#a lot has changed and he wants to make sure they have a familiar face there to tease them

[alphabetboyluvr]

habits of a clandestine nature | jjk

pairing: collegejk x female oc (angst, smut)

warnings: college!jk, rich!jk, he's a college nepo baby!!!, waitress!oc, flashbacks to summer, (mild) enemies to lovers, oc lives with tae (they're besties), jk is besties with jimin, mentions of parents infidelity, mentions of oc's virginity (lost prior to the story starting), a little angsty, jk is nawt a fuckboi, but he is stewpid, unprotected sex, bathroom escapades, multiple positions, oral (f), mentions of blowjobs, house parties, jackson wang!!!!!!!, yoongi has no lines but is also one of my fave characters lmao

wordcount: 16k

note from holly: this was written as a commission over on ko-fi!! it went through soooo many changes and edits - at one point it was over 24k lmao. i have so much lore and backstory for this couple, but I'll save it for a rainy day!! one of the main prompts was the 2004 classic a cinderella story, and there are little nods to it throughout the story, including the diner name!! a commenter on wattpad said the pairing reminded them of danny and sandy from grease and like... i see it lmao. anywaysss enjoy!! <33

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

It's a well-trained habit, your fleeting glance towards the door of Montgomery's Diner when the bell rings.

Though the clatter of cheap porcelain being stacked on a tray almost manages to drown out the chiming metal, it's never quite enough. Softening your hardened expression, you continue on with your work, careful to not let your contempt show too much.

You already know who it is—or at least, who it could be. Only saw the girl leading the pack, but know that where Claudia goes, the rest of The Untouchables will surely follow.

Gorgeous in a way that money can't buy, and careless in a way that money makes up for, she's never taken personal issue with you. Barely even registers your existence.

From your quick look, you know that it's not just the girls today. It's the guys, too.

All with parents on the college board, they're regarded as campus royalty. Are aptly known as The Untouchables, 'cause the rules that apply to you don't apply to them. They'll likely continue with their lives in a similar manner for years to come, and will pass these attributes off to their offspring, whom they'll name after countries or distant relatives who were once regarded to be regal.

Gathering up the last of the discarded napkins on the table, you take one final, fleeting look just to see if a familiar face is with them.

It's not that you actively want to see him.

You just haven't seen him in the best part of a fortnight, which is odd.

He's been in your section of the Diner near enough every single night of the past three months—but school is starting up again, and he's got appearances to keep.

God-forbid Jeon Jungkook—son of the Admissions Director and heir-apparent to an unholy amount of real estate tied to the university—ever associates with the lowly scholarship kids like you.

The only reason The Untouchables ever come to this Diner is because it's the last remaining place close to the university that hasn't been snapped up and integrated into the campus. You guess it must feel like freedom to them, in a way.

In fact, you know this is the case. Jungkook has told you himself.

Has told you a lot.

Told you far too much.

Such candid honesty from him, shared during the lonely heat of a sweltering summer, is what makes it so jarring when he looks away as soon as his dark eyes meet yours.

Tall, broad, handsome; he's everything the gossip magazines you read during your downtime swoon over, but also everything they warn against. Too pretty for his own good, the resident agony aunt would call him if she were ever to see him. Would assume his ego is far larger than his shoe size; superiority complex embedded into his skin like the ink of his tattoos.

And while you think that perhaps those assumptions could be true, you also know the reality of him; how gentle his hands can be. Helpful, too. Delicate. Ornate, almost, when they fold bills into five petal flowers. Strong, when they grip the back of your neck. Commanding, when they're wrapped around his leather steering wheel.

You shouldn't know the way his car smells. Shouldn't know how he presses the heel of his palm against the wheel when he's reversing, or just how easy it is to clamber into the backseats over the centre console.

But you do, and it rests on your tongue like a dirty little secret desperate to escape: I know you.

You're not sure if you know him better than The Untouchables, but you know him independent of them. Not many people do.

It's rare to find him without Jimin cracking a joke by his side, or Claudia making a slightly mean remark masked as innocent ignorance as she leads him astray.

But summer happened, and so did Jungkook. With his friends away at their holiday homes, and his father's infidelity ripping his family apart at the seams, he'd needed something to stitch himself back together. Let you thread yourself through his very being, and once you'd tied yourself in a pretty little bow around his heart, he'd cut you off.

Is that not what all craftsmen do, though? Discard what no longer serves a purpose?

Memories of him, in all the places you never should have let him in, ravage your thoughts.

The scent of his aftershave lingers on the childhood plushie he used to tease you for having on your bed, but would also automatically hug into his chest every single time he entered your room.

The things he did—and the things he didn't do—corrupt your dreams and leave you restless when you wake.

The smudged mascara under your eyes hides the bags from your lack of sleep, and your only respite is that the little puffs beneath his eyes are extra prominent today. He's tried, too.

For a minute, you feel vindicated.

It doesn't last.

For the past few months, if he's been sleeping badly, you've known about it. Kept him company in this very Diner, or in the basement of a party house he was dumb enough to take you to, forgetting he'd have to return there after summer finished, too.

The walls might not talk, but Jackson Wang certainly does. Jungkook knows it's only a matter of time until his dirty little secrets—no matter how pure they actually are—become the talk of the town.

He always slept well in your bedroom, though.

Funny, that.

He's dressed simply, today: white t-shirt, black jeans, chunky black boots on his feet. It's still warm out, even if the sun does begin to set a little earlier than it had been during the hotter months. He's got no need for a jacket, and you despise how undeniably gorgeous his arms are in the dewy humidity. Tattoos trailing up and down his skin, you'd be forgiven for thinking he was a man of complexities.

Turns out he's just like every other good-for-nothing fuck boy who wasn't worth your time.

The Untouchables sit towards the front of the Diner. Your section is at the back, and there's no way in hell you're deviating from your set section. Not today. Not when he's with them.

"I thought we were free," your colleague, Maria, grumbles as you bring your tray to the counter.

Like you, she's a scholarship kid. Is the one who got you the job at the Diner after you both moved into the shared house you live in off-campus. Three of you live there—you, Maria, and Taehyung—and you all share the same disdain for The Untouchables.

"It never ends," you tease in reply. Glance over your shoulder, back at the table.

They're laughing and joking about something you can't quite decipher. All of them, except Jungkook.

There's a sternness to him. One of which you'd forgotten about. With one hand on the table, the other in his lap, his thumb fidgets over his tense knuckles. Sunglasses rest on the crown of his head, pushed up into his hair to hold it back off his face. Staring at nothing much, he's chewing up his bottom lip until he feels the familiar burn of your eyes on him. Looks your way.

It's curious, how looking at you halts his body from its self-soothing actions. He no longer nibbles on his lip. His tightly balled first eases.

"What do you think, Kookie?" Claudia drawls, drawing his attention back to the group. "You coming tonight?"

"Hm?" He questions, eyes pulling away from you. He begins to rub his thumb over his knuckles again. "Sorry, was just looking at the menu board. What are we talking about?"

"Party at the Conservatory," Jimin says from across the table. Though he's the one sitting beside Claudia, everyone knows Jungkook is the one that she's really interested in. Has been since their first day of college. "First of the semester. It's one of their birthdays. Reckon it'll be a big one."

On campus, but close enough to the boundaries that it's never infringed upon by security or university officials, the Conservatory isn't what it seems. A boarding house for the creme-de-la-creme of the Botany and Conservation PhD students, it's surrounded by land. Has rows upon rows of greenhouses for their projects.

Of the few times you've been there, you've always thought it was like a maze. The perfect place to get lost. The perfect place to get found, too.

Unfortunately for the PhD students, the house custodian took on the role for one thing and one thing only: to throw the biggest ragers on campus. Knows fuck all about growing anything that isn't illegal. Only managed to get the role, 'cause like the rest of The Untouchables, his dad works high up in the college. He's a few years older than them. Belongs to a different generation of campus royalty, but is keen on making sure his legacy remains.

After all, there ain't no party like a Jackson Wang party.

Namjoon—one of the Botanists and the birthday boy himself—has started padlocking the greenhouses.

Another one of them—Yoongi—minored in mechanical engineering. Has a coin-operated lock on his bathroom door. Makes enough money from a single Jackson Wang party to sustain himself for an entire month.

Hoseok and Jin, the remaining two, are just as messy as Jackson. Have only started PhDs because they don't know what else to do and don't want their youth to abruptly end. Live for the parties; survive for the studying.

"Now, who's told you that?" Jungkook smiles, as if the prospect of showing up at the Conservatory doesn't make him feel a little bit sick. "Jackson?"

"Obviously."

"Well, of course he's gonna tell you it'll be big," Jungkook laughs. "Wants to rope as many of you fuckers in as he can."

"And it works every time," Jimin smirks back. "If everyone thinks it'll be a rager, everyone will want to go. He's a marketing genius, if you ask me."

Jungkook rolls his eyes. Is fond in how he interacts with his friends. Has grown up with most of them. Whether or not they're everyones cup of tea is debatable, but they're his people.

And yet he finds himself glancing back over to the counter. You're not there anymore. Are out back, he assumes. Knows the layout, now. Where the walk-in freezer is. The little nook that you sit in during your break. He doubts any of his friends have ever been in a commercial kitchen, let alone one at a place like this.

While yes, his friends have only ever been good to him, he knows that it isn't the case for everyone they interact with. Is well aware that his friends would be confused beyond belief if they ever found out he knows how to click through the Diner's cash register and find the discount section. Would be even more perplexed if they were to see his initials hidden in one of the codes.

But summer was lonely.

Or at least it was.

Lonely, until it wasn't. Isolating, until he sought solace in someone he can't even bring himself to speak to in front of his friends.

Casting his eyes back down to the table, well aware that he's got no reason to feel as cut up as he does, he fakes a laugh. Looks up again at his friends with a grin so sincere that they'd never guess the way it feels like his heart is in his throat. "Alright. You're on. What time?"

The conversation dissolves into plans—what to wear, what drink to take.

After a summer apart, Jungkook thought it would be nice to be with his friends again. Thought he'd be excited; that he'd welcome them all back with open arms. Ask them about their summers, and lament his time spent here.

When Jimin asks him why he didn't go to the Italian villa his parents normally insist they spend the summer at, Jungkook shrugs.

"Dad has some stuff to sort out, so it was better to stay here," he says, minimising the reality of what really happened. Even you don't know for certain. All you know is that his father did something incredibly immoral, to the point where Jungkook can't even stand to look at him.

Is why he spent all those nights in the diner.

Was confusing at first. He was always angry. Always frowning. Always ordering black coffees and nothing else, huddled up in the corner booth, away from the world.

But with summer comes monsoons, and with monsoons come terrible conditions for walking home.

He expected you to say no when he offered you a ride. You expected to say no, too—but then a please and thank you had escaped your lips.

A routine grew. Habits formed.

Curious little thing, habits are. 21 days. That's all the time they take to develop.

Jungkook spent 63 days of summer with you in varying capacities. Enough time to learn a habit three times over.

The one that haunts him most is how it felt to have your hand beneath his on his gear stick. Finds the absence of you when he drives unbearable. Knows he's got no one to blame but himself; not just for creating distance, but also for minimising it in the first place.

He's the one who offered you a lift. He's the one who messaged you on your days off to see if you fancied going for a drive. He's the one who didn't turn the AC on just to get you shaking your jacket off your shoulders.

And he's the one that drove you out to the coast one evening for no other reason than wanting to hear the waves. He's the one who opened up to you about his family. He's the one that made things more than what they were.

Had walked along the shore with you, too scared to hold your hand beneath the lunar light. Opted for playful banter instead, nudging you into the lapping waves.

But the waves got bigger, and Jungkook's unbridled desire to have you close did just the same. Like always, he took things too far. Drenched in sea water, you'd laughed with him for the entire ride home.

Invited him in. Said, "The salt will ruin your clothes. We should wash them."

"Hand wash only," he'd said, pinging his damp t-shirt against his chest. It stuck to him in such a way you learned all of his edges before you ever saw him naked—not like there was much time between these two instances. Ended up in your shower with him, clothes beneath your feet, the excuse of hand washing disregarded the second he had you naked.

You learned three things about Jungkook in that shower.

The first is that he giggles. Lips on yours, hands clutching your jaw, whenever the water was a little too intrusive, he'd separate with a laugh. Would kiss you again, a smile still on his face. Would pretend as if he wasn't giggling.

But he was, and it was lovely.

The second was that he's the type to lean his head forward, not tip it back. With his hands pressed to the shower tiles behind you as your fingers wrapped around his thick shaft, he let his head dip to his chest. Gave him ample opportunity to press kisses to the top of your head—or at least it did until you got to your knees and started taking his hard cock in your mouth.

"Shit," he had husked. Whined. Praised. "Fuck. You're so fuckin' good at that."

It was around then that you became aware he was a head pusher, too.

Almost as if he was saving the best until last, the third thing you learned was how he likes to cum; in your sheets, cock buried in your pussy, your hands clasped above your head. Missionary, 'cause he likes to kiss you through it. In your bed, 'cause he likes losing himself in everything you are. Prefers finishing inside you, but you refuse to fuck him without a condom so he never gets exactly what he wants. It's close enough, though.

Spent weeks—months—laying unfair claim to your body, and now he can't bring himself to look in your direction. It infuriates you.

But more than anything else, it embarrasses you.

Even your reflection laughs at you. Cackles 'told you so' every time you look in the mirror.

You always wondered why you never heard much about Jungkook's hook ups around campus. Everyone knows about Jimin and how his cock has been perpetually wet since the first day of freshers week, but there's always been a secrecy when it comes to Jungkook.

It's something you've teased him about; in your sheets, bodies clammy, his heart beating so fast in his chest you'd been forgiven for thinking he'd just run a marathon.

"When do I have to sign it?" You had giggled.

"Sign what?" He'd husked, voice all wispy and fucked out.

"The NDA," you'd replied as if it was obvious. "It's been, like, what? A month? Surely it's about time you made sure I kept my mouth shut like all your other girls do?"

On your front, your arms were folded over his chest, and he was gently rearranging the pretty little updo he'd made a mess of. Though he was looking at his hands as he replied, you kept your eyes on his. Studied his sincerity.

"Reason you don't hear about other girls is 'cause there aren't any."

A smile twitched at the corner of your lips, but you didn't let it shine for him.

"Sure."

There was a small jerk to his torso as a breathy smirk formed on his face.

"You think I can't be trusted?"

"I think it's foolish to trust any man."

His deep, dark eyes sank down to focus on yours. Offered you all the sincerity you'd be searching for, and more.

"That's all I am, huh?" He'd challenged you. "Just another one of your men?"

"One of the many," you'd teased just to rile him up a little.

"Ah," he'd played along. "So that's why I always have to wear a condom?"

With a saccharine smirk on your lips, you'd gotten back in position, legs straddled over his hips. Had kissed him. Whispered, "No. That's just because I know it annoys you."

"You annoy me all the time," he'd mumbled into your lips, hands gripping your waist to get you grinding against his still sensitive cock. Barely fifteen minutes since he'd last finished, there was no way he was ready to go again.

"Hm?" You'd hummed against his kisses, then began to work your way down his neck in a way that always got him a little moany. "If I'm so annoying, why are you getting hard again, baby?"

"You can be annoying and hot," he told you as he desperately tried to not let his insatiable need for you show.

"Is that how you like your girls?" You'd ribbed once more, just to piss him off a little. It was never serious. Never something you would actually fret over.

Perhaps you should have done, but then he told you with a little too much candour, "No. It's how I like my girl. Singular."

Loose lips sink ships, and Jungkook was one iceberg away from greeting the ocean floor. Closing his lips back down on yours, he was making sure you were just as insatiable for him as he was for you. He didn't cum again that evening, even if you did more times than you cared to count.

A greedy lover, is Jeon Jungkook. Edacious.

And so you understand, now, why the girls he gets entangled with stay silent; how the hoaxes he plays leave them utterly hysterical. They're subject to silence, because who would possibly believe all those sweet little lies he tells? How mad would they be considered if they tried to convince anyone he has a heart?

His brazen lack of humanity is proven when he comes to pay for the table. Any of them could have done it. Yet he elects to stand in front of your till and wait for you to serve him.

Have you not served him enough?

You refuse to utter a single word in his direction. Don't look at him, don't give him any satisfaction. He can read it for himself, he can pay, and he can fuck off.

"Keep the change," he mumbles tossing down the bills—but like fuck are you gonna keep anything he gives you.

He begins to walk away, a little shrunken in his stature.

"Excuse me, sir."

Stopping dead in his tracks, Jungkook is perplexed to hear you address him so coldly.

"Your change," you say, holding a closed hand out for him to hold his own hand beneath. He doesn't want to cause a scene. Obliges. Is surprised when notes, not coins, fall into his palm.

More specifically, notes folded into the shape of flowers. His handiwork, he's certain. Was something he used to do in the early hours of your late night diner shifts. If he said something a little mean, or bickered with you a little too hard, he'd fold his notes up like posies and give them to you as a remedy.

Never used those notes to buy you real flowers, mind you.

Back when things were still easy, you pulled him up on it. Told him that you'd be far easier to seduce with a little wooing. He'd told you that you were easy to seduce regardless.

You didn't speak to him for the rest of your shift.

Ended it with fourteen folded bills in the shape of a bouquet, and when the backseat windows of his car had a thick veil of condensation coating them that same evening, he'd drawn you flowers on them.

"No point in flowers," he'd told you. "They just wither up and die."

Which is funny, 'cause it kinda looks like Jungkook is doing that very same thing right in this moment. He goes to speak, but nothing comes out.

Disappointing, you think, then realise of course he is. Has done nothing but disappoint you.

You smile. Jungkook looks like he wants to cry. Good.

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

21 repetitions. That's how many times it takes to form a habit. You know this.

You also know that 90 days of this repetition will form a habit to last a lifetime.

As you hook up your apron, and free your hair of the ribbon that had been tightly wrapped around your ponytail, you know these are 'lifetime' habits. Apron, then ponytail. Always.

But when you say goodbye to Maria, and ask if she'll be at home this evening, you find yourself leaning into a recently formed habit. It's not anything particularly noteworthy. Not something anyone would notice.

Well, not anyone who matters. You don't think Jungkook counts as someone who matters, anymore.

But he'd noticed; how you'd started glancing across to his parking spot whenever you clocked out. Had teased you for it. Asked you if it was the highlight of your day, seeing him there, as if it wasn't the highlight of his.

You should have known the playful banter when he told you not to get used to it wasn't really banter at all.

Yet here you are, glancing across to his parking spot only to see it empty.

It's not even like it's his spot. Whenever he's with his friends, they walk. Live right on campus, so don't need to drive, and if they do, they'll park right by the doors.

In the height of summer, when the lot was empty and Jungkook wasn't driving for his sake but for yours, he liked to park in the far corner. Said dumb shit about not wanting any weirdos scratching it. Whined and moaned whenever someone performed the very human act of parking next to the only other car in an empty parking lot.

"So many spaces!" He'd blather on. Would speak with his hands. Get deliberately more animated, 'cause it always made you laugh. "And they choose here?!"

The memories make you smile, until the yellow headlights of another car flood into the parking lot. They reveal what's right in front of you; a crowd of cars and not a single one of them you care for.

It's not like you cared for Jungkook, either. Was just something to pass the time when the streets were quiet and his head was loud. 

In turn, you gave him quiet, and he made your summer feel loud.

But the leaves are turning brown and the water in the roadside puddles is becoming stale. The seasons have changed and so has the nature of your interactions. It's fine. You don't care. Really. Couldn't think of anyone you'd want to hang around less. Would rather die than associate with The Untouchables.

You never needed a lift, not really. Especially not when it always took you an hour to get home 'cause Jungkook just wanted to keep on driving.

Grumbling to yourself just to try and divert your mind from thoughts of him, your heart almost skips a beat when your phone vibrates in your pocket. For a second, you wonder if it could be him.

Where you at? It could read. I'm here.

Or maybe, I miss you.

I can't sleep without you.

This is so stupid. Can I come over?

It won't say of those things and you damn well know it.

Your text thread is dormant. The last message is from you, two weeks prior.

You: you not coming in tonight?

You: you'll be pleased to know my fairy godmother turned a pumpkin into a carriage to make sure i got home safe x

You: ... at least let me know if ur alive?

Rolling your eyes at how mortifying your desperation feels, the scowl that settles into your expression is comical. It's like you're fighting with the wind that's threading itself through your hair.

Pulling your phone out, the scowl only intensifies.

Jackass Wang: party tonight

You: so????

One thing about Jackson is that he's not gonna leave anyone on read, especially when he's trying to drum up attendees for his parties.

Jackass Wang: so i haven't seen you around for a while, montgomery

"Fuckin' Montgomery," you mutter at the nickname.

It's the one that all of Jungkook's friends seem to refer to you as, as if you don't have a personality outside of your job.

Still, at least Jackson is a little bit inventive with it. Calls you Monts. Monty, Monstera Plant, Monte Carlo, and god knows what else. If it starts with 'Mon,' he's found a way to end it with a cheeky smirk and smug anticipatory look in your direction, as he awaits your reaction.

You: i like it better when i don't see you x

Jackass Wang: you know that isn't true. loverboy will be there. come with him. or don't. i don't care. you can bring your little friends with you.

You: they'd rather die :) x

Jackass Wang: y'know, you're replying an awful lot for a girl who's not interested ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

You: you just can't take no for an answer

Jackass Wang: yes i can - but you haven't said no yet. c'mon. loverboy has been moping around all week. i can't be arsed with his mardy ass energy all evening.

You: so don't invite him???? i don't see why it's my problem?????

The fact that you don't need clarification of who Jackson means is proof enough that perhaps Jackson's onto something.

Jackass Wang: conservatory any time after 9. be there or be square montgomery. or don't be. i'm sure loverboy can get his dick wet without you, but it's easier for everyone if he doesn't.

You: charming x

Jackass Wang: it's why the ladies love me.

You: all of them except this one, apparently. have a nice party. stay away from the drugs.

Jackass Wang: can't be tamed, monte carlo. nor can loverboy. come keep him company.

The block button towards the top of your message thread looks incredibly tempting. Just a single click and you'll never have to deal with Jackson Wang and his dumb parties ever again.

Part of you can't believe you've ever been associated with them, as it is.

Summer defied the conventions of the life you've built for yourself. You weren't the person you thought you were.

Kicking off your shoes when you arrive home, the door slams shut behind you. A gentle voice calls through to check if it's you.

"Maria's still working," you say as you walk into the kitchen, tossing your bag down on the floor and your phone on the counter.

Taehyung, your best friend since your first week at college, is cooking himself dinner, but offers you a spoon of the tomato sauce he's making. Humming as you taste it, you're amazed by how he manages to make even the simplest thing delicious.

"S'good. What is that? Cumin?"

Nodding, he smiles. "A little paprika, too. You want some?"

His hair is dishevelled, blonde and sunkissed from the sweltering summer skies. He always looks great with a tan; radiant and full of youth.

Shaking your head, you really don't have an appetite. "Think I'm gonna have an early night."

He's about to reply when your phone buzzes. Both of you glance down. Your skin feels red hot, and when Taehyung almost chokes on the spoonful of sauce he's just tried, he's all sorts of confused.

"Why the fuck is Jackson Wang messaging you?"

"Hmm?" You hum as if you have no idea what he's talking about. Realise from the look on his face that he doesn't buy it for a second. "Oh! That Jackson Wang. Think he sent a text to his entire contact list. Something about a party."

"No," Taehyung asserts. "Absolutely not. You cannot bullshit out of this one."

"It's not bullshit," you whine as you pretend to look in the fridge for something to drink. Settle on a beer left by one of Taehyung's friends at a party held last semester. It wasn't quite a Jackson Wang level party, but nothing ever is. "He's just trying to drum up numbers for his stupid party tonight."

Taehyung is many things, but stupid he is not. Though he's blonde (thanks to a bottle of bleach and a few too many jack and cokes), he bends all the stereotypes. His tuition is covered by a scholarship for academic excellence.

"Don't give me that bull."

"It's not bull!"

"So you're telling me, out of everyone at our college, the Jackson Wang is texting you to make up numbers for his party?"

"Yes!" you exclaim, partially a little offended at it being such an unfathomable idea. "And he said you can come too, so maybe you're the one he's really after!"

His expression is flat. You are paper thin.

He's known you long enough to know when you're giving him half-truths.

He also knows you spent the summer alone in this house, and that there's a new toothbrush in the bathroom next to yours.

"You're hooking up with him, aren't you?"

"No!"

Out of everyone to be accused of sleeping with, Jackson Wang is, like, the worst of the worst. He's handsome, sure, but he's also slept with pretty much every girl on campus. Is a teenage boy in a grown adult's body. You'd rather not fornicate with a guy who still finds 'your mum' jokes funny.

Taehyung gasps at your immediate denial. "You are!"

"I'm not!"

"All that talk about saving it for someone special, and you mean to tell me you went and lost it to Jackson fuckin' Wang?!"

Everything about this conversation is making you want to punch yourself in the face. The topic of sex, and just why you've never gotten around to it, has dominated many conversations around this dining table. If you have to discuss it again, you might move out.

"Oh my God," you whine, throwing your head back. "We are not having this conversation."

"Yes, we are."

"No, we're not, because I didn't lose my virginity to Jackson Wang!" You stress. The more you think about it, the more offended you are.

"To Jackson Wang," Taehyung echoes, as he begins to join invisible dots. "But you did lose it to someone."

"No," you insist, but Taehyung refuses to buy it. Knows you too damn well.

He always thought he'd know when you lost it. That it'd be a boy you'd been dating. Committed to. Someone good. Someone worthy. Not someone you keep in the shadows.

"There's something you're not telling me," he frowns. "What the fuck happened this summer?"

With a sigh so deep it's a miracle you're still breathing, you relent. Never signed one of those NDA's you're convinced Jungkook must hand out like candy, as if he's some sort of celebrity and not just some college reprobate.

"Jungkook," you feebly admit. Take a sip on your beer. Don't look at Taheyung, 'cause you're afraid to see his reaction. "Wasn't Jackson. Was Jungkook."

You tell Taehyung everything. How Jungkook never knew you were a virgin. How he still doesn't. How you blame yourself for your hurt, but him for not getting you any band aids to help deal with it; for not kissing you better when he was the one to cause you such hurt in the first place.

As you recite you memories, you play a game against yourself: take a sip every time you want to cry.

By the time you've told Taehyung the nitty-gritty truth, the bottle of wine that had been in the fridge is finished, as well as your beer.

"I can't believe this," Taehyung says for what feels like the billionth time.

There's a certain shame that comes with Taehyung's confusion.

Embarrassment, like the way Jungkook would cringe at himself whenever he stumbled on his words, or the way you'd covered your reddening cheeks with your hands when he teased you for looking at him in the way you did.

Remorse of time wasted before him, and time wasted with him.

Regret of the things you did and the things he didn't.

It's all very confusing. Exhausting. If you were to really think about it, you'd spend a week in bed with a box of tissues. Would ask Taehyung why he didn't warn you that a heart could feel this horrid.

But he did, and you damn well know it.

Shrugging, you reach for the bottle and split the final few glugs between your glasses.

"We were just bored," you play it off. "Had nothing better to do. No one better to do."

But Taehyung shakes his head. "You don't have to do that, yanno. Pretend like it didn't matter. It's okay that it did. Even if he is a prick, and even if he's no better than the rest of them. It's okay that it hurts."

You're silent when he says this.

Despite your teasing, you never really thought Jungkook was much of a player.

But his friends are back now, and you've been relegated to the sidelines. Doesn't matter if he spent weeks—months—playing in no field but yours. Greener pastures have presumably sprouted. Your turf is wrecked from his carelessness, and he's left you to heal yourself while he goes and wrecks another.

Whoever he was pretending to be in the summer isn't who he is now that his friends are back—but when they're laughing and joking in the basement of the Conservatory that evening, Jungkook knows which version of himself he prefers.

"You need to get laid," Jimin tells Jungkook with a laugh. "Never seen a man look so bloody miserable at a party."

Of all the things Jungkook needs, getting laid is not one of them. In fact, he thinks it would be a very sensible idea if he never got laid again. Sex is messy. People get all emotional over it.

Or more so, he gets all emotional over it.

Had never been the type to, before. Always thought it was something that just happened to other people. Not to him.

He pushes the thoughts aside. Feels a little sick. Shrugs off Jimin's remark.

"If I wanted to get laid, I would get laid."

"So why don't you? Will do us all a favour. Claudia's been—"

"I couldn't give a fuck," Jungkook interrupts Jimin. "I'm not interested."

He never has been. Wants nothing to do with this university, and the men that run it, and so would never date one of their daughters.

They're all corrupt. Every last one of them. All cheat on their wives. All throw their families under the bus for their own selfish exploits. His own father's affair has proven this to him.

Jungkook pities his friends. Just because their parents haven't fucked up yet, doesn't mean they won't.

"Oi, Loverboy," Jackson calls from across the room, breaking the tension only to replace it with a headache for Jungkook. "Where's your little girlfriend? I told her to come."

"Who?" Jimin chirps.

Jungkook grates his jaw. Is deadly serious when he says, "Leave it, Jackson."

"Trouble in paradise for our lovebirds, huh?"

"I said leave it."

"Who the fuck is he talking about?" Jimin continues to ask, incredibly curious about this turn of events. Leave town for a couple of months, he thinks, and everything changes.

"No one."

"That one from the diner," Jackson just continues fuckin' talking. Jungkook wants to scream. "The one with a stick up her ass—"

"Jackson, cut it out," Jungkook snaps. "She's no one. Just fuckin' leave it."

"You ashamed, huh, Loverboy?" Jackson berates him a little bit. He isn't trying to be a dick, but he thinks Jungkook is acting like a tool. Jackson is no saint, but at least he doesn't ever pretend to be something he's not. "Poor girl. Wear her like your favourite pair of shoes all summer and then throw her to the trash when your friends come back? I thought better of you. So did she, probably. Shame."

Of all the people Jungkook ever expected to receive lessons in morality from, Jackson Wang was not the one. He parades himself around the Conservatory like Hugh Hefner reincarnated, his class attributed to money and not behaviours.

"The fuck have you been doing this summer, Kook?" Jimin laughs, utterly dumbfounded by his reactions.

They've all had their fair share of less than conventional lovers. If Jungkook has been fucking around with a girl from the Diner, then so what? Who cares?

"Nothing," Jungkook snaps.

It's not that he's ashamed. 

It's that you're separate.

When he's with you, all of this—the bullshit of college life and calamity of his family falling apart—dissolves into nothingness. He doesn't have to think. Finds himself at ease.

If you were to ever become a part of his life—his real one, not the one he got so used to living in with you over the summer—then it'd all change.

He doesn't want that.

He wants you to be a safe haven.

A refuge point can't be in the midst of a fire, though. He has to keep you away. At arms length.

But god damn, he wishes you would come and put out his fire. He's struggling. Finds existing without you so fucking hard. Doesn't know at which point he became so dependent, but knows his oxygen is running low.

He's suffocating. Isn't sure how much longer he can keep this up.

"Yeah, sure seems like nothing," Jimin smirks with a shake of his head as Jungkook storms off to get some much needed air. "Oi, Jackson, what was that all about?"

With a shrug, and yet another girl on his arm, Jackson grins. Puts on a pathetic little voice to mimic Jungkook's tantrum. "Fink baby boy has a wittle cwush."

"Girl from the diner?" Jimin implores, still smirking at Jackson's dumb humour. "Which one?"

"You really have to ask?"

For all of his mystery, Jungkook has never been a man of subtleties. His eyes give him away.

They always have done.

When he was looking at the menu board earlier that day? It was obvious.

Before college broke up for summer, and how Jungkook would always cast his eyes down to his hands whenever you, specifically, came to take their order? It was obvious.

How Jungkook would always make sure he was on the side of the booth that gave him ample opportunity to steal glances of you? It was so fucking obvious.

Sometimes he'd laugh at the slightly sarcastic remarks you gave Claudia whenever she would ask irritating questions about the menu.

When they were deciding where to eat, Jungkook would suggest the Montgomery's Diner, always.

So, no, Jimin doesn't really have to ask.

"Stupid prick," he sighs, sipping on his beer. Loves Jungkook to absolute death, but will never understand him. Figures that maybe you do. Worries that Jungkook is about to wreck it all. He calls after Jackson, "She here tonight?"

"Invited her," he calls back. "But she's got an attitude problem to rival his. Fuck knows if she's around. You'll feel her ice before you see her."

Which is funny, because the lingering summer heat sticks to your skin as you nervously meander up a driveway you know all too well.

The Conservatory is decidedly not a conservatory.

It's a complex. A maze of buildings, and greenhouses, and fuck knows what else. You've no interest in gardening, but if excelling at it meant living somewhere like this, maybe you'd consider taking it up as a hobby.

The buildings are mostly redbrick, with large windows, and even larger doors. It's the kind of place you'd imagine a Duke of some far away land prancing about in. Playing croquet, or secretly courting a lowly village girl that his parents will never approve of.

The irony isn't lost on you.

"Wait, how do I look?" Taehyung asks for what feels like the hundredth time. "Not too dressy?"

"You're wearing a waistcoat," you reply, face twisted in affectionate condemnation. He looks great, but he also does look far too dressy. It's his 'look', though, and one that'll get him attention, both good and bad.

If Kim Taehyung walked around with the arrogance his handsome face warranted him with, he'd be the heartthrob of the campus. You think even Claudia would want a slice of him—and given his distaste for the elite yet pining desire to be on their level, it'd be quite the complex pairing.

All of the other men here are in t-shirts, but Taehyung has never been like other men. It's part of the reason you like him so much.

One thing, however, you don't like about Taehyung is his domineering need to 'fix' things. It comes from a place of love, and he only ever does it because he cares, but it's not always in your best interest.

When he told you to go and get changed out of your work uniform, you thought he was planning on taking you to a bar. That you'd be drowning your sorrows over wine you can't afford.

You would never agree to go to the Conservatory. Not now.

Which is why he didn't tell you of his plan.

Instead, he ordered a cab and didn't give you the chance to protest. You were already halfway there by the time you realised.

"Why don't we just go home?" You whine, tugging on his arm as you stand by the gate that leads through the gardens—the same ones you used to traipse around in with Jungkook. "We don't need to be here."

"Uh-uh," he shakes his head, firmly standing his ground. "I've avoided this place for two years, and the second my back is turned it becomes your new home. The least you could do is invite me round for dinner."

"It's not my new home—"

"MONTGOMERY!"

The voice of Jackson Wang yelling across the front lawn makes you want to shrivel up and die. Sink down into the ground. You'd make great compost for the botanists.

"Y'know, you and Loverboy really need to stop lying so much," he says with an incredibly intoxicated grin as he lumbers towards you. You'll never admit it, but part of you is pleased to see him. "First you saying you weren't coming, then him telling everyone nothing happened between you. Both as bad as one another."

Nothing happened between you.

It doesn't surprise you, but it does sting. And it also confuses you. Why on earth would you be a topic of conversation? The people here know you as Montgomery. The girl from the diner. You're nothing but a background character to them.

"What did he say?" You ask, disregarding everything else, not even bothering to introduce Taehyung. He's finding all of this incredibly bewildering.

"Oh, Jimin was grilling him," Jackson waves his hands around, disregarding it. "Kept saying you were no one. Refused to admit that he'd practically tied his laces with yours for the whole summer. Don't you worry, though, Monte Carlo. I had your back. Set the record straight."

Jackson Wang having your back isn't something you ever expected to happen.

Jeon Jungkook's absolute denial of your clandestine affaire de cœur is, disappointingly, something you expected.

It doesn't mean that it comes without hurt. If anything, it's far more visceral, for you only have yourself to blame. These wounds are self-inflicted, even if they're carved with a knife Jungkook crafted out of silly affirmations he never should have made.

"Where is he?" You ask, cold in your tone.

Jackson shrugs. "Try the basement. S'where I last saw him."

As Jackson saunters off to find another poor partygoer to mildly offend, you're left with a bad taste in your mouth. You've been irritated since you saw Jungkook earlier that day.

How he can just show up at the diner and act like he doesn't even know you, let alone knows what it's like to wake up next to you, is beyond insulting.

"C'mon," Taehyung urges you along. "I need a drink, and you could use three."

Conversely, you think you need an entire bottle.

A bottle of what, you don't care. Just something strong. Anything other than the shitty, overpriced whisky Jungkook always insisted on drinking.

"Fine. But we're not going to the basement."

It's perplexing to walk the halls of the Conservatory without Jungkook; to pass by strangers who have no idea who you are, but who know and admire him as if he's some sort of Hollywood celebrity.

They don't know him like you do. Don't know what it feels like to have his hand around their throat, or his fingers gently intertwined with theirs. They've never heard him laugh like you have.

And yet when you're a few drinks deep, and on the verge of calling a cab to go home, you hear that laugh again and wonder how he can bear to be happy right now.

Glancing up, his face is unreadable. The lights are dim, and the shadows obscure the painful furrowing of his brows. He looks just the same as he did back in the diner earlier that day. Perplexed. In pain. Somehow perfectly fine, too.

The group he's in is small. Some of them you know, some of them you don't.

Claudia sits across from him on the lap of some other guy, yet she doesn't take her eyes off Jungkook. She laughs a little harder at his jokes. Directs questions to him. Flirts with other people in front of him to no avail. 

Not even now, after summer when her skin is sunkissed and her radiance is rejuvenated, can she keep his attention.

In fact, none of them can once he spots you from across the room. The big lights are off, fairy lights strung up, and a sunset lamp pours a clementine hue over you.

