#we spent a few days in paris

[monsterfactoryfanfic]

Simone de Rochefort shared the email she sent to Jim Bankoff, the CEO of Vox Media who sold Polygon, on bluesky. The text of the email is transcribed below:

"Hi Jim,

I'm writing to let you know how incredibly disappointed I am about the decision to sell Polygon to Valnet. Even though I'm one of the fortunate few to still be employed, I'm still furious and heartbroken.

I was in Europe when the sale went public. A few days later, a reader recognized me at a cafe in Paris. He couldn't believe what had happened, and asked me how it was possible, in the United States, that a workforce like ours could just be disposed of. He also added, completely unprompted, that American workers should "choose violence." I just thought I'd mention that! It was cool to be recognized halfway around the world for my work. The readers have always appreciated it, even if you don't. But I'm going to tell you about it anyway.

At Polygon, we wrote stories and made videos that were unique in entertainment media - they were weird and well-researched and funny. We also got awards for our reporting (including myself and my now-laid-off colleague Clayton Ashley - we were nominated for an ASME and we won a New York Videogame Critics Circle award).

We attracted brand sponsorships, some of which my team was in the middle of working on when my colleagues were laid off. My understanding is that Vox will be doing make-good sponsorships for the businesses that had contracted with Polygon. I wonder if they will seek out Vox Media again, once that process is finished.

My colleagues who were laid off spent years building connections and trust with sources in our industry. On the video team, subjects gave us hours of their time and resources for interviews. People trusted us to tell their stories. You can't do good journalism without that trust, and that's been at minimum bruised by this sale and the dismantling of the team.

Our readers and viewers are wonderful. I applied to work at Polygon because I read a comment chain on the site that I expected to be full of sexism and vitriol. Instead I found thoughtful people having a civil and intelligent discussion. What a rarity on the internet!

Did you know that Polygon's YouTube comments have always been overwhelmingly positive? My games journalist colleagues at other sites marveled at the fact that at Polygon, I never got hate mail. Was never harassed. That I could scroll freely through the comments of any video that I or my colleagues made and see people appreciating our work. That is so, so rare.

I worked at Vox Media for 9 years. The week before the sale, as I was preparing to go on vacation, I stayed up till 5 AM so that I could finish my next video. No one asked me to do that! That was frankly stupid, considering how little you and the company valued our work. This doesn't make me look very good or very smart, but I'm including it anyway.

The truth is I like working and the feeling of productivity, and I liked what I was making. I felt like that made it worth it.

It didn't! I suppose what I am saying is that Polygon's employees did everything possible to make the site a success. We built a profitable, respected publication.

You, and Vox Media's leadership, didn't know what to do with it. You failed to make a good thing work for you. That's quite sad, and quite an indictment on Vox Media as a whole.

I used to have a lot of faith in the company's longevity. I don't anymore, because of your poor decision-making, and your failure to listen to the people who were telling you what Polygon needed.

I had always said that Vox Media is an amazing employer. That out of all the media companies, it was the best. I encouraged people who are bright and hard-working and talented to apply for work there. I felt so lucky to have my job. I don't think you know yet how many bridges you've burned with people like me who would've jumped at the chance to work for you, and let themselves be exploited along the way.

A couple years ago, a former employee told me that digital media would never love me back, and that I should leave Vox. They said I wouldn't understand how much the company takes from its employees until I tried working somewhere else.

Well, now I work for Valnet! Thank you for the push out the door!

Meanwhile, if you couldn't make a profitable website like Polygon work, then what hope is there for my colleagues at other Vox outlets?

How many unprofitable ventures will be propped up with profits from the Polygon sale, and for how long? Before you and the folks with a head for business (or so I'm told!) have to hit the ledgers again and find something to sell, or someone to let go. Or will the company just enjoy a tax write-off for 2025 and then … what?

Polygon was special, and it was valuable, and it was profitable, and you sold it, at a time when the economy was at a low point - and when Polygon, against all odds, was still making money.

This does not make sense to me. Please feel free to respond and convince me.

Sincerely, Simone de Rochefort"

[natalicss]

Like We Were In Paris II

kwon ji-yong x american pop star!reader

part one

summary: you and ji-yong have been dating for a couple years, and you’ve kept under the radar this entire time. after the gala de pièces juanes, you two attend the chanel spring-summer 2025 haute contour show. however, the two of you are starting to get tired of keeping your relationship a secret.

warnings: not proofread AT ALL! i’m way too lazy for that, sorry. celeb!reader, implied age gap (reader is mid-twenties), lots of fluff, lil bit of angst, use of y/n, i still don’t know how to use this app i feel like an elderly man using a cell phone.

word count: 4.9K

nat’s notes: hey y’all! i came back for part two AS PROMISED! this was actually very hard for me to write as i kept changing my mind about how i wanted this to go. so im sorry in advance if its not all that great LMAO. i do wanna write a lil more about american pop star reader & jiyong, maybe i’ll do some sort of head canons about them, or some stuff about their relationship early on. i’m not sure. i also tagged the people who asked to be & i will try to keep tagging people in the future (if they wanna be). anywhore, i hope that you guys enjoy this, if you don’t…sorry<3 toodles!

tag list: @infinetlyforgotten @petersasteria

After the successful Gala Des Pièces Jaunes event, you had spent the next couple days in dressing rooms. You had been invited to Chanel’s Spring-Summer 2025 Haute Couture Show. You said yes, of course, having an affinity for fashion, and never turning down the chance to be near your long-term boyfriend. You and Ji-yong had been to a couple of the same fashion shows before. It was always easy to slip by with nobody noticing your connection. Oftentimes, you two were not seated remotely near each other and are far too busy with the peers around you to sneak away. 

But this last week felt particularly more difficult. Unlike in America or South Korea, where you knew the paparazzi and knew very well how to remain under the radar, the Paris press was more complicated. You and Ji-yong had to weave your way around in more secrecy than ever. Every method you could imagine. Some instances, the two of you would sneak through a back door and slide into cars to avoid the cameras. Other instances, the two of you would make separate nonchalant appearances. Ji-yong would leave the hotel first, shy and polite as he waved and greeted the people around him as he’d slip into a car and drive off to his next location. You, wearing designer clothes and sunglasses as you walked out with a big smile and a more confident approach. You’d get in your own car, sliding into the back with your security with a huff. Within moments, you’d open your phone to shoot a text to your lover. 

Y/N

i didnt get to say it before you left, but you look handsome today<3

You knew it’d only be a moment before he responded. 

Ji<3

Thank you, Aein, you look beautiful!

You and Ji-yong hated that you couldn’t spend this Paris trip together more. After all, you two had all of the same events, same meetings, same friends to visit, and yet you couldn’t be by his side at any of it, not in public. Part of you didn’t mind, used to the routine, but part of you was starting to grow tired. It wasn’t like two years ago, when you first started dating. At that time, Ji-yong was still on hiatus, you were working on your fourth album, and everything had to be a secret. Secret vacations, secret visits, secret dinner dates where the two of you wore silly disguises. You were good sports, making a game out of it and playing ridiculous characters to see who cracked first. But that was two years ago. He was back in the spotlight again, you had released your fifth album a few weeks ago, he was releasing his own work. You two were confident in your relationship, everyone was. What was holding you back?

There was no black and white answer. On one hand, now was the perfect time to announce to the world that their rumors of you dating a random Hollywood actor were all false. On the other hand, were you so willing to give up that last piece of privacy you did have? You weren’t worried about the hate on either side, despite knowing how fans often get if they don’t approve of their favorite celebrities' relationship. 

You had been in a public relationship way before Ji-yong. It was years ago, back when you were still new to the world of fame and glamour. Every corner you turned, the cameras flashing, the wave of hate you’d received, the amount of gossip around every song you released being about them or not, their interviews for their movies always being about you. Your careers had been forced to blend due to the way people reacted. The world had taken your last relationship by storm and had seemingly strangled it with their love and adoration. The lack of privacy, individuality, and respect for the two of you had been what led to you and your last partners split. It took the two of you years before the media finally stopped associating everything either of you did together. So, understandably, part of you was worried about that happening again.

You thought about all of this as you and Ji-yong were getting ready for the day. You both had things to attend to, tomorrow being the fashion show. One last fitting, one last meeting with your teams. You were styling your hair as Ji-yong had finished getting dressed, the agreement for him to leave the hotel first still agreed on. He looked at you, and you could see the way his eyes softened as he observed your eyes. He knew everything about you, down to the way your face looked when you were deep in thought, perhaps about to drown yourself with your ability to overthink.

“Are you okay, love?” He asked, speaking in Korean first as he approached. You didn’t say anything, busy running your fingers through your hair as he quietly stepped next to you. He met your eyes in the mirror, his lips curling. “There she is.” You blushed at his words, putting your hands down as you finally turned your body to face him. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?” He asks, reaching up to adjust your hair framing your face.

You didn’t know where to start. You and Ji-yong had talked about this a million times before. You two had always agreed to keep things the way they are. You weren’t sure if he was ready to change that. As he watched you get lost in your thoughts again, he tilted his head to meet your gaze. Your eyes were glossy, not all there as you already started mapping out every way the conversation could go, preparing yourself for every out come.

“Jagiya, you’re worrying me,” 

You blink. It takes you a second to come back to the present, taking a deep breath as you try to explain the heavy complicated feelings in your heart. “I’ve been thinking, through this whole trip,” You subconsciously reach for his hands, looking for comfort and something to anchor you down. He lets you, his thumb running along your skin in soothing patterns. “I don’t know how much longer I want to keep us a secret.” You blurt, staring at your connected hands rather than his eyes. You were too worried about what you might find. 

There’s a beat of silence. Then another. Your heart twists in anxiety, but you don’t dare to look up. Ji-yong’s breathing changes, only the slightest bit, but you notice. He stops his thumb from tracing its delicate patterns, instead letting it tap against your skin. You feel guilty. You both had so much to do today, this conversation could have waited til tonight, after the show tomorrow, or at just about any other time. You weren’t sure, but you knew this wasn’t it.

Ji-yong adjusts his posture, pulling one hand away from yours, only to bring it to your face. With the gentlest touch, he lifts your head so you finally see his eyes. They’re not angry, or frustrated, or even remotely annoyed. Instead, they’re as soft and warm as they’d always been, making your heart flutter the slightest bit. To be honest, Ji-yong had thought about this too. He’d admitted before that going public worried him. He was a celebrity, and that immediately brings its own multitudes of hardships. He knew that he’d keep any and all relationships a secret, unless the person he was with said otherwise. You had come into his life, unexpectedly, and changed his entire world in the best ways he could imagine. And here you were, the person he knew was the love of his life, staring back at him with sadness because of that very sentiment. 

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been feeling it too. He wanted to hold your hand down the streets of Paris, the two of you pointing out different things you loved about it, sharing kisses under streetlights. That night at the Gala, he had wanted to kiss you as soon as he was off the stage. And when you were finished performing? He wanted to part the crowd and sweep you into his arms, like he did at your own tours. But he’d been worried, worried about what people might say to you or about you. He knew how harsh they got. He knew you could handle it, but that didn’t mean he wanted to put you in that position unless you were ready.

His hand, which caresses your face with a certain level of sincerity you only ever felt from him, was soft and moved gently. He smiled, a soft gentle one that made you feel more at ease as you realized he wasn’t mad at you in any way. “It hasn’t been easy, has it?” He asks you, raising a brow. You only shake your head, lips pursed into a line. He studies your features like you’re a work of art (cause you are). “I miss every second I’m not with you. All I can think about is where you might be. If you’re smiling. If you’re anxious. If you’re laughing. If you’re thinking about me, too.” He leans in close, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And then you text me, and all I can think about is how lucky I am to be with you, and how mad I am that you’re not next to me.” You nod in understanding. You’d always felt that way about him, to the point it made your heart clench.

“I love you,”

“I love you more.”

You’re blushing wildly as he kisses your lips softly. Your feelings for him being translated into simple intimate touches. You’d never experienced something like Ji-yong before. You never wanted to let that go.

When he pulls away, he’s reaching for your jacket hanging off the back of a chair. You smile at him, memorizing his face like you’d done a million times before. You slide your arms into the jacket, letting your boyfriend adjust your outfit slightly. He focuses on your hair, bringing it out form under it and framing your face. Everytime his fingers brush your skin it leaves faint tingles in their wake.

“Why don’t we talk to everyone when we get home?” He suggests, looking back at you. Your eyes widen. You search his expression. “If you’re positive, then I’m with you.” 

You smiled wide. You couldn’t help it. “I’ve never been so sure of anything.” Your arms wrap around his neck, and he laughs softly as you start to kiss all over his face. “I want nothing more than to scream about how I’m dating G-Dragon.” He rolls his eyes playfully, still not used to you using his stage name after all this time. 

The rest of your days went smoothly. Both of you finishing up with your work, having dinner with friends, coming back to the hotel room to spend every possible moment together. Soft laughter as you each told stories from your pasts (many you’ve already told), legs tangled together under the sheets of your bed. Small intimate touches. Fingers tracing shapes on skin. Gentle kisses. Messy hair. If possible, your eyes were certainly heart shaped every moment you looked at him.

It was hard to hide it, even now, as you sit at the Chanel show. Both of you had arrived at different times, wearing extravagant outfits. You could feel his eyes on you as you posed for the cameras. He tried to keep his composure when he knew you were near by as he did interviews. Luckily for both of you, you’ve had years of practice. You held your head high with confidence, switching your energy from your usual softer self to the person you were on stage. America’s pop star. America’s princess. The way you posed yourself elegantly, batting your full lashes and gave your most sultry looks. How was Ji-yong supposed to not look? You were sitting in your seat, looking down at your phone as a text popped up.

Ji<3

You’re the most beautiful one here

You looked across the runway, your heart skipping a beat. He was already looking at you, a knowing shy smile on his face as he kept his phone in his hand. You smiled back at him, looking back at your phone.

Y/N

Says you<3 I love you

You put your phone in your lap, looking around some more. You felt lucky you had been to so many events, most of these people you already knew one way or another. It made small talk with the people next to you flow easily. Every now and again, you’d sneak a glance at your boyfriend, who was always staring at you like you were the show itself. It was hard to hide your blushed face, keep your voice from pitching when you talked to the other celebrities, and nearly impossible not to stare right back at him.

The show itself seemed to pass by with ease. You watched thoughtfully at every piece, making mental notes of things you particularly liked and wanted to mention to your assistant later. You’d lean over to your new friend of the night, whispering about different pieces and sharing your thoughts. You could see Ji-yong completely focused on the show, his eyes studying every model with intrigue. It was clear every piece that came out was being calculated into various looks. If he thought of something that worked, he’d raise his phone and take a quick photo. You smiled every time, excited to hear what he was thinking of later.

As the show came to an end, you were talking with your team as you felt someone graze past you. You looked up to see your familiar boyfriend, smiling at you fondly. You knew there were cameras everywhere, one minor slip leading to a whirlwind of chaos and news articles. The anxiety in your chest felt tight, but you kept your cool, straightening your posture and giving him a smile.

Ji-yong looked around, as if silently piecing together something. You followed his gaze, trying to see exactly what he was looking at. To you, there was nothing particularly interesting one way or another. Some fellow stars were talking, being interviewed, or just admiring the scene. Photographers were taking photos of guests, journalists asking people various questions. To you, it looked like every other fashion show even you’d been to. To Ji-yong, it looked like an opportunity. 

There were no words shared. His hand clasped around yours, and without thinking your fingers tightened around his. You blinked in surprise, looking ahead as Ji-yong started pulling you through the sea of people. You were wide-eyed as you looked around. Your teams hadn’t noticed you disappearing, but you knew that wouldn’t last long. But Ji-yong moved with purpose, walking through like this wasn’t strange or something other people should take a second glance at. You tried to mimic his confidence, but the butterflies in your stomach refused to simmer down.

In a quiet corner away from the cameras and the wandering eyes, Ji-yong finally came to a stop. You looked at him with a surprised expression. Your lipstick-painted lips parted slightly as you watched him look at you. He adjusted the tie around his neck, something he’d been doing the entire day. You looked behind you, worried who was watching, but a hand wrapping around your waist caught your attention.

His lips pressed against yours. Soft, passionate, and urgent. You squeaked in surprised against him, your hands landing on his chest as he pulled you further into the corner. Hidden away from your peers, from your teams, and from the layers of paparazzi. Your hands clutched tighter onto his jacket. His hands, which traced your body slowly, slowly lifted to grab your face with the most gentle touch. As he pulled away, you could only blink at him with big doe eyes.

“I couldn’t stand there and act like you weren’t the most beautiful thing here.” He whispers. 

The words caused your heart to do flips against your ribcage. His touch seemingly brought you back to earth, his thumb gently brushing against your cheekbone. “Says you, Monsieur G-Dragon,” You tease as you run your hands over the jacket again. This time, he’s the one trying to hide the way his cheeks blush. You looked at the bow tie with the flower on it, tilting your head as you reached up, slowly maneuvering the flower off. He looks down, blinking at it as you hold the flower in your hand, “Is that better?”

He reaches up, adjusting the tie again, and smiling softly. “Yes. Thank you.” He says finally. “How are you?”

“Oh, you know, the usual” You sigh dramatically, shrugging your shoulders. Ji-yong chuckles, nodding in understanding. “Got whisked away by a hot guy, can’t complain.”

Ji-yong raises a brow in amusement. “Is that what happened?” He asks. You look around. “What else would you call this?”

He steps closer, looking up in thought as he lets his arms wrap around your waist. His lips in a line as he tilts his head slightly. He narrows his eyes at you playfully. He didn’t have an answer. He rather liked the idea of whisking you away from the public eye. He did it often, though usually it was more hidden than this. You leaned into his touch, a natural instinct. The rest of the world seemed to drift away, even in moments like this. Only you and Ji-yong existed. Life was better with him. He knew you like the back of his hand. He knew how to make you laugh, how to calm your nerves, how to soothe your cries. He knew your favorite snacks, your order at your favorite coffee shop, and your favorite movies. The same could be said for you. You knew how to quiet his overwhelming thoughts, how to make him smile in stressful moments. You knew his favorite songs to play in the car. His favorite jewelry pieces to wear. You had his tells of when he was anxious or upset burned into your brain. And when one of you were around the other, everybody else melted into the background. Your love trumping anything else.

“We should probably get back out there,” You whisper. He hums in agreement, but neither of you make any move to leave. You lean closer into him, your head resting on his chest as his chin rested on top of your head. You knew it wouldn’t be long until the two of you were together again; a few hours at most. Lately, those hours felt like decades.

Ji-yong gave you another squeeze. “You go out first, jagiya,” He whispers. You pull away from his embrace, staring up at him. The way your glossy eyes sparkled up at him. It was like he could see every ounce of love for him you had, pouring out of you. He framed your face in his hands, kissing you softly. “I love you.”

“I love you,” You whispered against his lips. Reluctantly, you pulled away from his touch, looking back at him again as you walked away. He only smiled softly. Your heart yearned to stay in that corner with him forever, until your managers found you and ripped the two of you apart. You chewed the inside of your cheek, turning away from him completely as you looked for any sign of your team.

In the dark of your hotel room, you and Ji-yong were a tangled mess of bedsheets and limbs. The rest of the event blew by, you making some lame excuse to your team that you had gone to the bathroom, and Ji-yong telling his team that he was looking at some of the pieces again. You ended up having a romantic dinner together, talking about the event and the people you ran into. A quiet night with glasses of champagne and flirtatious glances.

But now, as the two of you were sleeping peacefully in your quiet room, your phones began to buzz. A violent series of notifications flooding both of your phones. You begin to stir first, rolling over slowly, pulling Ji-yongs arms off of you as you reached for your cellphone. A series of calls, texts, emails, all from your manager, publicist, assistant, even friends of yours. You blinked a few times, your eyes squinting at the bright screen as you opened up a text from your closest friend. A news article.

Unexpected Couple! Musician Y/N L/N Seen With K-Pop Idol G-Dragon at Chanel Fashion Show

You felt your heart plummet into your stomach. No, no, no. You had been so careful for so long. You scroll, your breath escaping you as you look at a photo of you and Ji-yong. His hands on your face, his lips on yours. Another photo of you looking up at him like he was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen (he was, to be fair). For a moment, you just stared blankly. Your thoughts struggle to catch up as your body seems to react for you. Nausea came over you. The room suddenly felt too small. The words on the screen burned into your eyes.

You looked at the top of your phone, seeing another phone call from your manager coming in. You ignore it, reaching over to your boyfriend and shaking him. “Ji?” You whisper. When he doesn’t immediately respond, your eyes begin to water. The anxiety, the fear, the stress catching up to you. It crawls up your spine like some sort of ugly clawed fingers reaching for your throat. You shake him again, a little more harsh as you croak. “Ji-yong.”

His eyes shot open. He flinches awake, looking around the room in a momentary panic before looking at you. First, he relaxes, realizing it’s just you. Then, his tired eyes take in yours. The tears threatening to spill over, your shaking frame, your heavy breathing. He sits up now, looking you over in concern. “Aein…? What’s wrong?” As he wakes up, he hears his phone. He turns to look at it, but the whimper from your lips stops him. Slowly, you hand your phone over. Ji-yong looks at you in confusion, but takes it and looks down.

Oh. 

Oh.

What was once a comforting silence now felt cold. The incessant vibrations of his phone on the nightstand made your ears ring. You crawled out of bed, wearing one of Ji-yong’s shirts as pajamas. You paced the carpeted floor, running your hands through your hair. Ji-yong remained silent. He read the article. Then he reread it. Then he read it again. He looked at the photos over and over. The title. The numerous texts you were getting. For a moment, he didn’t know how to react. He sat in the bed, dumbstruck. 

On one hand, part of him wanted to be relieved. The secret was out, and there was no reason to hide his love for you anymore. But this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. It was supposed to be on your terms. Organized by your teams. Some staged paparazzi sighting, or maybe a hard launch on your social medias. He wasn’t sure. The two of you never discussed it that far. Now there was no choice. All because he’d dragged you into his embrace in secret. A selfish moment, now on the cover of multiple articles.

Slowly, he put your phone down, putting it on silent before reaching for his own. He winced at the number of texts he was getting, reaching triple digits. He even saw texts from Taeyang and Daesung, two of the few people who knew about your relationship. But he didn’t answer anyone, turning his own phone off so he could set his attention on your pacing figure. “Jagiya,” He pulls himself out of bed, approaching you with soft eyes. You keep pacing, shaking your head as you try to sort your racing thoughts. “Jagiya, look at me,” He reaches for your hands, pulling you to face him completely. His heart ached as he saw the tears rolling down your cheeks. Your eyes wide with fear and worry. You wanted to go public. But not like this. You’d done so well at keeping your life private, and now it felt like it had been stripped away from you before you could even do it yourself. “I’m so sorry,” 

His words caught you off guard. There’s a heartbeat of silence as you look at him. Your brows crinkle together as you look at him. His sad, anxious expression as he guiltily looks away. “What?” You whisper, a moment of clarity through your emotional storm.

Ji-yong swallows, looking around the room as he holds your hands tightly. Your touch being the only thing grounding him to this moment. “If we hadn’t, if I hadn’t pulled you away, they wouldn’t have seen anything.” He explains. Your eyes dance over his face as you let what he’s saying register. You shake your head. “Ji,” You coo, reaching forward to push his mint hair out of his face. He looks at you, eyes sad and guilty. “It’s not your fault. We knew that there was a risk. Since day one.” You remind him. You were right. Since you started dating two years ago, there was always the possibility the media would find out about the two of you. Both of you are major stars, with public lives (to some degree). “I just, I can’t believe it got leaked at a Chanel show.”

Ji-yong is quiet for a moment, looking over at you. “The photos are cute.” He says. You look at him in surprise. You think about the photos, how oddly scenic they were, how the photographer had captured a genuinely sweet and beautiful moment. You couldn’t help but laugh, wiping at your tears. Ji-yong cracks a smile, though the worry in his eyes still evident. Not worried for himself, no, but worry for you.

“Our managers are going to kill us.” You say, your voice weak from crying and still being tired. Ji-yong nods his head. “What are we going to do?”

He looks at you, tilting his head slightly in curiosity. “What do you want to do?” He asks you. Naturally, the two of you drift towards each other. Your arms wrap around each others frames, Your face tucked into his neck as you close your eyes. His grip on you tight, still gentle, and protective. His fingers rake through your hair as he waits. No rush for you to answer. No rush to figure out the rest of the world. He lets you simmer in his touch, your mind still racing. 

You clutch onto him, not moving away from him as you start to talk. “I want you. That’s it. I want to be able to be with you. I’m not ashamed of being with you, Ji. I’m proud. So proud of you, being with you. I love you.” You feel his arms tighten around you. Slowly, you lift your head and look into his eyes. Now, they were glassy. 

Ji-yong blinks away the pending tears as he sniffles. “You’re the love of my life, Y/N,” He whispers, reaching up to push your hair out of your face. You lean into his touch. “I will never be afraid to say that.” 

You lean closer, kissing him softly. Your heart still pounding against your chest, your mind still a storm of fear and worry for what wrath you’d face from the media, but it didn’t matter. Not in the long run. You had Ji-yong. You loved Ji-yong more than you could ever explain to him or anyone else. And you knew that the two of you would figure it out together. You’d figure out everything together.

“Are you ready?” He asks you, looking at your phones on the bed. This was it. No more secret rendezvous. No more sneaking around. No more lying in interviews about your relationship status. Everybody knows now. There was no hiding from it now.

You smile at him, your eyes sparkling in the way he loved. You nod your head. “I’m ready,” You assure him.

