentally preparing yourself for your breaking point. 
“You good?” 
You snap your head right up, realizing how stunned you must be if he’s asking. “I… You’re fucking huge.” 
Yoongi doesn’t react, but that somehow makes it more attractive. Like he knows. And he doesn’t deny a thing. “That a problem?” 
“I mean… I think I’ve lived a good enough life.” 
To your surprise, the man above breaks completely as you keep blabbering, shoulders shaking alongside those stupid dimples. Those beautiful, elusive dimples. Too bad this is the last time you’ll ever see them. “Did what I wanted.. Not everything, but most of my list.” 
Yoongi’s still chuckling. And for a brief moment, you’re brought back to the days he was just a patron. Back to when you would think about him before bed, delighted to see him stop by. 
This is him. This is Yoongi with you now. 
Where was he this whole time? Was he really waiting until you answered him for real? 
You went so far into your head that you missed the change in position. So it makes you jump like hell when you realize where his teal mop of hair resides. “Wait, wait, wait. What are you doing?” 
Between your thighs, Yoongi lifts a brow, locking your legs with tough arms before you can even move. 
“Yoongi, you don’t have to—oh, fuck!” 
The first contact of his tongue on your folds makes your eyes burst, your legs effectively being pinned down in their tensing. Jolts of lust spiral from your core as he licks, sucks, twirls around your clit like it’s second nature, and you feel yourself welcoming his every thrust.
This is happening. This is happening? You’ve never done this before, not that you’ll admit it. Whatever Yoongi’s doing is completely new territory for you and you don’t ever think you’ll leave. Permanent residence. No other land to discover. 
Whines echoes throughout the room before you slap a hand over your mouth. Because the whole world will hear his name if you don’t. Especially when he adds fingers and curls them just right what the fuck! 
He makes you forget. And forget. And forget. You even forget your own name. Only his. Saying it into your palm over and over and clawing his sheets with the other. 
A low growl rumbles between your legs before you hear him purr, “Just like I fucking thought.” 
What’d he say? He didn’t say that. You’re hearing things, you’re sure of it. There’s absolutely no way Yoongi’s imagined anything about you, much less what you taste like. 
And the words keep coming as he whispers how tight you feel. How hot. How perfect you’re gonna fit him. 
While all you can utter in return is gibberish mixed with the syllables of his name. 
Pleasure rolls in waves as he learns every inch of your cunt, fingers drenched in your slick and the curves of his cheeks lathered in your scent. When he reaches beneath you to grope your ass, he gives a rough squeeze. 
“Move your fucking hand.” 
Your eyes fling wide. 
“I wanna hear you.” 
“No, I’m—there could be people—”
He clambers over you, robe wide open and revealing a body that rips your soul clean out. When he seizes your palm to shove it to the side, another monster starts to wake within your chest. 
And this one takes treacherous pleasure in those slitted eyes. 
“You’re gonna scream for me.” 
“Or else what.” 
The dark rumble. The rolling thunder. 
Your other monster is starting to match his glint. “You don’t wanna do that with me, doll.” 
“Do what?” you ask with flitting eyes. 
When all you get is a sharp smirk in return, your stomach flips in desire and excitement. So when he slaps the side of your breast, you hum high with a delighted flinch.
“Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.” 
Yes. This is what you came in here for. Your shyness will have to be comfortable with the unknown, but it’s also helping seeing Yoongi much more relaxed. 
Like a normal person. 
Especially when he leans over to open his bedside drawer, hair swaying as he grabs for what you think are condoms. 
Your hunch is right when he rights himself again, teeth nicking a wrapper before tearing it in one sweep. When you start to clench your legs together in response, he shoves them back open with a thigh, robe parting to show exactly what’s going to splice you in half. 
You’ll gladly take his amusement at your jaw unhinging. Because what you see is heaven sent. 
Yoongi says nothing as he wraps himself fully, and he continues to be silent as you whisper, 
“I wanna see you.” 
It doesn’t take long for him to understand. As his length presses against your core, he slips off his dark robe, letting it slide down equally dark sheets before pouring onto the floor. 
You’re just as quiet as he situates himself above your beating heart. Which is for the best. Your thoughts are better left unsaid. 
All you can do is grip his arm, sliding your hand up until you can finally, finally brush his hair with your own fingers. Exhaling when you discover how soft it feels. How comfort can be found in something as trivial as tendrils.
“This is helping, too,” you murmur to his lips, inhaling what you realize is your own scent. 
When he cradles your chin, your breath cuts. “Things happen when you say what you want.” 
“If only it was always that easy.”
“It is with me.” 
Your heart skips twice before tripping on itself, and you instinctively curl your palm against his head. “Everyone around you must be so lucky.” 
An eyebrow lifts before he huffs. “Not talking about just anyone, love.” 
…Huh? 
What does he mean by that because shit you’re getting tugged forward he’s so strong—
“Now, if you’re gonna be difficult,” Yoongi warns. “Let’s give you enough time to reconsider.” 
Your thighs widen as he positions himself at your entrance, cockhead rubbing along your folds as you tense. 
“Uh uh.” He hums. “This is what you want, yeah?”
“It’s been awhile,” you spat, rolling your eyes when he shoots you a knowing look. “Just… give me a second.” 
Obliging, Yoongi starts slow, making your head roll into the pillow as you accommodate his girth. Holy fuck, he’s big. But he’s sliding in easy after his little feast down there, which you piece together as one big prep for the main course. 
“Fuck,” he groans, resisting every urge to plow straight into you. At least, from what you can decipher in his pinched features. If this feels amazing for you, you can’t even imagine what he must be feeling now. It only gives you butterflies knowing he’s following through with his word. “So fucking tight.” 
“Not my fault you take up… so much space,” you grit through your teeth, neck straining as you blow air to the ceiling. 
Fully sheathed, Yoongi rests inside until your muscles relax. And you only peel your eyes open when you start to slip into more pleasure than anything else. 
Okay. You can do this. You can fit him surprisingly well—maybe too well—and you’re okay to keep going without restraint. 
When you peer down your body, you expect him to look bored or indifferent. Like he’s wasting time dealing with you. 
So it makes you shiver when Yoongi looks ready to ruin. 
Toned arms flex at his sides, hands keeping your thighs held in their place. When a strand of vibrant hair falls, his chains spark in the moonlight streaming in from the windows. A dragon that waits. And waits.
You’re ready. Your demise will be your reward. 
“I’m good,” you assure him. “You can move now—”
A second invisible chain snaps with a clink, and Yoongi launches into a thrust that has you seeing stars. You tumble through the dark as he thrusts again, mouth open with silent yells before you gnaw right into your lip. 
“Relax for me,” he commands. “Just like that.” 
Your cunt hugs him tight as you bounce even harder, his little grunts of praise making you mewl and whimper in bursts. 
Fucking hell, this feels good. 
You cannot wait to find out how it’ll feel when you piss him off. 
His hands grip your hips, hosting you up onto his thighs as he thrusts hard into your cunt. Your body rocks in an arch, limp and at his mercy—which there is very little of. Enchanted, your  lip tightens with the pull of your teeth, eyes squeezing shut as he feels so fucking good and hitting. Just. Right. 
It all carries you so far gone that as soon as you feel a rush of air, the sting on your ass makes you react—piercing moan making both of you freeze.
And Yoongi’s eyes deepen a shade as he slowly grins. “There you go.” 
“Don’t act like you—fuck!” His second swat has you grunting through your teeth, and his thrust forward at the same time he does it again has you whining. Monosyllabic, his name shoves out of your lungs, with each part more chipped than the next. 
“What’s that, love?”
“Yoongi, please—”
“That’s right.” He clutches your sides so damn rough. “Say my fuckin’ name.” 
And his pace pitches you into the sun, rocking so hard you won’t be surprised if the bed frame snaps in half. In thirds. In sevenths. Your legs go completely limp as he drives in, filling you and hitting a spot that pierces your eyes with stars and light and lust. Down down down you spiral, up up up you go. It’s only you and him now, with Yoongi plowing into you like his life ends come morning. 
There’s nothing in the world that feels like this. Burdened by the dangerous weight of a man—this man—while feeling so light you could float? Absolutely nothing can compare. 
Your body finally rests as he stops, but you get no breather as he flips you over with strong arms. Disoriented, you squeak as he tugs you backward, your ass rising in the air as your head is shoved into luxury cotton. 
Sweet pain sears your ass again, and you gasp with wide eyes as you feel his cock at your entrance. “What are you—”
“Lift up. Higher.” He slides his dick up your folds. “You’re gonna like this.” 
“You don’t speak for me—”
He thrusts into you as soon as you get accustomed to his length and size. And the place his thumb presses makes you scream into your pillow. His pillow. A hotel suite pillow that you’re biting to stay afloat. 
How the fuck does that feel so good? How does all of this feel so good? His thumb on your asshole already has you melting, but the smacking of his sack against your clit makes you want to repent.
“So fucking—fuck.”
Drool strings from your mouth as your arms are tugged at the elbows, your whole upper body coming up for air. Precious precious air that’s cut off when Yoongi chokes you from behind.
“Yoo—!”
His strength slams your chest into the headboard, right at the edge of the bed before you feel the force of his palm hit the wall. 
“What did I fucking say.”
“A lot.”
“I’m gonna hear you.”
“But—”
He shoves you flush against dark wood, your cheek smushing hard and your lips curling. “Let them hear you, too.” 
You keep your moans muted until fingers are shoved down your throat. And you gargle until he yanks them out. 
“That’s it. I know you can take it.”
“You’re easier…” Gritting your teeth in a smug grin, you taunt in a bold-faced lie, “Easier to take than I thought.”  
His laughter is not lighthearted. “You’re still gonna go there, huh.” 
“I don’t know what you mean,” you pout, eyes drooping from the euphoric shocks his thrusts provide. Sweat rolls down your arms as you slip on the wall, but it gives your chest a cool surface to rest. “Go where?” 
Suddenly, the grinding stops. And your cunt feels abandoned as he pulls out so fast. When you think to spin around, he spanks your ass with a harsh, “Don’t move.” 
Do you want to disobey? Yes. But you’re more curious than anything, so do as he says.
And your eyes light up when you realize what he comes back with. 
“Now… I could use this,,” he warns, pressing a silky smooth robe tie along your neck. “Since you don’t wanna behave.”
“Do it,” you taunt, wishing like hell that he does. Yes, yes, yes. You’re drunk on lust and volcanic want and you will fight for nothing more. “You won’t.” 
Your neck is rocked back before you feel him slap your ass. “Then stay still.” 
And you obey as you feel your belt—or his, either one—wrap loosely around your column before it’s tied. 
Gently, your chin is turned, and you’re surprised when you’re met with stern eyes. “Can you breathe.” 
Blinking, you nod. “Yeah, I can.” 
“Two taps if you’re out, understand?” 
“Yes.” 
A swift pat to your cheek. “What’d I say.” 
“Two taps,” you repeat, figuring out fast that you’re liking this development a little too much. “If I’m out.” 
Holy fuck the yank you feel is exhilarating, your body bending back as shock overcomes your senses. 
Lidded eyes staring down at yours, he vows, “You better make them count or we never do this again.” 
“I will, I will,” you rasp out, breath still coming to you fine albeit a little more harshly. “I promise.” 
“Good girl.”  
Wait, did he say again? 
As he slips right back inside, you lose all passing trains of thought. Cunt filled while his fingers clog your mouth makes you traverse to another plane. Every part of you, at his mercy—
Then he yanks you backward and all that mercy burns in the flames of heaven. Flocks to the clouds of hell.
The belt is completely taut as you succumb to his thrusts. Hard. Fast. Rough thrusts make you cry out as he toys with you, gravelly hums tumbling down your back as you arch for him. All the sounds you make echo throughout the room, a symphony of mewls and moans as Yoongi controls your every move. 
“Take it.”
“Hmm?”
“You want it,” he repeats. “So take it.”
Oh. Oh, he wants you to—Oh.
You start moving back and forth, doing exactly as he says. Taking what’s yours for the night and shamefully not forever.
But it turns out it’s not enough because he tugs. 
“Like you fucking mean it.”
Fuck.
Groaning, you move with more intention, sliding up and down his cock and feeling full every time. It feels good having control, you muse, and imagining him watching your debauchery turns you on that much more.
Your thrusts turn to rough slams, friction running fast while you chase it with all your strength. The groans you hear sound primal, hissed taunts egging you on.
“Guess you can listen after all.” 
“Fuck you.”
Another hard yank. 
Your laugh only spurns him on. 
Slaps to your ass, grabs to your breasts. Yoongi is worshipping every inch of you and you won’t even notice this until nights later when you’re alone. You’ll remember the way he squeezes just right, the way he fits so well, the places he hits with no hesitation nor guesswork. It’s pure experience strangling you with passion and you don’t even know how to embrace it all.
But then you start to feel it. Your breath tapering. It’s getting harder and harder to suck in air and you’re starting to see stars across your eyes. 
When you reach an alarming point, you quickly slap his leg twice, oxygen gushing into your lungs right as he lets go. 
You almost come on that exhilaration alone. Adrenaline pumps pumps pumps into your veins, eyes blowing black as he spins you around.
Hot, open mouth kisses pepper your burning throat, and you have the nerve to catapult him all the way back onto the bed. 
Yoongi lets you top him with a laugh, and you immediately use this opportunity to pin him down with a chokehold. Wanting him to feel the same way you just did. Knowing deep in your soul that he wants it, too.
“Cute.”
“You asshole.” 
Holy fuck, you can’t even recognize your own voice. It’s hoarse. It’s rugged. 
It’s salacious.
He cocks a brow while peering down his nose. “You done?”
“What?” You blink. Slowly releasing his neck, you admit with a rasp, “No, that’s not what I.. I’m not done with you.” 
Yoongi slides into a smirk, and you attempt to scoff with a burning throat. 
You wanna tell him how good he is. How stupidly attentive he is. But all you settle for is something neutral. Safe. And maybe a little forward. 
“Just felt like calling you that.” 
Yoongi’s smile mellows into a line, and if you weren’t in such an evocative position, you would have thought it was genuine contemplation. But he slides hands up your thighs before slapping the side of your ass. “Get on.” 
Fuck. You don’t really know how. At least, you don’t know how to do it without showing him you aren’t used to it. 
So the confidence will keep getting faked. With a little help of your quick wit and tongue as you grab his length. “Didn’t hear a please.” 
Yoongi huffs out amusement. “I don’t say that.” 
His tip goes in fine. Fuck. Okay. You can do this you can do this. “Why am I not surprised—!” 
He shoves you down as soon as you give him enough leeway, and you groan out as you catch yourself with hands on his chest. 
“This is where you’re gonna live,” he says with confidence, laughing in condescension when you scowl. “Fuckin’ love it.” 
He can’t say stuff like that. 
You ride until you find a rhythm, rolling your body and finding the friction you want. It’s there for the taking. And he’s encouraging you with gravelly words and hums, with hands up your stomach and grasping your chest. 
After a single swirl of your hips, he throws his bed back until his neck strains. “Fuck.”
So you take that cue, rotating between rides and swirls. When he tweaks and rolls thumbs around your nipples, you clench hard around him, and he does it until you moan to the ceiling. 
A slap to your breast makes you whine, and you keep going before leaning forward, placing hands against his shoulders and bouncing your hips on his cock. 
“—a fucking natural,” Yoongi praises, chuckling to himself as he toys with the silk streaming down your neck. 
“Maybe I’ve just practiced.” 
“Show me more then.” 
Quickly, he tugs you down flush against him before grabbing your ass, slamming you down and pistoning up until you scream.
You start biting his shoulder to quell your shouts, which makes him moan loud enough to make you possessive. Wildly possessive. Before long, you feel yourself going limp on him, only for him, solely for his pleasure and yours. 
“Just like that. There you go.” 
You mewl into his skin as he grabs you, holding you down as he slams into you again and again and again. Drunk with power, you begin to mark his throat, devouring and feasting with reckless abandon.
Growling ragged, Yoongi flips your position and pins you face down, shoving up hard into your cunt before plowing. You fully lean into the yells now, saying his name and inching over the goddamn edge of the bed.
It’s there. Your release. It’s potent and it’s visceral and it’s everything you need need need—
“Yoongi, I’m close—”
He penetrates so far that you can taste him, and you come so harshly that you convulse. Squeezing like hell and quivering in a full body fold.
Holy shit, the screams. Is that you? 
The sinister laughs of pride prove you right. “That’s my girl. Fucking scream.”
You can’t stop. All you know is extreme pleasure coursing through your veins, pulsing beautiful colors and making you arch like mad. 
But you have more to handle. Yoongi prolongs your euphoria by yanking you back only to sink into you again, hands rubbing both nipples and tongue speaking deadly sins in your ear.
“You aren’t done,” he growls. “Lemme hear you again.” 
“I can’t—”
“Liar.”
His name rips from your mouth as you surprise yourself, gushing around his length and squeezing in powerful pulses. Nothing exists. Nothing at all. Everything you know is a feeling, as vibrant and shimmering as the sun above your street back home. 
All the heat you’ve ever felt coalesces along your skin, and the words whispered in your ear slide right down with your sweat. You aren’t quite sure what you hear. But judging by your preening, it has to be praise. Dirty, dirty, sinful praise. 
When your limp weight is flipped, you allow your legs to be hoisted up with no resistance. Looking upward, you peel open lids to the equivalent of a king. A god. And your outright awe blocks your ears from catching what your dragon swears. 
“—perfect,” he grits, inserting himself into your squelching folds. “Again.” 
No fucking way you have more left in you. You’re already floating in the ether, buzzing in pleasure and sweat and ecstasy. If you come one more time you’ll be an empty shell. 
“Earn it,” you boldly rasp out, grappling a bit of your spirit and reining it back one last time. “Take it, you bi—”
Your heart leaps up your throat as you’re pitched upward, groan serrated and high as you grin in triumph because it feels so fucking rewarding when he gives gives gives. 
Letting everything go relaxes your folds, causing Yoongi to rock into you with pride and without resistance. His chain smacks against his pecs at the same pace as your bouncing chest, and you’re more than sure you’re gonna feel bruises on your legs where he sinks his claws.
Skin slapping skin. Mewls and gritted curses. Heady scent covers them all in a thick layer and you feel the light grow closer and closer, stronger this time than all the others before it. Why? Why do you know this one will pitch you over the edge for good? 
Both of you may feel the same. 
Because Yoongi suddenly shoves himself so far into you and presses his body flush against your shuddering shaking screaming form.
You pulse frantically around him, throat sore and ragged from your final cry as tears stream down your face. It feels so fucking gorgeous that it hurts, and you enter a plane so mystical it’s completely separate from your earthly vessel. The two of you become closer than one, and you feel Yoongi stutter in his groan before yanking out and ripping the condom off.
Hot spurts paint your skin—a sweaty, spent canvas that dips slow with your labored breaths. His own breathing is rough but not exhausted, and you chalk that up to the mountain of stamina and experience he has on you. 
It’s done. 
Thoroughly spent.
All the pent up emotions dissipate in a slow descent. The chaos of today finally lowers its head, your monsters making their ways back into their cages. Moonlight shines brighter. Fuller. 
Illuminating a man in silver as he slowly heads into the bathroom. 
Holy fuck. You just slept with a gangster. With a Dragon.
With Yoongi.
There’s no way you can forget this. No way you can see yourself moving past this moment, even years and lifetimes from now. It doesn’t matter if Yoongi never thinks about you again, because something transpired in this room that you’ll keep locked away in your soul forever. 
As he brings back a towel to wipe his essence from your skin, you wonder. 
Was it all worth it? 
Or will this torture you in every dream you’ll ever have? 
A palm digs into the mattress before you feel weight and jewelry. The silk around your throat is carefully undone, and lazy, heated lips descend on your neck once more.
Bliss.
Sighing, you utter his name much softer now, telling him please without knowing what for. 
“What do you want,” he whispers.
“I don’t know,” you admit in a wisp. 
Yoongi keeps worshipping your throat, and you mewl when he reaches to rub your breast in a slow squeeze. When you drag your hand down to grip his cock, he tenses with a gritty hum. 
“Careful, love,” he rumbles. “There’s a lot more I can do with you.” 
“Tell me.” Your breath starts shorting in anticipation. “Tell me everything.” 
“Nah.” When he slides forward, the bare tip of him meets your cunt, causing you to flinch with a bitten lip. “You’re just gonna have to wonder. Day, after day, after day.”
Fuck this guy with the spite of a thousand lives. You’re the one holding his cock, so how the fuck is he still being this sure of himself? 
“Put it in,” you blurt, earning his gaze of utter confusion. 
“What?” 
“Just for a second.” You stroke him, feeling slick velvet and wetness coating your fingers. “That’s the last thing I want.” 
His eyes search yours, and for the first time tonight, he’s the one that looks hesitant. “You sure…?” 
“We’ll never do this again,” you whisper. “And I know you want it, too.” 
His gaze holds yours for a moment, searching your eyes for any sense of doubt. 
When he finds none, Yoongi positions himself at your entrance, and you feel his knuckles brush your folds before he sinks in. Slowly, cautiously, extraordinarily. 
And both of you groan so full. 
“Fuck,” Yoongi glowers, teeth sharp as he grounds them hard. His arm veins strain, shifting all his ink in pretty ebbs and flows. All his stomach snaps taut, and you can’t look away from his sheer look of concentration and lust. “Fuck.” 
“Feels so good,” you gasp, enjoying the way he’s slowly grinding against your walls. All the slick from your releases allows smooth strokes, and you already feel close for yet another time. An unbelievable amount of orgasm in such a short span. You’ll never reach this peak. Not with anyone else. “What the fuck, I’m close again—”
“Shit—”
It happens in a snap. But more of a mellowed, drawn-out river flow than a full waterfall. Your eyes slowly roll before closing, and your chest arches slow as you rock back and forth on his cock. The squeezes are harder. The pulses are fuller. You’re milking him for all he’s worth, like your cunt won’t let go until it’s pumped him dry. 
Which makes Yoongi lose his absolute mind, hissing as he pulls out quick before spilling onto you all over again. Again? 
Holy fuck, again? 
As he groans up above, his eyes are wiped dark completely. Which makes you wonder how you can still see stars embedded inside. 
Was it all worth it? 
You’ve never been more achingly sure.
It’s a long shot to know if he feels the same. And an even longer one for that to truly be the case. 
But it’s okay. 
This is the first, the last, the only time you have. And it was more than you could’ve ever asked for. 
As he falls into the sheets next to you, both of you exhale harsh, hearts pounding and pounding into the bed and to the ceiling. 
You can’t even move. Every single limb is sore from base to tip, and the door looks so, so far away. 
When you whisper his name, you get a little acknowledgement at your side. Gathering all the strength you have left, you whisper, 
“I know this is when I’d be kicked out, but.. I can’t move.” 
The small puff of air you get in return sounds like a yes. But you aren’t sure until Yoongi verbally gives you a real answer, 
“S’ok.” 
All you can do is hum, noticing with a sharp pang that you feel soft towel wipes before the smooth slide of sheets up your bare skin. 
“Just stay on your side.” 
Ah. 
Well. At least you aren’t alone for a night. 
“And you.. Stay on yours,” you murmur, darkness seeping into your peripherals. 
“Mm.”
Yoongi can be as cold and heartless and calculating as he wants. But you know he’s more than what he shows. 
Because with a second sharp hit to the chest, you also realize the side you’re on is the side he was on before. He’s not gonna make you move just to keep his preference. 
Don’t think too much about it. Do not. 
“I wish everything was different,” you whisper, drifting into a dreamless sea. “I don’t want to hate you...” 
Your forehead is swept by a warm hand. You cannot lift your lids any longer, but your ears still hang onto their efforts. 
And the last thing you hear before succumbing to the dark is a lighter flick and a fact. A cold, expected, damning fact. 
“You’ll always hate me.” 
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When you wake, you’re greeted by the same room you fell asleep in. 
Sunlight cuts through grey skies to shine every surface, and you breathe in a musky, comforting scent as you stretch your limbs. 
Did last night really happen? 
The soreness between your bare legs is more than enough to prove so. 
Slowly turning, you whisper to Yoongi that you’re ready to go when he is. 
Only to find out that you’re talking to no one. 
Shit.
Shooting up, you start to panic. Maybe he’s in the living room already? Getting ready to call someone to bring you back home? 
Glancing at the nightstand on his side, you don’t spot the dagger he gifted you, brain grappling with what that could possibly mean. 
Your ribs crackle when you bite back emotion. It’s all over. 
Shifting back to swing your feet onto cold fibers, you pause with swimming eyes. 
Because the blade rests ready on your nightstand, propped on a set of plain clothes in the perfect position you would need it to be.
Teeth clenched and eyes burning, you swipe it before rushing out of bed, head pulsing and a dull ache between your legs. “Fuck..” 
The shirt and pants you’re given don’t exactly fit, but you’ll take what you can get as you punch limbs through long sleeves and high pants. 
Yoongi isn’t here. 
You feel it in your whole being, and you have no fucking clue why it hurts. 
But if he’s not here…
Who do you start to hear outside the door? 
You freeze, lungs expanding as you hold multiple breaths. 
It sounds like talking. But also a myriad of sounds? 
Heading into the bathroom, you silently glide across the floor before swiping up the chopsticks. Because yes, you’re still gonna save them. For defence. For keepsakes. For a grave reminder. 
Tucking them in a pocket, you ready your dagger under your garment, pressing it flat against your skin like you were trained to do. 
Slipping out into the hallway, you hear the sounds clearer. Movement. Slides of furniture. 
What the hell is going on? 
You’re about to retreat back into the room when a man crosses in front of the hall. 
And his hair is strikingly… 
Orange?
As he catches you in his vision, he stops on a dime, hand outstretched in greeting. “Hello!” 
Your step back makes him laugh. But you’re not laughing in the slightest as you question, 
“Where’s.. Where’s Agust?” 
“Gone.” The smile spreading makes you squint. “Need to see him?” 
Your answer is immediate.
“I’d rather die.”
-
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⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist
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a/n: alright before i say anything else: use the bathroom after sex, and especially after doing it unprotected!! i normally include it so this is a rare exception. but yes. please use the bathroom after, and practice safe sex always! a/n 2: WHO COULD THAT BE AT THE END THERE... ahahah but seriously, i for one am still swirly eyed just thinking about what's coming for these two.. they have no idea what's in store and i'm itching to get the next part done! a/n 3: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ minted masterlist
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katsukikitten · 28 days ago
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You're a spicy little Omega, so combative most mistake you for an Alpha. You hold eye contact like one, gaze as sharp as any knife, even the strongest Alpha struggle not to bare their teeth at you.
And your scent, comforting to beta and omega alike but to Alpha, oh to alpha you smell too intense. Dizzying, headache inducing, and some even take it as a threat.
You worsen it by purchasing this pheromone perfume your friends have. Their scents doubled, so pleasant it has even you wanting to corner them so you know it will only worsen yours. Spraying it onto your throat and wrists, dabbing behind your ears with a deadly smile on your face as you can already smell the spice of your attitude stinging the air.
Paths are cleared for you, Alpha turning their faces away, covering their nose, something that used to make you cry in the dead of night throughout highschool but now you embrace it. Use it to your advantage and you avoid less fights this way although your throat says otherwise.
Walking through the shopping district followed by a few Omega and Beta that subconsciously want to avoid the Alpha gaze in the busy streets even with the patrolling heroes.
Confident in each of your steps until you suddenly smell smoky caramel, a warm body pressing you against cold brick in the alley way. You're not sure when you were pulled and pinned so quickly but your claws find his back and teeth his chest, he's smart to protect his throat.
"Could smell ya half way cross the city. Been looking everywhere for you." He's growling, displeasure dripping from the syllables as he presses his cheek to yours. Forcing you to present your throat that he presses his nose into. Inhaling deeply and when you finally register his cock throbbing against your leg you freeze for a moment.
