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peachypinkygloss · 7 months

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dior girl ✰ park jimin

Park Jimin is one of a kind. When he wants something, he gets it, no matter how hard it can be. He's not scared to get his hands dirty. If he had any morals, maybe he'd consider his obsession with you getting out of hands. But this man has absolutely no morals.

୨୧ pairing: designer!jimin x model/fem!reader

୨୧ genre: strangers to lovers, age gap (21 & 38), smut, slight angst

୨୧ word count: 8.1k

୨୧ warnings: unrealistic depiction of the fashion industry, alcohol consumption & mention of drugs use, manipulation & corruption, jimin isn't a good person (especially not to oc lol <3), violent sexual thoughts, jimin's a sadist (my fav headcannon :D), heavy dom/sub dynamics, hard dom!jimin, unprotected vaginal & anal sex, anal play (use of a buttplug), my new headcannon: jimin likes giving anal, dacryphilia, praising & degradation, oral sex (m), face fucking, aftercare ig because yes jimin's a sadist but he still has a heart.

a.n.: yup so idk if you guys were expecting that... but i did say none of the characters were ethical lmfao so 🤷🏻‍♀️ i really, really hope you like the first part, i've worked hard on it even though it's not super long. so please, reblog and tell me what you thought about it! <3 as always, don't like, don't read.

[dior girl moodboard] ["older" masterlist]

His studio is his sanctuary. It's the only place in the world he can spend hours in without even noticing the moon setting or the sun rising. In his studio it feels like the time doesn't exist or that it's just a futile detail that doesn't have much importance.

When he's creating a piece, nothing around him matters. The only things he's willing to give attention to are the placements of the needles on the fabric, the little lines that form the pattern of the clothing, and the way his scissors cut through the satin material of the dress he's designing.

He's thought about this design for so long and he finally got the opportunity to make it. He's thought about the colours of the dress and also of the seam, about the length of the hem and the sleeves, how deep the neckline should be and if lace would be suitable.

He doesn't even recall how many sketches he's made of the dress. At some point it was consuming his entire mind, this dress the only design he could draw and think of.

Now that he's finally creating it, he has the feeling that it's going to be the best piece he's ever made. He already sees everyone talking about it, saying how much of a genius Park Jimin is. It's going to be the design of the year — of the century.

He still misses something, though, and it might be the most important part of the design. He needs a model, the perfect body to wear his piece and present it to the fashion world.

It can't be anybody, it must be someone who's confident, who always has their head up and who radiates elegance and sports a unique beauty.

Jimin still hasn't found this person. He constantly searches for them, but never finds them or when he thinks that he has, he discovers flaws he cannot unseen.

All the Dior models are great, but not enough. They don't spark anything in Jimin when he watches them strode down the catwalk. He's checked upon the apprentices and the newer models the company has hired, but he saw no one extraordinary.

Until today.

He hears steps against the wooden floor of his studio, entering the place without knocking. "Ah, there he is!" A manly voice exclaims, Jimin immediately recognizes it as his friend's, Sungwoon. "I have someone to introduce you."

Jimin raises his gaze up from his working table and looks at Sungwoon who's accompanied by a beautiful, young woman. He's then suddenly interested, contrary to usual where he doesn't really care about the many girls Sungwoon brings, claiming each one as the new phenomenon of the fashion industry.

When Jimin turns around, he eyes you up and down, barely glimpsing in Sungwoon's way. It's all it takes, one simple glance and he knows you're the one he needs — the one he wants and has to ruin.

Sungwoon introduces you both and when your name is pronounced by the man, sounding so charming and delicate, he's certain you're the model he had been waiting for since a long time.

You seem shy, arms locked behind your back, but you stand up straight and have a polite smile drawn on your face.

"I thought maybe you'd like to get to know each other, right?" Sungwoon raises his eyebrows in Jimin's direction. "Everyone's fond of her," he smiles and pats your back, encouraging you to speak up.

"Thanks," you smile back at Sungwoon before glancing back at Jimin who still hasn't looked away from you. "I've been a big fan of your work since I was a little kid, Mr. Park. You've inspired me to become a model."

The way you say his name has his cock twitching in his pants, filthy thoughts of him spanking your butt while you cry his name invading his mind.

He can sense your vulnerability, your willingness to submit. Who would he be to deny you that? Him, who is so eager to dominate the ones he's attracted to, to break but also repair them.

He knows it when someone's fragile, hiding their weaknesses under fake confidence. He doesn't know you, but he recognizes the pattern almost instantly. What can be broken can also be repaired and you're asking him to break you.

"I'm glad to hear that," Jimin says politely, a slight smile tugging on his lips. He's not the type to smile — stretch the corner of his mouth upward to imitate the person in front of him, he finds it useless. But for you, he'll do it, just so you trust him because you're so desperate to give yourself to the opposite sex.

"Park, you were wondering who'd be part of the fall show this year," Sungwoon begins, looking at you like you're the most irradiant ruby in the world. "Well, you have her in front of you." You giggle softly at the man's words, nodding your head at him and then looking at Jimin as if waiting for some praises.

Jimin faintly smiles, seeing your eyes glimmering and he curses himself for not finding you first. You'd have been his by now, his to praise, to kiss, to fuck, to destroy. But he swears, if he happens to break you, he'll gratefully keep you safe close to him.

๑♡՞

T H E N

"Careful," Jimin softly says as he catches you up from falling on the floor. You let out a high pitched laugh, as if all of this is a big joke, and push him back with a hand on his chest.

"I'm fine," you answer, shrugging him off with a flip of your hand. You stagger from left to right, leaning against the wall when you almost fall a second time. You laugh it off again, halting your steps.

Jimin looks at you with a cringe expression, eyeing the people behind, sporting worried looks on their faces.

You all went out after the show; models, designers, directors, stylists... everyone. It wasn't your plan to get drunk, Jimin knows that because you're not supposed to drink alcohol since you're on a very strict diet. A glass from time to time isn't so bad, but your consumption clearly surpassed just one glass tonight.

It's not really your fault, though. Technically yes, since you're the one who swallowed all of the glasses of wine, but you had a little help.

A little help from Jimin himself.

When you weren't looking, he poured more alcohol in your glass and to his satisfaction you've noticed nothing and gulped everything. Sure, you got a bit suspicious, wondering how you had only drank so little when you remembered swallowing more than that.

But Jimin assured you it was only your first glass, so you drank, and drank, and drank... Until you were more than tipsy.

You've received nasty looks from your colleagues, especially the other models who weren't drinking a single drop of wine, and yet, still weren't awarded with the status of the 'face of Dior'. How ironic that the drunkest girl in the room was the face of Dior and the little protégée of Mr. Park.

Years and years of training, countless sleepless nights, meals that are as nutritious as birds seed... All of the efforts in the world to have your biggest dream stolen by a model who is in the industry for less than six months.

Their rage is understandable, but Jimin couldn't care less. In fact, everything is going as planned and he can't fuck things up now. No, because if he does, all of the things he has done until now will be completely irrelevant.

"I'll... I'll bring her to our room, you can go out without us," Jimin announces, watching you sit down on the floor in the middle of the corridor.

"Will she be okay?" A stylist asks.

"Of course. I'll take care of her."

He waits for everyone to be gone before he gets you up from the floor and leads you both to your hotel room. When you're in the room, he sits you down on the bed.

You don't say anything as he takes off his jacket and loosens his tie. He crouches down in front of you to remove your heels and he does the same with his shoes, leaving them at the entry.

When he comes back, he sees you quietly crying, the features of your face contorting into a sad expression. You've slightly sobered up, harshly coming back to reality, realizing how much you've embarrassed yourself tonight.

"What did I do?" You ask, looking up at him with teary eyes. "I fucked up, didn't I?"

Jimin sits down beside you, lifting your head up with his index under your chin and his thumb over it. "There's nothing that can't be repaired," he states in a soft voice, so low it sounds like a sweet whisper — a secret, a confession only you can hear. "Right?"

You sniff, wiping your tears away. You nod your head in agreement, slightly reassured, hoping Jimin will fix your mistakes. Your foolish mistakes, done by the carefree of a twenty-one year old.

"Shh, baby, shh," he softly murmurs, cradling your head in his hands and gently laying your face against his chest. You wrap your arms around his waist, hugging him tighter and tighter til suffocation.

He strokes your hair delicately, placing a sweet and warm kiss on the top of your head.

Someone as vulnerable as you contains a lot of emotions. He has to deal with them, which doesn't bother him at all. He wants you the way you are; sad and pitiful.

"Everything's going to be fine," he promises, but it's not entirely the truth. Not everything will be fine, though it'll be in the end, he thinks — he hopes.

You eventually pull away from his embrace, just enough to look at him. It seems like you're searching for something or maybe waiting for something, your eyes desperately staring at Jimin as if his simple presence will make all of your problems fly away.

You throw yourself at him and kiss him on the lips, fingers pulling on the hair at the nape of his neck. He reciprocates it, knowing you like your kisses sloppy and messy, wanting Jimin everywhere on you to remind you that he's always there.

You bring him closer, crumpling the material of his white shirt between your fists, moaning and whining as your teeth clash together at how roughly you kiss each other.

Jimin breaks your exchange first, both catching your breaths. His eyes observe you quietly as you look at him like you're still waiting for something.

"Did you do what I told you to?" He questions you, referring to your conversation of a few days when you came to his studio to try on his dress.

You were a bit stressed out, putting on the clothing like you were scared you'd rip it. He still remembers the way the satin was sliding up your body, hugging your waist and ass perfectly. He was baffled at how incredibly well it suited you as if he had made it exactly for you.

And maybe it was made for you, after all.

Because when he saw his creation on you, he knew you had to wear it for the runway. It has to be you, he'll accept no one else.

Jimin will make you walk the runway wearing his dress — the last time you'll ever step on the catwalk. After that, he'll keep you away from the rest of the world. He'll refuse anyone to see you because you're going to be his.

His forever.

"Yes," you nod your head, trapping your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Tell me what you did," Jimin softly demands, holding your chin in his hand, mouths inches away from each other.

You're too shy to say it out loud and that's why he wants you to tell him. Also to be sure you did everything correctly, but mainly because he wants to see you embarrassed.

"I prepared myself for you..." You begin, holding eye contact even though you feel your face heating up just thinking about all the things you've done per his request. "I... I used lube both on me and... the toy," you continue in a shy tone, so low Jimin wouldn't hear you if he wasn't so close.

"Where on you, sweetheart?" He interrupts, wanting each detail, each little thing you normally wouldn't have done if it wasn't for him. And all while thinking of him.

You swallow, "On my ass, Jimin," you answer in a whisper. "I stretched it out for you, using the toy like you told me," you finally admit.

"Good girl," Jimin purrs. "Let me see it then."

You proceed to strip off of your dress, now used to be nude in front of him, and slide your panties down your thighs, discarding them away on the floor.

You get back up on the mattress and position yourself on all fours close to the edge of the bed. Jimin stands up and goes behind you to have a closer look at your ass.

His veiny hands pull your cheeks apart, revealing your rim to his insatiable, sadistic eyes. You glance over your shoulder, curious of what he has in mind and what he has prepared for you.

You softly gasp when he spits and lets the globe of spit drip down between your asscheeks, rolling over your puckered hole. You clench around nothing, relieved to have his attention, to finally feel his hands on you instead of the usual touch of yours.

He sees that your ass is a bit looser than the last time he saw it, but it still clearly needs more preparation to welcome his girthy cock — though it's not like he cares that much if you're prepped enough or not.

He passes his thumb over your tight muscle, circling it and smearing his saliva over it. He wants to fuck it so bad, destroy it and do unbelievably violent things to you. Should he tonight? Should he show you his dark and evil side?

He's choked you before — smacked your ass hard til you felt your skin stings, overstimulated you to the point your orgasms were just spasms passing through your body, fucked your throat while you were drooling all over yourself, and tied your legs and wrists together to restrict your movements.

So fucking your ass can't be that bad, but the thing is Jimin wants it to be bad. He then wonders what would happen if the line is ever crossed. Would you endure it, would you defend yourself? Would you shut the fuck up and take it like you're asked to?

But you trust him so much — with all your pathetic being — and he thinks you'd let him cross any lines he desires to. He probably already has crossed multiple lines, and being the poor, sad girl that you are, you said nothing.

You truly are extraordinary.

He gives a slight slap to one of your asscheeks, groping both of them after, feeling how soft and tender your flesh is. "You did good, sweetheart," he comments in a honeyed voice that has you mewling, sounding so smooth and sweet. "How about we play with it a little?"

He lifts up a brow at you and you nod sheepishly, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. "Yes..."

"Great," he says in a low tone, running his hands one last time over your ass before going to take something from his suitcase.

"What is it?" You question, your curious eyes landing on the small object he's holding.

Jimin brings the object to you, something made of metal, the end having the shape of a cone and a pink gem placed on the top. "A gift for my princess," he replies, opening the bottle of lube he brought as well.

He applies some lube around your tight hole and on the butt plug, and carefully pushes the head of the toy in your ass. You gasp softly, feeling it slowly stretch you out, sinking in gradually as Jimin holds your cheeks apart.

"Mmh, feels good, Sir," you moan, arching your back and pushing your butt closer to Jimin.

When the plug is all the way in, the pink gem peeking out between your two globes of flesh, he smacks your other cheek, making it jiggle from the harsh hit.

"Is that so, dirty girl?" He wonders, gripping your hips and colliding his hips with your butt, sensing his big bulge pulsing under his pants. "You like it when your little ass gets stretched out?"

"I like everything you do to me," you say with a content sigh, pussy clenching around nothing as your ass gets used to the small butt plug.

Jimin genuinely thinks he can't find better than you. You were so shy in the beginning, looking like a lost puppy wherever you went. You just needed someone bigger and older to show you the way — though you were too dumb, and still are, to realize he was leading you to the wrong path.

It's not like you seem to mind, anyway.

After all, you both got what you wanted; you, male attention, someone to rely on and be protected by, and him, a woman to break and keep with him forever.

He lets go of your hips to unbuckle his belt, pulling the leather material out of the gold loop with the luxury Dior logo on it. He lets the two ends of the belt hang off, not bothering to remove it completely, and tucks the fly of his pants down.

He finally frees his cock from the confines of his boxers, springing up and slapping against his stomach, the bit of pre-cum escaping from his tip dampening his shirt.

"You're so good to me, princess," he praises as he wraps a hand around the base of his engorged cock, aching and begging to be nestled in your cute little pussy.

His head pushes at your entrance, never fully entering, only teasing your hole and stimulating all of your sensitive nerves. He watches how his cock stretches your cunt, your walls expending to receive his bulbous tip and then closing down when he pulls out.

"Sir, please, want more," you beg him, pushing your ass on him to have his dick back in you. You let out a little whimper when Jimin holds your hips in place, stopping you from wiggling your butt side to side against his thick cock.

He hums and slaps your ass harshly, your skin stinging after. "Want my cock in your needy little pussy, baby? Is that what you're crying for?" He asks, teasing even more by swiping the head of his penis between your pussy lips, a string of your arousal sticking to his angry tip.

"Yes," you say back quickly and desperately, arching your back, literally presenting yourself to Jimin. "Been so good, don't I deserve it, Sir?" You softly murmur, still looking over your shoulder to see his gaze fixated on your quivering pussy, cock head sliding up and down over your sex.

"You do..." He responds distractedly, licking his plump lips, his fingers touching the pink gem peeking out from your ass. You're always so good and obedient for him, he even wonders if you ever did something that genuinely pissed him off before.

When he really sinks in, his head passing the barrier of your sweet pussy, he groans deeply, feeling your walls deliciously enveloping his hard cock tightly.

You moan in unison as he bottoms out in you, his balls touching your wet and warm pussy. He bends his back over yours, running his hand up your spine, feeling all the little bumps of it until he reaches your head and shoves it against the mattress.

You whine when he starts pounding into you, his girth stretching you out so well, leaving you panting and moaning loudly. His other hand holds your hip against his dick, fingers digging into your skin, leaving permanent marks on your body — as well as on your mind and your soul.

He already sets a hard and rapid pace — fucking is never soft or loving with Jimin, it's violent, long, and agonizing. It's a way to be himself, the real and dark version of himself he hides in public and releases when he gets intimate with you.

You surprisingly got accustomed to it, embracing it as if it was your destiny, the reason for your existence; to be his personal slut, the little toy he likes to play rough with. And you've accepted it, like you had no other choice but to be fucked into oblivion by Jimin whenever he feels like it.

"You like that, baby? Huh?" He growls, as if you're the disgusting one for liking the way he treats you, ravished and delighted to have his girthy cock sliding against your velvety walls. "You like it when I fuck you hard like this?" He repeats and grips your hair, pushing your head against the bed covers with more strength.

You babble out something, voice caught in your throat, too out of breath to formulate a simple sentence. You then only nod, your cheek squished against the mattress, Jimin's hand still pushing down on your head.

His mouth hangs open to let out heavy breaths and his eyes are focused on your face, watching the little translucent pearls fall on your face and on the covers. Your pussy swallows all of his girth, clenching so tightly it has him groaning and saying profanities under his breath.

It's sick how it makes his cock so fucking hard, leaking so much pre-cum in you and twitching avidly by seeing you struggle to breathe. You crumple the bed sheets between your little fists, doing everything in your power to keep your ass up for Jimin and not slump down on the bed from the hard thrusts he's inflicting on you.

He snaps his hips against your ass and the entirety of his length is covered in your wetness, a white ring made of your cream circling the base of his cock.

His hand holding your head descends to your neck, enclosing it with his fingers, the coldness of his silver rings contrasting with the hotness of your sweaty skin. He squeezes a little, just a bit so you know who's in control, so you never forget Jimin controls you — that he controls your life and thoughts.

With a grip on your hair, he brings your torso up, arched back against his chest. The material of his shirt sticks to your skin, coated in a thin layer of sweat. He continues to pound into you, his cock sliding in and out of your pussy rapidly, as he holds you by the throat, lewdly licking a long stripe along the side of your face.

You shudder in desire, hair standing up on your delicate arms. "You're my little whore, aren't you, baby?" His mouth is right beside your ear as he whispers dirty things to you, his lips touching your hair, damp at the nape of your neck. "So fucking compliant... You want to please me so bad like the slut that you are," he mouths the words against your hair, cock pulsing hard in your cunt.

His free hand that doesn't have a hold around your throat slides down your body, passing over your belly and reaching your puffy clit. The sharp zipper of his pants graces the flesh just under your ass, irritating your skin and making it itchy.

You clench around him when his digits find your sensitive bud, circling it sensually and slowly, the complete opposite of his hip thrusts.

"Yes, want to please you, Jimin," you gasp, bucking your hips at the feeling of his rough fingertips on your pussy. He grunts when you address him by his name, loving how it sounds on your tongue, so sweet and timid.

He remembers the first time you moaned his name; you were sprawled across his expensive leather couch, blindfolded and hands attached together with his black tie. Intense for your first time with him, but it was also the last time he's ever been that gentle with you.

It was when his cold fingertips graced the skin of your stomach that you let out a squeak followed by his name, said in the quietest moan. He had then stopped his movements and looked at your face, an expression of distress painted over your features.

He had realized how frail and weak you actually were, needing your most important sense to be at ease. That's why he had blindfolded you, to show you how dependent you are of him, how impossible it is for you to live without him to guide you.

He pushes your jaw to the side so your lips can meet his in a feverish kiss, wet tongues mingling together, drool dripping down from the corners of your mouth. He continues to ram his cock in your now soppy and messy pussy, the sound of skin against skin resonating in the hotel room.

He traps your bottom lip between his teeth, making you whimper and close your walls around his girth once again. Your little hands grip the material of his trousers, keeping him close and holding on to something because the hard cadence of his hip thrusts push you forward, breasts bouncing up on your chest.

"Fuck," he curses and he suddenly stops, steadying his hips against your butt. You let out a whiny moan as Jimin lets go of your face and hips.

You're sad to have your pleasure ripped away from you so hastily, but you don't have the time to complain, Jimin slipping out of your cunt and pushing you down violently on the mattress.

You turn around on your back to see him unbuttoning his dress shirt and throwing it on the floor, revealing to you his beautiful chest and defined abs. He gets rid of his pants and socks after, finally removing his boxers, the only things remaining on him being his rings and the watch crowning his right wrist.

His cock glistens in your juices, more pre-cum leaking from his swollen tip and twitching avidly against his stomach. Even though him fucking you while being all dressed and you completely bare is a way to humiliate and degrade you, he also likes to be naked sometimes.

He loves skin to skin contact, how your bodies stick together because of all the sweat coating you. It's addicting, it's rougher and it creates more friction — more pain.

He doesn't mind being naked too because he knows how to dominate you either way. He doesn't find it embarrassing, on the contrary, it makes him scarier and hungrier. While you shiver without your clothes on, curled up on yourself, Jimin is imposing, his cock thick and girthy enough to split you in half.

He crawls back to you, hovering over you like a predator had caught his prey, boring his eyes into yours. You look at him in awe, always waiting patiently. You feel his cock against your thigh, thick and veiny, your hole pathetically quivering — missing his size stretching out your pussy.

He sneaks a hand between your legs and reaches the little pink gem, ready to get it out. "Take a deep breath sweetheart," Jimin instructs and you inhale deeply.

He doesn't waste a second, pulling out the butt plug out of your ass. You scrunch your eyes shut at the pain, exhaling when it's done. He carefully sets it on the nightstand, coming back to you after.

He bends your legs over your stomach and looks at your ass, just begging him to fuck it, shining with lube and arousal that leaks from your pussy. His erect cock is just so close to it and Jimin could slide right in with one movement of his hips.

He lets go of one of your legs to grip his engorged erection, a little gasp escaping your lips when he presses the head of his cock at your tight hole, threatening to sink in.

"Sir," you sigh, not sure if you're ready for that. It always burns no matter how good you prepped before and he knows that. That's why he's so tempted, that he's staring so obsessively at your rim.

Will it hurt you? Will you grip his biceps in an attempt to dissuade him? He wants to see those tears falling from your eyes again, he wants to lick them and tastes your pain. He feels more blood rush to his penis at the mere thought of hurting you.

Give him all of your pain, he'll fucking take it whole and cherish it. He wants it — he needs it. Accuse him for having a sick and twisted mind, accuse him for everything you've ever been hurt by because he'll gladly take the blame.

"I know you can take it," he says in a low tone, glancing up at your face as he applies just a bit more pressure to your ass hole. "Can you, baby?" Jimin asks, waiting for you to admit how much you want it, how badly you want him to destroy you.

"Yes..." You whisper back, a long shiver running up your spine as his eyes pierce through you.

"Yes, what? Tell me, sweetheart," he demands, and it's as if he doesn't care about your response whatsoever because the next thing he does makes you yelp in pain.

His tip has entered you, the burning sensation forcing you to scrunch your eyes shut, your instinct thinking it'll protect you.

"Yes, I- I can..." you stutter and as expected, you dig your nails in the flesh of his biceps — only fair to hurt him in return. "I can take your cock in my ass..."

You take a sharp breath, eyes slowly opening, all watery and painful. Jimin groans at that, stuffing more of himself in your hole. "Good girl," he praises, voice raspy, ending with a deep grunt.

He stretches you out completely, his dick in no comparison to the toys you've used to prepare yourself. You open your mouth as he pushes himself in gradually, tears streaming down your face when you blink.

The tears roll down the side of your face and Jimin can't help but be turned on, leaning in to kiss your face and collect some of your tears, tasting the saltiness of them on his tongue.

"Jimin...!" You look at him with the saddest and most hurtful gaze, tears rolling down your face. "It burns," you add in a quiet voice, now scratching his back, leaving long red trails on his skin.

"I know, baby, I know," he softly murmurs in your ear, a husky moan leaving his mouth when he's completely nestled in you, balls touching your ass. "You're so tight, fuck," he sucks air through his teeth, not moving until he estimates he's waited long enough.

He gives warm and wet kisses to your neck, descending to your collarbones and groping your breasts, slowly starting to move his hips. You lock your legs behind his back, wanting him as close to you as possible despite the pain he's inflicting on you.

He loves knowing it hurts you because it makes it more pleasurable to him somehow. The pain will go away soon anyway, that's why he doesn't bother to stop or slow down. You have to get used to the feeling first.

He wouldn't go too far to hurt you. The choking, the hair pulling, the smacks... He keeps it for the bedroom, but he won't lie that there's a part of him that wants to ruin your life, ruin everything you've accomplished so far just so he can see those sad eyes of yours and hear you ask him for help out of desperation.

It's not even sexual, he just wants to break you, that's all he desires. Though your life is something he wants to destroy, it's more of a way to have you dependant on him after. If your career is no longer successful, your solution is Jimin because he's the only person in your life capable of taking care of you both emotionally and physically.

His teeth chew on the tender skin of your neck while his hand travels all over your body, many veins popping out along his strong arm. The cool sensation of his rings on your stomach makes you shiver, his finger gently circling your clit to make the pain more bearable.

His cock slides in your hole back and forth, your ass slowly but surely taking the size of girth. Many curses leave Jimin's mouth, your ass probably the best he's ever fucked. You feel so good around him, you're tight, but you loosen easily, making it so, so pleasurable for him.

His hand that was roaming over your body comes to close around your throat and he turns his head to your side, lips brushing over your temple. "Yeah, just like that, baby," he mutters under his breath, his nose pressing down on your hair as he murmurs the words to you. "Just like that..."

A choked moan is all you can respond, eyes rolling back in your skull as Jimin splits your ass open, fucking his thick cock into you. His hot breath hits the side of your face, his chest heaving rapidly while you claw at his back, white scratches appearing on his skin.

He sweetly kisses your temple as he pounds into you, not tightening his hand around your throat, just holding you in place — always letting you know that he is always in control.

Your tits slightly bounce up and down on your chest, little whines coming out of you each time Jimin bottoms out. It starts feeling good for you — really good — and you think that this pleasure is totally worth a bit of pain at the beginning.

You grip the hair at the nape of his neck and bring him in for a kiss. He accepts it, kissing you back as if he wants to possess your whole mouth, biting and licking your lips. You moan into his mouth, twisting his hair between your fist and sinking your nails into the flesh of his back.

He backs away from you a little, his plump lips glistening in both of your saliva, and places his two palms on your boobs. He feels your perky nipples under his hands, just loving how plushy your breasts are, fitting perfectly in his palms.

He keeps thrusting in you as he gropes your tits and you bring your hands over his, looking into each other's eyes. He lowly groans, holding eye-contact with you.

You feel his veins under your palms, your pussy clenching around nothing but air while you run your hands all over his arms. You enjoy the sensations of his pulsing veins under your small fingers as you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, staring into Jimin's dark eyes.

"Jimin..." You moan his name, throwing your head back and closing your eyes, just enjoying the feeling of his hard cock entering and exiting your tight hole. Jimin takes the opportunity to smooch your neck again as you expose it to him, his full lips delicately pressing down on your throat. "I love it," you sigh pleasantly.

He hums, the sound coming deep from his throat. He wants to hurt you, yes, but he likes it even more when you love the pain. He just knew you were exactly like him when he first saw you. He had the feeling that you needed someone like him, someone that'd push you to your limits and make you discover a new type of pleasure.

And he was right because there's not one time where you told him to stop.

"My dirty girl," he purrs in response, bringing his lips up to your jaw. He slowly rolls your nipples between his fingertips, pinching and pulling on them. "You're stupid, but so, so good for me, baby," he groans in your ear, gritting his teeth as he feels his balls tightening.

He slowly halts his hips movements, letting out heavy breaths as he eventually pulls out of you. You gasp when he does so, already missing his cock stretching out your ass.

You're both trying to catch your breaths, Jimin raising himself up from you and getting out of the bed. His erection stands tall against his stomach, bouncing up as he walks to the front of the bed.

You watch him getting away until he orders you to follow him. "Come here," he says softly and you don't make him wait. "On your knees," Jimin commands when you're facing him, sinking down to your knees after.

He places a hand behind your head and the other around the base of his dick, guiding the head of his cock toward your lips as he pushes down on your head.

"Here, baby," he instructs in a low voice. "Take it in your mouth." You part your lips to welcome Jimin's length, his bulbous tip shining in pre-cum and your juices under the light of the hotel room.

He immediately moans when he enters the warmth of your mouth, his heavy cock sliding on your wet tongue. He doesn't let you have much control, pushing his dick in your mouth until your nose touches his pubic hair.

You relax your jaw for Jimin, allowing him to stuff your mouth full of his cock. He looks down at you, watching the way your lips wrap around him tightly, your eyes starting to water. He still holds the back of your head with one hand, guiding you over his stiff erection and you moan obscenely around Jimin, drool dripping down on your chin.

He begins to fuck your mouth, forcing you to take the whole thing each time he bottoms out. He moves his hips back and forth, obsessed with the way his girth appears and reappears between your lips as he uses your mouth as he pleases.

"Shit," he hisses when you hollow your cheeks, making it more pleasurable for him. "You're a fucking cockslut, aren't you, baby?" He says breathily, his eyes not once leaving his cock penetrating your mouth over and over again.

You whine around him, surely agreeing with what he said. It sends deliciously vibrations through his entire body, the sounds of your moans and hearing you gag around him is so arousing to him. He wants to hear more so he literally uses your mouth like a toy, snapping his hips against you, his balls slapping your chin.

He lets out a deep moan, your cheeks now damp and eyelashes all wet because of your tears, eyes stinging as Jimin fucks your throat like a mad man.

"Stroke your clit," he manages to say between two heavy breaths. "You can get off by yourself, right? I know you're soaking wet just by letting me use that pretty mouth of yours," he mocks you, but he knows he's right. Whatever he does, your cunt is always dripping wet.

You whimper again, doing what he told you to and sneaking a hand between your thighs to play with your pussy. You part your legs wider as you circle your clit with your finger, Jimin's hooded eyes lazily watching you playing with yourself.

Your right hand is laying on his thigh while the other is operating between your legs, pleasuring yourself to the sounds of Jimin's moans and the feeling of his stiff cock weighing down on your tongue.

You do your best to breathe through your nose, swallowing around his length and flattening your tongue underneath him. Your juices drip down your inner thighs, your finger flickering over your sensitive bud smoothly because of your arousal.