And by the time the two of you would be leaving Paris, on your way back to Seoul, the entire world knew the secret you’d been keeping to yourselves. And in the early morning as you rushed out of your hotel with your security guards, you two didn’t hide from the paparazzi. Ji-yong walked with you, hand-in-hand, as you walked towards your car. The shouts of fans and cameras catch your attention. You smile and wave, blushing wildly as you realize this was real. 

Ji-yong stands up straighter, his hand tightening in yours as he pulls you close. His hand releases yours, only to wrap around your waist tightly as he leads you forward. Ji-yong opens the door for you, despite the security guard reaching for it. Fans scream in awe, and you lean over quickly to press a kiss on his cheek. A weight you didn’t know was there, suddenly lifted. You beamed as Ji-yong slid into the seat next to you. His expression matched yours. Filled with love, excitement, a certain fondness and admiration. “Au revoir, Paris,” Ji-yong muttered as the car started to move. You giggled, leaning into him as you looked around the streets.

“Taeyang and Daesung will never let us hear the end of this.” You muttered, playing with Ji-yong's fingers absentmindedly. A gentle groan comes from Ji-yong, causing you to laugh again. An infinite amount of teasing and playful jokes awaited the two of you back home. Along with a million questions from friends, coworkers, the media, and who knows who else. But you were okay with that. It hadn’t been completely on your terms, but it was yours. Ji-yong was yours.

And if nothing else, it made your stories about Paris far more entertaining.

[renren-006]

Dedication | Ethan Hunt x fem reader!

plot: you stuck by ethans side, and he finally tell you how much he appreciates it

SPOILERS FOR MI8- FINAL RECKONING

a/n: okay i really just wanted to say my thoughts in the movie and that starts with saying he looks great for 64 like good god. I also besides that loved how intense and suspenseful it was! second! I want to post some more stuff for Ethan so if you have any ideas pls send in a request! also I am doing my very best with plot and trying to remember the dialogue but it was just released so bear with me 😂

In the wake of things with the entity, your first thought was that this wouldn’t ever become as big of a problem as it had, at first, you thought you’d be home the next week, curling up on the couch next to Ethan. Life had other plans.

"I dont want to keep putting people in danger...let alone you" he told you as you sat together at the end of his fight.

"Well, that's not for you to decide," you told him, "Like it or not, Hunt, we are in this together." Ethan smiled at you, something loving. You smiled back the same. Life had been hard for the two of you; between the evil men Ethan dealt with on a daily, the secrets you kept from people, and your government daily, "We will disavow you if you keep going rouge," your life had always been bumpy.

The next few months were spent away from Ethan. Despite your arguments over it and Benji's practice of clogging his ears so he would not hear it, you spent them trying to keep an eye on Luther, Benji, and Grace. Gabriel was in the wind, and you had a hard time trying to find him. When you did, he would disappear.

****

"Are you real?" he asked after he had pulled himself out of the entity machine. He felt your face and pulled you close, trying to see every portion of it. You saw Benji holding him up.

"Yes, I'm real, Ethan," you told him before he pulled you in for a desperate kiss. In all the years you had known him, he had always kept your relationship and professionalism separate in front of others, but today, Ethan didn't care. Ethan's look made you realize this would be the last time you would see him for a few days.

"Don't go on the Ice, Please," he pleaded.

Ethan ran out of the building where he was being held to save Luther and get caught by the authorities. You went to run after him but Degs and Benji both stopped you

"You can't! You can't!" Benji said, making you face him as he held your arms together. Benji and you had been friends long before you met Ethan and fell in love with him.

That first mission with Benji and Jane out in the field was also the mission you met Ethan fresh out of prison. You remember the turmoil you fought on that mission and the way Benji talked your ear off about how you couldn't shy away from something in this line of work- especially when finding someone you could spend your life with. It wasn't until after that mission that you told Ethan, and he spoke about his own inner turmoil. The two of you worked together for quite a while before Ethan one day pulled you into an ally before a mission and kissed you. "It's stupid for me not to be with you, regardless of the risks," Ethan had told you, making you smile. The two of you were on the run together and you knew you would do anything for him after that.

"He can't do this alone, Benji. I need..." you told him, looking back at the ally he had run out of. You wanted to help; you needed to. "He needs us to do something else! You won't be any good following him" Benji told you. You knew he was right.

"Benji," a pleading voice escaped your thought. You felt yourself fall apart in Benji's arms in those moments.

"I know! It's okay!" he concluded you.

****

The plane ride was silent most of the way over to the island. Grace sat next to you with Paris nearby. Paris and yourself had somehow created an unlikely bond. You knew a part of it was because she knew about your relationship with Ethan and found herself becoming a bodyguard to keep you alive.

"How long have you known him?" Paris asked, her French accent thick as she spoke.

"I knew him about as long as Benji has," you told her, "I mean, we didn't officially meet till we went into the field together"

"What was the first mission you did together?" Grace asked, intrigued about learning about the two of your lives.

"We....had to recover stolen Russian nuclear launch codes," you told them, Grace's face fell. Paris laughed slightly. "That mission was the one that, uh, got the Kremlin blown up"

"You were there for that?" Grace asked, shocked, you nodded your head.

"I was with Agent Carter, so I wasn't in the line of fire like Ethan, but yes, I was there," you told him. "that mission was the most stressful, not the most out of all of them, but at the time, I swear I thought I actually was risking my life." "What about now?" Paris asked, clearly meaning this mission.

"This mission is the biggest one I've been a part of. If we fail this one, I don't know what I would do with myself"

****

You dove into that water to pull out Ethan. Grace and the woman watched and helped pull both of you out when you resurfaced. You crawled in the hyperbaric chamber next to him, brought him back, and cradled him during his fits.

“Where is it?” Ethan asked after his battle with hypothermia and hypoxia. He turned to find you lying beside him in nothing more than some biker shorts and a loose tank that didn’t hide anything. You pulled the drive up to show him. His face relaxed at the sight.

"Ethan, I thought I lost you," you told him, "the way you looked..." "I'm alive, y/n," he said, holding your face. "I'm here with you again."

"I have never been more thankful for that," you told him, pulling him close.

****

"I need you to stay safe," Ethan told you before he entered the underground base. You nodded your head and Paris stepped in close.

"I got her," Paris told him.

"Your team leader now, Benji. Keep everyone safe," Ethan said before the moments that you all had waited for so long.

In the end, Benji did protect his team, and you found Ethan alive and well. You ran up to him and hugged him close, the dust on your face matched the blood and overall exhaustion he was sporting.

"Despite all the risks, I've never been more glad that I am with you," Ethan said. He reminded you of all those years ago when you first met him and fell in love.

"What will we do now with all the risks gone?" you asked. "Who knows If they are," he said devilishly, knowing that danger always seems to find him.

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Hello love reading your mikaelson fics especially the yandere ones

If u want how bout Yandere sugar daddies klaus and Elijah sharing sugar baby reader wants to become exclusive(to be lovers) but reader is not sure if she wants too. She’s scared to take the next level. Pls smut if u can

She had become their Sugar Baby when they overheard her conversation with Elena, Bonnie and Caroline about her current Sugar Daddy being a piece of shit who just wants to fuck her and drop her, no more taking care of her.

Klaus and Elijah had never had that kind of relationship before so it was definitely different, but of course they could afford to give her everything.

Y/n had stayed at the bar after her friends left and Elijah approached her, buying her another drink and asking her to join them. She was cautious but they could see she was also intrigued.

Elijah had been obsessed with her since he first came to Mystic Falls, and while he had had several relationships over his lifetime, none of them had made him feel like Y/n did. He had watched over her the whole time he was in town, until of course his brother daggered him. Klaus had become interested in her upon returning to the town with Stefan to fix his Hybrid problem. He’d sent her a drink before having to leave again and promising to make her his upon his return to the town. They had started talking the night before when everyone had been in un-daggered and upon realizing they were obsessed with the same girl, they decided to have her together, they had done it once as humans with Tatia, why not now when they were far more well off and able to give her everything she wants?

They bought her a few drinks and just talked, asking what it was she needed from a Sugar Daddy, explaining what they wanted from her and it all seemed rather perfect. They invited her to be their date to their families Ball the next night and promised her the perfect outfit, and the brothers were thrilled when she agreed.

She had allowed them to drive her home and while she didn’t invite them in, at least they know where she lives now and they Hate that it’s an apartment on the edge of the town. Klaus went home and found the perfect dress for her to wear to the Ball and Elijah picked out some jewelry for her to wear with it. There’s no way their girl wouldn’t be the most perfect Princess at the Ball.

That was how it all started. They paid her bills for her and she spent nearly all day every day with them unless they had a supernatural problem to deal with. Elijah loved taking her shopping, she would go with him to help him decide what suits looked the best on him, he loves having her opinion and hearing her tell him how handsome he looks. Klaus enjoyed spoiling her in other ways, whisking her away for an overnight trip to Paris on a jet (Klaus for the food and Elijah for the shopping), A quick stop in Italy when he insisted she needed to know what ‘real’ pasta was like, and even a stop over in New Orleans for the ‘Worlds Best Beignets’. Y/n both loved and hated the fact that Klaus enjoyed feeding her, he watched her eat like it was the most fascinating, beautiful thing in the world and he was definitely turned on by it.

It was a month into the relationship that Y/n began noticing them behaving a little more…personal? They became far more touchy with her, which was nice but she began to realize it felt different. The way they looked at her was as if staring into her soul, and while most Sugar Daddies enjoy people looking at their babies, wanting to show them off to the world as if to say “Look at what I have, you could never afford her”, Klaus and Elijah were jealous, possessive even.

Once Klaus had nearly beaten a man on the street into a coma for looking at her too long she knew she needed to say something.

‘We need to talk.’ She spoke as they sat down in Y/n’s room in their home that they had gifted her, now full of all of her many, many, many clothes. Both men looked shocked but waited patiently for what she needed to say. ‘This isn’t normal, and I’m not sure what to do with that. I’ve been a sugar baby since I was 16, I love it, I enjoy being taken care of and shown off like I’m special.’

‘You are special.’ Klaus responded, taking her hand and kissing her palm, pressing her soft hand to his face but for the first time she pulled away from his touch and he instantly didn’t like that.

‘But it feels like you don’t want to show me off, you don’t want other men looking at me like every other man ever! What guy doesn’t want others to look at their girl? That’s always been half the point for the men I spend time with, you almost killed that man the other day Klaus! And you! You growled at a man checking me out at the register 2 days ago! What is wrong with you guys?!’ They could see she was frustrated and they wanted to make her feel better.

‘We love you Princess. We love you so much and we want you to be ours.’ Elijah admitted and her eyes widened in shock.

‘What? No, no, no…that’s not what this is guys, this isn’t a real relationship, why would…why would you want a girl to treat you like a living bank account? I don’t-‘

‘You love us just as much as we love you and you know it, you just try to hide it, we refuse to do so.’ The suited man responded and she didn’t seem to know what to say.

‘Admit it, you don’t treat us like every other guy you were with, you care for us, and we like buying our girl nice things if you haven’t noticed, love. We enjoy spoiling you and showering you in clothes and nice food, everything you want, however we do not enjoy other men thinking they have the right to stare at what is ours. You are gorgeous, Bunny, every inch of you…and every inch of you is ours.’ Klaus growled from deep in his chest and Y/n hated how much she loved the sound.

‘I’ve never had a real relationship and I don’t want one! Men know what they’re getting into with me, there’s no hidden agenda or misunderstandings. There’s no pain when you cheat or leave and I don’t want that! I can’t-I’m sorry. I can’t.’ She stood up, walking to the door and grabbing her bag when suddenly the door was slammed shut, Klaus cutting her exit off.

‘Where are you going? You live here now my love.’ She took a step back, she had never been afraid of Klaus and unlike everyone else in the world she knew he would never hurt her, but she also didn’t know what lengths he would go to to keep her.

‘My apartment, I need to think, I want to be alone right now.’

‘Apartment? We had you moved out of there weeks ago Princess, you’re ours now.’ Her eyes widened and she took several steps back before hitting the wall and sliding down to the floor. ‘We know you love us, and we understand that you’re afraid of being hurt but that’s not an option with us Y/n, we will never leave you, you’ll never lose us, we’ll never die. We’re immortal-‘

‘But I’m Not!’ She shouted and the brothers looked at each other for a moment before Klaus kneeled down beside her, kissing her palm once again and holding it to his face.

‘We can fix that problem right now.’ Y/n sucked in a breath, looking from Klaus back to Elijah in shock but he just tilted his head as if waiting for an answer.

‘Have you been planning this?’

‘We’ve been hoping for you to agree to be ours since before we had drinks…we love you Princess and we don’t plan on letting you go. We know you love us too…please just let us have you?’ As Elijah spoke, Klaus kissed his way up her arm and tilted her head to bare her throat, kissing and sucking his way up to her jaw before down to her chest.

‘Why me? After 1000 years, why me? How do I know you won’t get bored and leave?’ She hated how vulnerable and weak she sounded but they already knew how lonely and scared she was, keeping herself unavailable to keep from getting hurt.

‘We both fell in love with you a long time ago Princess, you’ve been mine since the day I came to Mystic Falls.’

‘And mine since I sent you that first drink.’ Klaus mumbled against her chest where he continued sucking love bites onto her perfect flesh.

‘You’re already ours Y/n…all that’s left is for you to admit it.’ Elijah tucked her hair behind her ear before leaning closer, kissing along her jawline and she knew she was done for. No women can have 2 Mikaelson’s sucking on their neck and chest and then reject them, physically impossible!

Her fingers tucked into both of their hair and held onto them desperately. ‘Please?’ That was all she said, but it was all she needed to say before Klaus’ hands grabbed ahold of her thighs and lifted her up effortlessly, dropping her onto the bed the next second and tearing her dress right down the front. ‘Hey! Not the dress!’

‘Bunny, I’ll buy you 100 more dresses tomorrow if that’s what you want but anything that obstructs my view of your perfect body deserves to be torn to shreds.’ Her bra was torn off next and Klaus finally got his lips around her breasts like he had clearly wanted, or so she thought. Elijah’s lips claimed hers roughly as Klaus kissed and nipped his way down her stomach and hips, pulling down her panties and revealing her pussy to him. ‘My God, you are a dripping mess, aren’t you? Did we do this?’ The hybrid questioned just as she was unbuttoning Elijah’s shirt and shoving it off of his shoulders.

‘Answer him Princess.’ Elijah teased, biting her lip between his teeth harshly and making her whine.

‘Obviously you did! Now fix it!’ Her voice demanded and pulled Elijah by the tie that was still around his neck despite his upper body being naked before she suddenly cried out. Elijah pulled back, looking down to see Klaus with his fangs buried into her thigh, tasting her as her thighs sat on his shoulders and his fingers rubbed at her clit slowly and teasingly.

‘How is she?’ He asked his younger brother who just groaned in response, but it was all he needed. Despite their girl having known they were vampires, they had yet to taste her, wanting to save it for just this occasion. Elijah leaned back down to his Princess, baring her neck for him and licking her throat teasingly before biting into her lovely flesh, her blood filling his mouth with what was possibly the best taste he had ever experienced. His hand cupped her breast, squeezing roughly and listening to her heart beat speed up as her hips ground against Klaus’ hand, her overwhelmed senses unable to take the stimulation before she came, crying out as they both pulled back, cleaning her blood from their bite marks.

‘T-too much…’ she whined, nuzzling into Elijah’s neck and holding onto him tightly.

‘Too much? Too Much?’ Klaus asked, teasingly as he crawled back up her body, kissing over her shoulders. ‘Well if that’s too much, you’re about to be in trouble Bunny.’ Suddenly her body was completely turned around, Klaus now pressing his lips to hers as Elijah sat her up and held her back to his chest. Elijah used her slick from her previous orgasm to spread over his cock as Klaus lined his cock up with her pussy and thrust his hips up, bottoming out immediately making her cry out, arms wrapping around his neck tightly as she trembled.

‘Gentle Niklaus, our Princess is giving herself to us, the least we can do is handle her with care.’ He half teased and half scolded.

‘My Bunny is loving every second of my cock in her tight little cunt, aren’t you Bunny?’ Y/n whined before nodding her head into his neck where she held him tightly.

‘Please move?’ She begged but Klaus just shook his head.

‘Not yet love, we need to give Elijah a chance to join in.’ Her eyes flew open as she seemed to suddenly understand what he means and she began pulling back, making Klaus hold her to his chest tightly.

‘Come now Princess, we know you’ve done this before-‘

‘With One Guy! Not This! I don’t-‘ Klaus cut her off with his lips against hers roughly , thrusting up into her and silencing her complaints.

‘If you can tell me you don’t want this, and be convincing, then we will stop right now.’ Elijah promised and she just whined, knowing she had dreamed of exactly this position one too many times, he often enjoyed watching her dreams and they were almost always wet dreams about the both of them.

‘Hurry up brother, I will not wait forever.’ Klaus growled, pulling her as close as he could and pressing his lips to hers again which she tried to focus on as she was so over stimulated already upon feeling Elijah’s cock pressing against her hole. He pushed his hips forward and stretched her out slowly, pausing as she whined before continuing, pressing his lips to the back of her neck to comfort her.

‘Just let me in Princess, you know you want to.’ He teased, rolling his hips as he felt her try and relax her body again, shoving the last 2 inches into her tight hole and hearing her squeal. ‘Are you alright?’ She nodded into Klaus’ chest just before the Hybrid thrust his hips up, causing her to move on Elijah’s cock as well which made her cry out quite loudly.

‘There’s our girl, scream for us Bunny!’ She cried out again into his neck and they both loved her loud reactions. Elijah was pushing into her hard now, already fucking her ass harder than the only other guy that ever did it.

‘Fuck Elijah!’

‘That’s right Princess, squeezing my cock so Goddamn tight! I knew you would love this, your ass is so perfect, how could she not love my cock?’ Elijah was practically needy to know that he makes her feel better than that idiot that fucked her before.

‘Fuck! Please-Ah!’

‘That’s a good girl. Cum for us Bunny, I know you want to. Want us to fill your tight little holes more than they ever have been before. Cum!’ Klaus growled into her throat and just as their girl wailed, they buried their fangs into her flesh once again, the both of them cumming hard into her sore holes. Something about knowing that their girl was more fucked out and full than she had ever been before was almost enough to make them cum again.

As her breathing and heart rate began to slow they both pulled back, Elijah biting into Klaus’ neck roughly to start the blood flow before pressing Y/n’s lips against the bloody bite mark. ‘That’s a good girl, drink for us Princess, drink nice and deep.’

‘Fuck Bunny! Already such sharp teeth!’ Klaus grunted, feeling her bite her dull teeth against the open wound to keep it from closing quickly. ‘Such a good girl.’ He moaned, loving the feeling of her biting into him, desperate for more of his blood.

‘We love you Princess, and when you wake up you’ll be all ours…for the rest of eternity.’ Elijah spoke, Y/n finally pulling away and allowing them to see her, Klaus’ blood dripping down her chin.

‘Going to make such a gorgeous vampire, aren’t you precious?’ She nodded, holding onto Klaus and pressing her lips to his just as Elijah took her neck in his hands and twisted as gently as he could.

They quickly cleaned her and themselves up, Klaus dressing her while Elijah went and fetched a few blood bags, laying beside their girl as they waited for her to wake up into their eternity together.

Elijah Mikaelson Masterlist

Klaus Mikaelson Masterlist

[moonmaiden1996]

Love at First Sight (According to Nagumo, Anyway) Part 2

I honestly didn't think this story would be as popular as it was. Here is part two. I love this man! Requests are open for him!

The bell above the door jingled as you stepped into Sakamoto’s convenience store for the second night in a row. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly, casting a dim glow over the aisles of instant noodles and neatly stacked snack packs. It was late, you were exhausted, and the only thing keeping you upright was the promise of caffeine.

What you didn’t expect was the man waiting for you like a lovesick puppy.

Nagumo was already there—this time perched cross-legged on the counter, juggling a few snack packs with the effortless grace of someone who had far too much energy for this hour. The motion was fluid, almost mesmerizing, but it all came to a screeching halt the moment he caught sight of you.

His entire face lit up like a firework.

“She’s back,” he breathed, voice dripping with awe, as if your mere presence had turned his world right-side up again. All at once, he lost control of his juggling act, snacks tumbling to the floor and rolling away unnoticed. In one smooth motion, he leapt off the counter, landing in front of you with the practiced ease of a man who had spent his life making grand entrances.

You blinked at him, unimpressed. “...Do I know you?”

Nagumo froze mid-smirk.

Behind him, Sakamoto let out a long-suffering sigh from his place behind the register, his expression screaming, why is this my life?

Nagumo, however, looked as if you had just physically struck him. His hand clutched his chest dramatically, eyes wide with betrayal. “You—” He pointed at himself. “Don’t remember me?”

Your gaze flickered over him. Messy hair, smug yet strangely charming grin, an energy that radiated mischief and unwavering confidence—none of it rang a bell. “No?”

Nagumo staggered back, gripping the counter for support as if he had taken a mortal wound. “No?” he echoed in disbelief.

Sakamoto rubbed his temples, not even bothering to look up. “She was exhausted last time. You probably didn’t leave much of an impression.”

Nagumo gasped, turning on him like he’d just been betrayed a second time. “How could I not leave an impression?!”

Sakamoto shrugged, utterly indifferent.

Nagumo turned back to you, determination blazing in his sharp eyes. “Okay, okay. Let’s fix this.” He smoothed out his jacket, took a deep breath, and then flashed you the most dazzling smile he could muster. It was the kind of smile that could sell you anything, the kind that dripped with charm and dangerous intent all at once.

“I’m Nagumo. Master of disguise, incredibly skilled assassin, and—most importantly—your future husband.”

You stared at him, then glanced at Sakamoto for confirmation. “He’s joking, right?”

Sakamoto didn’t even glance up. “I wish.”

Nagumo pouted, but there was an eager glint in his eyes, as if he found your skepticism utterly endearing. “Come on, don’t look at me like that. We had a moment yesterday.”

You squinted. “When?”

“When you spoke to me,” he said, as if that explained everything. “That word made me fall in love with you even more.”

“…Move?”

Nagumo sighed dreamily. “She said it again. My heart cannot take it.”

You exhaled sharply and stepped past him toward the fridge, your patience already wearing thin. “Listen, I’ve had a long day, I’m tired, and I just want my coffee. I can’t… I don’t… I want nothing to do with this.” You scrubbed your eyes tiredly. Maybe it wasn’t them; maybe you were hallucinating. That would make more sense than this…

Nagumo followed, utterly undeterred. “I can make your days better, you know. Imagine this: you wake up, and I’m already making breakfast—probably something impressive, like a perfect omelet. Followed by a back massage. Then, we go on a date. Maybe just the park. Maybe Paris. I’m flexible. I am very flexible, if you know what I mean.” His eyes wiggled frantically in front of your face.

You grabbed a can of coffee and shut the fridge door in his face.

“Not interested in you or how flexible you are.”

Nagumo gasped, reeling back as if you had just delivered a killing blow. He turned to Sakamoto, devastated. “She rejected me again.”

Sakamoto, unbothered, continued ringing up your drink. “You’re surprised? You’re being a creep.”

Nagumo turned back to you, his expression shifting from mock devastation to something more resolute. His amber eyes softened, but the mischief never fully left them. “That’s okay. I love a challenge.”

You groaned, trudging toward the register. “This is harassment.”

Nagumo grinned, trailing after you. “It’s romance.”

Sakamoto sighed, tapping the loudly beeping register. “Please stop encouraging him. ”

Nagumo placed a hand over his heart as if making a solemn vow. “I am but a humble man in love, Sakamoto. I will make her see how I am her perfect husband.”

You paid, took your drink, and turned toward the exit. “I’m leaving now.”

Nagumo leaned against the counter, watching you go with the kind of expression that belonged in a dramatic romance film. “See you tomorrow, my dear. I’ll be waiting! Your devoted husband-to-be…”

You didn’t even dignify that with a response.

The moment the door shut behind you, Nagumo exhaled sharply, slumping onto the counter. His fingers curled into his jacket as he stared at the door with an expression of pure longing.

“Man, she’s perfect.”

Sakamoto gave him a flat look. “You’re a disaster.”

Nagumo grinned, undeterred. “A romantic disaster.”

Outside, you cracked open the ice-cold coffee. “I gotta find a new convenience store. This one is full of weirdos. Assassin my ass.”

[kittenan2]

Diamond Necklace

Pairing: Jung Hoseok (J-Hope) x Reader Genre: Romance, Smut, Idol AU, Fanfiction Rating: Explicit (18+), contains mature themes, sexual content, and strong language Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, possessive behavior, light dom/sub dynamics, mentions of alcohol, obsessive thoughts, and public teasing. Proceed with caution. Summary: A flirty dance cover of BTS’s Dynamite with a cheeky “diamond necklace” innuendo blows up, catching the eye of J-Hope himself. What starts as spicy DMs with a mysterious stranger spirals into a steamy, obsessive night in Seoul that leaves you marked—literally and figuratively. Word Count: ~3.5k

The bass of Sweet Dreams pulsed through your cramped apartment, your phone balanced on a precarious stack of novels. You’d spent weeks perfecting this dance cover—every hip pop, every smirk, every flick of your wrist dialed to precision. Your cropped hoodie rode up with each sway, flashing a glimpse of skin, while your leggings hugged every curve. As the final note hit, you struck a pose: lip bitten, eyes smoldering, a playful wink thrown at the camera.

You collapsed onto the couch, breathless, and grabbed your phone for the outro. “Alright, Army, I’m wrecked,” you laughed, sweeping damp bangs from your face. “But real talk? I’d sell my soul for a diamond necklace from J-Hope. Too much to ask?” Your smirk lingered, the innuendo dripping for the fans who’d get it. You hit post without a second thought.