Something you've never done since you presented as an Omega. Your friends talked about this. About this moment in time where an omega will just melt for an alpha, how it's out of their control, a subconscious primal thing. Something you scoffed at, something you never wanted to happen, something you knew would never happen with the way alphas sneered down at you. How they'd grip their napes and turn their heads away from you because you were just a little "too much" even when you took suppressants, they claimed you were too combative.
You feel your knees go weak, legs turning to jelly but your jaw releases only to bite at the juncture of his throat in warning. You've ripped out glands before and you'd do it again.
This is when you'd be met with a warning bite of their own but instead his body presses more into yours. Hips bucking, long groan that makes a subtle shudder snake up his spine. Tongue peaking from behind his lips to lap at your throat a moment, palms popping against brick as he loses his hold on his restraint.
Katsuki has never felt like this, never chased the scent of an Omega and if he was honest he preferred to fuck alphas, so to have been pulled off his patrol route cause he caught wind of something like a dog has him conflicted.
A little angry.
Bakugou didn't lose control like this, at least not anymore.
Canines elongated, points scrapping your skin, salivating over your scent as he huffs over your sensitive gland. Eyes stinging with frustration to not rip up your pants and underwear, to pop every button on your blouse to see those fat tits in the low light.
"Got me in damn near tears I want ya so bad." A growl in your ear, bruising grip on your ribs, saliva from the Alpha dripping onto your throat.
The sound of it has you completely limp in his hold, this was not what the perfume was supposed to do. It was supposed to keep everyone at bay not invite the most aggressive and combative alpha hero to make claim of your body.
This sure as hell isn't what you wanted.
So why do you tilt your face away that much more so that Katsuki can have more skin to nose at your throat?
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v6quewrlds · 1 month ago
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THE BATMAN, JOE BURROW.
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pairing⠀⁎⠀joe burrow x reader. word count⠀⁎⠀0.6k.
summary⠀⁎⠀after seeing him get so worked up over batman lore at dinner. you have no choice but to play into joe's batman fantasies.
author's note⠀⁎⠀based on this thought from last night. i know next to nothing about batman and catwoman. wasn't even supposed to be writing for this man yet here we are. warnings⠀⁎⠀suggestive but no smut, slight roleplay.
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“You know what was hot tonight?” You started slowly, your eyes gleaming with the inhibition that could only come from the perfect mix of homemade margarita mix and laughter. “Seeing you get all riled up over Batman with your brothers.”
Joe raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked at you from across the room. “Yeah? You liked watching me nerd out?”
You nodded emphatically. “It was like… watching you come alive, all passionate and… intense.” You giggled, taking a step closer to him. “It's so rare to see you that way off the field. It was hot.”
Joe's smirk grew wider. “You like the intensity, huh? Then I guess it's time to show you what happens when the Dark Knight meets his Catwoman.” He stumbled over his words, clumsily.
His cheeks flushed pink as he took your hand and pulled you closer, trying to channel his inner Bruce Wayne but failing miserably as you both burst into laughter.
Stumbling into the bedroom, you rummaged through your dresser drawers and pulled out a black lace lingerie set. “What do we think? Will this make me a convincing cat burglar?” you asked, holding it up against your body.
Joe couldn’t help but let out a snort of laughter, steadying you as you tripped over your own feet. “You might need a bit more practice with the whole 'sneaky' part, but I'm not complaining about lingerie.” He touched the fabric with a gentle hesitance, his eyes darkening with desire.
You threw him a playful glare, though the humor danced in your eyes. “You just wait, Vengeance.” You stepped away from him to disappear into the closet. You shimmied into the set, your confidence unshaken by your tipsy giggles. The lingerie hugged your curves in a way that had Joe's mouth going dry, his hands itching to peel it off you.
As you slinkily strutted back into the bedroom, the moonlight from the window painted your body in a soft, silvery glow. “How do I look?” you purred, your voice dropping an octave and suddenly sounding much more like the feline fatale you were pretending to be.
Joe’s eyes followed your every move, a smoldering heat in his gaze that made it clear he was dialed in. “Like you could steal the Batmobile without having to try.” He stepped closer, his laughter subsiding into a low, hungry growl. He reached out, his thumb tracing the curve of your hip, his hand slipping under the fabric. “But maybe you could steal something else for me instead?”
Your breath hitched, your giggles fading into a sultry smile. “Like what, Mr. Wayne?” You stepped closer, pressing yourself against him. The lace was cool against your heated skin, the anticipation of the roleplay making your pulse quicken.
Joe’s grin was slow and calculated as he leaned in, his voice dropping to match yours. “Maybe my heart?” He suggested, his hands sliding down to your ass and giving it a firm squeeze. You giggled again, but the sound was closer to a teasing gasp this time.
“How about I do that thing you love?” You whispered in his ear, your breath hot and teasing. You knew exactly what buttons to push to get Joe from zero to sixty, and you were eager to push them all.
You reached up, your hand snaking around his neck, manicured nails scratching at the trimmed hairs at the nape of his neck. He groaned, eyes fluttering closed at your breath ghosting over his lips, not yet giving in as you channeled the coy spirit of Selina Kyle: pulling him in just to remain just out of his reach, a wicked smile gracing your red-stained lips.
Finally, with a satisfied hum, you pulled him down for a deep, lingering kiss. The laughter subsided as your bodies pressed closer, the heat between you growing more intense by the second. Your giggles transformed into eager whimpers, his strong arms wrapping around your waist as you both lost yourselves in the moment. The room spun as Joe's hands roamed, tracing the curves of your body, the fabric of your lingerie whispering sultry promises as it slid to the floor.
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skzdarlings · 11 months ago
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lady-like ; skz ; chan x reader
original ask: requested by anonymous: ❛ i'd say you need someone to put you in your place. ❜ W CHAN I BEG OF YOU + original ask: requested by anonymous: “You want gentle? Wrong fucking address”+ Chan <3
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pairing: bang chan/reader content info: enemies to lovers, established lovers. criminal!chan, masked!chan. dom!chan, sub!reader (background mentions of switching). choking, floor sex, rough sex, dirty talk. brief mention of some sexism in the workplace. word count: 2050 words.
masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.
enjoy!
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It is the middle of the night and you are patrolling the art gallery yourself.  You do not trust your colleagues or the security team tonight.  No one believes there is any way to track the SKZ gang but you have found an undoubted pattern.  That motley band of thieves have struck this gallery more than once, making off with paintings and artifacts alike, but tonight you will catch them.
Tonight you will catch him.   
Your thought conjures him like a devil.  You turn a corner and a gloved hand escapes the shadows, covering your mouth.  You are yanked backwards, right into his chest, your back to his front. 
You feel a moment of satisfaction because ha, you were right.  No one believed you but you knew SKZ would strike tonight. 
Then you are furious because those rotten thugs are probably making off with a priceless artifact while their leader holds you hostage. 
“Hey there,” Bang Chan says in that too-friendly drawl.  “How’s my favourite girl tonight?”
You try biting his hand but the leather of his glove is quite thick.  Probably on purpose.  You have left more than one bite mark on him in past encounters.   
“Ah-nah-nah,” he says, steadying you when you wriggle. “Stop that.  We both know how this ends.  Let’s play nice this time instead, yeah?” 
You answer by stomping on his foot and throwing your head back.  The smack surprises him and he stumbles, giving you an opportunity to turn and brace yourself in a more defensible stance.  You face him, hands up, adrenaline thundering through your body. 
Chan is wearing all black, including a beanie and mask.  He removes the hat, revealing hair just as black, but keeps the mask while rubbing his jaw.  The half-hidden face somehow makes the dark intensity of his eyes look even more severe. 
You and Chan have a played a long game of cat-and-mouse.  You are so used to his teasing that you almost forget he is dangerously competent man.  A criminal.  A criminal you despise.   A criminal who is undoubtedly grinning at you under that mask, given the way his eyes crinkle with mirth.  It should not make your heart race. 
“Ouch,” he says.  He takes a step towards you, inching out of the shadows.  “You’ve been training.  Impressive.” 
“Not like I had a choice,” you snap. “Some no good criminal keeps attacking my art gallery.” 
“Criminal, yeah,” Chan says.  “But no good?  Really?”  He flicks a hand your way, not so much striking as testing your reflexes.  You bat it successfully and his eyebrows lift, showing he is moderately impressed.  
“You’re a dirty thief,” you say, taking a swing of your own.  Yours is much more deliberate, swinging at his head, but he dodges just as easily. 
You scamper backwards, his booted steps following swiftly.  You keep your hands up in defense.  He is still smirking under that mask. 
“Thief, yeah,” he continues to tease.  “But dirty?  Well… I suppose you’d know…” 
Heat pulses under your skin. 
This cat-and-mouse game has crossed many lines.  You cannot even remember how it first happened.  It feels like Bang Chan has always been in the shadows, stealing paintings and kisses alike.  One moment you were snarking at the infuriating cat burglar, then your hands were in his hair and his mouth was on yours. 
Sometimes he wins, distracting you or holding you, giving his team time to make off with something.  Sometimes you win, trapping him or his men and only letting them go if they relinquish their prize.  Weirdly, Chan seems to like it when you outsmart him.  It quite literally puts him on his knees.
Flustered, your next swing is more emotional than strategic.  He catches your arm and spins you again, trapping you against his body.  You grunt and struggle in his arms. 
“That’s not very polite, you know,” he says.  “I thought you said you were a lady.”
Yes, you have made such an insistence in the past, reminding him you are a lady of class, an educated woman, an intelligent academic.  He did not argue.  He did pin you to the wall and choke you in that infuriatingly delicious way, the way that gets you coming all over his hand in a second.   That’s it, he said, with a hand around your throat and another under your skirt.  Tell me what a lady you are.  Letting a criminal like me make you come.  Tsk, what would your co-workers say? 
You stamp the memory down because it is getting you hot.   He is holding you differently than before, so you cannot swing your head back again.  You writhe uselessly. 
“I didn’t just say I was a lady,” you snap.  “I am a lady.  I am a respected professional, unlike you—”
“I’m respected and professional, thank you,” he says, his tone still bright like he is having fun. 
It is fun. You hate to admit it, but it is.  Before he started breaking into your galleries, every day was the same.  Your life was such a monotony and you dread returning to it. There is a reason you never call the authorities on him.  There would be no triumph in that demise. You would lament his absence and forever feel like business went unfinished. 
You are satisfied when you can face this dangerous man and win, when you can push him on his back and put him in his place, when all that danger and power and skill surrenders to you and you alone.  Because Bang Chan has a notorious reputation for a lot of things, but fraternizing with civilians is not one of them.   
Except you. 
Except right now. 
“You know what I say, little miss lady?” he asks.
He gives you no time to answer.  Your breath catches when he circles that gloved hand around your throat and squeezes.  It softens every part of you immediately, like a kitten grabbed by the scruff, instinctively and animalistically submissive in the claws of something powerful. 
You whimper, your knees going weak.  You know you are wet.  You know he knows. 
He pulls you against him.  You can feel every hard plane of his body, his bulky body armour, his weapons.  You feel either a buckle or his bulge against your body, but either way it is irrevocably suggestive.   When you wriggle, he squeezes your throat, and you go pliant again. 
“I’d say,” he whispers, “you need someone to put you in your place.”   
Oh, he has talked about your place many times before.  It’s with me, he will insist, fucking you within an inch of your life, making you come again and again, putting you on your knees and bringing out all the hidden dark and dirty parts of yourself.  Come on, he will say, we’re perfect for each other, yeah? You know it.  Join my team.  Come with me. 
You do admit, he respects your keen eye and talent, and he acknowledges your expertise far more than the other people at your gallery.  It took a year to even be allowed to do substantial tasks, relegated to fetching everyone’s coffee, getting spoken down to because you were a woman whose ambition was considered a nuisance. 
That is not enough to resort to a criminal life.  Surely? 
But for a moment, you can imagine giving into the darkness permanently.  Tonight, it is you that surrenders as he drags you both into the shadows and onto the floor.  He takes off his jacket and lays it out, pushing you down face-first onto it.  You take a dizzying gulp of air while his hands are occupied, removing his gloves, unbuckling his utility belt.   
You wait for the moment he lifts your skirt.  His breath catches when he realizes you are not wearing anything underneath.
You yelp because he smacks your ass.  You look back at him with as much fury as you can muster in your haze of lust. 
“A lady,” he says, grabbing your hips and tugging you back.  “Sure.” 
“I am,” you say, but your voice is rough, your breathing heavy just from his bare fingers gliding down your wet pussy, the evidence of your desire betraying your claims of propriety. 
“Sure, baby girl,” he says, because he knows it annoys you even while it makes you clench.  He can see the evidence of that too, swearing as he looks at you, making you feel even more exposed and flustered.   “You’re made for me, you know that, sweetheart?  Always feel so good on my dick.  God.” 
“You’re taking your time tonight,” you say dryly.  “Getting sentimental?  Turning into the slow and gentle type?” 
He laughs.  Then he grabs you by the neck, pinning you to the floor as he sidles up behind you.  The head of his cock presses at your entrance, wet with anticipation. 
“You want gentle?” he asks.  He is inside you with one deep thrust.  “Wrong fucking address.”
The truth is, even when rough, he is careful.  Your face never leaves his jacket and he knows where to squeeze and hit and press properly.   Bizarrely, ridiculously, you are safe in this criminal’s dangerous hands.   The biggest threat they pose are just how skilled and deft they are, making you forget about all of those details as he manhandles you and fucks your worries away. 
He wraps a hand around your throat and lifts you.  He is still in his mask, still almost entirely clothed except his undone fly.  Your skirt is up, your shirt in disarray, your chest and throat exposed to his hands.  You can hear him panting into his mask, your own breath as wild until he steals it.  You clench around him, making a weak, ragged sound as he chokes you and pounds into you. 
“You’re not gonna come like this, are ya?” he taunts, because he knows your body well, can feel you are the on verge just from his angles and rhythm.  “Tsk,” he says.  “That’s not very lady-like.”
You would tell him to shut up, but you can only manage a weepy moan as he drives you over the edge of a mind-numbing orgasm.  You feel drenched, dripping down your thighs, and he still doesn’t relent, pushing you back down and holding your hips as he drills through every sensitive nerve. 
“Fuck,” you say, twisting your fingers around his jacket.  Your knees will probably be bruised after this.  No short skirts or everyone will know something happened.  Would they guess you let the most notorious burglar in the country arch your back and fuck you on the floor?  Probably not.  You have always been a stickler for rules. 
Until this.  Until him. 
“Chan,” you say, breathless, rasping.  “Chan.”
“Fuck,” he says.  Then the weight of him is on your back, his hips grinding into yours.  His masked face brushes your ear and he speaks in a low voice, “Guess where I’m coming tonight, baby girl.” 
Your walls are still fluttering with aftershocks, pulling him deeper at his words.  It is not the first time, no.  God only knows how long ago that conversation first happened, telling him it was safe, how much you wanted it.   Letting him do things you never let anyone else do.  Breaking all your rules for him. 
“Fuck, Chan,” you say. 
“Yeah, baby,” he rasps.  “That’s who’s fucking you.  No one fucks you like I do.  God.  You can take it.  So good.” 
You can feel when he comes, his chest vibrating with his groan, the warmth inside you.  You slump in his arms, ravaged and sore and not the least bit sorry for it. 
You should be.  He won this round.  You should be furious at him.  You should be threatening him.  Your usual rapport. 
His mask comes off.  You hear it hit the floor.  Then he is grabbing your jaw and turning your face and kissing you deeply.  He holds your throat, not threateningly but possessively.  He is kissing you for so long, you almost forget who you are.  Then you surface.  You look at each other. 
“Come with me,” he says. 
The haze of lust has vanished.  You should be thinking clearly.  You fear, for the first time, you are.    
You suppose he has stolen everything else, why not you too? 
You put your hand in his.   
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despressoslatte · 1 month ago
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not the zoey you wanted (three)
pairing: zach maclaren x female reader!
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summary: you waited all weekend for your boyfriend, Zach, to call or text, anything, to explain why he had just went and ghosted you when you were supposed to go with him on a family ski trip to meet his parents, his sister Avery, and his cousin, Miles.
content warnings: angst; victims of catfishing; miscommunication trope
masterlist | < two
⟢a/n: if you want me to add you to the taglist for this fic, add yourself to this form: taglist
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When you get back to your on-campus apartment, you went straight into your room to take down the photos you had up of you and Zach, pulling a random old shipping box out from your recycled area to shove things into. 
The drive back to campus was pretty smooth. You blasted Gracie Abrams and Maisie Peters on repeat, and your mind went into autopilot. 
So, Zoey Miller was his girlfriend. That was pretty rich, considering you didn’t even realize when you stopped being his girlfriend. Didn’t even realize a guy as soft as Zach MacLaren had a mean bone in his body to be able to do something like this to you. You went to his house that morning half ready to give him the benefit of the doubt, maybe something came up, maybe he lost his phone, maybe last minute his parents decided for it to be a family-only trip and took his phone from him in the name of “reconnecting with nature” and so he was never given the chance to inform you.
But then his mother said those words, she said that Zoey Miller was Zach’s girlfriend.
You had pulled most of his sweaters that you’d had from your closet, throwing them into the box, by the time there was obnoxiously loud knocking at your front door. You had no plans, no one who was supposed to be coming over, so you paused for a moment to see if maybe your roommate, Bree, was home or not. When you didn’t hear any movement from her side of the apartment and the knocking persisted, you let out a frustrated sigh, walking over to the peephole.
You rolled your eyes at the sight of him. What, he felt bad that he got caught and drove himself all the way back to school to finally have that talk with you in person. Between the few moments it took for you to open the door, your mind raced with all the different cliche breakup lines he could give you.
“I’m sorry, I just wasn’t feeling the spark between us anymore.”
“Let me explain…”
“I didn’t mean for this to be how you found out.”
“It’s not what it looks like.” Yeah, as if his mother confirming that Zoey Miller was Zach’s girlfriend wasn’t exactly what it looked like.
And more and more, until you finally wrapped your hand around the doorknob, unlocking the top latch, and swinging it open to look at him. He towered over you, guilt etched into his face and a small cut on his lip where you could only imagine he had bit over and over as he contemplated how to let you down softly on his ride over.
You peered out into the hallway, half expecting Zoey Miller to be outside, looking at you with those same eyes of remorse, but you only saw Zach’s luggage by your door and redness under his blue eyes.
“What?” you asked, your voice coming out in a hushed, annoyed whisper, holding the door open just enough so that he can see you.
“Let me explain,” he pleaded, his voice raspy. So, we were going with the scripted breakup line number 2. 
He paused for a second, but when he saw that you weren’t going to step back to let him inside of your apartment, he locked eyes with you. One thing about Zach MacLaren? He was very good at making intense eye contact. He licked his lips and sighed, as if searching for what else to say with his excuse.
As you waited for his lips to continue moving, you thought of what he could say next.
“...it just sort of happened.”
“...I didn’t mean to fall for her.”
“...can we stay friends?”
But instead, what came out of his mouth was, “I got hit by a car.”
Your annoyed facial expressions dropped into a confused one, squinting at him in reaction to his words. Your chin moved closer to your neck as your head moved backwards in confusion. Your lips curled upwards, not in a smile, but in a bewildered grimace.
“I’m sorry, you got what by a what?” you asked, baffled.
He was staring back at you, so so so serious. He pulled a folded up paper out of his pocket, holding it out in your direction.
“My after visit summary from the emergency room on Friday,” he mumbled.
He got hit by a car on Friday? you thought to yourself, wondering how he was going to use his, “I got hit by a car” as reasoning for taking another girl as his girlfriend to a family ski trip that he had invited you on, first.
“Patient Zachary MacLaren is a 21 year old male who was brought in after a collision of a moving car with his bicycle occurred. At onset, he did lose consciousness for a few minutes, before regaining consciousness before the paramedics arrived. No sprains or broken limbs or joints have been sustained in the incident. Patient has some swelling to the left side of his skull. Tests and examinations are concurrent with a diagnosis of a concussion and anterograde amnesia.”
Anterograde amnesia, you learned that in one of her psychology courses last semester. Short term memory loss.
“Are you telling me you have amnesia?” you asked him, holding the paper up after you’re done reading it.
“Yes—No, had. I had amnesia,” he stuttered out while nodding his head.
“So you don’t have amnesia right now?” you asked to clarify.
He shook his head and rounded his lips in a pucker and put his hands behind his back, swaying a little. “No amnesia right now.”
You blink a few times, still lost on what and how this was connecting to him bringing a different girlfriend on his family ski trip.
“And did this amnesia make you lose your goddamn mind and bring some random girl with you to a ski trip?” you asked, trying to find the connection here.
Though, you do feel really bad he got hit by a freaking car, and then he got amnesia, that sucks. You wished you had been there to help him with that.
“No, no, see, what had happened,” he started to explain, putting his hands out to grab onto your upper arms and crouch a little down to your level so he could stare you in the eyes again. “I thought she was you.”
“Excuse me?” 
He licked his lips, turning his head to the side as if to say, “I know.” He sighed and continued with his story, “After I got hit with the car, she was there.”
“Zoey was there with you when you got hit by this car? Why was Zoey with you?” you questioned.
“She works at the bookstore.”
“The bookstore,” you repeat after him with a nod, trying to keep track of all the different ways this story was branching out. “The one with the book on Battletoads.”
“Well, no,” he shook his head. “I had to get her to order me a book on Battletoads for Idiots because they didn’t have any in stock.” Then, he shook his head again when he realized you two were getting off track. He let go over her, using his hands to motion around and talk. “Point is, I left my credit card.” He points to his side to emphasize leaving his credit card. “She came outside to give it to me, I turned around to look at her,” and he mimicked how he looked at her, peering over his shoulder. “And a car didn’t see me, I didn’t see the car,” he pointed to himself and then down, before making a hitting motion with his palm, “and bam! I go flying onto the pavement.”
You’re just nodding along with his entire story, waiting for him to finally give you that missing puzzle piece that could make it all make sense.
“And then when I woke up, she was there crouching in front of me. My brain was all mushy,” he made circular motions around his head. “And I knew her name was Zoey, and I somehow could remember that I called you Zoey a few times… and I… uh…” he looked more sheepish as he got to this part of the story. “In my moment of anterograde amnesia—that means short term memory loss by the way—”
“I know,” you said, and if this was any other time, you may have laughed at the way he over pronounced “anterograde amnesia” and looked so proud of himself for knowing the term, a small smile on his face.
“—I may have thought she was.. you,” he trailed off as he said this part, looking guilty. “I just… I don’t know how,” he put his hands up and them down in exasperation, practically breathing out his words. “I don’t know how I thought she was you, baby, I don’t. But then you came to my parents’ house, and I saw you drive away, and it all… I knew she wasn’t you.”
You just nod as you process the information. This sounded like some cheaply made romance plot, that one look at you and his amnesia would wear off. There was a lot of information processing that was happening at this point.
You were pulled from your thoughts at the sound of footsteps, seeing a group of girls walking through the hallway, some of your various neighbors. They looked over at you and Zach, and you knew how this looked. The serious look on your face, the luggage, the pleading one on his. They probably thought they were watching a breakup between a tutor girl and the college’s soccer star. 
You opened the door wider, not wanting anyone to somehow overhear the conversation. You stepped aside for him. “Come in.”
He smiled, hopeful, and rolled his luggage and walked himself into your apartment.
You two went straight for the kitchen, him just following you as you said nothing back to his explanation. You went straight to the coffee machine, and as you brewed yourself some espresso, Zach went to your fridge, pulling out the creamer he knew was yours and not your roommates, you know, since he didn’t have amnesia anymore.
You stood there in silence for a little while, leaning against the kitchen counter as you sipped your latte, having made one for him after yours.
“So… you thought she was me…” you finally talk, and he’s standing across from you with a guilty nod. “Do we really look alike?”
“No! No! You’re like… a superstar, and she’s… not you,” he said with a nervous laugh, unable to insult Zoey Miller just to bring you up.
And that was fine with you. You didn’t need or want him insulting her. Just wanted to know if you two looked similar enough that he could mix you guys up in an amnesia concussion haze.
“So it was just because her first name is also my middle name?” you questioned.
“I know, it sounds stupid, I don’t… I don’t really know how to explain it.”
You nodded your lips forming a line.
“So… she just… pretended to be me?” you questioned, thinking about how insane that sounded. “For what? Revenge for hitting her in the end with that soccer ball?”
He laughed at your questions, the way you sounded so irritated at not being able to understand Zoey Miller.
You continued with your little rant, “I mean, I heard that girl is anti-romantic, so what? Did she have some secret crush on you or something? Had to strike while I wasn’t around, and you didn’t know any better?”
“She had a crush on Miles, actually,” he said with raised eyebrows. “Kissed him in the pool while I was sleeping and everything.”
Your eyes widened, and you let out an unbelievable laugh.
“And Miles just… let her? Thinking she was you girlfriend? And wait, what about Emily?” you asked, putting the cup down on the counter. Loving Zach was knowing about all of the people he loved, too, which meant knowing his cousin Miles was dating a nice girl named Emily. “Sorry, but your cousin’s an asshole! Cheating on her with the girl he thought was cheating on you while she was pretending to be me!”
Your voice kept raising as you got riled up on his behalf, and he couldn’t help but let a small smile stay on his face because of it.
The more information you got, the more insane this whole story sounded. But he smiled at your reaction, the way your facial features were showing less and less that you were mad at him. He really hoped you weren’t mad at him.
“Apparently, they’re poly.”
“Doesn’t mean you are,” you retort back, walking to where he was to stand next to him.
You let out a deep exhale, leaning your head against his arm as you two stood against the kitchen island. 
“It felt wrong, the entire time,” he said softly, squatting down a little bit so he could lean his head on top of yours as well. “Like I knew deep down she didn’t really like me. Like she didn’t even know me, and that I didn’t really know her. She said she was a computer science major and that made no sense to me, since we met because you were my English tutor. She had all these hobbies I don’t remember you ever liking. Wouldn’t let me hold her hand, spent most of her time with Miles instead of me since they could go out on the slopes and I couldn’t because, ya know, mushy brains,” he sighed. “And then, she found out about Emily and got mad at him. Then, she finally spent the day with me.”
Despite being upset that some other girl went on the MacLaren ski trip instead of you, you couldn’t help but feel bad that Zach spent the entire weekend with an inkling feeling that his girlfriend—or who he thought was his girlfriend—didn’t even like him.
He keeps talking, just expressing how the weekend felt and how things had gone.
“And it was sad coming back, you know?” he sighed. “I mean, I spent all of yesterday thinking I was having so much fun re-getting to know her, feeling like we were finally having a connection, feeling really good about it… just for it all to be a lie.”
You frowned and took your head off of his arm, making him move straight as well.
“You felt like you and Zoey had a connection?” you asked softly.
His face contorted in concern at his misstep.
“Wha—No. No, baby, no,” he moved to turn in front of you, his arms going to hold yours. “It wasn’t real. It’s not real.”
“But a part of you really liked getting to spend time with her,” you point out softly, looking away. “So much so that it was disappointing when you came home and it was… me that’s your girlfriend, and not her.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Zach said softly, shaking his head, trying to lead down closer to you to get you to look at him. “I’m not disappointed that I came home and there was you.”
“But you were disappointed that your weekend with Zoey was built on a fake premise,” you said back. “And not entirely because she lied to you, but because you felt a connection to her.”
“No!”
“Zach.”
“Okay, fine, yes. I admit that I was… feeling something towards her on this trip, but baby, I thought she was my girlfriend.”
“So, you’d date her?” you hated yourself for somehow twisting it the way you were, but a part of you was just hurt that this happened, hurt to know he spent the weekend falling for someone else, regardless of why and how. “In a different world where I don’t exist to you, you’d fall for her. Because you did. This weekend.”
A permanent frown etched into his face at your words.