Summer becomes you, he thinks—adores—from afar.

The year is a body, and you're eternally condemned to its heart. That's where he'll keep you. Where you belong.

Had it been spring—the brain of the year—when he'd been hauled up in that diner, he never would have let things get as far as they did.

Had it been winter—the cunt of the year, for lack of a better term—he would have let it get that far, and he wouldn't have felt bad about it, either.

But Autumn is drawing close. The gut. The time to trust his intuition, and he damn well knows it.

A hand wraps itself around your wrist, dragging you away from his car crash eyes. Jungkook slips into the dull shadows of the room, right where he belongs. Was foolish of you to ever think otherwise.

"Do you mind?" you snap, but let yourself be dragged away regardless. Part of you hopes it'll make Jungkook do something. You're not sure what. Just something.

The man who is leading you astray is familiar. Recognisable. Park Jimin.

Though he's not aggressive, he definitely isn't gentle as he leads you out to the gardens. Lets go of your wrist by an overgrown shrub just beyond the benches that are made for drunken DMC's. He isn't after one of them. Wants the facts.

"Cut the bullshit," he says.

"No hello?" You chirp. "Nice to see you? Or better yet, an introduction?"

"You know who I am," Jimin tells you, expression flat. You hate that the arrogant fucker is right. "But I know fuck all about you, and apparently you're the reason Jungkook is walking around like death warmed up. So cut the bull. What happened?"

Frankly it's none of Jimin's business. Even if he's done you wrong, Jungkook trusted you. You're not gonna throw that back in his face and air his dirty laundry—especially not considering that Jimin is Jungkook's friend. If Jungkook wanted him to know, he'd have told him.

"Nothing," you tell him. "Barely even know him."

Jimin sighs. Jackson was right. There's a reason why you and Jungkook got along so well. Are both insufferable.

Glancing behind you, Jimin raises his brows.

You turn to face his line of vision, and fail to hide your surprise when you see Jungkook by the back door. Like a deer in headlights, he's frozen in place, his darling bambi eyes so startled he almost looks scared.

"So if you barely know him," Jimin continues as you and Jungkook stare one another out. "Why the fuck is he looking at you like he's seen a ghost?"

It takes a second or so, but you manage to pull your gaze away. Turn back to face Jimin. Shrug. Play dumb.

"Mistaken identity."

"Oh, I get it," Jimin smirks, knowing you aren't gonna give him an easy way out. Needs to bamboozle answers out of you. "You both went to the same bullshitting classes over summer? Is that it?"

You're surprised to find yourself smiling. Surprised that you find humour in Jimin's words. Surprised that you aren't rolling your eyes.

He's always been the Untouchable that has annoyed you the most. Is too loud. Laughs at the most obnoxious things.

"Top of the class," you reply because it somehow feels okay to joke with him. Perhaps spending so much time with Jungkook has lowered you Park Jimin-related intolerance. Not cured it, by any means, but definitely made it easier to manage.

"Academic rivals," Jimin supposes, realising that maybe there's a little more to you than he's ever given you credit for. "That's pretty hot."

"He seemed to think so," you lament, knowing that you're revealing a far more truthful rendition of your time spent with Jungkook. Or at least, admitting that time was spent together.

With a sigh, you walk a little further into the garden. Cross your arms. Look back over your shoulder to the door, only to find Jungkook is gone. It shouldn't upset you like it does, but you find your lips pressing together in a small pout.

"Look," Jimin says, exhaling a breath so deep you're sure his lungs must be empty. He comes to stand beside you, looking across the vast expanse of the gardens. "I'm not asking for your life story. If you don't give a shit about Kook, then that's fine, I'll leave you alone. But he's my best friend, and I've never seen him like this."

Glancing at Jimin, there's a taut discomfort on your face. Guilt, almost—but you've not done anything wrong. It's on him. He's the one who chose for things to be this way.

"I give a shit," you quietly admit as you look back out towards the garden, then sigh out a pitiful laugh. "You know him. You know what he's like. Of course I give a shit."

Quite honestly you think it's impossible to not fall for Jungkook. He's everything you're hardwired to appreciate: hardworking, charming, incredibly funny. You lost count of how many nights dissolved into laughter with him. Had never known your cheeks to hurt so much.

He was gentle, too. Stroked his thumbs against your cheeks just as often as he made them ache.

It's your heart that's aching now, and he's not around to soothe your woes.

Back inside, Jungkook feels so viscerally unwell that he thinks he might be sick. Or maybe he's actually dying. One of the two.

This is everything he didn't want. You were supposed to be separate. Supposed to be a sanctuary away from this all.

You're in the thick of it, now. Jimin is grilling you, and Jungkook doesn't know what to do. It's too much. All of it. The party, the people, the fact that you look at him with ice in your eyes when he knows damn well they used to harbour the warmest of fires.

Beelining for the basement, he kind of hopes the ground will swallow him up. Stop him from making the bad decisions he seems to find so god damn irresistible.

As he yanks open the small fridge at the back of the basement, Jungkook doesn't care what he drinks. Just needs something to help soothe his fragile mine; to make him feel better, 'cause lord knows you won't.

Reaching for a beer, he doesn't ask around to see if it belongs to anyone. Finders keepers. He's an Untouchable. This place is basically his by birthright. No one is gonna argue against him.

But Kim Taehyung isn't just anyone.

"So, when you apologise for being a gargantuan pillock, are you planning on also trying to win her over? Or will you just clean your conscience and wipe yourself clean of her, too?"

Jungkook's jaw tenses as his teeth grit together. "Don't know what you're on about."

"Had a girl in tears at my dinner table earlier tonight," Taehyung exaggerates. Just wants Jungkook to feel as awful as he knows you do. "Your friends might not give a shit about your well-being, but I give a shit about mine."

And for some reason, this irks Jungkook. He gives a shit about you. Cares so much he's been torturing himself by staying away. Thinks it's better for you both.

If it truly was, neither of you would be feeling so gut-wrenchingly awful.

He knows you're angry. You've made that perfectly clear.

But he also knows you do cry when you're frustrated. Was a lesson learned when you were stressed over the diner roof leaking one night during the monsoons when no one else was in to help you fix it.

It was the first night he offered you a lift home. Had taken pity on you. Had also liaised with the college maintenance guy to check it out the next day, even if the diner wasn't technically part of campus.

Because Jungkook does give a shit about your well-being, and he refutes the claim that he doesn't.

"So what? You here to tell me to stay away?" Jungkook scoffs as he prizes off the cap of the bottle. Swigs down a sip. Then another, 'cause he's not wankered enough for this.

"I'm here to tell you that you're an asshole," Taehyung asserts. "She didn't deserve to be used by you for the summer and then tossed to the trash just because semesters starting up again."

The roll of Jungkook's eyes is so weighted that it almost feels as if they'll get lodged in the back of his skull. The last time they'd rolled that deep was in bed with you. Back then it was because his body was so divinely out of sync that his muscles couldn't keep up with his actions. This time, pleasure is the furthest thing away from how he's feeling.

"You want me nowhere near her, but the fact I'm staying away makes me an asshole?" Jungkook petulantly laughs. "Can't ever fuckin' win, can I?"

"This isn't about winning or losing," Taehyung argues back. "She trusted you."

Jungkook doesn't understand what that has to do with anything. He's not betrayed your trust. Has kept all your secrets. Tried his best to keep you secret, too.

"What was she to you, huh? Some project? A virginity to get under your belt? Something to pass the time—"

"I don't know who you think I am," Jungkook snaps, fed up being accused of something he's not. "But not once did I ever treat her badly, okay? I—" He cuts himself off. Doesn't know how to articulate himself. "We— Look, you just don't get it. You don't know me. I was nothing but fuckin' nice. Okay? And she was nice. And it was nice. And we..." He trails off. Realises what Taehyung said. "The fuck do you mean, 'virginity to get under your belt'?"

It's about now that Taehyung realises he's said too much.

But every cloud has a silver lining.

"Talk to her," Taehyung shrugs as he begins to walk away. "Not me."

He leaves a scowling Jungkook by the fridge. Heads to the stairs, and once he reaches the top, is yanked away by a small but mighty force.

"You," Jimin asserts. "With me. Now."

The sound of three knocks on the bathroom door serve as a signal: let me in.

A panicked text from Taehyung had practically begged you to go to the basement bathroom and wait for him there. Said there was drama that he needed to talk with you about.

And you believed him, 'cause you're a few too many drinks deep and honestly could do with the respite.

Perched up on the countertop by the sink, you reach over and unhook the latch, giving Taehyung the all clear to come on in. Your legs languidly swing and your shoulders are slumped, this party well and truly over for you.

The only reason you're still here is because you know Taehyung's secretly been revelling in his first Conservatory party. You fear he'll want to come every weekend, now.

"You better not have your cock out," a playful voice you know all too well jokes, as the door pushes open. Eyes closed as he enters, he shuts the door behind him. Asks, "Am I safe to open my eyes?"

You're gonna kill Taehyung. 

In the most loving but brutal way, you will absolutelymurder him for setting you up like this.

"Safe," you grimace.

Jungkook doesn't open his eyes. In fact, he presses them even tighter together. Frowns. "Jimin isn't in here, is he?"

"We've been bamboozled," you sigh, and as much as he doesn't want to, Jungkook smiles at your choice of words. Tips his head down, and open his eyes. Is a little too scared to look your way, for fear of being greeted with wrath.

"Their days are numbered," Jungkook assures you, quickly glancing across to try and work out how you're feeling.

"My sentiments exactly."

Jungkook goes to speak, but you both notice a grating metallic noise by the door. Immediately, Jungkook presses his hand down on the door handle, but there's absolutely no give. It won't budge

"Jimin," he calls, voice strong and domineering through the wooden panels. Hastily painted white, they're chipped and tarnished; covered in numbers and Instagram handles, rumours and declarations of love. It's not your first time locked in this bathroom with Jungkook, but the last was of your own choice. Had been you turning the lock with a smile and glint in your eyes that had promised him trouble. "Open it up."

"No can do," Jimins smugly sings from beyond the door. "Sort your shit out."

Hopping off the counter, you nudge in front of Jungkook to pound against the door with an open fist. Though he steps back, it's still the closest you've been with him since he left your bedroom a couple weeks ago. Part of you laments the fact he moved away from you. Part of him does, too.

"Tae," you try calling instead, hand banging on the door, but you're met with the exact same response.

"Figure it out," he calls back, but also adds, "And if he's still an insufferable asshole in five minutes time, I'll come let you out."

Despite everything, you laugh at this. Not so much because of Taehyung's words, but because Jungkook's face screws up like an old newspaper.

"What is it with him and calling me an asshole?" Jungkook mutters under his breath with a shake of his head.

The bathroom is small—just a toilet and sink built into a cabinet. There's a mirror covering the back wall over it, and another cabinet above it that you assume is filled with empty bottles and misplaced lipglosses. There's barely even enough room to breathe, although there is enough room to make Jeon Jungkook come undone in the least dignified of ways. You should know.

You wish you didn't.

"He calls you one because you are one," you assure him.

"Excuse me?" 

"What?" You scoff, hopping back up on the counter, your eyes on his 'cause you want to watch the way he gets nasty. Wanna remind yourself of how horrible he can be. Replace the memories of him in this bathroom, 'cause in all reality, they're actually really lovely. Nice, even. Warm. Everything you're trying to convince yourself he's not. "Gone deaf as well as turned into a massive prick?"

"Jesus Christ," he says, rolling his eyes, turning back to face the door. Shakes at the handle. "Give it a rest."

"Why?" You ask as if butter wouldn't melt on your tongue. "Would it make life easier for you if I just wasn't around?"

Jungkook knows what you're doing. Has bickered with you enough times to understand your tricks. This is how you start; put words in his mouth that he can't defend against.

And so he doesn't try.

"Yep," he declares, turning to face you. "Way easier. Can you tell your friend I'm an asshole, still? Get us out of this place?"

You recline in defiance. Perched up on the counter next to the basin, your back is against a mirror. Legs crossed, you're in the same white summer dress you wore to your first party at the Conservatory.

Nearly everyone had been away for the summer.

You had spent the evening tucked up together on an armchair meant for one, him in the seat, you perched on the armrest, feet in his lap.

"People will talk, y'know," you'd assured him, elbows on your knees, chin in your palms.

"So let them talk," he'd smirked. "What's there to say? We're just sitting?"

It was strange for him to be seen with you. Even Jackson has been confused, but let it slide 'cause another partygoer is another partygoer. He cared for numbers, not names.

"Dunno," you had teased. "Might start talking about the way you look at me."

"Yeah?" He'd husked as his long fingers wrapped around your wrist. Gently pulled you closer.

"Yeah," you'd whispered, the sound of the music keeping your conversation obscure. "How long has it been that you've been looking at me for? A minute, already? Only one more until you fall in love, according to science."

"You tryna make me fall in love with you, Montgomery?"

"No," you'd innocently chirped, then pulled back. "Why? Were you?"

He'd shrugged. Sipped on his beer. "Guess we'll never know."

Looking at him now, you find it hard to believe he's the same person as he was back then.

"Why would I do that?" You feign naivety. "You're not an asshole?"

He doesn't reply. Knows you're going somewhere with this. Leans his back against the wall opposite you and folds his arms as if to say, go on.

"Assholes fuck people over," you state. "You'd never do that. And you'd definitely never spend your summer in some poor girls sheets and then pretend like she doesn't exist in front of your friends—"

"There is it," he confirms. Knew it was coming. Didn't expect you to actually try and speak about things like adults. So fuckin' childish.

"Oh?" You chirp. "So you're well aware of the fact you're an asshole? Good. Glad we have that one sorted out."

"Yep," he confirms, mouth drawing to a thin line.

The fact he isn't engaging in the fight infuriates you. Just proves he doesn't care. That he fucked you over for sport.

"I'm an asshole," he says, voice full of snark. "You know it, I know it. There's no reason why you should want to be around me. No reason why you should waste your time."

"It's so funny," you gasp in fake surprise. "I was thinking the exact same thing! Isn't it so great that you came to this conclusion after you already wasted months of my life?"

He's silent, now. Cowardly.

"Y'know I always knew you were an obnoxious prick," you say, voice now soberly quiet. "But I didn't think you were this cruel, Kook."

"You know that's not—"

"What?" You interrupt, voice growing louder with each question. "Not true? You woke up in my bed one morning, and then never spoke to me again. Who does that? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I don't know!" He shouts, and it surprises you both.

Raking his hand through his hair as he turns away from you, Jungkook wishes he had an answer. Wishes he could explain himself in a way that made sense to you both. Instead, he harshly swallows down his anger. Turns to face you again. Looks like he might cry.

Feels like it, too. 

"Why didn't you tell me, huh?" He quietly asks.

"Tell you wha—"

"That you were a virgin."

Your previous thoughts about murdering Taehyung return. Of all the things he could have divulged to Jungkook, and that's what he chose?!

Men, you internally scoff. All fuckin' idiots.

"Hardly relevant, is it?"

"Of course it is," he snaps, turning back to face you. "If I'd have known—"

"You'd have what? Ghosted me sooner? Made it into a fun little competition?"

"I didn't ghost you."

"Gaslighting, too, now are we?" You scoff. "Hold on, let me go and get my bingo card. Things Jungkook does that are absolutely fucking infuriating. Wanna cross it off the list. It's right next to how fast you drive your car, and how much I hate your stupid fucking alarm tone."

"Well good job you never have to hear it again, isn't it?"

"Why not? 'Cause you are ghosting me?"

"No, because this is fuckin' stupid," he says, yanking on the door handle, on the off chance it will finally budge. It doesn't. "You think I'm the devil reincarnated. You don't want me, so why bother with this? This is done. Us. Whatever the fuck it was. You never trusted me in the first place. Would have told me if you did. So just call your friend, tell him I'm an asshole. We're done."

"Oh, well you're two weeks too late for this conversation, don't you think?" you argue back with a cold laugh. "But has it ever occurred to you that my life doesn't revolve around you? That you aren't the reason I'm here? Jackson invited me."

"Ah, so that's what it is?" Jungkook sarcastically exclaims, your insatiable need to fight finally sinking into his skin. "You were just using me, huh? Getting those V-plates off, so you could be ready for him? Is that why you didn't tell me? Huh?"

The mere thought of hooking up with the college's very own Hugh Hefner makes you wanna gag—but if it'll piss off Jungkook, maybe you'll consider it.

"Why would you care if I let him fuck me?" You ask with such pointed anger Jungkook can't help but feel like you're driving knives into his chest. "Do that thing you like with my tongue? You think he'd like my pussy, huh? Maybe I'd let him fuck me raw."

You never let Jungkook go unprotected. Insisted on it each and every time, and he complied even if he was a little pouty about it after you'd been fucking for a while. The trust was there. You were on the pill. He knew he was clean and had told you as such, but it made no difference.

To even suggest you'd let Jackson fuck you raw is laughable.

With a smirk on his lips, Jungkook edges towards you.

Put his hands on your crossed knees. Waits for you to jerk him away—but you don't. Instead, you watch on with salacious confusion. Say nothing. Not even when he uncrosses them, nor when he spreads them apart.

With a hand either side of your head against the mirror, Jungkook stands between your legs.

Looks down at you.

Is so close you can smell his aftershave.

A month ago, in a position like this, you'd have kissed him.

"Hm?" You cock your head. Repeat your question. "You think he'd like my pussy? How long do you think he'd take to cum? Longer than you, I hope."

Jaw tense, Jungkook swallows down the way he wants to curse you out. Closes his eyes. Lets his head dip further, his forehead now resting against the top of your head.

The contact is minimal, but God, you've missed it. Trapped in position by him, you'd forgotten how lovely it was to lose yourself to Jungkook.

"You're not being fair," he whispers. Whines, even.

"Fair?" You laugh, but it's gentle. Matches his tone. "You can hardly take the high ground on fairness, Jungkook."

He nods. Takes a second, and then pathetically begs: "Don't fuck him. Please."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"You know why," he says. Stands straighter, now. Rakes a hand through his hair. Looks down on you with such pained desperation you almost feel bad. He tries to speak, but struggles with his words again. Takes him a few attempts to get anything out. "I didn't like you because I was fucking you. I fucked you because I liked you. You know that. You know it wasn't...Fuck. You know what it was."

The past tense he speaks in cuts you up inside.

Jungkook shrugs in defeat when he's met with silence. Purses his lips. Eyes on yours, they're glassy. Watery, almost.

Yours are just as bad, because what the fuck are you supposed to say to that? He's the one that cut you out. He did this.

"What did I do?" You ask, voice meagre and pathetic. Your vulnerability is mortifying, and yet you just can't help yourself as a tear streaks down your cheek. "What the fuck did I do that was so wrong, Kook?"

The heat of his hand scalds your skin as his thumb wipes away your tears. After his cold shoulder for the past two weeks, your body doesn't know how to respond. Should you be angry? Hurt? Comforted?

All you know is that you're more confused now than you ever were when you first started hooking up with him.

"Nothing," he quietly promises. Holds your cheeks in his hands. Rests his nose beside yours. Is far too close for a man who's been trying to stay away from you. Is beginning to realise that maybe his self-preservation was thinly veiled self-sabotage instead. "I thought I was doing the right thing, but it's been so fuckin' miserable, and then I didn't know how to fix things, and then it was all such a mess and—"

The words Jungkook is yet to speak are lost in the soft press of your lips against his.

Brows furrowed, Jungkook's grip on your face tightens. Keeps you close, 'cause he feels the pressure of your lips waning but doesn't want you to pull away.

And so you don't. Instead you apply more pressure. Harder. Deeper.

It's not like kissing Jungkook is a new experience. You've done it upwards of a thousand times, now. You know his lips and his tongue, and how it likes to flick against yours; his piercings, and the frequency of his moans that vibrate into your mouth.

Kissing Jungkook is just as easy as it is hard. Easy, in the way he takes not a single considered thought. Hard, in how it becomes your only tangible thought for minutes, hours, days afterwards.

An eternity and a millisecond is lost in the kiss, just like the summer that lasted an age and yet was gone with the wind.

When your lips finally part, there's silence. Forehead resting on yours, Jungkook shakes his head ever so gently. Doesn't know how to articulate his thoughts. How to say sorry, or how to fix his mess.

While his logic was flawed, and his execution careless, his intentions had been good. As much as he had a life to go back to, and friends that wouldn't get it, so did you.

He knows they hate him—isn't ignorant to the roll of Maria's eyes every time they walk into Montgomery's, and has experienced Taehyung's disdain first-hand this evening.

He'd spent his summer getting out of the house to avoid the fall-out of his father's infidelity. Knows how much his family is suffering all because of a man who just couldn't control himself. Was trying to be better. Trying not to wreck both of your lives.

As he stands in the dingy bathroom of a party house, the lingering burn of your lips on his still smouldering, he knows that he wrecked you both regardless.

And so it's up to him to put you back together again.

"I'm sorry," you say as you break the kiss, mortified at how stupid of an impulse it had been. You don't that. Not anymore. A month ago, sure, kissing Jungkook in a dingy bathroom at a party house would have been exciting. Now, it just feels embarrassing. "I shouldn't have—"

His lips are on yours again, stealing your words from you. He doesn't want to hear you apologise. Knows that you don't need to.  Also knows that he does need to.

"Don't," he quickly says between kisses. "Please, don't say sorry."

"But I—"

"Shut up," he smiles against your lips, shaking his head ever so slightly. He kisses you again, and this time it's soft. Pretty. Poetic, almost in how it makes you feel. And then he speaks, and you're reminded of just how easy it is to adore him, even when you know you shouldn't. "You know how much I've missed this? God, I've missed you so much. Please don't say sorry. I'm sorry. It's on me. I made a mistake, alright? I fucked up." 

He pulls back. Has your cheeks in his hands as he makes sure your eyes are on his. They're dark, now, in the dim light of the bathroom you're in, but they've never been warmer.

"I mean it. I'm so fucking sorry," he whispers. Brows furrowed, lips pouty, he's got the kind of face you're hardwired to trust. To adore. Or maybe, it's just him, in general, that you're inclined to feel this way about. "Okay?"

His large hard hands are still holding your cheeks, as yours wrap around his wrists. With a shake of your head, you shrug. Pout, too.

An apology is appreciated, but it's just words. It's his actions that have been upsetting you. Not his words (or lack thereof).

"We're gonna leave this bathroom and you're gonna pretend like I don't exist again," you tell him.

The frown on his face deepens. "That's not true. And that's not what I was trying to do in the first place, either. I just thought—"

"What? That it was a good idea to kiss me on my doorstep and promise you'd pick me up from work, only to never show? To ignore my texts? To—"

"No," he quietly admits, dropping his head between his shoulders. "I made the wrong calls—but I can make it up to you. I want to make it up to you." He rests his forehead against yours. Quietly begs, "Please."

Slowly, Jungkook nudges his nose up against yours. Waits for permission.

Beyond the door, loud music thuds through the room. It obscures the conversation you've been having, keeping you just as secret as you always have been.

It's not like you told any of your friends, either, and when it came to telling Taehyung, you weren't exactly forthcoming. Perhaps you would have been the one to pretend like he didn't exist, had he not done it first.

"I want you," he husks against your lips. 

"You wanna fuck me," you correct him, lips tantalisingly brushing his with every word.

"True," he admits. "But I also wanna send you dumb memes again, and go for drives after work, and wake up in your bed. I wanna go for breakfast, and I still need to cook you my world-famous makguksu. I want to have not been a dick for the past two weeks, but I can't change that. I just wanna be what I once was to you again."

"And what was that?" You encourage.

There was never any label. Realistically, there's no right answer. 

Or at least there isn't, until Jungkook just simply says, "Yours."

And what else can you do when confronted by such a pathetic, yearnful admittance from him, except to give into how you're feeling, too?

Frantic in the way your hands are on his body—his arms, his waist, around his throat—there's a neediness to you. One he's missed. One he reciprocates, as his large palms stroke up your spread thighs, then get your legs wrapped around his hips.

The movements of your bodies are so well nurtured by now that you know what comes next; how the bulge in his trousers will press against your covered pussy, and how you'll whine at the contact no matter how minimal.

"Fuck," you whine as his hands slip under the skirt of your dress. It's an old routine at this point. He knows exactly where to go, what to do. His fingers press against the wet fabric of your underwear, just gently enough to make you moan a little harder into his mouth.

"Oh?" He smirks when he realises just how needy you are, his fingers stroking against your slick panties. "Missed me, too?"

"You're an asshole," you tell him with a smile. As his fingers get firmer, you can't help but whine. "You know I have."

He pulls back to look down at your body. Pushes the fabric of your dress out of the way. Curses when he realises the underwear you're wearing. Is his favourite pair. Red and lacy, there's a suspender belt to match it. While you're not wearing it right now, he's got pictures of you in it that belong in a fuckin' museum.

"Did you wanna fuck me tonight, huh?" He mumbles into your lips.

"Not everything is about you," you say with a smile, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Except it is. They're your favourite pair too, simply for how insanely he reacted to seeing you in them. Sure you're not in the full set up, but it was enough to have you feeling ever so confident as you left the house with Taehyung.

As his lips press against yours, his finger hooks beneath your underwear. Tugs them to the side. Gets you exposed for him.

"No?" He husks, as his fingers begin to sink between your soaked folds. "So this isn't about me, huh?"

You shake your head. Lie. "Never been less turned on."

He plays into your little theatrics. Has always enjoyed them.

"So you don't want me to do this?" He asks as his middle finger sinks into your entrance.

"Can't even feel it," you pretend, as if his thick knuckles aren't stroking against you in just the right way.

"No?" He grits. Sinks a second finger inside you. Gets you whining again, nails gripping onto his arms. His fingers slowly pump into you, easing you into the way it feels for him to be inside you.

There's something electric about Jungkook. Sends shivers through your spine. Always knew exactly how to manipulate your pussy into doing whatever he wanted, and now is no different. As you clench around him, he's overcome with satisfaction.

"This is just my fingers," he reminds you. "I don't think you can handle my cock."

Scoffing, you're desperately trying to pretend you aren't melting for him. "Please, I can handle it just fine."

"Sure you can, baby," he teases with so much arrogance you kinda wanna fight him again—but it's also why you like him. He challenges you. Gets your brain in overdrive.

And when he crouches in front of the counter, eyes aligned with your exposed cunt, you think you might actually lose it entirely.

His hands are on your thighs, spreading you further, getting a good look at the mess between your legs. When he sighs, the shallow breath that escapes his lips feels like absolute sin against your wetness.

"Oh, you really haven't been fucked since me, have you?" He teases again. "Look at how fucking keen you are. Been missing my cock, huh?"

"My vibrator's been doing the job just fine," you assure him, but it has him pulling back to cock a brow in your direction. He knows many things about you that other people don't, but he was not aware you owned any sex toys. Finds that his cock only throbs even harder in his pants at this revelation.

"Maybe so," he husks, leaning closer just so he drags his flat tongue up your folds. Has to stop himself from moaning, 'cause the taste of you is somehow even better than his memories. "But it's not better than me."

With a point to prove, and a desperation to reclaim you as his own, Jungkook doesn't entertain chitchat any longer. He dives back in, tongue lapping against your lips as his fingers push back inside you. The way he curls them just right as his tongue flicks against your clit is enough to make anyone lose their head.

Hands tangling in his hair, you find your body responding to him in the way it always does; pathetically, needily, hungrily. There's no dignity to be found.

His tongue works against you like a well trained craft, until his lips latch around your swollen bud and begin to lightly suck on it. When he hums in satisfaction—which he does often—the suction only grows stronger.

Gets you whimpering, "Like that. Fuck. Like that."

The build is just as undignified as you are. Your grip on his hair gets tighter, and the shake of your legs grows stronger. Dragging his tongue up and down your folds, he settles back on your clit. Flicks his pointed tongue against you until he knows you can't take it any longer and begins to suck again. Curves his fingers just right. Strokes you so gently that orgasm pours out of you like liquid gold. Guilds him into the most gorgeous aureate glow.

He doesn't ease. Keeps his lips wrapped around your clit. Makes sure you're spent.

When he finally releases you, he's breathing just as heavily as you are. Gets to his feet, fingers still plugged in your tight pussy. Is pleased to find you're just as insatiable as he is, pulling him in for the messiest of kisses as soon as you can. There's no care given for the fact he's covered in your arousal. You just want that tongue of his in your mouth—and when it is, you find yourself moaning from the withdrawal of his fingers.

Your hands reach to the waistband of his jeans to unhook his button. Get his zipper down. Your hands down the front of his trousers, when his thick cock is restricted by his tight boxer briefs. By the tip of his cock, a small wet patch resides; his desperation for you obvious. Gently rubbing your thumb across the pre-cum, all you can think about is his slit, and how you wanna kitten lick across it.

But it's been two weeks of near-constant pining, and all Jungkook wants is to bury himself inside you.

"Let me fuck you," he begs. "Please, baby."

If the girl who had first seen Jungkook in a shared lecture hall two years ago would have known she'd end up in a shitty bathroom with him begging for her, she'd have laughed. Wouldn't have believed it for a second.

Fresh-faced and so out of your comfort zone, the first few days at university were full of potential. It was before you had wised up to your place in the pecking order; when Jungkook was just a boy in your orientation class.

Skin kissed by European sun, there had been a radiance to him that seemed to captivate just about everyone. You weren't the only girl who had been sneaking glances his way.

You'd thought about him a lot in those first few weeks. Came to learn of his family ties around the same time you befriended Taehyung. Stopped seeing him around campus so much, and rarely ever thought of him.

But on those rare occasions you crossed paths, your gaze would always linger.

As he frees himself of his boxers, trousers suspended midway down his thighs, he gently rubs the tip of his cock between your folds and husks, "Always thought you were so pretty, y'know?"

Looking up at you for just a second, he smirks. Looks back down. Continues to rub himself against you, prepping himself with your slickness.

"Freshers week," he continues. "You never came to any of the parties."

The tip of his cock kisses your entrance, but doesn't penetrate. You stay in limbo just shy of what you both want.

"Had a stupid fuckin' crush on you," he admits. Has never acknowledged it before, but has always known. Kept it hidden. Safe. Secret.

"No, you didn't," you smile. He didn't even give you a second glance. Was always you seeking him out in lecture halls.

"I did," he says with absolute certainty. "You wore that little black sundress on our first day. Had ruffles on the shoulders."

It hangs in your wardrobe, a little out of style but still sweet in the right setting. You know the exact one he's talking about, because he's right. You did wear it on that very first day.

His cock nudges a little deeper. Enough to make you gasp, but not moan. Not yet. Gripping his arms, brows furrowed, you nod. He sinks himself just a little bit further. The feeling is overwhelming; fire on ice.

"Would have fucked you in that lecture hall, if you'd have let me," he smirks.

"You didn't even know my name," you counter, but he cuts your questioning off as he edges a little deeper, still. His hand dips to gently rub languid circles on your clit. He's not pushing himself any further, not yet. Wants to ease into how this feels.

"I did," he admits. "Listened extra hard during the roll call."

"So this has all been some big elaborate scheme to get into my pants, huh?"

"Is it working?" he jokes, leaning over to yank the cabinet above the sink open. A few random bottles and packets clatter into the sink, but he doesn't care.

He's looking on the top shelf, rifling through old boxes, sending more miscellaneous objects to their untimely demise. Spotting what he's after, he's assertive as he knocks the cabinet shut. Passes you the box.

"S'all there is. They alright?"

"Sure," you say, pulling one of the foil packets from the box. You check the date stamped on the front—only to see it's a year out of date. Some protection would be better than none, regardless of the date, but fuck it. You're on the pill. "You haven't fucked anyone else? In the last couple weeks?"

"What?" His brows contort in confusion. "No."

His expression softens, but is still laced with confusion when you toss the box of condoms down into the sink.

"I don't care. I don't want them—"

You're cut off by the way Jungkook clasps your jaw, keeping your eyes locked on his. There's a seriousness to him now; the same demeanour he holds himself with when he was taking photographs. He's intentional. Assertive.

"Promise me," he says with stern certainty. "You want this?"

When he's got you like this—legs spread, body his to claim, your soul to take—it's impossible to do anything but comply. See, things with Jungkook are reciprocal. Your feelings, your tortured misunderstanding of how a relationship could ever work, and his seriousness, now, too.

"I promise," you swear.

As a chaste kiss is pressed to your lips, his hands stroke down your spread thighs, pushing you a little further open for him.

"Can't unfuck me," he softly reminds you. Is taking his time not for the anticipation, but because he's scared. "If you fuck me raw—"

"Then I fuck you raw," you simply repeat, knowing that it's up to you to ease his woes. If anyone should be scared, it's you—yet there's a safety that comes with being with Jungkook. Smirk, then say, "Trust me. I know I can't unfuck you. I've been trying to forget—"

"Ouch," he laughs, nudging his nose up against yours.

"—but you're just..." you tailed off, not wanting to compliment him too highly. He's still in the dog house. "Memorable."

With a sardonic smile that he knows only means trouble, you reach down to grip his incredibly pert ass cheeks. Squeezing, just because you can, you encourage him to push even deeper into you—and he's the one who whines, now.

"God, you're so fuckin' tight," he praises with such pained desperation it almost sounds like he'll cry. He won't. It's just that he can't quite believe that he's raw inside you right now, and that you feel just as good as he always imagined. Better, even.

"Yeah?" You question, as you pull his hips closer, gasping as he finally sinks his full length into you once more. His fingers were thick, but they've got nothing on his cock. Like he's taken all the air from your lungs, your voice is all light and airy. Makes Jungkook even more insane.

"Yeah," he mumbles as he nods into a kiss that is just as feverant as his need to pulse his hips. He doesn't dare do it yet. Is waiting for you. "Feels so fuckin' good."

"So just fuck me," you hungrily moan into his lips.

You're challenging him deliberately, and it works a fucking treat when he pulls back with a grin. He doesn't withdraw himself, but he does pulse his hips ever so slightly. Keeps you plugged. Is just nudging even deeper into you as he keeps a hold on your thighs, keeping them spread nice and wide.

"Say please," he grunts as his pulsing becomes a singular deep thrust.

Your argumentative streak wants to fight.

You'll berate yourself later for the way you whimper, "Please."

His thick cock withdraws just a little to push back into you. He groans. Curses. Builds momentum. Speed.

The sound of his skin slapping against yours as he pounds himself into you is impossible to ignore. Your moans build. Double. Treble. He's grunting too, and then his lips are on your neck. It's a mess, quite frankly.

In the sordid shadows of this bathroom, your bodies become acquainted with an intimacy not yet bridged before. You can pretend to ignore each other in the hallways of your shared lecture buildings, but you'll never be able to ignore the desperation you have for one another. Jungkook was right. You can't unfuck him. And now he's fucking you raw, it only make it even more potent.

Harshly pulling himself out of you, Jungkook almost fuckin' cums on the spot when he realises how soaked he is from your arousal. It's not like it's a new thing, but skin on skin, it's so much more intense. Gasping from the sudden loss of pressure, you're a little unsteady. Lurch forward as if your body could stop him from withdrawing.

Holding the base of his thick shaft, Jungkook spanks against your pussy with his cock. Rubs your slick wetness around with his tip. Hooks his elbows under your thighs. Pulls you closer. Instructs, "Arms around my neck."

Wrapping an arm around your back, the other one tucks under your ass as he lifts you.

He turns. Presses your back to the wall, and lines himself up.

"Legs around me," he tells you, and as soon as you do, his cock pushes up into you again. He keeps you pinned against the wall as he begins to fuck himself into you, his lips pressing wet kisses to the curve of your neck.

The sight in the mirror behind him is lethal; his broad back covered by his shirt, but it doesn't matter. You know what he looks like. Know his muscles, and the valley of his spine, like the back of your own damn hand.

You wanna see it though. Give it a tug. Send him the right message. Get him tearing his shirt off and dropping it to the floor for you. Victory is so damn sweet.

"Kook," you whine as he really begins to get deep. "You're gonna make me cum."

"All over my cock, huh?" He grunts. "Gonna cum on cock, are you?"

His taunting only makes you whimper even more. "I'm so close."

And because he just likes to get you all whiney and needy, Jungkook stops. Puts you down. Gets you facing the mirror as you protest his unfair stealing of an orgasm.

But then he's lining himself up again, getting ready to take you from behind. Spanks your ass ever so quickly.

Sinking into you again, Jungkook curses. "Tighter like this."

"Good?" You pathetically check, and Jungkook can't help but think it's sweet.

"Yeah, babe," he promises, and pretends as if it's completely usual for him to speak to you so tenderly. "Feels so fuckin' good. Missed you so much, gorgeous. You and this tight cunt."

"Romance," you joke through your needy whines. He smirks at this, and delivers a curt little spank to your ass.

"I can be romantic," he assures you, as if you aren't being soundtracked by the sound of your skin slapping together, his thick cock fucking itself into your soaked hole. 

His eyes rise from the steady gaze he'd had on your ass to your eyes. 

Slowing himself, Jungkook holds his cock inside you without thrusting. Says, "I made that photo you took of us in your room my fuckin' phone wallpaper. I listen to that asmr guy you like before bed, every single fuckin' night. I keep one of your ribbons tied around my gearstick. That romantic enough for you?"

There's an incredibly bashful smile on your pretty face, which contradicts the way in which your pussy is tightening around him in the most lewd of ways. You're giggling when you say, "Shut up and fuck me."

But then he's giggling too, just how you like him to be. Says, "I missed your body, but I missed you more. Stupid."

"You're stupid."

"You're stupider."