The “diamond necklace” line was a nod to Army Twitter’s filthier corners, where fans traded sly jokes about Hoseok’s charm. J-Hope was your bias—his radiant energy, fluid dance moves, and that killer smirk were your undoing. You didn’t expect the reel to do more than your usual few thousand likes.

By morning, it was at two million views.

Your notifications were a warzone:

“Y/N, YOU WILD FOR THIS 😭” “DIAMOND NECKLACE? GIRL, I’M DEAD 💀” “Living our Hobi thirst dreams, we stan 😍”

Fan edits poured in—slow-mo clips of your hips rolling to Daydream, your hair flip synced to Ego. Brands slid into your DMs, but so did the weirdos. As a small-time Instagram influencer known for K-pop covers and flirty vlogs, this was your brand: bold, teasing, a little dirty. Just another day.

Until it wasn’t.

In a dimly lit Paris hotel room, Jung Hoseok sprawled across a king-sized bed, phone glowing against the dark. He’d been following you for months on a burner Instagram account—@random7digits, no pic, no trace. Not even his members knew.

It started with a fan edit of you slaying his Chicken Noodle Soup choreo, your sensual precision making his pulse spike. He’d binged your profile: dance covers, thirst traps, Q&As where you answered with a wink. You were magnetic, and he was addicted.

Then came the “diamond necklace” reel.

Hoseok watched it on loop, your sultry moves and that bold line—“a diamond necklace from J-Hope”—hitting like a shot of adrenaline. The innuendo was filthy, and it stirred something possessive. He knew you were teasing the fandom, but it felt personal, like a dare meant for him.

“She’s trouble,” he muttered, smirking. “And I want it.”

His thumb hovered over your DMs. From his burner, he typed:

Careful, princess. Wishing for diamonds like that might get you in trouble.

He hit send, heart racing, already hooked on the game.

You woke to a DM that stopped you cold:

Careful, princess. Wishing for diamonds like that might get you in trouble.

The account was a blank—random numbers, no face. Probably a troll, but the cocky tone sent a thrill down your spine. You bit your lip, typing:

Trouble? My favorite kind. You offering diamonds or just talk?

His reply was instant:

More than diamonds, princess. But you gotta earn ‘em.

Your stomach flipped. This guy had game. Over the next week, the DMs became your fix—each message bolder, hotter, laced with tension. He matched your flirtation with a mix of charm and edge, keeping you glued to your phone.

That dance today… you know what you’re doing. Teasing like that’s gonna get you in deep.

You upped the ante, posting a story for him: a slow-motion Ego cover, your body rolling in a tight tank top, sweat gleaming on your collarbone. Caption: Deep? Only if you can keep up.

His response was a video: no face, just a lean, toned torso in grey sweats, moving to Mic Drop with lethal precision. His abs flexed, hands—long fingers, veins popping—tugging his waistband low, revealing a V-line that made you choke.

Keep up with this, princess.

You rewatched it, thighs pressed together, heat pooling. You sent a photo: you in a lacy bralette, leaning forward to flaunt cleavage, lips parted. Your move, mystery man.

The escalation was relentless. His voice notes(using voice changer)—low, husky—were pure sin. “You keep sending shit like that, I’m gonna lose it,” he growled, the words sinking into you. You fired back a breathy note: “Good. I want you wrecked.”

One night, after a Butter cover where your hips swayed and fingers traced your neck, he snapped:

You’re begging for it, aren’t you? Touching yourself like that, knowing I’m watching.

He wasn’t wrong—you’d been thinking of him, this faceless stranger who had you unraveling. You typed, reckless:

Maybe I am. Gonna do something about it?

His reply was a photo: his hand gripping a whiskey glass, knuckles tense, a silver ring glinting. Keep pushing. I’ll give you everything you’re asking for.

You pushed harder—a shower clip, steam blurring the glass, your silhouette teasing as water slid down your shoulders. Oops. Slipped.

His response was feral: You’re fucking killing me. That body… I’m gonna ruin you.

The game was addictive, each message a spark setting you both on fire. You didn’t know his name, but he was under your skin.

Ten days in, he dropped a bomb:

Meet me. Seoul. This weekend. Lotte Hotel penthouse. No questions, just us. Say yes.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Meeting a stranger who’d been driving you wild? Insane. But the promise of that penthouse, the mystery, the way his words made you ache—it was too much to resist.

You typed, fingers trembling:

You’re nuts. Rules: safe word, no sketchy shit, and you better be as hot as you sound.

His reply:

Safe word’s ‘sunshine.’ I’ll take care of you, princess. You won’t regret it.

You spent the next days in a frenzy, packing, texting your best friend (“If I die in Seoul, avenge me”), and boarding a flight. The uncertainty only fueled your want.

The Lotte Hotel was a glittering maze of marble and gold. The penthouse was obscene—black marble floors, silk-draped bed, a bottle of champagne chilling in ice. The air was heavy, intoxicating.

You stepped inside, heels clicking. “Hello?” Your voice wavered. No answer. Your pulse raced as you set your bag down, nerves and anticipation colliding.

You poured champagne, the bubbles sharp on your tongue. Then you felt it—a shift in the air, a presence behind you. You turned.

He stood in the shadows, black cap low, fitted shirt clinging to a lean frame, dark jeans slung low. He moved like a predator, all controlled power. Then he lifted his cap.

Jung Hoseok. J-Hope. Your bias.

Your glass almost shattered on the floor.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, legs buckling. “You’re… him.”

He smirked, closing the distance, eyes dark and possessive. “Still want that diamond necklace, princess?” His voice was velvet, laced with sin, sending heat to your core.

You couldn’t speak, brain short-circuiting. Hoseok—Hoseok—was real, devastatingly hot, his gaze promising everything.

“I…” You swallowed. “Yes.”

His smirk deepened, predatory yet soft. “Good girl.”

Hoseok stepped into your space, his cologne—musky, spiced—flooding your senses. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb dragging across your lip with deliberate slowness.

“Been dreaming about you,” he murmured, lips close. “Every night, watching you tease me. You’ve got no idea what you do.”

Your breath hitched, hands gripping his shirt, feeling muscle beneath. His kiss was filthy—tongue sweeping, teeth nipping, all hunger. You moaned, melting into him as he backed you against the wall, the cool surface a shock against your heated skin.

His hands gripped your hips, pressing himself against you. You gasped—he was hard, straining against his jeans.

“Feel that?” he growled, grinding slowly. “All for you.”

He lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the bed. He pinned your wrists, his other hand yanking your dress up to reveal soaked lace panties.

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes raking over you. “Dripping already.”

He tore the lace, the rip loud. His mouth was on you—hot, relentless, tongue swirling over your clit, then plunging inside. You screamed, hips bucking, but he pinned your thighs, devouring you like a man starved.

“Hoseok—fuck,” you gasped, trembling. His fingers joined, curling deep, hitting your G-spot with precision.

“Taste so good,” he rasped, lips glistening. “Could do this all night.”

He edged you, pulling back as you neared the peak, leaving you whimpering. “Please,” you begged, tears pricking.

“Not yet,” he said, licking his lips. “You cum with me inside.”

He stripped, revealing lean abs, sweat-slick skin. His jeans dropped, and you stared—he was thick, veined, glistening. He climbed over you, kissing you, letting you taste yourself.

“Ready?” he whispered, softer now, checking in.

“Yes,” you breathed, arching into him.

He pushed in, slow and deep, the stretch intense. He paused, forehead against yours, breath ragged. “So tight,” he groaned. “Perfect.”

His thrusts were powerful, each one hitting deep, his hips angled to strike your G-spot. The bed creaked, headboard slamming as he drove into you. His dirty talk was relentless:

“Wanted my cum, didn’t you? Begging for it in front of whole world.” he growled, biting your neck. “Gonna mark you, make you mine.”

His fingers found your clit, rubbing tight circles. You screamed, the edge nearing. He denied you once more, stopping as you trembled, leaving you a sobbing mess.

“Please, Hoseok,” you cried. “Need it.”

“Okay, princess,” he murmured. “Cum for me.”

His thrusts deepened, fingers relentless. Your orgasm crashed, vision whiting out, body convulsing as you screamed his name. He fucked you through it, thrusts erratic, then pulled out, spilling across your chest and neck, marking you in thick, warm ropes.

“Mine,” he whispered, smearing his release across your collarbone, sealing the claim.

Hoseok collapsed beside you, both of you slick with sweat. He pulled you close, lips soft on your forehead, your cheeks.

“You okay?” he murmured, brushing hair from your face.

“Better than okay,” you whispered, dazed.

He smiled—bright, sunny, your heart stuttering. He cleaned you gently with a warm towel, then pulled a velvet box from the nightstand. A diamond necklace—delicate, sparkling—clicked around your neck, his lips brushing the clasp.

“Next time you want something,” he said, low, “you come to me.”

You laughed, still reeling. “Think I just did.”

He grinned, tucking you into his arms. You fell asleep, the necklace a cool weight against your skin.

You woke alone, panic flaring until you saw the note:

Flight to catch. Keep the necklace. Call me when you want more. - H

A Polaroid showed Hoseok, shirtless, smirking, holding a card: Mine.

Your phone buzzed—a text from his official Instagram:

Liked your necklace, baby. Ready for round two?

You grinned, typing: Only if you bring a matching bracelet.

Days later, you filmed a Blood Sweat & Tears cover, the diamond necklace glinting, hickeys blooming across your collarbone. Your hips rolled, fingers tracing the marks, a smirk for the camera.

The reel went viral. Army lost it:

“Y/N, THOSE HICKEYS?? SPILL 😳” “DIAMOND NECKLACE AND LOVE BITES? QUEEN SHIT” “Isn't this J-HOPE coded?? I’M UNWELL”

Twitter exploded with edits—zooms of your marked skin set to Euphoria. Theories flew: “Y/N’s mystery man is an idol, bet it’s Hobi.”

A DM from Hoseok’s official account: a screenshot of a tweet: Y/N’s hickeys + necklace = J-HOPE CLAIMED HER, I’M SCREAMING.

His message:

Showing off my work, princess. Wear those marks like a crown.

You typed back, grinning:

Just giving the people what they want. More next time?

His reply:

Count on it. Bracelet’s ready. So’s round two.

You touched the necklace, the hickeys tingling. The world could guess, but only you knew—and the promise of more burned bright.

A/n: Okay so my 2AM thoughts are getting wild I guess. But seriously all I need is diamond necklace from J-Hope. Is it too much to ask? 🤭

P.S.: My @kittenan account tumblr messaging is not working and also I am unable to comment. So I created a backup account. Please follow and support.

Taglist: @the-djarin-clan . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe  . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Charmed in Monte Carlo

Word count: 1.2k

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: During a solo vacation to Monaco, Y/n's evening at the Monte Carlo Casino takes an unexpected turn when a mysterious flirtation leads to a charming and playful encounter

______________________________________________________________

Y/n had been planning this solo trip to Monaco for years. No one had ever been available to join her, but this time, she wasn’t going to let that stop her. She booked the trip, packed her suitcase with the finest summer outfits, and hopped on a plane to the luxurious city she had long dreamed of.

When she arrived, the bright Mediterranean sun greeted her, casting a golden hue over the pristine streets and sparkling water. Y/n immediately felt at peace, like she’d made the right decision to come here on her own. The first few days passed in a blissful blur of exploration. She strolled through Monaco's elegant boulevards, shopped at chic boutiques, dined in gourmet restaurants, and sat at sun-soaked cafés, content to people-watch as life unfolded around her.

Each café stop became its own little adventure. She sipped espresso in Le Café de Paris while tourists flocked to the nearby casino, and at a quieter spot near Port Hercules, she watched as yachts sailed in, glittering against the sapphire waters. She couldn’t help but imagine the lives of the people who owned them—what their stories were, how they spent their days. There was something about Monaco, the intersection of old-world charm and modern luxury, that felt intoxicating.

On her fourth evening in Monaco, she decided to visit the famous Monte Carlo Casino, the ultimate symbol of the city’s elegance and charm. This was the part of the trip she had been most excited about. She wanted to experience the casino’s history, glamour, and its opulence firsthand, even if she wasn’t much of a gambler.

Dressed in a sleek, fitted black dress with a plunging neckline that showed off just enough to be intriguing, she felt a surge of confidence. She paired it with strappy heels and a bold red lip, knowing she looked good but not caring if anyone else noticed. This trip was for her, after all.

The casino’s entrance was grand, with an air of exclusivity, but Y/n walked in as if she belonged there. Inside, the crystal chandeliers sparkled like diamonds, and the floor was abuzz with the sound of laughter, the clatter of chips, and the whirl of roulette wheels. Y/n’s breath caught in her throat for a moment, taking in the sight of it all. The grandeur was even more overwhelming than she had imagined.

Not wanting to jump straight into the gaming tables, she headed to the bar and ordered a cocktail—a French 75 to match the elegance of the night. She found a spot by the side, leaning against a pillar, the perfect vantage point to indulge in her favorite pastime: people-watching. From her spot, she observed glamorous couples dressed to the nines, elegant women draped in couture, and men in sharp tuxedos throwing around bets like they were nothing. It was fascinating.

"Looks like someone’s lost in thought," a smooth, amused voice said from behind her, startling her slightly. She didn’t turn around, deciding to play along.

"Is it that obvious?" she replied, taking another sip of her drink, a slight smile tugging at her lips.

"Only because you’re doing that classic lean against the pillar, drink in hand, gazing out like you’re in a Bond film," the voice continued, warm and teasing. "All you’re missing is a tuxedoed guy with a bad poker hand."

Y/n chuckled, keeping her gaze fixed ahead. "Are you volunteering for the role?"

There was a brief pause, then the man behind her laughed, the sound rich and genuine. "Not unless you’re looking for someone to dramatically lose all his money at blackjack. Though, I’m better company than most Bond villains."

"Confident, aren’t we?" she mused, entertained by his playful banter but still not turning to face him.

"Confidence is key, or so they say," he responded smoothly. "Besides, I couldn’t help but notice you standing here, looking like you belong in a movie yourself."

Y/n raised her glass to her lips, hiding her smile. Whoever this was, he was good—too good. The kind of flirtation that felt practiced but was enjoyable nonetheless. "A movie, huh? Does that mean you’re the mysterious stranger who makes me an offer I can’t refuse?"

"Something like that," the voice agreed, now sounding closer, almost as if he’d shifted behind her. "Though, I’d settle for a laugh and your company over a drink."

"Well, you’ve managed to get me to laugh already," Y/n replied, feeling a warmth in her chest that had nothing to do with her drink. She glanced sideways but still didn’t turn around, enjoying the anonymity of their conversation.

"I’d call that a win," he said, clearly smiling now. "Do I get a bonus if I keep you laughing?"

"Maybe," she teased. "But it depends on how good you are at keeping the mystery alive."

"Oh, I’m very good at keeping secrets," he said, his tone dropping playfully. "But I’ll let you in on one: I’m not usually this charming. I’m just trying to impress the most captivating person in the room."

Y/n snorted softly. "You’re laying it on thick now."

"Hey, if it works, I won’t apologize."

They went back and forth like that, the conversation flowing so naturally it felt like they’d known each other for ages. Y/n was curious but also didn’t want to break the spell by turning around. Whoever he was, he was making her laugh, and she liked the mystery of it all.

Eventually, though, her curiosity got the better of her. After yet another playful jab from the man behind her, she finally turned around, ready to face the charming stranger.

Her breath hitched when she saw who it was.

"Lando Norris?" she blurted, her eyes widening in disbelief.

The British Formula 1 driver stood there, leaning casually against the bar, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. "In the flesh," he said, raising an eyebrow. "You weren’t expecting me, were you?"

Y/n stared for a second, still processing the fact that one of the most famous young drivers in the world had been flirting with her for the past ten minutes. "I… definitely wasn’t," she admitted, her surprise morphing into laughter.

"Well, I’m glad I could provide some shock value," Lando teased, clearly enjoying her reaction. "But if it helps, I was enjoying being the mysterious guy behind you. You know, no fame, no racing cars—just a guy in a casino."

She shook her head, still smiling. "And here I thought I was just talking to some regular guy trying his hand at flirting."

Lando’s grin widened. "Oh, I am definitely trying my hand at flirting. Famous or not, that part’s all me."

Y/n laughed again, this time more relaxed. "Well, you’re doing a pretty good job. I’ll give you that."

"Only pretty good?" Lando raised his eyebrows in mock offense. "I was hoping for at least 'very good.'"

"Let’s just say the jury’s still out," she teased back, feeling a lightness in the air between them.

Lando tilted his head, considering her words. "Alright, fair enough. But how about I buy you another drink, and we’ll see if I can sway the jury in my favor?"

Y/n smirked, raising her glass. "You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Norris."

[holllandtrash]

now that we don't talk | charles leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x reader part 2 to say don't go

so i pay the price of what i lost and what it cost now that we don't talk

word count: 5.6k tags/warnings: slight angst, mentions of being disloyal, this is sad, pato o'ward makes a guest appearance had to rewind a bit because because this is charles' pov during and after the relationship - i promise we'll find the ending eventually

Charles was late to the welcome party in Vegas and maybe that was a blessing in disguise.

He showed up a little after 11pm as he really wasn’t in any sort of rush to make an appearance. This week was going to be a long one already and with the obligations piling on top of each other, he tried to spend the minimum amount of time doing what was required of him.

So on that Wednesday evening, he showed up over three hours after the recommended time of 8pm. Alexandra was with him, Alex as she preferred to be called. The coordinated outfits were her idea and Charles didn’t mind it, but it wasn’t an outfit he would have chosen himself. 

But they showed up, hand in hand and Charles found a few members of his team - or rather, Mark found him. 

“Did you know Damon Hill and his family are here?” Mark didn’t even start with a greeting. He did smile at Alex, out of politeness, but his interest lied with Charles knowing that the Monegasque driver hadn’t spoken to you in a few months.

“The whole family?” Charles asked with a breath, feeling the tense glance from his girlfriend. 

Mark nodded, “Yeah. Yeah they’re all around here somewhere.”

Here being the very large venue dedicated to tonight, to the inaugural Las Vegas Grand Prix. Members from each team, the drivers, invited guests and sponsors, everyone was here tonight. 

And apparently, so were you.

Mark was not the only person to mention to Charles that you were there, in fact Mark was the first of about eight people who felt the need to tell Charles that the girl he once spoke to was somewhere around.

Of course, no one could tell Charles exactly where you were, but it didn’t surprise him to hear you were leaving good impressions on everyone you had spoken to. You, someone who could part the red sea with ease, took a more delicate approach tonight. 

You were fully aware Charles was going to be there, but he was of no concern to you. You were polite to absolutely everyone you spoke to and if by chance someone mentioned that, ‘oh, Charles will be here eventually’ you simply smiled and nodded because you weren’t about to make any more waves in the motorsport industry. You preferred your name stayed out of the tabloids and what good would it be going around telling people how Charles broke your heart? 

There was speculation, of course. People knew you spent time together. Those online shared their opinions, right or wrong, thinking they could put the pieces together just based on the fact that he was seen in Paris with you one day and then in Monaco with Alex the next.

It didn’t help that you left England soon after, making only one more appearance in Formula 1 when you went to Spain. 

Charles still thought about that conversation, how calm you were throughout, not allowing him to take any piece of your dignity despite what he did, how he made you feel. 

Charles thought he was better off this way, with Alex. 

You were certainly better off. 

He didn’t like admitting it, in fact he probably never would, but he kept up to date with you, with your life. He saw on Instagram when you dyed your hair and then dyed it again and then chopped it to your shoulders. He saw when you spent time with the F1 Academy drivers, when you attended Nascar races, when you started spending more and more time with the Arrow McLaren team.

You had told him that you wanted to watch a few races, check out a few teams before deciding whether or not you wanted to pursue a career in the motorsports field.

And you had done just that. From the outside looking in, Charles couldn’t help but think that this was you just trying on different lives. Indecisive, certainly. But you looked happy, so who was he to have a say?

It shouldn’t have come as a shock when the news dropped of you being brought on as a Performance Engineer for the US based papaya team starting in 2024. The photo that accompanied the headline was you sitting at the pit wall in Portland, already with the orange headset on as you watched the race.

Charles was in Italy when he read the article. Just over three months after your relationship ended...but who's counting?

He had finished fourth that Sunday, not his worst race but his best one either. He was just on his way to his car, wanting to head to the airport when he came across the news on Instagram.

He wanted to congratulate you. He wanted to call you and tell you he was excited for this move, for this career you landed on. He wanted to joke that he could have gotten you a job at Ferrari if you had just asked. 

But you didn’t talk anymore so he couldn’t say anything. This was the cost of losing you. Charles couldn’t stay your friend, not after what he did, and in return, you were out of his life. 

It wasn't that he was looking for you that night in Vegas but he wasn't not looking for you. It was quite a large crowd that even he had trouble navigating his way around. Alex walked behind him, following Charles at a close distance. 

And truthfully, Charles tried not to compare you and Alex, but something about knowing you were in the vicinity had him thinking of what would be different if you had accompanied him tonight. 

You wouldn’t reach for his hand, but you would have lightly grabbed the back of his shirt if the crowd started getting a little suffocating. Just a slight tug on the material and Charles would turn around and assure you with a smile that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

The first time you did that, you were in Monaco. Those weeks he flew you out to spend time with him after only meeting once in the Ferrari garage. 

After leaving a nightclub, the crowd got a little rowdy- they all wanted a piece of him. You stood behind him as he walked to the car that was waiting but when people started moving closer you felt as though you were suffocating. Heart racing as anxiety crept up, a new feeling because you didn’t think you were claustrophobic but you had also never been in this situation before. 

You reached for the back of Charles’ shirt, hand brushing over the thin material before taking it between your forefinger and thumb. It was helpful for you, knowing that you could still touch him, feel him. It grounded you. A little bit of comfort amidst the chaos.

Charles turned when he felt the faint tug. He recognized the wide eyes, the fear that you tried to play off because this was normal for him. But it wasn’t normal for you so he raised his hand, sliding his fingers into yours to give you that gentle squeeze before finally making it to the car.

The anxiety faded the second Charles closed the door for you. He walked around to the drivers side and slid in, hand automatically finding your leg. 

He didn’t ask about it, the sudden panic. He knew you had been around large crowds a handful of times before. You weren’t in the public eye per say, but your father was and growing up you became used to it. 

But this was just different. Charles recognised it, and he knew moving forward he’d have to be mindful of it, of you, of how you were feeling. 

He wondered how you were doing tonight in Vegas, if there was someone else's shirt you were clinging onto this time. Or maybe that was something you saved just for Charles. He couldn’t ask, though. He wouldn’t know the answer to how you were feeling because you didn’t talk anymore.

He also had absolutely no idea where you were. 

Maybe you had left by now. It was getting late. If you showed up on time, which you probably did, you’d have been ready to call it a night thirty minutes ago. You’d have gone back to your hotel room and scrubbed your makeup off, changing into one of those matching jumper and sweats sets you always had. 

You craved comfort over anything else.

Charles remembered Paris. The first night. Not the night where everything fell apart right in front of him all because he couldn’t say those three little words back to you.

No, the first night was good. It was great, magical even. Charles had taken you out to dinner. The skin tight black dress you wore, the one with the low cut neckline - Charles still thought about it. He’d love to know if you still had it, if you wore it for anyone else but those were questions he kept to himself. 

He remembered at the end of the evening you were at your second wine bar, having come across this one completely by accident on your way back to your place. Charles remembered pulling you inside, suggesting that one more glass wouldn’t hurt anyone and you hesitated because it was getting late, but nevertheless, you followed. 

One glass turned into splitting an entire bottle at one of the high tables in the very back. This place was old-school chic with the decor and the 80’s records playing on low volume. It was nothing like the modern and elegant bar you had just spent the last hour in. No, this place was intimate, cozy and surprisingly you didn’t want to leave, even as the night went on. 

And that surprised Charles because you had joked at the beginning of the night that you wanted to be in bed by at least eleven. It was half 12 now and you showed no signs of trying to get back to your flat. 

“So do you or do you not like staying out late?” Charles asked, trying to get the proper read. His hand was resting on your leg, fingers daringly close to the hem of your dress. You were both way too overdressed for this establishment but no one seemed to mind. No one paid you two any attention.

You smiled and glanced around, wanting to bring light to the fact that no one had approached you since you stepped inside, but you didn’t want to jinx it.

“After a certain hour I like to be comfortable,” you answered. “There’s nothing comforting about a stuffy bar and loud music and people in your space who think they know you but they really don’t. And I like going out, I do, but I don’t like staying out longer than I need to.”

Charles nodded, understanding the point you were getting at. This wine bar was a hole in the wall, a hidden gem that provided you the comfort you desired. While you weren’t entirely alone, it certainly felt like it. You could laugh freely without worrying about being too loud or embarrassing. You could sit as close as you wanted to Charles without being cautious of who was nearby. It was just you and him. 

And you could have gone back home, but home would always be there. This moment, this bar, this was just as comforting and in the back of both of your minds, you knew it wouldn’t come again. 

You were right.

Charles would have rather been back in that corner of the wine bar with you now, back in Paris without the impending end of your relationship weighing over his shoulders. 

He wished he could relive that night over and over because for a moment, he thought that maybe, possibly, he could love you.

Charles blamed it on the wine. The way the dim light hit your delicate features was only accentuated because he was drunk. Your laughter was soothing, heartwarming even, but he reminded himself he had heard it hundreds of times before. You looked at him that night, a naive glow to you and it terrified Charles. 

He pushed that four letter word aside. He couldn’t love you. He couldn’t love anyone, he couldn’t have that commitment, not with his lifestyle- his career. If he loved you, you’d become a distraction. You’d want more from him and he couldn’t do that, he couldn’t give you more.

So when you told him you loved him only a few days later, he ran.