“But you do exist in this world,” he whispered, pleading. 
“Did you kiss her?”
It’s not fair, you know it’s not fair to be jealous or upset. Zoey practically catfished and scammed and lied and pretended to be someone she wasn’t. But she didn’t pretend to be you in the sense of your personality. Zach said it himself, she sounded so unlike you, with a different major, different personality, different hobbies. And despite that, he liked her. 
“I thought she was you,” he reiterated, saying “yes” to your question without the word itself.
“You thought she was your girlfriend, not that she was me,” you denied, shaking your head and moving from your spot trapped between Zach and the kitchen island. 
The pleading in his eyes could haunt you.
“You didn’t think she was me personally. You just thought you were with her. And you liked being with her, for her personality and her hobbies and just her,” you said softly.
Every part of you was screaming at you to take your words back, to stop yourself from talking. You knew it was irrational to be upset at him for something he had no control over. He had amnesia for crying out loud. But there was no rationalizing this situation. 
There was no rulebook telling you how to react and respond to finding out some girl pretended to be your amnesia patient of a boyfriend’s girlfriend. There was no guide on how to take in and process him openly admitting that while she was so drastically different from you, he was starting to really like her.
“I’m sorry this happened, Zach,” you said softly, your bottom lip wobbling. “It’s not fair, and it really really sucks.”
He just stared at you, tears forming in his eyes as if he knew what you were about to say. His chin wobbled, and it pushed you over the edge, too. A string of tears fell from your own eyes.
“But I’m really hurt right now, and I don’t mean to be upset with you because I know… I know it’s not your fault. I know you didn’t mean for this to happen,” you admit, wiping your tears on the back of your wrists. 
He steps forward to try and comfort you. You step back.
“But I need time to…” you suck in a breathe and lick your lips as you try to figure out what it was that you needed from him. “I need time to process this all… process that you were starting to fall for someone else.”
“Baby…” he begged you not to do this with one single word.
“Please,” you pleaded back. “Just… please.”
And how could he deny you, the one he loved so much, the one thing you were asking of him right now?
“Okay,” he whispered and nodded, a singular tear falling down his face as he forced himself to listen to you. 
And that look on his face really felt like it could haunt you.
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four >
a/n: so i realized i have messed up the movie’s timeline, remembering that it started on valentine’s day, not december LOL, but soccer season for college is august-november for actual competitions and spring time for non-competition training and games… and I’m also from California so while I knew some schools have like “ski week” breaks in february (we always just called it president’s week break), it absolutely skipped my mind that that is a thing LOL. in this story it is a few weeks before holiday break lol.
taglist: @ursogorgeous13 @khiatonsx
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andvys · 3 months ago
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Eyes don't lie ⭐︎ S.H
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⭐︎ Summary: Nancy got everything she wanted but at what cost? Her eyes won't leave you, her hands crave to touch you, she finds herself in daydreams with you, wondering what it would be like to kiss you, to feel your lips on hers instead of his -- the girl Steve left for her.
And Steve, he is still haunted by what he threw away for a girl he could never love the way he loved... loves you. And while they are longing for something, chasing for someone that they both broke, you are only out for one thing, revenge.
⭐︎ Pairing: Nancy Wheeler x fem!reader | Steve Harrington x fem!reader | mentions of Eddie Munson x fem!reader and Billy Hargrove x fem!reader
⭐︎ Warnings: cheating, mentions of unrequited feelings, mentions of breakups, previous steve x reader, stancy, angst, this is some unhinged au of I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss (iykyk). they're all in college (in Hawkins), mentions of affairs, no happy ending... yet? no smut yet, but it's coming I promise
⭐︎ Author's note: This was supposed to be a oneshot but after talking to @hellfire--cult (as always, my hero) we came up with more filth and this will definitely be getting a part two so buckle up hehe. Also thank you for choosing the title bby!!!
Also this took me way too long to post but I lost inspiration AND now I got it back and I can't wait to get started on part two!
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Nancy could not focus on anything Professor Harris was saying, she couldn't care less about the numbers he was writing on the board, her mind was elsewhere and her eyes too, no longer focused on the green board or the young Professor that all the girls were lusting over as they sat there in their short skirts, twirling their hair and blinking at him cutely. 
While everyone was focused on him, her attention was fully on someone it should not be on, but no matter how many times she tried to look away, her eyes would always find their way back to you, tracing every inch of you, from your hair to your face, from your nose down to your lips, from your neck to your chest and then down to your exposed legs, skirt riding up on your thighs, skin glowing softly. 
Your eyelashes kiss the skin beneath your eyes every time you blink, your tongue traces your bottom lip before you bite down on it in concentration, your hair falls over your shoulder, locket nestled perfectly in your cleavage. 
She can smell your perfume from here, every time you pass by her, she gets a whiff of it and it causes goosebumps to rise up on her skin. 
Something in her belly stirs every time she sees you and it's nothing new, it happened the very first time she laid her eyes on you but back then you were always in the presence of the guy she now calls her boyfriend and back then, things were different, so very different. She thought that it was jealousy that she was feeling every time she saw you two together, she could not stop watching you both, but she placed her focus on the wrong person, she wanted the wrong person, she went after the wrong person.
Nancy was horrible for what she did,  and she knew it from the moment she started chasing Steve Harrington when he was still yours and it got even worse when she stole him from you. 
She killed the light in your eyes, she caused the sadness that found home in you, she took away your happiness and for what? Her eyes still follow you, her stomach still tingles and burns when she sees you talking to someone who stares at you a little too intensely, who looks at you the way he once did every time he pulled away from your lips and she can’t understand why, she refuses to let herself see why. 
Regret resides in her, it’s gnawing at her, making her sick on the inside for what she did to you and the feeling only intensifies when he kisses her – she blames the guilt that settled into her body, for making her obsessed with you, for making her unable to look away from you or search for you in the crowd. 
She isn’t the only one, she can see the way he still looks at you, she can see the longing gazes between you both, the way he stops listening to her every time his hazel eyes find you, the way his lips curl into a smile before it becomes a sad one when he stares for too long. She knows that he thinks about you, she knows that he imagines you when he is inside of her, she knows it when he buries his face in the crook of her neck, refusing to look at her, holding her tighter and moaning louder, though biting his lip just so he won’t say your name when he comes undone. 
Steve Harrington may be her boyfriend now but he doesn’t belong to her and she knows it, he is still yours, he always will be. 
And a part of her, doesn’t give a damn fuck – she just can’t see it yet, she refuses to. 
It’s been weeks, months, since he had left you for her and not a single day goes by when she doesn’t wonder why he did it. 
She compares herself to you and her mind can’t comprehend why someone would leave you, why someone like Steve would leave you for her. 
Sometimes when she can’t sleep at night, she thinks about you, about you with Steve, about what you looked like underneath him, how your face contorted into pleasure when he unraveled you with his tongue, how his large palm would press down on your lower stomach to keep you from squirming away from him, how you tugged at his hair, desperate and needy, grinding your sopping pussy against his face before he pounded you into the mattress, kissing and biting your skin, covering you in love bites, making you moan and whimper in need as your boobs bounced while he pleasured you, balls deep inside of you, cock filling you up so perfectly that it made you cry and drool all over the pillow beneath you – by the end of each fantasy that haunted her, her stomach was burning and her thighs were clenched together. It was because of him, it was because of Steve, she told herself but it was a lie, he was there, but he wasn’t who her mind focused on, it never was. 
“Cunningham might chew your head off if you keep staring at her girl,” Barb whispers into her best friend’s ear, making Nancy frown at her words. She turns around, catching the blonde cheerleader glaring at her but she isn’t the reason for her frown. “Her girl?” Nancy asks as she looks away from Chrissy with an eye roll.
Barb chuckles, shaking her head as she starts to gather her books, “come on, everybody knows that Chrissy has a crush on her, she follows her around like some lovesick puppy.”
The feeling in Nancy’s chest tightens, the pit in her belly growing as a snarl makes its way on her face. 
“Right.”
Nancy never really paid attention to Chrissy or the way she looks at you but now that Barb mentions it, she sees it too, especially when the cheerleader grabs your hand and drags you out of the classroom once the lesson is over, a possessive look in her eyes that is directed at no one but Nancy. 
“You never saw it?” Barb chuckles, rising up from her seat, she grabs her coffee that she’s been sipping on all afternoon, holding the paper cup against her chest. 
Nancy shrugs, pretending not to care even though that thought is starting to take up every space in her mind. 
“Well, pay attention tonight, wait – you’re still going to Tina’s party, right?” 
“Yeah, it’s all Steve has been talking about,” Nancy grumbles, clearly not impressed by it or him. 
There is only one reason she will go to the party and it isn’t him. 
To… get drunk, yeah, just to get drunk, nothing more or less, only that. 
Not to observe and obsess over a certain someone. 
-
But it’s not what she ends up doing, not even in the slightest, she downs one drink and that’s all, she can’t even feel the alcohol in her system but she gets drunk on the way he looks at you as sick as it sounds, something within her burns deeply whenever she catches him, the fire only grows bigger when she sees the way you look at him, burning bright red whenever your eyes lock and Steve tenses up beside her – she knows all too well why he tenses up the way he does, why his knuckles are white as he holds his cup of beer tightly, why his brows are furrowed so strongly, why there is a scowl on his face. 
You are on the dancefloor, hands in your hair, a lazy smile on your lips, cheeks burning from the heat of the room and from your dancing, a skimpy little dress being the only thing keeping certain parts of you hidden, the glittery material keeps riding up on your thighs, dangerously high but not enough to expose your ass. You are moving your hips so smoothly, so effortlessly, your skin looks so soft and kissable beneath the string of lights above the room, you know how to move your body, how to put on a show, how to steal the spotlight in the room, how to make everything and everyone around you disappear – everyone except for Billy Hargrove who is snug behind you, hands on your waist, chest pressed against your back as his lips are dangerously close to your neck, ready to kiss and bite, ready to mark you up.
Nancy swallows harshly as she watches you, cheeks burning, chest rising up and down heavily, she licks her bottom lip as her eyes catch Billy’s hands moving to your front, palm pressed against your lower stomach to press you tighter against himself. She squints her eyes, nose scrunching in displeasure when you press your own hand over the larger one on your body. 
Steve scoffs under his breath, mumbling words that Nancy can’t make out in the loud room, she narrows her eyes at him, the red solo cup in his hand has dents in it, his eyes are dark, nearly black, his lips curled downwards as his focus is on nothing other than you and Billy. 
He is pissed and he is jealous, it’s written all over his face. 
Jealous over a girl he left, a girl he dumped – the girl he could never stop loving, the one he still craves and aches for. She knows it all, she always did. 
And now she can’t help but wonder why she doesn’t care, why there isn’t a single part inside of her that is filled with rage over seeing her boyfriend pine after his ex-girlfriend. Shouldn’t she be angry? Shouldn’t she feel hurt and jealous? Shouldn’t she feel possessive or even sad? 
She can’t feel any of those things when she looks at him – she doesn’t feel anything at all when she looks at him. Steve is a handsome guy, there is no doubt about that, he is one of the most good looking she has ever seen, from head to toe, he is gorgeous. His perfect hair, his soft hazel eyes, his lips – he is pretty, yeah, but his lips are rough and his hands are too, his skin not as soft as… the one of a girl. 
And when he talks of his future, she finds herself cringing, looking away to avoid the dreamy look in his honey eyes. Waves of nausea crash over her when he mentions marriage and kids, when he talks of a white picket fence and the RV he wants to explore the country with before going back to his small town life, with wife and kids. She hates it, it makes her sick. 
She looks up at him, arms crossed over her chest, bangs hanging in front of her eyes, her heart sinking into her stomach but not because of the way he is watching you, no, but because of the realization that dawned on her only now. 
Steve Harrington is her own personal nightmare. 
Steve Harrington is everything she never wanted. 
And he is only with her because of the summer they shared, the drunken nights, the giggles after smoking a joint together, the comfort he found in her while you were gone ‘doing god knows what with god knows who’ as he had said back then as though you would have ever done anything to hurt him, you worshiped the ground he walked in, the way he should have done for you too. 
You were in love with him and anyone could see it. 
She heard the rumors, the ones that drove him crazy, the ones that led him away from you and pushed him into her arms – well, not exactly, nothing happened between them until he officially broke up with you. But those rumors were only… rumors and yet, Steve believed in them, he believed Carol Perkins when she told him that you were seeing someone else while you were visiting your cousins in Chicago, that you were spending your nights in a dingy bars, admiring skilled fingers working on a red electric guitar, that your lips touched different ones, that your hands were too busy taking off his leather jacket instead of picking up the phone and calling him. 
He believed it with no evidence, he didn’t need it, his insecurities were enough to push him away from you – the sight before him only confirms the rumors of your sinful summer, though Billy isn’t the guy he was worried about during that time, he was always a problem, as well. 
He poured his heart out to the only who listened and that was Nancy, she comforted him with words, with alcohol and weed, nothing more, there was never a moment that could have led to anything more but her mind back then was wired differently than it is now – now she can’t understand how she misread between the lines so badly, how she mistaked platonic feelings for deeper ones, why she was so angry when you came back to college and to him, why the sight of you kissing your boyfriend filled her with so much rage. 
She was jealous. 
She was so jealous. 
But not because his lips touched yours but because yours touched his. 
It wasn’t a sight she had to endure for long because before she knew it, Steve slipped through your fingers after a big fight caused by the rumors he confronted you about, he didn’t give you a chance to explain yourself, didn’t allow you to tell him what had really happened that summer, he just dumped you, like it didn’t tear his own heart out, like he didn’t regret it the same moment he did it. He dumped you and then he left. He showed up at Nancy’s apartment, not caring about her weird roommate who gave him an odd look when he opened the door and stared at him for a good while, just watching the tears streaming down his cheeks before he called for Nancy, who held him through the night and kissed him in the morning, hoping for a taste of something she would only continue to dream about. 
Now they are here and they are together and they are more miserable than ever with each other.  
They are better off as friends and they both know it… deep down, at least. 
Your giggles break her out of her thoughts, she tears her eyes away from Steve and finds you walking into the room, completely ignoring her and his presence as you make your way over to the table filled with drinks and snacks, Billy close behind you, eyes heavy on your ass, bottom lip caught between his lips. 
Nancy rolls her eyes at him and Steve scoffs at the jock, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the blond.
“Harrington,” Billy smirks, nodding at him mockingly, “how’s it going?” He looks between him and Nancy, lifting his eyebrows at her but she only squints her eyes in response, glaring at him. 
“Peachy,” Steve replies with an unimpressed look on his face. 
You ignore the presence of the couple in the room, not paying attention to them or their interaction with Billy who won’t stop chasing you, especially after your dance with him – it was a mistake and you won’t make any bigger ones, not tonight. 
“Trouble in paradise?” Billy smirks, puffing his chest out as he takes a step closer to Steve, “you don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself,” he chuckles, looking Nancy up and down before his eyes flicker back to Steve’s, “either of you.”
“Why don’t you mind your own business, Hargrove?” Steve grumbles, eyes falling behind the figure in the back, taking in the sight of you so close to him now, the way your dress hugs your body, the way the strap of it falls down your arm and you don’t even bother to fix it, too fixated on the drink in your hand.
“Why don’t you lighten up a bit, hmm? Shouldn’t you be the life of the party, now that you’re with your ‘dream girl’?” 
Nancy nearly gags at the words of the blond. He always knows how to get under his skin and hers and she sees the way you tense up at Billy’s words, as much as you try to ignore the conversation in this room, you can’t unhear it. 
Steve tears his eyes away from you, looking into the blue ones before him, he takes a deep breath and unclenches his jaw, he opens his mouth to speak. 
“Hey guys, we’re playing truth or dare, wanna join?” Tina’s voice cuts him off, the brunette peeks her head inside the kitchen, looking between all of you with a curious spark in her eyes, a bit of mischief lingering in her eyes as well when she senses the tension. 
Steve rolls his eyes, scoffing in annoyance, “what are we fifteen–”
“I’m in.” 
All the attention is on you now, every pair of eyes in the room, staring straight at you as you stand there confidently, with a smirk on your lips, one that surely doesn’t match the look in your eyes as you are looking straight at your ex-boyfriend. 
“I feel like finding out some dirty truths.” You tilt your head to the side, sparing Nancy only a short look but one that leaves her swallowing harshly and blushing furiously. 
You hate her, she can see it in your eyes, you never fail to make it known either, not with words, but with all the glances and glares you direct at her whenever you catch her staring. 
Steve holds your gaze, intensely so. An unamused chuckle falls from his lips, “yeah, why don’t we uncover some dirty truths, Dolly?” He mocks you with the nickname from your childhood. “Let’s go, I’ve been dying to find out more about your summer.” 
If looks could kill then Steve Harrington would drop dead, right now. 
He never gave you a chance to explain yourself, he never even tried to talk to you about the rumors he had heard. When you came back, he pretended like everything was fine, he kissed you and held you, spent time with you, he was distant but he was still there… and then, he wasn’t. 
Nancy purses her lips, watching the way you slowly make your way towards Steve, ignoring Billy’s presence and hers as you halt before him, tilting your head to the side, you lick your lips as your eyes flicker between his eyes and his mouth. 
You are close, close enough to make her feel like she is floating, getting lost in the scent of your perfume, in the color of your eyes. Nancy isn’t sure if she had ever been this close to you before but something in her chest stirs when her eyes follow the way your lips curl downwards, the way your chest rises up and down, necklace stuck between your boobs, the softness of your skin. She digs her nails into her palms, fighting the thoughts in her mind. 
“Oh, now you want to talk?” You scoff and cross your arms over your chest, “we could’ve talked months ago but you were the one who just walked out on me after believing the shit Carol made up about me. I didn’t believe Tommy when he told me about your dirty little secret,” you mumble with nothing but hatred in your voice when you glance at Nancy. “But clearly I had every reason to believe him, unlike you, Harrington.” 
“Yeah, right.” Steve looks down, avoiding your eyes as he finds himself drowning in regret but also in denial. 
He had every reason to believe her, didn’t he? 
He remembers him, he remembers the metalhead that you befriended before he left his hometown to pursue his rockstar career, the same metalhead that Steve used to buy from, it was his fault that you had crossed paths with him anyway, he invited him into his home, you were there when he showed up to drop off the weed, Steve had asked for. The smirk that crossed Eddie’s face when he saw you skipping down the stairs in nothing but Steve’s shirt, should have worried him then already but it didn’t, not even when you invited Eddie in and he started showing up more frequently, not even when Steve was out of town, visiting his grandparents in Colorado, leaving you to spend spring break with your new friend. 
Only when he came back, did the sudden insecurity hit him, when he saw how close you and Eddie had gotten while he was away, when he saw the playful touches and heard the soft giggles, when he saw the sadness in your eyes when the metalhead left for Chicago after graduating high school. He got suspicious, he got insecure and it only worsened when you chose Chicago out of all places to spend your summer at — he knew you had family there but you never visited them before that, so why this summer? 
You never gave him a reason not to trust you but he was deeply insecure and scared that his fears would come true, that had pushed him into Nancy’s arms, the overthinking and the rumors that Carol had started about you and Eddie, the ones that already got around while the metalhead still lived here – Steve ignored them then but he couldn’t ignore them any longer when you left.
Steve felt sick to his stomach at the mere thought of what or who you could be doing, the thought that you had fallen out of love because of someone else made him feel blue, though your voice through the phone had sweetened his day and made him forget about what had previously made him cry but even that didn’t save him or your relationship that started to crumble without your knowledge. 
“What?” You scoff again, eyes glaring into his so intensely that it almost makes him shrink, “don’t act like you’re fucking innocent, we both know you aren’t.”
Nancy shifts on her feet, uncomfortably so, she glances at Tina who is still watching the interaction, amused and intrigued by it all, just like Billy. She rolls her eyes and looks back at you, a part of her wants to speak up, to defend Steve, tell you that nothing happened between them then but her words are caught in her throat. 
“Oh and you are?” Steve replies, taking a step closer to you, he looks down at you in anger, like his heart isn’t aching and yearning for you, like it’s easy for him to look down at you like you don’t mean a thing to him, like you aren’t still the girl that he would do anything for. “Don’t act like you weren’t messing around with the freak–”
“Don’t call him that,” you spit back, frowning at him. 
A dark chuckle falls from Steve’s lips, his eyes flicker with rage and jealousy. 
“Freak? That’s the first thing you’re going to address, not the fact that I just said that you were messing around–”
“I never did that.” 
At this moment, Nancy can’t tell whether you’re telling the truth or not, she was convinced that you weren’t messing around with Eddie Munson – she saw the way he looked at you, the way his eyes followed your every move, filled with softness and adoration, filled with lust. But she also saw the way you looked at Steve, you were devoted to him, only to him. 
Though Steve’s insecurities made her question you as well, especially now. 
“Yeah sure, you didn’t, Dolly,” Steve clenches his jaw. “You were just friends, hmm right.”
“Yeah, like you and Nancy,” you fight back, looking at him smugly, angrily. “You were just friends, right? When I came back to Hawkins, that’s all you were right? Just friends, huh? Funny how you dumped me shortly after you had befriended her.”
Her name fell from your lips and that’s all she could focus on, on the anger in your eyes that sparked something within her, that made her lick her lips. 
“I didn’t cheat if that’s what you’re saying,” Steve frowns, eyes lingering with disgust. 
“Of course you didn’t,” you chuckle in disbelief, “that’s why you had no problem getting into a new relationship only a day after breaking up with me, right?... I don’t know about you but I can’t imagine dating a friend, you do realize what it made you look like, right? A cheater, Steve, a goddamn cheater.” 
Steve swallows harshly, shoulders relaxing from the tension that resided in his body for the past minutes when he sees how glossy your eyes get, how pain is the only thing left in them, no ounce of anger showing anymore, only sadness and heartbreak that you had refused to show in these past months since he left. Seeing this, seeing through you, feels like a blow to his chest, something he refused to look at to avoid the regret is now right in front of him, on full display. 
You huff again, shaking your head as you take a step back and look between them, eyes meeting Nancy’s for a moment before you lower your head, glancing down at your drink, you bring it up to your lips and down the rest of it, you slam the empty cup on the counter and step back towards Steve, looking into the hazel eyes that you used to love so much, you pat his chest, “I wasn’t the one who left with no explanation, I wasn’t the one with the dirty secrets and I wasn’t the one who cheated and then accused you of doing it, asshole, so spare me your bullshit.” With one last glare, you step away from him and direct your gaze at the girl who can’t seem to tear her eyes away from you, you step towards her, unknowingly making her heart flutter, “I hope you can taste me when he’s kissing you.” 
You think that anger is what she feels from hearing your words but it’s not that at all, not even in the slightest. 
Her eyes follow you when you walk out of the room, brushing past Tina who looks like she is ready and excited to spread around what she just witnessed. The moment you are out in the hallway and making your way upstairs, she giggles loudly and runs off, making Steve roll his eyes. 
Nancy feels like something is pushing her, pushing her to walk the way you just did, to follow you upstairs, to talk to you… alone, to explain what had really happened this summer or these past few months. 
Billy’s laughter echoes through the room, a satisfied grin appearing on his face, one that Steve easily ignores, he slams his drink down next to your empty cup, not caring about spilling it. 
“I’m gonna get some fresh air,” he announces, sparing a poor glance at Nancy before he walks out of the room and out of the house, slamming the front door shut so loudly that it’s even heard over the music. 
“Sure,” Nancy mumbles when he is outside already, uninterested. Her mind is in a haze, body angling towards the stairs. Billy’s eyes are on her, intensely so, but she doesn’t bother to turn her head to look at him, her feet carry her out of the room before she can rethink the decision her mind had already made. She pushes past the people in the hallway, ignores the curious glances from Carol and Tommy. 
Her heart is pounding in her chest as she walks up the stairs, fingernails digging into her palms, she bites down on her lip nervously, letting her body move on its own accord. She doesn’t know where to look first, where to go but it's like something is leading her to her wanted destination. 
She finds you in one of the bedrooms, sitting at the end of bed with tears running down your cheeks, sniffles sounding through the quiet room, the lights from the hallway illuminating the dark room, you jump in surprise when you notice her in the doorway. 
“What the hell do you want?” 
Nancy sucks in a sharp breath, the guilt in her continuing to eat at her when she sees the pain in your glassy eyes before your expression hardens at the sight of her. You wipe your tears angrily and push yourself up, smoothing down your dress, you blink, trying to get rid of the tears. 
“I’m sorry I-I just wanted to–”
“What did you want?” You snap back, frowning in rage as you stalk towards her like she is your prey. “Did you want this room to yourself? Am I in your way? Oh, I’m sorry, let me just make space for you.” Your voice is sarcastic, your face angry but it does nothing to scare her or push her away from here. 
“No,” Nancy shakes her head, knowing all too well what you mean by those words. She sighs, “no, I just wanted to check up on you.” 
Her words are clearly something you weren’t expecting, because for a good moment, you’re dead silent, staring at her with confused eyes and parted lips — ones that Nancy can’t look away from. 
It would’ve been dead silent too if it wasn’t for the voices downstairs, for the loud music or the sound of laughter outside. 
“Check up on me!?” 
The anger on your face and in your voice should be enough of a reason for her to leave the room and avoid you, her brain is telling her that but her body… her body is telling her something entirely else. Somehow, you look even better with the fire behind your eyes, the burning gaze you look at her with, sets her lower stomach on fire, your skin looks even softer beneath this lightning, your lips look so… so kissable.
She can’t deny it any longer, not after months and months of observing and pining, even before she met Steve properly. It was never him that she looked at, it was never him that she wanted. 
“What? So you can laugh in my face and mock me? How you stole my boyfriend!?” 
Nancy shakes her head, “n-no, I’d never do that… I am… I’m sorry.”
You chuckle darkly but a hint of sadness is there too, she can’t even miss it. You roll your eyes at her and finally decide to step away, to leave this conversation that you never even wanted. But Nancy doesn’t even let you pass, in fact, she places herself in front of the door after slamming it shut, standing in your way with a stubborn look on her face. 
“What the— get out of my way, Wheeler.” 
“No.” Nancy shakes her head again, blue eyes burning into yours, cheeks glowing red. “I’m sorry, I really am, I-I know you hate me, I would too, what I did was… was messed up but I’m really, really sorry!” 
You can only stare in disbelief, blinking, you can feel your heart pounding and your chest hurting from it. 
You don’t need that, you don’t want that. 
You don’t want no apology, not from her and not from him. 
He betrayed you and he broke your heart, stomped on it like it was nothing, and then, he just moved on, right away, like you never meant anything to him, like he never loved you, like it was the easiest thing to just forget about you and date someone new. 
And Nancy, she never owed you anything, no loyalty or sympathy, but what she did still hurt, a lot. And her apology angers you in ways you can’t even describe with words. 
“Fuck you.” The way those words leave your lips followed by the venomous look in your eyes should make her feel intimidated, it should make her draw back and let you leave but instead, she feels any of what she should feel. Your anger makes her feel something she had never felt before, some sort of anticipation, a curiosity she never felt with any guy, not the cute guy from summer camp last year whose name she forgot, not Jerry Carlson who was the first ever to ask her out on a date, not Steve Harrington, no guy had ever made her feel the things that burn in her now, only you. 
Fuck. 
Only you. 
She can’t tear her eyes away from your lips any longer, she can’t fight the desire in her that calls your name, she can’t fight the urge to move closer to you and the way your eyes flicker to her lips, even if only for a second, gives her the push to take a step closer. 
You have to feel the tension too, right? 
The fire between you – maybe it’s only anger on your part but maybe, hopefully, it isn’t only that. 
Nancy’s heart starts pounding, she suddenly feels drunk, hazy. Her feet move on their own accord, her feelings act on their own, she no longer feels control over her own body. 