The whole room is smelling like sex, an odour that Jimin can't ignore, loving it so much. Your lips glide so easily over his hard cock, completely covered in your spit and still some of your wetness, tasting yourself on him.

"Ah, fuck," he curses, his head rolling back on his shoulders, eyes still strained down on you. He feels the familiar burning sensation at the pit of his stomach, indicating he's really close to his orgasm. He stops thrusting in you. "Go on the bed, baby."

You're taken aback, but you follow his order, pulling him out of your mouth and laying your back down on the mattress close to the edge. You beautifully moan when Jimin penetrates your pussy a second time, bending your legs over your stomach.

"Oh, god," you cry softly, being pounded onto the bed by him right away, tits moving up and down on your chest.

His hands are positioned on each side of your shoulders, snapping his hips against yours so harshly you feel your skin stinging. You keep doing circle motions on your clit, now faster and impatient to reach your high.

You let out a high-pitched moan when Jimin suddenly steadies his hips over yours, dropping down to his elbows as he hides his face in the crook of your neck. "Holy fuck," he grunts, gripping the bed sheets tightly in fists beside your head as his cock twitches in your pussy.

"Yes, yes," you quietly exclaim, your clitoral orgasm passing through you, making you arch your back and buck your hips.

Your hole clenches repeatedly around him and he finally comes undone into you, shooting long, thick ropes of cum deep into you. He empties himself in your wet cunt, cumming just after you.

When he slips out of you, more spurts out of his tip, landing on your pussy, covering it in his creamy cum. You moan at the warm sensation, always loving how it feels both in and on you. Some of his seeds dribble out of you, dripping down to your ass.

He stays above you for some time, catching his breath and looking at the mess he made on you. He stares up at your face, seeing how fucked up you look, hair in a nest and eyes reddened.

Later, Jimin is in the shower, washing his hair and his body, passing a soft cloth soaked in soap over his chest. He lets the water fall over his head, wetting his black locks. He stays maybe a bit longer than normally, staring at the tiled wall.

He thinks about you, about all the things he's planned. He revised everything in his head, imagining you walk on the podium wearing his design, people looking at his piece with admiration in their eyes.

He thinks about all of that that will go down for you after the show, getting fired, losing your career and your fans. Many articles talking about your excessive use of alcohol and drugs, saying how tired and sad you look beside Jimin.

You won't last long, you're too weak anyway. A downfall like this is unconquerable, nobody recovers from that, and surely not a model who will be thrown out of the industry as soon as you turn twenty-five.

Jimin knows the industry, he's been in it for years now. He's aware of how cruel it is, how difficult and harsh it can be on fragile little girls like you.

But that's why he's here, to take care of you once nobody will want you anymore. That's the goal, after all; you to be finally his — solely and completely his.

"Jimin?"

Your voice reaches him, turning his head in your direction, seeing you hesitantly entering the shower with him. He opens his arms, inviting you to come closer and you do, hugging him and laying your head down on his wet chest.

"I love you, sweetheart," he softly murmurs against your hair. "I'll never leave you, you know that, right?"

You nod your head, looking up at him and meeting his gaze. "I love you, too."

๑♡՞

A F T E R

The runway went incredibly well. Celebrities and journalists were all gathered for the fall show, totally amazed by every design and the models that were wearing them.

But there was one specific piece that everyone was willing to say was the best.

Jimin was satisfied to see that his name stood out among everyone else's, being called more times than Dior itself. He predicted it; it was the creation that every guest remembered, the dress that the fans were only talking about.

He'd take all the credit, he was the one who imagined it and then sewed it after all, but he has to admit that you had contributed to the fame a lot.

Being the beloved face of Dior only made people talk more about it and that was what Jimin needed.

But everything has an end, doesn't it?

When Jimin comes back to his apartment, the place is silent except for the TV playing, as he thought it would be. You're looking through the window, watching the city living at night while it's raining. You're sitting on the sofa, not even acknowledging his presence as he enters, getting rid of his shoes.

You're not much of a talker since you've been fired from Dior a few days ago just after the fall show. He understands your wish of remaining silent, needing a bit of space to process everything that has happened the past weeks in your small head.

It was going to happen soon enough anyway. You've been to your photoshoots completely drunk, sometimes just going in with a hangover, but of course it didn't help your case at all.

Jimin was guilty for letting you drink alcohol so soon in the morning. No need to deny it, he was even the one for dropping you off at work like that. Well, he had to do it if he wanted people to notice how far you've fallen.

He doesn't feel bad, though. Your career wasn't going to last with Jimin's sabotage or not. He did you a favour, you should be thankful.

You can't handle being a model. If you could, none of that would have happened. You wouldn't have gained weight, you would have been suspicious of the amount of calories Jimin was feeding you. The bottle of wine wouldn't have been so tempting and smoking weed wouldn't have ever occurred to you as a good idea.

Some people can, others can't and you're one of them. You shouldn't be ashamed of it, sometimes things just don't work out like we would have wanted them to.

"Did you see the article they wrote about me?" You ask, already knowing he's walking up to you without looking. "You surely did, I bet that's all they're talking about..."

He sits down beside you and you eventually turn around, facing him. You care so much about what others think of you. It must be so tiring having such a low self-esteem. He can only imagine it; seeing you look through the window like a sad puppy, your life finally making sense when Jimin comes home.

"I did, but nothing of that matters to me," he answers, the most honest he's ever been. And even if he had to lie, it's not like you wouldn't have believed him. You always trust whatever he says.

You don't reply, your head still filled with many thoughts.

"Hey, come here," he softly tells you, patting his thigh. You straddle his lap, setting your hands on his shoulders. He cups your chin, forcing you to look at him as you keep avoiding his gaze. "Whatever they say, whatever their name is, nothing will ever be more important than you."

Because who is he if he lets some article affect the way he sees you? He's known you since the beginning of your career and he stayed til the end of it.

He knows you better than everyone else. He was with you during your highs and lows and he'll still be there for the next ones. There's nothing in the world that could make him leave you. After everything he's done to have you, there's no way he'll go away.

How cowardly of him if he does. He can't leave when he's promised he'd heal you — close all of your past wounds and create other ones.

He may be selfish, but there's one thing that he isn't and it's a fucking liar. He sticks to his words, and when he says he'll never leave you, that means he'll never, never abandon you — he'll never leave your side, not even once. He can't risk it.

๑♡՞

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dev1lm4n · 9 months

Text

lesson one: sensitive

ko-fi | series masterlist

pairing: porn star!joel miller x f!reader

summary: under several notable circumstances, mr. miller finally decided that he'd be the best teacher for your first debut into sexual activities. even when all of it is to prepare you for your successful date.

word count: 5.4k (i know.. i went a little crazy on this lol)

warnings: explicit (18+), set in 2013, pre-outbreak, age gap (joel in mid 30's and reader in early 20's), inexperienced but not dumb reader, fingering, he's kinda mean, check umbrella warning on series masterlist

notes: i had so much fun writing this! tbh this one is super filthy compared to the other one so.. forgive me 🤲 COMMENT n REBLOG if u liked it

“I could take you home if you’d like. Pretty girls like you shouldn’t roam the street alone.”

Simon, more commonly referred to as Robotic Class Guy or French Fries, was surprisingly not half as bad as you thought he would be. He had all the height of a man but none of the bulk. From behind he could be easily spotted as someone in their late teens to early thirties, mostly blaming his horrid graphic tee and skinny jeans combo, but when he turned that face was all boy. His caramel hair flopped over his eyes in the way no office worker could get away with and on his wrist were bracelets in woven leather.

At first, you accepted his awkward invite out of spite.

Just to rid yourself of a certain plague festering upon your head, feasting on your brain cells so that you’d think of nothing but Mr. Miller in all his glory. Him with his tight worn-out jeans, spread open enough that you could see a naughty peak of his bulge, while he watched the soccer game. Him with his shirt off, bathing in the summer-induced moisture, while he mowed the front lawn and edged the curb. Him with his thumb parting your lips, looking at you like he’s about to consume you alive, but of course he didn’t.

At least now that Simon came around, you’d have a new port to anchor your boat on.

“No, thanks, I’m alright. My..”

Who was Mr. Miller to you again?

Your.. father? Absolutely not. Even if he’s taken you in as a part of the Miller family, just like how he used to say, you would feel like it’d be morbidly repulsive to deduce him to that particular role. For fuckssake, you stick a finger up your cunt every single week to the thought of him fucking you like one of his girls.

Then would a family friend be better of a word? Or should you just say that he’s a guardian of yours? But that’d be confusing, wouldn’t it? You glanced at your watch, counting the hour and minute hand as if it’d give you a revelation on how to answer Simon’s pop quiz.

“Someone promised to pick me up.”

That sure did sound ominous.

With a promise to leave a message to his cell once you’ve returned home safely, you stepped out of the quaint local restaurant. It was warm outside and you weren’t particularly fond of that. Heat has always been your mortal enemy; something about the musty scent of middle school boys’ armpits after PE class mixed in with the pungent perfumes they use to try and hide it has left you permanently traumatized. Your once-cheery mood had long evaporated along with any semblance of coolness. You tugged at the hem of your sundress, fanning yourself with your hand in a futile attempt to find relief from the stifling heat. This is hell!

Where was Mr. Miller?

Mr. Miller must've read your mind, because a honk quickly resonated. He was on the very corner of the parking lot; his large pickup truck looked hilariously out of place when compared to the array of city cars parked by his side. You swore you could see him grin from behind the shaded tint of his window, perhaps entertained at your almost too obvious annoyance. The thought made your heart jump and maybe even did a front-flip. God, you’re helpless!

As you beelined down the sidewalk and on to him, the heat seemed to intensify with every step. Beads of sweat formed on your forehead, causing your hair to stick in weird shapes. You just hope that his truck’s AC works.

“Hi.. Hi, Mr. Miller.”

“Hey, sweetheart. How was it?”

The nickname never ceased to exude so much power. ‘Sweetheart’ made you feel as if a tail had grown out right from the hilt of your ass and you had no other choice than to swish it around excitedly. You propped up one leg on the washed-off gray carpet, before swinging yourself into the vehicle in one go. The door closed behind with a loud thud. As you leaned back, you cringed at the feeling of your sweat-soaked dress clinging onto your skin. You felt like some marinated beef, sticky and in need of a quick shower.

“It was alright,” you hummed.

“Alright? Now that made me all the more curious,” he grinned, nudging your side with the edge of his elbow. “Com’on now. Tell me all about it, will ya?”

“Mr. Miller, are you trying to embarrass me?”

Mr. Miller’s soothing brown eyes that were stuck on the glittering street lights came flickering over to you, as if he’s actually afraid that perhaps he’s made you uncomfortable. His shoulders squared and his jaw slackened for just a split second as he tried to grasp for any nuance you’ve just given. You then smiled at him, relieving him of his worries.

It’s a little jarring to say that you think he’s quite cute. In the same way people find puppies cute, or those strawberry-shaped trinkets. He’s a little socially-awkward in his own way. Embarrassed to ask the waitress to bring his plate back, but would be confident bullying his cock into a tight cunt. Would definitely get kooky when asked to join a parents-teacher conference, but would whisper filthy things on the internet.

“I ain’t tryna make you embarrassed,” he huffed out. “I just wanna know you’re safe.”

How nice. If only he knew why you went on dates in the first place.

“He’s alright, Mr. Miller. Kind, decently groomed, respectful,” you replied, flicking through your Twitter feed mindlessly. “Better than most college guys.”

“Did he pick you up?”

Your forehead scrunched up. “I ordered a cab.”

“Did he at least get the door for you?”

“It’s not exactly the 1900’s, is it?” you quipped back at him.

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for your answer.

“If you’re that curious, then no.”

“Well then, did he pay for dinner?”

“No, well.. I did offer for us to split it,” you reasoned.

“Well, sweetie, he’s not too respectful. Is he?”

“Yeah.. but he’s cute.”

He’s cute and you’re desperate to get over Mr. Miller. Terribly so. At first, the entire situation with having your pornstar crush be the head of your host family was hilarious, it’s a joke written by itself. But then the desires went through the roof in a matter of weeks and you’re sure that you’d actually jump him one of these days. He’s attached to the back of your mind like some ghostly presence. Everything he said and done carved at your brittle wall of determination and one day it’s all going to fall apart like broken glass. You needed to stop it from happening.

There was a minute or so where he didn’t have anything to say. He hadn’t let go of the handbrakes either, though he appeared to be squeezing the leather cover of the steering wheel tighter.

“Cute ain’t enough for a man, sweetheart.”

Mr. Miller finally pushed down the handbrakes and released the pickup truck from the small parking lot. His large hands skillfully turned the wheels to fit through the tiny gaps, guiding the vehicle towards the open road. You shut your eyes for a good minute, then you let out a weighted sigh. Almost as if you’re a deflated balloon.

The drive was going to be a long one, considering the restaurant you’re on was in the heart of the town and Mr. Miller’s humble abode was more towards the outskirts. Would he continue preaching about the importance of Southern manners and being a gentleman? Because if he did, perhaps you’d just shut him up with a kiss.

“I’m just a little nervous,” you broke the silence.

“Because of the boy?”

“Sorta, yeah. It’s my first time..”

You clicked your phone shut, stuffing it on the cup holder next to the car stick. The entire conversation was making you nauseous. You had to press on the button on your left to slide down the windows in order to take in fresh air. Through the open window, a gentle breeze tousled the top of your hair, carrying with it the familiar scent of Summer in Austin. As he drove closer into the outskirts of town, the lights gradually faded behind into a sea of twinkling stars.

“First time in what?”

“In all this,” your hand motioned the idea abstractly.

“You’ve never dated?”

An enthusiastic grin snaked its way to his lips.

“I have! But it’s not- it’s not real. It’s middle school romance. We meet each other in the hallways, hold hands and giggle about it, then go on pizza dates,” you tried to explain. “I’ve never dated properly.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” you tousled your hair in frustration. “Just because, Mr. Miller. I’m not sure either. Maybe I’m just comfortable in my own little bubble?”

“Then this boy.. What’s his name again?”

“Simon.”

“Right, Simon. Are you thinking of dating Simon properly?”

“Maybe,” you muttered.

“Maybe I could teach you,” he paused. “Well, that is if you’d like this old man to teach you old tricks.”

Your hands tightly clutched the edge of your seat. A rise of bile disturbed your throat's peace as a knot of anxiety started to form in your stomach. This is what you’re working towards.

You didn’t want to admit it, because admitting means legitimizing what you had in mind, but you were hoping for him to offer you help in any way that he felt was right. Despite your.. odd relationship with him, he was your guardian and you’ve seen the way he dealt with all Sarah’s problems with soft-spoken words and fair actions. You trusted him to help you delve into this new world of adult romance, but it’s not like you’re expecting for him to agree on it. Shit, shit, shit! You couldn’t think straight.

“Com’on then. Tell me what you’re so nervous of.”

“You’re gonna laugh at me,” you groaned.

“I’m not!”

“You are,” you persisted.

“Fine. I promise not to laugh.”

You took a deep breath. The single word sticky on the end of your tongue.

“Sex.”

The pickup truck swerved.

To your surprise, instead of howling and laughing at your lack of experience, he was quiet. Awfully so to the point where you think you’d rather have him laugh at your patheticness instead of giving you the cold shoulder. You rolled the window back up, giving him your full attention as you waited for him to do something. He looked tense; the grip he had on the steering wheel was so tight you could see the leather developing crescent-shaped marks. What was he thinking of?

“Do I.. do I have to give you the talk?”

“God, no! Mr. Miller, I’m not clueless,” you looked horrified that he even considered giving you the birds and the bees talk. “I am, but I know what happens.”

The hours you’ve spent analyzing each and every one of his videos surely made an impact on how you view sex. Perhaps not the most accurate one, since you were merely looking through a 720p video and not being present in the scene, but you knew how sex goes. How it starts, what arousal looks like, what appears to feel good and what doesn’t, and how good an orgasm looks like when induced by another person. Mr. Miller might not be aware of how much he’s taught you. Not directly, but in a cause-and-action kind of way.

“Then what are you afraid of?” he hummed.

“Making a mistake,” you muttered dejectedly. “Of it not feeling good.”

A beat passed.

“Do you..” he struggled to speak properly. “Do you want me to teach you?”

What were you thinking! It was one thing to harbor intense, disgustingly filthy feelings towards a man who perceived you as an addition to his family, but it was another thing to act on it desperately. Your mind reeled back towards the exact moment when you agreed on his proposition. How you agreed on it instantly as if it wasn’t even a question, how you nodded your head miserably as if you were afraid that you’d miss this one chance, how you buckled your knees at the thought.

God, how pathetic can you be! You didn’t remember much after such a cathartic turn of events. All you managed to compile in that pretty little head of yours was that he took a different interchange, then slipped onto a highway towards.. whatever this place was.

It was on the outskirts of town. Opposite to where he lived. Big trees grew tall and heavy as they provided a mystique veil for the trailer house. You remembered the shade of peeling paint covering the outside, sky blue. The lanterns provided ample lighting for it to be spotted from a distance, but not enough to attract rowdy attention. Mr. Miller told you to come inside first while he secured his pickup truck properly. He mentioned a thing or two about racoons or squirrels, but you were too high off adrenaline to even notice. Being in the property, you instantly knew where you were.

This was his lair.

Where he shoots his videos, where he invites all his pretty co-stars to make them moan and whimper about how good his cock felt and how deep it went, where he edits those striking millennial-core thumbnails. Your throat grew dry and you began to think if it’s time to bail. He’d understand, wouldn’t he? Mr. Miller would just take you home and forget about it. Then, by next summer, you’d be out of his hair and he’d never even think about it.

A creak sounded from the front door. You jumped.

“Hi, sweetheart. You okay?”

You nodded. Your entire body went cold, especially the tips of your fingers and toes as you saw him come close. One step at a time. Almost as if he’s trying to make sure he doesn’t scare you too much. Mr. Miller looked awfully big up close. You never seemed to notice this entirely when you see him around the house, but when he’s confined in this miniscule trailer house, he looked massive. His presence towered over every last bit of your confidence. It’s surely crumpling - your confidence - slowly dissipating into thin when he was flushed against your chest.

“I’m okay, Mr. Miller.”

He pulled a foldable chair from one of the open compartments, before taking a seat on it. He spread his legs, as always, and had this look in his eyes.

“You sure you wanna do this?” he paused, before resuming. “You could tell me you don’t feel like doin’ this anymore and I could take you home. Won’t talk about it anymore if you don’t wanna.”

“I.. I want to do this, Mr. Miller.”

“Are you sure? There ain’t no pressure in this. I’m simply here to help you, sweetheart, so if you feel like-”

“I get it, okay, I get it. I trust you. A lot. And I know you’d be the best person to teach me.”

What were you even saying? This was straight out of your wildest wet dreams and perhaps that’s why you’re so adamant about it. You watched silently as he contemplated his choices. Mr. Miller scratched his beard for a short while, his gaze focused beyond you and you could almost watch in real-time how his morals and values crumbled onto the creaky floorboards. He stood up from his small chair and headed right towards where you were standing idly. Is this what May felt like in those videos?

“Alright, sweetheart. I ain’t a vocal man so this is gonna be challenging even for me,” he chuckled gruffly. “Every man has their way of settlin’ with their ladies, but I like ‘em stripped off their clothing first. So will you be a pretty thing and do that for me?”

For a second, you were as still as a rock. Entirely not used to having the person who initiated many if not all of your orgasms giving you these orders in real life. He’s right there in front of you, flesh and bones, telling you to strip off your clothing. It felt like a fever dream. You must’ve had a weird look on your face, because a grin started to form on those chapped lips of his.

Conscious of the mistake, you quickly reacted. Almost skittishly in a way as you pulled on the zipper that’s located on your right ribs. Your fingers fumbled with one another, as if it’s been braided into one, but you managed to loosen it after a few attempts. You slipped your right arm under the spaghetti straps, before you slipped the other one. The only thing holding your modesty together was your one arm that’s holding onto the support-less front flap of your sundress.

“Com’on now. It’s just me. You can act shy and adorable around Simon, but not this old man,” he teased.

You nodded, hesitantly letting your arms fall to the side. The terribly warm weather encouraged you not to wear a bra. Although you wondered if 3 PM you knew that you’re going to be engaging in some promiscuous agenda this evening. You looked up into his eyes for some kind of guidance, in which he responded with a curt nod, before you tugged on the dress so that it’d slide onto the floor.

Now the only piece of modesty you’re wearing is your plain white panties. Your breasts were entirely exposed, cold nipples firming up as it reacted to the change of temperature. This is embarrassing! Mr. Miller was being incredibly methodical in the ways in which he approached the situation, lacking sloppy mouthy kisses and feverish touches.

“Smart girl,” he complimented, almost on instinct. “Let’s get on the bed, yeah?”

You moved adjacent to him. Mr. Miller was gentle when he patted the spot next to him, allowing you to settle down properly while he fixed a pillow behind your back. To think that you’re positioned on the same bed where you’ve witnessed him please an array of girls made you feel some sort of way. A hitch in your heart, a twitch in your hole. You’ve never witnessed him this gentle. He’s always fond of establishing the power he held on the dynamic he’s presented, always telling girls what to do in quick succession and calling them humiliating names if they fail to do as told. With you, he was sweet and rather funny.

“In my experience, one of the things girls like the most is to be withdrawn from control,” he spoke up into the thick air. You didn’t miss the way his eyes cruised along your beaded nipples, or the way it watched you with feral precision. “Of course, it depends on the person. But you. I think you’re a sensitive one, are you?”

You nodded obediently.

“Cross your arms behind your back,” he ordered and watched closely as you followed suit. “Lean back onto the pillow.”

You copied his order. Only then did your finicky brain finally compute that you’re limited off your movements now. With your body weight acting like paper weight for your arms, it’d be impossible for you to react in quick time.

“Good girl.”

His mindless comment made you tighten your thighs together.

“I’m gonna touch you, okay?” he whispered gently. You could watch how he’s slowly approaching you with much caution. His arms caged you in as it dug into the tangled sheets next to you. He’s testing the currents, making sure you’re fully consenting to the experience before he makes any mistake that might ruin your perception of sex. “Ask your little friend to touch you slowly. None of that frisky aimless touching. If he pulled on your nipples and called it a day, I’d leave his ass.”

This little routine he had, the one Wicked Fantasies had, was memorized into your head and to watch it take place right in front of you made you ecstatic. He caressed the side of your face. Gently even with those big, large fingers of his, he managed to take up a good portion of your cheek. Mr. Miller then made his way to your lips. He swiped it once over your upper lip, then another time over your thicker bottom lip. You’d anticipate for him to stick his thumb in deep enough so that he could see your uvula properly, but he didn’t. Instead, he settled on pressing down your tongue as if to pin it against the lower floor of your mouth. A good amount of saliva was collected that when he pulled away, a lewd string remained intact.

“Do you know why I like pinning a girl’s tongue down?” he queried to increase comfort in a way.

“No,” you whispered breathlessly. “Why?”

“It makes ‘em docile,” he muttered. “Encourages submission and I like a pretty girl who listens.”

Mr. Miller’s fingers dragged through the curves and texture of your warm skin, leaving goosebumps on his wake, before he finally reached your two perky nubs. Each one hardened before he could give them the treatment they both deserved, which in a way broke his routine, but instead of being irritated, he appeared to be pleased.

Girls in his videos weren’t as sensitive as you. They didn’t get riled up just by a little touching and teasing. Seeing you like this was a refreshing touch. One that made the wrinkles on his forehead ripple as his eyebrows quirked. He circled his calloused finger around where the pigmentation started. Once, twice. Right until he was merciful enough to press against the apex of your nipples.

You squirmed.

“So sensitive, are you?” he cooed. “Tell Simon to play with your sensitive little nipples, hm? You look like you could cum just by this.”

“O-oh please!”

“Please?”

You couldn’t respond. Not when he’s rolling the most sensitive part of your nipples between the pads of his thumb and the side of his pointer finger. Touching your breasts with your own nimble hands felt nothing like what he’s doing right now. You instinctually grinded your leaking pussy down onto the bed, almost like an animal in heat.

“Poor thing couldn’t even tell me what she wants. What would Simon think, hm? A girl with no self control like you,” he hummed. Mr. Miller quickly held onto your thighs so that you’d stop rocking onto the bed and getting off from pleasure he’s not offering. Your eyes met his, searching for help, but the sweet and respectful Mr. Miller wasn’t there anymore. “Alright now, sweetheart. You have ta make sure that you’re thoroughly aroused before thinkin’ of even touchin’ this place.”

“You’re new at this,” he hummed. His fingers slipped off the hold he had on your nipples before it slid down your stomach and settled precisely above your clothed clitoris. “It’s gonna hurt bad if you’re not properly lubricated. Sex is supposed to be fun, not painful so if some guy tells you that it’s supposed to hurt, don’t listen to his dumb shit.”

Mr. Miller was incredibly informative if you put aside the fact that he’s touching you in all the right places that it’s making you go dumb. He spent the time explaining why an action must be provided and how to perform it, when you know for a fact that this is not what he’s used to doing. Wicked Fantasies was known to be straight with words, using minimal sentences to provide his co-stars with just the right amount of information. You could tell he’s holding back the urge to be meaner, to act the way he likes, just for you to be more comfortable.

“Let’s take a look, shall we? You think I did a good job, darlin’?”

It’s dark out. There’s only one source of light that’s present in the room. A small bedside lamp in the shape of an elephant, Sarah’s favorite animal that’s grown to be yours as well. This session with him felt intimate; you’d expect for him to bring out the bright light panels and reflectors just like in those videos you watched of him, but instead, he mostly depended on the moonlight rays.

You were acutely aware of how those dark eyes of his mirrored your own. The way he studied you was unlike any other, not with an invasive intent, but rather with heed. You watched as he hooked his fingers on each side of your panties. Slowly dragging it down, only to stop to wait for you to ease your thighs upwards.

“Look at you,” he chuckled. “I’m right about you bein’ sensitive. Don’t think we need any lube when your pussy looks like this.”

By instinct, you brought your thighs together, shy that he’s observing you with such vulgar intensity. He hummed out a tone of disapproval and quickly placed his arms on both of your knees, prying the two apart as if he’s opening a stubborn can of bolognese. You bit your bottom lip, stifling the noise of embarrassment.

Anxiety bubbled up inside of you. You wondered if you looked okay down there - no other men had seen it besides him! - or if there was something strange that caused him to halt. There was a lewd string of sticky arousal pooling on the center of your panties. You silently watched as it stretched and broke as Mr. Miller pulled the thin fabric away.

“You’re soaked, sweetie,” he teased.

“Mr. Miller, that’s- that’s embarrassing..”

“You like to touch yourself, don’t you?”

Your eyes flickered towards his direction in fear. Has he discovered your incurable obsession for him and his erotic videos? That couldn’t be, could it? There’s no scientific correlation between being extremely aroused with masturbation as far as you’re aware, but the confidence he exude made you doubt yourself. Mr. Miller moved in a painfully slow tempo, taking his time to caress your inner thighs and stomach before even considering touching you where it ached. His calloused fingers felt different against your skin. It left a fiery trail in its wake.

“No, I don’t,” you lied with a breathless squeak.

“It’s okay if you like to touch yourself, y’know,” he whispered as if taunting you. “Girls who like to touch themselves understand themselves better.”

Mr. Miller finally touched you properly. His pointer finger probed against your clitoris, touching in the lightest feathery manner possible that you couldn’t have felt it if you weren’t concentrating. Your hips followed the brief source of pleasure, only to be disappointed when you notice that he wasn’t there. He pulled his finger close to his mouth and made a big show out of it. The way your arousal glistened under the pale moon rays, Mr. Miller teased you with his expressions and mannerism. He dipped the stained finger in his lips to have a good taste while keeping eye contact.

“Please touch me.”

“What was that, sweetheart?” he hummed.

“Please touch me again. It feels go-”

You were cut off immediately when he lazily drew a perfect circle on top of your hooded clit.

“Fuck, please, please, sir.”

Ah, he liked that. He liked the new name you’ve granted him. Mr. Miller was kind enough to resume what he was doing. His finger descended down onto your throbbing hole to gather a good amount of slick before he brought it up to aid his ventures.

“The best way to feel good is controlled pleasure. It feels better to be denied than to receive boring continual pleasure, so..” he paused his movement all together. “I’m gonna teach you a little game.”

“A little game..” you sounded like you’re about to cry from his sudden withdrawal.

“Count to ten, properly. Then I’ll reward you with more. If you fail, then we gotta start from the very beginning,” he explained. His warm breath fanning over your sensitive clit. “You think you can do that, pretty girl?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll start now.”

“One, two..”

You felt how he made his laps around your nub. It was much more intense than the pleasures you’ve initiated before. Compared to rutting against a pillow, grinding against a bedpost, or laying under the tub’s running water, this felt like an entire new experience. You fought to keep still, but it’s gradually getting harder when his finger starts prodding against your tight little hole.

“Three, four. Please, Mr. Miller. Oh god,” you whimpered by accident. He didn’t like that one bit by the look he gave you. There weren’t rules and promises to this, no dynamic the two of you have agreed on, but you couldn’t help but be terrified of his disapproval. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, sir.”

“From the start,” he ordered.

“One, two, three..”

You could barely remember the numbers in your head despite encountering them almost every day of the week. You’re a smart girl, knows your ways around things, but being touched by Mr. Miller makes you go all dumb.

“Four, five, six..”

Your thighs began to twitch and spasm. You catched the way he pulled back the hood to your clit to get a more direct touch. It was working wonders as the sensation now is a lot more electrifying. Arousal dribbled down your twitching hole and onto the crack of your rear, wetting the sheets beneath you with the sticky clear substance.

“Seven, eight, n- nine!”

You jutted your hips out when his fingers brushed over your clit once more, the sensitive bundle of nerves extra aware of his presence, and he managed to hold you back once more. He’s forgiving. You knew he’d punish his co-stars if they couldn’t stay still like you, but he let this one slide. He continued rubbing slow, tight circles only to alter into an eight shape.

“Ten.”

The ultimatum. It has arrived, your key to heaven.

“Smart girl,” he cooed, never actually stopping. “This little hole of yours looks neglected, hm?”

