#if you want to call her evil then you’ve got to call a *lot* of innocent people in the Tudor court ‘evil’

[queerbauten]

Imagine calling Lady Rochford “evil”… couldn’t be me

#Jane Boleyn #Lady Rochford #it’s not that she never did *anything* wrong #it’s that her so-called alleged ‘’’evilness’’’ was the product of her being constrained by her role #if you want to call her evil then you’ve got to call a *lot* of innocent people in the Tudor court ‘evil’

[ahundredtimesover]

I Want You to Stay (03) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: boss!JK x assistant!reader; idiot strangers to lovers; slow slow burn; k-drama feels; angst, drama, fluff, smut

Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, unhealthy coping mechanisms; family drama; minor injuries; power dynamics (JK starts off as a jerk); work-related anxiety, feelings of helplessness, insecurities; childhood traumatic experiences, nightmares; sexual harassment, prior incidence of domestic violence (PLS PLS BE CAREFUL WHEN READING); arts and business/property devt talk that’s probably inaccurate; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters; cold and detached JK; explicit sexual content (specific warnings stated per chapter) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 14.8k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Series summary: Working for Jungkook isn’t the same as working for Hoseok. For starters, Jungkook doesn’t smile, he doesn’t appreciate you, and he gives you too much work. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome and has women at his beck and call. But as the tension grows, it becomes impossible to resist him. You’ve dedicated yourself to your job for 8 years so when you finally decide to put yourself first, he asks you to reconsider. And while you know that leaving is difficult, you learn that when it comes to Jungkook, staying is always so much harder.

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: I've been thoroughly enjoying your asks and replies about this story (sorry I can’t get to each one!) I see that a lot can relate to what OC's going through and I'm sending you hugs! 🤗 Again, I appreciate your love and excitement. And uh... Golden JK in that white tank. YUP. 🤭 Hoping you enjoy this one!

And as always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight  🥰

PS. If I can’t tag you, pls fix your settings!

The spring in your step tightens the closer you get to Jungkook’s penthouse the next Monday. Walking here to start another week, there’s a mix of emotions you’re carrying with you. 

You got to spend a proper weekend. On Friday, you made yourself some cold noodles and then watched a movie with Jimin and Soomin on video call, who’d said they’ll be visiting you in a week. You took the train to Daegu on Saturday, went to the park, then stayed in to enjoy Min-woo’s cooking and the girls’ stories about school and their youth clubs. You then buried yourself in your mother’s embrace as you told her about your week. You didn’t want to say too much, not wanting her to worry that her daughter isn’t being treated well at her job, but you suppose you said enough. 

“I wish I was strong enough to protect you from everything,” she’d told you softly. “All I can do is just give you hugs and say words of encouragement that might not even mean much.”

“And you still are, mom. I look forward to being with you because of those hugs. But more than that, you were strong enough to protect me from the bad guys,” you’d assured her. “Jungkook is many things but he’s not a terrible person. I can handle him.”

And you meant it. He may be hot-tempered sometimes but he’s not evil. But just because he made you go home early last Friday, it also doesn’t mean he’s suddenly redeemed in your mind. Sure, he didn’t email you at all over the weekend unlike last time, but he also still didn’t apologize to you nor show remorse. 

Perhaps that small nod after he called you telling you that you could go home was his way of saying sorry, or maybe it just isn’t in his vocabulary. You wonder if Hoseok had told him off but even then, it’s a pretty quick change, if you could call it that. 

Regardless, you felt like a human being again these past few days; you just wish Jungkook woke up on the right side of the bed this morning and doesn’t find a reason to complain about you. 

Unlocking the door, you’re surprised to hear silence - there are no grunts and deep breaths nor the sound of leather hitting leather from his morning workout. You scan the floor before walking around - a habit you’ve developed after finding that laced underwear last week - and then peep into the door on the right, only to find untouched equipment and no other traces of him. 

You’re in the living room when you hear another door close, prompting you to turn around and see a woman appearing from the hallway on the other side of the penthouse. Her hair’s a bit disheveled and she’s wearing one of Jungkook’s coats that you saw in his closet. 

“Uh, who are you?” The woman scoffs, her arms crossed and eyebrows raised now. 

Taken aback, you just stare at her, until you realize she’s not wearing anything underneath so you look away.

You try to make sense of who she is and how you could get out of this situation. You know for a fact that Jungkook doesn’t have a girlfriend, at least that’s what Lucas had told you, but who knows what Jungkook’s been up to since he got back? There was that red laced underwear from last week after all. Maybe he does sleep around like what Do-hyun said. Maybe this woman just doesn’t know Jungkook has a female assistant. Maybe he’s—

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” she says, sounding more annoyed now. 

“Oh. Uh, I’m Mr. Jeon’s—”

“She’s my assistant,” Jungkook answers, catching you off guard, given that you hadn’t noticed him walk in. 

He’s not in his usual workout attire, although him in a white tank top and gray sweatpants with mussed hair somehow seems more overwhelming than him in nothing but gym shorts. You glance at him as he stands next to the woman, whose face suddenly lights up. Not wanting to look at her, you shift your gaze towards the ceiling, trying hard not to look awkward as you’re rooted in place. 

The woman looks at you from head to toe and you feel her judging you, assessing you, while Jungkook stands there, yawning and combing his hair with his fingers.

“Just your assistant?” She asks, sounding incredulous. 

“Yeah. What else would she be?” Jungkook answers nonchalantly. Looking at you, he nods ever so slightly that you almost miss it, another hint of acknowledgement you’d seen last Friday. “Just eggs on toast. And coffee.”

“Yes, Mr. Jeon,” you say, exhaling the breath you were holding and then walking to the kitchen to start on his breakfast. 

“I don’t know, another one of your girls? I see you with a new one every time,” she huffs, sounding bitter, but Jungkook doesn’t sound amused.

“What are you still doing here?” He asks, walking to where you are then taking the glass of water you prepare for him. “I called a service for you last night.”

“I was too tired,” she says, and you don’t miss the sultry tone of her voice now. “You tired me out, Jungkook. I could barely get off the bed.”

“And why are you still here?” He asks, clearly not having it with her teasing. 

“Because I’m still tired,” she smirks, having followed him to the kitchen. 

You feel tense once more; you definitely don’t want to be part of this conversation in any way nor be privy to it, especially given what obviously happened between them last night. And especially not with Jungkook looking and sounding the way he does this early Monday morning.

“And I was thirsty,” she continues. 

He sets his glass down and opens the refrigerator and takes out a bottle of water that he hands over to her. 

“Ugh, how romantic,” she rolls her eyes, finishing it in a few gulps. 

“I have to go to work,” he tells her, frustrated that she’s being stubborn about not leaving when he no longer seems to want her around. 

“Actual work, or, you know, work?” She says, gesturing towards you.

You make the mistake of looking at her smug face, the insinuation not lost on you. It’s insane how she can just make claims like that, and you feel that just like you, Jungkook’s getting pissed.

“Can you just leave?” He says much more sternly now. “I can’t start my day with you still here.”

“Ooh, how rude,” she giggles. “Should’ve expected you’d be like that even outside of bed. I like that.”

She walks back to the room, leaving you and Jungkook on your own. You continue to work on his eggs while he stands by the counter, rubbing his temples. You’re unsure if it’s because of her or from last night’s alcohol, but you get aspirin and also a bottle of energy drink and set them in front of him before returning to preparing his meal. 

The woman comes back shortly in last night’s attire then walks towards Jungkook.

“I’m leaving,” she announces, tilting his chin so he would face her. “I’ll see you again, yeah?”

Jungkook turns away and does not respond, leaving her to laugh as if there’s a joke that only she’s in on.

“Going all quiet on me now, huh?” She says. “You weren’t like that last night. I can still hear your moans, actually. Fuck, they sounded so good and so loud.”

You almost hit your finger as you slice the apple, clearly not expecting for this stranger to say something so intimate, knowing there’s another person in the room with them. You don’t know if she wants to intimidate you for whatever reason or maybe just make you feel uncomfortable. Whatever it is, it’s working, as you’re unable to focus on the task at hand now. 

Jungkook still doesn’t say anything, and it’s what prompts her to finally say goodbye. 

“Fine, I’ll leave now,” she whines. “But that was an amazing first time. I hope it won’t be the last.”

Her giggle annoys you for some reason, even more when you mistakenly look her way. Her smug face unnerves you as she holds your gaze while she says, “I’ll see you again, okay? I’ll make sure you’ll scream my name next time,” the words obviously directed at Jungkook. 

She finally exits the penthouse but she doesn’t take the tension with her because in this large apartment with you and him, you feel a little too hot, a little too alert, yet somehow a little too curious.

Jungkook groans now as he finishes his energy drink, and he doesn’t know what he’s more frustrated about - the fact that the woman whose name he doesn’t remember didn’t go home, or that you’d found out about it in the most embarrassing way and he’d done nothing to stop her attempts at making you feel uncomfortable because that’s definitely what she was doing. 

He doesn’t know how it affected you but even he can tell that it wouldn’t have been good. Not that he’s ashamed of his lifestyle but it’s different when you, of all people, get to see what that looks like. You did see the laced underwear on his kitchen floor last week, and he knows you definitely tried to pretend you hadn’t. Perhaps the image of arrogant, playboy Jungkook just solidified in your head and the fact that maybe that’s what you think of him is making him feel uneasy. 

Not that he cares about what you think - he definitely does not - but he just doesn’t want that to affect how you would treat him in a professional sense, as if he’s some reckless man who works too hard and parties much harder, even if that’s kind of what he does. 

The hangover doesn’t help at all; he shouldn’t have chugged that wine while the woman was giving him head, which was amazing, he reminds himself. He just knows he won’t be seeing her again after this morning because she’d been stubborn and shameless, and definitely not because of how she spoke to you and the insinuations she made.

“Mr. Jeon, your breakfast is ready,” you inform him, breaking him out of his thoughts. 

He takes a seat on the table and you sit next to him, taking out your iPad to start your rundown of last Friday’s meeting and this week’s schedule. 

“So—”

“Wait, give me a minute,” he stops you, and he realizes just how little sleep he actually got and he’s gonna have to push through today’s busy schedule despite feeling physically out of it. 

“Okay, sir,” you say softly.

He munches on his toast with his eyes closed, and when he opens them, his gaze falls on you, sitting upright on the chair looking clean and proper in your blush blouse and beige skirt. You seem to be reviewing the reports from last week, your eyebrows scrunched as you scribble on the screen. He knows you took the hours-long trip to and from Daegu over the weekend; the visit, just like any, must have been tiring. Yet you come to his place everyday without fail, ready to do what he needs you to do, and he doesn’t even know if you’ve had anything to eat yet. 

“Have you had breakfast?” He asks.

“E-excuse me?”

“Breakfast. Have you had it?”

“O-oh. Yes, I had some crackers and fruit on the way. I ate on the bus,” you respond.

He remembers your address from your staff profile. You live about 40 minutes from him, almost double if you commute. You come at 6:30 everyday, so he can only imagine what it’s like for you every morning. 

“Why don’t you drive?”

“I don’t have a car, sir.”

“Shouldn’t that be part of your contract? Or a benefit of some sort?”

“It isn’t. I believe only the CEO’s assistant does,” you respond. 

“Bitna has a company car.”

“Ms. Jung requested that when she was still President.”

“Then I’ll request one for you. It's… it’s too early. And you can’t always be assured of public transportation. There could be delays. Or an emergency that would require you to drive.”

Of course, he’d want you to get a car so that you’re more accessible to him. Just when you thought there’s actually a bit of his heart working this time, he reminds you why there isn’t.

“That’s true, but nothing has happened so far. And there are other options should there be,” you say. “I also don’t know how to drive so there is no need, Mr. Jeon. I leave my apartment early enough to make sure I get here on time, and I’ll let you know if I will be late.”

Jungkook just hums, even if there’s more he wants to know. What about late nights? What if there’s a storm? Well, he does know - he did see you miss out on taxis and then just walk last Tuesday; he wonders how you got home then, and how many hours of sleep you had after all that. 

He lets it go; it’s too early to think about this.

“Good. We can run through the minutes now,” he says.

So you do, stating the points and confirming your actions for each one and then noting down his as well. You try to focus, and you’re able to for the most part, but it’s not easy when he sits just a few feet away from you, with his bare arms propped on the table that’s just hard to look away from. 

You’ve always liked tattoos on other people, and the art on his right arm looks so delicate and personal; you wonder what someone like him would value enough to ink permanently on his skin. Even his untouched arm is mesmerizing, toned like every other part of him, with beauty marks that you spot as well. It doesn’t help that his slightly long hair keeps falling over his eyes, prompting him to comb them with his fingers every time. 

What also doesn’t help are the woman’s words from earlier, as she’d managed to make you think of Jungkook in a very different way, given her descriptions of how he’d been last night. You don’t know what she intended by doing that, but you didn’t miss her insinuations about your relations with him, which are definitely far from the truth. Learning that he’s rough and loud in bed is also knowledge that you could’ve done without. Somehow, he sounds like how he looks - expressive of negative emotions, and the type to drain the other person. 

He also sounds like the guys you’ve slept with.

The thought alarms you. These are things you shouldn’t be thinking about your boss, about the man who pays you, about the one who makes you miss meals and buses and who makes you angry because of how he treats you. 

You try to dispel these ideas by coughing - the loud sound helps, and you also want to distract yourself from how distracted you are at your task because somehow he keeps getting more and more attractive after every glance. 

He stands up, and just when you thought he’d be angry after your disruption, he surprises you by placing a glass of water in front of you.

“You can drink, you know? You can make yourself a cup of coffee. You can even cook yourself breakfast if it’s just crackers you eat in the morning,” he says. 

Yes, you think to yourself. You’ve been wanting to try his coffee because of the fancy machine but breakfast sounds… too domestic. 

“Thank you, but I’m okay. I mean, the snacks fill me up just fine.”

“It’s not proper breakfast, though,” he argues. 

“With all due respect, sir, eating takes time away from all the things I have to do. I manage just fine.”

Expecting an annoyed expression from him because you did just imply that you do too much, you instead see the tiniest hint of guilt on his face, as if he actually feels bad that you’re unable to take care of yourself because of him. 

“You’re not a servant, Ms. Cho. You’re not disallowed to do basic things just because of your job.”

“You have standards, Mr. Jeon,” you say, throwing his words back at him. You don’t expect to see his face fall a little, and you’re surprised that you seem to care. “I need to meet them, and I’m still familiarizing myself with how you want things done, and that takes time. I don’t mean to imply that you treat me like a servant because you don’t. I just… I want to be able to do things right and I’m still learning.”

The words hit Jungkook. He knows he’d been too critical during these first weeks, and that’s more because he’s unable to manage the initial attraction that he’s trying so hard to temper. He could’ve gone on correcting you constructively, with no need for harshness the way he did with Lucas when he started. 

You’ve also been doing this for a few years. You’ve been working for the VP’s office longer than he has - you know the people and the processes more, yet you’re the one claiming you need to learn and do things right. Even he thinks his father, whom he never thought was the best at looking out for his people, wouldn’t be angry at those below him for irrational reasons. Somehow he thinks he’s worse than his old man now. 

But the word sorry isn’t in his vocabulary. He’d rarely ever said it, and the only reason he’d heard it a lot growing up was because people caused his inconvenience, and not because they’d hurt his feelings. He doesn’t know what that’s like - forgiving and wanting to be forgiven. They’re foreign to him, but somehow those are what you’re making him want to know. 

“I—”

“Can we move on, Mr. Jeon?” You interrupt him. “You have a scheduled check-in with your father before the 8:30 team meeting.”

“Right, that’s today,” Jungkook says, letting go of any form of apology he could muster. 

He nods then stands up to head to his bathroom, and you follow shortly after to arrange his outfits for the week. You clean up in the kitchen after and wait for him to come out, with you reflexively walking up to him to fix his tie and make sure all the creases on his clothes are fixed. 

Jungkook tries to remain still as you, like everyday, make sure he looks proper. It always took him a long time to get ready because he used to do all this on his own, but with you taking on the unofficial stylist role - which he admits you do a great job at - he’s relieved of that added stress of looking the part of a Vice President. It just also means that every morning, he has to look unaffected as you stand close to him like this, with you tightening his tie and your fingers grazing his clothed chest.

You smell like roses. It feels warm and nostalgic, like it’s familiar but also something new. It’s refreshing on you, and it wafts through his nose and paralyzes him a little. He tries to hold his breath like always, only briefly glancing at your focused eyes as you make sure he looks impeccable. 

He’s caught off guard when you look up and meet his gaze. He doesn’t react, but he does linger and surprisingly, so do you. He wants to apologize but he doesn’t know how to. He just hopes you feel it somehow with how he looks at you; he’d like to think you do, as you gently bow and step back, taking your things to go down. 

You go through his schedule while in the car, noting his dinner meetings and that the food tasting for next month’s event with the art industry professionals that you’re both organizing has been moved to next week, freeing up his Thursday lunch hour.

“I’ll schedule my visit at Taehyung’s tailor shop that day then,” Jungkook states. “I’ll have a few suits done.”

“Noted, Mr. Jeon,” you reply, adjusting his calendar. 

He doesn’t say anything after. He takes his leather notebook and sketches like he often does, looking out his window only a few times as he’s engrossed in his drawings. Even with all that he is, you can’t deny Jungkook’s talent. You only know he took an architecture course but you don’t know if he actually practices it. 

You start to wonder if Jungkook wanted that to be his profession but couldn’t pursue it because he’s expected to manage the company with his cousin. You wonder if he’d always been into drawing and the arts, if it was an outlet the way reading picture books was for you; you’d wanted to become an illustrator but your mother couldn’t afford drawing classes and that profession just didn’t seem like it could sustain you financially. You wonder what Jungkook thinks when he sketches and what his subjects are, if he feels at peace the way he looks, if he hopes he could just spend his days doing this. 

The seeming warmth in your thoughts about this man concerns you, prompting you to turn away from his direction and stare out the window instead. You remind yourself that this is the same person who’d made the past two weeks miserable for you; he doesn’t deserve warmth from you in any form, even if, for the briefest moment earlier after you fixed his tie, that’s what you gave him. You learned that he’s quite mesmerizing when he doesn’t talk or when he isn’t scowling. You also learned you’re quite quick to fall into it when you let your guard down a little. 

You groan internally. There’s a lot you don’t know about him and you don’t really care to know more; what you know is enough to put you off anyway. And so these moments of weakness - of curiosity, of concern -  should not happen again. 

Except, they do happen, over an hour later after Jungkook returns to his room from his check-in with his father. He sits on his chair, his eyes closed and jaws clenched, unmoving for a good few minutes, and you watch from your seat, wondering what transpired that’s got him this disturbed. 

It happens again an hour later. He moved the team meeting to the afternoon and he’s now furiously typing on his desktop, making calls, sketching, making calls again, then sitting still with his eyes closed once more. Hoseok walks in, merely nodding at you, then enters the room and speaks with the younger man. Jungkook closes the blinds, and you’re left to wonder what’s going on behind closed doors and what’s got him angry and frustrated.

You take your chance at finding out when Hoseok emerges, asking him if everything’s okay, if Jungkook is okay.

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Hoseok says, a half smile on display, something you’re only a tad familiar with. “He’ll manage.”

He rushes out, saying he has a meeting to get to, and you nod, glancing at the closed door and blocked window, wondering what troubles Jungkook is handling on his own. If it’s personal, it’s clearly not your business. But if it’s work-related, then it is. You’re there to make things easier for him, after all. You also don’t want to be surprised and be bombarded by new tasks just in case, so it’s better to know if there’s something you can help in resolving things as well.

You walk in his room then place the ginger lemon tea on his desk, a common home remedy for hangovers, just in case last night’s events are still affecting him. You inform him that you’ve sent the reports already for his sign-off, and he responds that he’ll get to them tomorrow.

Glancing at his drink, he halts his typing to look at you. 

“Do I look hungover to you?” He asks pointedly.

It’s clearly not what you meant, but you suppose the insinuation isn’t what he needs right now. You want to be swallowed by the ground. He was already calm towards you, civil even, and now there’s another reason for him to be upset at you. You wanted to avoid any possibility of that as much as possible, and now you’re here, at the verge of being told off again, just because your stupid brain decided to care the tiniest bit.

“I, uh, no, Mr. Jeon,” you stutter. “I just…”

You don’t have a reason. Clearly, you can’t tell him that he hasn’t seemed okay all morning - whatever that means - and that just in case it’s last night’s alcohol affecting him, there’s a cure. You stare back at him with worry, but instead of challenging or questioning you, he just sits back with his eyes closed again and dismisses you. 

“You may leave,” he instructs. 

“What about lunch, sir?” You ask. 

You’d never cared before, why the change now? 

“I’m fine,” he responds. “Call me when the meeting’s about to start.”

Your stubborn self takes the box of biscuits from the coffee table and places it in front of him. You’re pushing it, you think, but there’s a meeting he’ll be leading and he can’t be unfocused; when he is, it’s all the worse for you. 

He doesn’t react and you walk out. When you enter an hour later to call him, you spot the empty cup and the crumbs on the saucer, and you can’t help the tiny smile that you make internally.

It’s short-lived though, as that whole afternoon, he acts unusually - he barely makes comments at updates, he doesn’t make eye contact, and doesn’t ask further questions. He just nods when you say you’re heading out at 6PM, giving you no added tasks to keep you from leaving.

You enter his penthouse the next morning to the banging of leather hitting leather, prompting you to jerk from the loud sounds. He’s grunting and panting heavily, and you just know that whatever it was that transpired yesterday, he’s releasing all his emotions right now, through this. 

He exits the gym and walks to the counter where you are, finishing the water you laid for him in three gulps. 

“Do you need that tended to?” You ask. 

He looks surprised. You gesture towards his hands and he looks at his bruised knuckles; he really let it all out this morning, it seems. 

“I’m fine,” he shrugs. 

You didn’t think those two words from him would ever make you feel discouraged, but one thing you’ve come to learn about Jungkook is that he easily expresses his anger and frustration towards other people. It’s when he keeps things in that they seem more serious, and you wonder what words he heard yesterday that might have made him this closed off, this quiet, this much more distant.

But fortunately, your feeling of worry fades with each day that passes, as he slowly returns to his normal self after - the focus, the perpetually serious look, the attention to detail, the sketching on his notebook. Perhaps Jungkook just needed a particular kind of release and he’s maybe handling things better now. 

For his sake and yours, you wish the issue has been resolved, otherwise another blow up might happen and that wouldn’t be good for your newfound dynamic that’s a lot more civil than anything. 

It’s Thursday when you get a call at 5 in the morning, just as you’ve woken up to get ready for work, and Mr. Ri’s voice greets you on the other end.

“Hi, ___. How are you this morning?”

“Hi, Mr. Ri,” you yawn, curious as to why he’s checking up on you this early. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he hums. “I was instructed by Mr. Jeon to pick you up today.”

“Why would CEO Jeon ask that?” You wonder, as you sleepily walk to the bathroom to wash up.

“He didn’t. Jungkook did.”

You stop on your tracks. You don’t recall being informed about this, nor do you know of any particular reason why you should be at his place so soon.

“Oh, uhm, okay. I should be ready in–”

“I’ll be there in about 50 minutes,” Mr. Ri interjects. “Sleep in a bit more and have some breakfast. I’ll see you shortly.”

You try not to think about what prompted Jungkook to have you picked up, so you focus on getting ready and then whipping yourself some fried rice using the leftover seafood from last night. You won’t lie, it tastes delicious. It might be that you just haven’t had proper weekday breakfast in a while, but it could also be that you’re energized enough and not pressed for time that you’re able to make this as good as it is. 

You decide to bring some to Jungkook’s place just in case you get there late. Sure, Mr. Ri will be driving you, but you don’t know how the traffic is at this time, and this change in schedule is somewhat making you anxious. But then again, there’s always bread or cereal for him to eat; you just think that a little act of thanks wouldn’t be so bad.

Mr. Ri arrives exactly 50 minutes later and he assures you that he’ll get you to the penthouse in half an hour. You trust him of course; he’s been with the Jeons for decades and he knows these streets like the back of his hand. Seated in the passenger seat, you try to figure out what about today has got your boss a little kinder than usual. 

“I arrived five minutes late yesterday,” you wonder out loud. “Is that why? He has a meeting with a local artist in the morning and he doesn’t want me to be late. That should be it. Ugh, stupid,” you groan. “I should’ve taken the first bus I saw, but it was so full and–”

“___,” Mr. Ri stops you. “Five minutes isn’t much. Plus, you always arrive 10 minutes before 6:30 and then just wait at the lobby. I don’t know why you do, you could always just go up to the penthouse when you get there, you know?”

“No, I don’t. Mr. Jeon has boundaries and clearly likes keeping his distance. Going to his penthouse before I’m supposed to be there feels like I’m intruding,” you argue.

“You’re literally his assistant, and you go to his bedroom and his closet, fix his things, prepare his meals… there’s no intrusion happening,” Mr. Ri counters. “I know the man. He’ll probably just look at you curiously then go about his routine.”

“Well, since you know him so well, then why did he have me picked up this morning?”

There’s a brief silence before the man next to you responds.

“He did note that you were late for the first time, but that wasn’t his issue,” Mr. Ri says, appeasing you before you react negatively and think that your tardiness was a big deal. “He asked if I knew how you got to Hoseok’s place before and I said you would just take the bus; it was closer to your place so it was fine. They have someone to make his breakfast, too, so you didn’t need to come early; plus, you only went every Monday.”

“What a change, huh?” You attempt to poke fun at yourself and the new arrangement you’re in. 

Not that you’re complaining; you know of other executive assistants who do much more for their bosses and what you have with Jungkook isn’t even that bad. But it is quite the shift compared to what you did for Hoseok. You’ve figured out your own routine, though. And the commute isn’t always terrible, for as long as you’re not one of the unlucky ones, given the recent incidents. 

“It’s quite the change. I don’t think he realized that until yesterday. He also asked me if I know if you eat properly in the morning. Maybe he thinks you don’t?”

“I’ve skipped meals…” you trail. “And well, I told him that I just eat crackers on the bus. Maybe he thinks I’m losing focus some days.”

“Maybe he’s just concerned.”

You snort at the absurdity of the statement. 

Mr. Ri sighs. He knows that Jungkook hasn’t been his best self since he arrived in Seoul, and especially towards you. He’s noticed the young man’s indifference, the occasional passive remark, the frustrated looks, and the tension every morning. He’s noticed your faraway eyes, too, your constant anxiety, and unusual lack of confidence in your usual tasks, given that you look to be second-guessing everything you do. 

As someone who’s worked for the Jeons for so long and who’d watched Jungkook grow up, he’s used to the detachment, but it was always because the young man often lived in his own head. There are always lots of thoughts and ideas, and lots of feelings he keeps bottled in. 

But he’s also seen Jungkook’s kindness that he doesn’t always show, the guilt and anger that restrain him from expressing his emotions, and the care that he seems to put a brake on when he shows too much of it to someone, and so it isn’t much of a surprise to him to him when the young man gave this specific instruction to pick you up, not just today but everyday moving forward.

“The news on the radio reported on the robberies and complaints of sexual harassment against female commuters last night,” Mr. Ri continues. “They attack at any hour now. I’m sure that’s why. He wants me to drive you home everyday, too.”

“Mr. Ri, that’s too much,” you protest. “That’s not part of my contract and it isn’t his responsibility.”

“Maybe, precisely why I think he’s concerned. It isn’t about making sure you’re not late to work or anything. He’s worried that something might happen to you. And I agree. It isn’t safe, ___.”

“It’s not safe for me anywhere. I just… it’s too much,” you sigh. “I don’t need this kind of service. I’m not entitled to it.”

“He’ll insist though. Will you argue with him over your own security? I mean, it’s either this or he’ll pay for your driving lessons and then request for a car for you to use.”

You sigh, knowing he has a point. You don’t think you deserve it but you also can’t deny that the concern makes you feel a certain kind of way for him; gratitude, for one, and something else you can’t exactly name. 

“Okay,” you say softly. 

“Good. It’s about time he makes it up to you,” he chuckles. “Boy’s been a brat these past weeks. I wanted to just knock some sense into him.”

“Hmm, not like I expected any less,” you huff. “He just looked grumpy or disinterested during the times I’ve seen him before. Unhappy people like that aren’t always the kindest. Has he always been that way?”

“I wouldn’t say he has. I mean, he just wasn’t joyful or expressive, not like his brother. Jungkook liked to keep to himself; Hoseok often tried to push him out of his comfort zone but the boy wouldn’t really budge. I think as he grew up, that just amplified. People who prefer being alone have their reasons, don’t they?”

They do. You know this just like anyone, perhaps as much as Jungkook. It’s comfortable being alone; there’s no one to hurt you and no one you could hurt. You wonder if his reason is the same, and if, like you, he feels the loneliness creep in every once in a while. 

You nod in silence and the conversation doesn’t continue until you arrive at Jungkook’s building. You have five minutes to get to his unit and you get there in three. When you enter, you hear grunting from the gym, and it’s shortly after when he exits and drinks the glass of water on the counter.

“What’s that?” He gestures at the plastic container next to you.

“It’s fried rice. I made it this morning because I had time to eat breakfast at home,” you say, softly smiling and then bowing at him to show your gratitude. Whatever his reason is, the act was appreciated. 

“And you’re gonna eat again?”

“I was actually–”

You stop midway. You actually meant to serve it to him in case you arrived late, which you realize is pretty ridiculous. 

“Actually what?” He asks, leaning forward on the counter now, with his bare arms from his tank top blinding you a little. 

“I didn’t know what time I was gonna get here so I thought as a last resort, I’ll bring this to heat up and serve to you but then I realized that that’s pretty stupid because it’s leftovers and definitely not high-quality ingredients and it’s… just silly. Plus, you don’t eat rice in the morning.”

With his scrunched brows, he asks, “is it good?”

“It’s pretty delicious,” you say. “I mean, I liked it. I don’t know how sophisticated your palate is… Mr. Jeon.”

You smack yourself internally for rambling. 

“What’s that got to do with anything? If it’s good, then it’s good.”

“I’m an ordinary person, Mr. Jeon. I have normal people’s taste buds.”

“So that makes me, what? Abnormal?”

“No… I–” you unknowingly pout. You shouldn’t have brought this in the first place. 

Jungkook is disarmed again at the sight of your pouty face. If this is your way of thanking him for this morning, he’ll take it. The fact that you’d brought something you cooked from your own place to feed to him is already enough to make him feel hazy, which is why he needs to get away from you right away.

“Just heat it up. I’ll have that. There’s not much food in here anyway,” he says, walking away, leaving you no room to resist.

You do as you’re told, not wanting to overthink and change anything. You do check the cupboard and see a stashed pantry, and you wonder if he’d wanted to find something to criticize about your cooking, too. 

He walks in and lets you fix his tie again, and for some reason, you feel more nervous than you normally do today. You sit and busy yourself with responding to emails as he eats his breakfast, careful not to look at him while he does.

“It’s good, a little better than how I do mine,” he says, surprising you.

“You cook?” You ask too quickly.

“Of course,” he frowns, looking a little offended. “I lived on my own for years. How do you think I survived?”

“Hiring people to do it for you,” you shrug. 

Peeking at him once again, you see that he’s almost finished with the dish, and you can’t help the little smile on your face at the thought that he might actually enjoy it. It’s just fried rice, but you let yourself feel the shallow happiness from this. He’s at least not berating you or anything.

He finishes his meal as you go through yesterday’s meetings. There’s not much about the Arts Center he says, just like yesterday and the day before, and you start to wonder if the issue with his father has anything to do with that. 

You let it go, opting to just follow his pace and let him talk about it when he’s ready, if he ever will be. 

The morning goes by smoothly. Jungkook meets with Yoongi in his office then reviews the reports you’d sent last Monday. He sends you an email, saying that they’ve been approved and for you to attach his signature for sign-off and dissemination, leaving you perplexed at the lack of any other comments again. 

He goes for a quick lunch at the dining hall while you eat a sandwich at the pantry, and not long after, you’re back in the car to head to Jungkook’s appointment with his best friend.

Kim Taehyung’s tailor shop boasts of classic European design. It’s elegant in all the ways that he is, as he stands by the desk in his working space, a smaller room on the mezzanine floor with an exquisite couch and displays of his work. He’s donned in an orange suit that you think only he can pull off, while his brother, Seokjin, sits on a chair in an impeccable black 3-piece. 

You know as much that Jungkook grew up with both men, but while the brothers are often a hot topic on the news because of their wealth, their successful businesses, and colorful dating lives, you now wonder how Jungkook managed to stay out of the spotlight despite being a lot of the things that they are. 

You bow at them after Jungkook introduces you as his assistant, and you’re surprised when Seokjin reaches out his hand to shake yours, bowing as well and offering you a kind smile. Taehyung does the same, and you can’t help but feel the warmth on your cheeks. They’re clearly incredibly handsome men with amazing styles, just like your boss, but they’re obviously respectful and gentle, unlike him. 

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Cho,” Taehyung smiles. “So, what events do I need to dress my best friend for?”

He looks warm, friendly, and you can’t help but mirror his smile as he offers you a seat and some tea. You take out your calendar and enumerate at least three big events in the next months, which would require standout designs. Jungkook also wants four additional everyday classic suits, and Taehyung starts sketching on his pad as you speak. 

“Make one for my event, too,” Seokjin says. “I’m launching my traditional alcohol brand in Singapore in September. It’ll be a big thing so Jungkook needs a fancy piece for that as well.”

“That soon?” Jungkook asks.

“Yeah, it got pushed early,” Seokjin replies.

Jungkook asks you to check his calendar for any activities in the Singapore office, and you state that there’s nothing scheduled during that time. 

“There’s a landscape designer I want to meet while I’m there. Schedule one with her later,” Jungkook instructs you, and you make a note to coordinate with Lucas, who will continue to serve as the assigned assistant for the Vice President’s Southeast Asia trips. 

Taehyung finishes the rough designs quickly, given that he’s already familiar with the style his client wants. He’s done a lot of Jungkook’s suits, which you know from all the weeks of preparing his clothes, and you do admit that he looks best in these custom-made pieces.

As Taehyung takes Jungkook’s measurements - given that, as per his words, Jungkook has gotten wider since the last time - he asks if you have something to wear for those big events, too. 

“Uh, yes,” you say. 

“Are they from company events from before?” Taehyung asks.

You nod shyly. It’s not like you’re paid enough to afford a new one every time nor can you wear them anywhere else; there aren’t exactly regular fancy dinners and social occasions you get invited to.

“Have new ones made, then,” Jungkook says, his back turned to you.

“Uh, there’s no need, Mr. Jeon. The gowns still look new and they’re well-made,” you insist.

“Store-bought?” Taehyung asks, his eyebrow cocked.

“Uh, yes, Mr. Kim.”

“Nothing beats custom-designed ones though. And I must say, I’m kinda good at them.”

“I, uh… it’s really not necessary,” you stutter, feeling a little too shy and definitely undeserving. It’s Kim Taehyung; his name is the brand.

“I believe it is,” Jungkook says now, turning to you. “They’re big events and we’re organizing one with the arts professionals. Some dignitaries will be coming, too, including the culture minister. I’d prefer if you looked the part of working for the Vice President, Ms. Cho. You represent me in that way.”

“I… uh, okay,” you sigh, knowing you don’t seem to be in a position to turn him down. 

“Great. Start thinking of designs, then!” Taehyung beams.

It’s some minutes later when Jungkook’s measurements have been taken and Taehyung calls for you. You sit on the chair facing his desk not far away while Jungkook and Seokjin talk about sports and this new club that opened in Gangnam. 

Seated in front of you, Taehyung takes his sketch pad and starts asking what design you want.

“Something simple and comfortable since I’ll be moving around,” you say softly. “And nothing form-fitting or revealing since, uh…”

“I understand,” Taehyung smiles, revealing a gentle side of him that the paparazzi and tabloids clearly don’t capture. 

He starts drawing your silhouette, glancing at you then at Jungkook before speaking.

“So, he’s been in this role for a few weeks now. Has he been nice?”

“Define ‘nice,’” you respond, earning you a chuckle. 

“I guess that’s my answer, then.”