“You and Steve are unbelievable, you know that right?” You snap at her, flipping your hair over your shoulder, arrogantly. “He fucked me over and you helped. You both got what you wanted, you got each other, so why can’t you just leave me the fuck alone!?”
She doesn’t answer you. 
She doesn’t say anything. 
She just looks at you. 
Her eyes are almost unrecognizable, dark and barely blue, a wild look lingers in them as she stares at you like you’re her prey, like she’s about to eat you alive, maybe it should terrify you but it doesn’t, you are too angry to feel anything else. 
Nancy watches the way you roll your eyes like some goddamn brat and she is beginning to lose her patience with your attitude – she deserves it, she knows she does but her feelings overwhelm her and your bitchiness doesn’t help much. 
Enough of her silence, you move forward, about to push her aside so you can make your escape, you reach for the doorknob but freeze in your place when her hand wraps around your wrist and she gives you a stern look and it only angers you more, even when there is a small part of you that feels intrigued by the way she looks at you. 
“I swear to god, Nancy,” you sigh. 
There is guilt in her eyes, beneath the flames that linger and it irritates you so deeply. 
If she is burdened by guilt at this moment, then she must’ve been back then too and it only makes you wonder. 
“Why did you take him?” You ask, trying to hide the pain in your voice, trying to hide what you have been feeling for the past months. 
“I never wanted him.” 
Her own eyes widen after those words leave her lips, not out of shock but out of relief – the truth that’s been there all along, finally uncovered and revealed, not only to you but also to herself because a part of her didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to admit it, that it was you, that it was a girl whom she wanted. 
A gasp tears from your mouth and your eyes widen, hand falling from the doorknob you were holding onto so tightly, your heart lurches to your throat and something stirs within you. It takes you a long moment to realize what is happening, to realize what she is doing, to realize what she just confessed. 
You feel warmth, in your body, on your body, on your lips. You feel her hands cupping your cheeks, you taste her raspberry chapstick, the rum she must’ve had earlier, you feel the intensity radiating off her. 
She is kissing you. 
Nancy Wheeler is kissing you after confessing that it wasn’t him who she wanted. 
Your ex-boyfriend’s girl is kissing you like her life depends on it – lost in the kiss, she looks completely in bliss, with her eyes closed and her lips moving against yours passionately, softly in a way only a girl's lips can feel. 
She kisses you in a way no one else ever has before, with a kind of desperation and need that can only come from someone who has been longing for this moment for a long, long time and to your surprise it makes your stomach flutter but your confusion guides you, you raise your hands and press them against her shoulders, pushing her away from you with furrowed eyebrows and puffy lips. 
Your heart is racing, your thoughts are too. 
What the hell just happened?
Nancy slowly opens her eyes, cheeks flushed and eyes needy as they flicker back and forth between your eyes and your lips, like she’s hungry for you, like she yearns for you, like she needs and wants more. 
You open your mouth to speak but not a single word falls from your lips because what is there to say? You are confused, more than that you are irritated by the fact that the kiss made your stomach burn and your legs shaky, that it left you craving for another taste of the girl that stole your happiness but she looks at you like you’re… something special and it makes your heart flutter and it makes you angry because she is still Nancy Wheeler. She is still the girl who is the reason for all your hurt, she is the girl your Steve left you for. 
She blinks, lashes fluttering as her eyes soften, vulnerability crossing her face. 
“I wanted you.”
Your breath hitches in your throat, your face flusters at her confession. You don’t know what to think of it, of her. But that little voice in your head, that angry one that has been trying to take control over you these past few months is telling you to use this given opportunity to get back at him. 
She wants you. 
Steve’s girlfriend wants you. 
She looks at you like she is ready to drop everything and everyone for you. 
She is. 
Your eyes flicker to her lips, you can’t deny the fact that it felt good to feel them on yours and you can’t help but wonder what they would feel like in different places on your body. 
But you don’t know whether it’s the thrill, the curiosity or this opportunity that fell right into your hands. 
She wants you so very badly, you can see it in her blue eyes, the way she is practically begging for you to let her in, to let her have a taste, to let her have you, she is needy, not for Steve, no, not for him, for you, only for you. 
And who are you to pass up on an opportunity to have a good time and get your sweet revenge all at once? 
So after a lot of heavy breathing and contemplating, you break out of your trance and move forward, catching her by surprise this time, you grab her face and slam your lips against hers, earning a whimper from her the second you kiss her. 
Satisfaction rushes through you, numbing the anger and filling you with pleasure to know that this will ruin her. 
And him. 
Both of them. 
tagging ppl who might be interested!!!
@thesickestqrmydcll @prettyboyeddiemunson @fanfic-fanatic-2024
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hiddenreamers · 3 months ago
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I was in your music video - f1 drivers x singer!reader
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SUMMARY: They say that if a poet loves you, they will write you into immortality. But if you date a musician, they might write you into the Billboard 100. Which is exactly what happens to your driver boyfriend.
Featuring: Lewis Hamilton, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Carlos Sainz Jr, Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, George Russell
Note: Yes, two songs are sung by male artists. Yes, I'm going to ignore that fact and you should, too.
Lewis Hamilton
He's been in the room maybe five times. The space always felt strangely sacred to him - this is where you write, compose and practice songs with your band; this is where the magic, so to speak, happens. Walls are absolutely covered with tour posters, polaroids and printed-out articles. There's a large mirror that seems to be a message board considering all the sticky notes and words written with a marker. The only somewhat de-cluttered space is surrounding the setup. It's an unspoken testament to being a musician in a band.
There's a certain tension inside the driver. You've never asked him to listen to a song before it's finished. Sure, he has listened through your albums before they were officially released but it was always just that - a recording, not a live version. So what's different this time? Why is it vital he hears this song early?
Walking through the room, Lewis has to carefully watch where he's going. He doesn't want to accidentally break something by stepping on a cable or kicking a box with unknown contents. Inside a garage, he knows what not to touch but a recording studio and instruments are pretty much an unknown world to him.
Lewis is standing around a tad awkwardly, hands in pockets, when the bassist pushes a big black box closer to the driver.
"Have a seat." The musician points to the chest.
Lewis frowns. "On the box?" he asks, unsure. "Is that okay?"
"It's the Lucky Chest, Hamilton," the bassist announces. The other band members snicker at the title. "You have to sit on it."
"What's lucky about it?" Lewis inquires. More than the seating choice, he's interested in the reason for laughter.
"The first time we played at a big festival," the guitarist begins, her story slightly interrupted by her tuning the guitar, "we were sitting on it and listening to Green Day's stage, wondering 'how the fuck are we supposed to play after them?'."
"We were doing like a punk-rock tribute thing," adds the drummer. He's adjusting his seat and judging by the constant up-and-down movement, he can't make up his mind. The process is finally over when he reaches to tap the high-hat and nods to himself, content.
"After we finished our set," you take over retelling the story, "Billy Joe Armstrong came up to us and said we did great."
"So now it's the Lucky Chest," concludes the bassist.
Perhaps it's another testament to being a musician in a band when multiple people together tell one story without cutting details or creating chaos. A true harmony, though a joke a little on the nose.
"Well, I'm honoured," Lewis says. An airy giggle escapes him as he's still thinking about how easily teamwork comes to you and your band.
"You should be." The guitarist points her finger at him in a joking but accusatory way. Then she looks over her shoulder. "Whenever you're ready, drummer boy."
Music fills the room and Lewis is instantly captivated by you. He noticed it the first time he saw you on stage, how something inside you changes the moment you hear the instruments playing. Intensity, fire - passion in its most primal form. But this time around, the look in your eyes is different. You're no longer looking at the audience but him specifically; instead of singing a song, you seem to be telling him something.
So he listens.
I'm a desert, you're an ocean It's your motion that I need Without you I am broken, left to thirst out in the heat
And how strange he suddenly feels: all of the sentiments he already knows but now that you've put them into words for the whole world to hear, he can't help but find some revelation in them. For a moment, there's only the two of you and your confession of desire. Every word resonates with him and Lewis feels like he could say all of those things about you, too.
The song is far from over but he has already decided - he will listen to it before every race.
Lando Norris
Nothing seemed different about that day.
Lando is streaming while you're still at the studio. In an hour or so, you will come back, he will end the stream and the two of you will sit down to eat something. You will talk about your day, he will say something silly and both of you will laugh. Just like you always did.
To his credit, Lando couldn't have known about the song because you never told him. Some part of you thought it would be a bit dramatic to announce that you've written a song about him but can't play it yet because it's not finished. It would spoil the fun, wouldn't it? Therefore, you decided to tell Lando only after he listened to the final product. Perhaps you also wanted to seem a lot more nonchalant about the whole thing, planning on giving him just an off-hand comment of "oh, by the way, this one's about you". Life, however, rarely turns out the way we plan and that's exactly what happened that night.
If it was just one or two people calling Lando "honeybee" on the stream, he probably wouldn't even notice. But even he will pay attention when the comments are going on hundreds if not thousands.
He can't help but grow flustered at the pet name born out of his visceral fear of insects.
"Who told you that?!" he yells in a comically angry tone, a poor attempt at hiding embarrassment.
The comments come flooding again, explaining the situation only in variations of your name and the title Espresso. And like a detective following a crime, Lando immediately searches the internet.
"I feel lied to," he speaks up. "She didn't tell me she has a new song coming out. Why am I the last one to know? When I literally live with her? This is so unfair, I'm obviously the biggest fan, I should know first!"
Lando plays the music video. From the first line of "he's thinking about me every night", his bashfulness only gets worse. What starts as an excited smile, grows into a flustered, giggly mess. Although his pride is on the line, he can't deny any of the claims you make in the song. Yes, he couldn't sleep one night thinking about you and texted you about that. Yes, he does call you often even though he hates making phone calls. And yes, Lando Norris is, in fact, wrapped around your finger. What a horse is everyone can see and similarly, everyone can see and define who Lando is when it comes to his girlfriend:
"Simp?" he reads one of the comments. "Look, maybe I am but at the end of the day I'm dating her and you're not so who's the real loser here?"
Lando can only laugh his heart out when the chat gets flooded with identical comments: You.
"Okay, I admit. I'm down bad for my girlfriend and I'm proud of that."
Tomorrow's headlines are bound to be interesting...
Oscar Piastri
Although Oscar has seen you in musicals countless times, this situation feels a lot weirder and more uncomfortable. When he comes to watch your show, he's in the audience and you're on the stage. Now you're sitting side by side on the couch in your shared apartment, about to see your first movie. You're both the audience and the creator, which leaves you unsure how to act.
Unfortunately, your discomfort only grows. Oscar seems to be enjoying the movie but joy is not granted to you on this day. With each minute, you know your big part is coming. Oh God, what is he going to think?
Then, you suddenly pause the film. Oscar looks at you confused.
"There's something you need to know before you watch this scene and listen to the song," you say before he can ask you about your strange actions.
Oscar's frown only deepens. "You're making it sound really serious."
"Because it is. The thing is... " you hang your voice, unsure how to put words together. How do you tell someone this without making things awkward? "This is more embarrassing than I thought it would be but the song you're about to hear, I wrote it thinking about you."
He's trying to smile but the shadow of embarrassment on his face doesn't go unnoticed. You can only hope it's good kind of nervous.
The movie is resumed. As your discomfort is barely tolerable, you're looking away from the TV, fidgeting ever-so-slightly. Once or twice, you glance at Oscar, trying to see his reaction. The problem is, he's sitting unbelievably still. True, Oscar Piastri tends to be on the calmer side but right now it feels off. As if lost deep in thought, he appears to be diligently contemplating the scene in the movie; picking apart the words that came to your mind while thinking about him.
When the song comes to an end, you pause the film once more. A tense silence falls between you and Oscar, both longing to say something and yet neither willing to.
"So?" you begin hesitantly. "What do you think?"
Oscar shifts awkwardly. "Erm... I don't really know what to say."
A nervous giggle escapes your lips. "It's really sappy, I know." You try to downplay the situation, fearing that his reaction is born out of something negative. Does he think you're clingy? Obsessive? Too dramatic to handle?
"It's not that," he quickly denies. "Well, okay, it is kind of sappy but it's good sappy?" Oscar's tone raises slightly, revealing that he's unsure whether it's the right choice of words.
"Good sappy?" you repeat.
It feels as though woe has weaved a nest inside your viscera. "Good sappy" sounds like a lovely, diplomatic euphemism used not to hurt someone's feelings.
"Yeah, it's just..." Oscar doesn't finish his sentence. He runs his hand through his hair, then rubs the back of his neck nervously. Finally, he looks at you but not in a way you're familiar with. There's something ethereal in his gaze, a glint of inexplicable emotion that would escape a less observant eye. "It's really beautiful," he says. "The fact that you feel this way about me?" You could swear there are tears in his eyes as he lets out a flustered giggle. "I can die happy now."
Carlos Sainz
As old tradition entails, the Thursdays before a race weekend are meant for golfing. And who is Carlos Sainz to not give in to the custom?
He's sitting in his car, impatiently ploughing through the traffic of the city centre. Why are people out and about at this time, anyway? Shouldn't they be at work? Wanting to get his mind off of the fact that he's going to be quite late to the game, Carlos turns on the radio. The man is mindlessly skipping through the stations until something catches his attention - the announcer introduces you as today's guest.
"Hello again, pretty girl," Carlos says to himself. A small smile enters his face.
"First of all, I'd like to thank you," the radio host begins. "Unfinished Business is just the album I've been waiting for this year. And not only me! Have you seen Billboard 100 lately?"
Your flustered giggle is just as adorable as always. "Yesterday evening, I think?"
The broadcaster sighs dramatically. "Then you have ancient news. I have the site pulled up now and check it every few minutes. Let me tell you, Unfinished Business has climbed twenty spots since morning."
"Oh, shoot."
"Indeed." The announcer laughs and Carlos does with him. It's such a familiar theme for the driver - you being more humble than you really should be, surprised by the success you entirely deserve.
"Now, to address the elephant in the room or rather on the music charts. Over and Over Again is like a love letter all of us have written but never sent. Tell me all about it!"
"I guess 'love letter' is a pretty good description," you explain. Curious, Carlos turns up the volume. "For some time, I was trying to put my thoughts together and tell someone how I felt but never could quite do it. I can write good songs but in real life, I'm pretty terrible at speaking my mind and talking about feelings. I just don't want people to misunderstand, you know?"
"What are you saying, hermosa?" Carlos asks aloud, although there's no one to answer him.
"At least you can write a song about it! We regular folk are stuck with memes and playlists."
"Thank God, I can!" You laugh and, as embarrassing as it may sound, Carlos feels a sudden warmth spreading through his chest. "I was struggling with saying what I wanted to say to him, so at some point, I just decided I could put those words and feelings into a song. He likes to listen to the radio when he's driving so he might even be listening right now."
Although nothing bad or negative is going on, Carlos feels himself growing tense, nervous. There's no doubt the "he" you keep mentioning is him but what exactly is it you've been trying to tell him? Is there something he's missing?
"Did you tell him you've written a song about him?" the radio host asks.
"It might have slipped my mind," you answer coyly.
The announcer only laughs. "Oh dear, what a way to find out! Without further ado, let's hear your love letter to the mysterious man. I really hope he's listening to us right now. Don't you dare change the station, you lucky guy."
To his own surprise, Carlos recognizes the melody - you've been humming it for weeks now. But as you begin singing, the words leave him in disbelief. Do you really... mean all of that?
Carlos is lost in the song, feeling as though the lyrics aren't just lyrics but your genuine confession; a true love letter, as you have said yourself. He's brought back to reality only when the car behind him honks and Carlos is a hair's breadth away from picking a fight with the other driver. Nothing requires more haste or attention than his girlfriend exclaiming to the whole world that he will always be the one for her and that she will love him over and over again.
Charles Leclerc
You don't hear Charles coming in - you're too lost in your own thing to remember there's an entire world outside of the song and the piano in front of you. On the other hand, Charles doesn't announce his arrival as he doesn't want to disturb you. To be perfectly honest, he's a little too curious to interrupt you. It happens very rarely that you practise outside of the studio and so Charles doesn't really get to hear your more casual singing, not an embellished performance for the audience.
As quietly as he can, he makes his way towards you. Charles casually leans against the doorframe, your back turned to him as you continue playing the piano. He barely bites back the smile that creeps onto his face whenever you effortlessly sing the high notes - they are difficult for professionals and yet you execute them so cleanly, they appear almost too easy.
The lyrics haunt him but in a truly delicious way. A particular note of sincerity in your voice makes the words stick to him like rain does to a reckless passerby. Sure, they will slip away, although not before drenching him; their vital piece will forever lie with him.
When the song comes to an end, Charles (without thinking twice) gives you a hefty applause. The surprise makes you almost fall off the chair.
"Shit, you scared me!" you yell at him. It takes a couple deep breaths and your boyfriend's apologies, to collect yourself. "How much did you hear?"
He shrugs, suddenly realizing that he wasn't supposed to hear even one note of the song. "Pretty much all of it."
Your expression must not be joyful as Charles resumes his apologies and poor attempts at excuses. Suddenly, you cut him off. "How'd you like it?"
For a moment, he only hums and mindlessly knocks at the doorframe, looking for the right words.
"I loved it," he confesses. A strange tension in his voice proves he's telling the truth. "It's a beautiful song."
"Good," you answer absentmindedly. Quietly, you nod to yourself before looking back at Charles, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "It would really suck if you hated a song about yourself, you know?"
His eyes grow wide and Charles seems to forget about blinking for a good minute. Judging by the changes in his expression, you can tell the exact thought process he's experiencing: realizing you've written a song about him, joy caused by that, remembering the lyrics and finally taking them personally.
The more observant fans might notice a new addition to his helmet: "Claire de Lune" written in elegant lettering.
George Russell
Common sense might tell you that a race car driver must have no fear. And that would be correct, although quite imprecise. They must have no fear on track, yes, but daily life is quite different from racing, isn't it? Or maybe George is discovering a range of emotions he has not known before.
Your relationship is fresh but that isn't to say it's not serious. The weight of the connection the two of you share is a major part of the reason why George has been dead set on taking things slow. The other part is him knowing what media circus will play out once the news breaks. It's hard to blame him for wanting to keep at least some aspect of his life private, especially one that means so much to him.
As understanding as you are, George's apprehensiveness is tiring. You perfectly understand his reasoning and to some degree share the sentiment but at the same time, you are just somebody in love - you itch to scream it to the whole world. Or, at the very least, share a picture of the two of you. Both of you haven't been middle-schoolers for quite some time now, so why act like ones?
George, like the supportive boyfriend he is, loves to see you in your element. He watches the music videos, yet, but he much prefers the dance practice videos, where you're visibly enjoying each second of the choreography. Therefore, when you upload a new dance video for your song, he's probably the first person to play it.
It's a catchy tune that makes even the most boring people want to dance a little. With his head moving to the rhythm, George doesn't focus much on the lyrics until something in the second verse catches his attention:
So used to hiding We built our kingdom around The right timing
The lines, understandably, hit a little too close to home to be a pure coincidence. Now suspicious, George replays the video - this time, he's actually listening to the words instead of focusing on your dancing. Any hesitation that he's the true recipient of the song is gone with the first line of "Say you want me". The desperation in your voice is simply too candid to be just an act for the sake of the performance.
With the song loudly playing on a loop, George is scrolling through his phone's gallery in search of the best pictures of the two of you. He can't help but mouth the lyrics along with your singing, only to randomly giggle as the thought once again settles - it's about him.
Your phone can't stop vibrating. The notifications are coming nonstop. What on Earth happened? Upon opening Instagram, the mystery is solved. The internet seemed to be set on fire when George posted a series of pictures of the two of you with a caption that earned a giddy chuckle from you: "Setting us in motion".
Max Verstappen
Max and you both understand how much support can change. Sometimes just knowing that this other person is out there, watching and cheering, can change everything. As such, the two of you try to attend each other's events as much as you can. Unfortunately, the universe isn't always kind and you end up on the opposite ends of the world. The only support you can offer then is watching the live-streamed event - just like Max is doing right now.
He's sitting in his driver's room in Singapore, while you're at an award show in the USA. Quite the distance. There's something unbearably humbling about having to watch your performance like most of the world, when Max is, without a doubt, not most of the world.
In the back of his mind, Max is still thinking about the conversation he had with you earlier. Although he never misses your performances, you made it a point to tell him to watch this one. In your own words, he's supposed to look out for something fun, like a detail that will make this show different from the others. So as though he is a hawk, or more of a vulture, Max is hyperanalizing everything that's happening on the screen. He's not about to miss your little surprise.
The song begins and as much as he wants to enjoy watching you in your element, Max is a missile on a mission. Nothing specific seems to catch his eye but that t-shirt you're wearing...
Max knows it all too well. Theoretically, it's his t-shirt but considering you wear it more often than he does, it's practically yours. Now it's styled to fit the concept and image of your bandmates but the colour, the logo, the number, are all unmistakeable. Considering how much you're touching the article of clothing, compared to other dancers, he's convinced he's found what he was meant to look for.
Before he can wonder why you've chosen to wear his t-shirt for your performance, it's you who gives him the answer through the lyrics:
I feel like for the first time I am not faking Fingers on my buttons and now you're playing Master of anticipation, don't you keep it all to yourself
Max Verstappen doesn't get flustered but if he did, he'd be beyond flustered right now. The realization hits him like a derailed train - the song that everyone has been obsessed with through the summer and that has pretty obvious sexual lyrics is actually about him.
And if he did get flustered, the emotion would be rather short-lived, giving way to pride. After all, the core meaning of the song is that he's a generous lover, right? Clearly, he's been taking good care of his girlfriend.
Now, each sung line of "Just the touch of your love" makes Max all the more frustrated that the two of you are so far apart. He's earned his title of "Master of anticipation" and he intends to keep it.
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poltoreveur · 11 months ago
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Outlines on bedsides
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Pairing: Luke Castellan x F!Reader
Warning: NSFW, established relationship, smut, PWP, semi public sex, slight exhibitionist, bratty (slightly) sub!Luke, oral (f!receiving), fingering, mutual masturbation (?), they’re making a sex tape!!!! (lol).
Word count: 4.0k+
A/N: Based on this ask! I started writing this fic with the idea of a jealous!reader, but then I give up, so cheers to another pure smut!
!Not readproof!
Luke had no idea what he was getting into.
You can tell how much he enjoys the way he is making you feel. The way he’s touching you, the words of encouragement you whisper in his ear, they all make his body shiver with pleasure.
It feels like heaven having him close to you, touching every inch of your body in a way that makes you want to let your control go. But you know you couldn’t do that. Not when you wanted the upper hand over him.
You feel his warm breath against your skin as he kisses your neck, down to your inner thighs. His hands trail down your shoulders, down the curve of your spine and up your back.
In all honesty, you don't hesitate to acknowledge—particularly once the teasing kisses on your thighs come to an end, igniting a sensation where your legs meet your hips that Luke possesses an exceptional skill when it comes to pleasuring women.
Actually, it's the soft and slick flat of Luke’s tongue moving in long and leisurely strokes on your clit as if the ache surrounding your intimate area is nothing compared to the one simmering in your stomach.
With this sight, Luke only wanted to surrender himself to you more quickly; he wondered how it would be if you both were in a completely different place instead of being in the middle of the cabin where anybody who weren’t supposed to be there happen to just waltz in and see what the both of you are doing.
Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to be having sex in broad daylight when everybody else was out training. But that’s also the same reason why the two of you decided to do it right now.
Everybody was out training. Except for both of you.
But that still didn’t eliminate the possibility of somebody stumbling in. You both choose to do it in the Hermes cabin of all places. Sure, his siblings and all the unclaimed kids were out training, but that didn’t stop the possibility of a newbie suddenly appearing.
He watched how you would allow your body to dissolve like water and completely disrupt his pristine sheets, then maybe you could catch your breath and find your voice once more.
It's his mouth. The precise movements. The pulling, gentle sucking, and fluttering of his tongue. Increasing in intensity, licking along the crease. It's these actions that cause your toes to curl and your feet to press flat against the bed. You tightly clutche fistfuls of cotton sheets.
Your fingertips intertwine with his hair. You herself to the table behind you, your back and hips tensing, thighs willingly parting. Perhaps you give yourself too freely, but Luke is the kind of person who gives relentlessly, always ready to receive in return.
This is an undeniable truth. He draws your swollen lips into a kiss, a mischievous suction, tasting yourself in between his lips before dipping himself back into your body and your thighs gradually tighten around the sides of his head, causing a slight dizziness to overcome him.
With an open hand gently caressing your thigh, he encourages you to open up, to gasp for air.
As you lay there, panting and covered in sweat, Luke's fingers trail across your heated skin. He smirks down at you, his eyes dark with desire. "You like that?" His question came out breathlessly, trying to get a breather after burying himself in you.
“Am I doing a good job?” His voice was asking for reassurance, he didn’t want to do anything that wasn’t just purely satisfying you.
You nod eagerly, unable to form words. The way he knows exactly how to touch you is both exhilarating and terrifying.
But just as things start to escalate, Luke pulls his head away abruptly. You feel a mix of disappointment and anticipation swirling inside you.
"What are you doing?" You ask breathlessly, arching your back in protest.
Luke chuckles softly and leans back against the headboard of the bed. "Relax," he says casually. "I'm not done satisfying you yet."
Your heart races as he slowly started sucking on his own finger.
"What's that for?" You ask, raising an eyebrow at his behaviour.
Luke smirks mischievously before answering sarcastically, "I just wanted to taste you.”
Without warning, he slides one finger inside you, stretching and teasing until you're begging for more.
With a sly grin, Luke leans in close, his lips grazing against yours. "I know what you want," he whispers seductively. "I can feel it."
His fingers slide between your thighs, teasingly circling around your clit. You gasp as waves of pleasure wash over you. It feels like electricity coursing through every nerve ending in your body.
"Please say it," Luke moans appreciatively as he watches your body tense and relax around his hand.
“Please tell me you want me.”
“Luke,” you respond softly, leaning against his chest. His breathing is shallow and your heart is pounding. You feel so close to him in this moment, almost as if nothing else in the world exists. “I’m not saying that.”
You gave him a smug smile as he pouted at your answer.
The bed creaks with every movement he makes.
Luke holds you tightly, his entire body tense, and runs his fingers through your body.
His expression hesitates slightly as he feels you tense up. "Let me know if it hurts," he whispers gently, and you feel him ease up a little. “Or if I’m going to fast.”
When you don’t protest, he continues, kissing along your neck and shoulders. His lips trail down your body, leaving a tingling sensation on your skin.
But your body responds to his rhythm. You can feel every movement like the brush of a feather, the brush of your skin. His touch is gentle and caressive, and his breath is on your neck.
He takes a deep breath before leaning in closer to you, his hands trailing softly down your shoulders. “I just want this to be special for you.”
“Luke Castellan, if you don’t shut up and hurry up, I swear someone is going to walk in before I finish.”
The comment makes him chuckle quietly at your frustration, and his hands immediately move even quicker.
You notice that he's being extra gentle now, and his eyes are full of admiration for you.
“What? I thought you liked hearing me talk,” he replies with an exaggerated pout. “I was just planning everything out so that it'd be perfect for you.”
“You could have just told me to shut up if you wanted me to shut up, you know?"
You can't help but smile as his fingers dance across your skin, filling you with the sweet sensation of being touched. The way he's taking the time to explore every inch of your body, the way he is looking at you like you're something precious.
It's almost too much to handle but in the best way possible.
He slows his movements as you begin to moan in response. “Is it too much? Am I doing okay?” he whispers in a rush, “I'll go more slowly if you want.” he whispers softly, his breath hot on your skin.
As he notices the increase in the sound of your breath, he slows his strokes, letting them linger longer. His eyes are fixed on yours, watching for any hint of discomfort. He adjusts his pace to match your breathing, waiting for you to signal that it's too much.
You feel his fingers trail softly up your thigh, his other hand moving slowly over your waist. He caresses you in a way that feels almost too good, his eyes fixated on you as he kisses your neck softly.
