#god I love his heeled boots here

[cinnaminsvga]

Harana | Jungkook

harana (n.): the act of wooing someone by serenading them

→ summary:

Unwilling to settle down with you after five years of dating, Jeon Jungkook decides to break up to chase after his dreams. In the aftermath, you leave your hometown, desperate to forget your past and relearn what it means to be on your own. Two years later while on your way to work, you pass by a familiar voice singing songs about a girl he had left behind.

{or alternatively: Jungkook still sings the love songs that he wrote for you. He still means them, too.}

→ genre: busker!au, exes to lovers, angst, humor → warnings: jimin is insane and kinda crude (he has some issues going on), jungkook is a pathetic wet bunny but he's trying his best, oc has So Many Problems, so much arguing and yearning, ambiguous ending??? but my god there is hope!! the humanity of it all!! → words: 16.1K → a/n: HOLY SHIT IM BACK (kinda) and happy new year!! yeah ok its march but im relearning how to form coherent sentences so be patient ;w; this is the first installment of my hfoh series that i teased a LONG time ago... i made it a resolution to complete this series by the end of the year before i kms (Keep Myself Safe) so here's to a brand new year :D (oh god @ universe pls be kind)

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

Two days before the incident, your shower nozzle decides to explode.

Okay, you have to admit that statement is a little misleading. Shower nozzles, in all its nonsentience, do not randomly decide to explode no matter how much you try to defend yourself to your landlord. Maybe your grip had been a little too harsh that morning, or maybe hanging 5 pounds of hair products on the handle had been a bit too much for the old sport to handle. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was warning you about the incident.

Whatever it was, it doesn’t erase the fact that your shower would be out of commission for the next week or so (though your landlord seems adamant about prolonging your suffering as long as possible). Until then, you’re going to have to find some other ways to keep the grease and grime from building on you. Heavens know that you already have a thriving ecosystem living in the back of your couch—you don’t need another one growing under your armpits. 

Lucky for you, you have friends. More importantly, you have friends who have showers. There is one problem though—all your friends live on the other side of the country. 

It’s been two years since you moved to the Big City™️, but you have done little to grow your social network. Call it introversion or depression, either way, you have no more contacts on your phone than you did when you left your hometown. Well, except for one person, if you could even consider him one. Frankly, you didn’t have a choice.

“Welcome to my humble abode, stinky,” Jimin greets you as you enter his house. Your nose is instantly assaulted by the smell of Bath & Body Works® Sweet Pea, reminding you once more why you didn’t consider him a friend. 

“Hey,” you reply gruffly, shucking your ratty shoes near his entrance. Your shoes look incredibly out of place amidst the sea of designer Chelsea boots and a singular pair of thigh-high heels. You take a glance at his living room, already feeling worse about yourself tenfold.

You had met Park Jimin by complete accident, much like how his mother probably felt when she first saw him too. You had never known anyone quite as… interesting as him, to put it lightly. 

When you got your job as a hostess for a luxury bar and restaurant, you figured you wouldn’t make many friends with your coworkers. Everyone was so… pretty, but in the shiny, untouchable sort of way. Almost all of the servers were as gorgeous as the models you’d see in magazines. You hadn’t known that the owners only hired a certain “demographic” of people for their restaurant, and you were equal parts flattered and disgusted that you’d somehow made it (though you suppose your bullshitting skills were all to thank). 

Unsurprisingly, even the bartenders were gorgeous, including one Park Jimin. He did have an aura to him that screamed “I’m a cut above the rest and I know it,” but that could just be the gold chains dripping down his neck. You almost mistook him as one of the patrons who mistakenly made his way behind the bar, and knowing the sort of clientele you’ve had to deal with so far, you wouldn’t have been surprised. It took a couple of weeks before you finally found out who he was (and what his fucking problem was).

Jimin was a part-time bartender with a full-time job as a bitch a self-made entrepreneur. Which is to say, he sold… tasteful photos of himself on the internet. You had nothing against his line of work. In fact, you would go far as to say you didn’t give a shit what he did outside of your shared workspace. But if there’s one thing Jimin is, it’s that he hates being ignored. 

So when you were adamant about not oohing and aahing at everything that makes Park Jimin perfect, he made it his self-appointed mission to befriend you. Or at least that’s what he claims, but given how he treats you lesser than the shit that cakes his cheeks, you have a lot of doubts. Perhaps he’s never made an effort to make a friend, hence his inexperience with being a decent human being. Or perhaps he’s just an asshole, but who is to say? The point is: he’s the only person you knew in this godforsaken city who would likely allow you to use his shower without being awkward about it and that’s that. 

The worst part about being an acquaintance with Park Jimin was that he lived in the richest area of Downtown but he wasn’t old money, that’s for sure. His entire essence screamed overconsumption, and his myriad of little trinkets littered across his apartment confirmed your previous assessment. You wouldn’t be surprised if you opened his freezer and found ten types of ice sorted assorted by color and shape like the extra bitch that he was. 

He made his money through sheer force, and it would have impressed you if he wasn’t, you know. Him.

“Bathroom is over there. I placed a towel and other shower amenities that you can borrow,” he says pointing to a door with a large “FART ZONE: ENTER WITH CAUTION” sign taped to it. You don’t ask.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You wait patiently for his out-of-pocket comment. 

Like clockwork, Jimin smirks. “Sure thing. I gave you the super heavy-duty stuff. Figured you’d burn a hole through my expensive towels with how stinky you are, with your yeasty cu—”

“Aaaand I’ll be done in a few minutes. Thanks again Jimin,” you interrupt, making your way to the bathroom and slamming the door with as much force as you can muster. You hear something fall as the door shuts, and you vaguely hear Jimin mutter something about his “fart zone” signage. 

You begin to prepare your shower routine, humming lowly as you go about your business. You try to ignore the suffocating scent of ten million diffusers entering your nostrils, wondering for the umpteenth time if Jimin is suffering from long-term olfactory dysfunction. 

“Focus, Y/N. The quicker you shower, the quicker you can get the fuck out of here,” you whisper to yourself. However, in your haste, you knock over Jimin’s towel by accident. When the towel falls, a sheet of sandpaper slips out from underneath it, and you stare bemusedly until it finally hits you.

“YOU ARE SUCH A LITTLE BITCH!” 

From behind the door, you can hear Jimin’s infamous cackle. “Did you find the loofah? I got it just for you, darling!” he shouts back through his laughter, and you just grumble back in response. How on earth no one has strangled him to death, you have no idea.

“Whatever. I’m gonna shower now! Go beat off or whatever the fuck you do in your spare time,” you grouse, stripping as quickly as possible.

When the first droplets of water hit your body, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. You had both anticipated and dreaded going to Jimin’s house, but you desperately needed the shower. So you go through your routine, trying to find some semblance of relaxation throughout the process. However, it seems that Jimin was yearning for a little bit of attention as he chose to recline on the other side of the door and chat your ear off. Peace was never an option, it seems.

“Hey, Y/N! So why haven’t I seen you at work recently?” Jimin hollers from his living room. Despite the wall separating you, his voice manages to retain its volume.

You squirt a large glob of Jimin’s (expensive) conditioner onto your hands. “What do you mean? I go to work every day. You were the one who hasn’t been clocking in.”

You can hear Jimin scoff. “Um, correction! I went to work last Friday, which so happened to be your day off. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed you were avoiding me.”

And right you are, you think. But instead, you say, “Yeah, what a coincidence. I’ll be back to my regular schedule on Monday, though.”

“So that means you didn’t see the Justin Bieber wannabe stationed outside the restaurant then?” Jimin asks, voice miffed. “The guy suddenly sat down by the entrance window and a whole damn crowd started to appear! The absolute nerve of these people—don’t they know Park Jimin was just past the doors?” 

This provokes Jimin to go on his long epic soliloquy, which you’ve learned to drown out over the past two years. He could go on hour-long tirades if he wanted, and any interruption from you would just bounce off his nonfunctioning ears. And so, you allow his voice to fall to the back of your mind, similar to white noise if it wasn’t so grating.

However, this was likely your greatest mistake. If you hadn’t been so exhausted, or if Park Jimin hadn’t been so damn annoying all the time, or if the stars had aligned just right… Maybe you would have been forewarned about the incident. It’s as if the universe was screaming at you to pay attention, but alas… You were standing on the proverbial highway, unbeknownst to the incoming traffic because you had your metaphorical AirPods on.

So there you are, completely showered but none the wiser to your impending doom, naively looking to the future with unsuspecting eyes. Even if you had known of what was to come, would avoiding it even be possible? In hindsight, you suppose not, but you still kick yourself for being so blind. If only you’d steeled your heart, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt like vomiting in front of a crowd of innocent bystanders the very next day.

xxx

Monday comes and your shower still isn’t fixed. Jimin makes the benevolent gesture of allowing you to use his shower in the meantime, though you’ll only partake in his offer as minimally as possible. He does mention that he’ll need at least an hour’s notice, warning you about “accidental voyeurism.” You shudder to think of what sort of horror you might find if you did visit him without warning, and you pray for the continued well-being of your retinas.

On your way to work, you’re too busy watching cute videos of animals to notice the unusual flock of people idling close to your workplace. When you get closer, however, the growing commotion is enough to rip your gaze away from your phone, and the sight of the large crowd makes you stop in your tracks. 

It is 4 pm and the usual line of waiting patrons should not start piling up for another three hours, so this confuses you more than anything. You shuffle closer, squinting at the crowd until you notice that they aren’t lined up at all; instead, they have congregated into a large circle, but you are too far to see what they are surrounding. 

An accident? You worry, wondering if something terrible happened. You tiptoe above the heads of people, subtly moving forward to take a better look. Curse you and your curiosity. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself to see something grotesque or astonishing, but instead…

It’s worse.

Inching closer, you can begin to hear a soft thrumming of a guitar and a gentle singing voice that causes alarm bells to ring in your ears. The warm melody digs up old memories of a time long past: of ballads sung outside your childhood bedroom window, of promises whispered under Spiderman sheets, of tender caresses tucking stray hairs behind your ears… They flood your senses, but all you can feel is dread.

It can’t be who you think it is. You accidentally elbow a guy on your way to get closer, unsteadying his grip on his phone. 

“Hey, watch it! I’m filming a totally not-staged TikTok over here!” He yells, but you can hardly pay attention to him when you feel unnaturally drawn to come closer, still. 

You’re nearly at the front, with just a couple of teenagers standing between you and the (not-so) mysterious street performer. But the distance is enough, and your breath catches. You can see him—

Black hair partially hidden under a bucket hat. Boots bigger than Pangaea and a pair of eyes equally as large. Dark ink snaking down his arms, peeking out from under oversized sleeves. Piercings that could rival Park Jimin on a good day. He isn’t facing you, but you can still see his big doe eyes, gentle sloping nose, and pretty lips stretched into a handsome smile.

Your heart is thundering in your chest. This can’t be happening, you panic. After two whole years of rebuilding and reshaping yourself, relearning how to be yourself and not… not just his girlfriend.

Jeon Jungkook stands before you, busking in front of your workplace of all locations. The universe could not have been any crueler to you.

You—you had been known as nothing more than Jeon Jungkook’s high school sweetheart. Buried memories of snide comments from jealous teen girls fill your mind, reminding you of the time when you were coined a simple side piece to the main attraction. Decor, as they would call you. Nothing more than a girl who happened to snag Jungkook before people realized he was going to turn… hot. A hot guy who could sing. An inevitable chic magnet, as they would call him. 

And now, years later after much therapy and soul searching, your worst nightmare is standing in front of you in the flesh. This is what you will eventually dub the incident. 

At that moment, however, there is little to no time to dwell on naming this ongoing core memory. All you can feel is the adrenaline pumping through your veins, as well as the nausea rising up your throat. You stumble backward, blatantly shoving onlookers away as you struggle to find some air to breathe. In hindsight, you probably should have backed away as subtly as possible, but you hope that your dyed hair might be different enough that Jungkook wouldn’t know it was you if he had glanced your way. 

Even when you stagger towards your work establishment, the walls cannot perfectly muffle his soothing singing. You can’t make out the lyrics to his song too well, but his unmistakable voice is hard to ignore. Working as a hostess, your station is also coincidentally as close to the door as possible for maximum torture. 

This can’t get any worse, you think as your mind races with conflicting emotions. You thought you had moved on, thought you were past the pain and the memories, but seeing Jungkook again, unexpectedly, stirs up a storm of feelings you thought were buried deep. Anger, hurt, betrayal—all rush to the surface, threatening to overwhelm you.

But there is no time to unpack all that baggage right now. Time will continue to march on, and your job is still on the line. How can you have the time to have a mental breakdown when you were still living paycheck to paycheck?

But even as you try to push Jungkook out of your mind, his voice echoes in your ears, his image burned into your memory. It's as if the universe is laughing at your misery, reminding you that despite all your supposed growth, you are still just you. 

Painfully and pathetically you.

As you struggle to pull yourself together, a familiarly loud voice rings outside the edge of your consciousness. “Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you here…” Jimin greets you, his usual jovial demeanor halting midway when he sees your panicked expression. He clears his throat, perplexed. “Umm… Are you alright there, girl? You’re looking a little pale.”

You do not even have the mental capacity to wonder why Park Jimin was miraculously early to his shift, nor why he seems genuinely worried for you. Rather, all you can do is wave him off and use what little time you have before the restaurant opens to steel yourself for hours of melodious torture. 

“I’m fine, Park. You should get to work,” you grit out, wiping your sweaty palms on your uniform. Normally, Jimin would have teased you about the obvious wrinkles on your skirt. 

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jimin huffs, always the contrarian. He thinks better of it, however, and softens his tone. “Are you feeling sick or something? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You freeze, perhaps giving yourself away a little. “I’m fine,” you repeat. 

“You know, if you refuse to elaborate, I’m going to have to retract your shower privileges,” Jimin taunts with a smirk. 

You feel a migraine growing by your temple, making you wince. God, why must men be the source of all your problems?

“I’m just… a little annoyed by the busker outside the restaurant,” you eventually admit, trying to be vague. Unfortunately for you, Jimin hates beating around the bush and would never take your crap if he knows something is up.

Unable to withstand the weight of his unimpressed stare, you clarify, “He was someone I used to know, that’s all.” You aren’t going to be any more specific than that, though you imagine Jimin gets the picture. You zip your lips, hoping to whoever is causing you pain that Jimin would somehow let the matter drop and leave you to your misery.

You brace yourself for his onslaught of questioning to come, and… it doesn’t happen. Instead, when you glance at Jimin, he is mysteriously stone faced. You wait for him to speak for what feels like a few minutes, but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to tease or ridicule you. He simply watches you with a pensive expression. You can barely stop yourself from staring back at him, slack-jawed at his silence. 

Of course, you aren’t just going to question your luck, or what little you have at least. So, you stay silent back and fidget uncomfortably.

Finally, Jimin seems to snap out of his strange reverie. He fixes you with a bizarrely sympathetic grin, patting you affectionately on the back. “I see… Well, if you ever need a drink tonight, head over to the bar for a little sip. I got you covered,” is all he says in response before sashaying away. 

That was so fucking weird. You want to chase after him, perhaps beat the truth out of him. Jimin is nothing but a scheming dick, and you aren’t about to let him roam free with such sensitive information about yourself. Just as you’re about to stomp his ass (perhaps to relieve some of the building tension from your weary soul), your manager pops his head from his office door. 

“Y/N! Make sure you’re logged into the booking system. There’s going to be a party of 20 coming in about an hour,” he reminds you, shooting you an apologetic look. You nod back with a sigh, swiping the booking tablet from the hostess desk and scrolling through the logs. Sure enough, it is going to be a busy night despite being a Monday evening. Perhaps a little busier than usual, in fact.

Whatever. You will use whatever distraction you can get, and perhaps the approaching noise from the restaurant patrons will be enough to drown out the sound of his voice. 

You aren’t religious by any means, but you pray to whatever higher power exists that Jeon Jungkook doesn’t somehow decide to enter the restaurant. Stay outside, you plead. Outside the restaurant and your life, if possible.

Throughout the evening, you do your best to push aside the memories that threaten to resurface. You greet customers with a smile, lead them to their tables, and ensure their dining experience is pleasant despite the anxiety poisoning your insides. It's a routine you've perfected over time, a shield against the chaos of your emotions.

As the night wears on, you can feel Jimin's eyes on you from across the restaurant. You sneak glances back at him, and you blanch at his pitying gaze. If the restaurant had been slightly less crowded, you would have flipped him off. 

He’s probably enjoying my suffering, you think darkly. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you straighten up and do your best to appear more unaffected. Just as you do so, you can hear Jungkook perfectly hitting a soulful high note. 

“I’m so sorry for thinking I was strong,” you whisper to the universe. “Forgive me for my insolence.” You clench your fist in anguish, ignoring the confused looks from the customers in front of you. 

By the time your shift comes to a close, you are completely and utterly drained. You feel like a snail that has been continuously salted over the past eight hours, and you cannot help but cheer in relief when the clock finally strikes two in the morning. You have to wait for the last few diners to make their leave, but otherwise you are ready to let your bed swallow you whole. 

You stand by your hostess desk, leaning your head against it with a defeated sigh. Jungkook’s voice had died down only a few minutes ago, and you hope that by this point he has mercifully left the premises. You want to take a peek to make sure, but just as you’re about to make your way to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder stop you in your tracks.

“‘Sup, bitch.” Jimin still has that weird, pitying gaze pointed at you, though his words don’t match it. “Are you okay to go home alone tonight? I can bring your dumb ass home if you want.”

You shove his hand away, ready to bite his head off when you think better of it. If Jimin drives you home, then that lowers the chances of seeing Jungkook down to pretty much zero. 

“You know what? Thanks,” you grouse. Jimin smiles at you winningly, and the image of it brings a shiver down your spine. You hit him, creeped out. “Hey. Stop that, will you? You’re being really weird?”

Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Me? Weird? At least I don’t look like a damn firework ready to explode just because my cringelord ex-boyfriend is singing sappy love songs outside—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethe, stomping on his foot. He yelps in pain and slaps your shoulder in retaliation. 

“Ouch! Watch your ogre feet! My shoes are worth twice your monthly rent I’ll have you know,” he bristles. He breathes deeply, likely finding his inner calm (which you doubt exists). “But because I’m so nice, I’ll ignore your earlier transgression and blame it on your underdeveloped amygdala.”

You don’t know what’s more surprising: the fact that Jimin knew what an amygdala was or that he was forgiving you in the first place. “Whatever. Let’s finish closing up and then head out. I’m exhausted.”

You make quick work of your task and when you’re ready to head out, Jimin is already waiting by the backdoor. He’s twirling his car keys with a finger and gestures for you to follow him. As you make your way to his car in the back parking lot, you catch sight of a lone figure standing next to a beat-up pickup truck. He’s leaning against it, his hands busy tuning a battered guitar.

Your breath hitches, and you immediately feel nauseous. Of course the incident has yet to end. The night is young, after all.

Jimin accidentally slams the backdoor closed, and the noise wrenches Jungkook’s attention away from his ministrations. Immediately, his eyes lock with Jimin before finally turning to you. 

Your heart skips a beat as he gazes at you, your mind racing with a hurricane of emotions. You hadn’t expected to see him again so soon, especially not after the tumultuous encounter earlier in the day. What did you say earlier? That “the chances of seeing Jungkook was down to pretty much zero”? 

The chances of seeing Jungkook is low, but never zero, your mind unhelpfully supplies.

There is a long period of awkward silence. Jungkook has his mouth slightly agape, his hand subconsciously lowering his guitar to rest against his truck. To your left, Jimin’s breathing quickens slightly. You, on the other hand, are trying your best not to projectile vomit in this damned parking lot. 

Jungkook is the one who decides to break the delicate silence. “Is that you…?” he calls out hesitantly. 

Don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my—

“Y/N,” Jimin interjects. His gaze is steel cold, uncharacteristic of the carefree boy. He slings an arm around your shoulders, gently nudging you towards his car. With your view still fixed on Jungkook, you miss the way Jimin shoots the other boy with a playful smirk. “C’mon, babe. Let’s go home.”

His words startle both you and Jungkook. “Wha—? Jimin?” you splutter, flushing at his flirtatious undertone. You want to curse him out for his strange behavior, but all the shock has left you mute. 

Jimin all but shoves you into the passenger seat. But just as he’s about to slam the car door, you hear Jungkook call out your name. It’s fleeting and quiet, but you heard him crystal clear.

It breaks your spirit to hear him say your name. For a moment, you feel as though you are floating.

When was the last time he called your name? And so softly, too? If you could replay that moment over and over, would you be able to catch some signs of tenderness in his voice? When you close your eyes later that night, would your dreams show you that he had been gazing at you with yearning? Was any of it true?

As Jimin starts the car and pulls away from the curb, you steal one last glance out the window, only to find Jungkook staring at you with an arm outstretched. You continue to watch him until his figure disappears into the night. 

You are quietly immersed in your own thoughts, the whirlwind of emotions intensifying your persistent migraine. Unaccustomed to silence, Jimin decides to give his unsolicited two cents, as per usual.

“Geez. Didn’t know you were into the whole starving artist type. If I’d known, then maybe I’d stop trying to brag about my fortune to you,” Jimin scoffs. “If loser buskers like him impress you, then maybe I should—”

“Would you shut the fuck up for once in your fucking life!” You explode, whirling to face him with a glare. Jimin has the audacity to flinch, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. 

“What the fuck? Why the hell are you mad at me?” 

“What the hell was that back there? ‘C’mon babe.’” You mimic his voice with a sneer. “Why on earth would you do that? Now he thinks that we…”

“Why do you care what he thinks? He’s your ex, remember?” Jimin cuts you off, but you can’t even refute him. He continues, “Figured as much. And judging by how spooked you’ve looked all day, I have to assume that he was an asshole, right? Why else would you accept my offer for a ride home if you really wanted to avoid seeing him?”

You shrink under his accurate assumptions. Damn, were you really that easy to read? “I… I mean, yeah but…” You clear your throat, still feeling wronged by him. “You didn’t have to act like a weird prick in front of him!”

Without warning, the floodgates burst forth. You begin to ramble, the thoughts that have been weighing you down pouring out of you in waves. “Jungkook was my ex, yeah. But he wasn’t an asshole. On the contrary, he was really sweet. The nicest guy in my school, at least. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, that sort of person. I dated him all throughout high school and he was a great partner.”

Jimin hums skeptically. “Then why the messy break-up?”

“It wasn’t messy!” You retort defensively. 

“Could’ve fooled me!” Jimin snorts. “I also frequently act like a trembling kitten when I see my exes,” he says sarcastically. 

You ignore him. “The reason we broke it off was because he wanted to pursue his dreams to become a singer after high school and I wanted to do other things. It was a mutual break-up! Honestly, I’m glad that we did. Too many girls wanted him and all the unwanted attention was getting on my nerves. I was glad to find a reason to end it all,” you explain, hoping you didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. What you said was mostly true, though you left out the important bits to yourself. Mostly to save some of your dignity intact. (Truthfully, you just didn’t want to admit things you weren’t ready to face.)

“Then if you’re so glad, why do you look like you wanted to shit yourself? It ain’t adding up,” Jimin fires back.

“It’s just—” you stammer, trying to find a reason why you were so bent out of shape after seeing him. “I-I was caught off guard, I guess. I knew he was pursuing his dreams to sing and all, so I expected him to leave the country. I wasn’t expecting to see him outside where I work, of all places,” you mutter lamely. You have your head bowed, biting your lips from the nerves. Again, you weren’t totally lying. 

Jimin is silent for a moment, contemplating your admission. When he looks so calm like this, it’s hard to get a read on what he’s thinking. As Jimin speeds down the highway, the street lights illuminate his face in a strange way, and for once, he looks like a stranger. His steely expression makes you nervous, for some reason. 

Eventually, he asks you a question you would never have expected. “And he just let you go?”

You pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Jimin huffs, irritated. “He just up and left without a fight? If I were him, I would have…” he trails off, his jaw clenching. 

You don’t know where this Jimin came from. Under the moonlight, Jimin looks livid, but that can’t be right. Jimin, mad for you? Sure, you’ve seen his anger directed towards you, but this? Everything’s gotten so complicated, and you are just about ready to succumb to sleep and hope to wake from this nightmare.

The rest of the drive to your house is silent, save for the sounds coming from passing cars. Jimin pulls up to your apartment complex, his mysterious anger finally subsiding. 

Just as you’re about to reach for the car door handle, Jimin places a hand on your shoulder. “Listen, Y/N. I’ll talk to management tomorrow morning. I know the manager well enough that I can probably convince him to do something about that ex of yours. He’s busking on private property, so it should be easy to get rid of him,” Jimin says, tone serious. He swallows, and for a moment you think he looks a little nervous. “If that’s what you want, I guess.”

His kindness scares you. You want to tease him, ask him where Mr. Bitchy and his $2000 Chelsea boots had gone. Anything to make this air of severe sincerity to abate. This new Jimin feels suffocating. But instead, you nod your head stiffly. 

Jimin makes a pained expression for a moment, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual playful smirk. He slaps you upside the head, laughing heartily at your stunned face. 

“Get some rest, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” he chuckles, reaching over to open the door for you. You scramble out into the cold city air, taking one last look back at him through his window.

He rolls it down, leaning forward to flash a toothy grin at you. “Hey, stop with all the angst, pookie. Wouldn’t want my favorite toy to get sick from overthinking. Who else would I bother at work if not you?”

You snort, both endeared and irritated in equal measure. He’s right. Everything was going back to normal tomorrow, you’re sure of it. You flip him off with a cheeky grin before making your way to your apartment.

Everything is going to be okay. Jimin says he’ll do something about it, and for whatever reason, you feel like you can trust him on this. Surely good fortune was soon to be upon you. 

xxx

Jimin had texted you while you were still sleeping:

Spoke to Manager Jeong about your little problem. He said he’ll deal with him.

You breathe a sigh of relief, your body feeling significantly lighter. Your sleep last night had been tumultuous and restless. You feel more tired than you did when you went to bed, but all your weariness fades once you read Jimin’s text. 

Once you make it to work, you find that management has gotten rid of Jungkook somehow. Added with the fact that your landlord has promised to look into repairing your shower (no guarantees, but you want to stay optimistic), today has been significantly better compared to yesterday. You even catch yourself humming as you set up your workstation, a small smile gracing your lips.

Jimin has a later shift this evening, and you find that you are somewhat disappointed for once. Your overwhelming gratitude is surely the only reason, otherwise you would never admit to wanting to see him at any given time. 

You are in the midst of texting Jimin about all the good news when your manager passes by your desk. You are quick to pocket your phone away from his prying eyes, ready to defend that you aren’t slacking off… but his demeanor does not reveal any ire. In fact, he looks rather pleased for once.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeong. What’s up?” you ask, suspicious. You instinctively fold your hands behind your back; it is a subconscious effort on your part to keep your distance from him. Something about your manager always gives you a bad feeling when he looks a little too happy. 

He grins widely. “Everything is going splendidly, Ms. Y/N. In fact, I think today might just be our lucky day!”

Never during your time working here has his and your luck ever coincided. “Our lucky day?” you echo.

“Why, yes! I spoke with your lovely friend and coworker Jimin this morning,” he starts, and immediately your alarm bells ring. You don’t even bother correcting him about the ‘friend’ part like you normally would. He continues, “He gave me a brilliant idea about the busker who had been performing in front of the restaurant the past two days.”

You nod slowly, not quite understanding. “Yes… The busker has been quite… the spectacle,” you say carefully. Somehow, you know calling Jungkook a ‘nuisance’ would have been the wrong choice in this instance.

Manager Jeong beams. “Exactly! You must have noticed the amount of people we served yesterday despite being a Monday. Additionally, almost all of those new customers requested outdoor seating no less!”

You feel the world tilt on its axis. What is he on abou—?

“What are you talking about?” you exhale.

“Don’t you think it would be even better for business if we got that busker to perform inside the restaurant? Why, it’s a brilliant idea and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first! Our live band has always been missing something special, and perhaps a vocal accompaniment is the exact answer to our problem! Think about it, the atmosphere would be…”

Manager Jeong continues to prattle animatedly about his plans to your unhearing ears. There must be static or cotton plugging your head because you cannot possibly understand anything he is saying. Jungkook? Inside? Performing at your restaurant? But Jimin said he had spoken to the manager about getting Jungkook away from you! None of this makes sense. 

“That makes no sense,” you verbalize, unknowingly cutting Manager Jeong from his monologue. He halts in surprise, as if now just realizing you were standing there (much less capable of interrupting or disagreeing with him). When he snaps out of it, you sense that familiarly sinister aura emerging from him in waves. You belatedly realize he must have mistaken your outburst as antagonistic.

“Well, Ms. Y/N. Whether it makes sense or not, we have hired Mr. Jeon to perform live at the bar stage for the next four weeknights. If, for some unknowable reason, I am incorrect,” he pauses to emphasize his words, “then his services will be promptly terminated. However, judging by his popularity from simply standing out in the cold and singing silly love songs, I am sure that worry is unwarranted.”

Behind you, the telltale sound of the main door swinging open catches you even more off guard. You do not even have the chance to turn to face the newcomer, only managing to register the gust of cold wind that accompanies their entry.

And so, you hear him before you see him. 

“Hello?” Jeon Jungkook greets quietly.

Even without turning, you can imagine how he looks, how he stands, how he feels, how he tastes—

Manager Jeong claps his hands gleefully. “Splendid timing! Speak of the devil…” The older man nearly skips towards Jungkook like a youthful school girl, accompanied by his uncharacteristic squeals of excitement. 

You can feel his gaze on you, almost tangibly. With nothing but your shreds of dignity left intact, you force yourself to face him. 

He’s still so tall, is all your mind can helpfully supply as you stand feet away from your high school sweetheart for the first time in two years. He’s still wearing the same bucket hat from the night before, semi-shielding him from view. Despite that, you catch a small flash of white graze his bottom lip as he chews the soft flesh nervously.

“Hi, Y/N.” He addresses you directly, completely overlooking your manager without a single glance. Despite his hat, he still has his eyes lasered on you, as if not quite believing you were there. You hate how his attention makes you shiver all the same. 

Even though he ignored your manager (which would have been a major dispute had you done the same), Jungkook still receives a friendly handshake in return. “Mr. Jeon! I’m surprised you know Ms. Y/N, though I’m sure you must have spoken with her when she was escorting guests to the outdoor seating the other day.”

You had actually gotten your co-hostess to seat all the outdoor seatings yesterday, but you weren’t going to mention that.

Manager Jeong claps him on the back, inadvertently causing Jungkook to stumble forward closer to you. He looks up at you then, eyes bugging out of their sockets like a rabbit caught in a bear trap. You stagger backwards in turn, barely concealing the anxiety on your face. Oh fucking hell.

Your manager is none the wiser, of course. “Well, this makes my job much easier! Since you’re both acquainted, I’ll let Y/N show you the ropes. The band doesn’t start their set until later in the evening, but you’re free to take a look at the stage and other parts of our facility in the meantime,” he says, chuffed. Meanwhile, Jungkook looks like he’s been shot by a freeze ray. 

Then, your manager points a sharper gaze at you. “Ms. Y/N, treat our super star well. I know you won’t disappoint me.”

Fucking superstar… You can only nod in defeat. “Y-Yes, sir…” you whisper, clenching your uniform with your fists. It is the only way to keep them from shaking like a leaf. You watch as his figure disappears behind his office door, leaving you to fend for yourself. Powerless, you train your gaze to the floor, unwilling to meet Jungkook’s eyes. 

But the nerves are taking control of your body, screaming at you to eject, eject, eject!

“Sorry, I have to go to the toilet,” you splutter quickly, almost tripping over yourself on the way to the restroom. You dimly wonder if Jungkook is going to think you’re leaving to throw up, but you can’t find any self-respect left to care. All you need is air and space to breathe—preferably away from him. 

You slam open the stall, hardly checking to see if anyone else is around before locking the door shut. You sit on the toilet, plant your face between your knees, and scream. 

Should you go home and use sickness as an excuse? But even if you did, you still had shifts every weeknight. You would have to see him eventually. You can pray all you want that Jungkook will be fired by the end of the week, but even your delusional mind can never fathom the idea that anyone would willingly want to send Jeon Jungkook away. Plus, you remember that the regular band that plays at the restaurant has been wanting to get a singer to accompany them for ages, and you know just how damn affable he can be. They are going to love him, and you hate him for that.

It is clear to you that there is no other option:

You pull out your phone to quickly open up Indeed on your browser, frantically hunting for any openings that might fit your measly qualifications. However, you have to pause in your search to deliberate. Wouldn’t it be better to move out of the country? You had been so naive to think that moving cities was enough distance between you and Jungkook—going across the ocean is the obvious answer. Should you start up your Duolingo lessons again and hope that you can somehow survive in a different continent with only a few dollars to your name? 

You shut your phone in despair. Whether or not your plans of escape are feasible or not, in the short term, you are stuck with having to suck it up and just learn to ignore your ex-boyfriend’s presence. Surely you can force out a fake smile or two, especially with how much practice you’ve gotten after working with unbearably entitled customers. 

Taking a step outside of the restroom stall, you head to the sink to splash some cold on your face. You stare at the mirror, confronted by a girl who looks two seconds away from having a Netflix Original-esque meltdown. You rake your fingers through your hair, doing your best to look like you aren’t about to rush into incoming traffic. To no one's surprise, it doesn't work.

“Okay, I got this. Just pretend like he’s just some guy, because at the end of the day, he is just some guy,” you mutter to your reflection. She looks back at you unconvinced. “He may have broken my heart into little bite size pieces, but who cares! HE’S JUST A GUY!” You repeat the phrase over and over again like a lunatic, in a desperate attempt to cognitively alter your brain chemistry.

At that moment, one of the other stalls in the restroom creaks open, and a girl you recognize who works as one of the dishwashers walks out. You both have a silent eye conversation as she quietly studies your crazed expression and crumpled work uniform. 

Eventually, she awkwardly clears her throat, pointing to the only sink in the restroom. “Uh, sorry to hear about your, uh, guy problem. Could I use the sink please?” 

You hastily back away, allowing her to take your spot. You don’t even have the energy to apologize for your spectacle, just bowing sheepishly to her before making your way back to the main hall. If she rats you out to the rest of your coworkers, then that gives you another reason to move out of the country. Maybe you should consider a name change while you’re at it.

When you exit the restroom, you half expect Jungkook to be waiting for you by the door, but find that he isn’t anywhere nearby. He isn’t by your hostess station either, and you thank your lucky stars for once. Even if your manager had asked you to show him around, you’re sure that Jungkook can find his way around just fine. Plus, the stage is at the corner of the restaurant and is sufficiently far enough that you wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him if you were careful. 

You don’t know which greater entity has been messing with your sanity these past few days, but you hope that they can show you mercy just once—a brief reprieve, if anything. 

You clasp your hands in prayer. I’ll eat more vegetables, I’ll remember to floss, I’ll call my parents from time to time… Just please let me survive tonight. 

“Remember, Y/N… He’s just some guy,” you reiterate through gritted teeth. If a passing coworker happens to overhear your demented chanting, then you pay them no mind.

You walk towards the entrance, flipping the sign to open. You feel like a video game character when you glance at the clock, which signals the start of your shift. You can imagine the red bold text hovering above your head: 8 more hours until freedom. 

This is just like playing Five Nights at Freddy’s, except you’ve only watched the movie and you suspect your life is probably worse than whatever Josh Hutcherson had to survive through. 

You take a couple heaving breaths to brace yourself for what will be the longest eight hours of your life. You’ll show Jungkook just how well-adjusted and mature you’ve become. You are a professional, and not even a boy with angelic vocals will make you crumble. After all, what’s the worst he can do? 

xxx

He could, in fact, do a lot worse than you thought. 

“I have many regrets being born at all,” you mutter bleakly, three hours into your shift. 

Jungkook had started singing only an hour ago, so you had been filled with false confidence at first when the restaurant was filled with nothing but ambient chatter and soothing jazz music. You felt more and more confident as the minutes ticked by and your anxiety slowly melted away. You even forgot that he was somewhere in the back, likely warming up or whatever it is that singers did before a performance. 

However, your brief moment of courage shatters almost immediately when Jungkook finally takes the stage. 

At first, you did your best to tune out his voice, but it’s especially hard when whoever was in charge of the sound system decided to crank his volume to an excruciating level. You wanted desperately to grab some napkins and shove them in your ears, but you suspected that your customers (and manager) would be unappreciative of that gesture. And so there you lay, forced to wallow in Jungkook’s melodious singing like a criminal strapped to an electric chair.

But how much more pleasant an electric chair would be! Why on earth was Jungkook so adamant to sing sad love songs the entire time? Why couldn’t he be like his other singing contemporaries, who loved to write songs about getting bitches and making money? At the very least, even if he wasn’t quite a platinum selling artist just yet, surely he was constantly sharing beds with anyone he pleases? Couldn’t he sing about that?!

(In the back of your mind, you wonder if it would be less painful to learn that Jungkook has slept with multiple people… Because then, it would mean that he had moved on while you stood alone on your island, stranded and yearning.)

You didn’t want to think too deeply about his lyrics. However, you're only human. So when your mind barrier failed and you caught snippets of his singing, you noticed a pattern. There was always a girl in his songs. She was omnipresent, and Jungkook was always pleading for her. Begging and aching and wanting. But most all… he was always repenting. In every song, he always whispered a pious apology. 

You feared what would happen if you turned around in those moments of weakness. You were terrified of admitting something, of letting words spill that had been trapped in your throat for the better part of two years. 

Lucky for you, salvation comes in the form of one Park Jimin. Though, can you even count him as your savior when he had also inadvertently caused your demise?

Jimin doesn’t even have a shift today, so you’re more than surprised when his bright blonde head stumbles through the restaurant doors. His expensive coat is askew and his signature designer shades are nowhere to be found. He is panic incarnate—an expression you have never seen on his face before.