“I don’t mean to say he isn’t,” you backtrack. “Mr. Jeon just has a different leadership style as Mr. Jung’s, that’s all.”

“I suppose that’s quite a difficult adjustment for you, huh?”

You purse your lips and Taehyung laughs, the soft way he does it is something new and refreshing to you. You didn’t realize how deprived you are of such gentleness, of such acts or sights as simple as a smile. Hoseok is no longer your source. Your team hasn’t been as jolly these past weeks. The only other person you talk to regularly at work is Yoongi, and while he’s definitely been smiling more, it’s a lot more teasing than it is comforting. You’ve been missing your best friends more because of that, you think - Soomin’s smile is blinding, Jimin’s is sweet and infectious. Perhaps it’s why you haven’t been smiling much yourself. 

“I won’t tell, don’t worry,” Taehyung assures you. “I just wanted to check on him. This whole move has been tough but he doesn’t say much. I’m guessing he doesn’t tell you, either, but he’ll definitely show it.”

“He has, actually,” you say softly, knowing now that even with his closest friends, Jungkook tends to keep things to himself. “He’s pretty stressed most days, always working and stuff. He’s been a little hard on me but I guess that’s a natural reaction for some.”

“That’s not an excuse though.”

“It isn’t, but… it’s okay. I can handle it.”

It’s not as much of a lie anymore as it used to be. Jungkook hasn’t been overly critical about things as he was just last week. He rarely makes comments on your minutes now, doesn’t correct the reports you reviewed, doesn’t talk over you or doesn’t yell. There’s been a change, definitely, and you wonder what triggered it. 

“He doesn’t really smile, does he?” You ask, your curiosity getting the better of you.

Taehyung’s laughter is one of disbelief and pure amusement, catching the attention of the other two men but he waves them off. 

“He still does, just not as much,” he responds. “It kinda stopped after the breakup with Chaerin but I guess that’s what heartbreak does, right?”

“I… wouldn’t know. I’ve never experienced it,” you shrug.

“Lucky,” he hums. “I don’t wish it on anyone.”

You glance at Jungkook, briefly letting yourself imagine a version of him that’s a lot more carefree, relaxed, perhaps happy. Maybe it’s the loneliness and that you’d understand; that, you’ve experienced. It’s both liberating and isolating. You wonder if that’s how he’s been feeling all these years since then.

“I’m done,” Taehyung announces, showing you three designs that are exactly what you asked for. 

“These look nice. And way out of my price range,” you laugh.

“Perks of having a rich boss,” he winks. “I don’t want you to worry about anything, okay? You’re my client and I want you to wear these with confidence. Now, if you’re okay with all this, I’ll get one of my female assistants to get your measurements.”

You nod in response. There’s absolutely nothing you would change about those designs. And if you’re being honest, you now can’t wait for those events just so you could wear them. Hoseok had obviously paid for the gowns you had to wear for the big events, but those were store-bought that A-yeong helped you choose. Some were your own purchases, but this is the first time that you’re getting measured for custom-made clothing designed by Kim Taehyung. 

You walk towards the fitting room at the corner where one of his staff meets you. She’s meticulous, which is why it takes longer than usual just to get this done. With her silence, however, you’re able to hear the conversation happening outside, with the brothers now asking Jungkook about the same thing you’ve been wondering about.

“By the way, what was up with you last Monday?” Seokjin asks. “I thought that was gonna be night 4 of you going home with a new woman. But you passed out before you could even ask. And that was just 9PM.”

“Four nights isn’t much, though,” Taehyung laughs. “Didn’t he do that with seven women on seven straight nights when he was in Singapore? That was wild. Was it that stressful there? Or were there just so many to choose from?”

“Shut up. I’m not proud of that,” Jungkook groans. “And that was one time. It never happened again.”

“It never happened seven times straight again,” Seokjin corrects. “You were really living your life out there, huh? Stressful job, a rooftop bar in your apartment building, chauffeur and butler services 24/7, women from all over the world begging to sleep with you…”

“It’s called the post-break up stage,” Taehyung says. 

“For six years?!” Seokjin asks incredulously. “It’s either you loved Chaerin that much, you blamed yourself too much, or you just really sucked at moving on.”

“I vote all of the above,” Taehyung states.

“Me, too,” Seokjin claims.

“Fuck you both,” Jungkook groans again. 

“I think he also just missed us too much,” Seokjin adds. “Lucas was cleaning up your messes every time, not snapping you out of it. But we’re here now so I guess three straight nights is as far as you’ll go.”

“Two, if you stopped me last Sunday,” Jungkook points out. “You both always insisted that Sundays are a no-no. You were too busy with your own women.”

“May we remind you that you didn’t even make it to our table. You stepped foot in the bar then left five minutes later,” Taehyung says. “But really, what was it about Monday? You seemed angrier than usual.”

“Just… a bunch of things my father said,” Jungkook huffs.

“Did he tell you off again?”

“Not really, surprisingly. He just delivered a message basically, about what the board members were saying about me and my project. Bullshit stuff, you know? I just wanted to forget about it.”

“Did you?”

“Sorta,” Jungkook says. “I still don’t want to talk about it.”

“But it’s still happening, right?” Taehyung asks worriedly. “The Arts Center, I mean. You’ve been wanting to work on that since the building was abandoned five years ago.”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook responds. “I guess. We already put money into it. I’ll just have to make concessions if my father doesn’t side with me on this. I hate to think he’s buying into what those old folks are saying.”

“Ms. Cho, we’re all done,” the staff member tells you, muffling the conversation outside that you couldn’t help but hear. 

It felt quite intrusive, hearing how life was like for Jungkook in Singapore, but then again, his personal life seemed to be the topic in the office comfort rooms, and you don’t know how to feel about getting confirmation about those rumors. It felt sad more than anything though, living that kind of life away from friends and family. You wouldn’t know what moving on from a breakup feels like, but you suppose people grieve a lost love in their own ways; you can’t blame them for how they choose to repair the parts of them that broke. 

But the bit about his conversation with his father is what bothers you. You’d hate to think that there’s a possibility that Jungkook’s plans won’t be fully realized, and whatever the reasons for that are, you hope they didn’t break his spirit too much. You know the plans now like the back of your hand and the more you learn, the more you believe in it. You hope Jungkook continues to believe in it, too.

You exit the fitting room, catching the end of a conversation where Seokjin suggests a wholesome weekend for the three men of just dinner and drinks. The two other men agree, and they all turn to you once you make your presence felt.

“All good?” Taehyung asks you.

“Yes,” you bow in thanks. 

“Great. The gowns will be ready at the same time as Jungkook’s suits will be. I’ll just let you guys know, okay?

“Sure,” Jungkook says. “But anyway, we have to get back to work. Thanks again.”

The brothers bid you and Jungkook goodbye, and you head back to the office with not much words said. Jungkook seems less frustrated, but the worry you feel suddenly returns. It’s the thought that maybe he doesn’t feel supported, that maybe what he’s doing isn’t enough, and that more than that, it's him choosing to deal with all this on his own, not even looking to his friends to comfort him.

Jimin and Soomin meet you for lunch at a restaurant that Saturday afternoon. The drive from Busan took longer than expected, they said, but you say you don’t mind. They’re visiting you like they always do every month, regardless of how busy they are back in their hometown, which was your home for a few years, too.

You were in the same class; your mom worked at the school, which was the only reason why you were able to attend a prestigious one in the first place. Even when you moved back to Daegu, you remained in touch with them. Despite the distance, none of you wanted to just let the friendship fade, and even when they had to stay back and you made a life out here in Seoul, they made sure to visit you as much as they could.

They’re why you were excited for the weekend to come and now, you’ll be enjoying a hearty meal, getting your nails done after, lounging at your apartment, and then heading to a club for a night out, which you only do whenever they’re around. 

“So, has the boss situation improved?” Soomin asks, her eyes soft and laced with worry “Or should I storm the jerk’s house and give him a piece of my mind?”

“It has,” you chuckle. “So no need to call him names or fight anyone. I’m okay.”

“Well, you did call him a grumpy old grinch with nice hair the other week,” Jimin points out. “So… did he get a haircut?”

“No,” you laugh again. “And that was in the heat of the moment. I… I mean, he’s still grumpy but he’s not… as grumpy or unbearable. He’s been—”

“Oh hun, please don’t say he’s been kind and then give him a pass for how he’s been to you,” Soomin reprimands. “Mean people don’t just become nice all of a sudden. And if they do, that’s a controlling tactic - they want you to think they’re capable of change so you’ll soften up to them and then give them a pass every time they do asshole-y things again.”

“You watch too many shows,” you frown, although knowing her statement isn’t wrong; it’s just not something you can relate with Jungkook.

Sure, he hasn’t been the nicest, but he also hasn’t been the meanest. He’s just been… him, you suppose - a bit in the middle; frustrated at worst, quiet at best, stoic on most days. He does seem to live in his head a lot, and while you won’t go so far as characterizing him as kind, he definitely hasn’t been insufferable these past few days. 

“I’ve just dealt with too many assholes, ___,” Soomin corrects. “They’re all the same. Men are shit.”

“Except for Jimin,” you correct.

“Except for Jimin,” she concurs. 

“I accept the honor,” he bows. “But seriously, ___. How has it been? You… you seemed really sad last week and I would’ve driven here then if we didn’t have that work emergency.”

“I’m okay, I mean it. I’ve experienced worse,” you try to assure them.

“You do know that having experienced something worse doesn’t mean it’s fine for you to experience something bad again, right?” Soomin points out.

“I know, but it also means that I know my threshold for bad behavior,” you say. “Jungkook was in a lot of stress and I did mess up. But I think he’s making up for that.”

“By apologizing, you mean?” Soomin cocks an eyebrow.

Your sigh tells her that’s definitely not what Jungkook has done. 

“Well, he approves my minutes and reviewed reports much quicker,” you reason. “And he doesn’t comment as much. But actually, I think he just pities me. And that’s worse.”

“Why would he pity you?” She asks.

“I don’t know. Maybe because I said that a tree fell on our roof and that mom got injured the weekend before my mishap,” you explain. “And then he found out how early I start my day just so I can get to him on time. He’s made adjustments after those and I… I think he’s guilty or something. And he’s just not being his usual angry self around me to make it up to me.”

“So in short, he’s still kind of an asshole,” Soomin says, prompting Jimin to snort and you to pout. “He could always just apologize if he’s guilty and realized he should treat you better.”

“Some things aren’t easy for other people to say, you know?” You say softly. 

“That’s not an excuse,” she points out.

“It’s an explanation,” you counter. “Or one of them, I guess. I don’t know him well enough, but it’s better to think that he’s a decent person who just struggles with emotions than someone who willingly makes people’s lives difficult. I mean, that’s easier to manage and accept.”

“If that helps you deal and he’s indeed improving, then maybe I won’t have to storm his place then,” she smiles, taking your hand and kissing it as she likes to do. 

She knows your habit of pressing your nails onto your skin, and she always said she likes to remind you that you deserve gentleness, too; she’ll give it if you can’t give it to yourself. 

The rest of the afternoon goes as you planned, with all the banter you’d expect from your best friends amid the pampering and then the chick flick in the background as you get ready in your tiny apartment. 

You smile at your reflection in the mirror. The high-waist trousers and sleeveless top ensemble is a refreshing sight for you, as you only really dress up like this for a night out. You’re in your usual pencil skirts and blouses otherwise, and in jeans and tops or oversized jumpers on a normal day. 

Soomin’s done your makeup and Jimin compliments you as he looks on, and soon enough, they’re ready as well to head out. 

“Where’re we going?” You ask from the passenger seat as Jimin navigates the busy streets of Seoul on a Saturday night. 

“Some new restaurant the guys discovered,” Soomin responds. “I think it’s not far from here.”

“Okay, good. Hajoon’s been texting, asking what time we’ll get there,” you tell them. 

“Geez, you were already with him last night. Tell him to be patient,” Jimin rolls his eyes. 

Soomin laughs from the backseat as she teases that he’s just being jealous, to which he points out that he just hasn’t seen you in a while so the man can wait. And you assure Jimin that you’d gladly skip a night with Hajoon to be with your best friends, no questions asked. 

You get there eventually, and you immediately spot the group because of the laughter coming from their table. There are four men; the two women are Soomin’s friends, which is how you got involved with Hajoon in the first place. You met some time last year and you’ve been hanging out with him since then - among other things - and you’ve been enjoying it, given the simplicity and lack of drama when he’s not being moody. He’s a warm body who knows how to use it and you’re a good type of relief, as he’d said; there’s really not much more you need as you just try to survive through life and make something out of yourself in however way you can. 

Hajoon waves at you from his seat, gesturing to his left to say he’s saved that spot for you. You head there after greeting your other friends, with Jimin and Soomin following you. 

Right as you sit down and greet the man next to you, you’re caught by surprise when he kisses your cheek and snakes his arm around your waist. 

“Hey, I missed you today,” Hajoon hums, smiling at you the way he did last night and this morning; it definitely wasn’t this sweet when he left for a work trip last month.  

“I… saw you today,” you frown, earning you a chuckle. 

“I know; I was still thinking about you, though,” he says. 

You give a smile - as genuine as you can make it - and then turn towards your friends to your left who are trying to hold in their laughter. 

You order a beer after he offers you a glass of wine, and then go for the pork belly when he says the salmon here is good. 

“Just craving for meat, that’s all,” you tell him. 

“Is there anything else you want? Just let me know, okay?”

You hum your yes and then turn back to your friends after Hajoon makes jokes with his.

“Since when was he this sweet to you?” Soomin whispers with wide, curious eyes. 

“Since never,” you reply. “I mean, we’ve never been affectionate outside of bed…”

“Is anything else different?” Jimin wonders, careful not to bring attention to your conversation.

You look back at how things were before Hajoon left and how it was when he was away. Nothing seemed different. You hung out at his place before he flew out, then you messaged each other every now and then during the one month he was abroad. He was more interested to talk, but given the time difference and the pressure and stress you’ve been under the past weeks, you didn’t bother much, neither did he. 

But you also think back to last night - how he picked you up from your apartment, which he’s never done before, and how he prepared a luxurious dinner. He made you breakfast this morning, too, whereas you both usually just sleep in in tangled limbs and then separate once you wake up.

“He cooked me fancy stuff but I just thought he wanted to show off what he learned during his cooking masterclass,” you shrug. “And well… he seemed sweeter than normal.”

“Maybe he hooked up with someone while he was away and he’s guilty about it,” Jimin suggests.

“He didn’t say anything about it and he knows I wouldn’t mind,” you say. “We’re not exclusive, even if I don’t hang out with other guys.”

“Maybe he’s over the fucking and wants to do the loving bit now,” Soomin offers. “I mean, he always seemed more into you than you were into him.”

“He’s hot and decent when he’s in a good mood; that’s all I need,” you admit. 

“But honestly, that’s probably it,” Soomin continues. “I think he’s hinting that he wants to be more.”

“But I don’t want to,” you whine. “I’m not ready.”

“You’re 30! When are you ever gonna be ready?” Soomin whisper-yells.

“Never!” You pout now. “I mean… Not with him.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to tell him soon, then,” Jimin sighs. “Before it gets messy. And you hate messy.”

“What if men just don’t have feelings?” Soomin wonders out loud. “That way, you can’t hurt them.”

“So that way, they can hurt you?” Jimin points out. “No. I’m not letting any men hurt either one of you, okay? I love you both too much.”

“We know,” you and Soomin say at the same time. 

“But I agree with Jimin, ___. You’re gonna have to let that man next to you, who’s thankfully deaf, go. And then just find another person who can give you what you need,” Soomin continues. “Like, uh…” 

She looks around the semi-packed restaurant to find some random man to just point to, her eyes widening in awe as she spots a table close by with the type of men she was just thinking about. 

“Like them.” 

You laugh at her, not taking her seriously, but still, you look towards the direction of her cocked head, only to feel your throat dry up and your heartbeat speed up. Your eyes widen in reflex as they meet the piercing gaze of the man who’d given you a headache for weeks. He also happens to look unfairly handsome in his white top and slicked back hair. 

“Shit, I would totally go for them,” Soomin adds, “and I only even like men a quarter of the time.”

Your best friends look at you as they wait for a response, only to see a nervous look on your face, as if you’re seeing a ghost or something, and the way you turn to them and stutter almost seems like you are.

From the other table, Jungkook pants quietly. You finally looked his way, and he didn’t know what to expect your reaction to be - maybe a bit of shock, but definitely not this worried. Granted, you’re out with your friends at a restaurant that he and his friends frequent. It’s not the type of place they’d normally go for - this is a lot simpler, less private, and more accommodating than the exclusive restaurants and hotels they go to for dinners before heading to a club. But Jungkook loves their pork belly; he orders it every week, and tonight, he was craving for this specifically before going to a private party of one of Taehyung’s clients. 

Jungkook had seen you when you sat down, and he’d been taken aback when the guy to your right immediately kissed your cheek; it seems he’s barely let go of your waist since then, too. Perhaps the man is your boyfriend - and Jungkook doesn’t know what made him think you wouldn’t have one - but it also seems that the one to your left is into you, too, at least based on how he smiles at you sweetly but rolls his eyes at the affectionate guy to your other side. 

But other than the embarrassing obvious affection that both of them are directing at you, what made him lose his senses is how you look, and you’re even more beautiful than he imagined. Your hair is styled, your makeup is bolder than usual, and he won’t even start with how you’re dressed. It’s a lot more skin than he’s used to - you’re out, after all, and if he’ll go by what your companions are wearing, he supposes this is your stop before heading to some club to party, too. Whereas when you’re at work, you have the skirt and long-sleeved blouse ensemble that you wear everyday - still pretty, perhaps just a lot more reserved than what he’s seeing now. 

He can’t take his eyes off you, even as you entertain your suppose-boyfriend, even when you engage in hushed conversation with the man and woman to your left, and even when you stare back at him, the initial shock now wearing down to a look of curiosity. Perhaps you’re wondering why he keeps glancing at you, too.

“I told you he’s got it bad,” Taehyung laughs from the other side of the table. 

He’s noticed how his friend hasn’t said much in the last 10 minutes, his gaze directed at the loud table close by. One glance and Taehyung knew why. 

“Well, we told him,” Seokjin corrects. “He only ever acts out when he’s threatened and he’s apparently threatened by his pretty assistant.”

“I’m not acting out,” Jungkook scowls, finally breaking the staring contest with you.

“You’ve never been this much of a jerk,” Seokjin says. “So yes, you’re acting out.”

Jungkook ignores them, his eyes turning back to you, and finds you downing two shots of tequila consecutively, then using the beer as your chaser. His knuckles unconsciously clench when your suppose-boyfriend scoots closer, whispering something in your ear, his lips grazing your skin. 

Jungkook exhales deeply, trying to get a grip of himself. He’s acting foolishly. You obviously have a life outside of work, and it obviously includes going out for dinner and drinks with friends, having a boyfriend, and enjoying your youth the way he is. There’s a world outside of the routine you’ve both created, of the silence you both share, and the time you spend together, unknowingly learning about each other without meaning to, without wanting to.

“___,” Soomin calls your name one more time. 

“Huh?” You answer, finally tearing your eyes away from Jungkook, who’d unfortunately captured your attention after you noticed he was there. 

You’ve been used to his impeccable looks in his fancy suits; you’ve even gotten used to his tank top and sweatpants post-workout outfits every morning, and while you’re still not immune to that look, his night out wear fit for a party leaves you more choked up than normal. 

Maybe it’s the black jeans that you spot as he sits on the edge of the couch, or the white button-up top with the rolled sleeves up to his elbow, or his haircut that makes him look a little more mature. Maybe it’s all that and the way he’s gazing at you, the look in his eyes something you can’t quite read. Perhaps like you, he’s surprised to see you here the way you’re shocked that he’d chosen this place to eat; it’s not exactly a fancy restaurant you know he likes eating at. 

But he’s here, and so are you, and suddenly you feel exposed, as if the world outside of work that you’ve kept to yourself is baring open to the man who stands at the center of what you do everyday. And you’re not sure how you feel about that.

“I was just saying… those men are pretty hot and they look interested, too,” Soomin wiggles her eyebrows. “ I mean, they keep looking here.”

“One of them is my boss,” you finally say. “Guy on the right. That’s… uh, that’s Jungkook.”

“Holy fuck, hun,” Soomin chokes on her drink. “Why did you leave out the part about your rude boss being a fucking god?”

“Does it matter?” Jimin scowls. “He’s still rude.”

“It’s different when the guy’s hot. It makes the anger more intense, you know?” Soomin says. “Attractive people elicit more passionate feelings sometimes.”

“Excuse me, that’s not why I was angry,” you pout. “He was really being unfair.”

“Well, he was. But I think my point also applies,” Soomin argues. “I’d just like to warn you that workplace hotties are a menace. Except for Yoongi - he was heaven sent. ”

“Ah, the man who could’ve been,” Jimin sighs. “We at least knew he wouldn’t hurt you. He didn’t seem like the type.”

“Yeah, this dude over here is hot but he’s mean. And that’s your type,” Soomin smirks.

“Can we… not talk about this while he’s there? And while this other dude is right next to me?” You glare at your friends, especially at Soomin whose insinuation wasn’t lost on you. “It’s so… weird.”

“Hey, we’re here for you, okay?” Jimin softens as he looks at you. “Just let us know if one of them makes you feel uncomfortable. We can always just stay at your place and watch horror movies until morning and you and Soomin can lose your voices from screaming and then I’ll lose my hearing because of it.”

His words make you laugh. There’s a tenderness in Jimin that you’ve never heard from anyone else before. Even when he’s telling you to stop yelling because you live for the thrill of a jumpscare, he says it so tenderly while laughing before pulling you both in his embrace. 

“I’m okay. I’m just… I don’t know, probably just not used to seeing him somewhere that isn’t the office or his home,” you reason. “And I feel a bit exposed, I guess. This is my world and his is… right there.”

You wrap your arms around your body subconsciously, realizing only you’d done it when Jimin asks if you’re cold, offering his jacket then taking it back because Hajoon might smack him or something.

You turn it down, knowing you actually feel hot more than anything. You’re dressed up and definitely dressed in less, and somehow having Jungkook see you like this is oddly making you shy, perhaps a little too conscious.

“Just don’t mind him,” Soomin advises. “It’s a restaurant. You obviously have a social life and he can’t fault you for it, nor make you feel weird about it. Just focus on us, okay? Or on Hajoon, if that’ll happen.”

You follow her words and try to block out Jungkook. You do slightly nod at him, as well as at Taehyung and Seokjin just to acknowledge their presence, but you continue on with your meal, as the dishes arrive soon after. 

The pork belly is a winner; you’ll probably come back here for that alone. You do manage to dodge Hajoon’s attempts at feeding you, and your other friends engage with the three of you at the other end of the table. It’s going well for the most part, until Hajoon starts to act a little wary, a little tense.

“Hey,” he says, leaning close to you. “The guy on the other table has been looking at you all night. It’s kinda annoying.”

You glance at Jungkook’s table and he looks away when you do. “Oh, just don’t mind him,” you wave Hajoon off. “Maybe I remind him of someone or something.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you feel him tense even more, as you look up and see that he’s staring down the man on the other side. Hajoon’s had a bit to drink, and you know he tends to be cocky and irrational when he is. You groan once he shakes his head, saying he’s gonna give “that stranger” a piece of his mind because “he can’t be looking at my girl like that.”

The initial annoyance you feel turns into panic once he stands from his seat and storms to the other table. You follow him, with your friends just looking in worry. His friends are more encouraging of what he wants to do though. 

“What the fuck is your problem staring at my girl like that?” Hajoon mumbles, acting all tough when he’s never threatened nor confronted anyone like this, even when he’s drunk. 

Jungkook seems taken aback. Perhaps it’s the aggression he didn’t expect, or maybe it’s finally having to acknowledge your presence in the restaurant, just in an unfortunate way. 

“Your girl?” He scoffs. 

The way the man is speaking to him is quite annoying, but he also knows your boyfriend is slightly drunk, so he dismisses him because Jungkook doesn’t need this drama tonight, especially not in front of you. 

Hajoon hates the way this stranger is looking at him and not taking him seriously. He’d seen how he kept glancing at you, perhaps trying to get your attention away from him, and he’s really had enough. His words are slurring but this is the courage he needs to stand up for you. You’ve said before how unwanted attention makes you uncomfortable, and he’s gonna do something about it before the man gets to try anything with you. 

“Yeah, my girl. You seem to have a problem with that, don’t you?” Hajoon grunts. 

“My only problem is you making a scene right now,” Jungkook shakes his head. “You’re drunk and insecure and you’re embarrassing yourself in front of your girl.”

Not that you expected him to back off, but you didn’t actually think that Jungkook would further press Hajoon’s buttons. The man is drunk and insecure and indeed embarrassing, but getting told so is a blow to the ego, especially in your presence. And so you’re not surprised that this just makes him angrier, and since you’ve never dealt with this version of him before, you don’t know how to pacify him.

You didn’t actually think that Hajoon had a daring bone in his body despite being the way he is, but when he attempts to lunge at Jungkook, you’re left in disbelief. You’re quick enough to pull Hajoon back before he lands a fist on the other man’s face, but he’d been worked up enough that he hits the glass of wine on the table, knocking it over and causing the drink to spill on Jungkook’s thin white top. 

“Mr. Jeon!” You shriek, pulling Hajoon back more forcefully before pushing him to the side so you can get ahead. 

You take the napkin from the table and wipe Jungkook’s wet clothed torso, slowing down immediately as you realize what exactly it is you’re doing. 

“I… uh,” you stutter, standing straight up and mirroring his questioning eyes. 

It was a reflex for you, considering that you constantly make sure that he’s dressed impeccably. 

“You know him?!” Hajoon asks in disbelief, tugging on your hand now so you’ll turn to him.

“He’s my boss, you idiot!” smacking him on the chest as you glare at him. “And you just put my job in jeopardy and for what?”

“Well, what can he do?” Hajoon challenges. “Get you fired because of me? Does he own the company and shit?”

“My father does,” Jungkook responds. “And I’m the Vice President.”

Hajoon just rolls his eyes but you aren’t amused. You glance at your table and gesture for one of his friends to take him, so one of them does. He stands up and pulls Hajoon away before he can do or say anything else.

“I’m so, so sorry, Mr. Jeon,” you say, your head bowed down as you apologize. “I…” 

The mess on his outfit is too much; the red has stained the white top and you know he feels sticky. He looks like he has somewhere to go after this and that makes it worse.

“I– I can call Mr. Ri to get the car in here. I can get extra clothes from your travel bag,” you say, knowing that Jungkook always has a bag filled with clothes for emergency flights or check-ins. 

You get your phone and make a call, telling Jungkook that his chauffeur will be here soon. You glance towards your friends who are still pacifying a drunk Hajoon, and you decide that they can handle all that. Right now, your priority is Jungkook.

You walk out towards the car that’s on hazard mode outside the restaurant and pick out the top that’s most appropriate for a night out, which happens to be a semi-loose black button-up. You head back inside, with Taehyung and Seokjin informing you that Jungkook has gone to the washroom, so you scurry towards there and knock at the door.

“Mr. Jeon, I have your black long sleeves here,” you say as your knuckles tap on the wood. “Just tell me–” 

You’re interrupted by the sudden opening of the door, the sight of Jungkook in his jeans hanging by his waist and his unbuttoned white top catching you by surprise. His hair’s a bit damp and so is his bare torso, as you see that he’s tried to clean the wine off his body. 

You catch yourself looking longer than you should, and you immediately look away as you hand him over what he needs. 

“Please let me know what else you need, sir,” you say, your eyes glued to the pretty wallpaper as you awkwardly stand outside the washroom. 

“Jungkook,” he says, earning him a curious look. “I mean, you don’t need to be formal. We’re not at work.”

You nod, realizing it does sound weird to address him as such in a casual setting. 

“Okay… Jungkook,” you mumble, but even the way it rolls off your tongue is a bit odd. You’re not used to it, and you hope you won’t ever be. 

He closes the door and you take this time to calm yourself down. You’ve been so worried since you saw the glass tip over and mess up his outfit, and given his hot-headedness, you’re a little surprised that he didn’t fight back. He does have a reputation to uphold but even then, stopping himself from punching Hajoon must’ve taken a lot. 

The door opens and you sigh in relief; his outfit still looks good and he’s fully clothed, so there’s no lingering looks this time anymore. You take the top that he gives you, and you take the chance to apologize.

“I’m so sorry,” you start. “I don’t know why he— I mean, he’s a bit drunk and he’s not usually like this.”

“You’re not the one who should apologize so don’t,” he responds. 

“Well, he won’t apologize so I will.”

“You didn’t spill the drink and you didn’t come at me. That was him,” he counters. 

You just shrug, choosing to just concede. “I’ll just return this to Mr. Ri.”

He calls your name before you turn around to leave. 

“I didn’t mean to cause a rift between you and your boyfriend,” he says, much too low and too gentle than you’re used to. “I hope I didn’t ruin anything.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you answer softly. “We just, uh, we just hang out.”

You don’t know why you feel the need to correct this misinformation. Maybe you just want to remind yourself because you’re not anyone’s anything; hearing Hajoon claim you as yours made you want to just create that distance even more.

Jungkook wants to push it, to ask more. The man clearly acts like he’s your lover, given the physical affection and the way he tried to stand up for you. But there’s a bit of shame as you state that you and the man “just hang out,” and there’s that wonder he feels - how can you be with someone without being with them, and if turning away people who are clearly into you is a tendency you have. There’s Min Yoongi, after all, who’d liked you enough to remain as your friend when you needed one despite how he felt.  

“Okay then,” Jungkook nods. “And your job’s not in jeopardy. Don’t take responsibility for a stupid act you didn’t do.”

You bow in thanks, not much used to this side of him that’s understanding and even calm. You suppose he’d seen you worry about your job, had seen you look embarrassed over something that you didn’t even do, and perhaps he saw the discomfort over how Hajoon was talking about you. 

You’re about to walk out of the hallway when his call of your name stops you again, prompting you to turn around.

“About earlier… did I… did I make you feel uncomfortable?” He asks, the worry in his voice surprising you. 

You debate over playing it down or telling the truth, but you go with the latter. 

“A… a little,” you admit, looking away. 

You hear him sigh, and there’s a look of guilt in his eyes as you turn to him. 

“I’m so—”

The footsteps of another diner in the hallway disrupts him, and you both make way so he can use the washroom, too. Perhaps you and Jungkook had taken so long, and you don’t want others to conspire about what’s happening, so you walk out and tell him again that you’ll just return his clothing to Mr. Ri. 

From your table, Soomin and Jimin watch the awkwardness of your parting of ways, with you scurrying out the door and Jungkook returning to his seat with a deep sigh before glaring at Hajoon.

“He does sound and look like an asshole, aside from being hot,” Soomin observes. “That’s totally ___’s type.”

“Are you saying she likes her boss?” Jimin asks incredulously. 

“I’m just saying that’s her type, not that she likes him,” Soomin corrects. “There’s a difference. I still hate him for making things hard for her. I wish he would stop treating her like that. You and I know she won’t quit anytime soon. Especially because he’s a Jeon.”

“I know,” Jimin sighs. “I wish we could protect her from all this, too. But she’s always done what she wanted to do. And we wait for her to tell us when things are hard; we just hold her hand whenever it is.”

“That’s all we can do, I guess,” Soomin responds. “Sometimes though I wish she’d just… let someone else do more than just hold her hand, you know? It could’ve been Yoongi, or even Hajoon before all this mess. It could’ve been you.”

“You know that’ll never happen,” Jimin laughs bitterly, with Soomin knowing exactly what he means. “You’re only ever just her friend or her lover; you can’t be both.”

Soomin hums in agreement, as she’d seen you draw the line with the men you’d come across with. You’d make it clear if friendship is all you want; you’d be straightforward if it’s just sex you’re seeking. You give either just your heart or your body and you’re always careful not to give both. There are parts of you that you don’t want to share, that you don’t want to expose to them; there’s a kind of hurt that you don’t want to experience. 

They watch you walk back inside and then head to their table, where you sit next to a buzzed Hajoon who still has half a mind to look at you guiltily. 

“I think I’ll head back home after this,” you tell the group. “Kinda not in a partying mood anymore.”

Your other friends apologize on Hajoon’s behalf, proceeding to ask you if that was really your boss and if he’d threatened your job because of it, remarking that it would be such an asshole move of him to do that or to even get mad at you for something you didn’t do. 

You come to Jungkook’s defense; he didn’t say anything to that effect at all. Perhaps you’d been the unfair one who assumed that he would - that he’d demand that you apologize, that he’d use this against you. 

“He’s… not like that,” you say, meaning it. You turn to your best friends who have disagreeing looks. “He… he tried to apologize for making me feel uncomfortable,” you say softly. “No one’s ever done that before.”

“Look, ___,” Hajoon starts, but you cut him off. 

“I don’t really wanna talk about it,” you sigh. “I’ll just pay my bill and head out.”

You, Soomin, and Jimin all pay accordingly and then leave the restaurant, with you turning to Jungkook and his friends, bowing as a form of goodbye.

“Hey, why don’t we buy desserts at a convenience store and have our own party at your place?” Jimin suggests as you all settle in his car. 

“That would be nice,” you hum. “This outfit wouldn’t be such a waste then.”

So that’s what you do, as your best friends treat you to all the snacks you love - a usual occurrence, really, as they used to do that back in Busan to cheer you up during the days when you were feeling sad. It’s one of the things that you allow them to spoil you with and they take advantage of that, as you go home with weeks’ worth of goods for you to enjoy.

You also picked up some drinks on the way, so you play some music and dance around with your wine glasses and take shots in between. It’s too early to be drunk but 11PM might as well be 3AM. You’re all seated snugly in your tiny couch as you watch some variety show on mute, laughing at the hosts' antics even if you can’t hear anything. 

“Tonight wasn’t so bad,” you huff, leaning on Soomin’s shoulder as you doze off. “Both of you are all I need. Thank you for never disappointing me.”

They know you don’t always let yourself be this sentimental. They also know that when you do, all you want is for them to listen and to hold you. And that’s what they do, as you eventually clean up and fall asleep on the mattress with them, the events from earlier slowly fading away.

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[redhead1180]

Sunshine

Pairing - dark!Rafe x pogue fem!reader

Summary - Reader has a crush on JJ, but JJ is dating Kie. Rafe decides he wants reader to get over JJ, no matter her say in the matter.

Words - 3k

Warnings MDNI - NON CON, DUB CON, drugging with E, slapping, physical fight (m vs f), dry humping, alcohol use, drug use, rough sex (p in v), degradation, blackmail, very dark Rafe.

A/N: This is my darkest piece I have ever wrote and of course it's for Rafe. He is mean SOB in this, so if that triggers you, please don't read. Thank you to @haven247 for the beta read. I am nervous about writing this dark, but hope you like it. PLEASE HEAD THE WARNINGS!

Being at a kook party was not your idea of fun, but they had free booze and it was better than a keggar. After the last week you’ve had, you have every intention of getting plastered and trying to forget your crush and best friend was dating someone else.

JJ your best friend since you were 4 and crush since you were 14, was officially dating Kie. And it hurt, a lot. You knew it was coming, saw the writing on the wall, but held out hope it wouldn’t. The only person who knew about the crush, that you knew of, was John B. He was your brother from another mother, and knew you inside and out. You three had been friends so long, you don’t remember a time when they weren’t there. John B has given you hug and told you he was sorry the day you saw them kissing through the Chateau window. He informed you they were dating and you had gone home and cried yourself to sleep. Avoiding them this past week, but couldn’t get around it for this party.

You had watched them dance, laugh, and make out, and were completely ready to vomit. Or wait, was they alcohol? I was in my 3rd concoction of the night and was not feeling much of anything. Well physically anyway.

Anyway, you were in the kitchen getting another drink, when you heard the last voice, you wanted to here.

“Well, well if it isn’t Miss Sunshine” Rafe Cameron sneered as he walked into the kitchen.

“Fuck off, Cameron” I told him, trying not to say more and start something.

“Anyone ever told you have a venomous mouth, Sunshine” he laughed.