His touch is addictive, and you find yourself wanting more. "Your body is so perfect," he whispers in your ear, and the sound of his voice makes you tremble with desire. He leaves lingering kisses, worshipping your body.
He trails kisses across your neck, making his way down to your chest, his eyes never leaving yours. His touch is addictive, and you can't help but tremble with desire.
“What would the others think seeing you being so good for me?” He breaks away from the kiss slowly, watching you for a moment.
The corners of his mouth quirk up into a smirky smile as he watches you. "I'm pretty sure they'd be pretty jealous," he teases, "But I don't mind being good to you. I want to be good for you."
As he keeps kissing your neck, you find yourself lost in the sensation. You almost forget where you are, your senses overwhelmed with pleasure. You let out a soft moan, your body arching as he continues.
Luke pulls away for a moment, his mouth just inches away from your ear as he whispers: "Tell me what you want me to do."
Your body is completely lost in the moment, caught up in the sensation of his touch. As his hand slowly slows its pace, you almost feel deprived of something vital, a deep moan escaping your lips, your body arching.
Luke smiles smugly as you moan softly, the sound enough to drive him mad with desire. "Are you enjoying it?" he whispers, his voice hot in your ear.
"It's been a while since you’ve let me touch you, so I want to make this special." You feel his other hand moving slowly up your body, his fingers grazing the curves of your body.
He then glanced over at his nightstand, grabbing the video camera that had sitting there ever since the both of you started.
He takes one hand off of you to adjust the camera, and you feel the sudden change in the mood. Your body reacts in a way that feels odd, but not in a bad way.
You're not against being watched, so if he wants to film you, then he has your permission. but of course, Luke, being Luke, he had to ask. “Can I?”
He waits for your response before he begins to record.
"If you want,” you tell him softly, your body tingling with desire. “I'm not completely opposed to being filmed,” you add, a shiver running down your spine as the camera captures your body from all angles.
His expression is expectant, but also a bit hopeful. You've never done anything like this before, but the idea of being filmed does make you feel a little giddy.
You sense that he really wants to continue, but he also wants to make sure you still feel comfortable and confident. At the same time, you're intrigued by the idea of being filmed. you know who Luke is; he wouldn't share it with anyone else without permission. He also knows better that if he does, he’ll get a hefty punishment.
He pauses for a moment, his expression soft as he looks at you. “Are you sure about this?” he asks, his voice gentle, “We don't have to do this. I don't want you to get uncomfortable, or to feel like I'm pressuring you.” Luke has always been careful not to push you into things you aren't ok with, and his expression says he's serious now.
“I give you my permission, Luke.” You sense the excitement and arousal radiating from his body, and you can't help but feel turned on by his reactions.
Your body is tingling with excitement, and your breath begins to quicken. You feel so overwhelmed, but at the same time, it's almost thrilling to think that someone is watching you.
“Good,” he replies, his voice oozing with anticipation. He starts filming again and his face lights up with a cheeky grin. He continues to kiss you, his hands touching you gently, his body moving seamlessly over yours. Every touch feels intoxicating, sending shivers down your spine.
You feel the heat of the camera against your skin and the sensation is nearly overwhelming.
"You should be thanking me for letting you witness me being so good to you."
A smug grin spreads across his face as he looks into the camera, his eyes bright with amusement. "Well, I am grateful," he replies, his hands grazing softly along your body, "I'm sure our viewers at home are loving it too."
His tone is playful as he continues to kiss you, his hands trailing softly up your body. You feel warm all over as if your flesh was radiating with heat. His kisses are gentle, each one making you feel like you're being worshipped. You can't help but feel intoxicated by the sensation.
His fingers slowly dipped into again, fastening his pace as he deepened the kiss, angling the camera at your face.
He leans into the camera, his hands running down your neck, his kisses getting deeper. You feel like you're drowning in pleasure, the sensations taking over your body.
The camera captures every detail of your expressions, your body arching tightly against his hand. It's almost like he was worshipping you with his touch and you loved feeling so desired.
“I want to be good to you.”
“I want you to feel like I'm worshipping you with every touch.” His tone is soft yet seductive, with a look of pure pleasure on his face. You feel the urge to arch your body against his hand, the sensations taking over your body.
“I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel.” His lips are against your neck, biting very gently. His hand trails gently down your body, his other hand resting on your hip as he holds the camera steady.
“Luke, I’m—“
“Is this too much for you?” he asks, taking his face away from your neck and looking into your eyes to see if there's anything wrong. His hands trail slowly down your side, brushing against your skin playfully.
His voice is sweet and tender, his expression soft and concerned. He seems genuinely worried that he might’ve made you uncomfortable.
Your body is overcome with a rush of pleasure, every inch of you feeling energized. You can feel your muscles clenching tighter, the sensation becoming almost uncontrollable.
“I only want to make you feel good,” he whispers, his fingers gently tracing circles along your clit. He was holding back his own arousal, feeling himself twitched right with how your body was reacting.
As he continued to pleasure you, your hands slowly reached down onto him. When your hand touched his raw skin, you very slowly stroked him from his base to head, teasing him, admiring for the millionth time how perfect and heavy he felt in your hand.
His breath catches abruptly as your hand makes its way down his body. You feel his body tremble, his cheeks flushing and his breath becoming raspy.
He looks into your eyes, watching as your hand slowly traces patterns over him. The way you touch him is making him crazy, making him feel wild and untamed.
“You’re doing a good job,” you reassured him, knowing he was enjoying every bit of it from the way tried biting back his moan—the hand that was holding up the camera, slowly moved onto the sheets.
He sighs and lets his head fall back, taking a deep breath and trying to maintain some semblance of composure. The sounds of his heavy breathing fill the air, and you feel the need to laugh from the way he's trying to disguise his moans with subtle sounds.
"Don’t worry, I’ll return the favour," I teased, he’s trying to hold back his moans from the sheer sensation of your touch. His hands continue to move down your body, his fingers tracing over your curves gently. “After you’re done with me.” His kisses become deeper and more passionate, his voice getting hoarser with every word.
“Promise?” he whispers, his voice full of hunger. He seems eager to get you to return the favour. His voice quivers slightly as your hand trails all the way down his body.
He speeds up the movement of his slick hand which made the lewdest sounds. You feel him getting close to the edge, his breathing becoming more erratic with every touch.
You simply nodded as you let go of him, your hands combing through his hair instead.
He lets out a sharp exhale of air, letting it fill the room. His hand was still moving at a steady pace, but you could feel him trying to resist. You weren't sure how much longer he could hold on.
As your hands combed through his brown and bronze-tinted hair, he let out a soft sigh. Your body suddenly trembled violently like your limbs were about to convulse.
“Fuck—“
"You alright?" he whispers softly, his voice cracking and his body trembling as he struggles to stay in control. His breathing is ragged and shallow, but he tries to keep his pace steady.
“I’m close,” you whisper, your voice still breathless. His hand keeps moving at a steady pace, but he makes no effort to speed up the speed. He just watches you, eager to witness the intensity of your pleasure.
The sounds coming from your body were louder than anything you'd heard before every movement was accompanied by a soft moan or an eager sigh. You were on a whole new level of sensitivity, and it was clear that he was enjoying every second of it. The camera continued to record the entire scene, documenting all the details of your pleasure and his reactions.
“Don’t stop,” you tell him, your voice quivering with excitement as you feel that familiar build-up of passion deep within you. He keeps his pace steady, his eyes glued to you, waiting for the moment when you reach your climax.
“I'm not stopping until you need—” he starts, but he doesn’t finish his sentence when you bundle up his hair, softly yanking his head down. You feel him tighten his grip on you, his breath rasping out of his mouth. Your breath catches abruptly as the sensation becomes increasingly intense. Your body's tension builds up, all your focus completely immersed in what he's giving you.
“Hnngh…” he breathes heavily, his voice straining and his breathing becoming shallow. You can tell that he's nearing the edge, but he maintains a steady pace, focused on giving you your moment. He wants you to have this.
The room grows hot and the air becomes thick with your heavy breathing. He does not attempt to distract himself from your movements, watching your expressions and facial reactions as the intensity only builds before pushing his face down between your thighs, circling his tongue on your clit once more.
The video camera was long gone once he wrapped his arms around your thigh, splaying your legs wide open as he continued.
You can feel the muscles in your thighs tense up as he holds you in place. You feel his hands wrapped around both of your thighs, his fingers pumping softly in-and-out of you as he continues. His touch is like an explosion of sensation, sending chills all the way through your body. Your entire being is consumed by the pleasure he's giving you, your heart beating so fast it feels like it's about to burst.
His body is pressed against yours, his mouth moving with so much attention and passion that you can't help but feel overcome. His tongue is hot and his breath is heavy, but all that matters to him is your pleasure.
Every movement of his tongue and lips is like a wave of ecstasy, the sensation sending you over the edge as you come into his mouth. Your body quivers violently, your voice breaking into a high-pitched moan.
Luke didn’t waste a single moment as he quickly started slurping all of the juices that were practically all over his face and fingers.
His hands fall slowly away from you, the feeling of exhaustion overwhelming him. He closes his eyes for a moment, his face still flush with excitement. He sits there for a minute, letting the feelings pass slowly before he opens his eyes again.
His smile softens as he stares at you, his body still trembling slightly. Everything that happened felt real and intense like it could become something more if you wanted.
“You’re so good to me,” you say, your voice still breathless. You lay back on his hands, feeling completely drained by the rush of pleasure that had swept over your body. Your body shivers slightly with every deep breath, but you’re too immersed in your own satisfaction to care.
He pulls his mouth away briefly to take a breath, his body still trembling slightly as he looks up at you with a smug grin. He looks utterly exhausted, so exhausted that he doesn't even have the energy to talk. The camera is still recording every minute movement as your body finally relaxes at the moment after.
After you calmed down from your high, you slowly started to shift your thighs, moving them together while he lay in between them.
He glances over to the camera for a split second before looking back at you. His fingers trail gently along your thigh, his eyes never leaving your face. You could tell that he was still feeling the effects of the intimacy. His breathing was slowly returning to normal, but he was still filled with unexplainable excitement for what had just occurred.
He pushed his fingers into his mouth, licking them clean of all your juices. He continues to lick his lips, savouring every bit of you that's left on his fingers.
He lets out a soft sigh as you shift your thighs, your body rubbing against him as you adjust to a more comfortable position. Your body is still tingling with residual pleasure, the feeling lingering in your muscles even after the intensity of the finale.
He pulls his fingers away from his mouth and looks up at you, his face still flush with excitement. He runs his fingers along your thigh, his lips curling into a soft smile. His hand trails your thigh and up your side, moving slowly, but firmly.
You reached over to the video camera—playing the video in your hands, watching the scene that played out before you. It was clear that Luke made sure to get every scene of that moment into the video. You couldn’t believe you let him record it, but it was also one of the best decisions you've ever made because you can relive that intense and indescribable experience over and over again.
The video of the entire scene played out before you, every second of your pleasure recorded in the clearest quality possible. You almost chuckled as you saw yourself being pleased by Luke so enthusiastically, the intense sensation sweeping over your body as your facial expressions grew increasingly expressive.
The camera captured every detail of the scene, both visually and audibly. You could hear your breathing and your sighs in the background, the sound of the bed creaking against your movements.
You glanced down at him, smiling before hitting record on the video camera again. “I still need to keep my end of the bargain.”
His breath catches abruptly, and his eyes widen. A subtle smile cracks on his face, and he glances at the camera again before looking back at you. His head tilts slightly to the side as he notices that you've started recording again.
He raises his eyebrows in surprise as you hold up the camera to capture the scene in front of you. Your smile widens as you begin to tease him again, the prospect of pleasing him bringing a sense of satisfaction to your own desire.
His body starts to tremble again, and he looks at the camera for an answer, hoping that you'd turn it off, but something tells you that his reaction to you recording him is going to be worth watching.
"Don’t go too hard on me," he whispers softly, his voice cracking slightly.
“It’s cute that you think I’ll go easy on you.” Your reply was met with an amused laugh from Luke. He knows you won’t ever take it easy on him.
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kyoyoyay · 9 days ago
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hiii so ive had this idea for a while now but i just dont have the skills to write it myself, its not really a reader x character but more of a maybe actor!reader x the actor of the character if u get me??😭😭
so the idea is actor!reader plays a character that is also played as the love interest/partner of hwang inho (lee byung hun's character) and during their scenes together (like a cute/intimate interaction between their characters) reader just keeps messing up her lines or having trouble staying in character because she keeps getting flustered/shy by lee byung hun causing them to redo the scene over and over again so him and the whole cast just keeps laughing and teasing her about it😣😣🙏🙏🙏
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Take after Take ── .✦
Lee Byung-Hun x F!actor!reader
warnings: nothing just a hot actor and the use of y/n.
a/n: AAAAAAAAAH this request is so cute and a good first fic for me to write!!
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The set felt calm, the quiet shuffle of crew members and the hum of equipment filling the air. Your hands were clammy as you stood on your mark, heart hammering in your chest. Today was the scene. The one everyone would remember, the one you felt COMPLETELY unprepared for.
“Alright, everyone, let’s get this scene rolling!” the director called. “Y/n, Byung Hun, into positions.”
You exhaled shakily, moving to your spot. Across from you, Lee Byung Hun, the Lee Byung Hun, stood calm and collected. He gave you a small, reassuring smile, like he could sense the nerves radiating off you. You tried to smile back, but it probably came out more like a grimace.
The scene was intimate, the kind of moment that makes viewers hold their breath. Byung Hun’s character, was about to show a rare moment of vulnerability, tucking a strand of hair behind your character’s ear. It was a simple gesture, but loaded with emotion. And you? You just had to respond with a single line.
“Action!” the director called.
Byung Hun delivered his lines flawlessly, his voice was deep and low, sending a shiver down your spine as he spoke. His eyes locked onto yours, so intense it felt like they could see straight through you. His hand reached up, fingertips just brushing your temple…
And you burst into laughter. Really?
“Cut!” the director said, though he sounded more amused than annoyed. “Y/n, you good?”
“I…” You glanced at Byung Hun, who was looking at you with a raised eyebrow and a slight smirk. “Sorry, I don’t know what happened. Nerves, I guess.”
“No problem,” the director said. “Let’s reset. Action!”
This time, you made it halfway through. Byung Hun’s hand moved closer, his touch so light it sent a shiver down your spine. Your line was right there on the tip of your tongue… but instead of speaking, you squeaked. And then giggled. Again.
“Cut!”
Laughter rippled through the set. Byung Hun chuckled, dropping his hand. “Do I make you that nervous?” he teased, tilting his head slightly.
“I… No,” you said, your face heating up. “Okay, maybe a little. I’m sorry, I don’t usually-”
“First time getting flustered on set?” he asked, stepping a little closer. His tone was gentle but playful, like he was enjoying your discomfort.
You nodded, covering your face with your hands. “This is so embarrassing.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice soft enough that only you could hear. “Happens to the best of us. Just focus on the scene. Forget about the cameras, the crew… and me.”
You peeked at him through your fingers. “You make that sound so easy.”
He grinned. “Alright, maybe don’t forget about me completely. I am supposed to be the love of your life.”
You groaned, though you couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Maybe a little,” he admitted, stepping back into position. “Let’s give it another go.”
This time, you managed to stay focused. His hand brushed against your temple, tucking the strand of hair away. His eyes held yours, and for a moment, the world outside the scene fell away. You opened your mouth to deliver your line… and promptly tripped over your own feet, stumbling straight into his chest.
“Cut!” The director’s voice was almost drowned out by the laughter erupting around you.
Byung Hun caught your shoulders, steadying you with practiced ease. He leaned in, his voice low and teasing. “If you wanted an excuse to get closer, you could’ve just asked.”
You buried your face in your hands. “This is a disaster.”
“Not at all,” he said, his tone softening. “Memorable, though. Don’t you think?”
Eventually, after what felt like a hundred takes (and even more laughter), you finally finished the scene. When the director called it, the crew broke into applause, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.
Byung Hun patted you lightly on the back. “Told you you’d get there.”
“Thanks to your patience,” you said, still catching your breath.
“Patience is part of the job,” he replied, his voice dipping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “And besides, you made it fun.”
As you walked off the set together, his hand brushed against your arm, lingering for just a moment. Your heart still raced, but this time, it wasn’t from nerves. Maybe working with Lee Byung Hun would always be a little overwhelming... but it wasn't so bad.
apologies for any mistakes, this is my first time posting one of these ;-;
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divider by @aquazero ^^
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k4vehrtz · 7 months ago
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WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE YOUNG, YOUNG LOVERS? dom ! nanami kento / sub ! m. reader
content warnings. nsfw content / hybrid au ergo predator - prey dynamic where applicable / bunny hybrid ! nanami & reader / explicit mentions of and allusions to social anxiety / age gap (reader is 25 + nanami is 45) / satosugu cameo / self - degradation (brief, nanami) + mild degradation (r receiving) / fingering (r receiving) / spontaneous sex / ‘bunny’ & ‘little rabbit’ used as a pet name / doggystyle / ass‐to–mouth / overstimulation / heat cycles / nipple play / explicit consent / reader is shorter than nanami but there is no explicit description of a body type / virgin nanami ergo loss of virginity
word count. 3K
notes. i’ve had this bunny ! reader req in my inbox for a while and it has been on my mind so i decided to explore a couple ideas :) i’m dyslexic so any errors just give the fic personality
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nanami had, over the course of his life, nurtured a particular distaste for other human beings.
he’d grown up in a city — one that never slept; a city that hummed to the tune of debauchery. busy days pre–empted busier nights. and he’d always remember two things: one, that the winters were cold, but the people there were always colder and two, he’d stuck out in a crowd.
hence, at the age of forty–five, he’d decided to leave.
“… so let me get this straight,” satoru, who’d made it his mission to mimic a koala, says as he untangles himself from suguru after having concluded that this was, in fact, a serious conversation. “you’re moving to a small town to avoid human interaction more efficiently instead of addressing your underlying social anxiety?”
satoru naturally spoke faster than the average individual, but his pace increased near the end of his sentence. nanami pretended not to notice (something he’d become exceptionally good at).
“real subtle, smart ass,” suguru hadn’t though, narrowing his eyes at his partner before turning his attention back to nanami, “i think it’s a good idea, better environment to write and all.”
writing, yes. he’d gotten in the habit during high school. it was nothing more than a hobby — something to pass the time between classes. being a loner by choice (as he’d liked to call it), he’d had a lot of time to get lost between the lines of an empty notebook. and being a creature of habit (in the self–proclaimed ‘right’ opinion of the startlingly blue–eyed man sitting across from him), he’d made a career out of it.
“i…suppose,” he responds almost nonchalantly, lacking the energy that his two closest friends possessed.
he hasn’t written since his last work — a collection of essays on how one’s perception of their surroundings is impacted by one’s perception of oneself — was published two, almost three years ago.
he’s embarrassed, a sensation that sticks to his skin uncomfortably and the silence that falls between them only exacerbates his discomfort.
“i’ll see you two, then,” he speaks up after the silence proves to be too much for him, standing to his full height in a bashful sort of way that can only be described as endearing — typical for rabbit hybrids.
the two fox hybrids, long since accustomed to the abrupt end of get–togethers, exchange their goodbyes as they stare at his retreating form with sympathetic eyes.
and nanami, instinctively observant of his surroundings to a fault, doesn’t have to turn around to know the expressions that colour their complexions. he can feel it — the eyes of predators following his every move.
he exhales slowly through his nose: once, twice, and then a third time before the intensity of his heartbeat subsides. they’re his friends, not a threat.
his stride resumes, albeit awkwardly, with full awareness of the fact that he has a problem. he’s had a problem for a long time. but running comes naturally to prey animals.
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designated ‘safe spaces’ for prey animals had become the norm in recent years following a series of unfortunate events. the café you worked at was one such establishment.
“…i’m so sorry for the delay, my co–worker called in sick so i’ve been on my own and today is a lot busier than—”
nanami clears his throat, his intention crystal clear, and your ramble comes to an abrupt end.
warmth gathers beneath the surface of your cheeks as you raise your gaze to his, though he swiftly looks away, “what can i get you?”
without looking at the menu, he responds, “a croissant,” and you interject, “so you’re the croissant guy!”
he stares at you for a moment before slowly repeating after you, “the…croissant guy?” and when you smile at him, he can’t help but think that he’d need sunglasses if you were to do that again.
you apologize for the second time before continuing, “you should know by now that there aren’t that many people that live here and, between you and me, even fewer people that buy our croissants,” a distinct warmness to your tone.
nanami nods thoughtfully, responding curtly with an indifferent, “i see,” as he pays for the pastry before finding himself someplace to sit with his laptop.
it’s been a week since he’d first arrived and he considers himself familiar enough with his new surroundings. all that was left to do was to write but, as it turns out, a change of scenery only goes so far.
as he stares at the empty document on his screen, his thoughts wander back to a few minutes ago. you’re a new face — he presumes the co–worker you’d mentioned was the barista he’d met before.
but his thoughts wander so far before you appear at his side, croissant in hand, “i heard you were an author, that’s pretty cool,” and your seemingly perpetual smile curling your lips.
you mean no harm; it’s merely an attempt to be polite, making small talk is perfectly normal. but nanami isn’t normal, he feels strange, a surge of anxiety materializing seemingly from thin air.
“you heard?” he repeats after you, stumbling over his words, and he feels stupid and embarrassed.
you tilt your head to the side, your overly large ears flopping as you do so, before taking it upon yourself to sit across from him.
“isn’t it great to have places like these to ourselves?”
he raises a brow at the sudden change of topic but you continue nevertheless, “i think it’s great, ‘cause you get to meet people who understand you. there’s a book club at the library down the street this saturday, i think you should stop by if you have the time to spare,” before excusing yourself, leaving as fast as you came.
nanami lowers his eyes to the croissant, not entirely sure of what had just happened. while you stare at him from behind the counter, a complex mixture of emotions colouring your expression.
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“i think you should go; it won’t hurt to get out of the house.”
satoru’s voice echoes through his laptop’s speaker and nanami falls into contemplative silence.
“besides —” suguru interjects, “you’ve been seeing that therapist, right? i bet she’d agree that this is a step in the right direction,” moving into the camera’s frame as he settles down on satoru’s lap.
they’re not wrong; he, deep down, knows that they’re not wrong, but he hesitates all the same.
“i don’t know,” he breathes out after a moment of silence, pushing the pickled vegetables around his plate with his reusable chopsticks absentmindedly.
the line of communication falls silent once more and then suguru responds, “whatever you decide to do, we support you,” before ending the call.
and nanami exhales slowly, staring at his reflection on his laptop’s screen. he’s aged (of course he has), baby fat no longer rounds his cheeks, and crow’s feet round the corners of his eyes.
but, even now, he stands out — and nanami hates standing out.
he’d stood out among his peers; other prey animals were shorter, always shorter. there was always ‘too much’ of nanami — it made him easier to spot and made his movements awkward. he never fully knew what to do with himself.
rabbit hybrids were meant to be small and cute, two things nanami wasn’t.
you, on the other hand, were the epitome of society’s expectations; smaller and sociable. at least, that’s what he’d observed over the past four days. and he doesn’t hate you for it — ‘hate’ is too strong of a word to describe how he felt.
‘envy’, however, leaves a bad taste in his mouth, it ruins his already depleted appetite, and he pushes the ceramic plate of pickled vegetables away from him when the thought crosses his labyrinthine mind.
he doesn’t envy you; that would be absurd. but, isn’t that what this world is, absurd?
‘it is’, he decides as he changes into more suitable clothing for leaving the house — abandoning his pyjamas for a white shirt tucked into the waistband of black slacks. it was plain, nanami liked plain; he liked uniformity.
but you, you again, you were anything but plain.
as he rounded the corner of the library after receiving directions from the librarian, a sweet elderly woman, your brightly coloured sweater caught his eyes first. it stood out amidst the piles of books of all different shapes, sizes, and colours that surrounded you.
his gaze flickers to the watch around his wrist, an all too familiar sensation creeping up on him. he’d come too late. but the sound of your voice drags him out of his thoughts before he can spiral any further. hell, he hadn’t even noticed when you approached him.
“you should get out of your head sometime.”
he narrows his eyes at you, not entirely because of what you’d said (though it played a role) but because of how you said it. now that you were in such proximity to one another, he can’t help but acknowledge that you look terrible.
you sound as though you’d just run a marathon, your chest rising and falling in quick succession. without thinking he presses the back of his palm against your forehead, beads of sweat dampening his skin but he doesn’t mind. you’re burning up.
“christ,” he grimaces as he gives you a once–over, adrenaline coursing through his veins as his own body begins to heat up in a similar manner.
so, this is not a regular fever, duly noted.
“i don’t consider myself a believer but each to their own,” you grin, a lopsided type that nanami swore could give him cavities. but now is not the time for that.
he clears his throat, making the conscious decision to ignore the growing strain of his cock against the fabric of his slacks, and asks carefully, “do you need a ride home?”
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nanami’s studio was a blank canvas; untouched white walls, and brand–new furniture (some still encased in its plastic wrapping) in different shades of grey. even in your heat–induced haze, you could tell that this was a ‘house’, not a ‘home’.
he doesn’t comment on it though, so you keep your thoughts to yourself as he gently guides you to his designated bedroom.
the mattress sinks under the combined weight of the two of you. your chests rising and falling in sync as you stare into each other’s eyes, your oversized ears touching in a way neither of you knew could be so pleasurable until now.
“i look old enough to be your father,” he murmurs, his voice breathier the longer his body hovers over yours. and your response comes between laboured gasps, “i’m—oh shit, you’re big—twenty-five, don’t worry, i’m a big boy.”
you can feel his growing erection through the fabric of his slacks against your own. and the air between the two of you feels charged, igniting as he lowers his lips to your throat, his warm breath feeling like miniature needles against your sensitive skin, “do you or do you not want this?”
it’s the question of the hour and you nod eagerly but he pauses, holding your chin between the soft pads of his thumb and index finger as he tilts your head upwards, “i need words, bunny, think you can use your words f’me, bunny?”
your lips part, a low, open–mouthed moan cascading down your tongue before you manage to form a coherent response, “i want ‘you’, not ‘this’.”
and your choice of wording is not lost on him, he hears you loud and clear.
“i’ve never done ‘this’ before,” he blurts out, embarrassed by his lack of cleverness when compared to your confession only moments prior.
it is the truth though; something he prides himself on being to others — truthful. although it’s up for debate how forthcoming he is with himself.
he had, however, every intention of taking you back to your place wherever that may be. but as the distinct floral scent indicating the arrival of your heat enveloped the confines of his car, he had to make a decision that was for the best of both of you. driving while approaching his heat was no better than driving while intoxicated; thus, the choice was clear.
“i can teach you,” comes your response, sounding as though it took a great deal of effort to say whilst pushing yourself up into a seated position, unintentionally bumping your forehead against his in the process.
“it’s so warm,” you both groan in unison as you pull away from each other, removing all articles of clothing deemed ‘unnecessary’ which truthfully rendered you both nude.
your state of undress mattered not, though, as nanami promptly leaned to the side, rummaging in the upper drawer of his nightstand for a moment before retrieving a lubricant specifically designed for rabbit hybrids (a gift he’d received from the ocean–eyed freak) and handing it over to you.
which you happily accept, coating both your own and his fingers in a considerable amount of lubricant before leaning against the headboard and spreading your legs.
you carefully guide his palm between your legs, gently nudging the tight ring of muscle with one of his fingers.