"Kook," you laugh, as he's completely forgotten the task at hand. The way that he looks at you, you'd be forgiven for thinking he has. Truthfully, the connection he has with you is so much more than what sex has ever been for him before. 

His hips lightly pulse, as he says, "Sorry. Where were we?"

"Think you were gonna make me cum."

"Ah, yeah. That. My bad."

His gentle thrusts begin to build pace once more. The grin on his face drops a little as he begins to concentrate on you. Watching him in the mirror, you're perplexed to be reminded of just how ethereal Jungkook looks when he fucks.

The deep ridge between his brows intensifies, as his mouth hands slack. His cheeks hollow a little, and his eyes remain entirely focused. Dark. Deep. Brooding.

As his hand dips around to gently stroke against your clit, Jungkook is just as taken away by the way you look. He isn't sure what it is that gets his heart so heavy in his chest, but he knows that he wants you to cum. Doesn't give a fuck about himself.

The walls of your cunt begin to tighten around his length as your moans deepen. You whine his name and he encourages a response, but neither of you can really talk. A numbness is washing over you, your balance unsteady.

"I'm gonna..." you begin, but find it impossible to finish.

"I know, baby," he nods all out of breath and desperately fucked out. "Give me what I want. Cum for me."

You trust and keep your eyes on him, but the nudging on his cock against your g-spot and the slow rubbing of your clit is just enough to tip you over.

"Kook," you whimper as your walls begin to tighten around him, but it's fruitless. There's a shake to your legs, and he's the only thing keeping you supported.

"Oh, fuck," he curses from the strength of your pussy around him. He's shaking just as much as you are. "Cream on this cock, baby. Oh, fuck. Yeah.Just like that. You're gonna make me cum, too. Gonna make me cum so fuckin' hard. All in your pussy. You want that, huh?"

It's as you're desperately whining, cumming all around his thick shaft that Jungkook feels his body lose control. There's a tightness to his balls, and a shudder to his sternum, that he hasn't felt since the last time he was in your bedroom. Last time he was in you, more specifically.

"Kook," you whimper his name, and that's when Jungkook really can't hold back.

"Yeah, babe," he rasps, as his hard thrusts become pathetic stutters. "I'm cumming."

The announcement isn't needed, for you swear you can almost feel it as his thick cum begins to fill you. The lack of a condom makes it all the more primal, the way his body shudders indicative of just how much cum he's filling you up with. 

His body collapses on yours a little, his clammy torso pressed to your back. The dress you're wearing is barely on properly, and the feeling of his skin against yours is catastrophic. As intimate as sex is, it's this right now, the beat of his heart thrumming against your spine that is the real disaster. How you can ever look him in the eye again is beyond you.

But then his lips are pressing chaste kisses to the curve of your neck, and his hands are squeezing at your hips. He doesn't pull out. Keeps himself warm inside you. Says, "How the fuck am I ever supposed to give you up, huh?"

That's the thing.

He isn't supposed to, and you damn well know it.

Reaching back for some tissue to help you out, Jungkook slowly withdraws. Holds his hand beneath your pussy, then replaces it with tissue. Turns you around and lets you take over.

"Here's a radical idea," you offer, not looking at him as you quickly make sure you're decent. Stay standing with your legs crossed, just in case. "Don't."

Pulling his shirt back over his head, Jungkook presses his back to the wall. There's a distance between you, yes, but you don't really feel it, 'cause it's purely physical.

And it's not like it lasts for very long either, 'cause Jungkook decides he needs to kiss you all over again.

"Alright," he whispers against your lips. "Say we don't. Say I wanna be yours. What the fuck do we do now?"

You shrug. The answers aren't yours to decide. It's up to you both.

"Well, firstly I'm gonna text Tae," you hum. "Tell him you're still an asshole and that I need to be let out immediately."

It's been half an hour.

He came to check on things about ten minutes ago.

The music might be loud, but not loud enough to drown out the way you guys fuck. 

Summer had been quiet. In his car, in your empty house, you've never had to keep it down before. Didn't even realise quite how loud you were being.

Which is why Jimin is the one who unlocks the outside bolt with a smirk a few minutes later, Taehyung watching on with a little disgusted grimace a metre or so back.

"Gross," he whisper shouts at you, but then he's smiling, too. Notices how Jungkook touches you—the hand he has on the small of your back, and the way he clasps your hand as you begin to walk ahead of him—and finds it impossible to be mad.

"C'mon," Jimin calls behind himself, leading you up and out of the basement. "We're going to the diner."

"We?" You question, incredibly confused.

"We." He simply says. Doesn't leave it up for debate. Gathers up the rest of the Untouchables (though Claudia is noticeably absent), and tells them the same thing he told you. Drags Taehyung along as well.

Jungkook was scared of integrating you into his life, but there's no other way to do it. Has to rip the band aid off.

As you walk into Montgomery's, hand in hand with the boy who had spent his summer wasting away with you in here, both of you realise that maybe it isn't such a huge deal.

Or at least, you do until Maria clocks you. Eyes darting from you, to Jungkook, and then to your gently clasped hands, she's in a state of absolute shock. Almost drops her tray.

"Sorry, what the fuck?!"

#byholly #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jk ff #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #bangtan fic #jungkook fluff #college!jungkook #non idol au #bts fanfic #bangtan ff #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader #college au

[ddejavvu]

Omg could we get another part of animagus cat reader and Sirius? Maybe they’re napping together and the boys try to take cat reader as a joke/because they’re curious while she’s sleeping and she suddenly transforms back as they pick her up LOL. Sirius is grumpy to be woken up/have their special time now exposed hehe

part 1

--

Sirius's bedcurtains are drawn, a clear sign that James and Remus should grant him some privacy.

Unfortunately, James Potter has never been one to take hints, and Remus strictly stays out of their shenanigans. It's only when James gasps with the entire capacity of his lungs that Remus peers curiously over at the bed in the corner, intrigue piqued when he finds a newly familiar form curled up on Sirius's chest.

"That cat!" James hisses, and he's particularly lucky that Sirius is laying on his side with your chin nuzzled over his ear, or the boy would have heard him. Instead, it's you that wakes, eyes blinking open wide as you stare at the men staring back down at you.

"Hi, darling," Remus hums softly, reaching out a tentative, scarred hand to hover it near your nose. You don't need any time for inspection before butting your head up against the heel of his palm, and he grants you a warm chuckle and scratches behind your ears. When you're not transformed, the feeling of someone toying with your hair is entirely unwelcome. But now you lean into Remus's touch, slumping relaxed once more over Sirius's ear.

"Stop hogging her," James urges, sticking his own hand less ceremoniously beneath your nose, "I want a turn."

Remus concedes with an exasperated grimace, but lets James take over anyways. He's lucky that you're you and he doesn't even know it, because if he'd tried petting any other cat by jamming his fingers into their neck, he'd be walking away with several scratch marks on his arms. But you forgive him as he tries petting you too similarly to how he pets Sirius in the man's own animagus form, all riling strokes and heavy-handed pats. You let out a soft mewl of protest when he tries picking you up, and Remus mutters something about you being the most patient cat in the world.

"Just leave her alone, James," Remus warns his friend, "Her patience is gonna wear out."

He listens for only a second, then decides he knows best.

"S'alright, Moony," He promises his friend, over-confident and too eager for affection he hasn't earned yet, "She's layin' all over Sirius, clearly wants a cuddle. You snooze, you lose, now it's my turn."

James's hand slides to your underbelly, an area you're not fond of being handled at in this form. Annoyance surges through you, prickling at your fur and making you long for the smooth expanse of your human skin again, an urge that you give into without much thought when James tries prying you off of Sirius's face.

There's a lot of noises at once. A pained yelp from Sirius, when you form suddenly weighs a lot heavier on him than it was when you'd laid down. A 'woah!' from James as your fur gives way to soft skin beneath his hands which he quickly retracts. A soft gasp from Remus who hadn't been expecting the rather unpleasant sound of transforming between bodies.

Two sets of eyes regard you with incredulity, and one blinks slowly beneath you, laden with drowsiness.

"It's you," James breathes, an air of amazement in his voice that shouldn't be there; after all, he's an animagus as well. Surely he should have noticed shifty behavior or a change in mannerisms from you. All of a sudden your preference for Sirius's softer, fluffy sweaters makes sense.

"Yes, it's me." You huff exasperatedly, perched precariously on Sirius's once-sleeping form. He's not pushing you off but you're sure it's not comfortable, so you slide yourself in front of him instead, easing back against him and letting him spoon you.

"Cat's out of the bag," Sirius rasps sleepily beside your ear, and you don't have to look at him to know he's grinning at his rather pitiful joke, "Did he try to pick you up?"

"Right around the stomach," You gripe, glaring at James while Sirius wraps his arm around the very portion of your body you'd just forbidden James from touching, "Like a toddler."

"For the record," Remus calls, "I was nice to you."

"I was nice too!" James gawps, "I just wanted a cuddle."

"Get your own girlfriend," Sirius drawls lazily, his face buried against the back of your head, and maybe it's a biting statement considering one Lily Evans is still firmly opposed to the presence of James in her life. Sirius knows, and amends it, "Or crawl into Moony's bed. I don't care, "Jus' keep your hands off m'girl."

#sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #sirius black scenario #sirius black oneshot #sirius black one-shot #sirius black one shot #sirius black headcanon #sirius black headcanons #sirius black hc #sirius black hcs #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fic #sirius black blurb #sirius black drabble #sirius black dialogue #sirius black fluff #sirius black x reader fanfiction

[uglyducklingofthe2000s]

Human Shield - F1 Grid

Request from @kissjde - omg that one vid of the girl using carlos as a shield kinda for when they were spraying champagne🫠 can u like somehow make a fic of that??

I think you wanted a Carlos fic, but I kind of have an idea for an F1 grid fic that I think would be perfect for this. So...sorry if you hate it 🥴

Red Bull driver!reader

Y/n swallows as she gets into the Red Bull cockpit.

She's been in the car for testing but in Bahrain but they'd altered things for the first race weekend based on data and feedback thanks to testing.

Taking it out on the track for a proper race weekend is scary.

Helmut took a risk with y/n. He insisted she could handle the mature team after test driving some FP1 sessions last season. But now it's the real thing.

Now she's in the Red Bull and going out on track to really prove herself.

"You got this, love." Her mechanic, Eric smiles patting the top of her helmet before helping strap her in. "Remember, just have fun. You're here living the dream."

"You think?" She jokes but the nerves spiking in her voice just earns her a sympathetic look.

Suddenly when she is face with another helmet leaning into her cockpit.

Max has been weirdly protective over y/n, she's faced a lot of backlash almost similar to his. But hers is very much gender targeted just as much as a question of her experience. But he's been incredibly protective and he always tries to make sure that she's not letting her nerves get the better of her.

"I wanted to come say. I want to see you smiling out there and I'll be able to tell." Max states patting her bicep which makes her smile and nod at him.

Max pats her helmet before heading over this own car.

"Radio check, bubs." Her race engineer, Rocky (yes, THE Rocky) states into her radio. Using a nickname he'd given her since she'd came into the Red Bull juniors programme.

He was in charge of mentoring and guiding a lot of juniors and with the promotion of her into F1 and directly into the Red Bull team. They wanted her to have someone she was familiar with on her radio just to at least give her that comfort and Rocky knows how she works better than anyone else.

"Radio check, loud and clear." Y/n replies swallowing to herself.

When she gets out on track she's acutely aware that cameras are very much keeping an eye on her.

"We're just getting a feel of the track, trying out engine set ups remember. No pressure you just trust your feel." Rocky states into her ears as she gets out the pit line.

"And there is y/n y/l/n." Crofty states as the cameras very much do immediately change to watch her. "The world watched her closely in testing. She didn't make any mistakes that we didn't at least see from Max. Now she's out on track."

"She is. I'm quite looking forward to seeing y/n show us what she's capable of. Of course, Red Bull has been quite...kind to her with bringing her in. They've brought in Rocky who worked with Seb but had moved to work more with the junior Red Bull drivers. He's on her radio, they've been very defensive of anyone who has tried to declare her unfit for the seat." Martin explains then sighing. "Now we just need to see what y/n's got and she's got to just put it out on the track."

FP1 ends with her in getting the 4th fastest time. But FP1 doesn't equate to a whole weekend of top 5 performances.

"Hey, bubs." Rocky smiles as she climbs out the car and walks up to him. "Ready for data?"

"Ready." Y/n nods with a small smile.

-

Y/n actually feels comfortable getting into the car for FP2.

Which is where she makes her first error. Because she should've known being confident in the car would lead to disaster.

There's almost some racing going on and that's when she becomes a victim as she tries to keep out the way of approaching cars. George and Lewis are apparently racing? (idc if people hate me I love making George and Lewis enemies, they basically are irl 🤣)

George gives Lewis a puncture and he smashes into the side of y/n. Actually it hurts more than she was expected when people had warned her of the pain of a crash. His car t-boning her ends up pushing her into the wall too. It's only good she wasn't going fast and he'd somewhat slowed down.

"Y/n? Are you ok?" Rocky's voices asks on the radio.

"Yeah, fuck! What the fuck were they doing?" Y/n questions then sighing.

"Car is safe. P0 then you can get out when you're ready." Rocky sighs making her huff before she quickly detached and unplugs everything, climbing out the car and putting the steering wheel back before walking around to look at the damage.

Her whole engine is exposed and the sided is destroyed.

Fantastic.

George and Lewis seem to be bickering and in her own rage she jumps the wall to safety only briefly exchanging words with the marshalls before climbing on the closest moped and getting back to the paddock.

"That is not a happy woman. George and Lewis don't seem very happy but I can imagine Red Bull are speaking to race control about their actions. Very very silly to be racing each other like that and causing a crash with another team as a victim to it." Martin comments shaking his head.

"Do you think a penalty will be coming their way."

"Red Bull will certainly fight for it. That's their rookie and she sounded very upset. I'm sure Lewis and George will be called to the stewards."

"I think apologies will be owed."

Y/n gets herself weighed but her anger has the better of her and her trainer, Wyatt decides to get her to her drivers room to cool off before there's a debrief.

"It's not your fault." Wyatt states while she tries not to cry.

She hates when she cries because she's angry. But it happens.

"Hey. Come on. It is not your fault, you got out the way and got t-boned by two teammates being idiots." Wyatt sighs moving to hug her.

"It's a joke." Y/n sniffles then sighing. "I should go speak to the rest of the team."

"Ok. Let's go."

Y/n gets to the garage, half an hour still left as she walks across to the pit wall.

"Hey, you ok?" Rocky asks making her tick her jaw to restrain ranting about it. "It's fine. We'll get the car fix and we'll make sure you're nowhere near them tomorrow at any point."

"It's still not great is it?" Y/n huffs shaking her head.

"They're being spoken to by the stewards and it looks like Toto will be having words." Rocky reassures her while she sighs and nods a little.

-

FP3 is clean and qualifying sees y/n take P5.

"You did it." Max smiles picking her up in a hug as they all walk towards media.

"Yeah, rookie of the year in the bag already." Lando comments making her smile at him. "No Mercedes smashing into you. Did it not hurt? Lewis really t-boned you."

"Yeah, but I think I was too annoyed to actually car...they were acting like dicks. I'm glad they got penalised for it." Y/n sighs still not exactly having forgiven the Brits in their interterm idiocy towards each other.

The three divide, each with a comms team member who leads them to their given interviews.

"Y/n, a much cleaner Saturday than Friday." The interviewer states as y/n stands in the media pit. "How are you feeling? Especially after quite a nasty hit."

"Significantly better day. I feel fine, maybe some very little aches but nothing major." Y/n smiles with a nod. "P5 not bad for a first qualifying. And I only plan to move up from there for the rest of the races."

"I love the optimism and confidence. I know I speak for so many people that we are rooting for you."

"Thank you." Y/n laughs then moving forward and hugging the interviewer. "Really, thank you."

-

The driver's parade saw all oft he drivers surrounding y/n like she's just the most popular person. Pulling her away for an interview with Laura actually saw Max have to be forced to stop hugging her with Lando and Carlos pulling her teammates arms from around her.

That quickly created rumours online of them dating.

But Max is definitely more like a friend who almost acts like a brother.

"You got this. We believe in you." Carlos states as she grins at him, blowing him and Lando a kiss as they walk to their cars after the anthem.

Y/n gets her helmet and hans device on while Wyatt smiles at her looking like he's beaming with pride, just seeing her go into her first race.

"Alright, feel good?" Wyatt asks making her nod. "Go on then, time to go show the world they're fucking morons."

"I will." Y/n grins fist bumping him before she moves climbing into the cockpit.

They get her strapped in and suddenly she's on her own.

"Radio check bubs." Rocky calls into her ears.

"Radio check." Y/n calls back before he tells her all the tyre choices of the other drivers.

"Formation lap. Then let's go racing."

"Thank you, Rocky."

The formation lap feels as if it goes in the blink of an eye and she's back on the grid, waiting for everyone to finish getting into their grid slots.

"Everyone on grid." Rocky states making her get the ready, watching the lights.

Lights out and while she tries not to dwell on it, her start was as good as she felt it could've been. Now she just needs to stay out of trouble.

Primarily away from anyone who wants to use their teammate as a means of smashing into her.

Driving around Bahrain and pushing, listening to every single thing Rocky says and making sure she speaks back. She doesn't want to know who is in front or who is behind unless they're a threat or an opportunity.

"Y/n is...storming. You'd really think she may be using some of that residue upset from Friday in today. She definitely wasn't afraid to tell people that she was unhappy with both Mercedes drivers and felt their penalties were deserved. Lewis even said she'd unapologetically told him and George both that she wasn't impressed and they had grovelling to do." Martin states making Crofty chuckle.

"I think they might be wise to grovel. She seems like someone you'd want to stay on the good side of." Crofty admits while Martin hums in agreement.

The race continues, and she keeps going not even thinking as she does everything she can to just...make progress. Clean pitstops help and she's just relieved that they have done what they needed to do.

"Last lap, bubs. You got this. Push and go for fast lap if you want, no risk." Rocky states and actually she's surprised to hear they're in the last lap. Has it really been that long?

She's sort of had tunnel vision, her mind had number out the idea of anything else but the track in front or behind her.

Y/n gets herself around the track pushing as hard as possible.

"P3! P3! Fastest lap. Driver of the day and a podium!" Rocky exclaims as she hears cheers in the background with her name being chanted.

"Holy shit. Holy shit. Fucking hell." Y/n exclaims laughing as she waves out the cockpit. "This is insane. Holy fuck. Max P1?"

"Max P1. Carlos P2. Behind you, Charles and Lando then Oscar."

"Oh my fuck-fuck! Rocky!"

"You just get back here bubs. I'll be waiting for you."

Y/n actually maybes goes a bit fast for her in lap. But when she pulls up knocking the P3 sigh. Max and Carlos are always there. She doesn't even properly get out before Max has rushes to her tosses her around in a hug before she is placed down, running to the team who are admittedly more excited for her than they were to see Max take the win.

"Now that is a beautiful sight. The celebrations of a drivers first podium, her first ever race a rookie. I think we've got a lot more to see from y/n and actually I'd say Max may need to worry that y/n's about to threat to him. It might be early to say this, but y/n might be his first teammate since Daniel who may pose a real challenge." Crofty states over the broadcast while they watch y/n get weighed, finally released from the clutches of her team.

Though almost every other driver appears moving to want to congratulate her.

"Good for both of them and he seems to love y/n already. They have really got a bond that we see between the best of teammates." Martin states since Max has had some great teammates but y/n could be the best of them.

Y/n and the boys get up tot he cool down room where Carlos also picks her up hugging her tightly and spinning her around.

"You are amazing, y/n." Carlos grins then placing her down. "We will give you the best podium."

Y/n laughs as Max begins yapping about some of the footage which is being shown.

Eventually they're out on the podium, y/n first, then Carlos and then Max.

Trophies are present and Max gets his medal and that's when it dawns on y/n that Max seems to be about to dump his whole bottle on her.

"No!" Y/n laughs only just managing to not drop her bottle as she tries to run around Max and use Carlos as a human shield which almost works.

If Carlos didn't tip his entire bottle over his head behind him to perfectly pour onto her.

"Ahhh, no! Carlos, you traitor." Y/n squeals jumping back leaving her in the line of fire from Max who showers her in champagne.

"Enjoy it!" Max exclaims making her grin but she returns the gesture as Carlos sprays the champagne onto Max then turns finishing spraying what little is left onto y/n as she showers him too.

"Alright. Alright. We need to get off." Y/n laughs moving to the podium and picking up her trophy as she poses with the boys. "God, I think you've blinded me. My eyes sting."

-

"We watched y/n take a rookie, maiden podium and Red Bull have not stopped their cheering. After the podium and debrief, they did their team photo. Of course and she tried to use Max as a human shield to not be soaked to the skin in Red Bull. That failed in the same way that her podium shielding using Carlos failed. I think last time I saw her, she was trudging very carefully through the paddock looking quite sticky." Ted chuckles as he does his notebook post-race.

"You talking about me?" Y/n exclaims with a smile, appearing cleaned thanks to a quick shower in her drivers room.

Max is walking alongside her with Wyatt and Rupert walking with both the drivers.

"I am. Any very quick comments?" Ted smiles as she nears him.

"Uhh...Red Bull is very hard to wash out your hair. I don't recommend having it poured over your head in gallons." Y/n laughs then fist-bumping Ted. "You have a good night, Ted."

"You have a very good night. I know there's whispers of celebrations for both of you. Enjoy that guys."

"We will!"

Max laughs shaking his head at his teammate who grins walking alongside him.

"Next podium, I am terrorising you with champagne by the way and since you didn't protect me. I'm tackling you when the Red Bull comes out to be sprayed everywhere."

"You shouldn't have told me. I'll just use you as the human shield." Max grins while she nudges him and shakes her head.

Taglist: @namgification @hiireadstuff @jsjcue @geniusalpaca @itsjustkhaos @llando4norris @partyinpitlane @lpab @xoscar03 @harrysdimple05 @mellowarcadefun @cixrosie @scopeiguess @racingheartsposts @c-losur3

#f1 #fanfic #formula 1 #f1 grid #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #max verstappen #carlos sainz #lando norris #oracle red bull racing #red bull f1 #red bull racing #red bull formula 1 #red bull team #rbr #f1 grid imagine #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid x y/n #f1 grid fanfic #f1 grid fic #f1 grid x you #f1 x you #f1 grid one shot #f1 one shot #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #red bull driver!reader #f1 2024

[babyleostuff]

their s/o having a nightmare | hip hop unit

𐙚 seungcheol

cheol is a heavy sleeper, an earthquake could be happening and he’d sleep through it, BUT when it comes to you, it’s like he has a sixth sense that notices any shifts in your mood, even if he’s asleep. and knowing him, cheol would be worried sick seeing you so distraught, as your eyes looked frantically around the room, while you tried to reach for him in a frenzy.

something about you being scared and frightened in your sleep, in your most vulnerable state, made his heart ache so badly. his panicked state matching yours wouldn’t help a lot in calming you down, but the weight of his arms around your waist and his lips repeatedly pecking your forehead would be a whole another story. 

“s okay, you’re okay baby,” your boyfriend whispered, kissing the top of your head, as he tightened his arms that were wrapped around your waist. you thought you were quiet enough not to wake him, but it seemed that muffling your sobs with the sleeve of his hoodie you were wearing, letting the tears run slowly down your cheeks wasn’t enough to deceive cheol’s protectiveness, even in his sleep. 

“sorry for waking you up,” you murmured, your voice muffled by your hiccups and his shirt, as he cradled your head to his chest. he hushed you immediately, pecking your forehead repeatedly. “do you want to talk about it? need me to get you some water? should i get you an extra blanket? want me to turn on the lights?” he asked, his breath tickling your cheek, as he swayed you back and forth. kkuma, almost as if she could sense something was wrong, yawned and stretched, padding over to where you were sitting in her dad’s arms. 

at some point you had to start calming him down. his worried pout was endearing, but you didn’t want to keep cheol up all night, and you knew there was no way he’d go back to sleep in this state, especially because you were still shaken up by your bad dream.  

“i just want to make sure you’re okay,” he said, running his hand over your back. “just hold me like this, please?” there was no safer place for you than seungcheol’s arms, and not even a nightmare could change that.     

𐙚 wonwoo

wonwoo would wake up while you’d try to sneak out of the bed (he’s not as cuddly in his sleep as cheol or gyu are, but he always has an arm draped over your waist or tummy, so of course he’d immediately notice if you’d try to wiggle your way out of his grip). usually he’d just go back to sleep, thinking you were going to the bathroom or to get a glass of water, but you’d be shaking too much for it to be normal. wonwoo would reach for you, pulling you back to his chest, cradling the back of your head with his hand.

i believe wonwoo would be even more worried than cheol, he’d never show it as much as him, but his heart would break as he’d hold your shaking body in his arms. (i don’t know if you’ve seen that tik tok where he checks up on seungkwan after he hit him on accident or something, AND OMG THE BOBA EYES AND WORRY ON HIS FACE EIUFHEUIRFHE).  

“here, put your hand over my heart,” wonwoo gently grabbed your shaking hand, and placed it on his chest, right over his heart. “you see, that was just a bad dream, honey,” he whispered, his voice deep and soothing, still laced with sleep. “everything’s okay.”   

you nodded, resting your head in the crook of wonwoo’s neck, as you tried to match your erratic breathing with his heartbeat, while he kept petting the back of your head with one hand, and rubbing soothing circles into your hip with the other. surrounded by his arms and familiar warmth, you snuggled further into his embrace, inhaling his comforting scent that always felt like home. 

“what if i read a bit to you?” wonwoo pressed a kiss to your temple, smoothing out your bed-hair. 

“no, won, you have work tomorrow morning,” you whispered, your face still hidden in his neck. “you should go to sleep.” 

without saying anything, wonwoo placed you between his legs, as he fixed the pillows behind him, so he could rest comfortably against the headboard, and grabbed the book he was currently reading from the nightstand. “do you need an extra blanket? or maybe you want me to make you some tea?” 

you smiled, grabbing his hand that was resting against your tummy, and run your thumb over his knuckles - the same ones that were ready to fight with whatever made you so scared in your dream. “no, wonwoo, everything is perfect,” you whispered. “thank you.”

“of course,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

𐙚 mingyu  

gyu can’t physically sleep without you, you’re wrapped securely in his arms through the whole night, whether you like it or not, so he’d immediately know that something was wrong. at first, he’d be a bit confused, sleep still clouding his mind, why he couldn’t feel your body weight on his, and he’d try to reach for you pouting angrily, because how dare you to move away from him.

when he’d find you shaking and struggling to catch your breath, mingyu would be up and alert in an instant, ready to fight whoever and whatever made you so distressed. and mingyu would try to act as composed as he could, even though he’d be a worried mess on the inside. 

“baby,” you heard your boyfriend whine behind you, probably from the lack of your warmth next to him. “where ‘r you,” he sighed, lifting his head up, just to drop it onto his pillow a second later. “come back.” 

you exhaled slowly, trying to calm your breathing, because you knew mingyu - no matter how tired he was, he’d immediately notice that something was wrong. he just came back home from tour and needed a full night of sleep, you couldn’t make him worry. “i’m right here, love. go back to sleep,” you tried your best to sound as normal as you could, and hoped mingyu would be too tired to notice how your voice shook. 

“no,” he murmured, his voice muffled by his pillow. “come back here,” he reached out and made grabby hands at you with his eyes still closed. if you weren’t so shaken up because of your dream, you’d take a photo of him (which would probably become your new wallpaper), and smother his puffy cheeks in kisses. “wait a second,” he said, finally opening his eyes, sensing that something was wrong, when you didn’t snuggle back against him. 

a couple of minutes later you were all wrapped up in at least three blankets (to protect you from the monsters, mingyu’s words) and your boyfriend’s arms that securely held you against his chest. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you,” he mumbled, bumping his nose against yours. “you’re safe now, my baby.” 

𐙚 vernon 

when he sleeps, he sleeps like a log (vernon needs his beauty sleep), so you’d be a bit hesitant to wake him up. you knew he rarely got a full eight hours of sleep, so you didn’t want to disturb him just because of your nightmare, but at the same time you needed some comfort. you’d cuddle up to him, throwing one of your arms over his tummy, which would wake him up a bit, alarmed by the weight on his body (it wasn’t often that you cuddled while sleeping, so his sleep clouded mind noticed something was wrong).

thanks to him being so relaxed and composed, vernon would be excellent at calming you down, plus he always gets a bit clingier when seeing you so upset, so you’d fall asleep again in no time.

“ratatouille is so much better than cars, though,” vernon whispered, his lips tickling your temple, as he placed occasional pecks there. “i could watch that movie over and over again and never get bored of it.”

you giggled quietly as you listened to your boyfriend rant about something he definitely shouldn’t be talking about in the middle of the night on a random wednesday. it was all of you fault, and although vernon was quick to shut your apologies down, you still fell bad for waking him up when you knew he needed to sleep. plus, you were a bit embarrassed by the whole situation.

“nightmares suck, and there is no shame in feeling scared. i’m happy you woke me up,” he said, holding your head in his hands, so you wouldn’t escape his gaze. 

vernon knew exactly how to calm you down, he noticed early in your relationship how you became putty in his arms whenever he talked about movies. it wasn’t your fault he looked so adorable ranting about something he loved os much. rubbing your cheeks to get the dried tears off of them, you snuggled further into your boyfriend’s side, waiting for what unpopular opinion he’d state next.

“are you sure you’re okay, babe? you don’t need me to grab a glass of water for you or anything?” 

“i’m okay, seriously. just… just keep talking.” 

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @eightlightstar @itza-meee @immabecreepin @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @dkswife @marisblogg @whatsgyud @aaniag @jeonghansshitester @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @soul-is-a-strange-kid @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @f4iryjjosh @isabellah29 @hafsah-ali @mrswonwooo @lllucere @athanasiasakura @onlyyjeonghan @chillseo @bangantokchy @hrts4hanniehae @haecien

#seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #svt reactions #seventeen reactions #seventeen imagines #seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen kpop #seventeen carat #svt fluff #seventeen reaction #seungcheol #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol x you #seungcheol fluff #wonwoo #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x you #mingyu #mingyu fluff #mingyu x reader #mingyu x you #vernon #vernon fluff #vernon x reader #svt

[wicchyy]

—0.5 flipped ; james potter

sum: you’ve been obsessed with James since you met him, but he doesn’t feel nearly the same. then, he’s flipped.

warnings: James throwing his breakfast in the trash

notes: this was inspired by the movie ‘flipped’. delulu girls win!!! sorry for being a bit too long, this is different from my usual works !

These are all the things people know about James Potter; he’s a skilled quidditch player, one of the smartest students in your grade, a lightweight, and he can manage his time well between practice, classes, and parties.

But those things, they’re just surface stuff. These are what you know about James Potter; he has the most beautiful brown curls, hazel eyes that change between brown and green depending on the sunlight, a delirious laughter, and the most flirty drunk you’ve ever known.

Sirius introduced you to James during your second year. And since the moment you saw him, robes askew, chocolate smeared all over his cheeks, and glasses slanted on his face— you’ve been in love with him since.

Maybe it was love at first sight, the plausible explanation. Or perhaps it was obsession. Either way, you haven’t paid attention to anyone other than James Potter himself.

“Hey, Siri. Hi, Remus. Have either of you seen James? I thought you lot finished practice minutes ago.”

Sirius nodded, chewing down the rest of his waffles before replying. “Mhm. Doing extra rounds, Prongs looks a bit stressed on the field today.”

“Perfect!” You clapped your hands together, “I’ll just bring some breakfast down for him.”

“Actually, Y/n! I don’t think you should—“ Remus interferes.

“Don’t worry, Remus. I’ll be sure to get two waffles. I know he gets hungry after practice.”

Remus tried to protest again, but Sirius waved him off with a look that said ‘what can we even do to prevent it?’

…

In the middle of December, snow covers the Hogwarts ground. You’re careful as you hold onto the napkin that holds James’ breakfast. The quidditch field isn’t far off the castle grounds, so you make haste of your movements and quickly head to the entrance of the Gryffindor locker rooms.

“James?” You shout, stepping inside until you see the one and only locker door open and the curly headed boy lying on the wooden bench in the middle of the room.

He immediately stands up, the voice all too familiar for him to not flinch. “Y/n?”

You appear in front of him with a wide smile, grinning happily as you set the breakfast in front of him on the bench. “Hi! You didn’t come for breakfast so I asked Siri where you where and he mentioned you’re practicing extra by yourself. So I figure you’d be—“

“Y/n!” James shouts louder.

“.. So I figured you’d be hungry.” You finished, your voice lower this time like you’d been caught red handed at something.

“Thanks. But no thanks.” He smiles forcefully. He grabs at the napkins holding the waffles and two pieces of strawberry, crumpling it in his hands and aiming it for the big black bin at the corner of the room.

Of course it lands perfectly inside, and he huffs an angry breath as he takes in your flushed, ashamed look.

“Look, just like you noticed, I wasn’t at breakfast. Because I don’t want breakfast. I’m not in the mood, yeah, Y/l/n? And I don’t need you trailing after me like a lost fucking puppy you want to feed breakfast. I’m not your anything, understand?”

Harsh. His words struck you in the gut. Maybe you should’ve listened to Remus earlier. James had never been practicing late unless he was ordered to. And you should’ve remembered it was winter as well. No one would willingly practice more quidditch than required in the harsh December winds.

“I— I’m sorry.” Your face flushed. You had to admit, you’d never been so embarrassed quite like this moment before. “I thought it’d be a nice thing.”

James stood up, picking up his towel, a spare shirt, and his knit beanie and stuck it in his locker before banging it roughly.

“If I haven’t made myself clear all these years, Y/n, let me make it clearer. I’m not interested.” He scoffed. “And I won’t be fucking interested because you bought me breakfast.”

You were left standing in embarrassment. Your eye making contact just a second with James, then to the bin where the breakfast you had bought for him was thrown in.

“Just back off, Y/n. I mean in.”

…

James had been feeling pretty guilty for the whole week. Yes, he was annoyed by you at the moment and yes, he’s always been annoyed by you. But all the times he’s ever been annoyed with you, none of those times has he said something like that. And after careful realisation, he’s understood that his words may have hurt you a tad bit.

He wants to apologize, but he doesn’t know how. Especially not to you. So he doesn’t. James doesn’t apologize for weeks, and then a month, and then he finally comes to terms with the fact that his brain somehow misses your annoying face, your annoying voice, and your annoying personality always annoying him.

“I have a question.” James interrupted his friends who were mountain deep in their homework.

“Hm.” Sirius shot lowly while he closed his subject book, “Go on. Think I’m done for the day.”

Remus shot his eyes at the interaction between his friends, leaning back on his seat to pay attention to James.

“So, you lot know about the incident a month ago, yeah?”

Sirius scoffed, “Mate, the bin waffle? Course we know!”

“Not really something to brag about, Prongs.” Remus chimed in.

“Look, I know. I’ve done some thinking and—“

“You wanna apologize to her?”

James stayed silent, “Well, I—“

Remus shot his friend a look of pity, “Honestly, you should’ve done it months ago. We know you may not like her, but she’s still mine and Pads’ close friend. And yes, she’s done so many things to annoy you but ..”

Sirius continued, “But it was a really shit thing to say. And you were fucking rude! I mean honestly, Prongs! Throwing out the waffles? Not necessary!”

“I know, I know. I’ve been feeling pretty bad about it recently and I want to apologize, really. But I dunno— things are just confusing.”

“How is it confusing? You just need to walk over to her and apologize.” Remus shrugs.

“That’s not it, Moony. It’s more confusing, like— I don’t even know how to explain it, y’know. Like, I used to be so fucking annoyed and pissed when she’s around. But now, it’s like somethings missing. Something like .. her.”

Sirius scoffs, “Shut the fuck up!”

James looks confused, “What—?”

“Shut up!”

“Literally not saying a word.”

Sirius stands up, “James Potter!” his hands banging on the table until the librarian is ordering him to calm down.

Remus looks up at him and pulls Sirius’ hand to sit back down at his chair. “Maybe you should tell him quietly.”

“I love how much you don’t notice, mate. You’ve got a crush on her, Prongs!”

James scoffed, his arms immediately crossing. “No I don’t.”

“Yes, you very much do.” Remus replied.

Sirius smiles, “You may not have liked her when she was bothering you, but you sure are thinking of her when she’s gone.”

“That’s nothing. It’s just cause I feel bad.”

“No you don’t!”

“I actually do, Pads. That’s why I’m bringing this up.”

Sirius scoffs with a wide smile, “No you’re bringing this up because you need to talk about it.”

“Well— yes. Because I need advice on how to apologize.”

“No, mate. Prongs, you’ve totally got a crush on her!”

“I don’t!”

“You’re so stubborn, mate. You know that saying ‘you lose them and then you know’? Thats you!”

Remus interjects, “Actually, the saying is ‘you don’t realize what you’ve got till it’s gone’. But yes, I do think it resembles this situation.”

“It doesn’t resemble anything. Besides, if she is here right now I’m positive I’d be annoyed just the same. I just feel bad for the .. waffle incident.”

“Wrong. Don’t believe it.”

Sirius looks across the table where James is and gives him a dumbfounded look. “Alright, fine. If you really think that, then what d’you say to a bet, huh? We prove that you’ve got feelings for her and if we succeed you pay for all your drinks whenever we go out for a whole month.”

James rolls his eyes, “And how would you prove that? She’s not even talking to me.”

Remus shoots Sirius a coy smile, the gears in his head turning as he makes up a plan in his head. “Well we’d just apologize to her for you and ask her to hang out with us. Then we’ll see your reactions and … other things.”