“Only to you, Cameron. Everyone else thinks I am adorable and sweet” my voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I bet you taste sweet” he chuckled. I turned around and caught him looking me up and down. He showed no shame for being caught. “What’s got you drowning in booze tonight? Wouldn’t have anything to do with Maybank and Carrera doing the horizontal mambo, would it?”

“You’re such an asshole, Cameron” You go to walk past him and he grabs your upper arm and pulls close to him.

“Most girls that talk to me the way you do get punished” he leered, inches from my face.

So, side note, when I drink, I think I am ten feet tall and bulletproof. And tonight was no exception.

“Let go of me you fucking psycho!” I hissed at him, pulling my arm. Unfortunately, he was so much stronger than me, my arm barely moved in his grasp. “I swear to God Rafe, I am not in the mood for your bullshit tonight.”

“Don’t call me psycho and I think I need to teach you some manners.” he growled right before he grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me in to kiss him.

I instantly started pushing on him and struggling to get free. I bit his lip and he howled in pain and jerked back. I slapped him across the face, not caring this was Rafe Cameron, Kook Prince himself, and no one ever told him no.

He snapped his head back and I looked in his eyes. They were completely black, no amount of blue left, and had a predatory look that actually caused a little fear to creep up my spine. Something else, God help me, arousal shot through to my core and made me soak my panties.

I started to back away and with each step I took back, he took forward.

“Rafe just fucking walk away, leave me alone” I try to sound defiant and flippant, but not sure I pulled it off. His grin was pure evil, reminding me of every Disney villain I ever watched.

*Oh Sunshine, you really shouldn’t have done that” he smirked. I turn to run and get one of the pogues, but he grabs me by my waist and turns me around to throw me over his shoulder.

“You psychotic motherfucker, put me down!” I yell as I punch his back as hard as I can. He just grunts and slaps my ass hard, bringing tears to my eyes and more arousal to leak out of me. My mind was telling me to fight because you hate him, but my body was yelling at me to let him have his way.

He takes you to some room, locks the door, and proceeds to throw you on the bed. He immediately grabs both your wrists and roughly jerks them above your head, causing you to arch your back from the roughness and your tits rub against his chest. The lace bra you wear offered little protection from the friction and instantly your nipples hardened. Rafe chuckles as his free hand rubs over my breasts and pinches my nipples.

“You may not want this, but your body does” he chuckles as his hand slides down over my stomach and to the waistband of my shorts. I continue to struggle, he slaps my bare thigh, causing me to gasp. I know if I looked down right now, there would be a red hand print.

“You’re a feisty thing, maybe we should get you a little more pliant.” He threatens.

I see him reach in the pocket of his shorts, but don’t see anything in his hand when he pulls it out.

“Rafe, what the fuck are you doing?” I demand trying to keep the worry out of my voice.

“Just a little something to make you enjoy it more.” He smirks as he places a pill on his tongue and grabs my jaw to look at him.

“Open up, Sunshine” he murmurs as leans in to kiss me.

I try to shut my mouth, but the hold he has on my jaw won’t let me. He shoves his tongue in my mouth and I feel the pill begin to dissolve as he devours my mouth. God he is a good kisser, I can’t stop myself as I whine in the kiss, causing him to moan. He held my jaw until the pill was fully dissolved, then he lets go, but we continued to kiss. Fuck, what was I doing, this was Rafe, I should be biting his fucking tongue off, yet I didn’t want the kiss to stop. He finally pulls away when air became a necessity.

“What the fuck did you give me, Rafe?” I pant, still trying to catch my breath from the kiss.

“Aww Sunshine, it’s just a little E to make you forget your troubles and help me fuck you without the feistiness.” He smiles down at me. I start to struggle again and hurt him in some fashion. His hold on my wrists and him between my legs really left me defenseless, and he knew it.

“Now let’s get rid of these clothes.” He grabs the neckline of my shirt and rips it down the middle. I screech from shock, and he continues ripping till it is off me.

“Oh Sunshine, you have some beautiful tits.” He groans as he leans down and latches his lips on one of my nipples. I gasp out from pleasure as he sucks, nibbles and licks my nipples through my bra. Thousands of jolts of delight ripple through my body to my core. I began to feel a zing of energy and mixing that with pleasure, I couldn’t stop myself from grinding my hips up into Rafe.

“That’s it baby, let the drug begin to work. Let me make you feel good and forget Maybank for tonight.” He murmurs as he continues his assault on my tits, his mouth on one and his hand, pulling and pinching the other.

“More” I whimper to him, trying to get more friction. He reached behind me undoing my bra and let go of my wrists, I moved my arms so he can get off. My hands fly into his hair to push more into my chest. He grinds down on me and I groan, I feel the heat build in my stomach.

I have a slight moment of clarity, where I thought what the fuck am I doing, when Rafe rolls his hips and the tip of cock hits the seam in my shorts just right to rub my clit and I see stars. I moan out as I squeeze my eyes shut and let my orgasm wash over me.

“Fuck Sunshine, when was the last time you came?” he chuckles, reaching down to unbutton my shorts and take them off. He stands up, using the opportunity of me in a blissful state, to rid himself of his clothes. I look over to him and see his cock saluting me. My eyes wide at how big he was.

“Shit Rafe, I don’t know what you plan to do with that monstrosity, but it ain’t fitting in me.” I say in wonder.

“I’ll make it fit,” he said as he spread my legs and slapped my pussy. I yelped, still sensitive from my release, but it caused a wildfire to spread through my veins. He slapped it a few more times, rendering me a whiny mess. I tried to hide my face, ashamed at how he was making me feel. I knew the E was mainly to blame, but a part of me knew it wasn’t all the drugs.

“Oh, don’t be shy now” Rafe taunted as he pulled my hands from face and roughly kissing me.

Distracted by his kiss, I didn’t notice he lined his cock up to enter me. He shoved it in my soaked pussy and I screamed in his mouth. The pain and burn from his stretching without prep was almost unbearable. Instantly, tears formed in my eyes and I pulled my mouth free.

“FUCK!” I cried out “Rafe, get out, pull out, it hurts so bad!” I cry but he continues to snap his hips into me, even though I was pushing on his stomach.

“Shut the fuck up and take it.” He growled as he grabbed my arm and jerked it above my head, slamming into me faster. I was whimpering, crying mess underneath him. He continued to pound into me, hitting my cervix, lips taking what they wanted from my lips down to my breasts.

“I’ll have you forgetting Maybank after tonight and you’ll only want my cock in this pussy. You’re mine now, Sunshine” he rasped in my ear.

“I hate you” I hissed at him.

Eventually the pain began to be replaced by pleasure, my cries turning into moans as I felt my core heat up and the band began to tighten.

“You keep saying that, but your body doesn’t,” he taunted “you might be venomous, nonchalant, and a raging bitch to the rest of the world, but all you needed was a Daddy to tame that mouth and this pussy. Didn’t you?”

I ignored him, not wanting to agree with him. Suddenly I heard and then felt the smack across my face. I let out a shocked yelp and grabbed face with my free hand. My body betrayed and a rush of arousal coated his cock.

“Oh, you like being slapped huh? When I ask you a question, you answer it, slut” he hissed at me.

“Yes Daddy” I moaned out, before slapping my hand over my mouth, not believing what I just said.

“That’s my good little slut” he teased.

He let go of my hand and reached down with both hands to push my thighs into my chest. I cried out as the new position hit my G-spot and I saw stars. Within seconds, the band snapped in my stomach and I was screaming daddy repeatedly.

“That’s it, you little cunt, cum all over my cock.” He grunted before pulling out and flipping me over on my stomach. He straddled my thighs, pulled my butt up, and shoved himself back into me. I moaned as the new position let him hit deeper. I grabbed the headboard needing to ground myself, as the drugs and orgasm made me feel like I was floating away.

He wrapped his arm around my neck, putting me in a chokehold, snapping his hips into me at such an ungodly pace. I could already feel another release coming. The drugs had all my senses turned up to an eleven, the burning in my stomach, the tingling in my core, the pleasurable pain every time he hit my cervix. I felt that if I had another orgasm, I would fly off into outer space.

“S’too much, daddy” I whine, trying to push on his stomach. “I can’t do it”

He slapped my hand away and smacked my thigh hard, making me cry out.

“You will take everything I give you. You’re my little cum slut now and you will obey me” he grunted. He grabs my arm and jerks them around behind my back, grabbing both wrists with one hand. With his other hand, he grabs hair and uses both as leverage to fuck me harder.

All you could hear in the room were my ‘uh-uhs’ and our skin slapping together. I was close as my walls begin to flutter around his cock, but he was too as I felt his hips stutter.

“You better cum before me or you’re outta luck,” he panted. “We’re not here for your pleasure, only mine.” He taunts as he speeds up getting closer to his release.

I manage to wrestle one of my hands free and reach down to rub my clit. The added stimulation almost instantly makes me fall over the edge, I scream out and clamp down on Rafe’s dick. My body convulses as I have the strongest release of my life, but the E in my system causes me to keep cumming tears falling down my cheeks as I can’t stop.

“Jesus Fuck” Rafe gasps, “You’re clenching so tight I can barely move.”

He forces his cock in and out of me as he pants and grunts. Slamming into me one more time, I feel his seed shoot out against my walls.

“fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck” he hisses. He slowly thrust back into me a few times before pulling out and flip me over. I was essentially a rag doll by this point.

“Oops can’t have any Daddy’s juices spilling out can we?” he smirks, shoving two fingers in me pushing his cum back in me. I whimpered and grabbed his wrist.

“Stop, too sensitive” I whimper out.

“Stop being a whiny slut” he sneers before slapping my pussy a few times. I cry out, tears running down my cheeks. He reaches for his phone and takes a picture of me.

“What the fuck” I snap.

“I need something to jerk off to when you’re not around”

He shows me the picture. I look royally fucked out, mascara and tears running down my cheeks, lipstick smeared all over my face, bruises and hickeys around my neck and chest. He grabs my phone and tosses it to me.

“Unlock it” he demands.

I do without any argument. He puts his number on and sends himself a text, so that he has my number.

“When I call, I expect you to answer and come to me” he demands coldly. “If you don’t, then the whole island will know your just my cum slut and enjoy it. I have evidence.” he grins.

I nod, knowing he had me, because the thought of the pogues, especially JJ finding out made me sick to my stomach. He tossed my shorts and some tshirt he found to me.

“Now you’re gonna get dressed, go back to the party and act like nothing happened. Your hickeys were from some random touran.” He instructed. “The whole time you pine over JJ, my cum will be seeping out of your cunt. Oh, and clean your face up.”

I move slowly getting off the bed. I get dressed and head to the en suite bathroom. I look at myself in the mirror and start to cry. I splash water on my face, cleaning myself up, the whole-time sobbing.

Rafe comes in the bathroom and stares at me for a minute. I turn to face him and he smacks me on the cheek, not hard enough to bruise, but enough to sting and leave his handprint.

“Stop crying like a cunt,” he mocked me, “You enjoyed it, I think I counted three orgasms from you?”

“It was the drugs” I argue.

“Sure, sure. The explain why you were soaked before I gave you the E?” he asked.

I’m looked away cause I had no answer, at least not one I was willing to admit.

“S’what I thought,” he smirked “Now get downstairs, before I change my mind and take you home, tie you up, and use you all night.”

I ran out of the bedroom and went downstairs, looking for my friends.

Walking around, I finally found John B and Sarah making out in a corner. Pope was in another room trying to woo a girl with coroner talk, the poor girl looked scared for her life. The last room I walked into, JJ and Kie were on a couch, Kie in JJ’s lap making out. My friends, wait no family, didn’t seem to have missed me.

I walked into the kitchen and made me a drink and walked outside to one of the patio chairs. My phone dinged with a message.

Remember our deal and no one finds out. Although with as worried as they were for you, not sure they would seem to care.

I downed my drink and got up to get another one, tears running down my cheeks.

How the fuck did I get in this situation and what was I gonna do. All knew was I hated Rafe Cameron and I would find a way out.

Tagging some moots:

@princessmaybank @echo-at-the-pond @babygorewhore @drudyslut @rafescokewhore @rafesc0kewh0re @starfxkr @blueicequeen19 @drewstarkeyslut @pankowperfection @maybankskiss @ch4rrykisses

#outer banks #rafe cameron #obx #tw dark content #dark rafe #dark smut #dark!fic #dark rafe cameron #dark rafe x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader

[hyypnotix-writes]

Part 2

~ hiya! I'm really nervous about posting this, but I couldn't not at least try to give you a second part after the response the last one got! ~

~ I really appreciate everyone reading it and enjoying it as much as you did ..I hope this one doesn't ruin it for you! ~

~ I think this one's around 13k words. so again ..it's a long one, if you have nothing else to do! ~

~ there’s quite a lot of story before Alexia makes an appearance, sorry ..but she does eventually show up! ~

~ I promise to put more of her in the next part if any of you end up wanting one ~

~ I’m really worried this will disappoint a lot of you, but at least you still have the first part to go back to, if nothing else! ~

~ I really hope you're able to enjoy it even just a little bit, and thanks again for loving the first part so much! the response was very overwhelming and I've loved you all reaching out to tell me that you liked it ~

~ good luck! good bye xx ~

~ Part 1 ~

________________

One night.  

One perfect night.  

That’s all it took.  

One perfect night to throw your whole damn life into disarray.  

One perfect night, that’s lead to endless subsequent nights, spent tossing and turning on your own, replaying the memory over on a loop in your mind. It’s only been about a month, but it feels like an eternity.  

A never-ending, exhausting cycle of yearning and confusion.  

It was the most welcome distraction from your ex-boyfriend’s evil escapades, you’ve not really thought about him at all since. 

It should have set you free, broken you out of the chains of mundanity. It showed you a whole new world, a world of women. It gave you a new perspective on life. Unlocked a realm of brand-new possibilities all ready and waiting for you to venture, and yet, you don’t want to explore any of them.  

It's not that you haven’t tried.  

You’d have been an idiot to assume that it’s only her that can make you feel like this. That would be giving her an awful lot of credit. Yes, she was your first woman, but that didn’t mean that she needed to be your last. The way your mind and body reacted to her, maybe you could have been slightly gayer than you thought, but it doesn’t really look to be the case.  

A pair of lesbian sisters always seemed incredibly unlikely to you, and your sister’s already called dibs on the label. Maybe it’s the mere existence of your younger sister that eradicates the possibility of any real queerness in yourself. That’s probably how the handing out of sexualities works, right? 

It’s a working theory, and one that you seem to be proving the accuracy of.  

You’ve been to a few more clubs since your entanglement with the Spanish mystery. Only returning back to that specific one, once. It gave you a headache just stepping through the door. She was still everywhere in the room, her spirit living in the walls. You barely managed to stay inside for even a second before it became too much for you, sending your heart and mind racing.  

You took yourself back home, reminiscing every single kiss you’d shared with her on that fanciful journey back to her hotel together. Looking up at the floor she had been staying on, as you hastily walked past it on your own.  

Even the nightclubs that aren’t haunted by her ghost, haven’t yielded much greater success with you. 

You paid a visit to a smaller bar, a fair few nights after your perfect one, and had found a woman interested in you. More than interested. She was pretty, and friendly enough. She was flirty and bought you a few drinks. She didn’t try to play it weird by aiding you in your consumption of alcohol. There was no intriguing salt and lime foreplay. She was far more straightforward, far less irritating.  

Maybe that’s why it didn’t work. Maybe she was too plain. Maybe she was too simple and easy for you to understand. Or maybe it’s the fact that when she pressed herself against you in search of a kiss, an alarm bell rang out inside of your head. You suddenly found yourself all too aware that she was a woman, and you simply no longer wanted to follow through with your curiosities.  

It doesn’t help in your confusion, why the femininity of one woman can leave you feeling more certain of your straightness, while another’s femininity has you still helplessly pining after her.  

It’s not like you were under any illusion with the Spanish woman. You were entirely aware that she was also a woman, and it wasn’t off putting to you at all. You enjoyed her being a woman. She smelt nice, she tasted nice. Her body was beautiful, and her lips were soft, and it doesn’t make any sense that she’s allowed to put a yearning in you that no other woman is able to satisfy.  

That does seem very typical of her, though. She really was very cocky and frustrating.ﾠﾠ

Until she wasn’t, of course.  

Then, she was just sweet and considerate. Cautious and careful. Flirty and undemanding. She took you back to hers and she still had no expectations from you. She was still willing to let you walk away. Maybe you should have.ﾠﾠ

You knew even then that you should have.  

It was daft of you to follow after her. Foolish to lose yourself with her, spending the night together, giggling under the sheets. Sharing kisses as you drowned yourselves in each other. Learning her body, every mark, scar and freckle, and committing them all to your memory. Tracing her curves and her tattoos and discovering what it is that makes her tick.ﾠ

She was patient, and understanding, she wasn’t in a rush with you. She spent the whole night exploring with you. Studying your body, wanting to learn all the things you liked her doing, and the things you really liked her doing. She turned what could have been a terrifying, embarrassing, disaster of an experience, into the most incredible encounter of your life.  

She brought you more pleasure than your pathetic ex-boyfriend had ever managed to give you in your whole 5-year relationship, in less than 5 minutes of her having your clothes off. She had the most unholy of noises spilling from your lips with her fingers and tongue inside of you, and she wasn’t exactly quiet herself, in letting you know when you were doing the right thing with her.  

She was intoxicating, exhilarating. She was life-affirming.  

She’s a far more dangerous addiction to you than alcohol could ever manage to be. You’ve never been tempted by drugs before, but you can’t even imagine the high from them being able to compete against what she’s done to you.  

It was just one night.  

It was one perfect night.  

________________

Living back with your younger sister isn’t exactly where you saw yourself being at 26. Your London flat had started feeling a little too big for you, without a traitorous arsehole of a man invading your space. So, you invited her to move in with you, not wanting to have to give up your dream property just because he had decided to try ruining your life. You needed help with the rent, and she had gratefully accepted.  

You didn’t necessarily expect her to also invite her idiot new girlfriend into your home with her. That wasn’t really part of the deal, though you didn’t explicitly tell her that she couldn’t. You can’t really blame her. If you were able to spend every waking moment of your life with ‘A’ right beside you, you’d jump at the opportunity headfirst.   

It still doesn’t aid in the dispelling of your confusion. There’s no jealousy when you see them together. Her girlfriend does nothing for you, none of her girlfriends ever have. You both have decidedly different tastes in women. Your sister’s taste is entirely questionable, yours is perfection.  

You haven’t mentioned your Spanish predicament to your sister. She’d probably laugh at you for it, call you tragic, and embarrassing. Tell you everything you’ve already been telling yourself on repeat in your head. She wouldn’t be very helpful; she very rarely is. She’s your very annoying, smart-arse of a little sister, who couldn’t possibly give you any decent advice. She’s 2 years younger than you and she's an idiot.  

She’s not the one who’s still hung up on a stranger after over a month, though. It’s rarely taken her longer than 24 hours to get over someone she’s been with. She’s not the one who’s been questioning herself every night. She’s never questioned herself at all. You’re fairly certain her very first thought, straight out of the womb was about another woman.  

She didn’t really have to come out to the family at any point, she kissed her first girl when she was 8. Always been a bit of a Casanova, your sister. A walking stereotype of a lesbian. Short, brightly coloured, undercut hair, quite a few piercings, heavily tattooed. She’s obsessed with women’s football, always watching re-runs of ‘The L Word,’ and overwhelmingly insistent in trying to prove to you that Taylor Swift is also secretly gay.  

Your sister’s certainty in her own sexual identity isn’t something that’s ever irritated you before. Not when you were always so sure of yourself, too. You appreciated her confidence. It was admirable, given the way people can be with her. She’s your self-assured little sister, who isn’t great at confrontation. So, you support her whenever anyone tries to tear her down.  

Now, however, this too-late-in-life existential crisis you’re struggling with, has you wishing she’d try to be a little bit more questioning herself. Her surety and cockiness about her sexuality is suddenly the most prominent attribute of her personality, and it’s really starting to drive you up the wall.  

It’s a rare evening where it’s only the two of you at home together. You don’t really know where her girlfriend is, and you don’t much care. You only feel responsible for one annoying lesbian, the one who shares your surname.  

She’s being rather antisocial with you, playing video games alone in her bedroom, and you’ve just finished tidying up the dining table after sharing the dinner you cooked for you both. You’re not exactly sure how you’ve found yourself solo parenting your stroppy little sibling when you’re really not much older than her yourself, but there you go.  

Maybe you should try speaking to her. See what she can possibly offer you by way of sapphic guidance. If she’s going to continue having her nuisance girlfriend living here rent-free, she should at least try giving you something to make it worth your while.  

You walk straight through to her bedroom and collapse your head onto her stomach on the bed. Making sure to do so with just enough force behind it to ensure you manage to leave her winded and interrupt her gaming. She grunts under you, and you earn an overly aggressive smack to your shoulder for achieving your goal. As, whatever other little child she’s playing her game against, has just managed to score past her.  

“You’re a twat!” She scolds, and you backhand her face to shut her up. She raises her fist above your stomach, and you flinch, bracing for impact.  

“I have a question!” You shout, before she has chance to attack.  

She pauses her lifted fist above you, and reluctantly agrees to a truce, providing your question is of interest to her. “What?” She groans, and you fiddle with your fingers, trying to find the right wording.  

“Why do you like women?” You ask, your face grimacing as you await her response.  

It isn’t your smoothest ever phrasing, not your wittiest form of delivery. It’s honestly, rather annoyingly, not the most subtle line of questioning. Despite it not being entirely to the point, your sister isn’t stupid.  

“What?” 

Oh ..maybe she is! 

That’s not going to be super helpful with your impending interrogation.  

“Why not men?” You suggest, still trying not to be too blatant. “How did you know you liked women?” 

“I looked at one.” She tells you, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “Why?” 

“Do you find every woman attractive?” 

“No, but I find enough of them attractive to sense a pattern.” She explains. “Why?” 

“And you’ve never been attracted to a man? Not even tempted?” 

“No. Not once. Why?” 

“Never ever?” 

“Y/N!” 

“I was just wondering.” You tell her quickly, drumming your fingers on top of your stomach.  

“About women?” She queries. 

“About ..why women. What it is about them.” 

“Aside from the obvious?” She snickers, nudging your arm.  

You quickly bounce your head back against her stomach winding her again.  

“Stop doing that!” 

“Stop being annoying!” You warn her. Your frustration at yourself getting the better of you.

She tries to push you off of her, but you mess with the analogue sticks on her controller, and she turns her focus back to salvaging her match. “You really are a twat! Get out!” 

“I need your help.” 

“I don’t care!” 

“..I’m sorry.” You mumble, and she scoffs at you, pushing you off of her bed unceremoniously.  

You can’t say you blame her, you’re a constant threat to her in that position, it’s too big of a risk. You enjoy bouncing your head and ruining her childish little game far too much.  

“Why do you like men?” She counters, and you find yourself stuck for words as you sit on her floor.  

It’s the question that’s been floating around your own head for a little while now. You’d never thought about it before. You just were. You had crushes on them all throughout your childhood, you’d had meaningless boyfriends in your teens, you met your bastard ex at university and figured that was it.  

You didn’t need to question why you were attracted to them, it just always made sense.  

“I don’t know.” You answer honestly, letting out a groan as you grab one of her pillows and bury your head into it.  

“What’s going on?” She asks, as she prods at your shoulder with her foot.  

“Nothing. I was just—” 

“Thinking about women?” 

“No!”  

It isn’t really a lie, you’re not thinking about women, just the one. The one woman who’s been invading all of your thoughts for the past 30 something days. The one who won’t let you sleep properly at night, who won’t let you focus completely at work.  

The one woman who refuses to leave your head for even a second just to let you rest, to let you breathe, to let you remember what life was like, prior to her entering it and recklessly setting fire to everything, before she ran away from you and disappeared into thin air.ﾠﾠ

“I kissed one.” You confess, trying to suffocate yourself with her pillow.  

This really does take her by surprise. You can hear her movements on top of the mattress as she turns her game off and pulls her pillow from you with a rather startling urgency. There’s great confusion on her face as she looks at you. She really must think you’re very boring if that’s enough to render her speechless. Imagine her reaction if you admitted to all the other things you did to the Spanish enigma.  

“You kissed a woman?” She asks, frowning at you.  

You’re not entirely sure why she looks quite so cross about it. You’re not trying to steal her thunder here. You’re not about to start trying to catch up with her numerous exploits of female companions.  

“Mhmm.” You mumble in reply, smoothing your hair back from over your face.  

“Why? For a man?” 

“No! I just wanted to ..I thought it’d be fun.” 

“..and ..was it?” 

“Mhmm.” 

She looks at you with a very distinct air of incredulity. It’s a rather annoying look, weirdly condescending. She doesn’t believe you. Why she thinks you’d bother lying about it, you really do not know. You’re not that desperate for a story to tell her.  

It’s almost offensive that she thinks you’re so incapable. You didn’t just kiss a woman. You went down on one, you had your fingers inside of her. You evoked moans from her, she scratched her nails down your back. You’re not some virginal prude. You’re not inept. It can’t be that shocking and inconceivable that you could share a single kiss with someone of the same sex.  

You were right, telling your sister was pointless. She’s offered you no assistance and no support. She’s a useless little waste of space and her horrible girlfriend is an advantage-taking little freeloader.  

“Thanks, very much! This was really helpful!”  

Your words are laced in sarcasm as you slide yourself up away from her bed with a sigh, throwing your middle finger up back in her direction as you exit the room, and slam her bedroom door shut behind you.   

You slam your own bedroom door shut behind you too, just in case she hadn’t picked up on how pissed off you are.  

You’re not really pissed off with her. She doesn’t know what’s going on inside of your head. You’re pissed off with yourself, for still being all entirely far too consumed with a woman whose name you do not know. Who wouldn’t even bother sharing her profession with you. It isn’t fair.  

You collapse headfirst onto your bed and let out a rather guttural groan into your duvet. You’re very frustrated. Your brain’s a mess, your sexuality’s up in the air, and you allowed yourself to picture, far too clearly, your memories of having sex with the gorgeous Spanish woman and now that ache that she’d put inside of you is back.  

There’s a knock at your door, and you’re not in the mood. You grab your duvet and burrito yourself in it down to the foot of your bed.  

“Y/N?”  

You don’t even grace your sister with a response. She doesn’t deserve it. She’s a swine.  

No, but she really is a swine, as you can hear her turning the doorknob and just walking right into your bedroom anyway. She’s really, unbelievably terrible at reading social cues.  

“Do you want to come to Spain with me next week?” 

See what I mean? What the hell?  

That’s a very serendipitous little offer, though. You didn’t even mention to her that the woman that you kissed was Spanish.  

Did you?  

She can’t have worked that out by herself. That would be insane. She’s already proved herself to not be the sharpest tool in the shed. That wouldn’t make any sense. What an intriguing little invitation.  

It’s very embarrassing that just the mention of the country sends a shiver down the back of your neck. All this instant adrenaline running through you, as if she’ll just be waiting for you there as soon as you land down in a random Spanish airport. Yeah, that seems likely!  

Spain’s not the biggest country in the world, but it certainly isn’t small. You’re not going to accidentally stumble into her again on the beach, or in a marketplace. She’s definitely not going to be staying in the same hotel that you’d be in.  

It shouldn’t have your heart racing like this. The chances of finding her again are so infinitesimally small, so extremely impossible, so overwhelmingly unlikely ..but you do stand a better chance, if you’re in the right country.  

“Next week?” You mumble under the sheets, playing it incredibly cool, as you try to ignore the way your heart’s started thumping at a thousand beats per minute.  

“Yeah.” 

“I thought you were going away with your girlfriend?” 

“..we broke up.” 

Shit. She would make this all about herself.  

You wiggle yourself free of your duvet cocoon and open up your arms for her to crash into you. She might be a useless little swine, but she’s your useless little swine. “Are you okay?”  

“Mhmm.” She grumbles, as she starfishes herself on top of you.  

“I’m sorry.” 

“No, you’re not. You never liked her.” 

“That’s not true.” You protest half-heartedly, kissing the side of her head.  

“I am fine ..I broke up with her.” 

“Well, thank fuck for that!” 

“See!” She laughs, rolling off the side of you. “You hated her!” 

“She was horrible!” 

“You could’ve said.” 

“You wouldn’t have left her if I told you to. You’d be getting bloody married to the girl. Twat.” She giggles defencelessly next to you on the bed, because you’re absolutely right. She has always been a contrarian little thing. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Yeah. I’ll find someone else tomorrow.” 

“Unbelievable.” You chuckle, shaking your head as you push her away. “You can’t just give me her ticket. Did she not pay for it?” 

The embarrassed little look on your sister’s face is all the wordless response you need. Her girlfriend never paid for anything. She really was an advantage-taking little freeloader.  

“Where are you going in Spain?” 

“Barcelona.” 

“Why?” 

“Football.” 

“Oh! Give me a break!” You exclaim and roll down away from her back to the foot of the bed. “Why are you going all the way to Spain just to watch some football? You can bloody watch it here.” 

“It’s the Champions League!” She informs you excitedly, and you can’t even pretend to match her enthusiasm. “Chelsea’s playing Barcelona.” 

“Woo.” You respond flatly, rolling your eyes with a shake of your head. “You watched them play together today, didn’t you? Why are they so bloody obsessed with each other? Even I know there’s more teams than that.” 

“It’s the second leg..” She starts explaining, but none of it means anything to you, and you really just can’t bring yourself to care.  

Going all the way out to Spain to be stuck inside a stadium with thousands of screaming fans? What sort of holiday is that? You don’t care about Chelsea’s success or failure. Your sister’s dirty crush on their star-striker is just another one of her many celebrity infatuations that you can’t make any sense of.  

You don’t want to sit next to her as she gets herself all hot and bothered watching women run around a football pitch. You don’t even enjoy watching men do it, you have no interest in watching women.  

“No. I’m good, thanks.” You tell her, dismissively.  

“Please? We can do more than just watch the football.” She offers, pouting pathetically. “You have to come with me! I’ve just been dumped!”  

“No, you haven’t!” You remind her, laughing at her useless attempt at guilt tripping. “And you haven’t really left me much time to negotiate with work.” 

“You work too hard and you’re due some time off! Your boss isn’t going to refuse you, just bat your eyelashes at him. The filthy pervert.” 

“Hm.” You mumble, drumming your fingers over your stomach as you think.  

She isn’t wrong, about you working hard, at least. You do like to bury yourself in your work. You enjoy your job, and the harder you work, the more you earn. You haven’t had time off in a while, and your boss is unlikely to say no to you, you are his favourite employee. You don’t agree that it’s because he has a crush on you, you get good results for the company, and attract lucrative clientele.  

If batting your eyelashes could get you back in the arms of your Spanish one-night stand more easily, though, you’re not above flirting with him to get you there. You could take a few days of leave, go off to Spain, and possibly run into the woman who’s been living inside of your head.  

It’s such an incredibly remote possibility. An absolute stab in the dark chance of finding her. She probably isn’t even in Barcelona. You’re not cultured enough to be able to pin her accent to a specific city. She’s just Spanish. There’s much more places in Spain than just Barcelona. Barcelona isn’t even the capital. Maybe she’s in Madrid, Valencia, Marbella. She could be a party girl living on the island of Ibiza, you had originally found her in a bar. You don’t get a body like hers drinking yourself senseless every night, though.  

What if you do find her, and she wants nothing to do with you? There was only ever the promise of one night together. You already pushed your luck by spending the rest of the morning with each other, she doesn’t owe you anything more. It’s unlikely that she’s been spiralling quite as pathetically as you have. She’s not going to be fending off a sexuality migraine.  

You undoubtedly won’t have been the absolutely mind-blowing experience to her, that she was to you. She’ll have had sex with countless women. She definitely enjoyed herself with you, that much you’re certainly sure of. You can’t fake every bodily reaction to someone, but the rest of it could have been for show. The display of heartbreak afterwards.  

So, maybe she’s an actress, that would certainly make sense. It would explain why she had money, and why she had a company paying for her hotel. Maybe that was her little ‘business trip’. Perhaps she was in London promoting a Spanish movie. Maybe the entire thing was all a performance, and you fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker.  

Either way, stalking her in Spain would be far too pathetic. Even if she does want you to find her, it’s so desperate and needy of you to go all that way, and if she doesn’t want you to find her, you end up looking insane. Travelling to Spain, to possibly just show up right there on her doorstep? What a terrifying thing for you to do to the woman.  

But what if it’s a sign? 

Your clueless little sister, inviting you all the way to Spain, with absolutely no idea that the woman you’re harbouring all of these confusing emotions for, lives there? Maybe it’s fate. Maybe it’s the universe trying to get you back together. Maybe she didn’t fake it, she does feel the same, you’ll find her in Spain and spend the rest of your lives together.  

Please. Behave and be so goddamn serious with yourself. You sweet and simple, delusional little fool.  

“The woman I kissed was from Spain.” You inform your sister thoughtfully, and she sits herself up on your bed to frown at you.  

“You’re still going with that?” 

“Why don’t you believe me?” 

“You’re straight. Straight straight straight.” She points out, with such an incredibly annoying inflection to her voice, it makes you want to bang your head against the wall. “You’re also 26. You were in love with an ugly bastard for 5 years and you’ve never shown an interest in a woman before.” 

“I hadn’t met her before.” 

“Gayyy!” She giggles, and you give her an almighty clack on her arm with the back of your hand, to wipe the smug little smile from off her face.  

“Go with the woman you’re hooking up with tomorrow.” You instruct her. “I’d be a nightmare to watch football with, you’d have to keep explaining things to me.” 

“I don’t mind doing that.” 

“Do you have no other friends to go with you?” You laugh and she pouts dramatically again, shaking her head. “You’re a lonely little loser!” You tell her with a smile.  

“Is that a ‘yes’?” She asks, rolling her eyes at you.  

You take in a deep breath and let out a very heavy sigh. 

What’s the worst that can happen?  

She’s already completely upturned your life. It couldn’t make things any worse for you. Whether you’re able to bump into her or not. You’ll either find yourself some peace, lounging in the Spanish sun, or you’ll be left in exactly the same position you’re in now, but with a much healthier glow to your skin.  

You could even find yourself a Spanish man while you’re out there.  

Mm.  

It’s really not a good sign for your heterosexuality, that that’s no longer an appealing option to you.  

“If I can sort it with work,” you reason, “yes. I’ll come to Barcelona with you.”  

She lets out an embarrassingly girly squeal and crashes her head against your stomach, with just enough force behind it to manage to leave you winded.  

“Twat! I’m making no promises about going to the game, mind. I’m just coming for the tan.” 

“Maybe your ‘Spanish lesbian’ is also a fan of football.” She encourages  

“Mhmm. I’m pretty sure she is.” You admit contemplatively. “Is that an entry-level of requirement for lesbianism, then?” You ask, rolling your eyes. “Because if that’s the case, I really can stop questioning myself.” 

________________

Booking time off work really is as easy as your sister thought it would be. Maybe your boss does have an inappropriate crush on you like she suspects. 

She’s very excited about having you for company, and she tries to educate you on all of Chelsea’s history, the players’ statistics, and their personal lives, all before you go on your little trip together. It really does just go right in one ear, and straight back out of the other. You’re not fussed on the facts and figures; it’s not why you’re going.  

There’s not enough room in your brain to care about the ins and outs of Sam Kerr and Kristie Mewis’ relationship. You’re not interested in the fact that Chelsea currently have 6 WSL titles, and are going for their fifth-straight one, and you really aren’t bothered that the semifinal’s first leg match against Barcelona ended in a draw.  

That is a fair amount of information for you to have retained already despite not being interested. Your sister really has been going on at you, you’re almost a footballing expert.  

Touching down late in the morning in Barcelona, you can’t pretend there isn’t a tiny part of you that’s letting yourself get a little carried away with dreaming. You’ve played through enough countless scenarios in your head of running into the Spanish wonder again back in London, of course your mind’s racing with the possibilities in Spain.  

You drop your bags off at the hotel your sister’s booked for you both, with the intention of heading back out to explore the city together. It’s a peculiar looking building, bright red, oddly shaped. She really never has been one for subtlety, it’s the perfect sort of accommodation for her.  