“Yes, pleasepleaseplease.”

“Touch your clit slowly like I taught you,” he ordered. “You can do that can you, sweetheart?”

You nodded, distraught and ruined. With his sweet permission, you pulled one arm out from your back and rested it right above your clit. Slow and steady. Just like how he ordered. Mr. Miller on the other hand was slicking up his pointer finger with his tongue. Fuck, that looks so god damn hot.

He had pressed his sole finger deep into your warmth with no hesitation whatsoever. The combination of his calloused finger against your walls and the golden freckles inside his narrowed irises had you reaching out for his forearm. Your nails came in contact with his skin as you dug upon it, crescent shapes formed in pinkish shades atop his skin. You had to sit up as the only way you’re getting through this is by leaning on his sturdy arm.

“Oh, you like that, huh? Filthy girls like you love to get their holes filled?”

What you didn’t expect was having him press a second finger in. His one finger was thicker than what you’re used to, but two fingers? That makes you an overachiever for sure. You looked up to meet his eyes frantically. You knew he wouldn’t be kind enough to withdraw the action when his mind is already set on it, but it was worth the try. He cocked his head arrogantly as he pursued his plans. Mr. Miller’s middle finger was a tight fit. Barely able to slip past the ring of muscles. Though when he did manage to get himself in, a loud moan escaped your lips.

“Mr. Miller. I can’t- I’ve never- never taken two fingers!”

“I know you can do it, sweetheart,” his free hand went over to run over your sweaty hair, admiring every inch of you. “You wanna please that boy, don’t you? Little Simon?”

He was skillful with his fingers, perhaps from his job requirements. Although it’s still incredible how he managed to have you squirming, yelling how you’re about to cum in a matter of seconds. All he did was switch between pumping the two in you, creating the filthiest sounds, and reaching upwards to hit that certain spot of yours. You rubbed your clit with much concentration as you followed after his thrusts.

“Mr- oh.. Mr. Miller! I’m gonna cum, sir.”

“You’re gonna do that for me?” he grinned, pushing his fingers into you as deep as they could go. He maintained a steady pace, emphasizing pressure on that spongy spot up top that you’ve never managed to reach with your stubby fingers. “Pretty girl gonna cum from my fingers?”

“Yes, yes.. sir. Please.”

“Cum for me, darlin’” he whispered. “Show me how good you can be.”

Oh god, you're in a lot of trouble.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #tlou #tlou x reader #the last of us x reader #the last of us #tw age gap

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taexual · 3 months

Text

sleepwalking ● 19 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, ANGST & FLUFF (i mean it, watch out), SLOW BURN

words: 14.5k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 19 ► so dig two graves, ‘cause when you die, i swear i’ll be leaving by your side

When the tour bus arrived in Glasgow, you realised that you had slept perhaps a quarter of an hour in total tonight. Discomfort and Regret had become unwelcome companions that kept you up.

Last night, you had planned to talk to Jungkook, but he flipped the script and did all the talking instead. And if you had to describe your choices from then on, you’d have to accept that, essentially, you had run away without saying anything.

You realised now, through tossing and turning in your bunk the whole bus journey, that this was your recurring pattern.

When you and Jungkook first broke up, you’d barricaded yourself in your apartment and only ventured outside when it was unavoidable, like to go to work. Or when your friends forced you out of bed. They tolerated your need for silence in moderation—a few days of self-imposed isolation were okay. But two consecutive weeks was a little excessive.

In Stockholm, the impulse to run away had gripped you right after your conversation on the bridge sank abruptly in the waters below. In Oslo, you had actually run away after you’d almost kissed. You could still feel the shivers on your skin from the cold night air on the rooftop terrace. And, of course, you’d also planned to avoid him when you arrived in Manchester.

It was a pattern that was doomed to end in failure every time, yet you stubbornly refused to give it up.

You wanted to escape the feelings that frightened you, but they only ran faster. They chased after you like daunting shadows. They caught up with you. They engulfed you.

This perpetual cycle wasn’t just futile, it was also unfair—to you and to Jungkook. And to Rated Riot, too.

It had gone on for too long.

You were determined to redeem that today.

While Jungkook and the boys were doing an interview on a local radio station after the soundcheck, you chose to stay at the venue to work. Initially, you only intended to answer internal company emails and update the label executives, but unsurprisingly, that morphed into more tasks that needed your immediate attention.

Seated at your laptop in the band’s dressing room, you spent a good couple of hours finalising Rated Riot’s schedule for the rest of the week, emailing back journalists and verifying their credentials before issuing backstage passes for upcoming interviews, and humming along to a tune playing in your headphones.

It was then—during the chorus of an old Bad Omens song that was loud and messy enough to keep your mind alert and focused—that Seokjin decided to tap you on the back.

You jumped up as high as it was humanly possible and pushed your laptop away as if to protect it from intruders—which was what your mind assumed Seokjin to be, apparently. He took a step back, shocked and very entertained by your violent startle.

“Shit, sorry,” he said, attempting to suppress a smile. “You’ve been—you’ve been working here by yourself for hours. I’m taking a coffee break. Want to join me?”

With one hand pressed to your chest, you slid your headphones off and checked the time on the corner of your laptop screen. “Uh, sure. Coffee sounds nice.”

The two of you found a quaint café a few blocks from Barrowland where Rated Riot would be playing later that evening. But despite the cosy setting, you chose to grab your coffee to-go. It was a warm, sunny day outside. Seokjin thought you could use some fresh air.

“So,” he said eagerly, as soon as the café bell tinkled, announcing your exit, “what’s on your mind?”

You met his question with surprise. “What do you mean?”

He maintained an air of nonchalance, sipping his Americano and observing casually, “your pupils are massive. You look like you’re planning a revolution. Or a massacre.”

You took a sip of your drink and regretted not stirring the caramel in better. You wondered what it would be by the end of tonight: revolution or massacre.

“I was—well, it’s nothing much,” you said. “I was just thinking that things might be different when we got home.”

“How so?”

The two of you crossed the street towards a small, vibrant green space—not quite a park—with a tree-lined pathway in the middle and an old blue police box nearby, reminiscent of Doctor Who.

“Well,” you said, “I hear Brazil is really nice that time of year.”

“You’re thinking of going on holiday?” Seokjin asked, surprised. He’s known you since you joined the company, even before you started to manage Rated Riot, and he was well aware of your lack of holidays. The HR department, however, remained blissfully ignorant about it.

You shrugged. “For starters.”

“And then?”

“And then we’ll see.”

The ambiguity in your response wasn’t worrying in itself, but combined with your reluctance to meet his gaze and the intense concentration on your coffee—even though you winced every time you took a sip—it was certainly alarming.

“You’re not… going to quit, are you?” he asked hesitantly. “I’ve heard about Reconnaissance.”

Of course, he’d heard. At this point, enough people knew about it for the news to have a ripple effect and circulate backstage.

“No,” you said, trying to dispel the tension with an airy laugh. “Of course not.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“I’d find a replacement first.”

Seokjin’s casual stride came to an abrupt halt. A few steps ahead, you realised he’d stopped and turned around.

“No,” he said.

His firm declaration made you stutter. “Th-that—that wasn’t a question.”

“And that’s not an option,” he argued. “You can’t quit.”

“I’m not saying I’m leaving for sure. I’m just saying that if I did leave, you wouldn’t even notice the difference,” you said. “I’m a very good teacher.”

With that, you started to walk away, leaving him little choice but to catch up.

“And I love all of you guys,” you continued while Seokjin grunted next to you. “I wouldn’t leave you with someone I didn’t personally trust to take care of you and the band.”

He shook his head, his determination unwavering. If he had known about the band members’ conviction that no one would blame you if you left Rated Riot due to the alluring offer from Reconnaissance, Seokjin might have been tempted to express his disagreement with his fists.

Of course, people would blame you—Seokjin was the people in question.

You belonged here. You were an essential part of the team.

He was convinced of this, and he was going to be annoying about it.

“Okay, I appreciate that,” he said, his tone tinged with incredulity. “Except, what the fuck are you thinking? Of course, we’d notice the difference! You’re you. We love you.”

“That means a lot—”

“But not enough?”

You hesitated, caught off guard by the intensity of his anger. “No, it’s—”

“Alright, look.” He stopped walking again, the paper cup of coffee in his hand more of an accessory than a beverage. “Is this about Jungkook?”

An unexpected heat surged through you and a cascade of excuses immediately raced through your mind. You scanned the pathway, reading the names of the bands imprinted into the pavement with colourful stripes—artists who’d performed at Barrowland before, you assumed—so you wouldn’t have to look at him.

But this was Seokjin. If there was anyone who knew everything that was going on in the band, it was him. You didn’t want to give him pretend reasons.

“In part,” you admitted.

“Well, if that’s the case, then it’s an even more definite no,” he asserted, his resolve unyielding.

You sighed and attempted to smile, but there was a hint of awkwardness in your expression. “I’m not taking votes, Jin. I’ll talk to Jungkook about this, and—”

“You can talk to anyone you like. All the gods you can find, even,” he interrupted. “But you’re not leaving.”

“Jin—”

“Look, when you accepted this job, the fact that you and Jungkook used to know each other didn’t matter,” he stated, tactfully omitting the word ‘relationship’—a nuance you appreciated. “What difference does it make now?”

As you bit your lip and lowered your eyes, Seokjin sensed that there was a difference, after all. It occurred to him that perhaps he wasn’t entirely up to speed on everything that was happening on the tour, after all.

“Okay, you don’t want to talk about it, and I’m not asking you to,” he said, his words gentle, but his tone strict. “What I’m saying is that nobody cares. You can date, you can break up, you can—I don’t know. You can pretty much do anything as long as you don’t kill each other. No one cares.”

“The label cares,” you blurted, the words unpolished and agitated. “I care.”

He waved his free hand dismissively. “The label cares about profit. We’re making a profit from you both. Maybe even more when you’re together because you’re both less annoying that way.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “How are we annoying?”

“Are you kidding? All mopey and sulky?” He stuck his tongue out and pretended to gag. “You make me sick and miserable.”

You snickered softly at the dramatic display. “Fair. Sorry. But fact is, it’s still a good opportunity.”

“Well, sure,” he conceded. “But is that really the reason you want to leave? Or is it because you think that what you’re doing with Jungkook is wrong? You think others will disapprove or think less of you. You think this is highly unprofessional, and it would make more sense to work elsewhere.”

It felt oddly incongruous to hear him articulate—so easily, without a moment’s hesitation—everything that you had been thinking.

“Well, that’s a factor, too, of course…” you said, your voice faltering.

“I think that’s the main factor.”

Taking a sip of your coffee, you mumbled, “I think you think too much.”

“I think you don’t think enough,” he countered. “You can’t leave, not even for Reconnaissance. You’re part of the team, our team. We all are.”

You looked at him, and he raised his eyebrows expectantly—waiting, clearly, for you to admit defeat.

While you didn’t technically need his consent to quit, the sheer determination in his stance made you feel as though his approval was, indeed, a prerequisite for anyone choosing to leave.

“Now you’re making me feel guilty,” you said.

“As you should!” he said—nearly bellowing in his frustration. “But you should feel guilty about mistakenly thinking that you should leave. Not about being in love with him.”

His words struck a deep chord and your heart began to rattle violently in your chest. “I’m—right. Yeah. I need to talk to him about—about everything.”

His tone softened at your reaction.

“I think you should sit down for ten minutes and gather your thoughts before you do that,” he advised. “You should sit and accept that we don’t care if you go out with Jungkook. Whatever you decide, we’re all cool with it. As long as you are, too.”

Afraid that your eyes would betray your thoughts, you shifted your gaze to the silver barks of the graceful birch trees around you. “Do you know about the bet?”

Seokjin took a slow sip of his coffee to allow more time between these overlapping conversations.

“Yeah,” he said. “Is that... uh, have you two worked it out?”

“We’ve—I think we have. I think the bet wasn’t even the main issue, actually, it just—it sort of highlighted all our problems,” you admitted. “We—we’ll have to work through the rest.”

“Right. Okay,” he said. The sun rolled out from behind the buildings, casting a golden glow on the trees and the empty path ahead of you. He squinted and took a sip of his coffee before speaking. “Well, then I can safely tell you that everyone backstage knows about it.”

The disappointment on your face was absolute. “Oh. That—that’s lovely.”

He smiled sympathetically as the two of you continued down the faintly coloured path. Despite the sunshine, the cool breeze toyed relentlessly with the edges of your jackets.

“Don’t worry about it too much, though,” he said. “It’s nothing more than a silly joke backstage. We’re not judging either of you.”

You did worry about it. “What… do you mean by ‘silly joke,’ exactly?”

The two of you arrived at a large sycamore tree with leaves that glimmered in emerald hues under the sun, and Seokjin stopped, grateful for the shade.

“One of the roadies started it,” he explained. “It was just a game. A bet, actually! Funny.” He chuckled at the irony, but stopped himself when he noticed your stoic expression. “Anyway. Someone suggested that Jungkook’s friends were trying to sabotage your relationship by making this bet with him. So, we bet on Jungkook fighting his friends for you. Which—that cost me money, actually. When he showed up at the airport in Cologne with a black eye, I lost fifty euros.”

It took you a minute to process this, and you felt so uncomfortable that your fists itched with an urge to fight someone, too.

“You—so, you bet that he wouldn’t fight his friends?” you clarified, almost hopeful.

“No. I bet that he would,” he said. “But I got too big-headed and bragged about how he wouldn’t miss a single punch. So, everyone claimed that I lost and took my money. Really, I thought he knew how to fight. And he was doing it for a noble cause.” A dramatic pause ensued, and then Seokjin smirked. “I mean you, by the way.”

“No, yeah, I got that,” you said bitterly. “But you didn’t even know the actual—everyone just assumed he had a black eye because of me?”

He pulled his lips together to stifle a chuckle as he moved his cup of coffee away.

“Can you blame us?” he asked with a leisurely shrug. “He’s in love with you, and his friends are complete idiots. And then he shows up with a black eye! The dots connected themselves. Although, personally, I thought Luna or Maggie could have socked him in the eye, too. You three are very protective of each other.”

You tilted your head, your posture a warning. “I see. So, we’re a telenovela to you. Did you bet that I would knock someone out if I found out what you were up to?”

“Not yet,” he said, clearly delighted by the prospect of this happening in the future.

“Did you get your money back at least?”

“Yeah. But then I lost it again.”

The leaves of the sycamore tree rustled impatiently as you groaned. “How?”

“Another bet,” he said. “Some people—including Jimin, by the way—thought that Jungkook’s friends would never come to another Rated Riot show. In the UK specifically. We were very specific about the details in this bet.”

“Right, of course.”

He smirked, unapologetic about the amusement he derived from this. There were all sorts of games happening backstage at any given point in the tour; nearly everything became a joke here. And Seokjin hoped to show you that yes, people did know about you and Jungkook. But unless they could find ways to make it funny, they didn’t care.

He could tell that the more he talked to you about this, the more you started to recognise the absurdity of it all, too.

“Right. Well, Jimin won that round. I actually—I thought Jungkook would change his mind and bring his friends back,” Seokjin confessed. “Serves me right. I should have trusted him more.”

You raised your cup in his direction.

“Yeah,” you said. “Serves you right for making bets about this. He blacklisted Sid.”

“He—oh!” Seokjin seemed very pleased to hear this. “Well, that was worth my money, then.”

“Hmm.”

He grinned, the mischief still lingering in his eyes.

“We have another bet going on,” he said.

“Anoth—well, of course.” Your teeth dug into the coffee lid as you tried to take a sip, but reconsidered. “So, what? Who’s getting a black eye this time?”

“It’s whether you’ll get back together.”

Your irritation wavered in surprise. A rustling stirred inside you as though you had swallowed the wind and carried it within.

“Well,” you said. “Where’d you place your bets?”

“Drink your coffee,” he said. You did. It had cooled and turned unpleasantly sweet as the caramel settled. “I haven’t bet on that yet. But if you told me if you’re considering going back to him, I could win my money back.”

You made sure to swallow before looking up.

“That’s not solely up to me, though,” you said, sensing an obvious defensive undertone in your own voice. You didn’t make much effort to conceal it; he would have read right through you anyway. “A relationship typically involves two people. I can’t force him to be in it.”

Seokjin offered a patient smile.

“Please,” he said. “Everyone knows he’d burn down half of Europe for you.”

You swallowed again.

It was just you. The only one still fighting it.

“Well, in any case—” Seokjin said, distracted, suddenly, by a particularly cheeky pigeon that kept flying up to your ankles, then to your knees. “That bird is going to steal your coffee.”

You glanced down, and the shift in your position frightened the pigeon into flying a few metres away. Seokjin nodded in approval.

“Anyway,” he said. “What I meant to say is that I don’t know how much my opinion is worth, but if the only reason you’re considering quitting is because of this, then that’s nothing. You sit down, you work through your problems, you get back together, and you’re good to go. Well, good to stay. It’s up to you. No one else cares.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Everyone’s talking. They’re making bets about us. We—we’re a joke backstage. And yet you think we should get back together?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Give us something else to bet on.”

Exasperation flashed across your face. “I’m thinking I’d like to sic that pigeon on you a little bit.”

“Oh, but what would you do without me?” He was grinning in a manner so endearing and genuine that you felt your lips stretch into a defeated smile as well. “You know we’re family. That is what we do. And you said it yourself – everyone’s already talking. And no one’s truly bothered by it. You might as well do what you want.”

You took a big gulp of your coffee to finish it.

Some of the humour faded from his eyes while he watched you. He looked around—to make sure the pigeon hadn’t returned and to gather his thoughts.

“Just think about it, okay?” he said. “You know how they say ‘measure twice, cut once’? Why don’t you measure three times? Four, even. Five. Or, I don’t know, as many times as it takes until you realise that there’s no need to cut anything. Everything’s great as it is.”

Your face felt warm. “That’s very profound.”

“It is.” He nodded, his exaggerated confidence faltering a little when he saw the gratitude in your eyes and suddenly found himself timid. “I’ve also got a few carpentry jokes if you’re in the mood for those.”

Laughing finally, you shook your head. “Maybe later. But thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “And notice how I’m not saying ‘anytime’? Because there can’t be another time that this happens. In fact, the next time I see you, it’ll be as if we never had this conversation.”

Still smiling despite his threatening tone, you put your palm to your forehead and extended your fingers in a salute. “Sir, yes, sir.”

He nodded, content with your response.

“Now go back to that café and bring me a scone,” he ordered, his expression bright again. “I got distracted by your misery and forgot to buy one.”

You snorted and nodded—you did owe him a scone, at the very least. Seokjin stepped deeper into the shade by the tree and waited while you jogged back towards the café. He looked up to see your lighthearted expression reflected in the window across the street and felt himself exhale in relief.

He’d done his job—you knew everyone needed you here.

You returned to the venue with enough scones for the whole staff, and as you passed them out, almost everyone on the team regarded you with a mix of curiosity and anticipation. It was a nice change from their earlier concerns about your health, but you still felt uncomfortable.

There was an obvious reason you enjoyed working backstage: here, you successfully evaded the spotlight. You did your work quietly and got to spend time with your friends.

But lately, you’d been feeling everyone’s eyes on you and, naturally, your instinctive reaction was to flee. Really, this had to be inherent; you wondered if your brother shared a similar flight-or-flight-never-fight response when confronted with an uncomfortable situation.

And still, you forced yourself to wait.

Following your conversation with Seokjin, you decided on the key points that you needed to discuss with Jungkook. And they were simple: share your thoughts with him and make a decision together.

You’ve never really tried this with him before; open communication was a recent development for the two of you. But you meant what you told Seokjin: a relationship involved two people. And regardless of what -ship you and Jungkook were currently in, your decisions still influenced his, and his influenced yours.

You had hoped to speak to him after he returned from his interview, but it was almost funny how time worked against you today.

After the band returned, you went to help Jungkook with his bandages, and the company executives decided to respond to your email with a phone call. And so, you were forced to stay on the phone with the label the whole time before Rated Riot went on stage.

That was okay. You figured you would talk to Jungkook later.

But later just wouldn’t come.

After the concert, you waited for the band to finish taking pictures with their fans before you took them to another interview with several more radio hosts. And when you returned to the bus, the curtains on Jungkook’s bunk were drawn. You didn’t want to wake him in case he was asleep.

The only time you finally had direct contact with Jungkook was on the plane to London. He surprised you by approaching you from behind and casually lifting your carry-on to the overhead compartment. Then, as though he hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary, he turned around to return to his seat.

“Wait,” you called out. “Can I—can we talk? Yoongi said he’d switch seats with me.”

Jungkook stopped, his stomach sinking. He was the undefeated champion of misinterpreting situations—he hadn’t forgotten how your conversation had ended last night, but he still thought this was about Sid.

Because while you were beating yourself up about your avoidant tendencies, Jungkook was grappling with a different problem.

Since this morning, he had been bombarded with incessant text messages from an unknown number that ranged from vaguely bothersome (“UR SO DUMB LMSAO”) to genuinely threatening (“DNOT THINK THS IS OVER YOU FUCKVING CUNT”). All texts contained a certain distinctiveness: full capitalisation, typos, and a disturbing scent of wounded ego.

It was Sid, Jungkook was absolutely sure of it.

He seemed to be in a white powder induced frenzy, which wasn’t particularly unusual—Jungkook didn’t think he could remember the last time Sid had been completely sober—but the frequency of the texts was a little unsettling. Jungkook thought the bet was over now, even if Sid wasn’t satisfied. But clearly, Sid was craving something more.

Jungkook wasn’t sure how you would know about this or why you would bring it up now, but he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket again, and he thought this had to be the reason why.

“Sure,” he said, trying to mask his apprehension. He turned on airplane mode on his phone and looked up. “What’s, uh—what’s going on?”

You gestured at his seat. He sat down with bated breath—as if his life was about to change and he needed to brace for it—and waited for you to settle beside him.

“I wanted to, uh, explain myself,” you began as the plane filled. The rhythmic sound of people shuffling across the aisle was oddly soothing. Jungkook, however, appeared perplexed. “And to thank you, actually. For being there when I—well, when all of that happened. I’m sorry I caused—”

“You’ve already thanked me,” he interjected. “And you better not tell me that you’re apologising for fainting right now.”

“I’m—well, I’m just saying, you were right,” you said, disheartened by the disbelief in his eyes. You placed your water bottle on the fold-out tray and shifted in your seat. “I should have known better. Rested more. I guess what I’m saying is that I’m sorry I didn’t listen, and it all led to... that.”

He sighed. This wasn’t about Sid; this was about something worse.

“That’s who you are, though,” he said. He should have known this would be something you would blame yourself for once you recovered. “You always have to get everything done, or you—you can’t sleep. You need to, uh, work on that, but you don’t need to apologise for it.”

You looked down, tracing a shaky finger over the armrest between your seats.

“And,” he added before you could speak, “to be fair, a lot of things that happened on tour were actually out of your control. You had no choice but to put in extra time and effort, I guess. The stage constructions collapsed, the venue was flooded—”

“Right, but these—well, anyway,” you cut yourself off, reverting to your original train of thought. “I’m sorry you had to drop everything a-and worry about me. Well, not just you; the whole thing ended up being a big scene that disrupted everyone. But I—I wanted to say this to you, first of all.”

He observed you for a long moment. Between the truce you’ve decided on in your hotel room, the conversation he’d overheard about your meeting with Nick, and the disturbing messages from an unknown number, Jungkook was having a hard time comprehending what he’d done to warrant an apology from you right now.

Then, a troubling thought occurred to him: what if this was your way of saying goodbye?

He had let you go last night. What if you had decided to leave, and this was the prelude to the end of your time together?

“I’m—I didn’t have to do it,” he said. “I did it because I—well, I mean, you were passed out. Of course, I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He leaned forward in his seat. “It kind of sounds like you’re forgetting that you’re not just the manager here. You’re also my—uh, y-you’re our friend. We all would have acted the same way if it had been anyone else. It’s an ‘all for one, and one for all’ situation with us. You know that.”

He was right; your team had grown so close that none of you would have hesitated to help each other. Your unease simply stemmed from the fact that you were the one receiving help this time.

You swallowed. You thought you owed him an explanation about everything, but you haven’t even really gotten to it yet.

“Thank you,” you said. “For what you said and—and for what you did. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

He gave you a hesitant smile. “Was I really so terrible at taking care of you that it made you change your workaholic ways?”

You raised your eyebrows, surprised by the gentle teasing in his words.

“No, you di—you were great. Except for the fact that you didn’t need to do that,” you said, shooting him a look that he promptly rolled his eyes at. You added, “I say that with gratitude, of course. But, um, I felt very uncomfortable just lying there while everyone else—well, can’t let that happen again. Anyway, this isn’t—”

“I hope it won’t happen again,” he interrupted. “But it’s—well, you’ve spent your whole life taking care of... everything. Your brother, your mum, uh, e-even me. It’s second nature to you, I don’t know how else to—you can’t help but actively try to fix things. So, I-I don’t mind being the person who reminds you to take it easy sometimes. I just want you to listen.”

He’d said something very similar to you last night and you dug your teeth into your lower lip so you wouldn’t argue.

You thought you weren’t doing a very good job of fixing things—nevermind that you’ve subconsciously turned absolutely everything around you into your personal responsibility, and it was simply unrealistic to take care of it all.

“Thank you,” you chose to say. “I just, um—I don’t want you to think I’m talking to you so you’d make me feel better. You don’t need to do that. And it’s my turn to expla—”

He whipped his head to look at you so suddenly—an almost offended expression on his face—that the rest of your sentence got caught in your throat.

“Wh—why do you always think that?” he asked. “That I do something for you because I feel like I have to?”

“I don’t—I know you’re not—ah.” Leaning back in your seat, you attempted to rearrange your thoughts as if you were shuffling stubborn cards in a deck—trying to find the one you needed to win a game against yourself. “That’s not even the main thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Okay,” he said, a little worried. “What is the main thing?”

It took you a moment to find your breath.

“The conversation that we had last night—well, not just last night, actually, it’s been happening for a while. But, uh, last night specifically—it wasn’t supposed to end like that,” you said. He lowered his eyes. “That’s what I wanted to, um—to bring up. Because we’re not talking again, you know? I mean—okay. That’s not true. You are talking. But I’m not. I-I think it’s still new to me that we’re—that we’re actually talking about things. About everything. I’m sorry I haven’t said much to you in return.”

You exhaled when you finished speaking—finished stammering, really—but you didn’t feel relieved. There was a lot more you had to say.

Jungkook, on the other hand, felt his thoughts drift back to Amsterdam once again, when he had entered your hotel room to apologise, and you told him you forgave him and apologised in return. He remembered the pained, laboured beating of his heart as he listened to you—thinking, all the while, that he had no right to want you all for himself.

Now, he had some additional time to think about how to respond, because the flight attendant started the safety demonstration at the front of the plane, preparing for take-off.

He fastened his seatbelt, relieved by the silence on his phone—but the quiet pause between you as the plane lifted off the runway felt very loud in his head.

“You know,” he said after a few minutes, “you find the weirdest things to feel guilty about.”

You furrowed your brows while Jungkook idly twirled the onyx signet ring on his index finger.

“You’re never obligated to respond to what I tell you,” he said. “I didn’t say any of those things to you in Manchester in exchange for your immediate forgiveness, or for some similar stories, or for—anything, really. You don’t owe me anything. I just wanted to tell you everything, and that’s it.”

“I-I get that,” you shifted in your seat, restricted by the seatbelt, “but I’m your manager. And I-I left you in a confusing, stressful situation by yourself when I refused to talk to you right away. That was—it was unprofessional at best, and cruel at—”

“You’re more than that to me, though,” he cut in. You gripped the armrest tighter. “You know that. And you didn’t… leave me in that situation as my manager. You left me there as my ex-girlfriend. You have that right. You were confused and stressed, too.”

Your gaze slid over his black and grey flannel and the t-shirt with a Rated Riot logo underneath. The plane cruised at the designated altitude, but you still felt pushed into your seat like you had during take-off.

“I don’t—I’m not sure those two roles can be separated any longer,” you admitted.

Oh, whispered an alarmed pang of his heart. And, oh? echoed the multitude of shivers rippling underneath his skin.

“What are you saying?” he asked.

You drew in a breath. You didn’t want to start from the beginning because you had a feeling that he might not let you get to the end, so you decided to start from the explanation—the one that you’d come here to give him, but kept getting sidetracked as he responded to you in ways you weren’t anticipating.

“People on tour,” you began, “are very invested in our, uh—situation.”

Jungkook arched an eyebrow. “They’re invested?”

“Apparently, we’re a popular topic backstage.”

Quickly enough, he thought he figured out your implication: if he hadn’t played along with Sid, the staff on this tour might have been having very different conversations.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“No, that’s not—well, it’s not just your fault,” you replied. “It takes two, right?”

“Right, but I was the one who made the bet.”

“You—okay. But this isn’t about the bet—” you paused. Reconsidered. “Well, alright, the bet sort of kick-started a lot of things, but it’s not—that’s not the problem from my point of view right now.”

Oh, once more. And then, ah.

You were talking, he realised, about the things you didn’t want to talk about in your hotel room in Manchester. The things you’ve affectionately labelled as “a confusing, stressful situation.” The things you were supposed to discuss later, when the time was right. Except he had succumbed to the terminal case of nothing-matters-anymore-if-you’re-leaving-the-band and got drunk instead.

“Okay,” he said. “That’s… fine with me.”

“Alright,” you said. “So, here’s our problem: I’m your manager.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows and pulled his chin back.

“If that’s our only problem,” he said, “we are very lucky people.”

A brief smile flickered on your face.

“It’s our biggest problem,” you clarified. “But we definitely are lucky.”

Encouraged by the amusement in your eyes, he grinned. “Because we have each other?”

Your smile grew and even the plane itself seemed to shake a little when his heart rate accelerated at the sight of it.

“Because we can solve this problem,” you said.

His face fell. He thought he could guess where you were going with this.

“How do you mean?” he still asked, his voice a low murmur.

You thought you could have used some of the whiskey that Jungkook had sought out last night.

With a measured breath, you said, “I leave the band, and—”

“Wait,” he cut you off. “Is that supposed to be—”

“Hear me out first—”

“No, listen—if the problem is that you’re my manager,” he said, “then you leaving Rated Riot is not the solution.”