He ran back to Alex because she would never tell him she loved him. She wouldn’t put that on his shoulders, she wouldn’t carelessly hand over her heart that way you had. Because that’s what you did. You gave Charles everything, all of you and he didn’t know what to do with it. He wasn’t ready to give you everything in return.

He was left with a tainted memory of Paris.

So yes, he tried to think of that first night more than any other one. At least that memory was pure, wholesome. 

It wouldn’t have surprised him to find out you left this Vegas party already. Probably found the quietest bar on the outskirts of the strip. Or you might have even gone back to the hotel because what comfort could a bar bring you? 

Did you still think about that night in Paris too? Or had you tried to completely forget about your time together there? Again, Charles couldn’t just ask you that. You didn’t talk. 

But there were people here that you did talk to.

Charles spotted Pato O’Ward, the well adored driver in the IndyCar series. You may not have been hired as a performance engineer for his car, but you were going to be a crucial part of the Arrow McLaren team. Plus you had spent a handful of races with them already, sometimes in his pit lane box. 

They had met before, briefly but it was a long enough interaction that Charles didn’t feel uncomfortable approaching the Mexican driver. 

They chatted about the race happening this weekend, about Pato’s upcoming practice session he’ll be participating in in Abu Dhabi. Charles was friendly, he knew how to carry a conversation.

He also knew how to find out the information he couldn’t get first hand from you. Of course, waiting until Alex walked off to get another drink.

“I heard about Y/N joining the team,” Charles casually mentioned. “That’s exciting, she’ll be a good addition.”

“Oh for sure,” Pato nodded in agreement. He glanced around, as if trying to find you but he didn’t spend too long looking. “She’s a genius. We’re happy to have her. I’m surprised that she didn’t find a job in Formula 1, though. With her father and all and-”

Pato cut himself off, unsure if this was a line he wanted to cross.

But Charles chuckled, making light of the history he had with the new Arrow McLaren employee. The more at ease Pato felt, the more likely he’d be willing to talk about you.

“Honestly I could have gotten her a job at Ferrari if she showed interest,” Charles told him. He wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but Pato wasn’t going to talk if Charles was quick to shut down the topic of you. So he continued, “But she always talked about IndyCar. She only ever spent time at Formula 1 because of the history, because of her dad but her interests lied with your series. I think it’s because she grew up with Formula 1, you know, there was no more fascination. IndyCar is almost like a challenge for her…she did always like to challenge herself. I hope this career is good for her- I think it will be, I think it’s what she needs. I mean, I guess I don't really know what she needs but I hope she finds it at Arrow McLaren.”

Where the fuck did that come from?

Even Pato was a little taken aback. He didn’t show it on his face, but he certainly hadn’t expected Charles to say any of those words about you. There was a longing in Charles’ tone. He wasn’t just speaking highly of you, he was pulling from his heaviest memories, his cherished moments. He wasn’t just telling Pato everything that Pato probably already knew. Charles was reminding himself of the person you were, the person you still are. 

The person he didn’t know anymore.

Charles cleared his throat, “Do you talk to her? Or not so much in the off season?”

Pato moved on along with Charles, as best as he could, offering him a faint shrug, “I chatted with her earlier tonight. She’s in the middle of a move, actually.”

“To the states?” Charles asked.

“Bristol, I think,” Pato racked his memory but was confident with his answer. “She lived in Paris for a bit but is going to spend the next few months in Bristol before heading to the states at the end of February.”

Bristol did not come as a surprise to Charles. 

“If you could move anywhere, where would you go?” You had once asked him. Although, your timing was poor as you were both currently lounging on the front of his yacht in the French Riviera. Why would he want to move anywhere else when everything he needed, for the most part, was right here?

“I don’t want to move,” Charles gave you the answer you had expected. He turned his head to face you, arm resting on the back of the chair. He had sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose but he took them off his face and handed them to you when he realised you were squinting as you looked at him.

“I’d move to Bristol,” you told him, unprompted. His sunglasses were a little big for your face, but the gesture was sweet. 

“Bristol,” he repeated. “Why Bristol?”

“It’s beautiful,” you said. “Rich in history and culture. I’d live on the seaside. I’d spend my days in the market. There’s still a bit of a nightlife if I feel like going out. But It’s serene there. I’d be happy there.”

Charles sat up a bit, “Monaco has all that. Why don’t you just move here?”

You laughed. As if moving to Monaco was that easy. 

Regardless, Monaco was missing something you cherished.

“I enjoy the cold weather, Charles.” You said as if this wasn’t something he already knew. “Bristol’s like the perfect place. It doesn’t snow often but it still drops in temperature during the winter and if I wanted a white Christmas I could just drive a few hours inland. I can’t thrive in 365 days of heat. Sometimes I just want to make a cup of tea and curl up on the couch with a blanket.”

Charles admired a lot of things about you, but near the top of that list was how much you appreciated the little things in your life. You were raised in wealth, with a name that everyone was familiar with, but you were simple. You worked hard for what you wanted and you cherished what you had. You never asked for anything more and you were always content, never one to complain. You were probably the most down to earth person he’d ever met.

So no, it wasn’t shocking to hear that you had moved out of your flat in Paris to spend a few months in Bristol. To get that British winter one more time before moving for your career. 

“I’m sure she’s around here somewhere if you-” Pato stopped mid sentence, his eyes landing on something, someone, behind Charles. 

Naturally, Charles turned over his shoulder to look.

There you were. 

Part of your hair was pinned back with a pearl hair clip. You opted out of a dress, going for a matching skirt and cropped blazer instead, pairing it with a pair of heels only a shade darker. You were chatting with someone that Charles didn’t recognise, a champagne glass held delicately between your fingers. You were so into your conversation that you had no idea that you had gained the attention of not just one driver, but two.

Charles wasn’t the only one who was dying to spend some time with you tonight. 

He turned back at Pato and Charles would be lying to himself if he said his blood didn’t boil over at the way Pato was looking at you. He was envious in this moment. He knew you were larger than life, but you were such a well kept secret, his secret, and you were the farthest thing from that now.

Pato muttered something about catching up with Charles later and all Charles could do was watch as the IndyCar driver made his way over to you. You greeted him with a warm smile. His hand found your lower back with ease, like he had placed it there before. You handed him the champagne glass in your hand and Pato took a sip, holding it onto it, like that was normal. Like you shared drinks with him before.

And Charles knew he didn’t have any sort of right to care, to question, to even wonder what you were doing now but god it pained him to think that you were possibly, probably, sleeping with Pato O’Ward.

When did that start? Before you signed your contract or after? Did that matter? No of course it didn’t matter. None of it mattered because Charles was with Alex. He made that choice, he let you go. He foolishly, stupidly, regrettably, let you go and now he had to watch from the sidelines as you lived your life without him. You found the career you wanted, not in Formula 1.

If you were with Pato, there was no doubt in Charles’ mind that Pato treated you better than he did. He was a stand up guy, he was charming, he leaned in and whispered something in your ear that had you blushing in seconds.

How Charles was feeling wasn’t fair and he knew it. He knew he was in the wrong. He knew he couldn’t be jealous seeing you with someone else. You had moved on, you had every right to move on. 

He knew that it shouldn’t have taken seeing you with Pato to realise he had made a mistake. This was a conclusion he should have come to a while ago, honestly he should have never even let you go in the first place. And maybe he did know it and just didn’t want to admit it until it was screaming at him, a brutal hit to the face over and over until he just couldn’t ignore the bruises anymore.

He shouldn’t have let you go. 

But he did and this was the price he had to pay. He watched from the outside, watched you change and grow through the stories he overheard and pictures you shared. He was a mere crumb in your life now compared to when you handed him your heart on a silver platter. 

Charles regretted everything. He regretted that he left you waiting for him to say ‘I love you’ and at the very least, hoping he would say ‘don’t go’ and instead gave you nothing. Now he couldn’t say any of those words. Now you didn’t talk. 

He left the party early. Alex didn’t say anything on the ride back to the hotel. Neither did he. What was there left to say anyway?

But the silence from her left less of a hole than the silence he got from you. 

He sat in the hotel bar while Alex packed up her suitcase and asked the front desk for a new room. She wasn’t going to leave. Not yet, at least. Just give Charles the space he needed and honestly, Charles knew she was waiting for him to return to her once he came to his senses, like he did last time.

Because Alex gave him what he wanted. Comfort, but she didn’t ask for it in return. Adoration, but didn’t expect the love to be reciprocated. She played the part of the girlfriend and she played it well, accompanying Charles wherever, whenever. Alex thought that if she played the long game, Charles would love her. Charles would see a future with her.

You, though, you didn’t have time to wait. You weren’t going to sit ideally and beg for him to love you back. You weren’t going to tell him that you’d wait for him, that you’d be there if things with Alex didn’t work out. 

You moved on. 

Charles tried to accept that, really. He tried to just focus on the last two races and not about what you were doing. If Bristol was everything you dreamt it was. If Pato and you were together. He tried not to think about anything that revolved around you. 

He thought he could at least make it to the New Year, and maybe he would have. He might have reconnected with Alex on the 31st if he successfully went the entire month of December without his mind trailing back to you.

But the second his friend who resided in London called him up and asked if he wanted to attend a fashion show he was part of...well, it was embarrassing how fast Charles agreed to go. Because London was certainly closer to Bristol than Monaco was. And if he was in London, it was hard to find a reason why he shouldn’t just…go to Bristol.

Actually it was very easy to find dozens of reasons. Charles simply ignored all of them. 

He didn’t think this plan through at all, which was why he stood outside your door for nearly five minutes before knocking. What was he going to say?

For starters, he was really hoping you wouldn’t ask how he knew where you lived. Charles didn’t feel like explaining the hoops he had to jump through that may or may not have involved Joris at one point pretending to be your brother and calling your place of employment. 

It was fucked up. Charles could admit that. But if he could admit that, he could admit it wasn’t the only fucked up thing he did. Letting you walk away from him was at the top of that list.

When you opened the door, you weren’t upset to see him, but you weren’t happy either. Charles carried that vibe the entire time he was inside, starting from when you reluctantly let him in to the way you handed him his cup of tea without so much as a word. 

“How’s Alexandra?” You asked him. Charles could tell you were only trying to be polite. 

“Do you care?” He asked in return. 

No hesitation from you as you shook your head, “I do not.”

He always admired your honesty. He was still scared shitless at the way you could quite literally kill someone with kindness, but he also respected it. You were the only person he knew who’s gentle smile had the ability to send someone cowering. It was a skill, truly. 

“So let’s not talk about her,” he suggested and you nodded, but you also weren’t about to let the conversation carry on if it was pointless. 

“Charles if you don’t tell me why you’re here…”

He had an entire drive to figure out how he wanted to word this. He had a whole plane ride to put together the perfect sentence, the perfect mix of apologies and admittance and instead his mind was blank. He didn’t know the words to say to you, not after going so long without saying anything. 

But he lifted his head and met your eyes. He thought about reaching for your hand only to decide against it because your hand wasn’t his to hold anymore. 

“I shouldn’t have let you go,” he said, voice low, breaking almost. He shook his head, repeating it. “I made a mistake, I shouldn’t have let you go. I don’t want to be someone who’s not in your life. I don’t want to be someone who means nothing to you anymore. I-”

I love you, he wanted to say. 

Because he did. 

At least, he thought he did. At one point, he knew he could. If he could then, he could now, right? He could still love you. If you took him back, if you found a way to still love him, Charles wanted to love you back in the same way.

Or maybe he just didn’t want you to love anyone else.

“Charles you don’t know how to love anyone,” you knew exactly what he was going to say. And at one point, you wanted to hear it. Now, though? This was the one time you were hoping he didn’t say it.

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” you stated, like you knew him better than he knew himself. Maybe you did. “You don’t want to love someone, you just want to be loved.”

“I want to be in love with you.”

“That’s not the same and you know it,” your words could have cut through him like glass if your tone wasn’t so soft. 

Charles shifted uncomfortably. This conversation hadn’t gone as planned, but what was he truly expecting? You’d take him back? You were better off without him. Anyone could see that.

“Listen, I had to get over you and you weren’t even mine, Charles. Do you know how twisted that is? The only person to blame for my broken heart was myself because I knew, all along, you weren’t mine. I knew it and I went along anyway and I’m not doing that again. I will not love you again. I don’t need another wave of self destruction and false hope and unrequited love. I am happy, okay? I didn’t need you to come here with some sort of declaration that you can’t even say with your chest. I don’t- I don’t need that. I don’t need you.”

He still tried, still attempted to win you back with the what if’s but you saw through it. You cut him off before he could finish his question. What if I do need you?

You shook your head, staying firm with your decision. “It’s over now, Charles. It was over then and it’s over now.”

Charles believed that. He repeated your words the entire way home. He could never give you the closure you needed so you gave it to yourself and you seemed adamant that your past with Charles was going to stay there, in the past. 

He didn’t get back together with Alex. He couldn’t. He ended things the second he returned to Monaco. She asked if you were the reason and Charles didn’t really have an answer. You weren’t dating, but you were still there. In the back of his mind, in his dreams, everywhere he looked he saw you.

He didn’t think he’d actually see you again. He knew you were moving in the New Year. That you had officially gone on with your life. 

So imagine his surprise when you showed up at his door on New Years Eve. 

Smudged mascara under your eyes, an unopened bottle of wine in your hands and a dress that left very little to the imagination. Charles had hundreds of questions, for you, for himself, like was he just imagining this? 

And then you stepped past him, sliding your heels off and immediately going to his cupboard to pull out two empty wine glasses. It was a screw top, the bottle in your hands, Charles wondered where you got it but he didn’t ask. He just let you pour a very healthy amount into each of the glasses. He didn’t say anything when you handed one to him, you both just took a sip in peace.

Charles wasn’t sure where he found his voice, but he somehow managed to. And he said the stupidest fucking thing ever.

“I thought we were over.”

“We are,” you stated, taking another sip. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror behind him and you tried to wipe your undereyes but the dry pads of your fingers did little to help.

Charles stepped into the bathroom to grab one of those white hand towels that he hung on the rack. He ran it under some warm water before making his way back to you. He was hesitant to step close, but you didn’t flinch away.

So he raised his hand to your cheek, holding you still as he wiped away the stains of mascara, the remains of whatever you were crying over. His touch was gentle. You could feel his breath hit your face and you couldn’t help but glance at his lips. You hadn’t been this close since Paris.

“Thank you,” you whispered when he dropped the cloth to the sink.

Charles didn’t back up after. He stayed with his hand on the side of your face, even sliding his fingers against your scalp to get tangled in your hair. Something he knew you loved. You hummed at the feeling, how normal this seemed, like you weren’t the one to end things that last time around.

Unlike last time, Charles was the one to ask, “Why are you here, Y/N?”

You shook your head, wishing he could just accept this for what it was. You didn’t want to have a conversation.

So you reached for the front of his shirt, dragging your hand up to the collar as you brought your lips closer to his. The little twitch in the corner of your mouth, that faint smirk, it ruined Charles. His hand found your waist, he was only human.

“Please, Charles,” you breathed out. Not a beg, a request if anything. “Now is not the time to talk.”

[satinestales]

❝between truth and desire❞ | armand x fem!reader

pairing: armand x fem!reader, 4k+ words

summary: As you and Armand recount your shared history to your old friend Daniel Molloy, your words falter, and your memories blur under the weight of time and emotion. Later, Armand ensures you remember exactly how it truly happened—or at least, how he wants you to.

warnings: armand's manipulative gremlin ass, sexual tension, mind control?, unrealistic version of top armand, blood play, blood-sucking as a form of oral sex, not proofread, mention of claudia's death, english is not my native english

For the past three hours, you’ve been reminiscing about your life in 1940s Paris with your old friend, now a successful journalist. It’s been surprisingly easy, sharing those memories of joy and excitement, especially with Armand by your side. Daniel’s sarcastic comments make you laugh, keeping the mood light even when the stories dip into something more bittersweet.

Armand’s hand rests on your thigh, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles. That small, familiar touch pulls you back into the past, and for a fleeting moment, it almost feels like you’re there again—back in Paris, on your very first date.

You shared stories about the Théâtre des Vampires, describing its grandeur and eerie charm in vivid detail. Armand never interrupted, just sat quietly beside you, listening. Every so often, he’d chime in, adding little details you’d forgotten, his voice soft and steady. It felt natural, the two of you piecing the memories together like a story only you could tell.

Every eye in the room was on you, the silence in the mansion broken only by your voice. It was steady, serious, as you recounted those final days in the coven—when the air grew colder and the others fell quiet. You remembered how Louis had sensed it first, even before Claudia or Madeleine. And you remembered it too, that creeping tension, the way it lingered unspoken.

But here and now, you spoke of it clearly, without a single stutter.

"It was a cold night when I woke up," you began, your voice calm despite the weight of the memory. "Louis was already gone, and I couldn’t find any trace of Claudia." Armand’s hand rested gently on your thigh, comforting you, while Daniel’s sharp gaze seemed to pierce straight through you. "I assumed they’d gone out together," you continued, glancing down for a moment, "since I’d spent the last few days with my love."

You felt Armand shift beside you, his lips curling into a faint smile as he tilted his head, studying you with that quiet intensity. Even after all these years, that look still had the power to make you blush.

"About four hours later, there was a knock at our door," you said, your voice wavering between fear and sarcasm. "I hadn’t invited anyone, so I figured it was Armand dropping by for one of his unannounced visits. But when I opened the door..." You paused, your eyes narrowing slightly at the memory.

"Santiago was standing there," you continued, "and behind him were Celeste and Estelle, both wearing those ridiculous judges' wigs." The words spilled out, edged with a dry, bitter humor that couldn’t quite mask the unease curling in your chest.

You couldn’t help but hear Daniel’s chuckle at the mention of the wigs, but it didn’t faze you. You pressed on, even though you felt Armand’s gaze shift, no longer warm or affectionate. It had become something colder, sharper, something you couldn’t quite place.

“I woke up in the theater, on the stage,” you continued, your voice steadier now, the weight of the memory pressing down. “Claudia, Louis, and Madeleine were next to me. Our Achilles’ heels torn, so we couldn’t run.”

You felt the silence stretch, thick with tension. Even Daniel’s amusement seemed to fade as your words lingered in the air, heavy with the truth of what had come next.

Daniel raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “I assume they put you on trial? For what, exactly? Killing Lestat, I presume?”

You could only nod, the memories flooding back in a rush. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, trying to push them back, but they lingered like a shadow, heavy and impossible to ignore.

“And where was your love, Armand?” Daniel asked, now turning his gaze to Armand, who hadn’t shifted an inch. He was eerily still, his eyes fixed on you, unreadable and unblinking.

The silence that followed was thick, like a fog that refused to lift. Armand’s presence filled the room, and you could feel the weight of his attention pressing against you, more suffocating than comforting.

"I have to jump in here," Armand’s voice broke the silence, smooth and almost mocking. "I think my love's memory is a little foggy."

You were forced to look at him, his words pulling your gaze like a magnet. His lips curled into a crooked smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. Those eyes—dull, black, devoid of warmth—stared at you with an unsettling calm, as if he were carefully rearranging the pieces of a puzzle you didn’t fully understand.

"I know how the trial happened," you said, forcing a smile at him, trying to reclaim some control. "You don’t have to speak for me."

Armand’s hand, which had been lightly resting on your thigh, stilled. The tension between you thickened, but he didn’t back down.

"I wouldn’t if it wasn’t important," he replied, his voice smooth, though the undertone of something darker lingered. "But if we want the people to know the truth, we should give it to them. Don’t you think so?"

He tilted his head again, studying you with a gaze that felt both tender and unsettling. He reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your ear. His touch, so gentle, pulled a reaction from you before you could stop it. You leaned into it, feeling the warmth of his hand against your skin, despite the coldness in his eyes. It was a comforting, familiar warmth, but it made your heart skip nonetheless.

"So what exactly happened?" Daniel asked, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he waited for an answer, his eyes flicking between you and Armand.

Before you could respond, Armand’s voice sliced through the air, gentle but commanding, as though he had already decided the direction this conversation would go.

You wanted to speak, to reclaim the words, but your mouth wouldn’t move. It was as if your mind had sealed your mouth shut, leaving you unable to break the silence Armnd had claimed. You sat frozen, a quiet tension building, unable to shake the feeling that the answer would come from him and not you.

"I want to apologize for the false answer you were given," Armand said, his voice smooth and reassuring, though there was an underlying edge to it. "Nobody can blame her. It’s been a few decades, after all."

His thumb began to trace gentle circles on your thigh, an attempt to soothe the growing tightness in your chest, but his words felt like a weight on your heart.

"I was aware of the coven's plan," he continued, his gaze never leaving you, "and went to warn my dear American friends. But when I arrived, I could find only mon cœur."

He turned to you then, a soft smile curling at the corners of his lips. The warmth of it washed over you, but there was something distant in his eyes, as though he were pulling you into a memory you couldn’t quite grasp.

You didn’t remember the way he described it, not at all. But as he spoke, you couldn’t help but wonder—maybe, after all these years, it was easy to forget.

It took another three hours before Daniel finally asked for a break, suggesting that the conversation continue the next day. You didn’t object; in fact, you welcomed the pause. Armand, as always, was by your side, leading you toward your bedroom.

As he walked behind you, his hand resting lightly on your lower back, the tension in the air was palpable, thick enough that you could almost cut it with scissors. You’d made a mistake today, one that almost painted Armand in a bad light. You couldn’t say you were scared—not exactly—but you weren’t thrilled either.

The quiet weight of his presence behind you was enough to send a shiver down your spine. You weren’t sure what to expect once the door closed behind you, but you knew it wasn’t going to be an easy night.

You expected Armand to speak once the door was closed and locked, but he remained silent, allowing the quiet to settle between you. The stillness wrapped around both of you as you went about getting ready for bed, the only sound was the soft rustling of fabric and the distant hum of the house.

But as you changed into your bedrobe, you felt it—his gaze, heavy and unwavering, burning into your back. His eyes followed the curves of your body, lingering on every movement, never once leaving you. It was unnerving, that constant watchfulness, like he was cataloging each detail of you, and yet, somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to look back.

It wasn’t until you lay back on the bed, stealing glances from where you sat, that you watched Armand get comfortable in the robe you’d bought him. He didn’t rush, moving with a natural ease that always seemed deliberate, as though every gesture was meant to be noticed.

He was beautiful in a way that never stopped catching you off guard. Like when his hair fell in loose waves, brushing just over his eyes, and even the slight crook of his nose added to his charm, making him seem more real, more human—if only just. You couldn’t help but admire him, even after all this time.

He knew it. Of course, he did. The faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips gave him away. He didn’t need to meet your gaze to know you were watching. He always knew when your attention was on him—and he soaked it in like sunlight.

"The conversation almost got out of control today," Armand said, his voice breaking the silence. He turned to face you, his head tilted in that way he always did, his eyes slowly scanning you from head to toe.

"I'm sorry," you said with a soft chuckle, your gaze warm as you looked up at him. As he stepped closer, his presence seemed to fill the room, his figure towering over you in that quiet, commanding way of his.

"Guess I got the facts wrong," you continued, your tone light but unsure. "Even though... I can’t quite recall the version you described to Daniel."

He stayed quiet for a moment, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made you shiver. It felt like he was trying to see right through you, to penetrate your thoughts and mind with nothing more than a look.

You knew he could. He was an ancient vampire, after all, with gifts far more powerful than most could comprehend. But even as the thought crossed your mind, you pushed it away. Armand would never take advantage of that, not with you.

You loved him too much to doubt him, even for a second. And perhaps, deep down, you knew that was exactly what he wanted—to be loved without question.

"My dear," he said softly, a small smile playing on his lips as he slowly bent his knees, kneeling in front of you. His hands rested lightly on your ankles, grounding you as you propped yourself up on your elbows to meet his gaze.

"It’s been decades," he continued, his tone gentle, almost comforting. "It’s only natural to forget or mix things up. After all, I was there to correct you. Nothing bad happened." His lips curved into a smirk, the words flowing sweetly, meant to soothe.

But as his gaze lingered on you, you couldn’t help but catch it—the faint spark of coldness in his eyes. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there, sharp as a blade hidden behind silk.

"I’m always going to be there," he added, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand moved slowly, trailing up from your ankle to your knee, the touch light but unyielding.

He never broke eye contact, his gaze locking you in place. There was something possessive in the way he looked at you, something that sent a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t fear—not exactly—but the weight of his promise, the intensity of his presence, was enough to make you quiver.

"Good," you said with a nod, doing your best to ignore the warmth swirling in your stomach. Even after seventy years, he still had that effect on you. You chuckled, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Because I’ll hunt you down if you ever dare to leave."

Your tone was light, but the weight behind your words was anything but. You meant it. Armand had his secrets, just as you had yours, but one thing you shared was an obsession—an all-consuming need for each other.

You couldn’t imagine your life without him; in truth, you could barely remember the life you had before him. as though the years before he arrived had been erased. Every memory you held close revolved around him, around the two of you together.

And you were determined to keep it that way. Forever.

"I would never," he said softly, a small smile gracing his lips before he leaned in and pressed them to yours. The kiss was brief but filled with warmth, meant to reassure you, to steady the swirling emotions inside.

As he pulled back, his face lingered close to yours, his breath mingling with yours as he whispered, "I didn’t tell Mr. Molloy the whole truth. When I went to warn you... I left out some things."

Your brow furrowed in confusion, your heart pounding as you hung on to his every word. "What’s that?" you asked, your voice soft, as you reached up to gently place your hand on his cheek.

He looked almost unreal, like a sculpture of a devil—sinful, beautiful. The candlelight bathed him in a warm glow, casting shadows that only deepened the beauty of him. His dark skin seemed to drink in the light as if he were made of something otherworldly.