She insists on wanting to have a look at the Olympic Stadium before the big match, as well as seeing the state of Camp Nou’s renovations, and you really can’t indulge her any more than you already have. You probably will end up joining her for the game tomorrow, but you’re absolutely not walking around the outside of football grounds for fun.  

You’ve seen the exterior of Stamford Bridge more than your fair share of times, Wembley, the Emirates. There’s not that much difference between the lot of them, and they’ve never really been your favourite form of modern architecture.  

So, you agree to go your separate ways for your first afternoon in the city, you’ll meet back up with each other tonight.  

Playing tourist around the streets of Barcelona on your own, is quite an exciting little experience for you. You’re not very worried about getting lost, despite not speaking too much Spanish beyond the basics. Your hotel’s a distinctive looking building, it’s not going to be super difficult to find your own way back to it.  

You get a taxi further into the main hub of town and you’re able to mosey about with a rather unrestrained confidence, turning down tight alleyways and strolling aimlessly along multiple cobbled streets. You manage to find yourself being comfortably led astray, by allowing nothing more than just the warm gentle breeze to guide you as it blows against your body.  

It turns into a more casual exploration of the more authentic side of Barcelona away from most of the tourist hotspots. You have no real idea where you are, and you’re quite enjoying the small rush of adventure.  

A coffee is what you start craving, and you’re not exactly limited by options. Every other building on the peacefully quiet backstreet you’ve found yourself on, seems to be a tiny café. You could start ip dip doo-ing all the individual offerings, but that’s putting far too much consideration into it. You decide to go for the smallest one, the most unassuming. The best coffees always come from the places that aren’t trying to market themselves to any foreign tourists.  

A little bell rings out as you step through the door and the barista almost jumps out of his skin at the sight of you, he clearly isn’t used to getting anyone other than his regular patrons. You offer up your friendliest of smiles and a quick ‘hola’ to show him that you mean no harm, and you tap your finger gently on the countertop as you inspect the board behind his head.  

Choosing the littlest coffee shop might have been a tiny mistake because absolutely everything on the menu is written in what you can only assume, is a rather confusing variation of Spanish. You can’t back out now, the barista already has an adorably excited look on his face at having someone new in his little shop, you can’t break his heart like that.  

You study the chalk written on the board for entirely far too long, in the hope that the words will slowly start translating themselves for you. It doesn’t work, obviously. So, you take a punt at a random one of them, with the rather daring assumption that you haven’t just ordered yourself a troubling batch of Spanish poison.  

“¡Dos, por favor!” Comes a call from behind you, from a woman you surely do not know. It’s recognisably ballsy of her, almost rude.

Her words echo in your ears, as time stands still around you. You’d recognise that voice anywhere, with that unmistakable, and entirely enchanting, cocky little tone to it.  

You can’t really have found her so easily. Life’s never been that kind.  

You can feel your heart clattering around in your chest instantly. Like it’s trying to escape from your ribs, to go off and say hello to hers, all by itself. Your chest’s rising and falling intensely as your breathing shallows and picks up pace.  

It can’t be her; it can’t be. This city’s just absolutely full of Spanish women.

She holds out her card right over you to pay, gently resting her arm down onto your shoulder, and you’ve definitely seen that tattoo before. The ‘11’ printed on her wrist.  

She’d refused to explain the meaning when you’d asked her about it. She wouldn’t give you the backstory behind any of her tattoos. It was too personal; you weren’t allowed to know.  

She thought you might have really fallen for each other if you both started sharing too much information about yourselves, and you only had the single night to spend together.  

“It would be too painful.” She had reasoned with you.

That was very clever thinking on her part. She absolutely managed to prevent you from having an awful lot of heartache and suffering about the whole thing, by letting you know absolutely nothing about her..ﾠ

You still can’t bring yourself to turn around and look. Even though you know it must be her. It can’t be likely that there’s multiple Spanish women that have branded themselves with that specific number on that specific part of their body. Surely to god.  

“..gracias.” You manage to choke out very shakily, in little more than a whisper, still facing forward.  

You have to turn around at some point. You can’t very well drink your coffee on the tiny little counter right in front of the barista when you can’t even have a conversation with him. Just staring at him, silently, neither of you able to speak each other’s language? That would freak him out! You’ll find yourself back on a plane headed for England before you know it, with a restraining order hanging over your head.  

Grow up and turn around. Just turn around.  

It’s her. It has to be her.  

The barista accepts the woman’s payment method with a familiar little smile back at her, and she carefully retracts her arm from over your shoulder slowly. You can smell her perfume on her wrist as it wafts back past the side your face. You recognise the scent, and you find yourself following it round you like a lost little puppy, your knees almost giving way beneath you.  

You didn’t accidentally stumble upon her at the beach. It’s not a Spanish marketplace. She definitely isn’t staying at the same hotel that you’re in.  

You’ve found her, while getting yourself lost. In the tiniest little café, on an unnamed, tumbleweed backstreet, right in the very heart of Barcelona.  

There’s a wide smile of disbelief on her face. Which is hopefully an indication, that she isn’t terrified of you being here, she hadn’t faked her feelings, and she, much like you are with her, is a little overwhelmed to see you.  

“Hi.” Is all that drops out of your mouth, as your mind goes blank at the sight of her.  

“Hi.” She says back, with the exact same breathlessness as you, her voice cracking ever so slightly.  

“….Hi.” 

“You’ve already said that.” She reminds you, and she’s clearly able to bring herself back to her senses far more quickly than you are, because there’s that charming little smirk tugging at the corner of her lips again.  

You’re not really sure which one of you instigated it, you both just sort of ended up colliding into each other, gripping at the material of each other’s clothes. It’s a very desperate hug. Even more so than the one you shared outside of the hotel elevator. You melt into each other, merging yourselves together like two corresponding puzzle pieces.  

It’s an embrace, holding not just the 12 hours of curious devotion between you, but over 30 days' worth of frenzied yearning. It has you both clinging to each other with everything you have, as it defies everything you came to accept as truly achievable, that heartbreaking belief in you, that this reunion would never really happen.  

It’s an impossible hug, and it’s one that neither of you want to pull away from. 

“What are you doing here?” You mumble against her, clinging to her shirt as she buries her head in the crook of your neck.  

“I think it should be me asking that question.” She tells you, chuckling. “I have far more right to be in Barcelona than you do.” 

“This is where you live?” You ask. “You’re from Barcelona?” 

“Mhmm.” She murmurs. “Mollet del Vallès.” 

There’s really no reason for that to be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. It’s only a place name. It’s a good job she didn’t spend much time speaking Spanish to you back in London, you really would have been like putty in her hands.  

“What are you doing here?” She questions.  

“I thought you might want your sweatshirt back.” You joke casually, and she loosens her grip on you slightly so she can face you.  

“Do you not want it anymore?” She asks, furrowing her brow as she studies your face. 

There’s a clear look of uncertainty in her eyes, a small sense of worry, and you do feel mildly guilty for teasing her. “I was hoping ..maybe I could swap it for another.” You smile. “It doesn’t really smell like you anymore.”

She doesn’t allow you to feel guilty for too long. That small air of arrogance that’s always threatening to escape her, does so, in a predictable little smirk at the implication.  

“You’ve been wearing it that much?” She asks you proudly, and you push your tongue against the inside of your mouth as you roll your eyes at her typical display of cockiness. She carefully closes the small distance between you both again, gently pressing herself flush against you. “Does it smell of you?” She whispers in your ear, sending a ripple of goosebumps down the side of your neck. 

“Mhmm.” 

“Mm. Maybe I could be persuaded to make a trade, then.” 

She’s impossible for you to resist when she’s like this. It’s still an intriguing talent she has, evoking such a physical reaction from you, by doing hardly anything at all. A quiet little whisper in your ear and your body’s immediately burning up next to her? You’re still so incredibly tragic.  

You might no longer be certain of your sexuality, but maybe it really doesn’t matter. Why do you need to understand it? Why does it need an explanation? No one else in the world is important at all when she’s standing here in front of you. No one else would ever really stand a chance. How could you ever be interested in anyone else, when you know that this woman right here exists? How could any other person ever truly compare? 

There’s a desire in you that’s clearly also felt in her, when she moves herself to look at you. It’s written all over her face, the twinkle in her beautiful eyes, and the fact that her lips are so incredibly close to yours.  

You lean in, and so does she, but it’s like something quickly shoots through her body, as though she’s suddenly being brought back into the room. She does a quick scan of the café, and she collects herself before she lets you both get carried away.  

“We can’t kiss in here.” She tells you quietly, and you frown at her as you pull yourself back.  

“Why not?” You ask, doing your own quick search to try and find what she saw to put her off.  

No one seems too interested in you, though there’s admittedly a couple of people discreetly watching her. She is very beautiful, so it’s not surprising, but you do sort of wish they’d stop their gawking. This gorgeous woman is here with you, and you’re not really in the mood for sharing.

“There’s not another bloody homophobe about, is there?” 

“No!” She laughs, shaking her head. “Well, I don’t know, actually. I haven’t asked around, but we just ..can’t kiss in here.” 

It’s curious. She didn’t have any issues kissing you in front of people before. Spanish people are very famously more physically affectionate with each other than British people are. So, it seems unlikely that the two of you would turn too many heads just by kissing.  

“Okay..” you accept reluctantly, pouting a little at the rejection, “so ..should we just quickly nip outside to do it then, or?” You joke cheekily, pointing to the door with your thumb.

She chuckles with you, resting her forehead to your shoulder. “You’re still as straight as ever!” She grins, as she wraps you back up in her arms.  

It’s quite nice just losing yourself in her embrace. Burying your head in her neck and holding her tight against you. Having her arms back around you, her perfume overwhelming your senses. The rest of the coffee shop fades into a blur with her in your arms. She’s comforting, reassuring. She’s real, and she’s here.  

“Ale!” Is called out by the barista not a minute later, and you’d have very happily paid it no attention at all. The immediate flinch from the woman that you’re holding, in response to it, however, tells you that you might have just found out a very valuable piece of information indeed.  

You repeat it under your breath, as she pulls away from you and goes to collect your coffees from the counter.  

She says a quiet ‘moltes gràcies’ to the barista, and she narrows her eyes with a small grimace as she returns to you. There’s still a clear reluctance in her to give too much away, she’s not entirely grateful to her little coffee friend for unknowingly revealing slightly more to you than just her first initial.  

Ale. It must still be short for something, you figure. You start reeling off name possibilities at her in quick succession. Alessia, Alex, Alexis, Alexa. You’re like a dog with a bone, because she makes it clear that you’re getting closer, but she still shakes her head at every guess.  

It’s very frustrating, as she offers you absolutely no assistance with your guessing, but it can’t be as convoluted a mission as trying to discover Rumpelstiltskin’s ridiculous name. Thankfully, it isn’t. It’s on only your 5th attempt that you cause the same small flinch in her, and she smiles softly at you before looking down very quickly. You’ve struck gold.  

Alexia. 

It’s a beautiful name. Your favourite name, you’ve decided. It rolls off your tongue with so much ease, you want to repeat it again and again. 

“Now you know too much.” She sighs whimsically, handing you your coffee as she walks past you to collect her bag from the table she was previously sitting at.  

She gestures for you to follow her and leads you to a quieter area away from the other customers right at the back of the shop. She pulls out your chair for you to sit down, and you can’t not smile at the tiny act of chivalry. She really is very sweet. It’s a shame that she won’t let you kiss her.  

You reveal your own name to her, as she joins you on the other side of the table and she repeats it back to you quietly. Whether it’s the sexy Spanish accent, or just the fact that it’s her saying it to you for the first time, you’re not entirely sure, but your heart skips a few beats after hearing it. 

“Now we both know too much.” She tells you, and she takes a small sip of her coffee.  

There’s the tiniest level of nervousness, that blankets itself over you both as you sit together. It’s a little absurd, you’ve seen this woman naked. She’s seen you naked. It isn’t technically a first date between you, neither of you asked the other to be here, but you both clearly have the little jitters of being on one, coursing through your bodies.  

You find yourself just watching her a few times as you talk over your drinks together. You still can’t really believe you found her so quickly. So, you don’t want to risk taking your eyes off of her for too long, in case she just disappears into thin air while you’re not looking.  

She’s also the most beautiful sight in the café. So, why would you want to waste your time looking at anything else? 

You’re not being very discreet about your staring at all, and neither is she, really. You keep exchanging shy smiles over your cups as you catch each other looking. Both of you blushing and quickly averting your eyes as they meet, and then gradually repeating the whole thing all over again. You’ve definitely caught her gazing a few more times than she’s caught you. So, maybe she’s even more tragic than you are.  

The little coffee you ordered by chance, is Alexia’s usual order, so she tells you. It’s not the most life-changing piece of information for her to share with you, but it’s something else for you to know about her, and you’re absolutely sure to make a note of it. It probably keeps you on an even tally too, she already knows that you enjoy drinking a tequila.  

You’re still not allowed to kiss each other, for whatever obscure reason, but she has reached for you hand under the table. Interlacing your fingers together isn’t a new thing between you both, and neither are those tingles that immediately shoot up through your arm at even the most innocent of touches from her. She really does have an incredible effect on you, it should probably be more terrifying to you than it is.

“Why are you really here?” She asks after a moment, as she strokes her thumb over your knuckles.  

“My sister dragged me here.” You answer. “It’s a very important football match tomorrow, apparently.” 

“The one against Chelsea?” She asks, with an unmistakable look of interest in her eyes, that has you rolling your own lightly back at her.  

“I think she’d say against Barcelona,” you point out with a sigh, “but yeah, that one.” 

You had managed to work out that Alexia was probably a bit of a football fan. She has a little stick figure tattoo of a footballer on her leg, the outline of a baby being given a ball on her back, and you have exceptional detective skills. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.  

So, it isn’t a surprise that she’d be excited by your footballing interests, but it is unfortunate that you really don’t share the same passion for it as her.  

“Unless you’re a very daring rebel,” you start, “I assume you’ll be supporting Barcelona tomorrow?” 

“Mhmm,” she murmurs, with a small twinkle in her eye, “and you’ll be supporting Chelsea?” 

“Not emphatically,” you admit with a smile, “but I’ll be in that section of the crowd, yeah.”  

“You don’t really care about football at all, do you?” She asks knowingly, with an edge to her smirk that’s intriguing, as you shake your head at her in apology. “Maybe you should introduce me to your sister instead, then!” She winks, and you very quickly remove your hand back out of her hold.  

“Don’t.” You tell her. “Please. Don’t even joke about it.” 

It’s admittedly a little cute that she finds herself quite so hilarious for her disgusting little joke, but you are very unamused by the idea. If the childish look of mischief on her face wasn’t so entirely endearing to you, you may very well have got up and left her right then and there.  

She rests the back of her hand on your thigh with her palm outstretched, and you roll your eyes at her before placing your own hand back into it. She raises it to her lips to place a lingering kiss to your fingers, leaving you with the faintest of blushes across your cheeks. So, maybe you can find it in yourself to forgive her just this once.  

“I have a sister.” She reveals. “Her name's Alba. She’s a few years younger than me. I’m the older sibling, like you are.”  

“Uh oh!” 

“What?” 

“Well, now I really do know too much.” You tell her with a wink.

“My sister’s Emily.” You inform her rebalancing the tally of facts you keep sharing with each other. “Though she’d kill you for calling her that. I think she’d change her name completely if she didn’t think it would upset our Dad so much. She just goes by Em these days ..so ..she probably would have enjoyed your silly little initial idea, actually,” you admit thoughtfully, frowning a little at the realisation, “maybe I really should introduce you to her instead..” 

“Por favor.” She says quietly, quickly shaking her head at you and raising your hand to her lips once again. “Don’t even joke about it.” 

“Will you be going to the game tomorrow?” You ask, a not-so-subtle attempt at finding out if you might be getting to see each other again so soon. “We’d be like star-crossed lovers in the stands. Very Romeo and Juliet of us!” 

“I don’t know that we want to be comparing ourselves to those two! I don’t remember it ending very well for them.” She reminds you, narrowing her eyes at you as her intriguing little smirk returns to her face. “And no. I’m working tomorrow, I won’t be in the stands.” 

“Boo. You can’t be that big of a fan, then!” You tut in disappointment. “I’ve come all this way to support my team!” 

“Your team!” She chuckles. “Will you be there in a Chelsea shirt?” 

“Absolutely not. I’ll be in very neutral colours.” 

She smiles, nibbling at the inside of her mouth as she lowers her eyes to look at the table. She knocks her hand gently on it a few times before turning her attention back to you. It’s impossible to know what she’s thinking, but she’s definitely debating something silently in her head.  

“I could give you a Barcelona one?” She suggests a little cautiously, and you have to smile at the idea. Your sister would certainly disown you if you took one of those back home with you. It’d be worth it, just to see the look on her face.

“You have a very weird habit of offering me your clothes.” You tell her slyly.  

“Mhmm. I really like seeing you in them.” She admits sultrily, and your breath catches as her eyes darken looking at you. “I think I have one in my bag, if you want it.” 

It’s a surprisingly sexy little offer, and you do quite like having her clothes on your body. It’s hard not to laugh at her peculiarity, though, even your sister isn’t that crazy of a football fan.  

“You just ..carry it around with you at all times?” You ask, furrowing your brow as you chuckle at her. “That’s really weird of you! Do you sell them? You go round offering them to unsuspecting tourists? Is that your job? Is it a fake? Are yo—”

“You need to stop trying to know things about me.” She interrupts softly, shaking her head as she chuckles.  

“And just ..blindly accept that you always have a football shirt on you?” 

“Mhmm.” She giggles, and you narrow your eyes at her.

She really is very curious.  

She pulls it out from her little duffle bag from under the table and hands it to you with a gleam in her eye as you take it from her. You push your empty coffee cup to the side and spread the shirt out over the table to study it.  

They’re not exactly your colours, but you can probably make them work. You hold it up against you to check that it will suit, and she bites her lip as she watches you. There’s a name printed on the back of it, you realise, and you smile a little as you read it in your head.  

“Don’t most adults keep it blank? Or just go for their favourite player?” You ask smirking. You turn the shirt around and rest it over yourself, and she gently bites at the skin around her fingernail as you trace the lettering over your chest. “I thought it was just little kids that got their own name on the back. Do you quite like pretending you’re also on the team?” 

“Mhmm ..maybe.” She mumbles, stifling a giggle as she rests her head in her hand. She smiles at you fondly, as she continues gazing at your little shirt inspection.  

“That’s really very cute of you.” You tell her, placing the shirt back on the table and leaning over it as you trace your fingers over the number. “Why ‘11’?” 

“Hm?” 

“11. You have it tattooed on you. You’ve chosen it for your shirt.” You point out. “Is it your birthday? You were born on the 11th? You were born in November? Born on New Year’s Day? Is it just your lucky number? Is it—” 

“Stop, trying to know things about me.” She interrupts again quietly, reaching for your hand and meeting you across the table to rest her forehead to yours.  

“But I want to know things about you.” You whisper. “I want to know when your birthday is. I’d like to know your surname. I want to know what you do for a living, how you got those scars on your knee, how much you weighed when you were born. The name of your first crush, where you went to school, the meaning behind your tattoos. I want to know each and every incredible milestone you’ve ever achieved, and all the unfathomably boring things that you got up to in between each of them. I want to know every single detail about you, and your life, Alexia. I really, really want to know you.”   

It’s quite the thing for you to confess to the poor woman after only meeting her on two separate occasions, but the way her grip on your hand kept tightening as you spoke, the slight clenching of her jaw, and the fact that her lips are dangerously close to yours once again, probably means you haven’t just completely scared her off with it.  

“We’d have to spend a lifetime together, trying to learn all of that about each other.” She whispers to you, her lips lightly brushing against yours.  

“Is that a proposal?” You chuckle, gently bumping your nose to hers. Your eyes trail to her lips, and it’s really very hard to not act on your impulses. “Am I really not allowed to kiss you in h—“ 

It seems that you are allowed to kiss her in here, when it’s right at the back where no one’s watching. Or she’s allowed to kiss you, at least, because there's no doubt which one of you instigated this. Her lips move against yours, and your pulse reacts to her immediately.

It's a kiss harbouring an awful lot of emotion, for two people who still hardly know each other. It's slow, passionate, careful, and every confusing little worry that's been plaguing your brain since the last time you kissed, instantly melts away into nothing as her tongue slips back into your mouth. You're the only two people in the world when her hand's pulling you in by the back of your neck, and you’re tugging her closer by grabbing at her shirt.

It’s probably a good job she did decide to take you further away from everybody else, because it doesn’t stay an entirely family-friendly kiss for very long. It’s not wildly inappropriate, you’re not animals, and the bastard table’s in the way of you doing too much with each other. Thank goodness it is, because it’s been over a month, after all, and you’re both clearly quite a bit needy. You really can’t be doing that in public.  

“I’ve missed you.” She murmurs against your lips, pulling you impossibly further into her.  

“I really missed you too.” 

Hours feel like minutes, in Alexia’s company, as you spend the afternoon roaming Barcelona together. She still refuses to tell you everything about herself. You don’t learn her surname, and she still won’t tell you what she does for a living, but you do both share other things about yourselves with each other. 

It doesn’t matter how insignificant any of the details probably are. Every single one of them still feels important to you, because it’s another little glimpse into her. Every single fact, story and secret that she shares, is what makes Alexia, who she is, and she was absolutely right, you do find yourself falling more for her, with all of the little things you keep discovering.  

She eventually agrees to tell you her birthday. Which makes the whole ‘11’ obsession even more intriguing to you, because the 4th of February ’94 does absolutely nothing to clear that little mystery up. It does tell you that the man in his twenties that you were looking for the night you first met, didn’t even turn out to be a woman in her twenties at all. She turned 30 nearly 3 months ago. She’s absolutely decrepit! 

She gives you a tiny tour on your stroll together, bringing some clarity to the Catalonian streets you’ve been carelessly walking down. Explaining the extra confusing writing on the menu board, and casually revealing to you that she can speak 3 different languages. So, your drunken boast about your GCSE level German, probably wasn’t very impressive to her at all.  

You’re both approached a fair few times by people asking for directions. You can never understand what it is that they’re saying, and you're not really of much use to them just standing there being awkward. So, you hang off a little to the side taking in your surroundings, waiting for her to help them out, before she excitedly returns back to you. You’re not at all bothered by the interruptions. Your patience with it keeps earning you a quick discreet kiss from her as she wraps her arms around your waist, and you return the same display of affection, for her unrelenting kindness to strangers.

Alexia insists that she isn’t a tour-guide, and she’s also not an actress. So, you are very slowly whittling down the options of what it is she could possibly do for a living. She asks you about your own career, which is incredibly cheeky of her, considering. So, you simply refuse to tell her.

Maybe it’s that competitive streak in you, but if she wants to play it secretive, you can absolutely match her for it. You only agree to give her the corresponding facts to the one’s she’s willing to give to you. That way, if she’s falling for you with each new piece of information the same way that you’re doing for her, at least you’re both crashing down for each other, at exactly the same speed.

There’s slightly less careless abandon with being too physical with each other, walking hand in hand around Barcelona. It’s arguably tame compared to how you both were back in London. Whether it’s the lack of alcohol that’s keeping her more reserved, or maybe just because it isn’t yet nighttime, you’re not entirely sure.  

You’re still stealing kisses as you waltz along the streets, but you’re not pushing each other up against the walls of buildings out in the open. Maybe that would be a little indecent of you both. You’re pulling each other down quiet alleyways, instead, pressing yourselves together in secret coves.  

It doesn’t feel entirely necessary, the streets you’re exploring aren’t particularly packed with people, but you don’t question it too much. You’ve really just missed having her lips on yours, and whatever capacity she feels comfortable doing it in, you’re more than willing to oblige.  

You couldn’t really care less who sees you kissing her. You all but forget that they exist when she's pulling you into her and leaving her mark on you. It is arguably far more exciting, however, trying to be sneaky about it with each other. You're both almost actively searching for places that you're unlikely to get caught in. Finding hidden areas and seeing how much you can get away with together.

Your hands find their way under her shirt on more than one occasion. She really does have the most beautiful body. She jokingly reprimands you for it each time, but she doesn’t really discourage you from doing it. She does continually tease you, for your ever-decreasing signs of straightness, though.

Each newly shared kiss with Alexia, is somehow even better than the last. Whether she’s passionately throwing caution to the wind with you, by kissing down your neck, or trapping your bottom lip between her teeth. Even when she’s just being painfully frustrating, by giving you the quickest of pecks before skipping away. Every single one of them still sets your soul on fire, and they still manage to pull all the air right out from your lungs, every single time.

Alexia waits with you, as it turns to evening, on a bench by the road for your taxi back to your hotel. You try not to let the mild burning in your eyes ruin your final moments with her, but you can feel yourself starting to break.

She pulls out the football shirt from her bag again and holds it out for you to take with a shy smile. “I really hope you enjoy the game tomorrow.” She says, and you try to allow yourself to chuckle a little while nodding your head. 

“Mhmm. Thank you, I’ll try.” You tell her, throwing her shirt over your shoulder and quickly rubbing the corner of your eyes. “I’ll have to get Em’s permission to wear this, first. She’ll be very unimpressed with me.” 

“Just don’t let her burn it!”  

“I won't.” You promise, interlacing your fingers with hers and placing a kiss to the back of her hand. “The other fans might throw tomatoes at it, mind!” 

She chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple, and there’s that familiar sense of dread in your stomach, as you watch the road, knowing your time together is quickly running out again.

You catch her gazing at you as you turn to her, and maybe there’s a little butterfly or two in your stomach as well, at the way her eyes are watching over you. “Are you okay?” You ask.

“Mhmm. You haven’t even gone yet,” she tells you smiling, tucking your hair back behind your ear, “and I already can’t wait to see you again.” 

“You’re really that certain that you will? You’re still sure you don’t want us to swap numbers?”  

“We’ve already bumped into each other a couple of times now. I have no doubt we’ll manage it again.”

It’s nowhere near as reassuring to you as it seems to be to her, but there’s a certain level of romance in her conviction in fortuity. Maybe you are beginning to believe in the possible existence of fate, though you're not completely enamoured by continuing to leave your encounters with Alexia, entirely up to chance. She cradles your head in her hands and gently wipes the tears that are threatening to spill from your eyes with her thumbs.

"I'll never forgive you," you warn her weakly, "if this ends up being it for us."

"Trust me." Is all she asks of you, and she pulls you back into her, resting her head against yours as she runs her fingers over your back.

It feels like an unspoken promise from her, to keep at least trying to find you, and there's a power in her certainty that has you desperate to believe in it too.

It’s still a little hard for you both to say goodbye to each other, but she’s already told you she has a busy day tomorrow, and you can’t really bring her back to your hotel when your sister’s already sharing the bed with you. You share another long hug, and a few more secret kisses before your taxi pulls up, and you finally hesitantly agree to part ways. She places a kiss to your cheek, by way of goodbye as you clamber yourself into the back of the car, setting off without her once again.  

You try to reassure yourself, on the taxi ride back to your hotel. You've ran into each other twice, in two separate countries, by pure dumb luck. It can't be impossible for it to happen again. Maybe there’s something connecting you both, an invisible string, an intangible little bungee cord, that's making sure that neither of you is ever able to truly stray too far away from the other. Alexia has ‘no doubt’ that you’ll manage another meeting again, and you take some comfort in knowing, that you still have 2 days left in the city, to do exactly that.

________________

Collapsing back down to lay on the bed in your hotel room, you have a sneaking suspicion, that you’ll have a far better night’s sleep than you’ve managed to have in a long time, tonight. Your mind isn’t spiralling with confusion anymore, and there’s no longer a gaping hole inside of your chest.  

There’s an excitement in you, a warmth. An encouraging little hope that you really have found something special. Someone special. That once-in-a-lifetime connection with another person who’s also trapped in this world along with you.  

It definitely isn’t the someone you expected to intertwine your soul with. Any younger version of yourself would be very confused about where she’s ended up. It isn’t a connection you want to keep questioning either. It’s not one you really have any doubts on the existence of at all. She’s just it for you, and maybe it’s okay that that’s all you can say to justify it.   

You don’t need to be attracted to other women; you don’t really care about your weakening attraction to men. It just makes sense when you’re together with her. There’s no confusion, no uncertainty, there’s no warning alarms ringing out in your head. There’s just Alexia, and the existence of anything and anybody else, will always pale in comparison to her. 

Your sister arrives a little after you, plodding back into the hotel room, clearly wiped from whatever individual Spanish adventure she got up to today, and she flops herself into one of the armchairs with a very heavy sigh.  

“Long day?” You ask. 

“Mhmm.” She mumbles, frowning at you suspiciously. “You look very happy?” 

“I am very happy!” You tell her with a smile. You excitedly roll over and reach down the side of the bed to retrieve your souvenir of the day from its hiding spot. You launch it right into your sister’s face and she grunts a little under the impact. “Will you hate me, if I wear that tomorrow?” You ask, trying to contain your newfound enthusiasm. 

She pulls it off from where it’s wrapped itself around her head, and she gives you a very unimpressed look. “You bought a Barcelona shirt?” She asks, clearly disgusted with your choice of fashion.  

“I was given it.” 

“By?” 

“..a woman.” You tell her, gently biting your bottom lip as you smile up at the ceiling.  

“Mm.” She mutters with a sigh, moving to join you over on the bed. She thwacks the shirt down over your stomach and lets out a huff next to you. “Well, at least she has good taste.” She tells you. “Or she’s just a bit basic.” 

That’s a little rude ..and very confusing.  

“What do you mean?” 

“Going for the best player on the team.” 

That’s less rude ..but even more confusing.  

“..What do you mean?” 

“Are you joking?” She asks, with a very clear tone of annoyance to her voice. She grabs the shirt and thwacks you with it again. “A woman gives you a shirt with a name on the back, and you don’t even care enough to ask who the bloody player is?”   

Maybe your head is racing again. That’s incredibly confusing. It really doesn’t make any sense. It’s her name, not a player’s name. Maybe they just share a name. It’s not an incredibly rare name, that’s not impossible. 

Your Alexia has a mild interest in football, she’s not playing it professionally. Who would keep that a secret? She’s reticent with sharing information, that’s for certain, but she’s not a bloody liar, and she told you she wouldn’t even be there tomorrow.  

No.  

She said that she was working tomorrow, and that she wouldn’t be in the stands with you. 

Your mind has started racing, and so has your little heart.  

“What. do. you. mean?” You repeat slowly, trying to keep yourself calm.  

“Alexia Putellas.” She tells you, very nonchalantly, and your brain all but short circuits at the name.  

“Who is Alexia Putellas?” 

She thwacks you again with your shirt in dismay, and you’ve really had just about enough of being treated like a piñata. You sit up, pull it from her hands and thwack it across her face as you ask her to explain herself.  

“She’s a footballer, for fuck’s sake!” She shouts, rubbing the palm of her hand against her eyelid. “She’s Spanish. She plays for Barcelona!” She pulls out her phone, to search for her Instagram and bonks you on the head with it. “That’s Alexia Putellas, you twat.” 

You look at the profile, and the hotel room blurs around you. You can feel your heart thumping in your chest, hear the blood pumping around in your ears.  

Your Alexia, is Alexia Putellas.  

She doesn’t sell shirts for a living, she’s not an actress nor a tour-guide, she really isn’t even a spy. Though she’d probably make a pretty good one, the way she never gave this piece of information away.  

Your unexplainable connection with another human being, and she plays football for a living? Clearly very well too, as 2 of her pinned photos have her holding a massive award for it right next to her face. Every other post on her page is about football. She’s Barcelona, through and through.  

She’s verified, she has over 3 million followers. She’s been out here, existing on the world’s stage, all this time, without you ever knowing. Your own sister’s been privy to more information about her than you have.  

She was in London a month ago for football, according to her Instagram posts. The cryptic little ‘business trip’ she was on, was a quarter-final match against Arsenal. An embarrassingly easy win for Barcelona, she must have been out celebrating it when she found you in that club.  

She was back in London again last week for football. You could have seen her then. You missed a chance at an earlier reunion with her, because you refused to go with your little sister to watch her in the first leg against Chelsea.  

Your breathing’s very shallow as you scroll through the endless stream of photos. Your mind is absolutely spinning. It’s all a bit much to take in. You lock your sister’s phone and place it back on her chest as you try to collect yourself. You really don’t want to risk learning too much about her. You want her to tell you everything, you don’t want to find it all out behind her back.  

You’ve been waiting with bated breath all afternoon, savouring every little piece of information she’s given you, and your smart-arse little sister could probably tell you loads about her if you asked. Lots of the details you’re so desperate to know about Alexia are probably only a quick google search away, but you feel guilty enough just knowing her surname without her having been the one to tell it to you.  

She hadn’t been super willing to even give you her first, and no wonder! It’s the single name that’s plastered on her shirt, it’s the name she’s known mononymously as. She’s women’s football’s answer to Beyoncé, Adele. 

Of course, she didn’t want to kiss you in front of people in the café, out there on the streets. It’ll be why she only kissed your cheek in front of the taxi driver. She probably is a little liar, because she almost certainly wasn’t giving directions to people when they approached you both. She presumably isn’t old friends with the two men who wanted a photo with her. They all just know who she is. The whole damn city of Barcelona knows exactly who she is.  

Maybe she was testing you, waiting for you to crack, to confess to knowing everything about her. How couldn’t you know about her? How unbelievably rude of you.  

She’s a celebrity footballer, and you’ve treated her like she’s one of the most normal people in the world. You’ve flirted with her, teased her, kissed her, slept with her, and she’s welcomed it all with that adorable little smirk.  

So, maybe she’s liked that you didn’t know, that you really had no idea about who she was at all. You can’t have had any preconceived thoughts about the woman when you’ve had no prior knowledge about her. Perhaps it’s been part of the fun for her, just being with someone who really couldn’t care about the noise surrounding her. Maybe that’s the reason she didn’t really want you knowing about it. Her fame could have changed things, pushed you away.  

It wouldn’t have. She’d have to do something intrinsically evil to frighten you off. Especially now, after the afternoon you’ve just spent together, learning more, and falling deeper for her. She’s still just the woman that baffled you with a lime in a nightclub, wound you up by kissing someone else. Rescued you from a night of undeniable regret, and turned it into the start of something magical.

She’s your once-in-a-lifetime connection, your confusing, and frustrating, perfect one-night stand companion. She’s the woman that's turned your whole world on its head, and it just turns out, that she quite likes to kick a ball around, with a bunch of other women for a living, and people from all over the world, have been watching her excel at it for years.

She has to know that you’ll have found out already, you’ve told her your sister’s football obsessed. Even if your sister didn’t know who she is, there’s bound to be other people wearing her name on their backs tomorrow. Probably not many of them were given their shirts by the woman herself. There’ll be even less of them with one of her sweatshirts in their bag.  

Maybe she’s excited for you to connect all the pieces together. Giving you her shirt was far too bold a move for her to still not want you to know. She’d have just talked you out of going to the game, if that was the case.  

She wants you there, being a very daring rebel, with her name boldly resting between your shoulder blades, rooting for her and Barcelona, right in the middle of the Chelsea fans. You’ll probably stand out like a sore thumb with your red stripes in the sea of blue you’ll be standing in, and maybe that’s exactly what she’s hoping for. She had ‘no doubt’ that you'd see each other again, after all. 

“She’s the best player on the team?” You ask your sister dreamily, collapsing back down on the bed and clinging to the shirt in your hand as you hold it against your body.  

“Mhmm. Best in the world.” She tells you, and there’s that exhilarating little thrill shooting right up through your body.  

“Oof. I’ll tell Sam Kerr you said that!”  

She scoffs to the side of you and flicks your forehead playfully. You lift Alexia’s shirt, holding it out in between your fingers to study her name again in disbelief.  

You're falling in love, with the ‘best in the world,’ and she seems to be falling for you, too. A little nobody from London, who’s spent the past month pining after who she thought, was a little nobody from Spain. She’s once again turned your whole damn world on its head.  

She really is absolutely everything.  

“I will hate you if you wear that thing tomorrow.” Your sister warns you, as she hits the shirt with the back of her hand. “I offered you a Chelsea shirt and you gagged at it!” 