“Perfect plan!” Sirius chimes excitedly.

“I don’t agree to all of this.”

“That’s cause you’re scared to show us you actually do have a crush on Y/n.”

“One, I don’t. And second, fine. I’ll agree. But if this doesn’t prove anything and I’m right all along that I do not have a crush on her, you both will be doing my Arithmancy for a month.”

“Really? Why’d you even take that elective?” Sirius scoffs.

James smirks and extends his hand for a shake, “Deal?”

Remus shakes James’ hand quickly as his boyfriend beside him makes a sound of protest. “Moony! It’s Arithmancy, I thought we’d just have a counter agreement.”

“Come on, Pads, I’ll be doing all the work anyways.”

…

You clutched your books tightly, the familiar weight providing little comfort as you walked the corridors of the castle. Resentment and annoyance simmered within you since the incident with James.

As Sirius and Remus approached you after class, your expression soured. "What do you two want now?"

Sirius cleared his throat, putting on a cheery facade. "Hey, Y/n! Prongs wanted us to extend his apologies again for the breakfast thing. He's really sorry, you know?"

Your eyes narrowed at Sirius. "Sorry? James is sorry for tossing away the breakfast I brought for him without a second thought?"

"Yeah, he's been beating himself up about it. Really wants to make it right," Remus chimed in, attempting to sound convincing.

Your frustration reached its peak. "Is he? It's easy to be sorry now, isn't it? But where was his remorse when he threw the waffles in the bin like it was nothing? Tell James I don't need his apologies.”

Sirius and Remus exchanged a quick glance. Remus spoke softly, "Y/n, we understand how you feel, but Prongs is really trying to make amends. It might help if you could give him a chance to apologize properly."

"Yeah," Sirius added, his tone earnest, "We all miss hanging out together, and Prongs, he genuinely wants to make things right. Look, we’re all hanging in the commons just after classes are done.”

You hesitated, torn between your anger and their earnest plea. After a moment of contemplation, you sighed. "Fine, I'll be there. But not because of James. I'm doing this because both of you are my friends. And I’ve missed hanging."

As you walked away, Sirius and Remus exchanged relieved smiles, hoping that this hangout might just make them win the bet.

…

i - reconciliation

You sat in one corner of the Gryffindor common room, a book in hand, although your mind was elsewhere. Sirius and Remus hovered nearby, trying to create a relaxed atmosphere, but the tension lingered like a thick fog in the room.

When James entered, your heart skipped a beat. His eyes fleetingly met yours before darting away, a visible unease surrounding him.

"Hey, Y/n!" Sirius exclaimed cheerfully, attempting to break the heavy atmosphere. "We’ve been thinking of names for Moony’s new owl!"

"Yeah .. definitely that," Remus added, striving to mask the tension in his voice.

James cautiously approached, his gaze finally meeting yours. "Y/n, can we talk?" His voice was quiet, carrying an earnest plea.

You hesitated momentarily, then nodded, reluctantly setting aside your book and following James to a quieter corner of the room.

"I'm sorry, Y/n," James began, his voice laced with genuine regret. "I was thoughtless and I hurt you. I don't expect forgiveness, but I want you to know I'm really sorry."

As James spoke, his eyes held a raw sincerity that tugged at your heartstrings. The hurt remained, but you found yourself softening, unable to resist the depth of emotion in his gaze. Your own feelings for him, buried deep within, began to stir, making forgiveness a more feasible option.

"You did hurt me, James," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But..." You hesitated, your resolve faltering as emotions swirled within you. His eyes, filled with remorse, seemed to tug your emotions. "I appreciate the apology. And I... I forgive you."

Meanwhile, Sirius and Remus tried to lighten the mood by engaging everyone in different activities. Yet, in the corner where you and James stood, the emotions were palpable, the unspoken tension slowly dissolving with your admission.

Conversations flowed more easily throughout the evening, punctuated by shared smiles and lingering gazes between you and James.

Beneath the surface, an unspoken understanding seemed to grow between you and James, sparking a flicker of hope for reconciliation.

Remus and Sirius settled into a quiet couple, minding their own business. You took the moment to excuse yourself to avoid anymore awkwardness. You’ve never been in the situation without being so all up in James’ business. James watched you leave, a mix of relief and gratitude evident in his eyes.

…

ii - jealousy

“What do you guys think of Cassius Flintwood?” James broke the silence at his table. His friends looked up from their work, giving James a puzzled expression.

“Nothing. Other than he’s probably the saving grace of Ravenclaw’s abomination quidditch team.” Sirius shrugged.

“Yeah, that. And he tutors Marlene, oh and Y/n— wait, are you asking cause you’re seeing him tutoring Y/n?”

Sirius gasps, immediately turning around to see where James’ eyes are making intense eye contact to. “Prongs, you’re jealous. Christ, this is perfect! Might as well just go get drinks right now, cause we’ve won!”

James rolls his eyes, head making contact with the wooden table as he lays his head down. “Shut up, Pads. I’m not jealous, jus’ asking.”

“Mhm. Definitely.” Remus chuckles.

“I’m so confused with everything. I apologized to her, we’re good. Why’s she .. I dunno, distancing herself still?”

“You dimwit.” Sirius says with a hint of shock, his hand slapping the top of James’ head. “You have a big ego James Potter. D’you honestly think she’d just go back to obsessing over you?”

James lifts his head up and rolls his eyes “No, that’s not what I meant. Just—“

“Look, mate,” Remus interferes, “If you’re that bothered by her and Cassius just go over there and study with them. Sure he won’t mind.”

“What? I can’t do that.”

Sirius narrows his eyes, “So you’re admitting that it does bother you?”

“No! She’s just having a tutoring session.” A tutoring session that involves Cassius touching her arm and making her laugh. She’s probably not learning anything right now. James’ annoying head thinks.

“Then stop looking at them.” Sirius warns.

“Y’know what, I’m tired. Might just fit a nap in before my late classes.” He begins to stand and collect his things. Just before putting everything inside his satchel, an idea pops into mind.

James glances at the thick Potions book beside him along with other books stacked below it. He lays his hand flat on the wooden surface and gives it a small shove, making the stack of books clattering on the floor and making a loud echo throughout the library.

Sirius just scoffs at his friends’ action, meanwhile a smile plays at Remus’ lips, clearly understanding the dumb little trick that James has just performed.

In a second, your eyes landed on James for almost the tenth time. When you see him finally collecting all the books from the floor, you make eye contact. His face is red, a hint of embarrassment showing on his cheeks. A small smile twitches on your lips, trying not to let it show to James.

James kept a steady hand in the table and lifted himself up, quickly putting his books inside his satchel and making haste of his exit from the library.

“Think we’ve got this bet in the bag, Pads.” Remus says.

…

iii - realisation

The Quidditch pitch resonated with the energy of practice, but James's mind was elsewhere as he maneuvered through the air on his broom. Sirius watched from the sidelines, unable to ignore James's distracted flying.

"Oi, Prongs, you’re flying like you’ve got a Bludger lodged in your head. What’s going on?” Sirius remarked, concern etched into his tone.

James landed his broom, "Just not in the zone today, I guess," he muttered, trying to downplay his disarray.

Sirius crossed his arms, gaze unwavering. "It's about Y/n, isn't it?"

James faltered, caught off guard by Sirius' directness. "Maybe," he admitted, a tinge of regret lacing his words.

Sirius arched an eyebrow, probing gently. "You miss her, don't you?"

James sighed, the weight of his unresolved feelings palpable. "It's more than that, Sirius. I've been a complete prat to her all these years," he confessed, his voice tinged with remorse.

Sirius's expression softened, understanding dawning in his eyes. "You mean treating her like a pest?"

James nodded, guilt weighing heavily on him. "Exactly. I never gave her a chance and, Christ, I feel awful for it. She's been nothing but a good friend, maybe a tad obsessive but .. I've been too blind to see it."

“It’s fine, mate. Least you’ve figured it out now. Who knew the waffle incident would’ve caused this, huh?”

"I dunno though,” James admitted, a mix of regret and uncertainty clouding his thoughts. "It's like realizing something you should have known all along."

Sirius gave his friend a coy smile, "Give yourself time, mate. Just remember, she's not going anywhere. Maybe it's a good thing to figure it out now, yeah?"

James nodded, a mix of emotions swirling within him. With Sirius's encouragement, James readied himself to get back on his broom.

…

iv - confession

The first thing James saw when he entered the common room was you. Sat there in your too big sweater and a book huddled in your lap. His heart beats nervously as he walks closer to try and calm himself down.

“Y/n!" James greeted, trying to hide the hint of nerves in his voice.

You glanced up from your book, smiling warmly at his approach. "Hey.”

Taking a seat beside you, James fiddled with the sleeve of his robe, trying to find the right words. "I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Reflecting, you know?" he started, eyes darting to meet yours.

You raised an eyebrow, curious about where this was going. "Reflecting about what?"

James let out a small chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, you see, I've had this knack for making a right mess of things. Especially when it comes to... certain people."

Your lips curved into a small smile, sensing the playful tone in his words. "Certain people?”

"Right, so I've been a bit dim, maybe blind even. Overlooked something that's been there all along."

"James Potter, are you about to confess your undying love for someone?"

James laughed, a touch of color rising to his cheeks. That laugh that you could get high on no matter the situation. Well, it's not quite as dramatic as that, but..." James took a breath, looking straight into your eyes. "Maybe I've been a bit of a fool. Y/n, you uh … , are more than just a friend to me. You're, uh, rather important."

Your smile widened, realizing the sincerity behind his playful demeanor. "Oh really? Important, am I?" You teased lightly.

He nodded, his smile widening. "Yeah, you are. I guess what I'm trying to say is... I rather like having you around, you know?"

Your smile softened, this was the moment you’ve dreamt for probably millions of times. Truthfully it wasn’t as dramatic as you’d expect. But having to see James in his awkwardness, words falling clumsily from his mouth and making eye contact with you, it was a moment you’d dream of. That was how much you were in love with the boy.

"As long as you mean it, Potter."

💌 thanks for reading lovie! support me by reblogging <3

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #james potter #james potter blurb #james potter fanfiction #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter smut #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #marauders fandom #marauders fluff #marauders x reader #marauders x y/n #marauders x you #marauders #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #james potter x fem!reader

[ghostofhyuck]

NCT Dream when you sleep on the couch after an argument.

Mark Lee

When Mark goes home and sees that you're snuggled on the couch, it'll break his heart that you decided to choose to sleep in the couch instead of sleeping in your shared room. So he carries you back to your shared room and even tucked you under the blankets. You woke up because of it and you were preparing for Mark to lay beside you when you hear the door closing. As you open your eyes, the other side of the bed is empty. Mark chose to sleep on the couch instead.

Huang Renjun

Renjun just finished taking a shower when he noticed you placing down your blankets and pillow on the couch, he approaches you and told you that you should sleep in the bed. You insisted on the couch because you're in his place. You two argued for a moment but Renjun was more persistent and eventually dragged you to your room and had you sleep on the bed, even blocking the door so that you won't leave. You two are not facing each other on the bed lol.

Lee Jeno

Jeno finds you sleeping peacefully on the couch and he feels guilty because he was the reason why you two had an argument and now you don't want to sleep in the bed. He knew that you're a heavy sleeper that's why he carried you back to your shared room and after changing to his sleeping clothes, Jeno goes to bed, pulls you closer, and gives you a quick kiss. He never lets go of you, strong arms wrapped around you. What he doesn't know is that you're awake the whole time.

Lee Donghyuck

It was time for bed and the room has a lot of tension. Haechan was about to go to bed when he saw you grabbing one of the pillows and your favorite plushie. You announced that you're sleeping on the couch and to Haechan's dismay, he grabs the pillow and plushie that you're holding, and then went out of the room. You followed him and saw him making a makeshift bed on the couch. You argued that you should be sleeping on the couch but Haechan shoos you away, convincing you to sleep in the bed.

Na Jaemin

You just left the room with pillows and blanket on your hand when you saw a familiar figure on the couch. Jaemin's on his phone, probably playing games. He glances at you and gave you a deadpan stare, you know that the two of you aren't talking and you insisted earlier that you sleep in the couch given that the two of you are in his place, but Jaemin went ahead of you. That's why you had no choice but to go back to his room.

Zhong Chenle

Chenle doesn't want you to sleep on the couch. It's small and lacks leg space, but you don't want to sleep beside him given that you two had an argument. But Chenle being Chenle, squeezed himself on the couch even though it only fits you. He snuggled himself there as if it was comfortable that in the end, you have to forfeit and agree to sleep on the bed, in a condition that there's a pillow wall between the two of you.

Park Jisung

This poor baby was worrying about sleeping with you two still not talking to each other. When he got home, he was surprised to see you sleeping on the couch. This is not what he wants, he wants you to be comfortable and the couch isn't the best place for you to rest. That's why he carried you back to your bedroom and laid you carefully on the bed. After doing his nightly routine, Jisung went to bed too, but made sure that he's not invading your space, and even sleeping while facing on the other side.

#nct dream #nct fic #nct imagines #nct dream fic #nct #nct fluff #nct x reader #nct dream imagine #nct dream fluff #nct scenarios #nct angst #nct dream x reader #nct drabbles #nct dream reactions #nct mark #nct renjun #nct jeno #nct haechan #nct jaemin #nct chenle #nct jisung

[barefoothighlander]

cherry

summary: ghost finds out about your side gig

simon ‘ghost’ riley x camgirl!reader

warnings: mdni (18+), smut, unprotected pinv, porn/nudes, masturbating (m+f), rough sex, choking, praise, licking?, tattoos, mention of scars, blowjob, fingering, sex on camera, biting, rank kink if you squint, ooc!ghost

a/n: I got a req for a 141 member/camgirl!reader x ghost but I can’t find it so I’m so sorry if this was ur req but it’s here now! fair warning I know very little about sex work so I hope this is mostly correct

Ghost's brain is in a fog, his eyes wide as they watch the screen, he turns his phone off in a panic, Soap had sent him a link, a simple text that would change everything about your relationship, sure he had thought about you before, you were beautiful, talented, and braver than any soldier he had met.

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't pictured you, bent over with your ass in the air, waiting for him to fuck you but he kept it professional, maintaining a strictly platonic relationship with you around base.

It can't be a coincidence, the woman in the video has the same tattoo of a cherry, on her right hip, directly above her ass, it's the same tattoo that he'd seen a hundred times when you'd tugged your sweater off when you'd stretch and your shirt would ride up a little. He can't see your face, covered by a balaclava which he found ironic, but the woman bears a strikingly familiar body type to you.

He paces around his room for a minute, comparing you to the woman, before deciding to watch the video again, strictly for research purposes.

He shifts his hips in his seat as he feels his cock twitch, he's entranced by the noises that are falling from your lips, your moans going straight to his length, he watches you fuck yourself using a toy, stuffing it inside your dripping core like he so badly wanted to. He palms himself over his jeans, desperate to gain some friction against his erection, he watches your breasts bounce up and down as your slick drips down the toy, coating it in a sheen.

Without thinking he unzips his pants, groaning as he wraps his fingers around his length, biting back a moan as his thumb runs over his leaking tip. He strokes his cock in time with your movements, imagining that it was him you were moaning for, that it was his cock stretching you out, making you feel good.

A string of curses falls from his mouth as his orgasm hits him quickly, spilling onto his stomach, coating the skin in his warm spend. He drops his head back, catching his breath before looking back down, the realization of his actions hitting him as he shuts his phone off.

He blatantly avoided you at work the next day, practically running away every time he saw you, it was like a Pavlovian response, every time he saw you he saw the woman in the video, his mind flashing through the images as the blood rushed to his cock. He'd have to run to the bathroom to jerk off, needing to get rid of his erection quickly, he felt like a teenager again having to excuse himself in the middle of meetings.

During one of the team's conferences you had dropped your file, bending down to pick it up, his eyes glued to your lower back as your tattoo peaked from your shirt, squeezing his eyes shut, willing his mind to behave.

It had to be you, he was sure of it, what he didn’t know is if Soap had caught on yet, or how many others he’d sent the link to, it made him mad, he hated the thought of anyone else on the team seeing your body, he’d grown slightly possessive over you throughout the years, requesting to be paired with you on missions, always keeping a close eye when the team went to the pub in case some stranger tried it on with you.

In a strange way he was offended that you’d never told him, he thought you were close enough, he knew about your life outside of the team, where you lived and what you did with your free time, hell he knew how much you made with the 141, it didn’t make a lot of sense to him why you even needed to have some sort of side gig.

It plagued his mind for days, deciding if he should bring it up to you or not, the last thing he wanted was you to be uncomfortable with the fact that he’d seen the video, but he was curious.

He couldn’t chalk it up to simple intrigue anymore, sitting in his flat his fingers clicking on links that lead him toward your entire page, he couldn’t fight the temptation, the boxes that asked for his information staring back at him as he subscribed, the new access to your videos making his cock twitch in his jeans.

It was like he was watching an entirely different person, such a stark contrast to your personality at work, he thought he knew you but apparently not, he craved you, your touch, your body, he had to do something about it.

It took him till noon the next day to even speak to you, spending the morning awkwardly staring at you, turning away when you’d notice, he was always confident in his work, but this, it was something that felt so far away.

“What’s with you?”

Your words take him by surprise, whispered in a meeting room whilst Price spoke about assignments, concerned eyes gazing at him, he felt his throat dry, unable to ask the question he wanted to as you wait for a response.

“I’ll tell you later”

You nod with furrowed brows, receding into your chair and turning your attention to your Captain, your thoughts about Ghosts nervous state playing in your mind.

You wait for him after the meeting, watching as the room empties for a moment alone with him, you’d always been concerned for his welfare, knowing enough about his personal life to check in with him every once and a while, but he’d never been antsy, avoidant of you completely, it worried you.

“So what’s wrong, you’ve been steering clear of me for a week”

“Right, well um” He scratch’s the back of his head, his eyes drifting from yours.

“Out with it Lieutenant”

“Soap sent me a link”

“Okay?”

“Well, I’m not positive but, do you, make videos?”

“Videos? What kind of videos”

“Porn videos”

“Oh” The words ring in your ears, you’d never thought anyone you knew would find them, “Yes, I do, is that a problem?”

“No, not a problem” He waves his hands in defence, “Just unexpected”

“Why is that unexpected?”

“Just doesn’t seem like something you’d do”

“Does Soap know?”

“He knows of one video, not sure he thinks it’s you”

“Okay”

He nods, turning his eyes to yours, there’s no embarrassment behind your gaze, no shyness.

“If you don’t mind, keep this to yourself”

“Of course”

“How did you know, that it was me”

“The tattoo”

“The one above my ass”

He nods

“So you watched the video”

It’s his turn to be embarrassed, his cheeks flush under his mask, visions of your naked body flashing in his mind, forcing the blood to his groin.

“I did”

You eye him up and down, watching him fidget under your gaze, “What’d you think”

“Pardon?”

“About the video, what’d you think” Your relaxed state has his heart beating fast, you’ve been exposed entirely to him and you’re asking his opinion on your body, he can’t lie, no matter his response your friendship is changed forever.

“Good”

“Good? That’s all”

“What do you want me to say, that I watched it more than once, that every night for the past week I’ve stroked my cock thinking about you”

“Only if it’s true”

“I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me”

“Didn’t know how you’d react”

“I never would’ve thought of you differently at work, except now you’re all I think about”

“And that’s a bad thing”

“If it didn’t give me a hard on during work it would be fine”

“During work?” You smirk a little at his words,

“I can’t help it”

“I can”

His body freezes at your response, your tone is serious,

“What are you saying”

“Meet me at my flat, 6pm” You wait a moment to gage his reaction, his body tense as he blinks at you, stopping for a moment before nodding.

It was like the rest of the day couldn’t go by fast enough, rushing through meetings and paperwork, watching the clock tick as he sat in his office, your proposition was everything he had been dreaming about, damn your friendship, the way he saw it there were two outcomes, either your sex is strictly professional and for the benefit of your friendship, or it becomes a regular thing, moving past any sort of platonic arrangement, god he hoped for the second one.

He was oddly calm now, the elephant in the room dispersed, he could talk to you like he always did, as a friend, he’d never had an issue with casual sex but more often than not his endeavours began and ended in a single night, using them as an outlet for his stress and moving on, this felt different, he knew you, he liked you, as soon as the clock hit 5 he was on a mission to get to you.

Stopping at his flat after work to shower quickly, changing into civilian clothes and tossing on his balaclava before making his way to your flat. He sat in the driveway for a few minutes, working up the courage to knock on your door before his phone buzzed.

Get out of my driveway, come in

There was no escaping now, you knew he was here, your words dragging him from his car towards your door, he didn’t even knock, you opened it standing there, eyes staring up at him as his mind froze.

“Bloody hell”

Whatever he was expecting, this was not it, your body clad in a black lacy set, sheer stocking that ended at your thighs carrying his eyes toward your sex, barely covered by your panties.

“You like it?”

He can’t form words, settling on a simple nod as you smirk, grabbing his hand and dragging him into your house, from the angle that he walks behind you he can see the rest of the set, the thin black string that connects from the front of your panties, the little bows that hold your bra together, he just wants to reach forward and untie them.

“Sit for a second”

He does as you say, resting on the couch as his eyes are glued to your form, “I have an offer, you don’t have to say yes but I need your full consent before I do it”

“Okay?”

“Would you be down to record us, for my page”

“Like, I record you?”

“More like we record us”

“You want to record us having sex?”

“Only if you’re okay with that, I wouldn’t show your face obviously, and I’d keep it completely anonymous, plus you’d get half the revenue”

“Okay” He doesn’t even think about it, honestly the idea of being able to watch himself fuck you over and over had his pants already tightening.

“You’re sure?”

“Let’s do it”

You wait a few minutes, having him sign a few papers and establishing any rules you may need, offering him an out at any time in case he was uncomfortable.

“Are you clean?”

“Clean?”

“When’s the last time you went to the clinic?”

“Oh, clean, yes I’m clean, I get checked every month”

He’s safe, responsible, a new piece of information that makes you happy, you didn’t know a lot about his sexual endeavours but this was a checkmark in your books.

“Okay, you ready?”

“Is there anything specific I should do?”

“Whatever you feel like, pretend the camera’s not even there, it’s just us”

“Okay”

“And remember, if anything’s too much or you want to stop at any point, say Delta"

"Got it"

He watches you cross the room, leaning to adjust the camera, his eyes focused on the red light that clicks on, it's pointed toward the bed. He stands still as you move back to him, positioning yourself directly in front as you stare up at him through your lashes, you rest your hands on his chest, moving your fingers toward the bottom of his shirt as they find their way underneath it, bunching the fabric as you push it up.

He keeps his stare on you as he lifts his arms, helping you to take his shirt off, his breath heavy as you press kisses on his sternum, your soft lips trailing across his chest. His hands find purchase on your waist, holding you, his breath hitching as you part your lips, flattening the muscle on his skin and licking small lines over his scars, you kneel lower, your breath ghosting over his skin as you keep your eyes on his, your tongue tracing a line down the centre of his abs as you make your way toward his hardening cock.

His hands move to hold your jaw, his chest rising with every breath as your fingers make quick work of his zipper, undoing it to reveal the outline of his length, you palm your hand over it, causing a groan to fall from his lips.

Satisfied, you tug at the waistband of his underwear, his cock springing free to slap against the skin of his lower stomach,

"Need to taste you"

he peaks an eye at the camera, the two of you clearly out of view, you were doing this just for him because you wanted to, his cock twitching as your lips near it, flattening your tongue to lick the precum from his tip, his fingers tightening in your scalp.

You hum as you swallow, the salty taste mixing with your saliva, parting your lips to allow the head of his cock in, his hips jerking as you close around him.

You work him in your mouth, using your hand for the length that couldn't fit, your spit soaking his cock as you move back and forth on his length, small moans falling from his lips every time you flick your tongue over his head. You stare up at him, nodding to the best of your ability, letting him know he can move, his grip tightens in your hair, tugging your head lightly back as he thrusts into your mouth, your hands resting on his thighs for balance as the head of his cock hits the back of your throat.

The room fills with the sounds of your gags, the corners of your eyes wet from the tears that prick them as you stare at him, god he could cum from the sight alone.

He pushes his cock deep into your throat, holding you there for a moment, your nose pressed against his pubic hair as his cock twitches in your mouth. He pulls back with a pop, allowing you a breath of air before he kneels down, his arms locking under your legs, lifting you from the floor as turning to drop you on the bed.

His thumb runs over your spit-soaked cheek, his dark eyes pinning you down as his body cages you against the bed, your legs moving to wrap around his waist before he sits back, his stare devouring you.

He teases a finger down the valley of your breasts, pulling on the fabric of your bra, his palms kneading over the flesh as you reach behind you to undo it. He grabs your wrists, pinning them to the bed above your head with one hand, using the other to reach behind you, tearing at the fabric and pulling it from your chest.

He watches as your tits fall free, your nipples peaked from the cool air of the room, his fingers pinching at them as you let out a whimper,

"So perfect"

Your arousal is pooling in your panties, your hips squirming, trying to gain any friction they could as he paws at your flesh, your hands stuck in their position, unable to touch him.

"Please"

"Please what?" His accent is thick, his voice dripping with lust as he watches you squirm under him,

"Please stop teasing, fuck me"

"How bad do you need it?" His hand moves down, cupping your clothed sex, he can feel how bad you need him, your slick soaking through your panties.

"Need you so bad"

"Good girl" His hand releases you, moving to grab your leg, flipping it over so you're on your side, he tugs your panties off, tossing them across the room as he gains view of your glistening pussy, your slick coating your thighs.

"So wet already, this all for me?"

"All for you" You wriggle your hips, begging him to touch you as you bend your knee higher, giving him a better view, his hand's paw at your ass, kneading the flesh as you groan.

He slides two fingers between your folds, collecting your slick before smearing it across his length, positioning himself between your legs and lining himself up.

He glides his head between your folds, coating himself before pushing his length in, groaning as you squeeze him. The stretch of him is like nothing else, his size burns in the best way possible as he pushes deeper, inch by inch until he bottoms out.

"Bloody hell, feel so fuckin good baby"

Your hands reach for him, and he grabs one, holding it against the bed as he leans over your frame, his cock stretching you out as he holds it still, allowing you to adjust to it. You move your hips, letting him know he's okay to move and he pulls back, thrusting in with nearly every inch as you moan.

He sets a brutal pace, the sound of skin hitting echoing in the room as your fingers squeeze his hand, his other roams your form, his fingers circling over the tattoo on your lower back, smirking to himself.

He grabs your waist, tugging you onto all fours and your chest falls against the bed, your cheek pressed into the sheets as he fucks you from behind, his thrusts forcing your body forward with every stroke.

He grabs your hips, tugging you against him in time with his thrusts, his cock driving impossibly deep inside you as your ass smacks against his lower stomach, he snakes a hand around, his fingers circling your clit causing your back to arch, allowing him even deeper, your pussy swallowing him.

"You like that baby, s'that feel good"

"Yes, fuck, more"

His fingers swipe across your clit, rough pads rubbing at the bud as the fire in your stomach ignites, the band stretching out as works you toward your orgasm.

"Cum for me love, soak my cock"

You clench down on him as you come undone, your orgasm tearing through your body leaving your vision blurry and your legs weak, his fingers working you through it as his arm holds your waist, keeping you up.

"Fuck, just like that angel, so goddamn tight"

You're at a loss for words, the feeling of him taking over your body, consuming you as you come down, your juices leaking from your cunt, soaking his cock and the sheets under you.

He pulls from you and you whimper, his hands flipping your body so your beach is against the bed, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pushes into you, his cock fills you entirely, stuffing his length into your weeping cunt as he leans over your form, his arms next to your head, pressing you against the mattress as he snaps his hips against you.

You trail kisses over his exposed skin, your nails digging into the flesh of his back as you cling to him, your heels pressed into his hips, begging for more.

"More please, need more"

His hand moves over your skin, settling on your neck as his fingers squeeze at your pulse point, your breath caught in your throat as you moan.

"You'll take what I give you"

He begins thrusting slowly, dragging his cock along your walls, your pussy clenching around him as he slowly fills you with every thrust. You squirm under him, heels digging into his flesh, urging him to go faster but he remains slow, languid strokes that force you to feel every inch of his cock inside you.

"Been dreamin' about this for too long, gonna take my time, work you open till you're a mess on my cock"

His hand moves to your clit, slowly circling the bud, keeping you on a high but refusing to let you cum, he takes pleasure in your whimpers, the way you try to move your hips under him but he's much stronger, intent on having you his way.

Your orgasm builds inside you, slowly taking over your nerves as he keeps his slow pace, your skin covered in a sheen of sweat as your body crumbles beneath him.

"Please, need to cum" You manage through strangled moans,

"You can do better than that"

You lock eyes with him, your heavy lids obscuring your vision, "Please Sir, let me cum"

"That's it"

He snaps his hips into you, forcing a yelp from your throat as his pace quickens, his fingers flicking over your bud as your second orgasm surfaces, his cock driving into you, keeping you on your high as your limbs squeeze around him, your hips twitching as he fucks you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, your mouth open as quiet moans fall from your lips, the hair on your forehead stuck in a layer of sweat as you fall apart, he doesn't let up, elongating your orgasm until your legs are trembling around him, your skin on fire from the sensation.

"Such a perfect little pussy, so good for me"

His hand releases your throat, settling on your waist to pin your lower half down, driving his cock into you using his weight, his head slamming against your cervix as your body becomes putty, melting against him.

You're a babbling mess under him, spit from your mouth pooling at the corners of your lips as he fucks you,

"You all drunk off my cock baby, c'mon you can take it"

He grabs your legs, pinning them against your stomach, your heels resting on his shoulders as your fingers grab at the sheets, your brain foggy as his cock glides into you with ease.

"That's it, take it, take it all, knew you could"

Your body moulds to his, his length stretching you out to fit perfectly like it was made for you, he leans over you, lifting his mask just slightly to reveal his lips,

"Open"

You do as he says, flattening your tongue as he spits into your mouth, it drips down the muscle, trailing to your throat before you swallow, he grunts above you, pressing his chest flat against your legs as he buries his cock into you,

"Cum in me, please, need to feel you"

The thought has his brain sparking, his abs tightening with every thrust as he nestles his head against your neck, his grunts flooding your ears, you paw at his flesh, nails dragging against the skin as you lean your head up, digging your teeth into the flesh of his shoulder, his arms wrapping around you, keeping you pressed against him.

You kiss lazily at his neck, your spit smearing on the skin as his strokes get sloppy, his muscles tensing around you,

"M'gonna fill this little pussy up, stuff you full of my cum"

All he can hear are your moans, silent pleas for him to continue,

"Gotta give me one more love" His fingers find their way to your abused clit, your body twitching as he makes contact with the nerves, your head falling back against the pillow as his thumb rubs the bud.

"One more baby, you can do it"

Your body is mush, he drops one of your legs, allowing you to dig your heel into the bed, your fingers digging into his flesh trying to ground yourself as he brings your orgasm quickly.

You sob as you cum, your pussy soaking his thighs as you gush around him, squeezing his cock as your limbs begin to feel like static.

"Fuck, just like that, so perfect"

He buries his cock in you, his cum flooding your walls as you come down from your high, your combined spend leaking from your hole as he gives a few shallow thrusts, forcing his seed deeper.

He pulls from you slowly, eyes glued to your core where his cum leaks, dripping down onto the bed, your limbs falling against the mattress as your chest rises with every breath.

He stands from his spot, crossing the room you see him click off the camera, the red light turning off before he moves away, leaning into the bathroom to grab a cloth, dampening it before moving back to you.

He carefully spreads your legs, wiping around your core to clean up the mess, avoiding your sensitive clit as he runs the cloth over the skin, tossing it aside and reaching for the glass on your side table.

He moves beside you, his arms resting around your waist, tugging you against him so you can drink, gulping down a few sips before releasing a deep breath, resting against him. His fingers trace lightly over your skin, soothing the muscles as he holds you,

"You doing alright love?"

"Perfect" You don't bother to open your eyes, just resting your head against his firm chest as your fingers hold his forearm, you can feel his heartbeat, slowly returning to normal as he sits with you.

"It's getting late, did you need anything"

"Stay"

"You want me to stay?"

You nod against him, humming quietly to yourself as he smiles lightly under his mask, "Okay"

He shifts in his spot, lowering himself down and letting you curl against him, tugging the blanket over the two of you as you nestle your head against his chest, your fingers splayed over his stomach while his arm holds your waist, keeping you close. He rests his chin against your head, listening to your breaths even out as you grow tired, your legs tangled with his as he closes his eyes.

It was one of the best sleeps he's had, laying next to you, letting your warmth consume him as he slept, he wouldn't tell you but he had woken up an hour before you did and just stayed there, his arms holding you, watching you sleep, you were so peaceful, so soft, he didn't want to leave.

The next few days at work were strangely normal, with no awkward encounters with each other, you didn't treat him differently which he liked, he'd been trying for days to think of an excuse to come over again but he couldn't come up with one good enough. A smile spread on his lips when you texted him,

Videos up, here's the link, we should do it again sometime x

That was it, his excuse, he'd be at your beck and call whenever you wanted him, he needed more. He clicked on the link, eyes glued to his phone, it was strange watching it, knowing it was him in the video, that he really was doing those things to you that he'd imaged so many times, he had so many ideas about what to do next, things to try, he'd just have to muster up the courage to ask you.

His train of thought is interrupted by another text, a link from Soap,

Check this one out LT, Lad in the videos got tattoos like you

He glances at his forearm quickly and back to the screen, shit.

#simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw x reader #ghost cod #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #mw2022 #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut

[forlix]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞・l.f.

— five times you want to tell your best friend you love him and the time you finally do.

words・7.7k

pairing・idol!felix x gn!reader

genres・fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn w/a happy ending, 5 + 1 trope, idiots in love who are also afraid of love, you do the math

warnings・alcohol consumption, discussions of anxiety, lots of emotional vulnerability, like a surprising amount of crying icl

playlist・jazz bar by dreamcatcher・spring day by bts・through the night by iu・eight by iu ft. suga・house song by searows・not mine by day6

a/n・i borrowed the title of this beautiful day6 song for this fic; give it a listen if you can (especially while reading part four). happy late birthday, lix <333 thank you for being you

One. The door to the café opens with a soft jingle, bringing a chilly draft into the room and causing you to draw your scarf tighter around your shoulders.

Theoretically, you come here to study—but people-watching has become a simultaneous pastime. There was that couple with a pair of samoyeds, so fluffy that they looked like walking clouds; a mother and son, hunched over their croissants, arguing in a classic “don’t cause a scene in public” tone; an elderly woman in bicycle shorts asking for extra shots of espresso in the menu’s most caffeinated item.

And now, there is him.

“Hello,” the ashy-haired stranger says to the barista with a quick, polite bow. “May I have a medium caramel latte? Hot, with sweetener, please. Thank you.”

His voice reminds you of the notes of a cello, of the feeling of running your fingers through tufted velvet. When he turns away from the counter, he’s slipping a card back into his wallet, and you catch a glimpse of long lashes and a scattering of freckles. You cannot see his face, as it’s covered by a black mask, but that only propels the question further: who are you?

And perhaps it is destiny herself who hooks a gentle finger beneath the stranger’s chin and tilts his head upwards, because when he inadvertently steps into a patch of sunlight, his brown irises illuminate like molten amber, and they are fixed upon you.

You feel your lips part, your stomach turn. You don’t know if your cheeks are so warm because of your piping hot tea (your third one today) or because of the newfound eye contact with someone so ethereal.

But you are sure that the corners of the stranger’s eyes crinkle ever so slightly, as if his lips have just curved into a smile beneath his mask.

“Felix,” the barista calls, and you turn the name silently on your tongue.

Maybe you are exhausted from work and not thinking straight. Maybe you are more starved for change than you’ve ever been. Or maybe you’re just prophetic. But you think you sense forever in this man, with his freckled cheeks and pretty eyes.

That is the first time you want to tell Lee Felix you love him.

Two. The second Felix comes into your line of vision, you sense that something is wrong.

You hold up a hand in greeting, and the smile he returns is sincere but muted, as if it pains him to move, to breathe. He sounded weary on the phone earlier—can I see you tonight? Just for a bit—but only now that he’s in front of you do you see the extent of his fatigue, seeping into his sunken shoulders and lightless eyes.

“Hi,” he says once he’s close enough.

“Hey, you,” you answer, rising out of your seat. Instinctively, he extends his arms toward you, and you draw him into a hug that is fleeting and familiar. He smells faintly of laundry detergent and vanilla, and it makes something within you ache, like an oyster searching for its absent pearl.

When you pull away, your hands move to your best friend’s cheeks, cocooning his face so you can get a better look at him. Even under the sparse streetlights, you see that his eyes are slightly bloodshot, the shadows beneath them deep and sullen. Has he been crying? 

“Bad day?” You ask, your hands falling back to your sides.

“The worst,” he returns with a weak smile. 

“Wanna take a walk?”

“Yes, please. How long do I have you for?”

This is what you do when your schedules are too packed for you to make real plans: take strolls wherever is most convenient, for however long either of you can spare. Sometimes that’s five minutes, sometimes five hours. But you know that you need to be here for him tonight.

“As long as you need me,” you say.

You turn around to pick up your drinks (a decaf caramel latte for Felix and a black milk tea for yourself), and you don't see the way his smile comes back a little bigger the second time, the way his cheeks warm slightly under the moonlight.