You had seen angels before, in your long life, but none could compare to the beauty of the devil kneeling between your legs. The one who had always held you in his thrall. The one you could never, ever escape.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let his presence fill the space between you, his body slowly overpowering yours. With a gentle but firm push, he guided you onto your back, the weight of him settling above you, dominating yet tender. His lips found the crook of your neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses against your skin, while his hands drifted down to your waist, pulling you closer.

A quiet moan escaped your lips as his lips traveled to your collarbone, each kiss sending shivers of electricity down your spine. His touch was slow, deliberate, and as his fingers slid to the top of your robe, you could feel the tension in the air tighten around you.

"After you opened the door and I came to warn you about the coven’s plans..." His voice was low, almost a whisper, as his hand lingered at the top of your robe, barely brushing your skin. He moved his lips over your neck, your jaw, finally finding yours in a deep, searching kiss. "I couldn't prevent it."

His kiss grew more intense, and you wanted to ask him why—why didn’t he stop? Why hadn’t you left? But before you could, his lips silenced you, pressing against yours as his other hand slipped beneath your waist, pulling your body flush against his. The warmth between you overwhelmed everything else, leaving you breathless and speechless, caught in the weight of the moment.

Your hands instinctively wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened. You needed him in that moment, more than anything else in the world. Everything else—the journalist in your house, the unfinished conversation, the looming threats and dangers—disappeared. None of it mattered.

The only thing that existed was him—his touch, his lips, the warmth of his body pressing against yours. Your mind raced with thoughts of him, drowning out every other sound, every other thought. Nothing else mattered. Just him. The feeling of him. The weight of his presence. That was all there was.

You felt his hand pull away from your chest, and a soft, frustrated sound escaped your lips in protest. But before you could voice more, he guided his wrist to your mouth. His eyes never left yours, dark and full of unspoken intentions.

You knew exactly what he wanted—what both of you craved. His pulse throbbed beneath your lips, and without hesitation, you sank your fangs into his wrist, the familiar, cinnamon taste of his blood filling your senses. It was intoxicating, overwhelming. The warm droplets fell from your chin, tracing down your neck and chest, as you drank deeply, savoring every drop. His blood was always sweeter than you remembered, more potent, more familiar than anything else.

It felt like home.

You couldn't stop. Every drop of his blood filled you with a rush of heat, the world around you starting to blur as your senses sharpened. Your eyes closed instinctively, your head tilting back as pleasure coursed through you. His blood was intoxicating, and you were lost in it, unable to think of anything else.

The soft moans and whimpers escaping from Armand only pushed you further, each sound making you crave him more. You heard his voice, faint and distant, but it barely registered as you kept drinking, the taste of him flooding your senses. His hands gripped you, but you hardly noticed, lost in the sensation of him.

You wanted more. Needed more. His blood, his presence, it was all that mattered. And for a moment, everything else faded away.

You didn’t know how long it had been—minutes, hours, maybe just seconds—lost in the feeling of his blood coursing through you. All you knew was the way his face shifted when he gently pulled his wrist from your mouth, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. His blood still lingered on your tongue, warm and intoxicating, slowly dripping down your chest as you let go of him, your body humming with the aftermath.

He loomed above you, but now his head rested against your chest, seeking solace in the warmth of your skin as his breath steadied. You stroked his hair, fingers threading through his dark curls, trying to ground him as much as yourself.

Your fingers traced the mess on your chest, and without thinking, you brought them to your lips, savoring the last lingering taste of him. The warmth, the sweetness, it felt like the only thing that mattered, and you couldn’t stop yourself.

As Armand rested on you, his breath warm against your chest, the fog in your mind began to clear, just a little. Flashes of the past few hours started to resurface—his visit, the warning about the coven, the tension in the air. It all felt distant, like you were trying to grasp a dream you couldn’t quite hold onto, but there it was. A few more pieces of the puzzle fitting together, the edges blurring into something you could finally begin to understand.

You couldn't remember how many times he'd done this—how many times he'd stepped in to help, to keep you from slipping into that haze, to save you from the things you couldn’t hold onto. Each time, he was there, gently piecing you back together, never asking for much in return. A small knot of guilt twisted in your stomach. Maybe you hadn’t realized how often he’d carried this weight for both of you.

But then you felt his hand tighten around your waist, his presence anchoring you, and that guilt faded away, swallowed by something deeper. It wasn't just about him fixing your memories. It was how, despite everything, he made you feel like you were never truly lost. Like you were still whole, still his.

"Je t’aime chaque jour davantage, Arun," you whispered, the words flowing from your lips like a secret you'd been holding onto for eternity.

Armand lifted his head to meet your gaze, his dark eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart flutter. He was so consumed by you, so focused on every word, every look you gave him, that even the smallest detail, the evidence of your connection, went unnoticed. And for some reason, that made you smile.

"Je t’aime moi aussi, mon cœur," Armand murmured, his voice soft, reverent, as he rested his chin against your chest. His eyes, those dark pools of mystery, were half-lidded, and for a moment, you could see the rawness of his desire in the way his flushed cheeks caught the candlelight, his waves of dark hair falling over his forehead like a veil. The world outside of him and you ceased to exist.

You ran your fingers through his hair, losing yourself in the softness of it, in the way he seemed to melt against you. He was so beautiful, every inch of him a reminder of the eternity you'd spent together. He was warmth and darkness, light and shadow all at once—an enigma you couldn’t unravel, no matter how many lifetimes you lived.

Eternity would never be enough, not when it came to him. You needed him, needed to consume him. To become one with him in every sense of the word. Your lips ached to kiss him, not just his mouth, but his very skin, every inch of him, to touch the bones of him.

And he wanted the same.

You could see it in his eyes, feel it in the way his body pressed against yours, as if his very soul was entwined with yours. What you two shared wasn’t just love. It wasn’t just desire. It was an all-consuming need—an obsession that humans could never truly understand. It was a bond that reached beyond anything they could comprehend, an unspoken language of the heart and mind. You didn’t need to say it; you both knew.

There was no end to it. Only the now. Only him.

"I'm starting to remember," you murmured after a few quiet moments, feeling Armand settle closer beside you. His fingers lazily traced the fabric of your robe, a soft touch that made you feel safe, anchored. "When you came to warn me. It's still a little foggy, but it’s there. I’m sorry I doubted you."

You didn’t look at him, but you could feel his gaze on you, calm and steady. The fragments were falling into place, his words reassuring you, reminding you of things you hadn't been able to fully grasp. His version of the events felt so right, so natural, and you couldn't help but let the memories shape themselves around what he had shared. You trusted him completely. And yet, beneath it all, a quiet whisper in the back of your mind wondered how easily you’d forgotten things before. But that thought was fleeting, disappearing as quickly as it came, leaving you only with the certainty of what Armand had guided you to remember.

"I'm glad you're remembering now," he whispered against your neck, his fangs grazing the delicate skin. "But if you ever forget something, I’ll always be here to help restore your memories."

A smile tugged at your lips as his hand slid beneath your robe, his fangs sinking into your neck, tasting your blood. The sensation was beyond anything you had ever imagined, a pleasure that consumed you completely. You leaned into his touch, surrendering to the feeling of his fangs, the weight of his presence, and the rhythm of his hunger.

With each kiss, each bite, your memories grew clearer. You could recall every detail of that night. Yes. He had come to warn you, just as he had said. Santiago was responsible for Claudia's death, and Lestat had helped orchestrate it. The truth was finally clear to you. You could only trust Armand. Everyone else had betrayed you, deceived you. In his arms, you found safety. On his tongue, you found clarity.

You would never let him go. He was yours, and you were his.

For all eternity.

[natalicss]

Glitter & Crimson

kwon ji-yong x american pop star!reader

summary: you and ji-yong live busy lives. as both of you start preparing for new albums and tours, as well as manage long distance during the holiday of love, the pressure of it all seems to get to you. set in the same universe as like we were in paris

warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, reader is working herself too hard, mentions of not eating, not proofread, implied age gap (reader is mid twenties), reader crashes out a lil bit, if i missed any lemme know and ill add it (i still don’t know how to use tumblr)

word count: 4.2K

nat’s notes: hey y’all!! in honor of valentine’s day i wanted to write SOMETHING, and this is what came out. i don’t actually know how romantic this is but…it’s more of american pop star & jiyong sooo im not gonna complain. i also didn’t tag anyone cause…for some reason that scares me so whoops. OH the little divider thing below is by strangergraphics btw

Valentine’s day, a cliche holiday that people often either love or despise. You usually felt pessimistic, for years. For years, you spent the holiday with your friends, going out and drinking nights away, dancing in clubs and wearing flattering outfits. If you weren’t doing that, you were curled up at home surrounded by your favorite snacks as you binged watched your favorite show. You didn’t like Valentine’s day, but you took the day to take care of yourself.

And then you met Ji-yong.

It was almost embarrassing, how easily that man swept you off your feet. A whimsical fairytale of unexpected friends to lovers. He made every day an adventure, one way or another. Never a second did you doubt your love for him. Not even when the two of you went months without seeing each other, swept up in busy schedules. Not even when the two of you kept your relationship a secret from fans and the industry for years. That didn’t go well, considering you two leaked it yourselves by locking lips at a Chanel fashion show…oops.

You grew to love Valentine’s day, the both of you using it as an excuse to share how much you adored and cared about each other even more than you already did. Flowers, chocolates, romantic dates, you two had done it all at this point. So, you couldn’t help but feel a little ache in your heart as you walked into your LA dance studio, getting ready for tour rehearsals. 

While Ji-yong was busy himself with rehearsals, preparing for his new album, his new show, and everything else that comes with G-Dragon’s comeback, you were worrying about your own. Your fifth album was released a couple months ago, and the pending start of your tour was coming quicker than you anticipated. After the fashion show, and a few remaining days with your boyfriend, you had no choice but to return back to America and continue getting ready. You two barely had time to bask in the reality that everybody knew about your relationship, now separated by the ocean.

Your days were filled with chaos. From the Grammys, to meeting with stylists and trying different pieces, to rehearsals for choreography, to overlooking the stage setup and the designs, to picking out your microphones, meeting with various crew members, you barely had a moment to breathe. With the time difference adding on to that, you and Ji-yong found keeping in contact a bit harder than usual. For years, it didn’t matter. If one of you was busy, the other wasn’t, and the two of you could compromise schedules, take phone calls at random times, and find more free time to travel back and forth. But this? This was different. 

You were standing in a large studio with your backup dancers and your choreographer, all of you covered in sweat, your body's aching, and your hearts pounding against your chests. Valentine’s day was this week, and you tried hard not to focus on it. It was your first Valentine’s day that you wouldn’t be with your boyfriend. And while in reality, that wasn’t that big of a deal, it hurt knowing that you weren’t even certain when you’d see him next.

Trying not to dwell on it, you focused on your work. Pushing yourself farther than usual. You moved with precision and acted as if the studio was your stage. Your choreographer, who you��d been working with for years, watched you intently as you and your dancers swung your hips to the beat. You held a microphone to your lips, singing along to your latest single. You strut, looking at the mirror and the would-be crowd. You felt every movement. It burned. It ached. It stung. Your lungs felt like they were going to collapse. You hadn’t worked this hard, this long, since your first world tour. Back then, you felt like you had something to prove. New to the industry, blowing up alongside some of the best artists. You wanted to show that you were meant to be there. 

In a way, you felt like that now. Five albums later, your fourth world tour, and you felt that need to prove that you still were that American pop-princess they crowned you to be. Maybe it was the press finally getting to you. Comments on how your last tour wasn’t as extravagant, how you haven’t been in the media as much the last few years, resulting in a potential downfall in your career. Maybe it was the need to please the fans, knowing they’ve been waiting for almost two years for this tour. Knowing they were going to want it to be good, better than before. Maybe it was your team, who constantly had their own thoughts and opinions on what your setlist should be, what outfits you should wear, where your tour dates should be. It was normal, expected when you’ve been in the industry. Knowing that still didn’t diminish the weight on your shoulders as you moved your legs with an articulate move.

One of your dancers, Raphael, was trying to hide the concern on his face as the two of you continued your dance for another song. He had been one of your dancers since your second tour, and a good friend along the way. He knew you better than most people here, other than maybe your best friend who was quietly watching from the sidelines. He’d seen you working hard like this for weeks. Even before you left for Paris, he had started to get worried as he watched you push and push and push. You could take a lot, you were strong and ambitious, things he admired. But everybody had a limit. 

He thought you would have gotten some rest after your performance in Paris, taking a few days off to spend with Ji-yong before coming back to LA. That had given him some temporary relief. But when you got back, his concern was back more than ever. He noticed how little you did anything else. You were hardly eating, coming into your work days with circles under your eyes, you had started to become more agitated when anyone made mistakes, especially yourself. You barely took breaks. When the other dancers were sitting down, drinking water, eating their lunches, you were still on the floor, practicing harder moves and trying to perfect them.

Raphael was staring at you now, watching as your body faced him, your head still angled towards the mirror as you sang. Your hand pressed into his chest, pushing him slightly as the two of you moved in sync. He walked backwards, watching you closely. Your eyes were glossed over with exhaustion, red from lack of sleep, and your skin was sticky with sweat. His eyes danced over you, watching the way your hand shook holding the microphone. The way your legs started to move with less precision. You missed a note. Other dancers noticed, keeping up with their own routine but sending looks at Raphael and each other. 

You slowly blinked as you moved with them, seemingly out of it. As you spun, everything around you seemed to, too. Your vision blurred, the room rotating in odd angles as you started to stumble in your steps. Part of you knew something was wrong, but another part of you refused to accept it, pushing. You kept the microphone up by your lips, continuing to sing despite the way your lungs were burning for more oxygen. Your choreographer stood up straight, her eyebrows furrowing. You pulled the microphone away to continue a dance break, but as you started the first difficult move, the room began to spin in a nauseating way. 

Your brain couldn't catch up as you started to fall forward. Raphael wrapped an arm around you, yelling your name in panic as the two of you collided with the floor. The choreographer quickly stopped the music, everyone in the room starting to crowd around you. Your friend came over, bottled water in hand, and their phone as they looked you over. In a few moments, your eyes fluttered open, and in the one moment your body stopped overworking you could feel the way every part of you was hurting. 

“Y/N, are you alright?” Your choreographer asked, looking you over. “Give them some room,” Dancers started to step back, their eyes never leaving you. You groaned, sitting up slowly as Raphael kept a hand on your shoulder. “What the hell happened?”

“I’m fine,” You answered shortly, reaching for the water in your friends hand. “I just haven’t drank enough water today. I’m good.”

Raphael and your friend shared knowing looks. “Y/N, maybe you should take a minute. You just passed out, again-” “I’m fine!” The two of them watched as you pushed off the floor harshly. You still swayed in your steps, but you remained upwards. You started chugging the water, crushing the plastic before throwing it towards the trashcan. You shook your limbs, as if that would erase the exhaustion. “Again!” 

Raphael clenched his jaw, knowing that you couldn’t go on like this. If you did, tour wasn’t going to last more than a couple shows. You had passed out at a practice a couple weeks ago, too. When you and your crew were getting ready for the Gala Des Pièces Jaunes event, you had over-exerted yourself and collapsed. That time, Raphael hadn’t been able to catch you, and you had landed harshly on the floor. And though he had been there to catch you this time, you might not be so lucky if you were on stage. He looked in the direction of your friend, who was back on the side lines. They were thinking the same thing.

But you weren’t listening. At every concerned comment your friend made, you brushed it off with a dismissive huff, and any time Raphael suggested to you to rest, or eat, or take a day off, you shot back with a snarky remark. You were too busy to take a break. You had too much counting on this tour. You had to be perfect.

So, they had to reach out to the one person you would listen to.

Ji-yong was entirely unaware of exactly how much work you were putting yourself through. He knew you were busy, as he was doing many of the same things you were. And sure, he noticed some tension in your voice when he asked you about your days, but he thought it was just anxiety. You’d always been so nervous when big projects were coming up. It was what made your shows so amazing, the way you cared about your work, your fans. The message was clear in every lyric, every dance, and more. 

So, when he got a phone call mid-afternoon from Raphael, he was a little confused. The two of them were friends, of course, but they hardly talked one-on one. Still, he answered it, bringing his phone to his ear as he excused himself from the room filled with management. “Hello?”

“Hi, sorry to bother you man,” Raphael says. In his voice, Ji-yong can here something that he couldn’t exactly place. Like something was lurking behind his tone.

“No, it’s fine,” Ji-yong says kindly. “Is everything okay?”

There’s a lingering silence, some shuffling on the other end. Raphael sighs as he takes a moment to find the right words. “No, uh, not really. It’s Y/N.”

Ji-yong tenses, his thumb playing with the rings on his fingers. “What’s going on?” He asks warily.

“Has she told you about the tour?”

“Parts.” Ji-yong says, trying hard to keep his tone light and unnerved. “She’s been busy, so we haven’t talked about it in detail.”

Raphael scoffs slightly, “She’s been busy, alright.” Ji-yong hears Raphael shuffle more, “We’re worried about her, man. She’s been working herself to the bone.”

Ji-yong blinks. “Is she stressed?” He thinks about all the things the two of you did to cope with anxiety. Whether it was breathing exercises, meditation, listening to music, he thinks about mentioning it to him-

“She’s more than that. She’s barely sleeping, eating, she passed out at practice again–”

“What do you mean again?”

Raphael exhales loudly, “She didn’t tell you about that either?” He is chuckling lowly. Ji-yong is looking at the floor, his mind all over the place. “For that gala, she was working so much, she fainted at practice a couple days before the show.”

Ji-yong is pacing, unable to stop himself. How had you not told him? How had he not noticed? He always asked you if you ate that day, he always texted you little reminders to eat breakfast, drink water. You had always done the same for him, too, knowing his own struggles with his mental health and working himself too hard. A guilty ache in his gut made him suddenly feel uncomfortable in his skin.

“She’s not listening to anybody. We’ve all tried telling her to take a break, to eat, to take a fucking nap. She just gets mad.” Raphael’s words make Ji-yong wince, painfully understanding what that was like. “Which is why I called you.”

Ji-yong is looking around the building he’s in, looking out the window. Seoul moved around him like it always had. His team was in a room just a few feet away, working away at his album, his tour, his press tours. And yet, all of that felt silly now as he thought about you. His partner who he truly cared about more than himself. He clenched his jaw, scratching at his hair as he tries to think clearly. He could call you, scold you for your carelessness for yourself and try to knock some sense into you. But he knew you better than that, just like you did. You knew how upset he’d be at you for working too hard, so you hadn’t mentioned it, leaving out key points in conversation. And he knew you wouldn’t listen, not to a phone call. 

So, desperate times call for desperate measures.

As the week of Valentines continued, so did you. You continued working hard, refusing to acknowledge worried comments from your co-workers. Even your manager had tried to say something, only to get snapped at (which didn’t happen often). If your choreographer conveniently got sick, like today, that didn’t stop you from going to the studio and continuing practice alone. 

The music blared from the speakers, but your own heavy breathing and the squeaking of tennis shoes was louder in your ears. You chose not to sing today, the only leniency you’d give your body. Instead, you focused on the set, practicing a new song that was going to be released with the deluxe version of your album. You moved your arms with the music, tilting your body in various directions, imagining your dancers were there to help create the perfect image. You swing your body in a sensual motion, sinking lower to the ground. Your body was screaming at you, almost begging you to stop as you stood back up. You glared at your own reflection. You could see it. The exhaustion. The stress. You could feel the pressure scratching into your muscles like claws.

Tears pricked your eyes as you stared at yourself. You had lost weight, probably from the lack of meals and the extreme amounts of exercise. Your eyes red with bags under them. You looked almost sick, from how tired you were. You could feel it. And yet you didn’t let your body stop. As a particularly intense part came up, tears streamed down your pale cheeks as you pushed. Every move was hit exactly as it should be. Extreme, fast, smooth, and a hint of flirtation as you beamed at the mirror like your fans were watching from the other side. You ignored the way your throat burned at the sobs threatening to escape you. You ignored the way your arms were aching every time you moved. You ignored how your feet suddenly felt to heavy to move.

Until you hit the floor.

Your legs had given out on you, letting you land in a heap of limbs. You scrunch your face up in pain, tears falling more rapidly. You pushed yourself up slowly, staring down at the floor like it had pulled you down. It wasn’t good enough. You weren’t good enough. This tour was going to fall apart, and it’d be entirely your fault. Your fans would be disappointed, your dancers and your crew would lose their jobs, your team would be mad at you, and you would have to face it all alone-

You let out a scream of frustration, slamming your hands against the floor repeatedly. The scream eventually contorted into a strangled sob. Your body shook, no longer having the energy to get up. You leaned back down, your forehead resting against the floor a you heaved. All of the stress, the overbearing pressure, the weeks of working hours and hours a day. It all washes over you like a bone crushing tsunami. 

You didn’t notice the door opening, something dropping to the floor, and running footsteps until someone grabs you.

Initially, you flinch at the touch. Expecting it to be Raphael or your friend, you shoot up from the floor, trying to scoot away from them. But instead, you’re facing a wide-eyed mint-haired Ji-yong. Your boyfriend. Who was, last you checked, supposed to be in Seoul, not LA. 

You blink. Were you hallucinating? For a moment, he just stared at you. He’d never seen you like this. Stressed? Tired? Absolutely. But this was different. Oddly reminiscent of his own past. The thought shook him to his core. His expression softened as he reached for you, his hand falling on your shoulder. You looked back at him, his touch bringing you back to reality. This was real, he was in front of you, and he’d just walked into your studio to see you in a pile of tears. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask, your voice hoarse. You look him over, he looked in much better condition than you. Except for the worry in his eyes that made you shrink back into your guilt.

“Your friends called me.” Ji-yong explains, reaching up and pushing your hair out of your face. You felt warm to the touch, too warm. “They’re worried about you, and so am I,” You looked away from him. You didn’t want to face the guilt, the anxiety, the feelings bubbling up in you the last few weeks. “Talk to me,”

You could only shrug, meek. You looked around the studio. “It’s not going to work.” You whisper. He frowns. “The tour. It’s going to fail. I’m going to mess up, or it’s not going to be good enough, and everyone is going to hate it, and I can’t risk that. I can’t mess this up-”

“Jagiya,” Ji-yong’s voice cuts through the air with an unexpected warmth. You look at him. “All of this will be perfect, but none of this is worth basically killing yourself for.” He slides closer to you, “You can’t give it your all if you’re like this. You of all people know that.” He was right. His clear calm words sinking into you. “You’re not going to mess this up. You’re not going to disappoint anyone. You’re not going to fail.” You feel tears roll down your face, and then you feel his touch. As he wipes them away, you lean into his palm for comfort. 

“I missed you,” You whimper.

“I missed you, beautiful,” He whispered back. Slowly, you came forward. You let his arms wrap around you as you curled into his chest, letting out a slow sigh as you finally let your body relax. He ran his fingers through your hair, holding you close. He rested his chin on top of your head, sitting in silence for a moment. His heart hurt with you, for you. You had always been your own biggest critic, he shared a similar testament for himself. But seeing you like this, something so unlike you, made his chest ache. “For the rest of the week, you’re relaxing.”

You sit up again, wide, fearful eyes looking at his calm ones. “I can’t! We have dress rehearsal-”

“You’re not arguing with me on this. Your choreographer already agreed.” His tone was slightly more stern, remaining soft whilst still showing how serious he was. You pressed your lips into a line. “I’m here all week, and you and I are both going to rest.” 

“But you have so much to do. The album-”

“Can wait a few days. I promise.” He lifts your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Let’s get home. I’ll run you a bath and we can watch your favorite show.”

You stare at him, pondering the offer. But he can see as your expression softens, the dark cloud looming over your features fading away. “Can we make hot cocoa?” You ask quietly. 

He can only smile. “Of course.” He tells you. You crack a smile, then. He slowly starts to stand up, pulling you with him. As he turns to grab your bags, you tug at his wrist. He spins back to face you, gasping as you kiss him harshly. His hands find their home on your waist, pulling you into him. It had been a few weeks since the two of you saw each other, and neither of you expected your reunion to go like this. You poured out every feeling into the kiss, letting him know just how much you missed him, how much you loved him, how truly excited you were to see him underneath your layers of exhaustion. 

He never let go of your hand, managing to carry both your dance bag and the bag he’d haphazardly packed before basically running to the airport in one hand. The two of you looked at each other, the conversation slowly flowing into non-work related things. It was like he could see the weight lifting off your shoulders. His presence alone bringing some sort of peace to you. He knew you needed this, and in a way he needed it too.

And when Valentine’s day finally rolled around, he’d made sure to pull out the stops. You’d woken up to breakfast in bed, a ribbon-wrapped box with an expensive necklace, flowers, flowers, and more flowers. You’d done what you could for him, too. Getting him some new rings and scarves, a sentimental handwritten note filled with words of adoration and love. For part of the day, the two of you stayed in your tangled sheets. Fingers tracing bare skin and soft kisses. Whispers of love and arms wrapped around bodies. 

When the evening came, Ji-yong had told you to dress nice. The two of you ended up at your favorite restaurant, the first nice place you took him to when he came to visit you for the first time. Of course he’d been in LA plenty of times before, but the time with you was different. It was more special than all the rest. And now, he remembered that fondly as he watches you sit at the same table (merely a coincidence, or fate he thinks), your eyes finally filled with that familiar love and light. You looked at him, smiling wide. He could die happy knowing he was ever the cause of that smile. 