Jungkook sounded a little like Seokjin had earlier—a stark contrast from the way he’d spoken to you last night by the bus.

“Are you suggesting that because people are talking about us backstage?” he pressed.

You turned away. “It’s not just that. I mean, they’re already talking and that’s—well, it’s not great. But we can’t stop the wheel from turning now, or however that saying goes. What we can do, however, is stop it before it gets worse. And by that I mean, you know—we need to decide what the hell we’re doing.”

That was what he wanted, he thought. But now he was confused.

You seemed to want to make a decision about your relationship together. Yet you also seemed to believe that leaving Rated Riot was the best option. He failed to see how both of these things were possible at the same time.

“So, you’ve made up your mind, then?” he asked. “About leaving?”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” you said. “I don’t want to leave the band, but—”

“Well, that’s the thing, then,” he said sharply, unfastening his seatbelt. Turning to face you, he stumbled over his own confusion, “I’m—I don’t want to hold you back. I told you. But I thought you—I thought it would be—I thought you wanted to leave. I thought—but you want to stay. So, stay.”

Stay.

It was very simple, really, very concise. But it carried a lot more weight than his words last night when he had caught you off guard. When he had let you go.

You wanted to stay. You just didn’t think you should.

Your response wasn’t particularly verbal. “Hmm.”

“Is it me?” Jungkook asked. “Am I the only reason you’re thinking of leaving?”

He didn’t sound accusatory, even though you were prepared for it. He sounded apologetic instead—almost guilty—and you were completely unprepared for that as a million tiny needles pricked at your heart.

“You’re not the only reason,” you replied. “You’re part of it. And I don’t—look, I-I don’t want to leave. But that sounds reasonable when you look at where we are right now.”

He heard nothing of what you’d said.

“That’s not reasonable in the slightest,” he insisted.

“Jungkook—”

“You have to stay. If you—”

“But if that’s the choice that would make more sense for us,” you interjected, exasperated, “then I don’t mind leaving. If—if we weren’t working together anymore, then maybe we could try to finally figure our shit out.”

Now he heard it.

He had a vague awareness that the other passengers behind you had turned off their screens and removed their headphones, choosing to listen to your conversation instead. But he was too stunned by the look in your eyes to care.

So, that was what you were trying to say: you were prepared to leave Rated Riot to fix your relationship.

He opened his mouth to speak, but it took another minute for coherent words to come to him.

“We can—we can figure our shit out while working together,” he said. “Why do you have to leave?”

“It’s—you have to understand,” you said, “that I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m pretty sure neither do you, but that’s how you usually function.” Jungkook sobered up enough to offer a noncommittal shrug. You continued, “but for me—this is freaking me out. I don’t—I don’t know what’s going to happen and what we should do, and—leaving the band sounds—it seems reasonable. It seems safe. Smart. And that’s what I’m clinging to.”

He swallowed, not trusting himself to move. “But that’s—”

“Please, it’s—this is what I wanted to say to you—what I should have said to you last night.” There was a pleading tone in your voice. He nodded, quiet while you continued. “If I stay with Rated Riot, and we try to solve our problems… there are only two ways that can go, right? We both know as much. Either we get back together, or we don’t.”

Jungkook was mesmerised by how glaringly simple this was, in principle: either you used a label on your relationship, or you didn’t.

He knew he was going to love you either way, but he couldn’t breathe, suddenly, at the thought of this other choice in this dilemma—the choice where you didn’t get back together, and he spent the rest of his life deliberately going crazy, so he could return—at least in his mind—to that day seven years ago when he first met you.

“Well, uh, yeah,” he managed to say. “That’s pretty much the choices that we’ve got.”

You reclined in your seat, lifting your gaze to the light control buttons overhead.

“If we get back together…” you began, exhaling. “Then, we might have to face a lot of problems from the label. But we might be alright in the end. I don’t know.”

Jungkook tightened his jaw. He attempted to formulate a response that would be logical and appropriate in this situation. But really, his head felt too small for his thoughts and his tongue too big for his mouth.

“That’s… that’s good to know,” he eventually said.

“Mhmm,” you replied distractedly. “But see, what if we don’t get back together? Or we do, but it doesn’t work out?”

That was what worried him, too—but for different reasons.

He knew that you were looking at this from a pragmatic perspective. A logical, what-would-make-more-sense perspective.

He didn’t think he’d ever looked at it this way. For him, this was simple: he loved you and wanted to be with you. He didn’t care how inconvenient and illogical it might seem to those around him, and he refused to think about what would happen if this love didn’t work out. It would have to. How could it not?

But he recognised his privileges; he knew he didn’t have as many responsibilities as you did. And, alright, fine, he thought about it—realistically, if you broke up again, he’d probably drink until he turned into a puddle of whiskey, while you’d flee across the globe to get away from it all.

And yet—was that all there was to this? Just rationality and calculated decisions?

Jungkook cleared his throat and asked the question that he believed really mattered here.

“Do you love me?”

Someone on the plane gulped audibly and held their breath. He wondered if it was him.

The colour of your eyes deepened, then blurred. “I-I—that’s—that’s not—”

“Answer me,” he whispered.

You tried, but no words came out. This moment resembled the nightmares that haunted you lately: you opened your mouth to scream, but silence stifled every sound you tried to make.

“T-that’s—” you began and stopped yourself before you could stutter any further. You took a breath. “That’s not important right now—”

“How can it not be—”

“Because I do love you,” you said quickly—the words slurred into one desperate Idoloveyou, a hopeless Idoloveyou, a how-can-you-possibly-expect-me-not-to Idoloveyou. “But I don’t think I should. I don’t think you should, either. We’re a—we’re a fucking mess.”

Visibly frozen, Jungkook found himself thinking that if this was the sixteenth century, and the two of you just happened to have this conversation in some public square, the townsfolk would have surely accused you of witchcraft.

It was uncanny, the way you cast a spell on him with just four words—all four of which he heard with perfect clarity: I do love you. Granted, he wasn’t sure if he heard the rest. He felt like he was already burning in your place.

“Right,” he thought he said. He couldn’t feel his face. “But we’ve always—”

“I’m—I have to—I do owe you,” you said. He watched you, his expression oscillating between mild confusion and outright bewilderment. “You said I don’t, but I do. I could have told you what was going on in my head like you told me. Honestly, all this time, whenever I talked to people, they all told me to speak to you. To talk it out. And I closed up in my head instead. If I don’t talk about it, I don’t have to deal with it. You know?”

He blinked, finally. “That’s—”

“I’ll explain it, though, okay?” you said. “Please?”

You gave him too much power—as if he could ever say no to you. As if he could stop listening. As if every fibre of his being didn’t ache to stay close to you.

Warm—so unbearably warm that it felt like he was in the middle of exploring the landscapes Dante depicted in Inferno—Jungkook wiped off the sweat from his palms on his dark jeans.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay.”

“It won’t take long,” you assured. “Really, I don’t even have much to say. I’m fucking scared. That’s all there is to it.”

Jungkook seemed to be practising the lost art of swallowing his tongue. He wanted you to continue and you were biting your lip in a way that suggested that this was not all there was to it. You only wished it was.

You took a trembling breath, and your lungs followed—quivering, it seemed, as they tried to provide you with the oxygen necessary for all that you were about to say.

“I spent the first fifteen years of my life watching my parents break up and get back together again,” you began. “And do you know what I felt every single time they broke up? Actual rage.” You laughed wryly here like this reaction was absurd. “But when they got back together, I was fucking—I was hopeful. I refused to speak to them, of course—I was a teenager—but I was… Inside, just like my mum, I also hoped that this would work. That this time would be the one.”

You swallowed and lapsed into a silence so long and heavy that Jungkook worried you might never speak again.

Fifteen years, he thought. And all this time, he’d assumed that your dad left for the final time when you were twelve. That was already bad enough, of course, but Jungkook hadn’t realised that the back-and-forth between your parents that you’d mentioned back in Tilburg had taken place after that. He hadn’t realised that you and your brother had gone through three years of almost having a father—and your mum through almost having a partner.

“I knew they were a tragedy together,” you continued. Jungkook didn’t know how to raise his eyes to look at you. “It was obvious that it wouldn’t last. I always knew it, and I always said that to my mum. But deep down, I still fucking hoped that they’d get together and it would work.”

You shook your head with a cold, unforgiving smile.

“How fucking stupid,” you concluded. “All hope does is bring misery and disappointment.”

“You were a child,” he said, his brows drawn together—sad and a little scared for your younger self. “You just wanted your parents to be together. You wanted a family.”

“Yeah,” you said with a sigh. Then again, “yeah.”

A minute passed without either of you speaking. Flight attendants crossed the aisles, offering complimentary snacks, but missing you—either by mistake or because there was no one in your seats on the plane. The two of you were somewhere else.

“I think,” you said once the commotion around you quieted, “that I wasn’t just angry at my mum for trying again and again, even though it never worked. Or for never losing hope that maybe they could be happy together. I think I was also angry at myself. Because I never truly lost hope, either.”

Jungkook hung his head, his lips tight in silent contemplation.

“So that’s what I’m afraid of,” you said. “I’m scared that this—us—will turn out to be like that. I’m scared that we’ll let wishful thinking take over, and we’ll get back together even though we shouldn’t. Even though it’s obvious that we won’t last.”

Right away, he wanted to insist that you would defy those odds. That there was nothing obvious about the two of you whatsoever. He wanted to promise all that and more, but it wasn’t right—not after you endured fifteen years of broken promises between two of the most important people in your life.

“You, um—” he started to say and coughed suddenly, caught off guard by his dry throat, “—you told me before that you admired your mum’s courage. F-for trying again.”

You handed him the overpriced airport water bottle that you had bought earlier. Jungkook nodded in gratitude.

“I did,” you confirmed. “And I do admire that about her. But I don’t have any of her courage.” You brought a shaky finger over your forehead, not quite scratching it. “I always say that I don’t believe in second chances, but the truth is, I think I do believe in them. I’m just debilitated by my fear that these second chances might not work out.”

Jungkook lowered the bottle. He’d emptied almost half of it in a single gulp, but an anxious undercurrent inside of him had absorbed it before he could feel any relief.

“Is that, um,” he tried to ask, “is that something you feel in general or—or because it’s us?”

You thought about that for half a second and shook your head.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in a situation where a second chance held so much significance,” you said. “This isn’t a mistake that you can fix. It’s not a human error. It’s you and me. And it’s so—it’s final. There won’t be another chance for us, it’s now or never. And what if it’s never?”

You lowered your gaze, your fingers restless as they toyed with the sleeves of your black shirt. Every now and then, you’d lift your hand to your bare neck—you still hadn’t found any of your necklaces—as if seeking a distraction from the weight of the moment.

“Y-you are—you’re my—” you tried and couldn’t. Finally, you looked at him, and the words you couldn’t voice were right there, shimmering uncertainly in his dark eyes. “You’re my first thought in the morning and the last one at night. I don’t think my heart could take it if I started to have hope for us again, but we didn’t work out in the end.”

Jungkook felt his heart trip over several beats—

Stumble down his ribs—

Crash into his stomach—

Roll around the hollow cavities somewhere at the very bottom—

Rise suddenly, all the way back to his chest—

Expand—

And explode, it seemed. In a flash of light so vivid and intense that for a minute or two, his blood stopped running and he survived on nothing but the words you’d just said.

“And so that’s what I meant,” you finished, and he struggled to hear your next words over the loud pounding in his chest. “If I stay here and we don’t get back together—or we do, but not for long—then what? We see each other every day, we try to act like nothing’s wrong, we learn how to go back to being professional, and then four years later, you make another bet?”

Jungkook found the end of your sentence so utterly unexpected that he wasn’t sure if he had even heard you correctly. His response was half of a gasp and a fractured “I—” before you cut him off.

“I’m joking,” you said with a gentle smile—one that managed to feel both, very fitting and completely out of place in this situation. “That’s—well, that is why I think it’d be more reasonable for me to leave. That way, I think, we could figure it out without some dramatic, tragic consequences in case it, uh—in case something goes wrong.”

“R-right,” he said. A warm haze settled on his face in a delicate shade of pink. It appeared almost soft to the touch. “I… I understand. I-I don’t—I don’t know if there’s anything I can say that would take that away. All of your fear.”

You swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. There might not be anything to say at all.”

Jungkook hurriedly ran his tongue over his lips. He wasn’t thinking about you leaving right now. He was thinking about you staying and fighting through it.

He wanted to say something more, but he didn’t think he could mend these particular wounds in your heart. They ran deeper than his love could reach.

It wasn’t him that you should have talked to about this. It wasn’t him that could help you reach an agreement—or, at least, an understanding—with your own self.

“You should talk to your mum,” he said.

You looked up from the floor of the plane, surprised. “What?”

“Talk to her,” he repeated. “Just to hear what she thinks about everything. To hear her reasoning. To understand why she made the choices that she did. I think that would be good for you both.”

Your surprise deepened and gained an edge. You looked alarmed, as if the notion that a caregiver could ease your hurt rather than deepen it was new and foreign.

“I’ve—we’ve never—my mum and I have only talked about her relationship with my dad maybe once in our whole lives,” you said. “I have never even talked to her about my own relationship. You know I haven’t.”

He nodded solemnly. “I have, though.”

“What?” you asked. There was a ringing in your ears. “You have—you’ve talked to—to my mum? About—”

“I’m sure she’ll tell you everything.”

For a good minute, you watched him with an expression that held more questions than possible ways of asking them.

“I—I’m very confused right now,” you managed.

He nodded again, understanding, but still not offering any explanations.

He’d told you most of everything, really—he’d called those bits of the story “Haunting” and “Cursed.” But the rest of it had to be something you pieced together on your own.

For a long time, he had imagined this to be something that would hit you years later, perhaps when you would accidentally hear an old Rated Riot song. You’d think no, it can’t be, and you’d rush home. You’d pull out the albums, the track lists, and the lyrics.

And you’d know.

These conversations with your mum were his far side of the moon—invisible, but still present, still heavy.

These conversations were his thoughts and hopes and countless fears.

They were everything he brought to Rated Riot and everything he expressed in the recording booth, in Namjoon’s studio, and on stage.

They were his past and his present, and someone else’s future.

They were him without you, but still searching for you every morning when he woke up.

They were you, you, you.

Everything he’d ever talked to your mum about had been his songs. And all his songs had always been a tale about you—in every banal, every impossible narrative he could find within himself.

They were about seeing you and growing wings.

About kissing you and coming home.

About losing you and bleeding out.

About forever and five minutes that don’t mean anything once they’re over.

“I’m sorry,” he said, not capable of much else. “I needed her help with something. I didn’t really tell her anything, uh, directly, so to speak. But she—she knows. She’ll tell you everything. It’s just, um—you have to talk to her, too. You have to tell her what you told me.”

Airplanes, you realised suddenly, made it very easy to force yourself to stop running away. There was nowhere to escape—you could see the clouds reflected in his eyes and you were already falling in them anyway.

“I’ll talk to her,” you said.

Jungkook gave you a small nod and scratched his knee absentmindedly.

“I want you to stay,” he stated. “With the band. It’s—it’s selfish, but it’s the truth. I’ve always tried to encourage you to stop thinking so much a-and just do what you wanted, and this—this is what you want, despite your fear. You want to stay.”

You looked at him with a forlorn expression and he felt his hands twitch at his sides.

“But what will we do?” you asked.

“We’ll figure it out,” he promised. “I mean, we’ve gotten this far, right? So, give us a chance. We’re not completely hopeless. We can... talk our way through it all, step by step.”

You’ve talked your way through a lot and you have gotten this far, that was true. Even if the journey hadn’t been pleasant.

Seokjin had told you earlier today that as long as you stayed with the band, no one would care about what happened next. And, really, no matter how you looked at it, this was what it all boiled down to: it was just you.

Only you—afraid of what others will say, afraid of getting hurt and hurting him again, afraid of doing too much, and afraid of not doing enough.

“I’m—” you tried, “w-we don’t know what will happen. That’s why I’m—”

“I know,” he said. “And you’re right. We don’t know what will happen. That’s fucking terrifying. I’m scared, too.”

He did look a little scared, but he licked his lips and successfully collected himself.

The two of you were so close to meeting in the middle and taking that first step together—just a little more strain between your shaking, outstretched hands.

“And I-I know that the bet is another thing that—that might make it harder for you to believe that we can—that we can work it out,” he added, spinning his ring around his finger twice more. “But I want you to know that it—the bet was a fucked up thing to do. But it gave me a reason to talk to you about everything that I already wanted to talk to you about. I’m—even without the bet, I would have approached you, eventually. It just—I was fucking scared, so it might have taken me longer.”

It wasn’t just you.

Fear was in the epicentre of everything you were saying to each other. It was like the wind in every city you visited on this tour—inescapable, uncontrollable, persistent.

He was afraid, too—of trying and failing. Afraid of getting his heart broken and breaking yours. Afraid of never finding the forever that he desperately wanted with you.

“My point is,” Jungkook finished, “I think this is inevitable, because—well, let’s be honest,” he chuckled softly, trying to lessen the gravity of his confession, “all I’d ever wanted in my entire fucked-up life was you.”

Your breath trembled.

Something very deep inside of you wanted you to believe that inevitability was meant for the two of you, too.

“It’s been four years, though,” you said with a faint shake of your head. “What if it takes us another four to find a way to make this work?”

“It—well, I don’t really care how long it takes, to be honest,” he said. “I’m going to die yours.”

He said that and your heart stopped beating for a moment to listen.

To wait.

To make one thing very clear for you: you would never survive losing him again.

And you were scared—completely petrified—to find yourself in a situation where losing him was possible. Where it was likely.

Jungkook saw it on your face. He saw everything—the anguish, the pain, the doubt, the fear.

But he felt a little exhilarated to find the fight in your eyes, too. This fight was the reason you were talking to him about things that you’ve never talked about. It was the reason you were here.

“We’ll decide everything else when the idea of—of trying again doesn’t scare you so much anymore,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “When you hear your mum’s point of view, and you can make a, uh—an informed decision.”

He noted that there was something softer in your eyes when you looked at him again, but he could still discern the lingering edges of doubt.

“You think that’ll help me make an informed decision?” you asked, touched by his choice of words.

“I hope it will,” he replied. “But we can work it all out, either way. I just think you need to talk to her. It’s been so long.”

“Right. It has been.” You clasped your hands around your neck and tucked your chin between your palms. “It—it probably won’t be an easy conversation, though.”

“Nor will it be short, I imagine.”

“Hmm. Probably not.”

He sensed the growing distance between you as your eyes ran over the back of the seat in front of you. He knew you well enough to understand what you were doing: you were mapping out the rest of your story in your head.

He didn’t like that. Your stories rarely had happy endings.

“You don’t—don’t start planning it ahead, though,” he said hastily—before you reached the unhappily ever after in your mind. “It’ll be late when we land in London. You need to sleep. Talk to her after that. When you—when you’re not working. We can wait. We have time.”

Finally, you allowed your gazes to meet again—and to linger a little longer this time.

You took a moment to note that, despite knowing Jungkook for so long, every time you looked at him, you still needed a minute to will yourself to keep breathing. You remembered thinking, after your first few dates, if that would ever go away—logically, it should have.

But you watched him now, seven years since you’ve met, and the beating of your heart still felt backwards.

I’m going to die yours

I’m going to die—

“Okay,” you finally said. “I’ll call her as soon as possible.”

He nodded twice and closed his eyes for a brief respite—but hesitated, suddenly, before opening them again.

He wondered, for a suspended moment, what it would mean for you—this ‘as soon as possible.’

Then he looked at you and decided to tell you what he wanted it to mean.

“Before that happens, though—before you talk to her, I mean—I-I want to still be able to see you,” he said and did so assertively, using the phrase I want, but really meaning, I must. “I don’t want to not talk to you.”

You felt your frosty expression crumble effortlessly into a soft smile.

“We’ve agreed to a truce, right?” you said easily. Lightly.

His heart soared.

He was smiling, too, but with caution—his lips were pressed together as he bit into his lip ring to contain his smile to a level that he thought appropriate.

His shining eyes gave him away, however, and you wondered—the thought sudden and overwhelming—if there was a point in your life when you weren’t in love with him when he smiled.

“Let’s try a friendship,” he proposed.

“Oh—” Your smile abruptly turned into laughter as you remembered trying this once before. It had lasted for about two days. “You know we can’t be friends. We don’t know how.”

The gentle cadence of your laughter made him weightless.

“What are you talking about?” he teased—so high that he was certain the flight attendants were going to ask him to take it down a notch because it was dangerous to float on the ceiling in the middle of a flight. “We can be whatever the fuck we want to be.”

Your laughter grew bolder, strengthened by the relief that you’ve had this conversation, that you’ve decided on your next steps, however uncertain they were—and his smile spread.

You could see him beaming through your half-closed eyes, and there was absolutely nothing—no matter how big or small, significant or not at all—that you wouldn’t have done for him when he looked like that, and no amount of fear could have stopped you.

He'd burn down half of Europe for you, Seokjin had said.

You were worried you’d burn all of it for him.

“Honestly,” you said, “we’re such a mess that I have nothing else to say. Sure. Let’s try being friends again. Why not?”

“For the time being?” Jungkook asked. There was a tentative glint in his eyes. “Until we figure out if—until we decide what we’re going to do with us?”

It was very considerate of him to say ‘we’ here, when you knew that you were the one who needed to get it together in the end.

“For the time being,” you confirmed.

“And you’ll stay?” he asked once more. “With Rated Riot?”

Last night, he had told you he was letting you go, and you needed to hear it—not just to see how much he’s grown, but to fully understand yourself. To stop jumping from possibility to possibility. To accept that it was okay to do what you wanted sometimes.

The past few days were like flipping a coin and realising, while it was mid-air, which side you were hoping it would land on.

“I’ll stay.”

Jungkook thought that this flight was going to be the most thrilling part of his day. But a miracle happened as soon as the plane touched down in London.

His grandmother called him.

It wasn’t an accident like he had initially assumed when he saw her name on his phone. She called because she missed her favourite grandson and wanted to wish him good luck at his concert (and chastise him a little for not wearing “enough clothing” on stage).

Jungkook wasn’t sure if the tears in his eyes were because she’d remembered who he was, remembered what he did for a living, because she’d called, or because she’d confirmed his long-held suspicion that he was her favourite grandson.

Perhaps, and most likely, it was all of these things.

He was so excited that he stared at his phone even after the call had ended, ignoring the influx of more unintelligible, frantic messages from the same unknown number. He probably would have spent the rest of the night fixated on the screen if his battery hadn’t run out by the time everyone settled in the hotel.

At that point, there was nothing Jungkook wanted more than to tell you about the fifteen-minute phone call. However, he couldn’t call or text with his phone off—and waiting for ten minutes until he found the charger in his suitcase seemed like half of an eternity.

Unaware of the lateness of the hour, he lingered outside the hotel, thinking of a plan.

In the end, he decided he didn’t want to draw more attention to your friendship—he hiccupped on the word even in his thoughts—and approached the decorative garden at the front entrance. Ficus plants (artificial, as it turned out) rested in a bed of pebbles (real, for some reason) and Jungkook grabbed a handful of those before heading back to the south wing of the hotel.

He counted down the windows until he identified yours, then took half a dozen steps back from the wall and tossed a pebble at your window. It hit the glass with a gentle thud and dropped onto the grass four floors below.

Jungkook waited for a minute—or what felt like a minute—and tossed another one, making this one bounce against your windowsill before it slipped into your room through the crack of the open window.

He waited again and, finally, your curtains fluttered. A moment later, he saw your puzzled face as you opened the window and covered your squinting eyes with your hand, peering down into the darkness.

“Jungkook?” you called out. “What—what the fuck are you doing?”

“Trying to get your attention!” he shouted with an elated lilt in his voice.

You picked up the pebble from the windowsill and lifted it. He couldn’t see it very well from the ground, but he could see your confused expression.

“By throwing rocks at my window?”

“Yeah!”

“How—are you—for what—”

You stopped. There wasn’t a singular question you wanted to ask, because nothing about what he was doing made any sense whatsoever.

You leaned over the windowsill to get a better look at him, but it didn’t help much. The light from your hotel room made it difficult to discern his expression in the pitch-black night. And the garden lights adorning the exterior of the hotel only highlighted his white sneakers.

“I’m sure there were a lot of steps you could have taken before you had to resort to this,” you shouted into the night. “Most people text. Or knock on the door.”

“My phone’s dead,” he explained, lifting a black block that you assumed was the dead phone. “And I didn’t want anyone to see me going into your room. Can you come down here?”

“Wh—hold on a second.” You retreated into the room to put on a robe over the t-shirt you had worn to bed. The night wind felt a little less frigid when you leaned out of the window again. “Can you just come up here? It’s nearly six in the morning, no one will see—”

“Come on, we finally have a few days off!” he shouted, implying, clearly, that you’d have time to catch up on sleep later. After days of him forcing you to rest, this was very unusual—but, really, quite welcome.

You realised that something important must have happened for him to do this. However, his buoyant voice—and this whole situation in general—also made you wonder if he was drunk.

“I meant that it’s cold outside,” you said. “Wouldn’t it be warmer to—”

“I can—it’s not that bad,” he ended up saying after quickly surmising that his offer to warm you might lead to you throwing that same pebble right at his forehead. “Please?”

You were well aware that this could go on for a while, and it probably wouldn’t be long before your Romeo-and-Juliet-esque conversation attracted the attention of the hotel staff, who would politely ask you to find a different accommodation. The manager already didn’t seem especially pleased when he found out that a rock band would be staying at his hotel.

“Alright. I’m coming down,” you said. “Put the rocks back where you found them.”

He snickered and watched you close the window, disappearing inside of your room.

By the time he returned the remaining pebbles back to the garden, the sky was already beginning to paint itself red. The clouds obscured the rising sun, but Jungkook turned his head just in time to see you walk through the hotel door, and he felt like it was the middle of the day already.

“What’s going on?” you asked, a little concerned about the size of the grin on his face.

“My grandma called me,” he said. “She’s having a good day. She remembered me.”

“Oh, my God!” you gasped. All of your irritation about leaving your warm hotel room at this hour vanished in an instant. “That’s great news! Did you talk to her?”

“Yeah!” He nodded, nearly laughing in pure, beautiful euphoria. “The whole call, she was okay. Even scolded me for breaking the glass on her favourite picture frame when I came to say goodbye to her on the last night before the tour.”

You laughed, infected with his bright mood. “Jungkook, that’s—that’s fantastic. I’m so—”

Instinctively, he pulled you to him by wrapping his arms around your waist. For just a moment, he tightened his embrace and lifted you up slightly, laughing breathlessly when you gasped in surprise.

“I know,” he murmured into your neck as he lowered you to the ground. “I still can’t believe she really called.”

He held you close to him with one hand around your waist, and another one on the back of your neck—and you were stunned for a split-second. Then finally, muscle memory roused you, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, resting the side of your head against his.

“I’m—I’m so happy to hear that,” you whispered, feeling his breath on your shoulder and the goosebumps that rose on your skin as a result.

“I am, too.” He slowly pulled his head back to look at you, and the sight of the smile on his face was enough to pierce your heart with something that you could never remove. “You’re the first person I wanted to tell this to.”

Wordlessly, you pulled him back into a hug. You could feel the stretch of his cheeks against yours as his smile widened, and you realised you’d never want to run away from this. You’d always want to stay.

You were going to stay.

No. That wasn’t right.

You wouldn’t just stay with Rated Riot, determined to destroy every ounce of your fear for him. You’d have mopped up whole oceans for him. Captured shooting stars and stuffed them into jars. Flooded the entire world with an endless sea.

You’d have done anything to have him here like this: smiling so much that he could barely speak while his chest thud-thud-thudded against yours.

You felt so much of it—this vast love that refused to die no matter how much it was beaten—that you didn’t know what to do with it all.

A minute later, you pulled back slightly—a little dizzy from the intense whirlwinds inside your chest.

“T-thank you,” you stammered. “For telling me. I’m really—I’m so happy for you.”

His hands lingered on your waist, extending the moment to the very end.

“Thank you,” he replied, taking a reluctant step back. “She, um—she asked me to say hi to you. You know, from her.”

You were surprised that she remembered you—and brought you up!—and your smile returned, encouraged by the bashful look in his eyes when he said this.

“Give her my best the next time you talk to her,” you said.

“I will.” He nodded eagerly, then slowed down. “Although, I, uh—well—I don’t know when that’ll be.”

“That’s okay,” you replied quickly, not wanting to lose the lightness of the moment so soon. “The important thing is that she’s having a good day today. And she called you!”

You raised your voice at the end of the sentence, and it was enough to rekindle his excitement.

“She did!” he sang. “She said I was her favourite grandson, by the way. So I was right.”

“Oh—hmm.” You remembered pretending to argue with him about this in Stockholm and couldn’t help yourself. “Well, alright. I guess that makes sense. Remember that stray orange cat that she used to feed every night? Reginald?”

“Reggie,” he said, grinning. The cat was one of the first things his grandmother mentioned when she called tonight; it had stopped coming to see her, but continued to take up a large place in her heart. “What’s he got to do with this?”

“Well, I mean, she loved him so much, even though he scratched her every time she got too close,” you explained. “Clearly, she always had a soft spot for troublemakers.”

“Okay, now,”—he clicked his tongue—“my grandma did actually love that cat a lot, so I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You snickered and he laughed, too, and for a moment, he thought his chest might have exploded if he felt any happier than he did right now.

Then he noticed you clutching your robe closer to your body. Whatever you’d worn underneath wasn’t enough to keep you warm now that the initial excitement slowly began to fade.

“Do you, uh… want to go back inside?” he asked, gesturing at the exposed skin of your wrists. “You’re shivering.”

You looked down at your hands. “I’m okay. But maybe we could sit?”

You turned to look around. There was a bench right at the edge of the garden, next to a bronze-coloured flowerpot that was placed in the pebbles Jungkook had used to “get your attention”.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

You shivered all over again when he sat down next to you, and the bench turned out to be smaller than it had appeared. You could feel every bounce of his restless legs.

“So,” you said, “what did you two talk about?”