There’s a small park a few blocks behind your apartment. Granted, it's not a very good park, with only a tiny, sad playground and very little foliage, but it is an excellent stargazing spot, due to it being so dark and desolate. You and Felix decide to head there now, your arms touching as you walk through the quiet residential area.

Ten minutes later, blades of grass are poking the back of your head, and directly above you is a sea of scattered stars, flickering like millions of faulty flashlights. Felix’s voice is leaden when he starts to speak, breaking the park’s fragile silence. He tells you about his fears, about how earlier today they overwhelmed him so much that he wanted to lock himself away from the world and throw away the key. He tells you about his dreams, about how even in his relentless pursuit of them they sometimes still feel as amorphous and unattainable as fragments of mist.

The way he always does when he’s around you, Felix spills parts of himself that he never thought he could entrust to anyone. And you don’t say a word, your knee leaning against his, listening, understanding. (But you wish you could tell him a lot of things: that you care for him more than you ever believed yourself capable; that you hope for his happiness more than your own; that you don’t have the words to heal him, but you would give anything to find them.)

By the time the two of you leave the park, it’s almost midnight, and the streets have fallen silent save for the occasional whoosh of car wheels on cement and the distant lamentations of cricket choirs. You’re making small talk now, and Felix is smiling a little easier. It seems your conversation worked in cheering him up; a temporary fix, you’re sure, like a bandaid where stitches should be, but seeing his eyes crinkle and hearing his laugh again is enough to soothe your worry for the rest of the night, at the very least.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay going back yourself?” You ask once the two of you reach the entrance to your apartment building.

“Yeah, of course.” Felix touches the back of his neck apologetically. “I’m sorry I kept you out so late.”

“Nonsense, Lix. I’m always here for you.”

Felix averts his eyes to his shoes, and you’re caught off guard by his facial expression: exhausted but contemplative, and possessing a sense of tenderness. It is a look that you don’t think you’ve seen before, and you feel your heartstrings pull at its unfamiliarity, its strange softness.

You say your goodbyes, but your "let me know when you get home safe" is cut short when you feel a hand catch your wrist, just as you’re entering the building.

How Felix doesn’t notice your frantic pulse beneath his touch is beyond you, but instead he parts his lips, and his next words resound in your mind as you try and fail to fall asleep that night.

“I can’t explain why, or how—but I feel braver when I’m with you, Y/N. I meant to tell you that earlier.”

And those three words rush to your mind fleetingly, like saltwater crashing against the shores of your mind. Even when the tide has subsided, they remain on the sand, waiting to be read aloud.

“Thank you,” Felix mumbles, “for everything.”

You don’t read out those words, of course. Instead, you reach up to squish Felix’s face and call him a sentimental dork, to which he rolls his eyes affectionately and bats you away, and the moment is over. But when you turn to go, your heart is pounding so loudly that your reply may as well have been a confession.

Three. You sink into your mattress, careful to keep your tea within your mug’s rim, and let out a hybrid of a groan and a sigh that is strikingly reminiscent of an old man lowering himself into a worn armchair.

You can’t remember the last time you had a cold this terrible. It feels as if your lungs took a plunge in a vat of wet cement and then rolled around in gravel immediately afterward. And it’s got you in the mood to do nothing but listen to the heavy drops of rain knocking against your window, curl up with a good show and a hot drink, and bask in your own congestion.

But then your phone, which you left in the bathroom, emits four deafening notification sounds, and you haul yourself back out of bed with a groan-sigh that’s twice as anguished as the last.

When you reach the hellish device, your best friend’s name greets you, and your ire dissipates momentarily.

From: Lix 🐣 Hey hey From: Lix 🐣 We still on for dinner tonight? From: Lix 🐣 Just gonna be me, Minho, Seungmin. Jeongin has a vocal lesson From: Lix 🐣 Please don’t play the “if Jeongin doesn’t go neither do I” card again I’ve had enough of it!!! ENOUGH

You let out a throaty laugh that sounds like one of Minho’s cats battling a hairball, heading back to bed.

From: Y/N 🌙 ahhhh i meant to text you earlier, but i have the worst cold From: Y/N 🌙 no clue how or why i caught it but i feel like fucking shit. it’d be a bad idea for me to come over right now From: Y/N 🌙 sorry :( can we raincheck in a few days? From: Y/N 🌙 (that way jeongin can come too!!!)

Felix dislikes this last text, and you snort into your tea.

From: Lix 🐣 Yeah, of course. Don’t apologize From: Lix 🐣 Do you need anything? You’re eating and sleeping well, yeah? From: Y/N 🌙 sleeping, YES.  From: Y/N 🌙 eating, not really 😅 but i don’t have much of an appetite anyways From: Y/N 🌙 don’t worry about me. i’ll be raring to go in a day or two

Felix starts to type a response, but the gray dots disappear after a bit, and you set your phone face-down on your nightstand. He probably has to get back to work, and you have to get back to your episode.

Slowly, the soporific fragrance of chamomile and the lull of relentless rain start to weigh on your eyelids, and you slump unconsciously into your makeshift fortress of blankets, your show playing to nobody.

Night has fallen by the time the door of your apartment clicks open, and Felix pokes a head into your dark kitchen, cautiously calling out your name. When you don’t respond, he slips inside and moves to your kitchen counter, where he unloads the bags in his arms. A spare key to your place dangles from the opening of his hoodie pocket. 

There’s a quiet knock on your bedroom door, another call of your name—infinitely softer this time, like how one would speak to a dove. But Felix finds you out like a light, even when he closes your laptop and puts it on your desk, checks your temperature with a gentle hand to your forehead. It feels normal enough to let you sleep, but warm enough that he brings a glass of water and two pills of ibuprofen to your nightstand, placed within your reach, should you wake up in the middle of the night needing them.

Using only the slivers of light coming in from the hallway, Felix allows himself to look at your sleeping form. Your breathing is callous but steady; your face pallid but peaceful. And if only you'd seen see the tiny, helpless smile that pulls at his lips; if only you'd heard the pulse protesting against his skin, yelling at him “do something about this, you fucking idiot, and do it soon."

But you don’t see or hear anything; you just speak, instead.

“Stay with me,” you whisper, and Felix’s hand freezes on your doorknob, his eyes widening in the darkness. “Please?”

There is a lengthy period of nothing, during which neither of you makes another noise; there is only the sound of your clock ticking, raindrops rushing against the windows, and Felix’s heart in his ears.

And then he moves.

“C'mere,” Felix murmurs once he’s lying down next to you, and you nestle into his embrace as easily as if you've always belonged there, your face burrowing into the crook of his neck, your arms winding around his waist, searching for him, asking for him.

Felix has always expressed his affection for people through touch, and you’ve gotten used to his constant hand on your shoulder, his leg resting against yours. But he thinks this is the first time you’ve initiated physicality outright, and he feels a concerned pang in his chest at your unexpected vulnerability. He lifts a hand to cradle the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair.

“Gonna get you sick,” you say with a wet sniffle, your voice muffled against him. And Felix presses a kiss to the top of your head, perhaps without thinking as much as he should have; but who can blame him for forgetting to think when he’s holding you the way he is?

“Don’t care,” he answers readily. “I'm not going anywhere.”

At some point before you fall back asleep, you think your mouth actually forms the words I love you, subtly and silently and into the fabric of his hoodie. But you resume your slumber before you can think more of it. (Felix waits until your breathing is steady again, checks your temperature one more time; and only afterward does he allow his eyes to close.)

The next morning, you wake to an empty bed and a Post-It note explaining that Felix had to run to a recording session: Check your kitchen! See u soon x. Accompanied by a small, messy doodle of a baby chick popping out of its egg.

Your face melts into a smile when you see that the fridge is chock-full of fresh groceries and the pantry has been restocked with your favorite snacks, including a batch of Felix’s world-famous sea salt brownies—accompanied by another note with another doodle, this time a crescent moon wearing your sneakers. Sugar is prolly bad for you rn. Pls have in moderation!

When you pull out your phone to thank him for everything, you see his remaining texts from yesterday—and you feel momentarily empty, as if only then noticing that you've been missing a fraction of your soul your whole life.

From: Lix 🐣 I’ll drop by tonight to check on you From: Lix 🐣 Wait for me, okay?

And he is right in front of you, just out of reach.

Four. “This isn’t a bad idea, right?” Chan asks under his breath.

“Nah, they’ll be fine,” Minho replies, clapping a hand on the leader’s shoulder. “Y/N will take care of him.”

A loud yelp comes from up ahead, and the men whip around quickly enough to crack a joint—only to realize that the noise was the opening note of DAY6’s “Not Mine,” and you and Felix have just launched into song so terribly and so loudly that it’s probably awoken the entirety of Seoul.

“And who’s gonna take care of Y/N?”

The two men look at each other for a moment before deciding they’re not interested in talking the two of you out of a disorderly intoxication charge. 

“Let me know when you get back!” Chan hollers after you, and they reenter the karaoke bar in a hurry.

The members decided to go out for karaoke after finishing promotions earlier that week, and Felix invited you to come along. And you might've gone a little overboard with the mango sake, but your level of tipsy is nothing compared to that of the blue-haired boy draped over you.

Felix is rather prone to hangovers, you’ve discovered from past experiences, so the moment he started speaking in some kind of nonsensical Korean-English mutation that not even Chan could understand, the members tasked you with taking him home early. Now, Felix has his arm around your neck, less out of affection and more out of a genuine requirement for support, doing his best to walk in a straight line. He hasn't stopped grinning for the last hour, and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to run out of energy anytime soon, not as long as there’s more of DAY6’s discography to butcher.

In spite of your foggy mind, you're well aware that your best friend has never been prettier. He sets the bar high as it is, but then you throw in the flushed lips and cheeks, the lopsided, ditzy grin, the wine-kissed complexion, and life becomes terribly difficult for you. It doesn’t help that alcohol amplifies his proclivity for physical contact—he's been attached to your hip all night, holding your waist, pulling you into incidental hugs.

Needless to say, your current situation is a bit precarious; but you don't know that. Not yet.

The two of you finish your disrespectful rendition of “Not Mine” just as you pass the apartment’s front desk, and it is only when you see the deadly look that the receptionist gives you over the brim of his glasses that you finally feel sober again. You have the sense to incline your head in apology. Felix, however, launches into “You Were Beautiful” without a care in the world.

You dig a pointed elbow into his ribs as you hit the up button, and his singing abruptly falters with a pained huff. "Ow."

“Take an intermission, superstar,” you say. “The receptionist looks like he’s ready to throttle us.”

“Ah, he would never. We’re tight,” he returns, and before you can stop him he’s lifting his head, raising his voice. “Have a good night, Mr. Seo!”

Your nose scrunches into an apprehensive wince—but instead, you think you hear a hint of a smile in the man's cool reply.

“You too, Mr. Lee. Keep your voices down, please.”

“Yes, sir!” You and Felix reply in unison. Felix gives you a smile that says I told you so before he nestles his cheek against your shoulder, and you shake your head. Nobody is immune to the boy’s brightness.

Entering the building seemed to be effective in calming Felix down. The elevator ride up is silent save for a bit of quiet humming, and you finally see a bit of sleep on his face when you open the door of his dorm and turn on the living room lights. He lets you escort him to his bathroom without a word.

“I’ll be here if you need me,” you say, reaching to pat his cheeks a couple times. “Be careful in there.”

“M’kay. Thank you," he says with a drowsy smile, and closes the door.

You pull out your phone and open up your messages with Chan, remembering his parting request.

To: Chan 🐺 we got back safe!! To: Chan 🐺 lix is gonna be okay. i'll take care of him

A few minutes later, a notification appears at the top of your screen; Chan left hearts on both of your messages and sent two in response.

From: Chan 🐺 Thanks, good to hear :) you get some rest too, okay? From: Chan 🐺 Bro tore that sake UP

You begin to type back a retort—give me a break it was basically JUICE—when you hear Felix call your name, his voice muffled through the bathroom door.

“What's up?” You answer.

“I think I’m...stuck.”

Now what the hell does that mean?

“Can I come in?”

“Mhm.”

You open the door, and your attempt to suppress your laughter fails with flying colors. Felix is well and truly stuck in his crewneck, the gray material swathed around his head, his arms positioned in some kind of advanced pretzel formation.

“You are a hot mess, Lee Yongbok," you sing, moving toward him, and he whines from inside his cotton prison.

“Please don’t kick me while I’m down.”

Grinning, you bring your fingers to the hem of his top and attempt to lift it over his head. He’s managed to tangle himself quite impressively, and the next few minutes are spent with you trying to extract him, like he’s that one nose hair that your tweezers have never been able to reach, all while he's moaning and groaning about the fabric catching on his earrings, about his joints not being able to handle this kind of pressure anymore.

He emerges from the crewneck a while later looking positively disgruntled. You toss the gray mass onto the counter, proud of your handiwork.

“So maybe I‘m a hot mess,” he concedes. “A little bit.”

“That's alright. We all have our moments,” you giggle. “Come on, let me help you with your jewelry.”

For a second, he looks like he’s about to protest—but the look you give him reminds him that his motor functions are currently on strike.

“Okay,” he mumbles adorably.

You position yourself a little closer to Felix and lift your hands to the nape of his neck, where the clasp of his chain lies. It takes you a few tries to undo it, and you end up having to use the mirror above the sink for guidance. Soon, there is a soft click. You set the chain down next to the crewneck before your hands return to the sides of his face, this time to tuck long, light blue strands behind the cuffs of his ears. Your fingers run over the curves of his silver earrings.

“Are these bothering you at all?” You ask nonchalantly. “I forgot you had so many piercings.”

In your peripheral vision, you see Felix’s lips move, but no sound comes out. Puzzled, you move your eyes to meet his, and it takes you one blink’s worth of time to understand the source of his speechlessness.

Somewhere between your reaching up to touch his necklace and the present moment, you’ve come incredibly, dangerously close to him. Close enough that you can count the freckles that speckle his skin like fallen stars, that you can feel the heat of his body against your own, that Felix’s eyes are nearly crossed trying to maintain eye contact with you.

Your heartbeat lodges itself firmly in your throat, and your thoughts evaporate into complete and utter disarray. There are three differently-worded apologies on the tip of your tongue within seconds. You immediately start to pray that he won’t remember this tomorrow morning. And your strongest impulse is to move; to get as far away from him as possible, before either of you does anything you'll regret.

But there is something that overwhelms your every instinct, and stops you from budging an inch. And that is the way Felix is looking at you, unblinking brown eyes filled with something that doesn’t have a name. It is the same tender expression that’d surprised you the first time you saw it, and it is with a spiraling stomach that you finally realize what that expression is.

You reach your conclusion a second after he does.

Felix’s hand lifts to cradle your jaw, his face moving closer to yours. Your foreheads touch, wisps of his hair falling over the bridge of your nose, your senses engulfed by the vanilla of his cologne and the touch of sweet wine on his breath. The scene is as delicate as a dragonfly’s tail dipping into a pond’s surface; even a minuscule disturbance would shatter this limbo instantaneously.

A part of you wishes that it would, but nothing does. There is only his pulse, perceptible through the thin cloth of his tank top, vehement beneath your fingertips—and your heart, naked and frail, sitting upon the palm of his hand.

Felix doesn’t push you away; he doesn’t kiss you. He does something far worse.

“I love you,” he whispers.

A few seconds. That is how long you stand there for, with every word of every language you know inaccessible, every qualm and doubt and source of anxiety that plagued your mind moments before now distant memories, every ounce of your energy channeled into keeping yourself upright.

But the few seconds feel like forever. The same way he has always felt like forever to you. The same way you imagined you would spend forever loving him, close enough for him to love you back, but far enough that he’ll never know the true nature of your affection: greater and truer than anything anyone would ever call friendship.

An urgent question suddenly surfaces in your mind: is he still drunk? He was falling up, down, and sideways minutes ago. Surely this was an intoxicated slip of the tongue. But you discern the slight tremble to Felix’s breathing and the intensity in his heavy-lidded gaze, all far too intentional, far too conscious to be wine-induced—leaving behind one impossible possibility.

You should be having your happy tears kissed from your face right now. You should be over the moon, relishing in the sensation of two stars aligning at long fucking last, the way you’ve dreamed of since the very first time you laid eyes on Felix.

But instead, you just feel inexplicably and profusely afraid.

You won’t remember the specifics of the next few minutes. You think you stumble away from him and whisper I’m sorry through watering eyes, though you don’t really know what for. He sputters something in return, his tone so desperate and confused that you feel your heart break to pieces on the spot. You apologize again, leave the bathroom, and move towards the apartment door as if your life depends on it. In your peripheral vision, you notice the crease of concern on Mr. Seo’s face when you stalk past him, tears now flying freely down your cheeks. You run into Minho and Jeongin when you step out of the building, and you see the worry that creases their faces, hear their voices calling your name. Jeongin's hand closes around your wrist—are you okay?! What the fuck happened?—but you do not, can not say anything, not right now.

And then you are alone again, and you briskly walk the two miles back to your apartment. Your mind and heart are every bit as foggy as the somber night sky that hangs over your head.

Five. When the two of you step out of the restaurant and into the evening, Felix turns around to face you, launching into his best tour guide walk.

“And, with that,” he says with a glowing smile, “we are nearing the end of our tour of Sydney.”

“Noooo,” you lament, reaching your arm out. Felix falls back into step beside you and links it with his, the movement like clockwork. Your jackets scrunch up together where your elbows bend. “Already?”

“Okay, the tour’s been going on for two days and you haven’t paid a cent for my toil. Don’t push your luck.”

Your laughter spills into the otherwise quiet avenue, the setting sun throwing shadows across the cement, but it always feels like midday when you have the brightest man in the world by your side.

When the two of you discovered you had a free weekend on the same days, Felix conjured up the idea of going home—and suggested that you go with him. You’d freaked out for a bit, but then Felix reminded you that his mom texts you on your birthday and that you’re on multiple different subscription plans with his sisters, and you collected yourself quite quickly. There was a lot of cheering over the phone when Felix informed his family that they’d finally get to meet you in person.

But such a fast trip to the other side of the world proved to be no easy feat. Felix took on the task of piecing together a travel plan that would cover most of his favorite spots in forty-eight hours. The last two weeks were filled with him fretting over the details and you fretting over him, asking time and time again if you could help with anything, only for him to shoo you away with a single hand and a pointed “you are my guest. Now leave me.”

With assistance from every other resource at his disposal, though, he pulled it off, and the weekend has been wonderful thus far.

“I think that was some of the best food I’ve ever had, seriously,” you hum. “I’ll be dreaming about those appetizers for the rest of my life.”

“I'm glad. It took a Socratic seminar to choose the place, after all."

(The Socratic seminar in question: a two-hour FaceTime call and an intense match of rock-paper-scissors between him and his siblings, aimed to decide on where Felix would take you for dinner the second night. Only for his mom to ignore all of their efforts and insist upon her own choice of restaurant instead—no ifs, ands, or buts.)

“We have to try your sisters’ recommendations the next time I visit, don’t we?”

“Yes," he returns, shuddering. "I think my family is done for if we don’t."

He has one place left to take you, and the two of you head there now, shoulder to shoulder, arm in arm.

A month has passed since that night.

You’ve tried with every fiber of your being to put the whole thing from your mind, of course to no avail. You see Felix’s flushed lips and gentle gaze every time you blink; you hear his “I love you” every time you’re alone, the words whispered in the wind and dragged over the earth, in tandem with your footsteps.

You wanted to fucking die of awkwardness in the few days following, but it was never an option for you to avoid Felix for long. The two of you still went on convenience store runs together; still met up for coffee before work; still continued your business as usual, against all odds. And you owed it all to Felix and how he knows you better than you know yourself. He didn’t try to talk to you when he sensed that you had nothing to say; nor did he try to bring you back when you felt miles away. He would just silently slip a pack of your favorite cookies into your grocery basket or order your drink on your behalf.

Felix had questions and wanted answers; there was no doubt about that. But he held his tongue, granted you as much space as you needed to come back to him. And you did, in your gradual, meticulous way.

You’re finally going to bring it up tonight. You’ve planned to since the day you confirmed the trip, and you hope that the final stop of the tour will be the perfect place to bite the bullet.

“We’re here,” Felix says.

The two of you have arrived at the bank of a wide river, and you’re at a temporary loss for words. To your right is a bridge that spans the distance of the water, and to your left is a stunning, panoramic view of the city of Sydney. Twilight has turned the buildings into dark silhouettes against the autumn sunset, and the water reminds you of a palette of oil paints with how it reflects the pinks and oranges in the sky.

Felix feels you tighten your hold around his arm, and he smiles when he sees the wonder in your eyes. He wishes he could see this place for the first time again.

“Not bad, huh?”

“No,” you murmur. “Not at all.”

“C’mon.”

Felix leads you to the center of the bridge, where he props his elbows atop the metal railing and looks over the water. You join him and pull out your phone, but no settings or adjustments render your camera capable of capturing the landscape's beauty.

(Until Felix throws up a peace sign and pokes his head into the corner of your frame. Then it stands a fighting chance.)

“What is this place?” You ask, your shoulder touching his when you also lean over the railing. “Why are we the only ones here?”

“Crazy, right?” Felix says proudly. “I dunno. I think it might be private property, or something. But it’s only a few blocks away from my house and on the way I used to take to school, so I used to come here all the time, always around this time of day.”

Felix’s gaze moves over the sky, oblivious to the fact that his eyes hold whole rainbows of their own.

“There was never anyone around, but I could still hear the birds chirping and the wind in the leaves. It felt like a corner of the world had been sealed off just for me. I’m glad to see that nothing’s changed.”

Some time passes, and Felix tells you more stories about this peculiar bridge: how he asked someone to formal and got rejected and came here to reflect on his actions; how he had to take two different buses every day because his school was so far away from his house, but he always stopped here to feed the families of mallards that came out to swim in the mornings, even if it meant he’d be late; how this was the last place he went to before moving to South Korea, because he knew he’d miss this nook of Sydney most.

Of all the places you've visited, you think this one will remain with you longest. As time elapses, the colors of the sunset augment and deepen, dyeing the world in ways that remind you of the aurora. And then there is the man, wearing a gentle smile to match his softened features, his voice to your ears what honey is to a sore throat, telling you about his past, letting you into yet another chamber of his soul.

You are in no way prepared to butcher the sanctity of this moment, but you know that you can only run for so long and so far. You owe it to him. You owe it to yourself.

When the sun’s final rays are clinging the faraway mountaintops, Felix lifts himself off the railing and stands up straight. “Ready to go home?"

And your hand finds his, the pads of your fingers cold against his skin. Felix is surprised at first, but then he sees the hint of sadness in your eyes and the tension in your shoulders, and he understands what’s coming.

“I want to talk to you about that night,” you say.

Felix doesn’t respond for a few seconds. But when he does, his voice is so soft and so infuriatingly kind that hearing it makes you want to sob.

“...you don’t have to, Y/N.”

“No. I do,” you return, startling even yourself with the firmness in your voice, "I don’t want to keep dancing around the topic, not when you’ve been waiting for as long as you have.”

You feel Felix’s gaze on your face, as if he’s trying to read between your lines, and then he yields with a slight incline of his head.

“Okay.” And the stage is yours.

You don't start talking right away, your mind reeling with the effort to organize everything you feel and verbalize everything you want to tell him. It isn’t until Felix gives your hand a gentle squeeze—you’ve forgotten that you’re still holding his—that you feel rooted in the moment again.

It’s Felix you’re talking to; your soulmate, your sunlight. Nothing you are about to say will ever change that. This, you believe with every fiber of your being. 

So you take a deep breath.

“When you said those words,” you begin, and the words sound alien in your voice, despite how many times you’ve rehearsed this conversation in your head, “I couldn’t process a thing. I was so happy, but I was so, so scared. I’ve spent the last month trying to figure out why I was so scared, and I can’t say that I know for sure yet, but I have a much better idea now, and—it’s a lot of things.

“For as long as I can remember, I have only ever been able to love profoundly and deeply, with everything in me. And over time, I led myself to believe that nobody would ever be able to understand or reciprocate my love, not in the manner I want most.”

You feel yourself starting to waver, but you find strength in his touch.

“But you changed that, Felix. You walked into that café that afternoon with your voice and your smile, and suddenly I’d found you—someone who experiences life the way I do, who loves the way I love. And every day since, I’ve been surrounded by you and your effortless warmth and your beautiful soul. It was only a matter of time before I started hoping, constantly and stupidly, that you would one day love me, the same way that I—”

Your voice catches in your throat like a heel slamming into car brakes, “love you” hanging so dangerously from the tip of your tongue that you’re stunned it doesn’t fall out right away.

“But that’s why I’m fucking terrified,” you go on. “When you told me you loved me, I felt like I could fly. But I also felt like I was falling—and maybe this is because I was still tipsy, I'm not really sure—but in that moment I saw a world where we weren't there to catch each other, where something had gone horribly wrong and I'd wake up one morning and you’d—you’d just be a distant memory.

“And that was the thought that shook me so badly: losing you. Leaving you.” You’re crying now, tears paving golden trails against your cheeks. “For whatever reason, that was the first thing that came to mind, and it broke me.”

You need to wrap it up, and fast, if your faltering voice and racing heart are any indication.

“I meant it when I apologized to you that night. I’m sorry, Lix. I’m sorry I made everything so fucking complicated. I’m sorry that I ran away. I’m sorry that I hurt you, or worried you. But I want you to know that I feel more for you than you will ever understand; I just need a little more time to put it into words. So, wait for me—”

Your eyes squeeze shut, and you finally cave, your last word coming out in a shattered rasp.

“—please.”

And the syllable has barely left your mouth when Felix lets go of your hand, only to bring his arms around you and pull you to his chest with such urgency that the breath momentarily leaves your lungs.

When you fall against him, you fall entirely apart. You have no idea where all the feelings are coming from, only that they’re suddenly overwhelming your every sense. And you start to cry, really cry, your fingers seeking refuge in his jacket, in his hair. 

The sun departs at last, and night starts to fall. You lose track of how long you remain in this position, shaking with hushed sobs, fighting to regain control of your emotions. But Felix stays with you through it all, muted tears of his own intermingling with yours in the material of his scarf. He holds you carefully yet fiercely, like you really will crumble if he lets go.

And he waits, because of course he does. He would wait lifetimes for you.

One. The way you thaw is like melting snow.

It happens under your nose for the most part, but it is slow, sure, and irreversible, and you open your eyes one morning only to realize that the world outside has changed—and so have you.

You roll over and pick up your phone. There are unread messages from Felix sitting in your notifications, probably confirming the plans you made to get coffee before work today, but you put them on hold for now. Instead, you open up your camera roll and find an album, labeled with a sun emoji and yellow heart.

You made this a few months after you met Felix, and you’ve doted on it since, in the sense that you update it almost every day. Funnily enough, though, you’ve never looked through the album just to look through it. Maybe because you’ve never had the time or felt the impulse, but more likely because you know that the album is a visual time capsule of your relationship with the most important person in your life—which has never been purely platonic for you, despite how hard you’ve tried to change your heart.

Looking through it would mean acknowledging your true emotions, something you’ve never felt ready for.

Now, you open the album without a second thought, a preemptive smile on your lips. And you find yourself swept out of your bed and thrown back inside each of the pictures you see, reliving the moments as vividly as if you’re watching them on film.

This is one of your favorites, taken during a late-night tteokbokki run to a small restaurant behind Felix's company building. Felix was laughing so hard at one of your stories that he could only take bites of his meal every five minutes. His face had broken into a dazzling grin, his figure blurring as he lurched forward in his seat, trying to pull his hood over his face in secondhand embarrassment. Snap. He is always handsome, extraordinarily so, but you think you love the way he looks here most of all: every guard of his lowered, carefree, happy.

Another is from the first time you met Chan. Nowadays, your interactions with the boys consist mostly of running into them at Felix's dorm and making friendly small talk. But it's always been different with the oldest member. The first time Felix introduced the two of you, you clicked straightaway, and you had to have spent four hours after dinner just talking, scouring the city for something cold to eat. By the end of the sweltering summer night, the three of you were perched atop a short stone barrier in a secluded corner of Seoul, right outside the best bingsu place in all of South Korea. Felix had leaned over to steal the last cube of mango from Chan’s bowl, to Chan's dramatic protest. Snap. And Chan is like a brother to you now; you will never be able to fathom how much light Felix has brought to your life, be it through him or the people he loves.

A computer screen displaying a League of Legends scoreboard, in which Felix has died more times than there were minutes of the game. Snap. You (not sober) in the center of Felix's living room, your body poised in what is supposed to be the chorus of “Queencard," Felix and Bin completely losing their shit on the couch. Snap. His head bowed in anguish over a bowl of brownie batter after he mistakes salt for sugar. Snap. A low-quality, tiny Felix on stage, the brightest grin on his face when he finally manages to spot you in the nosebleeds. Snap. Your dining table creaking under the weight of all the gifts he got you for your last birthday. Snap. Him and one of your best friends from home, arms around each other, peace signs thrown up, beaming. Snap.

There are countless more, and they are all so incredibly near and dear to you, all thanks to the freckled boy in each. 

You respond to Felix's messages (“be there soon!”), and then move to get dressed. There is a new sense of certainty in your gait when you emerge from your building and into the quiet morning.

The weather is lovely, the fresh sunlight cream-colored against a cloudless sky, the light breeze shuffling the new leaves about. A hound’s ears twitch when you hurry past its home; it is too drowsy to investigate your presence further. The only sounds in the air are the chattering of sparrows in the branches above you and the soles of your shoes, moving quickly across the sidewalk. The wonder in the world is more palpable to you today than it’s ever been.

Soon, the chalk-written menu and hand-carved wooden sign of your favorite café come into view, and you open the door. There are only a few customers inside, and you spot your person right away: his long, dark hair partially pinned back, his figure flattered by a black long sleeve and jeans. He has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, as well as two drinks on the table before him: one caramel latte and one black milk tea.

When he hears the door jingle, he looks up, and the smile that melts across his face is so fond that you can’t believe there was ever a time when you doubted his feelings for you.

The way his loving smile mirrors onto your face is as inevitable and involuntary as destiny herself.

“Hi,” Felix says, rising from his seat.

“Hey, you,” you answer. “Wanna take a walk?”

And so you do.

You link arms, as always; you try each other’s drinks, as always; you manage to talk about everything and nothing all at once, as always. But when his company building comes into view, your footsteps come to a halt, and your hand fastens around the cuff of his sleeve.

“Hey, Lix—"

When his eyes meet yours, the sun hits them just right, and you have not known anything as clearly and certainly as you do right then.

“—I love you.”

Felix can only stare, his eyes so wide that you can see the whites of them all around, his straw falling from his parted lips.

Then, a smile starts to creep across his face like spilt syrup.

“Say it again.”

“I love you, Lee Yongbok.”

He sets his bag and drink down on the pavement. “Again, please.”

“I love you,” you repeat, starting to laugh. “I love you, I love you, god, I love you, Felix, so fucking much—”

Felix brings his hands to either side of your face, leaning his forehead against your own. And this time, there is no hesitation, no fear—only starlight when he tilts your chin up and finally, finally presses his lips to yours.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach, hordes of them flapping so fervently you feel as though you might take off into the air, but you seek out his elbows, then his shoulders, and then the back of his neck, anchoring yourself to the earth, to him. Felix kisses you like he will never be able to again, and it is all you can do to savor how the curve of his smile feels against your own; how he murmurs the words “I love you, too” in between breaths. He tastes like sugar and smells like shampoo. He feels like forever.

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

#lee felix x reader #felix x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #lee felix #felix #stray kids #skz #lee felix imagines #lee felix fluff #felix imagines #felix fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #skz imagines #skz fluff #stray kids scenarios #felix scenarios #*oneshot #*writing #IT'S DONEEEE IT IS FINALLY DONEE #i hope you like reading as much as i loved writing it! #i'm ngl i'm quite nervous because this is the first full-length fic i've posted on this blog so #any and all feedback would be so so appreciated! much love <3

[walpu]

hii, first of all, sorry for my bad english

this may sound weird, but lately i've been thinking of aventurine turning in a cat. like, for some strange reason (maybe during a mission), he turned in a cute little cat. and since reader doesn't know he's a cat, he feels free to enjoy all reader's affection, and maybe to let his emotions win and cry while being caressed. and then he turns human and he's crying enough to fill a swimming pool. idk if i explained well :(

tysm, i love love love your works!! ❤︎

AWWW THIS IS SUCH A CUTE REQUEST and don't worry your English is perfectly fine! It's not my native language as well so I get the struggle tho

I love making my faves cry so there's a possibility that I've got a bit carried away lol

taking care of cat!Aventurine

edits by @keisieudeptry on twitter

characters - Aventurine notes - gn!reader, a bit of angst, hurt/comfort, a lot of cuddles, n̷̳͙͊͛õ̵̩͓ ̸̧͉̓b̶̳́̎e̵̖͋͊ṭ̴̩̔ȧ̵̪͚̕

Aventurine

Listen, he's always on alert okay. This man rarely allows himself to relax, especially when he's on another one of his business trips.

And he knows what to expect. Lies, attempts on his life, threats etc. He has seen it all.

But this. This. This is something new. Of course anything can happen when you're dealing with The Masked fools but this? Being turned into a cat? In what place this is even funny? It is kinda funny tho just not for Aven

He knows better than to panic. Yes, being turned into a tiny orange cat was not a part of his plans. Yes, this is probably the most defenseless and vulnerable state he's been in since his childhood. Yes, this sucks. But hey not like panicking will change anything.

Instead he just sits in the corner, feeling incredibly anxious and dreadful. His only hope is that this shapeshifting trick won't last for long.

A huge wave of relief washes over him when he sees a familiar person. And not just any person but you. The only person who can put his restless mind at ease, at least for a short time. He wouldn't mind seeing Topaz or Ratio too but it's much better when it's you.

He quickly realizes, however, that his joy was premature. He can't communicate with you! And you don't know that this is him! So the only thing poor Aven can do is follow you around and... meow. It's almost humiliating. Too bad he doesn't have time to care.

Soon enough you give up at finally pick up the oddly familiar cat. Every time you try to put the cat down it starts meowing and running after you so the only thing you can do is pick it up and carry around like a potato.

And you know how it is with cats, once you put your hands on one you can't stop petting it. You run your fingers through the cat's fur absently, while checking you phone for any messages from Aventurine. Hugging the cat, pressing your face to it's soft fur. Something about it surely reminds you of Aven. The thought, no matter how childish it is, brings a small smile on your face.

And poor, poor Aven. For so long he's been longing for your touch while laying awake at night, his poor heart flattered every time your fingers brushed against his. He wants wants wants to melt into your embrace yet this is not allowed for him.

How can he ask for it without exposing the deepest and darkest parts of his soul. How can he open his heart to you without reveling all the ugly, fragile parts.

He wants to be open with you, he really does. Yet it's so unreasonably hard. Would you kiss his head like you do now if you would know how empty he is inside? Would he be able to press his forehead into you palm, asking for more more more without feeling exposed?

In a way, it's good that right now he's in this form. He doesn't really have to think about anything, doesn't have to feel anxious about revealing too much. He can just enjoy in.

You two fall asleep just like that and he doesn't have to overthink, he can just crawl to you side, nuzzling up to you.

You can't help but notice that the kitten in your arms is trembling slightly. And when you pull it closer in order to provide some warmth and comfort it just purrs and meows pitifully. Almost like it's… crying.

Now listen. I'm 100% sure Aven is a light sleeper. So there's no way he won't wake up from a loud gasp and a lot of movements near him.

Well. Seems like the shapeshifting trick the masked fool pulled on him lasted only for 12 hours. And now he lays on the couch in his human form while you look at him with the wide eyes.

Awkward.

His initial reaction is to laugh it off. "Surprised, dear? It's a shame you can't see your own face right now ha ha". Would explain the whole situation, trying to make it seem like it was not a big deal. No mention of you cuddling session tho. Max he would say is "my, my, didn't know you where such a cat person".

However, his smile freezes immediately when you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a hug. Well. Here goes all of his feigned confidence.

Here is this feeling again. Your warmth, you scent, the comfort your touch brings. You telling how you started to get worried and how relieved you are that he didn't get hurt. It cuts so deep, makes him feel so exposed yet so needed. Loved even.

At first he doesn't even get it why your eyes get even wider, why a look so lost and worried all of the sudden. Only when your hands hesitantly cup his cheeks and you ask him what's wrong he realizes that there are tears in his eyes.

You know those tears when they just drop from your eyes and it's not like you're hysterical or crying uncontrollably but the tears just keep coming and coming and the more you try to calm down , the worse it gets? Yeah, him.

Would almost automatically tell you that everything is fine. When you confront him, pointing out that he's literally crying, will get even more confused than you. "Hah, seems like you're right, dear" he says with a small smile, giving up on the idea of hiding it from you. After all, it's too late for that anyway.

It feels... not even humiliating, no. It's weird, scary even, to be so open around someone. To be stripped of his mask so suddenly.

And yet he doesn't have time to care when your hands hold him oh so tenderly, when you cup his face and ask him what's wrong.

"Nothing, nothing, really. Just getting a bit sentimental here. Just... hold me like that for a bit more, 'kay?" he manages to whisper with a faint smile before pressing his face in the crook of your neck.

God feeling his tears on your skin feels so surreal. And heartbreaking too.

With each tender touch he gets even more emotional, to the point when he literally chokes on his own tears. Please hold him, run your fingers through his hair, kiss the top of his head.

He just doesn't get it, it feels so good to be held by you, why does his stupid heart hurts so much then?

Honestly he didn't cry for so long and there are so many repressed feelings, just let him let it all out.