“I’ve not gagged at this one.” You point out with a grin. “It’s a shame you won’t be friends with me tomorrow.” You tell her, resting the shirt back out over your torso.  

“You can’t wear it!” 

“I bloody can, and I very much will.” You inform her. “You should rethink wearing a Chelsea shirt. You’ll be very disappointed when we beat you tomorrow.” 

“‘We?’ You really are a twat. You’re Barcelona’s biggest fan all of a sudden?” 

“Too bloody right, I am!” You tell her decidedly, hugging the shirt against you. “I’ve always loved football, me.” 

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #woso imagine #alexia putellas imagine

[delcakoo]

enha’s favorite petnames ´✩ˎ˗

requested <3

PAIRING ! enhypen x f!reader

WC ! 2.1k

GENRE ! tooth rotting fluff

WARNINGS ! lots of petnames ofc ^^

a/n: finally ot7 post woo! a bit shorter than my usual but hope u all enjoy <3

// LEE HEESEUNG !

if you’re the type to get flustered easily.. oh boy

you miiiight be in trouble

but even if you aren’t? hee WILL change that

this man will search a whole dictionary just to find a name that’ll get you shy for him

but on the average day he’s pretty chill yet flirty with pet names

its a bit unexpected.. the longer you’ve been dating the worse it gets

everything begins with baby

it just starts replacing your name like

“there’s my baby, how was your day, hm?”

before you can even get used to that he’s already gotten more confident

his other go to names for you are angel and occasionally pretty

mushy yet effective c:

for example if you’ve been having a rough day or just got back from work or school? healing gamer boyf hee to the rescue!

“missed you, angel. wanna come sit on my lap while i game?” with a kiss against your temple :c

it’s such a simple name that he’d only ever call you, n’ he always says it so absentmindedly as if the name was your own

the latter is commonly used when you’re mad at him

“m’ sorry pretty. can your boyfriend try and make it up with some cuddles? and i’ll let you pick a movie?”

or perhaps when he’s being evil and wants a reaction out of you

“hey pretty girl, can you pass the remote?” pArdon

where did that come from sir..

when your reply comes out stuttered he snickers

this is not to say he isn’t just as weak for you!!

make sure to get him back since IT ISN’T THAT HARD

hit him with ‘handsome’ and bros a goner

“morning handsome, how’d you sleep?”

“i just woke up, stop..” suddenly your smug, confident boyfriend is hiding the grin on his face in the safety of your shoulder

BUT proceed with caution because hee will never just let you win, nuh uh!

if you step up your game so will he, be prepared for him to hunt down any name in the book that can get you going <3

// PARK JAY !

cmon this man is the epitome of romance!

he doesn’t even nOtice the effect it has on you, as his s/o jay thinks it’s common sense that you should have all the special names ^^

“darling, want me to get you a drink? i washed your favorite mug.”

“sweetheart, should i cut up some fruit for you and the boys?” yeAh he’d literally be in the kitchen doing shit instead of joining in movie night (just like in sosofun T-T)

THE BOYS DON’T EVEN TEASE because it’s just so cute and pure

even if they did it isn’t like he’d care

brushes them off because nothing can stop him from showering you in love

after a while you soooorta get used to it

but like can you ever really get used to jay’s way of waking you up in the morning

“my love,” he mumbles, peppering kisses along the back of your head while holding you tighter against his sturdy chest, “time to get up, okay?”

you just ask how he expects you to get up when he’s holding and talking to you like that :c

either way pet names are quite important for jay

it’s a method to show how serious he is about your relationship, he doesn’t go around calling just anyone beautiful,,

so if you use them on him as well? his heart will MELT

literally anything you do makes him happy, even just baby would get him smiling

even if it’s over text,, “sleep well! goodnight, love” HE IS FAST ASLEEP WITH A GIDDY SMILE ON HIS FACE

all in all jay is a giver!

doesn’t expect anything in return for his labor, so having you call him such praising names like he does for you..?

just?! starts malfunctioning

his brain immediately goes to things like “how’d i get so lucky” “i don’t deserve her”

also why words of affirmation is one of his top love languages!! give him the affection he deserves <3

and and one time you tried to see his reaction by calling him husband on the phone with a friend

..bro didn’t even bat an eye

the real definition of husband material

// SIM JAKE !

now this one.. unironically uses all the playboy pet names

you see

he started calling you babygirl as a joke A JOKE OKAY

just teasingly or fake flirting as if you weren’t already together y’know

however.. the annoying name

kinda stuck

and now he brings it up every so often,,

bro’s lucky because it’d probs give you the ick from anyone else..

when you’d show off a new outfit or arrive at your date location?

“yoi! looking pretty, babygirl!” :)

his other favourite is princess! no reason just that you’re his princess

you rarely hear your own name any more it’s always just

“when’d you buy that, princess?”

“hey princess, is the food warm enough?”

not that you mind!

as for him.. jake literally loves anything and everything when it’s from your mouth

call him snookums for all he cares as long as it isn’t his boring old name

if you even try to call him jaEhyun or jake you’re getting the injured puppy eyes >:[

baby, love, handsome, literally anything makes him smile and mentally kick his feet like AUGHHH hes so in love with you it hurts!!

however this may seem oddly specific

‘cause it is but

calling him dumb things like my hero WILL GET HIM GRINNING SO FAST

jake loves! feeling helpful! and important! mainly for you!!

EVEN IF ITS JUST. he tied your shoe just go ‘my knight in shining armour! i would’ve tripped without you’ and mans will be doing a lil’ dance in his head <3

yes you could’ve tied your own shoe but heeee did that he’s such a good helpful caring wonderful boyfriend right?? right

let him have his moments,,

// PARK SUNGHOON !

he is. sort of sorry

listen.. hoon can’t help his shyness

even after dating for a while this man still blushes at the thought of calling you something besides your name T-T

he settles for.. babe

around others it’ll be your name

but in private he’ll just quietly go “babe, now that they’re gone can we continue that show?” awWw

sure when he’s being a teasing nuisance he’ll pinch your cheeks and start calling you cutie or my baby just to see your annoyed frown

but when you harmlessly ask why he doesn’t call you that at any other time he gets all fidgety and shrugs his shoulders

“i dunno! it’s.. embarrassing.”

so pretty much

the only real way to get pet names out of hoon is if you can muster up the courage to start using them first

just jump scare him like

“pretty boy, wanna go get ice cream?” he’ll be looking around the room pointing to himself going mE??!

then he’ll eventually start using them in return, maybe just baby or angel here or there

more specifically if he’s really missing you or needs something

“yah, angel~” he’d yell from your apartment’s entrance, “you look good and all.. but we’re going to be late if you don’t hurry!!”

“wanna come visit the recording room at break? baby i’ll cry from exhaustion if you don’t.”

synopsis is. you know he reaaally needs you when those names come out

but but! like mentioned before he feels most comfy with casual nicknames

and if you’re okay with it, your own name which sometimes feels even more special to hoon ^^

he just loves saying your name as much as he loves everything else about you

however if pet names mean a lot to you no need to worry, he’ll get the hang of em’ and soon this dork will have you a blushing mess 24/7 mwahaha!

// KIM SUNOO !

baby is.. more romantic than you think!

as he warms up,, his favourite is simply calling you his love :c

in fact, he doesn’t mind saying it in front of the members even if they’re sure to tease him later on

“my love!” he exclaims as soon as you answer the phone, “i’m on the way to practise with everyone, wanna visit at lunch? jungwon keeps mentioning some mario movie he wants to watch with you..” *eyeroll*

he’s very.. go with the flow

if you call him a specific name then he may use the same one on you too ^^

for example, it was a bit unexpected to hear him start calling you hun

but at the same time you’ve called him that a couple times before too

sunoo always tries to catch on quickly when it comes to what you’re comfy with!

you wrap your arms around your boyfriend's waist just as he drops his duffle bag on the floor, “sun, how was recording?”

“ahh.. the others were yelling and gave me a headache. but it’s okay now that i’m with you, hun,” despite his exhaustion, he squeezes you with equal enthusiasm <3

as for himself, sunoo can’t help but smile when you call him the softer stuff

AND sun of course, it’s cute but simple — his favourite!

despite being the oldest of the maknae line, he’s used to being coddled a lot and sometimes.. it gets annoying

especially when the younger members join in

however when it comes to you?? he couldn’t care LESS

“my baby looks so tired, wanna sleep in my lap?” yep he’s absolutely sold

sometimes you have to repeat yourself ‘cause he was too busy getting flustered over your names for him <\3

// YANG JUNGWON !

being known for copying things like ‘yoi’

wonnie sometimes gets his pet names by watching/reading things

he could be on the plane during tour, watching a movie when the main lead says ‘beautiful’ and his first thought is just

“ah, that’s a good name for y/n”

may or may not have a note tab in his phone dedicated to names for you..

he would even research ones in other languages because he LOVES seeing your shy reaction when he explains what it means

“yah, why’d you text me something in a different language?”

when his cat eyes turn to crescents and his dimple poked through, you know he’s proud of whatever it is

“it means ‘darling’ in chinese, jagiya.”

when your expression changes and you turn to hide your smile, he leans over to give you a victory kiss through many giggles <3

on a day to day basis though

he enjoys saying your name in a cute way, besides the classic jagi/jagiya

“y/n~ come cuddle!” c’mon how’re you gonna say no!?

“look jagi,” he says it absentmindedly, even with the members nearby, “you’re my lockscreen now!”

will think it’s cute if you use the same names back, but won doesn’t mind anything ^^

he just really enjoys matching with you whether it be petnames, outfits, jewelry, anything really

so if there’s a specific name you like calling him

he’ll definitely steal it..

“bub, wanna order something for dinner?”

cat boyfriend just tilts his head, “okay, but why am i bub now?”

“i dunno, it’s just a cute name.”

then a few days later he—

“bub! i missed you!!” as soon as you walk through the door <3

cutie T-T

// NISHIMURA RIKI !

creative boy likes being unique with it :0

also ‘cause using super mushy names simply isn’t his style bUt

perhaps when he gets older that’ll change,,

most of the time babe/baby is an exception though

its quick, sweet, and right to the chase which is perfect for your impatient boy especially when he needs attention

“babe, babe, babe-“

you push him away slightly, holding the phone closer to your ear, “can’t you see i’m on the phone, ki?”

before you know it his arms are wrapped around you as his head dips into the crook of your neck, “baby i’m bored..”

“just a bit longer, okay?”

sometimes you may need some patience T-T

he also enjoys finding ways to make his own personal nickname out of your name, it feels much more special to him even if it’s not as ‘romantic’

AND OH BOY if anyone

absolutely anyone tries to use HIS name for you they’re getting the coldest death glare >:[

especially if it’s one of his members

in that case he has zero shame telling them off

“ow! what was that for?” jake whines, recoiling from the punch the younger had delivered to his arm

“you used my name for y/n,” he explains with a shy yet scolding grin, “the only thing you’re allowed to call her is her name, idiot.”

poor jake had to retell his story from the beginning,, sigh

just because he doesn’t do it himself does noT mean he won’t want you to call him cute shit!!

his reactions are always so worth it

“love, do you see my phone over there?” you feel bad interrupting your boyfriend who was peacefully napping in the living room, but the stress of being late for work was worse

instead of looking around though, riki only peels his eyes over to you, smiling giddily

“what was that?”

“have you seen my phone, doofus,” you repeat

“no, the first part!”

“love…?” suddenly he’s running over, picking you up and pulling you right over to the couch with him happily

good luck escaping his grasp c:

if u enjoyed, reblogs n’ feedback is always appreciated!

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[damiansgoodgirll]

jude bellingham cheating on his gf while she’s at home studying for her exams and he’s in ibiza partying?

i love these requests so much, i’m evil for writing this one tho…

jude bellingham x reader

tw : cheating, break up over phone? a lot of angst and a little of toxic jude, maybe more than a little and mention of smut

take the pain away

you were currently in your apartment studying for a very important test when you’ve received a text message from your boyfriend jude. he sent you pictures of his arrival in ibiza, saying how much he wished you were there and that he missed you a lot.  you wished that you were able to go, but at the same time he knew how much this exam meant for you, and he couldn’t wait to come back home and celebrate with you because he knew that you were going to slay the test.

you laughed at the goofy pictures he sent and sent him back a pictures of your book, only for him to reply “boring” with laughing emojis.

everything was going great, except the fact that you were tired and stressed as hell. jude kept texting you even when he was partying all night, you were the first person on his mind.

three days went along and when the morning of the exam came you completely ignored everyone calling you or texting you. you thought that your friends were calling only to wish you good luck so you didn’t mind it and thought about replying after the exam.

but you were so wrong.

the night before your exam, in the same moment you were studying and stressing your ass out, jude was seeing taking a random girl back to his hotel. internet was full of pictures of him and the girl going into the hotel he was staying.

but what was worse was the current morning.

you didn’t even care to see who texted you, but you would be surprised to see that jude didn’t even wish you good luck. instead new pictures came out of him and this girl, only to see her wearing jude’s t-shirt from the night before.

your friends weren’t calling you for your exam, but they all wanted to check up on you and to see how you reacted.

you found it strange when people back at your university gave you weird looks, almost like they were pitying you.

once you got back home, you decided to reward yourself with your favourite meal and while you were waiting for the rider to arrive, you decided to check your phone.  you were surprised to see all those people texting you and you couldn’t understand why.

but a few seconds later you saw everything.

the pictures. the videos of jude walking hand in hand with this girl. her wearing his t-shirt, the one you wore so many times.

seeing all of this made you sick to the stomach. you couldn’t believe it. you knew men cheated all the time but you couldn’t wait that jude, your jude would do something like this to you.

you’ve been dating for years you’ve been knowing each other since you were kids and you were his number one supporter, so you couldn’t understand what you did wrong to deserve a treatment like this.

tears were falling from your eyes. you forgot about the food that now was laying on your couch. all you wanted to do was disappear.

in that exact moment you heard your phone ringing.

jude was calling you.

you were wondering if he knew that you knew.

you picked up anyway, only to hear what he wanted to say.

“hey babe” he said, almost like he was smiling. your head was hurting you, and you couldn’t believe he was being so fake.

“hey” you simply said. tears were falling and your throat was hurting you but you pretended everything was fine.

“how did exam go? sorry if i didn’t call i was busy this morning” he sounded relaxed.

busy fucking some random girl?

“it went good”

“i’m so happy for you! i’m so proud baby, i can’t wait to come home and celebrate with you!” he said happily.

“jude do you think i’m stupid?” you asked, your voice cracking.

“what? no, why baby, are you okay?” he sounded concerned.

“i’m not okay…not when i’m here and you’re in spain fucking around with random girls! jude how - how could you do this?” you asked him, you weren’t even screaming you were just so disappointed.

“listen, baby, i’m so sorry i fucked up…” he wasn’t even that sorry over phone. maybe he got drunk and he was still hungover, but that couldn’t cancel what he did.

“the only thing you have to say is sorry?” you cried over the phone, maybe you were being too hysterical but you couldn’t care less “while i was stressing my ass out studying for a goddamn exam, when i needed your support this morning you decided to fuck someone who wasn’t me? jude you fucking cheated! if you really cared you would be here, on your knees begging for my forgiveness!” you screamed over your phone.

“baby, please calm down-…”

“no! don’t you dare telling me to calm down jude!” you cried “i needed you here, i needed your support, you knew how much this was important for me and instead i got greeted with the news of you cheating? how fucking pathetic…”

“listen, i’m so sorry okay…i-shit, i’ve never meant to hurt you…i don’t know why i did it, it’s just…i’m so sorry y/n, i get your mad, i’m sorry” he tried to explain himself, like if he wasn’t feeling guilty.

“mad? i’m disappointed, sad, upset, heartbroken…jude we’ve been knowing each other since we were kids…we’ve been together for years and the only excuse you can find is i don’t know why i did it! are you even listening to yourself…this is so - i don’t know, you broke me in ways i didn’t even know it was possible” you cried. your voice calmed down, but you kept crying.

jude was feeling guilty. incredibly guilty. he had no excuses for what happened. he wasn’t drunk or high, he just got caught up in the moment. he missed you, he wanted to have you close, he missed your body and your lips and all the frustration he was feeling needed to go. so he did in the most unconventional way.

he knew girls wanted him so he didn’t take much finding a girl that was doing everything he said. he needed to release all the built up stress and you weren’t there. so he took her back to the hotel, gripped and tore away her dress, her panties and leaving her completely naked and at his mercy.

he didn’t care about her, nor he did know her name. he knew what he was doing was wrong but he couldn’t help it. he fucked her all night long, different positions but never looking her in the face or the eyes. because that girl wasn’t you. he used her, he fucked her in a way he would never do to you. no, for him you were to love, to worship. he couldn’t care less for the woman who was gagging on his dick. i

the morning was the hardest part. he gave her something to dress up while he got a cab for her. indeed she had fun.

jude was feeling all the emotions he couldn’t feel last night.

remorse. shame. guilt. sadness. disappointment. he was mad at himself because he knew that in one way or another you would have found out. and he couldn’t bare the fact to lose you.

“baby please - i’ll be home tomorrow, i just booked the next flight…we can sort it out, please” he said. he tried to remain calm because he never cried in front of you but his face was stained with tears, eyes glossy and his throat was burning.

“i don’t care jude…you can spend the rest of your life in ibiza, or madrid, i honestly don’t care, just stay away from me…” you said.

“no no please…i messed up so bad i know but i can’t…i can’t lose you, i need to see you once i come back home so we can sort things out, please” he begged you.

“we’re done jude, you can come back anytime you want but i promise, you won’t find me here when you come back…” you said hanging up your phone.

jude tried to call you.

you wouldn’t pick up.

he texted you.

but you blocked him.

you spent the whole day crying in bed, the bed you used to make love to, the bed where you watched all your favourite movies cuddled next to one another. but damage was done and it couldn’t be fixed.

you were feeling so helpless, you’ve never experienced a break up like this. if felt like every bone was breaking inside of you, you were shaking from crying and all you wanted was someone to take your pain away, someone who wouldn’t come.

#football x reader #football fan #football imagine #football one shot #football headcanon #football x y/n #football x you #football #jude bellingham #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham drabble #jude bellingham imagines #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham angst #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham x oc #jude bellingham and reader

[capslocked]

SEVEN

male reader x sana minatozaki

10k words

Sana Minatozaki can go fuck herself.

That’s your measured opinion. You don’t care where she is. Dead, six feet under, beyond the veil, wherever—so long as someone gives her a proper kick to the rear.

Eyes are up from their desks, turning onto you, horrified maybe. Then again, your fists are clenched and your elbows locked as you maintain a pace that begs to break into a run. If there’s a scowl on your face, you doubt its efficacy all at the rainwater in your shoes squeaking on the end of every step.

A promotion was how it had all been pitched to you: fated, bound, hands tied to this incorrigible bag of hot air. If the ship’s going down, set to fail, you’ll be right there with her, and you can feel the water pooling at your feet, figuratively speaking.

-

"So?" Sana commits to the question once you’ve got yourself halfway through the door to your office, dripping wet. It’s unconvincingly casual. "You wanted to see me?"

A tragedy; in fact, you want nothing less, but it’s in the job description, a necessary evil. The baker bakes. The cobbler cobbles. And the manager manages, supposedly—you’ve mostly just been tearing your hair out.

"Honest to god," you say, and you’ve never meant it more in your life, "I think I’m starting to understand it now. This whole revolving door of staff and management these past couple months."

Sana tilts her head onto this inquisitive angle, and a bundle of copper hair falls across her cheek before getting dragged back behind her ear. "Oh? And what all did you figure out?"

"That you’re a royal pain in the ass," you answer, untangling your arms from the soaked sleeves of your coat. "And a lot more trouble than you’re worth."

"Well." The word is accompanied by a ridiculous sigh and the sound of her tongue clicking against her teeth. "You don’t suppose that’s on you? No one promised you it’d be easy."

There’s a quiet pause, Sana slants her lips into a smirk, and that’s more or less how it always starts between you.

"No one promised anything," you grumble.

Of course, the writing was on the wall, probably in big, bold letters too, you don’t know—you weren’t too interested in reading it—there were more important things on your mind. Fame; wealth; success; bragging rights; you’ll only let yourself call it hubris once you’ve really stepped in it, finally found something you couldn’t talk your way out of, come up with reason to believe there would be no digging yourself out. But until then—

"By the way…" Sana’s voice trails as she leans into the arm of the sofa, cheek resting on her hand, and then she furrows a manicured brow. "Why are you, like, totally soaked?"

You’re lenient or something, so it’s a question of your own you’ll trade with her, undoubtedly a better deal than she deserved. "Okay, sure then—let’s get into it. What’s your guess? Why is it do you think I had to chase down some jagoff in the middle of a damn rainstorm?" You toss Sana’s phone from the soaked pocket of your pants onto the table, and she watches it bounce and flip until it rests screen-side down. "It’s unlocked I guess. So, why don’t you do me a favor and just help me get out in front of it all; what the fuck did you have on there?"

"Oh." Her voice fills with worry, head cocked anxiously. She seems completely taken aback, but like with most things, it’s all just a front, you’ve learned—and here, you couldn’t be more on the nose. She holds back a laugh, adding, "photos, videos—I mean, I don’t know, it could be anything. I’m a little disappointed you didn’t check yourself."

"Sana," you groan. It’d be foolish not to believe her; it really could be anything, but that’s beside the point. You find the edge of your desk with your thighs, lean back, and you’re shaking your head. "The next time some shameless opportunist stumbles upon your phone and that meticulous archive of bad decisions, maybe I ought to just let you deal with it."

She raises her eyebrows at you, mulling it over for a second like she was ever once invested in being useful. "That’s like, what the publicists are for aren’t they?"

Sana’s young, you remind yourself. It’s good practice. But she’s old enough to know better, what all she’s doing, how dangerous she can be. It’s not like her praises are hard to come by around the office: the beautiful Sana Minatozaki, an angel among us, she’s perfect! If you can hear them in passing through the glass windows of your office, so can she; they’re right on the money, mostly, but you’re also not so easily fooled—or rather, you aren’t anymore. See, you get in front of a girl like her, and she’s got these big, bright, beautiful eyes, a face that never fails to be the most charming in the room without boasting about itself, a body like that, legs like those—

"Look." You blink several times.

Caught yourself staring.

"I mean, sure—but I can’t imagine that’s going to be an easy one to spin."

She cocks an eyebrow in something like curiosity. "What’s not going to be?"

"The video Sana—the one where you’ve got your lips around some cock like it’s a cheap homemade porno."

"So then, you did take a look," she says, rising onto the pointed tips of a pair of black heels. It’s a sign, an omen, a premonition—the renewed smirk on her lips that speaks louder than that soft, measured voice of hers might ever dare. "Hard opportunity to pass up, huh?"

"For god’s sake—" Going with your gut, you cross your arms. And your voice searches frantic for a commanding tone. "If it isn’t my job to know how you’ve fucked up."

"And I so very much appreciate all your wonderful effort," she over-enunciates through each syllable of your name. That same exact pleasantry she’d wish to the staff and crew at the end of a photo shoot, a recording, some nonsense event or another—only now, it’s derisive, laced with this sarcastic edge that is anything but subtle.

"It isn’t funny, Sana."

"Do you see me laughing?"

You don’t. Though there’s still a lot to see admittedly, a lot to take in, most of it beyond damning. A long leg of hers ruffles and furls the bottom of her dress until she’s a step closer, two steps now actually. You can take your pick—start at the bottom up or from the top down, and the result is just about the same by the time you’ve gotten to her tiny waist: she’s gorgeous.

For a lot of reasons however, you’re not about to leer.

Her shoulders square to yours and you remind yourself she’s not very tall; even in those ridiculous heels, she comes up just shy of your nose. Between you and absolutely nobody else, you have considered it, let it fill an evening of fantasy or two—how she might bend and fold, how her small, tight body might be best put to use, the faces she’d make cumming on your cock, the sound of her straining voice when you really—

No, you’re absolutely not leering.

"I’m serious," you hear yourself say, and it’s shaky, struggling to come across resolute, hardly anything convincing. "Just keep on fucking around—I promise you; you’re on your own."

"Oh, is that so?" She smiles again, and you note how it deepens a dimple in each cheek. "And when it all comes crashing down—how should I ask that the director refer to you in their letter to the board: idiot or incompetent?"

Eyes glowing, she seems wholly uninterested in the stark departure from how she normally needles you—all that subtext and words unsaid. You simply raise an eyebrow. There’s a pause, and she raises one back.

"Ahem," you try to recover.

Sana leans into you, one hand on either side of your waist, palms flat on your desk. And there’s that thought running a muck in your head again: all those musings about power dynamics, authority, subordination, governance, whatever it is this mess is you’ve gotten yourself into. It’s comical. You’d never once had a problem with any of your previous assignments. Dahyun? Delightful. Tzuyu—a total saint. Nayeon might as well have managed herself. It’s unclear when or how, but the woman in front of you had puzzled out that she was capable of anything—destruction, demolition, devastation. You knew it; she knew it too; Sana could ruin you.

"Hmm?" she adds, smug and indignant.

"I’ve given it some thought," you start, letting a heavy sigh roll through your chest like that’s ever been some herald of a rousing speech. But there is a plan, or at least what you’d learned about in those binders and seminars on this kind of stuff. "Look, to be honest, you’re going to hate me for it—but we’re going to be moving to some sort of curfew; until all this gets sorted out."

"A curfew?" Her eyebrows twist, disappointed.

"Among other things," you say, and now you’re digging a heel into the dirt of this forsaken partnership. "No more clubs."

"No more clubs?"

"No boys, no bars, and for god’s sake Sana—no fucking filming yourself having sex."

"No boys?" she gawks like it’s the most egregious of what you’d asked, mouth dropping agape in this faux outrage.

"Just until we hit a groove; figure out what works; find our rhythm."

"Find our rhythm?"

"You can stop repeating me."

"You can stop repea—" She takes a beat to swallow down the rare slip-up, eyes looking for even a momentary weakness in yours. But you’re a professional; she comes up empty. Her brows relax and she tilts her head. "Reprimanding me."

Your voice, finally solidifying in its fitful composure, opens into a complaint, "it’s honestly a shock to me you know—how you’ve lasted this long. In this industry, like this."

You lean back, chest tightening, acutely aware that her eyes refuse to leave yours.

"They always say that." And she’s grinning, ear to ear, again. This time, you’re gazing—the shape of her lips, the pretty things swelling and curving into that fine little point beneath her nose. A finger lands on your chest and she’s determined to cross a boundary or two.

You swallow again at the dryness in your throat. "Really."

"You know what else they always say?"

"If you think I’m about to guess, you’d be—"

"Curfew," she mocks, voice hitting at an unrealistically low register. It’s rather heartless the way she rolls her eyes, deceiving the roundness in her cheeks, the ever-so-perfect waves in her hair, the intoxicating charm that is her image. "No boys, no bars, no—"

"So, you’re telling me," you interrupt, more than satisfied with the imitation, "that in six months, six different managers, six different calamities, I’m not the first person to suggest some structure? Color me shocked Sana."

"No. You’re not. But this is the part where you tell me: Sana, I’m a professional. And you’ve got your hands out like you don’t want it and you’re backing up into the desk, bumbling and stuttering like you’re not losing control." One more step into you, and it’s evil, wicked, sinful the way you’re noticing it all: the pretty little details in her eyes, her cheeks, her smile. "I always say the same thing; I’m a professional too ya know. And I just so happen to be in the business of making people want me."

The motion is inelegant given what you’re sure she’s capable of, the way her hand cups your crotch. It sounds silly when you say it like that, but that’s just kind of how it happens.

"Sana—"

"Wow. You’re like, so fucking wet down here." She laughs to herself, having now found some comedy in it all. "That’s usually what they say too."

There’s a smug glimmer in her eyes when she finds you, the semi-hardened jut at the rise of your pants, fingers happily mapping out your shape beneath all the damp fabric. It’s more than just a boundary, and this searing heat starts to lick at your jaw. You’d grab her wrists, wrestle her away, but you’re not confident how it might all go if you start touching her; pin one behind her back, bend her against the desk; hell, she’s probably not wearing anything under that—okay, now you’re leering.

You swallow hard at the absolute casualness about her light fingers, undoing the belt and button at the waist of your pants. "So now what?" you ask, as though you were incapable of putting two and two together, as if you hadn’t been privy to these kind of rumors for months. "You’re going to bargain your way out?"

"Bargain?" She scoffs, and even that’s a pretty noise—the sound of it running through your head where it twists into moans, squeals and whimpers. Her eyes light up, and you’re hopeless, coming undone. "Isn’t that charitable. Like you haven’t been dying to stick your cock in me for weeks."

"Sana." Your last chance at professionalism, at propriety; so, abysmally it’s just her name that falls out of your mouth. But that’s how it comes together—or perhaps it falls apart—your cautionary tale, The Story of Manager Number Seven you’ll call it. It’s ruinous, it’s disastrous, worst of all—it’s instinct.

"Don’t waste the effort." Her chin cocks up and you’re left staring down the barrel. "Besides, I’m just saying the quiet part out loud, aren’t I?"

You doubt you’ll be around to meet manager number eight, and you’re certain one will come to be—maybe they’ll even read your memoirs; you wish them luck. Because the truth is, and you hate to say it, she’s got you all figured out.

-

Right from the jump, Sana confirms all your suspicions: she’s incredibly selfish. Pulling, gnawing, grabbing at your lower lip until it starts to swell, she hops up onto your desk. Something critical snaps, a cable cut, and you’re following right along with her. Each and every sinful step surely on a path to damnation.

"Well?" she asks, expectant and landing kisses on your cheek.

A whole assortment of paperweights, papers, pens, things that have been little use to you, crash onto to the floor. "Anything I want?" you ask, repeating yourself, unable to tire of its answer. "What if I’m - well, for lack of a better word, a total freak? Deal still on the table?"

"Hah." Sana smirks again—it’s kind of her thing, you’ve come to realize, but now you feel it on your skin. Her fingers are working down the front of your damp shirt, and she answers with a bluntness that leaves you feeling if anything, a little insulted, "You’re not."

"And what then, I suppose you know everything there is to know about me?" You’ve got your hands on her waist when you realize she’s not wrong. You’re not. But the shape of her body, under your fingertips, from just above where her hips narrow, it is everything you imagined it might be: wholly divine and capable of anything. You’ll ruin it—it just might ruin you too.

"Trust me, there’s a type," she laughs, "you come in here every day…" The sleeves of your shirt fall around your shoulders, and her gaze makes this journey about you, a momentary glance, and her eyebrow lifts as if to say not bad or this will do. "Same suit, same shoes, same coffee, same frustrated look on your face—just trust me."

She’s got it pretty dead on, not that you really care; you’re just not that kind of guy. But the way she says it, with such confidence, that’s a challenge. Oh, it’s probably to your detriment; you’ve always been competitive—you’ll surprise her. "I guess we’ll see."

You bury a hand into her hair before she has the chance to get on with the next snarky thought or another, and her head is tilted back, lips parting for you. Your tongues meet, first in your mouth, then in hers. Humming gently, Sana’s voice fills your throat, and all that hangs in the balance is rushing through your thoughts again—go ahead, mark your calendar; today’s the day you’ve thrown your career away. Because when you push her legs apart, her dress finally all hiked up around her tiny waist, and you’ve got your finger against the lace fabric across her entrance—

"Fuck," she gasps into your mouth, at least you think she does. It’s a good guess considering those nails, manicured and polished into sharp points, sinking into your shoulders. Her hips push themselves into you, pressing more of that fabric into your touch. You follow it down, trace it with your finger, dragging the loose-fitting lace along the way, and her folds nearly wrap around you, begging.

Your lips smack, spit trailing off them when you pull yourself back. You’re both catching your breath and it’s your turn to be smug, "I think this is the part where I say, wow Sana, you’re so fucking wet down here."

"Just stick to the script, and I promise I’ll go easy on you," she says, voice cold and calculated, as if her lip doesn’t wince every time you swirl the pads of your fingers over her mound.

Day by day, brick by brick, Sana’s broken you down to this. And now the smell of her hair in your nose, the taste of her lips filling your mouth, the feeling of that tender skin spreading between your fingers—you’re beyond fucked, she’s necessity.

You’ve sunk to your knees, and apparently the feeling is mutual; her hands pushing down on your shoulders as you go, impatient, greedy even. You start from her calf, down the length of a thigh, considering how it might bruise and mar, the taut pale skin a fresh canvas for your work. It’s a mistake, or you’re moving too slow, some transgression or another—isn’t it always? There’s a stifled groan off her lips, and she’s got her legs wrapping over your shoulders, heels clacking when she digs them into your back, pulling you into her. But you’ve earned it—you’re usually the one making demands, and it’s your turn to ignore them.

"What’s all this, hmm?" Her fingers thread through your hair, pulling you away from the kisses, licks and nibbles you find all over the curve of her thigh, the places you’ve only buried and turned over in your thoughts for weeks. "You think you’re going to, like, make me fall in love with you or something? Get me so hot and bothered, I scream out, please, anything! I need you!" She gets her hand firm on your jaw, eyes smoldering something into yours like they’re stamping out a cigarette. "It’s actually kinda cute."

"Maybe. Then again, I’m not the one gushing through my underwear at the thought of getting fucked." Your fingers are hooking into her panties when you thoroughly catch the look on her face one last time—it’ll be worth remembering. You let yourself laugh through your words, "so I mean, I guess that’s up to you."

"Careful what you wish for." If she’s wagging a finger, you can’t see it, buried between Sana’s thighs. "Or I swear I’ll fuck all that attitude out of you."

"I’m kinda counting on it."

You’re talking about it like it’s casual, like this dereliction of duty has any other outcome than your ass on the curb or her name into scandalous obscurity. You catch it briefly, the eyebrow jumping and the haughty laugh out her nose; she really is pretty, even when she abandons that whole front, the delicate projection of sweet innocence and mild mischief. Who knows—maybe you prefer it now, all the more that the expression on her face is yours to pull apart.

Tightening her thighs on you, holding you firm, Sana cooperates only in so far as to help a pair of underwear roll down a leg and onto her ankle, and her pussy’s there, shimmering and glistening at you, an open invitation for your tongue—you’ll get around to it, but not until you’ve had your fill of everything else that’s been driving you nuts for weeks on end.

She swallows hard and snaps, "Why the hell are you teasing me?"

You’ve said it before, you’ll say it again, "boy Sana, you’re real mouthy today." A finger on her lips, brushing the surface of her aching entrance again, and she pulls a short tight breath past her teeth. "Aren’t you?"

"Then maybe you can stop fucking around and just get to—"

It doesn’t matter what she was going to say. It gets all caught and stuck in her throat on the way up so bad that you know it wasn’t important. The more pressing matter, your tongue against her clit, is about how the muscles in her stomach jerk and spasm about. That touch, it’s like it electrifies her. The lilting groan however—the one she fails to choke back—that’s from your finger you reckon, pushing its way inside her. You add another one for good measure. She can take it. She’ll take more.

"Shit," Sana mumbles, sucking on her lip, and then before a tiny punched-out breath punctuates the thought, she releases it, letting her mouth hang open when you find her swollen nub in yours, sucking and teasing without too much consideration. The shoe’s on the other foot: each brush of your fingers against her, where you’ve found her, and she shakes, hips jolting around you. Given that you’ve been laboring without any useful results to lead, direct, govern this girl for weeks, you’re chuckling out your nose that it’s now, like this, that she finally becomes anything close to compliant.

Whatever clutter’s still left on your desk rattles. Sana’s leaning back into it now, elbows propping up her small torso, and she steadies herself, failing against your tongue, your lips, especially your fingers. Her cheeks flood with this brilliant shade of pink, and she’s inching off the desk trying to force as much of herself into your mouth where you find her so wet you can feel her dripping down her chin. Even though you’ve never been the type, you can’t help yourself—licking around her quivering lips, around where she clearly needs you, you find yourself teasing, "What do you know Sana? I think I’ve lost my place in the script—you always cum this fast or…"

She shoots you a glare despite the blush staining her cheeks, but when her mouth opens to voice a complaint, you’ve got her mewling again—a cruel pace set into your fingers, creating this absolute mess between her thighs. Her palms slap the table, and she’s breathing in fits and starts, something akin to anticipation. She’s close and she knows it. In fact, you know it too, considering she’s so soaked her taste lingers long in your mouth when you stand yourself up, fingers still buried in her cunt.