“Holy fuck,” he greets, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. His profanity startles the elderly couple waiting to be seated, their glares menacingly sharp. To his credit, Jimin doesn’t even seem phased.

In lieu of an answer, you gesture vaguely behind you. You can imagine how dejected you must look. “Holy fuck indeed,” you sigh.

It takes a moment for Jimin to regain his bearings. He straightens up and pats down his coat, but his hair is still tousled by the wind. If not for the fact that he has a car, you might have thought he had run all the way here. 

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen,” he starts, genuinely remorseful. “I texted Manager Jeong this morning and he said he’d get your ex to leave, but I didn’t think he’d offer the damn bastard a job!”

“Mind your language, Park. I’m still at work,” you scold. You try your best to ignore the scrutinizing gaze of the elderly couple. You lower your voice. “And don’t apologize. I know you’re an asshole, but I doubt you’d actually prey on my downfall like this. I know you’re not into public humiliation.”

Jimin brightens slightly at your joke, but he still looks like a guilty puppy who'd been caught shitting on the carpet. “Yeah, well. I happen to enjoy tormenting you and I won’t let some upstart Charlie Puth wannabe ruin your life. That’s my job.”

You smile wryly at him. “Well, that’s too bad. Jungkook’s been singing for a few hours now and I’m pretty sure Manager Jeong is going to keep him long-term. He might have broken my heart, but damn does he have vocals. I'm sure you'll have plenty competition when it comes to 'who can make Y/N's life feel like hell.'”

Jimin doesn't smile back, but instead studies your face for a moment. Then:

“Do you think if I offer to suck Manager Jeong off, he’ll fire him?”

“What the fuck?” You nearly yell out in surprise, your jaw dropping to the floor. Judging by his serious scowl, you know he's actually considering it. By now, the elderly couple waiting to be seated have left the premises.

Jimin continues, unperturbed. “I know he secretly wants me, based on how his wife seems to have a personal vendetta against me. He definitely wants a taste of my bus—.”

“Stop, I get it!” You wave your hands to make him shut up, heat rising up your cheeks. “Never say that string of words to me ever again. You have just inflicted ten years of suffering onto my poor brain.”

“Hey, I’m just offering solutions here!” Jimin pouts. 

You stare at him, unimpressed. “Save it. You tried solving my problems already, so let’s just accept the fact that there’s nothing else for me to do but to suck it up. It’s time for me to put on my big girl pants for a change.”

“I mean, I could do all the sucking instead, but you’re being a little bitch about it,” Jimin mumbles. He’s lucky you didn’t hear him this time, lest you give him something to really whine about.

“Anyway, I guess this is my life now. Nothing to do except hope that he never tries to interact with me or I can find another job,” you shrug. 

Over your shoulder, Jimin fixes Jungkook with an icy glare that is cold enough to give you the shivers. For the first time that entire night, you hazard a glance back at the stage, finding that Jungkook is already looking back at you.

You whip your head back forward, perspiration forming down your back. For fuck’s sake, this guy.

“Well, let me know if he tries anything. I’ll beat that little freak into the floor if he tries so much as breathing the same air as you.” Jimin huffs, puffing up his chest with false bravado. You can’t help but laugh at his empty threat, knowing that Jungkook could probably bench press Jimin without breaking a sweat. Jimin's muscles are only for aesthetics, after all.

“Don’t worry, he hasn’t actually spoken to me actually. He can keep singing his sad little love songs, I really don’t mind,” you say, like a liar. Jimin snorts, wholly unconvinced.

“Well, if you need me, I’m heading to the bar to grab a drink so I can stare at your ex uncomfortably until he leaves. See you!” Jimin bids you farewell with a cheery grin as he skips a little too happily inside the restaurant.

Why'd you have to befriend the largest lunatic in the city? You massage your forehead with a groan, willing away your growing headache. 

The rest of the night trickles away like molasses. Jungkook continues to sing his heart out, save for an hour intermission where he presumably takes a short break. In his absence, you hear Jimin guffaw loudly, his laughter too sharp to be considered happy. You faintly hear Jungkook shy stutters in response, and you momentarily consider running in to interrupt.

Why? Did you want to save Jungkook from Jimin’s unnecessary harassment? It’s not like Jimin is doing it out nowhere, he was just trying to be… a good friend?

You pause to ponder. As much as you hate to admit it, you know why you want to help Jungkook. But Jimin on the other hand? Why did he want to help you? Questions begin flowing through your head like a whirlwind, and your nausea increases. God, when was your next therapy appointment again?

You save those questions for another day. As you look at your watch, there are only thirty minutes left until two in the morning. You tap your foot impatiently, smiling curtly at departing customers as the restaurant slowly emptied. As they left, you overhear some of your regulars giggling amongst themselves, whispering about the cute new singer and his charming demeanor. 

The last nail on your coffin has been hammered. Yeah, Jungkook isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. 

With the restaurant closing soon, it sounds like Jungkook is ready to end his set as well. 

Throughout the night, Jungkook rarely made a point to speak. The only time he didn’t sing was when he quietly introduced the title of his next song and the band swiftly began the first opening notes. For his last song, however, Jungkook decided to give a little more backstory for his final song. 

“Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for listening to me for the night,” Jungkook says with a soft voice, his tone awfully shy despite his powerful belting throughout the evening. The few customers left give him a warm round of applause, and you hear the familiar sound of his timid giggles spill from the restaurant speakers. 

“This will be my final song for the night. Most of the songs I sang today were covers, but this one is an original. I…” He hesitates for a moment, and something pulls you to turn despite the alarm bells ringing in your ears. You face him, and just like earlier in the evening, he is already looking back at you.

This time, you don’t look away; he does. His eyes flit to the ceiling, and he licks his lips from nerves. “I… I wrote this song a long while ago. I’ve never sang it in public before and I never thought it would ever see the light of day. Until, well…”

He stops again. This time, he gestures to the guitarist in the band, silently asking to borrow it. With a guitar in hand, he smiles a little more confidently at the small crowd of people. He begins strumming the first few notes, and your heart stops. “I hope everyone had a pleasant evening. Get home safe and have a great rest of your week. My name is Jungkook, and this last song is called…”

Before he can sing the first line of his song, you make a break for it.

You slam the restaurant doors open, and the stinging cold air immediately pierces their fangs into your skin. Your coat is still inside, but you can’t bring yourself to reenter. You take a long breath, the chill barely registering in your mind with how loudly your heart is pounding in your ears.

Hearing the opening to that song was enough to bring you back in time, three years ago:

You are in his childhood bedroom, his walls littered with concert posters and his floor a mess with unfolded laundry and guitar picks. The afternoon sun is streaming through his windows, bathing him in gold. You have an exam the next day and he has cram school to go to, but you’ve both chucked your books somewhere on his desk, left forgotten. 

He has his eyes closed, concentrated. You’re both on his small twin bed, squished together side by side and thighs touching. You have your head on his shoulder and he has his hands on his guitar. He strums a few chords experimentally and sings a melody that only the two of you know.

(Not anymore.)

“Are you writing a new song?” you ask, voice a little scratchy. Neither of you had spoken for the past few hours, just basking in the setting sun and Jungkook’s indistinct strumming. But now, his chords sound more sure, more certain of something.

“Yeah, I just thought of it,” he hums. He opens his eyes a smidge, a smitten smile on his lips. You mirror him. 

“What’s it about this time?”

His brows furrow. “I’ve been trying to write about other stuff, you know? Namjoon-hyung tells me it’s important that songs have meaning and impact.” He pauses in his strumming, looking a little conflicted. “And I get what he means. Art is all about saying something, but… I can’t help that there’s only one thing I ever want to talk about. Is that so wrong?”

You chuckle, understanding what he means. You nudge your head against his cheek, grinning from ear to ear. The fluttering in your chest has become routine to you at this point, but he somehow always knows how to increase it tenfold. “God, you’re such a sweet talker. Really, Koo. There’s no need to serenade with love songs—I’m already yours.”

He looks back at you, brimming with tender affection. “I know,” he responds. Then, he takes a pen from his bedside table, and begins writing.

During those years of dating him, you always thought that If he was a waterfall, then you were a teaspoon. You desperately tried to be enough for him, but you’re barely able to fathom the depth of his devotion. Everything about him was excessive, and you could seldom understand how he managed to contain himself. He was born to share himself, to tear bits of his soul so that the world may understand him, love him. His songs were a testament that he was trying to do that, and you always felt so lucky to be able to receive him, wholly and fully.

How cruel was it that Jungkook uses that same song to rip open the barely healed scab on your heart, leaving you bare and stinging and raw all over again.

You have no idea how long you've stood there in the cold. It must have been barely a few minutes when Jimin finds his way to you. He wordlessly shrugs his coat off and places it on your shoulders, but you make no move to acknowledge him. 

You hope your silence is enough for Jimin to infer that you are not in a conversational mood, but he’s nothing if not impatient. He forcibly pulls you to face him, his hands warm even through your clothing.

“Hey, you good? Did something happen?” He asks with barely concealed irritation, but it’s not directed at you. Still, you flinch at his scathing tone, shrinking in on yourself. In your daze, you vaguely notice his resemblance to an angry baby chick. 

“It’s nothing. Go back inside, I’ll be right there,” you mumble lamely, weakly pushing him back towards the restaurant. Jimin does not budge, instead leveling you with a hard stare. This time, you’re sure his irritation is for you.

“You idiot, you literally ran out like someone was out to get you. Of course it’s not nothing,” he grouses. 

You sigh tiredly, shaking your head at him. “We can talk later. It’s almost closing time and I just want to go home and sleep.”

Before Jimin can argue further, the door to the restaurant opens once more, but it isn’t a leaving customer. 

“What the fuck? What are you doing out here?” Jimin all but shouts at Jungkook. He holds up an accusatory finger at him and uses his other hand to nudge you behind him as if to shield you. 

Jungkook winces, instinctively stepping back. Despite being a few inches taller than Jimin, Jungkook’s timidness makes him look smaller. “I… I was just worried about her—”

“Don’t you have a song to finish in there? Talk about professional,” Jimin spits out. Jimin maneuvers you so that Jungkook can’t see you, but you manage to catch sight of how his gaze follows you unfailingly.

“I finished up my set. It’s closing time.” Jungkook responds coolly. He’s still a little quiet, but you can sense some of his natural composure rising to the surface. When he needs to be, Jungkook has been known to stand his ground—usually when it comes to matters involving you.

At this time of the night and after hours of mental torture, the last thing you need is to watch your two worst nightmares duke it out in front of your work establishment. You are beyond exhausted, and you hardly have the fortitude to withstand another minute of their voices ringing in your ears. 

Your eyes well up with tears of frustration, causing the two boys to freeze up in panic. You don’t give them the chance to fuss over you; instead, you haphazardly wipe your cheeks before roughly pushing them back towards the restaurant. 

“Get back to work, you idiots.” Your voice sounds warbled even to your own ears, but you push past your overwhelming emotions in favor of getting back inside to close up. Hell, you might even call in sick tomorrow, just so you can cry pathetically into your bowl of cereal in solitude.

“I’m not even on the clock today!” Jimin complains faintly, but you only push him harder. 

When you all reenter, you walk back to your desk and pointedly ignore the two of them until they awkwardly float away from your orbit. Despite the distance they give you, their gazes are still fixed plainly on you and they feel like knives digging into your back. 

Eventually, all the final customers of the day take their leave, and your remaining coworkers start dimming the lights and bidding their goodbyes. From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook bowing respectfully to the band, who were giving him friendly pats on the back for a job well done. Jimin walks toward you, his car keys dangling from his left pinky. 

“No thanks. I’ll take the bus home today,” you declare before he can offer a ride. Jimin opens his mouth like a goldfish, flapping his lips dumbly as he stares at you in shock. You have no idea why he’s so surprised, given how you’ve been making it obvious that you need some space.

He looks like he wants to argue again, but thinks better of it. A singular moment of restraint from Park Jimin, which is an act you once thought impossible. Maybe he does care about you more than you thought. 

He stiffly nods at you, shoving his hands and keys into his pockets. He still has a frown on his face when he tells you to text him when you get home. You flip him off with a shaky smirk in response, a feeble attempt to bring some levity back to your now tense relationship. It works a little, and Jimin brightens up significantly. How simple-minded of him.

With a flippant wave, you leave work and head towards your bus stop. At this hour of the night, the streets are mostly dim, save for some street lamps and bars that stay open longer than your restaurant. There are always some people milling about, enough that you never feel too on edge about how late it is. Still, your bus stop is often empty, leaving you to mull over your thoughts in peace.

You are in the midst of jamming your earbuds into your ear when a presence makes itself known beside you.

Is it possible to go through the five stages of grief in under a second? You suppose not, but it’s hard to tell what sort of emotions swim through you when you come face to face with Jeon Jungkook again.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath. You pause the song playing on your phone to glare at him with as much venom as you can muster. 

Jungkook holds up his hands in surrender, doe eyes wide like prey. “I-I’m heading home too! I’m not following you, I swear!”

You groan internally. Figures that you and Jungkook take the same bus home. But hold on— “Don’t you have a car? I remember you were parked near the restaurant the other night,” you note, squinting at him.

Jungkook looks sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. That car was my hyung’s. He lets me borrow it sometimes, but he needed it tonight.”

“Sure…” You level him with a skeptical frown. You remember his hyung, but don’t recall him ever owning a car. You aren’t even sure that his Namjoon-hyung is allowed by the country to drive a car, much less own one. 

He could be lying, but you don’t want to give him an excuse to continue any conversation. So, you busy yourself with your phone and keep your head bowed away from him.

When the bus arrives, Jungkook makes it a point to sit a few rows behind you. Thankfully, he has a better understanding of social cues than a certain Park that you know. He leaves you alone, but your entire body still feels like a rope pulled taut. You have to convince yourself not to look behind you, your morbid curiosity scratching your insides raw.

You are in the home stretch now, and it’ll only be a few more minutes before you get to your stop and make your way to your safe haven. Hell resumes the next day and the next, but at the very least you’ll have your home to yourself. No one could take that away from you.

Again, this is where you learn that tempting fate is never a good idea.

When you exit the bus at your stop, you can hear his footsteps following you. It’s hard not to notice, especially when his large and distracting boots make such a distinct racket that makes him so Jungkook. 

You hasten your pace towards your apartment complex, your shoulders hunched and hands shoved into your coat pockets in an attempt to hinder the bile rising from your stomach. He had promised that he wasn’t following you, but that proclamation seems to be standing on feeble legs with how long he’s been on your tail now.

Your street is filled with rows of low-rise apartment buildings, so you hope that if anything happens, you can yell as loud as you can and alert some compassionate neighbor to come to your aid. (Not that you think he would ever physically harm you, but… You can’t say the same about your mental state.)

Your home is just two buildings away from where you are, but Jungkook still seems determined to follow you to the end. You all but skip the remaining feet to your apartment entrance, your breath coming out in puffs as you finally muster up the courage to face your supposed stalker and give him a piece of your mind. 

“If this is some convoluted way for you to find out where I live, then you aren’t being very subtle about it,” you say, your chin held up high despite the growing urge to vomit pathetically in front of your ex-boyfriend. You have your hand rested on the doorknob, just a moment’s notice away from bolting into your house if the need for a quick getaway arises.

To your surprise, Jungkook wasn’t following you as closely as you expected. He had stopped trailing you about two buildings down, his own hand poised on the door with a look of genuine shock.

You both stand there, staring at each other as mutual understanding dawns on the two of you. 

Everyday, the universe learns of more creative ways to be cruel.

“Oh…” Jungkook’s voice falters. He looks simultaneously frightened and amazed, as if he too finds this entire situation unbelievably harsh. He swallows thickly, looking at you and back to his door in quick succession. “Well… This is a strange coincidence,” he murmurs. 

You want to believe that this was his entire fault, that Jungkook had somehow managed to track you down to haunt you for the rest of your days. You want to believe that he’s a crazed stalker who is willing to find where you work and live so that every hour of your wretched life is filled with nothing but reminders of what-could-have-beens. You just want someone to blame instead of just the cosmos—you want someone tangible to hate so that your suffering can be given some sort of identity. You want to give your mourning and hurt a name so that you can learn how to heal.

You want to believe all of that, but it’s hard to do so when Jungkook looks so incredibly uncomfortable, as if he’d rather melt into the shadows and never be seen again. 

In all your memories, you have never seen Jungkook look so small.

You heave a big sigh, your fingers grasping the door knob so tightly that you half-expect it to be dented from the force. You linger for a moment, your mouth opening but nothing spills out. 

What is there to say? What do you say to an ex-boyfriend that you haven’t seen in two years, who is suddenly so deeply entwined in your life once more? Do you tell him goodnight? Tell him to stay away? Tell him to come home with you?

Jungkook looks equally as conflicted. His lips are pursed tight with words left unsaid. You aren’t sure whether you want to punch the confession out of his mouth or seal them up forever. It feels like eons before he finally breaks the silence with a mirthless laugh.

“I… I just wanted to say—back at the restaurant. When I sang that last song,” Jungkook begins, and his voice feels loud because of how empty the streets are. For a moment, you are reminded of a cathedral you once visited during a vacation, how sacred silence can be. The world holds its breath, waiting for him to speak.

“I meant it all. Every word. Every lyric. I never stopped…”

He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. He stares at you helplessly, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t want to listen any more, but your feet are planted to the ground. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, forced to brace against him as he crashes into you. 

He continues, “And when we broke up back then… I never wanted that to happen. You broke it off before we could even try something—and I hated how I didn’t fight for you harder. I let you misunderstand me because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to stick around if I didn’t succeed. I convinced myself that I was holding you down, but I never gave you—us—a chance. I never stopped regretting it since.”

“Me? Break up with you?” You echo incredulously. That statement is enough to break you from your trance, the telltale signs of indignation rising up your chest. “How dare you suggest—Me? You were the one who broke up with me, asshole! You were the one who broke my heart and decided to up and leave to god knows where! Only to miraculously respawn right next to me, groveling at my feet with sad love songs as if that’s enough for me to forgive and forget? Fucking entitled bastard,” you seethe.

Somehow, Jungkook manages to shrink more, like a bunny with his tail tucked between his legs. “Yes, you’re right that I broke your heart but… When I told you I was moving away to try and become a singer, it was always with the intention of staying together. I know it would have been difficult, but I wanted you to be with me through thick and thin. But when you misunderstood and took it as a break up, I let you go because, well… I was scared that it would happen eventually. Who wants to date a broke busking fool anyway?”

He laughs, but it sounds watery. He sniffles, and you hope it's only because of the cold. “I tried looking for you, but you blocked me everywhere and no one from back home seemed to know where you went. So I just accepted that we’d never see each other again… Until a few days ago, that is.”

A misunderstanding? Is that what everything boils down to? Years of trying to build yourself back up again, relearning what it means to be happy—all the fallen domino pieces in your life trailing back to a single moment in time? All because Jungkook was scared that you didn't love him enough?

You’ve never felt angrier in your life. You fear what you might say if you continue to stand outside there, face to face with the singular person strong enough to whittle you down to the bone. Jeon Jungkook is all soft smiles and sweet songs, but how come he’s always able to knock you off your axis? Few people on this earth can stitch you up and break you down in equal measure, but somehow, Jungkook manages to do all that and more.

Then, comes the guilt. Had it been all your fault? That you hadn't returned his love in equal measure? Had you secretly given up on the hope of being on his level? Always looking down on yourself: unable to move past your insecurities. Were you terrified of being his side piece, his girlfriend, forever?

Who are you, even? And where do you stand?

(Beside him, is what you want to answer. You don't know if that's the right choice.)

You can’t bear to look at him, least of all answer him. Without another word, you shove your house key into the door before slamming it shut despite the late hour. If you awaken any neighbors, you’ll apologize later. For now, all you require is sleep and hope that this has been all a terrible nightmare.

xxx

Reality is a bitter pill to swallow.

Jeon Jungkook continues to sing at the restaurant, and after only two days of repeat stellar performances, your manager decides to promote him as the official vocalist for the band. It hurts to admit that you're not the least bit surprised; you might have a hard time looking at him, but you can never deny his talent. 

His song list has added a larger variety of genres ever since his first performance. That is to say, he isn’t always singing about lost loves and tragic couples every night. Perhaps it is due to some requests from customers or his other bandmates, but it doesn’t stop him from sprinkling one or two love songs into the mix. 

He doesn’t sing any original songs ever again. That, at least, is a small mercy. He doesn’t make any moves to speak with you either, despite the daily awkward trips back home after the end of your shifts. Whether that’s because he’s given up on you (again), or he’s waiting for you to make the first move, you don’t know. Frankly, you don’t think you have the energy (nor courage) to do anything about it.

It’s a few weeks after Jungkook’s first performance at the restaurant, and closing time is approaching. You appreciate Friday nights the most because it means you’ll have two consecutive days to relax and avoid your problems. It’s also the busiest night of the week, when white-collar workers decide to drink and eat for as long as the night allows them. Busier nights mean more distractions, and you’re willing to deal with twenty Karens over one Jungkook.

During nights like these, your manager occasionally asks you to fulfill some waitress duties when there aren’t enough hands on deck. Normally you’d hate it, but earning the extra tips is enough to keep your grumbling to a minimum To this day, your landlord has yet to do anything about your broken shower, and you’ve finally conceded to the fact that you’ll have to be the one to do something about it. 

As you inform the customers in your area that the last call for orders is approaching, you sneak a glance at the bar to see Jimin dutifully performing his job. That is to say, he’s flirting up a storm, getting women and men alike to blush from head to toe as he serves their drinks with a salacious smirk.

What a swindler, you think to yourself, snorting when he makes eye contact with you. He gives you a cheeky salute, mouthing something as he gestures to the back door.

Despite the semi-fight the two of you had all those weeks ago, Jimin was never one to argue about the same topic two days in a row. When you saw him the next day after your confrontation with Jungkook, Jimin was back to all smiles. You still catch him sending death glares towards Jungkook on most nights, but he doesn’t bring up the matter with you anymore. For that reason, you’ve gratefully settled back into your weird, banterful friendship with him. Even if there’s still a lingering tension between the two of you that you refuse to acknowledge.

You nod thankfully back at him, excited to go to his house and take a much needed shower. At this point, going to his house has become second nature to you, and it gives you an excuse to not see Jungkook at your regular bus stop every day. You have half a mind to never fix your shower for that reason, but of course there is still the problem of having to deal with Jimin every time you need to bathe. You hardly consider yourself an impatient person, but Jimin likes to toe the line far more often than necessary.

You’re down to your last two tables before you can close up shop when your manager suddenly barrels right into your path. You nearly drop your tray of dirty dishes to the floor, holding in a loud yelp as your suspiciously stern-faced manager halts you in place.

“Ms. Y/N, may I have a word with you for a moment? It’s regarding your paycheck for the month,” he barks, lips downturned. He appears disgruntled about something, and it sends a worried shiver down your spine. And here you thought Fridays are meant to be fun. He doesn’t wait for you to reply before he stalks back to his office, an unspoken command for you to follow. 

You unload your dishes in the kitchen before making your way to his office. The small, dark room is cramped with overflowing file folders and coupons from multiple take-out places. You accidentally step on a stack of papers, and upon further inspection, seem to be a pile of applications for new hires. You distinctly remember complaining to him months prior about being understaffed and him replying that no inquiries were coming in.

As you approach, your manager shuffles through your coworkers pay stubs, and you notice yours and Jungkook’s on top of the piles. 

Manager Jeong clears his throat. “Well, Y/N. It seems to be your lucky day. As you know, we split the tips based on your hours and what sort of duties you fulfill. With the new hire we have as our in-house singer, we’ve had to split it one way more to accommodate his arrival. However, he has recently requested to me that his portion be reallocated… to you, Ms. Y/N.”

Your jaw drops immediately. “I-I don’t understand, Manager Jeong,” you sputter. 

Manager Jeong snorts, bemused by your reaction. “Don’t understand? Well, I suppose you’ll have to ask Mr. Jeon if you want his reasoning. Regardless, since we normally deposit your salary straight to your bank account, would it be alright if I hand you his tips in cash for now? He only informed me about his request an hour ago, and the accountant has already clocked out for the week.”

All you can do is nod dumbly back at him. With a huff, your manager presses a white envelope into your hands before promptly ushering you out of his office. “Well, that's settled. Out you go! Have a good weekend, Ms. Y/N. Don’t forget to lock the register before you leave!” He calls out before slamming his door in your face.

It takes you a moment to reanimate back to life. You stare at the white envelope for a long while, unable to fathom the scribbled out name of Jeon Jungkook replaced with your own name. Then, you crumple it into your fist before stomping over to where Jungkook and the rest of the band are in the middle of packing it up for the night.

Jungkook looks up from his guitar case when he senses you fast approaching. For a fleeting second, a smile graces his handsome face before it’s smacked away by your crumpled envelope. 

“Keep your fucking cash, Jungkook. What the hell is your problem?” You fume, cheeks heating from agitation. Jungkook splutters for a moment, prying the envelope away from his face and looking at it in bewilderment. When he sees it clearly, recognition dawns on his face, followed by guilt.

“It’s just… my way of saying sorry, I guess.” He answers you meekly, neck flushing red in embarrassment. Behind him, the rest of the band grow silent at the scene before them, and you debate on telling them to mind their own business when they quicken their pace to leave.

“Well, keep your apology to yourself. There’s nothing to apologize for,” you correct him with a frown. To offer an apology is to offer accountability. You aren’t sure if you’re ready to hear him say that. 

“No, it’s a sorry for… using you, I suppose.”

“Using me?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “For what?”

Jungkook smiles wryly back at you. “For inspiration?” he clarifies. For being the reason I can sing? He leaves that part unsaid, but you can almost imagine him saying it. 

You feel heat rising to your cheeks again, but this time you aren’t quite sure if it’s from embarrassment, anger… or something else.

Unable to conjure up a response to his simple confession, you stomp away from him with a pounding heart and shaking hands. You continue the rest of your closing shift routine instinctually, your body moving on autopilot as Jungkook’s words continue to ring inside your head. When all is said and done, Jimin makes his way to your station with a questioning stare, but you wave him off in favor of stomping ahead of him to the parking lot.

In his car, Jimin rattles off about his latest exploits and purchases, his grating voice a comfort for once. You hum noncommittally during his stories when appropriate, but you suppose your usual indifference feels different, even to Jimin's untrained ears. 

At his house, you drift to his bathroom immediately. You already have a shirt button undone by the time you get a handle on the door when Jimin’s hand stops you in place. You can feel his warmth emanating against your back as he slowly pulls the bathroom door close. With a tired sigh, you reluctantly turn to face him and find him standing closer than you expected.

He has an arm resting above your head, effectively caging you. You feel your shoulders sag. Damn, here comes another confrontation. Why can’t everyone just leave you alone?!

“Talk to me,” he says. No, he demands.

You push him away weakly, but he hardly budges. “Nothing to talk about,” you lie. Had you no filter, you’d be word vomiting all over the place ages ago.

Jimin groans, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Enough with the emotional constipation. I’m here to listen, alright? No teasing or anything, I’m all ears and maybe a shoulder to cry on. Just don’t stain my Chanel top too bad,” he jokes.

You puff out a short breath—a sorry excuse for a laugh. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to talk about it, and that’s that.”

“It’ll make you feel a lot better, though,” he offers.

You scoff. “What makes you think that? What if I just want to ignore all my problems forever and never grow from it? Is that so bad?”

Jimin pushes himself away from you, raising his hands in mock defeat. “You’re so fucking annoying. Can you stop running away from your problems and talk to me? Hell, talk to Jungkook for all I care! Just stop being a doormat and speak your mind for once in your damn life!”

“What are you, my therapist?” You brush past him, shower all but forgotten. You begin toeing your shoes back on, ready to head home tired and smelly. At the very least, you won’t have to deal with this stupid annoying asshole any longer. 

Jimin strides back towards you, but for once he doesn’t do anything to forcibly stop you. Jimin has always been gruff with you, not afraid to push and pull you in any which direction. It’s part of the reason why you can’t take him seriously, even though you’ve recently realized why he was always being such a prick towards you—

“Yeah, I’m not your therapist. But for better or for worse, I’m your friend and I—I fucking care about you, alright? And it sucks seeing that good-for-nothing stick his nose in your business and act like he can do anything without any repercussions.”

Is Jimin being for real right now? “With how often you look at yourself in the mirror, you’d think you’d be better at introspection,” is all you say to that. You shove your feet into your shoes, not caring that you’ve probably put them on wrong. Maybe it’s because it’s Friday and the fatigue from the week has finally settled deep in your bones, but you can’t help but leave one last scathing remark to drive the final nail in the coffin.

“You know, if you were a little nicer to me, maybe I would talk to you. Hell, maybe I’d like you back. But no, just keep being your domineering, asshole self and I’ll keep being the same fucking doormat bitch you know and love,” you spit, turning towards the door and away from his face. You’re not even curious to see how he reacts. “I don’t need protection, alright? When I tell you to stay out of my business, you stay out of it. So don’t try and pretend to be my knight in shining armor.”

There’s an ocean of silence, enough to hear a pin drop. The urge to apologize surges to the surface, but you stamp it down. He’s petty all the time, so now it’s your turn.

Okay, maybe that’s a little too mean on your part, but you’re exhausted. Perhaps it is true when they say you should never act on your anger when it’s past midnight. But can anyone blame you? You’re only a girl, and girls need to snap too. 

When he responds, his voice sounds weak. Park Jimin, weak? It's almost unthinkable. "Why don't you trust me?"

Isn't it obvious? you want to say. But some mercy remains within you. You'll pick up the pieces another time. Instead, you rasp out, “Good night, Park. I’ll see you on Monday.”

The walk of shame back to your house is long and arduous. Your phone dings thrice, likely signaling texts from Jimin, but you turn it off without checking for sure. For once, the weight on your shoulders is slightly lighter. You huff out a dry laugh, realizing belatedly that maybe Jimin is right—maybe speaking your mind has its benefits.

There’s a small park in your neighborhood that you always pass by. You don’t remember the last time you spared it a second glance, but this time you notice a lone figure swinging back and forth, arching dangerously higher than what you would consider safe. From a distance, all you can make out are the person’s comically bright boots, and you have a sinking suspicion you know who it is without seeing their face.

Cosmos, or whoever it is that controls my life, why must you braid our strings of fate so tightly? You ask, but as always, it refuses to reply.

Against your better judgment, your feet bring you closer towards him. He has his back towards you, his feet pumping him higher and higher and you half expect him to swing in a perfect arc like a gymnast on parallel bars. You have to keep your distance a bit, lest you get the wind knocked out of you by his signature stompers. 

You clear your throat, and the boy stops mid-swing and nearly catapults himself into the spongey, playground floor. Hunched over and wheezing, Jungkook directs his shocked eyes at you with a comical stare. 

You raise a hand in greeting. A peace offering, maybe. “Hello—”

“I swear I’m not stalking you!” Jungkook interrupts as he scrambles to his feet. He bows deeply in remorse, the action so endearingly him. “S-sorry, I’ll make my way home now…”

“I don’t own the park, Jungkook. I was just saying hello…” You snort, wringing your hands uncomfortably. You grind your shoes into the ground, the sound of crunching leaves breaking the still air. “A-and… to say sorry, for earlier.”

“Sorry?” Jungkook repeats, confused. When he realizes what you mean, he waves his hands frantically. “No, no! Don’t be sorry! It was my fault for being so inconsiderate. I understand how you might misconstrue my actions, and I made things more awkward. I’ll consider your feelings more in the future…”

In the future… You cough, unwilling to meet his bright and honest gaze. If you stare too long, you fear you might go blind. 

“I come here to the park often, when I feel too cramped inside my apartment,” Jungkook explains, frantic energy radiating off him in waves. He’s gesticulating too much, a clear sign that he’s trying to hide his nerves. You remember how he would do the same thing in high school, whenever he had to present his projects in front of the class. 

You hold a hand up, a weak attempt to get him to calm down. “I’m not here to interrogate you. I just wanted to…” What is it that you wanted to do?

The two of you just stand awkwardly like that, similar to a few weeks ago when you discovered you were neighbors. You’re grasping at straws in your head, both conflicted for wanting to tell him something and running away. Even if you were to talk to him, what would you say? There’s a reason you told Jimin you didn’t want to talk—frankly, it’s mostly because you have no idea what to say or feel. 

But you do know, the universe responds. 

I ask you questions all the time, and this is how you respond? 

Either that, or you’re going insane, the universe remarks.

Jungkook pulls out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he unlocks it. He takes a furtive step towards you, but thinks better of it. There’s a few feet of distance between you, but it feels like worlds apart. Close and yet so far. You recall how you’d easily pull him towards you in the past, how being together felt as natural as breathing. 

“I know you absolutely hated it the last time I played my original song at the restaurant, so I refrained from performing any ever since that night. But that didn’t stop me from writing them. I was fine with keeping them locked in a vault forever, but…” He hesitates, searching you for any signs of discomfort. When he sees the carefully blank look on your face, he continues with trepidation. 

“Can I try a song for you? You don’t have to say yes, and you’re free to tell me to fuck off and I’ll never even look at you ever again. Just…” He flails one last time, a choked sob making its escape from his throat. 

Are you hopeless for wanting to say yes? Or were you reverting back to your old self who relied on him and believed in him so heavily? If you wanted him out of your life for good, you would have quit your job at the first sight of him. Maybe you were masochistic. Or maybe were you hopeful for a new start, a chance to rekindle a relationship that you’ve secretly always wanted to repair.

You have so much life ahead of you. Many more mistakes will be made and maybe they’ll haunt you when you’re older. But would it really be such a terrible gamble to take one more chance? 

You nod, and seal your fate.

He presses play, and the soft strumming of a guitar fills the empty playground air. 

Not for the first time, you wonder how it can be so easy for Jungkook to be so… honest. He spills his heart in every song that he writes, and you know he’s never been a great liar. He can’t help it, being genuine is in his DNA. This crashing waterfall, this boy with overflowing emotions—he sings what he thinks but feels terrified because of it. You might not understand his honesty, but you know that fear. You know it all too well.

He beholds himself to you—raw and unfiltered. A little battered and bruised, but still Jungkook. Behind everything, still the boy you’ve been yearning for.

Maybe this song is what will give you enough confidence to admit everything to him, too. As you stand there, listening to his mellow voice sing confessions to no one but you and the stars, you think you grow a little more courageous that day.

Maybe you won’t be able to tell him tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, nor next week either. But as you gaze back at his hopeful eyes, you know deep in your heart that you’ll find the words you’ve been looking for.

“I’ll keep waiting for you, if you let me.” Jungkook’s voice floats gently to you, and settles in your open palms. This time, you don’t let go

xxx

Months later, Jungkook stops working at the restaurant when an offer from a major record company arrives in his mail. Apparently, a big shot from the local radio station had pitched him to an employee at that company and they were all pleasantly surprised to find a hidden gem at a random bar and restaurant.  

In your apartment, you stare outside your window and to where his home is—well, where it was. You wonder if he finished packing his things, ready to make the big move tomorrow. You stand up with a stretch, sparing a glance at your still broken shower. It would be nice to have one more shower at his place… And after that? Maybe you should start looking for a nicer apartment; somewhere far away might be nice.

Your phone rings, and you see his contact photo light up your screen. With a smile, you answer.

“Come over, if you want. I won’t make you,” Jungkook assures you. 

You laugh lightly, already halfway out the door. 

#bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bangtan #bts #bts fanfic

[pirateprincessblog]

in vino veritas

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫.: hongjoong loves art, wine, and pretty girls. how convenient that on the opening night of his art gallery, as he sips his red wine, his eyes land on you. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dilf!hongjoong x fem!reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.1k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: dilf!hongjoong, bratty!reader, artist!hongjoong 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: voyeurism, oral (m receiving), toys, gagging, hint of ddlg

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: divorced parent child, alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, swearing 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i always write the reader as inexperienced or innocent, this time i'm trying a different approach hehe hopefully it works!

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲.

𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔,

𝒊 𝒂𝒎 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒊𝒏𝒗𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒈𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒂𝒚, 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒖𝒎 𝒊𝒏 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔. 𝒏𝒐 𝒈𝒊𝒇𝒕𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒅, 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒊𝒕𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒊𝒔 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉. 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒅𝒐 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒍𝒖𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒓.

𝒌𝒊𝒎 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒋𝒐𝒐𝒏𝒈.

it is a challenge to find an outfit appropriate for the evening. you do not wish to go, not since your mother has made it clear she is going only for mr kim. your father, as his best friend since childhood, would be there, and your mother couldn't pass the opportunity to continue her game of jealousy since their separation.

"bold of you to assume that mr kim will even lay his eyes on you." you comment, passing by her room and glancing at her outfit choice. a red dress shorter than her knees with a low neckline. a classic. funnily enough, she used the very same dress to separate your father's then girlfriend from him and took him for herself. she is your mother, but you don't close your eyes at her mistakes. "besides, you're not twenty anymore. that dress doesn't look flattering at all. it's not age appropriate."

"god, just like your father. insults, insults-"

"oh, so when i kiss your ass i am like you, but when i disagree with you, i am like my father? how lovely."

"go to your room and get dressed."

"why do i have to go? you're the one who's trying to get dicked down toni-"

"go to your room!"

defeated, you groan and slam your door shut, then throw yourself on the bed. even with your head buried under your pillows, you still hear her obnoxious voice.

"and don't talk back to me! you've become very rude, and i will not have you embarrass me in front of our friends there! especially not in front of hongjoong."

you don't remember mr kim. you only know that he had a wife, that she also cheated, much like your mother, and since then he only travels and creates art wherever he goes. ever since you got the invitation, you've been trying to find out how he looks now. but all he posts on his social media is the destinations he's visiting, food and sneak peeks of his art. not even a glimpse of him in any picture. come to think of it, your mother's standards are pretty high. your father had your school friends coming over to your house just for him, you can only imagine what mr kim looks like.

deciding on a simple short sweater dress and knee high boots, you put your coat on and head into the autumn evening. your mother trails behind, having difficulties with walking in such high heels. you don't wait, still angry about her plan involving your poor father and an innocent man.

it is only seven in the evening, and something tells you that you'll be here for a very long time. at least midnight. on the bright side, you'll finally see your father. and meet the mystery man behind all the artwork you've been admiring. he doesn't post much of it, but what you've seen, it's pretty damn amazing.