He'll probably fall asleep in your arms, feeling very exhausted after the sudden emotional outburst. In the morning would act like nothing has happened, making some dismissing comments about him being a bit overdramatic last night. Don't let him withdraw into himself but don't push him to open up too much as well.

Just touch him more often from now on, especially when he looks like he had a bad day. And eventually he'll turn into your lap cat, reaching out for your warmth himself with or without reason.

"You're being clingy again" "Am not <З" all while sitting on your lap.

You've domesticated him so good luck.

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr aventurine #aventurine #aventurine x reader #walp's writing #fell in love with this request the moment i saw it

[inthedoghousern]

settle down

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

summary: lando has always been a good friend of your brother, so you know he's off limits, but sometimes you just can't help yourself. guess you'll never learn. inspired by "settle down" by the 1975.

contains: 18+, cursing, alcohol/drinking/smoking, suggestive content (make outs!).

4.4k words

a/n: ok let me clarify: loosely inspired. this isn't reallyyyyy the 'storyline' of the 1975's settle down, but that's okay!

You're wearing your hair down and it slightly covers your face as you go to answer the knocking coming from your front door. When you open it, you're surprised to find your brother's best friend standing there. 

"Oh, you're early, no?" You ask, puzzled, while pushing your hair behind your ears. You knew your brother was throwing a party tonight, but that was in a little bit, and your brother wasn't even home at the moment. 

"He told me to come early to help set up. Whatever that means," he answers. 

"Not sure if he knows that because he's not here," you tell him. Your brother is an idiot. "Well come in I guess." You shrug and move to the side, motioning Lando in. 

You didn't really mind. Of course, you and Lando were friendly, considering he was so close with your brother. When you were younger you even hung out with the two of them a lot. As you got older, their racing and your school stuff just caused the friendship between you and Lando to be more casual. And it was fine. Sometimes schedules would work out and Lando, your brother, and you would cross paths. But for the most part, you just followed his life online like everyone else. 

Though you had to be honest, back then, Lando didn't seem to have much of an effect on you, but now as he stands in front of you, you feel a lump forming in your throat. When did he get so good-looking?

You don't know what has come over you as the two of you enter the house. You feel like falling all over the place. You two make your way to the living room and sit on the couch. It's silent for a moment before Lando speaks up.

"Where even is he?"

"Pretty sure he's stocking up on drinks for tonight. I don't know why he wouldn't have waited to bring you, or just like, tell you to come later." You shake your head. 

Lando laughs and shakes his head too and the silence returns. 

Now you ask a question. “Hasn't been just us in a while, huh?”

“It's been a minute.” Lando chuckles along with you, the silence now slightly less awkward.

You lean back on the sofa. “So how are you? I haven’t seen you in forever,” you ask with a smile. 

“I’m good, I’m good. Honestly, nothing too interesting going on.” He shifts on the couch.

The two of you sit in silence again, until Lando speaks up. 

“You're staying for the party, right?”

“Yeah. Thought I’d stick around this time.”

Lando tilts his head to the side. “Is that so?”

Your stomach does a flip. You try to shake away the thoughts entering your mind. He’s your brother's best friend, you've known him for years, you need to relax. 

“Mhm,” you hum in response. 

Lando looks down for a moment and then over at you. 

“When’s your brother getting back?”

“Not sure.” You open your phone and check his location. As you look away, Lando eyes wander to your neck, then your torso and legs, then your lips, all in the span of a few seconds as you sit on the couch next to him. He had spent countless hours with your family, sat and talked with you many many times. What a familiar face yours was to him. But today he couldn't help but notice something had changed between you. Was it all the time you had spent a part? Or maybe the fact that he's finally seeing you in person and not through a screen. Lando would never admit it, but lately he tended to linger on your social media posts longer than he should.

Lando meets your eyes again when you look up from your phone.

“Yeah, I have no idea, looks like he's still shopping. Do you want me to ask?”

Lando shrugs, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. 

“It’s alright, I was just asking.” He leans back again, stretching his arms over his head as he does.

You can’t help but look at the exposed skin of his stomach when his t-shirt rises. Your eyes glance down, but you look away as quickly and inconspicuously as possible. 

But Lando does notice your brief glance down and back up again. If you could see his expression, you’d notice it’s a mixture of amusement, and something else. He doesn’t say anything though. Instead, he leans forward, speaking slightly softer. 

“You know, I've missed seeing you.”

You can feel heat rising up the back of your neck. Still, you feel a smile tugging at the sides of your mouth and now the two of you are making eye contact. “Oh really?”

Lando can feel your breath on him. He lets out a small breath himself, letting out a shaky laugh. He looks you deeply in your eyes and brings his arm to the back of the sofa behind you. 

Time seems to move extremely slowly. The atmosphere is charged, your eyes locked on to one another. Lando holds your gaze for a moment, waiting to see if you have anything more to say. 

You lean towards him. He feels you press yourself against him. The two of you are so close together, you can feel Lando’s body heat rising, his muscles tightening.

He leans forward, brushing his lips against yours very softly.

You kiss him back. As you do so, Lando gently moves his hands to your waist and pulls you closer to him and you wrap your arms around his neck. The kiss continues and grows much more passionate. You feel Lando’s hands moving up and down your back, the two of you fully enveloped in one another.

Your position shifts, and now you’re sitting on his lap. Still connected in your kiss. 

Lando’s mouth moves along your jaw, “Fuck Lando,” you breathe out as he kisses your jaw and neck. Your hands are buried in his hair. 

Your words bring a small chuckle from him, and he smiles into your neck. He's finding himself so fixated on the girl with the soft sounds. Her hair all over the place. 

You're also fixated on this boy. Lando Norris. The guy you've known your whole life. The guy who's best friends with your brother. The guy who was off limits. He isn’t supposed to be the guy to make you feel like this, and yet, here you are, on top of him. 

Lando’s hands slide under your shirt as he continues to kiss you. 

The feeling of Lando running his hands all over you and his suffocating kisses are almost enough to make you forget where you are. Who you are. Almost. The illusion breaks when you hear a sound from outside. 

A car door shutting. 

The two of you freeze. As one, you both turn your heads. The sound is followed by footsteps. Heavy footsteps. 

It’s your brother.

“Fuck,” you laugh, panicking. You quickly slide off of Lando. 

“Goddamnit.” Lando shakes his head with a smile and sits back. 

You’re both a bit of a mess. You two are breathing heavily and you're flushed. Your hair disheveled. You’ve just barely finished fixing yourself when you heard your brother’s voice from the front door. 

“I’m back.”

“Hey!” You clear your throat. “Lando’s here." 

“Thought so, I saw his car in the driveway.” Your brother steps into the living room, a bag in his arm. 

“What’s up man,” Lando gets up. “You got more stuff in the car?” He asks your brother. 

“Yeah a few more boxes,” he responds. 

“Alright let me help.” They walk back outside together and you lean back on the couch, looking up and covering your face with your hands. 

You sit there for a moment, feeling a bit shaken. You feel a little dirty almost? But you can’t stop thinking about the way Lando kissed you.

You let your hands fall to your sides before the two of them walk back in. Your brother sits on the couch and Lando sits in a chair across from you. Just a few feet away. It’s like nothing happened. You know he can't be found with you.

Luckily, your brother is completely oblivious. 

“People should start getting here in like an hour,” he comments. 

You get up from the couch. “Alright, I’m gonna get ready then. See you guys later.” 

You rush upstairs and shut the door. Your heart is pounding, and you’re still in disbelief. As you lie down on your bed, your mind races with everything that just happened. 

You cannot let your brother find out.

He would probably kill you, or kill Lando. 

No, he’d kill both of you. 

-

You spend more time than you should getting ready, but you’re hoping to calm down a little. Eventually, you start to hear music from downstairs, and the bass shakes your floor. You also begin hearing the sound of voices and laughter as your brother greets people at the door. 

You take a deep breath as you look at yourself one last time in the mirror. Now or never. Just avoid him. 

You walk down the stairs and are immediately met with 'hellos' and 'heys' from different directions. You greet as you weave your way through the house, and finally, you get to the kitchen. You beeline to the fridge, getting a drink. 

“Hello helloooo,” you hear from behind. When you turn around you're met with your best friend. 

"Hey!" Her arrival is a breath of fresh air after feeling so out of sorts with Lando. She gives you a big smile and hugs you tightly.

“Thank god you’re here,” you say as you pull away from the hug. “Get a drink and then we need to talk. It’s important.”

Your best friend gives you a curious look, raising her eyebrow at you in surprise. She glances around for a moment and then back at you. 

“What is it? Is something going on?” People are in and out of the kitchen around you two. The house is getting busier and busier. You look around quickly and then whisper in your friend’s ear, “It’s about Lando.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” she whispers, a look of excitement in her eye and concern as well.

“Yeah, I know. Now get a drink and let’s get outside or something,” you laugh. 

“Are you being serious? Did you fuck Lando?” She leans in closer as if she doesn’t believe what she’s hearing is real.

“Shush! Oh my god come on.” You pass her a drink and grab her hand, pulling her behind you. 

Though, as you try to exit the kitchen people are also walking in, causing a bit of a standoff. And of course. It’s Lando and your brother. 

“Hey what’s up!” your brother greets your best friend. 

Out of you four, your brother is the only one who is out of the loop on the current... situation.

Lando directs a nod toward your friend but soon looks back at you. You're staring back. 

“Hi nice to see you both I was just going out for a smoke talk to you later goodbye," your best friend quickly rambles to the two boys, and then you both push past out of the kitchen. 

You can feel Lando's eyes on the back of your head as you go out the door.

-

You sit on the porch and she lights a cigarette, taking a drag, and then turning to you, “I can’t believe it. You’re not fucking with me right?” She says laughing. 

You laugh and put your head in your hands. “I’m being so serious," you mutter but then look up again. "But we didn't sleep together. It was just a... heavy makeout...? That got interrupted."

She starts laughing and you laugh with her, the two of you in disbelief. 

“Dude you can’t just hook up with Lando! Oh my god, your brother is going to freak out.” She says, still laughing. 

“I know. He cannot find out.” You smile and take a sip of your drink.

Your best friend looks at you over her cigarette, “…well, I mean, was it good?”

"It wasn’t bad…” you trail off with a grin. Your best friend smirks as you speak, raising her eyebrow and laughing out loud. 

“It wasn’t bad.” She repeats, and you can hear the amusement in her voice. 

“You’re a mess.” She says, and the two of you burst out laughing as if it’s not a big deal at all. She's right, you are a mess. You're avoiding him and yet wondering if he's talking 'bout you too. 

The two of you keep talking and drinking on the porch until your cans are empty. “Alright,” you say slapping your knees and standing up. “We should be social, and I need another drink.”

“You would be right," your best friend says immediately and gets to her feet. You’re relieved to have her with you, maybe she’ll help you keep your mind off of Lando and what just happened. And getting another drink wouldn’t hurt either. 

“C’mon.” Your best friend pulls you away from the porch and the two of you reenter the party.

-

You're back in the house and the night resumes. You have fun for a bit, talking to your other friends, drinking, and doing some shots. You know Lando is here somewhere, but you don’t know where and you don’t really care. Don't want to care at least. 

At one point, your best friend pulls you aside again, “I’m gonna have another smoke, you coming?” she asks. 

“Yeah sure, I could use some air.” You two go outside again. It's gotten later and you're feeling the cold air prickle against your skin. 

She lights her cigarette as someone else from the party comes out, and they light up too. The three of you talk for a while, but you're starting to feel too cold, and you're the only one not smoking. 

“Hey, I’m going back in,” you tell her. She nods, “Cool, I’ll see you inside later, I’m gonna chill out here for a bit.” 

You head back into the party, and once again it’s crowded: people are moving between rooms, there’s music blasting, and you can smell the liquor in the air. 

You're pushing through bodies as you walk through the living room. You pass someone and the two of your arms collide hard. You go to mumble a 'sorry', but you stop yourself when you see who it is. 

Lando. You both pause. 

You feel the heat coming off of his body and your chilled skin from the night air touches against him. You're cold and he burns. You shiver, unsure if it's from the temperature outside or the man standing in front of you. 

“Cold?” he asks leaning close so you can hear him over the music. 

You laugh, “I was just outside. Won’t take long to warm back up in here though.” 

He smiles slightly at you and nods, but the look in his eyes reveals he knows there’s more to it than that. 

You can still feel the heat coming off of him, and you don’t know how to avoid it. You’re trying to block out the memories of what happened in this living room earlier, but it’s pretty obvious the tension between the two of you is still there.

“Wanna go get another drink?” he asks. 

There’s a part of you that knows you should say no, but there’s also a certain adrenaline rush that courses through you in his presence. He doesn’t seem to care about the circumstances, and he’s actually making this interesting.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Let’s get a drink then,” he says, grabbing your shoulders and turning you towards the kitchen. You walk ahead as he follows with his hands on your shoulders. The sensation of him holding you makes your heart race, you feel like his touch could burn a hole right through you. 

You get to the kitchen and Lando lets go of you, making his way to the fridge, grabbing you both drinks. You sit on the counter as Lando stands in front of you with his own drink.

You take some time to just look at him, your eyes locked on his, and he looks right back at you. There’s this air of tension between the two of you and despite neither of you outright acknowledging it; you both know. 

“Having fun?” you ask him, taking a sip of your drink. 

“Yeah, I’d say so,” he teases you, taking one step forward so that he’s standing closer than he was before.

“Are you having fun?”

“Yes, I am,” you say looking down at him from your position on the counter. 

“Good.” 

It’s such a simple word, but the way he speaks it is almost provocative. Everything about him right now is like that.

You both sip from your drinks, and he’s so close to you that you feel like you could lean forward and kiss him without moving. The idea has you feeling a bit dizzy.

You don’t say anything and neither does he; everything between the two of you is so intense, so silent. You're losing your words. You two are speaking in bodies. 

You break the eye contact and don’t say anything as you put your drink down and get off of the counter. You and Lando are nearly pressed together for a moment when you get down, but you move to the side and start leaving the kitchen. 

Confusion is all over Lando’s face, he turns as you walk by. 

“Where are you going?” He laughs as he starts to follow. 

You start moving through the party to the stairs, and you don’t look behind you to see if he’s following. You know he is. As you get to the staircase you start climbing up and Lando's nearly on your heels with every step you take. 

When you reach the second floor and it’s dark and quiet. You open the door to your room and walk inside, Lando is right behind you as you do so. You enter the room and hear Lando closing the door and clicking the lock. The party is downstairs, and up here it’s a different world. 

You and Lando stand there for a moment, and the silence is deafening. You both know why the other came to this room and in the low light, he moves closer to you. 

You can feel his hand wrap around your waist slightly and he pulls you towards him. Lando smiles softly as you wrap your arms around his neck. Your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck, and your body is pressed against his. 

“You know…” he whispers to you, “I really would like to finish what we started earlier…”

“Or is the idea of your brother being downstairs too much?” he whispers softly, as his hands move to the small of your back, holding you gently and close to his body.

The air seems to be hot as you press yourself against Lando. Your hands wrapped around the back of his neck, the heat coming off of his body as he leaned his own against you. 

“I love the guy but I really wish he wasn’t here. Or that anyone was here,” his voice almost a whisper, “but I guess that means we have to be really quiet…”. 

You smile and shake your head, “I guess…” your eyes are flickering from his eyes to his lips. You shouldn’t want this, but you really do want this. 

Lando smiles back, his hand trailing your back slowly. It’s a tease and you know it. His one hand starts to move up your back, making its way towards the back of your neck, and he brings his free one to the side of your face. Your arms are still wrapped around him. He traces his fingers along your cheek slowly, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. 

Your bodies are close together and you can feel their heat against each other. The air is thick, and you know what needs to happen next.

You both lean towards each other and meet in the middle, finally tasting each other again. The kiss is filled with passion and you can feel his lips on yours, his tongue meeting your own.

Lando deepens the kiss and you're pushed back into the door. Pinned between his body and the wall. He doesn’t break the kiss and his hands slide down your body, moving down to your hips. 

Lando starts kissing down your jaw and neck again. There is an ease about the way he moves now, he can take his time now that you're behind closed doors. 

He makes his way down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses behind him. The feeling is electric as his hands rest on your hips still, his touch is soft and tender as he moves his lips back up and kisses you again on the lips.

The feeling of your hands in Lando's hair makes him grin against you. Your kiss becomes more passionate as you pull his hair, and you can feel touch of his hands beneath your shirt. Fingers against your skin. Your mind is hazy from the kiss and the alcohol but you let the feeling wash over you. 

He tugs at the hem of your shirt and pulls it off of you. 

You break the kiss finally and breathe in the heat of the room. With your shirt removed his hands trail the bare skin of your back and sides, and his lips trace your neck.

The heat is so intense it makes your body feel like it has a mind of its own.

You lightly push him off, towards the edge of the bed, with a laugh. He laughs with you and goes along with your push, sitting down. You see that he has a smirk on his face, and as you look him over he leans back on his hands and continues to watch you. 

The air is tense with a build-up of tension, waiting for the next move.

You stand in front of him and grab both of his arms, lightly pulling them up above his head. Lando chuckles softly at the move, and with your help, he lifts his arms fully to keep them there. 

You pull the shirt off of Lando slowly, revealing his bare chest. You can see his muscles twitch slightly from your touch.

When the shirt is tossed, Lando’s hands rest on your hips again, bringing you closer and pulling you down on top of him. 

He's watching you with half-lidded eyes, a soft smile on his face, and his hands slide up your sides and your back. The feeling is intoxicating, you feel your breath coming quicker and quicker as Lando’s hands make their way up your body.

You kiss him again, hands grasping his shoulders. Your bodies are pressed together and the heat of the moment is too much to resist. You can feel Lando’s hands all over you, caressing your shoulders and neck, and playing with your hair.

He groans as you grind against him, and he lets one of his hands move to the small of your back to pull you closer to him. Lando wants more of you.

Then

Suddenly someone is trying the door handle and there's knocking. You and Lando quickly break away from the kiss. For crying out loud. 

“For fucksa-“ Lando starts but you slap your hand against his mouth. 

“Settle down,” you mouth at him. 

“Hey, are you in there?” You recognize your best friend's voice from the other side of the door. You can feel Lando smiling into your hand. He shakes his head and leans into your shoulder. 

You clear your throat, “Yeah I’m in here!” you answer. You hear Lando chuckle softly but he keeps quiet as he is pressed against your shoulder. 

“Are you alright?” your friend asks from the other side of the door, “I’ve been looking downstairs for yo-”

“Yeah I’m alright” You interrupt. 

“Okay, well….” you hear your friend hesitate for a moment, “...wait. Shut the fuck up.” You hear her familiar laugh. 

“Do you have Lando in there with you?” she asks, her voice sounding louder, she must be closer to the door now. 

This question makes Lando laugh out loud. You hit his chest. He was the one who was saying we had to be 'so quiet' and now he just confirmed his presence.

You can hear your best friend laugh as well on the other side of the door, and you know she won’t stop until she hears you answer the question. 

“Yes, I do," you admit, “Now go away!”

Your best friend laughs even harder outside. “Alright alright. Bye. Bye, Lando. I’ll try to keep your brother away too, you're welcome!” She finishes and you can hear her leave. 

“She knows?” he laughs against your ear, “I thought this whole thing was secret…”

“Shut up. Be happy it was her at the door and not you know who,” you joke. 

Lando grabs your hips and lifts you off of him. In a few swift motions he has you lying on the bed and he’s on top of you. He leans down and kisses up from your collarbone to just under your ear.

“If we get interrupted one more time…,” he trails off into your ear and then pulls away looking at you. His face right above yours. 

You shake your head smiling, you run your hands through his hair looking up at him. 

Lando smiles back at you. You can see the desire in his eyes. 

You can still feel his breath all over you from his kissing just moments earlier. Your skin is sensitive from the heat, from him, and you feel a wave of goosebumps run up your body just from his touch. 

Lando leans forward and the two of you kiss again.

The bass from downstairs vibrates through the floor and drowns out the music, the voices, the party. 

Your head is spinning. This is so wrong. But also it feels sort of right. Whatever was happening between the two of you was going to make your life chaotic. But even so, the same thought keeps running through your head…

Now I just can’t stop myself around you. 

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando imagine #lando x reader #lando norris #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #Spotify

[loveshotzz]

I guess it’s never really over

mechanic!steve harrington x fem!reader exes to lovers

chapter three -

This has got to be the longest crush ever

Robin’s bad date, and a late night that changes everything.

warnings: 18+ A little bit of queer and mid twenties crisis angst for Robin, with comfort obvi. Tension, but are we surprised at this point?, and a secret third thing, wonder what it could be? 😚

wc: 6.3k

authors note: Hi babies! I am taking just a week off from my posting schedule for this week long work trip I’m taking on Monday. There’s lots of conferences and I won’t have much down time. We will resume our normal posting schedule for chapter four starting 3/20 🌻🧡

series masterlist | series playlist

June -

Would you believe me if I said I’m in love? 

                            Baby, I want you to want me.

You can’t believe you landed yourself in detention.

All your late night study sessions for the SAT’s that led to oversleeping and missed alarms finally catching up to you just like Robin warned you it would. Miss O’Donnell is the one who makes your best friend's predictions come true, handing you that notorious pink slip for walking into her class ten minutes late for the third time this week. 

When you arrive at exactly 3:15, the classroom is mostly empty. Your eyes scan the bored faces of the few students joining you, hoping to at least see Eddie’s familiar head of curls. But of course, today of all days, he’s managed to be on his best behavior or just didn’t get caught. 

Sighing defeated, you give Mr. Clark a tight lipped smile, ignoring the shocked look on his face seeing you in here. Picking an empty desk in the middle away from anyone, you decide to busy yourself with the Algebra homework you’ve been avoiding for the better half of a week. It’s when you lean over to unzip your backpack that you catch the sounds of sneakers squeaking against the ceramic floors.

”Ahh, Mr. Harrington. Even fashionably late to detention, I see. Your hair looks good enough to sit in silence for an hour and a half to me.” Mr. Clark announces the king of Hawkins's grand entrance with the kind of sarcasm that makes you smirk as you start arranging your things on your desk.

“That’s good to know 'cause I was doing it for you Mr. C.”

Steve Harrington always thinks he’s so charming

Snorting as you click your pen, you dare to look up only to catch ‘the hair’ looking right back at you with that golden smile that you’ve seen take even the strongest soldiers out. 

Oh no. 

Eyes going big, you quickly bring your attention back down to your homework, silently hoping he doesn’t take the seat next to you and land you in here next week too. 

“So thoughtful of you. Now why don’t you take a seat and do some studying for that test on Monday. And maybe this semester you won’t have to worry about relying on extra credit to keep playing basketball.” Mr. Clark dismisses him, earning a low whistle from the boy who holds his hands up in surrender, Nike covered feet coming down your row.

No, no, no, NO.

You still don’t look up, rereading the same question over and over again because no matter how many times you try, you’re too distracted by the cedar and clove that invades your senses kicking them into overdrive. The whites of his sneakers catch in your peripherals when he does the unimaginable and sits next to you.

Staring at the equation with the kind of concentration that’ll be sure to give you a migraine later, it takes him a good thirty seconds before he temporarily gives up trying to get your attention to grab something that gives the illusion of studying out of his backpack. 

Trying to play it cool, your stomach twists in nervous knots worse than the ones you get when Robin forces you on the janky rides at the summer fair every year. Sure, you’ve been hit on by a guy here and there, but no one can prepare you for what it’s like to catch Steve Harrington’s attention—especially for someone in your Hawkins hierarchy who would never be on the receiving end of it.

He flips through the pages of his textbook loudly, earning his first warning glare from Mr. Clark, and you decide to write your name on the top of the page so at least it looks like you’re doing something. After a couple bounces of your knee, you can feel the heat of his gaze back on you.

”Psst, hey.” 

The last letter of your name comes out illegible, and you jump at the hushed sound of his voice. Taking a deep breath, you work up the courage to meet his flirtatious smirk and golden brown eyes. The sun leaking through the windows gives you a glimpse of the green that hides inside them from this close. You hate to admit that he’s just as pretty as everyone says he is.

”Hi,” you smile a little shy, offering a small wave of your pen and it lights up his whole face, making your body buzz.

”You have a highlighter I can use or something?” He keeps up his ruse, the whites of his teeth showing in a grin.

You arch an eyebrow at him, something sarcastic reminiscent of Mr. Clark flashing behind your eyes. 

“What? You don’t think I’m actually going to study?” He acts shocked, slapping his giant hand across his chest and it earns the kind of giggle from you that pushes him full steam ahead.

”It’s blue, is that okay?” Giving into the bait, you try and hide the way your face warms, ducking down to dig in the bottom of your backpack.

”Are you kidding? I love blue. Favorite color actually.” Laying it on thick, you can see the way he scoots to the edge of his seat, the spice of his cologne making you bite at your bottom lip as your fingers wrap around what you’re looking for.

Sitting up in your seat, you aren’t expecting him to be so close and it threatens to steal the air right out of your lungs.

”H-here,” you manage, holding the blue writing utensil in the small space that's left between you.

Steve's eyes roam your face freely, pink tongue coming out to wet his full bottom lip before they settle back on your gaze, lids a little heavy, voice low and somehow sticky sweet.

”Thanks, honey.” He leans forward more, purposely brushing his fingers with yours when he takes it out of your grasp, “but now, I’m afraid the only way you’re gonna get it back is to let me drive you home after this.”

“I’ve got plenty, you can keep that one,” you try to stay strong, but when that second giggle slips out, you seal your fate.

”I can’t do that, this is your favorite one.” He tisks like it’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard, with a crooked grin that makes you bite the inside of your cheek.

”Is it?”

”Absolutely.”

“Are you two done? Or should we schedule a second date for next week?” Mr. Clark interrupts.

”That would actually be date number three. We’re going on two after this is over.” Steve smirks, throwing you a wink ignoring the harsh way you whisper of his name. 

Yeah… you were fucked.

“I’ve got a date tonight!” 

Robin sings excitedly, bursting through the front door in a wild ball of energy, successfully waking you up from your nap on the couch. Blinking slowly, as you start to recognize your surroundings, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you force yourself to sit up, wincing at your stiff neck and the fact that you dreamed about Steve Harrington again. 

“A date with who?” You grumble, still a little grouchy, yawning with a stretch that pops in your back.

”This girl that I met at the record store this morning, we talked about Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos for what felt like hours. She’s just, wow, she’s so cool. Almost too cool for me, you know? She’s a senior in college-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up.” Cutting her off before she can ramble any longer, you wave your hands for her to stop: “First of all, no one is too cool for you, okay? If anything, it’s always going to be the other way around.”

“Yeah, okay, Steve.”

It takes a minute for her words to sink in about the man you haven’t seen in almost a week and a half, but when they do, the glare that settles on your face makes her laugh. 

“Ha ha, very funny.” You deadpan with a tight-lipped smirk, before clearing your throat, “Well where are you guys going? Do you want me to go undercover in case you need saving? I’m fully prepared for a stakeout.”

Robin rolls her eyes, but her smile, which spreads wide enough to see all her teeth, gives away her love for your dramatics. 

“No, I don’t need you to go undercover or anything. I mean, it is going to be nice knowing you’ll be here waiting for me to tell you all about it instead of having to call you and hope the city girl answers.” She teases, earning the scoff from you that she was looking for.

“I’m choosing to ignore that, and if at any point you change your mind, you know your own number.”

Earning a genuine laugh from Robin always makes your soul feel lighter, so when your joke lands and you get one, the heaviness of Steve that’s been weighing down on your shoulders eases up just a little bit.

”I’ve just never been approached in public before like that, you know? It’s not just the other girl you know is gay on campus. I don’t know, it feels good.” Your best friend’s confession makes you want to wrap her up in a hug, keeping the urge to remind her of your offer to move to the city with you to yourself for right now, letting her bask in the moment.

”Well, you're hot. Can you blame her? If you weren’t basically like a sister to me, I’d be all over it.” Wiggling your eyebrows, she flips you off, but you still catch the tinge of pink that paints her cheeks rosy.

”Please, Steve would have my head on a stake.” She snorts, purposely trying to get under your skin now.

”Robin.”

”What? I thought he was going to pop a blood vessel in his eye when I mentioned your little ‘adventure’ last week” She giggles, heading towards her bedroom.

If only she knew just how much those words were true. Your thighs meet like in the memory you can’t stop playing on a loop, palms turning sweaty, remembering the velvet of his lips so close to your neck.

”Wait! Did you ask that on purpose?!” You gasp, jumping to your feet to follow her.

”Maybe.”

”Maybe?!”

”You know what I do need help with?” She ignores you, spinning on her heel to meet your narrowed eyes.

”What?”

”Help me pick any outfit?” Pushing out her bottom lip, she gives you the kind of puppy dog eyes that no one in their right mind could say no to.

Sighing heavily, your feet drag on the carpet before flopping yourself onto her bed huffing out a “Fine” as the box springs squeak.

The rest of the day is spent going through what feels like every outfit in Robin’s possession, even getting desperate enough to try on some of your clothes despite your clashing styles. Settling on a pair of boot cut jeans, a black half crop top with a flannel shirt that you’re pretty sure she stole from Steve and the Dr. Martin’s you got her for her birthday last year, she was ready to break hearts. Blue eyes roll in the back of her head when you make her say ‘I’m the prize’ until you feel like she halfway believes it before handing over her I.D. that you’d found stuffed between the cushions of the couch in a frenzied panic to search for it only ten minutes prior.

The sun starts to set on Robin’s small apartment after she finally heads out the door, and the shadows that bounce off the white walls bring back the thoughts of Steve you’d successfully gotten rid of for a few fleeting hours. 

Huffing to yourself with crossed arms, you watch the flat bag of popcorn spin around in the microwave. You can still hear the beginning Moonstruck playing on the TV in the living room, over the loud hum of the machine. Comfortable in an oversized shirt that lands just at the bottoms of your cotton sleep shorts, goosebump dot across your legs from the cool of the A/C. Your skin still tingles everywhere he touched and the week of radio silence feels worse the second time around. 

The shrill sound of Robin’s phone and the first kernel of popcorn exploding in the bag overpower your ears all at once, making you jump. Mumbling cuss words under the now constant sound of popping, you try to calm your heart rate down, wandering to the living room. Your hand hovers over the phone, the realization about who might be on the other line making your stomach drop. He hadn’t called Robin yet. There’s a moment of hesitation, but you take a deep breath, letting the air expand in your lungs, silently counting to three before you grab the phone off its hook.

”Buckley residen-“

”I need you to come get me, I- I’ve made a huge mistake and I’m just so fuck - “ Robin cuts you off, the rasp in her voice cracking like she’s trying not to cry, “I’m just really embarrassed, please come get me.”

“What happened? Where are you? I’m coming, just - just tell me where you are.” Running to her bedroom to grab your sneakers with the phone pressed to your ear, you can hear her sniffle.

”Benningans, it’s the next town over. I’ll be outside -“

”Are you safe?” You panic, slipping your foot into your shoe as quickly as you can.

”I’m safe, I’m just, I’m embar- I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’m safe, I’ll be outside.” She mutters.

”I’ll get there as fast as I can, okay?” Feeling a little helpless, you try to ease the hurt that’s evident in her tone with soft reassurance. 

”I’m just, I’m really glad you're here. I’ll see you soon.” She manages to get out before the line clicks dead.

Slipping your second shoe on, the realization that you don’t actually have a car to save her with, hits you like a ton of bricks. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Stomping back to the living room, your eyes find the mustard yellow address book next to the phone’s dock. Your fingers fumble through its pages, eyes squinting as you try to read Robin’s messy writing, searching for a familiar name. You find two:

Eddie and Steve.

You stare at the page, your moral compass going haywire. Despite the way he’s rented a space in your mind, the thought of seeing him alone again makes your stomach twist. Eddie would be simple. Eddie would be easy. Your thumb hovers over the first number in the one she has scribbled down for him, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t bring yourself to press it. She needs Steve.

You groan loudly, stomping your foot for good measure, before letting out a long breath through your nose, dialing his number that you knew you should have all along. 

It only rings twice.

“Whatever it is, the answer is no,” Steve deadpans.

”Is that really how you answer your phone?” You scoff, doing your best to ignore the butterflies you’ve managed to stifle as they start to come alive at the sound of his voice.

“I thought this was - shit, I thought this was Henderson - erm I mean Dustin, you remember Dustin?” He stammers and you know that hand of his is running through his hair right now.

“Yeah, the middle schooler.”

“Well, he’s like nineteen now -“

“I didn’t call you to talk about Dustin, Steve,” You sigh heavily, rubbing the bridge of your nose, “Robin called me really upset from Bennigans, and I don’t have a car or any way to go get her-” 

“I’m on my way.” He cuts you off without any hesitation,“Be outside in five minutes for me?”

”My shoes are already on.”  

After a click, you’re left with the sound of the dial tone in your ear. You hang up the phone as warmth floods your body, easing some of your temporary worries. 

Steve Harrington is making it hard to hate him.

The short walk to Steve’s BMW from Robin’s front door feels like stepping through a time machine.

One that takes you back to late nights sneaking out your bedroom window, always being extra careful not to wake your parents up so you could go make out with your secret kind of boyfriend under the stars. Those were always your favorite nights with him. The nights he’d put away the king Steve armor, those nights he’d just be Steve. A boy who just wanted to make his father proud, thinking maybe he’d stay home more if he was.

You can feel the way his eyes roam your body, the heat of his stare lingering on your exposed legs, setting your skin on fire. Suddenly more than aware of your lack of pants, only part of you regrets not changing into some leggings, but you try not to think about that too hard right now.

He clears his throat when you open the passenger door, the smell of leather and the dark woody sweet scent of oil surrounding you as you slide into your seat. The spice of his cologne tickles your nose when you close yourself in, clicking your seatbelt in place before daring to meet his eyes. The golden brown inside them shimmers with something you’d missed in the orange glow of the street light and the nerves still feel the same way they did five years ago. The only thing that hasn’t changed.

”Thanks for doing this,” you offer with a weak smile.

When he realizes you’ve put your weapons down for the night, his face softens with a crooked grin, subtle pink dusting the apples of his cheeks.

”I meant it when I said I can’t say no to you,” he starts, selfishly letting his eyes roam the smooth lines of your face that are finally not twisted up into a glare before realizing his slip up, “and Robin, my best friend obviously.”

”Our best friend, Steve.” You tease trying to ignore the tension that crackles in the empty space between you even worse than before.

”Whatever you have to tell yourself,” he winks, forearm flexing as he puts the car in drive.

Scoffing a ‘whatever’ with a playful roll of your eyes, you let your muscles relax into the familiar seat. The Police’s Every Breath You Take spills through the speakers just loud enough to be heard over the low rumble of the engine, and you become hyper aware of his hand resting on the stick shift, the tips of his fingers just close enough to brush against your thigh every time you hit a bump. 

There’s a silence that falls between you once the street lights run out and his full focus shifts to the pitch black road ahead. The quiet is filled with what almost happened in his room, unspoken words that don’t dare to roll off of sober tongues. You wait until he’s too distracted looking for surprises that might run out from the woods on either side of you to let your eyes wander over and really take him in.

A white drawstring hangs low on his heather gray sweatpants that fit tight over his thighs spread wide. Your throat goes dry at the white tank top that hugs his broad chest, the gold chain that wraps around his neck getting lost in the thick patch of curls on display. You’re finally able to really make out more of his tattoo for the first time, thin, precise lines that look like feathers attached to a set of sparrow wings.

”Did she tell you what happened? I mean, is she safe?” He interrupts your greedy stare, eyes lighting up when he catches you, tucking it away for another time.

”Uhh, yeah,” you answer with a shake of your head, teeth biting down on your bottom lip with hot cheeks, “she’s safe, she kept saying she’s embarrassed but wouldn’t tell me why, just kept begging me to come get her.”

He just hums, lost deep in thought of all the things it could be, and his grip on the steering wheel tightens with worry. 

“We’re only ten minutes away, so it won’t be too much longer now.” 

He reassures you, but it feels like he needs it too, especially when his hand leaves the stick shift to run through his hair that looks more tousled than usual, making you wonder if he was lying in bed before this. A worried breath exhales through his nose, with a tight jaw, and you hate the way your stomach drops when both his hands find the steering wheel after he tugs on his roots a little bit. 

Nervous fingers play with the bottoms of your sleep shorts, trying your best not to stare while you keep your gaze out the passenger window. Stolen glances are followed by tight lipped smiles when you’d always find him staring back. Honey and chestnut make your stomach flutter, and you think maybe some things never change. 

It takes less than the ten minutes that Steve promised for the back roads to turn busy, and bright with the kind of lights a small town on a Saturday night has. A slouched frame sitting on the side of the road catches in his headlights, getting closer you see that Robin’s waves have lost all the bounce she left the house with, along with the rosy tint in her cheeks. The flashing Bennigans sign spins a block behind her, and the orange bulbs match the burning ember on the end of her cigarette that dangles from her full lips. 

“Shit, it’s bad if she’s smoking,” Steve mutters, turning on his hazards as he pulls up next to her, the wheels of his car coming to a stop. 

She hollows her cheeks out, taking one last drag, waving at you to stop unbuckling your seat belt as she gets to her feet. Blowing the smoke from her lungs into the wind, she flicks the half smoked butt into the street before opening the back door, sliding into the leather seats with an exasperated huff.