“I love you, you know.” You said casually, admiring him. He blinks, his cheeks flushing a soft pink that was still noticeable in the warm light. You tilted your head, smiling even more. This is it, you think. This is what you wanted life to be like. You and Ji-yong. You realize that everything else could disappear, fall apart, slip from your grasp, but as long as you had him you’d be okay. This wasn’t the first time marriage crossed your mind, but it was the first time you ever imagined your wedding and confidently believed it would eventually become reality. The idea of walking down the aisle to your Ji-yong. Picturing him looking at you dressed in white. Spending the rest of your life with him. It all seemed like a dream, but it felt like it was all exactly what you wanted.

Ji-yong reaches for your hand over the table. He’s sure he’d never let you go if he had the choice. He looks at you, watching the way you’re glowing even in the dim lights. The way you looked at him enough to make him melt. He knew that you were it for him. You were the person he wanted to come home to every night. The person he wanted to kiss every day before he walked out the door. The person he would hold when he was upset. The person he’d bicker with until you were grey and old. The person he’d have a family with. It wasn’t a question, and there wasn’t another possibility to him. It was all a matter of time. Whether it was tomorrow, next week, next year, whenever. He didn’t know where his life was taking him, but he knew it was all going to be with you.

“I love you, too.”

[karlachismylife]

I am a little scared to write characters with different backgrounds, like Russian characters in the CoD franchise, because I'm afraid a Russian person will see it and be like, "What the fuck is this" and laugh at it maybe 😭 So I have to ask, do you ever find yourself judging fics based on how they portray the characters and the language? Like "this doesn't fit well" or "that's not how it works" type of stuff.. Are there any deal breakers, something you despise in fics, or maybe even advice for writing Russian characters... Thank you in advance, have a great day! 🩵

Hey comrade! This is a good question! And I can totally relate; not just to writing non-Russian characters, but even writing Russians from CoD is intimidating, because they are much older than me and witnessed a lot of historical and cultural changes in the country (even a whole another country if we think that at least Nikolai was born in USSR) that I haven't, and trust me, times haven't stopped being crazy here for the last 30 years or even more, so for me not having witnessed the 90s or being a baby in 2000s is a reason to be scared shitless writing for them, cuz fuck if I know how a person that lived through those times thinks.

All that to say, I think it's completely normal to feel awkward writing characters with backgrounds you're not familiar with, and also it's not a big deal if you get stuff wrong sometimes. I mean, isn't there like a whole bunch of fics about task force 141 and the "tapping out" ceremony that seems to exist in USA army only? People still enjoy them and no one was hurt by it. It's fiction and art, and first and foremost we want you to enjoy creating it; moreover, you are doing it and sharing it for free, so every decent person will always be grateful and supportive, and if anyone is coming at you aggressively for getting something wrong, you can tell them идите нахуй and block them. Mocking an artist that put effort and love into a piece of art is one of the worst things one can do.

(sorry this turned out longer than I expected so I'm hiding it under the cut). CW!politics and heavy themes, somewhat of a rant. I tried to summarize in the end and give a few tips so if you want to skip the rant, go down.

So me and my Paris (@nrdmssgs) came togther to make a list of stuff that might catch our eye or turn us off from reading a fic. Keep in mind that these are just opinions of two people! And I know for a fact that some Russians will not agree with me on some of these. So again, my main tip is not to overstress; we are genuinely glad when Russian characters get recognition despite all the negativity often surrounding them.

First, I'll just say, there are a lot of things that irk us in the games themselves. This goes not just for weird Russian accents or sometimes broken Russian altogether; I personally am very displeased with how freely (and wrongly, lol) they use the term "gulag" (ГУЛАГ) there. First of all, it is not a synonym to prison/camp, it's the name of the government agency that was in charge of running labor camps in USSR, so calling the camp itself this word is simply incorrect; second, it's a big tragic page in history, so throwing it around willy-nilly as some oooh scary prison place where characters in a pew pew game are put and can escape just feels insensitive to me. Generations of people whose countless families were hurt by this system are very much alive right now and it is a raw wound unfortunately, and the government is very much refusing to acknowledge this tragedy in its fullness. So there's that. There's also way too good-looking Makarov that spent who knows how much time in solitary confinement (we have people actively dying in solitary right now in much shorter time), there's Milena with a single bank account (show me one Russian oligarch that doesn't have their money shoved in 100 different places, uh-huh), there's Yegor Novak who is Ukrainan, but speaks Russian (yes, considering that he was born in USSR, he most likely speaks both languages, but erasing his identity is still problematic). So you see, there's a lot of shit to combat in canon already, and it's worth spending time looking into some of these things. Now to the fics!

I will say, I do notice of course when a Russian character is written by a non-Russian person that doesn't know much about Russian language/culture/mentality/history/whatever. And while I understand that it's hard and won't throw a fic away for not getting every little thing right, there is stuff that catches my attention.

The most obvious would be the language, of course. Russian is grammatically much more complicated than English and number one giveaway are mistakes in grammatical cases/genders. Even my good comrade here who knows Russian very well and surprises me with impeccable use of complicated constructions that show they understand some nuanced connotations/usage of words, even they often make mistakes with genders of words. And I can't blame them, for a native English speaker it is a new concept! But this, and also just the sentence structures, incorrect word choice (again, connotations are key) are always jarring in text. Usually I just skim over it and forget in the next sentence, sometimes it does make me laugh, but like. I'm not gonna make fun of anyone for making a mistake in a language, I appreciate when people make effort. But I do encourage everyone to send their Russian text to someone who can proofread it (me, for example, DMs and askbox always open). And if you really want to do it on your own, maybe don't just rely on google translate and such and try to do it with a dictionary and some base-level grammar lessons so you can make sure the endings of the words are alright, at least. Then we can talk about the difference between "blyat'", "blyad'", "blya", "blyadina" and "blyadstvo" :D

Another thing I do always have a quick upset sigh about is when people call borsht a Russian soup. No it's not, it's Ukranian. We do eat it a lot, yes, and it's not inherently bad or wrong to write a Russian character eating/cooking it, but it is nice when people do not add to the appropriation of Ukranian culture that's been going on since for-fucking-ever. Same goes for unfortunately many other cultures that Russian imperialism tried swallowing, so it's always better to google it and check. And just food in general, maybe spend a little time looking up what's the difference between pel'meny and varyeniky or what's okroshka. It's always an amazing experience when someone gets such details right! And an even better experience when you don't erase other Slavic or even Eastern European identities, brushing everyone under "Russian" rug. We are definitely nor a homogenous crowd! Moreover, not everyone born in Russia (and especially USSR) will be Russian. Looking into different ethnicities and nationalities that live here is just interesting if nothing else, but also very very important after centuries of opression.

I also have some non-serious beef with this magical "Siberia" western comrades love writing about, I touched on the topic here. An amazing impression is when people use less broad geographical names or look at less overused places. Did you know that Natalia "Raptor" Orlova is from Kamchatka? It's such a rich region with a lot to tell about!

What I do definitely dislike and it can turn me off from finishing the read at all, is insensitive writing of the characters themselves in terms of their background. It's complicated since I myself am not patriotic at all and I couldn't tell you for the life of me what it means "to be Russian", but it just. You can feel when a person thinks in stereotypes, you know? Like somewhere I saw something, I won't give a direct quote, but the main idea was that Russian/Slavic men all 100% have a breeding kink, and it was worded in a way that kinda felt like, hm, like a bit dehumanizing? Making them out to be these ooga booga barbaic cavemen? And yes, there is a lot to be said about Russian men, much of it very not good, and there is NOTHING wrong with writing a Russian character with a breeding kink, but it felt not nice to read that sentence, so just maybe after you write your piece do some introspection to make sure you weren't dipping into that kind of portrayal out of prejudice. If that's the effect you went for storytelling/your personal enjoyment cuz you like them ooga booga? I won't say a thing. Also the whole vodka/balalaika/ushanka/whatever bullshit, not entirely untrue, again, especially the vodka one, but if you write Nikto drinking kvas (which is non-alcoholic, okay, but still) or baltika beer instead of vodka, you'll make me happier, because it's like a signal "hey look I know a bit more about your culture that a James Bond movie intro showed me once". And in the next scene I'll forgive you even him riding a battle bear with vodka and balalaika in hand.

Coming back to the "barbarization" of Russian men in fics, it irks me a little when people lean too much into the whole Russian bandit/mafia stuff, and there are two characters that suffer from it, but each a little differently, the most. First is Nikolai, and while yes, he is a crime lord of sorts and he has that goddamn golden chain (which most Russian people or at least women find absolutely horrid and oh we do not come near men sporting those irl), I think people often write him... not intelligent enough? Too gruff and rough? He's an intellectual. Well-read, well-spoken, cultured. Level-headed. Whenever people write him too much like a 90s bandit, my heart breaks a little. But then again, I know Russian people that lean into the same set of stereotypes when writing him (but those same people have a lot of other uhhh xhenophobic tendencies that show when talking about other characters so I wouldn't rely on their views).

And then there's probably the biggest pet peeve of mine. Vladimir Makarov. Now, here is a big big disclaimer: YOU CAN WRITE WHATEVER YOU WANT IN YOUR FICS!!! We are already romantacizing military men that none of us (I hope) would approach irl; and if you want to write Makarov or Nikolai or whoever else in a certain way because that's what hits the spot for you, just do it. You want yandere Makarov or mummy issues Nikto or whatever else your heart desires? Go for it. I will be the first one defending your right to write it with a crowbar in hand, even if I myself would never read such a fic. So this here is entirely MY PERSONAL ISSUE. Deal? Deal.

I see it a lot here on tumblr (mostly in x reader fics) and it actually bothers me a lot, but when people write Makarov as this edgelord dark mafia boss. It just misses the point so much. He's an ultra-nationalist, a head of a PMC. They are not mafia, I would honestly argue that they're much worse. I get that they cast a very attractive man to play reboot Makarov and honestly the og Makarov too; I get that villains are the hot thing to be attracted to (sorry if I sound bitter, this is a separate problem I have with fandom and it doesn't matter rn), but Wagner (PMC that Konni is heavily based on) is a real life horror that is still existing even though there have been like structural changes. And they killed a lot of people and had enough power to threaten to overthrow the government so very recently. Rusich (another nationalist military group) is still active and doing horrible things and proudly reporting them online. Smaller far-right pigs are out in the streets doing horrible things. And a lot of it is (not so) subtly encouraged by the government. A lot of it is actively used by the government to gain more power, kill more people, instill more fear. It's a reality we live in, and to me seeing Makarov portrayed with none of that nationalism in sight and with all the allure of a dark romance novel mafia boss is... honestly, painful. Feels like a slap in the face, to be honest, and while I understand that this is the kind of nuance you can't just realize out of nowhere if it's not something you live around and that it's all fiction, it just is really, really hard to read for me. He is not just a complete crazy Joker-type freak, he's not a cool sexy mafia boss, he's a fucking nazi terrorist that can and will be paid by certain people in power to do their dirty work.

In the same route, but luckily I haven't seen it anywhere besides a certain group of Russian CoD fans (which is even more terrifying considering the political implications), but anyone who writes Barkov as a hero/in a positive light - fuck you. Just fuck you. He has interesting/attractive traits as a character, yes, I'm not saying you can't write about him, looking into him from different perspectives, simping for him if you want; but again, just spend some time reading up on recent history and politics that inspired the whole Urzikstan situation0 - and do it all with nuance. Or with a disclaimer that you don't support genocide at least, lol, cuz I'm telling you, I've seen people that made me scared.

However, once again, if you really want exactly that - ignore MY PERSONAL opinion and write it. I am just a gorilla on tumblr, my opinion is not the centre of the world. But what I do consider not a taste issue, but a deeper issue, is writing REAL PMCs and the likes of those in positive light. If anyone with a "Wagner OC" sees this post, just know, I would probably spit in your face irl. Making made-up Makarov go kiss kiss uwu or whatever irks me personally, but I can close the tab and let the author be; I'm sure many people have same opinion about Graves whom I write much more affectionately than some would prefer. But the real shit? That's a hard line.

A quick addition, back coming back to the "barbarization", just portraying Slavic characters being oh so very mesmerized by the !!!wonders of western civilization!!! is funny. There are definitely moments like this, but not as much as you think. Believe it or not, we actually don't live in bear caves.

This got way too long and dark, so let's finish on a lighter note. Russian characters celebrating some very non-Russian holidays (like Thanksgiving or catholic Christmas, even though the second one is not as bad) is funny, when it doesn't have much explanation (like them celebrating it with someone who actually does). "Suka blyat'" is funny, because it's often used where a simple "blyat'" would suffice.

Summarizing, here are general semi-short tips how to write Russian characters:

get your Russian proofread by someone who actually speaks it or at least don't fully rely on google translate. check your cases and genders!

especially if you use cusswords. it's an amazing characterization tool if you manage to use it right, so putting effort into it is always worth it

don't lean into stereotypes. they are partially true, but we kinda can tell when you do that intentionally and with nuance and when you don't know anything beyond them

be mindful about characters' identities and spend a little more time to make sure you are not writing someone else's stuff as "Russian". for the lack of better analogy, it's like mixing all Latin American identities together and writing them all as uhhh Mexican. we don't want to claim others' culture and others most definitely do not want to be erased again

be careful about the "barbarization" of your Slavic characters. sure, someone like Maxim "Minotaur" Bale won't strike you as the most intellectual individual (love you Max), but be intentional with it and don't just make every Slavic man go ooga booga but in Russian

didn't touch much on Russian/Slavic women, but be careful around the whole "money-hungry" stereotype

read up on political shit surrounding your characters. whether you like it or not, Russian people have been shaped by a lot of recent/current political happennings, so missing out even on general understanding of what your character witnessed/what their political views are can ruin a lot of characterization

Russia is fucking huge and does not consist just of Moscow and abstract "Siberia". the amount of cultures, confessions, nature stuff etc in the country is insane. not all Russians are orthodox Christians, but also - many of them are. and also - church was under fire in USSR so this is a separate layer of cultural shit you might want to consider

read Russian literature if you really want to write Russian characters a lot, it'll help you catch a feel of some very specific things like our yearning. it's a very specific thing that if you get right will give me a reading orgasm

same goes for Russian songs. also just don't underestimate the role of music in Russian life!

try to look up Russian "pop culture" (it feels kinda wrong to call it that, but I dunno how else to call it). if you can make your Russian character make an appropriate reference to a movie or say a Russian saying we actually use, it'll be amazing. but it's like level impossible i think so don't give yourself a headache over this, this is just that extra spice that will have me scrolling through your profle suspecting you're actually secretly Russian yourself

watch Soviet/Russian movies to get a better understanding of the vibe, not just what Hollywood portrays!

looking into architecture can be an interesting way to approach a character. we went through many different unique architectual styles, so if you're describing a character's home, it'll be a very cool move to specify what kind of apartment building they live in, for example

but most importantly remember: it's art you do for yourself first and foremost. don't take any of it as a strict guide you'll be punished for straying away from! we REALLY appreciate you writing for these characters, and you showed you put more thought into it than some of Russian comrades I know <3

and if you have specific questions, never be afraid to ask me or anyone else you know can help.

I hope I didn't scare you even more with this all, lol, I genuinely do appreciate you coming to me for advice, it means a lot when people show interest and effort. If you feel comfortable enough, send me/tag me in your fics, I'll be glad to read them and share with comrades that will enjoy them! From Russia with love ❤️❤️❤️🦍

[insomniac4000]

Disney Dreams- ChrisMD

Y/N and Chris Dixon had been friends for years—YouTube collaborators, office neighbours, and the kind of duo that fans always speculated about but never had enough evidence to confirm. Their chemistry had always been obvious, but there was always just enough plausible deniability to keep the rumours at bay.

Until now.

They had been dating for a few months—quietly, privately, and without the usual social media fanfare that accompanied most YouTuber relationships. It wasn’t that they were hiding it, exactly. They just weren’t announcing it. They were happy in their little bubble, and neither of them was in any rush to let the world in.

But the world was persistent. And observant.

It began with little things. Subtle changes. Y/N, who had spent years joking about being unlucky in love, stopped making those comments in her videos. Chris, who had previously thrown self-deprecating remarks about being forever single, did the same. Their respective audiences picked up on it almost immediately.

Then came the sightings.

A fan spotted them in a pub, leaning in close over their drinks, engaged in what seemed to be a deep conversation. But there was nothing definitive—no touching, no overt signs of romance. Just two friends, as they had always been. The sighting went semi-viral on Twitter, but without hard proof, it remained just speculation.

Then George Clarkeey unintentionally fanned the flames further on The Useless Hotline podcast. In the middle of a conversation about household accidents, he casually mentioned that he’d tripped over a pair of Y/N’s shoes in his and Chris’s flat.

The internet went into a frenzy.

Chris and Y/N had never officially confirmed they spent time at each other’s places, let alone that Y/N had left personal belongings at Chris’s. It was still possible that it was innocent—maybe she just visited a lot. Maybe she left her shoes there after a long editing session. But to their fans, this was another piece of the puzzle, another brick in the growing wall of evidence.

Yet, none of it was conclusive. None of it proved anything definitively.

Then came Disneyland.

Y/N had planned the Disneyland trip for months. It was meant to be a special treat for her two young nieces, she had promised them the trip after she had been away filming for both of their respective birthdays. The oldest Maddie was eight and her younger sister Rosie was six. Y/N’s older brother was the only family she had left so her nieces were incredibly dear to her, she saw them often and she was just as excited about the trip as they were. She hadn’t initially planned on Chris coming along, but when she mentioned it to him, he lit up with excitement.

“What if we take a trip soon? Just me and you,” Chris suggested leaning on the breakfast bar as he watched his girlfriend effortlessly whip up two omelettes for their breakfast.

“Good idea, I can’t do the last weekend of the month though, I’m taking Rosie and Maddie away,” Y/N explained as she dished up the eggy treats.

“Alone? You’re brave.”

“I owe them. I missed their birthdays so I promised them a trip to Disneyland Paris and I always keep my promises as an aunt.”

“You’re taking them to Disneyland Paris?” he had asked. Let me come,” he said immediately. “I’ll be the best uncle they’ve ever had.”

“Really? I never had you down as a Disney adult.”

“I’m not but it’s all about the kids right? I think it could be fun,” Chris suggested and Y/N blushed a little, the fact he was so willing to be a part of her family warmed her heart.

And he was. From the moment they arrived, Chris was fully in “fun uncle” mode—carrying one of the girls on his shoulders, lining up with them to meet princesses, and hyping them up before every ride. Y/N couldn’t stop smiling the entire day, seeing him effortlessly bond with her family.

"Alright, princesses," Chris announced as they walked through the entrance of Disneyland, "welcome to the most magical place on Earth."

Maddie, holding Chris’s hand, beamed up at him. "You mean besides Auntie Y/N’s house?"

Chris smirked. "Exactly. But only because she stocks better snacks."

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully and adjusted the Minnie Mouse ears Rosie had insisted she wear. "So, what’s the first ride, girls?"

"Big Thunder Mountain!" Maddie cheered.

"But we promised Rosie we’d meet the princesses first," Y/N reminded them and the older girl nodded in understanding knowing she’d get to do her choice later on.

Chris grinned and knelt to Rosie’s level. "And which princess are you most excited to meet?"

"Rapunzel!" Rosie said with absolute certainty.

"Good choice," he nodded solemnly. "Long hair, loves adventure—sounds a bit like your Auntie Y/N." He added with a bit of a smirk

Y/N nudged him with her hip. "Except I don’t have a frying pan as a weapon."

Chris leaned in. "Yet."

The morning was filled with rides, princess meet-and-greets, and an endless supply of Mickey shaped snacks. At one point, while Y/N went to grab coffee, Chris found himself on a mission—helping Rosie trade pins with cast members.

"You’ve got an eye for the rare ones," Chris said as Rosie exchanged a pin with a kind cast member.

"That’s because I watch videos about it," she said matter-of-factly. "And because you’re my good luck charm!"

Y/N returned to find Chris proudly showing off the ‘best trade ever’ that Rosie had made—a rare Rapunzel pin. "Look at you, Chris. Already spoiling them rotten."

Chris feigned innocence. "I have no idea what you mean."

“Come on it’s time for lunch,” Y/N replied with a smile, grabbing a hold of her nieces hands.

As they sat at a restaurant, munching on Mickey shaped pizza, Maddie leaned on Chris’s arm. "Uncle Chris, when are you gonna marry Auntie Y/N?"

Chris nearly choked on his drink. Y/N’s eyes widened as she turned to the girls. "Maddie!"

"What?" Maddie shrugged. "You already act like it."

Rosie nodded, swinging her legs. "Yeah, and Uncle Chris is always at your house."

Chris recovered quickly, grinning at Y/N. "Well, she is pretty great."

Y/N’s face flushed as she focused on her garlic bread. "Eat your food, girls."

Maddie and Rosie exchanged knowing looks, giggling.

After lunch they met Mickie Mouse to let their food digest before they went on more rides. Chris was half traumatised by It’s A Small World.

“That bloody song is going to be in my head all day,” he grumbled.

“But look how happy they are!” Y/N pointed to her nieces smiling faces “Plus it’s no worse then Taylor Swift.”

“Hey! Don’t diss Taylor!” Maddie protested in Chris’s defence and Y/N just rolled her eyes knowing there was no chance she was going to win against the pair of them.

By the time the fireworks had rolled around in the evening everyone was well and truly exhausted but they were determined to last through the day. Chris was holding Rosie while Maddie was leaning into Y/N as the four watched the castle and sky light up while music from the films played in the background. The group were so caught up in the morning they had failed to notice the person with a camera to their left.

A blurry photo was uploaded to Twitter that evening, showing Chris and Y/N standing together in front of Sleeping Beauty’s Castle. Y/N’s youngest niece was on his hip, her tiny arms wrapped around his neck, while her older niece was holding onto Y/N’s hand, beaming at the sight in front of her. Chris, notably, was wearing a Disneyland hoodie that perfectly matched the one Y/N had on. The caption simply read:

“Oh. My. God.”

The internet exploded.

Comments flooded in immediately.

“There’s no way this isn’t confirmation.”

“Chris at Disneyland with Y/N’s nieces?? That’s not a ‘just friends’ thing.”

“This is actually adorable, I can’t even be mad.”

“Remember when George said Y/N’s shoes were at Chris’s flat? IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW.”

Some tried to argue that it still wasn’t definitive proof. Maybe Chris was just a really good friend. Maybe he just happened to be in Disneyland at the same time. Maybe—

But even the skeptics were struggling. It was too perfect, too telling. Y/N, the fiercely independent woman who had been burned in past relationships, wouldn’t just bring any guy on a special trip with her nieces. And Chris, who had never even given a hint about any love for Disney, wouldn’t just tag along unless it mattered.

Theories flew across social media. Edits of their best moments in videos resurfaced. Old clips were re-examined with fresh eyes. Fans started pointing out moments they had missed—small glances, inside jokes, the way Chris had been extra protective of Y/N in group videos.

Chris and Y/N saw the online chaos unfold in real time. They were back the hotel now, the girls had crashed as soon as their heads had hit the pillows but Y/N and Chris couldn’t ignore their phones.

“I mean,” Chris said, scrolling through Twitter, “we had a good run.”

Y/N groaned, flopping onto the couch. “I thought we’d be able to hold out longer.”

He grinned. “We technically still haven’t confirmed anything.”

“Oh, right. Because that picture is really ambiguous.”

Chris shrugged. “Could be coincidence.”

Y/N snorted. “Sure. Let’s go with that. You just happen to be away with me and my nieces, plus they are incredibly comfortable with you. That can only mean you know them and you’re part of the family.”

They debated addressing it. A joint statement? A casual Instagram post? An offhand joke in a podcast? Ultimately, they decided to do nothing—at least, for now. They had always been private people, and just because the world thought they had confirmation didn’t mean they owed anyone an official announcement.

Instead, they carried on as they had before.

But the next time Y/N uploaded a vlog, there was a fleeting moment—barely two seconds—where Chris walked into her frame, wearing one of her hoodies.

And the fans lost their minds.

[woso-story]

A Little Escape

Lena Oberdorf x Reader

After a long and demanding season, Lena and you were both craving the same thing: a break. It had been a whirlwind year, with the ups and downs of club football, the pressure of international tournaments, and the constant travel. You had been looking forward to competing in the Olympics, representing Germany. But an unexpected ankle injury dashed those plans. You spent the last weeks on rehab, watching from the sidelines as your teammates prepared for Paris. But as much as it stung, it also meant one thing—this summer, you were free.

And Lena, your wonderful girlfriend, was in the same boat. No club commitments. No national team games for the both of you. No pressure. For the first time in forever, you were truly free.

You’d decided on Madeira. You had heard about the island’s beauty, the lush greenery, and the winding roads that led to beaches and mountain peaks. It was a place where you could forget about football, forget about the world for a little while, and just be.

The flight was smooth, your excitement growing as you approached the island. You took a taxi to the small, charming hotel you’d booked. Lena had made sure everything was organized. She had this knack for finding hidden gems, places off the beaten track. It was part of her that you adored—her love for exploring, for discovering new places, and her ability to make the smallest moments feel magical.

---

After dropping off your bags and freshening up, you rented a car. A small, nondescript vehicle that looked perfect for winding around the narrow, steep roads. You decided to spend the next few days exploring the island, taking in its natural beauty at your own pace.

The first day you ventured to the coast, winding through dramatic cliffs and lush green hills. The air was warm, the breeze carrying the smell of saltwater and wildflowers. You stopped at a small beach with golden sand and a turquoise sea, perfect for swimming.

Lena grinned at you as she tossed a towel onto the sand. “Race you to the water!” she shouted, already running toward the waves.

You laughed and followed, even though you knew she would always win in a sprint. But it didn’t matter. You had no one to impress, no schedule to follow, no match to prepare for. Just the two of you, together. You splashed in the water, the laughter echoing around you.