"dad!" you spot him as soon as you enter the crowded space, your father with his recognizable thomas shelby outfit and a glass of whiskey in his hand. you hug him, tight as always, and subconsciously smell him. tobacco, whiskey, and vanilla. home.

"hey, kid." he returns the hug, a little less tight than yours as to not hurt you. "oh you smell great! that the new perfume i got you?"

"oh, i absolutely love it. i bathe in it every day."

"i'm so glad you like it." he gently ruffles your hair, enough to show affection but to not mess it up completely. "now, where's ursula?"

"very mature, calling your ex wife a cartoon villain. what, i put on a few pounds, so what?"

"it's not about the pounds, and you know it."

you turn your head away from your mother, hiding the laugh that is threatening to escape. but she catches the way your father winks your way, and claps her hands, causing a few heads to turn.

"a father and daughter teaming up on her mother. lovely. if you love him more than me, why don't you go live with him?"

you finally look at her, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. "you threatened to hurt yourself if you saw me exit the house with a suitcase. you guilt tripped me, called yourself an awful mother and whatnot. what are you on about?"

defeated, she tries to push the glass of whiskey out of your father's hand, and when failing to do so, she groans and stomps down the gallery hall. and yet she calls you two mature sarcastically.

"i truly hope she finds someone crazy enough to handle her, just so you can finally move out and have a life of your own. is she giving you a hard time?"

"i can handle her. usual guilt tripping and nagging, nothing new. how was your trip?"

your father happily tells you all about his recent trip to spain and france, which was mr kim hongjoong's gift to him for birthday. he went on and on about all the food he tried, all the buildings and art he saw, and how fun and informed about everything mr kim was.

"he knew so much that i was ashamed to be walking with him sometimes. i didn't know the difference between baroque and rococo. hell, i didn't know what rococo even was. i'm definitely taking you to see la sagrada familia on my next week off."

"sounds great, dad."

"listen, i'm gonna go find the restroom, too much whiskey," he whispers, "you feel free to walk around and watch. if you see something you like, i'll ask hongjoong for the price and i'll get it for you."

you look at him with a scoff, but when you see that he is dead serious, you raise your eyebrows. "what? you'd buy an art piece worth thousands of pounds?"

"family discount," he winks at you once again, then disappears into the crowd.

"a drink, madam?" someone says next to you.

your eyes land on the tray with glasses of red and sparkling wine, the person holding it dressed in a simple white dress shirt and black slacks, hair slicked back and white gloves on his hands.

"no thanks, i don't drink."

he nods understandingly, then continues his journey towards the arriving guests. you were never one to buy art. well, you weren't exactly one to be really into it. you see a picture, a sculpture or something similar, you think it's neat. do you go out of your way to find out the artist, or search for more? not quite. but walking down the waxed floor under the rich chandeliers and looking at the massive paintings, you might get into it. finally, something that is not minimalism or some picasso-wannabe shit. stunning golden frames, detailed paintings, and harmony of colours on canvas. all of it put together so perfectly, as if it was brought back from the times of renaissance and not painted in an atelier just outside of town earlier this year.

"drink?"

"i said no already, thanks." you reply, not bothering to look at the person.

"just a sip? to loosen up. you look rather stiff."

you turn your head towards the voice, confused as to why the waiter is persistent. but next to you stands a well dressed man, two glasses of red wine in his hands. he wears black slacks, a tight black turtleneck, and a long black coat. his eyes are pools of honey under the yellow chandeliers, and his hair shiny streaks of gold. he looks breath taking, and you almost thank your mother for dragging you here.

he holds the wine glass for you to take, and you do so. he raises his own towards you, then takes a sip of it, not once breaking eye contact with you. you bring yours to your lips, and the alcohol barely touches them before you move it away. you were never a fan of alcoholic drinks. they tasted awful, and brought out the worst in you. you don't want to embarrass your father tonight. or yourself in front of this gorgeous looking man.

"you've spent quite some time looking at this. admiring the work or surprised at the nudity?"

you scoff, looking at the painting again. gradually going down the hall, the art becomes less art and more erotica. how disappointing. "not admiring, that's for sure."

"oh? how so?" he asks, intrigued.

"well, for starters, very unrealistic. such big breasts and such a tiny waist? has that hongjoong ever seen a woman in his life?"

he laughs along with you, taking another sip of his wine. "i heard he paints with live models, so i'm guessing that this woman really exists somewhere."

"alright, i'll let you have that one. what about this? very inaccurate." you walk over to the next painting, pointing out all the things you were dissatisfied with.

"even an art critic isn't this harsh. it's just art, at the end of the day. an artist's way of escaping and creating his own world to get lost in. nothing wrong with that, right? writers and readers have books, gamers have games, chefs have cooking and baking, and artists have art."

"well, if the artist is an old pervert and all his inspiration comes from naked women, then sure. nothing wrong with that."

after a few moments of silence, you look over at him. he stares at the painting, puzzled. you clear your throat, sensing the awkward air enveloping you both. "i would love to continue this conversation, but if i stay i will only become meaner and accidentally insult you, and i certainly wouldn't want that. i'm passionate when it comes to me being right and proving others wrong."

you give him the glass of wine back with a sour grin, and he returns a scoff of disbelief. "charming."

"wasn't trying to be."

and with that, you leave him standing with two glasses of wine again, just like he approached you. you visit the restroom too, taking a look at yourself in the mirror. all the women are gorgeous tonight, wearing classy dresses and heels, and suddenly you feel underdressed.

"oh my god, your boots are so cool!" as if she heard your overthinking, the girl behind you exclaims. "where did you get them?"

"uh, i think it was a sale at zara. very uncomfortable though, i don't recommend." you reply with a laugh.

"that's okay, they look so pretty it's worth it. anyways, love your makeup." then, she exits the restroom.

you look at your boots, plain black with a chunky heel and over the knees. nothing special about them. still, you appreciate the compliment.

it doesn't take long for you to find your father again, this time in front of a sculpture of, again, a half naked woman. how odd.

"there you are! found anything?"

"no," you reply dryly, and refrain yourself from nasty comments because of his friends.

"well, that's a shame. hongjoong, this is my daughter i've been telling you about."

your heart drops when you hear his name, and then drops a little lower when your eyes lock with the familiar brown ones you just abandoned further down the hall.

"oh, i've had the pleasure," he responds, not looking surprised like you. "an informed young woman, for sure."

so much for embarrassing yourself. if he is offended, he doesn't show it. he only extends his hand as a formal greeting, and when you offer him yours to shake, he turns it over and kisses the top of it. you are baffled, unable to do or say anything. you look over at your father, who doesn't blink an eye to the unusual situation you've found yourself in. mr kim releases your hand, but not before holding eye contact with you just a few seconds longer.

"ah, right, hongjoong is a gentleman. also, if you didn't already notice, he loves women. not like that, of course. they're just-"

"they are my biggest muse. this world's biggest and prettiest treasure."

"charming," you repeat his word from earlier.

he smirks, teasingly. you want to slap the smirk off his face. he adjusts the sleeves of his turtleneck, rolling them up to his elbows and showing off his forearms. it is only then that you notice he isn't wearing the coat anymore, and you have the freedom of shamelessly staring at his body. his forearms are big, painted with bulging veins. the turtleneck hugs his waist and chest perfectly, to the point of slightly showing the outline of his abs. he isn't bulky, but built like a greek statue. he holds himself so elegantly, not bothered what anyone has to say about his work. it's a shame, because you still have a lot to say, regardless of how hot and bothered you are for him at the moment.

"ah, let me just clarify something. in case someone thinks that i'm just an old pervert..." he discreetly glances at you, making your jaw drop slightly, "...all these women have come to me and asked to be painted or sculpted. i have never once asked a woman to undress for me, nor did i sexualize her when she did so herself. i see art, not porn material."

your father seems offended that someone could have made such an assumption. little did he know that the culprit was the young woman right next to him, hiding behind his glass of wine.

"say, hongjoong, how does that work? do i have to send you an e-mail? or just show up at your door?"

if you thought that the situation couldn't get more awkward, your mother decided to prove you wrong.

"mom!" you scold, pink spreading on your cheeks as you look at the people surrounding you.

"what? why wouldn't i want to be painted by such a handsome-"

"unfortunately, at the moment i do not take any commissions. the gallery is my priority."

and just like that, mr kim shuts her down. he spares her no glance, in respect towards your father, or simply because he is disgusted by such an idea and behaviour. he is not stupid, that you notice. he seems to know the difference when someone genuinely wants to be painted, and when someone tries to take advantage of the situation and expects something from him.

as the night goes, you notice that kim hongjoong isn't old like you called him. he is your father's age, sure, but he aged like fine wine. it takes a lot of staring and concentration to notice a few gray strands of hair cleverly hidden among the golden brown ones. you notice that he doesn't talk much. he lets the people around him talk, and only engages when they have a question about a work of his.

you also notice his hands. his fingers, specifically. you can't help but imagine his fingers dipped in clay, shaping it the way his mind intended, his focused gaze and messy hair. you wish to see him at work, at least once in your life. just to satisfy your imagination. because to make a move with a man of that age is just absurd, and disrespectful towards your father. and himself. he just said that he doesn't do it for sexual purposes, and you were almost offering him the same thing as your mother.

awful.

you glance at him one more time, and when you find him already staring at you with an intense gaze, you take it as your cue to leave. a look of hatred, curiosity or lust, you didn't know. you only knew that you felt nervous under his stare, sweat emerging on your skin and stomach turning from fear that he read your mind and caught you thinking about him inappropriately.

"it's a bit late, i'll excuse myself."

"oh, already?" your father asks, planting a kiss on your temple. "i suppose it is quite late. do you need me to walk you back home?"

"no, that's fine. you guys have fun though. oh, mr kim."

mr kim looks at you, surprised that you're addressing him after all night of avoiding his gaze. "yes?"

"wonderful works, truly. thank you for the invite." it's the least you can do after shamelessly shitting on his work in front of him.

"why, thank you. i appreciate it, especially coming from my best friend's daughter. let me walk you to the door."

and you don't get a say in it. your father practically pushes you into his best friend, who skillfully grabs your waist and restores your balance. your breathing seems to stop the few seconds he holds you, grip secure and manly on your body. when he releases you, it feels empty. you wish to be held again, manhandled, thrown around, anything by him.

"listen, i'm sorry for what i said." you say, walking towards the door and keeping up with him.

"mhm," he hums, as if it's not a big deal.

"no, really, i just..."

"it's fine." he says, holding your coat in the air for you.

"i sometimes speak before i think," you put one arm in the sleeve, "and i end up hurting someone or embarrassing myself."

"it's really fine." he says, tone calm and low. he helps your other arm in the sleeve, then, as if he knew your newfound weak spot, he places his hands on your waist and turns you towards him. only now, you are so determined to apologize to him that you don't even notice what he is doing.

"in this case, i did both. mr kim, please, accept my apology." he adjusts the collar of the coat, then buttons it up.

"i told you, it's fine." he is persistent.

you are a babbling mess, trying to correct the image of yourself he has created in his head, which couldn't possibly be good. after all, mr kim hongjoong is way too hot to have a bad opinion about you. you continue speaking, and he continues adjusting your clothes. it is not until he firmly grabs your jaw in his big warm hand that you shut your mouth. you look at him, almost startled, and gulp.

"i appreciate honest opinion. you are the only one who didn't kiss my ass tonight, and i appreciate it more than all the compliments i've gotten. so trust me when i say that it is fine. don't ever apologize for your opinions, you're not that kind of girl."

"what kind of girl do you think i am?"

he smirks, then rubs your cheek with his thumb as he brings your face closer to his. "not a good one, that's for sure."

the words shoot arrows to your core, and you suddenly feel hotter than the hottest summer day. you exhale shakily, not knowing what to do with yourself. he looks satisfied with the reaction you gave him, and decides to finally stop teasing.

"watch the road when crossing." he sends you a playful wink, then opens the door for you.

"thank you," you manage to say, and only nod his way before making your way down the street into the chilly autumn night.

the more time you spend with your father, the more you keep hearing about the artist who won't leave your mind anyway. from his stories, mr kim has been spoiling him rotten. no wonder he isn't home anymore. sitting on your father's porch on his swinging chair and taking in the last rays of sunshine before the harsh winter, you can't help but ask about the mystery man.

"how come he's your childhood best friend but i've only met him that evening?"

"well, you were young. you didn't pay any attention to things that aren't crushes, school and gossip."

"wow."

"it's true. you were just a kid, then a teen. and hongjoong wasn't around much during the day. then, he met ramona and moved with her to a different town. and then, while he was trying to save money and start a family, she was jumping on someone else on the bed that he bought with the last savings. they separated, and hongjoong started travelling just so he could be away from the town. he said everything reminds him of the night he found them. and i accompany him, which is really hard for me as you can see."

"oh, you're living a very hard life at the moment, dad. jokes aside, that sucks for him. do i know her?"

your father scrunches his eyebrows, as if he doesn't want to remember the woman. "she's still around. she was at the gallery, that whore."

it surprises you to hear him say such harsh words. he is usually semi-polite with his speech. mr kim must've really gone through something when even your father reacts like this.

"really? why would she come? did she have the invitation?"

"no, of course not. this isn't a big town, words spread faster than anything. she came with her boytoy to make fun of him, but got shat on when she saw how successful he has gotten. she just looked at me, tried to push the statue like a fucking idiot, then left angrily. i don't know what goes on in that woman's mind."

you scoff, then feel relieved that there was a bigger fool than you there. "how did he become an artist?"

"you can ask him that yourself. he doesn't bite, you know."

you take a sip of the peach tea, then set it aside quickly. still scorching. "why would you say that? i'm not scared of him or anything."

"you were running away from him yesterday. i didn't want to ask because i didn't want to make you uncomfortable, but it was a little disrespectful towards him. he was hurt."

"did he tell you that?" you raise an eyebrow.

"no...?"

"he'll live." you simply say, then grab your phone.

you type his name in the social app again, hoping to see a new post. and there it is, a brand new post, just twenty seconds ago. simple pictures from that night, the group posing in front of the museum, then in front of various photos. then, random shots of food, drinks, and finally, you.

you, staring at the photo that you loved the most in the hall, taken from the profile. it looks like something that jumped out of pinterest, and not something that he secretly snapped before approaching you. the photo is so good that you might even post it yourself.

art admiring art, the caption says. you're surely reading too much into it. he doesn't mean it about you. there's multiple people in the photos, for god's sake. but no, your delusional self loves to make an appearance, and thus the filthy thoughts of kim hongjoong resurface again. you've been trying to push it down, especially in front of your father, but one night of insomnia, a fresh image of kim hongjoong in a tight turtle neck grabbing your face, and a hand down your sleepwear, you've fallen into the void.

now, you can't escape it. you fantasize about him, day and night, stalk his accounts, even take the longer route to work just to pass by the museum in hopes of catching a glance of him. but all you've gotten is sore feet and more sexual frustration. nothing helps anymore, not a single toy that you have once neatly packed under the bed and were collecting dust up until recently. so when your father asks you to drop some things over at the atelier, you are happy to do it.

when you hear the word atelier, you expect a cozy little room in an old building with wooden furniture and with the smell of paint. but you forget that kim hongjoong is filthy rich. the address your father has given you takes you to a whole wooden cabin just outside of town, surrounded by a light forest. you gulp, realizing what situation you are in.

you are about to be alone with the most gorgeous man you've ever seen in your life. you are about to walk into his personal space. and you have to keep your thoughts collected, just in case he is a good people reader. and you somehow feel like he is. you are wet just standing outside, holding the bag of items your father has sent him and shamelessly thinking about all possible ways he would fu-

"oh, hi. i thought i saw someone standing there. please, do come in." mr kim calls from the door, wiping his hands with a cloth. you see stains of paint all over them, and paired with his bulging veins, you realize that you aren't the strongest soldier today and that you have to run home to a certain device as soon as possible.

"good evening, sir. i actually just came to drop this off, per my father's request." you hold out the bag for him to take.

he looks at you with a raised eyebrow, still standing at the door. "you can approach, the cabin doesn't bite."

you exhale, trying to calm your heart beat. it feels like it's going to jump out and plunge straight into his face. you finally make your way towards him, trying to avoid his gaze. you don't know if he does it on purpose, but it is so intense that it feels like even your hair is sweating. he is looking you up and down as you approach, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. he takes the bag from your hand, seeing that you don't plan on speaking yet.

"and i don't bite either." he smirks, then goes back inside the cabin.

"i wish you did," you mumble, then follow after him.

the place smells like paint, just how you imagined. and it is much cozier than it looks outside. you finally get a good look at him, now that his attention is on the contents of the bag. he wears a halfway unbuttoned white dress shirt, almost see through, black slacks, and has messy hair. as if he read your thoughts, he runs his fingers through it, taming the golden strands and showing off his finely aged face.

"a drink?" he asks, hand reaching for the wine bottle that sits on the table among the brushes. "ah, right. i forgot."

he pours himself a glass instead. you bite the inside of your cheek. you hate it, you really do. but for him? no, you're not like that. not with your father's friend, god no.

"this one is actually very sweet. it doesn't have that much alcohol in it. want a sip?"

he holds his own glass for you to try. under the warm yellow lights, you see the outline of his lips on the edge of the glass. you feel ashamed that you do take the glass, and press the lips on the same outline. it takes every ounce in you not to jump into his arms and make out with him like there's no tomorrow. but you manage, only taking a sip of the dark liquid before returning the glass to him. you keep the liquid inside your mouth, afraid to let it pour down your throat. you are not ready for the stinging and bitter aftertaste. but the longer you hold it, the more you look like a squirrel with puffy cheeks and your eyes tear up.

mr kim notices, and chuckles. not mockingly, but maybe a bit fondly. he approaches you, taking your jaw into his hand again. you notice the dried paint on his fingers, and his rolled up sleeves again. his eyes look into yours, and if he wasn't holding your head up so you can look at him, you would surely turn around and leave. it is too much, yet you don't have many options at the moment. to look away, or to maintain the eye contact. he seems to be into it, and so you give it to him. you are starting to be into it too.

his thumb rubs your cheek, much like that night. his eyes roam your face, as if he is memorizing every single detail on it. he licks his lips, and his gaze softens. "swallow for me."

in the dead silence, you can almost hear your sanity shatter. you do as he tells you, with no thoughts in your brain. the liquid stings your throat, but the growing lust inside of you overshadows it. you subconsciously lick your lips, mimicking him. he smiles to himself, noticing it.

"good girl."

what you didn't expect is for him to turn around and sit on the wooden stool, rolling his sleeves further up and getting back to his painting. you stand in the middle of the room, red faced, warm and with drenched panties, shocked at his behaviour. does he do this with his models too? gets flirty, then continues his work like nothing happened? is that how he gets such erotic paintings?

"you can sit on the couch if you want, i'll be done soon. i can drive you back."

you sit on the couch, immediately sinking into it. "how did you know i didn't drive here?"

"you always walk," he simply replies, his back still turned towards you and his hands working on the canvas, "i see you every day when you pass by the museum."

oh.

"what do you say? think you can manage with me for half an hour in here? i heard you don't like me much."

your cheeks are redder than ever, lust combined with embarrassment bringing out the worst in you. "i apologized."

you hear him chuckle. "i know. no harm in a little teasing."

minutes feel like hours as you sit upside down on the comfy green couch, legs resting over the backrest and head hanging from the couch above the carpet. he doesn't pay you much attention, but all of your attention is on him. you watch as his back muscles move when he reaches for a certain paint or brush on the high shelves, as his fingers run through his hair to get it out of his face, as his hand rubs the paint into the canvas. you feel a sensation on your clit, seeing his finger rub the paint in such an erotic way that you think it's not a coincidence.

you breathe out, trying to calm yourself again. you could leave, yes. but you don't want to. you're fine. you'll live. you distract yourself with snooping around his drawers next to the couch. you find a clean set of brushes, unused paint, and packages of clay. you play with the brushes, tapping them like drumsticks, then acting out spells from harry potter, and whatnot. until you decide to dim that little spark of dignity you had left.

you glance at hongjoong again, who still sits on the stool and has made progress on the painting. you flip your skirt over, and move your panties aside. using the soft part of the brush, you glide it over your clit, and shudder at the feeling. he stops for a moment, and you hurriedly put the skirt back in place. he doesn't spare you a glance, but simply takes a sip of wine. when he returns to his work, you also return to yours.

your hand reaches for one of the pillows, and gets trapped under your teeth as your other hand continues teasing you with the soft brush. you bite into the poor pillow, tug it and arch your back, all while pleasuring yourself with kim hongjoong's brushes, on his couch, right behind his back. you go painfully slow, as to not make too much noise. you're driving yourself crazy, and you can't help but imagine what wonders he could do to you if he just turned around.

so close to reaching the release, you close your eyes, and throw your head back further, still in the upside down position. the brush works faster, the soft bristles gently but fast brushing against your swollen clit, caressing your nerves just right. so damn close, just a tad bit more, and-

"put that down."

like frost, his voice makes all the heat and lust disappear from your body. you sit still, eyes still closed, hoping that he will just disappear if you do so. that you will get yourself out of the awkward situation.

"i said..." you hear footsteps, and before you can actually listen to him, he grabs you by your jaw again, forcing you to look at him, "...put. that. down."

his eyes are stone cold, eyebrows furrowed. you gulp, feeling so small and miserable under his gaze.

"now."

your hand drops the brush on the couch, then fixes the skirt. you try to sit up straight, but hongjoong's grip on your face is strong. you stay still, waiting for the scolding to begin. you're terrified, you want to disappear. you want to drown in that bucket of paint that sits next to his stool, and never resurface again.

"what the hell do i do with you? first you hate me, then you like me, then you avoid me. now, you ride my painting brushes? how am i supposed to approach this?"

you don't try to speak. you don't trust yourself with words. you can only sound pathetic, begging for forgiveness again. so you decide to keep your mouth shut and let him be disappointed in you. he breaks eye-contact with you, only to have a sip of his wine which he brought over to the couch. he keeps it in his hand, eyes locked on you again. his thumb caresses your bottom lip, while his eyes roam the state of your body. your chest still rises and falls quickly, coming down from an orgasm denial. flushed cheeks, sweaty forehead with hair sticking to it, almost drool covered pillow with bite marks, and your arousal on his brushes and couch.

hongjoong breathes out his nose, a glint visible in his eyes.

"open up." he says, voice raspy and eyes softened.

you do as he says, opening your mouth until his thumb can comfortably sit in it. he massages your tongue, circling it and playing with it. he takes another sip of the dark liquid, then looks at you with that glint again. he removes his thumb, only to bring his head closer and pour the liquid from his mouth into yours. you swallow it without hesitation, too mesmerized and aroused by the situation. never in your life did you think that drinking from someone else's mouth was going to make you almost orgasm.

"good girl," he praises, voice barely a whisper in the silent cabin.

he downs the rest of it, then throws it on the floor aside. the glass cracking makes you twitch, but he is quick to hush you and caress your cheek.

"s-sir-" you finally speak, not even sure what you want to say.

"yes?" the man replies.

"i- i should-" you stutter, trying to come up with anything that will get you out of there, "i should go."

hongjoong raises an eyebrow, believing your words as much as you believe them. his hands fumble with the zipper of his slacks. then, he takes the pillow you had just used and gently puts it under your head.

"comfy?"

"yes...?" you say, confused.

"good."

through the opening of his pants, he pulls himself out, wasting no time in giving it a few slow strokes. your mouth waters at the sight, even if it is upside down. his hard, thick cock leaks above your head, ready to be licked clean.

"open up for me, princess."

you shudder at the nickname, and at the way he gently holds your head so that it is aligned with his cock. you open your mouth once again, slightly sticking your tongue out for him. the man presses the tip against your lips, coating them in pre-cum before pushing past them. he grunts, placing both of his hands on your cheeks to hold your head still. the warm muscle glides against your tongue, kissing the back of your neck. you can't help but imagine how it would glide inside of you, slowly, or fast, gently, or hard. you'll take anything he gives you.

"relax your throat, baby." his voice is raspy and quiet in your ears.

you do as told, trying your best to relax it. as soon as you do, hongjoong seems to lose himself a bit. he slams his hips forwards, the tip of his cock touching the back of your throat and making you gag around him. tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but you don't let them. his hand then reaches over to your skirt, flipping it over and exposing your drenched panties still pulled aside.

his fingers find your entrance without teasing, and he dips his finger in so easily. your walls squelch around him, arousal flooding and coating his digits. due to the position you're in, his rough fingers rub your spongy wall exactly how you need it. you squirm under his touch, feeling overstimulated even though you haven't orgasmed yet. he adds two more fingers, stuffing you almost to the brim. you're full of him, in both holes, and a whiny and squirming mess.

he abuses your mouth, admiring the outline of his cock on your neck.

"rub your pretty clit for me, princess."

hesitantly, your fingers find your swollen clit, rubbing it in circles and guiding yourself closer to an orgasm. hongjoong's fingers are restless in your hole, pumping in and out, making you moan and whine around his cock. the vibrations must feel good for him, because he throws his head back and groans. entirely lost in the pleasure of your tight mouth against him, he can't help but slam his hips harder and faster, and his fingers start matching the rythym.

you try to beg, but all the words are muffled by his equally abused cock.

"what was that, pretty girl?" he looks down at you, pure ecstasy on his face.

"please-" you somehow manage to say it.

"please? do you know what you're begging for?"

you shake your head. you don't, truly. begging for him to speed up? to slow down? to make you orgasm? or not? you have no idea. you just beg him, to give you everything he has to offer.

the moment is shattered when your phone rings, the word dad on the screen making your stomach turn. hongjoong stops, giving you a moment to collect yourself before handing you the phone. he helps you sit up straight, putting a pillow under you so that you are comfortable. you take a deep breath, who knows which one in the row that day. hongjoong caresses your cheek, as if he wasn't deep inside you both ways just seconds ago. charming, he'd say.

"hello?" you answer the phone.

"hey, kid. did you deliver those things to hongjoong?"

"yes, dad."

"great! i was thinking about inviting him for dinner tomorrow. wanna come and help me?"

"sure thing."

"i was thinking steak, with that whiskey sauce you make..."

you are no longer paying attention, because hongjoong is on his knees in front of the couch. he gently spreads your legs, and looks at you with a mischievous look. you shake your head silently, asking him to not do anything. but all falls in water when hongjoong licks a stripe up your slit and you shake under his touch. your legs close reflexively, but the older man is quick to hold your thighs in place as he devours you on his couch. he makes out with your folds, as if he is kissing your real lips. his tongue teases the tip of your clit, spinning it in circles. he sucks it, tugs it and rubs it, all the things that have your fingers grasping his hair and pulling mercilessly.

his fingers find their way inside you again, curling up so that you get maximum pleasure. a whine escapes your lips, and hongjoong stops everything he is doing. you beg him with your eyes not to stop. you can't go home empty handed. but the man only puts his hand over your mouth, and ever so slowly, slides inside of you. you swallow him so easily, arousal leaking all over him and his couch.

"dad, i really have to-" you gasp, feeling his cock brushing against your sweet spot, "i have to go."

"oh? alright then. so, tomorrow?"

hongjoong grabs your waist, not moving his own hips, but instead slamming your body on his cock and bruising your skin with his strong grip. his hair falls over his eyes, loose strands perfectly decorating his face painted with pure pleasure.

"huh? yes, yes! tomorrow. okay, see you!"

you've never ended a call so fast, and you've never thrown your phone so far away.

"don't hold back, darling. let me hear you."

and that's when you let go. you grip his shoulders, moan into his ear, whine, squirm, whatnot. you certainly don't make it easy for him.

"for an old pervert, you sure are having the time of your life." he teases.

you try glaring at him, but you can barely keep your head up. "just fuck me, please."

"you finally know what you're begging for. only you're not asking properly."

"pretty please?"

"no, you can do better."

you think hard, defocusing from the orgasm chasing for a moment. then, it clicks.

"please, daddy."

hongjoong chuckles happily, and snaps his hips harder into you. "that's a good girl."

something about having sex with clothes on drove you crazy, especially since hongjoong was in his natural habitat and clothing. it pushes you over the edge, seeing him brush his hair back and looking at you with such lust. you're shaking harder than ever, clear liquid squirting out of you and all over him and his furniture. you're in shock, trying to reach your breath, while hongjoong still sloppily fucks his cum into you.

he grunts and hums against your lips, not yet kissing you. which you suddenly find very frustrating.

"you should shit on my art more often, eh?"

with a laugh, you try to cover yourself with the blanket. but hongjoong takes it from your hand, then uses it to wipe the liquid off your body. he tosses it aside, then reaches for his own coat to give it to you. hesitantly, you take it. as you put it on, hongjoong examines your face for any traces of regret. when he sees none, he smiles fondly at you, pressing his lips on top of your hand, just like that night.

"you're a very pretty young woman, you know that?"

"thanks," you say awkwardly.

"you wanted to kiss me, i know. but..."

you roll your eyes, acting unphased.

"...i don't think i'm ready yet."

"you just rearranged my guts, and a kiss is a problem for you?"

he laughs, but not because it's funny, but because you are right. he helps you lay down on the couch, then covers you with the spare blanket. "we'll get there, pretty. right now, i want you to take a power nap before i take you home. got it?"

"got it, sir."

"good girl."

#ateez #ateez imagine #ateez smut #ateez imagines #kpop smut #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #ateez x you #kim hongjoong smut #hongjoong imagine #hongjoong imagines #hongjoong smut #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong #hongjoong fanfic #hongjoong oneshot #ateez fanfiction #ateez oneshots #ateez oneshot #kim hongjoong #kim hongjoong x reader #kim hongjoong x y/n

[heartsofminds]

my life is changing every day, in every possible way

“She’s a cranberry,” he exaggerates his pronunciation of the word for extra emphasis, “Has Ocean Spray become a relic around here?” or It's Halloween, Bradley has a precocious eleven-month-old daughter, and he might be in love with her impromptu babysitter.

A/N: soooo here's a halloween thing that i kind of just threw together? i'm OBSESSED with bradley being a girl dad and just love this little girl i came up with (@gretagerwigsmuse knows that we love quincy in this household). anywho, enjoy some poorly written dadley and this super pointless halloween drabble? hope y'all had a good holiday and am sooo looking forward to writing more of this daddy/daughter duo !

“Whatever it is, Bradshaw, you’re not excused this time.” 

Jake Seresin slams his locker shut and shoves his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. The heel of his boot is kicked up, making a soft “thud” on the hollow metal as he leans his back against it. He crosses his arms to lie in front of his chest and adjusts his watch.

The small wooden bench screwed into the linoleum tile perches Bradley Bradshaw, who sits with his elbows digging into the tops of his thighs and his back aching something awful. He softly grunts before he turns to release some of the pressure there. The resounding crack it makes causes Jake to grimace a little before his face returns to the snarky default position it always seems to have. 

“I’m sorry I’m an adult? And have responsibilities?” Bradley rolls his eyes and traces his index finger around a watermark on the wood next to him. 

He notices his Nalgene water bottle sweating and subconsciously picks it up, using the bottom of his t-shirt to dry the wet spots it left in its wake. Jake and Natasha watch him without his knowledge and share a knowing look with each other, but remain silent. Sometimes it’s hard to determine if Bradley’s behavior is because he’s in a vastly different life stage than they are, or if it’s just a Bradley thing. 

Trying to figure it out makes everyone’s brains hurt so they often just let it be. 

The blonde groans again. “You say it like flying a billion-dollar aircraft every single day isn’t a huge responsibility,” he licks his lips before throwing his head back, “Can you take that huge stick out of your ass for once and let yourself have fun?” 

“I have a baby, shithead. I can’t just stop being a dad to go to a Halloween party.” 

Javy slams his locker shut and prances over to Jake and Natasha. A wrinkle in his eyebrows starts to form as he thinks over Bradley’s statement. He finds himself standing next to Jake; his stance is identical and his bargaining skills are tuned and ready to be used. 

“It’s hardly a party at all, man. It’s a costume, a couple of beers at Pen’s place, and maybe one other bar for like an hour,” he speaks and pats Bradley’s shoulder, “Live a little.” 

Bradley sighs; the puff of air housing a hint of playfulness and a hint of annoyance. He knows he’s already lost and that there is absolutely no way he’s getting out of it this time. And so help him God, he can’t believe he’s thinking this, but maybe what Jake and Javy are saying doesn’t sound like too bad of a plan. 

It would be good for him. It would be good them. It would be good for Quincy, and if any of the parenting magazine articles (that he’s kind of ashamed to have budgeted for paying for the subscriptions, if he’s being honest) had anything to say about it, children thrive when their parents are thriving. 

Besides, Penny and Mav have kinda been on his ass about it. Because yeah, she goes to daycare during the day and yes, she’s technically been around other kids and for sure has had her share of being around adults, but she’s one anxious biting attack away from being kicked out of daycare and all the people Bradley trusts (outside of Miss Charlene at the daycare who is a friend of Penny’s and was his babysitter when he was small) are up in the sky so he’s really running himself dry with options. 

Natasha calls it separation anxiety but Bradley calls it a bond. Which is true, Nat had agreed, but it wasn’t just about Quincy being attached. It was also about Bradley being just as attached, if not more. 

In the eleven months that Quincy Elaine Bradshaw had been on this Earth, Bradley hadn’t left her side for longer than four hours at a time. 

And he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s never really had anyone to call his own before or if it’s a “Papa Bear” thing or if there’s some unexplained biological phenomena that won’t allow him to be away from his daughter without spiraling, but he hardly thinks its a problem. . . .

Except when he leaves on his lunch break to go see her at daycare and she’s in a fit of hysterics whenever his hour break is up and he has to return to work. Or when she’s eleven months old and has never slept by herself in her own room before (which is why his back is so fucked, but he’ll never admit it). Or when she’s biting kids and teachers because she’s so anxious she doesn’t know what to do with herself. 

So, yeah. Maybe it is a problem and maybe the root of it all is guilt. 

He can’t let his daughter out of his sight because he can’t help but feel guilty for raising her the same way he was and giving her a ghost that she never asked for – a parent whose approval she will always seek despite never knowing who that person truly is. 

Something about that makes him feel like he has to make up time for two as a punishment for only being one, and being the one who can’t provide her everything she’ll ever need as a growing girl and eventually as a woman. 

“I don’t know,” he says lamely. He wraps his finger around the loose thread on his t-shirt and pulls it in one fell swoop. 

“Okay, fuck. You need to get out. What do you need?” Natasha pipes up, rolling her eyes before sitting down next to him. 

He raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth to answer but she cuts him off before he can. “What’s it gonna take? Do you need a sitter? A lobotomy? You need to live a little, dude.” 

“Well, we know the sitter’s not the issue. The kid’s cute as shit,” Jake speaks up and Bradley scoffs. 

“She’s so fucking cute,” Javy agrees and Bradley has to hide his grin despite being annoyed. 

He helped make the cutest baby ever. Who wouldn’t be obnoxiously proud about that? 

“Absolutely adorable. People are lining up to babysit her,” Reuben Fitch interrupts and joins the group of aviators which further puts a pin in Bradley’s desire to decline the invitation. Rueben doesn’t involve himself in Jake or Javy’s bullshit very often, but when he does, it’s evident that the idea isn’t absolutely batshit crazy. 

Bradley gives him a playful middle finger before straightening his posture and coming to the realization that maybe Jake was right for once. 

“Yeah.” Holy fucking shit. “Rueben’s wife would put her in her pocket and take her home if you let her.” 

And the golden rule is that if Bob is game for something, then everyone else should be. So now he really has no excuse to not go out on Halloween night because he has the Southern Californian equivalent of the fucking Pope giving his two cents on to why he needs to go. 

Fuck you, Bob Floyd for always being the voice of reason. 

“See? Everyone agrees. You’re the odd one out so it’s only fair,” Jake taunts again. Everyone around Bradley seems to be shaking their head in agreement to which he realizes that he’s stuck and there’s no way he won’t be in attendance to the group’s Halloween plans. 

“But it’s her first Halloween,” he tries to reason, “I can’t leave her alone on her first one.” 

Javy sighs. “She’s not even gonna remember it. Yeah it’s a holiday but she’s not missing out on much. She doesn’t even have teeth yet.” 

Jake laughs sarcastically. “Q-dawg’s been chompin’ away on all of her little daycare friends. Haven’t you heard?” 

Bradley narrows his eyes. “Fuck you! I thought you left the room when I was on the phone with the daycare.” 

“Her business is our business now, Bradshaw. Aren’t we allowed uncle duties?” Reuben teases. Natasha clears her throat to interrupt him. “And aunt duties?”  

“Auntie Nat reigns superior and we all know it, but holy shit. She’s biting people? How is she more badass than her dad?” Nat goads and shoves the back of Bradley’s head playfully. She chuckles at how slow his head pops back up and he mocks her laugh and sticks out his tongue at her. 

“Guys, c’mon. I can’t leave her with a sitter on her first Halloween.” Although he knows he sounds silly (and he feels silly saying it, too), his daughter is his best friend in some ways. Despite her not being able to walk yet and only having a vocabulary of a few words, he can’t help but know how deeply he loves her, and how much everything about her matters to him. 

“Then don’t,” Bob says, “Just bring her to Hard Deck for like an hour and then you can run home, meet the sitter, and then meet us wherever else we decide to go.” 

And sometimes Bradley hates how much sense Bob tends to make and wishes that he was wrong. That no, the Hard Deck isn’t a suitable place for a baby, and no, there’s absolutely no way Quincy would keep her cool while being there during one of the busiest nights of the year. 