“Just, don’t – I’m okay,” she starts, closing the door and shutting out the whir of the traffic outside. “Turns out her boyfriend’s best friend really likes Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos too. She really thought me and him might hit it off after our talk at the record store today. I don’t want to talk about it, I just want to go home with my two favorite people and feel sorry for myself.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” Steve doesn’t miss a beat. Turning around in his seat, he flashes her his million-dollar Harrington smile. “I’m the king of feeling sorry for myself.”

Her lips twitch, but when she sees the natural roll of your eyes at the boy next to you, it turns into a full blown smile. A little shimmer came through in the dulled-out color of her eyes.

Got me up all night

            all I’m singing is love songs.

“Honestly, now that I’m thinking about it, this girl sounds like a scammer, Rob. I mean, come on.” Steve snorts, rifling through her cupboards in the kitchen. Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos, what kind of game was she playing at anyway?”

Robin giggles from her place next to you on the couch, her head resting on your shoulder, the green apple of her shampoo still lingering on her curls that tickle your cheek. 

“Plenty of people like those artists, Steve.” She sighs, but you can still hear her smile, “It’s fine, I’ll just stay the lonely Hawkins lesbian for the rest of my life, no big deal.”

”Shut up!”

”Will you stop?!”

You and Steve chide her at the same time, hard eyes meeting from across the living room and softening. He doesn’t even try to stop the lopsided grin that pushes up your favorite cheek and you hope Robin doesn’t feel the way it makes your skin warm. 

“Whatever, I already warned you I’m going to be miserable. Gimmie a break, and you’re actually taking forever in there, by the way.” Whining, she sits up, sending a rush of fruit and leftover tobacco to your nose.

“Yeah, well, I can’t find your peanut butter,” he mutters, opening up the cabinet above the sink, the bottom of his tank top rising enough to see a sliver of sun kissed skin and a few more freckles. Why does it feel like there's always more?

”What are you even making anyway?” you ask, ignoring the way Robin’s head whips around. A smirk spreads wide across her face because you’re actually trying to make conversation with Steve.

“Just a little something that’s going to cure my best friend’s heartbreak,” he winks, the jar of JIF extra crunchy looking extra small in his grasp, twisting the cap off. “We came up with it together, actually.o biggie.”

Your gaze narrows, but he doesn’t miss the way the corners of your mouth twitch, something sparkling inside the dark gold in his eyes.

”Interesting, considering I ran to the store earlier to grab my best friend’s favorite ice cream, just in case.” You counter, something mischievous twisting up your lips. “You didn’t even think to stop and get it on our way home. Some friend.”

Robin’s smile lights up the room, very obviously enjoying the show, maybe even a little too much. Clapping her hands together, she lets out a content sigh before leaning back into the couch cushions.

”I really could get used to this,” she beams, “maybe we should have a contest, see which one of you can do the nicest things for me.”

You can’t stop the snort or the roll of your eyes that has Steve throwing his head back in a fully-bellied laugh, giving you the perfect view of his neck, and only Robin clocks the way your giggles are cut short and the secret way your eyes glaze over.

”I’m not gonna lie as much as I love crunchy peanut butter banana s’mores, I have to say Steve, the fact that she actually called you makes her the winner for the night.” She smirks, chuckling harder when you shove her with a hushed ‘Robin!’

His smile doesn’t fade as he starts to cut banana slices. Big eyes meet yours with the kind of look that threatens to melt you into the couch.

”That’s alright, I’ll be a gracious loser tonight, but just know, honey, I’m very competitive.” He warns, long fingers spreading the fruit evenly throughout the peanut butter that messily coats graham crackers.  

“I don’t like to lose, so it’s fine.” Your quick reply deepens the smile lines in his cheeks, putting the finishing touches on your snacks.

“Yeah, this is definitely the life I was meant to live,” Robin gloats, nudging you, “I’m the prize, right?”

It’s your turn to throw your head back in the kind of laugh that rattles in your rib cage, too distracted to see the lovesick way Steve bites his bottom lip watching you from across the room.

But Robin does.

With a heart so full it might burst, tears threaten to spill from the ocean in her eyes, daydreaming about moments like this, only ever thinking they would be something that stayed trapped in the confines of her mind. The warming feeling of happiness wraps around Robin like a blanket when she gets to sit between you both on the couch. A distant friend she hasn’t seen in a long time, a secret she’s kept mostly to herself. 

With a messy plate of half eaten treats and sticky fingers, she’s content watching Cher and Nicholas Cage fight over how much they love each other. Fully knowing that Steve is sneaking looks at you from over her head, smiling to herself at the nervous way you fiddle with your hands in your lap because of it.

Robin doesn’t fight the exhaustion that starts to make her eyelids heavy just a little halfway through the movie. It’s easy to give in when your body weight relaxes deeper into her side, and how Steve drapes his arm over the back of the couch, tucking you both into his chest with evening breaths.

You’re warm, cozier than normal, and it surrounds every part of you.

Cheek pressed against something that’s not firm enough to be the couch, you nuzzle yourself deeper, chasing the heat and the sleep that’s threatening to evade you. Your cushion starts to move, making eyes shift behind lids that aren’t ready to open yet. Lashes flutter, feeling the way your leg is slotted between someone else’s, and the warmth of a palm finds the small of your back, pulling you closer.

A deep sigh rumbles in your ear before fingertips lazily trace up and down the dip of your spine. Stubble tickles your forehead, and as coherency starts to come back to you, a softer patch of hair rubs against your cheek. The kind of spice and lingering sunshine that could only come from one person hits your senses, and the white cotton of Steve’s tank top finally becomes visible. 

The shift in your breathing brings his soft touches to a halt, the muscles you’re pressed on your side against stiffening. Realizing your hands are sprawled across his chest, just under your chin, you can feel the way his heart races under your palm. He’s everywhere, and despite the way you’ve told yourself you hate him, your fingers curl into the cotton of his shirt because it feels like home. Toes pressing into his calf, you wind your leg around his tighter, and it turns timid fingertips sure of themselves, tracing patterns between your shoulder blades. You don’t dare look up at him yet, or it would make the way your own hand starts to explore his abs that twitch under your red nails real. 

He feels different than you remember, there's more of him now, harder in spots that used to be soft. Your fingers get greedy, the blunt ends of your nails scratching along the outline of his happy trail, earning a low groan from him that vibrates deep in your core. Those butterflies that have made a permanent home out of you start to stretch their wings, and when they feel the soft velvet of his lips against your forehead, they tickle at your ribcage and kick up your heart rate. You wonder if he can feel it.

It’s the faintest kiss, one that you’re not sure you would’ve even felt if you were asleep, but it makes you lean in closer. Inhaling deeply, tears sting at the corner of your eyes when the familiar scent only makes you crave him more. After years spent denying the existence of his touch from your memory, it’s almost overwhelming to feel it again. 

The muscles in his arm underneath your neck twitch, and the fingers that have been drawing lazy circles on your back move slowly up your shoulder. The backs of them run down your arm before they finally connect with your skin, goosebumps exploding underneath his touch in a ball of electricity that you can feel on the pads of them that start a new path up the loose sleeve of your shirt.

You fiddle with the bottom hem of his tank top, the heat of his body radiating against already flushed skin. Brave fingers dare to dip underneath only to get stopped by a large palm wrapping around your wrist 

“Baby,” there's a hint of a smile and a little bit of grogginess in his voice that gives away that he hasn’t been awake that much longer than you, “I think you should at least look at me before I let you get under my shirt.”

Biting at your bottom lip, you push yourself deeper into his chest, embarrassed, feeling the gentle shake of his body when he laughs. 

“Come on pretty, let me see your face.”

His affection makes your heart swell, and you know what it means if you look him in the eyes. Your nails dig into the cotton, tugging at the fabric a little while you pull yourself together, lashes fluttering against your cheeks, shaking the rest of the sleep. Lifting your head up from its hiding place, you cross the line you promised yourself you wouldn’t, but when you meet the green that shimmers in the darkness of his eyes, and the crooked grin that twists up his full pink lips, it feels good to give in.

Releasing the hold on your wrist, he’s gentle, almost hesitant, when his warm palm cups your cheek. The rough pad of his thumb traces the line of your cheekbone feather light, and you can’t help but lean into his touch. No more armor, fleeting glances, or stolen looks, not when he’s this close and even more handsome in the glow of the moonlight. 

“Beautiful.” He murmurs just loud enough for you to hear, and your legs somehow wrap around his tighter.

”Yeah?” you whisper, your fingers coming up to the play with the gold chain dangling from his neck. “Why didn’t you kiss me then?”

”What?”

”Last week,” 

”That wasn’t the right time,” he sighs, eyes tracing every line of your face like he’s committing it to memory, “It would have ruined it.”

“Ruined what?” You press, twisting the metal between your fingertips, heartbeat ringing in your ears.

“My chance at trying to do this the right way, the way you deserve.” He doesn’t hesitate to say it, like it’s something he’s thought about for years, and it makes your head spin.

“What about now?” 

“That depends,” he hums, the pad of his thumb dragging across the slight pout of your bottom lip, threatening to steal the air from your lungs.

”On?” Your voice comes out just above a whisper. Tilting your chin up, you can still smell the peanut butter on his breath.

”If you want me to.”  He breathes, the tip of his nose running along the length of yours. 

Your hold on his gold chain tightens, pulling him even closer. His eyebrows pinch together when he feels the slightest brush of your lips against his, and he can still taste the sweetness of the banana.

”Please tell me you want me to.” 

The desperation in his voice is enough for you to tug him down, closing what’s left of the small gap, your top lip catching against his full bottom one. Just enough to feel the familiar silk that could leave a wildfire in their wake before you finally speak.

“Kiss me, Steve.”

A groan rattles deep in his chest, and he doesn’t hesitate to do what he’s wanted to since he saw you. Applying just enough pressure to wake up every last butterfly, the tip of his nose pushes into your cheek when he slots his lips with yours. It’s soft at first like he’s testing the waters, taking it slow so he can savor it, just in case you never let him do it again.

He pulls away enough to look at you, chestnut eyes blown out wide, and you hate that you already miss his kiss. Giving into everything you’ve fought for so long, it’s your turn to capture his lips. It stuns him at first, but when you open your mouth, his body melts easily into yours, and that big hand of his moves from your cheek to hold the back of your neck. Tongue swiping boldly across your lower lip, he begs you to let him in.

Moans get hidden, muffled inside each other's mouths after you grant him access, your fingers tangle themselves inside the thick forest of his hair that’s still just as soft as you remember. Nipping at his bottom lip, the grip on the back of your neck tightens and you can feel the way he kicks up in his sweats because of it. Your own thighs threatening close when you’re reminded of what’s between his legs.

“Baby,” he warns in between kisses, feeling the roll of your hips, but you don’t miss the subtle way he tries to meet them with his own.

It’s too easy to get lost in him, and the years it took to move past him make even more sense when your tongue finds his again. Fighting for dominance, you try not to think about the irreversible damage tonight might do to you as you tug at his roots, teeth scraping together, the kiss turns more heated by the second. Years of anger and longing come out in desperate touches. His hand finds its way to your hip, the pads of his fingers brushing against the skin under your shirt, sending a shiver up your spine, letting you roll them one, two, three times before tightening his hold.

He pulls you closer, letting you win before his nose nudges against your cheek, his lips finding the corner of your mouth. Catching his breath, he trails them along your jaw before making his way down your neck. Your chest heaves, fingers turning soft and slowly running through his hair. He hums against your skin, his hand staying under your shirt, the warmth of his palm covering the small of your back, leaving wet kisses on the sensitive spot behind your ear.

”Let me take you on a date,” he whispers, leaving one more under his jaw before pulling back to look at you.

”Steve -“

”Just one,” he begs, bumping his nose with yours, smirking when it makes you smile.

”Let me sleep on it,” you sigh, ducking your head under his chin to hide. Too many thoughts trying to occupy space in your mind with a head still dizzy from his lips.

”I’ll take what I can get,” he laughs, the tips of his fingers starting up the familiar patterns that started all of this, quickly make your eyelids heavy, nuzzling deeper into his chest. You weren’t ready to think about tomorrow yet.

#my writing #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x y/n

[stylesharrys]

hot distraction [bisexual!y/n]

summary: y/n breaks up with her girlfriend and harry helps take her mind off things.

warnings: dom/sub relationships, unprotected sex, kissing, teasing, swearing, spanking, dirty talk, anal (fingering)

word count: 2,862

a/n: a little cheeky subby!y/n smut for you guys, had this idea in my drafts for months and months but i never really got round to writing it. anyway, here you go darlings, enjoy <3

//

Harry has no idea what to do. He’s never seen her cry before and he doesn’t know if he should give her a hug or try to make light of the situation.

“I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

Harry’s even more confused than he was before. He’ll never ever understand women’s emotions. And by the sight before him, he doesn’t think he ever wants to.

“S’okay, petal. It hurts now but it’ll be a distant memory in a few weeks time.”

She scoffs at him, at his sorry attempt to cheer her up. Y/N doesn’t need or want pity. She wants to warn off all women and whore it up for a little bit.

If she’s honest, the breakup has been a long time coming. They’d only been together six months but things weren’t the same as when they first met.

Alora was a beautiful woman, funny and kind. But the first few times of fooling around were a lot more exciting than six months in, where her sex drive seemed to just vanish.

Y/N has thought that perhaps she was the problem. Maybe she craves sex too much and too often and that’s the issue. She also thought that maybe she secretly had a fear of commitment and that’s what made her more than okay with Alora calling things off.

She knows now that’s not the case. Alora was seeing other people behind Y/N’s back. Given, they never really spoke about being exclusive, but Y/N had just assumed that if Alora was seeing other people, she’d have the decency to let Y/N know.

And now, she’s about ready to swear off all women.

She stands from the sofa, wiping the tears from her face and taking a shaky breath. There’s no way in hell she’s going to ruin her Friday night sobbing over another woman. No fucking chance.

“Do you have plans tonight?” she asks Harry, chin raised as she acts unbothered by her situation.

Harry shakes his head. “No, why? You wanna go out?”

Her lip is taut between her teeth as she considers the proposition. A night out could be perfect – sex with a hot, random stranger will most definitely take her mind off things.

She nods, once. But it’s like Harry can smell the hesitation. He squints at her, leaning forward in his spot on the sofa.

“You’re not just wanting to go out so you can have a one night stand, are you?”

“No!” her voice is high-pitched, a dead giveaway that that’s exactly what she plans on doing.

Harry huffs, closing his eyes for a moment. It’s no secret that he’s got the hots for Y/N. He’s always found her incredibly attractive. But in the two years he’s known her, she’s only ever dated women.

He doesn’t think there’s ever even been an instance where she’s acknowledged another man. Harry notices her sheepish expression and his tummy knots and twists.

“If you were into guys…” he mumbles out, more to himself but it still reaches Y/N’s ears and she frowns.

“I am.”

Harry’s head snaps up, staring at her in bewilderment. “You are? I thought you were gay.”

Y/N laughs softly. “I am… slightly. I prefer men usually, but women are just softer and more attentive I find.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, a cocky smirk on his lips. Bingo.

“That just means you’ve never been with the right guys.”

His voice has grown deeper, sultry. And the entire mood of the room has changed. There’s a tension in the atmosphere, one they’re both awfully familiar with but never with one another.

“Is that so?”

They’re dancing on a tight rope between friends and something more, neither too sure who’s going to fall first. It feels naughty, wrong. So wrong to allow this tension, these thoughts.

But there’s nothing inappropriate about it. They’re both single, consenting adults. What would it matter if he kissed her? If she kissed him back? If he spent an hour between her legs and had her creaming all over his cock?

“And from what you’ve been telling me, wasn’t you getting frustrated that Alora was too vanilla?”

Heat rises to her cheeks at his words. Harry moves closer, tips of his fingers ghosting are her bare thighs, the hem of her baggy t-shirt barely covering her knickers underneath.

“Something tells me, you don’t want something soft. You’ve just never been manhandled the way you want, so you’re taking the easier route.”

Y/N has never felt so seen in her life. “Isn’t that right, pet?”

She grows shy under his words, feeling small and vulnerable and her little panties are fucking soaked.

“Maybe,” she squeaks.

Harry’s smirk grows tenfold, eyes dark and lustful. His gaze never leaves her face as he stands in front of her. His tall build towering over Y/N’s.

“Personally, I think you just want to be a good girl…”

His hand finds her face, gently caressing her jaw as he speaks. When her eyes flutter closed absentmindedly, she hears Harry tut before her.

“Keep those pretty eyes open, puppy.”

Her eyes open, wide. All doe-like and fluttery. It awakens that hunger deep in Harry’s stomach – one full of need and desire.

“Y/N… d’you like it when I call you puppy?”

She nods, so innocent and sheepish. It has Harry’s cock twitching in his pants. God, she’s going to be the death of him.

Y/N’s nuzzling her face into his hand, eyes heavy but open, like she doesn't want to be scolded by Harry. He pouts down at her, a look of sympathy in his eyes and Y/N’s never felt so warm and safe.

“My poor petal, all touch starved and needy.”

It’s like a flip has been switched within her. She’s no longer that bubbly and bratty girl he’s always known. She’s soft and quiet, desperate and eager to please and Harry is stretching out his boxers.

“Go in your bedroom for me, puppy. Want you naked with your legs spread.”

He places a gentle kiss to her lips, barely offering a taste of what’s to come. The act has her heart leaping before she rushes to her bedroom to rid herself of any clothes.

She’s never allowed herself to look at Harry in the way she is now. She always told herself that friends are only friends and never to indulge in anything else with them.

Y/N can admit that she’s always found him attractive, always enjoyed his company and mayb often stared a little too long whenever he was topless or when the veins in his arms and hands were that little bit more visible than usual.

She supposes he’s always had some sort of chokehold on her, something she’s never thought too deep about. But now, she can’t get out of her head. Laying naked on her bed, legs spread as he approaches her bedroom door.

She’s pulsing, cunt hot and leaking. God, she doesn't remember the last time she felt this turned on, this excited, this ready to submit completely.

Whatever he wants, she’ll give him. Whatever he offers, she’ll take.

Harry eyes her as he enters her bedroom, gaze focused on that weeping little cunt. He’s holding his breath, fighting back a wanton cry. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything so sexy in his life.

Y/N watches with glossy eyes as he tugs his t-shirt over his head, the ripples of his golden skin exciting her more. If he’ll let her, she’ll happily lick the expanse of every single tattoo adoring his body.

She’ll do anything. Anything.

Her hips begin to squirm as his thumbs loop into the waistband of his shorts and boxers, anticipation getting the better of her. Harry notices, pulls his hands away and raises a brow.

“I don’t remember saying you could move.”

Y/N’s body stills, blood running cold. Her lips are pursed into a thin line – “I’m sorry.” Her words come out shyly, like she’s embarrassed to be told off.

Harry tuts, no longer interested in pulling himself free. Instead he moves toward the foot of the bed and climbs up on his knees, sitting between her shaking thighs.

Y/N’s chest is heaving in excitement, bottom lip gnawed between her teeth. Harry reaches for her left thigh, gently massaging the soft and supple skin before raising his hand and dropping it again in a harsh smack.

She shrieks at the unexpected impact, brows knitted as she bites back a moan.

Oh, he wasn’t fucking around.

“If you’re sorry then you’ll lay on your tummy and take your punishment.” He flips her over before she has chance to register his words. Flat on her stomach, hands held behind her back, Harry takes her in.

He lets his hand caress her hips for a moment, trailing down to her bum and he smoothes over the skin. “And I don’t want to hear a fucking sound.”

He spanks her once, her entire body jolting. Y/N buries her face into her pillows, suffocating any desperate moans that beg to be cried. She keeps quiet, eyes rolled to the back of her head.

Harry spanks her again, harder this time. His hand print is left on her supple skin and he groans to himself. He spreads her cheeks apart for a moment, allows himself the sight of her dripping cunt, eagerly trying to clench around something.

“Look at you, puppy. So wet and good for me.”

Smack.

Smack.

Smack!

Her bottom is sore, stinging as he finally relents. There’s tears in her eyes as she struggles to compose her breathing. She’s not brave enough to admit she almost came from her punishment.

Harry takes a moment to admire his work, how raw her pretty bum is. Her skin is beginning to rise in the form of his handprint, sore and tender. He holds her hips, thumbs rubbing along the stripey lines of silvering stretch marks on the sides of her bum.

“Pretty puppy, did so well for me.”

She coos at his praise, fingers wiggling in an attempt to feel him. Harry chuckles, leaning down to pepper kisses to her bum and up her spine. He fools her with his kindness for a moment, allowing her body to relax under his touch.

But when his lips reach her neck, he grabs a handful of her hair and yanks her head up, teeth nipping at her jaw and nosing at her ear.

“Now you’re going to be a good puppy and let Daddy fuck your pretty little hole, okay?”

Y/N’s cunt throbs at his words. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Fuck, she can’t get it out of her head. Harry releases his hold on her hair, her face dropping back into her pillows as he clambers off her.

He strips from his boxers and shorts, thick length smacking at his lower tummy as he clambers back onto the bed again. Harry’s hard, painfully so and Y/N wants nothing more than to lay on her back and watch him work his way around her body.

But he doesn’t allow that. Instead, his hands find her hips and he’s hoisting her bum in the air, back arched and chest to the mattress with her face buried in the pillows.

The sight is mesmerising and Harry can’t look away. Pretty pussy all wet and plump. The tip of his cock slides through her slit and Harry lets out a shaky whimper. A noise that does not go unheard by Y/N, who’s jaw slacks at the sound of it.

She’s eager for more, gagging for his cock. She’s never felt so submissive in her life, so willing to be used as a fuck toy. And she never would’ve pegged Harry for the type.

Y/N supposes he does possess a lot of dominant qualities. Whenever he speaks, all eyes are on him. Whatever he says, it’s always respected. And when Harry doesn’t like something, nobody challenges him.

It’s been right in front of her the whole time. They’ve both been so blind.

“So pretty, baby. Look at you.”

The praise goes straight to her head. She’s woozy and needy and thinks she might fucking cry if he doesn’t fill her with his cook soon.

“Daddy’s good little puppy. Want me to fill your little hole, baby? Want Daddy to fuck you so hard you can’t even remember your name?”

Y/N’s too deep into subspace to respond, but that’s not a good enough excuse for Harry. He strikes down on her sore bum again and she shrieks, nodding feverishly.

“Yes, Daddy! Please, I’ve been so good.”

The sound of her begging is something Harry will never let himself forget. Her body responds to every tiny touch he offers, she keens for him. For more.

Lining himself at her hole, Harry pushes forward just enough to allow her half of his length. A wanton cry escapes her lips, muffled by her pillow as her body tenses.

Harry gives her little time to adjust to his length, sheathing himself further into her tight hole until he bottoms out.

Y/N struggles to stay quiet, struggles to not reach for him, to touch him. Harry reaches for her hands again, pulling them behind her back and holding her in place by her wrists.

“You’re fucking soaked, puppy.” He praises, breathless at the sight of himself tucked deep inside her.

Harry begins to rock his hips, slowly at first until he finds a comfortable pace and her ass jiggles with every thrust he gives. Y/N’s cunt grips him like a vice, obscene noises filling their ears and Harry decides he wants to hear more.

“Wanna hear you, puppy. Tell Daddy how good it feels.”

Y/N is wailing the second she’s given permission, wild and desperate and begging for more and more and more.

Harry’s thumbing at her puckering asshole, softly smoothing over the taut skin as Y/N begins to buck her hips back into him. He’s seething through gritted teeth, struggling to keep himself together as he gently pushes his thumb into her tight hole.

“Yes, Daddy! Please… please….”

She’s incoherent as she tries to speak, words still muffled and gurgled. She can feel him in her stomach, filling every inch of her body and subconscious mind. As if she exists solely for him, for his pleasure.

“My sweet girl, taking me so well. Look at you, puppy. All dumb for my cock.”

Harry’s thrusts get harder and faster, his thumb lodged deep in her ass as he fucks into her. Y/N’s arousal soaks his pubic bone, skin slapping and gruff moans echoing through.

She can’t stay quiet, not even if she tried. Moans are tearing throug her throat with no sense of hesitancy, her entire body being rocked as Harry pummels into her.

Eyes rolling to the back of her head, jaw slack, she’s close. Her cunt begins to tighten around him, desperate to mild him dry for everything he has to offer. And Harry can feel it – he feels every little squeeze she gives him, every spasm of her slick pussy.

His spare hand smacks down on her bum in quick, constant successions, his pace impossibly faster and the breath is knocked from her lungs.

She can’t see, can’t think, can’t hear. It’s like her soul has left; experiencing eternal bliss for the first time in her life. But she feels Harry’s fat cock twitch between her walls, she feels the stinging bite of every spank, she feels her coil begin to tighten and pull.

“You gonna cum, puppy? You gonna cum all over my cock?” Harry pants.

She’s nodding, unable to find her words. It takes her a moment to catch a breath. “Please,” is all she can manage to whimper out, her entire body on fire.

Harry spanks her again, eager and hot moans bubbling from his chest. “Cum, puppy. Make a mess on Daddy’s cock.”

Y/N’s entire body begins to tremble relentlessly, a high pitched whine falling off her tongue as she explodes around him.

Her arousal coates his cock and stomach, squirting out the best it can with Harry’s length still shoved in her cunt. The sight of her squirting all over him has him seeing stars, and he’s quick to pull out, coating her back and bum in thick ribbons of arousal.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

He’s a panting mess as Y/N’s hips fall onto the mattress with a soft thud. He watches her body move gently as she catches her breath, listens to the soft pants that escape her plump lips.

Only now does he realise, he’s yet to kiss her the way he’s been dreaming. Harry crawls beside her, brushing the hair from her face and she’s quick to nuzzle into his touch.

He moves closer, his lips encapsulating hers in a soft and tender kiss. Both their eyes flutter closed and their mouths work in unison, gently. Y/N never knew she’d crave the taste of someones lips until Harry pulls away and rests his forehead against hers.

“Have a nap, puppy. You’ll need your energy for later.”

//

thank you for reading, i'd love to hear your guys' thoughts on this one 🥺

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #imagine harry styles #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fic

[woso-dreamzzz]

Leaving II

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: Your Career Grand Slam

Alexia didn't leave Spain a lot.

Apart from matches, she doesn't travel much.

Her life is simple. Practice, home, watch football, sleep. Repeat.

It takes a lot to get Alexia to break her routine but she happily does it for you.

She's curled up on her sofa under a blanket, eyes staring up at her tv as she watches the tennis. She's never found it interesting. She'd never enjoyed watching it but she put that aside for you.

On days when Mami couldn't and Alba was busy, she was left with the job of trekking halfway across the city with you to take you to your lessons.

You were so young back then, practically tiny with your little pigtails and a racket that was almost double the size of your head.

Loathe as she is to admit it, going to Poland has done you some good. You were always amazing at tennis but you've gained confidence that Alexia isn't used to seeing from you.

You're working harder than you ever have before and it shows.

You'd won the Australian Open in January. A win at the French Open rounded off your June. Most recently, you had won Wimbledon by the skin of your teeth and now you were at the US Open.

Alexia could practically see the beads of sweat dripping down your face as you served again, your shoulders rising and falling as you skidded across the court to hit the ball back at your opponent.

She winces every time, unable to keep her thoughts away from what would happen if you planted your leg wrong or if you slipped. The thought of you tearing your acl too haunts her.

You don't deserve that.

You don't deserve any injuries like that, her little sister who used to cry when Alexia got bumps and bruises and made sure to kiss them all for magic healing.

You stumble a little, just managing to volley the ball back over the net.

Alexia can see the hit to your confidence it gave you before you snap out of it and get back into the zone.

This is a semifinal and she knows that you want to win.

Tennis is a little more brutal than football, Alexia thinks.

There's no team to back you up. There's no other people to help you when you make a bad hit.

It's just you and your opponent and the ball you're hitting between you.

It's when you win that the anger bubbles up in your sister. She hadn't been expecting it. Honestly, she had been screaming at her screen in celebration as you finally take the set and win your place in the final.

Her fist was pumped in the air and the next moment she wishes it was punched against this girl's nose.

You'd just finished shaking your opponent's hand, a woman nearly double your age who congratulates you warmly, when you take off to the stands.

Your coach is sitting in his box and he fists bumps you, something you do back only in passing before you're crushing a girl into a hug.

Alexia freezes, ice spreading across her body as she stares.

You're not the most physically affectionate person. You're quite touch averse despite growing up with Mami and Alba willing to lather you in affection at a moment's notice.

For years, Alexia has been the only one whose touch you enjoyed. You had always curled into her like a little kitten. She was the only one that got to touch you like that, even way back when you were only six and getting skinned knees from tennis practice.

Watching you and this random girl on her tv screen fills Alexia with anger. She doesn't know why. She knows that it's wrong but she can't help it.

For years, she's been your rock, the one you came to when you needed a hug. This random girl hasn't known you nearly long enough to be touching you with such familiarity.

It's all Alexia can think about even as she sits on the plane journey from Barcelona to New York. She can't help but stew.

Nothing looked like it had changed when you last called her from Poland, a week before you flew out for the US Open. You hadn't mentioned sharing hugs with anyone else. You hadn't mentioned using anyone else as your substitute Alexia.

You don't mention anyone now as you practically tackle her into a hug, rapid Catalan spilling from your lips like every time you speak to her.

Alexia catches the girl from the semi-finals hovering over your shoulder and she frowns, brows drawing together as she watches the girl awkwardly shift on the balls of her feet.

"Who is your friend?"

You say her name but, truthfully, Alexia couldn't care less. Her eyes focus on the way you reach for this girl and lace your fingers together tightly.

She's never seen you do that with someone else before.

"-My girlfriend and-"

"What?"

Suddenly, her mouth is dry and her head is filled with cotton. Alexia prays she misheard.

"My girlfriend, Ale," You repeat before continuing on with your story," And we were running right down the street because those old dudes kept yelling at us. It's not my fault that they couldn't understand my accent."

You and your girlfriend start giggling like you've said something funny and Alexia gets the feeling that she should have been listening to the start of your story rather than glaring daggers at this stupid girl.

She smiles though, just so you don't realise that she hasn't been listening before she laces your fingers with hers and pulls you into her side again.

"I'm so proud of you," She says, brushing back your hair softly and cupping your face.

You lean into her with a smile, eyes sliding closed for a moment as you suck up her affection.

"Are you feeling ready?" She asks," This is a final. Do you feel in the right mindset?" Alexia cuts her eyes towards your girlfriend. You're still so young and you seem to want this so bad. She doesn't want any distractions for you.

"Can you help me get ready?" You ask softly and Alexia grins.

"Of course." A kiss is laid on your forehead and Alexia is brought back to your first game when you were still very little.

It was just a few kids playing and was hardly a tournament of any kind but Alexia had treated it like one for you. She'd done your hair that morning and helped you get dressed. She'd laced up your shoes and given you your racket.

It was something you did at every final now - a superstition that you both adhered to strictly.

It was strange to do this with an audience.

The girl - your girlfriend, Alexia sneers in her mind - is at home with herself in your changing room. She's in control of the music, something that you didn't even let Alexia do.

She tries to shake it off, this interloper in your space as Alexia stands behind you and does your hair.

Gone are the days where you would have it up in two pigtails. Now it's replaced with a braid and tied back with a headband to keep flyaways out of your eyes.

"I love you," She says as she ties off your braid.

"I love you too, Ale."

She kneels down in front of you before helping you slip on your shoes, lacing them both up tightly.

"I love you," She says after each of them.

"I love you too, Ale."

She cups your face and looks into your eyes.

"You're so talented," She says to you," You deserve this so much. You go out there and you try your very best, okay? It's just you on the court."

"Yes, Ale."

Her lips brush against your forehead and she teasingly tugs on your braid, laughing at the way your cheeks puff up just like when she used to do it to your pigtails.

You stand and grab your bag.

Alexia expects you to walk straight out onto the court but you stop in front of your girlfriend instead.

Your foreheads are pressed together and her hands are on your waist. You're whispering to each other. It's not the familiar Catalan that Alexia is so used to hearing from you but Polish instead.

It sounds strange in her ears as you murmur to this interloper, your lips brushing hers every so often before she pats your side and sends you on your way.

Alexia tries to avoid her as much as possible, quietly distraught that she has ruined the superstition that had won you so many finals before. This is your last big hurdle of the year, Alexia doesn't want to see you lose.

Somehow, though, Alexia ends up wedged between her Mami and this interloper. It would have been easier if she was between your girlfriend and Alba because any snide comment she made wouldn't be picked up but Mami had always been able to concentrate on watching you play tennis and lecture her other two daughters at the same time.

It was a scary talent which was why Alexia kept her mouth firmly shut.

She pretended this girl didn't even exist, this girl that had clearly taken advantage of the fact that you had no Alexia affection in Poland and latched onto you like a parasite.

Alexia plays her no mind, silently cursing her in her head as she watches you step onto the court.

This woman is older than you by at least ten years, maybe more but you hold up against her well, trading hits across the net.

The first set is perhaps the longest one that Alexia has ever sat through and it's enough to have everyone sitting up straight in awe.

Even Alexia, who will admit she knows next to nothing about tennis, will admit that it's clear both you and your opponent are giving it your all but, ultimately, you come out on top in the first set.

You look exhausted though as you take your break, wiping the sweat off your face and practically caning your water bottle when Alexia knows you should sip.

Your shoulders rise and fall and Alexia knows that you're fatiguing.

She knows that it's because of this killer first set and the blazing of the sun on your back but she blames your girlfriend.

If she hadn't interrupted your usual pre-game routine than none of this would have ever happened.

This idea is only solidified in your sisters mind when you drop the second set.

You look frustrated as you hydrate again, knee bouncing.

The women only go to best of three and you and your opponent are tired. There can only be one winner and, with the way that you're fatiguing, Alexia puts all the blame on your girlfriend.

Your girlfriend who you've turned to look at with a little furrow in your brow. Your girlfriend who's smiling at you with an encouraging nod and a thumbs up that makes you produce the dopiest smile Alexia has ever seen.

You don't even look at her or Alba or Mami, just your girlfriend as you make your way back onto the court, bouncing up and down to ready yourself.

Alexia has no idea where all this energy has suddenly come from but you return the ball with vicious intensity that catches everyone off guard.

It's beautiful to watch, even more beautiful when she realises that you haven't conceded a point at all.

It's a beautiful moment as you fall onto your back when the umpire proclaims the match won.

You just lay there, arms splayed out on the court as your chest rises and falls in a pant. You've abandoned your racket next to you even as the box and crowd erupt into cheers.

You're crying, Alexia notices when you sit up and finally pull yourself to your feet, leaning over the net to shake your opponent's hand.

Tears streak down your face and you keep trying to wipe them away but more come. You make your way over to the box, reaching up to lace your fingers with your girlfriend's.

She's saying something to you, screaming really over the crowd but Alexia can't understand what she's saying.

You can though because a bubble of laughter forces its way through your tears and you nod.

Your other hand reaches up for Alexia's and she grabs it instantly, squeezing it like she did when you were little and just won your first game.

"Ale!" You say," I won!"

"Si, hermanita," She says," You did. I'm so proud of you."

"Go get your trophy," You girlfriend says with a beaming smile," We can put it next to all your others."

You look at her now and drop your sister's hand.

Alexia finds that she doesn't mind as much as your girlfriend leans down from the box and fists the front of your shirt, pulling you in for a kiss.

Though, she could have done without a front row seat to that.

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

[harleehazbinfics]

Love eat?

Alastor x cannibal servant!reader

Original Concept | Additional Concept

Word count: 1764

A/N: sup im back with more crack, jk. but yeahhh i did a oneshot of that imagine and now we're here. i've channeled my inner crazy and that led me to this oneshot lmao, sorry if it's not up to par but pls enjoooooyyyy!

ps I can't find the artist pls help. chainsaw man falling devil spoiler sorry

“Yuta!” you called your boyfriend from where you sat waiting for him.

“Sorry, I'm late,” he says with an apologetic smile, placing his bag to his side while he sat in front of me.

“No, it's ok! You're doing your best in school. I was the one who asked you to eat with me anyway,” you responded clapping your hands together, appealing cutely to your boyfriend.

“But you're busy with your culinary classes too. I'm sure you're working harder than I am!” He replied, making you smile at how genuine he sounded.

You reached inside your bag and presented 2 lunch boxes in front of him. His eyes widen in anticipation while you opened them, revealing a well plated pork cutlet and a healthy salad in the other lunch box.

“I have! I learnt a few new things during class, and I wanted you to be the first to eat my cooking. I hope you like them!” He smiles at you, flattered that he was the first thing on your mind when you made the meal. He always loved your cooking.

The both of you met when you were first years, he was just roaming the halls familiarizing himself with the school layout when he heard you squealing inside a room and helped you put out a small fire that you accidentally created while you stayed behind in the Economics Room to relearn the basics taught to you that day. So, he stayed with you until the end so that you won't set the whole room on fire this time, and as thanks you gave the meal you completed to him afterwards. As he tasted it, threw it back up when he tasted how salty it was, so you resolved yourself that you'd make a decent meal for him, and that's where your friendship to relationship started.

“Wow! You've really outdone yourself this time!” He yells with stars in his eyes, savoring each bite.

You laughed at him and pushed the salad closer to him, and said, “You can eat all of it. It's all for you!”

“Really? Thanks a lot! It's so great to have you as my girlfriend!”

-=-=-=-

“Yuta?” you asked with wide eyes as you eyed the knife in his hand that was pointed at you.

“I-I can't take it anymore. I don't want to eat any food you make for me anymore, it’s disgusting. I don’t want to eat humans! I hate it, I hate it, I HATE YOU!” He screamed lunging at you.