“i haven’t done this in a — fuck fuck fuck, your fingers are thick,” you hiccup, your breath catching in your throat as you rapidly descend into a string of curses as his finger breaches your entrance. the sudden intrusion hurts, but in the midst of your heat, it’s enough to send you over the edge, your toes curling as ropes of cum erupt from the head of your cock.
and there’s that bad taste in nanami’s mouth again, clinging to his bones and invading his muddled thoughts: ‘you just have to be perfect, don’t you?’ but with it comes the realization that he’s the reason why you’re like this and it fills him with an odd sense of satisfaction.
determination renewed, and perhaps in tandem with his desire to experience such relief, he cautiously adds another thick finger whilst you come down from your high.
“is penetration all it takes to send you over the edge, little rabbit?” he questions, curling his fingers towards what he presumes is your prostate, and you can’t help but whimper.
it’s strangely degrading when you think about it; nanami, a rabbit, a prey animal like yourself taking on a dominant role. a role that isn’t in his nature thus his tone remains mild–mannered whilst his words and actions, while cautious, are the exact opposite. 
 another finger is added — the total amounting to three now. you’re stretched around three of his thick fingers as he memorizes the layout of your insides, curling his fingers in such a way that he grazes your prostate with precision.
instead of teaching him, you’re rendered speechless as he maintains a steady pace with his fingers. the sound of your gasps, moans, and whimpers creating a symphony in the otherwise silent studio.
by the time he retracts his fingers for the final time, you’ve already climaxed two more times, your cum splattered across your bare abdomen.
“you’re so easy, little rabbit,” he whispers as his lips ghost yours before fully enveloping them in a heated exchange of saliva. there’s no real heat behind his words but you shudder nevertheless.
when nanami pulls away from your lips, it’s solely because you both need air. a string of saliva, however, remains connected to both of your lips, a testament to the heated kiss.
as you both catch your breath, you take it upon yourself to reposition yourself so that you’re on all fours, gleefully presenting yourself to nanami who obliges you.
your thighs tremble in silent anticipation of what’s to come, your loosened ring of muscle winking invitingly. but it’s not his cock — no, when the wet muscle breaches your entrance you squeal, almost losing your balance had nanami’s hands not been on your hips.
it’s a strange sensation — his tongue in your ass, his warm breath wafting across your most sensitive region. but you slowly adjust as he ravages you, lapping at your puckered entrance as you subconsciously clench and unclench.
and in a matter of minutes, you’re climaxing once more, the muscles in your pelvis twitching convulsively as your erect cock spurts ropes of cum onto the sheet beneath you. 
nanami pulls away from your ass with a ‘pop’, aligning himself with your entrance before easing into you and savouring every spasm of your gummy walls. he doesn’t move until he’s buried to the hilt, angling his hips as he thrusts into you with a steady pace, his balls colliding with your sensitive skin.
you’re overwhelmed by a sense of euphoria, having experienced multiple orgasms. so much so that salty tears roll down your cheeks as you feel nanami throb inside of you, the angry tip of his cock bullying your prostate relentlessly.
he truly is brutal, desperately chasing his high as one of his hands wanders up to your chest, taking your nipple between his thumb and index finger and teasing it.
nanami’s thoroughly bullying you but you can’t even protest, ‘uh–uh–uhs’ tumble past your lips in rapid succession along with the overwhelming urge to please him rearing its head.
thus, you endure his assault on your body until you fall limp on his mattress in a puddle of your cum as his leaks out of your entrance, some cascading down your inner thighs.
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you’re still asleep when nanami wakes up the next morning, golden rays filtering into his apartment through the blinds. and he takes it upon himself to wipe your unconscious body with a damp towel from head to toe before taking a shower and heading into the kitchen.
a sense of dread settles in the pit of his stomach as he ponders the various directions the conversation the two of you are bound to have may go. but with it comes a new perspective.
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baigepueckers · 2 months ago
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Caitlin Clark X Reader
Courtside Secrets
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The fever game is intense and the energy in the arena is magnified. You’re in your usual spot, sitting just a few rows behind the bench. Cheering loudly every time your girl makes an amazing play. She’s in her element playing with a confidence that’s impossible to ignore, and you can feel the pride in your chest. But your excitement simmers every time you feel another gaze in your direction. It happens more often than you like to admit…
Tonight is no different and just before halftime a guy a few seats down leans your way, giving you a casual friendly smile that’s a little too comfortable.
“You’re always here, huh?” he says raising his voice to be heard over the crowd. “You must be a big fan.”
You nod politely, sending him a small smile. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
“Well, maybe you could show me around sometime. I don’t know many people who are this dedicated to the game… I kinda like that.” he says, his eyes checking you out as he watches you.
Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Caitlin glancing over. She’s usually focused and unbothered by anything off the court, but tonight her gaze stays on you for a moment too long and her eyes narrowing as she takes in the guy’s obvious interest. You see the way her lips press into a hard line before she pulls her gaze away, channeling her frustration into the game.
When the second half starts Caitlin’s intensity has somehow turned up even more. She’s putting on a show driving to the basket with an aggression that makes it clear she’s got something to prove. She sinks a lay up and for a brief moment her eyes lock with you, the fire in her gaze unmistakable. It’s as if each point, each block, is a silent message to everyone else in the arena telling them exactly who you’re here for.
If the extra intensity was supposed to discourage people….it’s not working. During a timeout a woman a few rows down catches your eye and walks over, flashing you an excited smile.
“You must be her lucky charm or something” she says nodding toward Cait, who is breathing hard…her focus on the court. “I see you at every game. She really knows how to put on a show, doesn’t she?”
You nod, giving her a polite smile. “Yeah, she’s amazing.”
The woman tilts her head and eyes sparkling with interest. “Maybe after the game, you could show me around the area? It’s my first time in town… I could buy you a drink.”
You hesitate trying to think of a polite way to brush her off without giving away too much. You’re here for Caitlin of course…and part of you wants to make it clear, to shut down any hint of interest. But you both agreed that keeping things low key was the best way to protect her during this rookie season. So instead, you kindly thank the woman and turn back to the game.
Still the moment doesn’t go unnoticed by Cait. You see her jaw tighten from where she’s standing and when she returns to the court, her frustration is there. She’s relentless in every play almost as if she’s trying to make a point to every single person who thinks they can just walk up to you. She scores again and again…barely celebrating with her team, her eyes returning to you between plays, her frustration clear in every look she shoots your way.
When the game finally ends and the crowd begins to dwindle down…you linger in the seats, waiting for her. But before you can move, another guy (someone who’s clearly noticed you are in regular attendance at Caitlin’s games) approaches with a confident grin.
“Hey” he says, offering his hand. “I’ve seen you around here a lot. Huge Clark fan, right? Maybe we could link up and go to a game together?”
The idea that anyone else could think you’re free…that they have a chance to steal even a moment of your attention, feels almost laughable. But you’re still stuck unsure of how to respond without making things complicated for Caitlin. Before you can even respond, you feel a hand slide around your waist…warm and unmistakable.
“Sorry, we already have plans” Caitlin says her voice smooth but her grip is firm as she shoots the guy a look that would send anyone backing away. He mumbles a quick apology and disappears into the crowd.
Caitlin turns to you her face a mix of irritation and something deeper, almost raw vulnerability hidden behind her jealousy. “We need to go” she says her tone low with unspoken frustration. She doesn’t wait for a response, simply intertwining her fingers with yours and leading you out through a side exit into a quiet hallway away from the crowd.
The silence stretches and it’s heavy, until she finally lets out a sigh running a hand through her hair. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to watch them hit on you? To see them trying to make plans with you, thinking they actually have a shot?”
You reach for her other hand, squeezing gently. “Baby, i’m only here for you. I don’t flirt back…I don’t even encourage them. You know that.”
She meets your gaze, her frustration clear but her tone softening. “Then why don’t you just shut them down? Tell them you’re taken… tell them you’re with me.”
You glance around remembering all the conversations you’ve had, all the times you both agreed to keep things low key, especially during her rookie year. “Because we agreed this was for the best…for your career. We didn’t want anyone making a mess of things and taking away what’s ours, remember?”
She lets out a frustrated sigh looking down at your hands, her thumb rubbing gentle circles against your skin as she contemplates with her emotions. “I know…but watching them act like you’re free, like they can just take you out..it drives me insane.”
Her grip on your hands tightens, her gaze intense as she continues. “You’re mine Y/N and I hate that I can’t just make it clear to everyone. I can’t sit there and pretend it doesn’t matter when all I want to do is tell the whole arena you’re with me.”
You step closer running your free hand gently up her arm until you’re holding her face, forcing her to meet your eyes. “I know it’s hard baby, but it’s only temporary. After this season we’ll tell everyone…we’ll let the whole world know. But for now we know I’m yours, whether anyone else knows it or not.”
She closes her eyes leaning into your touch, letting out a soft sigh as if she’s finally letting go of some of the tension that’s been building up all night. “It’s just hard” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want anyone else thinking they have even a chance…it pisses me off.”
“Babe, no one else is even close” you assure her, your voice steady. “You’re the only one I’m here for, Cait. I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”
She pulls you closer her arms wrapping around you tightly as she rests her forehead against yours. For a moment it’s just the two of you, wrapped up in the quiet. Caitlin’s jealousy, her protectiveness is something you’re used to seeing. You know that every possessive look, every intense glare is her way of showing how much you mean to her.
“You know what, baby?” she murmurs, her lips brushing against your forehead. “Once the season’s over, I’m telling everyone. I’m done watching from the sidelines while everyone else thinks they can get close to you.”
You smile, your heart swelling at the fierce determination in her voice. “Then it’s a deal, sweetness. Once the season’s over, we don’t have to hide anymore.”
She pulls back, just enough to look into your eyes…her expression soft but her gaze showing the same intensity. “Until then, I’ll be counting down the days.” she says softly, her voice thick with promise.
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roseghoul26 · 8 months ago
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Cooper Howard | The Ghoul x fem!Reader
Tags: Title From A Fall Out Boy, Fame < Infamy by Fall Out Boy, Takes Place Before The Destruction of NCR, Jealousy, Someone Else Flirts With You, Derogatory Language Towards Women, Bisexual The Ghoul, Because Walton Goggins Said So, Arguments, Confessions, First Kiss, Sub Ghoul, Poor Man Is Desperate, Teasing, Edging, Oral Sex, Blowjobs, Cowgirl Position, You Wear His Hat, Light Dom/Sub, Cuddles Synopsis: After two weeks out on the job, you and The Ghoul are spending the night at a bar in Shady Shands relaxing. The Ghoul has always flirted with you, but he never meant anything by it, never did anything more, leaving you frustrated and desperately wanting the man. So when you meet someone who acts on his words, you nearly agree to spend the night with him, hoping to fill your lonely nights with another person instead of thoughts of The Ghoul. But any prospect of enjoying his company is destroyed when The Ghoul beats the man for even looking in your direction. Rightfully angry, an argument between the two of you ensues, leading to things that you only imagined would happen in your thoughts during your lonely nights.  Author’s Note: alright so normally i’m like meh about my own smut writing but i will admit i am a bit proud of this one :D Taglist: @ancientbeing10 @alex-does-art-things
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The bar you were currently sitting in was dingy, seedy, and smelled like old food and piss. You didn’t even remember the name of it, too excited for the prospect of a cold drink to care, and you let The Ghoul drag you in. You were sourly disappointed when the Mr. Handy behind the counter handed you a lukewarm beer, not even a single drop of condensation on the brown bottle. 
So here you were, leaning back against a moth-eaten and weathered couch tucked in the corner, nursing a drink that just made you thirstier. He sat next to you, his legs lounged up on the low table in front of you two like he hadn’t a care in the world. You supposed that being alive for over two hundred years would do that to someone. 
The Ghoul had his own drink, a glass of whiskey, more specifically. It used to have ice in it, about ten minutes ago, but it had quickly melted, no doubt watering down the drink. Still, he continued to sip at it, his eyes roaming the crowds in the bar. Your eyes were shut, head resting against the back of the couch, catching up on some much-needed rest.
The Ghoul and you had just come back from a two-week-long excursion of the Wasteland, hunting down a group of escaped convicts from the jail in Shady Sands. Most of the time had been spent walking, searching for clues in the ending sea of sand. It had almost been impossible, but you were able to pick up a trail. It had led you to a long-since abandoned town near the shoreline of California, and after an intense firefight the two of you managed to slay them all; there was no way in hell you were escorting alive prisoners all the way back to Filly. Carrying the heads would be easier. 
And it was, except for the plethora of animals and insects it attracted, but you’d take that over the prisoners fighting you the entire time. Eventually, you and The Ghoul had made it back to Shady Sands, sweaty and covered in blood and exhausted, and dumped the heads onto the desk of the deputy. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a man pale so fast. 
After The Ghoul received the cap reward, he paid for two rooms for the both of you and some sleazy hotel, and after getting washed up he had dragged you to the bar further down the street. You hadn’t had the energy to fight him, but you almost wish you had now. You were barely staying awake, head bobbing as you forced yourself to concentrate on the chatter of patrons to keep you conscious. 
Bringing the drink up to your lips, your muscles cried out in protest, but you just ignored them. The drink itself wasn’t terrible, the flavor was almost citrusy, but it felt like sandpaper as it went down your throat. Wincing, you cleared your throat, garnering the attention of the man beside you. “Surly it ain’t that bad,” he chuckled, and you cracked an eye open at him. 
You didn’t respond, just holding out the drink for him to grab. You were sure to hold it by the neck so he had plenty of space to grab it below, but you felt him grab it in a way that made his gloved finger bush over yours. You kept your face neutral, but you certainly felt your heart react, ticking up in rhythm.
After taking a sip, a similar grimace crossed his face. If he had brows, you’re sure they would be furrowed, his lips curled up in disgust. “Even I can tell that tastes like shit,” he shook his head, forcing the drink back into your hands. There was only an inch of liquid left at the bottom, and so choosing to ignore the fact that his lips had just been on the bottle, you finished it off. 
Setting it on the table, you wiped the back of your mouth with your hand. “It’s not good, sure, but it’s better than anythin’ else I’ve had in the past weeks. “So, I,” you stood with a slight groan, “am gonna get another one.”
You didn’t get too far attempting to step around the table, his legs blocking the easiest way out. A hand grabbed your wrist, tugging you back down on the couch, very nearly toppling into him. You tried to break free, but his grip was unyielding. Not enough to hurt, no, but you were stuck. “Now, what kinda man would I be if I made a pretty thing like you get their own drink?” His words made you still, and you were grateful for the shitty lighting that hid your blush. 
Little did you know that he could see you clearly, an amused smile now on his lips. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, and you were now able to yank your hand away, glaring harshly at him. “Now,” he lightly patted your thigh, making you jump, “stay here, sweetheart. I’ll be back before you know it.”
You were unable to resist the urge to flip him off as he walked towards the bar, before flopping against the couch with a huff. It wasn’t that you hated that he flirted with you. No, it was quite the opposite. You loved the comments and light touches, making your heart race and less-than-decent thoughts pour into your brain. But from the time the two of you had started working together, so roughly a year ago, that’s all it had been. Soft touches, empty promises, saccharine words and petnames that made you melt, but nothing more. He would always stop before it became more, his touch receding like you’d burned him, a witty remark that quelled the fire he stoked, an I’m just teasin’ ya, sweetheart. God, you hated those words specifically. 
 You wanted more, but it terrified you because you couldn’t tell if he actually meant something by his flirtations, or if he just enjoyed tormenting you. Friends were a rarity in the Wastleland, and you were screwed if you somehow managed to ruin things between you two. You’d be out of income, protection, and a genuine friend who (sometimes) had your best interest in mind.
So you bit your tongue, pretending like his words weren’t making you dizzy, that you wanted nothing more than to feel his body beneath you, to be able to feel his lips against yours. So many late-night fantasies that left you even more lonely in the morning, your knuckles bruised from where you had to bite them to keep quiet. Even though it hurt, you kept your desires close to your heart, treasuring the small things he did give you. Which, you’d come to realize, made it worse, but he had made you addicted to it. 
You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t even detect someone approaching. You expected to see the familiar face of The Ghoul beside you, but you were startled to find someone else. He was a ghoul, and even though it was hard to tell you could see that he was younger, late twenties, or early thirties if you had to guess. He wore a simple blue shirt and some jeans, way too neat and hole-less than what you were used to. 
He had a beer in hand, and he used it to gesture to the spot beside you. “This spot taken?” He was the usual rasp of a ghoul, albeit a bit higher pitched than The Ghoul’s. God, you couldn’t stop yourself from comparing him to the other man. 
Speaking of him, you were able to subtly glance behind him to the bar, and you found the other man in conversation with some others. It didn’t look to be a confrontation, luckily, and you heard laughter from the group. You focused your attention on the stranger in front of you, smiling warmly at him. “Not at all,” you patted the space beside you, only barely warm still. 
As he sat beside you, setting his drink on the table, you let yourself take him in. He wasn’t unattractive, far from it. There was almost a playfulness to his features, his fully black eyes glimmering with mirth. His arm went around the couch, and you could feel the heat from it. Even though he wasn’t the man that had plagued your thoughts, you couldn’t help the way your body reacted to the stranger, breathing growing short, your cheeks darkening slightly. You were only human after all. 
“Can’t say I’ve seen you around here before, gorgeous.” He flashed his teeth, and you were pleasantly surprised to find pretty much all of them intact, and still in good condition. Another rarity of the Wastleland. 
“I’m just passing through. Just finished up some… work.” You turned yourself to face him more.
“Work, you say? Whattya do?”
“Oh, just some odd jobs here and there. Whatever makes me money.”
He chucked at that. “Can’t blame you for that. I’m Daniel, by the way.” He held a hand out for you, ungloved and bare. You shook it, giving him your name, and he repeated it back to you. It wasn’t the drawl of The Ghoul’s voice, but it was pleasant enough. 
You expect him to drop your hand, but something about them must’ve intrigued him, and you watched, quite confused, as he filled it over. His eyes ran over your fingers, especially your forefinger and thumb, before flicking back up to yours. He still didn’t drop your hand. “You use a gun a lot?” He smirked when you nodded, bewildered. “I can tell by the callouses here,” he dragged a finger along them, tickling you slightly. 
“Well, look at you,” you laughed. “What’re you, a detective?”
“Nah, nothin’ like that. Just… observant.” He flashed you another smile, completely confident in his actions. “So, you’re a bounty hunter then?”
You didn’t bother to deny his claim, knowing the expression on your face just gave you away. Thank goodness you weren’t a con artist. “Is it gonna be a problem if I say yes?” You asked cautiously, slowly retracting your hand, ready for this interaction to go bad. You let your eyes flick to The Ghoul, locating him in case you need help. He was still at the bar, talking with someone new this time, and you felt a pang of something as the man he was talking to brushed his shoulder, nothing innocent in the touch. 
“Not a problem at all,” he answered completely honestly. “Nasty business, though.”
You glanced back at Daniel, relief flooding you. You did not have the energy for a barfight tonight. “You don’t know the half of it,” you groaned. “It’s ruthless, but I enjoy it, weirdly enough. And I’m pretty good at it.”
The hand resting on the back of the couch shifted, and you felt his fingers brush over your shoulders, making you shiver slightly. I like a girl that can handle herself,” he admitted. “Strong,”  he gently squeezed the muscles in your biceps. “Confident. Powerful.” His voice turned into a whisper at the end, mouth pressed close to your ear. 
You were quite flustered now. “Well, you’re in luck then.”
“It seems I am. So, what say you, bounty hunter? Do you wanna get out of here in a bit, have some fun tonight before you head off?”
It had been a long time since you’d had someone in your bed. Since about when you started working with The Ghoul, to be exact. You’re not sure why you hadn’t in so long; it wasn’t for a lack of options. You just… couldn’t bring yourself to take someone to bed that wasn’t The Ghoul. Still, you hated waking up alone each morning, loneliness clawing at your heart. And when you’d see men and women stumble from his room, it felt like someone shot you, making you irritable with him for days to come. Maybe for once you’d have someone leaving your room, your heart content, if for a moment. Maybe you could imagine that it wasn’t Daniel, picture the other man’s features instead.
Maybe he would feel the same way you felt as he watched Daniel sneak from your room. That idea made you grin, and any hesitance about taking him to bed vanished. 
You didn’t get a chance to respond, though, before two familiar gloved hands rested on Daniel’s shoulders, making the man tense. He was forcibly pulled back from you, the force of the pull nearly making him fall off the couch. He caught himself, and you watched as he stood and faced The Ghoul. 
The shade from his hat hid most of his face, but even then you could see the hatred in his eyes as he stared down Daniel. The Ghoul was a formidable opponent, but you have to give some credit to Daniel as he squared up against him. “The hell’s your problem, man?” If the way The Ghoul had yanked Daniel hadn’t gotten the attention of the crowd, Daniel’s words surely did. Behind them, you watched a small crowd begin to form, and you wished to just let the shadows consume you. 
“She’s… off-limits,” he titled his head to the side. The action would make any sane person falter, and you watched as Daniel’s posture went rigid, fear hitting him. 
Still, Daniel didn’t let up, male pride and all that. “Maybe you should let her know, then,” he gestured angrily to you, and you shrank lower into the seat. “By the way she was lettin’ me talk to her, I can imagine the whole town’s probably had their way-”
His words, which had been so sweet moments ago, were cut off when The Ghoul grabbed him by the throat, slamming him onto the table in front of you. You jumped off the couch as splinters of wood and glass sprayed everywhere, narrowly avoiding you. Mortified, you could do nothing but watch as The Ghoul began to beat the man, blood joining in with the debris. If Daniel had a nose left, you were sure it would be pulverized. 
The Ghoul’s lips had curled up into a snarl, his eyes blazing as he leered down at the man, stopping his assault. Daniel tried to pry the other man’s hand from his throat, a choked gasp leaving him, yet that seemed to just make his grip tighter. “Gimme one reason why I shouldn’t just kill ya?” He growled, shoving Daniel’s head into the ground. He could barely garble out a reply, the words indistinguishable. 
Glass shattered on the floor as The Ghoul tossed the man into another table, another piece of furniture destroyed. As he stalked towards the downed man, he rolled over onto his hands and knees, rubbing at his throat. He was coughing and sputtering, genuine fear in his eyes as he looked up at the bounty hunter. Crouching before him, The Ghoul regarded him slowly, nothing but disgust on his features. 
“Fuck… she all yours,” Daniel managed to pant out between coughs. “Just… God, don’t kill me!”
Satisfied with his answer, The Ghoul kicked him one last time for good measure, sending him sprawling back. It was dead silent in the bar, and patrons gawked and shuffled away as The Ghoul walked to where you had been standing, only to find you gone. 
You had slipped out when he had thrown him, unable to continue watching. The streets were busy, and you kept your head down as you wove between people, heading to the hotel as quickly as you could. Too many emotions overwhelmed you, and you took a deep breath and began to collect your thoughts. 
First, you were embarrassed. 
You were embarrassed that they had been fighting over you. When you weren’t on a job, you hated creating conflict, not wanting to be the center of attention. You had plenty of that doing bounty hunting. This was supposed to be a night where you relaxed, to forget all about the horrors of the world you lived in, with or without The Ghoul, but that plan was tossed aside. 
Secondly, you were angry. 
Fuming would be a better word for it, and if you looked hard enough you could probably see the steam pouring from your ears. You were pissed that he had ruined a possibly enjoyable night with another person, ending your celibate streak. You were pissed that he felt like he could just take control of your choices like that. And you were pissed that you never got that next drink, although that was the least of your concerns at this point. 
Finally, you were confused.
Why had he reacted the way he did? It wasn’t like there was anything between you two, as much as it pained you to come to terms with it. Why did he care who you took to bed? He had taken plenty of people to bed during the time you’d worked together, and you’d never made a complaint about it. Why were you weirdly attracted to his display of… jealousy? Was it jealousy? You couldn’t even imagine what that could mean if it was. 
The sound of your name being shouted behind you forcefully tore you from your thoughts. You immediately recognized it, and you refrained from looking over at him. Ducking your head, you hoped that you blended in well with the others on the street, and you continued to briskly walk towards the hotel. 
You heard your name being called again, this time closer, and so you picked up the pace, nearly jogging at this point. You heard the sound of people crying out in alarm, and you knew that he was getting closer to you, barreling through the crowds without any thought. 
You could see the neon sign of the hotel, now lit, and you breathed out a sigh of relief. That feeling was short-lived, panic making your stomach drop when you heard The Ghoul right behind you. “Don’t make me fuckin’ tackle ya,” you heard him threaten. For a moment, you debated just ignoring him, but you knew that he didn’t make empty threats. Besides, the ground was dusty, and you’d rather not spend the rest of the night covered in sand.
Groaning, you finally halted, turning to face him with a scowl. You didn’t respond, just raising a brow and gesturing for him to ‘get on with it’. Your jaw was clenched so hard, and you could feel the headache that threatened to torment you later because of it. 
“The fuck was that about?” 
God, was he joking with you? “I should be the one asking you that! In what world was that a rational response?”
People stared as they passed, but you both just ignored them. “He was touchin’ ya.”
“And did I look even remotely disinterested? Was there any part of my body language that read that I was even the tiniest bit uncomfortable?” You laughed bitterly at the lack of response from him; you both knew what the answer was. “Why the hell do you even care if he was touching me or not?”
He was silent again, and you just scoffed, taking a few steps back. “Whatever,” you sighed in defeat, before turning and walking the remaining way to the hotel. You were almost disappointed when you didn’t hear him following behind you. 
The person behind the desk recognized you, and you were able to quickly make your way up to the second floor where your room was. You made sure to not let your eyes wander to the door where he was staying that night, a few feet down from yours on the other side of the hallway. 
When you were finally alone in your room, you resisted the urge to just scream angrily. Instead, you kicked off your shoes, which hit the walls with a loud noise, and you flopped onto your bed. Laying on your back with your arms spread, you stared at the surprisingly intact ceiling, frustrated tears stinging your eyes. Disagreements always upset you, but there was something about this one that made you feel ill, a sense of dread that you’d never felt before filled your body. 
You’re not sure how long you just lay there, calming your racing heart and your heightened emotions. It must’ve been a while, because you dozed off, the exhaustion in your body now taking control.
A light knock at the door woke you, and for a second you thought you had just imagined it. When it came again, more forceful, you sighed, knowing exactly who was on the other side of the door. Like before, you debated just ignoring him, but you didn’t want to be charged for the destruction of more property. “What?” You snapped out, still not in the mood to talk to him yet. 
“We need to talk.” The Ghoul responded, sounding less irritated than you. 
“Yeah, no shit.” I gave you plenty of time to explain yourself downstairs. 
You could hear him sigh through the thin wood door. “Sweetheart.” You hated that he knew how to get you to do whatever you wanted. You couldn’t even stop yourself as you sat up and made your way to the door. With no hesitation you opened it, his endearment almost putting you under a spell.
It was dissipated when you saw him, those emotions flooding your mind instead. The door was only open a crack, your body filling it as you glared at the other man. “Yes?
“Let me talk to ya,” he sighed in frustration. 
“You are.” You couldn’t care less that you were being stubborn and difficult. He deserved it.
His jaw clenched. “Inside.”
You didn’t respond, mulling over his words as you stared at him, fire never once leaving your eyes. Finally, you relented, against your better judgment. Stepping back, you left the door open, leaning up against one of the dressers with your arms crossed. You watched as he entered, the door clicking shut in finality, looking like he expected to be attacked by you at any second. You were almost proud to instill that level of fear in him.
He kept a respectful distance away from you, loitering near the foot of the bed. “Look, I’m… sorry.” He said the words like they were brand new. 
He left it at that, and you scoffed. You knew that you should just accept his apology and move on. You knew that you shouldn’t instigate something, to purposely start an argument with your traveling partner. But you were still too damn angry to care. You needed him to know what you felt.
“‘Sorry’? I get nothing more than that?”
“What’dya want from me then, sweetheart?” He growled, your anger rubbing off on him. “You want me to get down on my fuckin’ knees, plead for your forgiveness? You want me to promise I ain’t ever gonna do it again, even though it’ll be a damn lie? What the fuck do you want from me?” He spat the last sentence out, emphasizing each word.