But he knows it’s a lie because her grandparents are the owners, everyone loves her and fights over having their turn to hold her or even catch a glimpse of a baby smile directed at them, and the fact that Quincy has been to the Hard Deck enough to have developed an affinity for diluted cranberry juice over the Mott’s Tots apple juice sitting in his pantry. 

“Fuck, fine. But you’re finding me a fucking babysitter,” he speaks, pointing a finger between Jake and Natasha before standing up abruptly. He turns on his heel and makes his way toward the door, knowing the only way he can make sense of the predicament he’s put himself in can be solved by seeing his joyous baby girl. 

The sounds of muffled chuckles and shoes squeaking on the ground fill the silence of Bradley’s absence; all of their eyes flitting to each other to decipher if they actually made the most stubborn man alive give into their bidding with minimal effort. 

“Did we just make Rooster. . .cave?” Reuben speaks, his arms coming up to cross in front of his chest. His thumb rolls his wedding band around on his ring finger as he waits for someone else to speak up.

“Huh,” Jake huffs, “I think we did.” 

“So I’m guessing the lobotomy is out of the question,” Mickey ponders out loud, “Y’all better know a damn good babysitter.” 

Natasha and Jake’s eyes widen in realization. They better find a damn good babysitter soon.

Carrying a baby is harder than it looks. 

Bradley swears that his daughter is an eighty-year-old woman trapped in the body of a drooly and overly excitable eleven-month-old.

It's not the worst thing in the world, he figures. 

But God, is she giving his arms a workout from the amount of times she’s tried to contort her small body to get a good look at all the ruckus and excitement going on around her. It’s when Bradley feels a bead of sweat run down the back of his neck that he realizes the costume he’s picked may not have been the smartest move; especially when no one seems to get what he’s supposed to be. 

Secreting sweat by the gallon seems like an unfair exchange to be dressed in what he thinks is the greatest daddy-daughter costume of all time. The flannel shirt he has on and the overwhelmingly hot coveralls to go with it was a good idea in theory (that theory being how frigid the Halloweens he used to spend in northern Virginia were when he was a little kid). 

He finally makes it to the saloon-style doors of the bar and is met with “Thriller” by Michael Jackson playing from the overhead speakers above him. Every surface seems to be decked out in cobwebs and dark purple and neon green spiders, and Quincy stares in awe at all the patrons meddling about around her before making grabby hands at the faux snakes dangling around the jukebox. 

She almost slips out of Bradley’s grasp before being wrangled back to a stable position by her chunky rolled arms. 

“Jesus, girl,” he gasps, swallowing the lump in his throat while Quincy giggles in his face. “You tryna kill me here?” 

“Well look who it is!” Penny’s teasing voice sounds in his ears. 

Quincy’s little eyes catch the figure of her faux grandma and she begins to squeal in her father’s ear before reaching her arms as far out as they can go; reaching and moving so frantically it looks as if she’s attempting to swim in midair. 

Penny moves closer to them and raises her eyebrows. Her arms instinctively reach out and she grabs Quincy from Bradley. Her fingers trace the burgundy felt of her costume before she tickles the baby. Quincy erupts in a fit of laughs. 

“What has your crazy daddy got you dressed as?” she teases, her elbow coming out to knock Bradley in his ribs playfully. “Are you an. . .apple?” 

Bradley huffs and rolls his eyes. His gaze instinctively lands on his daughter who clasps her hands on Penny’s face and traces her chubby (and insanely sticky) baby fingers across her red lips. She puckers her lips and chuckles to herself at Quincy’s amazement of red lipstick. 

“She’s a cranberry,” he exaggerates his pronunciation of the word for extra emphasis, “Has Ocean Spray become a relic around here?” 

Penny’s eyes flicker between Bradley and the baby she holds in her arms. The splotchy rosy cheeks and honeyed hazel eyes tells the tale of twins, and she’s reminded of the little boy she used to casually see around Fightertown all those years ago dressed in different variants of the same dinosaur on Halloween. 

“Sweetheart, you’re saying it like it was the most obvious thing in the world,” she starts, simultaneously giving her attention to Quincy and the million and one different things going on around her, “I almost thought she was one of the cement balls outside of Target but realized the red was too dark.” 

He groans, his eyebrows furrowing together and a slight scowl forming on his face. Penny’s heart is warmed because his daughter has a propensity to make the same face when she’s frustrated. 

A beat absent of dialouge passes. Hoots and hollers fill the silence as well as strangers stopping by to coo at Quincy before being on their way to the pool table of their desire. Quincy babbles and talks as if she’s a lawyer prosecuting a case and Bradley’s heart softens at how animated she is. 

Her awkward tongue pushes out more saliva than what would be socially acceptable and the drool begins to gather on her face. He reaches out and wipes her mouth with the sleeve of his flannel while she flops like a dead fish away from the makeshift napkin in protest. 

God, this girl is so dramatic. 

“I handmade it,” he says softly. He runs a dry part of his sleeve across her lips more firmly to ensure he had gotten all the wetness. 

Penny hums in acknowledgement. “And you did good.” 

And he doesn’t know why he’s expecting it; why he’s waiting on Penny (of all people) to see him picking a scab and rub more salt in the wound. He knows that she would never do that and he knows that most of the people (if not all of the people who he considers close to him) see him that way. He knows that people know he’s trying his best and that he’s doing everything he can. 

Bradley knows but he just can’t make himself feel it, and he can never figure out why. 

Maybe it’s because he’s a single dad. Maybe it’s because he’s a single dad without a “real” mom or dad to show him the way. Maybe it’s because he’s finally gotten used to having someone around who relies on him and needs him and loves him unconditionally, and he’s terrified of doing something that will make her sit on a couch in a therapist office and say the words that he’s trying his best to avoid: “My dad doesn’t love me enough.” 

Bradley knows what it feels like to not be loved enough. Bradley knows what it feels like to not be liked enough. But Bradley doesn’t know what it feels like to not try hard enough, and that is something he is determined to never stop doing when it comes to his baby. 

“You’re saying it like I didn’t though.” 

Penny’s face falls and she shifts her gaze from Bradley’s daughter to him. 

“Oh, Bradley,” she sighs, her open palm coming up to cup his face, “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re an amazing dad and you’re doing a fantastic job.” 

He grabs her hand with his and gives her a weak smile in return. 

“Doesn’t feel like it, though.” 

He’s usually not one for feeling sorry for himself. He’s never been too keen on throwing pity parties and inviting everyone he knows to them, and in all actuality, he doesn’t know why this bid for reassurance that he’s serving Penny is even coming up. 

“No. Stop it. No,” she playfully chides, tickling Quincy to make her erupt into a ball of silent baby chuckles. “You’re an amazing dad and everyone knows it. You’re her world and that’s all that matters.” 

Bradley opens his mouth to respond but can’t find the words to accept her compliment. He simply nods his head before the already loud noise of the bar is split by an even louder whistle. 

His neck cranes around to see his group of friends waving him over to the pool table and the anchored weight of doom starts to sink in his stomach. He remains frozen with his hands in his pockets and his body emitting heat from his personal heater of rubber waders. He feels like a seven year old at the park again; his mother standing before him and wordlessly encouraging him to go play and make friends. 

The high pitched scream of his daughter is heard as Maverick approaches. Both Penny and Bradley wince more and watch as his daughter mindlessly babbles and almost flies out of Penny’s grasp in favor of him. 

Pete smiles to himself before grabbing her from Penny. She rolls her eyes at him and he playfully sticks out his tongue. 

“Like father, like daughter,” he says, “M’never not a Bradshaw kid’s favorite.” Quincy sticks her chubby fingers near Maverick’s mouth and squeals as he pretends to bite them. 

“Did the past fifteen years just. . .not happen?” Bradley quips. In the past, the snarky comment would have made Maverick freeze on the spot but since they’ve repaired their relationship, (and Quincy’s frequent stays at Nana Pen and Papa Mav’s on the weekends) the insult rolls off Maverick’s shoulders into oblivion. 

“You’re making fun of the old timer, but I’ve been havin’ myself a grand ole time and you’re in the corner pouting like you’re in timeout,” he comments back, “Don’t you have friends or something?” 

“I’m just – taking my time to get over there.” They all look as Jake lets out an obnoxiously loud holler after hitting the eight ball into the pocket to win his pool game. “M’trying to choose joy tonight.” 

“And choosing bad costumes too.” Maverick holds his granddaughter out in front of him to get a full fledged look at her costume. She kicks her legs in the air gleefully before he pulls her back to his chest. “Who makes their kid the…Target balls?” 

Bradley lets out a groan and rubs at his temples. “Oh my God! She’s a cranberry!” 

“Love you to pieces, kid but I think you need your vision checked. You can’t put a kid inside a red sphere and call it a cranberry,” his finger comes out to poke his granddaughter and he’s met with a giggle, “A quack doesn’t always mean duck.” 

“Aren’t you, like, 5’4 –” 

Penny interrupts the conversation with her hands and quickly grabs Quincy from Maverick’s hold. He flashes her a small pout and is met with the ice cold glare of his girlfriend. 

“Bradley, go talk to your friends, babe. We’ll bring her over in a second,” she says, squeezing Pete’s bicep to drag him with her to the bar. 

“But –” they both begin to complain in unison. Penny gives them a pointed look that immediately shuts them both up. 

“Let’s go get some cranberry juice! How does that sound?” she asks Quincy who begins to smile and clap her hands in approval. Penny turns on her heel to head to the back while Maverick stands frozen in front of his nephew. 

“Do you really think I’m only 5’4?” he meekly asks, genuine concern covering his face. 

Bradley shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. The paper  “Ocean Spray” label he’s taped onto his waders bends and he mentally cringes at the crease he knows will probably be there. 

“I mean, sometimes when you turn to the side it’s hard to imagine that you’re actually 5’7.” 

“You don’t mean that.” 

“I said, let’s go get some juice!” Penny’s yells, annoyance dripping off her tone. Maverick claps Bradley on the shoulder before retreating to go accompany Penny in getting Quincy copious amounts of diluted cranberry juice. 

With Maverick’s departure, Bradley realizes that he actually has to go interact with his friends. After all, they’re the reason that he’s here. But when he takes in the swell and dip of the loudness that is contingent on the World Series playing on the televisions around him, he wonders if he’s made the wrong choice tonight. 

He imagines that he would’ve taken Quincy up the street to trick or treat at a few houses before her impatience and curiosity made her lose interest in the activity. They would have abandoned trick or treating and ended up on the couch where she would be cuddled up beside him with her feet tucked somewhere in between his ribs (because she seems to have a talent for finding the most tender spots on his body to lay) and stroking the tip of his mustache with her perpetually sticky fingers as she begins to doze off. They would be probably watching It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown before her bedtime came, and she would be read three books, tucked in, and off to sleep before he caved and pulled her from her crib and let her sleep with him in his bed. 

While it’s mundane and certainly not what he would have considered the epitome of “fun” even two years ago, he feels a weird ache in his chest knowing that he’s missing out on that reality. But he has to snap out of it if he doesn’t want to be miserable and ruin everyone’s night. 

Besides, Jake and Nat promised him free drinks all night and they already found him a babysitter and paid her for him. He’s in too deep to back out now.

Bradley takes a deep breath before approaching his friends and tries to ignore the ringing in his ears as Jake and Mickey scream as the Texas Rangers score their first homerun of the game. 

“Look who finally decided to show up!” Reuben teases, forcing a beer into his hand that had been on standby until Bradley’s arrival. 

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get too excited,” he deadpans before moving around the group and telling everyone hello. 

He’s met with joy and little jabs about graduating to “old timer” status that he playfully ignores. Bradley knows that they’re all just joking with him and that they mean no harm by their comments. Even he’s slightly surprised that he went through with coming out tonight; not to mention coming out while wearing a costume. 

His eyes catch Jake slyly handing over a twenty dollar bill to Javy accompanied by a middle finger before he turns his attention to Bradley. 

He can already sense the half-assed greeting he’s about to get from him before Jake even begins to speak. 

“Got a lot of questions for you but I’ll start with this one,” Jake begins and Bradley rolls his eyes before he finishes his statement, “What the fuck are you supposed to be?” 

He groans before pointing to the crumpled “Ocean Spray” label taped to his front. “Fucking Christ. Does no one know where the fuck cranberry juice comes from?” 

Jake laughs before taking a long swig of his beer. His ridiculous belt buckle and cowboy boots tell Bradley exactly what he’s supposed to be. Well, that and the fact that for as long as he’s known Jake, he’s always the same thing every year for Halloween. 

Leave the Texan to always be a cowboy. 

“My first guess was one of the guys from “Deadliest Catch” but since you wanna be a diva about it. . .I’ll just pretend like the Ocean Spray farmer was beyond fuckin’ obvious” he takes a long swig from the beer bottle he has in his hand, “But that’s not important. Where’s our girl?”

Bradley sighs and looks around near the back of the bar where he knows his baby is being given the spotlight by all the older Hard Deck patrons that can’t believe that, “Little Bradley Bradshaw has a baby now!” He’s known that he’s always had a knack for attention, but his daughter lives for the limelight. He’s never known anyone in his life to be so incredibly outgoing, nevermind the fact that Quincy is already the life of the party and she can’t even speak coherently yet. 

“Pen and Mav took her to get cranberry juice,” he emphasizes the word and Jake rolls his eyes at him this time instead of the reverse, “They’re gonna bring her by in a bit.” 

Natasha makes her way over to the two men; extra smiley and smelling like she had bathed in tequila. Natasha always parties hard but never lets it keep her down. Her ability to drink liquor like a fish and be perfectly fine the next morning has always been a mystery to Bradley. She’s called Phoenix for a reason, he knows. 

“Bradley!” she cheers. Her dark hair is hidden by a copper colored wig and he almost wouldn’t recognize her if he hadn’t known her face so well. The green eye makeup and the plastic vines wrapped around her shoulders and legs cue him into the fact that she’s dressed up as Poison Ivy.  

“Hey!” he cheers back, matching her enthusiasm. 

“You’re the fisher guys from “Deadliest Catch”! That’s so clever!” 

Bradley’s face drops and Jake begins to lose his composure beside him. Natasha’s eyes immediately soften with worry and she starts to search for the words to profusely apologize. 

“No I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings! I swear it! I was just – I thought — I think that it’s really cool and the overall thingies look great on you! I’m so sorry,” she word vomits and Jake continues to laugh hysterically. 

“Nat, it’s okay. I’m not mad,” he speaks gently, “Just calm down a little.” 

She takes a deep breath and Bradley can physically see her brain wipe the incident away as if it had never happened. He’s been her best friend for years and knows what she looks like when she’s close to being black out drunk. There’s maybe a thirty-five percent chance she even remembers this interaction at all. She blinks blankly at him before getting distracted by the baseball game and almost topples over with how fast she turned her head. 

Jake lightly smacks Bradley’s chest with the back of his hand. “I’m gonna go grab her a water. You want anything?” he asks, gently. He doesn’t want Natasha to overhear him because they both know that she’ll refuse his help no matter what state she’s in. 

He shakes his head “no” before hearing the clunk of his boots carrying him to the bar, leaving him and Natsaha alone in the pocket of the bar that their friend group has claimed as their own.

Natasha’s eyes follow Jake’s path to the bar and Bradley has to hide his grin and hold his tongue to not set her off while she’s so vulnerable. Natasha has always been the tiniest bit sweet on Jake but is too stubborn to admit it. Even with all the logical circuits in her brain turned off, she refuses to let herself ponder on this fact for longer than a few seconds. She catches herself staring at the blonde in a half-assed Halloween costume before she returns her attention to Bradley. 

And just as expected, she changes the subject as if their earlier conversation had never even happened. 

“Where’s Quincy Wincey?” she asks and Bradley chuckles. 

Even with no coherent thoughts in mind, Natasha still loves his daughter and wants nothing more than to see her. 

“She’s behind the bar with Pen and Mav. She’ll be here shortly.” 

Natasha nods before opening her mouth again. “You know, you’re a great dad, B.” 

Her sudden revelation takes the words out of Bradley’s mouth. He’s known Natasha Trace for nearly fifteen years and he has never known her to give out genuine compliments half-assed. He has half the mind to ask her what she means by it, but knows that it’s no use given the state she’s in. 

All that matters is that she really means it, so he settles for a simple “Thank you” instead. 

Jake announces his return by forcing a cup of ice water into Natasha’s hand which she gripes about but begins to drink anyway. 

“Your daughter’s back there chummin’ it up, by the way,” Jake states simply and Bradley pauses. 

“What do you mean?” His hands come out to rest on his hips. 

“Well, for starters,” he begins, unwrapping a toothpick and putting it in his mouth, “She’s got people handing her candy and peanuts into a little paper bag. She’s being pretty efficient about it if I say so myself. Had half the mind to grab her from Mav while I was up there cause I wanna see her, but I didn’t wanna get in the way of her business efforts.” 

“She’s what?” 

“Paper bag. Candy. Peanuts,” Jake lists, “C’mon, man. Keep up!” 

Bradley stalks toward the bar to go get his daughter. He’s not angry, in any sense of the word, but kind of disappointed given that she’s technically trick or treating for the first time and he’s not there to witness it. Part of him is starting to feel restless at his lack of interaction with her and wants her back in his arms immediately. 

“Hey, don’t insert yourself in her business endeavors! Be happy your daughter is likable. We all know she doesn’t get it from you,” Jake shouts before returning his attention to the World Series playing out in front of him. 

By the time Bradley arrives to the bar top, he takes note of exactly what Jake had seen upon his visit. There is his daughter with ruddy cheeks and a toothy grin absolutely hamming up her cuteness at some captains and their wives with Maverick holding her up so she can stand semi-confidently on the table. Her little fist holds a brown paper bag that Penny uses for her peanuts and is full with candy and crinkled due to her lack of a proper graspar reflex. 

His daughter is a world class charmer and she has an equally charming grandpa to help her do her bidding. 

“Bradley!” Maverick cheers, turning Quincy his direction so that she can have eyes on her dad. 

Like magic, she abandons the little bag she was holding in favor of the arms of her father. He grabs her without hesitation and she glues herself to his side as if it’s her permanent position. 

“You better not be making my baby a con artist, Mav,” he weakly threatens. He coos at Quincy and marvels in the way she lays her head on his shoulder. 

“Hardly. She’s a people magnet, kid. Everyone would be happy to do anything she wanted them to do.” 

Bradley sighs, knowing that he’s missed one of her milestones. This is the price he’ll have to pay forever with being a more than single parent with the kind of job he has. He swallows the disappointment down and saves it for later. He knows that it’ll come up another time anyway, so why even bother with addressing it now? 

“You’re treating my kid like a Kennedy, Mav. Don’t get any ideas on how to sneak her onto base to get you out of trouble.” 

Pete laughs and holds up his hands in defeat. “Can’t make any promises,” he simply says, “Don’t you have to go meet the sitter soon?” 

Bradley groans at the gentle reminder his uncle is giving him. Maverick doesn’t know what it’s like to be a parent in the slightest, but he knows what good parenting looks like. He had seen it with Goose and how much he had cared for Bradley in the very short amount of time he was given, there’s no doubt in his mind that Bradley is the best dad that Quincy could ever ask for. 

But what he also knows is how perfectionistic and borderline obsessive his nephew can be. He deserves a break and a break Maverick knows will be spent in good company with people who love him. 

Bradley deserves this, and he knows that Mav’s gentle reminder is more of an order telling him to be kind to himself. 

He looks down at his watch and sees the little hand inching towards the eight. “Yeah. We need to get going.” 

Pete leans over and gives Quincy a kiss on the head as a “goodbye” before shoving the paper bag of candy into her father’s hand. 

He closes his hand around Bradley’s fist and gives it a firm shake. “Have fun tonight. You deserve it.” 

Bradley nods before bidding goodbye to Penny who is beyond excited at the idea of Bradley finally going out, baby free, for the first time since he found out he was going to be a father. 

And when his daughter incoherently hums along to “The Girl is Mine” by Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney in the backseat, Bradley knows how hard leaving her alone tonight is truly going to be. 

She shouts at him which he knows is her trying to get his attention to sing along with her. 

“You ready, babe?” he asks, eyes flitting up to peek at her in his rearview mirror, “Because, the doggone girl is mine.” 

Quincy bursts into a fit of baby giggles as he tries to ignore the feeling of impending doom brewing in his chest. He grabs a piece of chalky bubble gum from her candy bag and pops it in his mouth. He cringes as he chews. 

Who the fuck gives gum to a baby? 

Bradley doesn’t know why his heart is pounding out of his chest. 

He knows that he’ll only be gone for two hours maximum and that Quincy will probably sleep the entire time anyway. She may be precocious and charming, but she loves bedtime more than anything, and from the active night she’s had, he’d be surprised if she even made it fifteen minutes before passing out somewhere on the living room floor. 

He trusts Natasha’s judgement (and Jake’s, he’ll begrudantly admit) and he knows the sitter they found for him is nothing less than amazing. You’re a childhood friend of Natasha’s that had recently moved to the area and had been Jake’s date one time to the Navy Ball six years ago (which he had learned from an Instagram post dated from 2017). 

And Bradley will say he doesn’t know much about you (outside of his deep dive stalk that he had done days before, but that remains beside the point, he thinks) but that would be a big fat lie. He feels a little pathetic to admit that he had created a faux LinkedIn profile to be able to look you up and see your credentials as well as finding every mutual follower you had amassed between Natasha, Jake, Javy, and Bob. 

And it’s a little creepy, he admits, but he’s only just looking out for the safety of his daughter! Just because you know his friends doesn’t mean that he knows you (which he knows is wildly untrue given the overwhelming amount of Internet stalking he had done on you in the past week). 

Bradley is burning a hole into his living room floor by pacing back and forth with his daughter in his arms. As anticipated, she’s started to doze off and he chuckles to himself. Quincy loves bedtime and that remains uncontested by the way her little lips are pursed and she lets out light snores. 

The sound of a car door opening and shutting keys him into being aware of your presence and he scares you half to death because he opens the door before you can knock; your knuckles almost coming into contact with his chin had you not been paying attention. 

“Oh,” you mummer, “Ummm. You’re Bradley, right?” 

And you’ve never felt as dumb as you do now because of course he’s Bradley. You know what he looks like and the baby asleep on his shoulder and the last name “Bradshaw” printed on the doormat outside should be enough for you to deductively reason that that’s him right in front of you. 

Not to mention, you’ve been Internet stalking him and know what he looks like for a fact because of the amount of photos Natasha has of him on her Instagram and in her story highlights. You had always found him attractive whenever your eyes graced those pictures, but that’s all it was; a fleeting thought that was never watered and was gone as soon as it was there. 

But now that he’s in front of you, now that you’re getting a really good look at him holding a precious baby on his hip and somehow making rubber waders look amazing, your mouth starts to get dry and your heartbeat starts to quicken. 

“You must be the sitter,” he declares and he mentally kicks himself for how cold he’s coming off. His nerves have a tendency to put him into fight or flight and the pressure of being in your presence merely adds to that. 

He clears his throat when he notices your lips forming a thin line and rejection teeming from your body language. 

Fuck. Why do I always do this? 

“Oh! Uh – Come in,” he steps aside and closes the door behind you as you walk in. 

From what you know about Bradley, you know that he’s a single dad who had a less than stellar record for wanting female companionship. When Nat would come to Williamsburg to visit you all those years ago when you were fresh out of undergrad and working as a TA, barely scraping enough money to pay your rent, she would lay on your floor and crone about how she had a friend who never seemed to be able to keep a girlfriend. 

But he was amazing, she would insist, and he’s such an awesome person, she would say. Somehow though, Bradley always seemed to be heartbroken and searching for the next way to smash what little he had left of it into unsalvageable pieces. 

Even though that was close to a decade ago, you know that the fact remains true when you peer across the pictures in his living room. Photos of a blonde couple and a dark haird little boy that you know are his parents. Photos of him with the infamous and insane Maverick. Photos of him with his daughter, but no photos of him and his daughter’s mother; let alone a girlfriend of any kind. 

“So she’ll probably sleep the entire time. Don’t put her in her crib because she’ll scream bloody murder and not calm down for a long time so you’re free to keep her on the couch or put her in my bed,” he lays her down in the corner of his couch and puts the large blanket laying there on her lower half, “She’s allergic to strawberries but I don’t think she’s gonna be eating anything while you’re here and I don’t have strawberries in the house.” 

He pauses, wracking his brain for more information to tell you that wouldn’t just be him retelling his daughter’s entire life story. “Oh! This is kind of weird, but if she wakes up and won’t go back to sleep, just play “The Girl is Mine” –” 

“The Paul McCartney song?” you question. Your eyes search his face and are full of amusement. He can’t help but feel his chest flutter at the little glimmer they give off. 

Focus. You can’t flirt with the babysitter. What’s wrong with you? 

“Well, it’s Michael Jackson’s song featuring Paul McCartney but yeah. It usually calms her right down and she’ll settle enough to doze back off.”  

He knows that his daughter is more than quirky. Sometimes he settles for the word “particular,” but he knows quirky is the right one to use. 

You start to laugh a little. “That’s so –” 

“Weird?” he inserts, “Yeah, I know. I’m raising a sixty-year-old but there could be worse songs. Be grateful she’s phased out of only wanting to listen to “Break Free” because there’s nothing worse than listening to EDM on a loop at three AM because she won’t fall asleep unless it’s playing.” 

You shake your head and agree. “Well, I promise that we’ll behave ourselves and not get into anything too crazy. She’s adorable, you know, so if she asks, I don’t know if I can stand it to say no.”

You can’t flirt with her dad. You can’t be the babysitter that’s trying to get banged by the dad. What’s wrong with you? 

He chuckles and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll see to that. Her sitter is pretty cute too so I think I’d be pretty forgiving.” 

And fuck. Is he, is he flirting with you? 

You’re left speechless before his phone rings and he rolls his eyes before grabbing it off the entryway table. 

“Hang on a sec,” he says before swiping across the screen to answer. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Jake. I’m on the way.” 

He grabs his keys and starts heading toward the door, his cell phone wedged between his shoulder and ear and you have to stop yourself from drooling. “Calm the fuck down, dude. I’m leaving like right now. . .Yes, I’m literally walking out the door – Can you chill? I’ll be there when I get there?” 

He bids you goodbye with a simple wave before shutting the door and running to his car. The sound of the front door closing instantly wakes Quincy who shoots her head up and frantically swivels it around in pursuit of her father. When she can’t spot him, her bottom lip droops and starts to wobble. 

He bids you goodbye with a simple wave before shutting the door and running to his car. The sound of the front door closing instantly wakes Quincy who shoots her head up and frantically swivels it around in pursuit of her father. When she can’t spot him, her bottom lip droops and starts to wobble. 

She spots you and immediately lifts her arms up, telling you that she wants to be held. You graciously comply and coo softly to her and marvel in the way she instantly koalas to your side as if she had always had a spot there and had always known you. 

Part of you thinks that it’s fate. That in some way, you’re meant to be in her life and meant to stick around but you know that this silly schoolgirl thinking will only get your heart smashed to pieces. You decide to ignore it. 

Besides, Natasha would kill you if you ever expressed to her how hot you found her other best friend. 

Some things just aren’t meant to be. 

Bradley jogs into the next bar that his friends had decided to go to with a slight smile on his face. He scans the crowd and spots Jake and Bob trying to hold up a beyond inebriated Natasha. 

“You’re awful happ — Oh dear God. Don’t tell me you screwed the sitter,”  Jake greets and Bob looks away bashfully once the statement leaves Jake’s mouth. 

Bradley mocks him before helping them guide Natasha to a booth. 

“Can you ever just say "hello" like a normal person? Do you always have to be bitchy?” he remarks. 

Jake lets Natasha rest her head on his shoulder and looks down to check on her. “It was just a comment. You know we picked her because we wanna set you guys up, right?” 

Bradley’s world stops. He raises his eyebrows and feels his mouth go dry. 

“You what?” 

“I mean, she’s cute. She’s smart. She loves kids and she obviously didn’t vom on you from getting a look at your face, so I assume it went well,” he starts listing his reasonings on his fingers, “You also bounced in here like you have a can of jumping beans shoved up your ass so you’re giddy about something.” 

Bradley scoffs. “I do not have anything shoved up my a– Why do you care so much about who I’m seeing?” 

Jake looks at Bob who starts to shrink a little in his seat. He instantly knows that the set up wasn’t all just Jake and Nat. It was probably the entire squadron. 

“We want you to be happy, dude. I mean, this is a good opportunity for you and for Quincy,” Bob starts and Bradley knows that he needs to listen and take it into actual consideration if he knows what’s good for him. 

Jake and Natasha are class A meddlers, but everyone else getting involved shows how much this matters to him.

“You’re doing great and I know for a fact I’m not half the man you are, but you also gotta cut yourself some slack. You have to let yourself be happy, too. Life isn’t all just about sacrifice, you know?” 

“And we made a reservation for you both at that one rooftop restaurant downtown. There’s a $250 cancellation fee so you kinda have to go,” Jake adds and Bob facepalms himself at their friend’s lack of tact. 

“You did what?” 

“Also she thinks you’re hot. She texted Nat about you ten minutes ago and she’s way too drunk to respond so we did for her and as of now, “He totes thinks you’re hot too. Make a move when he gets back.”” 

Bradley’s mouth opens and closes as he tries to find the words to say. 

“Thank us when you’re getting us together about the proposal.” 

There’s something about the way that life flashes before your eyes and there’s never anything you can do about it. 

You can take photos or collect trivial keepsakes. You can talk about the events in past tense and have the story change slightly every single time the words leave your mouth. You can dream about it in watercolor memory and try to make sense of it all. 

But no one ever tells you what it means when you’re standing before your daughter, a dark haired beauty with such elegance and spunk that it’s impossible to put a label on it, as she embarks on a journey to truly be her own person. 

No one ever tells you how to cry so you don’t smudge your mascara. No one ever tells you the hole in your heart this day will give you but the rainbow of joy that supersedes it when it’s all said and done. No one ever tells you how all the times she had a nightmare or scraped her knees or needed you sit at the forefront of your brain. 

And when you stand before your daughter dressed in a white dress and getting married to the love of her life, you can’t help but recall the night that you fell in love with her and remember the little baby she was all those years ago. 

So around all the orchids and wedding guests and happy tears, you settle to retell this moment in the only way you know how. 

“The first time I met my daughter, she was dressed as a cranberry.” 

And somehow, that statement is all you need to explain the love between the two of you. 

#when am i ever on time for posting #but happy late halloween and happy meeting bradley's daughter day!!! #patiently waiting for quincy to become more iconic than bradley on this blog tbh #anyway #i can talk about bradley being a girl dad for ages so best believe more of this duo is in the works #bradley bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster #rooster x you #top gun #top gun maverick #rooster bradshaw fic #rooster bradshaw fanfic #bradley bradshaw fic #dadley dadshaw if we're being completely honest

[liveontelevision]

Tap Out Vox X Reader

Ok, I am in LOVE with this god dam TV head lookin ass, so here's a quick one shot of him being an absolute Sub! Mess!

------

The All-Mighty Vees were the central powerline for entertainment and technology in Hell, but even those three dorks liked to have fun. Sometimes, they would play poker games on their rare nights off that miraculously lined up. Of course, money means nothing to these business partners, so they like to bet on favors. There were times when Valentino would lose to Velvette, who would get to use his studio for a day, or Valentino would get to borrow some of Velvette's actors for a shoot, little things like that; things that would be considered a minor inconvience. Until tonight, that is.

•••

Velvette created a sort of dancing competition program, and it was booming in Hell. The show was spiced up with a stage covered in landmines, falling spikes, randomly shooting arrows, etc. Contestants were judged by their talent and if they came out in one piece by the end of the routine. The season finale was fast approaching, but Velvette was lucky to get a quick game of poker in between her packed schedule. With her cunning and wit (and some cards under the table), Velvette managed to weasle a win from Vox. He was never one to complain about carrying through with these favors, so Velvette took the chance to bring her program to the next level.

"You have to compete!" She declared with pride, her hands slamming on the table, with a sly smirk. "It'll be easy, i'll get someone to train and. but i need a hook for this finale, and your dashin' face would be perfect. And! I'll pair you with my best dancer, eh? How's that sound, love?" She explained, showing no sign of wavering. She clearly had this planned ahead of time.

"Fuck me, Velvette." He squints, throwing his cards behind his shoulder. "Fine.. i guess the publicity will boost viewers on both our fronts- " He groans and crosses his arms over his chest. "- Hate to admit it, but i haven't been tuning in, doll. So, who's this dancer i'm stuck with?"

•••

You arrived in hell after a life of drugs, sex and booze. You always joked about going to Hell. It was obvious you wouldn't make the cut into heaven. What you definitely werent expectingbwas for Hell to look just like the busy and messy streets of the ritzy cities you would party in. With absolutely no shame or doubt, you were quick to work your way up in the industry to work for the Vees. You started with Valentino, working up quite an audience in that field. And he didn't even make a contract! You said yes to anything, so really, there wasn't a point. That grew to helping Velvette with some small rolls in some shows, then moved up to you, performing and acting often. You were the lead singer of a band in your life, and you had quite a few talents hidden up your sleeve. Truly, a perfect byproduct of the Vees. Once Velvette pitched the show to you, you immediately auditioned as always and were quick to get in.

Weeks pass, and you're finally in the top 3 of the show! You were a solo dancer throughout, but with the routines provided, you were required to find a dance partner. Velvette to the rescue, somehow managed to bag the other Vee, Vox himself. You'd be lying if you said this didn't get you excited.

During one of the dress rehearsals, you were finally able to work your routine with Vox. Sure, you've met him before and said hi in passing, even going out with the Vees for some press events, but you never expected to get this close to him. Velvette would provide some amazingly embarrassing footage of his dance lessons. The two of you couldn't help but giggle at the powerful demon, getting so frustrated to music. Still, seeing his towering figure made you siddently nervous to have such intimate contact with him.

He came into the rehearsal space with a black turtle neck and pants, going along with some heeled boots that he'd have to wear during the performance. No matter how nicely those tight clothes hugged his figure, it was immediately disheartened by the scowl on his face. You couldn't help but hold in a laugh, picturing the compilation of videos that Velvette had previously shown you of his many failed lessons.

You weren't wearing much, a lilac cropped tank top and some yoga shorts that almost seemed too small, as well as strappy jazz shoes that you had to wear doing the final performance. This get-up made Vox look you up and down when he finally meets with you face to face. His unethusiastic expressions made him look more childish and grumpy than intimidating.

To you, at least.

"So! Pleasure to work with you, sir. Can't wait to see how you keep up with me." You commented smugly, reaching a hand out for a formal handshake. He scoffs and brushes your hand away before simply walking off to discuss something with Velvette. You crossed your arms across your chest and huffed, letting some random assistant tie your hair up as you glared in his direction.

After Velvette scolded him on something you didn't hear, the rehearsal began. Since your usual style was fast pased and almost always involved some sort of sexual overtone, the plan was to choreograph something intimate to create a sort of power couple for people to route for. This involved a lot of close contact that you and Vox were immediately struggling with. With movements that involved swinging you around, dipping you, and generally keeping you close to his chest, it was no simple task for two demons with a competitive streak.

After hours of eventually getting the choreography down, the main notes involved the constant glares you two were giving each other.

"Hey! You owe me this, I won game night! So make this work, fucker!" Velvette was getting fed up with Vox at this point and there was a scheduled photo shoot for some promo images coming up, so you had to break anyway. You went into your dressing room to change into your costume for the shoot. A slinky red sequence dress with a tightened corset that hugged your hips and stopped right at the point where you had to pull it down every so often as to not flash anyone. Paired with some fishnets and black shiney jazz shoes. It was simple compared to some of the stuff Velvette's had you wear, but it'll definitely draw some eyes when plastered on a big enough billboard.

Finally reaching the studio after hair and makeup battered your face, you got a look at Vox. He wore a white button-up that was neary opened down to his clavicle, where the red belt of a tuxedo hugged his waist, tying your outfits together. He cuffed his sleeves while waiting for some kind of direction. You couldn't help but pause to take in some of his features that you've never seen before. The bare skin of his chest and the strong arms that led into the same blue claws that were just around your waist during rehearsal. He caught you staring and knew exactly what was going on in your head. His first response was to send you a smirk that you couldn't decipher as harmless or not. You both snap out of your gaze when Velvette yells in some directions to push you into the camera's frame.

You were menuvered physically, someone essentially adjusting your position until it looked right. The final pose had your chest flush to his, and your leg hiked up his body as you swung backward to look at the camera. Vox was there to hold you in place by gripping underneath your thigh and having a tight hold onto your waist. It was difficult, but after multiple other provocative positions, the shoot was finally done. The two of you quickly pulled away from each other, smothered by the clashing energy.

"This'll have to do, i guess. Okay, flat face, you're good for today. The next rehearsal is tonight, now shoo." Velvette doesn't even look up from the screen in front of her as she nearly throws the two of you out of her studio. The door shut with a slam after you stumbled directly into Vox. He had grabbed onto your forearms, forcing your hands to lay on his chest to brace your fall. You quickly pushed off of him to stand straight, crossing your arms and stubbornly looking away. The tightened laces of your dress pushed your cleavage up a bit, giving a lovely show for the TV demon that towered over you.

He lets out a sigh of disgust after snapping his gaze away from your body. "Knock it off, will you? You're acting like a brat." He hissed at you, beginning to walk towards the hallway with the dressing rooms. You quickly stumbled in the same direction, attempting to keep up with his long strides.

"Fuck you, Vox! I'm just trying to do my job!" You quickly retorted, finally walking alongside him, your arms crossed again. He takes another quick glance at your body, unfortunately getting caught. "And stop that, you freak! You'vs been eyeing me up all day, you might as well fuck me in the dressing rooms if your so interested in my tits." You snapped at him, but your last response gave Vox a wicked idea. He wasn't one to refuse a challenge.