He brightened at your question, and suddenly, you didn’t think he was anywhere near close enough.

“Oh, so many things,” he said. “She told me she’d like to see us perform. Can we make that happen when we go back?”

“Absolutely,” you promised.

“Yeah?” His smile widened and his bouncing increased. “She’ll probably hate it. Mosh pits aren’t her thing.”

“We’ll put her in the balcony seats,” you suggested. This conversation felt so ordinary that it was hard to imagine you could be talking to him about anything else. “She’ll love every second of watching you on stage.”

“She said she saw pictures from the tour,” he added, giddy. “My cousins showed her Maggie’s Instagram profile.”

“Did she see your pirate cosplay?”

Jungkook displayed a remarkable resilience to the pirate jokes after that first concert—you and Jimin suspected that the response from the audience played a big part in his newfound immunity—and he chuckled at it now.

“She did,” he said. “She said I reminded her of Kurt Russell in Escape from New York.”

You pulled back a little to get a better look at him, even though he no longer needed to wear the eye patch. Most of the discolouration around his eye had already faded and you’d managed to cover up the scratches with a few smaller, skin-coloured adhesive pads.

“Well, shit,” you said. “Maybe I do kind of see the resemblance. You’ve got the hair.”

“I don’t know who that is,” he admitted.

You widened your eyes. “Jungkook. You don’t know Snake Plissken?”

“No, but my grandma said all her friends had a crush on him after the film came out,” he said. “Except for my grandma, of course. She insists she only ever had eyes for my grandpa.”

You both chuckled at this with a childlike glee—the thought of a love that spanned decades felt exhilarating and very possible as the sky awakened above you.

“My mum liked Kurt Russell, too, after the film,” you said. “And she was nine at the time. She snuck into the theatre with her brother and his friends.”

Jungkook inclined his head thoughtfully. “Maybe that guy’s not so bad, then.”

“He’s a classic,” you corrected. “But your taste in films isn’t.”

“That’s actually exactly what my grandma said,” he remembered. “She told me not to come home until I watched it.”

You could hear his grandmother saying this exact thing to him and felt yourself smile again.

“I think you’d love it if you watched it,” you said. “So, it’s not much of a threat.”

“Really?” He looked at you, but only for a fraction of a moment. “Would you—I mean, it’d be cool if we could—”

You knew what he was asking. And your response—like most of everything else tonight—came as a reflex. “I’m sure we can rent it on Amazon.”

“Okay,” he said, his shoulders slumping against yours in visible relief. “That—I’d like that.”

Unwelcome, the raw breeze of the late hour caught up with you, and you felt your body shudder involuntarily once more. Determined to ignore the chill, you opened your mouth to continue the conversation, but Jungkook suddenly leaned forwards.

“Here,” he said, slipping out of his dark flannel. “Put this on. It’s not much, but—”

“No, no—” you tried, but he drew closer to drape the flannel over your shoulders. “You’ll catch a cold.”

“I’ll be fine,” he insisted, pulling back. To further reduce the significance of the gesture, he added, “it’s what friends do. And I’m warm anyway.”

You clutched the collar of the flannel tighter to prevent it from sliding off. Or just to have something to do with your hands. “Well—thanks, friend.”

A powerful waft of his cologne permeated your senses, and you closed your eyes, preserving the refreshing blend of woody and citrus notes that already took up a significant amount of space in your memory.

Every time you inhaled, his scent mixed with a different moment from your life—and it all flooded your mind in an unstoppable sequence.

Meeting Jungkook—

Kissing him for the first time on that rainy night in the park—

Hugging him hello every morning before class—

Borrowing his clothes when you stayed at his dorm—

Losing your mind when you found yourself alone and his scent returned to you, uninvited.

Jungkook appeared to be sharing your memories in real time as he inhaled sharply and tapped his fingers against his shaky thighs.

“Friends,” he said, swallowing, “probably don’t kiss each other.”

His words ignited a fire in the pit of your stomach without any matches.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. “Yeah, uh—t-they probably don’t.”

“Hmm. Right.”

“As your friend,” you said, sitting up straighter and letting his flannel settle around your shoulders while you lowered your hands to the wooden bench underneath you, “I’m pointing out that you’re on a high because your grandma called. That’s why you’re thinking about—”

“I’m on a high because I’m with you,” he stated. “My friend.”

The fire inside you spread rapidly, wildly, uncontrollably.

The way you were starting to lose feeling in your fingers from gripping the bench so tightly, yet you refused to let go of it, should have probably been studied scientifically.

“Well, then,” you said, “let’s look at it this way: have you ever kissed friends before? Sid maybe?”

Jungkook snorted. “God forbid.”

“Minjun, then?”

“No,” he said. “Do you think I should?”

You snickered. “No. But if we’re friends, too, then we probably shouldn’t do that, either.”

He looked at you, his lips puckered in thought. Unconsciously, you had started to scrape at the dark paint of the bench.

You hadn’t meant a word of what you’d said. He suspected as much.

“Probably not,” he agreed. “But we’re such a mess, though, right?”

The echo of your own words on the plane brought a smile to your face again—a reaction more rooted in easing the sudden surge of anticipation rather than genuine amusement.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “We’re such a mess.”

Jungkook felt a little afraid, which was something that he always felt when the world around him blurred, and he found himself incapable of looking away from your lips.

It was dangerous, this tunnel vision. This singular focus. This impossible, magnetic pull that defied all reason, that made the whole universe tremble with a silent—

He leaned closer.

For a fleeting moment, the space between you was filled with nothing but your echoing heartbeats and silent memories.

For a fleeting moment, time itself held its breath.

You remembered Oslo and the way Jungkook had pulled away. You remembered how worried you were, how horrified—he was drunk, and he’d pulled away. He’d done the rational thing.

Funny thing, rationality.

You thought you were perfectly rational when you closed the remaining distance and your lips brushed against his—hesitant, uncertain, tender. A permission, a question, and his unequivocal death, all in one.

Jungkook inhaled—as if checking if he was alive or just pretending to be—and reached up to touch your cheek. He pulled you closer and stole the remnants of your breath with his kiss.

It was fair, he thought. You had stolen his entire soul.

The touch of your lips lasted for less than a minute—not nearly enough time for the trees around you to exhale in clandestine relief—but the softness of his mouth, the slow, intoxicating smacking of your lips against his, and the faint notes of mint on his tongue did irreparable damage to your pulse.

He stole that too, he supposed, because when he pulled away, his heart seemed to beat with enough strength to support the lives of half the population.

“Do friends discuss what it means if they kiss?” he asked, winded. His chest touched yours every time it rose in an attempt to recover.

Your laughter was breathless, too. “I’m thinking no.”

“I like what you’re thinking.”

Something very tranquil and very happy was inscribed into the contours of your features.

Soft red feathers spread across the sky above you as the city slowly stirred awake.

For the first time in a long time, everything felt like it was supposed to.

“I have a free day tomorrow,” you said. “Well, today.”

Jungkook was a bit puzzled by the shift in conversation but went along with it nonetheless. “Yeah?”

“Mhmm. The girls and I made plans, but I’m, uh—I’m going to call my mum before I go. I set an alarm for it and everything,” you said with a self-conscious chuckle. “I’m going to talk to her.”

“Oh.” He was shaking a little, he realised. He hoped you wouldn’t notice it and decide to give him his flannel back. “Well, that—that’s good. You should do that.”

You nodded, lowering your gaze to the grass and the pebbles below. “Yeah.”

“I’m going to kiss you again,” he decided. “For good luck.”

Your surprised smile overshadowed everything else he wanted to tell you.

“Oh,” you said. “Is that what friends do?”

“Yes,” he replied. “You didn’t know? It can’t be just one kiss, that’s bad luck.”

“Actually, I heard even numbers are bad luck.”

He gasped theatrically. “Oh, but that’s terrible! I’ll have to kiss you three times, then. To be safe.”

You smiled and shook your head. He died a little then, because everything was here, just like in his worst nightmares and his favourite daydreams: your scent, your eyes, your smile. All of you.

“You’re always such an idiot,” you said with so much affection that the wind crept away miserably, defeated by the warmth in Jungkook’s gaze when he looked at you. When he felt your hand on the side of his face—gentle and careful so as not to touch the healing bruises on his cheek.

“Hmm.” He wasn’t sure if he’d ever remember how to breathe again. “You said you love me, though.”

“I do,” you said, beaming, as you ran the tips of your fingers over the edges of his wolf cut. “It’s a burden I have to live with.”

He shivered from your touch and leaned in—impatient, all of a sudden. His lips met yours with a soft, rehearsed touch, and he thought he died all over again when you pulled him closer.

Your heart brought back the memories of sensations that you’ve tried to bury; it revived them and set them loose in your chest when you kissed him back and felt the smile on his lips.

Your heart threatened to quit it, to burst into flames and take you down with it when you felt his tongue slowly glide over your lower lip.

Your heart settled right against his when you parted your lips. When you felt his warm breath mingle with yours. When you held onto him with everything you were feeling, and he held onto you.

He kissed you in every way that a friend wasn’t supposed to, and groaned softly when he touched the back of your neck and felt the relentless roughness of goosebumps under his fingertips. Your body reflected everything he was feeling.

Every time your lips met—gentle and feverish—every time he pulled you closer—frantic and heated—every time you inhaled when he exhaled—sharp and eager—you were setting fire to something that once was and building something new in its place.

There seemed to be small fragments of a foreign nature inside of you both—fragments that had danced with each other long before your first kiss and would continue the lively, eternal swaying for years and years after your last.

Maybe it was dust from two neighbouring stars, drawn together by a force stronger than them, but forced to crash somewhere on earth and settle and quiver and wake up inside of you both.

Or maybe it was something less grand. Maybe it was just luck. Just coincidence.

“See,” you whispered, pulling back. “I told you we don’t know how to be friends.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he replied, kissing the corner of your lips. The sparks inside him were fierce and relentless when you smiled in response. “I think friends can decide what sort of friends they want to be.”

“What sort of friends are we going to be, then?”

“This sort.”

You could see the northern lights and the tails of comets in his eyes before he leaned in to kiss you again. You could taste the longing for the Milky Way and the whispers of timeless meteors on his tongue.

And it all solidified this for you: the two of you were not luck and not coincidence.

You were something much more.

chapter title credits: bring me the horizon, “follow you”

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delulujuls · 17 days

Text

aussies do it better | op81, dr3

heeeeey (louder than anyone else) im serving today the koala bear and the honeybadger duo and im hoping y'all will like it!

at the beggining i was hoping for making this a smut but it turned out so wholesome, even though im thinking about still making it smutty, maybe in second part?? idk lmk if you like this one and if you would like to have more of them in a maybe spicy way

anyway pls enjoy and have wonderful day x

summary: sometimes we forget that the best things are often at our fingertips, danny ric being the best wingman possible, pastry boy being pure babygirl

warnings: cheating on a reader (but not them they could never)

pairing: bff!fem!reader x oscar piastri x daniel ricciardo

"Guys, quick break," Oscar announced, stepping aside and setting down his paddle.

"In the next set, we play together, we'll show them how it's done properly. In a Aussie style," Daniel said, grabbing some water and taking a few sips, to which Oscar chuckled, wiping his hair with a towel. It was a pleasant, warm evening. Oscar, Daniel, and a few friends decided to take advantage of the last free day before the frenzy of the home Grand Prix and relax in the company of friends. But Oscar's thoughts were far from relaxed. When he picked up his phone and saw a few missed calls from Y/N, his friend, his smile instantly faded, not escaping Daniel's notice.

"Something wrong?" he asked, glancing at him attentively. Piastri, still focused on his phone, just shook his head.

"I have no idea, but I hope not," he replied, quickly typing a message to his friend.

"Sorry for not answering. Is everything okay? Should I call back?"

He didn't have to wait long for a reply, as it came seconds later.

"No, nothing happened. I just wanted to talk for a moment."

Seeing him nervously tapping on the keyboard, Daniel approached him and glanced over his shoulder.

"Translating to our language, something definitely happened. She just decided not to bother you," he said, scanning through their recent messages from a while ago. "Girlfriend?"

"No, a friend. A close friend."

"Then you should call her back even more so," he remarked, looking meaningfully into Oscar's eyes as he raised his head to meet his gaze. Oscar returned his gaze to the phone in his hand and after a moment's hesitation nodded.

"I'll be right back; start without me if you need to," he informed, then quickly clicked the camera. As he left the court and stepped outside, the girl picked up. She was hastily wiping her cheeks, but it was futile, as Oscar easily noticed her distressed state. It was evident she had been crying.

"Hey, what happened? Why are you crying?" he asked, concerned, gazing attentively at his friend. After his question, she just shook her head and buried her face in her hands. A sob escaped from his phone.

"Y/N, please tell me why you're in such a state," he calmly requested, though his heart was pounding like crazy. He had no idea what had caused his friend to be in such a state, and the fact that he was on the other side of the globe and couldn't just come over to check on her only amplified his worry.

"Mattias," she managed to squeeze out just one word, but it was enough for Oscar to know what had brought her to tears.

"What happened? Where are you?"

It was clear that the girl was outside. It was dark, and she was walking briskly, her face illuminated only by the glow of her phone held in her hand. Her hair were messy and her mascara was smudged on her cheeks.

"I'm waiting for an Uber. I'm coming back from Natalie's birthday party, the one I told you I didn't want to go to."

"You ended up going?"

"Yes, and it was a mistake," she replied, sniffing. "Mattias was there too. I didn't even know he got an invitation. Turns out he did, and on top of that, he was having such a great time he forgot he had a girlfriend."

Oscar didn't even realize when he started nervously pacing, waiting for his friend to continue.

"I went there," Y/N continued, her voice trembling "after all, it would be stupid if I ignored my friend on her birthday. Then suddenly someone comes up to me and asks if I'm Mattias' girlfriend, and I answer yes. And he says I guess not, since on the balcony he's been kissing someone else. And he was actually making out with some girl! When he saw me, he looked as if he had seen a ghost. It didn't occur to him that I might be at my friend's fucking birthday party!"

"Did he react in any way?"

"Of course," the girl snorted, "baby, it's not what you think, we were just talking, I didn't have my hand in her panties at all! Fuck, of course not!"

"Hey, calm down," Oscar said, knowing his friend's emotions well. "How long until your Uber arrives?"

Y/N calmed down for a moment and glanced at her phone, swiping through her notifications.

"3 minutes."

"Alright, the most important thing is for you to get out of there and be home soon. Don't hang up until you're inside, okay?"

"Why me, Oscar? What's wrong with me?" she asked, looking back at her phone. Despite the thousands of kilometers between them, as Oscar looked at the screen of his phone and saw his friend's sad eyes, he felt as if she were standing right in front of him. The downside was that he couldn't hug her and provide the physical support she needed right now.

"It's not your fault, Y/N. It's not your fault at all."

Despite his words of support, Oscar knew that his reassurances were just empty words. He talked to his friend until she got home and let him know she was safe. He offered to continue talking until he noticed her condition had slightly improved, but it was clear she was exhausted.

"I think it's best if I go to bed," she said softly. He heard the sound of keys turning in the lock and the rustle of things being put away. "Although I doubt I'll be able to sleep."

"You should rest," Piastri agreed, nodding. "Text me as soon as you wake up, okay?"

"Sure, but then you'll be sleeping, it's 9 hours' difference," she replied, returning her gaze to the screen of her phone. "Besides, you have more important things to deal with tomorrow."

"Nothing is more important than you," he said, but she just scoffed and shook her head. "Nothing, you hear me? I'll keep the sound on while I sleep, call if anything happens in the meantime. Okay?"

Y/N sighed and nodded.

"Thank you, Osc. It's good to have you here."

Piastri smiled warmly at her.

"Of course I am."

When the call ended, Oscar sighed deeply and rubbed his face with his hand. When he returned to the court, the match was already underway. So, he sat on the bench and clenched his phone in his hand, trying to gather his thoughts somehow. His heart ached at the thought of his friend and what she had gone through. He had known Y/N since their school days when they shared a desk. A friendship had easily developed between them, and they had become practically inseparable. Despite Oscar's busy lifestyle and constant travels, they had managed to maintain constant contact, meeting as often as possible. In such situations, however, their friendship, separated by kilometers, could not cope.

"It's everything alright?" Daniel interrupted Oscar's thoughts, approaching him after the set ended.

"Long story," Piastri sighed.

"I'll gladly listen, considering I'm out and Blake is subbing for me in this set," he replied, sitting next to him and wiping his face with a towel.

For some reason, Oscar began to tell him about what he had just learned over the phone. He and Daniel weren't exceptionally close, sure, they were buddies on the paddock, sometimes playing padel together, but Oscar had never thought of confiding in him about anything. But perhaps this situation overwhelmed him a bit, and he needed advice on how he could help his friend.

"How long have you known her?" Ricciardo asked, when a moment of silence fell between them.

"Over six years, we met back in school."

"For your age, that's almost a quarter of your life," he joked, but after a moment, he looked at him with a slightly more serious expression. "Do you like her?"

"She's my friend, of course, I do."

Ricciardo snorted and shook his head. "Yeah, I figured, but I mean, do you like her?"

Oscar blinked several times, and it wasn't until Ricciardo emphasized the penultimate word he said that Oscar understood what he meant.

"We're friends, I never, uh—," he stumbled a bit, not knowing how to respond.

"So I guess that means yes," Daniel grinned widely, seeing his reaction. "You should invite her here. It would be good for her to occupy her mind with something else now. And she'll appreciate being able to talk to you face to face, not just over the phone."

"I don't know if she'd want to fly all this way just to see me," he replied, causing Daniel to look at him indulgently. "She's never made me feel like I'm anything more than a friend to her."

"Maybe this is the moment to show her that she's had the right guy in front of her all this time," he said, getting up as the set ended. "Cause Aussies always do it better, right?"

Oscar pondered Daniel's suggestion for a long time, but when he went to bed, he decided to offer his friend a visit to Melbourne. Before he went to sleep, he sent her a message with an invitation, honestly not knowing what reaction to expect from her. Of course, he assured her that he would cover all the costs of her transportation, but he still wasn't sure if she would agree to travel such a distance just to see him.

When he woke up in the morning and picked up his phone, he had to rub his eyes in amazement several times. She agreed immediately. She even asked if she could fly to him on the fastest plane, to which he naturally agreed. As a result, she was already at the airport the next evening. Unfortunately, Oscar couldn't pick her up personally, but someone was willing to offer their help on-site.

"Hi, you must be Y/N," Daniel's wide smile and his Australian accent were the first things to greet the girl on the new continent. "I'm Daniel, and it's a pleasure to meet you."

She nodded, returning his smile and shaking his outstretched hand.

"It's very nice to meet you too, and I'm sorry Oscar roped you into this," she replied as he silently took her suitcase. "I could have taken a taxi."

"Absolutely no need to apologize, I'm just glad I could personally welcome you to our beautiful country," he said with a smile. It was past midnight, and Y/N wondered where her newfound companion got so much energy from. "First time in Australia, am I right?"

"Yes, I've never been here before. Actually, it's only the second time in my life I've flown on a plane."

"Really?" Daniel looked at her in shock, and she just shyly nodded. "And Oscar managed to convince you to take such a trip?"

"Actually, I was very excited about the invitation," she admitted, but at one point, she bit her tongue. However, when she glanced at Daniel again, she got the impression that he wouldn't be too concerned about some stranger girl occupying him with trivialities. "A lot has been going on with me lately, and I'm glad to have a reset here."

"I'll gladly join as your local guide and mood lifter," he offered, opening the car door for her. "Of course, if you're up for it and if Oscar is willing to share his best friend."

The girl chuckled, genuinely for the first time in a few days. She eagerly nodded at his proposal.

"I'd love to. And I don't think Oscar will mind."

The journey passed in lightning speed with a conversation that looked like they had known each other for ages, not just a few dozen minutes. When Daniel parked in the driveway, Oscar was already standing in front of the house, waiting for his friends.

"Everything you've learned from me, you haven't actually learned from me," Daniel said, throwing a quick glance at Oscar, which brought a smile back to the girl's face and her hasty nod. Both got out of the car, and Daniel, without taking no for an answer, took her bags. The girl smiled even wider at the sight of her friend, who started walking towards her. She hugged him tightly without a word, and he closed her in a tight embrace.

Daniel smiled at the sight and just raised his thumb. Oscar returned the gesture.

The trio entered the house, and Daniel left the girl's things in the living room doorway before stretching.

"I'll be off," he announced, looking around at them. "It was very nice to meet you, and I hope we'll see each other again soon."

"You can stay if you want," Oscar offered. "We probably won't go to bed soon anyway, and I owe you a beer for today."

"I definitely won't be able to sleep anytime soon, despite the hour," the girl added, checking the time on her phone before shifting her gaze to Daniel and Oscar. "But I have the least to say because it's not me facing the home Grand Prix in a few days."

"Well, why not, gladly," Ricciardo replied, agreeing to the suggestion with a smile.

Shortly after, the three of them were sitting on the terrace. The evening was pleasant, so they decided not to disturb Oscar's family and spend time outside. The conversation was already flowing smoothly, and with each subsequent beer, any inhibitions and barriers disappeared more and more. At some point, it looked like a meeting of three close friends after years.

"He acted like a complete dick," Daniel summed up Y/N's story, taking a sip from the can he held. "Look at it from a different angle, you could have skipped this party and not confronted him. He would probably cheat on you behind your back if he wasn't already."

Oscar looked at him meaningfully, not wanting him to further distress her. However, she seemed to come to terms with the whole situation. She certainly looked better than she did a few days ago when she tearfully talked to Oscar on the phone.

"Possible," the girl sighed, holding her own can. Her head was a bit fuzzy, but she liked this state better than feeling sadness. "Oh God, how could I be so stupid."

"It happens to the best of us," Daniel smiled reassuringly at her.

"The worst thing is, you told me many times that he's not the right guy for me, that he's not a good person at all," she continued, now looking at Oscar, who was sitting next to her. Daniel, sitting in the chair opposite, looked at him meaningfully, but he had his gaze fixed on the girl. "And I still thought I knew better. I'll never question your instincts again, Osc. Never."

She said, then hugged him tightly. Oscar returned the hug, rubbing her back. "It doesn't matter now. It happened, and that's it."

"You said he's not the right guy for you," Daniel began, and Oscar looked at him at the moment when he released his friend from the hug. He shook his head slightly, knowing where he was going with this. But this train couldn't be stopped. "Is there any guy you think would be right for you?"

The girl thought for a moment, turning the can in her hands. However, alcohol placed a certain thought in her head, which made her smile. She just nodded in response, raising her gaze to the man sitting opposite her.

"Oh, you're flattering me," Daniel laughed, taking another sip of beer.

"For the past few minutes, I've been noticing that I kind of like Aussies," she added, glancing at Oscar. He was so shocked when she subtly announced that she liked Daniel in an unexpected way that he didn't even notice when her gaze lingered on his lips. However, Daniel noticed it perfectly.

"And you, Oscar?" Ricciardo asked, stretching his legs out in front of him, a moment after he took another sip of his beer. "Do you have anyone in mind?"

Piastri almost choked on his beer when he finished it. His cheeks were instantly flushed, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol he had just consumed. Y/N raised her gaze to her friend's face, curious herself about his answer to the question, as Oscar had never shared his romantic affairs with her, even when she repeatedly asked about them.

When he, embarrassed, couldn't utter a word, Y/N's gaze returned to Daniel, and she decided to answer for her friend. "Oscar probably hasn't met the right person yet," she said, taking a sip of beer. "He's never told me that he likes any girl, even when I asked hundreds of times. Recently, I even started asking if it's not a girl, then maybe a boy? After all, there's nothing wrong with a relationship with two boys or two girls. And Lando," she looked at her friend again, "he's quite charming. And it seems to me that you two have a good relationship."

"Landoscar? Oh definitely, I've been thinking about it many times myself," Daniel interjected, pointing his finger and agreeing with her words.

Oscar, seeing how they were encouraging each other, knew he had to act. And since words got stuck in his throat, and he didn't know how to defend himself, he silently touched his friend's cheek and turned her head towards him, kissing her. Despite her shock, she returned the kiss. Daniel smiled. He felt like giving himself a high-five.

After a moment, Oscar pulled away from his friend. His heart was pounding like crazy, and her questioning gaze wandering over his face didn't make it any easier for him to gather his thoughts.

"You, Y/N, I like you," he finally said. "I've liked you since you invited me over to work on a biology project in eleventh grade. We were just starting to be friends, and I already felt something more for you. Nothing has changed since then."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" she asked, looking at him, but he lowered his gaze.

"I always felt like I was more of a brother to you than potential boyfriend material,"

"Oscar…," the girl sighed, looking at him indulgently. "Do you know how many broken hearts you would have saved me if you had told me earlier?"

Oscar looked up at her. And just as he felt like an idiot when he decided to make his bold move, now he was wondering if there was a chance she felt the same way about him.

"I thought I was just your friend. And that you didn't want someone who couldn't keep up with your pace of life. After all, why would you need a girlfriend you couldn't have by your side?"

"I would spend all my money to have my girlfriend by my side,"

After these words, silence fell. Oscar and Y/N looked at each other in silence, and Daniel, sitting next to them, pressed the cool edge of the can to his lips and watched the whole scene with bated breath.

"Do you want us to be together?" the girl asked after a moment. She decided to put everything on the line.

"Yes, Y/N, I want us to be together," he said, looking her in the eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier and spared you so many broken hearts. But I assumed that a long-distance relationship would break your heart even more."

Oscar lowered his head. He wasn't lying. The truth was that one of the reasons he didn't confess his feelings to the girl was that he already found it hard with a long-distance friendship, let alone having the possibility to see his girlfriend once a month or less. Oscar had countless layers of love within him. However, he was afraid that if he turned on the tap, he would cause a flood, injuring not only her but also himself.

"Come here," she whispered softly, pulling herself closer to him and hugging him tightly. He closed his eyes and embraced her just as tightly, burying his face in her hair.

"Surely you'll be happy with such a guy," Daniel spoke up after a while, smiling. "If not, you know where to find me. However, Aussies always do it better."

#f1 imagines #f1 #f1 one shot #formula 1 #f1 oneshots #f1 imagine #op81 #dr3 #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo x reader

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lovelynim · 30 days

Text

Tiny Problems

Honkai: Star Rail - Dr. Ratio x Aventurine

A/N: I just finished playing 2.1 and I needed to get this out of my head

Summary: While trying to figure out one of Sunday's puzzles, Aventurine starts to have a little too much fun at the sandpit.

Word count: 1373 words

Warnings: Minor spoilers from Honkai's 2.1 main quest!

Ratio rubbed the side of his head, closing his eyes as he hoped to make time pass a little faster. Yes, it shouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes for that pretentious gambler to find the missing pieces and they could move on.

What was missing on Ratio’s calculations, however, was how amused Aventurine would get with Sunday’s sandpit.

“Woah! Hahah, they even made tiny clothes for the stores around here!” Aventurine beamed with excitement, paying attention to every detail - except for the ones he actually should look for. “Look, doctor, don’t I look handsome in these? Do you think they have a regular-person’s size of these back in the Golden Hour?”

That futile, mundane idiot.

“I honestly think it’s impossible for me to care less about it, Aventurine. Did you happen to find any clue to where the missing piece is?” Ratio sighed, looking down at the sandpit as uninterested as he could be.

His eyes could easily spot the shrinked blonde, running around like a little kid at some kind of amusement park. Was he really enjoying the sandpit that much?

“That man really outdid himself in these buildings, huh? But he could pay a little more attention to the NPCs…” Aventurine mumbled, clearly not paying any mind to Ratio’s concerns as he stopped by one of the food trucks.

While the doctor complained about something that he promptly ignored, Aventurine walked around, trying to check if there was some sort of miniature food that he could try. “Hmm, is this thing hollow?” The gambler hummed, knocking on the truck’s window.

Maybe this was all part of the Family’s trial, Ratio thought while pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing in defeat. The key to the next room was just right there and, yet, Aventurine was refusing to collaborate.

“How can you be having fun at a time like this?”

“How can you not have fun?” Aventurine snapped back in a cocky tone, looking up to see his giant coworker. “If anything, we can always tell that man about how hard we worked to get past his puzzles and meet him in person. Facing such hardships must be worth something, right?”

I gained nothing from dealing with a hardship like you, gambler,” Ratio groaned, crossing his arms in front of his chest while Aventurine resumed his little (pun intended) exploration. Was he talking to one of those NPCs he just complained about?

“Damn, these guys are so dull! I think they could use some of your teaching, doc!” Aventurine shouted with an audible chuckle, almost as if mocking Ratio’s growing frustration with his constant delays.

“Gambler,” Ratio called, his voice carrying his clear annoyance, “quit fooling around. Did your brain shrink beyond your body’s proportion? We have no time for playing around.”

Even with the size difference between them, just by Aventurine’s (small) body language, Ratio could tell the man was rolling his eyes. How utterly distasteful. “Come on, what’s the problem in having some fun while we are- w-wOAH!!”

Just as Aventurine was about to boast, Ratio reached out to the top of the miniature building where he was. The gambler could swear he had reached the limit of Ratio’s patience and he was about to get squashed like a bug… but, instead, Ratio carefully pinched the back of his coat and picked him up.

“You. You’re my problem,” Ratio said firmly, holding the other man in front of his eyes and watching him flail like a worm on the hook - a fitting metaphor for this situation, if you asked the doctor.

“H-hey, I could hear you just fine from the sandpit,” Aventurine giggled nervously, curling his legs and tugging at his coat, not really sure if Ratio would bother to catch him if he slipped past his grip. “But look at the bright side, doc, at least you only have a tiny problem, h-heheh…”

“...”

Aventurine gulped. Ratio’s angry face could be even scarier when he was a thousand times bigger, huh… “C-come on, don’t be angry! I was just trying to give you something to laugh about, you know? Have fun!”

“I’ll have plenty of things to ‘laugh about’ when we get back - after our work is done,” Ratio scolded, making Aventurine flinch in his grip, “but all you do is fool around. Are you understanding the issue here, gambler?” Ratio narrowed his eyes, scoping Aventurine’s body to allow him to sit on his palm.

Leaning against Ratio’s thumb, Aventurine remained in silence for a couple seconds while he looked around.