The image of him on his knees before you flashed in your mind, and you had to admit it did seem appealing. But not now. 
He was getting closer to you now. Slow, methodical steps, but he was closer, and continuing. “I want an explanation.”
You might’ve as well just slapped him, the way he halted in his tracks, stunned. Words seemed to evade him, and the anger that had just been rolling off him in waves subsided, still there yet not as strong. It should’ve had the opposite effect, but your rage was growing, threatening to burst. “Oh, so now you can’t talk? It’s a simple request!”
“It’s really fuckin’ not.”
“Why?” Silence. “You’ve got two options here. You either suck it up and tell me, or you get the hell out of here. It’s your choice.”
You could tell that he hated the choice you gave him, but you didn’t care. You expected to watch him turn and storm out the door, leaving your relationship in tatters on the dirty hotel floor. So you were surprised when he took a deep breath and remained where he was. “I hated that he was touchin’ you."
“So you were jealous?” You ignored the way you were elated when he nodded, albeit with some hesitancy. The anger subsided, and you felt pure want take its place. “You wanted to be him,” you whispered, taking a step towards him. Your confidence grew at how hungrily he watched you. 
“You wanted to be the one whispering those words, to be running their fingers on my body.” Another step. “You wanted to be the one to take me to bed, to feel me, to fuck me.” You were finally close enough to him that you could touch him if you wish, but you kept your hands by your sides.
The Ghoul groaned at your words, and you couldn’t help the small smirk on your face at his reaction. “Do you want that?” You asked, needed to hear confirmation. 
It came almost immediately. “Fuck, yes.” His own hands reached out to touch you, but you swatted them away. That snapped him out of his semi-trance, his eyes flashing with confusion.
“You don’t get to touch me yet.”
 Something new flashed in his eyes instead, something you couldn’t quite name. “Sweetheart-”
“Sit down.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but you just shot him a look, silencing him instantly. The bed groaned as he sat on the edge of it, eyes never leaving yours. It made him stand a head lower than you now, and he had to look up to continue holding your gaze. “How does it feel? To watch someone else get the things you want?”
You didn’t give him a chance to respond. “It hurts, doesn’t it? It feels like someone’s stabbed you in the heart, no? So,” you moved between his legs, “how do you think I felt? After you flirt with me, then take someone else to bed. After you touch me, toy with me, but then act like my body disgusts you, and you recoil away. After you say those things that leave me shaking and wanting, but then never act of them.” 
Your hands grabbed the lapels of his jacket, and you brought your face close to his. “I’ve seen you take countless lovers to bed during the time we’ve worked together, and I never said a peep. Even though it fucking killed me to see. That man in the bar, the one you beat senseless? That was gonna be the first person that’d occupied my bed in almost a year. And no, I didn’t really want him that badly, but maybe I could finally go to bed for one night and not have my thoughts be entirely of you.”
Shoving his back lightly, you stumbled back a few steps, the confession that had just spilled from your lips making you breathless. “I have to know; did you mean it? All the flirting, the touches, everything. Did you mean it?”
For once, The Ghoul kept any remarks to himself, and sheer honesty was written across his face. There before you, you saw a vulnerable man, gazing up at you like you hung the stars. “I did. I do.”
“Do you want me?” Cautiously, you began to move back towards him.
“Every fuckin’ minute.”
When you were back between his legs, you let your hands rest on the lapels, no longer strangling the poor material. “Do you want me to kiss you?”
A hopeful smile graced his lips, his eyes flicking down to your lips which hovered above him. After nodding lightly, you let yourself move closer until your lips just brushed over his, barely making contact. “A shame, then.” You pulled away before they could fully connect, a victorious smile on your face as you looked down at the confused man.
“Oh, you thought you’d be getting what you wanted tonight? You ran your hands up, resting on the sides of his neck now. You could feel his heart hammering. “I hate to break it to you, but you’re not. No, tonight you’re gonna feel as desperate as I’ve felt for the past year. And,” you made sure that he was especially paying attention to your words now, “if you think that at any point tonight you’re gonna have control, you’re wrong. Any objections?”
His eyes had blown out during your little speech, small pants leaving his lips as he stared up at you. He was already so eager, and you’d barely done anything yet. Even still, you saw a flicker of uncertainty, and you realized he’d probably never given up control in the bedroom. You let the facade drop for a moment. “I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. Not ever. You just gotta let me know, and we’ll stop immediately.”
Any uncertainty left him, and something warmed in your chest at the fact that he trusted you enough to do something like this. “You ready?”
He nodded, and you shook your head. “I need to hear you say it, baby.”
You watched his throat bob as he swallowed, not expecting the name from you. “I’m ready.”
“Good.” You rewarded him with a soft kiss on the cheek before grabbing his hat off his head. “Go get comfortable on the bed.” 
Stepping away from him, you set his hat on the nightstand as he got situated, his now bare head resting on the pillows. Making sure he had returned his attention to you, you heard his gasp when you grabbed the hem of your shirt, turning into an appreciative groan when you tore it off your head. You wore a simple black bra beneath, but you might as well have been wearing the most beautiful piece of lingerie with the way his eyes widened, a smile on his face again. You made quick work of your jeans, and you refrained from shivering as the air hit your now-exposed skin, clad in only your undergarments. But how could you be cold when he was looking at you with such heat in his eyes?
The bed creaked again when you got on it, and you adjusted until you straddled his abdomen. His clothing dug into your skin, but you could hardly feel it. Planting your hands on his chest, you leaned forward until your face was only an inch from his. He watched you with hooded eyes, which fluttered close when your lips pressed against his jaw, moving up until you stopped right below his ear. 
Gloved hands rested on your bare waist, and as much as you enjoyed feeling his hands on your body, you couldn’t let up that easily. “Did I say you could touch me yet?” You whispered, and you felt him slowly rescind his touch, now resting on the bedsheets beside him. “Good job,” you praised, and you felt him shudder slightly. Interesting. “If you behave, I might just let you touch me,” you offered, like dangling a piece of food in front of a starving animal. 
“Yeah?” 
You just smiled against his skin. 
Continuing your exploration, you moved inward, barely feeling the ridges of the indents of his skin. Moving up his cheek, to across where his nose would be, then to the other cheek, you littered his face with kisses, purposely avoiding his lips. His eyes continued to flutter open and close, and at this proximity, you were able to see short, brown eyelashes. How… peculiar. And cute. 
You didn’t make any comment on them, choosing to move back down again. But you went past his jaw this time, down to his neck, and you felt his head roll back to allow you more room. You felt him jump when you sunk your teeth into the skin before moaning beautifully, and you ran over the hurt with your tongue. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as his hands instinctively went up to touch you, then resting back down on the bed, grabbing at the bedsheets instead. 
There wasn’t much exposed skin left when you reached where his neck and shoulders met, his shirt now covering it. Leaning back, you gestured for him to sit up, helping ease the jacket off his shoulders when he did. He pulled his arms out, and it pooled around his waist, still sitting on most of it. You didn’t care, as long as you could get his get his shirt off.
You hesitated a second before beginning to fiddle with the buttons, glancing up into his eyes. “Alright?” 
“You don’t gotta keep askin’, sweetheart,” he responded breathlessly. “I’ll let you know if I don’t want somethin’.”
You grinned at him, before quickly getting to work and taking off his button-up shirt. With every inch of his body that was revealed to you, you felt your heart accelerate, excitement bubbling in you. He had just gotten his arms out of the garment and had tossed it to the floor before you were forcing him back down on the bed with hands on his chest, loving how easily he complied. 
You let your fingers drag down the front of his chest, nails scratching lightly. Even with the thick scarring covering his body, he was still able to feel it, and he shivered. Your breath caught when you finally looked for yourself, instead of letting your touch see for you. To say he was gorgeous would be an understatement. All lean muscle, you could feel them flex and jump when you touched him, and for a moment you remembered how strong this man was. And here he was, submitting to your every request. You really did try to not let it go to your head. 
“You’re so beautiful, Cooper.” You hadn’t even realized you’d let his real name slip until he went deathly still beneath you. Glancing up at him, you couldn’t read the expression on his face, and you thought you went too far. Still, he had yet to say anything, and so you kept your mouth shut. You trusted that he would stop you.
Continuing to touch him, you barely heard the soft plea that he uttered. “Say it again.” 
The expression clicked now, and you smiled gently at him. You felt truly happy, knowing there was another thing he trusted you with. “Cooper,” you sighed, and you were startled when you felt his hands grasp at you, desperately trying to pull you towards him. You braced on his chest, stopping him, and you glanced at where his hands now rested until he tore them away. You made a disapproving noise as you leaned back down, teasing him by brushing your lips against his. But with the way you were sitting and the way you pressed down on his chest, he couldn’t meet you, and you heard him make a frustrated noise.
“Do I gotta tie your hands up, Cooper?” You semi-joked, gauging his reaction. When his eyes somehow darkened even more, you knew he was down. 
You both knew that he could easily “break free” from the restraints you’d placed on him; he had ghoul strength, and you were just a human. But he continued to play into your game, and you were grateful for it. You were having too much fun. 
“If ya keep sayin’ my name like that, then ya might have to.” 
“Oh, you’re too good to me, baby,” you praised, hands retracting so you could reach behind you. You smirked at his reaction when you tugged at his belt, being sure to purposely graze over the evident strain in his pants. You gave him the most innocent look you could when he glared at you, returning your touch to his belt. It took a bit of maneuvering, and with some help from him raising his hips, you were able to free it.
The headboard was made from metal bars, so you were easily able to secure his wrists to it. The restraint wasn’t tight, tight enough to keep him in place, but if he severely needed to leave then he could easily escape. When you sat back, you admired the sight before you. Your wildest dreams were playing out right in front of you, and you couldn’t be more excited.t
Starting at the base of his throat, you began to move down his body, pressing your lips against the skin as you descended. When you reached his nipples, you let your tongue flick over it, eliciting a whine from him. Your fingers toyed with the other one, making him squirm. You couldn’t deny that the noises he was making were making you dizzy, a familiar tension building in you. But you kept an amused and unaffected expression on your face, not wanting to break yet. 
You didn’t stay there for long, continuing your descent downwards. You scratched lightly over his abs when you reached them, and you figured goosebumps would be covering his body by now.
 “I could just leave you like this, you know,” you commented as you moved backward. “Hands bound, aching, wanting.” Your hands trailed down his thighs. 
“You wouldn’t,” he groaned, and you just flashed a smile at him.
“Oh, but I could.” You now rested just below his thighs, your own straddling them. “I could just sit here and make you watch as I touch myself, make myself cum, screaming your name.” You heard the belt rattle against the bedframe when you let one of your hands trail down your stomach, a gasp leaving you when you reached the band of your underwear. “Then leave you alone with just your thoughts, imagining all the things you could’ve done to me. Just how I spent every night this past year. Revenge is a bitch, isn’t it?”
“Sweetheart, please.” You don’t think you’ve ever heard something so wonderful, arousal spiking in your body. His eyes bore into you as you reached behind you, unclasping your bra. You let it slide off your body before setting it gently on the floor. Squeezing your breasts in your hands, you let your head roll back, his name tumbling from you. You debated moaning the other man’s name, the one in the bar, but you couldn’t remember it. Besides, you were torturing the man enough, and you assumed that he would tear through his bindings if you did. 
Eventually, you took pity on him, and your desire was starting to get in the way of your need to draw this out. He jumped when you rested your hands on his thighs, expecting you to do what you said, and you could feel the relief it brought him.
It didn’t take long for you to unbutton his pants, even less to unzip them. You tugged both them and his boxers down enough to free him. He was already rock hard, almost painfully so, and a strangled groan left him. The noise shot straight to your core, and you sighed in appreciation at him. He was long, not overwhelmingly so, but you knew you’d be feeling him for days to come. 
Keeping your eyes on him, you leaned forward and lapped at the tip, licking the bead of moisture there. You watched as he tried to move to touch you, and you grinned at him when the restraint stopped him. You could see the plea in his eyes, and you just shook your head at him. Not yet. 
Another run of your tongue made him curse, and you cooed at him. “Want me to take care of this, baby?”
“Please,” he gasped out.
“Well, when you ask that nicely.”
He didn’t get a chance to prepare before you were running your tongue along his entire length, base to tip, before taking as much of him as you could in your mouth. You took what you couldn’t fit in your hand, moving in tandem with your mouth as you sucked him. It was nearly unintelligible, but you heard your name being moaned by him. 
Bobbing your head up and down, you were unrelenting in the pleasure you were giving him, and you could feel his hips begin to buck and twist, and you moved your mouth off him before he could hit the back of your throat. 
Glancing up at him, he looked absolutely wrecked, and the fact made you smile cruelly. You could tell that he was close, by the way he pulsed and throbbed in your hand as you continued to stroke him. Your name was just streaming from him freely, straining and pressing against the belt. The bedpost made an awful noise, but it was covered by his noises. “You close, Cooper?”
His head had been thrown back against the pillows as pleasure coursed through him, but you watched as he flicked his gaze down to you. “Fuck, sweetheart, yes.” You hadn’t meant to, but you let it slip through in your expression what you were planning, and dread washed over his face. He groaned you name, almost in warning, but you ignored him. 
To his very evident displeasure, you let go of him, his incoming release ebbing away as you sat up. A string of curses left him, and a drop of sweat rolled down his face. His eyes were blazing with lust and anger, but they melted a bit when regarding you. At least the anger did. The lust seemed to just flare up, especially when he as you stood to slip off your underwear. “You only get to cum when I do, got it?”
He was able to see the evidence of your arousal on them as you discarded them, and even in the position he was in a cocky smile grew on his face. “Perfectly.” That cocky smile was wiped off when he saw you reach for his hat, putting it on your head as you climbed back onto the bed. As you straddled his lap, realization flashed on his features. “Are you tryin’ to fuckin’ kill me?” He wheezed, a mix of laughter and a groan. 
“I’m surprised I haven’t already,” you teased back, your hands bracing on his chest. Just like you thought, his heart pounded against your fingertips. Rocking your hips slowly, you began to rut against him, coating him in your arousal. 
You heard the tell-tale clink of his belt rattling against the bedframe. “Can I touch ya now, sweetheart?” He gasped out.
You seriously considered it for a moment, but you decided against it. “When you make me cum, you can. But if you finish before me…” You let the words trail off, the threat evident enough.
He looked like he wanted to argue, but he held his tongue, knowing that it would get him further away from what he wanted. You grinned at his compliance, rewarding him by getting on your knees and lining him up with your entrance. Sinking onto him, a gasp tore from you as he pressed into you. It had been so long since you’d been stretched like this, and it felt even better than you remembered. Or maybe it was because it was with him. 
His grip was vice-like against the metal bars as you slowly sank down on his cock, almost painful-sounding grunts and moans leaving him. It was a slow process, but eventually, you felt your hips go flush with his. “Oh, Cooper, baby,” you groaned, and you felt him twitch inside of you.
“You… you can’t say shit like that and then expect me to last,” he whined, and you laughed gently. 
“You need a moment?” You refrained from adding ‘baby’ to the end, knowing he was about to snap. 
A shaky exhale left him. “Just… just a moment.”
You hummed in response, letting yourself sit there for a moment. It felt like torture, wanting nothing more than to ride him, but you held back. You tried to not move too much, either, and you eventually felt his breathing calm some. It was still sporadic, but not as much as before. 
“Go ‘head now.” You didn’t have to be told twice. 
Starting with a slow roll of your hips, you began to move up and down. One hand was planted on his chest, the other on his hat to keep in on your head as it rolled back. It only took a few moments for you to fall into a rhythm, the slow movements gradually building to something faster. 
“Cooper, fuck, you feel so good,” you moaned, and you heard him make some noise in agreeance. Another roll of your hips made you see stars, and you could feel that familiar tension begin to build, slowly but surely. 
“What a sight you are,” he murmured between breaths, and you looked down to see him staring at you, almost mesmerized. “Wearin’ my hat while ya fuck yourself on my cock. Fuck, a man could die happy like this.”
You tried to grin down at him, but the pleasure became too much as you continued to rock, and you felt yourself falter. Instead, you just moaned out fragments of his name. He was all you could feel, pressing into spots that made you cry out, hitting them with each roll. “Baby.”
God, you loved the way he reacted whenever you uttered that name. His hips jumped, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. The hand planted on his chest dug into the toughened skin, nails no doubt leaving indents, but he didn’t seem to mind. Even though your legs were beginning to shake, you didn’t let up, moving up and down, your breathing becoming labored. You could feel yourself getting closer; you just needed a little more.
After angling your body to keep it steady, you let go of his hat, moving your hands to between your legs. It made you groan, feeling the way his cock moved in and out of you as you began to rub at your clit. The extra stimulation made you cry his name out loudly, and you knew there would be complaints from the other patrons of the hotel.
Your walls tightened around him, making him bite down harshly on his bottom lip to keep from cumming right there. His eyes flicked downward, his mouth going slack as he watched you touch yourself. He forced himself to look away, blown-out eyes staring into yours. You could see the tendons in his neck strain as he concentrated on controlling his release. 
The extra pleasure was what you needed, and you could feel your impending release inch closer. “You close, sweetheart?” His voice was hoarse, and you nodded furiously. “You gonna cum on my cock? Fuck, yeah you are.”
“Cooper, you can…” Your words were cut off with a whine. 
He seemed to get what you were saying, and he groaned in relief. “Can I finish in ya, sweetheart? Fill up that perfect cunt?”
“Please.” For the first time during the night, you pleaded for something. You were on the verge of release, your movements growing frantic as you chased your release.
“C’mon, sweetheart, lemme feel ya.” 
As you cried out his name again, you came, your body going slack as pleasure made you boneless. It wasn’t your first orgasm in a year, far from it, but it felt so much better when it came from another person. Your nerves hummed and you felt weightless, soft whines and pants leaving you. 
You barely managed to catch yourself before you fell on top of him, and the clench of you around him was all he needed for his own release, having staved it off for a long time now. He was even louder than you were, your name coming out like a sharp bark as he came, and you could feel his release seep into you, coating you. 
The room felt awfully quiet now, even though it was filled with the sound of both of you catching your breaths. With unstable legs, you lifted yourself up and off of him, and you watched as his spend dripped out of you and onto his abdomen. Groans both left you at this sight. 
You had been so caught up in the sight that it nearly startled you when you heard the clinking noise again. Glancing up at him, he gave you an expectant look, an almost teasing smirk on his face as he rattled the belt again. “You gonna release me? I’ve been good.” You scoffed at the way he pouted at you.
“You have been,” you agreed. “My good boy,” you added as you reached for the belt. His eyes widened, sucking in a gasp, and if could, he would be blushing. 
You just smirked down at him as you released him, but that victory was short-lived when you felt his hands immediately shoot to your body. He practically yanked you down to his mouth, desperately claiming your lips in a messy kiss. His hands roamed over every part of your body, the rough skin making you whine in pleasure, and you could feel his responding smile. 
As much as you were loving his attention, you had to admit you were incredibly exhausted, especially now. A yawn tore through you, interrupting the kiss, and you pulled back. “Am I borin’ you, sweetheart?” He asked, amused.
“You could never. But I don’t think I can do all that again,” you laughed breathlessly. 
“There’s always tomorrow,” he smirked. “And the next day. And the next.”
You slapped lightly at his chest, chuckling. “Eager, are we?”
“Desperately,” he growled lightly before pulling you back to his lips. This kiss was gentler, although no less passionate. He laughed boisterously when you pulled away to yawn again, fingers halting their exploration. 
When you tried to pull away, though, he didn’t let go, keeping your body close. “Baby, I need to get us cleaned up,” you laughed, trying and failing to escape his hold. “I’m not going to bed covered in…” You trailed off, too embarrassed to finish the sentence. You tried to wiggle free, and you sighed in defeat when he didn’t let go. 
“You’re blushin’,” he teased, making your ears burn more. “You were spewin’ those filthy things earlier without a second thought, but now you’re actin’ all shy?”
“I hate you,” you grumbled.
“Sure ya do, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “How ‘bout this? You finish what you were ‘bout to say, and I’ll let ya go. For a minute or two, that is.”
You sighed again. “I was saying that I’m not going to bed covered in your cum,” you said with major hesitancy, your ears on fire. 
“Why not?”
You slapped his chest again. “I did what you asked. Let me go, Cooper.”
He debated it for a moment. “Fine,” you felt his hand let up its hold, “but if you ain’t back in a minute, I’m draggin’ ya back to the bed.”
Now on a timer, you quickly got off his lap, not before pressing one last kiss to his cheek. On shaky legs, you made your way to the bathroom, flipping him off when he laughed at your inability to walk in a straight line. After using the bathroom, you used one of the provided washrags, dampening it before running it between your legs, and cleaning you up. Grabbing a new one, you dampened it as well before heading back to the bathroom.
He was now sitting on the edge of the bed, the rest of his clothing discarded on the floor, and he looked up when he saw you enter. “Thought I was ‘bout to drag you back,” he commented as you approached him, grinning when he saw your unabashed staring. “Like what ya see?”
You wiped that proud expression off when the cold washcloth made contact with his skin, and you quickly wiped him down. He hissed when it ran over his cock, and you muttered a small apology. You tried to move back to the bathroom to discard the cloth, but you felt him wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you back towards him. You felt him kiss the back of your neck, and you felt him yank the cloth from your hand, tossing it vaguely in the direction of the bathroom. 
He pulled you back onto the bed, adjusting the covers so that they covered you both, the one arm never leaving your waist, his face burrowed into your neck. Out of all the things you expected him to be, a cuddler was not one of them. But you certainly weren’t complaining.
Because of the heat of him behind you, and the exertion of the day's activities, you felt exhaustion take over you again, and your eyes fluttered close. “You still owe me anther drink,” you heard yourself mutter. 
The rumble of his chest from his laughter was the last thing you remembered before you fell asleep. 
Author’s Note: i stole the hat thing from one of my other fics, but i love it so much that i needed to use it again. also might write a continuation/pt.2 to this, idk yet.
also thank you @kinatanhi yet again for the comment that helped inspire all this <3
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holllandtrash · 2 years ago
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fragile line | daniel ricciardo
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pairing: daniel ricciardo x driver!reader
You and I walk a fragile line I have known it all this time But I never thought I'd live to see it break
what happens when the driver daniel falls in love with, ends up being the one who brings his career to a screeching halt? word count: 7.7k (im so sorry) warnings/tags: fluff-ish, plot with implied/very little smut, angst, mclaren danny, zak brown (gross), some incorrect f2 stats but whatever, time jumps, really just a lot of angst, its a rollercoaster
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“What do you know?”
“What do you know?” Daniel repeated the question back to you, the emphasis making it clear as day that you both carried the same career-altering information. 
His signature grin and comforting optimism were nowhere to be seen. Instead, Daniel’s expression could be described in a variety of ways. Solemn, disappointed, hurt. 
“What was I supposed to do?” You asked, going straight to the defensive. You couldn’t be helpful in this scenario, you just needed to explain yourself. He wouldn’t understand it from your perspective, but you had to try. 
“Not take the seat,” he offered a solution, as if it was that simple. “My god, I mean, they’re cutting my contract early, Y/N. For you.”
“For the sake of the team,” you corrected. You had no say in this. McLaren had plenty of driver options for the 2023 season. There were rumours of Daniel’s contract coming to an end a year early anyway, everyone heard them, everyone ignored them. The only thing that remained uncertain for a while was who would replace him should the rumours be true.
You. 
“You don’t even like McLaren.” You told him, voice raising a little as if that helped get the point across. “You’ve struggled with this team since day one.”
“That doesn’t mean I want to stop racing.”
“McLaren is not the team for you and you know this.”
Daniel scoffed, eyebrows twitching, “Did Zak tell you to say that?”
It was a rhetorical question, but Daniel noticed the way your bottom lip quivered. He caught the way your eyes dropped from his, even just for a split second. There was something unspoken between you, something that weighed on your mind and Daniel stepped forward, wanting to know what exactly it was. 
“Zak-” you started, reluctant to even say this. “-he doesn’t know I’m here. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to talk to you or anyone about it, not until your announcement comes out.”
Here meaning Daniel’s flat in Monaco. The place you spent more nights at than your own. You played it off by saying his view was better but that was such a bullshit answer. Daniel’s flat always felt more like home than yours ever did. 
You had formally met the Australian driver a few years ago, but god did time fly. It was at a race in Monza. You could pretend you didn’t know the date but of course you did, you had it memorised. September 3rd, 2020. There was no way you could forget the day your life changed for the better. 
Or possibly, for the worse. It was up in the air at this point. 
You were new to the Formula 2 series. The only female driver on the grid as you raced with Prema alongside Mick Schumacher. F3 proved to be quite a successful stint for you and you had your eyes set on the coveted Formula 1 series. You wanted to be in the big leagues. 
Daniel saw that. He saw how determined you were to not only make waves in Motorsport, but to make something of yourself. You trained just as hard, if not harder than the other drivers in the junior series and Daniel had seen that for a while. He was often surprised to see you at the hotel gym, already working up a sweat when he walked in at a little after 6am. He would be even more surprised when he saw you there in the evening when other drivers went and called it a night or even went and celebrated. 
Your race weekends were the same as F1 weekends, but you just had limited ones. It was a shorter season, less intense, but whenever you were there. Daniel saw you. He saw you and he paid attention. He even rooted for you, very publicly as well whenever he could, despite the two of you never having exchanged a word. 
The first time you heard about Daniel cheering you on was after the Monaco race, quite early on into your first season. You qualified 7th, not ideal for a track like Monaco where the opportunities to overtake were far and few between, but somehow you did it. And then you did it again. And you could say it was luck but it was really smart strategy and an insane amount of driver skill that had you finishing fifth. In Monaco. 
Those were Daniel’s words. He was asked pre-race if he watched the F2 run and he said of course. He said he “wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” wanting to see what you could do this weekend. 
“It’s not luck, she’s incredibly talented,” Daniel had told the Sky Sports reporter. “She’s doing big things in the series, and I’m rooting for her. Truly. It’s rare a driver comes around with such raw natural talent, where you look at them and you know racing’s just in their blood, but it’s in hers. I would love to see her in Formula 1 one day.”
You watched that interview clip about twenty times. Daniel Ricciardo, the Daniel Ricciardo who had won Monaco a few years back, was complimenting you. He was rooting for you. 
It wasn’t until Monza, nearing the end of your season that he finally approached you. 
“I want to work with you,” Daniel said, straight to the point. You were in the middle of stretching in the hotel's fitness centre. It was only Thursday, the race weekend itself had barely started but Daniel knew he’d find you in there. 
You pulled your airpods out and looked up at him in the mirror, “You what?”
“I want to work with you,” Daniel repeated, this time sitting down on the floor next to you. He kept your stare in the reflection. “I’m not a trainer by any means, but I want to work with you. I want to see you in Formula 1.”
You were flattered, honoured really, but you didn’t know what that entailed. “Work with me how?”
“Well, regular fitness training for starters,” he said. “But managing, really. I want to help you with everything that it takes to move up. Media training, mental preparedness, finding sponsors, getting you in touch with the right people. Let me help you, Y/N.”
You weren’t sure what brought this on. Part of you was convinced it was because he knew this would look good on his behalf. If you did make it to Formula 1 and Daniel’s name was attached to yours, he’d look like a genius. A hero. He would be known as the first person from F1 to publicly support you. 
But that wasn’t what it was at all. When you agreed and accepted his help, you soon came to learn that Daniel didn’t want to be in your spotlight at all. He found the opportunities that you needed and then stepped back. He didn’t mention to the media at all that he was helping you, he didn’t see a need to. He saw your potential and he truly wanted to help you make something off.
So there he was during the off season, meeting you in London where you resided. He trained with you, set you up with the right people, did weekly check-ins, he really was like a sort of manager. 