"Sure, we've got time, doll." He shrugs off the comment as you start to turn into your room. You quickly turned your body to face him, an angry yet reddened expression on your face.

"Seriously, fuck you." You muttered, turning to enter your dressing room. You go to open your door before you're cornered against it by Vox's arms, caging you in. You turn back to face him, trying to appear disgusted even with the heat crawling over your cheeks.

"If you think you can handle it, sweetheart." He smirked down at you, enjoying watching you squirm more than he'd like to admit. It finally evolved into an unspoken game of chicken. You took your doorknob and opened the door, letting the two of you fall in. Aware of your action, you slid back to keep Vox from falling onto you. He stumbled forward while glaring at you, still not planning on backing down. But neither were you.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt and smashed your lips against his. It felt like a cold screen for a moment before quickly melting into the sensation of physical lips. He was shocked by the bold move but has played this game all too many times. It was always easy for Vox to charm or hypnotise his way out of a situation like this, but his competitive spirit was strong. He was quick to lift you up from under your legs and essentially drop you onto the vanity. The wood hit your tailbone with a thud, and you let out a flustered yelp into his lips. Your arms quickly found their way to his shirt, untucking it until it loosely hung around him. He lifted himself away from you but was still close enough for your legs to be nearly draped around his hips. He began to unbotton his shirt that you had so kindly untucked.

"You sure you wanna keep this up, sweetie? I wouldn't want to overwhelm you or worse -" he leaned in, becoming uncomfortably close to your ear. "- injure you before your big show." The threat only made your blood boil, but a flashing light caught your eye. His chest was dark, with glowing blue circuits that occasionally seemed to flicker.

"As if. You couldn't even keep up with me even if i was injured." You spoke smugly, trying to keep your cool while denying the heat pooling in between your legs. He scoffs and starts to undress you, while you assisted. It was aparently a two person job, with an unspoken understanding that Velvette would kill both of you if the dress was ruined in anyway. After it was safely tossed the side, Vox was quick to start running his claws along the curves of your body. You pulled him impossibly closer, your legs nearly wrapping around his hips. You tried your hardest to stifle any response to the claws trailing down the center of your stomach. Finally, you pushed him away, letting your hands lead him to fall back on some decorative couch that was nearby. You were quick to straddle him, feeling the buldge in his pants to gauge how much of an upper hand you had.

"Aw, was the idea of fucking me on my own vanity getting you all excited?" You asked him in a teasingly sweet voice, running your hands along the bottom of his screen, then tracing your hand down towards his pants.

"I could ask you the same thing." He muttered, taking a hold of your hips and pullimg them closed towards his groin. You were quick to lift your hips off his lap, pushing his back fully against the backrest and breaking that contact. You let out a deceivingly sweet chuckle, before planting a small kiss on his neck. His skin really was metal, no matter the heat you felt through his pants. It was cold to your lips, but once you noticed a reaction from him, you just had to keep it up.

His breath became a bit heavier as his hands slid down to your ass, squeezing his clawed fingers into it almost to the point of skin breaking. You tried your best to not let a noise out, luckily your face was hidden in the nook of his neck and his shoulder. Even with his robotic anatomy, his skin was melting with each mark, bite and kiss you left on his chest. The action of covering his chest in the bright red lipstick you wore, brought the both of you closer to together, your hips finally meeting his again. As your chests became flush, you looked back up to him, seeing the eyes on his monitor glazed over, somehow some dewy tears beneath them.

You were winning.

You tilted your head back for a moment, seeing the large mirror from the vanity was directly behind them, leaving the both of you entirely visible to Vox. You tip his monitor foward with a forceful lift, holding tight as you made him look over your shoulder.

"Look at you.. quite a sight, huh?"

You teased in a harsh tone, leaning back a bit for him to see the cluster of marks and stains you left on his collarbone. "What do you think? Red really is your color. You look soo pretty." Your words were meant to piss him off, but seeing how he melted and let out a breathy groan when you called him pretty was an even better reaction. He looked away from the mirror, flustered at the sight of himself.

"Ohh, is Mr. Bigshot here enjoying some tender love and care? Aww, well, all you had to do was ask, baby~" You crashed your lips against his again, shocking him back into the moment, as he held onto your hips to brace himself. You were quick to pull away, leaving him unfulfilled before peppering multiple kisses across his screen and making sure you were to leave as many vivid red lip stains as you could.

"F.. Fuck you..." he mumbled, "fuck this'll be a pain in the ass to get off.." You look down at him from your higher position, an almost dark look across your face.

"Then tell me to stop. Either give up and accept defeat-" you started, beginning to stand in front of him." Or give in. And let me take care of you." You ran your hand along his pants, your fingertips brushing across the stiff tent in his pants. He let out the smallest yelp, not expecting the sensation. You continued to just lightly touch his groin, reaching to fiddle with his belt buckle.

"So? What are you gonna do? You gonna give in? You want me to keep touching you, hm?" You teased, leaning towards his face by placing your hands on his seated thighs. Your bent position left a great view of your ass, still clothed with sleek red underwear and fishnets. He pouted, looking into the mirror momentarily to appreciate the sight. You looked over your shoulder, grabbing his screen to jerk him back to your eye level.

"Tap. Out." You hissed, glaring into his eyes.

"Fuck! Fine, whatever! I tap out.. I-I.. Keep touching me.. i want you to keep touching me." He let out, getting progressivly flustered as he spoke. You looked at him, trying desperately to hide a smirk by biting your loeer lip. Noticing that you still weren't making a move and definitely wouldn't let him take the upper hand at this point, he rolls his eyes and looks towards the ceiling to avoid your eyes. "Please." He blurted out, a cyan hue growing across his cheeks. You let out a confident chuckle, before immediately dropping to your knees in front of him and continuing to fully release his throbbing cock from his already dampened trousers.

"Good boy~ Now enjoy the show, okay?" You let out before taking a hand around the base and sending a long lick up his length, immediately drawing the head into your mouth. You worked your magic, running your tongue in circles around the head and pumping your hand across the rest. The heat of your mouth on his tip and the coolness of the room barely breezing across the rest of his hard on made him shutter. He was looking down at you, instinctively attempting to buck his hips. You were quick to use your other hand to push his hips back down, running your neatly done nails across his thigh to the point of leaving marks, clearly indicating don't try that shit again.

You start to take in more of his cock into your mouth. Bobbing your head to set a nice rhythm, nothing that couldn't finish him off just yet, but enough to make him lose his composure more than he already has. You look up to meet his eyes, seeing him stare down at your work. You slowed to an impossibly slow speed before quickly pulling your mouth away, a line of saliva still connecting your lips to his member.

"That's not what i meant." You spoke strictly, reaching up to tilt his screen back towards the mirror. He did enjoy the pretty sight of you on your knees, but his mess of an appearance and reactions embarrassed him."If i see you looking anywhere else - if i see that you're not enjoying the show-" you squeezed his cock that had cooled from your hot spit hitting the cold air of the room. Almost too tightly. He winced, looking back down at you with a wide concern. " -Then i'll just have to stop. I can't reward that sort of behavior, hun." You sounded almost threatening and continued to tighten your grasp. He reached down, squeezing your shoulder before fixing his weary eyes to look at his wreck of a reaction in the mirror. "There we go! See? Look how lovely you look." You switched almost immediately to a sweet voice, loosening your grip and nuzzling his cock against your cheek, right at the corner of your mouth. "So? Are you gonna play along? Be good for me?" You spoke with hot breath against his member, your lips hovering just over the head. He nodded reluctantly.

"Say it." Another sudden transition from that sweet tone back to a stern voice.

"Nng... I'll be g-good.." he spoke quietly, ashamed that he had to say that while looking into the eyes of his reflection. You let out a sly chuckle, immediately assuming a quick pace. You weren't quite able to reach the base, but you made up the difference in your hand, and your other still dug your nails deeply into his thigh. The combined sensations of pain and pleasure made him whimper, struggling to keep his eyes open and his head foward. Every time you saw him start to lose his computer, you either slowed to a complete stop, ran your sharp teeth across his shaft as a warning, or behan to squeeze at his base. Each warning was enough for him to realize he was losing his attention. As he got closer, still somehow managing to stare into the reflection, he reached for your hair, running his claws across your scalp.

You allowed this, he's been doing so good for you, after all.

Holding his hips down to prevent any involuntary jerks, you began to sloppily cover his cock with your spit, speeding up even more. You needed him. Now. He was quick to let out moans and groans, not very domineering ones, which almost surprised you. He was truly unraveling.

"I-I'm gonna.." he started to say in between breathy moans. As soon as you heard you sped up right until you felt his cum hit your tongue. But as soon as you felt the smallest amount, you stopped and held your grip tightly around his base, not stopping him from finishing but definitely making it more difficult to enjoy. You pulled your head back, catching your breath. You sit up on your knees and pull his monitor to reach your lips, kissing the small amount of his cum into his mouth with your tongue. His eye twitched at the new flavor in your mouth and was quick to pull away, wiping his lips ftom a combination of drool and his own fluids.

"That was good! You handled me so well.. But i didn't give you permission to cum did I? And you ruined my hair." You almost pouted, looking back to the mirror to attempt to fix your hair up as much as possible. You got a good look at his full body and smiled into the mirror. "God, you're beautiful, Vox." You said, your voice dripped with sweetness as you turn a decievingly genuine smile his way. It only made him blush more. The sight made you absolutely giddy. You finally looked down at him, seeing him begin to go soft." Ah ah~, you need to deal with the mess you made, baby." You took a hold of his still twitching cock, moving your hands along it again. It was quick to stiffen up again, but the overstimulation from just finishing drove Vox to lean his head back and let out more breathless moans. In a quick motion, you were back in his lap, just hovering your entrance over his member. You moved your underwear to the side, running your own fingers between your folds and lifting your hands back up to his view.

" See what you're doing to me? You lost your little game, and now, i'm left with this mess." You spoke matter of fact, licking your own fluids off your fingers. You quickly pressed another kiss against his mouth, the mixutre of both your fluids making this an especially messy one. His senses were overloaded. Every now and then, some moans would come out with a slight delay or glitch to them. He placed his hands on your hips, wanting to get at least one victory out of this. With one claw, he carefully ripped the fishnets covering yout entrance before forced himself into you, bottoming out immediately. You shot up, yelping at his sudden courage. Giving you time to relax into him, you gripped onto his shoulders. He led you up and down on his cock, barely guiding you before you began to move at your own pace, beginning to unravel yourself. He tilted his head to look into the mirror again. Seeing you from both angles made him drive up into you harder. He had to admit, it was a great view.

As you bounce yourself on his cock, you take his hand and lead his fingers to rub your clit. He immediately picked up the note and began to run tight circles with the sharp tip of his finger. The sensation made you shiver, his metal like claws a start contrast to the warmth you were amitting. Beginning to hit your g spot timed with the constant contact of his finger to your clit, left you breathy, a moaning mess. He was reaching his breaking point, making his body physically react to yours. Small and sudden shocks would amit from his finger and occasionally through his cock, causing a sensational pain. His voice continued to glitch, indicating how he was about to finish, which you noticed immediately. You slam down onto him, lifting his eyes towards you by grabbing a hold of his neck, lightly squeezing.

"You have to get permission to cum. Got it?" You said sternly, your sudden halt making his leg twitch and shift underneath you. "O-okay.. fine..! Keep going, i'm close-" you yanked him closer.

"Ask. Nicely."

"Fuck... C-can I cum for you..? Please... let me-" his voice began to trail off as you quickened your pace again. "Such a good boy. Okay, but only because you asked so nicely." You praised and tapped your finger against his nose(?) mockingly, then felt another shock run up inside of you. He finished almost immediately hearing those words. You felt his cum fill you up, but you guided his hand back down to your clit to continue rubbing as you kept up your pace. His sensitivity left a twitching static shock inside of you, which was quick to lead you to finish, the heated pain in your stomach finally releasing.

You fell onto him, your head resting on his shoulder as you simply stay seated om top of him. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him. He was nuzzling the side of his screen into your ear and kissing just along your neck. As soon as you regained your senses, you melted into his aftercare. You wouldn't expect him to be so sweet to you after this, but he was holding on to you like his worse fear was you getting up. You ran your hands along his back, enjoying how much comfort he seemed to need so desperately.

The sweet moment lasted for a while, before you pulled away gently and looked up towards the clock near the door.

"Fuck! Rehearsal! Get up get up!" You quickly lifted yourself off of him, before you looked at eachother. Your fishnets were ripped, some small bruises on your neck. He managed to plant a few, but that was nothing compared to the sloppy lipstick covered state he was in. "Ugh, god dammit!" You stormed off and quickly grabned some wipes, scrubbing the lipstick off his screen and chest." Velvette's gonna kill me..!" You groaned, nearly getting everything off.

"Calm down doll, I'll get some people from hair and makeup to fix up this mess." He snapped his fingers, which somehow alerted an imp assistant to knock on the door. You quickly reached for a nearby robe and tied it around your waist just as they entered the room. "-and they will have no problem with keeping this little secret, right?" His eye began to run hypnotic waves as he was quick to brainwash the assistant. You hesitantly sat and let the imp quickly fix up your messy appearance after finding new fishnets and hanging up your delicate dress to put back on later. Vox sat there, his shirt still completely undone, his legs crossed and arms splayed across the back of the couch. He simply sat there, watching you get pampered to perfection again. Every tine you made eye contact with him you began to turn red. Sure, you had the upper hand just moments ago, but the effect this demon had on you was immense, making the immediate poeer dynamic switching back to him.

Once the two of you had cleaned up a bit more, you headed towards the door. He spun you before pressing a quick kiss on your forehead, then turned you back and let you walk out in front of him.

"I told you i could handle it, and it for sure seemed like you couldnt keep yourself together. So, i win!" You clarified as the two of you walked down the hall, back towards the rehearsal space.

"Fine. Sure. Watever you say. Keep telling yourself that.. if that's what it takes to make you do it again." He shrugged off your obviously victory with that dumb invitiation. You punched his arm as the two of you continued to argue. It was still clear to you both. You came out on top this time.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox #the vees #hazbin smut #vox x reader #vox x you #vox #submisive sissy

[chaoticgoblindev]

The Hat Rule

Pairing: Cowboy!Ghost x Fem!Reader

Pronouns used: She/Her

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, smut, cowboy hat rule, acquaintances to lovers, p in v, cussing, unprotected!sex, cowboy au, very self-indulgent heheh.

Summary: Visiting your Grandparent's farm leads to an honest mistake with the hot cowboy that worked there. 

Oftentimes you would visit your grandparents on their farm out in the country. Not out of the kindness of your heart, not because you missed them truly and loved them, but because of a certain cowboy who took care of the ranch. 

His name was ‘Ghost’, at least around the ranch it was, his real name was Simon. And oh boy was he intoxicating, plain and simple. Something about his brooding and seriousness had a certain weight on you that seeped straight to your core. He was the one thing exciting about the valley your Grandfather’s ranch resided in, kept things lively, and kept you coming back. Though these feelings festered not much was exchanged between the two of you. It was a crush, even when you desired more.

Upon a late afternoon, you found yourself on the porch of the ranch house, enjoying the sunset and breeze and taking in the beauty of the land. The mountains surrounding the valley gave a feeling of peaceful isolation like you were separated from the stress of the world. You closed your eyes to enjoy the moment when you heard a familiar voice call out to you. “Enjoying some fresh air, city girl?” Ghost chuckled, not that he needed to, you could just hear his smirk in the baritone levels of his voice.

Gazing up at Ghost, you saw him leaning against one of the beams that supported the porch with his arms crossed. His dark blue button-up was rolled to his elbows which exposed muscled forearms and a sleeve tattoo on his left arm. God. Was he TRYING to give you a heart attack? “Oh 'cause we don’t get enough in the suburbs right?” You smirked, enjoying the start of some usual casual banner. “I’ll have you know the 'fresh air’ here smells like cow shit.” 

Ghost’s eyes crinkled and chuckled slowly, “You got me there. Yet you keep coming back, must love it then?” His eyes flickered with a curious emotion you hadn’t seen before.

When your eyes widened at being put on the spot, you felt like you made a mistake, like you accidentally revealed all your secrets. Quickly your face reverted into an appeasing smile, “Got me there. I just love it here.”

Ghost hummed as he pushed off the beam and kicked at the dirt with the heel of his boot. He looked out the horizon like he was scanning the land before he spoke once more. 

“Got to get back to work, you’d best head inside when it gets dark. Coyotes like to linger ‘ere.” He huffed while glancing back down to you. You couldn’t help but get the feeling he was disappointed with something you said, which was unbearable alone in itself but the fact he gave you a curfew felt like he saw you as just his boss’s grandkid. “Wow, you’re giving me a curfew now, are you? Should I start calling you Daddy too?” The minute the words left your mouth you widened your eyes and dutifully slapped your mouth before staring up at him. Sometimes your intrusive thoughts won, and sometimes you wanted to jump the nearest bridge. “I- I didn't mean to say that.”

Ghost cut you off with a deep laugh, it sounded like heaven to you, “Fucking hell, kid. Yeah yeah sure, call me what you want, now go get your pretty ass inside and eat all your greens too.” He gave you a once over as you rushed inside with a reddened face, his eyes lingering on your ass and the jeans that clung to your curves in every right way. The front door shut and you disappeared from his sight. “Fucking hell doll..” He groaned.

_____

That night you lay in your bed with your face in the pillow, groaning with embarrassment. Ghost called you kid! How patronizing was that? Not only that but your loose lips ran you into the third most embarrassing event in your life.

Yet another thought lingered. He called you pretty, didn't he? He also didn’t seem put off by the comment so maybe…

Your thoughts led your mind into the dark depths of your imagination, your name on his lips, teeth nibbling at your skin, him and his body pressing down on you. Into you. Your hand trailed down your abdomen and past the hem of your panties as your mind wandered. Rubbing the already slick folds between your thighs you imagined his tongue trailing over your curves. How his hand would grab onto your ass, maybe even slap it. Would he be rough like you dreamed? Gentle? You let out a sigh as your fingers slide into your pussy and slowly pump in and out. It wasn’t enough anymore, the need and desire building more as you kept your whimpers silenced, aware of the way the old walls could echo in weird ways. The last thing you needed was your Grandparents hearing you getting off by imagining their ranch hand. Biting back an annoyed sigh, you glide your hands out of your core. It just wasn’t enough. You wanted him.

Finally, enough was enough, tomorrow you decided to make a move on him.

_______

By the grace of the universe, your Grandpa asked you to deliver a saddle that was shipped to the house and not the bunkhouse. It was a perfect opportunity. Now if your anxiety could just go along with the plan then it’d be great.

Luckily you didn't have to carry the hefty saddle down to the bunkhouse and were given the keys to the golf cart. The drive did little to ease your mind, the wind rolling along the tall grass and livestock chittering in the distance added noise to that busy mind of yours. The bunkhouse itself was built like a nice cabin, sizable enough to host a large group of people and close enough to the pastures for convenience. The neighs of horses nickering in the nearby stables covered the footsteps of someone approaching you.

“That the saddle your folks ordered?” Ghost asked, making you gasp and nearly drop the leather item from your hands but he reached around and grabbed it to keep it from falling. 

“Fuck you scared the shit outta me!” You grumbled while casting him a glare over your shoulder. He smirked and tipped his hat to you which somehow just annoyed you more. Your hand reached up and yanked the cowboy hat from his head with a huff, as you put it on you took another look at the saddle. “Yeah that’s it, it’s pretty hefty, glad I got the golf cart, otherwise carrying it down would’ve been a pain.” You sighed and turned your body to Ghost.

The intensity of his gaze startled you, had you done something wrong? Did you say something offensive? “What’s wrong?” Your voice came out in a hushed tone, nervous as to what he would say.

He smirked, shaking his head and taking a step closer to you which made you take an initial step back into the golf cart. His grip on the saddle loosened until it flopped onto the seat again.

“The hat,” Ghost started with a purr, placing his hands on the top of the golf cart and looking into your eyes, “you’re a clever minx aren’t you…”

Was this all about the hat? Maybe it was special to him, otherwise what the fuck was he talking about?

“Oh I am sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.” You began to lift the hat from your head when his hand caught your wrist.

“Do you know the rule about those there hats? About taking one from a cowboy and wearing it?” The husky accented drawl of his voice set your skin on fire and your eyes drifted to his lips then to his eyes.

“No… I don’t. what did I do wrong?” You couldn’t help but frown, assuming you might’ve broken some sacred cowboy superstition.

“Take the hat… means you gotta ride,” Ghost held your chin and pulled you close,  “And it doesn’t require a saddle or reins… just me.” He tilted his head and watched your expression carefully for any resistance or disgust.

“WHAT!? I didn’t know that though!” A blush captured your cheeks as you covered your face. You did know yet happened to forget, you heard rumors about it when your friends were joking about a cute country guy on a night out. 

Ghost seemed pleased with your response and pulled you away from the cart. “Well, it’s too late now, little lady.” He mused, his smile turning sly as he tossed you over his shoulder. “You gotta play by the rules like a good girl.” He laughed while taking you in the direction of the barn.

“Ghost- wait! Hey, put me down!” You thumped your fist into his back, you could feel your face flushed with embarrassment and hoped that no one could see y’all. Ghost continued to carry you, smirking when you lightly punched his back and delivered a slap to your ass in return.

“You have on the hat and now you must pay the price.” He taunted, walking towards the inside of the barn and kicking the door shut behind him. 

The cowboy placed you down in the middle of the barn, the two of you alone. “You get a free ride... literally.” Ghost added, leaning against a wooden beam and crossing his arms. His gaze never strayed from your lips as they parted to form a sentence. The embarrassment took away your voice and as you tried to form words, you took the time to scan the surroundings of the cruddy barn filled with grain and hay bales. It wasn’t much of a secret around the ranch that you had a crush on Ghost, no matter how good you thought you hid it. 

Rolling his shoulders back, he studied your form, a smirk tugging on his lips as he took a few steps towards you. He placed a gentle hand on your hip, his fingers squeezing your flesh as he looked down at you. “I know you have a big crush on me, sugar…” He whispered, his tone sending chills up your spine. “So, here’s your free ride…” Ghost cooed, his eyes glimmering as his other hand wrapped around the nape of your neck.

This was your chance, everything you wanted and more. Hell would freeze over before giving up an opportunity like this. So you leaned close, just to get a taste of him finally. Then he smiled and brought his hand away from your neck to cup your cheek and pulled you close until your lips came crashing together.

The yearning that was simmering in his soul was infecting, reaching to your heart and seeping into your core. He burned, in every way passion could burn, he searched your body like a temple of god, your lips his salvation. Ghost devoted his tongue to yours as he deepened the kiss, when he pulled away slightly his breath was labored. 

“You're the only thing on my mind recently...” He whispered.

The corners of your mouth skewed into a smile. “You’re the reason I keep coming back out here.” You admitted, licking your lips to taste the remnants of him.

Something about that answer made Ghost snap, he pulled you flush against him by your wrists as he kissed you once more. He licked your bottom lip before fully exploring your tongue with his. His hands squeezed your hips a final time before he lifted you and placed you on a sturdy barrel. Ghost stepped between your legs and parted them, one hand massaging your thigh softly while the other worked on unlatching his belt buckle.

“You want this? Wanted me so bad didn’t ya, sweet thing?” Ghost purred as he slowly began to inch his jeans down to reveal the hardened outline of his cock. It made you suck in a breath which caused him to chuckle. “You can take it, you're my sweet tough girl aren’t you?” He pecked your cheek with a soft kiss and finally let his jeans fall to his ankle.

“Ghost… please..” You breathed, peering up at him through your haze. Your core was weeping in want, just begging to be ravaged and filled. You pulled him tight against your body with your legs around his waist, the imprint of his dick grinding against the jeans you wore.

Ghost let out a groan and kissed you again, his body pressed against you some more while he fiddled with the buttons of your pants and tugged them down. He flashed his canines in his smile while gazing at you with a burning lust.  “I’ve been so damn eager for this, and I know you have too… the way you’ve been watching me, stalking me. Sweet girl… you think I didn’t notice?” He whispered and placed his hands on either side of your hips, his eyes baring down at you had an effect that made him feel imposing and larger than life. 

“Well, I certainly can tell you’re eager.” You teased him and rolled your hips against his just to feel the firm imprint of his dick begging to be freed. Ghost chuckled as he grabbed your hips, pulling you to the edge of the barrel.

"I'm glad you can feel that..." He whispered as his fingers hooked the belt loop of your jeans. "It's... been itching to get out." With one swift motion, he pushed your jeans down your legs before tossing them onto the barn floor. Ghost admired your body from where he stood, his hands rubbing the soft flesh of your thighs. He loved how they smushed against the barrel and parted for him. His eyes looked over your body like a present as he slowly began to unbutton your blouse and fondle your curves. The shirt fell and bunched at your wrists and he couldn’t help but kiss you again. “God… you’re perfect.”

“Ghost…” You breathed and looked up at him through your eyelashes, giving him a slight head tilt and smile. His eyes darkened and in a swift maneuver, he had sat on the barrel with you in his lap. You yelped and gripped the hat on your head with one hand, the other on his shoulder as you stared at him with wide eyes.

“I want you screaming my name. So call me Simon, baby… Now Ride,” Simon demanded.

“Say please.” You chided.

The man huffed but wrapped his arms around your waist and set his chin on your chest. “Please, babydoll?” He muttered gruffly.

Something about turning such a burly man into a stubborn pleading mess made you grin. “Lemme help you then…” you whispered into his ear, easing your hips and sliding your underwear to the side. From your vantage point, you could see the way his eyes fixed on your wet cunt and the way he licked his lips.

“Already so wet for me, aren’t ya?” Simon chuckled and rolled his boxers down until his cock sprung free.

“Already so hard for me, aren’t you?” You mimicked but were busy with gawking at his size. 

Fuck.

Simon’s smoky tone captured your attention once more. “It’ll be alright love, we can make it fit..” he coaxed, rubbing circles into your hips. “Just take it inch by inch, yeah?”

You gave him a slow nod and glanced down to align yourself to him, gliding him between your folds. With a sharp inhale you slowly began to sink into him. Biting your lip, you make eye contact with Simon who looks at you gently, letting you take your time. 

Just as a little more than the tip pushed in, a hushed moan came from Simon. Giving it a few more adjustments you soon hit the base of his cock and shivered at the feeling, a soft whine sounded from your throat as you winced at the stretch.

“Just give it a second, you’re doing so well.” He groaned, placing his hands on your waist to massage the skin gently. Simon slowly began to move his hips, pulling back small amounts before sliding fully in again. He waited as your expression began to shift into one with pleasure, your soft moans and the slick of your cunt being the only noise in the barn. “Yeah, there you go. Such a good girl.” He coaxed, slowly adding to the pace he set.

You moaned out his name and he gave a kiss to your cheek as he worked you open. While you got used to the feeling your hips slowly matched his. Simon let out a moan as your body began to grind against him, his fingers gripping onto your ass as you rode him. "Oh, god..."

His body tensed under yours as he held back strained moans, his fingertips dug into your thighs as he looked at you with complete lust and desire. placed a hand onto your chest and leaned up to your ear as he spoke.

"You're a natural, guess our lessons paid off… or maybe, you’re just a dirty girl.” His hand wrapped around your neck in a gentle yet firm caress, he pressed his thumb down along your throat just enough to get a depraved noise. “Which one is it, sweetheart?” 

“Fuck ‘round n find out,” You smirked and clamped down on him with a strangled moan, adding, “You taught me well. It’s about time I put my skill to something worthy.” 

Simon leaned his head back and closed his eyes as you began to grind your hips down onto him. You switched between fucking yourself on his cock and drawing circles with your movements. He thrusted into you now and then, as if reminding you that he was still in charge. 

“Shit baby… That’s it, just like that.” He groaned, jutting his hips up harshly which caused you to yelp and clench around him. With the way he started to get desperate, you could tell he was getting close. You threw your head back and whimpered as you rode his cock. The feeling was unlike anything felt before and it was like the deepest parts of your soul were being reached. Simon’s breathing grew heavy and his mouth hung open as he panted for air. His fingertips dug deeper into your thighs as his head leaned backward once more. He grunted as his body tensed up, and his other hand came to your cheek as his eyes closed. "Come on, baby..." He muttered to you, his breaths hitting against your neck.

Feeling your climax slowly build, you moved your hips at a faster pace. Simon held onto your waist, aiding you with his thrusts. You both closed your eyes as you kissed, syncing together to chase the other’s highs with passionate instinct. “Fuck. I am so close, Si.” You gasped, your eyes rolling back at the way he reached your cervix.

Simon let out a muffled moan as he felt you twitching around him, your cunt clenching tighter around him as the two of you kissed, his hand left your hip and he slowly let his it drift to your thigh, his fingertips digging into your soft skin with every thrust. He groaned and slammed his hips into you before cumming with you.

"I should have thought about the cowboy rule with you a long time ago..." He chuckled softly, still feeling the pleasure of you surrounding him. 

“I should’ve taken your damn hat a long time ago..” You mirrored with a soft laugh, hissing as a full-body spasm shot up your spine and clenched around him, overstimulated from the recent orgasm that made your brain go hazy. “Mmm... Did you cum inside?”

Ghost looked up at you with a smirk, his teeth slightly bared as he spoke to you. "I might have..." He chuckled softly. He trailed his hand up and down your waist leaning close so the two of you were close together, he whispered in your ear, "I might have..." He repeated himself once more, his voice a murmur which made his breath hot against your ear.

You nodded and leaned against him in a limp-like fashion, exhausted from the work done. Simon let out a small hum of pleasure as you leaned into him. He placed a hand on your cheek and pulled you toward him, your mouths meeting in another kiss. "I needed you.” He mumbled, his lips meeting yours once more in a deep kiss.

Between the sweet and deep kisses, you replied, “Mmm- we should do this often.”

"I like the sound of that..." Simon mumbled against your lips, his breaths hitting against your skin as he kissed you along your jaw. "Whenever you want it," He said to you softly, his fingers beginning to trail down your cheeks, "Just come find me anytime on the ranch.... I'll give you the best ride of your life..." He smirked, still holding onto you but slowly beginning to pull you off him.

You helped him with getting up, raising your hips, and blushing when you felt his cum drip out and down your thighs. Simon’s breath hitched as he saw the essence seep out of you, his gaze slowly drifting down to your body and taking in every inch of it. He smirked, his fingers trailing down your stomach to your thighs. He chuckled, "You're a mess, doll." He pulled up his cowboy jeans and took a deep breath.  "You need anything from me right now, Sweetheart?... Some water? A towel for your body?" He spoke to you softly as he looked at you.

You pressed your thighs together to stop the juices from seeping out of your cunt, bending forward to pick up your underwear and shimmy it on. “No I don’t need anything, I am fine thank you.” 

Ghost nodded, and with a deep breath, he put on his cowboy hat as he watched you bend down to pick your clothes up off the barn floor.  "I'll uh.... just wait outside and give you some time to yourself to clean up" He chuckled softly, looking away as he did so. He stepped outside the barn and leaned up against the side of the building, looking at a few horses as he sighed and closed his eyes.

After a few minutes, you joined him approaching him with a slight limp, and stood next to him, glancing at the scenery. Your appearance was fixed up though any mascara you had on previously was slightly smudged on the corners of the eyes. “That was nice.” you began.

Ghost looked over at you as you stood next to him. He smiled and looked back up at the horses as you spoke. "It was, yeah." He chuckled and turned around to look at you for a moment. "I'm glad you came to see me." He said to you, his tone a bit quieter and more serious than usual. Ghost looked down at the floor for a moment, his expression a bit more pensive than normal. "So... you want to... do that again... sometime?" He sighed and looked down at his boots, his face hidden by the cowboy hat. "No pressure, though. I won’t press for more if you don’t want that.”

You cut him off with a laugh shaking your head. “No, I want more!” You coughed and spoke a bit more calmly and casually. “I mean- I like you and uh.. it would be nice to stay close...”

Ghost met your eyes and smiled, pulling you into a hug. “Sure thing, baby.”

#call of duty #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #mw2 smut #mw2 #mw2 x reader #mw2 fanfic #cod mw x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #ghost simon riley #call of duty x reader #ghost call of duty #call of duty mw2 #cod smut #modern warfare smut

[fulloffencekurooishotterthanyou]

Grocery Shopping.

Ft. Suna Rintarō

Notes: NSFW minors dni, fingering, car sex, afab reader, fluff at beginning, swearing, pet names

“rin,” you groan, as the crooked wheel of the trolley jams into the back of your heel for the millionth time. “drive the goddamn trolley straight, please.”

there’s a laugh. husky and low, belonging to the man you call your own.

“but, love,” he whines, that familiar drawl in his nonchalant tone as he pushes the trolley a little so you’re walking side by side. “it’s not my fault it’s wonky. you should take that up with someone who works here,”

you can’t help but roll your eyes at his teasing tone and instead decide to aim your focus at the apples that are cheaper than usual. the shine of the skin “a-peeling” as suna comments behind you.

you usually shop together, late at night like this when he doesn’t have training. it’s probably the only time when you’re not drowned in work or your boyfriend is building up his thighs like a god at the gym.

“doll, what else was on the list?” your lover’s voice is serious, as he stares at the aisle numbers in concentration. “why am i thinking of butter? did we even need butter?” your laugh resounds in his ear, as you explain it was bread, not butter. “ohhh, bread. gotcha. be back in a second.” he shoots you an award winning smile, before pushing the trolley to the bread aisle, almost looking too elated to be here with you at the supermarket.

“what’s gotten into him?” you mumble to yourself as you pick up other items on the mental list you made. when ten minutes have passed, and no rintarō has appeared for a suspicious amount of time, you walk down briskly, scanning each aisle.

“rin?” you call, scanning through every area, like a lookout team.

“darling, over here!” an excited voice rings out and you stop in your tracks, walking down the dangerously alluring sweets aisle.

“what are you doing?” you ask with a laugh, seeing wide and excited eyes gracing your boyfriend’s features.

“they have chūpets in stock!” his hands can’t seem to move any faster, as he looks through the different flavours.

“i’ve never seen you more excited, truly,” you say teasingly, as he gives you a pointed look.

“i get excited about plenty of things, hun. i’ve got no idea what you’re saying,”

“yeah? and how much are you willing to bet chūpets are better than sex?” you dare ask, wondering what his reply will be. there’s a beat of silence.

“fuck. that’s a hard question.” he replies, his face grim with indecisiveness. you laugh, playfully hitting his arm.

“you actually have to think about it?” i ask, as he places three packets of chūpets into the trolley. the two of you head to the self check out, scanning your items.

“i mean, both are good. very good,”

“but this is sex i’m talking about. you really believe jelly fruit sticks compare?” your banter is comfortable and flirtatious, as rintarō pushes the trolley to your car. as he unloads the bags, he hums in thought.

“chūpets are gifts from the gods themselves, love. i can’t argue with fact,” his voice clearly pokes fun at you, as he shuts the boot door with a firm hand.

“i’d argue they’re not as satisfying as a good blow job,”

“what? ‘cause of the same sucking motion?” he says, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“suna rintarō!” you cry out, giving him a look of pure unadulterated shock. “you did not just say that!”

he shrugs, but the grin on his face is practically devilish. “did i?” he puts the trolley away with a satisfied look plastered over his features. “why? are you going to prove me wrong, angel?” at this, his voice is lower now; richly suave and so thick with desire, you might as well be bathing in honey.

“you’re a tease. a fucking tease, you know that?”

“mmm, i did, actually.” a gentle hand grasps your hip, as he pulls you in, closing all distance between you.

“we’re in the middle of a car park, rintarō,” you remind him, your lips severely close to his. shit, you want to kiss him so badly.

“it’s almost midnight, doll. nobody’s around to see us,” his lips graze yours, but only for a second. “besides, we gotta test that bet of ours,”

another kiss breaks the surface fleetingly, before you’re dragged into the back seats of the car, the door shutting firmly behind you.

“rin, it’s not more than a fifteen minute drive hom-” you don’t get to finish your sentence as you’re pulled under your boyfriend, his lips crashing against yours.

it takes you a minute to regain your breathing, only to lose it again, his hands in your hair, yours around his neck as he craves for more.

“i want you, darling. right here, right now.”

and you’d be a complete fool to deny him that.

“then take me,” you whisper into his mouth before you’re kissing again, his tongue finding his way into your mouth as his touches grow rougher.

“fuck.” he groans, peppering your neck with kisses as his hands trail down to the buttons of your pants. “let me taste you,” he pleads, untying the string of his sweats. “can i have you, baby? please?”

“yes,” you breathe, watching as his pants and boxers are discarded carelessly, his hands coming back to cup your cheeks. “you can have me, rin,”

he groans, a guttural sound as he lifts your legs over his shoulders in one fluid motion, kissing your inner thighs. “big claim to make, angel. i’m gonna make you feel so fucking good,”

his mouth seems to second that statement, as you whimper from the touch of his lips near your entrance. his tongue comes next, a sword against your shield, digging his way through to you with a muffled moan. “you taste so good, doll. always taste so good for me, don’t you?”

“fuck, rin!” you cry out, as a pale, slim finger penetrates your folds. “oh god, oh fuck-” you choke out, babbling mindlessly as his fingers are practically sucked in and out of your hole.

“not even the real thing yet, baby. already so responsive,” he hums, thrusting another finger inside. your moans only compel him to insert another, his movements gradually getting faster and rougher.

“i want you, rin,” you plead. “just give it to me already. stop teasing me,”

“sweetheart, i haven’t done anything of the kind,” he smiles, pulling out his wet fingers, licking them as he watches you. “but since you’re so insistent sex is better than my beloved chūpets, i guess i’ll give you what you want,”

a ragged gasp of air comes out of you as the tip starts to slowly sink in.

“ahh- rin, shit, you’re so- fuck! you’re big,” you ramble, thoughts simply unable to pass through you. rintarō continues his pursuit, delving in deeper, as he thrusts against your walls in an effort to derail you from coherency.

when he bottoms out, your cries are strangled as crescent moons crease his t-shirt, your grip on him, unrelenting.