---

In the evenings, you’d walk through the cobbled streets of the island’s old towns, hand in hand, chatting in German—your shared mother tongue. It was such a relief to speak freely with Lena, without the pressure of finding the right words in English. In football, you had become so used to speaking in another language, but here, it was just you and your shared words. You could tell her about the little things that had been on your mind, the thoughts that had been crowded out by football for so long. And Lena would listen, always so patient, so understanding.

---

One afternoon, you set off for a hike through the mountains. The air was crisp and fresh, the landscape a mix of dense forests, rushing streams, and steep cliffs. You talked about everything and nothing. About your lives, your dreams, the future—both in football and beyond. You talked about your shared Olympic dream and how it felt to let it slip away. But Lena was always good at reminding you that there were other dreams, other adventures waiting for you. “We have this,” she said softly, her hand squeezing yours as you walked, the sun filtering through the trees. “We have now.”

The waterfalls on Madeira were stunning, and you spent a whole day chasing them. Each one felt like a secret, hidden gem that you had discovered together. You took turns standing under the cold, refreshing water, laughing as you tried to capture the moment on your phones. But even if you hadn’t taken a single photo, you knew you would carry those memories in your heart forever.

---

By the time the week was over, you had explored every corner of the island. From the black sand beaches to the volcanic landscapes, from the rolling hills to the charming little villages, Madeira had been everything you’d hoped for and more. And, for once, you hadn’t thought about football. The world of training sessions, media interviews, and packed stadiums had faded into the background. All that mattered was that you were together, with no expectations, no pressure. Just two people, in love, exploring a beautiful corner of the world.

---

On the last night, you stood on a terrace overlooking the ocean, the sun dipping below the horizon, casting everything in a golden glow. Lena wrapped her arms around you from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder.

“I’m so glad we did this,” she said softly, her voice full of contentment.

“Me too,” you whispered back, turning to face her. “It’s been perfect.”

“Maybe next year,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “we can do this again. Only next time, no injuries, no distractions. Just us.”

You smiled and kissed her forehead. “Next year, we’ll make it happen.”

And in that moment, you realized that no matter where you went, or what you did, it didn’t matter. Because with Lena by your side, it was always going to be perfect.

[borathae]

↳ Index [Day 19 - Free Use]

Pairing: sub!Taehyung x Domme!Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU, polyamory!AU

Kinks: living room sex, free use kink, guided male masturbation, handjob, edging, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, creampie, cock riding on the sofa, rough carrying sex against the window, semi-public sex ‘cause of the window, masochist!Tae, sadist!Reader, hair pulling, face slapping, degradation (slut), choking, “forced” finger sucking, subby boy tears, slight dollification, praise, squirting, very brief cunnilingus, lots of begging, he kneels at one point, strength kink cause of the carrying sex, soft & loving aftercare

Wordcount: 5.1k

a/n: inspired by this ask your idea was just too powerful, i was too inflicted by it not to write it gngnng this kink screams Sanguis!Tae so you are getting it with him gndfng have fun besties ❤

Taehyung has an apartment in Paris. Although “apartment” puts it lightly. It is in one of the city’s many old buildings, stretching over the last two floors and with a roof terrace nestled into the architecture. The apartment has high ceilings and old wooden floors. The furniture is a mixture of antiques and modern design pieces and wherever one might look, there is some sort of artwork presented. The main lights are rarely turned on because Taehyung has every room set up perfectly with ambient lights. On the first floor, one finds the entrance space, the main living room, the kitchen and a big dining room, a bathroom, a separate toilet and two guest bedrooms. Upstairs is reserved for a clothing room, another bathroom and the main bedroom while the rest of the rooms are turned into art studios of all sorts. The apartment is so distinctively Taehyung. Itis cozy, homey and filled with art history and you are currently spending your days in it. 

You and he left the estate behind to go on a romantic two-on-two trip to Paris. It is always bittersweet to leave the others behind, but you dearly needed some alone time. 

You have been in Paris for seven nights by now, tonight is the eighth, and you spent most of the time together. Ever since yesterday however, you and he have been spending less time together as normality in the apartment settled in. You didn’t mind. It is nice to live together and go about your day to day life. 

Taehyung has been at home for most of today, sculpting in his crafts room. You spent most of the day outside, cruising the secret shops of the supernatural world for some ingredients. One can never be stocked up enough for potion making.

It is already dark when you come home, locking the door and kicking off your shoes.

“Chéri, I’m home!” you call out in French. You are currently learning French and Korean with the help of your boys. Up until now, it’s been going really well. 

Taehyung appears in the hallway.

“Chèri, hello. How are you?” he greets you and says something you can’t understand quite yet.

“Say that again?”

He repeats it slowly, pointing at your bags.

“Ah! Yes, I got a few things. Seriously though, I underestimated how quickly natives speak. I felt lost sometimes”, you tell him in English.

“I understand, but you managed to communicate well?” he asks you in English as well.

“Yeah, thankfully. I can give you a haul of the things soon, but I really gotta pee.” 

“Don’t let me keep you from it. I shall carry the bags to the living room in the meantime. Or do you prefer them to be somewhere else?”

“No, the living room is perfect. You’re a darling. Thank you”, you say and hurry away before it is too late.

Taehyung is watching television again when you join him. You changed out of your outside clothes into a comfortable lounge set and freshened up. Taehyung put the bags on the coffee table, currently watching a French cooking show as he enjoys a glass of blood.

“That looks delicious.” 

“It does?” Taehyung asks, glancing at the blood in disbelief.

“No, not the blood. The food in the show.” 

“Ah, this makes more sense. Indeed, it looks rather appetizing. Shall we dine out tonight?” 

“No, it’s okay. I ate a burger before coming here.” 

“I see. Tomorrow then.” 

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

You climb on his lap, facing him. Taehyung shifts his eyes from the television to you. You take the glass out of his hand and put it on the coffee table. Then you turn the show off, looking at him with a flutter of your lashes.

“What is this?” he asks, studying your body. The lounge set you chose is expensive and a present by him. It hugs your curves seductively, making it difficult for him not to stare at your breasts. He isn’t subtle in his struggle. You like that he isn’t.

“I have a question for you”, you say, playing with his soft hair at the nape of his neck.

“You do?” 

You nod your head.

He cocks his left brow up, “go ahead, darling.” 

“Do you know the concept of free use?”

He widens his eyes, fingers twitching on your waist and thighs tensing.

“Darling you”, he begins, having to laugh breathily, “of course I do, but I do not understand why this is of importance right now.” 

“Because I’m going to free use you right now.”

“You are?” he croaks, tugging on his shirt collar because he suddenly feels hot beyond compare. 

“Mh-hm I am. I need an orgasm.”

You look into his eyes deeply. This is his chance to stop this. This is your silent, yet to him obvious, question for his consent. It won’t be spoken by you because you want to play into the entire free use aspect, but Taehyung knows your signs well enough not to need words. He can stop this right now and whenever he needs to. 

He doesn’t want this to stop. He is very down to fuck you. Very down. Ever since you sat down on his lap looking so pretty in your set, his mind has been spiralling.   

“O-okay”, he stutters, nodding his head. 

The consent was given.

“That’s what I thought. Not that I would have accepted anything else anyway”, you say and slip off his lap.

“Darling, heavens”, he gasps, stomach tingling unbearably. 

You open his pants, truly wasting no time. Taehyung moans softly, lifting his butt so you could undress him. You do it hastily, throwing his pants to the side. 

So now his lower body is bared while you kneel in front of him. He is completely soft, of course he is, and his breathing is still at a normal speed. You ought to change both of these things very, very soon.

“You’re so pretty when you’re soft, darling.” 

“Thank you, oh heavens.” 

“You know that I’m gonna have to make you hard though, don’t you?” 

“I do.” He opens his legs. “Do whatever you need to do, I can take it.” 

It is needless to mention that whatever is still in his borders of comfort, which you respect deeply. He feels safe in saying such big words and engaging in such a “dangerous” kink with you because of this respect. 

“Of course I’ll do anything I want to you, darling. You don’t have a say right now, remember?” 

His cock twitches slightly. You smirk, rubbing his inner thighs.

“Of course you know. The one who is in control is me and you are meant to be my little play doll.”

“Darling”, Taehyung whimpers, thrusting his hips against nothing. His cock twitches again, growing harder. 

“You’re my doll, Tae. All mine.”

His cock twitches into a semi hard boner, fingers gripping the edge of the sofa. You know exactly what to say to rile him up. Calling him a doll, reducing him to nothing but this will always be one of his weaknesses.

You purr, rubbing your hands over his sculpted thighs as you flutter your lashes up at him. His skin is so soft, the hair which covers it tickles your palms. You could eat him up.

“Isn’t that right, darling? Are you my pretty doll?”

“Yes, Owner”, he whimpers, nodding his head vigorously.

“Mh-hm you are, such a pretty doll. My pretty doll with his pretty, little doll cock”, you coo, letting your lips ghost over his cockhead without ever touching it.

It leaks and twitches as Taehyung whimpers above you. He is growing rapidly, breathing heavier. His hungry eyes are glued to your lips, every nerve in his body waits for the moment you decide to take him into your mouth.

Closer. Taehyung holds his breath.

Closer. Taehyung tries not to puck his hips up. A good doll would never.

Closer. He can practically feel your lips on his tip. The memories of all the times he was nestled in your warm mouth come rushing into his mind.  

Closer. Your breath tickles his cock. He throbs in anticipation.

Closer. Now. It is finally happening. Taehyung closes his eyes and rolls his head back in preparation.

“Actually. I changed my mind.”

He doesn’t want to open his eyes at first, scared to face his reality. In the end he has to however, facing your wicked smirk and burning eyes.

“I don’t wanna suck your cock, it’s boring.”

“What?” he gets out, eyes widening in pleading.

You stand up, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“Masturbate yourself.”

It takes him a moment to conceptualise what you just asked him to do and once it finally sinks it, Taehyung swears he might never recover. He moans just for your pleasure, wrapping his left hand around his semi-hard cock to pump it quickly.

“No, no, no. Slow down.”

He obeys even if it means that there is something missing. He moves his hand at a normal pace, looking up at you like the good doll he currently wants to be. It feels good, but could be better.

“Slower.”

He obeys, eyes glazing over in agony. This isn’t enough. He is barely moving his hand around his cock, the stimulation is way too little for someone as needy as him.

“There we go. That’s more like it”, you purr, watching him hungrily.

“Owner”, he gets out, trying to make up for the loss of speed by keeping his touch focused on his tip.

“Is it not enough, mhm?”

“No”, he keens, shaking his head.

“Mhm, poor doll. How does it make you feel?”

“Restless.”

“Restless? You seem pretty restful to me.”

He squirms, widening his eyes in begging. It amuses you and so you chuckle.

“You’re funny, Tae.”

“Owner please”, Taehyung begs, fluttering his lashes.

But you ignore him, staying silent. You watch his hand as it touches his own cock. He is so slow. You know how much this agonises him. Taehyung might pretend to be a patient, proper gentleman but you know him, you know his most naked, disgusting truth. He is greedy, he is impatient and he likes it rough. You watched him jerk off a hundred times before, watched how he practically tortured his cock to an orgasm. This right now is a different kind of torture to him. The kind which makes him desperate.

Good. 

You can’t really explain what made you want to torture him all of a sudden. You blame the good day on it and your jeans rubbing your pussy as you walked around Paris. Or maybe it is Taehyung in his low cut shirt and hid dark hair messy. Something made you horny enough to want to be with Taehyung this way. To want to use him as you please. 

His cock is already harder than when he began. He is breathing heavier, eyes pleading you silently. 

“It’s working, isn’t it?” 

“Not enough.” 

“Poor doll. Does your doll cock need more?” 

“Yes”, he whimpers, growing harder. He squirms, “please.” 

“Mmh”, you bend down and grab his balls. They were squished on the sofa first but Taehyung lifts his hips in reaction, allowing you a good grip on them. You roll them in your fingers, fucking him with just your eyes. 

Taehyung whimpers, lips parted and droopy eyes staring into yours. Like this, you can smell his sweetened breath and taste the memory of all the kisses you shared. 

“Your balls are so heavy, darling. I want them to empty everything inside me.” 

His balls tighten, his poor cock throbs in his hand. Taehyung moans your name, chasing your kiss which results in you straightening up again. He whimpers, eyes glazing over. He wants your kiss like he wants air. 

“Faster.” 

He obeys gladly, writhing on the sofa. 

“More.” 

“___”, he moans loudly, throwing his head back in ecstasy now that it finally, fucking finally, is enough. It feels so good. His cock is hard instantly, pulsating between his long fingers. 

“Use your second hand as well.” 

Taehyung wraps it around his base, cursing in French because it feels way too good. 

“What did you just say?” 

“I said. Heavens on fucking earth, this feels good.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yes”, he mewls, rolling his hips up into his fists. His meaty thighs are trembling, his chest is heaving up and down quickly. He is throbbing like crazy in his hands, tip glistening in bliss.

"Take it away.”

“No, please.”

“Take it away. Now.”

“You’re cruel”, he croaks, obeying groggily. 

“Mhm I am. The cruelest”, you murmur, scanning your eyes over his leaking cock. His tip is flushed and his veins swollen. He is so wet, so hard. You can’t wait to sit on it. 

“Please, it hurts.”

“Poor you, awww.” 

You undress, only keeping your jewellery on. You feel so sexy like this and Taehyung’s hungry gaze makes these feelings even stronger.

You touch your own torso, feeling up your curves until landing on your tits. You knead them, purring softly. Taehyung opens and closes his mouth in hungry gasps, tongue almost dripping saliva.  

“What do you think of me, doll?” 

“That you are the most beautiful woman to have ever walked this earth.”

His praise pleases you, making your heart flutter.

“You know exactly what to say, you darling you.”

“Please”, he breathes, rolling his hips against nothing.

You close the distance and push at his chest to make him fall against the backrest. You climb onto his lap, wrapping your fingers around his cock. The other palm you present to him.

He eyes it in confusion, squirming under your weight because you are moving your hand around his length and it feels so good to him. Your palm is so warm, the pressure you use just right. 

“Spit on my hand”, you order, wiggling your fingers impatiently, “don’t let me wait.”

He obeys with a mewl, unable to catch his breath afterwards.

“There we go, so wet”, you purr, spreading it on his cock in slow, sensual strokes. 

Taehyung’s eyes fall closed halfway, his lips part. It feels so good to be touched. Your fingers and palm are so soft, stroking the most sensitive spots on his cock. Your pussy is on his thigh, marking his skin. So wet and warm. It drives him insane to be like this with you.

To make matters even worse for his poor sanity, you pucker your lips and spit on his cock in a thick, heavy drip. You pick it up and mix it with his own spit, using it to pleasure him.

Taehyung curses in Korean for a change, head dropping against the backrest and fingers dimpling your hips. 

“What did you say, darling?” 

“Fucking hell, it feels so good”, he croaks, squirming his hips needily.

“Mhhmh it does”, you coo, twisting your hand around his messy cock. “Now you’re getting wet. Your doll cock is so wet for me.” 

“Ah! Please!” 

“There we go”, you ignore him and lift yourself to align with his cock. You sink down, taking him inside easily. A deep purr rumbling in your chest lets him know how good it feels to you.

Taehyung shoots up in surprise, hands gripping your buttocks and eyes widening in shock. He wants to say something, but you silence him by stuffing your slickened fingers into his mouth. All four of them with your thumb under his chin. 

Taehyung gurgles, eyes going cross and mouth instantly working to suck you off. 

“Perfect, keep sucking”, you encourage him, moving your hips on him in a way which is pleasurable for you. Judging by his needy moans around your digits, it’s pleasurable for him as well but that’s not important right now. You are doing this for yourself, you are doing this because you want it. Taehyung is only supposed to be your dildo and a pretty thing to look at.

And oh how pretty he looks with his mouth gagged by fingers and drool dripping down his chin. His cheeks are flushed and wet from the tears he spills. Said tears also stick to his lashes in little pearls. You press down on his tongue, twisting your hand deeper. 

Taehyung gags, eyes going out of focus and body trembling. You let him suffer for three seconds, then finally pull out. Taehyung gasps for air, grasping your waist in relief. The relief isn’t for long and then you already have your wet hand around his throat, squeezing down on his veins. And Taehyung can’t keep up with all the sensations, body reacting against his control. 

He grows inside you, shaking as you make him see stars with only your hand. 

“That feels so good”, you moan, chasing the growing pleasure. You love when he fills you out to the very brim. The stretch is addicting and his size allows for your deepest spots to be pleasured as well. You chase the warmth by pressing yourself closer, clit grinding against his groin each time you roll your hips. 

Taehyung moans under you, fingers trembling around your waist and thighs shaking. He is very sensitive when he is with you. He is normally very proud of his stamina, but when you play him like this, he turns into an excited little teenager who climaxes after only a few minutes. He is giddy, turned on and completely ruined, trying to think of anything else to keep himself from climaxing without your permission.

The fire in your eyes and the strength of your grip lets him know that his disobedience would not be appreciated. Now granted, Taehyung loves punishments, especially your punishments, but he hates disappointing you. He hates it so much that he would rather miss out on getting punished than disobey you. Which makes this a lot harder for him.

“It’s too much. Too, too much.”

“I don’t care, shut up”, you spit and stuff your fingers into his mouth again.

Taehyung gags at first but begins sucking eagerly soon after, cock throbbing inside you and eyes spilling new tears.

“That’s better”, you lull your words, head foggy. The view is turning you on so much, sitting on his cock is so good. You can’t do that for long, you never can. You love being with him that climaxing is so, so easy. Knowing that he is close makes it even harder not to entirely break around him. But then. Why should you hold back? You have no reason to drag this out. You came here to get an orgasm nothing more, you don’t have to impress Taehyung.

You let go of your pride and fall into the sensations, rolling your head back and arching your back as you dance your hips on his in a fast, sensual rhythm. Your toes curl. His cock goes so deep, rubbing your favourite spots.

“That’s it. That’s fucking it”, you moan, smiling drunkenly as around you the air is dancing in ecstasy.

Taehyung’s desperate mewls around your digits are like music to your ears. He is probably crying right now, but you don’t care to check. You are high, so far gone in the warmth.

“You’ve got the best cock, doll. So fucking good…”

Taehyung is breathless, not only because you are stuffing his mouth, but also because of you. You are so beautiful, glowing in the ambience lights as you arch and bend your body in the most feminine and sensual display of pleasure. If only he could take pictures with his eyes. He is starstruck. He sucks on your digits with even more eagerness, running his hands along your body just so he could memorise it in the current position.

He cups your breasts, rubbing your nipples.

“Yes fuck”, you moan, arching into his touch. You tug him closer and slip your fingers free. Taehyung needs no words to understand, latching his eager mouth onto your nipples to pleasure them eagerly. He switches between both sloppily, soiling your chest with his drool.

“Tae, darling”, your voice is high in pleasure, body shaking atop of him. This is it. You slam your hips down, convulsing around his big cock.

Taehyung groans, dragging his slickened tongue over your nipple while his long fingers dimple your flesh.

“Now. Yes”, you keen, falling back as your high finally hits you.

Taehyung supports you easily, following your movements as his strong hands hold you safely. He sucks on your nipple eagerly, trying his hardest not to bite down on it. It is difficult because you have him so close to his own orgasm.

“Yes wow”, you come down, lifting yourself off of him instantly.

“No darling please”, he gasps, trying to tug you back.

But you act uninterested. He can sense in the way you move, see it in the way you breathe, that your orgasm left you shaken and that you are just pretending not to be affected. You climb off his lap, trying your hardest not to tremble.

“Darling”, he tries, hands slipping from your hips as you step back.

You don’t answer him, turning your back to him to leave.

“Jagiya”, Taehyung whimpers in Korean, grabbing your hand.

You turn, looking down at him.

“What? Can’t you see that I’m busy?”

He is panting, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. His cock is so hard and swollen and so, so clearly edged, still glistening from your juices.

“Please don’t leave me like this. Please.”

“Why shouldn’t I? I got what I wanted.”

“Please.”

You slip your hand from his shaky hold and turn to leave.

“Jagiya please”, he begs in both languages, falling to his knees and grasping your shirt.

“Oop”, you wobble, almost losing balance. You turn from the momentum, holding his grabby hands for support. “What is this supposed to be?”

“Please, I know you don’t want to leave either. I’ll be good, I’ll be so good to you please”, he begs, looking up at you snotty and teary eyed.

“If you actually wanted to be good, you’d let me leave”, you say, doing a shitty job pretending that he leaves you cold. He knows you so well. Of course you don’t want to leave. Slipping off of him was the hardest thing you ever did, but sometimes you just gotta hear him beg.

“Please”, he sobs, hugging your waist and burying his face in your stomach, “please, I’m begging you.”

You gulp, feeling dizzy. His arms stretch the fabric of his shirt, bulging and tensing from the strength he grasps you with. He looks so pathetic begging on his knees and you get off to it so fucking good.

“Let me go”, you order in faux annoyance.

“Please”, Taehyung pleads and increases his own patheticness by slipping his hands under your shirt to scratch his nails down your back. And as he does that, he tilts his head back, connecting his mouth with your pleasured cunt.

“Tae”, you gasp loudly, loosing balance for a moment which you find by grabbing huge bundles of his thick hair. He has so much of it that it spills out between your fingers in such thick bundles you cannot even see your fingers in his locks anymore. “Holy fuck, Tae”, you moan, throwing your head back as you stumble closer to his face.

His desperation is so obvious in the way he licks you. He drools like an animal, unable to decide whether to suck the soul out of your clit or lick her senseless. These are definitely not the actions of a gentleman, these are the actions of a gentleman ruined by pussy way too good. This is the kind of head only someone brought to his limits gives, of someone who thought he could handle being used but who ended up way too weak for his goddess of a woman.

Taehyung lifts his head when desperation hurts in his heart and cock, drool dripping from his chin and fangs on full display. Thick strings of spit still connect him with your cunt, they are so heavy in consistency that they almost look slimy in the lights, only breaking apart once he begs again.

“Please, I can’t do this please.”

You furrow your brows and tug on his hair. He moans, tilting his head back with a roll of his eyes and his messy lips parting. Like this, you bend down so he can taste the poison of your words on the very tongue he used to almost steal your sanity.

“You’re a fucking slut.”

“Yes, the biggest”, he agrees with you in a pitched voice, nodding his head.

You tug harder, eliciting a pained whimper from him.

“Exactly, the biggest, most pathetic slut ever.”

Taehyung spills tears and tries to beg again. In French this time around because you have his brain scrambled enough that he can’t decide in which language to think.

“Please I’m sorry please.”

“You should be. Pathetic slut”, you spit and release his hair just so you can strike him across the cheek.

Taehyung moans, cock twitching so aggressively you almost pity it. Look at it, looking so desperate for something to keep it warm. Taehyung chases your hand after the slap, eyes looking at you even if they are constantly tearing up.

“You liked that, didn’t you?”

He nods his head.

“Of course you did, you slut”, you say and slap his other cheek as well for symmetry.

Taehyung reacts in a curse, instantly following it up with a beg. Korean this time around.

“Please I’m sorry I-I’m a slut, I can’t do this please.”

“Fine”, you give up, “it’s not like I can get you to shut up.” You sigh in faux annoyance. “Go ahead, I guess. Get your reward.” 

“___”, Taehyung moans and is instantly standing up, swooping you off your feet just to push you down onto his thick cock. He bottoms out in synch with your back hitting the cold glass of the living room window, forcing a gasp for air out of you. You arch your back, grasping his hair just in time before he begins rutting into you like a needy animal.

“I love you”, he moans, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “I love you. I bloody love you.” 

You wrap your limbs around him, face nuzzling into his shoulder and toes curling in electric pleasure.

“I love you too”, you get out, fingers grasping his thick hair. “Keep going, you’re so good. Ah fuck, you’re so good.”

“Urgh darling, I’m yours. I’m so fucking yours”, he spits, obeying your orders with eager, restless hips.

It feels so good to finally move, to finally fuck you how he craved to do. He doesn’t do it for himself, he does it for you because he knows that you love it. You love when he is rough, when he is strong and fast and when he drills his huge cock into your dripping pussy until you feel like passing out.

“Yes mine”, you croak, pulling him closer with your legs, “grinds Tae, grinds.”

“Yes, Owner”, he obeys, burying his cock as deep as he can go before he begins grinding you on him. He moves his hips for it, using his strength to move your body in the same rhythm.

“Ah! Wow, holy fuck”, you get out loudly, dropping your head against the window as you writhe in his arms. You twist his hair, pussy throbbing around him.

“You’re beautiful. You are so beautiful. And you feel so good. Darling, you feel so good”, he chants, spilling tears at the view of you.

“This is making me cum again, ah!”

“Let go, I’m yours to use. I’m all yours, this is all for you.”

“Tae”, you arch your back, grasping his face as the last thing you do before you orgasm a second time. It feels so much more intense than the first one because Taehyung is fucking it out of you and he is so goddamn good at that.

“Yes, thank you. Oh darling”, he whimpers, trying to slow down.

“No faster! Now!”

“I will climax if I-“

“Shut up! Faster!”

“Empress”, he sobs and obeys, picking up the same speed than before.

“Tae!” you scream, writhing in utter ecstasy as he finally brings you to the peak you craved. You squirt around his cock, soiling his legs and the floor this way. And Taehyung is a goner. With his eyes rolling back and his head dropping into your breasts, he climaxes against his will.

“I’m sorry”, he whimpers, filling you with his hot seed until it leaks out of you.

You can’t be angry at him, not when you enjoy it so much. You believed this moment couldn’t get any better until you felt his cock paint your walls. Finally you feel it, finally he is emptying his balls into you. Just how you ordered him to do.

“Good doll, such a good doll”, you mewl, entirely gone in the blissful heaven you and he share.