He pushes the knife to your stomach, a few moments later you feel the metallic taste in your throat, letting the liquid drop from your tongue as you took has face that held great remorse for you. You smiled at the pretty expression on his face and rubbed your thumb on his cheeks, smearing it with your own blood.

"How pretty. I love all the expressions you make. Do it more," you coughed out.

His expression changes from fear to disgust and anger. Vengefully, he takes your wrists binding them together in his forceful grip and continues to stab you until you died from the pain and blood loss. However, despite your body tensing and losing color on you face, he never stopped. After his knife slipped out of his hands from your blood, he threw himself at you and bit into your neck.

Devouring you. Bit by bit.

---

You've been aimlessly roaming around hell and chopping sinners with your cleaver that were dumb enough to pick a fight with you. At the moment, you sat on top of a building waiting for something to happen while eating an beefy arm starting from the shoulder.

While you were gnawing at it with a blank expression on your face. You were surprised when a massive green explosion appeared out of nowhere, inducing a few screams of terror.

Just a couple blocks in front of you, you see a giant red deer demon with black tentacles coming out his back as he crushed sinners in his hands and consuming them.

You immediately dropped the arm you were holding and watched as the overlord showed off his power against you, sinners. Unable to hold yourself, you followed his parade of chaos and squeaked when he appears behind you wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"How rude of you to follow me around, while I was playing with my meal," he remarks with a snarky tone.

You got distracted with his voice. How could someone be so seductive with a radio filter on, you ask yourself.

"It's also rude to stare, you know?" He adds, starting to get pissed off by how unresponsive you were as you just kept gawking at him.

"I was just admiring how powerful you were, sir! I've never seen a demon turn into that kind of form. I-I was enchanted!" You yelled at him, hands clasped together while fan-girling at his abilities with hearts in your eyes.

"My, I've never seen such behavior from a person such as you. Are you eager to be eaten?" He laughs before his eyes turning black leaving his red pupils and radio dial iris.

"Yes! I would be happy to!" You answered almost immediately, making him revert to his normal self, getting caught off guard with your reply.

He hums turning his head in confusion and irritation, “Well, that just won’t do. I only like it when my prey gets scared rather than having a sacrifice like you.”

He tries to ride away in his shadow but before he could do so, he halts in his steps when you step in front of him. “Please! I’ll act scared! I’ll do anything! I just want to be with you!” you cried dropping to the floor pathetically making him deadpan to the sight.

He huffs, and turns his back at you, “Hmm. Do what you wish.”

With that, you stayed and served Alastor for years. You’ve arranged deals for him, did his bidding on some occasions and even represented him a few times in meetings. However, your main occupation was his personal chef.

Sure, one could argue that he likes his meats raw and cooks for himself sometimes. But do you expect that man to cook every meal for himself for a nearly a century? Overlords don’t have that much free time, you know? (or at least that what Sir Alastor says) and you happily take on this task when he discovers that you were an excellent chef, living up to his own impossible standards.

However, you find yourself in a very peculiar situation.

“(y/n)? Is it really you?”

You’ve come face to face with your first love and your killer. You couldn’t help but leap up from you position and hug him while he did his best to get away from you.

“Yuta! You’re finally in here! I knew you’d come to find me, hehe,” you cried still hugging him while he struggled in your mighty grip. “I’ve been waiting for you, y’know?” you said to him with your eyes darkening at him giving him the familiar dangerous look in your eye making him tense up and unconsciously threw you across the room with his strength.

You didn’t hit the impact when Alastor raised his arms and caught you before placing you on your feet, ignoring your heart-eyes as usual.

“And who is this with you?” he asks the group, almost sneering at the new man.

“This is Yuta! He’s our new guest! We found him in Cannibal Town, and he asked us where we were, he’s now he's here!” Charlie introduces excitedly holding Yuta by the shoulder.

“Ooh, is he a bad boy?” Nifty asks looking flirtatiously.

“Why, of course! He’s the one that killed me after all!” I announced with a smile. “Isn’t that right, dear?”

He rolls his eyes and says to Charlie, “I’ll be fine anywhere as long as I don’t get involved with her. I’ll find a room myself.”

You all watch as he shows himself to one of the rooms while Charlie replies, “Uhh, ookayyy?”

“So, what’s with you and that guy?” Angel first asks, “There’s a lot of sexual and… psychological tension there.”

“Yeah, and what do you mean he killed you?” Vaggie continues, while all of them looked at you.

“Oh, you know, couple fights. One thing led to another and poof, I was gone,” you explained simply with a laugh, making Nifty laugh as well.

“So, you two dated?” Angel asked in surprise.

“Exactly, why?” I smiled at him.

“Uhh, sure. He just looks like a boy failure to me. How the fuck could he bag a hottie like you!” Angel laughs throwing his head back.

"What a crazy bitch," Husk comments blankly looking at you before peeking at Alastor's annoyed face making him raise his long brow.

You tilt you head to the side confused, before Charlie would come in and say that she’d explain it to you.

A few weeks gone by, and you didn’t stop pestering your ex with things he hated when you couldn’t get enough of the expressions on his face. You loved seeing him get so angry with you, you just loved getting on his nerve. Or it could be some fucked up enjoyment of how you remembered being eaten by him half dead that sent chills to your body every time.

“That’s it! I’ve had enough of your shit!” he yells bursting in flames.

“Oh, what? Cat got your tongue baby boy?” you teased him hands behind your back trying to annoy him.

“Oh, fuck you!” he screams as he runs forward at you trying to land a punch which you jump away from effortlessly.

He eventually tires himself out and sees you giving the deer demon googly eyes that ticks him off. He loads up a fire blast and shoots it at Alastor. You intercepted it in between not noticing him following behind it and takes hold of you neck choking you.

“Not bad,” you wheeze out with a wicked grin, setting him off and squeezing your neck tighter.

He fails to notice the black portal underneath him where a black tentacle reaches out to his ankle and wraps around his body, making him let go off you.

“I’d rather you not mess with my property if I were you,” Alastor announces menacingly as he had you in his arms. You feel starstruck as you were being princess carried and being defended by the one you admired. “I don’t like sharing, so this is my last warning for both of you to not get involved with each other.”

“Yes, sir! Anything for you!” you scream your heart out that felt like it was beginning to burst out of your chest and leap in your throat, while you give him heart eyes that he ignored, while he brought both of you to his chambers.

"Are you finally going to eat me, Sir Alastor?"

"Shut your mouth before I stitch it up for you."

"Yes, sir! I love you! 💕"

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin husk #hazbin lucifer #hazbin vaggie #alastor x reader #harleehazbinfic #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x oc #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor

[tightjeansjavi]

The Rite of Movement | part two

“first impressions”

part one | honeymoonin’

A/N: well, well, well, fancy that we’re all meeting up here, huh? 🥵 first, I just wanted to give a big thank you to @itsokbbygrl who has been feeding my brain rot all day. I appreciate you so so much and your input is extremely helpful 🥺 I do not have a lot of knowledge on the adult film industry, but I’m eager to dive into it with y’all. We all have our different preferences and tastes when it comes to porn, (if you choose to watch it) but for me personally, I’m into porn that is catered to women. And guess who else is? Joel fuckin’ Miller! I hope these impromptu drabbles give you all the warm, fuzzy, and hornknee feelings. In this household, we support sex workers 💗 we also support healthy communication during sex, safe sex, and sexual liberation for everyone. Thank u also to @strang3lov3 for the title 🤍

~word count: 5.0k~

Summary: it’s your first time meeting Joel Miller, your new adult film partner

Pairing | pornstar!joel miller x pornstar f!reader (and a sprinkle of pornstar!tommy miller. More to come in later chapters!)

Warnings: 30s reader/40s joel, general discussions of the porn industry, brief discussions of workplace trauma, mild swearing, kissing, slightly inappropriate workplace relationship, boss/employee power dynamic but it’s only lightly explored in this chapter, voyeurism, light smut, f!masturbation, reader has no physical descriptions, mentions of cigarettes and alcohol consumption, +18, minors dni! Let me know if I missed anything!

When you moved back to Austin Texas looking for a fresh start after a rather rocky experience doing unsatisfying pornos as a regular on screen talent for the mega studio, Brazzers, you never expected to rejoin the industry through a professional studio. After being fired, you settled on making solo amateur films in an attempt to pay your bills and make ends meet. The only problem was rent in LA was nowhere near affordable, and the pay was significantly less than you’d been bringing in from the studio. That’s when you made the decision to leave the state of California entirely, looking eastward towards a once-familiar home.

Your roots were in rural Texas, and although your parents ultimately disowned you for joining the adult film industry, you still had a support group of fellow transplants in Austin that had missed you terribly.

The porn industry was always evolving, but with these changes came an influx of new content. You had a decent following for a small time account, but without the promotion budget that came with films produced at larger studios, your homemade solo films were inevitably pushed to the bottom of the pecking order, making it difficult to expand your audience. You thought about quitting entirely and getting an everyday job as a receptionist at some corporate office, until one night you stumbled upon a channel account that was based in Austin. “Miller-Co, Real people, real sex, professionally produced for your pleasure.” Surrounded by unpacked moving boxes on your single, sad, sofa, you poured yourself a tall glass of wine and clicked on the first video that appeared on the channel’s page, its male lead catching your eye immediately and you clicked the video details to find his name.

Joel Miller was big in every possible sense. From his hands, to his biceps, to his strong thighs. His cock was stunning. It wasn’t the longest cock you had ever seen, but it was deliciously thick, a girth that had you salivating immediately. Not only was it big, but the more you watched, the more you learned he sure knew how to use it. Despite Joel’s brooding nature, his attentive care to his partners on screen was something you had never seen before. He was a talker, a praiser and it seemed he only did scenes in positions where he could see his partners face while they came. The studio lighting was softer, inviting, and very, very intimate.

You clicked through more videos. Joel’s apparent brother, Tommy Miller, was also a big talker, but he reminded you more of a sweet frat boy with some serious golden retriever energy. In simple terms, Tommy liked to pound it. His style seemed more physically intense and fun, lighthearted even. He could do more sensual, intimacy based scenes, but that was more Joel’s forte, you gleaned as you continued to consume their content. Tommy’s cock had an inch or so on his brother, but his cock wasn’t as thick. What it lacked it girth it made up for with how it was curved, and you could only imagine how easy it would be for him to hit that spot inside of you that sent you keening.

The more you watched these two brothers in their element, the damper your flimsy panties grew. It had been so long since you had gotten off while watching porn that you weren’t even sure if you could have a successful orgasm from it. Boy, were you wrong.

Your clit was soon overstimulated and pulsing beneath the soft silicon of your vibrator. You tossed the toy to the side and paused the video while you caught your breath for a few minutes, coming down from your high. A sense of post-orgasmic clarity settled in your mind and something was telling you that working for this channel’s studio might end up being your calling. A wonderful, horny twist of fate. Your ticket back into the industry that had left you both emotionally and physically bruised.

You couldn’t help the gleeful giggle that slipped past your lips the further you scrolled down the channel’s main page, looking for information on Miller-Co’s parent studio, and discovered a link at the bottom: Auditions.

You scrambled to update your resumé, and threw together a portfolio of your past work and clicked on the link. You submitted your application and downed the rest of your wine before closing the screen to your laptop with a decompressing sigh.

No one could say that you didn’t try.

On the other side of town Joel Miller was just closing up the studio for the evening to meet Tommy at their usual watering hole for a drink. His phone buzzed, notifying him that he had a new email and while he walked to his truck, he opened the email.

He had been recently looking for a new film partner outside of his current talent pool. Things were going well at his and Tommy’s boutique adult film studio, they were starting to see growth, and that meant making sure there was regularly fresh content for their growing audience.

Despite receiving 100s of applicants a day from his online posting on his studio’s PornHub channel, none of them were quite what Joel was looking for..until he opened up your application. Joel got a sudden overwhelming feeling in his chest that you were exactly the type of on-screen partner he was looking for. He exited out of the email and sent a quick text to Tommy. Hey, I'm gonna be a few minutes late. Got an applicant that I think will be perfect.

After sending the text to his brother, he opened the email once more. Your resumé was brief, and a noticeable frown crossed over his face when he saw that you were ex-Brazzers. When Joel was 18 and fresh to the industry, he worked for Brazzers. Being so green, he hadn’t known what exactly to expect, so he suffered through in the name of independence and regular pay, but he had hated it, and especially hated the way it made him feel. The culture there had led him to never wanting to partake in making that type of porn again. There was no emphasis on the comfort of his female partners, little to no communication between the actors, and Joel ultimately was uncomfortable with following through with the things he was requested to do. Half the time it didn’t even feel good. And what the hell is the point of making porn if both participants aren’t having fun and feeling pleasure?

For this reason, he felt wrong viewing the content that you had made with Brazzers. Given his prior experience, he could only imagine what you had gone through, and he didn’t want to see you that way. His business was solely based around respect, consent, and comfort as a top priority.

He opted to view your solo amateur content instead. You were a natural, and he knew that he could easily make you a star, if that’s what you truly wanted. Joel knew that mixing pleasure with business, in this industry in particular, could end up messy, but he never felt so physically and emotionally attracted to another human being till now.

His fingers worked fast on the screen as he responded to the email.

Hello,

It’s after working hours for me, but I just went over your application. You’re a natural, and I would be extremely interested in meeting for an official audition. Here is the address to the studio, and my personal work number.

I am off tomorrow, but if you are interested, I can go ahead and schedule a meeting for noon?

Looking forward to hearing from you,

Joel Miller.

He receives an email response from you five minutes later just when he starts the engine of his truck.

Hello Joel,

I would absolutely be interested in coming in for an official audition tomorrow. Noon works for me as well.

See you then!

He lets out a sigh of relief at your response and despite his goal to remain professional, he can’t help the flush that rises to his cheeks at the thought of filming with you. He sends a calendar invite to your email address with the meeting time of noon tomorrow. He tosses his phone into the cup holder and finally drives to the bar.

“She’s ex-Brazzers. Moved all the way from LA just like you and me.” Joel discusses with Tommy over a beer. He takes a sip from the rim and slides his phone across the table to the opposite end of the booth where Tommy is sitting.

“And she’s only been doing solo amateur content as of late?”

“Yeah, she’s only got a few videos up, but it sounds like she’s ready to dip her toe back into the industry. She’s a natural, Tommy. Real captivatin’ on camera.”

Tommy glances down at your application and lightly taps out a bit of ash from his cigarette in the ashtray resting near his elbow. “That so? Well, guess I’m just gonna have to see for myself jus’ how captivatin’ she is.” He looked over at his brother with a knowing grin and pulled out his earbuds from his jacket pocket and slipped them in.

Joel intently observes his brother watching one of your solo films and when he sees Tommy reach down to adjust himself, he couldn’t help but grin.

Tommy’s cheeks have a bright flush to them as he hits pause on the video, taking out one of the earbuds and makes direct eye contact with his brother. “Holy fuck, she’s gorgeous. Those eyes? Brother, I feel like I was being sucked into the screen! God, and her little whimpers? The way they kept gettin’ higher and higher—” Tommy said animatedly.

Joel feels a twinge of jealousy zip up his spine like he was shocked. Tommy’s never been shy, and neither has Joel, but he’s already feeling protective over you and he hasn’t even met you yet. “Yeah, she is a thing of beauty, ain’t she? I don’t know what it is about her, but I love her energy.” Joel comments thoughtfully.

Tommy, being the horndog that he is, can't help but look back down at the screen and the part where the video has paused. Your thighs are spread wide, fingers playing with your clit, teasing yourself while making occasional direct eye contact with the camera. “And god, that pussy? Y’ever see somethin’ so pretty? Bet she tastes like fuckin’ honey.” Tommy drawls.

“Tommy.” Joel snaps his fingers in front of his face in a quick motion. “Don’t go gettin’ too excited now. I’m the one meetin’ with her.” Joel gently reminds him.

“Well, I can see why ya like her so much already, Joel.” He winks and slides the phone back in his direction. “Don’t go gettin’ your panties in a twist. I think just based on this single video, she’s gonna be a good fit. On a serious note, I hope that Brazzers didn’t fuck her up too much.” He reaches for his beer and takes a sip.

“It’s her energy man, it’s infectious. She seems so gentle, soft, but you can tell that she knows exactly what she wants just by looking into her eyes alone.” Joel said rather dreamily.

“Y’gonna give ‘er the ole Joel Miller razzle dazzle then?” Tommy wiggled his eyebrows playfully with a chuckle.

Joel rolled his eyes and flipped him off before taking another sip of his beer. “All depends on her comfort level during our first interaction. I want her to know that she gets to call all the shots.”

Tommy tips his beer towards Joel in a mock salute. “And yet they say chivalry is dead.”

At first you wonder if Miller-Co is just another too good to be true scam and Joel had played you, providing you with the wrong address on purpose. Maybe this was a sign for you to never try studio work in the adult film industry again. You were standing outside of a hardware store, triple checking the address while simultaneously looking up at the sign: Miller-Co

Joel is sitting behind his desk when he sees you teetering around outside. He checks the time on his watch—quarter to noon—and smiles. He’s a punctual person himself and always had this philosophy of showing up earlier than planned out of respect for everyone’s valuable time.

He gets up from his desk and walks towards the door just as you’re turning on your heel to walk away.

The door swings open behind you with a sweet chime, and then you hear the raspy timbre of his voice, his smooth southern accent that already has you feeling weak in the knees.

“Are you my 12 o’clock?” He grins a boyish grin that oozes a level of natural confidence and charm that men dream of possessing.

“Oh.” You laugh and fiddle with the strap on your purse. “I totally thought I had the wrong place for a second there.”

“Sorry ‘bout the confusion, darlin.’ Folks ‘round these parts can be…sensitive to what we’re doing here. Gotta be sure they ain’t have a clue what they’re walkin’ by, be discreet, y’know?” He holds the door open with his shoulder effortlessly, and you get a good look at his handsome features. Joel Miller is tall, well-groomed, and there’s something immediately comforting about him. You can’t quite put your finger on what that thing is, but it might have to do with the selfless energy that radiates from the depths of his soft, espresso colored eyes. Or maybe it’s the endearing heart-shaped patches in his gray speckled beard.

“Oh, thank god!” You laugh again, hoping he didn’t notice your staring, and he chuckles. Something flickers in your eyes that Joel registers as unabashed curiosity. He clocks the slight hitch of your breath, your pupils dilating.

“I take it you’re probably used to dingy warehouses, unkempt garages, and the occasional sketchy office building?” Joel quips. He slips one of his hands into the faded pocket of his denim jeans.

“Yeah, how did you know?” You retort with false sarcasm and a small smile.

He shrugs his shoulders. “Lucky guess?”

“Well, you didn’t not hit the nail on the head, Mr. Miller.”

You swear you see him blush, the tops of his cheeks turning a flushed pink color. “Oh, please, call me Joel, darlin’. Mr. Miller makes me feel so..old.” He laughs and subtly gestures to the open door. “And hope ya don’t mind me sayin’ this, but ain’t you jus’ the sweetest n’ prettiest thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of layin’ my eyes on.” He winks. “Shall we?”

“Oh, please, you aren’t old at all, Joel,” you brush away his self deprecation as his compliment leaves you feeling flustered, the heat beginning to rise to your cheeks. “So, your videos weren’t lying then? You really are a sweet talker?” You flirt back.

“Some days I feel like I am, got a bad back and ‘a that. And, oh, I am quite the sweet talker, darlin’.” He holds the door open for you as you slip past him, brushing up against the rough denim of his jeans due to his sheer mass taking up most of the entryway.

Your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach when your eyes zone in on an all-to familiar black leather couch pressed up against the side of the wall. He notices your immediate discomfort and hesitation and clears his throat alongside you. “We uh—don’t film anythin’ on that, darlin’. It’s there more as a joke than anythin’.”

He sees you visibly let out a sigh of relief as your shoulders relax. You don’t see his face, but his lips are set in a deep frown and he genuinely feels bad. “There’s no leather couches or bright, headache inducin’ lights where I film, darlin’,” he adds softly and steps around you to pull back the chair at his desk.

You’re not even sure what to think or say as he pulls the chair back and you quietly sit down and watch as he sits across from you. “Hey, before we get into talkin’ business, I’m aware that you worked for Brazzers at one point, saw it on the application you submitted, and I jus’ wanted to let you know that me sayin’ ‘lucky guess’ back there was to ease your nerves. I understand what it’s like coming from that world, could tell that you were feelin’ a bit apprehensive, and I didn’t wanna jump right on into discussing your portfolio out in the open, y’know?” He held steady eye contact with you which was something that you normally would be intimidated by, but Joel wasn’t trying to make you feel small, his concern was genuine.

“It’s just been awhile for me since working there, but I appreciate you trying to ease the tension, Joel. I swear I’m not always this jumpy,” you add softly and he smiles.

“S’alright. I understand. I jus’ wanna start off by sayin’ that I want you to be comfortable, darlin’. That’s our first priority. We can film in the studio if you want. Now, personally, I never film here. All feels a bit too sterile for me; got a set up at home to film there. Feels more natural, but if you would rather be here, we can make that work.” He clicks a few buttons on the desktop mouse and pulls up your application so he has it to directly reference.

“Your first priority is that you want me to be comfortable?” The question tumbles past your lips and your pupils are blown wide. In past jobs your comfort was always pushed to the very bottom. It was viewed as insignificant and something that you were told you’d just have to suck up and get over. There was always a limited budget, which meant limited time, which meant little care given to anything other than hard and fast, turn and burn shoot days. And the studio executives cared about little except increasing profits year over year, so time and time again, you’d endured a lack of connection with your scene partners and set crew alike, never more than a quick direction thrown your way. No, comfortable was a far cry from what you were used to.

He’s not taken aback by your response at all. It’s something that he’s all-too familiar with, unfortunately. “Of course, darlin’. That’s the key to makin’ good porn, ain’t it? Both parties gotta be comfortable, otherwise the audience won’t feel connected to what they’re viewin’. All sex sells, but intimacy sells more.”

“I’m just not used to this kind of treatment, Joel. I honestly didn’t even believe that it existed in the adult film industry. The whole notion of comfort above all is just…new for me.”

“I know it is, darlin’,” Joel takes a breath before continuing, “I’m ex-Brazzers, too. Started there when I was 18, and left on my 30th birthday.” This was a piece of Joel’s past that was especially private, it came with baggage he still wasn’t entirely ready to unpack, and yet sharing this with you felt comforting for him.

“Oh my god, did they fire you too?” You lean forward in your chair feeling shocked that someone else in the industry shared the same awful experience as you did.

Joel’s heart shatters when he learns that you were fired. It makes him angry for you and the other women in the industry that were often released from their contracts for frivolous reasons. How could they let someone like you go? You have all the potential in the world with real, raw, talent, and on top of that, you were an absolute knockout. Those motherfuckers had a goldmine with you, and yet they couldn’t see what Joel sees.

“No, darlin’,” he frowns, “they didn’t. My brother and I made the decision to quit on our own. We stayed in LA for awhile with some old costars and made some amateur films before we moved back home to Austin, and started our own studio. I’ve strived to make porn that is catered to women. It’s a market that’s been largely untapped, and I’m lookin’ to shift the industry by showing how profitable it is,” he explains honestly. “And folks deserve to see real sex full of connection and intimacy and even sometimes some bloopers,” he chuckles. “It’s something that I’m incredibly passionate about, and that’s why it’s my utmost priority to make sure that you are respected and feel comfortable.”

You shrink in on yourself when the wave of sudden emotions hit and you don’t even realize your crying till Joel is getting up in a haste with a few tissues in his hand. His eyes are laced with concern as he crouches in front of you. “Hey, I’m sorry, darlin’. Didn’t mean t’make ya cry. I jus’—know how harmful the industry can be, and ‘m tryin’ to build a safe space within it.”

Fat tears begin to roll down your cheeks as you try to laugh through the tears. You feel pathetic for breaking down in front of this man who you have only just met. He must think you’re a lost cause in the industry if you can’t even hold yourself together for more than five minutes. You sniffle as he gently brings the tissue upwards towards your face and gently brushes away your tears. “I’m sorry, Joel. I don’t mean to turn into this blubbering fuckin’ mess.”

“Hey, ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for, darlin’,” he coos. “Maybe we wanna get outta here for some fresh air? If you’d like? Know a nice quiet coffee shop jus’ down the street. How do you feel about that?”

You look at him through wet lashes and parted lips when you slowly nod. “Uh—yeah. That would..be great. I’m just not exactly comfortable in this environment,” you murmur.

“I understand. No hard feelin’s taken or anythin’. Would you like some help gettin’ up?” He offers you his freehand.

“You’re not..upset?” You question softly and grasp his hand in your palm as he gently helps you up from the chair. His palm is warm against yours and massive in size.

“Upset? No, not at all. I meant it when I said that your comfort is a priority, darlin.’” He affirms.

After you’ve composed yourself a bit, you let Joel lead the way to the quiet coffee shop down the street. He holds the door open for you and lets you pick a secluded table in the back. When you offer to pay for the coffees, he interjects with a small grin and shakes his head. “S’on me, darlin’. G’on now and make yourself comfy,” he nudges you gently towards the table.

It’s a depressing thought to have, but you think about how no man has ever treated you with the kindness and respect that Joel Miller has thus far. It’s the bare minimum, but you appreciate him for it deeply.

He returns with two lattes and places them on the table before taking a seat across from you. “Y’jus’ let me know when and if you wanna continue the conversation, alright? There’s no rush. I ain’t got anywhere else to be.”

You grasp the mug between your palms and let the warm steam wafting from the mug kiss your skin as you look over at him. “Well, I figured it would be okay with me to share with you a list of things I’m not comfortable with?” You lean over the side of the chair and reach into your purse to pull out a folded up piece of paper that you drafted up after submitting the application last night.

He nods and takes a sip of his latte. “Of course that’s okay for you to do. I’ve got a form for you to sign back at the studio that includes a section disclosing your limitations and your personal comforts. We like to keep it on file so we can prepare everyone before shoot day, that way there ain’t any accidental crossed boundaries.” He reaches across the table and gently takes the paper from you.

Despite everything Joel has told you thus far, you’re afraid that he’ll end up being judgemental based on your list. It’s pretty much everything that mainstream porn runs on: bondage, punishment, gang bangs, overstimulation, and anal to name a few. You’re already thinking of getting up from the table, and protecting what’s left of your ego when he sets the paper down, reaches for your hand, gently picks it up and kisses the back of it while looking into your eyes. “This is it? We can absolutely work with this, darlin’. Don’t you worry none,” he reassures you.

His lips against your skin are like two plush pillows. Soft, silky and it’s hard to not imagine what those lips would feel like pressed against either of your own. You expected shame, and instead were greeted with the complete opposite. He validated you, and that alone was making your head spin like a ferris wheel.

“I know you ain’t have any pleasant experiences in the industry, and that’s a damn shame. But I can promise you that you won’t have to worry about none of that with me. Okay, darlin’? Sweet girl, I’m gonna be honest with ya because that’s jus’ the kind of man I am. Y’got some serious talent that I think has been severely overlooked. I can make you into a real star if that’s what you want. I’m simply jus’ actin’ as a guideway for ya. And between you and me? I love my job, and I hope that maybe I’ll be able to turn those bad experiences you had into somethin’ good.”

Your eyes focus on his lips and their movement with each word that flows past them. Neither of you realize how close you’re leaning over the table till you can practically taste the hazelnut latte lingering on his tongue.

“Joel, I swear I heard every word you just said, and please tell me if I’m being unprofessional given the circumstances, but I really want to kiss you right now,” you breathe.

His brow raises and a dimple pokes through his cheek as a grin tugs across the corner of his lips. He chuckles softly, “Well, lucky for you, it’s totally appropriate given the circumstances. Jus’ one of the many perks of bein’ in this industry, darlin’. Unbridled desire is personally one of my favorite things.” He leans in closer, his tone dropping down to an octave that made you tingle with desire, and admits quietly, just for you, “If we weren’t here in this coffee shop right now, I’d show you just how unbridled my desire can be.”

You gripped the edge of the table for dear life. It took everything in you to not rip that man’s clothes off right then and there. That part of you that had laid so dormant was crackling to life again, and he could see those emotions swirling in your eyes. “Maybe we should get those papers signed so that you can show me if you’re really just all talk?” Your brow quirked upwards, mouth lifting into a flirtatious smirk just as his nose brushed against your own.

“Think you’ve seen enough to me to know that I ain’t bluffin’, darlin’.” His hot breath fans your lips as you reach across the table and rest a hand on his shoulder, the other steadying your balance on the table. Joel lifts his hand to your face and gently guides you by your chin. His lips brush yours, testing the waters while your tongue swipes confidently at his lower lip. He surges forward, hand moving from your chin to cup your face where your jaw meets your neck and deepens the kiss. You unconsciously let a soft moan loose, lost in the feeling, and Joel feels his cock come to life at the sound. It’s a good thing the barista behind the counter is too busy watching a YouTube video to see you and Joel practically gorging on each other's faces.

You can feel him smiling against your mouth before he leaves you with a final press of his lips and pulls back, sitting back in his chair, shit-eating grin plastered on his face as he brings his thumb up to the corner of his lips and wipes away a stray strand of saliva. “Think I’m gonna get a little somethin’ to eat. Y’want anythin’?” He rasps and reaches for his wallet in his pocket.

“Yeah.” You grin and rest your chin in your palms. “Something..sweet.”

A flush rises to his cheeks as he stands up from the chair and discreetly adjusts himself in his jeans and you giggle at the sight. You’d think it was his first rodeo by how quickly he had grown hard from just kissing you. Then again, Joel did say that he loved his job. And if he treated the less significant parts of his job like that, you were more than looking forward to seeing, feeling, him do the other parts of his job he loved, too.

You sat in that coffee shop for hours getting to know one another. It felt like no time had gone by at all, and it was obvious that you both were feeling that spark of an immediate connection blossoming. There was no denial that you and Joel were physically attracted to one another, but you had no idea what doors were now opened because of this first meeting. The chemistry was palpable, electricity ricocheting off the walls, and that unspoken language between one another was apparent.

“Hey, Joel? I think I’m ready to sign those forms now,” you spoke, wading through the building sexual tension.

“Perfect.” He grins. “Let’s go n’get ‘em signed.” He pats your thigh gently.

Once you’re back in the studio, Joel goes over every section of the documents and answers every single one of your questions with direct thoughtfulness and professionalism. You can hear your pulse beating in your ears when you sign the last page, clenching your thighs to abate the need growing between your legs.

“Now, there’s no rush to filmin’ anythin’ right away, okay? We don’t gotta dive head first if you wanna go home and process all of this, I completely understand. But, if you’re interested, I can give you my address and we can—”

“How about you drive me to your place instead?” You coyly interjected with a grin.

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[blueicequeen19]

Mark Me

Warnings: nothing dark, just some revenge closet play with JJ

I run into a firm chest in my panic, nearly tripping over my own feet to right myself as a warm chuckle meets my ears and hands find my hips.

"Sorry, sorry!" I ramble, looking back down the hallway for Rafe. I hear his angry footsteps on the stairs. There's nowhere else I can run or hide. I don't think before opening the closet door - a massive coat closet - and throwing myself in it.

I don’t get a chance to turn around before a warm body pushes in with me, pulling the door shut and sealing us in darkness.

“Get out.” I hiss, moving to hit the light switch but he slaps my hand away.

“Stop. He’ll see the light on under the door.” A new form of panic seizes my chest at the familiar Pogue voice. I groan, hating that he’s probably smiling right now but I can’t see him in the dark.

“Come on, princess. I’m sure you’ve been caught in worse situations.” I smell the weed on his clothes and the mint on his breath before I quickly take another step back, my back brushing the coats.

“Not with a Pogue.” I chide, crossing my arms and debating what a suitable amount of time would be to wait before leaving. It was stupid to push Rafe Cameron. Even more stupid to run from him.

“Pogues are more fun.”

“It’s blondes, not Pogues.”

“Good thing I’m both.”

I don’t bother with a response as I roll my eyes, counting to twenty in my head. I wanted to make Rafe jealous but the moment I saw him, I panicked. He told me not to humiliate him after our breakup but I can’t find it in me to care. I want to get under his skin as badly as he is under mine.

“What’s the deal with Rafe?”

“None of your business.”

“Maybe I can help.”

I sigh. “I don’t do drugs.”

“I have other uses.”

My cheeks heat over his shameless flirting so I quickly change the subject.

“I told Rafe I was hooking up with someone new and when he asked me who, I drew a blank. I couldn’t think of one single person. So I bolted.” There’s a snort and I don’t have to see his smug face to know he’s laughing at me.

“Shut it.” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest as he tries to stifle his laughter.

“Well you could make him jealous another way. Have someone give you a hickie or something.” My eyes widen but he’s not wrong. That would be proof in a way.

“I can’t have them in visible places.” I blurt, cupping my neck.

“Your chest works. You can go flash him and hide it from everyone else.” The amusement in his voice is gone making it suddenly hard to breathe.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “And who would do it? You?”

“No one would have to know it was me.”

I want to step back but I can’t. There’s no where else to go in here. I hate that he’s right. If I really wanted to get back at Rafe, a hickie would do it. The thought of Rafe jealous has me clenching my thighs.

“Okay. Just.. no teeth.” I reach out my hand in the darkness, feeling his shirt on his chest a lot closer than I expected. I just needed to make sure this was real as I move both hands over the toned muscle and up to his shoulders. I listen to the sounds of his labored breathing as his hands find my waist.

I was nervous. My stomach was doing flips. My heart was racing. My skin was buzzing. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. No one had to know the mark was from him..

“Are you sure you want me to do this?” JJ asks, his voice sounding strained but gentle. I wish I could make out his face in the dark as his warm breath brushed my lips.

“Mmhmm. Be quick.” My voice sounds more confident than I feel. His legs brush against mine as he moves closer, the feel of his breath moving across my cheek and to my neck. His lips ghost down to my collarbone, leaving goosebumps as he goes. I reach up and tug the neck of my top down enough to reveal the swell of my breast without freeing my nipple.

“You smell amazing.” JJ groans, making me bite back a whimper as my pussy clenches around nothing. He smelled amazing too.

The hands on my waist tighten as they slide under the hem of my shirt, the heat of his skin on mine making me tremble. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. When his head ducks and I feel his lips press against my breast, a choked sound slips from me.

I open my mouth to say something - anything - but suddenly his mouth is open, sucking gently on the swell of my breast and my knees threaten to buckle. Why did that feel so good?

JJ’s hands tighten on my waist and he grunts, making me realize my nails are biting into his shoulders. I feel his wet tongue glide against the skin and wetness seeps into my panties. My clit throbbing in tune with my heartbeat. I suddenly wonder what that tongue would feel like on my clit when his mouth releases me. My mind is in a daze as I battle with myself whether to beg for more or step back when his mouth finds my very hard nipple and sucks. Hard.

“Oh—.” I gasp, my hand flies out to brace myself, smacking the wall hard. My eyes threaten to roll but my body is begging for more. My pussy is begging to be filled. I’ve never been more turned on in my life and I can’t figure out why. If someone catches me with him, my life is over.

“JJ..” I don’t sound like myself as I sway on my feet, my head hanging back as his tongue and teeth assault the sensitive flesh while his hands begin to wonder. One hand finds my ass with a firm squeeze. The other cups my breast still tucked in my bra.

“God, the sounds you make—.” JJ sucks in a breath, yanking my bra down and attaching his mouth to my other nipple. My toes curl in my sandals, an orgasm teetering on the ledge just from nipple play.

My brain begins to turn to mush when suddenly he’s turning us, my back now firmly against the wall and his knee between mine. I’m too far gone from lust to argue. His mouth moves between my breasts, licking and biting and sucking, as his knee starts to rub against my pussy. I’d never been more grateful for a skirt in my life.

“JJ.. I’m gonna..”

“Fuck.” The single word had never sounded so hot then when its growled against my skin, forcing my eyes to roll back as a wave of pleasure crashes into me so hard I can’t breathe. I fist his hair as I shamelessly grind my pussy on his knee, biting my lip to keep from crying out as I ride it out.

I’m too dazed to notice when his fingers replace his knee or when his mouth got so close to my own. I can’t find it in myself to care. This was for revenge after all. When two thick fingers slide inside me, his lips are on mine to silence my cries. I cum again almost immediately. I taste blood as I bite into his lip, fighting the urge to scream as he pumps his fingers.

“Let me have it, pretty girl. Use me however you want.” JJ growls against my lips, sinking his teeth into my own lip. I roll my hips in time with his hand, fucking myself until I’m spent and exhausted.

The wave of pleasure doesn’t stop though. I need more. I don’t even recognize myself as I yank him forward by his belt loops, sucking his tongue into my mouth. I nearly lose it when his fingers slide out of me and he moans as I work him out of his shorts.

“Are you—.”

“Shut up. I need more.” I silence him with a kiss, my hand wrapped around the thick, length of him as I stroke him with his own precum.

“You’re killing me.” JJ hisses as I pull away long enough to shove my panties down my legs then turn to give him my back.

“Give me what I want.” I whimper, yanking him closer by his shirt until his cock brushes against my ass.

“Say please.” He taunts, bracing one hand on the wall by my face as he guides his cock between my legs.

“You just want to hear me beg a Pogue.”

“I’ll have you begging regardless.” His cock notches my entrance, stealing my breath as he pushes in deep with one hard thrust. I moan against the wall as his breath fans against my neck, my body wound tight. I don't hesitate before starting to back into his thick cock. JJ's groans in my ear, his hands tight on my hips as I take what I need.

"You feel really fucking good." JJ whispers in my ear, giving me goosebumps.

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