“fuck, hun, you’re tight,” he hisses, his base reaching your skin as he begins to move, hard and fast. rintarō’s hips rock into yours, the wild bucking sensation almost too much as you moan wantonly.

“t-the car is shaking-” you manage to choke out, but it’s like your boyfriend doesn’t hear you, his relentless pursuit of breaking down your walls his only mission.

his cock fills you up so deeply, you can barely move as your pleas for more only seem to invigorate him to pound you harder.

each thrust is like a message, one that tells you that there’s no place either of you would rather be, but with each other. rintarō’s cock remains hard and swollen inside of you, his desperate grunts filling the car.

“release for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his tone the personification of velvet. “show me how good i make you feel,” each touch sends you ablaze, your whimpers music to rintarō’s ears as his skin dances over yours.

“r-rin!” you all but scream, the pleasure blinding as his cock slams into your walls, a sign of love as you moan. “i’m gonna… fucking hell, i’m gonna cum,”

“that it’s, darling. cum all over this fat dick for me, yeah?” rintarō smiles as his hard member urges to release. but he waits. suna rintarō can be patient when he wants to.

“close, ‘m close!” you sob, hips held in place by suna’s firm grip. “rin- hnngh~ rintarō!”

there’s a low chuckle from your boyfriend as he hits your g-spot more consistently. “go on. let it all out for me, doll. you know i’m good for it,”

you swear loudly, your voice shaky as you announce your climax again. the coil in your stomach tightens, and then releases all at once. “i’m cumming!” you groan, thighs trembling as rintarō pants from the overexertion.

“fuck, that feels so good. your cum feels so warm on my cock.” he whispers, the words so vulgar it makes you moan a little more. “wait, wait. quiet down for me,” he requests, and you bite your lip to hold your silence.

“you hear that, hun?” suna asks, his cum-soaked cock rubbing against your walls. the motion produces a series of audibly lewd noises, the squelch making you tense up on him, all over again.

you can’t handle it anymore, writhing with pleasure as your lover pulls out, his cock covered with your fluids. “where should i cum, baby? tell me where i should, we wouldn’t want it to go to waste.” his tone is sly, like he wanted this all along. you can barely answer as his seed squirts all over your bare stomach, as he kisses you deeply. you press your lips back hungrily, tongues finding their way to meet each other’s as your shared moans echo in the backseats.

“better than sex?” you choke out now, your back limp against the car seat as you both pant heavily. there is a moment of quiet, aside from the jagged breathing before suna quips.

“yeah, maybe,” your boyfriends winks. “i’m playing with you, doll. sex is always better,”

“i fucking told you so,” you groan as he laughs, the sound resonating in your ear as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind it.

“let’s go home. i’m not finished with you yet.” suna says with a cheeky smile.

“i didn’t think you’d be,” you say sarcastically as he sits you up, cleaning the sticky mess with a tissue.

“what can i say, love? i’m a man with very specific needs,”

you can’t help but laugh. “is that right?”

“only the facts,” he replies, meeting his lips with yours for another kiss. “i love you, darling.”

“i love you too, rin.”

first full smut fic ‼️ i hope this isn’t just a bunch of tomfoolery 😵‍💫

banner credits: @cafekitsune <3

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #hq suna #suna rintaro fic #suna rintarou smut #suna x reader #suna x you #suna x y/n #suna #jitsu writes #i didn’t forget his birthday okay #disgustingly feral for this man

[nexusnyx]

ㅤㅤㅤ— ˏˋ꒰under neon lights꒱

→ Based on this request. [WC: 1.1k]

Joel became an expert on many things in this damned life, but running away from something he wants is not one of them. OR; How you're Joel Miller's worst (best) habit .ೃ࿐

Although he'd love to say he "tried his best", Joel's no liar.

He never tried a goddamn thing.

Not even once.

The moment he saw it in you—the glint of something wicked looking for any inch of ground to sink teeth and claws in, the spark of desire meeting him, he was done for. Joel dug his heels and stood his ground despite his instincts, not knowing what would come of this.

"Hey, handsome."

Initially, he thought those to be a joke. Now, Joel knows better. "Thought you wouldn't come," is his answer.

You laugh under your breath, the air turning white in front of you.

Joel watches as you remove your coat, boots, and place all of your items in their proper places. The house Tommy found for him is small just like he wanted and it serves its purpose—Ellie's got a roof over her head, and Joel has pieces of furniture and cracks in the walls he busies himself with. It's more than he could've asked for after years of cleaning sewages or doing god knows who's dirty work.

Your disposition to come over to his place every Friday night and sit with him while everyone else hangs around the town's square for food and drinks never faltered.

Joel serves you the whiskey and sits on his porch chair, knowing you'll follow suit.

During the first visits, Joel's had some of the best conversation of his lifetime.

Even if it felt like this was his third one already—he remembered how good it was to have someone else around who also wanted to just enjoy the peace and quiet. Someone who took pleasure in knowing that this was real luxury. This was luck.

Then, Joel remembered how it felt to learn your visits and company were also the thing he kept denying himself.

Lingering looks. The burning touch of your hand brushing against his at every given opportunity. Sultriness dripped from your voice every now and then when he spoke of things that demanded intimacy. When the topic verged on real things, Joel recalled seeing you lick your dry lips and look him dead in the eye before responding, as if daring him to say you were joking, or even ask if you meant your words.

"I don't come here because I'm lonely, Miller. Is that what you think of yourself? That your company's good as nothing?"

"What?"

"Saying that implies your company offers me nothing when you know that's not true. You see me smilin' at you around town, waving hi, waiting for you to appear in the meetings just so I can have someone else to offer my incredibly witty remarks. You're not the go-to 'cause I'm lonely—which, by the way, I'm not."

"Figured you were. Haven't seen anyone else demand your attention back from me."

"It's 'cause they know it'd be worthless."

"Why'd you come then?"

"'Cause I like talking to you, jackass. Why else?"

"I—I haven't..."

"Haven't what? Interacted properly with another adult person in a while? That's okay, we'll take baby steps."

"Don't laugh at me, that ain't nice, sweetheart."

"I thought I was laughing with you..."

"All of this is weird."

"Which part? Having a life again? ... Yeah, it's weird."

Joel hated it when you were at a loss for words now.

It was more than just a habit after all these times—seeking the heat of your skin as you leaned against the wooden porch. His hand moved under your jumper and shirt, opening wide on the lower part of your back. He caressed the skin slowly and watched you from the side as you looked forward.

It was stupid to ask if something was wrong when everything around everyone sort of crumbled to pieces daily, so instead, Joel made a grunting sound to get your attention back on him.

When you looked up, something shone. The redness of your bitten lips made him want to soothe away your pain. Maybe kiss them until they are numb. Sometimes, Joel pretended he could lick you clean from any harm or any sin.

It's a whisper when your voice cuts through the howling wind of the night. "D'you think we'll ever be more than... this?"

It hits like a rock to his stomach.

This—late nights stolen like the first kisses were. Hidden messages, looks, touches, all hidden underneath some shame. All the taking and giving and taking again, both so lost in the pleasure and the touch that neither are capable of looking away when the other pins one with their eyes.

This—crying, and begging, and moaning, all muttered and exhaled because they were pulled, earned, and nothing could stop the pleasure from drooling from the lips.

This—a secret. A habit. A battle cry.

"I don't know." Joel wants to, though. His hand on your back squeezes harder, and he molds the front of his body to fit the back of yours. "I'm..." a lot. Too much. Never bold enough to think about these things. "A lot different than I was when I first got here."

There's a short laugh. "I know. I remember." Your hands smooth the way from his hands to his forearm, and you make yourself more compact to fit in his hold. "I just... I lied to my sister to come here tonight, and..."

It all added up. "Right." Did you have to? "Why did you?"

He regrets asking the second the words are out because the memory floods back with you quoting his words to him. "This is the last time we're doing this." He said that, back when he was still in denial you wanted him too. "I'm not sure if—"

Joel spins you so abruptly that it shuts you up. "I meant that back then, but it's not true," he shakes his head. "I was saying that more to cover my own ass than anything."

"Cover from what?"

"From how stupid I'd feel once you noticed I'm not what you want."

The silence that follows makes his nape itch. Joel's mind learned to listen for all the threats in the woods and the quiet of the houses surrounding them, but his eyes were glued to you.

You tilt your head at him, analyzing him so thoroughly that Joel does fidget.

"Is that what you thought?"

"It was." He can hear the exasperation in your tone as much as he can hear the surrender in his. "I don't mind if you tell people where you're going—honestly." Joel chuckles. "If I'm lucky enough you want to come back..."

Your arms came up higher and hugged around his shoulders. "This is not where I hoped this conversation would go," your pleased smile only makes his inside feel like they're growing too. "You be careful what you say, Miller."

"I ain't scared." His words already got him feeling like an outsider or perhaps an outlaw, so fuck him—he'd use them to keep you looking at him like this for a change. "I mean it." He could get addicted to this.

☆ inbox 💌 ㅤㅤㅤ☆ tip jar ♡ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ☆ masterlist ✒️

#usernexusnyx #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #joel miller imagine #joel miller fluff #joel miller x y/n #nyx little drabbles ☆ #joel miller drabble

[cypherthesuccubus]

I’m not done with you yet….darling~(FINALE)

Alastor x Reader -Part 5- (NSFW)(MDNI)!!!!

WARNINGS: smut, blood kink, bondage, slight S&M, Dom/Sub, rough rutting, mate marking, leash play/ownership, slight degradation, praise kink, body worship, ass worship, cock worship, she/her pronouns, vaginal sex, creampie, facial, breath play(recently added)

Other Tags: Fluff, Angst

Note: Reader will receive aftercare

I do apologize for edging you my darlings~ but the suspense was definitely worth the wait wasn’t it?~ The Finale Part 5 is here for your pleasure tonight~ 😈✨ @starlightdreaming @chibistar45

(Y/N’s P.O.V)

As I sat there on my knees; eagerly waiting for what Alastor has planned next. He looks me up and down hungrily; reaching for his belt buckle, unfastening it slowly. “You’re so enticing like this my dear~” he slides the belt slowly out of his pant loops; folding the belt in half as he holds in one hand; making him look more intimidating. “This here will also be apart of your punishments. Just as long as you keep being a good girl for me, then you’ll be just fine~” I shiver when his belt touches under my chin as he uses it to tilt it up towards him. The way his body harness insinuated his torso with his sleeves rolled up half way his arms; giving me a tease of his tan like skin. “Sirrr~ I have a request~” he tilts his head arching his brow “Oooh~ What will that be my dear~” as I fidget with my fingers; trying to say what I want from him “C-could I see you without your shirt on?….but keep the harness~” he chuckles softly “Request granted~” he snaps his fingers as a black puff of smoke dissipates his shirt. He was lean but toned in the right ways with the body harness just making him more defined. He even had chest fluff protruding through the harness ever so elegantly. It was taking every fiber of my being not to bury my face in his chest fluff.

“You may touch me my dear~ I can see it in your eyes that you want to~” I slowly stand up and close the distance between him and me. I raise my hand and slowly brush my fingers into his chest fluff. Oh my god!~ it was so soft!~ I let my other hand entangle in his chest fluff as well; running my fingers up and around in a complete trance from the softness. He lets out small sigh from my caressing as I see his hands being placed at my sides; slowly running his fingers up all the way to my chest. I softly moan as he starts to gently massage my breasts; occasionally running his thumbs across my nipples. “Such lewd noises you’re making~” he starts to roll my nipples in between his fingers; causing me to lean my head back, moaning a bit louder. At this point my panties are completely ruined now, along with my shorts. “Make your way back down to your knees darling~” Keeping my hands on his chest I start to lower myself to my knees again, while trailing my fingers down his body with me. As I sit back on my heels, my fingers stop right at the waistband of his pants. I gently tease the hem, getting a better view of his v-line. I look up at him; seeing his lustful eyes take in every bit of the sight before him. “Let me out my love~” he caresses my cheek as I start to unbutton his pants; slowly sliding the zipper down. I gently pull down, revealing his black and red silk like briefs with his tent finally showing itself better. The tip of it was staining the fabric there a dark red as he was leaking pre through his briefs. I then grab the waist band of his briefs and pull down; springing him free from his imprisonment. Oooooh fuck~…..he was big~ His length was almost as big as my forearm with a decent sized girth to boot. The tip is a deep shade of red with his shaft matching his tan like skin. His scent was he stronger here, almost putting me under in an erotic like hypnosis. “Go ahead my dear~ let’s see how well you can take me~ if you do well, I will give you a reward~”

With both hands, I gently grab the base of his shaft ; lulling my tongue out as I slowly drag it against the underside. Starting from the base at the way to the tip. He hissed at the contact as he moves his hand from caressing my cheek up to the top of my head; interlocking his fingers in my hair. “Open. Your. Mouth.” I open as wide as I could as he slides himself in; all the way to the hilt. The shear size and girth felt a lot bigger in my mouth as it stretches my jaw and throat. Tears ran down my cheeks from the tip pushing against my uvula, triggering my gag reflex as I cough and sputter around him. He pulls back out as I gasped for air, coughing up excess saliva. “I do apologize my dear~ I couldn’t help myself~” he then places both hands on my cheeks, making look up into his eyes. “What’s your color?” I smirk seductively “Green my lord~” He growled and he runs all his fingers into my hair, snugly holding my scalp. “Then show me how badly you want my cock inside your mouth~” I open my mouth wide as I slide him back in, all the way to the hilt again. He groans as he starts to slowly thrust in and out, moving my head along with his strokes.

“That’s it~ such a good girl~” he picks up the pace to where now his balls will gently hit against my chin with every thrust. “Squeeze my wrist twice if it gets to be too much darling~” I hum in approval as he goes more faster; his balls now making wet slaps against my chin due to my excessive drooling. His groans are like music to my ears; pushing me to let him keep fucking my throat. Unfortunately my lungs were giving out a lot quicker than I would like. I reach up to grab his wrist and gave it a squeeze twice. He stops immediately pulling out my throat as I’m gasping for air. I cough as I wipe my chin from the excess drool “I could have gone longer…*gasp*…but my lungs were giving out.” His hands let go of my hair as one of them caresses my cheek; lifting my chin to look at him as he bends down to face me. “You did so well my dear~ I think it’s time you get your reward~”

(Alastor’s P.O.V)

I slowly pick her up from the ground; wrapping her arms around my neck and legs around my waist. I pull her in for a kiss; this time being more gentle, but the passion remained constant. Our tongues engaging in a slow like dance as I walk her to the bed; laying her down as I press into her. I run my hands up and down her body; trying to engrave every single curve and detail into my memory. My hands come to rest on her soft thighs as I break the kiss. “You ready for your reward darling~” she nods “Yesss my lord~” I smile widely as I start to trail feather soft kisses from her neck down to in between her breasts. I direct my attention to her left breast as my tongue slowly licks at her sensitive bud. I bring it into my mouth; beginning to suckle and swirl my tongue around her nipple as she moans softly. She arches into me, letting me know how much she’s enjoying my manipulations. I start the trail of kisses again from down her torso all the way to where her belly button meets the hem of her shorts. “Prepare yourself darling~ You may grind all you like, but you will keep your hands to yourself~” She covers her mouth as I start to pull down her shorts along with her panties; sliding them off her legs then tossing them away. I gently grab hold of her knees as I spread them apart; giving me the most perfect view that will be forever burned into my mind.

Her panting as she looks at me with lust filled eyes; hands above her head like the obedient pet she is with her legs open and presenting her soaking wet cunt. I couldn’t wait any longer as I lean down now face to face with her folds; sliding my tongue slowly along the slit. She lets out a loud moan as she bucked her hips against my tongue. Ffffffuuuuck~….. Such a naughty girl~ She must of been aching for this~ I run my tongue up and down her slit a couple more times, then soon turn my attention to her swollen clit; circling around and against the sensitive nub. She arches into me as she grinds into my mouth; moaning even louder than before as she grips the sheets beneath her. I grin against her folds; continuing the work with my tongue as I slide two of my fingers inside her waiting hole. Mmmmm such a delicious sound she made~ She screamed in ecstasy as I felt her tighten around my fingers; grinding against them like her life depended on it. I took my free hand and went to reach down to my throbbing cock; rigorously stroking from base to tip as I use my pre cum as lube. I start thrusting my fingers in and out; rubbing that special spot as I begin to suck her clit. She grinds into my mouth harder with moans growing even louder “AHHHH!~ fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckimgonna!~……gonnaCUM!~” She relentlessly rides my mouth and fingers as she unravels; letting out pitched moans as her body trembles from the intense pleasure. I let her ride out her high; soon pulling out my fingers and removing my mouth; both soaked and glistening from her release.

I take my fingers to my lips as I start to suck off her excess release; still stroking myself in the process. Her taste is sweet like honey, along with her scent filling my nostrils; it was driving me closer to my climax as well. I stop mid stroke as I look to her watching me; licking her lips hungrily. I grin widely as I lean back on my hands “Go head~ be a good girl and finish me off~” she starts to crawl towards me; stopping as her mouth was mere inches away from my cock. She places her hands on my thighs as she opens those soft lips; completely engulfing me once again. I instantly grab hold of her hair as I’m right on the edge of release “Embrace yourself darling~” I start rigorously thrust myself into her mouth; the warmth of her throat further pushing me over the edge. “FFFFFFUCK!!!~” I slammed every bit of me down her throat; filling it to the point my thick cum overflowed her mouth as it spurts out her lips; dripping onto the bed. I pulled out slowly with a plop from her lips as she gasps for air. A bit more ropes of cum spurt from me as it lands onto her face; getting a little in her hair as well. As she caught her breath, she took her hand and started to gather my cum from her face; proceeding to lick and suck it off her fingers.

I made a low growl as I watched her finish intaking my cum. I felt myself start to morph; starting with my antlers growing bigger as well as my form. My claws digging into the sheets; leaving tear marks in there wake. My tentacles spring forth from my back as they make their way to (Y/N); one bounding her wrists together as it pulls her up to stand on her knees. She yelps from the sudden movement as she looks down at me; giving an anxious look “I’m not done with you yet…….darling~”

(Y/N’s P.O.V)

I let out a high pitched yelp as his tentacle flips me onto my stomach; holding my wrists

above me and against the pillows. Then two more tentacles wrap around my thighs; spreading my legs opens while further arching my ass in the air. I felt Alastor’s big hands grab my ass as he massages it; preparing me for what’s gonna happen next. The calm before the storm sort of speak. “Absolutely lovely~ as if your ass was made to fill my hands~” I moan as his thumb runs up along my slit; feeling his other thumb, he spreads open my folds with his thumbs; revealing my inner walls. “Look at you~ all soaking wet just for me~” I moan out as I feel his long tongue plunge deep into me. He swirls and wiggles it around as it occasionally brushes against my cervix. His onslaught with his tongue was making me a moaning mess as it’s just the right spots at just the right angles.

(Fun Fact: When in season, part of a male bucks courtship is him licking the doe’s rear until she gives in and then proceeds to mate.)

He then pulls his tongue out of me as I whimper from the loss of it. I then feel lean over me with one hand holding my left hip and the other hand is on my head; running his fingers from the back of neck and into my hair. He gently grips my hair as he turns my head to face him. “What’s your color?” I give him a sultry smirk as I try to wiggle my hips against him, since being held open by his tentacles. “Greeen, my lord~” He lets a low growl as I feel the tip of his massive cock press at my entrance. He then presses my face back into the bed as the tip fully opened my pussy. I groan loudly as I feel him push deeper and deeper into me. With one final push, his tip hit my cervix as he is now balls deep; making me gasp from how full I felt. “Mmmmm~ You take me so well, my love~ Let’s see how well you can handle this~” He starts to pull out; stopping at the tip just to slam it back in. I screamed from the pain and pleasure from his tip that has now penetrated my cervix. Alastor continues with these long and deep thrusts; penetrating my cervix open every time he bottomed out. I couldn’t think anymore as my mind was being completely fucked out by him; tongue lulling out my mouth as I moan uncontrollably. He starts to pick up the pace, still slamming into me; his balls now slapping against my clit. “OOOOH FUCK!!~ Please, my lord!!!~ Fuck me!!!~ Rut me!!!~ make me yours!!!!~” I hear him make a low growl as he pulls my hair up to where I’m looking at the headboard. He leans in closer to me to where his face is right next to my ear; his hand that was holding my hip now gripping my waist; his claws leaving bloody scratches behind.

“Oh my dear~ you already are~” I scream in ecstasy as he is now pounding me relentlessly. Him now being so close to my ear; hearing his breaths and groans were further turning me on even more. “Uhh!~ Tell me, my dear~ How do I feel buried deep inside you~” I was having a hard time finding how to even say coherent words at this point, but I still tried for his sake of an answer. “SO GO-…..S-SO GOOOOD!!!~ MMMM SO FUCKING GOOOOD!!!~” He chuckles darkly as I feel his grin widening near my ear. “Such a naughty girl~ Do you love being a whore for me?~” He nips at my ear as he runs his free hand down to my ass; giving it a hard smack, thus making me jump. “UHHHH YEEEES!!~ I’m your whore!!!~ I’m your dirty little whore!!!~” He growls again as he removes his hand from my hair and his other from my ass. He then wraps his arm that was holding my hair around my waist as the other lifts me up along with him by my neck; back still arching while my arms still bound towards the pillows. “Then take ALL of me, darling~” Once again he starts slamming into me; this time getting even deeper due to the new angle. He was now fully fucking my womb as tears run down my face from the intense pleasure mixing with the pain. “FFFUCK!!~ Your tightening around me~ You getting close, my dear?~” I move my hips against his thrusts further getting me closer to the edge.

“YEEEESSS!!!! I’M….I’M SO CLOSE!!!!!~” He moves his hand up my neck and grabs my chin; putting my ear closer to his lips as he whispered in a low growl. “Cum for me~” I tilt my head back against his shoulder; crying out as I unravel on his pulsating cock. My inner walls spasm and tighten around him as I’m still cumming hard. He then sinks his teeth into my other shoulder; earning another cry as my body starts to tremble from all the overstimulation. Alastor starts to make animalistic like noises while still latched onto my shoulder; finally with one last powerful thrust, he fills my womb with thick ropes upon ropes of his cum. There was so much that it started to leak out of me; dripping onto the bed. He laps at my wound; licking up excess blood as he lets go of my shoulder. “Ooooh ffuck~ You did so good for me, my dear~”

(Alastor’s P.O.V)

I slowly and gently unravel my tentacles from (Y/N’s) wrists and legs; slowly leaning back on my heels so she can lay against me. She was completely spent; breathing heavily while being in a haze like state. I stroke her hair slowly as I give her soft kisses on her cheek. “You did so well darling~ you’re such a good girl for me~” I slowly turn her body sideways so that I can carry her bridal style; bringing her to the bathroom as I have a warm bath ready for her. As I gently put her into the water, I made sure to grab all the self care items I needed to get her cleaned and patched up. I join in with her; sitting behind her as she lays her head on my chest. She sighs when I begin to wash her throughly; being careful around her wounds on her shoulders. I gently rise her off; still being mindful of the wounds, as she opens her eyes to look towards me. “Who would have thought you could be so sweet after all that.” She giggles as she relaxes against the tub “Only the best for you, my dear~” I finish her bath as I drain the tub; slowly helping her out and gently drying her and I off.

I help put on one of my red silk sleep shirts, which fits her like a dress as I wear the sleep pants that match. I pick her back up as I make my way to the bed; quickly changing the sheets as she held onto me. I lift the new clean covers as I place her in the middle; then me follow suit after. I grab the covers placing it over us, as I wrap my arm around her to pull her close to me. I run my fingers up and down her spine while placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. She wraps her arms around me; snuggling her face into my chest fluff “I can’t tell you how much I’ve been wanting to bury my face in your chest fluff like this.” She giggles as I brush her hair back; leaning in for a soft kiss. “Let’s get some rest, my love~ I’ll bring us up some breakfast in bed tomorrow.” She then wraps her legs around me as I gently run my hand up and down her thigh. “Sounds good to me~”

#hazbin #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor smut #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #alastor x reader #alastor #self insert #hazbin smut #18+ post #18+ account #18+ content #18+ blog #18+ only

[spdrvyn]

a Miguel x f!reader "who did this to you?" Angst fic?

bewitched by bandages — MIGUEL O'HARA

SUMMARY: as per usual, you were spending your late-nights fighting crime and trying to protect the city to the best of your ability. as you are in the midst of a strenuous battle, you're sucked into a portal which brings you to what you assume to be another dimension.

THIS FIC CONTAINS: violence. harassment. somewhat detailed descriptions of wounds. angst. hurt/comfort. translated spanish (i didn't use google translate). f!reader

NOTES: GOD I LOVE THIS TROPE SO MUCH HOLY SHIT thank you anon for sending me this ask i was gonna do this kind of thing w miguel eventually but like still mwah, sorry for being ia too btw... i'm trying to avoid getting burnt out n shit so that i keep writing stuff for you guys 🫶 anyway, ENJOOOY

"You will never be apart of this."

Those were the last words uttered to you before proclaimed protector of the multiverse, Miguel O'Hara, disappeared into the portal possibly never to be seen again.

He thought so too. At least, until he came back a week later due to yet another anomaly showing up in your dimension. Then another, then another, then another.

Humiliating was an understatement. What kind of Spider-Woman were you if you couldn't even take down one anomaly? Every time trouble came, Miguel was there to fix it. For once, you wanted to be the one to catch the beast. Hold it's severed head up to him with a big, fat smile on your face.

But that was a distant dream, only to be seen after you collapse onto your bed after an exhausting day.

You felt even more hurt when you found out that he was the leader of some kind of Spider Society. Yet, as he said when he first met you, you just weren't capable enough to join it.

Granted, he explained that it was an elite strike force but still. You were proud of yourself for making it this far into the whole Spider-woman gig, turns out that the bar was higher than you thought it was. It saddened you, deeply.

Though with time comes change. You've honed your skills and now confident enough to laugh in the face of who you were months ago, if an anomaly ever showed up again you'd show Miguel who's boss (not literally) and finally be able to join that god forsaken society.

You were much more confident in battle, actually much more confident in general. It was like you were an entirely different person to the criminals that you cowered before at night and the other more important people in your life at day.

However, there were moments where that confidence faltered.

Moments where you felt like that terrified, shameful, and naive little spider that you were mere months ago. A moment like now as you were being absolutely destroyed by one of your regular enemies.

You didn't know his name, you didn't want to bother trying to know anyway. He was the type of villain to give those excruciatingly long monologues that only dragged more and more time out of your excruciatingly long nights. So you just called him tech guy.

He is exactly what he sounds like. Covered from almost head-to-toe with different kinds of technologically advanced weaponry that made you wonder if he'd work as an appliance in a smart home.

Even when you enjoyed poking fun at the multiple devices stuck to his body, he didn't. Continuing to upgrade himself more and more each time the both of you fought. You had a feeling in your gut that your devilishly charming personality would come back to bite you in the ass someday.

He had you under the heel of his boot, quite literally this time. You bite back a grunt as his shoe continues to press into you, barely being able to look back up, you can see the absolutely smug grin on his face.

"I warned you, Spider-Woman. If only you listened to me, you would've seen this coming from miles away!"

"I'm here to—" You want to bury your face into the pavement as you can feel something sharp pierce the small of your back. "Fight bad guys not listen to lectures!"

"And look at where not listening has gotten you, little spider." Tech guy chuckled, uncomfortably close to your ear. You try to pull away but he has you pinned and he's close, too close. You swore from the corner of your eye that he had his hand raised. About to strike.

This was it, he was going to knock you out. Take you back to who knows where. Or maybe even kill you right here and right now. Leaving your corpse on the street for the citizens of New York, the citizens that you swore you'd protect to be mortified by.

You were finished, your end had come. It terrified you, if people saw your fate, who would do this job? Who would be able to gain the courage to step up? Even after knowing the dangers that lurk and entail it?

Dangers such as a portal opening up on the floor beneath you, it was blinding as you squint and your senses are immediately flooded by what feels like everything.

It's like a strong gust of wind swoops you away, the distant yells of tech guy growing quieter and quieter.

This relieved you but pained you.

As you were being blissfully carried away from whatever force was helping you right now, it put a lot of pressure on the injuries that have sustained from that scuffle.

You tried to scream, yell, shout for anyone in this space but nothing. You curl up into a ball, in attempts for it stop and hope that your next destination is the sensation of nothingness.

It was like you were being torn apart then put back together. Shifting from each form. Solid, liquid, gas, solid, liquid, gas, solid liquid, gas, solid rooftop.

What?

You groaned, looking up at the night sky of whatever hell you just landed in. You tried to sit up and you were able to! But with a now bleeding lip in attempts to muffle the absolutely bloodcurdling scream that you were about to let out.

Wherever you were, it wasn't hell (thankfully) but it definitely wasn't New York. At least not your New York.

Everything was strangely futuristic. Flying cars, sleek architecture, a lot of grass to your surprise, and beautiful lights that finished the beautiful view off.

The rooftop that you had landed on was no different either, whoever owned this place had a spectacular taste in furniture and it showed here. As you looked to your side, it seemed that it also connected to a bedroom. An empty bedroom.

God, you were going to feel so guilty about this later.

Fighting back yet another pained noise from coming out of your mouth, you manage to build the strength to get up on your two feet and stumble towards the entrance.

You take your slow strides and get to observe the room in the process, it was very spacious. A huge monitor hanging on one wall, a huge closet on the other side, not to mention that it has a bathroom attached, what would it be without a huge bed in the middle of it all?

To your dismay, you're only able to make it a few steps in before needing to grip the bedsheets for dear life.

The dear life that you might lose when you hear the muted sounds of someone talking from outside.

You're not really able to make any words out but it sounded like whoever they were, they yelled out to someone. Suddenly, she appeared in front of you.

A lady, dressed in a somewhat lengthy but quite fashionable fur coat, she adorned a pair of heart shaped sunglasses as she looked at the TV in the room with a puzzled look on her face.

It's not long before she catches sight of you, eyes widening and both of you exchange glances. You bring your index finger to your mouth in a placating gesture but it only gets worse as she calls out:

"... Miguuueeeeel!"

Miguel? Miguel?

Frantically, you wave your hands around in an attempts to shush her but your heart rate spikes as her body practically phases through you. Hologram. You were throwing hands with a hologram.

And it's like the whole world stops when the bedroom door slides open, your worst fears had come true.

There he stood. Miguel O'Hara. Although something felt different, and you realized that his mask was off. The first thing that came to mind was the unamused pout that he wore, eyes that stared down at you disappointedly, and a broad frame that took up nearly the entire doorway.

The silence was deafening, you could hear it ringing in your ears. So deafening that you could hear your heart drumming in your chest, your shallow breaths, his footfalls as he walked over to you. Before turning his head to his hologram lady.

"Lyla, scan this." Lyla nodded before looking you up and down, wherever her eyes followed it scanned. She turns back to Miguel with the prognosis on your injuries. "Fifteen scratches, ten bruises, and a slightly fractured rib."

The noise that Miguel let out irked you a little, you could feel how heavy it was as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I have a lot of articles that could help with fixing this mess, big guy."

"No, it's fine. I can deal with this myself,"

"If you say so."

Lyla seemingly poofs into thin air, leaving you alone with him and a whole lot of questions that you have to ask. Even then, even if you were the one technically intruding in his home, you couldn't break the silence. Where to even start?

"Who did this to you?" Well, okay. That was a start. You tried to open your mouth to even get a small explanation out but as you attempted to piece your thoughts together, the more it felt like your brain fogged up.

Miguel had unfortunately noticed this too, what a way to make an impression after weeks of not seeing each other. "Just sit down." You obviously complied, careful not to let any blood drip down onto his sheets, you hoped that you wouldn't embarrass yourself further.

Those months of training, those months of self-improvement, those months of trying to be better all shattered within an instant as you saw Miguel rummage through his closet, cursing under his breath until he emerged with a first aid kit.

It felt so hard to think about anything and everything. Well, not really. There were a million thoughts racing through your head right now, most of them being what exactly was going through Miguel's head.

Was he disappointed? It would be a lot more unlikely if he wasn't if you were completely honest. Was he upset? If you saw someone you didn't hold in a high regard just magically appear on the roof of your home all beat up, you wouldn't be the happiest in the world.

There wasn't even a single peep out of him as he opened the small kit, equipping himself with what looked to be a medical cream and rolls of bandages. You spared him just a small glance, you were expecting him to look you dead in the eye with nothing but pure unbridled rage for ruining his night but instead?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

He was laser focused on treating you right now or what you had thought to be a more plausible situation: he was just too disheartened to even look at you.

And you completely understood why, therefore ripping your gaze away from his eyes and moving down to his hands instead. You watched intently as the part around his hands dissolved into mere pixels before he swiped up a good amount of the cream onto his fingers, then gestured for you to hold your arm out.

Once the medicine came into contact with your wounds, tears dared to prick at your eyes. Fuck, it hurt a lot but you didn't really need to ruin his impression of you any further. You resorted to biting down hard on your lip and turning your head away.

Miguel, being the ever observant one, noticed this as well.

"You owe me an explanation." He was right. You did. You were quite confident that if you stayed radio silent for the rest of the night, you would be sleeping on the cold, cold streets of this world. "I've surmised that you got sucked into a portal then ended up here but most don't end up with injuries this bad."

There goes a good chunk of your explanation, which played well on your end. You didn't even want to begin describing what being transported from dimension to dimension felt like. Still, you wanted to play this cool.

"I was just in a fight, it was nothing serious."

"Nothing serious? Did you hear the results of that scan?"

You can't help how your cheeks flush at his quip, perhaps you were playing it too cool. If you tried too hard, he'd probably be able to see right through you but before you could even attempt defending yourself, he butts in.

"Qué dolor de cabeza." You heard him mutter. "I need more details about this, how many people were in the fight? What were they like? I'm not a mind reader."

His tone was harsh, it felt like he was cutting your scars open rather than healing them. You semi-understood why he was a leader, he had a way of making demands that was for sure.

"It was just one guy, but he had a lot of mechanical attachments. Saws, tentacles, other blades." As you explained, Miguel finished up bandaging your arm and gestured for your other one. You shifted slightly in position and held that up as well, sucking in a sharp breath as he goes through the routine of applying the disinfectant.

He seemed to just hum at your answer like he wasn't relentlessly asking you questions moments ago, you assumed that he wanted to hear more information so you kept talking. Like an idiot.

"I'm not the biggest tech person, you know? I was just swinging through and then he ambushed me, every time I've encountered him, he just continued to get stronger and stronger."

"Every time? How many times exactly?"

He emphasized 'exactly' as if you were actually supposed to count but even if you presented those kinds of details with a whole ass statistic chart, the answer would still disappoint him.

"Probably more than five. Like I said, he upgrades and–"

"Yes, yes. You said that already." He interrupts you again, hurriedly finishing up your arm before he rolls up the bandages; throwing them back into the aid kit with a very audible thud.

If there was another talent of his, it would be how very quickly he's able to shatter your pride.

"What are you trying to do here?" He asks you. You know you shouldn't be asking questions at risk of making yourself look even more stupid but with how vague that was, it felt like you had the right to. "What are you talking about?"

"You're trying to impress me. I'm asking you this stuff to know more about the nature of your injuries and you're trying to goddamn impress me. Why?"

Oh.

Clearly, since it felt like he knew so much more about you, you just looked at him. How could this possibly get any worse after all? No matter what you said, no matter how hard you tried, it would all be for naught in the end.

"If this is about what I said when we first met, these antics of yours seriously aren't helping your case." Your body went numb. "Then, after I clear all the anomalies in your dimension, you come flying back to me. Seriously?"

Your mind went numb.

This felt like more than just a reality check to you, no. Every single criticism that shot back at you continued to break you down into smaller, smaller pieces.

You dreamt about meeting him again someday, and it did not look like this in the slightest. Only now, if you thought about what that scenario would be like, you'd conk yourself in the head for being so fucking delusional.

The distant dream of him entering your dimension, to see an anomaly in your capable hands, to hear that gravelly voice that has only continued to criticize you praise you for your deeds, then you'd get recruited into the Spider Society and save the multiverse to your heart's content.

Oh, how dumb and naïve you were. Clearly, you still are both of those things. His words spoke enough about that. You didn't want to be here as much as he did.

"I didn't want this," You finally said, the most coherent thought throughout this whole mess. "Any of this to happen. I just– I don't get it at all."

"Don't get what?"

"What I'm doing wrong," You sigh, lip quivering as tears dared to fall. This time, it wasn't because of medicine. You hoped it was. "I've trained for so long, I've tried my hardest. You might not think so but I have, I really have. But it seems like I'm making a mess of it all."

With each second that passed, the dam dared to break.

An uncomfortable silence blanketed the room, but this one scared you even more. A while ago, even if he didn't say a word, you knew how he felt about you. About your predicament.

But now? You had no clue. He could embrace you, comfort you, tell you that it's okay and he understood how you felt. You could've pushed his temper to his limits, he would scream, shout, yell, and kick you out of his penthouse.

"This doesn't have anything to do with your training," Like that, Miguel took a sharp pin to the atmosphere and popped it. "It has something to do with your mindset."

Now, you were the one to give him a confused glare. He sighs, eyes scanning over your sorry state once more,

"You did this, all this, to get into my strike force and to woo me whatnot." Before looking back up at you. Don't be mistaken, the harshness in his face is still there but from what he was saying, it didn't seem to be what you had originally thought.

"The reason why you're so stuck is because I shouldn't be the first goal in your mind, you should. Are you following?" You nod.

"Good. You need to understand, this job isn't about trying to meet a standard or getting someone to notice you. Self-improvement. It's all in the title. Self-improvement."

You shiver as his warm hand rests on your shoulder. "If you're already this hung up on trying to win me over, take a step back and think about who's approval matters more. Yours or mine?"

Yours.