"Ohhh… that’s it, right there, fucking hell," she whines, and the ends of her words are soaked in these rasping moans. "I can’t—fuck!"

"Sana," you start, and she’s dodging your eyes, ashamed at the twist on her face, the way her brows knit all at that squelching pleasure between her legs. It seems her pride may still have its limits.

"I’m gonna—" Her expression freezes, and that’s when you think you have her, but she keeps going. For a while. There’s only that loud, messy noise on your fingers in the shallow heat of her pussy until she decides she’s going to collapse into it all. Her eyes shut, and you watch as Sana realizes the bound of her voice to be no more than a hushed whisper, each utterance filling with these needy gasping breaths that rack her whole body, "I’m gonna - I’m gonna - I’m gonna - I’m gonna—"

Her hips buck and jump, dragging herself along the shape of your fingers and she swallows down a husked moan. And then another. Until finally, she’s crying out.

"Fu—ah! I’m cumming!" Sana manages, and only now you’re believing her, the words on the verge of tears. "I’m cumming - I’m cumming—"

Mouth agape, some silent curse or another, she locks up. It’s a whole look—you tuck it away somewhere, the score still horrifically in her favor, but at least you’re finally on the board. "There you go," you whisper, knowing your assurances make it all the more embarrassing, "That’s a good girl Sana; just keep cumming for me."

It’s the smoldering heat quivering on your fingers, the first words of praise out of your mouth in god knows how long, those office supplies still falling to the floor as you suspend her in anguished pleasure—it undoes her. You’ve never seen her like this. Your fingers gliding through the mess of her aching cunt, you have to see more.

"Fuck—" she huffs.

You can nearly see the bright red flush on her cheeks peek out through the hands she’d thrown up to cover her face.

"—you," she finishes, and it’s a little more on brand.

When you reach down to pull her hands away, to kiss her, there’s no resistance—she’s putty, malleable, whatever you need her to be. She squirms when you pull your fingers out from inside her, sloppy and messy with her own cum, but you’re more shocked at how easily she lets you put them in her mouth. That’s a development. And you’re not going to be shy to say it. It’s fucking hot.

"Sana…" your voice trails as she hums on your fingers, her tongue gently finding the space between them. Her cheeks still burning, the way she sucks and licks her taste off you has you stuck daydreaming how it will look, how it will feel when it’s your cock between her perfect lips.

A light knock lands on the door to your office. Twice. And when that second knock does arrive, it has your stomach jumping into your chest. It’s unfortunate, but you’ll have to keep imagining.

"One second!" you shout out, realizing now you’ve never once had the blinds drawn or the door locked. It’s not a great look; hopefully you’re overthinking it. You pull your shirt off the floor and prance toward the door.

Sana sits herself up, brings her dress back down around her thighs and plops herself right back down on the sofa where you found her. Steadying her breath and watching you quietly spread apart the blinds with your fingers, she wipes a lash from her eye, asking, "Who is it?"

"Dahyun." You rise on the toes of your shoes to get a better look. The black hair pulled back into a ponytail and those wide lenses sitting across the bridge of her nose more than clue you in. "I think."

"What does she want?"

"Hell if I know."

"Well, let her in."

The last button on your shirt comes together and you’re opening the door—slowly. "Yeah?"

"Hey. Sana here?" Dahyun asks as though there’s nothing out of the ordinary. She sticks her head into the opening further until she’s half in your office, half out. Innocently unaware of the scene she’d just interrupted, her lips snap to this toothy grin and it becomes a pitiful reminder of the countless days you toiled to get where you are—responsible, respected, time specifically not spent fucking Sana with your fingers.

"Oh hey hello," Sana nearly sings, and her voice is no where near rasped like it just was. It’s a little incredible honestly how she springs back, elastic. Still preening her hair back into something close enough to perfection, she asks, "What can I do for ya?"

Dahyun scans you head to toe, taking a full confident step into your office as you open the door further. She lifts a disapproving eyebrow. "Wow. You look awful by the way."

You let out this heavy, labored sigh. "Yeah, well, the rain, and the—"

"He’s had a rough go at today," says Sana, filling in the rest with only what’s prudent.

Dahyun looks at Sana, then back to you and smiles with half her mouth. "Well, maybe you need it too—Nayeon’s got a tab open at the place on the corner opposite the station. The one with the weird windows. Told me to tell you."

"Sounds fun." The words come out of both Sana’s mouth and yours in this strange tandem. It sounds suspicious because it is; you’ve never once been in accord on anything.

"Yeah. Well. See you there or something, I guess." The door closes behind Dahyun and it takes a moment for the sound of your heartbeat to leave your ears.

"You mind handing me those?" Sana points to your desk, and your stomach drops when you see them: her wadded underwear sitting right in the middle of it all. "I kinda need ‘em."

You’re blocking it all out in your head, assessing the damage before you find yourself willfully distracted. It’s a spectacle even in reverse, Sana’s legs stretching out as she rolls the black lace back up her thighs.

"Thanks," she says, standing up and tossing those long copper locks of hair behind her shoulders. It could be a few things that earned you that gratitude, so you’re answering for all of them, "Yeah, no problem."

You’ve got your jacket back on, pulling your office back together into something orderly when you decide you’re going to try and repair more than just the room. "Look. Sana."

Her head tilts and a curtain of hair spills over her shoulder. She’s waiting on your words.

"I don’t care what you do—just do me a favor. Try to behave yourself. For your sake. All of that just now," you say, and your tongue clicks while you stew in discomfort. "Look. That was a mistake—"

"Oh?" Her voice pitches, and you’re left staring. It’s not long before she realizes you haven’t much of anything else to add, amused at the half words and sounds forming on your lips.

"I’ll tell you what we’re going to do." Sana wedges herself between you and the door, hands tucked behind her back, and her chin cocks up again. "You’re going to go home. You’re going to shower, get some decent clothes, and you’ll be at that bar."

Your lips tighten and your eyes narrow, a glance at the small wet stain lingering on your office’s sofa. "For what Sana?"

She laughs, really just a lovely sound—you shouldn’t be dwelling on it. You shouldn’t have already dwelled on it, but you abandoned prudence some time ago. Holding your eyes with hers, she lets her lip go from between her teeth and in a few simple words, she reminds you that you’ve really stepped in it.

"Cause - we’re - not - done." Another smile, and the dusty browns and grays in her eyes are as deep as ever. "I better see you at seven."

-

So, you’re sitting, sipping on something strong because it’s more than what you need when you notice there’s this line dividing the table, staff on one side, the usual suspects on the other. And you’re in the booth as well, disappointed there wasn’t some sort of larger crowd—something you might slip away into.

There are a few changes in seating when someone gets up to get more drinks or use the restroom or something like that. And it’s at the bottom of a rum and coke when Sana’s found the spot next to you, ever so slightly hanging on your shoulder—just absent enough that she might blame the alcohol, lean into it, play it up; present enough that it’s all you can think about.

"Hey," she says, once softly into your ear, and it’s overflowing with more suggestion than might ever fit into a single syllable. It registers; something clicks; you’ll play. Your gaze shifts around the table and back to where the neckline of her dress dips before it finds her.

"Hey." You’ve got it casual. At that, she smiles.

You’ll say something, and it’s got her laughing. Sana’s eyes are bright, cheery, and even though the lights are dimmed, you swear you’ve seen nothing prettier. Her head is on your shoulder and she tucks the corner of her lip between her teeth when you make her laugh again. She listens well. She speaks even better—clever, sharp-tongued, sharp-witted—making it look effortless. It’s magnetic. Hell, you don’t even notice her reeling you in, capturing you, cursing you. Perhaps it’s like this, outside of all that about rules and protocol—where she’s poised, presentable and balancing herself on the razor’s edge of this perfect image everyone’s come to expect from her—who couldn’t fall for her if just a little?

"I bet you’re still thinking about it," she whispers when she’s sure no one else is listening. "How your cock will stretch me. How you’ll use me."

Catching yourself, it is just a little you fall; god knows you’ve fallen further. There’s plenty of reason to take a pause, a breather, resume your worry—but you’re fixed on the lines of her face, serene and perfectly uncomplicated in the dim light, her expression full of simple joy. Though you trust her as far as that smile stretches across her lips, you’re watching closely as they part again.

"Let me tell you what I think…" Her hands land in your lap, asking questions whose answers might only be found where your cock struggles beneath the fabric of your pants. You’re sure someone’s bound to notice how close she is, hanging, clinging, wrapping herself around you. It’s like she wants to be caught—but fate isn’t so kind; a disaster it is that no one does. The stroke of fortune only ignites the hushed breath landing in your ear, "why don’t we, like, go find somewhere quiet?"

She’s duplicitous, destructive, deadly—spins lies for the sheer thrill of it, you’ve decided—a wolf in sheep’s clothing. But you’re leaning into it too, you’re allowing it, you’re letting her—you’ll be damned if you aren’t just one of the herd.

-

It started when Sana dragged you by the wrist across the length of the bar and leaned into your ear. She first asked about someplace more private, then she suggested the ladies’ room, then you scoffed about what a terrible idea it was and then she said I promise I won’t be too loud and you felt your entire body shift.

It’s rare for you to make mistakes, to slip up like this—especially like this—but then there Sana is, her back against the door of one of the stalls, chin up, the swell of her lip caught cruelly between her teeth, and eyes shut tight as you push your fingers deeper inside her. It’s not like you, you repeat for the last time in your head, airing out the loose thought somewhere to dry when you notice the dull burn of something like adrenaline, the throbbing pulse in your tongue, your throat, the tips of your fingers—both those holding Sana tight at her waist, and the ones that keep coaxing these little whimpering hums out of her chest every time you curl them inside her. Your voice is coarse, and your tongue sticks to the rough of your mouth when you mutter her name; a betrayal apparently—those half-lidded eyes catch yours, and her lips slant like they know it just as well as you: you had plenty more mistakes to make.

"It’s kinda fucked up, you know that?" Sana sputters as though you need the reminder. "Like we went weeks, and what, your biggest fear that I’d end up somewhere like this? getting fucked?"

"I mean, if you’d rather I’d leave," you suggest, pushing her hard enough into the stall that the whole assembly shakes and rattles, "maybe you could help me remember all that a little more—"

"Don’t." It comes out more severe than you’d expect from this girl creaming the lining of her underwear at your fingers gliding between her aching lips. You catch the look in her eye and it’s so badly betrayed by the shortness in her breath, the blush searing against her cheeks—you do the math; find it all adds up to need and lust and whatever else could’ve dragged you both into this stall.

"Yeah?" you ask, reveling once in these few opportunities you get to be the one looking smug and smirking at her. "And why not?"

Sana releases her fingers from around your cock, her hand sliding up from inside your pants and snapping at the front of your shirt. "Because you owe me."

Before you can say anything, she pulls you into her, lips hard against yours. It hadn’t been long since she’d kissed you in your office—those few hours now feeling like ages ago. And even though you noticed it, beyond the way she licks your lips, bites them, pulls you into her and sends these tiny quiet moans into your mouth, you couldn’t quite put it into words then.

See, you’ve kissed your fair share of girls who’d done nothing less than a good job, but never before had they given it their whole attention, their whole being. There was always something on their mind, some idle thought or distraction: what time the last train left the platform, what day of their cycle it was, doubting their own technique, too much tongue, not enough tongue, if it’s too forward to grab that hand on their breast by the wrist and shove it between their thighs—Sana is none of that. Even while the fingers you shove up her cunt are drawing out all these gasps and hiccups, and ignoring the fact that between her legs is precisely where she needs you, she’s on you with this intensity that never once seems to let you out of its focus.

But no, to be clear, she’s not perfect—the wide pad of your thumb on her clit more than reminds you both of that. Her lips smack as she pulls herself off you, those cute brows knit like she’s about to sneeze.

"Oh, fuck!" She throws her head back and it sends all this silky hair flying.

With a fistful of her dress, her ass, you pull her against you. Her cheeks are so red and her pussy so unbelievably wet that you’re blinking in awe, in admiration—Sana’s features twisting into this masterpiece, this look of pure delight. Her voice gets strangled into something more hoarse, something debauched, and she’s punching out these tiny nods as you fuck her with your fingers, circling your thumb around her clit.

"That feels so fucking good. I—please sir," says Sana, and she’s leaning in like she knows you. Maybe she really does. "Make me fucking cum on your fingers, please, sir. I need it."

You hear it; something short of understanding it. Tuck it away like it’s a clerical error or some trifling hiccup—fuck if that’s the Sana you know—but the way she’s got it repeating in your ear makes it click. It’s familiar, and fucked up, that musing again, except now it’s all turned on its head, about authority, about subordination: she needs your hand stern like she needs your cock hard—she gets off on it, you figure. It’s ridiculous and it’s so out of line and it’s so like nothing you’ve ever done and you can’t believe it’s in this restroom of all places and it’s so fucking hot and you’re living on borrowed time, leaning into it—

"Go ahead, beg for it Sana"—like, really leaning into it—"I need to hear you say it."

"I can’t - fucking believe - just don’t stop, okay? Please sir, right there - right there - right there…" Sana is whimpering and mewling through it all as you match and mirror that grind she makes against your fingers. Frustrated, fucked, she’s giving up on your pants, which to her credit, there was a bit more complication to a button and a zipper than simply hiking up her dress around her hips, but still, it’s fascinating to watch her come apart. Her arms fall limp and she’s finding a place to rest them over your shoulders, mumbling, murmuring, repeating, "Please sir, I’m so close…"

"Sana." You’ve got your lips against her ear and it all but kills her; she whimpers and whines as she sinks her weight onto you, the heat of her own name on your breath, the way you say it, pushing her so far onto that edge.

"Put it in - please, please, please, I need it," Sana’s bleating only compounds when you pull your fingers from her cunt, looking at you like you’ve committed something heinous—which isn’t entirely off. Her voice squeals and trails again when you drag your palm across her clit, up across her stomach, "I’ll do anything, just give me your cock, and I’ll do anything, anything, please sir, I promise - I promise."

Sana can’t even keep her own voice down, those needy moans splashing over all that tile around you and probably leaking out the door and into the hall. She’s in no position to bargain or plea, but as you pull her together enough in your hands, wrap the swell of her thigh around you and press your body against hers, she’s not the only one making promises she doesn’t intend to keep. "Don’t worry Sana. I’ll take good care of you." Your voice is drier than expected, but it’s more than up to the task. "I’ll put this cock in you - and I’ll be nice and gentle; I’ll let you cum, now just be good for me, and I promise I’ll fuck you right."

The sound of your zipper makes this echo—loud, uncompromising, unholy as if it were somehow the most debauched thing pouring out from where you and Sana had committed to turning the restroom into this whole menagerie of lustful noises. You pull her soaked panties to the side and her voice floods with desperation. "Please—"

Sana whines, shuddering when the tip of your cock parts the swelling lips around her wet, needy entrance. Search for it, find it, and you’re groaning too—there’s no more hesitation the moment you slip your cock inside her.

"I can’t - you’re so fucking - fuck!" Sana swallows down these flailing gasps of air like she’d been held underwater, struggling spectacularly to bite back this broken moan. The lithe frame in your arms is teetering on the single heel still on the ground, relying on you, your chest, and your hips to keep her pinned to the stall. You’re holding her fragile world together; draw your hips back; drive into her again; you’ll tear it all apart.

Your teeth are gritting and your jaw clenched because she is so unbelievably tight, even all creamed and wet for you—but still, your focus is honed on her voice, keen to her movements, tuned to the way she writhes in your arms. Beyond the small tears filling out in her deep brown eyes, the lines of her face wincing and quivering, her eyelashes fluttering as your hips slam up into hers again, you’re acutely aware of the machinery in her head, of something deep inside her thoughts hitching, changing tracks, going with it; because this wasn’t what she’d expected: this was so much more than she’d expected.

"That’s it," you say, jamming it into that moist breath you push out of your chest, "just feel how you’re stretching around me, Sana, you fucking need this. I promise - you’re going to cum on this cock - and I promise - you’ll do it again."

"F-fuck," Sana rasps through it, her new favorite word. Your fingers dig into her ass and she’s biting down hard on its harsh final consonants, hiccuping, stuttering in the spaces your hips force between her mewls and cries. She swallows down at her indecency, scrambling for composure. "It’s so - I need you please - please, I need you to fuck me! - just use me."

And so there you are, raising the stakes. Each thrust into the smoldering heat deep in her pussy finds you harsher, stronger, the pauses between your thrusts approaching nothing; far more than Sana can hope to recover. You gasp, shocked at how she manages to fit you, her tightness working against you just shy of allowing you to ruin her. "Sana," you start, and her own name becomes music to her ears, how it sounds deep and gravelly on your panting breath, "fuck yes, Sana, that’s a good girl - your pussy feels incredible."

It’s your voice, it’s the small affirmations, it’s the way your cock swells and stiffens when she swings her leg open, the angle, the depth, the pressure making her incoherent and cry out like the fucked mess she is—for weeks now she’d been your foil, the thorn pricking sharp into your side, and here you are, driving your cock deep into her aching cunt, nothing less than her salvation.

"I can’t," she whispers, face falling into your shoulder and her teeth biting into your neck, leaving marks like you both don’t have to be at the office tomorrow. "I can’t keep - you feel so good, you’re going to make me cum - you’re gonna make me fucking cum."

She’s slipping, falling apart in your arms, breaking at the seams. The delicate application of mascara around her eyes is ever-so-slightly starting to run, and you feel her leg begin to wobble and buckle under her weight as it sits helplessly on the sharp point of that single heel. You struggle to scoop her up, finding the soft curves of her thighs over your forearms.

"Do it Sana," you sputter from between gritted teeth, and your hips crash again into Sana’s body, held pitifully between you and the stall’s indifferent wooden frame. "Cum all over this cock - cum for me."

Sana’s so close to the edge, so wet, so needy, that even craning her neck and seizing your lips is some exaggerated and laborious effort. But it’s the only way she can channel all that raw pleasure, that emotion searing its way from her cunt and shooting up the length of her spine, so she gets there, even if you have to meet her halfway. Her voice hums and cracks inside yours, and you can count the last thoughts of her waning composure in her tongue, in those tears gently wetting your cheeks, at the heart beating wild in her chest, all in those legs wrapping desperately behind you, pulling you deeper into her, yearning to find how much of that lust dripping between her legs you can fill.

"I’m cumming, I’m so close to cumming," she moans into your mouth, and there’s no question that she is—the quivers her cunt makes around your cock every time you bury yourself inside her heat—the way she clenches onto the emptiness that torments her when you drag your hips away from her again.

A final inhibition, that what if, the final shred of concern that someone could walk into this impromptu love nest and undo her career—entirely obliterate yours—in so little as the flash of a camera—it vanishes, like a candle snuffed out, first in her head, and then in yours. You smash your hips into the backs of her reddening thighs again, thrusting deep between them and you’re left only thinking of Sana, of her husked voice in your ears, of her ass spilling out between your fingers, of the torrid heat of her cunt—how she invites you, pulls you in, how she begs to be ruined.

"Oh my god." You can hear the wet breath that she draws fast into her chest scrape against her upper teeth. "Oh. God."

When Sana cums, she holds nothing back. And she cums hard—muscles tense, her chest holds onto one final breath, and she digs her fingernails into the backs of your shoulders without even a shred of consideration for the poor skin beneath them. Those short staccato breaths that filled your mouth become long, gasping wails that sit just aside your ear as Sana holds tight around your body, hips shaking and bucking between you and the wood behind her.

"Fucking hell, Sana." And your head is cocked, gaze pointing into the ceiling. "You’re so wet and tight - you’re cumming like you’ve never been touched once - I can’t fucking believe it."

"Y-you-you-you," she stutters, and you’re listening to the bolts and screws holding the stall door together start to grumble and complain. They’re not built for this kind of treatment, not meant to be pounded and punished beyond their breakpoints. Sana on the other hand—she falters, threads coming loose and cracking and falling apart—it only makes her more subdued, more fuckable, more perfect.

"I’m—" You toss your hands beneath her, readjusting your grip, and your lips are resting on her ear. "I’m going to cum inside you. I’m going to fucking use you."

She’s nodding into your shoulder, and it’s got her babbling and whimpering like she needs it even more than you. "Do it," she whispers, the first coherent thing out her mouth that wasn’t god, fuck or you in quite some time. "Do it, fill me up, please sir, cum inside my pussy—"

Knees locking and muscles burning, your fingers squeeze into her soft ass. They pull her to you, burying your cock deep into Sana’s cunt. "Fuck - Sana."

In that warmth, in the slopped mess of that fucked, used hole, you cum.

Sana coos when she feels that first rope of cum fill and pool inside her. She’s got her mouth gaping at the second and the third, and she keeps pleading like at this point you’ve got any choice in the matter, "Please sir - fuck all that cum into me - I need it - please."

Your eyes are shut tight, and your orgasm has you counting the stars in your eyelids, all of that tinnitus of blood rushing between your ears. Call it impropriety, unprofessional—you’re not arguing with any of that; it’s beyond logic; you’re just like the girl in your arms: ruined, fucked.

There’s all this mess between your hips, stains at the hem of Sana’s dress, and you’re still thrusting, slowed and deliberate now, and you’re reeling as you unload everything inside Sana. Your lips part, though nothing really comes out, just a long groan, and soon you’re laughing, returning back into reality—which at this point, it’s just the restroom, and it smells so badly of sex, beyond the harsh odor of cleaning agents. It’s bad, it’s that obvious.

One final shared groan—your voices trembling in unison on two wildly different sounds—fills the restroom when your cock slips out from between Sana’s wet, swollen lips.

"Jesus." Sana slides from your grip, lands on her feet, and barely finds her balance on her heels, knees bowed and wobbling as she straightens herself out. She wipes a few stray tears from her eyes and pulls her dress back down her thighs to somewhere slightly more modest, always a familiar challenge. "That was something."

You sink backward into the stall’s firm embrace, clearing your voice a few times. "Yeah," you start, and you realize you need more time to pant and huff your way back to anything presentable. "Okay. Five minutes. Walk out of here no sooner than five minutes after me."

"What?" Sana asks, and she crosses her legs, leaning back and sliding down the stall wall a few inches. "Are you that afraid someone’s gonna find out you just had your dick in me?"

"I mean, sure, it’s one fear." It’s all the dominos you have lined up after that, how they might fall. "Believe me, the last thing I need is Nayeon and Dahyun getting suspicious and—"

"They can kick rocks," says Sana, raking her fingers through her hair until it sits on her shoulders more or less how it was before you’d gotten your hands in it, all tossed and ruffled. "Besides they’d just be jealous they’ve never been fucked like that in their short, sorry lives."

You lean forward, smirking. "Oh? Fucked like what?"

"Don’t flatter yourself." She says it like it insults her, but the breathy laugh she holds back gives her away. "You’re the one who’s always saying, it’s unbecoming to gloat."

"Well, it isn’t my job to be becoming now is it?"

"Hey," she says, uninterested in the banter, taking a step through all the back and forth, and she leans into you, close enough to where you can see all those small, dangerous details again.

A few of the hints now inches in front of you become pretty recognizable: those few strands of hair stuck to the sweat on her brow, the smudges of mascara around her eyes, the way her knees buckle just a little when she shifts her weight—if anything, the rosy flush in her cheeks could be explained away with whatever she was sipping on minutes ago. But the mess leaking down her thighs? That was going need to some extra attention, and maybe a few tissues.

"This is the ladies’ room." Her head tilts, and you watch her hair fall on her cheek again. "You should totally, like, get out of here."

"Yeah. That’s what I was saying."

"Seriously." Her eyes light up and her teeth worry the corner of her lip. "I might just start touching you again if you don’t."

-

You figure all that guilt and anxiety was going to be there waiting for you in the morning. So for now, there’s this strange calm you find in the sound of tires hitting wet pavement and the smell of fresh rain on the wind. Though the evening crowd had started to thin, a few people are still out—couples mostly, holding hands, sharing umbrellas to satisfy some romantic hankering or another; you’re pretty sure it had stopped raining a while ago.

"You called two cars?" Sana asks, finger on her chin, "What’s the fun in that?"

"None, probably."

"Well that’s…" her voice trails off and her eyes narrow alongside this mild grin, "How are you supposed to walk me to my front door, you know, stand there with your hands behind your back, wait for a kiss, and then hang around missing all these queues that you should leave—until I finally decide to let you up for coffee even though it’s late and it’s a little too soon to be letting you stay the night and we’ve got work in the morning and—

"I’m sure you’ll manage." You snuff out the thought before it can brew any further in your mind—the power of restraint coming to you now apparently. Timely.

"Well it’s not like you live that far from me," says Sana, running her thumb over her lips and looking at how that fresh application of lipstick bleeds onto it. To her credit, she’d spent some time touching up after you pulled yourself off her tight, well-fucked body and before you watched her appear on the sidewalk outside the bar. Her lips pull back into a smile, and she clicks her tongue against her teeth. "It’s, like, eco-friendly or something."

"Uh-huh."

"It’s good for the Earth. You gotta be pro-Earth. I mean, everyone’s pro-Earth."

A train arrives in the station, metal brakes screeching on the tracks, and you ball up both hands into the pockets of your jacket. "Since when do you know where I live?"

"Well, to be honest," she starts like she’s about to set some record straight and wipes a strand of loose hair out of her face, "I don’t. But Dahyun walked home from your place one time. And I doubt you’d ever make her walk far. Let’s not mince words here—you really spoiled her."

"For starters, I never had to delete homemade porn off her phone." Your eyes are pointed to the sky while you try to remember if that checks out. And it does. "If I was lenient,"—which you were—"I dunno, maybe she earned it."

"Huh." Her eyes glisten, staring straight into yours. "I had no idea you guys were sleeping together—"

"Sana," you say, catching her eyes again. "We weren’t." It’s not a lie or anything, but the words are choking you on the way up like it were. "We aren’t." You clear your throat again. "We haven’t."

"Man—you really need to relax." Sana lets herself enjoy this quiet laugh that you barely hear over the sound of passengers arriving and boarding."Like I dunno, hear me out: maybe we both get in the first car that shows up, and we take it to your place, and you throw me on the bed, maybe over the back of the sofa, I don’t care; wherever you think—"

"I’m going home in one car," you say, turning a cigarette lighter over in your hand. "And you in the other."

"We could have at least made out in the back of the cab."

With this disappointed look on her face, Sana folds her arms and finds a spot against the station’s bricks to lean into, a knee pushed forward and one foot against the wall. Her skirt rises and ruffles just enough for you to get yet another glimpse of the gentle curves of her thighs—not that you’re trying to look.

She lets her cheek fall into her shoulder, eyes pointed at you, and gets on with this judgmental tone. "You smoke?"

"Rarely." You’ve got your hand cupping the end of the flame as it flickers in the breeze, protecting those embers until they finally catch and glow red. You hide the lighter in your pocket, and your posture straightens out an extra inch or two when you add, "only if I have a good reason."

"Oh? Then tell me; what’s the occasion?" she asks, and she smiles at you like she knows you’re pretending not to notice how pretty she is. "Are we celebrating? That’s kinda cute—"

"Stressed. Anxious." You inhale deeply. Let this sharp plume of smoke out. Then you bend your neck side to side a few times. "That kind of thing."

Sana takes a hint. She places her hands behind her back, leaning and looking into the sky, where rain clouds had rolled and tumbled out to let you peer into this vastly black sky—no stars, no moon, just an unending dark blanket of night. Neither of you say much; it’s pillow talk without all the chatter perhaps, and it’s comforting in a sense, a warm silence that you can wrap yourself up in. When you turn your head toward Sana, she surprises you for the hundredth time, the expression on her face so innocent and soft—it’s hard not to let her fool you.

"This one’s all yours," you say, and you nod toward the cab pulling up on the curb, tapping ash from your cigarette onto the ground.

Sana’s got her hand on the door and one knee in the backseat of the taxi when her eyes find yours one last time. "You sure? Last chance."

"I’ll see you tomorrow," you say, watching Sana shake her head and let out this muted laugh. "Oh and Sana, let’s—how about we try and keep our jobs. Okay?"

She smiles. Even if just a little, you’re smiling too. "You got it sir."

#sana smut #twice smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #male reader #twice sana smut #sana minatozaki #twice sana #sana minatozaki smut

[ed-wwarren]

Warsaw, Poland.

That’s where the good old U.S. Army was sending Captain Edward Warren. The war was turning south for the allies so it was all hands on deck in Europe. He was more than happy to leave and do his duty. He had nothing keeping him in America anyway. His mother died, his father was God knows where probably drunk or dead. He didn’t have any brothers or sisters and he didn’t have children. He just had a wife.

Ed had been nervous to tell his wife, Natalie, that they had to pick up and move but she seemed almost…excited at the thought. He found that odd but he didn’t argue because she was taking it well and they weren’t fighting over it like they had been fighting over everything in their marriage over the past year. They had been married for twelve years and he didn’t know at what point they had stopped loving each other, at what point they had turned from husband and wife to roommates, but he was always waking on eggshells around her and almost wanted to leave her in America but he couldn’t just do that to her. She was still his wife and he had a responsibility to her. He didn’t know when this war would be over or when he would get sent back to the states so she was coming with him.

Once they had settled into their home in Warsaw, they were given a tour by a few of the enlisted soldiers. As they drove through the streets, Ed felt his heart breaking. He saw so many shops and businesses closed, hateful things spray painted on the broken windows. He was happy to see there were nice parts of the city as well but he hated to see German soldiers sitting at the cafes. He just knew they were taking advantage of the poor people of Warsaw. They probably never paid for their food or things they needed and they probably took advantage of the women. He hated to think what they were grooming the kids to believe. He had seen glimpses of the propaganda the Nazi’s were playing about Jews being dirty and evil and filled with hatred, wanting the world to burn, and could hope and pray that no one really believed it.

“Oh, Ed, look!” Natalie had said, gently squeezing his arm to get him to look out of the same window she was. “Look at that cute little shop! I want to go in and buy some dresses! Pull over!” She demanded the soldier driving the car.

All of the men looked at Ed, unsure of what to do. This was an alright part of town but there were still Germans around every corner. Ed saw the excitement in his wife’s eyes for the first time in a long time and slowly sighed, nodding his head to the soldiers. “It’s alright. Pull over please.”

Once the car was stopped and her door was opened for her, Natalie hopped out of the car and walked to the shop like she wasn’t in a war torn country. Ed got out of the car and looked around before he noticed his wife was almost out of sight. “Natalie, wait,” He called, hurrying after her.

“Oh, Ed what are you worried for?” She asked with a chuckle, twirling in the street to look at him. “We are surrounded by your soldiers. We’re fine. I want to shop!” She pouted.

Ed pinched the bridge of his nose and gave her a look. “Have you not noticed all of the Germans that are also all around? Because there are a lot of them. There is a war going on here. Please remember that.”

Natalie rolled her eyes and sighed. “How about you go over to that little cafe across the street and I’ll shop. You need to have a drink and relax. You’ve been so tense since you got ordered to come here. Anyway, I won’t be too long,” She said before she kissed Ed’s cheek and walked into the shop without a second glance behind her.

Ed opened his mouth to argue with her but by the time the words were on his tongue, she was through the doors. He closed his eyes for a moment before he sighed. He looked at one of his men who was staring at him in worry. “Stay in front of this door. Don’t let her go anywhere else, okay? I don’t know why she thinks this city is so safe.”

The man looked nervous at having to possibly tell the Captain’s wife she wasn’t allowed to go anywhere but nodded his head anyway and stood in front of the shop door.

“I think I am going to go across the street for a drink. She stresses me out,” Ed said with a small and very tired smile. He had been so stressed out lately with this move and his marital problems that he needed to take a moment to stop spinning.

Ed walked over to the cafe across the street but unlike his wife, he walked slowly and cautiously, looking around. When he walked past a table full of Germans, he noticed the way they eyed up his uniform and started to talk in German.

That was good.

Ed sighed again and walked into the cafe, sitting at the counter. He felt…uneasy even with his men around him. They were outnumbered here no matter where they went. This was Europe not America and he couldn’t let his guard down no matter what.

Maybe he should just drink a tea….

@giftedclairvoyance

[hobisstar]

What are you hiding from love?| Yandere!Jk x Reader

Summary: Being in a relationship with Jungkook you’ve always noticed the signs, the red flags if you will. Being so in love with him you ignored them, until the people you loved dearly started disappearing one by one.

Warnings: Murder, Jungkook victim blaming ( like he will say i killed you because you are too stupid or whatever), Possessiveness, Mentions of Smut, Controlling, Locking up YN.

Taglist: vante 🫶🏾

A/N: This is made to be scary! That is all. I honestly dont like mixing smut with yandere because i read yandere fics to be spooked not horny lol.

5 years,

5 long years, of nothing but love and trust but more than that. Of course honesty, right?

Well on yn’s end there was definitely honesty. Jungkook’s? Not so much. You see there is this dark secret that jungkook has been hiding since they met 6 years ago…

It’s so deadly that it could possibly end their relationship if she found out about it.

She was so beautiful, so calm and gentle with him, he loved that side of her. Hes never seen her angry, sad, or even hurt. He never wants to see that side of her.

Jungkook doesn’t want to be the reason he sees that side of her.

Like now, There are siting on their shared bed, in their shared bedroom, in their shared apartment. Telling the truth, would risk him loosing all of this. He cant have that.

Jungkook looked at her then smiled, “ You are so beautiful you know?” He smiled, kissing the top of her head. YN blushed lightly staring up at him.

YN was quite literally everyone’s dream girl. Maybe that was the problem to Jungkook.

She was too good to everyone including himself and he hated. He knows she has a bad side but he never gets to see it so when he knows someone else gets to experience that mean side of her, he’s instantly jealous.

Who got his baby so pissed that she called you a dumb cunt? A fucking bitch? Who dares piss off his queen?

He will deal with them, with torture. Slow, painful, evil, demented, twisted death.

That was the other side of him he need to never be shown to his lover. It scared him that in any means possible she found out about his… hobby.

Nevertheless, Jungkook admires yn. How she can keep it together in every situation. Worships her to be exact.

“Stop calling be beautiful and get ready for work, handsome.” Yn responded while patting his back.

Right, work. Besides his hobby, he works at a flower shop while yn works at a cafe during the weekend. It’s enough to keep food on their table, to the rent, gas but also enough for simply living. Jungkook owns the flower shop so, he makes a whole lot of money.

There are so many things that yn doesn’t know about Jungkooks basically second life. How deadly it is.

jk: I miss you, baby~

I hate this fucking job

What are you doing?

Is bam stilling your attention from my text?

Babbbbbbbbyyyyy

yn

yn

yn

yn answer the phone

yn: sorry baby! I was feeding bam and fixing me something to eat!

I left my phone in the bathroom

yn: j, you just got to work babes 🤨, how do you miss me already?

You didn’t even clock in yet SILLY!

jk: I can’t miss you now?

Since when did you feel like that?

yn: Jeon I never once said you couldn’t, don’t say that.

jk: but you where implying that…

yn: Jeon Jungkook, clock in, put your phone down, see you when you get home 😕🩷

jk: smh, why that face? Why that reply?

He waited for a reply but he never received one, instead he heard someone clear his throat. He looked up and saw it was a woman probably in her 30s, staring at him like he was a snack.

“Hi! JK right? I came in here a few days ago looking for some flowers for my sisters birthday! I doubt you remember me but I want to come back to get some for myself!” The lady bit her lip and looked Jungkook up then down and Jungkook thought he could be sick.

He forced a half smile, “ Yeah yeah, I don’t remember you. You can get them for yourself, I don’t remember the flower you got last time.” He looked back down at the book he was original decorating with different flower pictures but got bored so he texted his lover.

“oh.. I was hoping you could pick them for me, fresh ones. I know you all do that-,” “ we do but not this early.” He interrupted still looking down, knowing he is hurting the poor woman’s feelings for not even recognizing her or remembering the flower or even falling for her shitty attempt to flirt.