“Again, it’s so good”, Taehyung wails because your praise ruins him. He thought that you would be disappointed, but you are proud. You wanted him to orgasm. Oh, he wants to fill you even more and he does, pumping into you until you feel warm in your stomach and his balls are truly empty.

He uses the last of his strength to hurry to the sofa and then he drops into the pillows with you on top of him. The two of you are filling the silence with heavy panting, staying glued together as your bodies are just a little stiff in shock. This was way more intense than you planned it to be. Is it truly this addicting to be with each other?

You are the first to recover just enough that you can at least lift your head. He meets your gaze with barely open eyes, messy hair sticking to his sweaty forehead.

“Good boy”, you praise.

“I love you”, he gets out.

“I love you too”, you say and smile.

Taehyung retorts it, giving your hips a tender squeeze.

“Are you okay? I know I was mean to you. How is your face? Did I slap you too hard?”

“Everything you did was perfect. Thank you so much.”

“This is so good to hear”, you say and nuzzle your nose into his cheek with a cute sound.

Taehyung has to giggle because of it, face scrunching up into the brightest boxy smile and eyes closing. His chest fills with warmth, his stomach flutters.

“Wow, I’m so obsessed with you.”

“You are?”

“Mhm, so obsessed. I missed you today and I just…I saw you and needed you. I don’t wanna be apart from you, Tae darling. Being with you is paradise.”

“Yes it is”, he agrees and turns his head to steal a surprise kiss.

“Mhm”, you let out, startled at first before you purr and kiss him back. Your fingers lace themselves deep in his hair, he hugs you against his chest and like this, you fall into slow kisses and tender touches, making the paradise last so much longer.

[tttabii]

PREGNANT & PROMISES - THANOS/CHOI SU-BONG X READER

warning : none just fluff

────୨ৎ────

BACK IN THE DAYS when everything felt smaller  dreams seemed so far away, there was just you and Su-bong, on the rooftop of his small apartment, staring into the night sky and gabbing about the future.

"I want to travel," you murmured softly but firmly. "See other countries, dance in the rain in Paris, get lost in the streets of Tokyo, eat every food that we can."

"That sounds nice," he chuckled, propping his arm beneath his head as he listened. "What else?"

"Get married."

That had made him stop short and turn to look at you with eyes twinkling with something unfathomable. "With me?"

"Duh." You laughed and nudged him playfully. "Who should I get married to if not you?"

"True," he insisted, slipping his fingers under yours. ""I'd marry you in a heartbeat, you know."

And he had meant it.

Life had been easier then before his big break. He spent all his time in the studio honing beats, writing lyrics, and chasing dreams, while you were along to bring home-cooked meals, sneaking after hours just to sit next to him as he worked. On the days he had off, he was in your apartment, playing video games with his lazy arm over your shoulders, stealing kisses along your neck between matches.

He was always patient. Always. Even when you fought and were obstinate and frazzled and screaming, he would never shout back. He would just watch you, wear you out talking and screaming, and when you finally calmed down, he would apologize if he was in the wrong or pull you to his chest, pressing soft kisses on your forehead.

"I love you, you do know that, right?" He had whispered one night with his fingers running through your hair.

"I know."

And now, years later, everything had changed—except for the way he loved you.

Su-bong had finally made it. His songs were topping the charts, his concerts were sold out, yet he was still coming back home to you. Still calling you in the middle of the night just to hear your voice. Still sending you flowers with little notes that made you smile like a lovesick fool.

But what he didn't know—what you have not been able to tell him yet—was that you were pregnant. You had taken the test only a few days ago after staring in shock at those two pink lines, hands trembling with excitement and nerves. Though early in the pregnancy about a few weeks, thoughts of having a baby with him, of building that future you had talked about years ago, warmed your chest.

Tonight was his concert, and you had a front-row seat, VIP of course. The energy in the arena was electric, and the screams of the fans deafening as he rallied from hit to hit, commanding stage presence while putting forth raw emotion through his voice. Yet, as the music faded into silence, the arena quieted, and the giant screen above him focused right on you.

 

You blinked, caught off guard as gasps and murmurs spread through the audience.

Su-bong, standing under the spotlight, wiped the sweat off his forehead before looking straight at the camera—straight at you.

"I have some news for all my fans—it is a tad bit breathy," he said. "There has been a very special someone in my life—someone who has been with me from the start. And it's high time the world knows about her."

Your heart pounded in your chest.

"This one's for you, baby."

The music set out, seductively slow, and then he began to rap—words that talked of late-night studio sessions, of homemade meals, of whispered dreams on rooftops. He rapped about love, about patience, about a future he wanted to share.

And you knew for sure that he was now rapping about you.

Tears welled into your already glittering eyes as the audience erupted into cheers—the love in the room suffocating. And with him gazing into your eyes from the stage, full of tenderness, you knew it was the perfect moment to tell him—

The crowd was still cheering as Su-bong bent low on the stage with sweat streaming from his body and glistening under the stage lights. He smiled at you as he handed you the mic and was looking into your eyes, even with a crowd of thousands around you.

"And so?" he asked, his cutesy voice filled with teasing. "What do you think of the song? That was just for you, baby."

The audience waited for your response in thunderous applause. The camera showed you on the gargantuan screens overhead. Your heartbeat rang in your ears; you weren't planning to let this out publicly, but, hell, it seemed like a good idea right now.

You brought the mic to your lips, your voice slight but with a throb of excitement.

"I loved it." You smiled, gripping the edge of the stage. "And... I hope our baby will too."

The moment the words left your mouth, the arena erupted with gasps, screams, cheers—it was deafening. But all that registered in your awareness was of Su-bong, whose playful expression now shifted to a frozen gaze, lips parted slightly as if still processing what you had just said.

"W-What?" His voice came out quieter, breathless.

You bit your lip and nodded, "I'm pregnant, Su-bong."

For a brief moment, time suspended. Without a moment's indecision, he surged forward, clasping your hands and pulling you onto the stage, triggering another burst of applause. He squeezed you tightly against him, lifting you slightly off the ground, his face against your neck as a laugh-respiration burst forth.

"Holy shit," he murmured against your skin and afterward pulled away, cradling your face. "Are you serious?" 

You nodded again, tears welling up in your eyes. "Yeah, I am." 

He let out this loud, joyful whoop, spinning you in a circle before turning back to the crowd, raising his mic. "I'm gonna be a dad!"

The entire arena went wild, fans screamed, some were crying, lights started flashing, and confetti cascaded down like it was all planned as one big finale.

Turning back to you, Su-bong pressed his forehead against yours, hands still cradling your cheeks. "I love you," he whispered, pure passion shaking his voice. "And our baby...I'll give them the world, I swear."

And somehow, in that blinding light, loud cheers, showering confetti like stars, you knew this was the future you would always dream about. 

[cloudlessly-light]

How about Emily riding/going down on Hotch while he’s on the phone to another woman (maybe Beth) who’s flirting with him/asking him out?

Or Hotch fucking Emily knowing some cop or unsub or someone who’s flirted with her can hear/see if they look?

Exhibitionism + possessiveness = 🫠

Title: You’re still everything I want Summary: She’s back from Paris and everything is different, except for one thing. She still wants Aaron. Unlucky for her, he seems to have met someone else but she refuses to let that happen. Afterall, he was hers. Word count: 4,4k  Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smut, dirty talk, teasing, oral sex, exhibionism (kind of) breath play, jealousy, Emily is staking her claim, not that we blame her, feelings if you squint, idiots in lust and in love

She comes back from Paris and everything is different. Her relationship with her friends is different, her relationship with her work is different, but most importantly, her relationship with him was different. Before Doyle, before everything, they had been close to… something.

It was twisted pleasure, hidden touches, softer glances, words whispered in the dark that they weren’t comfortable saying too loudly yet. But it was there, the attraction, the longing, the want. It was the beginning of them.

She had been in lust with him for a long time, had thought that it was all it was. But then her chest would involuntarily clench with adoration for him, her hands would itch to feel his skin under her palms, and she knew that it wasn’t just lust.

Luckily for her, he felt the same.

They had barely begun, a few weeks spent together hidden away from the world as they wrung pleasure and something not yet dared spoken from each other. But then Doyle shows up, her life unravels, and with that whatever possible future they could have unravels too. At least that’s what she thinks, as she readies herself to start a new life.

Seven long months go by and then he calls. She’s on a plane before she knows it and after everything, she finds herself back in the place where she had always felt at home.

Only it’s not home anymore, because Aaron isn’t there. At least not like he used to. She hadn’t realized how much serenity he had brought to her until she didn’t have it anymore. But she’s back, she’s where she wants to be and if she had to spend her days back to longing for Aaron, it would be worth it, she thought.

That is until she’s on a plane, hearing Penelope ask Dave if Aaron is dating someone and the lump in her stomach is so heavy she feels like she’ll throw up. It’s unfair of her, she knows that, but she wasn’t ready for him to move on from whatever they were close to having. It wasn’t fair, and she wasn’t going to let him push her away anymore.

Afterall, he was hers.

“Can we talk?” She shows up at his door with a bottle of bourbon and dressed in red, his favorite color and she knows not all hope is lost when his dark eyes flit over her quickly.

“Is everything alright?” He lets her in and that’s another good sign, she thinks.

“Yeah, I just figured it was time to talk,” She sits down on the couch and ignores memories of his hands on her body while being on that exact couch. “about us.”

He grabs two glasses before sitting down next to her on the other end of the couch and draws a long sigh.

“Okay.” He says while pouring the amber liquid into the glasses.

“You’ve distanced yourself from me.” It’s blunt, she knows it is, but she always had been and he just barely hides a small smile at her attitude.

“I thought that would be better… since everything.” His eyebrows narrow when she lets out a scoff.

“How is it better?” She takes a sip of her drink and relishes the burn as it slides down her throat. “I thought we were close to something really good.”

“We were.” His eyes search her face for a moment, his voice soft as he speaks.

“But?” She could see his fingers twitching around his glass, a sign that he was holding himself back from touching her and God, what she wouldn’t do to feel his touch again.

“But I almost didn’t know what to do with myself while you were away, not a day went by when I didn’t want to call you, when I didn’t think about you.” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bopping with the motion and she almost reaches out for him.

“I don’t see why that’s an issue now, when I’m back.” Her eyes stay on his and she sees different emotions reflected back at her. For a few seconds it’s silent between them and she almost thinks that he’s going to kiss her. But then he clears his throat and straightens slightly.

“I had to move on.” He says simply but there’s no conviction to his words. He hadn’t moved on, no matter what woman he might have met.

“Well,” She downs the rest of the bourbon in one gulp. “I’m not ready to give up on this.” When she stands he does the same and she takes a small step closer to him, just enough for his breathing to hitch. “And I’m pretty sure you aren’t either.” She whispers against his ear, a smile curling against his jaw when he tenses at her proximity.

When she leaves only a few moments later one thing is clear to her, he still wanted her even if he was going to pretend that he didn’t.

But she knew him, knew that she couldn’t burst in wearing underwear and get on her knees for her to get what she want. No Aaron needed to be teased, to be shown what he could have but chose not to take. So she walks into the office wearing a shirt that shows just enough cleavage for him to notice, makes sure to lean over his desk when dropping off files with a look of innocence on her face when she catches him try and look anywhere but down her shirt.

She makes sure that she stands just a tiny bit too close in the crowded elevator, her ass just barely grazing the front of his slacks and she feels his breath against the back of her neck, slightly uneven as his fists balls up at his side.

And maybe, she makes sure to lick the foam of her cappuccino, or the glaze of a donut off her bottom lip and even the ketchup off her finger while keeping eye contact with him. He’s unable to look away each time, even when his eyes narrow at her or he tries to pretend he’s not staring at her. He tries to pretend that he’s unaffected by her, but she can see the way his pulse race, the slight flush up his neck.

“You need to stop.” He sounds almost pleading when she drops off files wearing a dress he had ripped from her body only ten months ago. She was going out with JJ and Penelope, had changed quickly and made sure to wear heels that were just a smidge too high to be practical, before turning in her work for the evening.

“Stop what?” She holds his heated stare with a smirk on her face.

“I don’t know what you’ve been trying to prove for the last few weeks.” He stands from behind his desk and she knows that it’s his way to try and impose some kind of authority over her, and it only makes her thighs clench with want.

“Then there’s no need for me to stop, is there?” She makes sure to sway her hips a little more than usual when she turns to walk out.

He’s going crazy, she thinks a few days later. They’re undercover, pretending to be a couple in a crowded bar and as he sits on a stool she stands between his legs. It’s practical, she can look one way and he the other, but any chance that the unsub would be there was slim, so she takes advantage.

“He’s not here.” She says lowly, her lips brushing his ear as she speaks. She can’t be too obvious, the rest of the team were able to hear her. But they can’t see them, so she casually leans into him, one of her hands grabbing the buckle of his jeans as her breasts press against his chest.

“All good here too.” His voice is strained and she grins into the crook of his neck, acting like she was whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

“We’ll look around the building, see if he’s close by.” Reid’s voice sounds through their earpieces. “Prentiss can you tell if he’s in one of the booths?”

To be able to see that way Aaron needs to move his head, and she gently grasps his neck and pulls him forward. She cranes her neck and sees nothing of importance, but takes another moment to enjoy the way Aaron is nosing at her hairline, his hands moving to her waist automatically as he breathes her in.

“No, nothing.” She says, the words coming out breathier than she wants as her body throbs with arousal.

They end up catching the unsub outside the bar less than an hour later and during the hustle of everything she’s left alone with Aaron who’s all but glaring at her.

“My place when we get back.” He mutters finally and her eyebrow arches. He was finally giving in to her, and she could feel satisfaction pool in her belly.

“Yes, sir.”

She shows up at his apartment the following day and he’s looking at her like he wants to devour her whole.

“Is this a bad time?” She looks at him up and down, dressed in his running clothes.

“I was going out for a run.” He’s texting as he talks, before throwing the phone on the couch carelessly. “Didn’t think you’d be here until later.”

She barely registers that he’s moving until he’s grabbing the back of her neck and pulling her into a kiss. It’s messy, his lips on hers domineering as he pries her lips open with his tongue and she gasps into him.

“You have been driving me crazy.” He hisses against her lips and she pushes him backwards until the back of his knees hit the couch. “You’re a menace.”  

“Are you saying that you don’t want me? Don’t want this?” She grips his short hair and tugs and when he groans she takes advantage and kisses down his jaw, tastes the skin of his neck.

“I’ve always wanted you.” He breathes and she hums before sinking her teeth into his throat, earning her another low groan. “I should have known there was no fighting this.”

“You should have.” She agrees with a smirk and his hands fist her hair to pull her into another kiss. This one is more gentle, like he’s savoring the taste of her on his tongue and she falls into him easily. She pushes at his chest and when he sits back on the couch she’s quick to straddle him, never breaking their kiss.

“I missed you.” She gasps against his lips and his fingers twitch against her hip where he’s been pulling her closer to him.

“I missed you too.” For a few precious moments they stop and look at each other, she sees the sincerity on his face and she knows that this was a new beginning for them. This time it would last.

But everything they needed to talk about would have to wait, because she couldn’t imagine stopping what they were doing. She had needed him for so long her body was buzzing with pent up frustration, and judging by the way he was grabbing at her and the uncomfortable hardness inside his pants, he needed her just as bad.

With that thought in mind she easily rids herself of her shirt and bra and then helps him with his shirt. She catches him looking at her scars and she shakes her head.

“Later.” She tells him and he nods, but not before kissing her once, softly and carefully.

“Later.” He agrees and she gives him a small smile before standing up and quickly pushing her jeans down her legs and he licks his lips at the sight. She leaves her underwear on before kneeling between his legs on the floor, her hands reaching for the hemline of his shorts.

She gets them along with his boxers off with some help from him and as she looks at his naked body with a filthy look in her eye, he blushes.

“You’ve been taking your training seriously.” She comments lowly as she strokes the skin of his inner thighs and feels her clit pulse when his cock jerks against his stomach. He had always been large, strong and muscular, but he was more defined now, some of his softness gone and as his muscles tensed she found herself wanting to lick every inch of him.

“F-for the marathon.” He stutters as she kisses his inner thigh, hot, open-mouthed kisses that is driving him insane. “Stop teasing. You’ve done enough of that.”

At that she smirks but she still takes his cock in her hands and pumps it one, twice, three times as he groans above her. Her eyes stay on his when she swipes her tongue slowly over the tip of his cock, earning a shaky breath from him. She hums lowly at the taste of him, still so familiar to her. When his jaw clenches she licks the length of him, from bottom to tip and his hand fists the cushion.

“Jesus Em.” He grits out through clenched teeth and she clamps her thighs together to alleviate some of the pressure between them. “I thought I said no more teasing.”

She should have expected his thick fingers in her hair, fisting it hard enough to make her gasp and he takes advantage of her open mouth and pulls her forward. His hand loosens as she circles his head with her tongue and easily takes more of him in her mouth. Her eyes flitter up to his face when his head falls back and his jaw goes slack, so she takes more of him, takes him as far as she can before she chokes and he hisses at the way her throat contracts around him.

“Your mouth is so fucking good.” He praises as she starts to bop her head and her hand jerks the part of him she can’t fit down her throat. She twists her wrist at the same time she swirls her tongue and his entire body jerks from the motion. It’s hot and wet and so fucking good he couldn’t for the life of him remember why he tried fighting this.

She swallows around him and his hips push up in response, earning a gag from her as tears cloud her eyes. He liked her messy, she knew that, had never been so wrong when she thought he’d be boring in bed before they had fallen into bed. He proved her wrong in more ways than one, and when he looked down at her with eyes clouded over from arousal and he carefully wiped a tear from her cheek, she was reminded just how wrong she had been all those months ago.

“You’re so pretty like this.” He whispers and her cheeks tint pink at the praise. But Emily always gave as good as she got and any other words he might have wanted to say died on his tongue the second she sucked him harder as both her hands twisted around his shaft, creating pleasure that made his entire body tremble.

And that’s when his phone rang beside him.

Emily lifted her head enough to see the caller ID, the word Beth almost feeling taunting. The other woman still sent her spiraling into a storm of jealousy, the fact that she was calling her man making her furious but through all of it she got an idea.

“Ignore it.” He told her when he noticed the angered expression on her face.

“Answer it.” She started to slowly stroke his shaft, just enough to tease him but not enough to give him any real relief.

“What?” He gasped as his hips buckled into her touch, needing more.

“Answer it or I’ll stop.” She kept her eyes on him and took him back in her mouth, sucking him deep once before pulling away with a pop.

“Jesus Christ.” He hissed and her hands tightened around him, her wrist twisting back and forth as she jerked him. “This is insanity.” He whispered and she smiled, something menacing and close to wild in her eyes when he reached for the phone.

“Hurry up, before it’ll go to voicemail.” She let go of his shaft and pulled back, giving him a view of her mostly naked body and with a trembling hand he pressed the answer button.

“Hello?”

The moment he answered, Emily had him back in her mouth, sucking him with even more enthusiasm and his jaw clenched and his eyes closed as he tried to control his breathing.

“Hi Aaron, I got your text about postponing our run today.” Beth sounded just as happy and carefree as always, oblivious to the strained tone in his voice.

“Yeah, something came up.” He just barely held back a groan when Emily let the undershaft of his cock drag along her tongue. “Rain check?”

“I was actually calling about something else.” Beth let out a nervous laugh and Emily rolled her eyes, because of course she’d be a giggler.

She tightened her lips around him and took him as deep as she could, bypassing her body’s urge to choke to get him fully sheathed down her throat and this time Aaron did groan, his eyes wide as he watched her in awe.

“Are you alright?” Beth asked on the line and he just barely choked out a response.

“Yeah, but this isn’t really a good time.” He bit his fist when she pulled off him, gasping for breath and saliva dripping down her bottom lip.

“Don’t mind me.” Emily smirked before standing up, she wiped her mouth and then pushed her panties down her legs. By the time she was straddling his hips, the other woman was still rambling on the other end. “Feel how soaked I am, just from sucking your cock.” She whispered against his other ear and he quickly did what she said, gasping into her neck at the slick heat he found there.

“… I’ve really been enjoying our time together, and I was going to ask you this today but since you cancelled…” Her voice trailed off but Aaron could barely listen anyways, his focus on Emily and the way she was aligning his cock with her entrance.

“It’s been fun.” He just barely has the mind to answer before Emily sunk down on him, taking his entire length in one go.

“Fuck I’ve missed your cock.” She whispered against his ear and Aaron was sure he was going crazy. The hand not holding the phone to his ear grabbed her hip in some vain attempt to control her movements, but there really was no use. Emily was already leaning back, one hand on his knee and the other between her legs and circling her clit as she started to lift her hips up and down. His eyes were trained on her body, from her puffy lips and flushed cheeks to her breasts, down to where they were connected, his cock shiny with her slick.

“It has been fun, and I mean it’s not every day you find man that’s handsome and fun, so I don’t want to blow this.” Beth giggles again and Emily moves a little faster on his lap, creating more friction.

“I’d like to see how good she is at blowing anything.” She mutters lowly, jealousy and want twisting in her belly. This isn’t normal, she realizes that, but some deep-seated need had been released, it was almost primal, the way she could see him struggling, the way she knew that all he wanted was to hang up because he wanted her. He didn’t wants Beth, he didn’t want anybody but her and it was clear in the way he was looking at her like she was a goddess, clear in the way his hands trembled with the need to touch her properly, clear in the way he chased her body with his own.

“T-thank you.” He stuttered, finding it best to say as little as possible. It was hard enough to find words, it took all his self-control to not hang up and bend Emily over right then and there. But he could see the wild look in her eye, could tell how much she got off on this. Her fingers were moving faster over her clit and he could feel her slick walls tightening around his shaft. In response he leaned forward and sucked one of her nipples between his lips, earning a low moan in return.

“You’re welcome.” He mumbled against her chest before moving to the other breasts. He could hear the smile in Beth’s voice and he almost felt bad for giving her hope. In all honesty he had found her pretty, but she had never been more than a distraction from Emily, she never would have been compared to the woman currently wringing pleasure from him as she moved her hips in ways he’d never experienced before.

“She thinks she can have you but you’re not hers, are you?” She pants and grips his hair to pull him back as she moves a little faster, enough for their bodies to make a slapping sound every time she drops her hips and he pushes up against her. Her orgasm is building, so close she could taste it but she held off, her fingers slowing slightly against her clit.

He shakes his head wordlessly, sweat rolling down his temple and his jaw clenching as the pressure in his stomach starts to build.

“So anyways, what I’m trying to ask, in a very long, roundabout way, is if you want to go to dinner with me?” Beth finally comes out and asks and Emily is leaning forward on his lap, her lips by his ear again.

“Tell me who you belong to.” She tells him and his hips buckle against hers in response.

“I’m yours.” He groans and Emily hums against his ear, satisfaction dripping from the sound.

“That’s right.” She slows her hips and grabs his phone from him, just barely catching the confused question on the other end.

“… I take that as a yes?”

Her eyes stay on his as she holds his phone to her ear, a quick shake of her head and her hips starting to grind on his lap enough to keep him still as he grabs her hips with both hands.

“No, that would be a no.” She tells Beth, her voice breathy and low as she does. “He’s taken and currently about to come-” She’s interrupted by Aaron grabbing the phone and ending the call before she can finish and she gives him a glare.

“You don’t have to be cruel. You’ve had your fun.” His voice is rough, finally being able to relax enough to make the sounds he’s been fighting to keep down. His hand is rough when he grabs her throat, putting just enough pressure around it to make her whimper and her hips buckle. “Now, get yourself off, let me fill that pretty pussy up. And then we’re going to the bedroom to do this again.”

She’s nodding before he’s even finished speaking, her body moving harder, her fingers digging into his chest as she does. Her body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, her muscles tensing as she chases her release and her fingers move faster over her clit. She’s right at the edge, her vision blurring as she mewls his name. In response, his hand tightens just slightly around her neck and her eyes roll back in her head.

“H-harder.” She gasps and he grins before tightening his hold enough for her to go lightheaded. When he lets go the blood that rushes to her head makes her cry out as her orgasm hits her hard and fast. She trembles in his lap, hips buckling wildly as he switches from holding her throat to gripping her hips with both hands, pushing her back and forth on his cock to chase his own release.

“Fuck, Aaron!” She grunts, oversensitive and sated as he uses her body to get off, a look of primal want on his face. “Come in me, let me feel it.” She whimpers and he growls, a deep, rumbling sound that rips from his throat as he tenses and hips jerk.

He comes with her still twitching on his lap, his teeth sinking into her throat as he does. The sound that leaves him is barely muffled against her skin, her hiss just loud enough for him to hear as white hot pleasure rips through his entire body as he releases as deep inside of her as he can.

Emily knows that her skin will bruise, that the mark he bit into her skin would be impossible to hide but she found that she didn’t care. Before, he had always been careful, had always left his marks where she could hide them, but not this time because this time they wouldn’t have to hide.

She sighs as she lets him come down, her fingers massaging his scalp as his lips leave long, lazy kisses along her shoulder. By the time the sweat is drying on their skin and she feels like she can stand again Aaron is laughing, a breathless and deep laugh that she had missed.

“What?” She smiles down at him and he cups her cheek in one hand.

“You’re crazy.” He continues to laugh when her eyebrow narrows. “And I don’t mean that as an insult because I think I might be crazy too.”

“I’m not crazy.” She pushes some hair that’s fallen over his forehead back. “I just know what I want.”

“But you wanting another woman on the phone while fucking me, that is kind of crazy.” He teases and she grins winningly.

“No, that’s me taking what’s mine.”

At that he laughs again, even louder and she feels her body warm from the sound. They didn’t have everything figured out yet, not even close to it. But she knew that they’d get there. This was the beginning for them, for real this time.