“Are you listening to me?” Ratio sighed, giving his best efforts to not squeeze the blonde like some sort of stress ball.

“Hmm…” Aventurine turned his attention back to Ratio’s face and, from that distance, his stupid (read: silly) smile was clear in the doctor’s sight. “Are you sure you don’t want to try to slip me in Sunday’s clothes? I think I’d even fit in his pocket like theEHe- h-hey!”

“You insufferable idiot,” Ratio groaned, poking Aventurine with his index finger, “are you even listening to me?!”

“H-hehey, doc! Thahat tihihickles!” Aventurine protested, using both his hands and all of his strength to try to stop Ratio’s finger from poking him. “C-cohome on! This ihihisn’t fair!”

“It tickles?” Ratio arched his eyebrow, resting his finger on top of Aventurine’s body while pondering about that new information. At his size, Ratio expected it to hurt, maybe even crush one of his ribs if he used too much strength… but tickle? Well, it was reasonable. Maybe with the right pressure and move, his touch could’ve - indeed - tickled.

“You mean, like this?” Ratio grinned, gently wagging his finger against Aventurine’s small body.

“Y-yehes, stohop it!”

“Interesting,” Ratio mused out loud, leaning against the sandpit’s border. Swiping his thumb over Aventurine’s body, the doctor managed to push his arms out of the way and trap them between his own digits. “To think something like this would still work,” he continued, using his free index to rub Aventurine’s side.

“W-wahAHAhait, what ahahre you dohoing?” Aventurine laughed in confusion, bringing his knees up in a vain attempt to protect himself. It wasn’t rare for Ratio to overpower him, but having him doing it while he was in clear disadvantage was way worse! “DohOHOhoctor! Don’t ihihignore me!”

“I wish I could, but you’re too loud for that, gambler,” Ratio muttered and, despite his cold eyes, there was an amused smile on his lips. “As for your question, I’m doing as you suggested: seeking things to have fun.”

Ratio moved his finger against, poking Aventurine’s stomach as if he was some sort of toy. “You looked like a doll like this, gambler,” Ratio teased, watching the small man writhe in his palm, “you even make noise if I squeeze you like this.”

“AhAHAha, RahAHAhatio, stohop!” Aventurine whined, desperately trying to pull his arms down, but it was like his wrists were locked under boulders. All he could do was laugh and curse the moment he passed through that little gate - this was so unfair! “LehEHehet gohOHoh!!”

“Hm? Well, I could…” Ratio said, flicking his finger against Aventurine’s body and making him giggle some more, “if we went back to work and solved this puzzle. After all, how do you expect to meet Sunday when you look like a cheap toy?”

Deciding to show the gambler some mercy, Ratio lifted his finger and watched Aventurine’s little chest wave as he caught his breath. “I-I… ahah, damn, I’m not cheap, doctor!”

“...Is that the part that concerns you?”

“Of course, heh, my clothes are expensive and- waitwaitwait!!” Aventurine cried out, curling up into a ball in Ratio’s palm as he saw that evil finger approaching him again, “fine! Fine! I will work to solve the puzzle!”

Ratio huffed, turning around to put Aventurine back in the center of the sandpit, “very well. You do know how to make the smart choice sometimes.” As he stood back, Ratio watched the little gambler pat his clothes as if trying to fix them.

Tsk, he was simply incorrigible.

“Gambler…”

“I know, I know! ~ Just hang in there, doc!” Aventurine chuckled, waving to his giant coworker as he resumed running around the sandpit. Time to get back to business!

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail tickling #aventurine #dr ratio #aventio #ratiorine #aventurine x dr ratio #lee!aventurine #ticklish!aventurine #ler!dr ratio #tickle fic

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faithisyours · 25 days

Text

Just a Dream

Azriel x Fem!reader

Summary: after a long day you come home to the house of wind to find Azriel having a nightmare.

Warnings: fluff, comfort, talk of nightmares, mentions of family and friend death, not too detailed, though, not proof read

Word count: 2.1k

a/n: Hello, God? It’s me again. I’m here on both knees to offer you some bbg Azriel content. This man is tormented, just the way I like them. First Azriel fic, and first ACOTAR fic in general, so please don’t kill me if I get any of the lore wrong (I read these books a while ago and barely remember the plot😅). This came to me in a dream. I’m just kidding. I’m gonna quit my yapping and go now. Minors please go away. Enjoy :)

It had been a long day. Your mission had taken longer than you had expected. Rhys, your High Lord, had sent you to do a routine check on the southern border, but of course, since it was your turn to do this check, a fight had broken out, one that you had to break up, and smooth over, and make sure wouldn’t happen again, and file a report for. By the time you were done, it was already dark out.

You double checked you had completed everything you needed to do, as well as make sure you had filled out that report correctly. Gods forbid you forgot to fill in one pesky section. Rhys would be on your ass about it for weeks. Finally, when you had double checked everything and grown too tired to care if you had forgotten something, you winnowed back to the house of wind, your home.

It was quiet, not even the noise of the house settling could be heard. You tip-toed your way to the kitchen for a little something to eat, your long and busy day allowing no time for dinner. You made yourself a plate, stacking crackers, cheese, meats, and fruits atop one another. The house provided a glass of cold water for you, and you took it, thanking the house silently.

You made your way up to your room. You didn’t want to stay in the kitchen for fear you would make too much noise. So you padded up the steps and down the hallway, but before you could make it to your room, you heard muffled noises coming from inside the Shadowsinger’s chambers. At first you thought it was the noises of a well spent night, but as you grew closer, something you had no choice in doing since to get to your room you had to pass Azriel’s door, the muffled noises were that of distress.

“No, no please! Don’t!” you heard the Shadowsinger call out. He must be having a nightmare, you thought. You did not know what possessed you to open his door and walk right in, but you did. You saw the Illarian sprawled out on his massive bed, blankets tangled around his legs and damp from sweat. His bare chest heaved and glistened with a sheen of cold perspiration.

You put your plate of food and glass of water down on the dresser, then slowly closed the door behind you. You did not want anyone to find you in here, but you also did not want Azriel's nightmare to wake the whole house. You were all aware he had them, everyone in this house had them, and occasionally one would be bad enough to wake the whole floor. The fact that everyone had them made the embarrassment more manageable, but it was embarrassing nonetheless. And you did not want Azriel to be embarrassed.

You took a moment to consider how best to wake him. He was thrashing slightly, his movements becoming more rapid, and he was crying out louder now. You needed to pull him from this dream, and soon. You chose to call his name quietly, in hopes that would pull him out of his torment, but your efforts were futile. You decided you were going to have to touch him.

You made your way to the side of his bed and sat. You turned to face him, so that your right leg was on the bed, bent at the knee, body facing the headboard. You gently took his hand in yours, then slowly began tracing circles on the top of it. This seemed to stir him just a little, but not enough. He was still squirming, eyelids twitching, still calling out in distress.

“Please, don’t! Take me instead. I deserve…” he trailed off. You began calling his name, starting quiet but getting louder. You were sliding your free hand up and down his arm soothingly, the other held tight in Azriel’s scarred hand. But your efforts were still not working.

You shifted your body fully onto the bed now, kneeling next to him, making sure you weren’t pinning his wings. “Azriel, it’s just a dream. Wake up. You’re safe,” you cooed. With your free hand, you cupped his cheek, trying to stop his shaking. “Az, wake up! Please!” Your pleading was getting louder, and you were scared you were going to be the one to wake the whole floor. “It’s just a dream. You are safe. It’s just a dream.”

In an instant Azriel sat up and frantically grabbed onto you. He was disoriented, upset, and panicky, but your words calmed him. “Azriel, you were dreaming. You’re alright. It was just a dream,” you told him. You smoothed away the hair that was stuck to his forehead with sweat. Cupping his cheek, you forced his eyes to meet yours. You searched those hazel depths, trying to gauge his understanding of the situation. “It was just a dream, Az,” you repeated, and did not break eye contact until he nodded that he understood. When he started to calm down you removed your hand from his cheek, dropping it down to the hand clasped in your other one. “Just a dream,” he murmured, nodding slightly.

You suddenly became very aware that you were in a half-dressed Illarian male’s bed. Azriel was one of your dearest friends, but that didn’t make the situation any less awkward. It’s not like you’ve never been in his room, or seen him without a shirt, it was just never both at the same time. Trying not to dwell on it, you asked, “Do you want to talk about it,” for which he promptly shook his head. “Would you like some food?” you offered, remembering the plate of food that still sat on his dresser. He looked up at you questioningly, so you slid off the bed, walked over and grabbed the plate of food, then walked back, presenting it to him with a half-grin on your face.

“Why?” he simply asked, growing increasingly confused.

“I just got back from my mission and didn’t get the chance to eat dinner, so I was gonna take this to my room so that I wouldn't wake anyone up but I heard you, so…” you trailed off. He nodded in understanding.

“So this is your dinner?” he asked, trying not to dwell on the last part of your sentence, the fact that he was talking and you heard him. It was your turn to nod.

“Ya, but I think my eyes were bigger than my stomach. You can have some,” you reassured, grabbing a grape and popping it into your mouth. You lowered the plate onto the bed next to him, then sat. Az took a cube of cheese and a cracker, then slid them into his mouth in one fell swoop. He chewed slowly, then swallowed. He was sitting up now, his sheets still tangled in his legs, but he seemed to be calming down a great deal.

“There was a fight that broke out at the border today,” you offered, trying to distract him further from what remained of his dream. “Right when I was almost done, too! I had to stay an extra two hours to smooth everything over. Ridiculous!” you exclaimed. Az breathed out a huff of amusement, a small smile making its way onto his lips. “Oh, you think it's funny?” you teased with an incredulous tone. His smile was starting to part his lips, and you couldn’t resist yourself, you smiled back.

“Thank you,” he said, picking up a strawberry and raising it to you in thanks.

“No problem,” you replied. You were about to stand up and leave, but he stopped you with a hand over yours.

“What did… what was I saying?” he asked you shyly.

“Oh um…” you were startled by his question slightly. You didn’t want to bring up a sore subject, but he was the one asking, so you guessed it was alright. “Ya know just the usual “no, please don’t”’s and the “take me instead”’s. Very chivalrous of you, might I add.” You wanted to lighten the mood a bit, but it didn’t seem to be working. There was a line between the Shadowsinger’s eyebrows, and his eyes were downcast. “You also said you deserved to go instead, but that part was a little unclear.” You didn’t mean to pry, but you were curious. And if Azriel thought he deserved to die instead of someone else because he deserved it, well you were going to have to fix that opinion real quick.

Az simply nodded. It did not seem like he wanted to elaborate on that last part, so you offered up one of your most common nightmares in hopes it would comfort him. “I often dream about my family being killed in front of me. That I am restrained or incapacitated in some way that prevents me from helping. And I always seem to offer myself in exchange for their lives. It never works, though.” His eyes were on you now, sorrow-filled hazel that glittered in the moonlight streaming through the windows. His fingers had taken up tracing lines on the hand of yours that was clasped in his.

“That's not your fault,” he whispered. You both sat there for a long minute. “I was…” he started, but seemed to think better of it. You placed your free hand over his, encouraging him to continue. He took a deep breath. “In my dream, Cassian was in trouble. He’s my brother, my closest friend, I couldn’t just do nothing. I offered myself as an alternative. Cass is so good, so much better than me. I guess I just thought… he deserves to live,” he paused, “more than I do.” he finished, and it took everything in you not to break down right in front of him.

“Azriel,” your tone was firm. “You are good. So good. You are amazing, and so so loved. And I know it was just a dream… but our thoughts influence them, and they influence us. Please believe me when I say you do not deserve to die in the place of someone else because it would be better, or because you are not good enough. You are.” Tears were threatening to pool in your eyes. Azriel was one of your closest friends, and your life would be incomplete without him in it. You lifted your hand to caress his cheek, pouring comfort and reassurance through your touch.

He nodded. “Thank you,” he said again. “For waking me up, and for your words. And for the food,” he added after a small pause. You gave him a small smile, and he returned it. You got up to leave, wanting to take a hot bath and change, but he stopped you. “Can you…can you stay, maybe?” he asked. You grinned, how could you not? You loved his awkwardness.

“Yes. But under conditions.” He waited for you to continue. “I stink, so I’m going to take a bath. And then I’ll come back in, okay? Give me thirty minutes.” he nodded once again.

You made your way to your room, plate of food and glass of water in hand. You quickly bathed, and ate, then changed into your sleeping clothes. You weren't going to lie to yourself, either. You were glad Az asked you to stay in his room. Both of you calmed each other down in a way no one else could. This was not the first time you had slept in each other's beds, either. Your relationship was strictly platonic, but Azriel’s cuddles were unmatched, and you always seemed to sleep better in his presence, the same going for him.

Once you were done bathing and changing, you made your way back to the Shadowsinger’s room. He had changed the sheets of his bed, and was now wearing a shirt. He sat propped against his headboard reading a book. You made sure to close the door behind you, then made your way over to his bed. You pulled the blankets back and crawled in, snuggling right into the side of him. He dog-eared his page in the book (an act that almost made you get back up and leave) and set it on his night stand. He sank down into his bed and wrapped his arms around you. And there you both slept, peacefully, dreaming of absolutely nothing.

#azriel #azriel fanfiction #acotar #night court #azriel fic #comfort #fluff #azriel fluff #azriel shadowsinger #fanfic #female reader

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those-late-night-feels · 8 months

Text

To Kill a God

Summary: The mission – Assassination of Loki Laufeyson.

Warnings: Light control and dominance, loathing, spanking, smut.

A/N: We're just gonna pretend the events takes a different route after the Battle of New York.

Personal A/N: Apologies for how long it's been. Was dealing with some personal things, including a pretty bad injury that I'm now recovering from. I also tend to write really slow. Please enjoy! Comments/feedback & reblogs are always much appreciated! 💚

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Nights like these were the best time to work. Silent, still, dark. A hunter on a mission for the next prey. But this one was new; you'd never hunted a god before. Breaths were drawn slow, methodical, focused. Keep your heart rate down, keep your steps in check.

You had been kept in the shadows of the Avengers, not fitting in with the pretty boy heros, genius doctors, or sexy vixens. You were a wallflower, a nightcrawler.

Sure, Black Widow, she was cute with her fancy moves and killer body. But you? They never even hear you coming.

With grace and stealth, you had slipped into Asgard undetected when the portal opened up to take Thor and Loki home after the Battle of New York. The rush to this new world had been nauseating, but with breaths through your nose to compose yourself, you slipped into the shadows.

The streets of Asgard were crowded and foreign, vendors shouting to grab your attention, new smells, twinkling lights and glimmering colors. A fine silk robe was lifted from a distracted shopkeeper, promising yourself that you'd return it once the mission was complete.

In only a few hours, you had worked your so-called magic to obtain the intel needed and now stood in the main hall of the Asgard royal prison. It had taken a bit of eavesdropping on a table of drunken guards and the power of persuasion with another to allow you entry into the palace's main gates. A small amount of combat and you had forced your way into the prison compound.

Adrenaline pulsed through your veins, knowing you were close. Turning the corner, the prisoners were found fast asleep in their glass panel prison cells. And then, you stopped in your tracks and held your breath. The raven haired terror, that pathetic excuse for a god, slept only a few meters from you. He looked peaceful, almost gentle, but looks were deceiving. You reminded yourself that he was ruthless and cruel, but not for long.

Knowing there were only minutes before a slew of Asgardian guards would come rushing in, you worked diligently to shut down the currents running through the security system. Loki stirred in his bed, but didn't awaken. The dagger was heavy, but it was all that was needed to finish the mission.

Hand firmly on the hilt, you took quiet, determined steps to his bed, taking one last look at the god in front of you, then bared your weight as you went for his heart. But there was no impact as his body faded away to nothing.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

How peculiar it was, these small other worldly creatures who thought they could defeat a god. In the shadows, he tsked at the young thing in front of him. So impatient, so immature. Who did they think he was? He emerged slowly, a sinister smile dancing on his face. You turned abruptly, eyes going wide knowing your advantage was lost…or had never been there to begin with.

"Did you really think you could slay me?" He chuckled to himself, very amused by this predicament. "I assure you, girl, it will take more than a knife and leather leggings to take down the god of mischief."

With a futile attempt, you lunged at him. He grabbed you like a rag doll, twisting your arm in an awkward angle until the metal clanged on the floor. A whimper escaped and he let go before it dislocated, only to wrap his hands around your throat and bring you to eye level with him. He watched in satisfaction as you struggled, choking and clawing at his hands.

"Don't worry pet," he leaned in closely to whisper in your ear. "I won't kill you, not yet. There'd be no fun in that."

He drew a finger down the side of your face, relishing in the thoughts of all the things he could do to his new captive, when a booming voice echoed through the prison corridor. "LOKI?!"

He sighed to himself in annoyance, always the killjoy to his fun. "Here, brother."

Thor stood in front of the prison cell, taking in the scene before him: Loki standing calm and poised, a small girl held at arm's length from the neck, face turning red, toes dragging on the ground. "What's going on here?"

"Well, dear brother, it appears our security is not what it once was. I caught this one lurking around." Your eyes darted to his. Why did he withhold the truth?

Thor squinted, cocking his head to the side to get a better look at you. And then, your name left his lips like an incredulous question.

Loki's face went from a look of surprise at his brother's recognition of you to amusement at what this meant. "You're Midgardian," he mused.

"Loki, release her," Thor demanded, hearing you struggle in his grip.

"I'll tell you what. Allow me to go back to my chambers freely, and this little minx will be handed over to your care."

"Loki…" Thor gave a gutteral warning. He was treading on thin ice, but they both knew who had the upper hand.

"It's a fair trade. It's clear she is important to you." Loki's eyes locked on yours. "Release me…or I crush her windpipe."

You flailed uselessly in a panic, his grip growing tighter, causing your eyes to water, face slowly turning to shades of purple.

"Fine, Loki! Go back to your chambers."

A look of satisfaction as he dropped you to the floor. You collapsed and breathed in deeply, rubbing the sensitive skin around your neck. Thor called the guards: two to escort you back to his personal chambers and another two to allow Loki free access to his wing.

Loki stepped over you as he left, clearly pleased with how his evening was ending. This wasn't over, but it was for now.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Thor had given you free reign of his chambers for the time being, instructing a few maidens to assist with your care, tending to any wounds, assisting with bathing and dress, although you insisted on doing the majority yourself. He found you the next morning after some rest, fully pampered and lounging on a chaise, feet and shoulders massaged by maidens.

"I could get used to the life of a prince," you teased when he came into the chambers. He ignored your jest and sat down looking troubled.

"Leave us," he ordered the maidens, watching until they filed out of the room. When the door shut, he turned to face you. "I have spent the last few hours trying to comprehend why you would come to Asgard without my knowing, and have yet to come up with a reason that doesn't involve violence." Your arms folded as he looked for any admission of guilt.

"It's classified, Thor." Your voice stayed steady and strong, and his jaw tightened. He grabbed a goblet from a nearby table and threw it against the wall, making it shatter, but you didn't flinch.

"I will remind you," he said slowly, "that right now you are on my planet, and not under Tony's protection."

You blinked at the mention of your employer and ally's name.

"You know I won't break, Thor. If I were a threat, wouldn't Loki have requested to have me locked up in one of your prison cells?" Thor considered your words. "In any case, I will leave you in peace and return to Midgard. I'm sure you have enough to deal with right now."

"No…. I think you'll stay as our guest for a while. We have some chambers available on the east wing." Your stomach twisted at what his words really meant. A guest, disguised as a prisoner. Thor stared you down.

"And, if I refuse?"

Now Thor crossed his arms, leaning back on the chaise. "You've seen our prison cells. They can be quite accommodating as well."

You smiled at his offer. "The east wing will be fine."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The maidens took lead to the east wing; you attempted to map the halls to memory, but after the twelfth turn, considered it was futile. You'd be lucky to find your way to freedom, let alone finding your primary target.

A brunette opened the door to the chambers, a hand held out to guide you in. "If you need anything, we will be right outside to assist."

Great, I have watchdogs.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in the adjoining apartments, studying from the open window the trimmed gardens, the various exits, the guards that roamed the outer courts and how often they changed. When your stomach started to rumble with hunger, like clockwork there was a light knock on the door, followed by a maiden poking her head in.

"Excuse me, my lady. Your presence is requested in the dining hall."

As you followed the silent maidens, you tried speaking as casually as possible. "Is Loki's chambers in the east wing?"

"No, my lady."

You frowned. "I would assume he has a full wing to himself?"

"If the prince wishes for you to know where his chambers are, he will show you the way."

The other maiden giggled quietly, then pulled herself together quickly before being seen. No doubt they assumed you were looking to bed the prince, not that you would correct them if it took focus off the real reason to be here.

The dining hall was as elaborate as it was giant; high backed velvet chairs, a table that went on forever it seemed, vaulted ceilings adored with golden arches and cherubs, servants stationed every few meters. It was hard not to feel completely out of place, but Thor made you feel welcomed enough, having plate after plate of the most decadent food placed in front of you. You had to hand it to Thor, he had learned to become more sly, perhaps by watching how others on the team worked. He made small talk about Midgard and the team, but would casually add a question here and there about why you were in Asgard.

You were tight lipped; it would take more than being wined and dined to make something slip. Mid-conversation, the door creaked and the guards and servants straightened up. Footsteps clicked on the marble floor around the corner out of view, but you already knew who was approaching.

When he appeared, his eyes darted from Thor to you but his face was like a stone, unreadable. He tilted his head to consider you, no doubt admiring the marks he'd left on your neck the night before. "Have we lowered ourselves to now dine with common criminals?"

He watched as your jaw set and heard Thor's booming laugh. "Loki, I'd like you to formally meet my friend–"

At the mention of your name, he scoffed. "We met. Might I advise that you be more particular in who you acquaint yourself with, brother."

"Like you?" Arms crossed, you leaned in the chair in defense. He was as annoying as he was cocky.

He watched the pulsing of the vein in your neck, the slight reddening of your face; he was getting under your skin. Good.

"My dear, I have more greatness in the tip of my finger than you in your entire being."

You scoffed. "Greatness, huh? Seems like that greatness delusion is what brought you back up here in chains."

"And yet," he said, holding out his arms, "no chains. Although, I guess I have you to thank for that."

Internally, you were screaming. Fantasies of diving across the table to gouge out his eyes and claw his face played in your mind. He was insufferable. Agitating. Annoying.

You needed to finish this mission and escape Asgard. The sooner this world was rid of Loki Laueyson, the better.

You stood, your plate of food unfinished, turning to Thor with a plastered smile. "Thank you for the lovely meal, Thor. Please, excuse me."

You wouldn't dare look at Loki, but you could feel his eyes on you, causing the hairs to raise on the back of your neck.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The halls had been quiet for hours and the only light in your room came from the glow of the moon and candlelight. You'd waited until it was almost inevitable that the maidens would have fallen asleep at their posting. Slipping by them was easy.

The occasional guard roamed the halls, but as you expected, was not as sharp. You slipped by two undetected, a third was put into a sleep hold and dragged into the shadows before anyone could be alerted.

The North Wing was far more rich in decor and aesthetics, with golden pillars and chandeliers. Loki's chambers were here, you were sure of it.

A sparkle of green in the shadows caught your eye. Was it a trick? Maybe, but he wouldn't take you by surprise this time.

The door was heavy and your steps were light as you entered the room. It was dark and smelled of cedar and leather. He was nowhere in sight, but you still kept to the walls.

A faint flicker of light in the next room caught your attention, a crackling fireplace, and there he appeared, reading in an oversized plush chair.

"You know, you're not as subtle as you think." He flipped the page, not even giving you the courtesy of looking up. "Thor had mentioned you were stealthy like a cat or something, but my oaf of a brother has about as much stealth as you do."

Your cheeks reddened in spite of yourself. He was absolutely infuriating. "Why did you lie?"

He finally looked up from his book, sliding a bookmark into the crease, a smirk playing on his lips. "You do realize that I'm the god of lies, don't you?"

"You could have told Thor why I was there, what I tried to do, and have me locked up. Why didn't you tell him?"

He made you feel so small when he stood, setting the book on a nearby coffee table. "Now where would the fun in that be?"

Taken aback, you blinked in response. "This…. This isn't a game."

He tsked and long daggers were revealed in his hands. "Darling, it's the best game there is."

He came forward at a fast pace. Your own weapons were drawn from your belt, ready to attack. Metal clashed in the middle of his study. He was impressed by your speed and agility, but he caused the first cut, a minor wound on your bicep. You responded by kicking him off his feet to pin him to the ground for only a moment before he flipped you over your head, losing one of your daggers in the process. With your hand free and he distracted, your fist made contact with his face.

A slur of curses were emitted. "You'll pay for that."

"We'll see." You smiled cockily, coming at him, but he was ready and provoked. One minute you had attacked him, a swipe of your blade and another punch blocked. The next minute, you were bent over and pinned to his desk. One of his hands had grasped your wrist, still gripping the dagger, the other hand on the back of your head. His body pressed into yours as you writhed and struggled, bucking your hips, kicking your leg out, but he was much too heavy.

"Let me know when you're ready to yield." He was very amused.

"Fuck you."

He laughed in a huff. The grip on your wrist went tighter. "Drop it," he demanded.

Any attempt at freeing yourself was proved useless. The dagger clattered on the desk and he tossed it aside, his own going back into his invisible pocket.

"Good girl. Now tell me you yield."

Silence. You'd rather die than give him the satisfaction.

"Suit yourself," he said. "It seems to me like you Midgardians need to be taught some manners." And slowly, his hand was brought to your back, running down the length of your spine. Teeth clenched, eyes squeezed shut, you tried to remove yourself from the moment, knowing more than likely what was coming from the dominant, power-hungry male. But then, smack!

Your eyes shot open, the sting of your ass cheek startling you. Another hard spank, the sting almost making you yelp as your body went forward.

"Now," he said calmly, evenly in your ear as you looked straight ahead. "You have two options." Smack! "One, you stop being stubborn and admit your defeat." Smack! "Or two, you stay on this desk until I decide you've learned that lesson." Smack!

Your legs trembled as you held onto the edge of the desk. You hated him, hated this… and yet, a warm ache started to slowly whisper within. No, you couldn't… With every ounce of strength, you tried to block it out. "What… what are you gonna do to me?"

He chuckled and you couldn't quite tell if it was out of amusement or something darker. "Not to worry, my pet. I only bed willing participants."

His hand rested on the small of your back and he leaned forward. "Now, tell me. Have you learned your lesson?"

He caught your eye and you struggled to answer. How did you reply without letting him win? Maybe, if you said yes, he would lower his defenses and then you'd— Another spank caught you by surprise and a yelp escaped in spite of yourself. "I asked you a question and do not enjoy repeating myself."

You took a shaky breath, he had you so off guard and you hated how it was making you feel.

Looking up, you gave him the best innocent look you could muster and nodded slowly. He reached for the back of your head, gripping your hair to tilt your head up towards him with a jerk. "Have you?"

"Yes," you choked out. You hated him! You hated him! You hated him!

He considered you, bent over his desk, head bent back violently so, breathing heavily and shaking, and then, he just let you go. You stood after a beat, confused and feeling embarrassed.

"Leave," he demanded, walking out of the study to another room. Red-faced, your stomach churned. Did he seriously just…

"Hey!" you shouted, following his path to the other room, but when you got there, he was gone. Searching room by room, your anger built as you found each one empty.

A rage burned through your veins as you stormed down the hall toward Thor's chambers. You were done with this mission, with these stupid mind games, with the princes of Asgard. You wanted to go home and call the mission what it was–a failure.

Done with courtesy and manners, you barged into his chambers without warning. "Thor, I need to talk to you–"

The words caught in your throat as you stopped in your tracks, finding Loki already there. Thor said your name like a pleasant surprise. "You look an absolute wreck! Are you alright?"

"Wha–" the words caught in your throat as you looked down at your shifted top, feeling your face redden, hair a mess.

"Well, no matter," Thor continued. "Your ears must be ringing, we were just discussing your return to Midgard."

"You… you were?"

Loki's lack of eye contact was not lost on you.

"Indeed," Thor continued. "My brother believes that we have no use of you here and should send you back immediately. His words, not mine." Thor laughed, caused by your startled expression and Loki's uncharacteristic silence. "But, as neither of you are willing to speak freely on what matters are going on, I reject this request."

Both you and Loki raised your voices, you taking a step forward. How long did he plan to keep you here against your will?

Thor raised his hand. "You both think me a fool, but until I know why you are here, I will not change my mind. Classified or not."

Your jaw clenched, fists tightened, and you stormed out of his chambers, slamming the door behind you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Loki winced as the door slammed. "I don't believe she was happy with your decision."

"No, I think not. Anything you care to tell me?"

Loki shook his head. "There is nothing to tell. She's a nuisance and Asgard should be rid of her."

Thor placed his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Loki, you may be the god of lies, but even I can see through this one."

Loki left the chambers deep in thought. He absolutely despised Midgardians–mortals who risked their lives every day, absolute fools they were. Pompous, annoying little gremlins.

And yet, he had enjoyed the little game he was playing with you. You were a challenge for him and getting under your skin was pure pleasure. But, there was something in the look you gave him as he held your head up that he knew. It made him realize he was playing with fire, and this game was getting too dangerous. He needed to rid himself of you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Almost a week had passed and he hadn't reappeared. You'd toured the gardens, the library, the royal throne room, dined in their mess hall and terrace multiple times; it was clear by day three that he was actively avoiding you, and somehow that was even more irksome. It should have been a relief to be rid of his annoying presence, but you were equally on edge. What if he caught you off guard? The possibilities of what would happen were endless with that twisted mind of his. Torture you? Strangle you at night? The nights were restless, with every creak and whistle of wind making you jump.

By day five, enough was enough. If Thor wouldn't budge in sending you home and Loki wouldn't show himself, you would take matters into your own hands.

The nightly strolls through the halls were becoming commonplace, and it wasn't long before the familiar chamber doors stood before you again. The rooms were illuminated by moonlight. He was deep asleep in his bed, bare-chested with only a sheet to cover him at the hips. Your dagger was unsheathed and slowly you pressed it to his neck. His eyes opened and he took a sharp breath inward.