It clicked. Everything fit into place and the dam broke, though that should have been more obvious to you when Miguel's face had started to look a little foggier.

At first, you had expected him to hand you a tissue or something but he didn't move from his place. Instead, resorting to rubbing his hand up and down your shoulder in a weird, seemingly unfitting gesture.

You swiftly wiped your tears away with your palm, stifling a sniffle as you ask yet another question.

"So, do you think I'll have a chance of getting in someday?"

A snarkly reply or scoff was what you had anticipated but what he just did was probably the most shocking turn of events looking back at the whole night.

He chuckled.

"I'll keep you in touch."

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#spiderman: across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spiderverse #atsv #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #lyla #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara angst #spiderman #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fic #x reader #reader insert #fem reader #x female reader #oh god #i feel like i'm forgetting tags #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort

[mishapen-dear]

i keep thinking about bad's vacation outfit. mostly, i keep thinking about him not wearing armour.

bad is, fundamentally, not okay rn. his son got kidnapped. the code attacks are starting again. people keep going missing left and right and skeppy isn't here but he's been missing him from the start. he lost the election by a single islander vote. there's been a lot of pressure on him for a long time, and he's finally starting to crack.

the thing about bad is that he does NOTT talk about his emotions. he's silly about it. he plays games about it. he will never answer a straightforward question with a yes or a no, not unless he's lying. when forever asked him he was okay, he said yes.

i think... there's really something about him, repeatedly, saying he's on vacation. sure, yeah, take a break, but he keeps throwing himself into danger anyway, he's still taking care of the eggs. he's silly with it, but i don't think his "vacation" explicitly means "i'm taking a break." I think it means "i'm not someone you can rely on right now." what? not being at the top of the island/egg defence squad because he's falling apart at the seams? :D nahhh he's just on that vacation grind! look at him! he's so silly! he's building skeppies and he's being so silly !

and. god. the way he's absolutely clinging to skeppy right now. i get the sense that he takes a lot of comfort from skeppy, just from the existence of him. can you imagine being alive has long as bad has? losing and losing and losing and losing, and then you finally find someone you can't lose? skeppy is bad's emotional support diamond and he is Not There to emotionally support him. bad keeps throwing tantrums when people ignore him, and he keeps building skeppies.

he's never going to say he needs help. he's never going to say he's not okay. he's going to say "i'm not crazy" and "i don't have an obsession" and "yes i'm fine" and "i'm on vacation" and not wear his most protective armour. the ARMOUR. bad boy halo the most paranoid parent on the island keeps running around with several eggs at his heels when he's wearing only enchanted sunglasses and boots. WHEN THERE ARE ACTUAL CODE ATTACKS. WHEN THE CODE HAS THE ! SWORD. if "i'm on vacation" means "i can't help" then the lack of armour is a physical, visible reminder. it's the closest he can get to saying "no, i'm not okay."

and man.manm an man. the whole thing with dapper right now. dapper is the only one who really knows the extent of bad Being Weird right now. pomme has a good idea of it, but when she asked about bad "is he going insane again?" dapper's response was "he never stopped." i've seen lots of talk about bad needing dapper more than dapper needs him (and its TRUE. god. it's so true.) but dapper is also! not doing okay! kiddo was very recently kidnapped! he takes after his dad and doesn't overtly express his distress, but the way he was scared of getting too close to elquackity at the talent show... the way he and pomme huddled together when bad left them alone for an hour... he's watching his dad fall apart in front of him, and there's nothing he can do about it.

from a roleplaying perspective too i LOVEE how bad is slowly, slowly ramping up the skeppy obsession. he's clinging to sanity so he can be a good dad to his kids, but his kids are so mortal. so fragile. bad isn't; bad isn't wearing all of his armour. and skeppy isn't; bad is placing more skeppies around the island. i adore this man's roleplay i hope he gets WORSE

#qsmp #badboyhalo #bbh #qsmp character analysis #<- more of a deranged ramble #DO YOU SEE ME #DO YOU UNDERSTAND #HE MAKES A GAME OUT OF SHARING HIS FEELINGS AND HIS VACATION IS JUST ANOTHER GAME !!!! #HE ASKED FOOLISH FOR A HUG #HE ASKED ***FOOLISH*** FOR A HUG #(with foolish dressed as skeppy but i digress) #this cubito is Not okay and neither am i #just. he won't put the eggs in danger #he'd never do that #but anything else? #(like. not torturing elquackity) #well you see he is just a silly little guy and he is on vacation and he has no feelings to vent at all #and his eggs are one day going to die but he never will and neither will his skeppy

[heart4reigns]

hii, It’s possible to get an jey uso x reader where reader is a very confident wrestler who openly flirts with jey all the time and makes it know to the whole wwe universe that’s her man when they’re not even together. jey laughs it off because he thinks it’s all for the cameras till reader stops flirting with him and ignores him because she thinks jey doesn’t like her like that. jey realizes that he does like her and now he has to chase her now

REALITY, jey uso.

warnings: curse words, pet names

tags: FLIRTY (Y/N) FOR THE WIN HELL YEAHHHHH, afab reader

summary: you will never know what you have until it's gone

IT was well known that you were head over heels for the man sitting down next to you with a beautiful smile plastered on his face. every single person inside this building knew that you were practically in love with him. it all started as an inside joke with the creative board that they were going to pair you up with none other than the main event, jey uso. but you caught real feelings and it wasn’t for the show anymore.

he was everything that you have ever wanted in a boyfriend. kind, funny, and most importantly–he was patient. you loved him with all of your heart. “you look handsome.” you winked at him. “thanks, how do you like my new hair, (y/n)?” “beautiful as always.” you grinned. “you’re such a flirt.” jey chuckled, opening the door for you. “hey, i only flirt with you, baby.”

you fixed his mic and he helped you with yours. “ready?” “yep!” you were going to shoot a video with him on your day off. “the undisputed tag-team champions are here! this is (y/n)!” you introduced yourself to the camera. “jey uso right here and welcome back to playback!” he continued the introduction. you were shooting a youtube video with him today. “we’re gonna watch one of our best matches ever… god, this was life changing! my man and i against becky and seth.” you narrated the fight.

"that stomp was so devastating." you cringed at the memory. "got my ass complaining backstage." jey added. "right! i felt my soul flying as soon as his boot connected with your neck." you shuddered. "my man takes all the bumps and i have to take care of him backstage. countless medic dates with him." you nudged him with your elbow. "but i still love you." you snickered. "yeah, yeah. she takes care of me a lot."

“and… cut!” you immediately stretched out your body, still feeling sore after yesterday’s workout session. “looking pretty tired, mama.” he patted your back. “still have the energy for tonight though.” you were going to help jey unpack with his furniture, he recently moved to your neighborhood. jimmy and trinity were also going to help, the 4 of you were a pack, even after trin left the company. “should i buy you a housewarming gift?” you suggested. “it’s such a shame you moved before us getting married! you could’ve moved in with me, hubby.” you teased him. jey just shook his head in response. "whatever you say, mama."

several crews were paying attention to the two of you. “are they married?” one of them whispered. “oh, you must be new here. nah, (y/n) just likes to flirt with him.” the other one replied. even the staffs knew that you were always attached to the hip with him. people were practically wishing that the two of you would end up together. “come on, baby. let’s go. trin is spamming me with messages.” you intertwined his hands with yours. “yeah, yeah. we’ll go now.”

you picked up a box, putting it down in his living room. "i can't believe we're neighbors now!" you were practically jumping with excitement. "i mean... i think it was about time that i moved, that apartment was falling apart." jey chuckled, remembering his old place. "and lucky for me to have my hubby near me." jey ruffled your hair. "hey, don't touch my hair!" you pouted. "yeah, what are you gonna do about it?" "i'm gonna fight you." you threatened him in a joking way. "bring it on." that commenced the play fighting you had with him.

"okay, maybe we came in at the wrong time." jimmy opened the door, seeing you on the floor with jey. "hi guys!" you greeted them with a smile. "what were you doing?" trinity put the cake on the counter. "fighting him like usual." you had jey on headlock, causing him to groan. "i swear if we weren't acting on stage, you could actually beat my ass." he sighed. "let's get to work so we can eat cake!" you grinned, letting go of his head.

trinity and jimmy knew that the love you had for their little brother was pure. but jey uso was just unaware of that. he'd brush it off, acting as if this was all a long-running joke. "okay, i think i'll take my leave now. i have to call my brother tonight." you announced to your best friends. "oh, you're not staying here?" jey tilted his head. "i'd love to have a sleepover with you, hubby! but i can't, i'll stay over next time. bye!" you went over and kissed the top of his head, only causing him to chuckle.

once you were out, jimmy shook his head. "swear no one loves you like she does." "nah, it's just a best friend thingy. she doesn't love me like that, dawg." jimmy and trin groaned in unison. "whatever you say, man."

friday came by and you arrived early to run some lines with jey. the two of you were going to cut a promo together, building up for a match against sami and kevin. “hiiiii!” you greeted him, walking into the locker room. “hey.” he replied with a smile. you couldn’t help but to feel butterflies in your stomach. “soooo,” you paused for a second, taking a seat next to him. “are we gonna kiss tonight?” jey rolled his eyes in a joking way. “you’re always trying to kiss me, mama.” “maybe that’s because i like you and i think you’re pretty.” you winked at him.

“the undisputed tag-team champions, jey uso and (y/n) (l/n)!” as usual, you were walking hand in hand with jey, your belts hanging off the your left arm. “let’s go, let’s go!” you hyped yourself up, taking in the energy from the crowd. “ay, ay! miami, we are in your city!” jey yelled to the microphone, lifting his finger up, playing out the script. “hiiiiii everyone!” you greeted the crowd with your usual cheery tone, earning a ‘hiiiii’ from them. “right, right. it’s about to be brutal for sami and kevin, i love their asses but they attacked my man last week! i’m gonna make it personal.” you played out the part.

jey was standing next to you, fully paying attention to you. he loved how you were so passionate about your work. especially your role. he thought that your flirty act was part of the joke, so he was used to you flirting around. but jey never thought of it being serious. with the gimmick you played out together as boyfriend and girlfriend, he grew accustomed to your flirty nature.

“damn, what a promo we did.” jey jumped on the locker room couch, feeling tired. “you did great babe!” you teased him. “and you look very boyfriend-ish today with your outift.” you added, winking at him. “i don't get it why you still flirt with me, it's so funny to me that you still play out your roll when we're off stage. that's very funny to me, i respect your dedication, (y/n).” he chuckled. his sentence made your heart drop.

your felt a pang on your chest. oh… oh, you thought. you didn't say anything. "you're riding with me right?" you shook your head. "actually, i think i'm sitting with bayley, she was trying to tell me something earlier." you lied, still trying to hold back your tears. he thought you were just messing around this entire time and that hurt your feelings. "oh, okay."

thankfully, you spotted bayley coming out of the locker room with iyo and dakota. "i need help." you muttered. "you looked stressed out, what's up?" she raised a brow. "can i just ride with you guys?" the women immediately knew that you were trying to avoid someone. "our bus is always open for you, babe." dakota patted your back.

jey didn't spot you on the way back to the bus. "anyone seen (y/n)?" he asked his coworkers. "she went with bayley, their bus left like 10 minutes ago." bianca replied, not looking up from her phone. "oh." jey took a seat on the back of the bus, alone, of course. "weird seeing you not sitting with (y/n)." montez added. "this is my first time not riding with her in years." jey admitted. it does feel weird, he thought. but like usual, jey immediately brushed it off, plugging in his headphones, not wanting to think about anything.

the night felt long to you. you sighed, brushing your wet hair as you felt a pang on your chest, replaying the conversation from earlier. “hey gir- are you okay?” trinity picked up the phone, clearly concerned about your current situation. “are you with jimmy?” trinity shook her head. “jey thinks i’m just joking around babe, isn’t it obvious that i am in love with him?” trin immediately understood your sentence. “i’m sorry, babes…” she sighed. “whatever, i guess. i’m being dramatic. i don’t want to deal with him.” you wiped the tear stain on your cheek.

“maybe i should just distance myself, trin. yeah… i'm not going bowling tomorrow.” trin smiled at you, pity plastering her face. “you know what’s best for you, babes. i’m here if you need to talk okay? i’ll even beat his ass if you want me to!” that sentence made you chuckle. “you don’t need to do that trin… i guess i’ll just watch some sad movies. good night, i love you.” “i love you too! let me send you some ice cream!” as soon as you sat down on your couch, you heard your notifications going off.

jey!!: still up for bowling tmrw with roman and the others?

jey!!: i’ll pick you up if you want to

jey!!: hellooooo?

jey!!: damn did you pass out or something?

jey!!: aight text me when you wake up good night

he furrowed his brows, waiting for you to respond. it had been a day and you still haven't replied. “(y/n) didn’t reply all night, you know where she at?” jey asked trinity. “nope, she didn’t reply to me too. think she’s out cold.” trin lied, trying to keep your secret. “damn… she loves bowling. i guess i’ll take her next week.” trin wanted to roll her eyes but she just nodded.

jey was walking alone in the arena. you didn’t reply to his text messages and it felt weird walking alone, not having you near him. “I’VE BEEN SAYING LIKE… THAT SHIT WAS SO FUNNY!” he heard your loud voice, decorating the empty hallways. jey immediately smiled and went inside the locker room, expecting you to jump in his arms, hugging him. the two of you hadn’t seen each other in a week and he missed your positive radiant energy.

you didn’t realize that he entered the locker room, you were still laughing with bayley over some dumb incident that happened weeks ago. “(y/n)! where have you been?” jey greeted you. this time, the hug he was expecting wasn’t there. all he saw was your smile dropping and a simple wave. “anyways, i need to go get ready for my interview, see you bayley.” you walked pass him. after closing the locker room door, he heard your laugh again. “iyo! hi, missed you!”

that was weird, jey thought. but he brushed it off as usual. sure, you had your days where you were not your usual self, but this was all new to him. you never ignored him before. showtime came and you were going to come out with him like usual. jey was already in gorilla position, waiting for you to come. “where were you?” he asked, clearly confused. “i was with iyo.” you shortly replied, not looking at him. “are you okay?” jey furrowed his brows. “perfect.” your music started and you immediately took his hand like usual.

“you killed it, mama!” the segment ended and the two of you walked back to the hallways. “thanks.” once again, you shortly replied. before jey could say anything, you walked to the bathroom, avoiding further interactions. you really didn't have the energy to talk to him. you loved him but he didn’t feel the same and you were still in denial about it. so you chose to push him away–despite wanting to hold his hands like usual, you couldn’t.

“anyone know what’s wrong with (y/n)?” jey entered the bloodline's locker room, earning glances from his faction. “what do you mean?” roman asked, furrowing his brows in confusion. “i don’t know, she’s ignoring me and my texts.” jey sat down on the bench, feeling all confused. “she asked me what tie i was wearing so we could have matching sets.” paul joined the conversation. she even replied to paul, jey thought. you hated replying to the old man’s messages because it would end with a long paragraph about taking care of your own health. something was definitely wrong.

practice day came and jey was in front of your house, waiting for you to come out. you didn’t pick up his call and replied to his messages, but he was still going to pick you up like usual. his train of thought was cut off by his phone ringing. “dude, where are you? everyone’s here and we’re waiting for you!” sami’s voice was loud and clear. “i’m waiting for (y/n), in front of her house right now.” “what do you mean you’re waiting for (y/n)? she came here with roman like an hour ago. they’re warming up.”

“okay, i’m here now!” jey saw the entire faction, sami, and kevin waiting for him. “shit, (y/n). i didn’t know you went with roman, could’ve replied to my texts or calls.” jey complained. he was expecting a snarky or sarcastic reply, or even a flirtatious respond, but you only nodded at his sentence. “sorry.” you muttered. “you wanna go now?” sami asked you. “sure!” your tone switched when you replied to sami.

you got into the ring with sami, practicing the choreography. jey watched you from the side, puzzled with your cold behavior at him. you were all smiles when sami accidentally tripped over your foot. “come on, get up!” you chuckled. “sorry, sorry! it was my fault.” sami replied, pulling you up from your current position. “come on, (y/n)! you can do this.” you looked at jey and didn’t respond, only focusing on hitting a punch on sami’s shoulders. “wanna tag me in?” jey jumped inside the ring. “just wait a bit, i was having fun with sami.” you stared at him with a deadpanned expression.

“did i do something wrong?” jey finally asked the question. “no?” you raised a brow. “then why are you acting cold to me, (y/n)?” you shrugged your shoulders. “nothing is wrong, jey.” you never said his name after you gained feelings for him, it was always cute pet names like ‘baby’ or even ‘hubby’. but hearing you say his name, his chest tightened a bit. “just tag in,” you paused for a second, slapping his hand in a quick motion. “i’ll be with kevin in the ring next room if you need anything.”

"good practice guys!" you smiled at them, not paying attention to jey, who was still in the ring. "alright, let's go, you haven't packed right?" roman spoke up. "yeah, thanks for reminding me. let's go home!" you nodded. "you're not riding back with me?" jey spoke up. "no, i came here with roman." "you know his house is like a 30 minute drive from ours right?" he raised a brow. "and? he offered to drive me home, jey. do i see him complaining?" you stared at him. everyone felt the tension surrounding the two of you. "okay, okay. calm down." solo patted your back, completely diffusing the situation.

roman definitely knew what was going on. "so, you broke up with him or what?" he asked. "no... we weren't even dating, uce." you sighed. "but why the hell are you acting all cold to him?" you went over the story of how he thought you were just joking around. "damn, that man really needs a reality check." roman said after you finished your ranting. "maybe he just doesn't like me and i'm trying too hard or i am just being dramatic." you sighed. "nah, (y/n). we all know you love him, just don't be too hard on yourself."

jey ended up riding with jimmy. "you look pissed as hell, what's up?" jimmy asked, munching on his food. the two brothers were in a random parking lot, eating their feelings out. "(y/n) has been very cold to me. i don't know what i did." he sighed. "what do you mean by that?" jimmy furrowed his brows. "she never replied to my texts, she doesn't flirt around with me, avoided every interaction, she's not touchy, and overall... it feels weird without her." jimmy smacked the back of his younger twin's neck.

"are you fucking serious?" jimmy groaned. "what?" jey gritted his teeth. "bro, do i really need to be the one saying this to you?" "just say it." jimmy sighed. "she's in love with you, bro. do you think it's all an act? she's been in love with you since day 1. i know it's all for the gimmick, acting out as boyfriend and girlfriend," he paused for a second. "but she's head over heels for you. what the fuck did you say to her to make her act distant?"

then it hit him. "i laughed it off. i told her that she could drop the act since the cameras weren't rolling..." "i swear if you weren't my brother, i'd beat your ass right now." jimmy rolled his eyes. "now, do you love her back?" that question made jey drop his phone on his lap. do i love her? he thought. jey had never felt so comfortable with anyone but you. jey loved seeing your cheery attitude, he loved the way you could light up the room with your laugh, he loved the way you were always there for him, and he just realized that he loved you.

"shit."

jey breathed out the cold air of december. he was in front of your house, carrying a bouquet. it took him only 5 minutes to walk to your house as you were neighbors now. he knocked on your door, waiting for you to open it. his heart was beating faster than usual as he tapped his foot in nervousness. "wait a bit!" jey heard your footsteps. you opened the door, seeing him with a smile on his face. "yes, how may i help- jey?" "i'm sorry."

"what are you doing here?" you furrowed your brows. "just... hear me out," he paused for a second. you crossed your arms, listening to him. "i'm sorry." he repeated. "for what?" you barked at him. "i'm sorry for not taking you seriously, i should've realized that you were in love with me and i was blinded by the fact that i thought it was an act..." your cold persona dropped after hearing his sentence. "i'm sorry that i brushed it off." you sighed.

"thank you for apologizing. i know that you don't see me the same way, i'll just stop the way i act-" before you could finish your sentence, he dropped the flowers and pulled you closer. jey kissed you and you were over the moon. "i love you, please don't ever ignore me... i'm sorry, baby." he apologized once again. "you love me?" you looked up at him. "i do." his sentence made you smile. "sorry for ignoring you, i thought that would make it easier for me to stop loving you." you admitted. "please don't ever ignore me again, i could literally die without you." he kissed your forehead. "i'll bother you until the sun burns out."

a/n: OMGGGGGGGGGG I LOVED WRITING THIS i hope y'all enjoyed it because i did... i love writing jey so much tbh like i just love him omg!!!! <3 feedbacks are highly appreciated like usual <3

#wwe imagines #jey uso #jimmy uso #the usos #wwe #roman reigns #paul heyman #solo sikoa #jey uso imagine #jey uso x reader #jey uso imagines #wwe x reader #wwe imagine

[dilfth1rster]

I was wondering if you could do some smutty head cannons about Dean Winchester

Hi anon this is my first head canon like this, hope you enjoy it and if you want to further explore it, you know where to send me a request:)

Let's start with Dean is definitely a kinkyyyy himbo...

He's very dirty minded, any conversation that sparks as something a little sexual is like poking a bear with a stick. You never know what can trigger him.

I surely see him as both a dom and sub depending on a situation and or his mood. He doesn't see gender and would fuck anyone.

Nice chick in shorts a little too revealing? ... Yeah he would definitely try to hit that.

An older guy that gets a little too touchy after a couple of beers? Dean, umm- WOULD!

As of what he's into, it's a damn wide spectrum.

Starting with dress up... He loves that damn wild west cowboy shit. He loves getting in his cowboy boots and hat and a fringy jacket which also activates a dominant confident side in him.

He loves dominating and being dominated.

VERYYYY verbal whether it be about how nicely his big cock slides into you or how he degrades you and calls you his dirty cumwhore OR- how he pants in your ear while ramming into your ass with a speed of lightning.

He can NEVER decline a blowjob, he loves that shit. With him, it's more of a deepthroat or a "skullfuck" because he'd be holding you down on his wide 7 inches till u smelled the musky trimmed bush of his and later on definitely got lightheaded...

While I already mentioned his musk, I must add that his usual body smell is sweat mixed with a strong woodsy cologne and "leftover" whisky.

Dean appreciates when a lady shaves down there but he's a wild one for a hairy cunt as well as a bushy, hairy guy.

Loves high heels and "girly" accessories especially pink ones.

Is not scared nor intimidated by being called or referring to himself as Daddy.

Knows you're obsessed with his hands and loves helping you get wet by putting his chubby fingers in your mouth/throat.

DEAN WINCHESTER LOVES RISKY/OUTDOOR SEX!!!!!!! (includes public places such as dirty bar restroom which leads me to another thing that is...)

Unprotected sex. He's not friends with condoms, loves breeding you, and seeing his cum ooze out of you... and he CUMS A LOT.

He also loves getting bred by older guys(daddy issues I guess).

If you're okay with it:

He's definitely into watersports. Would love to piss on you, in his words "mark" you as his and degrade you.

Slap and choke you around(a little manhandling never hurt nobody huh?)

Make you worship his boots as a sign of your ultimate submission.

(let me include an image because it's getting hot in here...)

If it's longer than a one night stand he'd definitely want to cuckold you and make you watch as he breeds and destroys another young chick he met at the bar and brought to the motel room. Maybe if you're nice enough and behave he'll let you lick the juices off his cock after?

This man got a thing for piercings, belly button one that pops out from under your top, lip piercing or ESPECIALLY tongue and tits pierced... GOD DAMN!

Sex with him is usually fast paced(I say usually because from time to time it's not fast, IT'S DAMN RAPID)

SO... CUM-

we estabilished that mans got a breeding kink but well- Dean also loves cumming in your mouth and watching you swallow his sweet, chunky load, as well as painting your whole face in his seed.

If he's titty-fucking you he can explode directly on them.

If he's with a guy he enjoys getting bred and getting his face painted.

OH AND I ALMOST FORGOT-

This guy is a goddamn foodie, he loves to eat his sweet treats like the well known pie and such... he also loves to incorporate that into sex...

making you eat the pie he just came on or stuffing pieces of it into your pussy and eating you and IT out :)

Well- I think that's it for now. I'd love to further explore some of the aspect with you all, so if you got any questions or ideas, write away in the requests in my bio :)

(I'm a new writer so if you could like and reshare or leave a comment with your thoughts I'd really appreciate that)

#dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fanfic #deanwinchester blurb #dean winchester headcanon #dean winchester x reader #supernatural smut #jensen ackles smut #jensen ackles headcanon #jensen ackles x reader #smut #male smut

[fillinforlater]

Just Testing continues...

(READ THIS FOR CONTEXT LOLOLOL)

He looks like an addict who got another dose injected right into his veins. His hair is wild and all over the place, his eyes unfocused and euphoric, his movements uncoordinated and—he is gone. You follow him quickly, leaving two girls complaining and one in the mannequin-like state from before. Their voices become background noise and then an afterthought when you find yourself in the wide hallway from before.

“You better have something interesting,” you snark when the director excitedly points at the same room you fucked Tiffany’s face in. “You just pulled me out of heaven, this better be good.”

“Well, you might need a towel for this one,” the co-host jokes. 

You enter the room confused at those words. There is no water in it, but what looks like a thick salmon-colored blanket rolled out from one end of the room to the other. You wonder what it might feel like to fuck on this fluffy feather-filled futon, when an unexpected shove on your back reminds you that this is what you are here for.

“What the fuck?” you shout once, then twice on impact. It’s not a futon, more a waterbed filled with something similar to water but definitely not water. Stiff and less comfortable to what you were looking for. This was not in the script. 

“It’s filled with lube,” another familiar girl says. “See?” 

She slams down the pointy end of her heels dangerously close to your crotch and watches the clear, slightly viscous liquid spill out of it. Before you can react to the surprisingly warm lube hitting your skin, she starts to pounce on you, soft fingers not-so-softly wrapped around your throat.

“Yu-Yuri, what the he—st-op that!”

“Make me.”

Like so many girls today, Yuri squats down. However, she is the first to press her clothed pussy onto your cock while boring more holes for lube to spill and shoot out. The more pressure she puts on you, the wetter the surface becomes. 

Your first attempts at freeing yourself are futile, everything is slippery, nothing gives you the stability to get upright. Especially Yuri’s arm, thighs and high boots make your fingers slip again and again while she goes in again and again to attack your chest and shoulder with nibbles and quick bites.

“F-fuck you, you bitch!”

Finally, you get a hold of something. Your hands slip into the openings of Yuri’s white, now see-through bodysuit and with all your might you yank her to the side. More and more lube swells out and now Yuri has trouble getting up. Her heels get stuck in another set of holes and you finally have the upper hand, pinning her back down into the wet mess. 

"You think you got me, huh?" Yuri barks at you, realizing that it's her turn now to lose grip on oily skin. 

"Oh no, I guarantee I got ya."

Spin Yuri round and around in the puddle below her lilith frame, find that her shorts have a conveniently placed zipper on their backside. Open up, press her down, until enough lube has come out to cover her small ass. Inserting will be the easiest part, it's a lot harder to keep the brat down, especially when she suddenly starts swimming in the viscous lake.

“Oh-oh my God, i-it’s so big,” Yuri screams out, clenching around your unstoppable member creeping deeper into her anal cavity. A variety of wet sounds soon fill the microphones and the headphones of horny consumers, who’d love to see more of Yuri’s small, yet perfect bottom. Sadly, she still wears those damn white shorts. At least those with a thing for heels will have the time of their lives. 

“Stop being such a bitch, Yuri,” you groan into her ear, her body firmly trapped beneath you. In the meantime, your hands attempt the impossible task of controlling her slick hair or slicker hands. “If you behave, I’ll make you cum.”

“Y-you can never make me cum!”

“I bet you are already so clo—hey!”

In a moment of pride and distraction by the insanely pleasurable way her asshole narrows and widens, Yuri is able to crawl forward, out of the pit of lube and sweat, onto a flat part of the excessively large waterbed. She did not make it very far, so you reach for her shorts and try to pull her back. However, in an unforeseen twist that will leave everyone satisfied, the shorts come off, slide down Yuri’s legs and get tangled up with her high boots. Yuri tries to escape further, but you basically have her on a leash and easily pull her back into her cage—the pit beneath your body.

“Okay, okay, I give up, don’t hurt me please” Yuri begs and looks at you with wide open eyes. “You can do whatever you want with me.”

“Then be a good girl and scream and cream while Daddy fucks your tight little ass-pussy.”

Woah, where did that come from? Not in the script, but now it’s too late to take it back. Better follow it up with something distracting, no one will notice if you’re playing it cool now. How can they forget about your misuse of the parental replacement word, when Yuri follows your command without fail and even puts in extra effort each time you fill her fully?

“Daddy, yes, Daddy! D-destroy my ass, use it as your hole, I-I’m your—”

A sudden pause, Yuri must be very close.

“Hm? I’m waiting,” you tease her and stop your annihilation of her wrong-but-right hole. 

“I-I’m your slut, Daddy, your pleasure girl! Fuck my ass-pussy—fuck, harder, Daddy, harder!”

Fuck it, this stays in the final cut. Not only because you don’t want to let this lube-filled waterbed idea go to waste, but also because Yuri is the literal definition of a slut for a Daddy. Overused kink or not, they will lap it up like hungry dogs anyways.

Yuri’s moans grow in pitch, in loudness, while her ass grows in tightness. She is riding the edge, while you ride her ass, it has to end somewhere, in absolute bliss. Daddy’s little pleasure girl, a slut fitting for his cock needs to cum violently, or else she isn’t really useful.

“Then cum like a slut!

“Cum for Daddy!”

Yuri still twitches and whines on the red plastic, when you get up and grab a nearby towel to dry yourself. One towel is not enough, you need two, three before you can walk on the smooth tiles without the constant threat of slipping. Ignore the words coming from the co-hosts mouth, something something ‘first time’, something something ‘gentle, careful’, why is he talking so much right now? Nod along and enter a room with an atmosphere cold and uneasy like north kor—the north pole, of course.

“Hi, I’m Sullyoon,” a girl quickly says, barely getting her words louder than a whisper. She stands in the corner of the room, politely smiling at you, but hesitant to get closer. Her legs fidget in place and her fingers rub the plain brown skirt nervously. 

"Hey, no need to hide it," you tell her with a bright grin to ease the tension roaming her body. "You're nervous, I can see it."

"Ye-yeah, a little bit," Sullyoon admits, averting her gorgeous face when you approach her.

"That is completely fine and very understandable. I think everyone feels unsure about their first time."

Gently place a hand on her shoulder. Sullyoon squirms, her feet shuffle closer together, her puppy-like eyes shimmer with uncertainty. Such a great actress.

"We don't have to continue this," you whisper.

"But wouldn't that put you, give you like trouble?" she returns the whisper. "I don't wanna cause problems."

"I should be the least of your concerns, Sullyoon. Think about what you want and don't be ashamed to tell me."

Sullyoon stares down to your semi-erect cock, her finger hesitantly reaching for it. She then looks to the camera, the formerly pale face in a rosy hue.

"I want to try it, I mean, try to put it in my mouth."

"You're cute, Sullyoon, and brave. Just pinch me when things go too far."

"Like this?" she giggles and giggles a bit louder when you hiss and jump at her nails pinching your thigh. Anything to make her feel secure and to lighten the mood.

"Yes, yes, I see you're good at that. Now, how about you try to get down? You can hold onto this… wall for stability."

Sullyoon takes labored breaths when she is eye to eye with your you-know-what. Who can blame here? Its semi-hard state is still enough to dwarf her hand and fill most of her mouth. Sullyoon knows, thus she remains cautious. First, the tip of her tongue on your tip, tickling your slit gently, while you gently pat her head.

"This is nice," you hum slowly.

"Does it really feel good?"

You nod to Sullyoon's innocent question and feel her grow more confident with each lick, until she puckers her lips to let you enter. Instead of bobbing her head up and down like the more experienced actresses, Sullyoon stays motionless, except for her tongue swirling tornado-like.

"Hm, try, try taking more of it," you encourage her, but Sullyoon shakes her head.

"I-I'm scared. C-can you take the lead?"

"Uhm, sure. First, I need you to spit on it."

Sullyoon makes this adorable expression when she gathers water in her mouth, then lewdly unleashes it onto your base, missing most of your shaft.

"Oops, sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"No no, just—drool on it. God, you're fucking cute like this."

Rub Sullyoon's cheek. There she goes, trying to hide her embarrassment behind quick actions, but you see right through it. The clear string of drool leaking down her lower lip engulfs your glans, then the rest when you put your shaft inside her.

Well played, all the faux innocence and shyness. Sullyoon is a professional, and like a professional she knows how to struggle while not struggling. Gawk gawk, you could go faster and fuck those plump lips, ruin what might look pure but surely isn't. However, you are supposed to have different plans. 

Don't fuck over the director again, so you slow down a bit and coo to Sullyoon who coughs, coughs, coughs, tears in her orbs, the dozen of times you've seen it today alone. Now you have to pretend to care.

"Everything alright, sweetie?" Play with her pink lips. "You are doing great by the way."

"Thanks. I think you can go harder."

Oh no, who would have thought? This is ridiculous, but they don't need to know. They just have to imagine themselves in your shoes, they are actually the one thrusting, filling a virgin mouth with their girth, and the cute girl loves it. She wants them to take her rougher, claim her; the only one claiming her is you.

Bulge her cheek, a slip up perfect for the camera. It moves from her face to her throat where you bulge again and she gurgles. When a mixture of pre-cum, leftover lube and, of course, Sullyoon's sweet spit land on the lens, you have to cover your mouth to muffle your laughs. Those laughs are suddenly moans, when Sullyoon eagerly sucks faster than you can thrust.

"Oh shit~ Would you look at that, she can do it on her own.

"Quick learner."

Feed into the lies one final time, fondle her dark brown hair one final time, hear her gag one final time—time to leave her tender, warm upper cavern for what you know will be warm too.

"Any other tips for the first blowjob?"

Your co-host’s constant interruptions and unnecessary questions have become stale and almost as annoying as his creepy face peeking in the frame from time to time. In their haze, some might not notice, others on the other hand might get annoyed, so you have to show them how to ignore him. Let’s be honest, they are only here for the testing, so you will give them exactly that.

When the following room was pitched to you, you were excited. When the responsible manager told you the actress they’d like to have for this scene, you became ecstatic. One of your favorites in a cozy room, the temperature meticulously adjusted to the point you can’t feel where your skin ends and the air begins. You don’t walk into the room, you melt into it, becoming one with your surroundings.

“It’s a high pleasure to see you again, Hitomi,” you greet, voice exalted and booming. “I hope you're comfortable and equally excited.”

Hitomi grins cutely, the upper row of her flawless teeth shines white like the snow. She has her head turned to watch you over her shoulders. Her petite frame is bare on the floor which is the right amount warmer than the air to keep the coldest feet warm and her body in heat. 

“I came all the way from Japan for my massage,” she giggles and you lean down to kiss her. Straight on the lips, dive to the cheek, then back on the lips. The two of you have a perfect understanding of the others preferences, so there is nothing that can go wrong. Hitomi is smooth sailing, every part of her body is a feast for your eyes, and you can’t help but show her off. 

“Show me your abs again, please,” you whisper. Hitomi hushes you with a motion, her arms around your nape, her tongue on your lips, her body easy to lift up from the ground. When the short girl is on her feet, you turn her nude body to the camera. Wordlessly, your fingers indicate the perfections: hard abs as mountains and valleys for sweat to run over, almost flat tits with hard nipples in a faint pink, the elegantly trimmed bush above her tight innie. 

“Magnificent, absolutely astonishing.” Your ravishing compliments are cut short by Hitomi getting back into her initial prone position.

“Thank you a lot, darling, but I thought you were here to test me.

“Put it in, pretty please~?”

The significantly shorter japanese girl can grab you and throw you like a ragdoll from one fever dream into the next; you don’t oppose it, you long for it. The way her tiny butt wraps around your enormous length, the way she squeals at first, just to fall into bliss and moan like a cockslut, it’s what you would call greatness. 

Things get even greater when your blurry vision finds the two purple braids on Hitomi’s head. They bounce in the same rhythm as she does, as you do, and with a simple tug they stop. Hitomi gasps, the unexpected pain scaring her. You quickly let go of them, apologetically fucking her asshole faster.

“D-don’t let go. Hold them, pull them!"

Hitomi's chest rises from the ground, her screams not muffled from the heated floor and instead sent to the ceiling. The more your fingers entwine with the braids, the tighter she becomes. This is new, something fresh for your friends-with-benefits relationship. Things will never get boring with Hitomi.

"Her snug hole is good, fuck."

Spread her ass cheeks, spread her legs for the camera to film the penetration. The soft skin tries to milk you, pull you back in and you gladly surrender to another slam, followed by another, and another. 

"This is the best!" Hitomi groans, the only not obscene words in between all her grunts and groans.

"Fuck, it is. The floor, this ass, y-you're too good, I'm so close."

"Time to fulfill your promise." That was not Hitomi’s voice. Who the hell—

"N-Nayeon?!"

Out of nowhere, Nayeon wraps her arm around your throat and forces you to pull out. Your throbbing, swollen, burning cock is about to burst, which is why Nayeon does not waste a second. She gets in position right next to a trembling, sulking Hitomi. Your crotch instinctively turns towards her face, that stupidly gorgeous, slutty face. Her tongue hangs from her lips and like a mindless maniac she jerks you off.

Pain, so much pain. This is what some artists were talking about. Pain and painting are eerily similar, Nayeon's pale face and an empty canvas too. From her temple hidden behind thin strands of gold hair to her pointy chin, your paint brush erupts the watery-white color on her, but as expected, she does not stop there. 

Nayeon rubs your cock from side to side, smearing her entire gleeful face until your knees give out and you stumble backwards into the awaiting arms of a staff member. It's out of the camera's point of view, so luckily the footage isn't ruined by your ugly, breathless expression, though Nayeon's game is not yet over.

"Thank you for keeping your promise~"

"What, what pro-mise?" you stutter.