“Okay, ah well I’ll go grab them and pay for them.” She said waiting for a respond or even a nod but she didn’t even get that. She walked over there and grabbed them then returning to the register. While she put her things on the counter, she saw a glimpse of Jungkooks Lock Screen which so happens to be a picture of yn and bam sleeping on the couch. “ Your sister?” She asked, hoping she was right. “ My wife actually and our son.” He scanned the flowers and roughly wrapped them. Roses, it’s be sad if he left a thorn on them. He turned around and slightly cut the stem but enough to keep the thorn nice and sharp.

Jungkook turned back around and handed them to her. As soon as the woman grabbed them she gasped, in pain he assumed. He pretended to be concerned but when he saw the palm of her hand leaking red liquid, he smiled on inside.

“ Oh! Im so sorry! I thought I got all the thorns, out…” he looked up at her then saying “ I guess one snuck away.” giving her the most creepiest blank face the woman has ever seen. She then realized he left the thorn on on purpose. He even sharpened it. “ I can fix that for you-,” “ No! I-It’s fine! Thank you so much! See you!” She some what screamed and hurried out the store frightened.

“ too bad..” Jungkook mumbled and chuckled continuing to put pictures in the decorating book.

“Bam! You just keep growing!” Yn said as she walked into the kitchen smiling while seeing him staring at the spare room. It’s Jungkooks office. “ What’s the matter? You know your dad doesn’t like you going in there.Not even me.” She stooped to his level and petted his back but only received a whimper in return.

Yn stared at the door. It’s taunting her with its unlocked door handle. She looked at the time, it was only 5 pm, Jungkook wouldn’t be home for a few more hours.

“ A peak wouldn’t hurt us right?” Looking at Bam and he barked as if he understood her.

Yn stood up and opened the door walking in. It was a nice little tidy office.

It would be comforting even if it wasn’t so cold. She has to remember to turn on the air for this room once exiting.

She turned around seeing if Bam followed her inside but he was at his bowl slurping up some water.

Looking at the closet door she opened it up and turned on the light. “since when did he make this a dark room?” The red light was a little hard to see in but her eyes soon adjusted quickly.

Spooky wasn’t the feeling that she was feeling but more so unsettled. Yn looked at the photos on the table and quite literally almost vomited.

“ what… what is that?” Stammering as her eyes scanned over the photos laid out on the table.

Pictures of people being hurt, harmed. There were far more worse ones that she doesn’t even want to even mention. Gazing up on the line looking at the ones drying where pictures of, her.

This wouldn’t be weird if it wasn’t of her sleeping, in the shower, getting dressed, even at work.

“Did jungkook take these?… no way…”

Yn was flabbergasted,

Was her boyfriend of 5 years, a serial killer? A psychopath? A fucking weirdo? I mean she saw the signs but thought she was tripping.

Days where he would come home with blood and dirt on his hands and clothes. He would always say it was his and it came from the thorns he dealt with at work.

“yn! I’m home!” Jungkook shouted. As he walked in and smiled when he saw Bam sitting on the couch peacefully sleeping.

It’s where yn and bam usually cuddle so, where is she at?

“Did she leave you by yourself?” He asked Bam who was waking up from sleep. Walking towards the kitchen he saw dinner was made and a note on the fridge door.

“ Welcome home babes! Sorry I couldn’t be home to greet you, I went out to go get a few things but my sister called and said she wanted to have a little sibling time! Ha. Be back by 11 pm! Dinners fixed but do warm it up, then shower and get some sleep! See you later,

Love, Yn <3”

“Ah, I guess she did leave us by ourselves tonight Bam.” He chuckled and took off his jacket. He felt weird though.

Since when did her sister want to hang out so late? This is the first he ever heard of it. Pondering, he grabbed his phone and called yn’s sister.

“Hello? Jungkook?” She answered confused as ever at this late ass call. “Hey, sorry to call so late. is yn with you?” Jungkook asked but his full attention was on his office door.

“What? No she’s not. Why?” Without missing a beat Jungkook hung up the phone right after. He dialed yn’s number. What he wasn’t expecting was to hear her phone sitting right on the couch next to Bam. He watched it ring and sighed. Maybe she just went out and forgot it on accident, no need to panic.

For some reason in the back of his mind he felt as though she found out. She went into his forbidden office. Jungkook chuckled, “ she would never disobey me.” He warmed his food up then sat at the table but he couldn’t eat.

Nor could the feeling of her going in his office go away. He stood up and walked to the door and opened it.

At first he didn’t notice anything out of place until he realized it was warm in the room. He never turns the air on in this room. Jungkook looked around about to leave until something so obvious caught his eyes.

The red light illuminating on the other side of the closet door. With quick steps, he opened the door well threw it open. Nothing was touched but the light alone was a clear sign that someone was in there.

He mentally and physically cursed himself.

“ She knows, she fucking knows.” He calmly stated but boy was he heated.

“ I need to fucking find her…now.”

To be continued…

#jeon jungguk #jeon jungkook #bts #bts x reader #jk #jungkook x reader #bts jung jungkook #yandere!jungkook #jungkook ff #jungkook #jungkook yandere series

[haet-sal]

An Attic Affair//Younghoon x reader smut

Since the Kim brothers moved in, your life has been hell. Sunwoo took over your room and made you sleep in the attic, and Younghoon… well, you don’t mind seeing him. What makes it hellish is that you’re incredibly attracted to him, and he doesn’t even seem to notice you.

Tags: stepbrother smut, KINKY fingering scene (but who cares youre already fucking your stepbrother), he calls u a 'SLUT', scene of watching porn + lots of masturbating, PERV!hoon+sunwoo (panty-stealing & ogling), perv!you, hoon calls himself "oppa" once, unprotected🤷‍♀️, BULLY!Sunwoo, hoon is VERY NICE to you

W.c.: 5.5k

Excerpt; “Don’t worry,” he says, “oppa learnt a lot about making dumb little bunnies like you cum. I bet I can make you cum… hmm…” He flicked your nub, making you squeal. “... with just a flick of my finger.” He’s still laughing at how you were trying to compose yourself, and failing.

~~

“Move over, idiot.” Sunwoo pushed you out of your high chair, and sits down with his breakfast. The same way he pushed you out of your room.

“You decided last week that that was your seat,” you say, pointing to the chair across from you two.

Sunwoo grunts. “I’m sorry, we have ‘permanent’ seats in this house?”

Your mother says it’s just the thing with having siblings now, you’ve been an only child so you don’t know how to share—why couldn’t you be more like the Kim brothers? When Sunwoo calls her ‘mom’ your mother just goes nuts with pride, so when he asked her, “mom can I please have Y/N’s room, it’s so much bigger,” she immediately gave it to him.

You couldn’t even move to the guest room, because it was now taken over by the older brother, Hoonie—who had moved into an apartment in the city, he didn’t even live here—but they wanted to keep his room and stuff there, so you had to settle for… the attic. Bullied out of a bed by Kim Sunwoo, who in the eyes your mother could do no wrong.

It wasn’t enough that he saw you battling with attic dust and cramped space every time you came down out of a ladder for breakfast, Sunwoo had to take everything else from you—your seat at any table, your laptop because his kept ‘freezing’, any alone-time you could get—and still wasn’t satisfied. Sunwoo was a bully. You didn’t know how your mother couldn’t see it.

You didn’t hate all the Kims, though. Your new stepdad was a great guy, the perfect fit to your mother’s jigsaw puzzle of a heart, and Younghoon…

You didn’t hate Younghoon. You didn’t even know how someone could begin to hate Younghoon. You first met him wearing some shabby Christmas sweater, but on the day of the wedding, he had a suit on…

You got cake frosting in your nose staring at Younghoon back at the wedding. You didn’t understand how fabric could be so sinful, more sinful than nakedness, how the thin white silk shirt hugged his chest, and the length of his legs exaggerated by the tailored pants… Younghoon was like a vision of a dream you couldn’t get enough of. Thank God he lived in the city, away from you, or you would have committed multiple crimes.

As you were staring Sunwoo down at the breakfast table, the front door suddenly opens, and two long legs strided into the dining room, to your surprise—Younghooon is in the kitchen, picking out muscats out of a bowl. “Hey, appa. Hey, mom.” Younghoon had started calling your mother ‘mom’ too, to your disdain. “I got a break from my job, and my roommate’s got his girlfriend over the whole time, so I thought I’d just come see you guys. Surprise?”

He takes a seat beside you until you’re sandwiched between both brothers. Your mom shot a look at you—“Sweetie, let them sit together, they haven’t seen each other in a while.”

Once again pushed out of your seat, you frowned, only Younghoon goes: “that’s alright, we’ll let her eat in peace.” He shot a look at Sunwoo. “You haven’t been more of an evil bastard, have you?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” But Younghoon was only there for the attic thing, and not the laptop-borrowing and all the bullying that’s been going on.

~

You knew Sunwoo was a bit of a perv to other people, but… he wouldn’t steal your panties, would he? It’s weird, because it happens sporadically—once when you still kept your clothes in your old room, and right now. It’s just that he took your favorite lacey, pretty-pink-and-yellow ones, so it’s hard to not notice.

You rifled through your closet in the attic trying to find the missing panties. You thought you’d wear them, just because Younghoon’s around and you need your intimates to feel sexy. But they’re nowhere around.

Sunwoo couldn’t have, right? He’s not that sick. But who else could have? Certainly not Younghoon, who only ever even smiles at you out of obligation.

You won’t confront Sunwoo, though, just to not embarrass the both of you. He’d just deny it anyway… And currently he was hogging the bathroom just because he knew you were planning to shower.

You’re clutching your change of clothes to your chest as you knock on the bathroom door, trying to word your commands as sweetly as you could: “Sunwoo, I need to shower before my appointment!”

“You can’t rush me,” he retorted. “I’m doing my 16-step skin care routine.”

“Sun—” Your yell got interrupted, as you froze on your spot, to see a half-naked Younghoon with a towel around his waist, coming up to you.

“Oh,” he says in realization. “You were waiting on him, too? Then you can go first—”

“No!” you gasped. “No, you should—if he decides to come out, that is.”

“Hey, it’s your home,” he offered with a friendly smile.

The door swung open, and Sunwoo marches out, also half naked but ineffective on your psyche. You knew he only came out because he heard Younghoon, not because he finally felt some pity for you.

“16 step skincare routine?” Younghoon says with a sing-song.

“It’s how I keep my face baby-soft, loser.”

“Looks rougher than those basketballs you throw around to me.”

Wordlessly, Sunwoo reaches for the towel around Younghoon’s waist, and pulls it towards him, laughing maniacally as it comes off, and he throws it into the air before exiting the scene. You turn away from both boys, staring off, holding a scream inside your throat.

“Hey,” Younghoon says with a laugh, “Y/N, it’s fine. I had boxers on.”

“Wh–What? Oh.” You bat your eyes until you’re seeing clearly; Younghoon had boxers on, those baggy plaid boxers perfect for lounging around if he were living alone.

You imagined him on the couch, absentmindedly watching the TV, manspreading, the outline of his dick thick and dark in the shadows it casted. He’d reach under the waistband of those boxers, eyes still fixated on the TV in front of him, and start palming his cock, until it grows pink and needy—

You drop your change of clothes you had just thinking of it, and Younghoon looks dumbfounded. As you both reach out to grab them off the carpeted floor, Younghoon’s body ends up so close to you, half naked, almost like a side-hug. You feel his chest against yours, body so warm and real and solid.

He’s so hot. You pull away. “Um, you should shower first,” you offered. “You’re… older, and all.” You ran back to your attic screaming internally.

Brother, you tell yourself, that’s your step brother. Jeez, please, chill out, Y/N!

But you just felt his naked chest against your body, like if he were holding you in bed—

What bed! You groan. You were sitting on the mattress in the attic with your towel and clothes, waiting for Younghoon to finish showering. You willed yourself to not think of what he looked like naked—you’ve already seen enough. A whole lot. And still it wasn’t enough or you?!

~

“It’s so perfect that Younghoon’s here!” your mom starts to say. You’re confused. Why? “I wouldn’t have trusted you two here, but with your big brother here, maybe me and your stepdad can go on a trip!”

Sunwoo just grunts in response. You’re aghast—not that you didn’t trust Younghoon, but even your mother wouldn’t defend you against Sunwoo’s raids—how would Younghoon?

But the older boy grinned at your two parents. “You two should have fun, mom and appa,” he said. “We’ll take care of the house.”

~~

Your parents were packing for the trip, as they hurriedly booked a hotel with a lakeside view. You sat on the bed in the master bedroom, helping your mother with her luggage. “Do you have to go?” You couldn’t bear thinking about what Sunwoo would be like if some adults weren’t around.

“Younghoon’s here,” your mom assured you.

The said man was currently leading against the door frame talking to his dad about sunglasses, and if they were gonna swim in the lake. You sighed, dreamily staring at him. Just all the fun you couldn’t have… From downstairs, you could hear Sunwoo loudly playing fifa.

“Younghoon’s very responsible,” says your step dad. “He was resident advisor back in college!”

“Nah.” Younghoon scoffed cooly. Since returning to town, he had cut his hair the way wall street brokers do—clean cut, full forehead showing, dark brown hair pushed aside. The perfect son-in-law look, too bad your mother already calls him son. “Resident advisors are assholes on power trips. I was just the guy that helped deal with them.” He grinned, shooting you a look. “Hey, young lady, before I forget, I brought you a present.”

You raise your eyebrow in confusion, gingerly following him out to the former guest room—which was better than Sunwoo’s current one, and big enough for two people. You’d be mad at both brothers, if only Younghoon wasn’t so goddamn nice.

“Here.” He handed you a neatly folded burgundy-brown hoodie, incredibly similar to the one he wears to bed. You couldn’t control yourself from bringing it to your nose, and it smells like him, freshly taken out of his luggage, where it had laid folded next to his cologne and aftershave. So heavenly, boyish, sexy. It felt like hugging him.

“Thanks!” you chirped to Younghoon. “You’re the nicest.” The hoodie was a medium version of the oversized one he wore to bed. It’s disgusting to make a coupling joke with your step brother, so you don’t.

You looked back at the luggage it had come from, and you just… thought of something. Wouldn’t it be so cool, if you could have Younghoon’s actual, well-worn clothes? Like one of his soft giant shirts? Something that was just entirely his?

You’re so stupid. But it’s just a crush—you just needed to get over it. Right?

Well, you thought, if Sunwoo could (allegedly) steal your panties, you could take Younghoon’s shirt.

~~

While Younghoon and Sunwoo had dinner on the empty first floor—your parents had left already, adding to the stillness—you had an amazing idea. A horrible, perverted idea, but amazing nevertheless.

You open the door to Younghoon’s room ajar so it didn’t creak, and rifled through his bag. Where was it, the pristine-bleached white shirt, with the badge on it, that makes Younghoon look like an Abercrombie model? Your hands brush against the cold glass of his cologne, and you bring it out to sniff the top.

Like a creep. At least you weren’t sniffing underwear or something, ew—it was just cologne. Expensive french cologne.

Everything in his luggage was oversized and therefore too conspicuous if you take it away, so you decided to go through his unfolded just-dried laundry, which he had just done. Going through the first couple items… something flimsy and lacey fell out of it.

You thought you knew what it looked like, so you grab it from off the floor. Your panties, the ones you lost. What was it doing here… You felt embarrassed by the thought of Younghoon seeing your panties, so you just pocket it, thinking it got mixed in from the washing machine—ugh! That’s so embarrassing.

Under the pile, you find the white shirt you were looking for, and giddily take it away. He’d just think it had gotten lost somewhere, right?

You take it and threw it up the attic, ready for whatever you were going to do with it. Emphasis on whatever.

You go back downstairs to greet the brothers like nothing happened, you knew you had to do their dishes soon, which you think was your duty—only, Younghoon is pressuring Sunwoo to do them.

“You can’t just not wash your own plate, loser.”

“Why not? I let our dear little sister wash them, all the time,” Sunwoo says with a laugh.

“Sunwoo…” Younghoon sounded like he was losing patience. “Be nice to y/n.”

“No,” Sunwoo retorted, “why should I?”

“You wouldn’t do this if you didn’t like her, though,” Younghoon said in a scolding, all-knowing tone. “If she was ugly you’d leave her alone—you’re too obvious. Have some respect for the person that gave up their room just so you could jack off in it.”

You could see Sunwoo’s face, but from the back you could see that he literally flinched, stepping backwards out of instinct. Younghoon didn’t care. “Now I’ll wash the dishes for tonight, but tomorrow you’ve got no excuses, okay?”

Sunwoo didn’t dare storm away, but he got out of the kitchen as fast as he could; you hid yourself behind the stairs until his footsteps disappeared into your old room.

You felt semi-bad about causing a fight between the brothers, so you gingerly approach Younghoon at the sink, where he was getting the water ready, and offered to fill in for him. “I… usually do those,” you say softly. “Let me?”

“Don’t worry about the dishes,” Younghoon assured you with a smile, “I’ll wash them—or Sunwoo will wash them. For this week, just relax, can you do that for me?”

He reacted to your surprised expression by ruffling your hair like you were a little kid, and then avoided your body to grab the dish-washing gloves.

Can you do that for me? Jesus, it sounds like ‘can you do that for daddy?’ like in every porn you’ve seen before. The way Younghoon stood up for you gave you a knot in your stomach, and not even the bad kind, which you were so concerned about.

Now you feel extra bad for what you were planning to do with his shirt.

~~~

You type in ‘stepbrother’ into the search box, already cringing, toes curled and fists clenched. Eww, you did not want to do this, but your neanderthal brain was telling you otherwise.

The guy in the video is a white guy, so different from Younghoon, but soon he’s feeling up his costar, while she pretends to be unaware. You wondered what you would do if Younghoon did that to you, although he wouldn’t. He was just so clean-cut, and didn't seem to have a hint of perversion in his head.

You started to think of Younghoon’s cock in those plaid boxers again, the thickness of the shaft, the whole head of it, although left to your imagination it grew hot in your mind; you started closing your eyes and teasing your clit with just one finger, thinking more about Younghoon than concentrating on the porn, until it was just a mess of moans to you and it was Younghoon acting it out with you, in your head.

“Yeah, you like your stepbrother’s cock that much?”

You grabbed the shirt now, the fabric thin from being so well-worn, and stuffed the fabric in your mouth, the scent of it—Younghoon’s smell, his detergent and after-shave and just him—around your face reminiscent of what it would be like if he were gagging you, three fingers in your mouth— “shh. You wouldn’t want mom and dad to catch us, would you?” You shivered already, toes curling as the thought of him fills you up the way your fingers filled your cunt up.

With the video still playing, you toyed with yourself mercilessly, as if you were trying to get a rise out of yourself, moans perfectly muffled by the shirt that there was no way either step brother could hear from downstairs.

You came to the thought of Younghoon, his kind eyes turning feral as he watched you this way, hand inside your soaked panties and your pajamas unbuttoned that he could see your chest; you imagined him standing over the mattress, watching like a freakishly tall stalker.

When you open your eyes, he’s not here, and the audio plays blaringly from your headphones as the actors crash into each other, less chemistry than you and Younghoon had. You spit the shirt out of your mouth, his scent still lingering.

“Ah, I love your fat cock!” “Yeah, your tiny cunt is squeezing all my milk out of me—”

You hurriedly close the tab, cringing. Ew, did people actually talk like that during sex? You’d only had it once—the one time you lost your virginity to some kid named Soobin in college—and it was done in complete silence and whispers and coos, nothing like the pornographic monstrosity.

You quickly delete your history from your laptop, in case Sunwoo comes to borrow it again—imagine if he’d found stepbrother porn in your history. He’d get the wrongest idea in the world.

Or what if Sunwoo figured it out? That you were head-over-pussy in love with the older Kim? That would be so fucked up, a new way for him to torment you. You could never let him figure it out.

~

“I’m having a party,” Sunwoo tells you, as if it wasn’t obvious from the way he was setting up food and beer and one-use cups. He toiled with a beer bottle in one hand, wondering if he should start drinking before anyone even got there. “Just don’t be here because I don’t want my friends making comments about you, or anything. Also, help me set up the chips table first.”

“You’re not in high school anymore, idiot,” you replied, having half a mind to slap the chips bowl out of his hands. But then he’d just make you clean it up. “And I’m not Cinderella to help you with a party I’m not even allowed to go to.”

“Okay, attic rat.” Sunwoo was fluffing up pillows. “Just be gone when they get here, understood?”

You looked around the house—Younghoon had left to meet his friends, and wasn’t there to defend you, and maybe Sunwoo is right, maybe you should haul out, you didn’t want his friends making comments about you, either.

You shot Sunwoo an indignant look, though. “Go fuck yourself.”

“That’s no way to talk to your brother.” He drinks the pre-party beer.

~

When Younghoon comes home from having coffee with his friends (Jacob and Kevin), it’s late and his house is up in lights and loud with Sunwoo’s new age rap blasting from the speakers, and the smell of alcohol and weed overwhelmed his every sense to the point that he could taste it.

He found his brother smoking with a girl in the back porch, and immediately dragged him back into the house by the nape of his neck, leaving the girl stranded there. “You threw a party?”

“I haven’t had the house to myself since forever—”

“All you gotta do is move out, you sock.” Younghoon looked around the house. “Where’s Y/N? You know if your troublemaker friends see her, it’s gonna be a whole thing.”

“She’s been gone since I told her we were having a party, I think,” says Sunwoo. “I told her to get lost, anyway.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Younghoon chides under his breath, but Sunwoo goes back to drinking his beer out of a used cup like he didn't hear him.

The party was continuing downstairs, and the 2nd floor was more deserted. Sunwoo’s loud rap music seemed to die down slowly as Younghoon got on the 2nd floor… and then started to unlatch the ladder towards the attic.

The sounds muted down completely once he’s in, and he quickly pulled the ladder back up to cover his traces, and also so no one could follow him and interrupt.

He started his routine of rifling through your underwear drawer, last time he got lucky with those pretty pink panties, so now he wanted something else, something just as precious and sweet that makes him cold-sweat from the tension in his lower belly. From the moonlight streaming in from the skylight, he finds a pair of panties, white with a ribbon on them, pretty but cotton instead of lace, and he decides, as good as any other. Younghoon brought it up to his nose, and smelled only the detergent and fabric softener, and not a sense of you.

Needing you desperately, he heads over to the bed, thinking of lying on the same mattress as you, trying to think of what you’d look like all these nights when you touched yourself, whatever you touched yourself to. He crawled on his hands and knees onto the mattress, thumbing over the panties like he would with your skin, until nipples hardened and tight little warm walls twitched.

~~~

You were awoken as you felt movement on the other side of the mattress. You’d fallen into a deep sleep since Sunwoo told you to get lost, thinking you’d crash at a friend’s for the night, but you’d fallen asleep even through the party. Goddamn it. Now who was in your bed?

You rolled over, until you were nose-to-nose with Kim Younghoon himself.

You screamed. “Younghoon?! What are you doing here?” But your bodies were so tangled in your sheets that he couldn’t get away from you, and was in fact actually tied together, you basically on top of him.

“Y—Y/n!”

“What is that you’re holding?” you ask; it’s too small to be a phone. Unless… no way.

Younghoon tries to shake off the feeling, but he’s still frozen in his flight responses, frozen while you touched him and wrestled the fabric out of his fists.

“My panties?!”

Busted. Younghoon’s face was heating up, even if you couldn’t see it in the dark. “I–I was—” he started. “Uh, just… going through your laundry?”

You’re the one frozen now, and Younghoon quickly disentangled himself from the sheets, uncovering the little white mass stuck in the foot of the mattress—holy shit. “Is that my shirt?!”

He picked it up. “It’s stained.” You have no words, so Younghoon looks back at you, grinning maniacally. “Were you being naughty?”

It’s horrible how his entire demeanor could change in a second. Under the blankets, he started to touch you, not even a little shy, grabbing you close by the waist so horribly hot and warm. “Ah, so you were cumming to the thought of me, your step-brother?”

“I—I’m sorry!” you squeaked. “Wait, my panties—are you—are we…?!”

“Do you want me?” Younghoon asks, voice dropping several octaves just so hoarse and sexy. In the dark, he stared at your form with glinting eyes. “I do,” he says when you wouldn’t. “I want you so, so… bad…” His fingers crawled up your bare thighs—you were wearing just a night dress, flimsy and short.

“You don’t even notice me,” you huffed.

Younghoon scoffed it off, although he looked concerned. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said, “plus your mom and my dad wouldn’t have liked it if I kept staring at your legs, like Mr. Obvious downstairs. Although, I did stare, when you were just too… juicy to look away from.”

You’re aroused, it showed. “R–really?” you squeaked, trying to keep your hands to yourself. He was still wearing his outside clothes, a button down and actual tailored pants. He smelled like his normal cologne, too.

“You’re a sick, sick, girl, you know? Wanting to be noticed by your step brother…” His free hand cupped your face to make you face him, harsh against your skin. He hummed, as if deriving pleasure just from touching you. “But don’t worry, I won’t punish you or anything. You know I’m the nice one.”

“Younghoon…” Your hands go up to press against his shirt, although not pushing him away, yet.

You hear him hum again, this time with a little giggle. His hand is trailing up your bare thighs, now landing between your legs, at the very core where all the heat and pulsation were coming from… He prods it with just one long middle finger, rubbing against the nub and the slit—although it doesn’t catch your clit to stimulate you, the lewdness of your step dad’s son's hand behind on your bare cunt was doing enough.

“No panties,” he observed with a cocky laugh. “And wet. What, were you dreaming about me?”

You moaned his name again. “Please…” Your hands went to his shirt and grasped onto a bunch of the fabric, like pornstars grabbing on bedsheets. You could feel his heart, and despite his demeanor, it’s pounding so hard in his chest.

“How many fingers do you think you’re ready for?” he asked.

“Um… two.” That’s a good number to start. His fingers are long and thin, but bigger than yours anyway.

“Hmm, you are tight.” He was prodding you with one finger, and when he enters, two fingers in you—it’s almost too tight in you, too much, too soon. Stuffed up inside you, so foreign.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “oppa learnt a lot about making dumb little bunnies like you cum. I bet I can make you cum… hmm…” He flicked your nub, making you squeal. “... with just a flick of my finger.” He’s still laughing at how you were trying to compose yourself, and failing.

Suddenly the door to the attic unlatches, the stairs springing down. Your goddamn attic wasn’t lock-able, from either side. Goddamn it. Younghoon stops everything, his free hand coming up to cup your mouth, eyes wide in alarm. “Shh,” he whispers to you.

It was a couple of Sunwoo’s friends. “I don’t know if I want to go up,” one guy was saying. “There’s spiders, and it’s Kim Sunwoo’s house—who knows what kind of monstrosities he has lying around?”

“You want to do it in his parents’ room?” This was another guy.

Younghoon’s fingers were still inside of you, and slowly, they begin to curl, uncurl, curl… You suppress a moan by biting down on your tongue, but the guttural sounds threatened to spill out of your throat.

To silence you, Younghoon hurriedly planted a kiss to your lips, tongue fighting its way in and taking over yours, when you moan it’s right into his mouth, the sound getting muffled and tortured and he kisses you with more force. His fingers up inside of you are now working faster.

You think you’d scream if he didn’t stop—or also stopped—you shut your legs, but his long, veined arms are persistently still stuck and working between your thighs. When you open your eyes, you see the moonlight catch in his fanged teeth—he’s laughing soundlessly at your plight.

“This is creepy,” the partiers were saying. “I’m high, anyway, I think I’d fall of the ladder if I tried.”

“Right. We’ll go to his parents’ bedroom—if someone hadn’t beat us here.”

Younghoon looked at you, releasing you—both hands now away from you, body pinned against yours. The ladder was still down, the light from down the stairs spilling upwards.

“We should close…” you started to say.

He kissed the back of your ears, one hand pinning your arm down. “Mmm… I like knowing someone could walk in…”

“Hoon, we’re not meant to be doing this, we’ll get in trouble. You’re my step brother.” Now you really sounded like a pornvid reciting its lines.

Younghoon shushed you, parting your legs with his knee. Your bare pussy under his legs, you couldn’t help yourself from grinding against his thigh. “Such a bad girl,” he remarked in a strained voice. “Ah.” He lifted your leg up higher, and took himself out, rubbing the head against your cunt. “You want it?” His voice was still deep from whispering.

You simply nod.

“Use your words…”

“I… I want you to fuck me.”

“Tell me how much of a bad girl you are,” he says, tone still teasingly tantalizing. “Tell me how much you want your big step brother’s cock buried inside you.”

“I want my step brother’s cock in me, I’m so bad. I’m so… hnng, fuck…” You couldn’t reach the bed sheets, so you just grab Younghoon’s shirt again. You were making an untidy mess of his outside clothes, although he still had hair still perfectly parted like for an event, he looks amazing. And he’s inside of you, buried all the way, he zaps his head away from you just to make a guttural grunt. “Fuck, Y/N. You’re so bad, you… you know that?” He pulls out, only to slam back in, and you squealed.

“Already? I haven’t even…” He’s now obeying the urgency in your eyes before you can even say ‘faster’. He’s quick and fast and thick and hard in you, and he’s starting to break out in sweat just from the heat of it all.

He tears the rest of the blankets away from your bodies so he could thrust into your pussy easier. You just hear his panting, and just to silence himself, he bites down on your shoulders, and up your neck. You hear “hnngg, yeah~” out of his lips, like he was having a hard time controlling his own pleasure spilling out from him.

You moaned. “Sunwoo’s gonna see these…”

“And think you’re a slut that fucked one of his friends,” Younghoon says. “Is that what you are? A dumb little whore that just spreads her legs for everybody?”

“N—no!” You’re doing everything just to not scream, but it’s excruciating holding it in. “I’m n–not a slut. I’m just a slut for—for you, Hoon…”

Younghoon laughed. “Is that right?”

He switched the position to missionary, holding you underneath him as he pounded your poor cunt, the same way he imagined he would when he was masturbating with your panties. You hear his strained panting again, his lovebites still stinging along your neck. You threw your head back and moaned.

“So, so wet… baby…” It grew sloppier, with sounds of the wetness of your cunt and his precum, disgustingly mixing. Younghoon fucked you harder now, knowing he had to pull out soon. “Fuck… fuck!”

Your hands crawl up from under his shirt, scratching his back. He was so big, every part of him… you sink your nails into his waist. “Ugh, Hoonie…”

He hurriedly took himself out of you, panting, to spill his seed on your stomach. You still had your nightdress on, and the cum got on it, white against white… It’s almost beautiful, a ruin of your innocence. It satisfied Younghoon enough, that he just fell back into the mattress beside you, catching his breath. “I’m… sorry…” he said. “Ugh, I feel like such a bad man.”

You wiped it off your belly with the dress, and then took it off. “No, I liked it,” you reassured him. You put the dress away into the laundry basket, and put on the hoodie that he’d given you, grinning at him. He had his eyes closed, slowly feeling the post-ejeculation clarity.

You crawled over and shut the latch, blocking it with a box so no one could come in. “Seriously, though… Sunwoo might see your hickies,” you say.

“Let him.”

“I don’t want him to call me a slut, to add to everything else he calls me.” There was a truthful sting in your voice that Younghoon felt the pain. He gathered you in his arms, until you were just cradled so tiny in his chest.

“Shh, it’s alright.” Younghoon kissed the side of your face again. “I’ll take care of you, okay? You’ll sleep in my arms tonight.”

~~

“What the hell is that?” Sunwoo demanded at the breakfast table, cups still scattered around the kitchen counter.

“What the hell is what?”

“You got laid last night?”

“Kinda weird that you notice it when you can’t even get your eyes to open from the hangover,” you pointed out, “are you in love with me that much?”

He stuttered. The first time Kim Sunwoo had ever stuttered in his life, although maybe the hangover was giving him a brain fog. “Shut up.”

Younghoon was cutting you strawberries in heart shaped cutters and frying pancakes on another pan. He watched you out of the corner of his eyes, smiling to himself.

“Hey,” Sunwoo whines when Younghoon makes two portions—one for himself and one for you—and leaves him out. “Where’s mine?”

Younghoon pinched your thigh under the table, the way he did last night… you threw your head back and moaned a little from the pain.

“Whatever!” Sunwoo groaned. “I’ll probably just vomit everything back up, anyway—I’m gonna nap.”

As soon as he turned his back, Younghoon inched closer to you on the seat, lips attached to the same place he had sucked hickies on. “This is so fun,” he giggled. “And just the beginning of the whole of it.”

~~

Who wants part 2 where you fuck sunwoo too!! Tell me if i should write it ahahahhaa

#the boyz imagines #the boyz x reader #tbz imagines #tbz scenarios #tbz x reader #the boyz scenarios #the boyz smut #tbz smut #younghoon smut #younghoon x reader #younghoon imagines #the boyz fic #tbz fic #younghoon fic #younghoon scenarios #younghoon hard hours #the boyz hard hours #tbz hard hours #kpop smut #stepbrother smut

[beatleszeppelin]

Kidnapped with Bucky

Chapter 1: Wet Hot Shower

Summary: You read the title, you know what this is about, this chapter however starts with a very frustrated Bucky, needing a shower.

Warnings/Includes: Crying, lots of Bucky crying in the shower, worries about self harm, (barely mentioned), mentions of burns. Tell me if you catch any more

Word count: 1300

A/N: This is only the first chapter, I've got more in the docs... Reader is female, relationship can be read as platonic or otherwise.

Steve droned on about his plan, his grand idea to stop the next evil. Everyone listened intently, sitting around the table, drinking and talking.

Bucky leaned all the way back in his chair, squeezing a stress ball in his human hand. “And what should I be doing while you “infiltrate from the air”?” He used air quotes with his unoccupied hand. 

“Well, Buck, I was thinking you could take this one off, stay home and rest a bit.” Steve’s voice got high, “You’ve been looking a bit tired recently.”

He tipped his chair forward and leaned in close, “I am, but I can help.”

“Look, pal, I’m not saying you’re not an asset to this team, but…” he stopped himself. 

“An asset?” Bucky scoffed, stood, and slammed his open metal palm into the chair. It smashed into the wall, leaving a dent in the shape of the chair’s corner. A hand came up and forked through his long hair. Everyone stared as he walked out of the room, shaking his head and flexing his jaw.

Stark was the first to speak, “I think baby’s gonna need a nap.”

Reader shot a look at Steve; he frowned and then dropped his head onto his folded arms.

“I think that’s a good place to call it,” Bruce got up and pushed in his chair.

The group dispersed into various floors and rooms of the tower; Steve put on his headphones and swayed his head to the music, still in his chair. 

Reader went to her room to work on her project. She heard the water start through the next door. Bucky was the only other one with a room on this floor, so it was most likely him taking his scolding punishment shower.

She peeked out, steam clouded from the edges of the door, where Steve sat one ear out of his headphones listening. 

“It bad?” She asked.

He nodded slowly.

“I don’t want him to get hurt…” Steve drew his eyes away from the ground and up to Reader, “I don’t want him to hurt himself.”

After Bucky left the meeting, he felt like punching something. Steve would be a good choice, but it would only serve as proof that he can’t do this. He walked down the hall, past the bathroom, into his room. Grabbing the navy pillow off his bed, with one solid fist, clenched so hard he shook. He silently screamed. 

“Fuck,” he whispered. Bucky threw his pillow back to the head of his bed. His shoulders sank. He grabbed some clothes off the end of the bed and took them to the bathroom. 

Bucky closed the bathroom door quietly. He stands with his hand on the light switch for a while before flicking them off. He pulls off his jacket, and drops it in front of the door, to cover any light coming in/ to protect him from people finding out he is in the dark. 

He can barely see himself in the mirror, but he can see the outline of his face and the bruise across his cheek. His eyes feel hot, and tears sting themselves into vision. He silently screams, digging his nails into his legs.

“I can’t do anything,” he says in such a quiet whisper he thinks he just mouths it to himself in the mirror. Bucky prays no one can hear him, not Steve with his super hearing, or any of Tony’s little robot camera listening things. But it does almost hurt to be quiet.

He takes a deep breath with an open mouth and a clenched jaw, and tears slowly fall. 

He turns on the shower to the hottest he can touch. Hydra used to do this, burn him. The showers here don’t get nearly as hot; it only makes his skin numb, but doesn’t sting like it used to. 