"Don't move," you whispered.

"Alright." His voice was steady.

"You're going to help me leave this planet."

His eyebrows raised in surprise. "Am I?"

"Yes."

"And…what if I refuse?"

You pressed the dagger harder to his neck. He could see the desperation on your face. "I don't think you are in a position to refuse."

He smirked at you, like he understood a joke you weren't in on. "Didn't you come to Asgard to kill me?"

He was absolutely the most abhorrent person you'd ever met. Why would he bring this up? Should you kill him? He was right there, the knife pressed to his neck. One swipe and…

He grabbed onto your arms, taking you out of your thoughts and pulling you closer to him. "Do it."

You blinked and froze. Something in your stomach twisted. "I… I can't. Why can't I kill you?"

In a quick motion, he rolled you onto your back, his weight heavy. Your hand shook and he leaned in, pressing down on the dagger, further and further, until his lips met yours. Your breath was lost and the dagger slipped between the two of you to clatter onto the floor. He gripped onto your clothes, pulling and tearing and breaking.

He wasn't gentle, wasn't kind. There was no room for romance or making love. It was carnal, rough. A desire that neither wanted to admit to themselves.

Pain in the most pleasurable form, as his lips pressed hard onto yours. As clothing was torn in desperation. As your undergarments were stretched and discarded until you were just as naked as he. His eyes and mouth and fingers explored the areas only meant for a lover.

His long digits played with your silky folds before delving into the warm wet center, causing you to shiver in delight. You reached down between your bodies to grasp on an already stiff cock, making it throb, a moan emitting from him like an ache that hadn't been relieved in years, before he took your hand from beneath him and placed it above your head. In a swiftness, he sheathed himself inside you, causing your eyes to grow large, your head to come forward, your teeth to sink into his skin. He shifted, looking down at you, the minx who had wanted him dead, and thought how beautiful and fragile you were. He could have snapped you in two like a twig if he had wished it. Instead, he'd punish you until you came, over and over again; tattooing his existence on your soul for the rest of your eternity.

The angle of his cock rubbed in a way you'd never felt before by any Midgardian man, and soon your body was convulsing below him. He let you ride out your high before flipping you onto your stomach and penetrating from behind. A shaky high-pitched moan emitted from you, making him smile in satisfaction. He wrapped his hands around your throat, bringing your head up higher to whisper with a smile, "I think you've admitted your defeat."

"You never shut up, do you?"

"Never."

With a smack of your bottom, he thrust into you until he was spent and you were ruined. The silky sheets of his bed melted into your skin as you lay quiet in thought after. You didn't fail missions. You also didn't fuck them. Contemplating what you'd write on your report, Loki emerged from the other room, dressed and ready to take you back to Midgard. He handed you the clothes you first arrived on this planet in.

As you dressed, preparing for your arrival back home, you studied him. He was, without a doubt, the most abhorrent, irritating person you'd ever met. And yet, something drew you to him that you didn't understand.

"Alright," he said when he saw you were dressed. "Let's get you back to where you belong." You nodded, wondering if you'd ever see him again, hoping you wouldn't…but not for the reason you'd expect.

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thoughts-on-scripts · 2 months

Text

Just rewatched "Review" and have some thoughts on the idea that "Syd should have apologized."

Firstly, she already did. When Carmy brought the runaway preorders to her attention, her immediate reaction was shock and disbelief, but then she quickly said “I’m sorry --” before Carmy cut her off. So she acknowledged her mistake and tried to apologize for it. But Carmy wasn’t hearing it because he was already starting to freak out.

Secondly, actions >>> words. Syd showed accountability by putting 110% into trying to fix/manage an impossible situation. But her feelings of guilt + Carmy blaming and excoriating her + the extreme stress of the situation caused her to spiral. Not to mention at certain points Carmy just shut her down when she was trying to help. Ultimately, she quit when she realized how futile the situation was.

Thirdly, Carmy shares blame for the preorders getting out of control. Syd brought the device and didn’t change the settings, but Carmy set it up that morning and left it running without checking it. I think he did that because he had so much blind faith that Syd already had it covered, which is lowkey sweet but also tragic given how he behaved the rest of the episode.

Finally – and most importantly – this was an IMPOSSIBLE situation. They did not have the time nor the ingredients to fill up all those orders, and the orders kept piling up like crazy. Even the best crew in the world would have failed to make 200+ sandwiches in less than 10 minutes.

Restaurants cancel preorders all the time, and The Beef had a good excuse, they could’ve just said that their preorder device was brand new and glitching out, then maybe offer the customers a free meal.

But Carmy refused to face reality and set the tone for the rest of the team: angry, impatient, scattered, and pointing fingers at each other instead of working together.

Anyway Syd did the best she could in that situation but it was out of her control. Like Carmy, she's high-strung, takes failure very personally, and internalizes others' feelings. But she's normally able to counterbalance Carmy's intensity with her gentleness, and as Tina pointed out in that episode, Syd was NOT acting in character ("this isn't you!"), which serves to emphasize just how extreme the situation was.

#fx the bear #sydney adamu #carmy berzatto #sydcarmy

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yourstrulyrika · 3 months

Note

rika <3 was wondering if u could write smth about leon reassuring reader? maybe she insecure, thinks that leon deserves someone better (ada maybe?)

you are sooo sweet to us all, i hope you are taking care of yourself!! xoxo

hello ♡ of course!! i actually love this concept, been thinking about this, so ofc! also love you too ♡ i’m glad all of you are following me!!

no warnings, pure fluff and comfort. heavy mentions of insecurity and mental struggles though. reader is hinted to be Leon’s mission partner, but not stated directly!! re4r!Leon :3

you’re insecure, to say the least. always thinking you’re not good enough, that you’re ugly, undeserving— and then there’s Leon. the most perfect man you laid your eyes on, and he’s your boyfriend. he loves you, more than life itself — but even when he tells you that, you don’t quite believe it. Leon is honest, sure, but what if he’s just saying this? what if he just doesn’t want to make you upset? those thoughts keep nagging your head. your mind is your own hell.

and there’s also Ada. Ada Wong — Leon has said so many times they don’t share anything, that he doesn’t like her that way.She’s just the part of his life he can’t get rid of—

and that mere sentence strengthened your doubts. it got worse. so much worse.

you saw her like once in your life, and the way Leon looks at her. you started thinking he loves her, doubts eating you alive. Ada is so much prettier, so much better, smarter, stronger— the list can go on. you hate it. what if Leon likes her more and is with you out of pity? after all, he knows Ada for long years right? You know about the kiss— he says it was just Ada using his feelings and all that. you did not believe him. not one fucking bit.

since then, your mind has created a whole new scenario that Leon doesn’t love you. you can’t help it. you started isolating yourself, closing yourself in your own world and not speaking to him. any attemps at conversation coming from Leon were futile. you just couldn’t find it in yourself to speak. why would he want to speak with you anyway? he has Ada, right? she’s so much better.

but, Leon was going insane. losing his damn mind over this. he knew something was going on. why won’t you talk to him? what’s going on— why are you so damn quiet? pushing him away? he feels so confused, but also so stressed out over this. what happened? what did he do wrong?

he tried talking to you, but you just.. won’t budge. and he feels so damn horrible. he just wants to wrap you in his arms and comfort you.

“Please, just speak to me. Baby? Please, I beg you. I love you, you know that, right?”

you hear his words, but you don’t respond. why can’t he just go away? obviously he’s lying.

but he just gets so damn frustrated. he’s growing fucking desperate. your doors are locked— not letting him in. but he won’t let you isolate yourself any further. he literally breaks down the door to reach you, finding you laying down on the bed.

he kneels down beside your bed, reaching out to take your hand in his. when you don’t reach back, he frowns, but doesn’t push any further. instead, he lets you have your own space.

“What’s going on? Please, talk to me. No matter how silly you think it is.” he’s genuine when saying this. he genuinely cares about you so damn much, wants you to be happy with him.

you hesitate to respond, mumbling out a single “Ada Wong.”

and it was enough to hit him with a damn reality check. you were insecure about Ada. you were always insecure, but surely Ada’s appearance didn’t help. the way he’s looking at you, so sweet and loving, it tells you he understands. he stands up, sitting on the bed to cup your cheeks.

“Oh baby. I’m so sorry. So fucking sorry.” that’s all he says while looking into your eyes to make sure you understand what he’s saying.

“I know what you think. I can see it right in your eyes. But please, don’t think she means anything to me. She’s a part of my past, sure, but she’s just the past. What matters is right now — and right now, you’re mine. I don’t feel anything towards Ada. That feeling left years ago. Please, let me prove it to you.” he says as he presses his lips to your forehead, interlocking your fingers together. you let him in, let him hold you. and he’s so damn happy over this — so desperate to reassure you.

“I missed holding you so much, princess. I love you, and only you. I’m all yours — everything I have, it’s also yours. My body, my heart, my soul belongs to you.” he whispers in your ear, laying down beside you, turning your position a little so you face him while he holds you.

“And I don’t want anyone else. No one. All I see is you. Everyone else just don’t matter to me. You’re all I want.” he’s peppering your face with little kisses, hoping you hear him out. he makes sure you fall asleep that night, in his arms. he’s holding you in his arms through the whole night, not letting go.

“There’s no one better than you. Not even Ada, Jill, Claire— no one. No. One.” he says this firmly, making sure you understand. or at least tries to get it into your head. he’s so hopelessly in love with you, literally could die for you. one could say he’s almost obsessed— in a way, he is. he thinks about you 24/7, even on his missions, when about to sleep, when training.

he falls asleep eventually, once you’re asleep— and when he wakes up, and sees you awake, he’s already all over you.

“Please, don’t leave me. Never leave.” he begs you; you can see how desperate he is. you never see him so open with his feelings. but he just can’t handle the thought of you leaving, he’s so damn terrified about this. looking at you with vulnerable, soft eyes, pleading you to understand. he loves you with his entire heart, and he means it.

“I won’t. I love you, too.”

you say, and that much is enough for him to pull you into a kiss. a deep, loving kiss where pours all his love into. it lasts until both of you are breathless, but even then, he doesn’t want to let go. lets you catch your breath, before pulling you into another kiss. locking your lips with his own, cupping your face. when he pulls away, he looks at you again, with a soft smile on his face.

“Let’s have a lazy day today, okay? I just want to pamper you, show you I love you so much. Just let me take care of you — I want to make sure you won’t ever doubt yourself over Ada again.”

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil x you #resident evil x reader

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talesofesther · 1 year

Text

scorch marks | ch 2

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Series Summary: Wednesday has been careful to keep what you two have behind closed doors and far away from labels; but when someone starts to take it — take you — away from her, she realizes how much she cares.

A/N: Not much to say here, just that I hope you like this part and let me know your thoughts. <3

Masterlist | Read ch 1 here

It was an awful day outside.

The sky was all baby blue and the sun was shining warmly over the lake's water. Wednesday could see everyone running around all the way from the round window of her dorm.

She liked to keep as far away from the commotion as possible on days like these. But Enid had other plans when she dragged her roommate outside, going on about how sad it was to be cooped up inside on a day like this.

Though Wednesday was quickly ditched when Ajax came into the picture, and that's when she spotted you.

It was genuinely, annoyingly, one of the most beautiful sights Wednesday had ever witnessed. You were leaning back on your elbows under a huge tree, lips moving softly into words she couldn't know; your skin was mostly hidden from sunlight, but a few rays still managed to catch your hair, painting the strands into a golden glow as the glistening of the lake's water in front of you framed your profile. It almost got Wednesday enjoying the bright and warm weather for a second, but the rest of the world came back into focus when her gaze settled on the girl beside you.

Why did it look so intimate? Why was Yoko touching you with such grace? Why did you let her?

Wednesday had always been observant, noticing details to a minimum to find weaknesses and points of advantage, so of course, she noted how your sunglasses matched the ones the vampire was wearing. Wednesday caught her mind wandering as to how it happened; were you in her dorm room when you took them? Did Yoko put them on you, her hands touching the apples of your cheeks as she did so?

She kept her distance to keep her heart safe, so why does it hurt so much to be this far away now? Why is it so awful to see you with someone else, so happy and lively? Why does Wednesday feel like you're being stolen from her, when you're not even hers, to begin with?

There were so many goddamn questions flooding Wednesday's mind and making her feel less and less in control. It got her clenching her fists, breath coming out shallow as she nagged on her bottom lip until the metallic taste of blood brushed her tongue.

Goody warned that she was destined to be alone, so maybe she shouldn't be surprised if one day someone else gets to keep you. Doesn't mean she needs to like it, or go down without a fight.

With each step Wednesday took towards you, the more she hated herself, because it felt childish and naive, maybe even futile. But deep inside her little black heart, she also knew she would never stop torturing herself about it if she just turned away.

So she played her cards, and now that you were walking side by side with her — your shoulder bumping into hers because the concept of personal space changed when it was just you and her — Wednesday's lips parted with a long sigh she'd been holding since laying eyes on you on that picnic blanket.

Dead leaves and branches snapped under her boots, the bee keeper's shed slowly coming into view amidst the dense trees. She glanced at you, blinking slowly as her features softened for you, for you, for you always.

"What did you need me for?" You eventually asked, all innocent curiosity and flushed cheeks from the sun.

"Eugene wanted you to check on the new hive." Wednesday lied easily.

"Are the bees okay? Did something happen?" The look in your eyes mimicked the urgency of your tone.

Wednesday rolled her eyes, though the action held more adoration than anything else. "That's the whole point of checking in on them, is it not?"

The old wooden door of the shed creaked as she opened it for you and let it close again once you were both inside; it was a little darker, stripes of sunlight coming in through the cracks and holes in the walls, illuminating the organized mess of the shed.

"Touche," you mumbled, making a beeline for the new bees that were still settling in. You and Eugene liked to keep them inside for a while before relocating them to their definitive hive outside, especially when a new Queen is added.

You could feel the weight of Wednesday's gaze on your back the whole time as you checked the little ones with a faint smile, and when nothing out of the ordinary was noticed, you started to wonder — to hope — that maybe this didn't have anything to do with the bees at all.

There was shuffling behind you, steps coming closer to you yet slow and hesitant in their movement. You would have known it was Wednesday even if she wasn't the one who brought you here. From this close, the feeling of her was unmistakable; it was almost like your soul already knew the shape of hers.

You felt a touch, a barely there graze of fingertips on your elbow. You knew that it was Wednesday's silent plea for you to focus on her. Solemnly.

Oh.

You turned around, twisting on your heels and almost forgetting how to breathe, she indeed came closer, you noted.

You didn't want to look desperate — Wednesday was closer, her perfume numbing all your other senses; there was a lock of her hair slightly caught on her lips, the freckles over her nose and cheeks much more apparent — though it took everything on you to not cup her cheeks and pull her closer still.

A beat passed with you wondering whether she'd ever feel the same — with you not knowing she was already in just as deep, if not deeper, than you — watching how the slivers of light reflected off of her dark irises, how her eyebrows relaxed and her lips quirked in the faintest of smiles. With time you came to know her mannerisms, the little telltale of emotions on her that you adored, that you could spend hours admiring. This was new.

"You're so pretty," the words came out in a breath before you could hold onto them.

They got Wednesday blinking multiple times, as if a dandelion had been blown in front of her, its petals grazing her cheeks, leaving testimonies of affection and delicacy.

You wondered if she liked the feeling, or if it got her nauseous and annoyed.

Wednesday breathed in deeply, her tongue running over her bottom lip in motion that you followed. She wasn't looking at you as she said; "I remember the last time we were alone here," she spoke carefully, at the same time that her thumb curled around the belt loop of your shorts.

From her avoidance to look into your eyes to the way she insisted on touching you, it was somehow foreign territory. From all the other times you've sneaked away with Wednesday, this is easily the most intimate.

"I like that memory." Wednesday finished, tone dripping with something sweet, akin to honey but better.

Before you could even think, your fingertips were already tracing the outline of her jaw, like a satellite following the pull of gravity. You'd never heard her say anything that resembled attachment, let alone this. Part of you wanted to ask what triggered it, or where was the punchline.

Wednesday kissed you first; lips tender against yours as her nose nudged your cheek. Her urge got you stumbling backward until your back hit the shelf behind you.

You forgot any and all types of rational thinking.

————

"No," you grumbled, closing the bottle of nail polish, "no, stop fucking complaining, you're the one who asked me to do this."

You were laying on your belly on top of Wednesday's bed, her plush, comfy black comforter wrinkling slightly with the way Thing was gesturing erratically in front of you.

"And, I made it pretty clear I wasn't the best at it," you raised an eyebrow at him. Just because it was a little smudged on the sides doesn't mean he has to make a big deal out of it. The dark purple does look nice with his skin.

"Wednesday, tell him how it looks nice."

The raven-haired girl carefully picked up a filled page off of her typewriter and laid it down on the pile by her side. She spared a half-second glance towards you and Thing before inserting a new page to resume the noisy typing of her novel. "It looks dreadful."

You groaned exasperatedly, burying your head under the covers.

"I love it." Wednesday finished.

"Well there you have it," you hummed, clumsily getting up from her bed, "at least someone likes it."

Thing relented, signaling to you that it wasn't that bad.

It got you chuckling, for only a hand, he was quite something. With your palm over your chest, you mouthed a thank you to him before turning to Wednesday.

She was focused on her writing; her eyebrows just a tad furrowed, eyes sharp over the ink that was set on paper, her lips pulled thin as her fingertips skillfully pressed over the letters. Selfishly, you wanted to pull out your phone and take a picture, stash away this memory just for you. She probably wouldn't like that though, and as your mother used to tell you; memories exist outside of time. You could be back here and now anytime you wanted.

Some might think that Wednesday's side of the room is morbid and dead compared to the burst of colors that is Enid's side. You saw it differently; her hoodie was thrown over the bed, from earlier when she came in; there is a potted cactus sitting on the bedside table, beside the big round window, you gave it to her a few weeks ago and it still a vivid green; her cello rests beside her wardrobe, its case half open from when she practiced last night; the bin from under her desk is almost overflowing with balls of paper, signs of a dead end on her novel that she, apparently, has just found a way around.

If you look closely enough, Wednesday's side of the room is just as full of life as Enid's is. Each corner has a little bit of her, of her personality for you to discover. And just recently you've been allowed to. Honestly, it's still a little overwhelming.

You've been in her room before, countless times because of Enid, but never because Wednesday had invited you. It caught you by surprise when she — in her own nonchalant and cryptic way — asked you to come back with her a few days ago. A part of you always thought she would never want to entangle your personal lives more than they already were, so it did catch you a bit off guard when she yanked you from Yoko's side in the hallway and just… didn't let go.

Every day since, you've been spending more time by her side. None of you had quite addressed why yet.

You slowly walked to Wednesday's side, with every three clicks of the typewriter you took one step. Your gaze shifted from her to the recently written pile of pages on the desk.

Wednesday's fingers hovered over the buttons when she noticed you looking. She strived to keep her face impassive even when her breathing felt stuck to her throat.

Shit. She thought to herself, did you have to come snooping right when that page is on the top?

"Is there a new character in your novel?" You asked, lightly tracing your fingertips over the black ink, mainly over the lines in which Viper was described holding the hands of an unnamed girl.

Wednesday got up in a quick motion, her chair harshly scrapping the dark wood floor as she stepped in front of you, blocking your view of her story. "No, I… She's not important." She explained, looking at you through her eyebrows in an almost daring way.

You were about to open your mouth to inquire more, but three knocks on the door stopped you.

Both you and Wednesday looked towards it. She took a step away from you, her back bumping the desk and causing a few pencils to roll over, as if just realizing how close you two were — as if you'd never been much closer than that.

Wednesday cleared her throat, taking swift steps to the door and pulling it open only to reveal Yoko on the other side, round sunglasses resting above her nose and a cheeky grin on her dark-painted lips.

"What do you want?" Wednesday all but growled, her knuckles going white around the door handle.

"I'm here for that one," Yoko gestured towards you, before tilting her head so her eyes could properly find yours, "due date is next week Y/N, last I checked we're still a pair, come on lovergirl."

The nickname held no bad intentions other than to tease you for suddenly being glued to Wednesday's side. But if looks could kill, Wednesday would have Yoko six feet under already.

Begrudgingly, you picked up your backpack, giving Thing a fist bump before walking to the door.

You stopped by Wednesday, naturally reaching out to touch the back of her hand with yours. Her skin was all silk-like smooth as you hooked your pointer finger with hers.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" You asked only for her to hear.

Pathetically, Wednesday dreaded the thought of you leaving with someone else. She only nodded, giving your finger a barely-there squeeze before you walked away.

And when Yoko put an arm around your shoulders, she almost knocked the whole building out of place with the way she slammed her door.

————

The smell of coffee and freshly baked goods was ever-present in Weathervane, the place held this warmth to it, all cinnamon and brown sugar. Maybe that's why it was your favorite place in town.

You and Yoko sat by one of the booths beside the big glass windows, watching the people walk by on the sidewalk as a light drizzle painted the streets a darker color.

Your spoon clicked against your mug every time you mixed up your cappuccino. There was a small frown on your eyebrows, your back hitting the plush fabric of your seat; "yeah but like, why?"

Yoko let go of the straw in her drink with a pop, she shrugged, "not sure."

"So someone just told you oh by the way if you eat anything with garlic you might just end up in the hospital, and you just went with it no questions asked?" You tilted your head to the side as a puppy would, a faint smile coming to your lips.

"I mean," the vampire leaned back, strands of her straight hair going over her sunglasses, "back then I didn't give much of a shit, and since then it has happened to me enough times that I know it's true so, no I never asked about the whys."

A waiter passed by you holding a recently baked pie, the warm smell of apples invading your nostrils. You briefly considered ordering a slice. "I'd be curious about the whys." You mumbled, your lips grazing the edge of your mug before you took a sip.

Yoko smirked, her fangs prodding at her lower lip, "look it up then."

"We have, there's nothing."

"That's because it's something we know since the dark ages."

You hummed, "talk about blind trust."

Placing your mug on the table, you lazily turned your head to the side to look out into the street, only to be met with the piercing eyes of Wednesday staring right into your soul from the other side of the glass window.

Your hand bumped into your mug with the way you jumped in your seat, spilling a bit of your drink, "shit," you cursed under your breath, hearing the pounding of your heart in your ears.

"Don't scare me like that," you exclaimed to Wednesday, motioning wildly to the cappuccino stain on the table.

All the raven-haired girl did was raise an unimpressed eyebrow at you, probably not understanding a word of what you were saying.

"You two, I swear to god…" Yoko giggled, watching you amusedly.

"Don't." You pointed a finger at her.

From the sidewalk, Wednesday visibly huffed before turning around to carefully make her way inside.

"Yeah, I'm gonna take that as my cue to go to the bathroom, because she," Yoko told you, finishing her drink before gesturing behind her to where the bell above the door dinged as Wednesday came in, "looks like a damn storm cloud."

"Yeah very funny," you whispered back, to which you only received a salute from Yoko as a response as she walked away.

Wednesday made her way around the tables and to you, her arms straight by her side and face impassive. Her eyes never left you, she choose to sit beside you on the booth instead of in front of you, her shoulder brushing yours as her hands rested neatly on her lap.

"Hey you," you smiled something shy, feeling the familiar way your cheeks warmed up and your stomach filled with butterflies for having her this close. "I'm happy you're-"

"I couldn't find you at school," Wednesday stated before you could finish, her gaze sneaking from your eyes to your lips.

Your hands became slick with perspiration, words tangled at the tip of your tongue. She was looking for you, came all this way for you. Maybe it shouldn't have made you as happy as it did.

"You were looking for me?" You dared ask, tone filled with tender hope and something else, all warm and sweet, a feeling you've been trying to keep at bay since she first kissed you.

Wednesday gulped, her jaw tensing as she averted her gaze with a slow blink. One of your hands was resting on top of the table, fidgeting with the edge of a napkin; was it too bad that she felt like holding it?

"I uh- I'm sorry I didn't say anything," you said when she didn't answer, "Yoko wanted to go out for a bite and asked me to tag along."

There was an instant coldness to you when Wednesday shifted on her seat, separating her shoulder from yours, "she asked you out?"

"I mean, yeah but-"

"And you said yes?"

Your lips hung open for a beat where you simply looked at Wednesday; her dark eyes shining under the orange lights, droplets of rain still clinging to her black hair, and for the first time, no walls up around her heart. But maybe it was your fault that it was not for the right reasons.

Wednesday breathed through her nose, it sounded much like a sniff and she hated it; "don't let me spoil your date." She got up so fast that she was halfway to the door when you scrambled to go after her.

"Wait, Wednesday wait," you called, jogging to catch up to her and almost knocking over a guy who was carrying two big mugs of hot chocolate.

You took hold of her hand without thinking, walking around her to block her path a second before she reached the door handle.

She didn't return the hold you had on her hand and it stung, but you carried on almost desperately; "not a date. This is not a date, you don't have to be jealous or-"

"I don't care." Wednesday yanked her hand away, her words so cold that she almost convinced herself that they were true. "The fact that you could even think I would feel anything remotely close to that for you is ridiculous at best."

It was already a scene, you and Wednesday could feel the not-so-discreet eyes of almost all the customers on you, forks with pieces of pie and mugs with coffee stopped midair as they watched the show.

You involuntary curled in on yourself because of the unwanted attention. Wednesday didn't seem to mind.

"Please can we talk about this somewhere else?" You asked quietly, your sneaker tapping the floor rhythmically.

"There's nothing to talk about." Wednesday simply said, but the words were pushed out forcefully, bitter on her tongue and razor-sharp around her already bleeding heart. They hurt, but at least this was a pain that Wednesday could control.

You took a step closer to her, hands itching to touch her in any way but she took a step away from you.

"We have nothing worth talking about."

With that Wednesday walked around you and into the now pouring rain, leaving behind everything that could've been.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 3 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @gayestfeels26 @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @angel-luv-04 @imlike-so-gaydude @user284747 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @kylobensgirl @witchyhs-blog @tobylikesfire @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @astancomerbelova

@justyourwritter69 @natashaxwife @fieldofsecretss @faunusrubyrose @darkblueeyedperson @jujuu23 @part-timetraveller @athenablack1959 @loki-is-loved @oh-thats-cute @straweberries

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams x fem!reader #wednesday addams #wednesday #wednesday addams x you #wednesdayedit #imagine #fanfic #fluff #angst #wednesday addams fanfic #jenna ortega #wednesday x reader #my story

2K notes · View notes

enhaheeseung · 5 months

Text

Come back to me - L.HS

Pairing: heeseung X fem reader!

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, depression, crying, cursing.

WC: 1,900k+

Part eleven

Masterlist

“Hey, bro.”

“Heeseung?”

“Bossman”

“Hello?

“ANSWER ME!”

Little did Jake know his texts would go unanswered for days.

After the first couple of days, Jake thought maybe heeseung was just working things out with you and focusing on repairing your guy's relationship.

However, after a while, he started to get suspicious of what was happening. It was unusual for heeseung not to respond, and it was even more unusual for him not to show up for work after weeks of being absent.

“Have you heard from heeseung? He’s not answering my calls or texts.” he sent a text to Jay, trying to piece together the current situation.

“No. Not since his date with y/n.”

“Strange, this isn’t like him at all.”

“I know, he hasn’t been to work in forever. Do you think we should check on him?”

“Already three steps ahead of you. Meet me at his house. I’ll send the address.”

“Sounds good”

Jay arrived a few minutes after Jake, and they stood outside heeseung’s door, knocking softly. “Took you long enough to get here” Jake rolls his eyes.

“Not my problem. There was traffic!” He defends.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jake sighs and knocks on the door again, becoming more anxious than he already was. “His cars in the driveway. He must be here.” Jay went to the window, trying to peek in, but all the lights were turned off.

Jay looked for a spare key but had no luck in finding one.

The knock on the door became more erratic as Jake grew more and more worried.

He gave up and tried to dial Heeseung’s number again, but it was futile when he got no answer. “Fuck”

At this point, Jake was about to kick the door in, and he all but did. “Wait!” Jay shouted and twisted the doorknob, and lo and behold, it was open this whole time.

He stuck his tongue out at Jake before entering heeseung’s home while the other just shook his head in disbelief.

“Heeseung?” They called as they stepped inside, it was dead silent, almost as if no one was home.

Of course, there was no answer, and Jake quickly jogged upstairs, heart racing as his mind went to the worst scenarios. “Heeseung? Oh, thank goodness.” Jake stopped in his tracks, sighing in relief, and Jay did as well when they spotted Heeseung in bed. “You had me worried, you idiot,” Jake scolded him. After his initial panic faded away, he noticed how Heeseung had absolutely no reaction to them practically breaking in. “Hee?” Jake whispers, walking towards him on the bed. It was dark, but once he got closer, he could see that Heeseung had his eyes wide open, blankly staring at a picture of you.

“Go,” was all he said before he turned around on the other side of his bed.

“Go? What the fuck, man? I drove forty five minutes to get to your ass,” Jake elbowed Jay in the side.

“Can’t you fucking read the room?” Jake whisper shouts while Jay holds his side in pain.

Before saying anything else, Jake turned on the light illuminating the room. “Hee, what’s going on? “

“I said fucking go,” he yelled, making Jake jump in his spot. “Just go.” he broke down in tears, sobbing quietly as he pulled the blankets over his head.

“O-okay, we’re going.” Jake put his hands up, slowly backing out of the room along with Jay as they quietly shut the door and left.

“What the fuck?” Jay said once they both got outside.

“Yeah,” Jake sighed.

That incident was about two weeks ago, and there was still no sign of him at work, and he wasn’t answering his phone either.

As much as heeseung dreaded the idea, he still pulled himself out of bed to shower every now and then, and his diet consisted of water and stale crackers. basically, he was doing just enough to sustain himself.

Most of his time was spent crying or sleeping or having very vivid dreams, memories, and flashbacks of you and him together.

And that was it.

This was his life without you if you could even call it living.

“That’s it.” Jake slams his computer shut, gathering the attention of Jay and his other coworkers.

“What the hell, Jake?”

“Shut up. I’m going to Heeseung’s house. Are you coming or not?” He says, snatching up his suit jacket.

“What for?” Jay asked while he lowered his specs.