"Don't you remember?" Nayeon pouts. "Last time you creamed my pussy and afterwards told me you'd have some for my face soon. Does ‘Beverly Hills mansion’ ring a bell?"

"Ah… I guess… yeah."

She is oblivious to you dying under her semen-glazed nose. You know she is not the last, there is still a way to go until you can finally rest, but how? It's impossible, you can barely move, your loins are on fire, your mouth is dry—

A bucket of cold water. Dunk your head in it, lap some of the life-saving elixir, cool off the roaring fire on your skin. A close call, Nayeon made you go up in flames and she is ready to do it again. Your eyes have been purified by the clean water, just for Nayeon to dirty them again. She collects some of your seed from her soft features with two fingers and quickly shoves them into Hitomi’s ass. The japanese girl whimpers when Nayeon doesn’t stop drilling it deep down.

“U-unnie~!”

The way she smacks Hitomi’s ass with the back of her hand while blowing bubbles with the cum dripping into her mouth is a dagger. Your mind goes blank. Someone somehow shoves a blue pill in your mouth. The camera is oblivious to what you do, still focusing on Nayeon. She fingers, she licks, she hums, all for the fans, all for Hitomi to not go without her fair share of pleasure. 

In the hallway is a table. Two members of staff sprint away when you sprint towards it, eager to test the extraordinary effects of the pill. They have just brought in the table, unfortunately the test object is still missing. She is still backstage, still on her phone, still dressed for crying out loud. Step through wires and confused stylists, slap the phone out of her hand, she yelps.

“Hey, what are you—wait, huh?”

A perk of your Asia Tour: all the girls are small and light. The same goes for this one, you easily pick her up and place her down on the table. Her hips instinctively rise up, you can unbuckle her belt and get rid of her gray denim shorts. 

“Okay what the fuck is this?” you growl at her and reach in between the voluptuous buttocks and pull at a red thong.

“I thought you’d like it,” the girl sulks and wiggles her trunk seductively.

“I’d like it if it was the same color as this.”

‘This’ is Chaeryeong’s ass. ‘This’ gets a harsh spank that wakes up the camera crew from their Nayeon-Hitomi-induced trance. They run over to film Chaeryeon’s blissful face as you beat her ass violently, changing up your hands and targets until it’s red all over. Not necessarily the crimson red of her thong, but it will do. Pull it aside to find her desperate, delicious-looking hole, begging to be stretched. 

Chaeryeong’s dazed eyes shoot wide open when you widen the circumference of her ring with your cock, hammering away with the same unrelenting force you hit her ass with. The table creaks and sways, definitely not made for this, but for the sake of science you won’t stop turning it into plywood.

“Stupid bitch with a fat ass!”

That was her scream, and she is goddamn right. Every moan by Chaeryeong and every gasp from behind the scenes further encourages you to break through. Don’t worry about her butt, it’s thorough usage can be seen in all kinds of amateur and professional videos. Don’t worry about the table either, you're just testing its durability. When the first wooden leg begins to splinter, you know it’s over.

“Verdict,” you growl through gritted teeth grinding the great depths of Chaeryeong’s rectum. “An absolute failure.”

“Yes!” she screams, holding onto the table’s edge for fake stability. “I’m useless, just a trunky butt for people to breed!”

“No, not you, the damn tabl—”

Right on que, the wooden structure breaks in two, three, more and more pieces. At this point you might as well beat Chaeryeong’s ass on the marble floor, it’s natural coldness could heal the sore parts a bit. She seems to be the person who is the most opposed to this however. Her hole sucks you back in, telling you to annihilate it and Chaeryeong’s vocal cords until the next scene starts.

“Don’t stop hitting it, I deserve it!” Chaeryeong babbles. “Break me like the table!”

You find yourself in a dilemma: On one hand you could do this all day, the continuous pump and smack, on the other hand you fear for both your and her health. Your hands and her ass have the same burning red color, they need a rest, some distance from each other. The clacks of plastic shoes save you from this addictive, yet dangerous session.

“Enough Chaery—” Sakura complains in a stern, sexy voice. “—more cherry.”

You watch intently as Sakura gets in position. You did not notice her carrying a glass bowl of fresh cherries as well as a bottle of spray cream, both of which she places down before her. In the crouching position, her pink miniskirt made of wool hugs her slender body perfectly, the checkered crop-top meanwhile forms a contrast as it makes her chest look extra big with its bagginess. 

Sakura reaches for two of the cherries, fully ignoring you approaching her and leaving behind a mewling Chaeryeong, ready for more. You can’t give the horny brunette more, she had her turn with you, though there seems to be someone willing to relieve her remaining horniness. 

“Hold still.”

Tiffany. Where did she come from? She must have teleported behind Chaeryeong, pushing aside some of the rubble to get her face up close with the younger girl's ass. She puts her nose on the gaped hole and accompanies her tongue brushing over Chaeryeong’s slit with an echoing slap to her bottom.

“Hey, keep your eyes on me!” Sakura angrily whispers, but it’s hard to oblige her. To get you back into the scene, she has to go all out. Both cherries find their way to her sweet lips. They have a very similar, though be it a bit darker color, and they engulf the fruits. Sakura pulls off the stems, then roughly pulls your cock closer to her mouth. 

You surrender to her idea. The woman in her legendary golden hair is well-known to take the lead. After some adjusting, you find your tip disappearing into Sakura’s mouth, her cheeks bulging from the inside thanks to the cherries resting in each of them. You feel the firm skin of the fruits press down on the sides of your member, an astonishingly different sensation from everything that happened before. 

“Oh fuck,” you groan in bliss.

“Oh fuck!” Chaeryeong screams in lust. You can’t help but turn your head and look over your shoulder as Tiffany rams a strapon into her Dongsaengs awaiting butthole. 

Sakura’s hands reach for your butt, mercilessly digging her nails into the skin and forcing you further down her throat. You meet her angry, tearfilled orbs as she gags on your erection. Throw your head back. The cherries have your base in a tight choke-hold, sort of like a cock ring. 

“F-fuck, I’m sorry, Sa-Sakura,” you apologize. “I did not know y-you were into foodplay.”

Not only your member, also the two fruits fall out of Sakura’s mouth when she backs off. The heavy coughing does not prevent her from catching them. Full of concern you want to reach down, but suddenly her fingers craze your balls.

“Put them in your mouth and shut up.”

Take the two red, fruity objects and follow her instructions. Sakura pulls up the bottle of spray cream and rapidly shakes it up and down. Something something ‘can you do that to my cock, please?’ but you can’t say that, unless you have a death wish. A few seconds later, Sakura aligns the tip of the bottle with your base and sprays a perfectly straight line of whipped cream up to your tip. It’s freezing cold, you hiss and accidentally bite into the juicy flesh of the cherries.

You have a taste, Sakura has a taste. She slurps the white treat off of your cock, licks up the remnants with a quick deepthroat and immediately goes to repeat the process. This time, your more sensitive underside gets attacked by the coldness of the cream and then the hotness of her mouth and the strong slurps of her lips. You start to chew—hopefully Sakura does not. 

“Delicious. Finally, your dick tastes good.”

“E-excuse me?”

“I said—shut up! Who told you to eat those cherries?”

In her anger, Sakura spills some of the cream on her crop top. 

“Ah fuck. All because of you, you stupid moron!”

“S-sorry…”

Sakura sighs and pops open the two buttons holding the crop top together. The handful of her breast looks ready to be glazed and licked, but instead of her cherry-red nippled you bite on cherry-red cherries.

“At least make yourself useful.”

Sakura opens her mouth wide. She sends lots and lots of white stuff into it; not the kind of white stuff you’d like her to eat, but the way she fills her mouth with whipped cream looks insanely hot. The moment she is finished you put your cock up to the stuffed cavern and fuck into it. 

Like an avalanche, the cream topples down to Sakura’s chest, hitting her nubs, making her squirm. This elegant woman has never looked messier. She is certainly no stranger to weird, chaotic shoots, but never has her mouth been such an overflowing, dirty hole. Sakura chokes up some more when you finally reach the hot back of her throat, launching cream all over your crotch. 

This surely must be the finale, the last scene, because you need to clean up, need to take a break from it all. The final shot of Sakura’s face as you groan her name should be enough, an excellent fit for a thumbnail. It alone would sell a hundred-thousand copies, therefore no need for anymore, just please say cut!

“Here, you’ll need it.” Your co-host hands you a couple of wet wipes.

“What for?” you respond, the mask of acting not on your face, just exhaustion.

“The next test, of course.” He points to the far end of the hallway, the room next to the mirrors. “There is one more bed, one more person, I think you remember her?

“It was your idea, after all.”

“Mina.”

A nod. 

“Clean yourself, would be a pain in the ass for her if you didn’t, hehe.”

You might not have any other choice, but he definitely could have worded that better or not at all. However, it’s probably not on camera anyways because everyone’s eyes have switched back to Tiffany and Chaeryeong. The older has one leg of the younger on her shoulder while roughly penetrating the tight hole in a standing position. Chaeryeong’s sticky hands try to balance her numb body on the wall behind her, leaving her more vulnerable to the thrusts and consequentially, screaming louder than ever.

This is your chance to sneak away, and you take it. The best for your spent, hurt cock would be to flee the set altogether, but with only one more girl remaining, separating you from glory and a sweet, sweet paycheck, you decide to get it over with. In Mina’s room, the smell of a freshly washed bed and of a rose petal perfume pulls the brakes on your hastiness. You come to a halt, in awe at what’s before you.

“Hey~” Mina coos when she lifts her gorgeous face from the white sheets in which it was buried. She stretches her arms out and you see her eye-lashes flutter quickly.

“Have you been sleeping?” you ask her with a chuckle.

“Just dozing. Believe it or not, this bed is probably the best I have ever laid in.”

Inch closer and lean down to her face as Mina bites her lips and tugs away the blonde, no, golden hair behind her cute ears. Though it’s just as bright as the pillows, blankets and the metal frame of the bed, her hair still has the biggest contrast to it all. Mina’s pale skin and white, oversized shirt camouflage her very well. 

“I’d love to make a cringe joke out of what you just said, but to be honest, I don’t want to hear them anymore. It’s been a long day.”

“Aw, I really wanted you to follow it up with the ‘get laid’, but nevermind. Where is the camera?”

“It will be here in a second. We should get ready—only if you are really, really certain, one-hundred percent positive though.”

Mina rolls her eyes and rubs your abs tenderly, gasping at the sweat and the remnants of other liquids on them.

“You sound like your manager. I signed the papers, all the agreements and contracts and the other bullshit. Usually, boys don’t ask ten times before they go for it.”

“Understandable, with that ass of yours.”

“I knew you’d get it.” 

Mina pulls the hem of her shirt up to expose her round, juicy ass to you. Reach over to it and fondle it while you walk around the bed behind her. Hasty steps echo through the hallway, the crew must be on their way. In the last seconds of uninterrupted intimacy, you nuzzle down to Mina’s ear while your cock is already trapped in between her cheeks. 

“Congrats on debuting. Everyone will see that your pure-looking face and bubble-butt were made for porn.”

Your final growl leaves Mina trembling, her ass jiggles, her orbs find the lense of an unsteady camera peeking through the door. Triumphantly, you wave the cameraman over to you. He takes deep breaths, keeps the camera focused on Mina’s body, so you can start the final testing session.

“We’ve seen so much today,” you announce with your best impression of a CEO giving a year-end speech. “Too many crazy ideas, crazy girls—it’s time to get back to the fundamentals. A bed, simple and comfortable and a woman, pretty and horny. Nothing more,—”

You spread Mina’s cheeks apart, spit on the beautiful tight ring and find the perfect angle to get inside her. 

“—nothing less.”

Repeat what you have done fourteen damn times today. You can use flattering words, exquisite or humorous remarks, suddenness or gracefulness, in the end it’s all hard buttfucking. They are here for it, seeing a huge ass ripple, a beautiful girl moan, a cock move in and out—as long as the neuron activation hits, they won’t be able to resist it. 

“Isn’t she the one and only acceptable pick for this bed?” you ask the audience as Mina’s ecstatic moans bounce off the walls. “The right color scheme, the same scent, similar addictiveness to use it—her—every night. Only the sheets have to get a bit more ruffled like her hair.”

Your fingers run through Mina’s angelice locks, making her raise her chin high towards the viewer's point of view. She is looking right into their soul, their tired, horny, blissful eyes of envy and adoration, whatever is left of them. They don’t need to be inside her tight ass, she can wring them dry with her allure alone. 

“How do you like your first on-cam cock, Mina?”

“It’s big—it’s so damn good, fuck.”

Grab Mina’s slutty little waist and pick up the pace. She digs her teeth into the sheets to muffle the loud noises from her mouth for whatever reason—it’s an amateur mistake. Everyone is too focused on her bottom anyways, especially you as your testing of her depth continues with a new-found final spurt of stamina. 

“The platonic ideal for a non-platonic relationship; a good fucking bed for a good fucking.” Your voice cracks, falls silent afterwards. The last seconds are nothing but pants and firm claps of skin on skin. Mina’s eyes roll into the back of her head, her slit leaks juices onto the bed. Thrusts, pumps, twitches, it all comes to an end in a gaping hole whose neediness mirrors that of Chaewon’s, Chaeryeon’s, Hitomi’s…

There you go. You did it, you fucking bastard. Fall unconscious as the director shouts ‘cut’, your life has to end right on cue. It’s ironic, the audience will only notice you throughout the video; what happens afterwards is irrelevant. You are basically dead. 

You are basically dead—unless some of the porn sites freeze and the poor, horny soul has to stare at it forever until regretfully smashing their device to bits, never daring to repair it. Oh no, they might have to admit to watching porn to some random repairman, how scandalous. 

You are scandalous, holding onto a pillow at night, wishing for someone to be there for more than mere sex. Although you love doing it and could do it all the time, there is no love in it. Even a robotic, seemingly heartless sex machine like you wants some love, some cuddles, some kisses—

“Where is this pretentious buffoon?”

“Yeah, I want to beat his ass as well; idiot thinks he can just cum on me and leave, ts.”

“I’ll put him out of his misery after the two of you are done.”

Three women stand in the frame of the door. Befitting of her character, Wonyoung was the first to speak to you and is currently the first to climb onto the bed. Her thin body is once again wrapped in the black suit, but her fabulous legs are on full display and kick you down into the mattress as she towers over you.

The second to speak was Seungyeon, who utters more and more complaints while getting closer to the bed until Wonyoung hushes her with a deadly glare. From then on, Seungyeon focuses on showing you her reserved anger in a different way: she uses both hands to press your chest down and immobilize you fully. 

The last to speak was Tiffany. She pays you no mind, instead sitting down next to the still dazed Mina and carefully pats the younger’s head. Strange, she is never this wholesome with you, but with a newbie like Mina it’s no problem? Maybe she really wants to put you out of your misery today.

“Wh-what is happening?” Mina asks, utterly confused as she watches you staring at Seungyeon’s bare tits swinging right over your face. “I thought the shoot was over.”

“Oh it is, sweetie,” Tiffany smiles, while Wonyoung goes to stroke your dick with both her hands and slowly crouches down towards it. “We are just testing.”

“Testing what?”

“Testing when this imbicel’s heart will stop from cumming too much.”

“Won-Wonyoung, please, no!”

Your plea goes unheard—it’s on tape nonetheless. 

Fin

(A/N3: Thank you for reading this mess!)

#kpop smut #female idol smut #girl group smut #just testing #male reader insert

[the-dixon-effect]

Just a Girl

requested by: @dixonsgirl93 which you can find here -> masterlist

A/N: thank you so much for the request my love!! i love this concept so much that it had me up at 4am writing it after recovering from a long-haul flight, so so sorry that this took so long for a little drabble xx

It was too tempting.

Not after years of stumbling around in dirty rags and a single pair of worn combat boots. Not after fighting for your life every single day, were you going to pass this up. Today, you were safe. And right in front of you, in this completely empty mall, were a pair of pristine black stilettos.

You held one in each hand as you admired them, a treasure of a world lost in time. You felt like a different person just clutching them.

"Hey, Maggie!" you are unable to control the wide smile cast across your lips. "Look what I found!" the girl glanced in your direction from the entrance of the store, scoffing at your excitement.

"Whatcha gonna do with those?" she asked, chuckling, as she jogged up to the display table coated in a thick layer of dust.

"I don't know. Walk around. Dance. Put 'em on a table and forbid anyone from touching them," you said quietly, smiling as you palmed at the crisp black leather. "They could be a symbol. Y'know, Lord of the Flies style," you joked, meeting the farmgirl's eyes. Strangely enough, the ghost of a boutique was relatively empty apart from these shoes, a few scraps of useless clothes scattered around and many plastic hangers adorning the white-tiled floor.

"Alright, fine. But ya' have to bring that little black dress back, too," she teased, in that familiar Southern drawl. Pointing to a rack of clothes on the other side of the store, you spotted a lone black dress threatening to fall off the flimsy hanger. It was no surprise that when the remaining survivors came through these parts, rummaging through stores and kitchens and bunkers, a pair of high heels and a mini dress didn't make the cut for the survivalist supply list. It had been a couple years by now, and indeed no one back at the prison would care if you indulged in a bit of fun. Besides, you're just a girl. And a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to get by.

~

Most evenings were spent in the foyer swapping stories and enjoying the ever-expanding group's company, now that everyone was feeling more comfortable in the prison. Daryl was perched on the second step of the cool, steel staircase fletching some bolts for his crossbow, after the fairly uneventful run earlier. One thought did linger in his mind, however - as he tuned out to the rest of the conversations engaging in his midst. You had briefly shown him what you managed to pick up back at the abandoned mall, some scraps of food, some comics for Carl, and... what could only be described as an image from one of his wildest dreams. Or worst nightmares. What the hell would he do with himself if you suddenly appeared in that dress? And those heels? Probably run, and hide someplace where nobody would notice his reaction. And just when he was imagining what you would look like in that outfit from earlier, he heard a voice call out from upstairs.

"Hershel! You better believe these things are harder to walk in than a peg leg!"

The foyer erupted in chuckles as conversations ceased while everybody looked up at you on the balcony, held up firmly by Maggie who couldn't control her laughter either.

"Come on down, Y/N. Betcha can't do it!" the grey-haired man exclaimed as the rest of the group watched you stumble to the top of the staircase.

Oh God. She's so popular. And beautiful - were the thoughts swirling around in Daryl's head as he turned a swift 180 and looked up at your perfect figure. You looked so pretty when you laughed like that; a face that lit up the room - lit up this rotten world - when the sweet sound that even a siren couldn't mimic echoed over the walls of the dismal building. And that outfit; the smooth black dress that clung to your thighs so perfectly with a neckline that revealed just enough to make him go insane. Those heels. Daryl always had a thing for girls with nice legs, but he was always too embarrassed to mention it. It may have slipped out in front of his older brother once upon a time, and for the years to come he never shut up about it. Humiliating Daryl whenever a gorgeous girl like you walked past. Daryl never denied it, though, that you and that perfect body of yours were gonna be the death of him someday. And that felt like right now.

"Maggie, don't you dare let that girl fall!" Michonne shouted, laughing as she kicked her feet up on the cafeteria table and leaned back.

"Daryl, I swear to God, if you don't catch me I'll kill you," you began, addressing the archer that was gawking up at you, the one slightly obstructing your wobbly path down the staircase. Everybody in that cell block watched the poor man snap out of his daydreams as he shot up and grabbed your hand as your knees threatened to buckle beneath you. Maggie let go of her tight grip on your shoulders and erupted into giggles, as though she were playing Cupid.

"Thank you, Daryl," you said sweetly, not realising that Daryl is physically suffocating as you clutched Daryl's calloused palm. You took the opportunity to steady yourself on both feet and do a little twirl, lifting Daryl's arm up over your head as you spun around as gracefully as you could manage. A couple of cheers escaped from your audience, making you smile deeply. You hadn't felt this pretty in a long time.

"Whatcha doin' playin' dress-up anyway?" Daryl drawled, quietly.

"Well, I'm just a girl."

taglist: @alldevilsarehere90 @poisonmenegan @radcollectivesoul @emilykolchivans @pinchoftheoutsiders guys the taglist is looking a little lonely!!

#brandy writes #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl x you #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon fic #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl drabbles #daryl fanfiction #daryl fucking dixon #daryl imagines #daryl the walking dead #daryl twd #daryl x y/n #the walking dead daryl #twd daryl #twd

[filmbyjy]

COLLIE DUTY

SYNOPSIS > being the new CEO to the ‘Sim Corp’ was hard and stressful. jake didn’t have much time to spend with layla and so he decides to get a dogsitter, you. though, you were originally already his secretary. how will dog sitting bring you two closer?

FOURTY – sunghoon maid costume

you could not believe your eyes when you witnessed sunghoon walking down the hallway towards jake's office in a maid office. his face was dark, clearly he didn't enjoy this little punishment. maybe this was what he kinda deserved for causing pain and suffering to you and sunoo all these years with his endless dating scandals.

sunghoon does a little curtsy in his outfit and hands you a plate of sandwiches.

"here you go." he says in the most monotonous voice ever. you burst out laughing.

"so why did jake ask you do to this?"

he sighs, "because i caused so much trouble to you and sunoo...for a long time...and i tried to flirt with you too...jake ask me to wear this."

"you're actually pretty in this."

sunghoon tilts his head, his ears perked up as you say it. "really?"

you held in your laughter, "yeah, the pink bow adds to the outfit. you look like those people who got forced by little girls to wear it."

"okay, so i brought-" jay stops in his tracks. shocked to see sunghoon in a maid outfit. "your milk tea...what the fuck happened to you."

"jake happened. that spawn of satan made me wear this as a punishment."

jay laughs. "well, he has great taste. you look good, my dearest friend. the finest lady ever." jay smacks sunghoon's shoulders. sunghoon groans.

“this is embarrassing. why did he have to make me do this?” sunghoon whines.

“you could’ve just…idk not do it?” jay says.

“but my job is at stake.” sunghoon huffs.

“well buddy then I can’t help you.” jay shrugs. sunghoon deadpans.

“you were of no help the moment you walked in.”

“boo hoo, you’re sounding like a little baby.” jay argues back.

“ohoho you’re getting on my nerves-”

“can you two just shut the fuck up?” you say as you stood in between them. sunghoon and jay don’t try to argue any further. they kept quiet.

“good, now why is jake doing all of this?”

“bro code, sorry cant tell.” sunghoon shrugs.

“yeah, all we can say is…he planned something huge for you.”

“we’ve been dating for 3 months. if jake proposes to me, I swear to god.” sunghoon freezes. “park sunghoon, for the love of god. please tell me he’s not proposing to me. it’s been 3 months.”

“ehem, no spoilers.” he does jazz hands to stop the awkward tension from rising. jay deadpans and smacks the back of sunghoon’s head.

“he’s not proposing, don’t worry.”

“okay, good.” you sighed out. while you’d love to have a marriage with jake, you feel like this would be too fast for you to process. sure, jake would be an amazing husband from the past few gestures in the last 3 months but you weren’t physically ready to become a wife just yet.

sunghoon gets a call. with a couple of hums and grunts from him, the call ends and he stares at you.

“alright, sim jaeyun awaits for you. heeseung hyung is driving you there. he’s waiting downstairs, m’lady.” he does a curtsy once again. jay bursts out laughing.

“you should get a wig, it would really do you justice.” jay mentions as he tries to stop himself from laughing harder.

sunghoon glares at jay, “escort her or I will kick you with these high heel boots.”

jay wipes the tears of joy as he laughs, “okay okay. I’ll escort her. come with me, (name).”

and so jay drags you out to the carpark of the building. heeseung waits for you, he holds out the door for you and he bows.

“welcome.”

“heeseung, what the hell are you doing?”

“play along, jake is paying me big money for this. ehem.” he holds out his hand. “let’s get you to your requested venue.”

“okay…” you were a little suspicious but you still went along with it.

after a couple of turns and red lights, finally you made it to the venue. it was an apartment building, felix held out the door for you to walk in. heeseung bows and leaves.

“lix, why are you here?”

“jake asked us all to be here.”

“oh, he is definitely proposing.”

“mmm, not what you think but I shall just. keep my mouth shut. ningning and gaeul are waiting for you by the elevator, go ahead.” he shows you the direction.

and so you made your way over.

“pause.” ningning says as soon as you stood in front of them. “we need to put you in the most beautiful outfit.”

they both dragged you inside one of the rooms, next thing you knew. you were being put into different variety of clothing and when they finally found the most perfect one. they slapped on some makeup for you. the clapped their hands.

“perfect!” ningning says.

“jake is gonna fall for you all over again!” gaeul adds. you couldn’t help but blush.

gaeul and ningning pulls you back to the elevators, they clicked on the last floor. a penthouse but why are you going here? the elevator dings and the opens wide, right to the floor of the penthouse. not a single door in sight. it just leads right into the home. your jaw drops.

there jake was, standing in a tuxedo. he steps forward and lets a key dangle down his two fingers. you tilt your head because what did he mean by this. his free hand reaches out for yours and holds it. it was warm and soft. the sparkles in his eyes, glimmering under the light.

“(name).” jake starts off.

“our relationship has had a rocky start, I hurt you twice and somehow…you still chose me in the end. I don’t deserve you. you’re the prettiest girl ever and I’m just a boy who’s hopelessly in love. I-I want to be with you forever and I know it’s too early to say that, we’re only 3 months into our relationship. however, I promise to be with you till the very end so instead of a promise ring…how about a promise house?” he throws a small awkward smile at the end. unsure if you’d even accept it.

“oh jaeyun…” you gave him a big hug. he nuzzles his face at the crook of your neck. “yes, I’ll move in with you.”

“SHE SAID YES!!!” jake screams. confetti poppers were set out and your friends were happily yelling congratulations. jake jumps around with you in his arms.

“oh oh! I have to show you something!” he drags you upstairs, to which it leads to the rooftop garden.

your jaw drops at the view. it was…perfect.

“do you like it?”

“of course!” you hugged him once more.

“we can play around with Layla up here if she doesn’t want to go downstairs. I need to dog-proof up here though. kinda dangerous for her still.”

“we can settle this later, for now…I LOVE YOU!!!” you gave him kisses all over his face. jake squeals, his adorable smile plastered right on his face.

and so…the tale of yours and jake’s relationship continues…

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | END

a/n: l-last chapter of Collie Duty😭😭😭 anyways, thank you for following this story with much love like Twitter Sucks!, Business Proposal and Jam Out. I had a lot of fun creating all the previous SMAUs and including this one! Be sure to look forward to the alternative chapter and MineStream whenever that comes out🩵🩵

taglist[closed]: @svarcq @wooonkies @ajayke-reads @peachysunooooo @xiaoderrrr @viagumi @lunakua @bubblytaetae @aureliaxuuu @nikiluvr16 @sngvhs @watermelon-sugars-things @bldelaine @enhaz1 @yeoungie @heart4hees @mimimovv @enczen @enhastolemyheart @woon2u @kyanmeai @4townn @skzenhalove @s00buwu @ce1ight @markleepooh @sparklingsjy @rizzshimura @bluxjun @beomgyusonlywife @jyndre @blamemef0rit @fanfangying1304 @kwiwin @heart4hees @luxurystark-jackson @yunjardi @ioszzn @mrowwww @bluriki @25dejulho @neoculturewhat @wtfhyuck @dianzed @143lele @ajybeo @teddywonss @nyfwyeonjun @alwayswook @shinrjj @manooffline @heavenhannie @bmnyy17 @jayujus

(bolded can’t be tagged)

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[dilemmaontwolegs]

Playboy || PG10 {2}

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x fem!reader Summary: Your date takes a turn when you are recognised by a Street King. Warnings: 18+ only, illegal racing, bad language, blood WC: 2.3k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three

The week had seemed unnecessarily long but you weren’t going to admit it was because you were almost excited for Friday to arrive. It wasn’t like you to be the optimist, at least not since the break up, but you were quietly hoping Pierre could keep his word.

Work had been busy, as it always was on a Friday afternoon, but you battled through the exhaustion to finish your jobs and get home to shower and change into something nicer. With the weekend races kicking off at sundown, every driver wanted to make sure their car was running at its optimum, which meant a busy day for you. It didn’t seem to bother Pierre that dinner would be a late affair, in fact, not a lot seemed to bother him at all.

It was a refreshing change from the overbearing nature of Leo.

Your doorbell rang right on time and you laughed to yourself as you rushed to finish pulling on your boots, you clearly weren’t used to a man who showed up on time. 

“Just a sec,” you called out as you grabbed your clutch, shoving your phone and wallet inside. You nearly forgot your keys but swiped them up from the kitchen table before opening the door. “Hey.”

“Hi, Beautiful.” Pierre knew your name, you had saved it on his phone for your contact, but he enjoyed seeing you battle to keep a smile off your face everytime he called you beautiful. Sometimes you won, sometimes you lost. “How was your day?”

You drank in the sight of him and let your eyes linger on his features a moment longer. The dark sweater fitting snug to his body left nothing to the imagination and from the tapered narrowing of his waist you knew there would be deep v lines cutting between his hips. That was your achilles heel when it came to men, and if they knew how to handle a fast car as well as an independent woman. 

It looked like he was going to be a triple threat.

“Long,” you finally answered as you stepped out into the hall and shut the door behind you. “I have earned a stiff drink.”

He grinned as he held open the building’s front door for you and you saw the candy red Ferrari parked on the street. 

“Now you’re just showing off,” you whispered in awe as you traced the sleek curves of the 812 Superfast with your eyes. “She’s a thing of beauty.”

“That she is,” he said with a smirk as he watched you almost salivate over his car. “The car is pretty nice too.”

“Very slick.” 

He laughed at the roll of your eyes because you weren’t quite able to hide your smile that started to grow. “Here, I’m a much prettier face for the passenger seat,” he said as he took your hand and slipped you the key. 

“Seriously?” Your heart thundered at the thought of driving the powerful car and you skipped across the pavement before he could change his mind, sliding into the leather seat with a moan. “Oh my god, I’m in love.”

You could feel his eyes watching you stroke the steering wheel and his deep chuckle of amusement rolled over your skin. “I could get used to this,” he said as he buckled in. “There hasn’t been a single insult thrown at me.”

“Yet,” you reminded him as you hit the start button and felt the V12 engine come alive. “Fuck me, that is an eargasm.”

“I would have thought you got to drive nice cars all the time, considering…”

“I work with them? I only get to drive them between the parking lot and the garage. If I’m lucky the dyno’s in use and I can do a road test.”

Pierre turned down the music that started while you put the car into drive. “I kind of meant your ex.”

“Oh,” you sighed. You found it was easier to talk about while you were driving, if you weren’t distracted by the car you would have just told him to shut up. There was something about most of your concentration being on the road that you forget the emotions attached to the conversation. “Girls aren't allowed to drive with the Kings. We can build the cars and fix them but not race. They, sorry. They can build them.”

“Sounds stupid to me.”

The city of Monte-Carlo really came to life at night as the colourful lights bars and clubs bled over to the superyachts illuminating the waterfront. Everywhere you looked along the street there were cars that rivalled Pierre’s, but they were driven by ancient looking men who could never appreciate the speeds the car could go without risking a broken hip.

“Where am I going?” you asked as you pulled up to a crossroads and came to a stop. The main drinking scene was one way, restaurants the other.

“Depends on how hungry you are,” he said as he cast a lazy smile your way. “Or, you can kidnap me and take me on a joy ride? At least that’s what I'll tell the police if you get pulled over.”

You revved the engine as you took off down the third road that led to the carriageway out of the city. “I’ve never been arrested before, it sounds fun.”

You couldn’t wait to reach the city limits but as you stopped at another intersection a blacked out Nissan GTR pulled up beside you. Pierre looked confused as someone tapped on his tinted window and he looked a little concerned when you put the window down for him.

“Thought it was you, QT,” Devante snickered as he looked past Pierre, not even sparing him a glance. “Haven’t you learned your place yet? Or have you got a bitch of your own?”

“Shut the fuck up, D,” you shot back before Pierre could retort. Devante was never the most stable guy and you didn’t want Pierre’s pretty face getting ruined because he opened his mouth. “The only bitch around here is the one driving a GTR.”

“You’re not Leo’s Queen no more, Trouble,” Devante reminded you with a dark laugh. “There’s no one left to protect you.”

“She doesn’t need protection,” Pierre laughed. “I’ve seen her take down a guy without breaking a sweat.”

Devante leaned out of his window and chuckled. “And who do you think taught her?”

“I hear you finally upgraded your turbo,” you said to distract the two before they could come to blows out the car window. “A shame you still can’t drive for shit.”

“You wanna bet on that?” he asked before tossing his head back with a laugh. “Oh wait, I forgot you, don’t have shit. You can’t even put Papa’s garage up…”

“How about my car?” Pierre offered, momentarily stunning Devante into silence before he grinned at the option.

“No,” you hissed as you looked at your date. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“What?” Pierre dropped a lopsided grin your way. “Don’t worry, Beautiful, I’ll pay your bail if we get arrested.”

“Last time she raced, she got dumped, hard,” Devante laughed and your fists tightened around the steering wheel. “Queen T lost her crown.”

“I fucking won though, didn’t I?” you fired at him as you changed the car out of automatic and flexed your fingers over the paddle shifts. “Conveniently forgot to share that bit, huh. I kicked Leo’s ass, in front of you and all your little friends. Me, a girl. And I’m going to kick your ass too.”

“I’ll see you at the top.”

You pulled the finger at him as you put the window up and Pierre finally looked a little concerned at the situation. “So, uh, what did we just get ourselves into?”

“There’s no we, this was all you. You should have just kept your mouth shut.”

“And let him treat you like that?” he asked incredulously. “You broke a guy's hand for touching you, but you would have just sat there and taken that insult?”

“You don’t understand, these guys live by different rules. There’s no FIA and regulations here.” You revved the engine impatiently as you waited for Devante to make the first move.

“I told you I wasn’t like them, Beautiful.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to see that,” you murmured, it would have been easier to risk his car if he was the playboy you thought he was. “I hope you have comfortable shoes in case you have a long walk back.”

“From where?”

“Dog’s Head.”

“You’re the one in heels,” he pointed out.

You could see the GTR inching forward when you looked across at Pierre to grin. “You’ll be piggybacking me.” 

Devante’s patience ran out and he was ready to give in first, his car taking off to pull out and take the left turn like you thought he would. “He always takes the easy route.”

You floored the accelerator and a whoop of elation filled the car as you felt the power of it throw you back into the seat and Pierre laughed at the sound. 

The D37 was a longer route to Tête de Chien but there were fewer corners, something Devante wasn’t very good at taking in his car because he didn’t like to waste time braking. You had no problem taking the zigzags of the D53 up into the mountain range, especially in the sports car with a great brake balance, so you turned right and left him to disappear in your rearview mirror.

“You’re insane, you know that?” you admitted as you locked the steering with the tight turns and climbed higher above the city. “What if I lose?”

“I like this car so I’d prefer it if you didn’t, but if you do then I think that guarantees at least two more dates.”

You laughed at the unexpected answer. “You’d really want to go out on another date.”

“I already do. I haven’t had this much fun on one…ever.” You spared a glance to see he did look rather pleased with himself. “You really know how to show this passenger princess a good time.”

“Wow, you’ve definitely had a few concussions,” you chuckled. 

“Ah, beloved insults, it was only a matter of time.”

“That’s not even an insult, that’s just a statement. I’ve seen your races and some of those crashes must have left some damage.”

“Not as much as this conversation,” he teased as he clutched his chest.

You made it past the last sharp bend and pushed the car quickly through the gears as you accelerated along the relatively straight road and saw the turn off to Dog’s Head approaching. Nervousness had your palms clamming as you wondered whether you had arrived first or not. Your question was answered when another set of headlights came into view ahead as you both reached the turn off. 

You veered up the road that was only a gentle curve from your end but Devante’s turn was into a hairpin and you could see him punching his steering wheel as you sped past him with a grin.

“Holy shit,” you laughed as you came to a stop at the peak and met Pierre’s eyes, pride and lust clear to see. 

You were giddy as you unbuckled your seat and leaned across the centre console, meeting his lips as his hand caught the back of your neck. His fingers tightened as he pulled you closer and your lips parted with a gasp, his tongue taking the open opportunity. You were so high with the win you could have climbed right into his lap but then the back windscreen shattered and you tore away from his hold.

“Motherfucker,” you growled as you pushed the door open, rushing out to see Devante spinning his car back around in another donut to shoot more gravel at the Ferrari. Paint chipped as the stones kicked up and you yelped as one caught your cheek, your fingers coming away with blood as you touched the tender spot before Pierre reached you and pulled you safely behind his body.

“Are you alright?” he asked as Devante took off back down the mountain. If you had lost he would never have left without the Ferrari but the double standard was something you were used to. He would have never parted with his GTR. 

“No, I’m pissed off.” You wanted to get in the car and chase after him, maybe run him off the road if your temper really got the better of you. Instead you looked up at Pierre so he could see the anger in your eyes, the years of resentment slipping through. “He gets away with losing nothing because he’s got a dick, it’s bullshit. No one will even know that he lost now.”

Pierre winced as he saw the cut on your cheek and used his sweater sleeve to gently wipe the blood away. “It doesn’t have to be that way.”

“What do you mean?” You tried not to sound so hopeful but he smiled as he caught it wrapped his arms around your waist.

He nodded his head to the front of the car. “Dash cam, Beautiful. I guess it depends on whether you are done living by their rules.”

You looked at the shattered back windscreen and the stone chips ruining the panels, a dark smile curling your lips. “Fuck their rules.”

Pierre tipped your chin back, his own lips curling up before he kissed you so hard your toes curled in your shoes as your arms draped around his neck. When he pulled back you were left breathless and saw more stars than what was already filling the night sky. “Fuck their rules,” he echoed in your ear, his breath hot on your skin and spreading even further. “Trouble’s coming their way.”

Click here for part three.

#pierre gasly fanfic #pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly imagine #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf #formula 1 fanfic #formula one imagine