His pants dropped, belt still weaved in. Then his shirt gets pulled off over his head. Bucky holds his shirt in his hands for a beat before shoving his face into it and screaming. The splashing of the water and the muffling of the shirt contained the broken scream. He drops the shirt and gets into the shower. 

He cries. His chest turns red from the water, and his face is wet and sticky. His long hair clings to his face and jaw and sticks up in different directions, frizzy from the steam that slowly fills the dark room.

His eyes squint shut, and he uncontrollably sobs. Muscles flex in the hot water, and all his fresh cuts burn. 

He doesn’t notice a slight moving glow of light from the hall outside refract off of the steam, showing how heavy the air has become. Glistening drips run down the mirror’s face.

A knock on the door startles him sober from his crying. 

Steve leaned his head back against the wall, “he’s crying, I can hear it.”

“He’s allowed to…” Reader defended, “If you put your headphones on you, won’t be able to hear it.”

“I need to make sure he’s okay, like he’s always done for me.”

They hear the muffled scream, and Steve’s lip quivers. He looks at Reader with big doe eyes, full of anguish.

“Okay, give him a minute to cool down. If he’s in there, crying, then you can hear he’s alright. Yeah?” He nods. 

They sit outside the door; minutes pass, and Reader and Steve play jacks. Steve has won twice, but Reader snagged the last win because he got too cocky. He listens to his headphones, rocking back and forth to the music. 

After three or four more games, Steve starts listening again. “It’s been a while, right?” He asks.

“I guess, but I take long showers too.” Reader says, bouncing the ball against the opposing wall in the hallway.

“You’re right, but you don’t sound like this.”

“Like what?”

He took his headphones off, and leaned his head back, “He hasn’t stopped yet.” Steve checked the time, “38 minutes straight.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s too long.” She cleaned up the pieces, “Get in my room.”

“You’re not my mom,” he cocked his head.

“Here,” she shoved the jacks into his hand, “take these with you.” 

He listened and took the game with him.

She knocked at the door.

“Hey, Buck,” Reader yells through the door with only a slight infliction of panic.

“What?” his voice cracks, weak as he tries to talk. He clears his throat softly. 

“I just… uhh… I needed to pee and I just wanted to see when you’d be out.” She would never let him know the real reason was because she was worried about him.

“Sorry, I’ll be like another minute.” He spoke clearly.

Bucky wiped his nose with the back of his hand as water dripped down his face. Snot covered his hands, and everything was wet and hard to clean. He blew his nose into his hands and ran his face under the water. It was too hot for a face and made him wince at the contact. 

He didn’t know how long he had been crying, or how long he had been in there. And he can’t imagine how long it was before she noticed.

So, he rubbed himself clean with his unscented soap. (Any scents were just too much for him after the serum). He hugged his body for a minute while he rinsed off before shutting off the water and getting out.

He flipped the light on, wrapped the towel around himself, and stared in the mirror. He looked fucked.

Bucky opened the door and saw Reader waiting outside, leaning against the wall in the hall. He rubbed his eyes, trying to hide his face. 

“You okay?” She asked.

“I just washed my face,” he wiped his eyes to prove it, “soap, it got in my eye.”

His face was sticky and dry, his body naked, and his chest was bright red and splotchy from where the water scalded him, and she saw it all.

#Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes x Reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #Bucky Barnes fanfic #winter soldier #Steve Rogers #captain america

[generalpalacefishgoop]

Tina demon lore

(summary of the Feb 8 stream, skipped some convos so watch the stream for full context also the visuals are cool!)

Twitch VOD ID : 2056565806 (10:18:19 onwards!)

First, qTina started off flying (was a bug & not planned but she went with it as part of her lore)

(side note, she uses her demon voice a lot during this)

Her vision is filled with a silhouette of an eye? It comes and goes.

(...)

(About her flying) “I won’t do it again.  I swear to God. I won’t do it again. I was kidding ok? I was just um- Listen, I should never do stuff like that to gain advantage over others. I won’t do it, I promise. No watchers necessary.”

(...)

Fire starts to appear out of nowhere around her and Em. 

(...)

*covers Em underground* “I have no intentions of coming home. So fuck off! Ok? Leave me be.”

More fire appears.

(...)

“I’m just starting to think that some people are really mad at me, but it’s just because you know, a girl spread her wings a little bit, and that’s fine. It’s fine to spread your wings! It's fine. But maybe I shouldn’t have because it was for a dumb reason.” 

Em :”did you do anything bad?”

”No, I just did a little flying, you know, flying is not bad. Your Uncle Philza does it all the time! Like if I do it, what’s so wrong?”

Em :”yeah flying is fun i bet :D”

”It is but I shouldn’t have done it because now they’re after me, they’re gonna drag me down, they’re gonna drag me back.”

Then a key named “you” appeared in her inventory.

”They’re coming, they’re coming back and I don’t want them to, I’m not strong enough yet to protect you or me or your mom or anyone”

Em :”who?”

”I don’t know really, it’s hard to say.”

Another key appears, named “We will be waiting”

(...)

”What the fuck, argh. I feel dirty. I feel dirty. I feel disgusting.”

(...)

Em :”WAIT EOMMA YOU HAVE WINGS?”

“Some demon have wings. It’s you know, there’s lava everywhere.”

Em :”so you have wings :D”

“Yeah they’re little, they come out, they come in.”

Then a teared feather dropped.

(...)

“It’s not just flying. It comes with stuff, you know? like…It’s sin. It's a great sin. It’s not some theme park ride, ok? It comes with trauma, baggage, sin, hellfire, bad things, torture…you’ve gotta do crazy things to become like this, you get me?”

(...)

“They don’t like my type of flying. They don’t like that shit. Birds only, I guess.”

(...)

“You’re Mom Mouse needs to be here swiftly, she’ll know what to do.”

“If those eye motherfuckers have anything to do with this, I’ll tear them to shreds!

(...)

“They’re mad at me, they’re mad. I should have known better. I should’ve, but it felt good, just a little.”

Em :”i don’t like them you did nothing wrong eomma!!”

*chuckles* “You’re too good”

Em :”how can enjoying what you love be bad?”

“Well…there's a lot of reasons why enjoying what you love can be bad. It's just um- Maybe if you enjoy to not be such a great person you know? Enjoying to be bad is bad. That is the demon way. You heard Mouse. They don’t really understand the difference between good or bad sometimes, they think it’s just fun labels that they slap on shit but there is a very distinct difference, ok?”

Em :”Do you not like mami mouse?”

“I love Mouse. I love her and you know, I don’t really know what Mouse has done or she was just born that way and as far as I know, she’s just a little bit crazy, she doesn’t seem inherently evil, just chaotic”

(...)

More fire appears while she is fishing with Em and a red helmet/crown??

(...)

After going back to fishing, she got an achievement for a completed challenge. The achievement is called "Who's da New King of Hell?"

#qsmp #qsmp tinakitten #qsmp empanada #qsmp demon lore

[novasintheroom]

008. Kindness

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 1.1k

♡ Warnings - none

♡ Description - You continue to send Vash letters.

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

Part 1 ---- Part 2 ---- Part 3 (you are here!) ---- Part 4 ---- Part 5

The next letter comes a week later on a Tuesday. The one after that, two weeks and two days. And the one after that, just four days later.

You’ve made a habit of writing at nearly every post office and leaving it to be picked up by Vash if he chooses. He tries to resist and leave the letters there, but loneliness and the want to know how you’re doing always wins. He’s returned to a town more than once just to get a letter.

This week’s letter comes from a little town called Bangs. The mailwoman hands him the letter from the top of her tomas, and he gives her the twenty-six C-cents for handling it.

The paper inside is pink this time and smells a bit like almond lotion. Your curving and slanted writing greets him:

                Birdie,

                I’ve managed to add three new towns this week to the roster. There’re only a few people in each who are willing to join in on the book exchange, but a win’s a win. HQ says I’m doing great, and they’ve already gotten a few applications from some teenagers in the towns to apply for college in the bigger cities.

                In fact, they’re moving me to a new route soon. One that’s a bit more challenging due to it being so far out and away from most other places. I’m getting my own tomas for it since the towns are so spread out. I’ve drawn the map they sent me on the back…in case you ever want to visit.

                I hope you’re doing well. I wish I could see you. I know you’re getting my letters. Write to me, please. Even if you don’t think we should travel together anymore, we can at least be friends, right?

Forever yours,

       ______

P.S. What do evil toma lay? Deviled eggs.

He’s surprised to find two blank pages nestled into the envelope. You really want him to write you? After abandoning and dodging you for nearly two months? But he shouldn’t be surprised. You’re always adjusting to his boundaries, always making sure he’s comfortable, even if you disagree. You’re too kind for your own good. The least he could do is tell you he’s okay.

So, he writes back.

                ______,

                I’m doing fine. I’ve got a few jobs lined up in the town I’m in right now. I was able to help nurse someone’s grandma back to health here too. I’m doing my best, just like you are.

He taps at the paper. What else should he say?

                I’m sorry I I’m glad to hear you’re doing well. You’re making a huge difference by helping build up people’s education. It will help so many people in the future.

                What do you know about the region you’re getting assigned to? I’ve only been around there a few times, and I’m sure it’s changed since then.

Best,

              Vash

P.S. Why can’t you ever trust stairs? They’re always up to something.

He’s left with an extra page to write with, but just stuffs it in his pocket. He doesn’t have much of worth to say right now; he still feels bad about…everything. He finds the postwoman again, who takes the new envelope and trots off on her tomas, and that’s that.

The next letter comes on the road as a courier passes by on her own walk back toward a town called Ferret’s Claw. She hails him, and hands it to him. “Already paid for,” her gravelly voice says, then continues trotting down the path of dunes.

Vash watches her leave before he opens and scans it over.

                Birdie,

                I’ve heard about you helping the Plants in the region. You’re not as sneaky as you used to be. That, or people are a lot more talkative about the talented, young, handsome man going around fixing Plants.

                Sure sounds like you.

                I’ve had to deal with some bandits on the road. Been chased a few times. Luckily they either aren’t great shots or don’t have their own toma to chase me on. They seem to be young kids with nothing better to do. I hope the more we spread education, that will lessen.

                Be careful around here, birdie.

                                                                                                Forever yours,

                                                                                                                ______

A blush rises to his cheeks when he reads over the “talented, young, handsome” line again. Leave it to you to still get his stomach fluttering with butterflies, even at a distance. Vash lets a breath go through his nose, then folds the letter, putting it in his “letters pocket,” so dubbed now after receiving them. He brings out the spare piece of paper from the previous letter and begins to write, using his knee as a ‘desk.’

                Mayfl______,

                Don’t worry about me; I know how to run handle bandits. You should be more careful, though. Do you still have that knife you got from the pawn shop?

                I won’t be staying in the region long. There’s a call coming from somewhere else, and I need to go to it.

He taps the paper, looking up and around as he thinks. Should he tell you where he’ll be? He’d like more letters…

                It’s coming from a town in the east, I know that much. Hopefully I can get there in time.

                Be safe.

                             Vash

P.S. There are three types of people in the world: those who can count, and those who can’t.

There. That ought to be enough.

And when he’s in the east, he isn’t as surprised to find a letter waiting for him at one of the towns.

Birdie,

I’ll keep writing to you if that’s alright. It gets lonely on the road, and I don’t doubt you feel it too. I love getting your letters.

HQ says I’ll stay in this region for at least a few months. Please let me know where to send my letters; I promise I won’t follow – I’ve got too many people relying on me and the books now. But I’d still love to hear from you. Tell me about what you’re up to, any adventures, even the shoot-outs you’re in. I’ll worry, but I’ll know you’re okay with each letter.

I hope you’re well. I hope you find happiness wherever you go.

                                                                                Forever yours,

______

P.S. What do you call a can opener that doesn’t work? A can’t opener.

And Vash does write back. Even if it’s so much less than what you write, he keeps you updated.

Vash wonders, when he’s writing his next letter, if this should stop. He’s leading you on; he hasn’t stopped contact like he promised he would. He looks down at the paper and crumples it in his hand, then opens and smooths it out again. Your kindness is like a drug he can’t quit. It’s selfish, but he wants to keep you, like the letters he keeps in his pocket. Is it so bad to want one friend in the world?

Maybe. Perhaps not.

And so he writes.

#trigun #vash the stampede #trigun stampede #tristamp #writing #vash x reader #vash the stampede x reader #reader insert #self insert #nova writes #150 bullets #trigun x reader #vash x you #trigun stampede x reader

[porcelainseashore]

The Lost Tapes (1)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

General Note: One-shots for my series Where We’ve Left Our Love. Encapsulated moments within the past and future lives of Leon x Reader in no particular order. Follows the Resident Evil Remake timeline.

Chapter Summary: It’s about time that you got over the loss of Leon for your own good. You’ve settled in Berlin, your dance career is on the rise and you’re looking forward to a nice dinner date, but something keeps pulling you back.

Content Warnings: Mild smut or suggestive themes, grief and mourning, suicidal thoughts, drinking, referenced drug use, and depending on how you see things, hurt/comfort or hurt no comfort.

Shoutout to RainyKennedy for suggesting the topic of Reader's grief for this one-shot!

AO3 Link

Chapter 1: All That Remains

“So, who’ve you been messaging with?” One of your co-dancers teased, as she suddenly appeared behind your back, tapping your shoulders playfully, startling you.

“Jeez!” You exclaimed, holding your mobile phone close to your chest in surprise. “Don't scare me like that!”

“Sorry,” she laughed, while shrugging indifferently. “But seriously though, who…?” She pressed on further, while circling to your front and plopping down onto a chair in front of you.

Blushing, you turned away from her prying gaze and shook your head.

“It’s that guy, isn’t it?” She squealed. “The one Silje introduced us to.”

You sighed, knowing you weren’t particularly good at keeping a poker face when it came to such matters. Nonetheless, you felt a pang of guilt rising from your stomach and blooming in your chest. It had been ages since you’d been on a date. The first few times you tried, it ended disastrously, with you excusing yourself to leave before it was even over. Despite it being years after the Raccoon City incident, things were somehow still too raw and no one you had dated so far could hold a candle to him.

Leon. He was all you could think about in times like these. What would he say to this? What would he have wanted you to do? To go on, you supposed. Live your own life. Yet, nothing could shake off the unbearable feeling that what you were doing was like an immense betrayal.

Everything reminded you of him. A flash of dirty blonde tresses when you crossed the street, but when the figure turned around, it was foreign. A waft of his favorite cologne in a crowded market, but it belonged to someone else. Blue - the only color you could describe in a thousand words. Deep blue, lightning blue, everything washed in shades of blue. Like when you were on holiday and stood at the edge of the ocean, feeling the warm breeze against your skin and tasting the salt in the air. You remember getting lost in those cerulean eyes of his, reflecting the surface between sea and sky. But now, the colors of the world you inhabited just appeared muted to you.

You couldn’t even bear to listen to music both of you loved anymore. Little things set you off. Silly phrases he had once said, endearing terms of affection he had called you. You probably should’ve seen a therapist at this rate, but you just kept plodding along. Like you always did. You’d go through a period of intense grief, coming out of it safe and sound, floating in the lull of a wave, and waiting for the next cycle to start again like a rollercoaster.

During the bad times, you’d try to drown out the memories in hedonistic parties with your new lot of friends and a cocktail of drugs. You were afraid of being alone, sitting in the dark in your empty apartment, consumed by your thoughts. On the outside, you were able to keep up your façade. Your career was on the rise and Silje had helped you to settle in. However, inside, you were breaking bit by bit. It was exhausting to keep feeling things, but some part of you didn’t want to forget. You couldn’t. 

Perhaps you were cursed. You wondered if it would always be like this. Being condemned to repeat the same course of events again and again, like Groundhog Day. Time heals all wounds, they said. You wanted to believe in that shabby scrap of reassurance. That was all you had to go on these days, so you latched onto it desperately, reciting it like a mantra in your head.

“Hello?” Your co-dancer called out with mild irritation. “Are you even listening?”

“Hm, what?” You replied apathetically, reluctant to drag yourself out of your ruminations and return to the conversation.

“Ugh, never mind!” She snapped, though she fell back to her spirited, carefree self once again. “When’s the date anyway?”

“Tonight.”

“You don’t sound so enthused,” she remarked, raising an eyebrow. Leaning forward, she whispered in your ear, “I heard he comes from old money.”

Your face twisted in disgust. “I couldn’t care less about that.”

She held her hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, I was just saying that he checks all the right boxes earlier, when you weren’t paying attention. This is just a bonus!”

“Some bonus indeed,” you scoffed.

Ignoring you, she continued, “I mean, he’s obviously quite the poet with those long, flowery messages he keeps sending you.” She motioned to your phone, as you rolled your eyes. “He’s also very handsome, polite, charming-”

“Alright, enough,” you interrupted, shifting in your seat uncomfortably. “You don’t have to keep convincing me.”

Grabbing your shoulders to catch your attention, she looked you dead in the eye with a knowing smile. “I’m just looking out for a friend here.” She rubbed the back of them supportively. “You said there was a guy back home you couldn’t let go of. But this is your life now - a new place, a new chapter. Don’t you think you deserve to move on?”

Did you? You weren’t sure how to answer that question.

“Maybe,” you mumbled, so quietly that you almost couldn’t hear yourself.

━━━━━━━━━━━

A lone, black satin dress hung in the corner of your wardrobe, which was as bare as your apartment. People might have mistaken you for a minimalist, but truth be told, you had been in a rush when you left your home country a few years ago, paired with a grubby rucksack which carried only the bare essentials and some memories you couldn’t let go of.

You never bothered to fill your flat up, preferring to live frugally in this respect instead. The few pieces of furniture you had were what you found in second-hand shops or from random strangers who had left their stuff on the streets ‘zu verschenken’ (to give away).

As you slipped the dress over your head, smoothening it out across your body, and applied the first touches of makeup to your face, you daydreamed about how you had even landed in this position in the first place. When Silje introduced her patron, Mikkel, to you and the rest of your co-dancers hanging around outside in the foyer after a show, he had gravitated towards you. Maybe because you were shy, or you were holding back, unlike the others, who had greeted him excitedly. Perhaps he found the sense of mysteriousness you gave off alluring. 

You remember him being well-mannered and kind, not too pushy, and you talked at length about the performance piece, its symbolism, art in relation to politics and capitalism, and the like. He was engaging, and you couldn’t find any fault with him, except he just wasn’t the boy you had fallen in love with. However, you figured it was stupid to keep putting Leon on a pedestal, where other men that came after had to be judged according to such an impossible standard. So after a few drinks, you accepted Mikkel’s request and gave him your number willingly. It wasn’t long before he asked you out for dinner.

The phone on your table vibrated. You were almost done with getting ready. You smudged the rouge tint along the edges of your lips to create a softer look, before glancing at the screen of your mobile.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to pick you up?’

You smiled and shook your head. He was trying to be a gentleman as usual.

‘I’m all good, thanks for the offer though.’

‘Alright, I can’t wait to see you.’

Tucking your phone into your evening purse, you draped a light shawl over your shoulders and eased your battered feet into a pair of heels. A dancer’s feet are always ugly, you remarked, laughing ruefully to yourself.

Then, you heard a tiny voice from the back of your mind pipe up, No, they’re not. 

You could feel it again, that lingering pressure on the soles of your feet, as Leon’s hands worked through the knots skillfully each time you’d been so beat from rehearsals. You tipped your head back against the wall and relaxed, trying to stifle a moan.

Let it out, baby.

It was as if he were in the room with you. You shivered, running a hand over your mouth to your neck as you tried to get a hang of yourself. Shaking it off, you leaned against the cool, metallic door frame for a moment before shutting down the lights in your apartment and venturing out into the city night.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Taking a huge gulp of the white wine that Mikkel had ordered to start with, you fidgeted in your seat awkwardly. Like a fish out of water, this world was unfamiliar to you. Of course, he had chosen one of the most expensive restaurants in town, detailed with pristine white tablecloths, a mind-numbing set of cutlery you had to figure out how to use, and a menu adorned with mostly French words you didn’t quite understand. People were dressed to the nines, the service was impeccable and there was even a live pianist for entertainment. 

You gazed up at the grand, dazzling chandelier hanging in the middle of the room that blinded your vision. To be honest, you would have preferred a rustic, family-owned Italian restaurant. Something down-to-earth and homey, not lofty and pretentious where everyone was performing a part in this spectacle you were witnessing in front of you. Pretending to laugh at each other’s comments, clinking their glasses together, ordering wines which cost an eye-watering amount.

Leon wouldn’t have-, you stopped yourself. This wasn’t the time to bring the topic up again.

“Would you like some recommendations?” Mikkel asked, almost apologetically, as if he detected your discomfort.

“Oh, um, yeah,” you mumbled sheepishly, ducking your head behind the tall menu to avoid his eye contact.

Was he embarrassed by you? You were an outsider in every sense of the word. Your parents would have been pleased for you to get to know him. They would have considered him a real catch. But you weren’t them. And this wasn’t their life. You thumbed the end of the napkin resting in your lap nervously.

He stretched out his hand, placing it over yours. “I’m sorry.”

“Wh- What for?” You sputtered. “No, it’s fine. It’s beautiful here,” you tried to gush. “I mean, thank you for taking me to this place. Really.”

He gave you a side smile, appreciating your attempts at salvaging the situation, though he was well aware of the blunder on his part. “We could go somewhere else, if you want.”

The next thing you knew, you had been whisked off to a more modest restaurant nearby, where you instantly felt at ease. Mikkel mentioned it was no trouble at his expense, he just wanted you to enjoy yourself. It was all that mattered to him. You found him sweet and especially attractive, when he loosened up a little and the strands of his sleek black hair fell across his face.

Maybe this time you’d move on, you mused hopefully, ignoring the sinking feeling in your gut that told you otherwise.

Throughout the meal, your witty exchanges with Mikkel flowed. One drink led to another. You laughed at his jokes, rosy-cheeked and eyes glittering with amusement. The warm glow of the mood light cast shadows across the room, giving it a sultry vibe. Both of you ordered another round of drinks, and chatted merrily until it was closing time. It felt premature to end the night there and so, you allowed him to accompany you back to your place.

If you had an award for the most confusing point in time of your life so far, this would’ve taken the cake. As he kissed you against the door of your apartment, all at once you had the foreboding feeling of dread of what was to come, and yet pleasure, like you had been craving for someone’s touch for so long.

“Do you want to-”

“Mm hm.” You cut him off just like you disregarded the conflicting feelings and tepid apprehension bubbling to the surface. You weren’t going to risk giving yourself another chance to question your decision. 

You wanted this. You deserved it.

Scrambling for your keys, you slotted them into the lock and stumbled through the entrance, as he shut the door behind him. He couldn’t keep his hands off you, while you made your way to the bed, falling backwards onto it, as he continued planting kisses all over your body. You shuddered, as the memories came flooding back-

The times Leon had allayed your self-doubt and comforted you with soft words and kisses…

His calloused hands, worn from police academy training, absentmindedly stroking your bare skin…

The searing heat of the sun against your face as he sucked and nibbled at the sensitive spot on the base of your neck…

Every cry and gasp you ever uttered as you felt him inside you…

“So beautiful…” Who was saying that now? The waters had been muddied and it felt like you were caught between time and space, unable to separate fiction from reality.

When you came to, you found tears streaming down your face as you grasped onto Mikkel’s shoulders in a tight embrace, stark naked, with him on top of you, groaning your name as he came in you. You turned away from him as he pulled out, lying on your side, trying to conceal your crying, along with the absolute disgust and shame you felt welling up within you.

“Are you ok?” He asked gently, trailing his index finger along the curve of your spine. 

Your skin crawled, but you gritted your teeth in an effort to suppress the urge to rush to the bathroom to throw up, angry at yourself for what you had done. “Yes,” you lied. “It was amazing.” 

And this time, he believed you.

━━━━━━━━━━━

It took a while for you to doze off, but when you did, you were ushered into the throes of sleep. 

The cyclical nature of your breath synchronized with the rise and fall of your chest, enveloping you in a blanket of peace and tranquility despite the earlier events. Vague moving images weaved through the fabric of your consciousness, out of focus and delayed, like a grainy film.

Eventually, it settled on a still figure in bed beside you. You squinted, wondering if this was another dream or if you were wide awake in bed with Mikkel again. The flicker of a set of pale blue eyes reflecting iridescently in the moonlight suggested otherwise.

“Leon…” you whispered.

He shifted closer to you, acknowledging your presence, even though he didn’t say a word.

You swallowed a lump in your throat, realizing that you lay before him completely stripped and exposed. You couldn’t hide anything from him in this state, and definitely not what had recently transpired.

“Do you hate me now?” You asked, even though you were afraid of the answer.

Brushing your cheek with the tips of his fingers, he replied without hesitation, “I could never hate you.”

“God, I fucked up,” you choked. “I just- I just miss you so much.”

Your body jerked uncontrollably as you buried your face in your hands, letting out heart-wrenching sobs. How could you? The words spun round on repeat like a broken record in your head.

You felt a pair of arms wrap around you and his chin resting above your head. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he reassured you.

“Do you still think of me?”

“Always,” you admitted openly, as you clung to the back of his neck, inhaling sharply and savoring his unmistakable scent.

He pressed his lips upon the crown of your head, kissing you tenderly. “You can leave this behind, you know?”

“I don’t want to,” you insisted.

Even if all that remained was a figment of your imagination, or an apparition that haunted you, you were stubborn. Nothing could make you give this up. So much so that you blurted out the following statement determinedly into his chest, “Take me with you.”

His breathing stilled all of a sudden, as he understood the implication behind that sentence. You were tempted to join him, wherever he was.

Pulling you up to face him on eye level, he reproached you sternly, “Baby, no.”

He gripped your chin firmly to reiterate his point. “I mean it.”

“Nothing’s helping,” you responded listlessly, as if you were begging him to reconsider.

“Time,” he offered, peering at you sympathetically, the shape of his pupils widening as he combed through your hair soothingly.

Closing your eyes, you sighed, allowing yourself to melt in his touch, despite your disbelief. “That’s what everyone says.”

“Remember when we were at Huntington Beach?”

You blinked, gazing at him curiously. “How could I forget it?” 

It was one of the most blissful days you had with Leon. A quick weekend getaway, before both you headed in separate directions to your respective colleges again. You could smell the crisp, briny sea so distinctly, as if it were only yesterday. 

He flashed that wide, boyish smile you adored. “We had so much fun, didn’t we?”

You couldn’t hold back a chuckle at the memory. “We did.”

Caressing your cheek and then your lips, he promised, “That feeling… it’ll come back again. It just takes time.”

It just takes time. The very same words you had used to comfort him back in high school, telling him to let his eyes adjust to the pitch black darkness.

Although it seemed entirely out of reach for the moment, you knew that the world would open up to you at some point. You just had a ton of shit days lined up in front of you, like an endless maze, and you were growing tired of mustering the strength to confront them.

An unwanted thought crossed your mind. How long would he stay? You started to panic.

“Leon,” you pleaded. “Please don’t go.” Your eyes glistened, as fat droplets spilled down onto the sheets.

He bit his lip, and you saw that his face too, mirrored yours, streaked and wet with tears.

“I’ll be right here.” He cupped his hand over your heart, as you felt his phantom touch for the final time, before he was gone.

━━━━━━━━━━━

When you awoke, it was the brightest time of the day, with the noon light streaming into the bedroom through the gaps in your curtains. The bed was empty, but Mikkel had left you a note. In it, he apologized for leaving early as he had an appointment to attend to which he couldn’t back out of. As you had slept like an angel, he didn’t want to wake you.

Upon checking your phone, you saw another message from him.

‘Last night was special. I would love to take you out again. How about next Friday?’

You paused, re-reading the text over and over until the words started to jump and blur. Your thumb hovered over the buttons of your mobile, as you pondered your next steps. You exhaled deeply, and with a swift tap, you pressed delete.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy smut #resident evil #porcelainscribbles

[shinhoebakuhoekitten]

I like to think that shinsou never really understood the sexual potential of his quirk as he was growing up because he was so insecure about it in the first place because he thought it was a quirk you could only use for evil. But as he grew more confident and trained to use it work in his favor, his insecurities definitely lighten up and he’s not afraid to use it in front of others. But imagine one fateful day, maybe his friends make a casual joke to him about how they would use his quirk in bed if they had it. Shinsou proceeds to have an internal breakthrough and kinda regrets that he didn’t think of that in the first place. but it’s never too late is it? he gives some lame excuse to leave and can’t wait to get home and try it on you <3 (w/ consent ofc)

Anon with the big brain. Thank you 💕

Also, I always accept prompts/requests/thoughts fyi.

It gets brought up so causally too, imagine Shinso is out with Denki, Izuku, Bakugo and Kiri at Bakugos place for a dudes night since they hadn’t all seen each other much once they all became pro hero’s. It’s a casual Saturday night filled with gaming and booze.

Denki has a had a few too many and the already loose lip hero becomes a menace once tipsy because he does not know how to shut his damn mouth.

“I had her squirting in under a minute with a combination of my tongue and quirk. She’s already texted me to come see her tomorrow, so sounds like I’m getting lucky again.” Denki is already beginning to get a slight slur to his voice, signaling Bakugo to bring out the non alcoholic beer for him since he always got like this.

“Uh huh Denks, whatever you say.” Shinso muttered as he threw Kiris character in Smash over the platform, signaling a win.

Shinso took a swig of his beer as Kiri passed the controller over to Izuku, muttering how he never wins this damn game.

“Well what about you?” Denki starts “tried your quirk on that pretty girlfriend of yours yet or are you too chickenshit.”

A loud ‘Ha!’ Erupted from Bakugos lips as he looked to the lavender hair man, quirking his eyebrow as if to say ‘Well, have you?’

Shinso fixed the way he was sitting against the bottom of the couch as he selected his character, trying to act nonchalant as he replied

“No, I’ve actually never used my quirk on anyone because I don’t need it to fuck anyone dumb.”

A ‘Oooo’ escaped Kiris lips as Izuku looked at Shinso, shock prominent on his face.

“Really? You’ve never used it before? I figured it would make sex more thrilling.”

The game started before Shinso could reply and he allowed that time to think about what everyone was saying. It wasn’t news to anyone that when most people learned of Shinso’s quirk a lot of people assumed it would be used for villainous acts vs being a hero. Shinso guessed that he had gotten so used to everyone thinking that way that he never wanted to use it beyond hero work, even for personal pleasure.

Shinso lost quickly to Izuku. He gave his controller over to Bakugo as his phone buzzed in the pocket of his hoodie.

Miss you <3

As Shinso read the text from you he couldn’t help but smile a bit. You two had been dating just over a year and had recently moved in together, a huge first for both of you.

Reading the text made him think about the fact that maybe he did want to try his quirk in bed with you. Without thinking too much about the fact that everyone would be able to put two and two together he put his phone away and put his shoes on while telling the group that you weren’t feeling great so he was going to call it for the night.

“The sex better be worth it to ditch us early!” Kami bellowed out as Shinso closed the apartment door.

He too was hoping the same thing as he shot off a quick text to you.

I’ve got an idea that I wanna try in the bedroom tonight. See you in twenty 😉

#hopefully smut will be in part 2 #Writting smut is so hard for me sometimes #sorry #my hero academia #mha #mha shinso hitoshi #shinso hitoshi x reader #Shinso smut #mha smut #my hero academia smut

[ada7201]

ADA ADA ADA <3 pooks i feel so needy asking for one thing after the other but this is the anon that requested ver 2 reader! <3 blud you write so GOOD??? inlove w your writing ong? i read your unohana! reader piece and it was mwah mwah. i was wondering if you could make ver 2 reader, like, who trashtalks people on field and after match-- but is the nicest thing before match? and honestly. she doesn't feel that bad ab it because she feels people in blue lock rlly need a reality check, like her-- she had received so much criticism from her old teammates just bc she was a female footballer. and imagine, a womens football team (elite) offering reader to join their team since she obv cant join mens football team that plays professionally? and rin being a bit disappointed but he gets it bc thats just the way it is? you can do this next time if you want obv!! your writing pooks >> feel free to ignore if u want <3

hiiii ♡♡! i love this idea so muchhh (≧∀≦) here you go, and i apologise if it’s not mean enough 🥲 also, i got a bit carried away and made it a rin x reader story. sorry! oh, and you’re not needy at all! i really appreciate all your requests :)

foul mouth!

Itoshi Rin x female reader

warnings:

swearing! lot’s of it!

“good luck!” you cheer to the opposing team, a sweet smile on your pretty face as you wave.

the rest of your team were strategising with each other, mumbling about being the “best striker” as you were simply wishing everybody the best.

you have always been sweet to everyone at blue lock, kindly telling them that you hopes the match is a good one.

“she’s too much of a princess, no way her and that lame team could beat us!” the opposing team would whisper to each other, looking over to your smiling face.

pfft, you, a striker? no way!

that’s what they thought.

“the fuck do you think you’re doing?! get out of my way!” you’d shout, voice bouncing off of the room’s walls.

“you can’t even fucking score?! what’s up with you!” you scream at a teammate, eyes completely shaded with ego as you shot glares to whoever dared to speak back to you.

“you really think you can take it from me?” you grin, before your foot slammed down against the ball, passing it over to Rin.

he was the only player you refrained from shouting insults at.

it was just hard to find things to insult him for, you know?

“i said fucking move!” you bark, shoulder almost slamming into the player as you bolt past them.

it was shocking, really. the way your tone could go from sugary and sweet to fucking evil.

“that was mine!” you scream, shooting another glare to your teammate before running after the ball.

you were a good player, but the things that spilled out of your mouth were absolutely vile!

“you can’t even fucking score?!” you exclaim, eyes wide as you gritted your teeth.

“why are you so stubborn?! it’s not that hard to just-!” you’re able to take the ball from the player, who in your opinion had a strangely shaped face.

“try and beat that, toad!” you poke your tongue out, before your foot crashed down against the ball and you scored, once again.

“toad?” the poor player would repeat, hands on his face. did he really look like a… toad?

team _ wins! 12 - 1!

Rin couldn’t help but smile, you sure were quite an interesting character.

“y/n.” Ego’s dark voice called out from a speaker. “lock off.” he announced.

your eyes went wide - along with the rest of your team.

“WHAT?!” you shout, still feeling the adrenaline from your match. “watch your fucking mouth you bug eyed—“

“you’ve just had an offer to join the woman’s soccer team of japan. i accepted it on your behalf.” he clarifies, scoffing afterwards. “and you, should really watch your fucking mouth.”

“what—?” you say, freezing. it was all too much to take in, you’re locked off… but you got -

“yay!” you shout, excitedly smiling. “i got invited to play… to play on the woman’s team?!” you grin.

the rest of the day went by pretty fast, with a bunch of paperwork and you packing your bags.

Rin should be happy for you, you’re finally able to play with the team that you deserve.

so why are his eyes watering as he watches you pack up and get ready to leave?

“Rin?” you ask, looking up at the man in front of you. “Rin? are you okay?” you quickly stand up, watching the way a tear slipped from his eye.

“i’m - fine.” he says, quickly wiping at his eyes. “i wish you the best, y/n.” he would add.

why was his lip quivering? and why was he…

“are you crying?” you ask, your voice gentle, as it always is with Rin.

he shakes his head.

he kept his eyes focused on anything other than you - wow, did that wall get cleaned last night?

“aw, Rin.” you coo, arms wrapping around his neck as you pull him in for a hug. “it’s okay, i’d miss me too.” you tease, only for him to respond with a huff.

however, he still returned the hug. his arms snaked around your waist tightly.

“don’t forget about me, okay?” he says, voice softer than usual. “you have my number.” he adds.

you nod. “i won’t forget about you.”

“oh, but one thing.” he pulls away from the hug, sharp eyes staring you down. “you should really work on that mouth of yours—“

he was cut off by a kiss.

“the same mouth that just kissed you?” you ask after pulling away, a grin on your face.

“…i’m washing my face after this.”

“excuse me?!”

“kidding.”

#bllk x reader #bllk x you #blue lock #bllk #bllk x y/n #itoshi rin #itoshi rin x you #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi #rin x you #rin x reader #blue lock rin itoshi