He was there during pre-season testing the following year, literally. He stood in the Prema garage like he was just another member of the team. No one really questioned it, not when you said he was acting as a mentor to you. Everyone loved Daniel’s presence there and he was told he was welcome whenever. 
He was there during race weekends whenever he could find time in his own busy schedule. He was never there during the actual race, needing that time to prepare for his own, but he always watched from his drivers room or had someone in his ear updating where you were and what was happening.
He was there in Silverstone, when you crashed during Saturday's Sprint Race.
It was one of the last sessions of the day, Daniel had already finished qualifying and he was standing in the back of your garage, arms crossed over his chest, eyes glued to the screen. 
He was the first voice you heard when you spun, losing the breaks in mere seconds and all you could do was brace yourself for the impact of the barriers. 
“Tell me you’re okay.” Daniel’s voice came through your radio. Not your engineer, not your team principal. Daniel. “Say something, sweets, tell me you're okay.”
Sweets, he called you. But only ever in private, or in front of close friends. What started as a joke when you complained about him not having any sweets in his flat the first time you visited in Monaco, stuck. 
But everyone had access to the team radios. It could be heard by other engineers, other teams, fans even and those watching at home should F1TV choose to broadcast it.
Of course they did. They aired the exchange for everyone to hear and it spread like wildfire. It was all anyone on social media could talk about. 
“Say something, sweets. Tell me you’re okay.” 
“I’m okay,” you sputtered out, hands shaking as you unclenched them. It was an instinct to pull them off the steering wheel and tuck your arms to your chest, physically bracing where you could. 
“Good,” Daniel breathed out a very obvious sigh of relief. “Good.” He paused, and then with a quiet chuckle added, “What the fuck was that then?” 
You laughed in response, needing the humour at such a traumatic time. You had crashed before, but this was a bad one. You didn’t even need to step out of the vehicle to know you were lucky to not feel any immediate injuries, but there was a ringing in your ear and the adrenaline was preventing you from really understanding the damage your body had sustained. 
It wouldn’t have helped, though, to have gotten an earful, not like it was your fault anyway. It also wouldn’t have helped if you were asked again and again if you were okay. The more people asked, the more stressed you would grow. Daniel knew you needed a bit of lightheartedness at this time. 
“No brakes, Danny,” you answered through a soft laugh.
“That just sounds like an excuse to me,” he muttered, the sarcasm evident even through the crackling radio.
“Are you going to continue to question my driving abilities or are you going to send medical out here to help me?”
That whole interaction went viral. From the radio message, to the clips of Daniel accompanying you to the medical centre, to the photos of the two of you smiling in the paddock despite the bruising on your body, the concussion you were diagnosed with and the instruction from the doctor that you were not stable enough to race on Sunday.  
Which sucked, to put it plainly. But you were with Daniel. He made the situation bearable. With his arm around your shoulder, he walked you to the car at the end of the day, having waited with you the whole time. 
People speculated, of course. Questions were asked. 
Why was Daniel Ricciardo paying such close attention to you? Why did he get over the radio when he crashed? Why did it sound so flirty? Had he been in your garages the whole time and no one noticed? Was he a mentor? A friend? More?
You had put out a statement when you got to the hotel, thanking everyone for the kind words and well wishes. You shared that you would not be driving on Sunday and you also shared that you were thankful for the support of Daniel Ricciardo, your mentor, who reminded you that even the best of the best crash out sometimes. 
Mentor, you publicly called him That’s what he was, right? Or trainer. Or Manager. Or friend, really. There were a lot of words to describe his relationship to you. 
People online didn’t believe it. They thought there was more because, who looks at each other like that if they’re not fucking? 
But you weren’t. Honest to god, that line with Daniel was never crossed. You never even considered it. Always content with his companionship and his advice, you didn’t want anything physical or romantic. 
At least, you thought you didn’t. 
Daniel dragged you into his room instead of letting you go up to yours because you were under strict instructions to not be left alone for the next twelve hours should the concussion worsen. 
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, handing you a glass of water. “I know I joked over the radio, but I was worried. It wasn’t a pretty crash.”
“Are any crashes pretty?”
He sat down next to you, closer than normal considering when he rested his arm over the back of the couch, his fingers were within the distance needed to play with the strands of your hair. 
He sucked in a breath through his teeth, “I guess it depends on the driver. I make the crashes pretty.” 
The comedic gasp you let out as you clenched your chest had him laughing. 
“Daniel Ricciardo, are you calling me ugly?”
“Don’t twist my words!” He exclaimed, eyes squinting as his smile widened. “I said I was pretty.” 
You hummed, “You pretty much said I made the crush ugly.” 
“I didn’t say you were ugly,” Daniel playfully tugged on a strand of your hair. “You’re not- I mean, you-”
And then the humour faded. He met your eyes, his hand fell to your shoulder. He was still smiling but it was the sort of gentle smile one wears when they figure out the answer to a question that had been eating at them for a while. 
Something clicked for Daniel. At this very moment. 
He wasn’t going to let it escape him. 
“Pretty doesn’t do you justice,” Daniel told you, voice lowering. “You’re breaktaking, Y/N. On the racetrack, at home, at events, you put everyone around you to shame. And it’s not- it isn’t just your appearance, it’s you. Everything about you. Your heart, your charisma, the way your eyes light up when you smile but only if you’re talking to people you like,” he chuckled, having experienced it first hand and having seen the way you don’t look nearly as pleased when someone you dislike approaches you. 
You were speechless, though. Frozen where you sat as this admission came out of seemingly nowhere. 
And Daniel was attractive, that was an undeniable fact, he was everything anyone could ever want in a man. But you never allowed yourself to look at him the way other people would. He was your trainer, manager, mentor, friend. 
You had no words to explain the way he was staring at you now. Nor could you explain why it made you feel more alive than driving a racecar at inhumane speeds ever could. 
Daniel took another breath, eyes never leaving yours. “You are unlike anyone I have ever come across and I know, in my lifetime, I will never find someone who could ever compare to even a fraction of who you are.”
There was no way you could continue to be just friends after those words passed his lips. 
You kissed him. You had to. It wasn’t like there was anything you could say that would match what he had already said, nor could you even find the words. 
You kissed him and Daniel pulled you onto his laps, your legs moving to straddle either side of his hips. His hands roamed your body, sliding up the Prema shirt you still had on as your tongue roamed every possible inch of his mouth. 
His hand gripped your waist, rolling you over top of him so you could feel in a matter of seconds how this conversation had now taken a turn. His cock started to harden, constricted by his pants, but you still felt it underneath you each time he shifted, each time you grinded against him. 
When you reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off, Daniel leaned back, both of you taking that second to catch your breath and question if you were really going to do this.
“Is this a mistake?” You whispered, your thumb gently tracing over his lips. Your working relationship was perfect. This could ruin everything. You had fears, doubts, worries. One night could lead to dozens of complications. 
But Daniel shook his head and all of those thoughts vanished.
“No,” he said, sounding so sure of himself with that one syllable. “I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life but you are not one of them.”
That was the only validation you needed. You kissed him again, more lust, more passion, than before as Daniel stood up, carrying you towards the bed at the back of the room. He dropped you down on the edge of it, smiling at the squeal that escaped your lips.
Daniel wanted to worship you every way he could. He was gentle with you, with your body, as he dipped his head between your thighs, making you feel a wave of euphoria that no one had ever brought you too before. 
It wasn’t until you were begging for more did Daniel realise he didn’t need to be gentle the entire night. He slid two fingers past your folds, lifting his head and hovering his body over yours, wanting to feel your desperate breaths hit his face as he rapidly thrusted his digits in and out of you, your walls clenching around him.
When he attached his lips to that spot on your neck, his teeth pressing against your skin, you saw stars. Daniel’s motions didn’t let up as you came around his fingers, loving the way your legs shook and how you dragged your hand through the hair on the back of his head.
He was cautious about doing anything else, knowing you were injured, he didn’t want to overstimulate you or cause any more pain. 
But you needed him. You reached for the zipper of his pants and tugged it down, telling Daniel you wanted this, as if the way you looked up at him didn’t already make that perfectly clear. 
He was careful when he entered you, patient. The tip of his cock slid past your folds slowly and he kissed your collarbone so gently you almost didn’t feel it as you adjusted to his size, quiet moans emitting from the back of your throat. 
He had praised you before, but only ever at the race track, so there was something so familiar yet so foreign about the way he whispered against your skin. It lit a fire within you.
“You take me so well, sweets,” he fought back a groan as your walls tightened around him when you clenched your legs. “So good for me.”
It was safe to say the dynamic between you two changed after that night. 
Daniel adored you already, admired you greatly for your achievements and growth in the sport. But now he fought with himself every weekend, knowing that he couldn’t touch you how he wanted. He couldn’t show you the attention he so desperately wanted. He couldn’t kiss you when you got that podium in Belgium, despite finding a way to sneak out of the pre-race duties for a second to run to the barrier to be there for you with the rest of the Prema team. 
Whatever was going on between you, it was unlabelled and it was private. The rest of the world didn’t need to know you were sleeping with the man you looked up to, the one who helped you become a great athlete in such a short period of time. 
People continued to speculate. You were private, sure, but you weren’t overly careful. 
You were seen landing in Monaco over the summer. You were spotted hanging out with Daniel on plenty of occasions. Even though you kept your hands off of each other and refused to act like anything more than friends out in public, you were different when you returned after the break. You both were. Everyone noticed. 
Daniel was, if it was even possible, happier. And you were less stressed it seemed. While you were still fighting a constant battle of being the only female in F2, it no longer seemed as heavy because the weight of it wasn’t just on your shoulders anymore. Daniel was there too. 
It wasn’t just physical, what you had. The emotional connection you shared was undeniable. Daniel was always there for you, and you, him. During the bad days, the good ones, and everyday in between. 
When you finished the season 5th in the drivers championship, the only person you wanted to celebrate with was Daniel. He was so proud of you. He watched you go from finishing 13th last year to 5th. He played a huge part in that, but when you tried to tell him that, he only brushed it off, saying that it was all you, he was just happy to be there for the ride. 
It was his idea for you to test drive for McLaren at the end of the year, too. ‘We’ll get you in a real F1 car’ he said. And you didn’t question it when the offer was brought forward to participate in a few practice sessions. It was exhilarating and terrifying and you cried tears of joy when you stepped out of his car because this was what you dreamed of. Driving a Formula 1 car. 
Now you just needed a permanent seat and Daniel wanted that for you too. He was your biggest supporter, and you only grew closer as the days went on.
You met his family over the holidays. He spent New Years Eve in London with you. 
When the season started again, he spent more time with you and Prema. When there were no scheduled F2 races during F1 weekends, you accompanied him in the McLaren garage. 
At this point, quite a few people knew you were together, or at least they assumed it.
You didn’t post about it, you didn’t want to, you didn’t need to. Daniel didn’t need to show you off, nor did you feel obligated to let everyone know you were with him. What you had was private, it was sacred, it was only for the two of you. 
But of course whenever you had a good performance, whether it be from a practice session, qualifying or a race, he’d share your celebration picture to his Instagram story. 
“Would you ever do a shoey?” Daniel asked you one Tuesday night, zooming in on a photo of you, more specifically on the smile on your face as you clenched your second place trophy from Imola on Sunday. 
You rolled your eyes but the smile was impossible to hide as he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, tugging you into his chest. 
“Next time you win,” Daniel suggested with a laugh. “I expect a shoey.”
“I’m not Australian.”
“You’re dating one, sweets.”
You never actually discussed what you were. The term boyfriend-girlfriend seemed so childish. Dating was, in a sense, accurate, but again, there were no labels. He had your heart, you had his. That was the only thing that mattered. 
“The world doesn’t know that,” you pointed out. 
“They kind of do,” Daniel kissed your cheek, giving your side a squeeze as he stepped aside to help you prepare dinner. 
You weren’t even sure when you fell into such a domestic lifestyle but there you were, practically moved into Daniel’s place in Monaco at this point  and he was at your side, chopping carrots for the salad while you prepared the chicken breasts. 
“A shoey would confirm it,” you glanced up at him, but the smile on his face told you he wasn’t completely against the idea. 
Daniel stepped behind you, fingers playfully pinching your waist, “Just think about it. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. I just reckon it would be entertaining for everyone.”
He didn’t bring it up again, not even when you got third in Spain and didn’t do it. It was your first time getting a back to back podium since you started racing and of course it was something to celebrate, but the idea of a shoey made your stomach churn. You weren’t sure if you were ready for the world to know about your commitment to Daniel. 
You walked a thin line, being with him. And while you enjoyed every possible minute spent with him, you knew the world was cruel. The second you officially went public, you’d lose respect in the motorsport industry. 
The only female F2 driver dating an F1 driver? How scandalous.
Despite the rumours, the correct rumours, you were still in a bubble with him. You could pretend you were just friends, close friends. The tabloids had nothing to go off except your polite interactions and maybe a little too friendly smiles and so what if you were there in the McLaren garage cheering him on? 
You were his biggest supporter and he was yours.
But it didn’t help that while your performance was improving, his was rapidly declining. While you had less races than his, already your stats were better. You qualified in the top 5 for the first three races. You finished second in Imola, third in Spain, already better than how you started the season last year.
Monaco was next. Daniel loved Monaco, you both did. Everyone did, it was the pinnacle of Formula 1. 
It was unfortunate that your weekends ended up so drastically different. 
Daniel qualified 14th and then finished 13th. He wasn’t proud of it, but he did his best to hide his disappointment for you, especially since you were starting on the front row, P2, for the feature race. 
And somehow, you won. 
After trailing behind Drugovich for the majority of the race, you were starting to believe you would finish behind him too. And you probably would have, had there not been a safety car almost six laps after he boxed for fresh tyres, giving you the advantage of newer tyres and less wasted time. It was a strategy your team was banking on, waiting for a safety car. It was risky, but it paid off. Overtaking was nearly impossible with Formula 1 cars, but you had a better chance in your series and somehow, by the grace of god, you did it. You pulled ahead and swiped the lead from Felipe. 
You made history that weekend. The first female F2 driver to not only podium, but to win at Monaco. You gripped that first place trophy so tight your hand turned red. 
Usually, F2 didn’t draw nearly as big of a crowd, but this weekend was different. Everyone was a fan of the series after that performance, a fan of you. You saw people in the crowd wearing Red Bull gear, Ferrari merch, McLaren hats, and they were all applauding you. 
Of course, you were blown away by the support. Hearing your national anthem play was an incredible sound. There were tears in your eyes and your entire body was trembling, yet somehow you managed to find Daniel. Right in front, with your team. 
He was so proud of you. 
Despite his shitty qualifying, despite knowing he had such a low shot at earning points at his race that was in just under an hour, he was there for you. You couldn’t tell if he was cheering the loudest, or if you were just so prone to finding him in a crowd that you couldn’t process anything or anyone else. 
You weren’t sure what came over you, but once you grabbed the champagne bottle, you found yourself taking your shoe off as well. As Felipe and Théo started spraying their bottles in celebration, you poured the bubbly liquid into the sole of your racing shoe and lifted it up to your lips, pointing directly at Daniel who couldn’t believe what he was watching. 
It was rancid, as you figured it would. It was champagne out of a sweaty shoe, you knew it wouldn’t taste good, but it was a shoey and it was for Daniel. Felipe patted your back, laughing at your reaction and muttering something about how Daniel would get a kick out of that. 
He was right, but Daniel wasn’t the only one who found it entertaining. 
Your name was once again trending following the Monaco Grand Prix. Not Checo’s, even though he won the F1 race. Your name. 
Not that you really cared that night. How could you care about what the internet was saying when the man you were with told you that he loved you for the first time? Nothing online mattered, not when Daniel took your face in his hands and told you he was madly in love with you. He was proud, he was happy, he was in love. 
And you knew you loved him too. You had known this for a while. Monaco was just the perfect time to say it. 
After going about as public as you could without physically coming out and saying you were dating the Australian driver, Monaco was the perfect place to tell him you loved him. You were on cloud 9, you were making history, you were in love. 
You continued to deny, or at least ignore, the rumours that followed, still. You both did. You were in love with each other, not the whole world. Things would get complicated if you announced you were dating. You were vying for a Formula 1 seat and you wanted it without Daniels’ influence. 
But at the following race in Baku you were asked similar questions. 
“Your shoey last week, did that have anything to do with Daniel Ricciardo being there to cheer you on? You two have gotten pretty close in the last few months, he’s one of your mentors, isn’t he?” 
You shifted your weight to one leg, wondering what the fuck kind of post-qualifying question that was. You had just completed three back to back podiums, you were on a hot streak now, starting third at this next race and the reporter only cared about what happened at the podium celebration last weekend.
“Sorry, did you have a question about this week's race?” You asked, and when he stammered over his words, you just nodded and walked away, a tight smile on your face. 
Daniel’s conversation went a bit differently. 
“Y/N’s shoey last week, we all saw it. Was that your influence?”
“Yeah I never thought she’d actually do it, it was sweet,” Daniel laughed. “It was great though, I happily pass the tradition onto her.”
“She’s really come along in Formula 2 since she started back in 2020, do you think she has what it takes to be Formula 1’s first full-time female driver?”
“Absolutely,” there wasn’t a shred of doubt or hesitation. He was happy to talk about you, to explain to the rest of the world why you were up and coming and should be taken seriously as a real contender for a Formula 1 seat. He probably would have continued on if his PR rep hadn’t pulled him away, reminding him of other duties.
The next few races were similar to your first ones. A couple more podiums, some outstanding qualifying sessions, more history being made. Your phone was blowing up weekly, everybody wanted to talk to you now and you knew Daniel had something to do with it. Him constantly sharing the faith he had in you did wonders for your reputation. 
You might have been on top of the world, but you were well aware you were alone up there.
Daniels’ performances were anything but newsworthy. He had gotten a few points in Austria and France, but nothing to be extremely proud of, especially when he compared his 9th place finish at the Red Bull Ring to your first place podium, making it your second one this season. 
He never let his disappointment for himself and McLaren stand in the way of your achievements. In fact, you didn’t often speak about the races when you were together. You were aware Daniel was having issues with the team, with Zak, with the car, but he didn’t want to weigh you down with his own problems, even though you assured him time and time again you could handle it. 
Really, if Daniel had come to you with his struggles, you would have thought twice when Zak Brown approached you prior to the Hungarian Grand Prix. You probably would have slammed the door to your drivers room in his face if you knew how Daniel was being treated at McLaren. 
But Daniel held his cards close to his chest while Zak laid his all out on the table.
“If a spot opened up for you,” he said, after spending the last ten minutes talking about the rich history of the team and praising your accolades. “Would you consider it?”
It wasn’t an official contract, just the start of a conversation that could lead to one.
Of course you thought of Daniel. And Lando, having grown close with him simply through Daniel. 
“For 2024?” You asked, knowing both of them were set to continue driving through to at least the end of 2023. 
“No,” Zak shook his head. You didn’t like how harsh his tone had turned, having no remorse for what he was about to say. “Daniel’s contract would be ending early.”
You leaned back in your chair, fingers tapping the table as you tried to recall Daniel ever telling you that he was leaving McLaren. “Is he- he wants out?”
“It’s mutual,” Zak assured you. “He knows we can’t give him the car he wants and unfortunately, he’s not delivering what we need. We had high hopes with Daniel, but the working relationship isn’t what any of us thought it would be.”
It’s mutual. Those two words was all it took to convince you that Zak Brown and Daniel had already had a conversation about this, about terminating the contract a year early. 
It didn’t help that Zak brought up your test sessions in the McLaren from last year, pointing out that you had better times than Lando, even. He went on to praise what you were doing this year at Prema and said, multiple times, that you would be an asset to McLaren should you choose to go that route.
And who were you to turn that down?
A team principal of a Formula 1 team wanted to sign you. Was it unfortunate that it was Daniel’s seat? Yes, obviously this situation was less than ideal, but he wanted out. You were convinced he wanted out, that he was done with McLaren. A 45 minute conversation with Zak Brown convinced you of that.
You should have been wary when at the end of the conversation he said, “Don’t tell anyone about this, yet. You know how the public can be, let’s just keep this to ourselves for the meantime.”
“But I can talk to Dan, right?” You asked. 
Zak knew you were dating Daniel, it was a little harder to hide that from his team than it was the rest of the world. Maybe that’s why hesitated before answering, knowing that keeping a secret, something as big as this, from a partner had the potential to cause chaos.
But he shook his head, “Between us, yeah?”
And you listened to him. You wanted that Formula 1 seat so of course you followed orders. 
You desperately wanted to talk to Daniel about it, but you knew you couldn’t. And either he sensed that something was off, or he was dealing with his own problems again and wouldn’t share, you really couldn’t tell when the summer break started and things just seemed…different. 
You didn’t go to Monaco for starters, even though Daniel invited you to. But there were so many meetings with Zak and the board at McLaren that it made more sense for you to stay in London for the start of the break. 
Daniel didn’t call as often and you wanted to give him space, knowing that this break was probably needed for him. You expected he was out with friends, letting loose, getting the weight of a horrible season off his back even if just temporarily. 
The plan was to go to Monaco for the last week and a half and then travel to Belgium together. You had to delay that plan, however, when Zak called you and said it was official.
The 2023 seat was yours. 
You wanted to celebrate, with Daniel, but how could you celebrate with the person you were replacing?
It was strange that Daniel had said nothing to you about leaving the team during the summer break, especially since Zak had said time and time again they were on the same page, that Daniel was ready to leave. The only thing that crossed your mind was he was given strict instructions to not say anything to anyone either, at least until McLaren went public with the news. 
But with it being official, with you having just signed on the dotted line, you were tired of keeping it to yourself. You may not have been able to share the news with anyone else, but you had a right to have a conversation with Daniel about it.
You didn’t know how he would react. Surely he’d be happy for you, right? You were getting a seat in Formula 1, something that both of you desperately wanted to happen. And again, you were under the impression the departure from McLaren was mutual. He would be happy that someone he loved was taking his seat, right?
Right?
You had to tell yourself that the entire ride over to his place. You unlocked the front door to his building and took the elevator up to the fourth level. You didn’t think to knock, knowing he never locked it when he was home so you pushed open the door and stepped in, your suitcase trailing behind you.
You were happy to see him. He was always a breath of fresh air, despite the odd distance between you, you still loved him. You always would. He muted whatever was playing on the screen and stood up from the couch when he heard you walk in.
Usually, Daniel would greet you with a kiss.
Usually, he’d be smiling so hard his jaw would be hurting.
Usually, he was happy to see you.
You left the suitcase by the door and met him halfway, only he stopped walking when there was about a foot of space between your bodies. To you, it felt like you were still miles apart.
“Do you have something you want to tell me?” He asked, arms crossed over his chest. 
Your heart sank. 
You had convinced yourself, Zak had convinced you, the whole back of house team had convinced you, that Daniel was aware of this upcoming change. That the termination was mutual. You taking his seat might have been a surprise, but it was never supposed to be a blindside.
“What do you know?” you asked. 
“What do you know?” Daniel repeated the question back to you.
You were both fully aware of the exact same information. Daniel was leaving. You were taking his seat. Only, you had been informed this much earlier than he had.
“What was I supposed to do?” 
“Not take the seat,” he scoffed. “My god, I mean, they’re cutting my contract early, Y/N. For you.”
“For the sake of the team,” you said and then added, “You don’t even like McLaren. You’ve struggled with this team since day one.”
“That doesn’t mean I want to stop racing.”
“McLaren is not the team for you and you know this.”
Daniel scoffed, eyebrows twitching, “Did Zak tell you to say that?”
“Zak-” you started, finding it difficult to hold his stare. This wasn’t the Daniel you knew. “-he doesn’t know I’m here. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to talk to you or anyone about it, not until your announcement comes out.”
He rubbed his hands over his face, taking a few steps away from you. It hurt, watching as he tried to physically distance himself from you. Like being in too close of proximity would set him off.
“I struggled with the team, yes, but I’m not ready to give up racing. You have now left me without a seat.”
It was easy for Daniel to blame you, you were standing right in front of him. You were quite literally the driver set to replace him.
But the real villain was Zak, for not having opened up this line of communication earlier. For making you believe everyone was on the same page. It was Zak’s fault for rushing to end the contract with Daniel instead of putting in the effort to work with him. He saw the shiny new toy that was you, that Daniel helped create, and he wasn’t going to let someone else take it first.
Daniel wanted to blame himself too, but he wouldn’t let himself think about that until much later. He was the one who did everything he could to help you grow in this sport. He was the one who introduced you to Zak and the rest of the McLaren team. He was the one who got you in the car for the practice sessions, his car. Foreshadowing at its finest.
“You are unbelievable,” Daniel spoke quietly, heated with anger but his words were like ice as they sunk deep into you. “After everything I’ve done to help you for you to betray me like this, I just- I don’t think-”
You knew where this was going and you wanted to put a pin in it before he could finish any of his thoughts.
“Don’t finish that sentence, Daniel,” you whispered. “Please. Please, we can figure something out.”
“There’s nothing to figure out,” his mind was made up. “You took my seat.”
“Wouldn’t you rather it me than someone you don’t know? Someone you don’t trust?” You tried to turn this around, have him look at the positives, if there were any. “Daniel, everyone on the grid loves you, you’ll find a new team. One that helps you grow and get to where you want. McLaren isn’t that, we both know it.”
“I think you should go,” was his only response. 
“If I hadn’t signed that contact, someone else would have,” you pointed out, grasping at straws here, painfully honest straws, but straws nonetheless. “Piastri, O’Ward…McLaren had options, Dan. Aren’t you at least happy for me that I out-qualified all of those guys?”
Daniel actually laughed, “You want me to be happy for you? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Dan-”
“Leave.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“You need to,” he was stern. He was angry. He was done. With you, with the team, with everything he used to love and cherish. He was done. 
You thought you knew Daniel. You thought you knew how this conversation would play out. You figured it would still be rocky, but god you now realised how naive you were to believe you could still make things work. 
“I love you,” you told him, because what else could you say except remind him that you were so hopelessly in love with him, that he was all you would ever want in life. 
Except, that wasn’t exactly true, was it?
You wanted a seat in Formula 1 too. You just never thought you’d have to sacrifice one dream for the other. 
Daniel’s stare was cold. He only looked away for a second to nod his head towards the door behind you, “If you loved me, you wouldn’t have done this.”
You stepped forward, desperate at this point because how could he do this? How could he throw away what you had, over a seat?
Or was it you, who had ultimately thrown away what you had when you sat down with Zak Brown all those weeks ago?
It pained you to think about the strong possibility of that being the case.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, because you were. You were sorry about how this turned out, how he was betrayed, how this was coming to an end. You grabbed hold of your suitcase and nodded, backing up towards the door, “I really am sorry, Dan.”
He didn’t believe you. Why would he? In his eyes, Formula 1 was more important to you than he was. A career decision that benefited you, but ruined him, mattered more than your relationship. It was a bold move, a cold move, one that you didn’t think would lead to this.
Neither of you could have predicted this. On September 3rd, 2020, when Daniel first said he wanted to work with you, neither of you thought it would end like this.
Just as you grabbed the handle of the door, Daniel opened his mouth, wanting to get the final word in. And you really wished he hadn’t because those final words destroyed you. 
“I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life, but I never thought you would turn out to be one of them.”
You said nothing. You walked out of that Monaco flat with your head low and your heart even lower. You couldn’t even be excited about the next season, or the remainder of this one where you had the potential to finish in the top three. 
You weren't happy, you were empty, you were defeated. And painfully so, you were also still in love.
Despite what was said, you knew it would take a while to get over Daniel. He was your rock for so long, he was always there for you and even though he could disappear without so much as a second thought, your feelings couldn’t, the memories couldn’t. It would take a long time until you felt whole again.
You didn’t know it yet, but the decision to take that McLaren seat would haunt you as you moved forward in your career. 
This was not going to be the last time you ever saw Daniel. 
part 2 haunted
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