“I hate you.” Jake glared at him, heading straight for the elevator.

“Why?” He asks as Jake gets further and further away, he follows his coworker scrambling to get his jacket on. “Why?!”

This time, the door was actually locked cause they locked it before they left, and this time, Jake didn’t waste any time kicking the door open and heading straight upstairs, where his friend was withering away.

“Get out,” heeseung says.

“Nope, not today,” Jake storms into his room, flicking all the lights on and ripping open the curtains, letting some light in finally.

“What the hell? I said Get out,” heeseung shouted.

“No!” Jake shouted back, taking heeseung by surprise. “Look at yourself. What the hell is happening to you?”

Heeseung went silent, turning his head away from the two.

“Stop! You can’t just keep shutting us out like this.” he ripped the covers off of Heeseung’s body, revealing his frail frame.

“Just leave me alone, Jake. I’m fine.” he said quietly as he sat up on his bed, hugging his knees to his chest.

Jake knew this was more than an invasion of privacy, but he had it up to here. First, heeseung was drinking himself to death, and now this, he wasn’t going to take it anymore. He refused to stand on the sidelines watching heeseung throw his life away. He walked over to the bed, grabbing Heeseung’s shoulders, and forcing him to stand up. “Jake, don’t yo-“

“Be quiet, Jay,” Jake says angrily while guiding Heeseung to stand in front of his wall mirror.

Heeseung quietly gasped at his appearance. The reality of what he was doing to himself finally set in as he quickly turned away.

“You think we want this for you? You think y/n wants this for you?”

“Y/n,” Heeseung whispered, tears gathering in his eyes. He was so caught up in the past that he hadn’t even thought about you in the present. He didn’t know what you were up to these days.

Jake’s eyes softened as he guided heeseung to the edge of the bed. “Tell us what happened,” Jake encouraged him. “You’re always helping us, and we never help you, so let us return the favor.”

“Yeah, besides, you owe me the details on your date.” Jay tried his best to smile as he closed the bedroom and joined them on the bed.

Heeseung nodded softly after they knocked some sense into him. “Okay,” he says, opening up to the idea a lot easier than he would have imagined, but he knew he needed help. He knew he needed someone to talk to other than a still picture frame.

It was nightfall by the time they had finished talking, and to say a lot had happened between the two of you would be an understatement.

And they realized it wasn’t so much the initiated divorce that turned Heeseung into the person he is now. It was more less the guilt eating away at him, and, of course, being cooped up all by himself in the silence of his house for days was not helping his case one bit.

But they were determined to get him on his feet and hopefully get you both back together because it sounded like a lot of self-pity and a large sum of miscommunication and unfortunate circumstances.

Not to mention, heeseung was literally deluding himself into thinking he wasn’t good enough for you, and that was a whole new can of worms that, on top of the fact that he was basically the reason why things weren’t moving forward with you both it sounded hopeful all he needed to do was be persistent cause obviously the love was there, but every time his guilt kept getting in the way of that, leaving him where he is right now crying in the arms of his friends but everything was soon going to change.

“Okay, so we’re gonna make a plan for you to get y/n back.” Heeseung shook his head back and forth, not even trying to give the idea a chance. Lucky for him, he’s got two friends that actually care about his emotional ass. “Yes, we are.”

“Indeed we are,” Jay agreed. “But first things first, go take a shower before I lose my sense of smell.”

“You think I look okay?” Heeseung nervously checked himself out in the mirror one last time.

“You look fine. Stop worrying about that,” Jay scolded. “Do you have it?”

“I do” heeseung replied nervously. “Thanks, guys. I don’t know where I’d be without you.” he gave them a long, big hug.

“You’d be ten pounds lighter, in bed, and unshowered,” Jay jokes but gives him a hug, nevertheless dropping his hard exterior for once.

Heeseung chuckled softly. “Remember what we said,” Jake reminded him of the conversation they had had days ago.

Heeseung nodded.

“Okay, now go get her back.” Jake smiled, making it sound so simple, moments later they headed off, driving heeseung to his destination.

He was so grateful for them helping him. Not only did they help pick an outfit and gift for you, but they even counseled him and gave him advice. Now, all that was left to do was to put it into action, and right now, he felt like he could take on the world, and this time, he wasn’t leaving until you took him back. “This is it.” he took a deep breath, waving bye to Jake and Jay as they backed out of the driveway.

A few seconds later, he knocked on your door.

You sat on your bed blankly, staring at the positive pregnancy test in your hand, thoughts muddied as you wondered where to go from here. You haven’t told anyone yet, only finding out today after you missed yet another period. The gears started turning, and it only made sense that you were pregnant after the symptoms you were experiencing the missed periods, and the fact that you didn’t use any protection the last time you had sex.

You wanted to deny it at first, brushing it off, saying you just weren’t feeling good and that missed periods happened sometimes, but deep down, you knew you were just trying to delay the inevitable, but with the positive test in your hand, there was no more getting around it.

You were pregnant.

You wanted to tell someone, but you also were so overwhelmed by the new information, and the tears would not stop flowing. You were so happy that you were going to have a baby, but at the same time, you were nervous, given your current circumstances.

You were about to call your mom, but a soft knock on your door stopped you from doing so. You cleared your throat and quickly hid the test under your pillow. “Come in.”

The door soon swung open, revealing no other than.

“Heeseung?”

Thanks for reading likes comments and reblogs are always appreciated sorry for any typos or errors I hope you all have a good day/night♥️

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#enhypen heeseung #enhypen #heeseung #lee heeseung #enha heeseung #engene #heeseung smut #lee heeseung x y/n #enhypen angst #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen heeseung smut #enhaheeseung come back to me #enhypen fluff #enhypen fanfic #heeseung angst #lee heeseung smut

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hencvl · 11 months

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Mine. I [Remastered]

Dark! Clark Kent x reader. Warnings: dark fic, forced marriage.

Summary: you finished your night shift and you feel someone was following you.

A/n: sorry for any mistakes that i made, English is not my first language. I also don't give permission to post my works on any other platforms such as Wattpad, Ao3 etc.

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read pt. 2 >

You curse under your breath as you walk down on the street, clutching tightly on your coat. It's 12 a.m at midnight, you just finished your shift and on your way to your apartment. You reluctantly use this route because it was the closest to your place.

You shiver as you feel the cold air against your skin, even if you are covered in many layers of coat, you can still feel it. Winters can be fun, but also can be annoying at the same time.

You checked your phone as it was buzzing, a message was sent from your roommate. You have been living with him for over a year now, yet both of you barely know each other.

Clark-

i leave some dinner leftovers in the fridge.

You-

Mkay.

You looked around as you felt someone following you from behind. You could feel an unknown presence since you left your workplace, yet you choose to ignore it.

You turn your heels around to see who it is, but only to find nothing. Suddenly, a hand covered your mouth to muffle your scream, your back was pressed against the stranger's chest

“whaa- help!”

You fight the figure, wiggling and squirming in his hold. You know you shouldn't be using this route at all! what the hell have you got yourself into. You kicked the stranger's ankle, but it was a futile attempt.

“stop resisting.” he spoke in a harsh tone, gripping you tightly. The last thing he wanted to do to you was hurting you.

No, you're too precious to him.

Instead, he took out a pad that he dabbed with Chloroform earlier, and slammed it on your nose, letting you breath the toxin.

“noo..ummf..”

Seeing you fall unconscious in his arms, he smirked as he caress the beautiful face of yours while engulfing your small figure in his warm embrace.

finally. Months of watching you from afar, admiring, longing for your touch and warmth he finally got to hold you in his arms. He would not let this opportunity to have you go wasted.

The man looked around the alley, afraid if someone did watch his deed. Once he was convinced that everything was clear, he looked back at her with a wicked grin.

“sleep tight, my bride”

You take a sharp breath as you blink, only to find yourself spawled on a soft mattress. You tried to move but failed, too exhausted as you lay back. The bed moved a bit as you heard a groan next to you, a muscled arm makes its way to your waist, bringing you closer to a toned bare chest.

You stayed still, telling yourself that it's just another nightmare. But it's not until you feel a warm breath fanning on your neck before he placed a soft kiss on it before whispering right into your ear.

“what are you trying to do, my dear?”

His voice is deep, whispering at you soothingly as he caresses your waist. He lifted himself and got on top of you, finally got to see his face.

You study his Adonis looks, from his curly hair, trailing down to his handsome face. His icicle blue eyes are the most beautiful things you've ever seen, so beautiful yet so cold.

His jawline is sharp, like you could hurt yourself just from tracing it. He let you stare at him. What a romantic scene it was. Like the beauty of flower petals formed from two colors, becoming one solid entity.

You couldn't help but gawk, how can someone be so fine like this? The thought left your mind immediately as he shifted from his position a bit, leaning closer towards you. He brushes his succulent lips against your cheek, like a predator finally gets to devour its prey.

“wait- who the hell are you? why am i here?” you said, as you sat up on the bed and backed up from him.

“you don't need to know.” he replied, groaning slightly as she made a distance between them. He wanted to hold her in his arms again and never let her go.

He tried to reach out to her again, grabbing her ankle and pulling her towards him with a squeal. Even though she tried to resist him, she seemed to be liking his touch.

A smirk made its way to his face, adding the handsomeness in his features that got her melted.

little did he know...

“argh!” he let out a pained groan at the sudden kick on his crotch. She kicked him hard in the balls that got him shaking slightly from the after effects.

You immediately jumped out of the bed, abandoning the mysterious man that was about to hold you captive and your backpack. That doesn't matter now. Your life matters.

Running down from the apartment, you look around trying to ask for help before the man comes and captures you again. Luckily there's a cab pulling up on the road once they saw you.

“this is madness!”

#dark clark kent #clark kent x female reader #clark x reader #clark kent #superman #superman fanfiction #clark kent imagine #dc comcis #henry cavill characters #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfic

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n-eoct · 1 year

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LES . . . HAECHAN ☆ !

ㅤ≀ㅤ ֺ۪ ⭒ ݂ in which haechan doesn’t realize how much his rings effect you until he has you creaming around his ring adorned fingers

☰ warnings . . . fingering (f receiving) / use of ‘girl’ / use of ‘princess’ / reader is mentioned to be wearing a dress / haechan thibks he is some sorta genius / squirting / takes place in a car / mention of haechan feeling himself up (idk dude) / overstimulation (impliedish) / vulgar language / haechan is down bad bro / if i missed anything lmk!

≀ㅤ ֺ۪ ⭒ ݂ this goes without saying, MDNI. not rlly proof read its kinda shitty idk. enjoy

rings were a day to day accessory for haechan, various silver bands with intricate to almost no design scattered across his fingers. often times his hands felt bare without them, and it was such a common thing for him that he never thought much of it. that was until you of course, cocking an eyebrow every time he caught you staring at his hands. at first he thought you just happened to zone out while looking at his hands, brushing it off as nothing.

slowly but surely he began to pick up on your staring habit, sometimes your eyes would linger but others you’d look away at the speed of light. haechan began testing out little theories without your knowledge, some days opting to not wear his rings to see how you’d react. you still looked, but it was almost as if you were checking to see if he had it on. it was almost laughable, haechan just wasn’t sure if you knew he’d caught you or you didn’t care that he caught you.

haechan couldn’t help but want to dig into this a little deeper, from letting his hand stay a little longer on your thigh to subtly posting pictures of his hands to his instagram story. he just wanted to catch you slip, even once. yet, his efforts were futile because you never did. at this point it would have been easier for him to just ask you, but that’d ruin any type of fun haechan could have with this. the sun boy decided to just go for it, one last test to see if his suspicions were all correct.

haechan asked you to go out on a drive, resting his hand on your thigh the entire time and occasionally drawing imaginary circles against your bare skin. it was almost perfect, a little too perfect. the cool breeze of that night, the way your dress was bunched up a little higher from sitting, and the cold silver rings snug on his fingers. haechan slowly began creeping his hand up higher, little by little till he could feel the fabric of your panties. fingers ghosting over your clothed cunt that was a barrier between you and what he wanted. he took the liberty to park the car in some empty parking lot, turning his body towards you. “let me have you princess” he whispered, eyes locked to yours while pressing a digit against your pussy. once he got the green light, he began taking off his rings one by one until you stopped him.

tilting his head to the side as your hand gripped his wrist, shaking your head in a “no” manner. haechans theory was proven correct in that moment, although he was already well aware of this a while ago. fighting the urge to let that smug smirk spread across his face, haechan watched as you released your grip on him. twisting the band of your panties, helping you out of them and watching as they slid down to your ankles. “you drive me insane.” haechan practically moaned, digits finding their way back to your now bare cunt. collecting your juices on the pads of his finger tips, haechan took his time. he slid his fingers between your folds, toyed at your clit, teased your entrance. he knew this was just as much of torture for you as it was for him.

once haechan felt you were prepped enough, he slid one finger in and he swore he went to heaven in that moment. the look on your face brought him nothing but ecstasy, eyes rolling back at the mix of warm and cold. haechans ministrations were perfectly calculated, at a rhythm that could bring anyone to the brink of an orgasm. the car was filled with nothing but your whines, his groans at how amazing you felt, and the loud squelch of your cunt. if this wasn’t paradise on earth, he wasn’t sure what was. he took the liberty to slide another finger in, stretching you out one digit at a time.

“fuck.” was all he could say in that moment, watching the way your cunt swallowed his fingers in. your juices coated his fingers, sticking to the various metal bands. his pace picked up, seeing the way you were attempting to close your legs. he knew you were ready to cum, but haechan had no plan of stopping to begin with. this feeling was addictive to say the least, using his free hand to palm at his cock that was confined beneath his jeans. “c’mon princess, cum for me.” he practically begged, watching as you came undone. this sight was his favorite to say the least, your eyes rolling back as sweat stuck to your skin. your nails dug into his arm, crescent marks already imprinting onto his skin.

haechan chuckled when you cried out about how it was ‘too much’ and that you were ‘too sensitive’. haechan kept working to coax another orgasm out of you, and then another. he watched your thighs shake, trembling because of him. could anyone stop when a sight like this was in front of them? his pretty girl falling apart from his fingers alone? truth be told, he was also looking for something else. haechan was set on seeing you make a mess, ruin his car seats beyond belief. haechan’s tempo never skipped nor did it fumble once, hitting that one spot that brought you to tears every single time.

“go ahead doll, make a mess f’me.” and so you did, you fell apart like a fragile vase that toppled over. your juices were all over his car seat, dripping down to the car matt. your body shook with sobs, incoherent words falling from your lips. haechan had no idea his rings would do this to you, not realizing the actual weight of the situation until this exact second. he rubbed at your thighs, whispering sweet nothings to calm you down. “you did so good”, “atta girl”, “thats my girl” all spilled from his lips as he worked through calming you down, never once taking his eyes off you.

hell, he thought, maybe i really won’t ever stop wearing these rings.

@meanau @lisired hey 😁

#nct smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #lee donghyuck smut #haechan smut #haechan x reader smut #lee donghyuck x reader smut #nct x reader smut #nct 127 x reader smut #nct dream x reader smut #donghyuck x reader smut

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mimi-cee-genshin · 3 months

Text

Denial is Futile: Wanderer x f!reader - Chapter 6

Read on AO3 | Series Masterlist | Taglist

« Chapter 1 | < Chapter 5

Summary:

What would you do if you were stuck with Wanderer indefinitely?

The cute and sweet guy from the bazaar was brought to your place while unconscious. But when he woke up, you were appalled by the amount of snark he had. Was he even the same person? And now you were stuck with him because he could literally die if he stopped holding your hand. You weren't sure if you could tolerate him any longer. Little did you know he was exactly the type of person you needed in your life.

Other info: Fluff, humor, sfw, enemies to lovers, some hurt/comfort and angst later, character growth, occurs after the version 3.3 Archon quest and Tighnari's story quest, female reader

Words: 3.2k

*****

Your arm didn't sting anymore. The pain medication finally kicked in. Despite your experience with fire, this was the first time you'd gotten burned.

You sat on the bench, now settled in Pardis Dhyai, and Tighnari inspected and redressed your wounds.

"You should be fine now," he said, kneeling in front of you, placing the rest of the bandages back into his satchel. "It shouldn't take long to heal as long as you keep it clean and reapply the salve I gave you earlier."

Wanderer slumped on the bench, elbow on knee and chin on hand. You took your arm back from Tighnari and gave him a brief thank you.

The sky was dim as the sun set behind you and the nocturnal insects had begun their hums. "You should probably rest for now," Tighnari told you. "I'll see if I can reschedule our meeting for–"

"Tighnari, you said you'd come hours ago.” A slender lady walked up behind him, placing her hands on her hips. She had pale turquoise hair and her white dress was decorated with isometric diamonds that were different hues of blue and green. You knew exactly who it was. It was Madam Faruzan.

Wanderer raised a brow and a slight scowl spread on his face. He didn't bother trying to hide his annoyance at her interruption. You squeezed his hand tight as a warning to be polite, but he merely snapped a look at you as if you were asking for something unreasonable.

"I could've been preparing for tomorrow's lecture," Faruzan told Tighnari. "Don't tell me you’ve completely forgotten."

The sky was getting dark, and you were tired from the long day. The battle with the Fatui dragged over today's schedule, and your legs were sore, not to mention the added difficulty of an injured arm.

“You're not the only one with places to go, you know,” said Wanderer with a click of his tongue, standing up in front of you. "Can't you see we're busy right now and that she needs some rest?"

You bit your lip and pulled him back onto the bench. Why must he be this rude to one of the esteemed professors from the Akademiya?

"First of all," Faruzan said to Wanderer, crossing her arms, "I was talking to Tighnari here. You should mind your manners, young man."

Wanderer merely snorted.

“Just what is so funny?” Faruzan reprimanded.

You wanted to disappear into the bench. Maybe she wouldn't notice you were here.

“It's just amusing how you thought I was younger than you,” he replied. "Last I checked, I'm actually older than everyone here – combined."

Faruzan took a step back. "What? H-how is that even possible?" she asked. “Then why do you look so young?”

“Are you really asking yourself that?” Wanderer said, rolling his eyes. “You of all people? Just what exactly do they teach at the Akademiya for everyone to be so stupid?”

In your panic, you jabbed him hard with your elbow, to the point where he forced out a cough. You couldn't risk a drop in your reputation that came from being associated with him.

“Madam Faruzan," Collei tapped her shoulder. "Please allow me to explain.”

You gave a sigh in relief, thankful she was here.

“Your meeting is actually with these two,” Collei continued, giving her a bashful smile. “I told Tighnari to wait for them here because Y/n got injured earlier. They saved us from some Fatui we ran into."

"Oh dear." Faruzan turned her attention to you, now noticing the bandaged arm under your sleeve. She knelt down to get a closer look but was careful not to touch it. "I apologize for my rudeness earlier,” she said after ensuring you were fine. “I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions like that."

“Hmph. I'm surprised you even apologized,” Wanderer commented. You threw him another look.

“Well then,” Tighnari said, clapping his hands together. “Since that's all settled, Faruzan, Wanderer is the one who reacted to the speckled posies the other day.” Tighnari must have spoken to her about your dilemma.

“It was these two?” Faruzan said now connecting the dots. “So that's what this meeting was about. Why did you need to be so secretive about it?” she said with hands on her hips. “And here I thought they were a pair of researchers who just happened to be a couple.”

“What?” asked Wanderer.

“Oh… Umm…” you said, not sure how to respond to her. You really didn't want her to think you'd like someone like him. “Why would you say that?”

“Well, based on how concerned Hat Guy was just now…” she began, glancing at you two. You couldn't help but wonder why she had a skeptical look on her face. Was there something you missed?

“Well… that doesn't matter right now.” Faruzan brushed off the topic. “You wanted me to help you investigate why Wanderer goes unconscious, did you not?”

“That's right,” said Tighnari after clearing his throat. “Wanderer's symptoms were the same as Kartaka’s.” He briefly explained the current complications with Kartaka and discussed how it'd be best to keep his existence discreet. You had no idea this was why he never mentioned this to you earlier.

According to Tighnari, with Faruzan's knowledge of mechanical life forms from the past, he hoped she'd have an idea for why Wanderer had the same reaction as Kartaka did. He had called himself a puppet before but maybe there were some similarities with this ancient technology.

“To be honest,” said Faruzan, “I'm not sure if I'll be much help.”

“I have some other ideas I can experiment,” Tighnari replied. “I'll just need you to observe and see if anything looks familiar to you.”

What Tighnari brought was much more elaborate than you had expected. He pulled out various vials from his satchel as well as other fabrics and materials for testing. You didn't understand what exactly he was experimenting as he discussed his finding with Faruzan, but you simply followed his instructions, hoping they'd come to a conclusion.

A few of the tests required Wanderer to go unconscious again. It had been a while since you'd seen him laying on the ground like that, and you held your breath every time he didn't wake up immediately. You knew you needed to find a permanent solution, but it was difficult to see him in that state considering all the time you had spent together.

“I'm sorry to say that all these tests were… inconclusive,” said Tighnari.

Faruzan sighed before stretching her arms with a yawn. “You know, why don't you just look for a replacement part?” she suggested. “From the looks of it, I think our findings confirmed your original hypothesis. It's as if one of his organs is malfunctioning.”

“But even after all of these tests, we don't even know which part of me is malfunctioning,” said Wanderer. “How would I–?” he stopped himself and sighed, rubbing his palm on his forehead. “We're back where we started.”

You were all circling back to the same conclusion you had with Nahida and Baizhu, the conclusion you desperately wanted to avoid. You bit your bottom lip, reaching for a different answer, one that didn't include the Electro Archon. “There isn't anyone else we could ask for help?” you asked.

“There's always the Doctor,” said Wanderer with a snort. “He had previously figured out some of my inner workings.”

Your eyes grew wide with hope. “Why didn't you bring him up earlier?” you asked. “This could've been fixed by now.”

“Ah. I see,” Tighnari said with a hand on his chin. “I didn't know you were acquainted with him as well.”

“You know him, Master Tighnari?” asked Collei, her voice a little shaky.

“Let's just say I've met him briefly before,” he said while crossing his arms. “He wanted to take Haypasia.”

Collei gasped, hands covering her mouth. Her arms and legs froze and she bit her lip.

“This was a long time ago,” he said. “You know yourself that she's perfectly fine.”

Collei's shoulders remained stiff, and you knew you must have been missing some vital information. “So… is this Doctor not an option then?” you asked.

“No!” shouted Collei, realizing she said that a bit too loudly. “No,” she said again after adjusting her tone. “He might just…” she began to say, but her eyes wavered and grew dark, their usual light was gone. She didn't finish her sentence.

“He'd perform all kinds of experiments on us,” Wanderer finally explained with a sigh. “To say he'll have no regard for our well-being is putting it lightly.”

Collei's eyes grew wide at him. “Did he… ” she rubbed her arm, almost as if to soothe an invisible wound. “You too?” she asked.

“Well, in a different life, yes,” he said with a shrug. “But there's no use in discussing this anyway. He and the rest of the Fatui don't remember a single thing about me.”

So it was the Fatui. Despite learning some of Wanderer's past, you knew very little about his time with them. He mentioned it here and there with very little context, so you could hardly piece together a picture of his life there. Now you received another part of the puzzle; he was a victim too.

You had learned of the Fatui by chance, unfortunately because of Collei's trauma. A Fatui diplomat was in the city while the two of you carried some food from the tavern on the way home. Her trembling hands ruined the cake for Kamran’s birthday, but you were fortunately able to piece it back together. That was when Collei explained her past to you when you got home.

So seeing that Wanderer had a similar past, you had a glimpse of why he wished for revenge. For the first time, you felt like you understood him.

And that was why you'd never go back home.

Faruzan left for the night as the rest of you made your way back to Gandharva Ville. Collei had her bed back and you slept on the floor again but this time with Wanderer next to you. After staring up at the ceiling, you turned on your side to face him and inched a little closer to him.

“What do you think you're doing?” he asked.

You sighed, lying on your back once again. Collei was already fast asleep.

“Nothing. I'm doing absolutely nothing.”

*****

Wanderer clicked his tongue as you dragged him to the House of Dana for the third time this week. The meeting with Faruzan only concluded with what the two of you didn't want to hear: the next logical move was to see that woman.

You had been sleeping in more. It wouldn't have been a cause of concern if you were merely going to bed later than usual. But there were instances where you had trouble getting out of bed, almost lethargic at times. You would quickly regain your energy after eating breakfast, but Tighnari had instructed to keep an eye on your condition.

But you? You were ignoring it.

You continued with the work for your internship, not even addressing the issue of him being stuck to you anymore. He didn't care much either since he was forced to tolerate you and your habits the longer you were together. You would even compromise to his wants when he used to have to force his way instead. It was like you simply accepted that you'd never find a solution to being attached to him.

Until you had fainted.

Wanderer had caught you once again and this time it had taken you two days before you had woken up. And he had to remain by your side as Collei nursed you back to health.

“At this rate, I wouldn't be surprised if you just decided to drop me at the ravine over there,” he joked.

It was the obvious solution to your deteriorating health. Just let go of the one who was draining the energy out of you.

“No,” you said. Your answer was firm.

So now here you were in the House of Dana in the dead of night, flipping through any book you could find in hopes of finding a way to keep you both alive. The topics varied widely: mechanical core applications, Archon energy manipulation, ways to access Irminsul, vishap creation myths… the list went on.

“I have no clue how to even pronounce half of these words,” you said, groaning into your hands. You sat on the cold tile floor, leaning your back against his. A book laid on your lap from the ancient alchemy section and neither of you were an expert in the area. “I should just ask some of the scholars in the other departments.”

“And how exactly do you plan on bribing them to do the work for you?” Wanderer chided.

“We could at least ask,” you replied. “There's no harm in trying.”

Wanderer closed his own book. Learning about the history of runes wasn't going anywhere. “Let's go to Inazuma.”

You didn't reply. This was exactly how he thought you were going to react. You had shut down all conversations related to Inazuma, even more so lately, and you tended to avoid whatever you didn't like.

So you didn't talk to him. You continued to look through your stack of books and it slowly dwindled as the hours went by. You let out a yawn and the next thing he knew you had audaciously cuddled against him and wrapped your arms around his elbow.

“What do you think you're–”

“The war in Inazuma created a food shortage,” you told him.

Wanderer raised a brow. That was an abrupt change of topic. And because he was a being who didn't understand hunger, he couldn't empathize.

“What's this got to do with anything?” he asked.

You went quiet again. The library was empty, now nearing dusk, and its high ceiling gave a feeling of hollowness. Your voice had a slight tremble in its timber, but you carried on as if it was nothing of importance.

“My brother was a fisherman,” you said with a smile, but he could feel the rise and fall off your breath against his shoulder. “He didn't worship Orobashi like the rest of the island. He was loyal to the Electro Archon and I never understood why.”

“Why are you even telling me this?” Wanderer asked. “Did you think I'd care?”

You shoved his shoulder. “Can't you just listen?”

“Why would I bother listening to another person's sob story?”

“Ugh. Forget it,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Why did I even try?”

You picked up another book and Wanderer returned to his. He didn't understand why you thought he could give you any comfort. He didn't remember much from Watatsumi either. His dealings were limited to the delusion factory and nothing was particularly relevant to him from that island besides the Resistance.

He flipped a page but his attention was elsewhere. After a few more pages and a sigh, he finally asked, “Did you go hungry too?”

“What?”

“Forget it,” he said. “If you don't want to answer the question, I'm not going to force you.”

“Seriously? You shut me down just to ask again?”

“You know, I don't even get why you want to tell me.”

“I brought it up because I thought you'd want to know why I don't want to go to Inazuma,” you said, slamming your book shut. “And I thought maybe, just maybe, you could understand because of what happened to you with the Fatui. I could understand why you'd want to avoid them too.”

“Ha. You think I'm scared of them?” he said.

“That's not what I said–”

“I simply just have no reason to associate with them. If anything, I'd rather not go back to Inazuma either.”

You were about to throw back a remark at him, but instead you stopped and you sighed and you rubbed the temples of your forehead. You muttered to yourself something about calming down and you fiddled with the spine of your book.

A moment or two later, you tried talking to him again. “Did you have bad memories in Inazuma too?” you asked.

He sighed and shifted his legs to a more comfortable position. “Why do you even bother asking?” he said, rolling his eyes. “Everything was fine and dandy every single time I was there.”

Despite his sarcasm, you didn't add anything else. You went silent as if you didn't want to touch the topic anymore. He wouldn't care either way. It was over and done with and he was glad you didn't try to comfort him. But was that really what he wanted? Just another person who let him be, and not interfere with the status quo?

He shook his head. No. It was better this way. You wouldn't want to see him when his feathers were ruffled the wrong way. Or worse, like that wild dog that bit Niwa while it was in pain. He was an idiot for nursing it back to health. Wanderer let out a sigh, remembering when his wife scolded him for getting hurt.

You eventually fell asleep on the library floor, giving up on your struggle to keep your eyes open. The amount of effort you'd put into this was absurd. Did you really want to avoid Inazuma at all costs?

You tugged on his arm as you stirred on the floor and he couldn't believe how troublesome you were. With a scoff, he lifted your arm up and muttered to himself about how fortunate you were that Nahida's home was close by. You'd better not slap him when you wake up.

Wanderer attempted to prop you up on his back, but something got caught in one of the books. It was the bandages from your arm and it began to unravel. Wanderer scrambled to reach for it, only for the whole thing to fall apart anyway. He awkwardly froze with no clue how to proceed. If he bent down to pick it up, you'd wake up. Wait. Why did he care anyway?

But before he could fully change his mind, your arm caught his eye. It had mostly healed and when he lifted your sleeve to take a look at it, he saw a scar that he never noticed when he tended your wounds. It was distinct from the burn you got from protecting him. He had seen this type of wound before from a delusion, a delusion made from crystal marrow, and it had been years since he’d seen one.

He decided he might as well bring you to Nahida's. You'd just have to get your wounds dressed again there, whenever you decided to wake up of course. The sun was rising as students began to make their way into the Akademiya. A few familiar faces turned their heads, gawking at the two of you. He rolled his eyes wondering if they had never seen a sleeping student before as he carried you through the school.

*****

I hope you enjoyed this! Thanks for reading and if you take the time to leave a comment, I appreciate them so much!

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